#I NEED THIS TAPED TO MY CUBICLE

[mins-fins]

LOVER (K.GV)

SUMMARY . . . where they're supposed to be packing but one of them has other plans.

PAIRING . . . kim gyuvin x male!reader

GENRE . . . very fluffy

WARNINGS . . . none!

WORD COUNT . . . 1.2k

NOTES . . . gyuvin is seriously bias wrecking me these days fr.. this is dedicated to zai (@scrrra), he didn't really ask for this but i just wanna make his day!! also were all starving for gyuvin content so take this

"your literally so messy".

"your acting like your any better, dumbass".

gyuvin gasps loudly, as if offended by the words. y/n just chuckles at his display, turning around to stare at his tall boyfriend, who pouts. "i'm just saying, your going to college you don't need all this stuff!"

"yeah, i'm going to college" y/n states like a matter of a fact. "i need everything".

"everything?"

"everything".

gyuvin blinks, narrowing his eyes and giving his partner a judging stare. y/n lightly punches his shoulder, and gyuvin sighs. "okay! okay! you can pack everything".

y/n was originally gonna pack on his own, he didn't really even want help, but gyuvin insisted on helping, and wouldn't take no for an answer. since y/n had procrastinated for super long and now college starts in two weeks and he hasn't even packed half his stuff yet.

he has maybe one box packed, and he was only reminded of it today when hanbin screamed in his ears with a megaphone telling him that he starts college in two weeks.

so now, here y/n is, trying his best to decide what to pack as gyuvin just looks at his stuff, seeing what he could find. "you have so many books! where do you even keep these?"

"in my shelves, obviously".

"your room is the size of a cubicle, what shelves?"

y/n scoffs, still looking away from gyuvin as he sorts his clothes in one box and then his pillows, blankets, and bedsheets in another. his attention quickly moves away from gyuvin, whose actually not helping him pack.

gyuvin had been in y/n's room maybe twice in the whole time they've been dating. to be fair, they're always out, doing couple things like buying ice cream at three am, or shopping for sweaters just so y/n could steal them from him, or running across the beach at night.

they're usually never inside, just always out and about.

gyuvin scrunches his nose, staring specifically hard at a random drawer besides y/n's bed. he blinks, looking over at his partner, whose busy trying to figure out how much stuff he can fit in one box, completely turned away from gyuvin.

he opens the drawer, trying to see what's inside. pens, pencils, notebooks, binders, some more books, and a few post it notes. just boring stuff, gyuvin thinks in his head.

he sighs, packing those things in the box beside him, he notices that there are still other things in that drawer, letters, and he tilts his head, trying to get a better look at them.

wait.. are those the letters i wrote for him?

earlier in the year, gyuvin had written letters for y/n, it was a thing he did when they were in the much earlier stages of their relationship, he really did pout his heart and soul into those letters, but he assumed y/n had forgotten about them.

but he kept them, like the corny loser he is.

gyuvin smiles as he thinks about it, laughing to himself. y/n was pretty much oblivious to what gyuvin had stumbled upon, busy trying to figure out how he's gonna put all his extension cords together without tangling them.

gyuvin's mind drifts off to the situation, college, and it puts a sour taste in his mouth. y/n is on the other side of this small room packing, and he's oblivious to what gyuvin is thinking.

yeah they're going to the same college, but y/n is going to get busier, and they can't just be a silly teenage couple anymore, they can't just go out buying ice cream at three in the morning, or gyuvin giving y/n piggyback rides randomly.

he moves the letters over, and sees other things, keychains, small fans, a tape measure(?), shoe laces, a polaroid camera, and a photo album. gyuvin tilts his head, reaching into the drawer to grab the photo album.

he struggles to take it out without making a lot of noise, he's not trying to alert y/n and distract him. he places it on the floor, getting the letters out of the drawer and placing them on the table beside the bed.

he then moves back to the photo album, he's not snooping, no! he's just curious, that's all! that's why he's flipping through the photo album right now. as gyuvin does that, he can't control his smile, because it's a bunch of photos which show y/n growing up.

gyuvin assumes that these photos were taken by his parents, y/n's father was a photographer after all. gyuvin couldn't contain his giggles, because y/n's childhood photos are so funny and cute that he can't help it.

y/n, who was busy packing, turns around as he hears gyuvin giggling, and all he can see is his boyfriend struggling to contain his laugh, looking like he was about to fall back onto the floor with how hard he was laughing. "what's so funny?"

gyuvin tries his best to catch his breath, clearing his throat as he stares at y/n, who blinks. gyuvin, still laughing, turns the album over and displays the photo of seven year old y/n wearing his roller skating attire.

y/n narrows his eyes, and then they widen. gyuvin is horrible at keeping his giggles in, and he leans back as he laughs, completely enamored by the cute childhood photo of his boyfriend.

"you weren't even helping me pack" y/n goes over to him, looking at the photo album. "you were just going through my stuff".

"hey!" gyuvin yells, literally on the floor. "i wasn't going through your stuff, i did pack some stuff, i just for distracted easily!" he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows.

y/n reaches forward to try and grab the photo album, but gyuvin quickly moves his arm before he can grab it. he pauses, and gyuvin smiles in a mischievous manner, giggling. "give it back".

"no?"

"what do you mean no—"

y/n reaches so forward again, and falls forward, on top of gyuvin. "you are such an.. ass".

"no, you love me" gyuvin says, picking up his head to stare at y/n, smiling. "your so cute, you know that? the roller skates might've been a little big on you but—"

"shut up!" y/n exclaims, flicking gyuvin in his forehead, which makes him yelp. finally, he grabs the photo album out of gyuvin's hand, taking it for himself. "your annoying, i swear".

"i called you cute, your not even gonna say thank you?"

"i'll thank you when you actually help me pack".

"i did! i packed.. that!"

y/n deadpans at him, and gyuvin giggles, making him scoff. "babe! i love you! you know that right?" he calls out as y/n walks over to the other side of the room, placing the photo album on a table.

"you can say that after you pack".

gyuvin stares at y/n, snickering as his partner also flips through the photo album. "you kept those letters i sent you?"

y/n gasps, turning gyuvin's way and seeing the shit-eating grin on his face. "gyuvin!"

"hey! i'm just asking!"

[weronikasstuff]

And another request, could we get some Ann x Reader angst:

"Ann was having a busy week and was about ready to go home to finaly relax with Reader in her arms. Before she gets to go home however, she is called into yet another murder site. To her shock and utter anguish, the victim was her partner."

Just straight up making it a prompt again.

this is such a genius idea oh my gosh!!!

___________________________________________

videotapes - r.ann

"at night, when it rains i drive, and the headlights spirits, they lead me down the styx, so black it shines" carry me out - mitski

___________________________________________

it was ann’s favourite day of the week.

friday.

the day that she could finally enjoy her well-deserved rest from her difficult job with none other than you.

she spent that friday tapping on her desk, looking up at the clock, calculating just how long it would be until she could embrace you, and spend time with you for two whole days straight.

three hours.

two hours.

one hour.

half an hour.

fifteen minutes.

five minutes.

10 seconds.

ann smiled, as she began packing her things away for the day. it was a pretty boring day - only tons of paperwork to file from recent cases.

just as she was about to leave, she got a phone call, from none other than her boss.

she sighed, knowing something was up. her boss never called her for something good.

“hello?”

“good afternoon ann. we have just had a murder on 4th street, you know the place, six blocks away. bystanders heard gunshots, and i need you to investigate the scene. i know it is technically your holiday, but i feel that you are the most capable of handling this case”

ann signed, slightly frustrated that her partner was going to have to wait for her a while longer.

“i understand. i’ll be right there”

___________________________________________

ann felt something was up.

she could feel the bad feeling approach her when she drove nearer and nearer to the scene, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. she just chalked it up to having to see another murder - these things were never pleasant.

as she got out of the car, she made her way over to the scene. the ambulance hadn’t arrived yet - strangely enough. that said, the traffic was very bad that day. as her colleagues were taping up the scene, she went over to the victim, in a black body bag in order to try and find a cause of death easily.

she opened the bag slightly, and gasped. 

there was your body, four gunshots in total - one in your arm, two in the chest and one in the forehead, probably the final blow.

she felt sick.

she stumbled inside the restaurant next to the scene, ran to the bathroom, yanked open a cubicle, and threw up.

she rubbed her eyes, and pinched herself.

this couldn’t be happening.

you were fine when she left you in the morning - cuddled up inside your blanket, getting some extra sleep, which you deserved as your job as a lawyer.

so why was she now getting the news that her partner had been shot multiple times?

why her?

why not somebody else?

why not ann?

her hands shook as she grabbed her phone and dialed.

she knew your number by heart.

she was clinging onto the only hope that it wasn’t you.

maybe a lookalike?

maybe a twin?

“sorry, y/n cannot come to the phone right now. please leave a message after the beep”

ann whimpered as she grabbed her chest, the realisation setting in.

she clamped her hand over her mouth as wretched sobs left her throat, muffled by the tight hand.

she had no control over the tears slipping - she didn’t even try to stop them.

she ran her hand through her hair as she rocked back and forth, biting back a scream as she realised what this meant.

why couldn’t you both just go home and watch a movie or something like you did every friday?

she didn’t even realise she was pressing her sharp nails into her palm untl the fresh blood trickled down her hand, contrasting with the now dried blood of yours.

___________________________________________

you laughed, as you and ann made the cookies that were your favourite for your birthday.

 ann feels a deep stabbing pain in her chest, yet she keeps watching the video , desperate to see your happy face and hear your voice again.

she was a mess.

her hair was messy, she was wearing three - day - old clothes that she threw on the day of your murder, and hadn;t bothered to shower since.

her nails were short and bitten due to the stress and pain that this has brought her.

she was currently in bed, cuddled in your blankets which smelled just like you, watching old videotapes of you two doing things together.

the videotape clicked, signalling that all the videos had ended.

ann fell backwards onto the bed, not even bothering to move.

and there she lay for the next few hours, thinking about you.

but she didn’t cry once.

she had used it all up the day you were gone.

instead, an empty feeling now stayed.

permanently.

[lokisgoodgirl]

I HAVE FLUFF FOR YOU 🥴

Okay so the reader is a hacker working for the Avengers and she has a habit of snatching up a bunch of snacks from the kitchen/pantry before going into her office and helping assist whoever’s on a mission at the moment. She doesn’t know it but ever since he moved to the tower to join the Avengers, Loki’s been observing her and her patterns.

One day she goes to her office to assist Nat or Clint (up to you which one of them) on their mission and she finds a basket of her favorite snacks sitting on her desk. Then she checks her security footage (because she set up a hidden camera in her area to make sure Thor’s not stealing her sweets when she’s not looking lol) to see who could’ve left it and she becomes all giggly and happy when she realizes who it is because she’s been crushing on Loki since he moved in.

Up to you if it ends there or if you wanna keep it going and make it even fluffier 😄 Congrats on your 1K!! You absolutely deserve it and then some! 💖🤍

Fluff Drabble Marathon II A link to my Fluff Library is HERE Warnings: None (w/c 550) A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE [18+]

A Tasty Snack

"Thor..." you muttered, combing through the leftover snacks in your drawer. Lock tampered with...again, by someone's meaty hands. It was a traditional that you let yourself indulge in some extra treats when you were pulling late shifts helping Nat with remote mission ops. It was past 2am, prime time to hack into enemy systems...and you needed sugar, stat.

"What is it with that guy and sugar?" you muttered to yourself, searching between the savoury offerings fruitlessly. You sighed, resigning yourself to your fate. No sugar for you.

You climbed the stairs back to the SHEILD floor, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. You liked this time of night, no one around to bother you. No questions about that one terrible date you had with Bucky, or have Captain Rogers ask you the most basic questions about his phone.

You paused at the end of the row of cubicles, your eyes falling on an unfamiliar addition to your sparsely populated desk. Brazenly placed beside your laptop was a woven basket brimming with your favourite snacks. European chocolate: Maltesers, galaxy caramel...was that...red Swedish fish?

You fell on them, ripping the bag like a demon and stuffing several of the soft sweets into your mouth with a satisfied sigh, your head falling back in relief.

You frowned, suddenly realising they could be poisoned. If someone was going to off you, this would probably be the way to do it.

You checked your pulse. All good so far. Your mind whirred, chewing on the ball of strawberry jelly in your mouth. Nats data hack could wait ten minutes...you had some business to attend to.

You slid into your chair, opening the bag of Maltesers to your side and tapping into the internal network. Being a hacker had some advantages, namely complete access...albeit unauthorised, to the tower's security system. Tony wouldn't mind, you thought, popping another Malteser in your mouth, after all...your personal safety might be at risk. You began typing codes to the floors you needed, dates...times. Floor 53. 1.57am. You frowned.

A dark figure was blurred on the footage, their back to the camera. You skipped several frames, watching as long limbs moved forward and opened the door to the shield offices. A flash of the basket was visible from the side. Bingo.

You skipped forward. Their face would be visible when they came out. Was it Bucky? The dark hair from the back was kind of right. You grimaced, remembering the date from hell. Never again. Maybe the sweets were poisoned after all. The tape stopped, a juddering image of the still-closed doors taunting you.

You looked at the clock, 2.09am. Did you miss him come out?

You looked around the ominously empty rows with dawning realisation, the mysterious figure bearing sugary gifts had never left.

You rolled your chair back from the desk, reaching forward to grab a stapler. You were no Natasha Romanoff but you'd give them a decent fight if you had to.

"Hello?" you shouted, gripping the stapler as a low chuckle radiated from behind you.

"If this is what you do when someone brings you a gift, remind me not to get on your bad side."

"Jesus, Laufeyson...you scared me half to death" you gasped, breathing a sigh of relief. The god of mischief could be a little weird, but the clue was in the name. And he was super hot. You may not be an Avenger, but you had eyes.

"My apologies" he murmured with amusement in his voice, "I simply wished to ease the angst my brother caused with his pilfering ways."

You nodded at his explanation, before your forehead creased. "How did you know about his pilfering ways? Or my 2am snack run? Or that I'd...be here? Or what my favourite snacks are..." you said, not bothering to hide your suspicion.

Loki smiled, ambling closer with his hands in his pockets. "You're not the only one with eyes all over this tower, darling. And my eyes have been on you for quite some time."

Shit, was he...flirting? Ominously flirting?

You coughed lightly, setting the stapler down on the desk. "I have some work to do, if you don't mind waiting maybe we could...get to know each other better? Over some of these treats, perhaps?"

You watched him sit allllll the way down in a swivel chair from his towering height, his thighs spreading moreishly as those hands rubbed along their obscene length. He brought one foot up to rest on the other knee, the creases of his trousers tightening around his hips as you felt yourself becoming hot under his sultry stare.

"OK, cool...cool" you managed, swivelling round to begin your work. Ten minutes. He was going to be staring at you for ten minutes.

"You want a snack? Help yourself..." you murmured, keeping your eyes on the screen.

"Which one is the most delectable?" he purred seductively, making your eyes widen towards the screen as you internally screamed with the utter ridiculous hotness of this whole situation.

You knew EXACTLY which was the most delectable. God above, Loki Laufeyson was the tastiest snack of all. -- Fluff Tags

@lokischambermaid @yelkmelk @toozmanykids @theaudacitytowrite @lokikissesmyforehead @123forgottherest @nightshadelm @xorpsbane @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsisloops @mochie85 @muddyorbs @holymultiplefandomsbatman @ladylovesloki @wheredafandomat @thedistractedagglomeration @mcufan72 @lollywritesstuff @michelleleewise @demoiseller @chantsdemarins @holdmytesseract @sititran @theaudacitytowrite @evelyn-kingsley @simplyholl @homesickcassie @five-miles-over @awkward-and-indecisive

[minnieves]

wow, bj kamal has ended too. this is such a bittersweet moment isn't it? i hope that you liked this series. thank you for your love and support for him.

bj kamal part one, two, three, and four.

new to the bj series? see here for the guide.

warnings: filming, kai watching pornography, mentions of sex tapes, inner conflict, mild angst, and protected sex.

summary: you don't know whether to be happy that bj kamal is back, or be worried that you're starting to feel like kai is using you for your body.

"keep it down," kai whispered to your ear. hips rolling as he thrusts inside you. his movement slow, but consistent. "we don't want them hearing you, can't we?"

you nod your head as you lean your body weight towards him. hands placed in front of you. supporting yourself still. your eyes closed with your lips in between your teeth. feeling how kai is penetrating you from behind.

"i'm close," you whispered. barely audible, even to yourself. kai knew your body well now. feeling your breathing gets deeper. your chest heaving is seen from his height. he gave you a soft kiss on your temple. silently telling you to cum.

your orgasm came. not as intense as you needed it to be. helping yourself ride your own high. he pulled off from inside you. tying the condom as you wipe yourself down. exiting the cubicle as fast as possible.

you feel tired, this set up is draining you. it makes you feel as if kai is draining your feelings for him. that your idea of hyuka is not really who is when he's in a relationship. is this even a relationship? or did you read him wrong and he's not actually interested in you?

"y/n!" he called you from behind. you turn your head towards his direction, but not stopping. his attention seems suffocating. you craved it, but now that you have it, you no longer want it. "hey, do you want to check this new place out?"

he's only being nice to you because he's fucking you, you remind yourself. you look at the picture of the place he wanted to go to. he's so sweet to me, said a different side of you.

"i'll check my sched," you told him. your eyes glancing into his features. observing him as he blabber about this place. you can't understand anything, but it's breaking your heart.

"kai!" someone called him from behind both of you. making him turned first. your eyes still stuck to his face as you watch it brighten up. turning slowly to the new voice. who looks like the fucking sun, you thought.

you subconsciously supposed to grab kai's hand but he moved away from you. talking to her animatedly. the rejection made you feel like he's ashamed of you. she looked at you briefly with a smirk you knew you saw. you watch them as you see yourself get replaced, in front of your very self.

was she taunting you with her gaze? to make matters worst, kai used to like her. he talked about her day and night, until he just suddenly stop. you felt your gut hung low in your abdomen. easily making you feel sick as you read their actions more than you can understand their conversation.

you slowly walked backwards. not wanting to get the attention of either of them. speed walking to wherever your feet brings you as you try to hold your tears in.

you realised, that your curiosity is not out of just being curious. you wanted to know more of him because you love him. your brain bringing you back to the image of them. like a couple matched made in heaven.

"what have i done?" you asked yourself. sinking down your bathroom. your back sliding down the walls of it. your whimpers sounding intensified and much more pitiful inside here. "i love him," you said in disbelief.

you cover your mouth with both hands as you suppress your moans. not of pleasure, but if intense pain. the water from the shower hitting your skin. you felt dirty, or is this pity? making you lean your head back to the cold tile. eyes shut closed as you let the water feel like rain drops on your skin.

bj kamal is live...

you watch his live. laying on your stomach. your tablet propped beside you. your head resting on the side as you watch him. you've long finished crying, yet seeing him makes you want to cry again.

you decided to turn the live off. choosing to sleep instead. wrapping your blanket around you. as if it's warmth is the only thing making you feel comfortable.

"i'll watch something," he said. watching how the viewers were excited about whatever porn he'd be sharing. he shook his head with a smile. "oh, this is just for me."

he looked back at his comment section before playing the video. they can hear it, but they could only see him. his lips painted with a smirk as he watched how they were begging for even just a glimpse.

"our theme today would be that," he paused. head angling to the side. his index finger tapping his bare cheek qs if he was thinking. "you're a pervert, watching me masturbate."

his eyes screen the comments. listening to the conversation you had with him while making out. sighing as if he could still feel your touch on him. how your lips feel on his, how they burn his skin on their wake. the image he has of you making his cock twitch in his pants.

tongue darting out to wet his lips. palming himself through his pants. watching himself finger you. he clench and unclench his hand. as if he could feel you on his fingers still.

"pretty," he muttered. pulling his cock out from his sweatpants. spilling lube on his cock. watching you wrap your mouth around his cock. moaning as if he can really feel your mouth right now. "this is driving me insane."

he slowly pumps his cock. his grip varying from how deep you're taking him. hips humping his hand lightly as he watch you take his cock. he had his eyes closed in the video, but now he can see how you look at him. the sight of you making him moan.

"babe," he moaned. smiling at himself from how good he angled the camera. now watching his tip teasing your entrance. hand slowing down on his cock as he anticipates it too. groaning lowly in sync with the video.

he mimics his thrusts inside you. hand clenching around his cock like how he remembers you do. eyes closing as he throws his head back. your voice sings the loveliest tune for kamal. he can write so much songs for you.

"fuck, that's it whore," he said. sounding almost sarcastic as he watch you take him. smirking at how beautiful you look under him. how pleased his personal slut is acting under him. "you should see how pathetic you look right now."

"y/n," he mouthed. not moaning it. his lips just automatically mouthing your name sometimes. he pumps his cock faster now. spreading his legs wider as he fucks his hand. "fuck, my slut looks so good."

your voice echoed in his ear. his eyes opening lightly. curious to what his filthy viewers were telling him. how greedy they are for him. his hand moving slightly faster with every comment that pleases him.

he moved his chair to one side his thumb plat with his slit. hissing at the sensitivity. eyes closing to imagine your mouth wrapped around his cock. the image of your parted lips while you kneel in front of him tipping him over the edge.

his body tilting forward. from the side it looks like he's cuming on someone's mouth. his lips parted ah he controls his breathing. he's obsessed with the idea of your face covered with streaks of his cum. the image of your body painted with cum made him let out a low moan. sounding pained midst of pleasure.

"you're still here?" he asked. head tilted to look front. his eyes looking at the camera while his head is not moving upwards. it makes him look cynical. "what a fucking pervert."

his voice made your spine shiver. the look from his live and the smile that hyuka is giving you cannot be from the same person. he smiles at you ecstatically as he explains each flower that he got for you. what they meant, but you couldn't care.

your heart is far to broken right now to be mended with flowers. you already went into a spiral of what's new, and where could he take this relationship with. you decided that you can't continue being a quick fuck.

you walk towards him. hyuka looking at you while his heart is pounding in his chest. did you understood what he meant? you crouched down his level. giving him the most passionate kiss your soul can ever bore. wanting to end it on a light note.

"y/n," he smiled when you parted. glossy eyes looking at you. similar to when someone looks at someone they love, but your head tells you that you read him wrong. "i just..." he was cut off.

"let's end this," you told him. standing quickly and walking away even quicker. not bothering to look back. you wished that would call your name. then you'd turn back because you feel wanted. he didn't, nor did you turn. walking past strangers as you keep it in. walking into your next class as your eyes brimmed with tears.

hyuka sat there. if it was possible for someone could see how much their heart was broken. he was sure that he'd be surrounded by it. not by shards of his heart, but it's powder. he couldn't bring himself to cry.

he didn't even realised that he was knocking in taehyun's room until he saw his face. the other equally shocked to see him. then, he felt his tears flow. the other man hugging him, while pulling him in.

"it went wrong?" taehyun asked the crying kai. only to be answered with louder cries. he closed his eyes as he thinks of ways to calm his friend down.

"y/n," hyuka started. looking down as he feels his tears flow. "y/n, doesn't want me."

[rahrahrahweregoingtosmashtheoiks]

i keep forgetting to write on here but in 30 minutes time I have 4.5 solid hours of meetings so I am relishing the opportunity to sit in a toilet cubicle on my phone, en route downstairs for some green tea. firstly MY VISA GOT APPROVED LAST WEEK! I’m still waiting for it to feel real and exhilarating. I’m super excited but also I now have 2.5 weeks to sort my whole life out and package it into 4 large suitcases and one small one. Plus one I need to give to my dad to pick up later. I’m giving away possessions to my friends, and manically finalising DIY projects I’ve ignored for 2 years before the letting agents come next week to take photos of my flat. I’m getting new floors tomorrow, and then I need to PAINT. I’m locking myself away and doing 2 solid days of painting over the weekend. my dad is here this week helping with smaller jobs which has been super helpful, but we’d been preparing to fit a carpet runner up my stairs today which was due yesterday and is now opaquely ‘delayed’ until maybe the 22nd. They couldn’t give any further info. So if it doesn’t arrive by 4pm today I am angrily cancelling and demanding a refund and trying to assuage my deep deep stress with the consolation that I get the carpet money back and also the £40 I spend on fucking carpet tape. just little things!! I’m so tired and stressed!

[preservationofnormalcy]

Sock issues here!

Good news! They were happy to Parlay when I brought them some of the good stuff. I was able to explain the need for the one fancy pair for my interview, and have arranged a treaty of a range of 3 pairs a month - cotton specific, sounds like the reason my fun socks have been left alone is because they have too much synthetic in them for his (its? theirs? They didn't actually give me any pronouns to work with) taste. Yes he is eating them, but he also likes baby/child socks occasionally because they "taste like joy".

Arrangements have been reached. He has a new comfy spot with a nice linen towel to sleep on, though I'm not sure if he actually sleeps, and I can't really "see" him. But it's working out really well

Nailed the interview too!

These are the success stories I print out and tape to my cubicle. Well done.

I don’t think gnomes in general do the ‘pronoun’ thing, but that’s just my sense. Glad to hear you two have come to an agreement. You’ll find they’re really great at laundry and even light clothing repairs. I had a pair of jeans a gnome sewed up and they lasted forever. Kind of miss them.

[thelustdevil]

Love Hotel | K. Takagi

Pairings: No pairing.

Warnings: smut, just straight up smut. Mummification, chastity cages, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, sub? Rock Lock.

Word Count: ~1.6k

Notes: I had a lot of fun with this request!! I hope I did it justice. It was such a fun challenge to write. Esp with Ken!

The vivid red and gold invitation burned a hole in the back of Ken’s mind. His wife had handed it to him an hour ago. She had left him with vague instructions.

You have a couple hours before it starts. Take some time for yourself, my love. I’ll watch our son tonight. She kissed him softly and headed out the door, a cooing bundle in her hands.

Now here he was, standing in the shower, washing the sleep off his body. He should've realized something was amiss when his boss called him about a scheduling error last night. Something about mixed days and he would have the full day off. When his love heard the news she was incredibly eager. Trapping him in front of the bed before pouncing. His cock jumped at the memory of her slick heat. But then came breakfast in bed followed by the odd invitation.

Once he hopped out of the shower he sat at the table and opened the small envelope. The moment he read it, a smile grew on his face. The excitement coursing through his body was beyond electrifying. Ken shot a quick text to his wife before leaving. Laughing softly, he grabbed his coat and headed out. He had a few hours to kill so he figured out some nice food before his new adventure took place.

***

Belly full and mind excited, Ken approached the elegant but simplistic building. He recognized the outside, The Pure Leisure Hotel, a somewhat high class love hotel in the upper district. Ken had mentioned it in passing a couple times when his wife has questioned his interests in the bedroom.

It was known for its discretion and popularity among heroes who needed specific interests catered. Sessions could be pricey but the quality was more than worth it.

Ken entered the main lounge and walked towards the front desk. The attendant stood inside of a frosted glass cubicle, a small slit sat at waist level, large enough to pass cards or paper through. It was silent from the other side as Ken slipped his invitation through the slot. He heard the sound of keyboard tapping and rustling. A folded paper and pen were handed through, his name across the exposed header. The terms. He figured. Reading over them he nodded as he went, acknowledging the scheduled events as well as safety measures and the knocking system in place if he needed out. Signing, and folding it once more, he slid it back through the slot. Wordlessly, a tagged key was passed back to him.

He gave a small nod of thanks before remembering he couldn’t be seen. Grabbing the key, he muttered thanks and headed towards the elevators. The tag read 502. He presumed that was the room assigned to him.

The nerves began as he stepped out of the lift on the fifth floor. He was excited, yes, but the sub space within him was itching to come out. The words “chastity” and “fully-bound” were rocketing around his mind, demanding attention. The invitation has described what he should expect from his visit. It seems his wife had gone all out for him.

Entering the suite, he was greeted by an androgynous figure standing by what looked like an actual milking table. There were rolls of duct tape sitting on the top, along with a small gold metal cage.

The figure motioned towards the table, “please undress and we can begin”. They stepped towards the door, their distorted voice letting him know they would be back in a few moments.

Taking a breath, the hero began undressing. There was a small table with a bottle of water and small tub labeled “belongings”. He placed his clothing and such into the box before grabbing the water and taking a swig. Walking towards the table he grabbed the small chastity cage and began to examine it. His dick was aching at the sight in front of him. This was one of his deepest fantasies and here it was in front of him. The excitement racing through his body as he imagined the feeling of the tape and cage on his skin.

As he looked at everything, there was a knock at the door. It swung open once he called out, the androgynous figure returning.

“Please stand comfortably, we can begin if you’re ready”. The figure grabbed a roll of tape and began to unroll it, crouching at his feet. They pulled a small compact from their apron pocket, dabbing powder on the meat of his legs. They began wrapping up his legs, powdering spots as they went. As they reached the apex of his thighs they paused, turning to grab the golden chastity belt. A shiver ran down his spine as they opened it and clasped it shut around his dick. He groaned as the cool metal touched his heated girth.

The pro swore the masked figure was smiling as they locked him in, giving the head of the cage a small tap. He jumped slightly at the sensation, which they paid no mind to as they continued to wrap him. Upwards, they moved, attaching his arms to his sides and moving across his chest and behind. They guided him to the table, his ass snug in the small dip, his asshole bared to the underneath of the table. The figure continued their wrapping and powdering.

Before they reached his head, they pulled a nylon stocking over it. Allowing them to wrap his head completely, until they cut out a small hole around his mouth and another around his nose. The air coming to his mouth was quickly blocked as a cloth was shoved into it and then secured with what he assumed was more tape.

“Fu-gh, mm-ease,” the gag choked him deliciously. His senses were incredibly limited at this point, not that he’d be able to use them anyway. Most of the blood for his brain was crowding around his dick. Unable to fully erect himself, the sensation settled itself in his groin, warming upwards to his stomach.

“Squirming already? I haven’t even begun”. The muffled voice bounced off the tape and left him with murmurs and a sense of longing. What would they do?

His questions were answered as he felt something running up and down his body. Applying pressure when it brushed over his aching dick or hardened nipples. The pleasure rushed over his body. His back was aching, wanting to arch towards the pleasure but the tape around him kept him in place. The pull of the tape against his skin just added to his restlessness.

This continued for what felt like hours, objects and hands running up and down his body, paying extra attention to the erogenous zones. The figure pleasuring him calling out teases and whispering against his gagged mouth. Laughing when all he could reply with was muffled gags and noises.

Soon he felt something prodding at the underside of the table. “-aht,” he began.

“Are you ready for this?” The voice came from somewhere next to him. As they finished speaking he felt vibrations against his open entrance. It was slick and pushed against him, moving its way inward.

“Fmph-ugh” he groaned, feeling the object push past his ring of muscle. It started shallow fucking him as he laid there, body shaking every time it moved. It continued its slow assault on the pro, his body pulling against the tape and restraints. His cock jumped as slightly as it could in its cage.

The slow assault continued, pushing him through his first orgasm of the evening. His cum painted the cage and the tape around it. He strained to find more release, squirming and writhing against the table, moans spilling out against the gag in his mouth.

“G-uhd, s’gu-um” He tried arching backwards, pushing into the forcing moving inside him.

“Let’s set a pattern shall we?” The figure announced. The toy torturing him began to speed up and burrow deeper on every thrust. His overstimulation shoving him towards another orgasm. The pleasure was overtaking every nerve, choking him on its sweet venom as it filled his veins. His second orgasm hit him out of nowhere. The overstimulation forced ropes of hot cum out of his cock.

“Guh-mmph” his body bowed involuntarily, pulling and writhing.

A laugh rang out in the room, fading as the owner of it walked away. The pleasure grew with an icy edge as he heard a door close. He knew what part of the evening this was. Just him and this relentless machine for however long. Pleasure is all he would know, that and pain.

The thought of the erotic cocktail coming his way was enough to hurtle him towards another orgasm. Tears pushing at the corners of his eyes from the mix of pleasure and pain. Every nerve was on fire and he loved it. He continued to try and grind against the machine, pulling it deeper. Riding out his third orgasm.

“Mmuh-uh, uugh” he was insatiable now. He needed more.

He found out soon enough of the danger of pushing too far. Soon the overstimulation hit him. The rubbing of the golden cage on his cock. Pushing against his aching length, not allowing him to stretch and jump like he wanted to. If he could just wrap his hand around it, give himself some sort of release.

It was futile, the tape made sure of that. He was rewarded for his actions, however. The machine increased once again. It’s pace taking on an animalistic quality. He cried out against his gags, again and again as his prostate was bullied relentlessly.

“Mm-ah! MMMmmph” his cock ached as he came once more. Brutally pushing against it’s golden confines. Weeping as he did, both from the mix of pleasure and pain. It felt like staring into the sun, dangerously challenging. But rather than challenge what was in front of him, he accepted it.

He wanted-no, needed it. This was for him, everything he needed was bullying itself deep into his body. He prayed it wouldn’t stop, not if he laid here and took it like he should. Like a good boy.

By god did they reward him. Whether he wanted it or not. The tape around his thighs was loosening with how much cum was leaking from his groin. The machine continued to tap his sensitive spot and he felt the rush of release once more. The cum beginning to drop down his balls and land in between his bound thighs. His eyes rolled back as he began to lose himself once more.

Best anniversary present ever.

Bonus: hours had passed. Ken laid there, shaking and moaning as wave after wave of overstimulation hit him. After his third dry orgasm he was begging for something. What he wanted he was unsure. All he could think of was the pleasuring feeling enveloping his body and squeezing. His cum leaking down his legs, ass and back at this point. Lubing the machine as it fucked him farther beyond his limit.

Still, all too soon, the figure came back. Slowly objects were removed and tape was pulled off carefully. A blanket and several bottles of water waited for him. Along with some lotion and a small meal. He cleaned himself up as best he could with wipes and a bottle of water, opting to fully shower at home. The masked figure left while he settled down before returning to check in.

Once he was deemed settled and refreshed, he headed back home. The sky was significantly darker and his thighs and abdomen were sore and shaking, but there was a smile on his face. He’d have to thank the missus when he got home.

[caffeinated-rants]

Why I feel that I am Autistic

I'm definitely bringing up my need to know and desire to be officially and professionally diagnosed for autism when I see my pcp in January, but until then.... I want to explain and justify WHY I have come to the self-diagnosis until I get a professional one.

****

Okay... first, first off, I was always told that I was "mature for my age" or that I always was "an old soul" and "did my own thing" when I was growing up. More often than not, I was in my own little world, marching to the beat of my own drum. As a baby, apparently if I didn't like who I was being held by (my grandpa in particular) I would just hold my breath. I would hold it until my face was blue. No inherent reason for this other than "marching to my own beat".

In addition to this, I can remember that when I went to pediatric appointments in my toddler years, my mom always said that I was following the chart nicely. I was hitting the growth progressions point for point and on time. The only difference for me opposed to other toddlers? I was on my OWN line. I wasn't ON the growth chart line. I was following it in time, point for point, dot for dot, but I was on my own line that accurately was following the standardized growth chart that my pediatricians had. As for why this was never actually looked into I'm not sure, let alone would have remembered given I was a toddler, but I do remember my mom always saying that I was on my own little line following the growth chart.

I also vaguely remember being in 1st thru 4th grade and being taken out of class at least once every year with a few other students to be brought into this portable trailer type thing where we all had to sit in our own little cubicles with headphones on and essentially do a hearing test with all those little beeps and boops of various volumes. I never understand at the time what it was for, I just saw it as a reason to get out of class so I never questioned it. I also had to undergo "surgery" to get ear tubes three times as a toddler, as I got chronic ear infections and was at risk for hearing loss in one ear from them. This could entirely be the sole reason for the hearing tests growing up, but there were other kids who seemed to hear just fine that were pulled out of class to do these hearing tests with me, so it does just make me wonder, yknow?

Now, growing up, my mother and grandparents didn't necessarily play with me as a toddler from what I can remember, and at one point I didn't understand that my mother wasn't playing hide and seek when we were at their house and I hid for over an hour in the closet until I heard my grandpa bring up the possibility of calling the cops because they couldn't find me. That scared me into coming out of my hiding spot, as I thought I was then in trouble for playing. More often than not, I was alone by myself playing with my Barbies and Bratz while I had either a Disney or Barbie VHS tape playing in the background. If I wasn't playing with my dolls, then I was playing with Neopets that I got from a McDonalds happy meal or those little Schleich animal figurines, and if I was playing with the animal figurines then usually Bambi or The Lion King would be on the TV and I'd be reenacting the movie scene for scene with the little animals, and this got to the point where I would specifically beg to get the correct animals so that I could "play" the movie accurately.

Back peddling to preschool, I also have some vague memories of interacting with kids. Sure we got along and played pretend and would drag one of the preschool aides to be our patient if we were playing doctor, but... aside from that, I often would play by myself. I would always like to find the Light Bright if it wasn't being used by another toddler and I would sit in the corner of the room and just have a blast playing with that thing on my own. I just thought that this was the best thing in the world next to playing with animals toys and plushies. I never really wanted much more than that, as I didn't have too much of an interest interacting with the other kids. Outside on the tiny little playground, though, it was different. I felt awkward and I didn't understand the games the other kids played outside or why the boys were climbing on everything and why everyone was so interested in the sandbox when it had all those bees by it. I would just get on a tricycle and ride around in circles around the playground until it was time to come back inside from recess.

I vividly remember that at one point, I guess I was acting out during circle time and I was told to go up on top of the indoor play structure because up top there were big toddler-sized plushies and it was treated as a "time-out" area and in this memory, I don't recall feeling upset over being in trouble?? I didn't mind going up top to be by myself?? I actually enjoyed it and I looked at the pictures inside books like The Hungry Caterpillar (this one I actually did know how to read) and even fell asleep for a bit I think... But the general point of this memory being mentioned is the fact that I didn't mind being told to go sit and be in time-out because it meant that I didn't have to sit in circle time with the other kids.

Another thing that I struggled with, and still haven't learned as a 25-year old, is how to ride a bike. Sure, a tricycle I can do. That's not hard. Those were easy growing up. But a bike? A two-wheeled bicycle?? That thing terrified me. My grandma and my mom tried to get me a bike when I was younger and going into 1st grade and wanted to teach me how to ride it and move me away from the tricycle, but no matter how they attempted to get me to learn it just didn't work. I tried to sit on it and I honestly think I was still too small for it, so it hurt to try and get my leg over the dang thing. That was the first thing that put me off: if it hurts me then this isn't fun and I don't want to do it. I tried several times and looking back, I definitely had anxiety over the whole situation that went unnoticed. I tried to learn but once I was sitting on it, I just had a panic attack. I was so sure I was going to fall over, and if I fall over then I'm going to get hurt, and if I get hurt then I most likely would bleed, and if I ended up bleeding then it meant I had to get a band-aid for it, and then it boiled down to two determining factors: 1) wearing a band-aid meant later on when the wound heals that I'd have to take the band-aid off and that hurts due to the tiny leg hairs I had, and 2) it meant I had to take a bath with a band-aid and that would make the band-aid fall off and if it wasn't healed then I'd have to get a new band-aid that would leave even more sticky residue that would hurt twice as much when pulled off.

Growing up, and to this day, I was and am a perfectionist and no one has ever seemed to notice. I push myself to do the best that I can and if I can't then I get frustrated and feel like I didn't do good, and if I didn't do good then I felt like my mom and grandparents were going to get mad at me. I taught myself how to write in cursive before I even left kindergarten but couldn't grasp for the longest time how to tie my own shoes, and this frustrated my family. Sure they were proud that I could write cursive so young, but why couldn't I tie my shoes? Literally. It took me until HIGH SCHOOL to figure out how to tie my own shoes, but as a toddler I could write in cursive.

I also have irrational fears. Spiders being the most stereotypical, I definitely would say its arachnophobia levels of fear. I can handle a daddy long leg, but any other spider is a no-go. I will tense up, I can't unsee where it was, I can't get over that it's there until I KNOW for a fact that it was dead. This was made even WORSE when I was having a bad time with my mom and we finished a movie and she went outside to smoke and I turned the lights on and an entire black widow egg sack had hatched and there were THOUSANDS of little clear baby widows all over the ceiling ABOVE MY BED. She didn't believe me and threw a fit when I told her to spray the hell out of the ceiling, and I ultimately ended up sleeping in the bathtub that night.

My second irrational fear is bees. Bees of any kind scare me. They act up my anxiety even when I understand that they won't mess with me if I don't mess with them. I will massively flinch if one flies by me, and that's just a docile honeybee reaction. If its a yellow jacket, a meat bee, or a wasp? I'm running. I'm leaving the room and hiding until someone kills it, and if I'm home alone when I see it then I'm staying in the bathroom with the door shut tight until someone gets home to kill the wasp. I cannot handle wasps. I flinched, dodge, and will make fearful whimpers if it flies to close to me when I notice it.

The third irrational fear is water, although its also partly from trauma. I already struggled with water. My mom for the longest time had me signed up for summer swimming lessons, but just like with trying to learn how to ride a bike, learning to swim didn't take either. Yes, I am a 25-year-old who does NOT know how to swim and am actually AFRAID to swim. It was already a struggle, even with my mom bribing me to try hard by saying she'd buy me a new Nintendo DS game if I did well that week (she knew I'd want a new Nintendogs game). This wasn't helped any when I was in my neighbor's above-ground swimming pool one day. It was his birthday and he was the only person who my mother let me visit the house of growing up, and he was 4-years older than me. So me, being a 5- to 6-year-old and him being a 9- to 10-year-old at that time was not the best match in my opinion now that I'm an adult. I was in the 10ft pool with my little arm floaties and the round ring floatie around my waist just vibing until he decided to coax me out of the ring floatie. I was sitting on one of the ladder steps without it on, it had floated to the other end of the pool, but I still had my arm floaties. Well, his adolescent brain thought it was going to be a funny joke to take one of my floaties to make me swim to get it. Well, he also knew I couldn't swim when he did this, and the end result was me panicking as I slowly started sinking due to now weighing more than the one arm floatie could handle and his dad had to jump in and get me out of the pool. This was the last time I swam at their house to this day.

Other factors in my growing up experience that didn't help me socialize were the fact I did have two older sisters, but they were adults by the time I was born. They are 19-years OLDER than I am. My mother was 19 when she had them (twins), and they were 19 when she had me (mom was then in late 30s when having me). So even though I did have sisters, I essentially grew up as an only child and so I don't have that actual sister connection with either of them. They were already out of high school and were working at Ross and had their own apartments. It didn't help either that on top of this, my mother was super paranoid and both she and my grandparents never let me go have play dates with other kids my age, and this was solely based on not knowing every minute detail about the parents of that child who wanted me to hang out. This led to nobody inviting me to birthday parties anymore or asking for sleepovers, which severely impacted my socialization skills. I wasn't able to have my first sleep over until I was in 6th or 7th grade when you should be growing OUT of that sort of thing by that age, and even then it only happened because my grandparents were friends with her dad thanks to being in the motorcycle business and my friend also being in the same martial arts class as me. So even when I FINALLY got to have a sleepover, I didn't understand what a "normal" experience was. I had never been to someone's house before (not counting my neighbor) and so I sort of was just... there? I enjoyed it, don't get me wrong, but I just... I didn't get it. But as I was getting towards 7th and 8th grade, I think that I yearned for it more both due to the lack of having it when I was little and because it also meant that I could get some freedom away from home, I wasn't stuck at home 24/7 if I was at my friend's house.

Something also that I have dealt with growing up, that I have only now recently found out is a symptom of female autism, is that I've had gut issues. I have suffered from GERD (gastrointestinal reflux disease) since... well, birth. Acid reflux has always been an issue with me, and especially as a baby. When growing up I didn't notice it as much during school, but its definitely noticeable as an adult now and I'm having to buy OTC esomeprazole medication in order manage it, and even then I'm taking MORE than the recommended dose on the bottle. Even then, the reflux would and does persist and at times I've gotten up every hour to drink milk to coat my esophagus so the acid has to burn through the milk fat first before getting to my throat tissue, and if that doesn't work then I resort to drinking a mix of baking soda and tap water. One cup with a small spoonful of baking soda. GERD isn't the only gut issue that I have, either. Doctors have tried everything that can to see why I suffer from chronic constipation but to this day have yet to come up with a reason why. In 2017, my senior year, at age 18, I had my first colonoscopy because of the constipation issues and that came back clean. I can go up to 2 weeks without a bowel movement and when I finally do, its like giving birth from the wrong hole. This is going to be a massive TMI, but it hurts. It makes the anus hurt, it makes me get hemorrhoids and bleed, the stool is rock hard and wont absorb any water, and when it comes out it more often than not is as big around as a tennis ball, hence the hemorrhoids. Think of a small child having this happen day in and day out with no doctor being able to identify WHY it happens. I would scream in pain and get told if I didn't stop screaming that someone would call the police thinking I was being r*ped and beat, so I'd be so stressed out when a bout of constipation happened. I'd be scared to scream out in pain but I'd be afraid of hold in that pain because I'd be told it was okay to cry and this and that. With that in mind, yes there was some trauma inflicted there on my family's part in threatening the police... but aside from that, with how bad this gut issue is despite all test results from birth to 18-years of age coming back clean and healthy, the only thing that makes sense is having gut issues related to autism. I have been listening to Olivia Hops on YouTube and for the first time tonight have I finally heard someone explain EXACTLY what I go through and having been told it was caused due to her autism causing gut issues.

Now, as a 25-year-old, I'm at a working age. I have a job as a dispatcher currently, but my previous job was as a barista. I became so irritated with people and while that's normal when you're in the customer service business and get treated like crap by both management and the public alike, it was so much more than that for me. I look back on it and honestly feel that I have been suffering from autistic burnout for the last 4 years because of how low my energy levels got during those 4 years. It got to the point where I was having breakdowns and got sent home from work on more than one occasion. I'd be too tired to do my job and slowly lost motivation for what I loved, which was making coffee. Now, as a dispatcher, I'm no longer directly in contact with the public. I'm in a small office scape with multiple monitors and cameras and the only people I really speak with is those in the security department and maybe someone from another department who goes through us to get a security officer to their location for something. The only time I am dealing with the public is over the phone if they're calling the casino for lost and found or asking about the current gaming promotions or if, God forbid, I have to call 911 and get EMS for an emergency.

Because I've had since July 2023 to finally breathe and relax, this is all has been coming to my mind. I've slowly began to notice little things that I do now as an adult that align with autism. I confided in two of my friends whether or not they ever has suspicions that I was autistic, as they are professionally diagnosed as such among other things. They both said yes, that there were instances where they considered the possibility but never said anything. This started my research into autism and how to presents in girls. With this, combined with the researched, I believe it all correlates to supporting the fact that I may be an undiagnosed autistic individual.

Today, I took online assessments and printed out the results to take to my doctor in order to hopefully get her on board with an official assessment and diagnosis. One test showed high results that supported the possibility of autism, while the other showed high possibility of being borderline or high-functioning autistic.

Because of this, until I get an official and professional diagnosis, I will remain firm in my self-diagnosis of being an undiagnosed autistic.

[bonzai-bunny]

i found this recently. this is very obviously unfinished but i don't know if i'm gonna finish it so just have what i got. maybe if i get enough people telling me to finish it, i will. enjoy some Bruce sex tape (rated Explicit)

Clark didn’t like to pry into his friends’ lives, especially their civilian ones. Even being a public figure, Bruce Wayne deserved to have some sort of privacy, which is why Clark barely paid attention to whatever scandal Brucie happened to cook up. It was well known among their circle, of the ones who knew of Batman’s identity, that Bruce would use Brucie on occasion to detract public attention from the Batman.

It wasn’t especially hard to do: a well-timed spilled drink down a socialite’s dress, falling off the side of a yacht, or being seen with a woman who was otherwise engaged. The biggest distractions were sex-related, with the occasional sex tape “leaked” and Clark absolutely did not pry, nor did he feel the need to. It was common knowledge that Brucie Wayne was a slut who was sometimes sloppy about where or who he fucked. Clark knew that if he ever gave those tapes a glance, it would be mostly audio with the obscured figure of Bruce and his partner, vague enough to give Bruce plausible deniability.

Clark also knew that, despite what the press thought, Bruce Wayne was anything but sloppy. This was why when Clark glanced at his morning paper, he was only annoyed that his own story had been bumped to page two when he saw the headline, “Bruce Wayne Spotted Having Sex in Public on Tape.” The photo they used of Bruce was one that was often used when he was involved with something lewd: an image taken of him from a gala where he stepped out of a room with his date, bearing the obvious signs of someone who had just had sex. 

Clark had huffed and put the paper away. All that work on uncovering a drug-smuggling ring and his friend had inadvertently pushed it aside. Well, that was the news cycle for you. Clark didn’t think about the scandal until he was at work. 

Clark had sat down at his desk, nursing a hot cup of coffee when he realized that nothing had caused Batman to go awol in the last few weeks, at least to his knowledge. In fact, Batman was due for monitor duty later that evening and he had yet to cancel. Clark frowned, considering calling his friend to see what was up, when Cat Grant popped up over his cubicle.

“Kent! Have you seen that Bruce Wayne sex tape? It’s all I’ve been thinking about all morning.” Cat fanned herself as if the memory made her hot and Clark frowned even more.

“I don’t watch other people’s sex tapes, Cat,” Clark said and ignored the sour look on her face.

“Lighten up, Kent,” She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, if anyone needs to see it, it’s you. Might loosen you up a little.”

She giggled at the blush that appeared on Clark’s face and continued, undaunted, “You know, I always thought Wayne was a little gay, that he was always over compensating, not that it makes him any less hot. Seriously, if he ever loses his fortune, he could make good money selling tapes like this, oh my god!”

Cat continued to fan herself, but was distracted by another co-worker entering her sphere of vision. Which was fine, Clark was stuck on the implication that the tape involved Bruce with another man, which was unusual as far as distractions went. Brucie had never given any implication of being into men, not that there was a problem with it. It just wasn’t Brucie’s MO. 

Clark’s curiosity was piqued and he figured just taking a glance at it wouldn’t hurt. Bruce didn’t have to know and, even if he did, Clark knew he wouldn’t be the only league member to watch it. Clark swallowed nervously and glanced around the office before plugging in his headphones and finding the video in question. 

The first difference was that it was a security camera and not a camera phone. The security camera was in black in white and pointed at a blank stairwell corner. Clark felt something like his heart stopping when Bruce and his mystery lover stepped into frame. They were already kissing, but Bruce’s face was clearly visible. Clark swallowed again, more than a little embarrassed. He told himself to turn it off and get back to work. But with his super-vision he could see Bruce and the other guy’s tongues brush and knowing your friend had sex and seeing it about to happen were two totally different things. 

The other guy was blonde and big, nearly the same size as Bruce, and he slowly backed Bruce into the corner. They only pulled away for half a second at a time and Clark, with a touch of shame and more than a touch of arousal, noticed that they were grinding their hips together. From the angle Clark couldn’t see either of their dicks but he wondered--no, Clark put that train of thought to a stop. 

Bruce shrugged off his suit jacket and began to unbuckle his belt and Clark knew that he had gone too far. He shut off the video with his heartbeat heavy in his ears and his entire face blazing red. Clark was mostly glad that he was seated and shifted slightly to take the pressure off of his erection. This was 100% inappropriate and Clark took a calming breath before thinking about farm chores and everything unsexy he could imagine.

This was--that tape was a lot, but even if he got over his guilt, which he wouldn’t, this was not the place to look at that type of thing. Once Clark got his head straight, he vowed to forget about it and never bring it up again unless upon threat of death.

--o0o--

Clark was a damn liar. He had gotten through the rest of the day without issue, but now that he was in the comfort of his own home and he had done his usual patrolling, the idea of the tape was still burned in his mind. Was it wrong for him to wish for a catastrophe so he would have an excuse to not watch the whole video? What was it his Ma had said, “Idle hands are the devil’s playthings”?

Clark ran a hand through his hair and let out a low breath. What he was doing was wrong. It didn’t matter how curious he was, it was wrong. No matter how many times Clark repeated this to himself in his head, he still had his laptop on the couch in front of him. He found the video again and played, feeling just a little bit paranoid that he was being watched, that Bruce would jump out of the shadows and shame him for what he was doing.

Clark bit his lip when he got to the part that he had stopped at: Bruce was unbuckling his belt in between kisses from his lover and in a very short--and shocking--amount of time, Bruce’s pants and underwear were on the floor. Bruce’s dress shirt didn’t hide the sight of his cock jutting out and Clark bit his lip harder as he felt his own cock throb. Clark had seen Bruce naked before, he had known in some small part of his mind that Bruce never compensated for anything, but it was startling in a sexual context. A jolt of heat went through Clark and he could understand why Cat was so flustered this morning.

Then the man spun Bruce around, got down on his knees and--holy shit--he was eating Bruce out for the whole world to see. Clark got hard so quickly he had to reach down and hold himself just for a measure of restraint. Bruce’s eyes were closed but his mouth hung open and he looked like he was enjoying what was happening to him. This was dirtier than Clark had imagined but it didn’t stop the aroused throb he felt watching that stranger bury his face into Bruce’s ass.

If there was a line, then Clark had vaulted over it.

Mostly, Clark wished there was sound. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly Bruce sounded like in the throes of passion. Was he loud, moaning and screaming when pleasure overtook him? Or was he quiet, all grunts and bitten off gasps?

[thessalian]

Thess vs Self-Made Fun

A recent Tumblr post flagged up an interesting point: the last writers’ strike was way different because the pandemic happened. People learned a) all manner of ways to entertain themselves and b) turning that entertainment into entertainment (or education, or both) of others. We sang sea shanties. We watched pre-serum Steve Rogers cook his way through old cookbooks he got from flea markets. We got even more into The Fucking Chocolate Guy than we already were. New shows weren’t coming out because people couldn’t be in proximity of each other enough to film them, so we made our own damn entertainment, and provided the same to others.

But then I consider ... some of us had a distinct advantage. Because we already knew what it was to have nothing else to do, and got really good at making our own entertainment.

Consider: I was born in the late 70s. (Chronologically this puts me at very young Gen X or oldest Millennial, but a lot of that generational divide has more to do with when you got your start in ‘adult life’, or more to the point what advantages had been taken from your generation by the time you got your start in ‘adult life’, and I kind of started late since I lost a few years to mental illness, so lifestyle-wise I’m just Old Millennial. Still, that doesn’t really matter in this case.)

POINT IS I GREW UP IN THE 80s. My parents were divorced. My mother was working every hour the gods sent to climb the corporate ladder, alternating late nights at the office with night school to get her degree. She loved me - she still does - but she had to sacrifice being able to have time with me for being able to provide me with the opportunities she felt I deserved. So when I was younger, it was my school’s after-school programme until that closed, and often she’d just pick me up, pick up dinner, and head back to the office. I’d do my homework while eating KFC at a conference table, and then I had jack all to do. No smartphones. No laptops. No tablets. The one saving grace is that those old transcription machines worked on standard-sized audio cassettes at that time, so I could play my books on tape quietly in one of the cubicles, but I didn’t have many and I needed something else to do. So I raided the stationery cupboard and wrote a small newspaper called The Nightly Office, and sold subscriptions to the other poor souls working that late. (Apparently I was ahead of my time in savvy, too; I charged a dime for a one-off copy, three for a quarter, and ten for a dollar, which didn’t save any money but did save me doing anything but shoving their copy under their office door for at least two weeks.) Apparently there are a lot of retired insurance brokers who still have copies of that damn thing in their mementos boxes at home. My mother is among them.

Really wasn’t any different when I was old enough to get home from school and stay home on my own, either. TV was ... I mean, it was there, but depending on time of year, you could be in for a real dry spell as far as that was concerned. And yes, I read, but ... let’s face it, probably undiagnosed ADHD; I needed things to do. And again - there were consoles but they were underwhelming and frankly we couldn’t afford one. We couldn’t afford a VCR for a long time, either. It wasn’t a priority, I guess is closer to the truth. And even when we had a VCR and I finally got my original Nintendo Entertainment System and my Game Boy (both of which my mother annexed, by the way), games development hadn’t moved on much from arcade cabinets - it was all about “you have this many lives, there are this many levels, and everything will get harder and harder until you beat it”, which all worked to drain quarters out of stubborn kids’ pockets (and, given the popularity of Souls-likes and roguelikes, still has appeal). That sustained interest for awhile, but not long enough.

Point is I got into hobby stuff early. I learned to cook. I learned to read tarot cards. I learned face-painting and stage makeup. I learned sleight of hand. I learned jewellery-making. I tried fashion design for awhile. And when the pandemic hit and we locked down? I was fine. Video games were a lot better and I had a whole Steam library full of shinies, and that was one thing, but I also had my aromatherapy and perfume-making and soap-making and candle-making and cooking and resin casting and on and on. And I built on that. I have my garden. I make candy. I’ve expanded my horizons in terms of cookery. (I still want more Lego, but that’s beside the point.)

Long story short: you execs refusing to not only pay writers what they’re worth but insisting on clinging to an outdated payment model when it comes to residuals are short-sighted as fuck. There’s at least one whole generation of people like me - probably closer to three, thinking about it - and more will happen with the next one, with new parents having to work multiple jobs to make ends meet. Kids are going to be encouraged to make their own fun, and there’s an internet full of tutorials to show them how. We want the writers paid, because they give us wonderful entertainment. We are well aware that you are the ones who are making it so we don’t get the shows and movies we love, because you’ve been doing it for years. You scrap things so you don’t have to pay residuals. You cancel shows before their time, leaving them to either end on cliffhangers or cram their ending into one season (which NEVER WORKS). And it’s not just because streaming services and residuals either. Firefly was cancelled after one season, and that after it was aired out of order and had its time slot changed at least once, apparently to drive viewership numbers down. Angel had the same shit happen to it that Game of Thrones did; forced to cram an entire series-ending arc that was meant to encompass multiple seasons into less than one, and the entire show suffered as a result. These are not the only examples, but they’re the first two that come to mind, and I need to sum up because this is getting long.

So here it is: We have been fucked over by the execs for decades. The writers have done us nothing but good, for the most part. SHOW. THEM. THE. MONEY. We can wait. We’ve had ample practice at finding other shit to do, and even if we’re not all dedicated hobbyists, we’ve all got piles of books we’ve been meaning to read, games we’ve been meaning to play, and shows we’ve been meaning to watch that are actually finished properly. Now that this economic nightmare has made our fun-money rather scarce, and there’s a breathing space before The Next Big Thing hits, we can get around to doing that. This could last for years, and we’d just be grateful to finally be able to whittle down that book pile we’ve been neglecting for six years.

YOU HAVE BEEN MAKING US STOCKPILE THE NEW AND SHINY FOR DECADES. WE SPENT YEARS MAKING OUR OWN FUN IN OUR OWN HOMES. WE ARE FORTIFIED AGAINST THE BOREDOM YOU INSIST WE MUST BE FEELING. FUCK OFF AND PAY THE WRITERS. WE CAN WAIT.

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Whatever it is People Go Away For Ch 7

Rating: M Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows Summary:

Did you ever see the 2006 romcom smash hit The Holiday, with Jack Black and Kate Winslet? This is that, but with vampires. Except they're human. Laszlo is a musician who can't remember how to make things for himself. Guillermo has a cheating ex-boyfriend he can't let go of. They both need a break from their lives, and swapping houses with a stranger sounds like just the ticket.

AO3 link

“Now,” Nadja said, hiking up her skirts to get her underwear on, “we must do something about your clothes.” 

Laszlo looked down at himself, in his usual dark jeans and collared shirt. 

“You only popped a few buttons.” 

Nadja frowned.  

“Laszlo, I can tell you are very smart so stop thinking like an idiot. Look at you, and look at me. I look like a sexy mistress of the night born in ancient Greece several hundred years ago. You look like you are late to give a presentation on how many paperclips it takes to build a cubicle. Which of us belongs in this night club?” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, oh. Finish putting your dick away and follow me. We will find you an appropriate outfit.” 

Nadja took him to a clothing shop. It was small, looking squeezed between the two much larger buildings on either side. And yet, somehow, you couldn’t fail to notice it. The sign over the door said The Barony in curly red letters, underlined by a twirling measuring tape tailing a golden pair of scissors. 

There was a musical jangling of a bell overhead when Nadja pushed open the door, and Laszlo stepped back in time by at least two hundred years. The walls were lined with bolts of fabric and lace and brocade dangling across the shelves, soaking up the sound. Mannequins were dressed in decadent, gorgeous outfits that he’d only ever seen in history books and museums. 

A curtain twitched and a man emerged. Tall, thin, with long-white blonde hair, dressed in a sumptuous red coat with the most intricate embroidery Laszlo had ever seen. When he saw Nadja, his face lit up, his mouth twisting into an almost avuncular smile. He stretched out his arms, impossibly long fingers unfurling like the fanning of a peacock’s tail.  

“Nadja,” he crooned, and Laszlo immediately scratched the ‘avuncular’ descriptor. There was nothing even tangentially familial about that hug. 

“Afanas, this is Laszlo. He will be performing at my club tonight, and he needs to be properly attired.” 

“Yes, I can see that,” Afanas said, dryly. He circled Laszlo, humming critically. Then, with no words but a twitch of his elegant fingers, he glided back behind the curtain. Here there was a changing room in one corner, next to an angled mirror, and everywhere neat stacks and hanging racks of clothing. Afanas plucked a few items from their homes and dropped them unceremoniously in Laszlo’s arms. 

“Go forth,” he said, mildly, gesturing in a wide sweep for Laszlo to enter the changing room. With only a brief uncertain look at Nadja, Laszlo went forth. 

The door was not very thick, and anyway didn’t entirely reach the floor or ceiling, so Laszlo could very easily hear when Afanas whispered. “He does not seem your usual type.” 

“I promise, he is not as boring as he looks. Very good at following instructions.” 

“Really? Intriguing. How is he on his knees?” 

Laszlo immediately focused on getting dressed, doing his best to tune out the conversation discussing him as if he was breeding stock at the county fair, lest it cause interference with the fit of the trousers. 

The cravat was giving him a bit of trouble, so he turned to check in the mirror. And saw–and he was–the clothes were–

He felt…harpsichord, with violin accompaniment, woodwind section alto only. Four-four time–no, three-quarters, a waltz, but a quick one, the kind where you couldn’t think, only move. No crescendo, but a soaring finish that ended sharply rather than fading to quiet. 

A song you could listen to every day, every damn day, over and over and never be sick of it. 

But he didn’t like the cut of the jacket. It was too trim at the waist, he wanted something straighter. And he didn’t want the coat buttons to be so bright; he wanted the coat to be the accessory, not the statement piece, he wanted to wear it with different waistcoats that had patterns and colors and when had he ever thought the phrase “statement piece” in his fucking life? 

When had he ever thought about what he was wearing beyond “it fits and it won’t embarrass me in public”? When had he ever cared enough to have an opinion? 

When had he ever cared at all? 

“Laszlo, are you alive in there?” Nadja called, cutting through the maelstrom. Laszlo tied the cravat with shaking fingers, breathing hard, blinking away the heat in his eyes. 

“Just a moment.” He stepped out from the changing room. “Little trouble with the cravat,” he said. 

“Aha!” Afanas said, eyes lighting up. “ Now I see it.” 

Nadja nodded approvingly. 

“Much better. What do you think?” 

“I look like me,” Laszlo said, and was as horrified to hear the words as he was the wobble in his voice. He tried to flee back into the changing room–what he thought he was going to go when he got in there, he wasn’t sure, but away and out of sight was all that mattered. 

Nadja caught his wrist in a grip like a vice, but her voice was casual when she spoke. 

“Afanas, perhaps another outfit to try?” 

“Of course,” he said, as if nothing had happened or was happening.

Laszlo muttered something about the buttons, but wasn’t sure if anyone heard him. Only when Afanas had glided from the room did he feel a fingertip under his chin, tilting his head up. He kept his eyes averted, not wanting to see her expression. 

“Tell me, ó fílate ,” she said. “And do not say ‘nothing’,” she added sternly. 

His throat was too tight, he could barely breathe let alone say anything. 

“Laszlo,” she said. “I will not find it funny. I will not think less of you. Speak.” 

“Have you ever recognized yourself in the mirror?” Laszlo asked. “Looked at yourself and actually seen you, not…not someone else? Yes, that’s me, that’s what I look like. That’s who I am.” 

“Yes,” Nadja said. 

“I haven’t,” Laszlo said, barely more than a whisper, and forced himself to raise his eyes. There was no pity, no laughter, no derision, not even exasperation. 

“Agapité,” was all she said, when she wrapped her arms around him.  

Three hours later, Laszlo stepped out of the store in a canary yellow waistcoat, a long dark overcoat, fitted trousers, button shoes, and holding a top hat in his hand. 

“I think I just spent more money on clothing than I have the entirety of my life put together.” 

“How would you know? You signed the receipt with your eyes closed.” Nadja adjusted his cravat and smoothed her hands over the waistcoat. “Worth it, I think.” 

“Very much so. What time do we need to be at the club?” 

“I need to be there at 6, you go on at 8.” 

Laszlo checked his watch–maybe he should buy a pocket watch–and nodded. Then he twirled the top hat and set it on his head.

“Well then, my darling, we had best be off.” He offered Nadja his arm. She took it, giggling, and led the way back towards the club. 

For the first time in years, Laszlo couldn’t wait for the performance to begin. 

[wrestlingoneshot]

A LOVER OF A SERIAL KILLER (PT.1)

Pairing: Ryan Erzahler/Dylan Lenivy

Trigger Warning: Violence, Murder, Blood, Torture

"Erzahler! To my office!"

Ryan lifted up his head from his cubicle after working on the computer. He stood up as his boss called him into her office. Ryan made his way confidently as he sat in front of his boss.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"We have another murder story." She said as she placed a folder in front of him. Ryan sighed and opened the folder.

"Tell me it's another case tied to the Phantom Killer."

"I'm afraid so. And since you been on this story since it started, it's all yours. I trust you to get the scoop."

Ryan sighed. He didn't like to deal with stories of murders, but if this help to catch this cold blooded killer, he'll do it. "Where is the location?"

"2314 Ashbright Road."

"Wow, uptown? That close to the rich folks?"

"I dunno. That's where you come in, Erzahler."

Ryan stood up and nods. Without any other word, he took the folder, went to get his press pass and leaves to the scene.

It was a long two hour drive to closer uptown. A quiet rural neighborhood that usually no trouble this heavy. There were attempted burglary or porch pirates but nothing like murder. Ryan drove up to there the scene of the crime is. The police, ambulance and the tape surrounded the home. Ryan, parked and got out and made his way towards the house. Two cops at the front of the house stops Ryan before he crossed the tape.

"Sorry sir. The crime scene is off limits." One cop said.

Ryan held up his badge. "Ryan Erzahler, Daily Journal. I have been summoned here."

"I'm sorry sir, but orders were not to allow--"

"Ease up fellas. He's allowed."

The two cops and Ryan turned to the Chief of Police. Ryan smiled at the familiar face. "Chief Ka. Always a pleasure."

Chief Kaitlyn Ka nods at Ryan, then turned to her officers. "I summoned him. Good job boys, but he's allowed. Mr. Erzahler would you please.."

The two cops lifted the tape and Ryan went under to follow the chief. After they were away from earshot of the other two cops, Ryan followed Kaitlyn through the house.

"Thanks, Kait."

"No need to thank me. That's why I called you here. You're the only journalist that I can trust." Kaitlyn said.

"Glad to be of service."

Kaitlyn and Ryan both went down the basement as the forensic team and investigators was surrounded the body. A body that was leaning on a chair, eyes rolled up to the back of his head.

"Ok Emma, whatcha got?"

Emma was checking a folder before she handed it off to Kaitlyn. "Laura just sent us this." Emma looked over to Ryan. "Hey, Ry. Good to see ya."

Ryan nods. "Hey, Em."

"Guys, I know it's great to see each other at the worst time, but lets keep it professional." Kaitlyn said. She watched them agreed. "So, what do we know about our John Doe?" Kaitlyn reads the chart.

"Well, so far we know his name is Tanner Cromwell. He's 32. Married. No kids. Owner of Cromwell Pharmaceuticals. You know your typical daddy's boy who inherited the parents fortune and business. That's all we know so far." Emma explained.

Kaitlyn nods. Ryan watched as Max goes and takes pictures of the scene. "Max?"

Max got startled as he almost dropped his camera as his name is heard. "Whaaa!" He turned to Kaitlyn, Ryan and Emma stared at him. "Ah oh! Ryan! Hello. How have you been?"

"Cut the formality. What did you find?" Kaitlyn said.

"Oh! S--sorry ma'am!" Max stood up and went over to Kaitlyn and showed her the photos he took with his camera. "There is like small puncture wounds on each arm."

"Soooo..this could be a death by injection?" Kaitlyn asked.

"Most likely. Could it be overdose?" Ryan asked.

"Not sure if it's overdose or poisoning. We won't know until we get an autopsy report from Abi." Emma said.

Max jumps again as his phone rings. He walked away to answer. "Max here.....uh-huh....is that right?....Oh Laura you're just amazing babe.....I'll tell her....alright....love you too....bye." Max hung up and face the group. "Yeah so, got more info about Tanner here."

"So? Spill." Kaitlyn said.

"So, our little friend here does have an active warrant on him for domestic violence. Apparently, he been beating his wife. He also been arrested for disturbing the peace and battery for assaulting his wife in public. Get this, he was scheduled for a divorce court hearing next week."

"Huh. So what it sounds like is the wife could had got her revenge." Emma said.

"Could she really had done this?" Ryan asked.

"It's possible. She is married to a pharmaceutical owner. She could easily went to the warehouse and got the drugs and stiffed this bastard." Emma said.

"Listen, I don't want any rumors to go out before we finished a complete investigation." Kaitlyn said with authority in her voice. "I want to schedule a questioning to the wife. Call a transport so we can get the body to Abi to see if there is some clues left on the body." Emma and Max nods to Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn looks at Ryan who was staring at the body. "Ryan?"

"Do you honestly believe that the wife could do this?" Ryan asked. "I know she sounds suspicious, but how could she even get to do this? Judging by the size of him, she would had struggled."

"I know this seem farfetched, but anything is possible. I'm not going to overlook the wife. She does have a motive. I'm not saying she is guilty, but I don't want to leave things unturned."

Ryan nods. "I get that, but Kait...." Ryan turns to her. "This got the Phantom killer all over it."

Kaitlyn's face shown her concern. "Ryan, are you sure?"

"I--I dunno, but it's the pattern. I mean this guy has a criminal record for being an abuser...and now he's dead. Months ago, Charles Briggs, got a record for child neglect and found dead in his bathtub. Then William Tate..."

"...Who got a record from raping two teenaged boys." Kaitlyn finished for him. "Holy shit Ryan. You maybe right."

"Everybody so far been males who got a record for some kind of abuse." Ryan said.

"Wait! But that news anchor, Bradley Young. He didn't have a record. The only thing he did was that false story report he did. Yet, he apologized that his journalists team screwed up."

"That's confusing me too. He didn't fit the pattern, but still found dead." Ryan sighed. "I got to get started on this report."

"Hey.." Kaitlyn touched Ryan's shoulder. "I know this is stressing you out."

"Understatement of the year."

"But we will stop whoever this person is." Kaitlyn said.

"I know. Just don't haggle the wife too hard. I really believe she is innocent in this." Ryan said.

"Ry, I get where you are coming from. But, I have to do my job. I make no promises, but I will keep it in consideration." Kaitlyn said sternly.

"That's better than nothing." Ryan said as he watched the transport team enters. "I'm heading out."

"Thanks Ryan." Kaitlyn said. "And remember, no rumors."

Ryan nods as he leaves the house.

It was a nice day and Ryan decided not to go back to his office to work. It was a nice day out so a nice lunch in the park sounds nice. Good thing he brought his lap top. He found a nice picnic table near the water by a tree. Nice breeze from the shade, it was perfect for Ryan. After booting up his lap top, Ryan started working on his article. Ryan took off his glasses and rubs his eyes out of stress. Doing these murder stories is starting to get to him. Ryan decided to take a small break to enjoy the scenery. He didn't noticed a new body appeared in front of him.

The man was tall, maybe 6 foot even, decided to sit at the bench that isn't to far from Ryan. Ryan studied him a bit by watching his hair blow in the wind, his face stoned in a deep thought and it seems like the other male sensed Ryan as he turned and locked eyes at him. They spent a few moments just staring at each other. Ryan never felt this feeling before just by looking at someone. But this guy, he was different. The guy must had felt the same way since he started smiling towards Ryan. Ryan snapped out of his trance and watched the man smile at him. That smile, so innocent and warm. Ryan, wide eyes, went back into his lap top. Ryan blushed as he pretended not to notice the man. After a few moments, Ryan thought the man left so he took another peek over. At to his concern, the guy was still staring at him. Ryan felt his cheek burn in embarrassment. The guy was attractive and he's looking at him. The guy gave Ryan a small wave at him. Ryan gave the man a nervous smirk and a nod before going back to his work. He had hoped that the man left and forget the whole interaction. But Ryan failed to realized that the guy stood up and made his way towards Ryan.

"......Excuse me?"

Ryan took a silent inhale. That voice. That voice so very angelic. Ryan tries not to get lost in that voice.

"I hope you're not ignoring me after you stared at me for a while. That would be kinda rude."

Ryan's head snaps towards the voice. He slightly gasps to himself. It was that man who he stared at. From afar, the man was attractive, but up close, he was downright beautiful.

"So, I think it's fair that I could at least get your name after you undressed me with your eyes."

Ryan scoffed at the statement. "Is that what it is?"

"I mean, why else you stared at me?"

Ryan isn't going to let this stranger know that he did found him to be easy on the eyes. "You were in my way of my scenery. Nobody told you to sit in front of my view."

The male laughed. "Ouch! That wounded me."

Ryan couldn't help but to chuckle a bit. His laugh was cute.

"...May I sit down?"

"It's a free country."

"Mmmmmm...but is it really?"

Ryan shook his head. "Just sit down"

"Don't mind if I do!" The man sat in front of Ryan. Ryan went back into his work as the both men fell into a nice comfortable silence. "So, are you going to tell me your name?"

Ryan looked at the man. "Well, how about you tell me yours first?"

"How is that fair? You started this first by looking at me."

"And you looked back." Ryan retorted.

The man couldn't help but to smile. Ryan challenging him like that was a thrill. "I can tell I will like you. But since you are too stubborn, fine. My name is Dylan. Dylan Lenivy." Dylan smiled. "Now...yours?"

Ryan huffed in a chuckle. "Alright. Ryan Erzahler."

Dylan laughed. "Ryan? You serious?"

Ryan frowned in confusion and a bit anger. "What do you mean? Yes, my name is Ryan." Ryan heard the man laughed again. "I fail to see what is so funny."

Dylan's laugh died down. "I'm sorry but holy shit. Dude, don't you see? Dylan, Ryan...both of our names end with a AN. It's like we're meant to be."

Ryan looked at Dylan dumbfounded. "....Are you deadass serious right now? We're meant to be because our names ends with AN?"

"Don't you think it's a calling?"

"Are you an idiot?" Ryan asked.

"Wow! You keep wounding me like this, you might have to buy me dinner." Dylan smirked.

"You think so?"

"Well, duh! I do think so."

Ryan shook his head. Dylan just kept smiling at Ryan. Dylan found Ryan to be very attractive. He also like how Ryan easily could challenge him back. Dylan watched Ryan working on something. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Work."

"Oh. What are you working on?" Dylan said as he tried to take a peek at Ryan's lap top.

Ryan quickly closed his computer. "Um, this is personal business thank you!"

Dylan held his hands up in defense. "Sorry, my dude. I didn't mean to pry. I was just...interested."

"Yeah. Sure"

Dylan bit his lip as he didn't like Ryan was annoyed with him. "I apologize. How about I make it up to you by you asking me out for dinner?"

Ryan had to listen to that in his head again. "Wait...you want to make it up to me by you wanting me to ask you if you want to go out to dinner with me?"

"I accept! It's about time." Dylan laughed. "But I would also like your phone number. So you can call me when the best time to meet up."

Ryan looked so lost and confused. Before he could process Dylan's response, Dylan took Ryan's phone and easily programmed his number in his phone. Dylan calls his own phone to Ryan's to have Ryan's number in his phone. "There!"

Ryan blinked out of his confusion and looked down at his phone in the new contact. He looked back at Dylan who is now standing up.

"I'm glad to meet you, Ryan. I'll let you get back to work. I got some other arrangement to be. I'm looking forward to that date. Just to let you know, I'm not cheap." Dylan smiled at Ryan and started to walk away. "Laterz, handsome."

Ryan blinked as Dylan walked away. Ryan just processed everything that just happened. Did he just scored at date? Ryan couldn't help himself to ask..

"What the fuck just happened?"

[harrison-abbott]

Robbie was yelling at the printer because it was stuttering again. Polly had the flu and was all glued up on paracetamol; and Eric was mucked up on eight cups of instant coffee and couldn’t concentrate on his Excell digits. There was rain and wind outside and the smatter and howl of both rattled the building, the sky darkling between purple and grey. It was 4 pm and it was tricky to consider whether the last ever hour was the best or worst. Whether it was redemptive or agonising. I needed a pee. So I upped from my desk and went along the corridor and sat on the cubicle and when I finished I washed my hands in the sink and there was a big bright mirror in front of me and below the cuffs of my shirt one could see the ends of the scars on my wrists. I’d seen a few of the colleagues look at them before. Notice the scars; Polly did definitely, a few years back when I’d first started, and she’d frowned and touched my arm and, she’d just been about to ask “What happened there?” and then she looked up at me and I couldn’t look back and then she dropped it and said “Oh I didn’t mean to pry,” and never mentioned it again. Yes. Dark history, but so long ago. I was too old for that type of destructive force these days. When I got back to my desk, Polly and the others were laughing about Robbie’s rant against the printer from earlier. Like the time and time before that. I laughed as well. Mostly because it was a relief to see them all smiling. And it made the 5 o clock bell come faster and following that I was out in the dark winter air within minutes. The workplace was near the docks and thus the roads were rough and dirty and traffic intense and the rainwater zipped and snarled and the wind kept yanking my hood down. I liked it. Made me feel free. As I walked I didn’t feel like a boy or young man; all I experienced was the worth of present time. That the most important thing to avoid in the moment was getting mashed by one of these nearby zooming trucks. I made it, out of the bypass zone and through the park and up to the main street. Which was filled with about 500 people all going home, within a square mile radius. As I waited for the bus I thought about mean things kids had said to me in high school; and how they connected with the family bullying I’d experienced growing up; and the failure as a musician when I was a student; and the old girlfriend who I hadn’t seen in nearly six years. Hmm. They weren’t as bad in this cold wild weather. Thinking about those things used to be worse. I wasn’t too ashamed about finding things like violence in movies disturbing. Or taunting and pisstaking hurtful; being irate about this did not make me a loser. There were so many examples I could point out to the family, comparison-wise. But somehow I didn’t feel the point in being abused by them anymore. And, those tots in high school? They were probably still living in those sallow provincial towns, doing nothing. That’s what high school is for – it’s designed to hurt you. My bus came. It was warm and packed to the brim with faces and wet coats. The windows were steamy and I made a little clear patch on the window by me and watched the streets change to the older parts of the city where there were ethnic shops and all of these stories whirling about. There were some kids running with grins on their faces at one point. At another bit these policeman had stopped a woman by her motorbike, and she was holding her helmet in her hands. There was a disused church which somebody had tried to burn down earlier in the year … not out of hate but merely for plain arson. And the police had put tape around the building and cordoned it off; and none knew what to do with it because it was a holy building rather than any normal one. All kids of tales. My imagination wound through them.

[verbosebabbler]

Ok, finished adventure sim west. I understand things maybe a bit more, but only so.

The different stories there had some interactions between the "blorbo" cast and the Eyedol group, which was the main source of disconnect in my mind. There were cameos from Devona and Neville, but the main ones we interacted with was Witherby, and Camille as The End. Peewee and Witherby went on a park maybe date and we were in the perspective of Camille as the CFO/Flower Chick tried to teach her how to no clip.

The most potentially enlightening was seeing things from Camille's perspective as it kind of helps give light on how the information teams view the characters we know, typically as just anomalies. Now, this could be biased by The End's perspective which is something to keep in mind.

I also get the setting maybe a little more, but not really. At some point, Peewee no clipped into the backrooms, which was just the basement maybe of Eyedol HQ, and in the basement was the Minoburgers found in the mall that the information team investigates. But right now Eyedol HQ is an office building with cubicles and shit, not a mall.

But I still don't feel to sure on the placement of things in the loops. The world loops from April 1 1972 to some time in 2022, I guessed April 1 just because. The Courtroom stuff takes place around 1996, which is the later half of the Wanda/Intern story section, and Witherby is a juror here. I don't know if he is lying, but he claims to be pretty normal. And Neville seems to be Rebel's friend. Like it's hard to judge if they are in the information team at this point or if they are assembled later in the loop.

Or, if this is a timeline event that crosses loops. Like, for a non canon hypothetical, if the information team becomes a team at the end of loop 3, when loop 4 comes around, are they still a team or would they need to repeat the process of being gathered and formed. If it is continuous across loops, what time do they meet up again, because in theory some of them seem young, and would likely be at best children in the start of the loop in 1972. Like, do they assemble like a Rugrats scenario and hunt anomalies, lol.

And then the monster/murder game forms still confuse me. In the courtroom scene The End dies (still don't know how and don't understand even how it could be Peewee that did it), and then the next we see is The End meeting with the CFO at the start of the next loop. So, the monster form stays throughout loops? But in the Clown Diary Sim, we saw Devona and Neville able to convert back to normal. But we also also saw Devona seem stuck in that form around Ria. I'm. I'm tired. I will spiral and overthink time shenanigans to death. Never let me be a time player.

Anyway. Next step is either ao3 or the gopher hole if I'm feeling ambitious.

Characters to look out for: there's some in the codex of ruin i still haven't seen, like The Neighbor (fucking horror creepypasta monster), and ones I've maybe barely seen like Tyrfing. Oh yeah, Ronin was inexplicably here which now makes me question the possible inclusion of things like Dionysus and the Pirates and Jeffery's Tapes into the timeline somewhere and I will go insane if I try right now, so I'm mentally relegating them as two allegorical but separate stories until I get more info.

[exquisiteagony]

❤️👻✍️🎁

❤️: What is your favorite line that you've written in a fic?:

already answered so i’ll go for my second fav which is: “First fungus zombies and now ice zombies. Whatever happened to no zombies?” it’s such an absurdist take on the situation and i love it

👻: What is your wildest headcanon?

idk? i guess it’s me writing skydweller gabe as an asshole?? i’m not sure lol

✍️: What's your ideal writing setup?

sat in a sunny (but not too sunny) window writing on my phone. it Has to be warm too

🎁: Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

from ‘dead city radio’

under the cut, from chapter 5

Joel pinned one on the pinboard in the changing rooms and taped another three on the inside doors of toilet cubicles in the science block.

It was where he cornered Samy, hands clammy and trembling.

Because it was a gamble. Samy damn near hated Järvy and Kaunisvesi, but that didn’t mean he’d be on board instantly. He could turn Joel down, and then what? They’d have to rely on bathroom posters and whispers, and would it be enough to get their show off the ground?

Samy picked up on his nerves instantly. “Hey man,” he began, eyeing Joel with narrow eyed suspicion. “You look like you’re about to throw up. Biology isn’t that bad, even first thing on a Monday.”

Joel indeed felt like he was about to puke. The blueberry muffin in his stomach felt like stone, and he felt more like he was the one cornered. “I need to show you something, and I’m worried,” he said.

Samy’s suspicion deepened, though amusement twitched his lips. “I don’t want to see your dick at all, dude. Just go to the walk-in clinic if you’ve got a problem.”

[saewin]

Weird maybe triggery dream for violence/transphobia

Had a dream last night I was trying to hide from people in a school/mall bathroom and got deeper and deeper into a maze of areas surrounded by cubicles, and in each layer the women got more and more hostile at me, the central open space with sinks got smaller and smaller, until I was cornered in the final square with four cubicles on all sides all with red STOP, NO ENTRY paper signs taped to the doors and the women were leaning over doors tearing at me and screaming because they knew I didn't belong

Today whilst trying to organise something that my husband would find difficult timewise to attend I told my friend "we could have a girly catch up instead". She's a friend from uni who I keep in touch. I am not open with her about myself, and she has a lot of issues and needs friends so I meet every now and again. She's the kind of person who acts like men and women are fundamentally different at their core aligned on genetics, rather than a complex mix of social roles, body, presentation and the relation of self and others to those elements. Meaning, girlie catch up is a good way to interact with her to smooth that, even if a lie on my behalf from my point of view.

Thing is, the women screaming in my dream were terrifying but it was because they could see my core when I didn't want them to, and it's something I (irrationally) fear butch women sniffing out (not being mean but 'seeing' the difference). but I think this friend wouldn't even have the acceptance to chase me out of the bathroom, yk?

In all circumstances the solution is doing things for yourself and not to please others. Still, it's easier said than done.