#Low-performance devices

[ms-demeanor]

So You Need To Buy A Computer But You Don't Know What Specs Are Good These Days

Hi.

This is literally my job.

Lots of people are buying computers for school right now or are replacing computers as their five-year-old college laptop craps out so here's the standard specs you should be looking for in a (windows) computer purchase in August 2023.

PROCESSOR

Intel i5 (no older than 10th Gen)

Ryzen 7

You can get away with a Ryzen 5 but an intel i3 should be an absolute last resort. You want at least an intel i5 or a Ryzen 7 processor. The current generation of intel processors is 13, but anything 10 or newer is perfectly fine. DO NOT get a higher performance line with an older generation; a 13th gen i5 is better than an 8th gen i7. (Unfortunately I don't know enough about ryzens to tell you which generation is the earliest you should get, but staying within 3 generations is a good rule of thumb)

RAM

8GB absolute minimum

If you don't have at least 8GB RAM on a modern computer it's going to be very, very slow. Ideally you want a computer with at least 16GB, and it's a good idea to get a computer that will let you add or swap RAM down the line (nearly all desktops will let you do this, for laptops you need to check the specs for Memory and see how many slots there are and how many slots are available; laptops with soldered RAM cannot have the memory upgraded - this is common in very slim laptops)

STORAGE

256GB SSD

Computers mostly come with SSDs these days; SSDs are faster than HDDs but typically have lower storage for the same price. That being said: SSDs are coming down in price and if you're installing your own drive you can easily upgrade the size for a low cost. Unfortunately that doesn't do anything for you for the initial purchase.

A lot of cheaper laptops will have a 128GB SSD and, because a lot of stuff is stored in the cloud these days, that can be functional. I still recommend getting a bit more storage than that because it's nice if you can store your music and documents and photos on your device instead of on the cloud. You want to be able to access your files even if you don't have internet access.

But don't get a computer with a big HDD instead of getting a computer with a small SSD. The difference in speed is noticeable.

SCREEN (laptop specific)

Personally I find that touchscreens have a negative impact on battery life and are easier to fuck up than standard screens. They are also harder to replace if they get broken. I do not recommend getting a touch screen unless you absolutely have to.

A lot of college students especially tend to look for the biggest laptop screen possible; don't do that. It's a pain in the ass to carry a 17" laptop around campus and with the way that everything is so thin these days it's easier to damage a 17" screen than a 14" screen.

On the other end of that: laptops with 13" screens tend to be very slim devices that are glued shut and impossible to work on or upgrade.

Your best bet (for both functionality and price) is either a 14" or a 15.6" screen. If you absolutely positively need to have a 10-key keyboard on your laptop, get the 15.6". If you need something portable more than you need 10-key, get a 14"

FORM FACTOR (desktop specific)

If you purchase an all-in-one desktop computer I will begin manifesting in your house physically. All-in-ones take away every advantage desktops have in terms of upgradeability and maintenance; they are expensive and difficult to repair and usually not worth the cost of disassembling to upgrade.

There are about four standard sizes of desktop PC: All-in-One (the size of a monitor with no other footprint), Tower (Big! probably at least two feet long in two directions), Small Form Factor Tower (Very moderate - about the size of a large shoebox), and Mini/Micro/Tiny (Small! about the size of a small hardcover book).

If you are concerned about space you are much better off getting a MicroPC and a bracket to put it on your monitor than you are getting an all-in-one. This will be about a million percent easier to work on than an all-in-one and this way if your monitor dies your computer is still functional.

Small form factor towers and towers are the easiest to work on and upgrade; if you need a burly graphics card you need to get a full size tower, but for everything else a small form factor tower will be fine. Most of our business sales are SFF towers and MicroPCs, the only time we get something larger is if we have to put a $700 graphics card in it. SFF towers will accept small graphics cards and can handle upgrades to the power supply; MicroPCs can only have the RAM and SSD upgraded and don't have room for any other components or their own internal power supply.

WARRANTY

Most desktops come with either a 1 or 3 year warranty; either of these is fine and if you want to upgrade a 1 year to a 3 year that is also fine. I've generally found that if something is going to do a warranty failure on desktop it's going to do it the first year, so you don't get a hell of a lot of added mileage out of an extended warranty but it doesn't hurt and sometimes pays off to do a 3-year.

Laptops are a different story. Laptops mostly come with a 1-year warranty and what I recommend everyone does for every laptop that will allow it is to upgrade that to the longest warranty you can get with added drop/damage protection. The most common question our customers have about laptops is if we can replace a screen and the answer is usually "yes, but it's going to be expensive." If you're purchasing a low-end laptop, the parts and labor for replacing a screen can easily cost more than half the price of a new laptop. HOWEVER, the way that most screens get broken is by getting dropped. So if you have a warranty with drop protection, you just send that sucker back to the factory and they fix it for you.

So, if it is at all possible, check if the manufacturer of a laptop you're looking at has a warranty option with drop protection. Then, within 30 days (though ideally on the first day you get it) of owning your laptop, go to the manufacturer site, register your serial number, and upgrade the warranty. If you can't afford a 3-year upgrade at once set a reminder for yourself to annually renew. But get that drop protection, especially if you are a college student or if you've got kids.

And never, ever put pens or pencils on your laptop keyboard. I've seen people ruin thousand dollar, brand-new laptops that they can't afford to fix because they closed the screen on a ten cent pencil. Keep liquids away from them too.

LIFESPAN

There's a reasonable chance that any computer you buy today will still be able to turn on and run a program or two in ten years. That does not mean that it is "functional."

At my office we estimate that the functional lifespan of desktops is 5-7 years and the functional lifespan of laptops is 3-5 years. Laptops get more wear and tear than desktops and desktops are easier to upgrade to keep them running. At 5 years for desktops and 3 years for laptops you should look at upgrading the RAM in the device and possibly consider replacing the SSD with a new (possibly larger) model, because SSDs and HDDs don't last forever.

COST

This means that you should think of your computers as an annual investment rather than as a one-time purchase. It is more worthwhile to pay $700 for a laptop that will work well for five years than it is to pay $300 for a laptop that will be outdated and slow in one year (which is what will happen if you get an 8th gen i3 with 8GB RAM). If you are going to get a $300 laptop try to get specs as close as possible to the minimums I've laid out here.

If you have to compromise on these specs, the one that is least fixable is the processor. If you get a laptop with an i3 processor you aren't going to be able to upgrade it even if you can add more RAM or a bigger SSD. If you have to get lower specs in order to afford the device put your money into the processor and make sure that the computer has available slots for upgrade and that neither the RAM nor the SSD is soldered to the motherboard. (one easy way to check this is to search "[computer model] RAM upgrade" on youtube and see if anyone has made a video showing what the inside of the laptop looks like and how much effort it takes to replace parts)

Computers are expensive right now. This is frustrating, because historically consumer computer prices have been on a downward trend but since 2020 that trend has been all over the place. Desktop computers are quite expensive at the moment (August 2023) and decent laptops are extremely variably priced.

If you are looking for a decent, upgradeable laptop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

14" Lenovo - $670 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 512GB SSD

15.6" HP - $540 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

14" Dell - $710 - 12th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

If you are looking for a decent, affordable desktop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

SFF HP - $620 - 10th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, 1TB SSD

SFF Lenovo - $560 - Ryzen 7 5000 series, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

Dell Tower - $800 - 10th-gen i7, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

If I were going to buy any of these I'd probably get the HP laptop or the Dell Tower. The HP Laptop is actually a really good price for what it is.

Anyway happy computering.

[reasonsforhope]

"When Ellen Kaphamtengo felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, she thought she might be in labour. It was the ninth month of her first pregnancy and she wasn’t taking any chances. With the help of her mother, the 18-year-old climbed on to a motorcycle taxi and rushed to a hospital in Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe, a 20-minute ride away.

At the Area 25 health centre, they told her it was a false alarm and took her to the maternity ward. But things escalated quickly when a routine ultrasound revealed that her baby was much smaller than expected for her pregnancy stage, which can cause asphyxia – a condition that limits blood flow and oxygen to the baby.

In Malawi, about 19 out of 1,000 babies die during delivery or in the first month of life. Birth asphyxia is a leading cause of neonatal mortality in the country, and can mean newborns suffering brain damage, with long-term effects including developmental delays and cerebral palsy.

Doctors reclassified Kaphamtengo, who had been anticipating a normal delivery, as a high-risk patient. Using AI-enabled foetal monitoring software, further testing found that the baby’s heart rate was dropping. A stress test showed that the baby would not survive labour.

The hospital’s head of maternal care, Chikondi Chiweza, knew she had less than 30 minutes to deliver Kaphamtengo’s baby by caesarean section. Having delivered thousands of babies at some of the busiest public hospitals in the city, she was familiar with how quickly a baby’s odds of survival can change during labour.

Chiweza, who delivered Kaphamtengo’s baby in good health, says the foetal monitoring programme has been a gamechanger for deliveries at the hospital.

“[In Kaphamtengo’s case], we would have only discovered what we did either later on, or with the baby as a stillbirth,” she says.

The software, donated by the childbirth safety technology company PeriGen through a partnership with Malawi’s health ministry and Texas children’s hospital, tracks the baby’s vital signs during labour, giving clinicians early warning of any abnormalities. Since they began using it three years ago, the number of stillbirths and neonatal deaths at the centre has fallen by 82%. It is the only hospital in the country using the technology.

“The time around delivery is the most dangerous for mother and baby,” says Jeffrey Wilkinson, an obstetrician with Texas children’s hospital, who is leading the programme. “You can prevent most deaths by making sure the baby is safe during the delivery process.”

The AI monitoring system needs less time, equipment and fewer skilled staff than traditional foetal monitoring methods, which is critical in hospitals in low-income countries such as Malawi, which face severe shortages of health workers. Regular foetal observation often relies on doctors performing periodic checks, meaning that critical information can be missed during intervals, while AI-supported programs do continuous, real-time monitoring. Traditional checks also require physicians to interpret raw data from various devices, which can be time consuming and subject to error.

Area 25’s maternity ward handles about 8,000 deliveries a year with a team of around 80 midwives and doctors. While only about 10% are trained to perform traditional electronic monitoring, most can use the AI software to detect anomalies, so doctors are aware of any riskier or more complex births. Hospital staff also say that using AI has standardised important aspects of maternity care at the clinic, such as interpretations on foetal wellbeing and decisions on when to intervene.

Kaphamtengo, who is excited to be a new mother, believes the doctor’s interventions may have saved her baby’s life. “They were able to discover that my baby was distressed early enough to act,” she says, holding her son, Justice.

Doctors at the hospital hope to see the technology introduced in other hospitals in Malawi, and across Africa.

“AI technology is being used in many fields, and saving babies’ lives should not be an exception,” says Chiweza. “It can really bridge the gap in the quality of care that underserved populations can access.”"

-via The Guardian, December 6, 2024

[nasa]

Athletes Go for the Gold with NASA Spinoffs

NASA technology tends to find its way into the sporting world more often than you’d expect. Fitness is important to the space program because astronauts must undergo the extreme g-forces of getting into space and endure the long-term effects of weightlessness on the human body. The agency’s engineering expertise also means that items like shoes and swimsuits can be improved with NASA know-how.

As the 2024 Olympics are in full swing in Paris, here are some of the many NASA-derived technologies that have helped competitive athletes train for the games and made sure they’re properly equipped to win.

The LZR Racer reduces skin friction drag by covering more skin than traditional swimsuits. Multiple pieces of the water-resistant and extremely lightweight LZR Pulse fabric connect at ultrasonically welded seams and incorporate extremely low-profile zippers to keep viscous drag to a minimum.

Swimsuits That Don’t Drag

When the swimsuit manufacturer Speedo wanted its LZR Racer suit to have as little drag as possible, the company turned to the experts at Langley Research Center to test its materials and design. The end result was that the new suit reduced drag by 24 percent compared to the prior generation of Speedo racing suit and broke 13 world records in 2008. While the original LZR Racer is no longer used in competition due to the advantage it gave wearers, its legacy lives on in derivatives still produced to this day.

Trilion Quality Systems worked with NASA’s Glenn Research Center to adapt existing stereo photogrammetry software to work with high-speed cameras. Now the company sells the package widely, and it is used to analyze stress and strain in everything from knee implants to running shoes and more.

High-Speed Cameras for High-Speed Shoes

After space shuttle Columbia, investigators needed to see how materials reacted during recreation tests with high-speed cameras, which involved working with industry to create a system that could analyze footage filmed at 30,000 frames per second. Engineers at Adidas used this system to analyze the behavior of Olympic marathoners' feet as they hit the ground and adjusted the design of the company’s high-performance footwear based on these observations.

Martial artist Barry French holds an Impax Body Shield while former European middle-weight kickboxing champion Daryl Tyler delivers an explosive jump side kick; the force of the impact is registered precisely and shown on the display panel of the electronic box French is wearing on his belt.

One-Thousandth-of-an-Inch Punch

In the 1980s, Olympic martial artists needed a way to measure the impact of their strikes to improve training for competition. Impulse Technology reached out to Glenn Research Center to create the Impax sensor, an ultra-thin film sensor which creates a small amount of voltage when struck. The more force applied, the more voltage it generates, enabling a computerized display to show how powerful a punch or kick was.

Astronaut Sunita Williams poses while using the Interim Resistive Exercise Device on the ISS. The cylinders at the base of each side house the SpiraFlex FlexPacks that inventor Paul Francis honed under NASA contracts. They would go on to power the Bowflex Revolution and other commercial exercise equipment.

Weight Training Without the Weight

Astronauts spending long periods of time in space needed a way to maintain muscle mass without the effect of gravity, but lifting free weights doesn’t work when you’re practically weightless. An exercise machine that uses elastic resistance to provide the same benefits as weightlifting went to the space station in the year 2000. That resistance technology was commercialized into the Bowflex Revolution home exercise equipment shortly afterwards.

Want to learn more about technologies made for space and used on Earth? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.   

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[flowersforbucky]

acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper!reader x undercover bodyguard!bucky)

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scoot back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist!!!

[minkieater]

selfish — choi san ⋆˙⟡

san x fem!reader | smut minors dni san is rough | 2.8k

San isn’t, and has never been, a cocky man by nature. 

Always humble, always giving rather than taking, San couldn’t imagine himself living a life only worried about his own needs. His friends, his family, his staff, the elderly woman he helped cross the street just last week, San never ran out of pieces of himself to give away. Always smiling, always empathetic, always there when you need him. 

Always attentive. Talents aside, singing, dancing, his ear for music, your favorite thing about him was how much he knew about you. He could read your thoughts before you had them, read your feelings on your face, he even kept a period tracker on his phone so he could bring you what he called a ‘feel better basket’, he filled the same wicker basket every month with every single snack you like (he keeps a list of them in his notes app). 

Tonight was a big night for him. It was his company’s annual gala thrown to celebrate their achievements throughout the year, a true extravaganza with a buffet, live music, the whole thing. All eight of them were here with their partners, who you were gathered with at a standing table in the back, watching them go one by one, speaking on the stage. 

San was an incredible speaker, his stage presence wasn’t exclusive to performing music, when he spoke, the world listened. He looked incredible. Hair styled back to perfection, suit tailored to his body down to the millimeter, his posture so straight he radiated elegance. You couldn’t be happier for him, your beautiful boyfriend was succeeding, growing, under the spotlight. He deserved it all and more.

Yet you were sulking– and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Several glasses of champagne and too many horderves deep, you let the group surrounding you lead the conversation while you shift your weight back and forth on heeled feet. You scowled at the black glitter and silver stars scattered across the table, wondering why you couldn’t let yourself shine as brightly as they were. 

You knew why, deep in your gut, but it was selfish, and you couldn’t admit it to yourself let alone out loud. The room was filled to the brim with people, his coworkers, staff, employees and important people from other companies who came to network and enjoy the free food. They all came to gawk at the eight boys who were to thank for their companies success, San had spoken to and thanked every single one, of course he did, leaving you to your own devices for ages. Too fucking long. 

You had the partners, you’d made a group of your own, but you didn’t have him beside you. Neglect, abandonment, he left you all alone. Why not introduce you to all the important people filling the room, drinking up every single moment of his spare time? Let them learn your name, your face, so everyone would know you’re his, and have been his for years now? It pissed you off.

As he walked off the stage after a deep, low bow, you shot the rest of whatever was left in your glass down your throat. You were feeling the buzz, your irritation dancing on the edge of rage, the champagne only encouraging you to act on it. 

You made eye contact from across the ballroom, your glass held up to your lips, your eyes meeting for just long enough to tell San everything he needed to know. He started for your table, body moving as quickly as it could in his form-fitting tuxedo, yet he was stopped. Pulled aside. Again. 

You rejoined the conversation when Yunho returned to the table, the only single one out of the group. If San wasn’t available to give you the attention you desperately needed, maybe Yunho would. Ears perking up just to hear the tail end of his joke, you giggled, eyelashes fluttering, body leaning inward, Yunho didn’t catch it, nor did anyone else, but you could feel San’s eyes on you. Out of your peripherals you watched his head turn back and forth, focus leaving the people currently holding him in conversation to you, still across the room, clearly flirting with his friend. 

Now it felt like a game: How far could you get before San reached you? Head tilted to the side, smile glued to your cheeks, one leg crossed in front of the other beneath your skin-tight evening gown. You even matched Yunho, the deep green of your dress corresponding to his tie, a detail you didn’t even consider. San did. 

When he finally reached you, heavy palms on your waist and a soft kiss pressed to your cheek, you wondered if he caught any of it at all. It wasn’t until Yunho excused himself to use the bathroom that San pulled you into his side, a sweet, dimpled smile on his cheeks, an opposing look to the words he growled in your ear. “Meet me in the east stairwell. Ten minutes.”

A shiver ran down your spine as a fire bloomed in your chest, quick to burn your body up to your ears as he left your side again. You watched him strut to where Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood, fingers toying with the buttons on his suit jacket, chin held high as if he didn’t just repeat what pissed you off in the first place. The stairwell? At a gala? San was always one to talk things out, to see a situation from all perspectives, one half of you assumed he wanted a private area to quickly hash this out, the other knew that tone he’d just used on you all too well. Either way, you knew he’d put you back in your place.

You scurried off to the bathroom, fixing your hair, your makeup, even adding some extra lip gloss before you began your hunt for the stairwell. You gave yourself a minute or two of extra time for your hunt, you’d never been to this hall before, nor did you know where he wanted you. 

Heels clacking against tiled floor was all that could be heard down the hallway as you carefully read each door you passed, until one opened up, pulling you through the threshold by the wrist. A yelp leaves your throat until you’re pressed against it, your boyfriend instantly pressed up against you, eyebrows laid heavy over his pointed gaze. “One fucking night that’s all about me.”

You glance around, eyes grazing the cement painted walls, the platform of the second floor under your feet. Your breathing comes out heavy yet scattered, a tremble to your voice from the shock of being pulled inside so harshly, San’s grip on your wrist tight. “W-what?”

“Every year,” you can feel his breath against your face, his forehead just centimeters from yours, “I have one night that’s all about me. You couldn’t let me have that?”

Your eyes go wide, you must be numb, you can’t feel the anger stabbing you with each pointed word, instead all you feel is the fire from ten minutes ago. His eyes were crazed, pupils blown, a smirk so devious stretched across his face it could’ve been sent from hell itself— his chuckle is dark and low, sinister, your knees threaten to buckle at the sound. “So needy for my attention it’s embarrassing. Didn’t think I saw you with Yunho?” 

He lets go of your wrist, planting his hand against the door just behind your head. You can’t answer, not with him so close, frozen in confusion because you didn’t know if you were scared or horny. “Didn’t think I saw you down there, miserable, as if you’d rather be anywhere else than celebrating me?” 

You swallow, words at the tip of your tongue, but all you can do is shake your head. San lets out a sound of amusement, but nothing about this was amusing to you. “You were chatting it up with Yunho, now you can’t speak? Funny.” 

You shake your head again, fighting your chest to let words out. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes,” you breathe out and your body pushes forward, leg lifting to graze his own, your front pressing against his. San typically treated you nicely, your sex life was just a step up from purely vanilla, no choking, no slapping, no role playing— this felt like something neither of you have explored before, and god, you wanted it. Needed it. The pulsing in your core answered all your questions for you. 

“Too fucking bad,” he grabs onto your thigh and pushes you backward against the door again, your skin hitting the cold metal with a thump, a whimper leaving your lips at the contact. 

He kisses you with that same anger, with force behind it, not the sweet and passionate kisses you were used to receiving. He pushes his body into yours instead, pulling your dress up your leg so it rests on your thigh, his fingers gripping at your bare skin. You whimper again, core grinding into his, kissing him back with that same roughness while balancing one heeled foot on the floor. You wouldn’t just take it, no, but challenge it. 

“Still gonna be a brat?” He asks against your lips, mouths barely a centimeter apart as he slips his fingers farther up your dress. “Be good and take it.” 

“Why should I?” You counter, breath still hot and heavy, arms swung over his shoulder pads. “You ignored me all night.” 

“I was doing my fucking job,” he hisses, fingers slipping up to your panties, fingers toying with the elastic. You gasp, hips bucking forward, and he places his thumb over your clit and presses. You jerk forward, met with a wall of a man as a moan slips through, and that devilish smirk plasters itself across San’s face once more. “Still gonna be a selfish brat? Or are you gonna let me have my way with you?” 

You look up at him through your lashes, a sweet face spitting words. “I don’t want anything from you.” 

“Who said anything about you wanting it?” He asks as he steps back, and a full body shiver racks through you. San, always selfless, always humble, this was a side of him you’d never seen before, you didn’t want him to stop. Luckily for you, he had no plans of stopping, especially not now that he’s cracked through your bratty exterior. “On your knees.” 

You drop, your dark, tight evening gown met with the cement of the floor, knees screaming but you barely hear them as San slips off his jacket, laying it over the railing beside you. He makes quick work of his belt, pulling his cock out without barely pulling his pants down. 

“Put that mouth to good use.” 

You nearly moaned, but your mouth was too full too fast. Wasting no time, you let your tongue glide on the underside of him, his cock heavy in your mouth as he pushes in. His palm goes to your hair, gripping at your roots despite how you’d styled it for the night, pushing your head down. You gagged around him, not quite opened up yet, you tried your hardest to relax your throat, eyes screwed shut and fists clenched at your sides. 

San is insane above you, a crazed smile on his lips, pupils still blown and wide. “This is what you needed, huh? Some attention? A cock to fill your throat?” 

You looked up at him through wet lashes as he bobbed your head for you with his tight grip in your hair, San’s demeanor almost cracked, eyebrows bending inward with his lips parting just slightly. You’d smile if you could, but you were focused now, spit gushing around your lips as you took him down to the hair at the base of his shaft. 

“There you go,” he groaned out, looking down at you like you were nothing. Your thighs clenched, core still pulsing, begging to be touched. “Just like that, slutty fuckin’ mouth taking me so well. You love this cock, huh?” 

You tried to say mhm, tried to nod your head, and he laughs. “Can’t talk now with that mouth full, can you?” 

He pulls out of your mouth while still holding you by the hair and you gasp, clearing your throat, trying to give yourself some form of reprieve. “Stand up. Wanna see if that slutty cunt can take me well, too.” 

You stand, mind starting to get fuzzy around the edges, losing your thoughts as quickly as they come. You turn around without him asking, placing your palms against the door, legs spreading on their own. He’s on you in an instant, hoisting your dress onto your hips, and he whistles. 

“So fucking wet, you like this?” 

“Yes.” 

“Of course you do,” he laughs, pulling your panties down to your thighs. “Who would’ve thought you were such a fucking slut?” 

“F-Fuck,” you cry out as he slips two fingers inside, your head hanging below your shoulders, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open. 

“Shut up,” his voice is sharp, commanding as he lines his cock up with your entrance. “The whole party doesn’t need to hear you crying like a dog.” 

He pushes inside and your arms give out, one hand slapping over your mouth as your other elbow hits the metal of the door, catching you. He sets a brutal pace, giving you no time to adjust. “Look so pretty in this dress, would have taken you home and treated you right.” 

Your back arches, moans muffled by your palm. “Instead you wanted to mope around like a fucking child that didn’t get what they want. Is this what you wanted, baby? Wanted to get fucked like a slut?”

“Yes.” 

“Yes what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Sir,” he repeats from behind you, pace still brutal, seeming completely unaffected. “I knew it, you fucking love this, love this cock, huh? Say it.” 

“I love it.” 

“Love what?” 

“Love your cock,” you cry, your other elbow pressing against the metal of the door to hold you up. “Love your cock so much, Sannie, feels so fucking good, please don’t stop.” 

“Say it again,” you finally hear the desperation in his voice, the underlying pitch of a whine, a crack in his demeanor. 

You turn your head over your shoulder, looking at him through lowered, glassy eyes. “Love your cock so much, Sannie, feels so good, wanna cum so bad.” 

You watch his face contort, stoic demeanor turning strained, eyebrows upturned, bottom lip between his teeth. “Please make me cum, I’m sorry I was a brat, love your cock so much. Please.” 

He moans, a low, deep noise, his head falling forward. You couldn’t afford to slip a hand between your legs. His pace grows harder, his hips twitching with each thrust and your eyes blow wide. Is he really going to do this? Going to fuck you without making you finish?

You whimper, tears filling your waterline, voice strained and high pitched. “Please, Sannie, shit— Please.” 

He wraps his arm around your hips, moving your dress out of the way as he circles his fingers tightly over your clit, still thrusting into you steadily. You sob at the relief, knees buckling, your orgasm almost immediately approaching from stimulation and how long it’s been building. 

“Cum,” he barks out with an edge that hasn’t left him yet, and you can’t do anything but obey. Head drooping as your orgasm rips through you, his hips still inside you, feeding you shallow thrusts to ride you both through it. Your orgasm lasts, aftershocks making your knees threaten to really give out, tight fists you formed finally releasing their grip. 

He pulls out slowly and lays your panties over the mess, pulling your dress back over your legs, and your body gives in to the door. He smiles as he tucks himself back in, pulling you into him by your hips. 

“You okay?” He asks sweetly, pressing a kiss to your temple, moving a hair out of your face. “Wasn’t too much?” 

“Fuck no,” you breathed, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder, eyes closed. “You need to get like that more often.” 

He chuckles and it vibrates through you, you let out a hum of comfort. “Let’s get you home.”

“Let’s say goodbye—”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth when he sees your face. “We should Irish goodbye, trust me.” 

You scowl, and he smiles sheepishly. He gives you a pat on your butt, ushering you forward. “Come on, when we get in the car you can tell me why all this happened, anyway.” 

You groan, “Sannie, you already fucked it out of me. Can’t we leave it at that?” 

“No,” he says shortly, simply, and it leaves no room for argument. “We’re gonna talk it out.” 

masterlist

[deusfoundry]

sylus making sure his kpop fan girlfriend doesn't have to drop a dime nor stress over attending her fav's concert.

ticketing day is spent with a ton of devices sprawled on the living room floor of his mansion all waiting to get into the queue. he's even got luke and kieran in on it. and if for some reason his outrageously fast internet speed fails and you don't manage to secure a ticket, he's already pulling the strings and using his connections to get you that front row seat. he puts himself in charge of everything—booking accomodations, planning your itinerary, making sure his private jet is ready so that all you have to worry about is what you'll wear, and even that is taken care of by his black card.

he's with you throughout the entire day of the concert. he holds onto two bags—one filled with your essentials and the other with freebies and trinkets you've collected from fellow fans—as he follows you around the venue with that lovesick smile of his. he only ever leaves your side when he goes to buy you some snacks and water.

and best believe he learned most of the songs your favs are performing so he can sing along with you during the concert itself, which he records the entirety of on his tablet so you're free to enjoy the show without having to worry about not having photos and videos to remember it by.

the night ends with you on his back, your platform boots on one of his hands as he carries you to the parking lot. he listens as you recount the entire night to him in excitement, chuckles as you squeal and squirm in the passenger seat over every time you swear your bias made eye contact with you as though he wasn't there to see it all.

you fall asleep eventually, to the low hum of traffic and his hand drawing circles over your thigh. and as sylus eyes your sleeping figure, he swears he'll do it all over again just to see that small smile that blooms on your face.

[zvaigzdelasas]

Instead of burning fossil fuels to reach the temperatures needed to smelt steel and cook cement, scientists in Switzerland want to use heat from the sun. The proof-of-concept study uses synthetic quartz to trap solar energy at temperatures over 1,000°C (1,832°F), demonstrating the method’s potential role in providing clean energy for carbon-intensive industries. A paper on the research was published on May 15 in the journal Device.[...]

Glass, steel, cement, and ceramics are at the very heart of modern civilization, essential for building everything from car engines to skyscrapers. However, manufacturing these materials demands temperatures over 1,000°C and relies heavily on burning fossil fuels for heat. These industries account for about 25% of global energy consumption. Researchers have explored a clean-energy alternative using solar receivers, which concentrate and build heat with thousands of sun-tracking mirrors. However, this technology has difficulties transferring solar energy efficiently above 1,000°C.

To boost the efficiency of solar receivers, Casati turned to semitransparent materials such as quartz, which can trap sunlight—a phenomenon called the thermal-trap effect. The team crafted a thermal-trapping device by attaching a synthetic quartz rod to an opaque silicon disk as an energy absorber. When they exposed the device to an energy flux equivalent to the light coming from 136 suns, the absorber plate reached 1,050°C (1,922°F), whereas the other end of the quartz rod remained at 600°C (1,112°F).

“Previous research has only managed to demonstrate the thermal-trap effect up to 170°C (338°F),” says Casati. “Our research showed that solar thermal trapping works not just at low temperatures, but well above 1,000°C. This is crucial to show its potential for real-world industrial applications.”

Using a heat transfer model, the team also simulated the quartz’s thermal-trapping efficiency under different conditions. The model showed that thermal trapping achieves the target temperature at lower concentrations with the same performance, or at higher thermal efficiency for equal concentration. For example, a state-of-the-art (unshielded) receiver has an efficiency of 40% at 1,200°C, with a concentration of 500 suns. The receiver shielded with 300 mm of quartz achieves 70% efficiency at the same temperature and concentration. The unshielded receiver requires at least 1,000 suns of concentration for comparable performance.

17 May 24

[milfsloverblog]

hi :) can I request Larissa and reader ? they’re both at nevermore during the summer break, reader thought it would be an opportunity for them to spend more time together but Larissa is always working on something so reader decided to take the lead one day. some smut please :)

Office Hours (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: This was such a fun request to work on, thank you!!! Enjoy <3

Nevermore in the summer is unrecognizable.

Without the cadence of classes or the murmur of adolescent mischief, the school falls into a strange kind of hush—like a cathedral emptied of its congregation. The corridors breathe, but only dust motes move. Windows stand open to the summer breeze, letting in the occasional birdsong or the creak of an old shutter. The ghosts of school bells linger in the walls, but no one rings them anymore.

There are no uniforms. No scuffed shoes squeaking against the stone floors. No students ducking into alcoves with hushed giggles and forbidden hands. There are no hurried breakfasts, no cracked knuckles over exams, no shrieked laughter down by the greenhouses.

There is only time. And stillness. And Larissa.

You had thought it would be romantic.

The notion had been indulgent from the start—something half-plucked from an overwrought fantasy. The two of you alone in a gothic castle, left to your own devices. You imagined silk robes brushing bare skin at breakfast, slow mornings tangled in sun-drenched sheets, wine shared in the late hours when the world felt smaller and the walls felt closer. You imagined her undone, unhurried. Yours.

But the fantasy has frayed at the edges.

Because even in the quiet, even without students underfoot, Larissa Weems is still the Headmistress. Still an institution. And she cannot seem to put that part of herself down.

If anything, she works more now.

She rises with the sun and sits at her desk until long after twilight. Files accumulate like snowdrifts around her. Papers, budgets, curriculum drafts, term projections—her days vanish into piles of parchment and the glow of her reading lamp. She answers letters with the sharp efficiency of a general in wartime. You’ve watched her go hours without even a sip of tea, let alone a glance in your direction.

You try not to take it personally.

You remind yourself, often, that love does not always come dressed in roses and reverie. That Larissa’s constancy is not measured in how often she touches you, but in the steadiness of her presence. The way she lets you roam her spaces, share her silences. The way she always folds your laundry herself.

Still. There are only so many mornings you can spend sipping tea alone on the veranda. Only so many times you can watch her walk right past you—eyes glazed with duty, hands full of ink-stained folders—before something inside you sharpens.

And today?

Today is the day it breaks.

It begins with the light.

Her office catches the best of the morning sun—long, golden bars that stretch across the floorboards, warming the old velvet furniture and the edge of her desk. You’re drawn there like a moth, barefoot and quiet.

You wear one of her silk shirts—pale blue and soft as breath, its hem brushing your thighs, sheer enough in the sunlight to turn suggestive. The sleeves fall past your hands. The top few buttons remain open, revealing the slope of your collarbone and the glint of your skin. Your hair is mussed with calculated negligence. Your lips shine faintly, tinted balm and a whisper of want.

It is a performance. And she is the only audience that matters.

You find her at her desk, unsurprisingly. Her glasses are perched low on her nose, one hand curled around a pen, the other buried in a stack of correspondence. The silver in her hair gleams like starlight where the sun catches it. Her blouse is crisp and fitted, ivory turned gold at the shoulders by the light. She doesn’t look up.

You lean in the doorway, a shadow cast across the threshold.

“Good morning, darling,” you say, voice velvet-wrapped.

“Mmm,” she answers, distracted. “Morning, love.”

You wait.

You wait for the pause. The glance. The slow smile she’s given you a hundred times before when she catches sight of you in her clothes.

But today there is nothing.

She turns a page. Her eyes flick to the clock. She scribbles something in the margin.

You move closer, bare feet whispering across the hardwood. You perch on the arm of the velvet chaise, letting one leg dangle and the other fold elegantly beneath you. The silk shirt rides up just enough to bare more thigh.

“You’ve been in here since six,” you murmur.

“It’s only nine,” she replies, without glancing. “I had a faculty meeting draft to finish.”

You tilt your head, watching her. “You’ve barely even kissed me.”

That earns a flick of her eyes, brief and unreadable. “Is that so?”

“That is so.”

She sighs, fond but tired. “I seem to remember a kiss last night.”

“That was on the forehead,” you counter. “I am not a child, Larissa. You haven’t kissed me properly in three days.”

She hums, and it’s half amusement, half acknowledgement. Her pen finally stills. “Is this a request?”

You arch a brow. “It’s a complaint.”

Now—finally—she looks at you.

And smiles. That cool, slow, maddening smile. “Come here, then.”

You don’t hesitate.

You rise and cross the room, slow and languid, letting her watch the sway of your hips beneath the silk. She turns her chair toward you just as you step between her knees. Her hands come to rest on your hips, thumbs brushing bare skin. You lean down, kiss her—soft, open-mouthed, tasting of need and something sweeter. Earl grey lingers faintly on her tongue. So does defiance.

When you pull back, her hands tighten on your waist.

“You’re beautiful when you pout,” she murmurs.

You frown. “I’m not pouting. I’m suffering.”

She chuckles, low and warm. “Poor darling.”

You lower yourself to your knees.

The movement is fluid, practiced. Her eyes widen slightly—surprise flickering, but not resistance.

You rest your cheek against her thigh, nuzzling the fabric. “You know,” you murmur, lips brushing her skirt, “I think you spend too much time behind this desk.”

“I like my desk.”

“I think your desk likes you too much.”

That earns a quiet laugh. “And what would you suggest I do about it?”

You smile against her. “Walk away. Come ravish me on that chaise.”

Her brow arches. “Tempting.”

You trail your fingers up her calf, deliberate. “But?”

“But I have two more files to finish before noon.”

You sigh, wounded. And then you slip under the desk.

Her reaction is immediate.

“Love,” she warns, voice catching, “don’t.”

You press a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Just keep working.”

“Darling—”

“I mean it. Pretend I’m not here.”

Her body tenses beneath your hands. You can feel her considering, feel her mind war with her body. But then she exhales, long and slow. Her pen resumes.

You smile into her skin.

Her skirt is already hitched high enough to give you access. She’s wearing silk—black, thin, nearly translucent. Your breath ghosts over the fabric, and she shivers.

You kiss her there.

Just once.

She jolts.

You part her thighs further, hands reverent. She’s already damp. You mouth at her through the silk, warm pressure, gentle insistence. Her pen falters, then continues. You hook your fingers into the waistband and slide the garment down, slow and worshipful. She lifts her hips without argument.

You kiss her again, this time without barriers.

Your tongue traces her softly, slowly, until she gasps.

Above you, the pen stops.

Then starts again.

She’s trying. You’ll give her that.

You move with intention, tongue dancing in slow circles, teasing her clit without quite giving her what she wants. She squirms, barely, but you feel it. The way her thighs tense. The way her breath starts to come in shorter puffs.

When you slide a finger inside her, she clenches around you instantly.

You groan softly against her.

She tries—valiantly—to keep writing. To stay composed. But her legs are spreading further, her hips beginning to move.

You add a second finger.

She gasps.

The pen falls.

You don’t stop. Your mouth moves faster, tongue working her clit while your fingers curl in just the right way. Her hand disappears beneath the desk—finds your hair, tangles in it, grips hard. Her nails graze your scalp.

You fuck her with your fingers while you worship her with your mouth.

She’s trembling now. Her thighs shake. Her breath is ragged, her head tilted back.

You know the signs.

“Come for me,” you whisper against her. “Come now. I want to feel it.”

And she does.

She shatters—gripping your head, hips rocking hard against your mouth. She muffles the sound with her own hand, biting her palm to stay silent. But you feel it. The flood of it. The way she arches. The way her entire body locks, then collapses.

You don't stop until her grip loosens.

Until her thighs stop shaking.

Until she whimpers.

Then, slowly, you crawl out.

Larissa looks wrecked.

Her blouse is wrinkled. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips red, her pupils blown wide. Her hair has come loose from its twist, and her chest rises and falls in soft, uneven waves. She stares at you like she’s not sure whether to scold you or pull you in for more.

You climb into her lap, straddling her.

She lets you.

You kiss her slow. Deep. Her hands slide under the shirt—her shirt—and splay wide across your back.

She sighs against your mouth.

“You’re trouble,” she whispers.

“And you love me.”

“I do,” she says, breathless. “God help me, I do.”

You smile and rock your hips slowly against hers. “Then take the rest of the day off.”

She closes her eyes, pretending to consider it.

“I have two more—”

You grind down gently, cutting her off.

She swallows the rest of her sentence.

Her hands tighten.

You lean close to her ear.

“Your desk has had you all morning,” you murmur. “It’s my turn now.”

And this time, she listens.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic , @im-a-carnivorous-plant , @dingdongthetail , @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld @niceminipotato , @witchesmortuary @notmeellaannyy , @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @geekyarmorel , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr , @winterfireblond @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @spacetoaim22 @vendocrap8008 @jkregal @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @xuukoo @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @dumbasslesbi @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne @ficsloverblog

[sturnioz]

fratboy! chris wanting to have phone sex on ft when him and shy!reader both go home for holiday break 🤭

"uh-huh. yeah, a'ight," chris murmurs, his voice a low hum as he leans back against the familiar backdrop of his childhood bedroom, listening to you animatedly babble over facetime.

you're filling him in on everything you've been doing since arriving home for the holiday break; diving into long explanations about cosy family dinners, catching up with old high-school friends, and even the plans that have been made for the upcoming days, wanting to share every detail possible.

but then chris shifts slightly, propping himself against the pillows as he interrupts your flow. "so, what are you uh.. what are you wearin'?"

your words come to an abrupt halt at his unexpected question, your eyebrows pinching together as you glance down at yourself, "my sweatpants and an old shirt.. i actually got this from—"

"i'm not talking about that, kid. fuckin'—" chris sighs, rubbing at his forehead in frustration and you frown at him, trying to decipher his expression on the screen as he raises his head back up. "i'm talkin' about your underwear, kid. like what you wearin' beneath all that?"

"oh..." you murmur, cheeks feeling a little hot as you mindlessly pull at the hem of your shirt. "just my panties."

"yeah?" chris hums, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as he folds one arm behind his head. "wanna uh... wanna show me?"

you're nervous and hesitant to follow through with his request, but you hold your phone up above you, awkwardly lifting your hips to pull down your sweatpants just a bit to reveal the waistband your cotton panties.

chris sucks in a deep breath, and the arm that he put behind his head a few moments prior was moved out of frame. you watch as he shifts again, the sound of his bedsheets rustling as he moves.

"take them off."

"take... take them off?" you repeat. you were making sure that you heard him correctly, despite his words being clear as day through the slight raspy tone he used. when he hums in response, you swallow thickly, eyes darting towards your bedroom door to ensure it's locked before propping your phone against the lamp on your bedside table.

you don't exactly put on an attractive performance as you clumsily and awkwardly tug off your sweatpants, which makes you want to hang up the call and not talk or see him again until you've recovered from embarrassment, but chris seems to be enjoying the show as he watches you, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his camera shaky as he takes you in.

"go reaaaaal slow for me, 'kay? wanna see you, bun." chris' voice rasps into the speakers, and the heat crawls up your neck as your fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs just like he asked. "good girl... jus' like that."

you place your panties to the side, pressing your thighs together to cover yourself up, feeling way too exposed like this.

"chris—"

"nah, open up f'me. told you that i wanna see you, yeah?" chris reminds you, and you nod your head slowly, parting your legs to bare yourself to him and he grunts, rolling his head back against the pillow, his camera more shakier. "fuckin' crazy what you do t'me when y'not even here... look, bun."

you lean in close to your phone, your eyes widening and lips parting with a light gasp as he moves his camera down, showing you his hand fisting around his cock. you can hear his grunts through the speakers, and you rush to grab the device and turn the volume down when he curses loudly, not wanting anyone in the house to hear what's going on behind the four walls of your bedroom.

"get your earphones or somethin', kid," chris tells you, bringing his camera back up to his face. "get them 'n put them on, yeah? 'cos m'gonna be sayin' some shit and m'gonna make you cum. hurry up."

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 41

(Vil- though not fully Overblotted- still has several visual changes to his coloration and appearance due to the intense presence of blot that had been in his system from his potion. He is able to explain most of it away for those who question him, but those who were present in the classroom when it happened know the truth. They are too loyal and earnest to speak that truth for Vil's sake and the Human's sake.)

Warnings; jealous dragon, fluff and theories, Clay is the only truly aware platonic yandere, Dragon, Harpy, Drider, Vampire bat, hellcat, mention of Cervitaur, mention of Raiju,

~~~~~~~~

"What happened?"

Standing before you- with his eyes wide and his entire body stiff- was a very unhappy and stressed Dragon. Malleus had been trying to keep himself calm with the aid of Lilia, but seeing your exhausted state sent him spiraling. The tell-tale black ink-like coloration at the ends of your fingers, lips, and hair told him you had more than just a brush with blot.

"Blot potion out of control. We're both good now, but we need a snack and some rest. Papa Hades said he would be up with something for us to snack on soon."

"..."

Malleus stood in silence, the tip of his tail flicking angrily and the low roll of thunder sounded in the distance. It often took a moment or two for the Dragon to fully process what was being said to him, and it often took your calmly stated words just a moment longer than most. You had been touched by blot and he was furious to think such a vile liquid could even have a hold on you for seconds, let alone long enough to stain your flesh.

"... Blot potion?"

"Yeah. A bad idea that became a dangerous opponent. It's sealed up now and Papa Hades said he would be dealing with it later. For now, I think Vil and I need a bit of a rest."

The trip back to your dorm had been a long one, or at least it felt so much longer to you and Vil given the prior events. Luckily Rook and Silver- after pulling themselves together- straightened up and carried the both of you. You were put on Silver's back while Vil was on Rook's back. Sebek, professor Clay, and Papa Hades led your group back to Ramshackle, all the while ensuring that any ne'er-do-wells knew to keep their distance.

Now you all were looking for a bit of rest, and Malleus was likely to panic upon fully realizing what took place. You weren't exactly keen to argue with the Dragon and you knew complete fallout would occur if he ever learned you had kissed Vil in order to give the blot potion easy access to your body. Though you could have likely done it a different way, it was the only thing you could think of to encourage the blot potion out of Vil and into you fast enough to save the Harpy.

"Tsuno, I know you aren't happy about it, but it happened and is over now. All that matters is we are back safe and sound. Right?"

"..."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not going to classes tomorrow. Well, Vil won't be either after tonight's events, so you can stick around with us tomorrow if you feel like skipping a class or two."

This made the Dragon perk up somewhat, clearly pleased at the idea of spending more time with you than he usually would be able to. Still, he seemed hesitant to believe that all of the present issues were resolved so easily.

"Now, let's talk about who gets to sleep where in the nest."

~•§•~

The ancient Shinigami watched the pan sizzle as he cooked a small meal quickly and fiddled with a device in his hands. If the Harpy was so keen to be a data point in this study, Hades wasn't going to argue. It unsettled him that several of the students were showing signs of desperation and of performing desperate acts to get the soft and coveted Human's attention.

Who knows what the next desperate action will be or how far it will go.

"Lord Hades?"

"Yes, Child?"

The Shinigami turned his head towards the Yeti who had been present for the fallout of the Harpy and had been a rather helpful aide when it came to restraining the other students. Had they all tried to help and not been held back by the Ape-man, they likely would have all Overblotted or worse given the situation at hand. He at least lived up to his reputation of being calm under pressure and having a good grasp on dangerous situations.

"That much blot should have killed her."

"I know, Child. That much blot would have killed all of them had it gotten a hold on them."

"I know that potion. Poachers use it to infest their prey to claim they were 'putting down a Feral' instead of illegally harvesting parts from a non Feral. It never ends well for those who use it. Ever."

"I am familiar with the potion as well."

This only made Clay's frown deepen. He had seen entire poaching encampments turned Feral due to that specific potion and he had seen the way it acted like a blight on any magical being. How it moved from body to body, infesting and possessing anything it touched.

"Why didn't it kill her?"

"I have several theories. Humans are not magical, so they have next to no accumulation of blot as they go through life. Blot is a byproduct of magic, and without magic, Humans don't form blot but are susceptible to those who have turned Feral. My own Humans had very little interaction with Ferals by design. Though I knew they were blot resistant, I did not know the extent of their blot related abilities."

"So you don't know?"

"I don't know for certain, no. She has shown an incredible ability to neutralize blot and even attract blot towards her, as shown by the potion itself choosing to abandon it's prize of young Vil and anchor itself to her instead where it could have just taken them both."

The Shinigami turned towards Clay, moving the pan off of the heat to let it and the food he was cooking rest. The monitoring collar he was fiddling with coming to life in his hands as he adjusted it.

"I have a theory that Humans are natural blot absorbers and neutralizers. They likely developed this and their addictive nature by evolving hand in hand with magic using species. Humans needed protection from magical species so they developed a way to be needed and helpful to those that protected them. The magical species create blot, and the Humans absorb it, creating a symbiotic relationship. Perhaps it is this blot absorption that led to Humans being so addictive as they relieve the negative impact of blot, which all magical species have."

"It would make sense... To have blot creators and blot neutralizers. But still, this rampant almost infectious attraction and obsession doesn't really fit..."

"That is why it must be studied. There is the potential that Little (Y/n) is a fluke among Humans with an unnatural resistance to blot. The only thing that I know for certain is the data that has been gathered. Humans are addictive, thousands of years worth of research has proven that as fact. This blot absorption is a new development, and with only one Human as the sample size, it can't be asserted that (Y/n) isn't the only blot neutralizer."

The Yeti crossed his arms, deep in thought. It made sense from a scientific view. No science was perfect and with the sample size being a grand total of one, there was always room for misinterpretation. Even still, there was more than just the science to be considered.

"She deserves to know."

"Hm?"

"(Y/n) deserves to be told of her addictive qualities. If not for the sake of others, than for her own sake so she can protect herself. If everyone is going to have some kind of obsession- deadly or not- she deserves to know about it."

"... I know. I have considered broaching the topic many times before, yet have found myself struggling to find the right words to tell her."

"Why?"

"Because," the Shinigami sighed, running his fingers through his flame hair, "Humans are delicate compared to us. Physically they could be a credible threat to other species, especially when their young were put in harm's way, but emotionally they put more value into how others viewed them. It makes sense, they were at the whims of others for an extended period of time and are an incredibly social species as a whole, but that does mean they are more delicate to the emotional impact they have on others. Little (Y/n) in particular seems mostly aware of her impact on the others, but I worry what guilt she will feel when she learns the truth."

Clay nodded at this, having seen his own fair share of just how impactful the affectionate Human was on the wellbeing of those around her. From the guards that flocked to her, to the students that stared whenever she passed by, she impacted everyone she interacted with. He had also noticed his own growing attachment to the kind little Human that so innocently looked to him for instruction.

"Young Vil and Little (Y/n) are likely hungry with the blot still in their systems, they need food before they rest."

Clay dropped the subject as the elder Shinigami split the ample and warm food into two servings, turning to leave. He paused for just a moment at the threshold of the door to speak to the Yeti with an even and measured tone.

"I will broach the subject when I feel it is right, but trust that I will do it. For now, I ask you keep our conversation to yourself. She doesn't need such stress so soon after an event like this one, alright?"

"... I understand."

~•§•~

Rook was almost vibrating with how thrilled he was, settled down in the nest with his boon companion laying against his side. Vil had his long tail tucked and curled under his legs as he himself had taken an almost fetal position up against the side of the Drider. You were sitting close by, petting a sore and less than pleased Grim who demanded cuddles when he realized you were back.

The storm outside had quieted somewhat, as Malleus had managed to calm himself despite not liking the two outsiders laying in your nest. Silver was already back to sleep, Sebek laying against his side but still warily observing the Harpy and Drider duo in the nest. Though the Dragon was displeased with the interlopers, he was more relieved that you were alright. He didn't overlook the staining you had on your skin, seeing the darker tints around your eyes and lips where the blot had forced itself into you.

"Are you certain you are alright, (Y/n)?"

"Yes, Tsuno, I'm okay. I promise. If I wasn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I appreciate that you care so deeply about me and want to make sure I'm alright, but I promise you I am okay."

"..."

The Dragon continued to frown as a light knock sounded from the door. It slowly opened to reveal the large Shinigami with two steaming bowls of food and you couldn't help but smile at him. At least Papa Hades was present and could help care for you and Vil after the impact of the disastrous potion the Harpy had created.

"Here you are, Little One. Eat up and get some rest, you and Young Vil are no doubt exhausted by the evenings events."

You happily accepted the bowl of warm food, Grim taking several long sniffs towards your meal as you pet his forehead. His little nose wiggled and you were content to give the sore kit bites from your bowl. Vil seemed much more hesitant to take the food offered, seeming as if he were close to crying despite the kind gesture.

"Vil?"

"... I don't deserve it."

Your smile fell and you sighed, having seen similar remorseful driven behavior from Riddle and Alistair following their Overblots. He was likely going to need an encouraging hand if he was going to accept the meal offered. At least his behavior showed he was regretting his actions that drove him to his current state.

"Yes, you do. Eat, or you will regret it tomorrow."

"... (Y/n), I almost killed you with my actions. I could have killed myself as well. I don't deserve accolades or kindness after my actions."

A beat of silence passed as you handed the bowl off to a confused Lilia, handing Grim to Malleus. Vil seemed confused by your actions as you moved through the nest to his side, grabbing the second bowl from the elder Shinigami. Using the provided spoon, you scooped up some of the food and looked at Vil expectantly, holding the spoon up to him.

"(Y/n), I-"

"If your next actions are not eating and saying 'thank you' to Papa Hades, I'm not going to listen or entertain any further complaints. You will eat. You will be thankful someone took the time to make you food. You will accept that I am not angry with you. And above all else, you will forgive yourself for your own misguided actions. If I have to sit here and feed you myself, I will."

Vil was silent for another long moment, but his stomach spoke for him with an impatient growl as he could smell the warm food you held. With a certain hesitance to his movements and very much like a baby bird, he let you feed him that first spoonful. You didn't have to feed him the rest as that one bite triggered his obvious hunger and he happily took the bowl from you.

Once Vil was eating his fair share you gently pet his head, making the Harpy let out a gentle cooing noise at the affection. Lilia returned your bowl to you and you proceeded to follow the Harpy's example, pausing to give the occasional piece to Grim. Papa Hades seemed pleased with the both of you eating and nodded, resting on the edge of the nest to wait until you both had finished your impromptu meals.

"Young Vil, given the... events... that took place, I would rather you join the current study I am overseeing. It is on blot and how Little (Y/n) affects blot in other species. It will require you wear this monitor on your neck so we can get vitals and a fairly accurate measurement of blot remaining inside of you. Is that amenable to you?"

"Yes. I... am still mortified that I even considered Overblotting in the first place, but I understand now how lucky I truly am (Y/n) intervened when she did. It would be meaningless to deny my own participation in your research given my misguided actions."

Vil moved towards you, Papa Hades taking both bowls away and setting them to the side as he held up what looked like the same collars Riddle and Alistair wore. The Harpy held up his hair to allow the elder Shinigami to place the device around his neck, shivering from the cold touch. It clicked in place and seemed to not bother the Harpy too much despite the way it sat on his neck feathers.

"The both of you, get some rest. You have had an eventful night and tomorrow will be more rest and testing. I wish you all a pleasant evening."

"Goodnight, Papa Hades."

The elder chucked at this, smiling warmly at you.

"Goodnight, Little One."

With that, he left the room and closed the door behind him so you and your company could get some rest. Vil seemed much more at peace as he returned to Rook's side, the Drider placing pillows against his abdomen for the Harpy to rest comfortably on him. You settled down with Grim, noticing the way Malleus kept his back to the outside of the nest before pulling you under his wing so he could keep an eye on you.

As the room settled down, Lilia turned out the lights and a tentative calm washed over your group. Rook, Sebek, and Grim were quick to drift off, comfortable among the others in the nest and trusting their company wholeheartedly. You, Lilia, Malleus and Vil still clung to some awareness instead of succumbing fully to sleep.

Though you fought to cling to consciousness, you were quickly pulled into the embrace of rest. Malleus and Lilia both wanted to stay awake and keep an eye on the nest given their own anxieties with the situation. As they were both nocturnal Fae, they were less affected by the siren song of sleep than the others were.

Vil was just trying to process all that had happened. Though it was all orchestrated by him, he still had to come to terms with the memories that had been dredged up from the darker corners of his mind. Your forgiveness was a soothing balm to his worrying mind as he contemplated the cruelty of his mother juxtaposed with your compassion.

Something odd happened with his hazy memories of his mother that the Harpy couldn't explain. Where he remembered crying and hiding from her under a rather sturdy table, sobbing as his father fought in a flurry of feathers for his safety, another figure had appeared. You were somehow in his childhood memory, holding him and soothing him after his mother had attacked him. Though he knew it wasn't possibly true, he still valued that odd change to his memories and cherished your comfort.

Perhaps something had happened to alter his memories to a more soothing outcome when you took on his blot. Perhaps he rewrote his own memories to include someone soothing his distraught child self. All he knew for certain was that you were a very calming and soothing presence that made his heart ache less when you were around.

Your presence comforted and relaxed him more than anything else could. Given the way he had lived his life up until that point, he considered it a miracle that he could find anyone he is willing to accept affection from. He even struggled to accept the endless praise Rook heaped on his shoulders, believing the Drider only focused on his outward appearance despite being his closest friend.

Maybe, just maybe, Vil could learn to love himself with your help. He still was going to try and win your heart despite everything, but he now had a clear way forward and into a better frame of mind. For now, that was all that truly mattered to him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

River Below 9

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, bullying, illness, and other possible triggers. Warnings are not exhaustive and will not include plot devices/elements.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Life in the Banks is tough but one man can make it worse.

Characters: Rafe Cameron

Note: Vday fic taking me some time so here ya are. Also, Ward is tiptoeing his way into this lol.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖

Work is daunting the next day. Your head hurts, you barely slept, you just couldn’t settle for the night. And your body is inexplicably sore. You walk to work with a weight in your legs and chest. 

Each step is a challenge as you know Rafe will be waiting for you. He’ll have had all night to stew in his anger and humiliation and think of a dozen ways to take it out on you. 

It’s not your fault. You didn’t want to do that. You didn’t ask him to. He made you get naked and he couldn’t… perform. You almost feel bad for him.  

You come up the back steps of the shop, rickety and creaking beneath you. You reach for the door but it opens before you can even find the keys. You nearly fall backwards into the dirt as you take a step down. You’re surprised by the face that greets you. 

You expect the younger Cameron, not the elder. You blink dumbly at him as he bids you ‘good morning’. In a moment, his stern expression brightens and he smiles as he steps back, welcoming you in. You accept with a nod and sidle past him inside. His closeness has you quickly flitting to the row of hooks over the low bench where you hang your bag. 

“Didn’t know you were opening,” he says. 

“Um, yeah, sir,” you take your apron and loop the strap over your neck. 

He closes the door. Odd, he seemed to be on his way out. You reach back to tie the loose straps around your waist. 

“You’re a hard worker,” he comments as he crosses his arm, stepping closer, just past the door. He leans on the wall, one foot hooked over the other, “honest… can I ask you something?” 

You hesitate and press your palms to the front of the apron, just against your stomach. “Yes, sir.” 

He chuckles, a rocky noise. He’s amused by you. You don’t know why. 

“My son. Rafe. He been in?” 

“I just got here–” 

“Yesterday?” He interjects. 

“Oh, uh…” you think back. You don’t know if you should tell the truth. You saw Rafe, just not at work. 

“I don’t remember, Mr. Cameron,” you clasp your hands together, “it was pretty busy–” 

He nods and clicks his tongue. He watches you, combing his finger through his dark hair. He pushes away from the wall, dwarfing you as you curl your shoulders inward. 

“You’re a hard worker. I admire that. Wish my son had that in him,” he puts one hand in his pocket, “he’s got too much of an attitude.” 

You push your shoulders up in half a shrug. It isn’t your place to say so. 

“Haven’t seen him much,” you lie. 

“Ah,” he takes a breath, “well, you just let me know if you get any of that attitude. I’d hate to think of him treating you mean.” 

“He mostly stays upstairs,” you squeak, “sir, I should… I should start opening.” 

He considers you. His bold eyes hold you in arrest. There’s something in them that reminds you of Rafe. You repress a shudder. 

“How about I help?” He offers. 

“What, er, sir?” You blanch. 

“Yeah, I’d love to get my hands dirty,” he says, “it’s humbling, you know? Lot of people out there buy these places and treat it like a number in their portfolio. I think this place has potential. And you. Would do my son well if he got down here in the grease, too.” 

“Erm, okay, sir, if you like, but...” you hesitate. Will Rafe be mad at you? It’s not like you can say no. Not to either Cameron. “Um, you might mess up your clothes though.” 

He looks down at his button up and leather belt. You know it’s probably expensive. He shops at places you never even heard of. 

“How about an apron? You got a spare one?” He suggests. 

“Oh, sure,” you turn and grab the apron that used to be Arlene’s. You offer it to him. He smiles and thanks you. 

“You just pretend I’m new, alright? Like you’re training me,” he explains as he loops the apron over his head. “Honey, do me a favour and tie me up.” 

He turns his back to you. It takes you a moment before you get his meaning. You grab the strings as the dangle at his side and draw them back to tie around his back. He seems bigger as you stand close. You let go and back up. 

“Great,” he spins and claps his hands, “show me the ropes, honey.” 

Your lips purse. It’s so strange. He's so nice but his son is so mean. It confuses you. For a moment, you think of telling him. Maybe he could set Rafe straight. No... no. That’s stupid. Just like you. 

“So I turn the grease heaters on first,” you redirect your attentions to the work; that’s easy, you can do it. Anyone can. “I always check first, see if the grease needs a change.” 

He hums and nods, shadowing you closely.  

“They take some time, so I get the coffee going next. In the morning, it’s what people get the most.” You lead him to the machine and pull out the basket with yesterday’s filter. He watches intently as you empty and rinse it. Your hands are clumsy as you tear open a packet of pre-weighed grinds. 

“I’m making you nervous,” he says. 

“Sorry, sir, I’m... I’m tired, that’s all.” 

“You work hard. I saw the schedule. Almost every day.” He muses. 

You nod, “yeah, er...” 

“I know, it doesn’t pay too much, does it?” He sniffs and holds out his hand. “Let me.” He takes the packet and rips into it easily. He pours it into the filter. “I can still figure out coffee.” 

“Um, next I start the french toast mix. We do waffles on weekends only.” 

“Right,” he shuffles with you. “You live in-town?” 

“I live... down near the shore, sir,” you answer, “down on the banks.” 

“You know, my son, he just never got that. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to lift himself up. I’m trying to give him that. I want him to do that with this place. Work from the bottom,” he puts his hands on his hips as he looms over you. You pile ingredients into a large bowl and whisk. “Like you are.” 

“Sir, I... I’m just a pogue,” you mutter. 

“You’re a person. You got someone to take care of, don’t you? They keep you working.” He remarks. “You’re young...” 

“My mama, sir. She’s sick but... we manage.” 

He’s quiet as he continues to observe your diligent work. “Can’t underestimate hard work. If I was my son, I’d start with a pay raise but I’m not gonna do the job for him. He needs to figure that out.” 

“Yes, sir,” you set the bowl aside and pull out a loaf of bread so it’s ready. 

“Get the grill going for sausage and craw,” you instruct next. 

“See, you got the mindset, honey. You focus. I can’t make this place any better but my son will get there. He is mine, after all,” he chuckles. “how about...” he pauses and exhales as he thinks, “you could come work with me. Two days a week. Cut back on shifts here since they got the new bodies in.” 

“Sir? For you? But I... I only worked here for a couple months.” 

“You learned fast, didn’t you? You’re showing me around like a pro,” he shrugs. “It’s nothing big. Just need someone to help me out with some clerical work. Filing or whatever. It’ll pay better than here, even with tips.” 

“Sir...” you blink at him. It’s not a true escape but it might get you some space from Rafe. Or it might make him hate you more. 

“You drive?” He asks. “It’s up away from the banks. I could get you there. Send a car.” 

You don’t know if you can say no. Not just because it could lose you both jobs but because you need the money desperately. Your ma needs to see the doctor again. 

“No pressure,” he assures you. 

“Sir,” you look up at him, “can I think about it?” 

He smiles and rubs your arm, lingering on your shoulder with a squeeze, “take your time. I’ll leave you my number. You can let me know.” 

☀️

You get home without obstacle. It doesn’t comfort you. You can sense trouble lurking. It might not be right now, but it’s coming. 

Rafe never showed up at the stand. Ward left and the rest of you went through the motions. You smell like fish and grease. The others swore to silence and loaded up a bag for you to take to your ma. 

She’s happy when you hand it over with a large diet coke. She thanks you as you watch her. She was always right. About everything. Maybe she can help you figure this out. 

“Ma,” you twist your fist around your finger. “I... I need help.” 

“Help?” She looks alarmed as she keeps from biting into the cajun chicken. “You sounded like you were struggling last night. Everything okay?” 

You blanch. Did she hear everything? Does she know? 

“Oh, I was trying to fix that old VCR,” you have to hold back a cringe at the lie. “But that’s... no. Mama, I... I got an offer for a new job. I’d still be working this one but, er, this new one... I don’t really think I’d know what I’m doin’.” 

“You’re smart, baby, you’ll learn,” she preens and takes a greedy bite. You wait for her to finish. “That’s so exciting. A new job!” 

“It’s um... it’s way up... out of the banks.” 

“Out of the banks,” she tuts. “That’s far.” 

“I know, mama, but Mr. Cameron--” 

“Cameron?” She jerks as if she’s been doused in ice water. “Ward?” 

You frown, “that’s him, mam.” 

“Oh...” she chews another mouthful and thinks. “He’s a rich one.” 

“Yeah, he bought the chip shack--” 

“He did? When was that?” 

“Weeks ago,” you sway. “I guess it’ll be too much. Not worth it, huh?” 

“Well, it’s your choice, baby,” she stares at the bag then crumples the top. “I just worry about you goin’ so far.” 

“I didn’t say yes or nothin’,” you assure her. 

“I think if you wanna, you should try. You never know what could happen, right? Could be a step up to an even better place,” she nods. “It’s just... them people up there, the kooks are real different than us. They don’t like us.” 

Pogues don’t like you either. You don’t say so but you don’t see much of a difference there. You smile thinly. 

“I’m still thinking,” you say.  

You flinch at the noise on the roof. You look up in unison with your ma. She grunts.  

“Hope it’s not them dang shingles ‘gain. Can’t afford to have it nailed down.” She mutters. 

“I’ll check, ma,” you grimace. “It could be a gull again. They tryna build their nests all over.” 

You back out and head to the front door. It’s just another tick in the yes column. You need to fix the roof, properly, not to mention the rest of this place. 

As you come out, a rock bounces off your chest and you clatter against the door. Rafe stands across from the front steps with a handful of stones. You touch your chest as it throbs and cross the crooked porch. 

“Been tryna get you out here. Was about to come in and introduce myself to the mammoth. Thought those were extinct.” 

“Don’t talk about my ma,” you sniffle as you cross your arms. 

“Or what? You gonna lay there like a corpse again?” He snaps. 

You furrow your brow. You only did what he said. He must be mad because of well... his thing not working. 

“I got an idea,” he chuckles. You notice he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. 

You stare at him. Waiting. 

“Should I come in and let mama hear or are you gonna get your ass over here?” he scoffs. 

You tramp down the steps and he tilts his head at you. His eyes narrow and he reaches for your arm. He jerks you toward him. You collide with his stomach. He grabs the back of your neck and his other hand comes under your chin. 

He holds you against him as he snarls down at you. His hand shifts along your throat. “You’re so pathetic,” he sneers. “Small, nothing.” His fingers curl into your scalp. “Feel that. Feel the power I got over you? I could break your neck and leave you out here for the old lady to holler for... no one would care.” 

“Yes, sir,” you croak at him. 

“Come on. You lead the way,” he shoves you so you stumble and fall on your ass. “You pogues know all the hiding spots. Let’s go find one.” 

[haobubbles]

Riize when you argue and they have to go on tour

genre: fluff, crack n kinda angst?

tw: no foolproof read!!, cursing

roxy yapps: i publicily apologise for taking so long to post smth😭 with my exam's week and now christmas (having family over ALL THE TIME) i haven't had time but well, here it is!! enjoy and if u can leave some ideas for req!!

── . ★ shotaro

after the attitude of fans at the airport and the fight he had had with you, this boy was quite a mess and was in very low spirit.

known as probably the most energetic boy on this earth, that day he would catch their fans by surprise when, even if his performance was astounding, he sounded more tired than usual and he clearly had his mind somewhere else. when he closed the door of his room in the hotel, after the concert, he made sure to send an apologise to briizes on weverse. without a second thought (after cheking the time of your country ofc) he called you.

"if you just need to, pretend we're fine until i come back home. i can't perform knowing i've fucked up and haven't made things right"

── . ★ eunseok

after having a fight with you, eunseok sent you a message about his departure for the tour, and as he didn't receive any message back, he second guessed that you needed your space, which he decided to give. he was sure you'd reach out when you felt better but the wait was slowly killing him.

on stage, he wouldn't seem as if he just had a fight with his significant other, although he kept on thinking about his electronic device, and if it had buzzed with a message of yours. he definetely acted flirty with the camera, sending flying kisses or winks in hopes you were watching it at home and you knew they were for you.

seeing your messages on his lockscreen made his face lit up instantly, which even if he knew he would be made fun of later, he couldn't care less.

eunseok: did you see me on stage? all those flying kisses and winks were for you

── . ★ sungchan

would definetely be pouty and with big ass moodswings.

on stage, he would be the sungchan everyone knew and loved, however, on backstage he would be (for the couple minutes they have) pouty, with his eyebrows furred and maybe even moody.

his teammates would probably need to take part in it by telling him how much you miss him. then he would call you with all his confidence built up and he would curse them out loud for setting him up.

"well, now that i've called you, let's just fix things okay? i miss you and i dont want to be abroad while having an on-going fight with you"

── . ★ wonbin

number 1 sulky boy. he would be confident about you two fixing your diferences but he hated the thought of getting on stage and being in a fight with his first and most important supporter.

either spam messages or he would go silent because he'd be too scared to say something or do things to worsen the situation. however; he wouldn't wait for you to make the first step.

would deadass indirectly tell you things during his speech "don't forget to tell your loved ones how much you appreciate them, no matter if you're arguing or phisically distant from each other.."

would leave everyone stunned and would low-key be very proud of himself when he would see your message "call me when you have some time x"

── . ★ seunghan

another boy with speeches however, he would take your arguing as a possibility to get you back, so he would put up a romantic act just for you to see (even if he was in front of thousands of people)

woulnd't be too worried because he was confident in deeply knowing you. he knew how you acted when you were mad and how he was supposed to act

"i've started listening to (your fav song) recently but i think it lacks some reasoning, could someone explain it to me?" "can i marry you? oh no, no, my heart can receive all the love from everyone but it can only give it to one person back"

── . ★ sohee

he would be lost. not only about what to do, but not talking to you and being currently not in good terms, it wrecked his routine and his "normality" so he wouldn't be sure on what to do.

i feel like he would need to talk it out with another member to ask for advice on how to make things right. he would be too shy to act bold by hismelf, so that's why he recurred to talk with euseok during the flight. even if the older member told him to just call you and have a proper conversation (which he of course would do) he dedided to add his own touch.

during the concert, he would say some words or constructions you usually used and poses and gestures you usually made. he just wanted to show you that even if he hadn't reached out, he kept you wiht him everywhere, everytime, no matter what.

"please call me or text me when you can. i miss you so fucking bad and i refuse to go on like this"

── . ★ anton

wheni tell you this boy would risk losing his flight because he didn't want to leave while you hadn't fixed things.

if he did really had to leave (or they just obligated him), he would be all the time sending you reassuring messages about how much he loves you, or maybe some memes to make you laugh.

on stage, he would be bubblier and happier than usual, but he would go viral for singing a snippet of 'the reason' of hoobastank. when the fans would ask him later on about why did he choose to sing it, he would dismiss the topic by saying that he just felt like it.

"i hope you liked it..i bet you'll even like it more when you know the boys have been making fun of me for 15 mins now"

[therealcocoshady]

dad!marshall ideaaa

basically reader is also singer and has brought her child into the music show with her and she has to be away for an interview or something and her child wonders off and marshall’s dad instinct takes over when he sees thr child and in the end he hits it off w reader

hopefully this made sense😭

A/N : Hey ! Thank you so much for your request ! I started working on it a while ago and it stood in my WIPs for the longest time but here it is, finally ! I hope you enjoy it ❤️

Backstage babysitting

CW : Dad!Marshall - Fluff 💕

The hum of the backstage was a mix of tech chatter, the faint rumble of a bassline from rehearsals, and the occasional clatter of equipment. Marshall was hanging out backstage, trying to pass the time by thinking of ways to get back at Paul. His manager had convinced him to perform at the VMAs, arguing that the fans would really enjoy it and that it would be great promo for the album and, though he had agreed, he was starting to regret it. The whole thing seemed to be a logistical nightmare, with technical problems and rehearsals running late. He’d been waiting for nearly an hour and was left to his own devices, his manager having left to take some urgent call. He was leaning against a stack of sound cases, his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, arms crossed tightly across his chest, wondering why a show that was supposed to be a well-oiled machine felt like a rusty bike.

He checked his watch for the thousandth time, unable to hold the loud sigh that escaped him. He didn’t think of himself as particularly demanding, but if there was one thing that made him exasperated and frustrated, it was lack of professionalism. Just as he contemplated storming off to demand answers, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A tiny figure toddled past, clutching a well-loved plush dinosaur that looked like it had been through its fair share of battles. Marshall's scowl softened instantly when he saw the little boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years old. The little one was toddling around, exploring, looking all around him, not paying any attention to what was in front of him, stumbling on a cable. Marshall’s dad instincts kicked in and he moved without thinking, catching the kid before he could faceplant into the floor. He knelt in front of him, holding him steady, and he could immediately tell by the little boy’s scrunched up face that he had quite a scare. He stared at him with wide, watery eyes, his bottom lip quivering.

« Hey, buddy, you okay? » Marshall asked, his tone softening. The kid didn’t answer, starting to sob. Marshall winced and held him, trying to reassure him. « You’re alright, bud. You just scared yourself, that’s all. Look, your dino is fine, yeah? » he said softly, before looking around, searching for the boy’s parents, but no one seemed to pay attention. The little one was clutching his dino plushy with one hand, and his hoodie with the other. « Who let you all by yourself, huh? » he sighed before scooping him up and settling him on his hip, starting to look around for whoever was in charge of child supervision, while the chaos around him continued. As a dad, it made him mad that anyone would be irresponsible enough to let their kid run around unsupervised, but the little guy wasn’t exactly showing signs of distress. He kept on looking around, mesmerized by the lights, unfazed to be held by a stranger. At some point, the boy turned his attention to him and smiled, his tiny hand reaching for the chain around his neck and he couldn’t help but smile back. « Pretty cool, huh? » he chuckled.

He looked around again as he walked up to a group of technicians when he heard a feminine voice ring out, sharp with panic. « Milo? Milo, where are you?! ». The boy straightened up and he immediately took the hint. « Milo, huh? I think someone’s looking for you » he hummed, before turning toward the sound. He immediately saw you, storming off the stage in a glittery outfit and full-glam. He immediately recognized you. How could he not? It seemed like your face and your voice were everywhere, these days, and your song, a strong contender for « Record of the year » was living in everyone’s mind rent free, what with the addictive beat and catchy lyrics.

When your eyes landed on the man holding your son, they widened in a mixture of fear and fury. « What the hell are you doing with my son, you freak?! » you shouted as you rushed towards them. Marshall stepped back instinctively, holding up one hand in surrender while the other still cradled the toddler. « Whoa, relax! I found him wandering around. He almost tripped on a cable. ». You snatched Milo from his arms and held him close. Your heart was pounding. It hadn’t been a minute since you had stepped off stage and noticed that your son and his babysitter were nowhere to be found, but it had felt like forever. « There you are, my love. God, you scared me » you hummed to Milo as you pressed a kiss to his temple. Then, you glanced at the stranger and froze. Eminem. You had just yelled at Eminem. « Sorry I freaked out » you apologized. « And sorry I called you a freak. I-I didn’t recognize you ». Your faces was flushed with relief and embarrassment. He chuckled and waved your apology off. «It’s fine. I get it. But you should probably think about having someone around to supervise him. He could have gotten hurt » he said quietly. « I have » you quickly retorted, almost offended by the implication, before looking around. « Though I suppose I should find a new one that won’t let him escape her notice » you hummed awkwardly, your heart still pounding from the intense choreography you’d just rehearsed and the scare. Marshall nodded and looked at Milo. « Yeah, he does seem sneaky, » Marshall chuckled. You let out a shaky laugh, shifting Milo on your hip as he buried his face in your neck while you looked at Marshall. For a split second, you lost yourself in his eyes and couldn’t help but notice how magnetic he was. Internet was right after all, the aura was unmistakable. He stared back at you, silence settling before you caught yourself. « I-I’m sorry. I’m, uh, I’m Y/N » you finally said. « I know » he replied in a low voice that made you blush. « Yeah? » you asked. « Yeah. Your song ruined my summer » he deadpanned and, for a brief moment, you didn’t get that he was joking. He must have caught your eyebrows furrowing, as he immediately clarified. « No, I mean. It’s good. I liked it. But it sure stays in mind » he hummed. « Oh. Thanks » you replied in a whisper.

There was a pause, as your eyes met again. Marshall couldn’t help but notice how your eyes sparkled, and you seemed to study him with equal intensity. There was something unspoken in the air, something thick. « So, » Marshall said, breaking the silence, « you’re rehearsing for the VMAs? ». You nodded, your expression softening. « Yeah. First time performing here. I’m kind of… on edge, trying to balance… well, everything » you replied, nodding at Milo. Marshall hummed and smiled. « Yeah, I’ve been there. But I’m sure you’re doing great. For what it’s worth, I heard you rehearse in the background and it sounded good » he complimented. You mumbled a thank, trying to fight back the heat creeping up your neck. You smiled at each other, and Marshall was about to say something when Milo tugged on your hair and handed Marshall his dinosaur. « Thanks, bud. That’s a really cool dino. Do you know what his name is? » he asked as he turned his attention to your son. « Dino, » your soon replied in an assured tone. « Well, your Dino’s actually a diplodocus,» Marshall explained softly. « Isn’t that a brachiosaurus? » you couldn’t help but ask. « Actually, no. It’s easy to confuse them, but the diplodocus is longer, when the brachiosaurus is much larger. And, uh, if you look at the tail-» he started to explain, gesturing to the plushy, before awkwardly quieting up. « But I suppose toy manufacturers are really accurate ». You let out a soft giggle and nodded. «True. But thanks for telling us. Didn’t think you moonlighted as a paleontologist » you joked. « I had a dino phase, growing up, » he hummed. You nodded, unable to fight back a smile. You were about to speak when his name was called for soundcheck. « That’s me. I mean, Paul is calling me. I should let you get back to, uh… Milo’s dad » he said, still staring at you. « No » you said without thinking, and he raised an eyebrow. « No? » he asked. « I mean, no, you can go, it’s uh… We’re not going back to his dad » you rambled, not too sure why. « Oh » he simply said and you caught him staring at your left hand, where no rock was on display. « Yeah… No» you hummed. « Ok » he replied, clearly trying to fight back a grin. « See you tomorrow » you said with a smile. « Tomorrow? » he asked. « If you’re rehearsing for the VMAs, it means you’ll be there, right? » you asked. « Oh, right. Yeah, I’ll be there » he hummed as he gave Milo his dinosaur back. « Bye, bud. Take care of your dino and your mom. And don’t run around, ok? ». Milo gave him a toothy smile and giggled, and Marshall stared at you. « Bye Y/N. I hope I’ll run into you » he said as he looked at you and started to walk towards the stage. « So do I » you assured him, silently vowing to do everything in your power to make sure it happened.

[lousycapy]

5+1 landoscar fic idea where Lando is an OnlyFans streamer and Oscar is his cute mechanical engineer bf. 5 times his chat ogles his bf and the 1 time he ogles his bf. They live in a penthouse and Lando insists on streaming from the living room because the lighting is better there, so he puts his setup on the coffee table which also gives his fans a view of the kitchen in the background.

The first time they see Lando’s boyfriend is because Oscar comes by to grab a glass of water after a workout, all sweaty with messy prince hair and rosy undereye blush, his juicy ass popping out as he tiptoes to grab a glass from the cabinets and Lando’s chat goes wild.

The next time they see him is when Lando’s been edging himself with a thick vibrator for an hour, and Oscar’s gotten bored of waiting to get cooking. So he starts preparing dinner over the kitchen counter, kneading pasta dough. Chat starts going off rambling about the mounds of his pecs as they press together when he pushes and the way his biceps bulge and strain the sleeves of his shirt, to the point Lando starts whining that he’s the star of the show and has been putting on an incredible performance in between shaky moans and deserves the praising.

Third time is barely a crumb, Oscar coming home from a bicycle workout in his tight lycra outfit. The chat drools over his slim thick hourglass figure, his fat ass and the imprint of his dick as he passes by in the background. They fantasize about the dirtiest things they could do to his perfectly breedable figure and Lando has to chastise them by reminding everyone he’s the bottom in this household, and Oscar is way too good at pining him down and fucking him three ways to tomorrow for Lando to be anything but a pillow princess.

Fourth time happens when Oscar’s baking, leaning against the counter in his athletic shorts and comfy hoodie. Once the oven’s timer goes off he bends over to grab the cake. Chat gets a full view of his voluptuous cake and the way his thick thighs with a faint dusting of hairs smush together. Lando gets confused by how horny his chat is and all the eating cake innuendos.

Fifth time Oscar has just come out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, as he rushed to check on Lando because he was hearing weird noises. Turns out he was just really into the perineum massaging device he was using and when Oscar turns around to go back in the bathroom his viewers swoon at the shift of his back muscles and his wet hair.

Finally Lando, all pouty, calls Oscar to his help when he hears the front door closing since he can’t figure out how his new toy works. Oscar arrives with his neat suit and blushy cheeks, hair all messy after a long day of big strong company work and starts reading the instructions to him. Chat salivates at his bf (as per) and he coyly winks at them before ending the stream and jumping Oscar so he can ogle his bf in peace.

Now… compilation of pics that inspired this idea 😈

[renthony]

On Cosplay, Fast Fashion, & Waste

Fast fashion and disposable outfits in cosplay community spaces give me anxiety. Seeing people openly talk about throwing their "trashed" cosplay away after a single con makes me sad. Some costumes are crafted with such low durability that they fall apart beyond repair if you look at them the wrong way. I've met a ton of other cosplayers whose idea of "cosplay repair" ends with a stapler and some hot glue.

I never ever ever ever want to shame people for not knowing something. Crafting is hard. Making a low-quality costume isn't a sin or a crime. If you're new and still learning and don't really know what you're doing yet, that's fine! No harm, no foul, no bruise.

The cosplayers who do make me grouchy, however, are the ones who are unwilling to try. The ones who are flippant about throwing away a cosplay without trying to mend it, repurpose it, reuse it, or pass it along. The ones who intentionally make a costume just durable enough to last a single day, then toss it in the trash with zero thought.

My sewing and costuming experience started when I joined the ren faire, and I had to make my costumes sturdy enough to survive multiple weeks of heavy use, with the durability and freedom of movement to allow sword fighting on the living chessboard. I was taught how to shop for inexpensive fabrics and materials, but use high-quality, long-lasting techniques so that my costumes didn't disintegrate after a single day of performing. I have made extremely durable, cost-effective costumes out of bedsheets and thrift store fabric, as have many of my friends.

That experience has carried over into my cosplay. I am not happy with a costume unless it can go through three consecutive days of stage combat and high-intensity walking around outside in the heat, go through the washer and dryer, and come out completely unscathed.

Again, I never want to needlessly shit on other people's cosplay. Cosplay gatekeeping sucks and is no fun for anyone. At the same time, fast fashion is just as rampant in cosplay as it is everywhere else, and it sucks to see how wasteful it is.

You can make things durable even with cheap materials. Stop making flimsy costumes that you're just going to toss. Stop making piles and piles of waste. Please stop buying fabric just to slap a costume together with glue and throw it in the trash. If you are going to invest time and money into making something by hand, make it durable and comfy and worth the effort.

Even if you only want to personally wear it once, you can sell it, give it away, trade it, do something other than toss it in the trash. Show some love to your costumes, show some love to the planet, pick one action you can take to make your cosplay a little less wasteful. Being obsessed with the myth of a "personal carbon footprint" isn't helpful, but we as cosplayers should try to at least make things that'll last longer than 24 hours.

I understand that sewing can be incredibly intimidating, but basic stitching really isn't that complicated if you have a guide and the right tools. I personally need assistive devices for sewing thanks to my hand tremors and tendonitis, but those tools do exist, and can make things easier for both disabled and newbie sewists. I use rotary cutters instead of scissors, I keep a supply of needle threaders on hand, I have multiple little gadgets that help me sew in a straight line so my shaking hands don't screw everything up. There are tons of tools available, tons of tutorials online, and if you're interested in learning, there's a whole world out there to explore.

If you don't want to do all the crafting yourself, that's totally fine, but if you are going to hand-make your costume, you should try and make it durable. It's better for the planet and it's way less stressful to go to an event when you know your costume won't fall apart on the con floor.

If you have zero idea where to start, here are some books with crafting techniques I've found very useful, both in cosplay and regular household sewing I do for my family:

Make, Sew and Mend: Traditional Techniques to Sustainably Maintain and Refashion Your Clothes, by Bernadette Banner (who also has an incredible YouTube channel)

Cosplay Fabric FX: Painting, Dyeing & Weathering Costumes Like a Pro, by Julianna Franchini

Creative Cosplay: Selecting & Sewing Costumes Way Beyond Basic, by Amanda Haas

Level Up! Creative Cosplay: Costume Design & Creation, SFX Makeup, LED Basics & More, by Amanda Haas

[chocodile]

Amaranthine Magic System PART III: Spellcraft for… Everyone Else (Including Unicorns)

This is Part III of a three-part worldbuilding set.

Part I - Part II - Part III (you are here)

So, we’ve now established how magic works and how it can be manipulated by a wizard. But wizards aren’t the only ones capable of using magic... as mentioned in Part I, even a tree can do it. How does THAT work? Surely it must be pretty rare, right?

Well, actually, a number of plants and animals have evolved to harness magic. Something about them—either a physical organ, body part, or some sort of instinctual behavior—is able to warp magic in a way that happens to be beneficial. Some examples:

A predatory cat that can use magic to bend light around itself and appear “invisible” thanks to the molecular structure of its fur

A mole that can vibrate its claws in such a way that they increase the charge of magic in the earth around it, causing solid stone to temporarily liquefy

A flower whose roots absorb magic from the earth and use it to resist freezing, allowing it to bloom all winter long

A bird who sings at a strange, disorienting, warbling song, the vibrations of which interfere with the magical frequencies used by its most common predator

A carnivorous plant that paralyzes its victims not with venom, but with numbing bolts of magic produced by a specially evolved structure whenever it detects nearby movement

You may notice that, with the exception of the carnivorous plant, all the other examples are simply using magical energy already in their environment rather than producing it themselves. Which brings me to the next detail… magic can be “cast” from two types of sources:

“Enchantments”/Ambient casting/passive casting: Happens by gently shaping the background radiation of magic already in the environment, like most of the examples above. It is typically done by passing the magical energy through some sort of physical structure in order to alter its frequency. Most enchanted jewelry functions on this principle. Studying animals that perform passive casting can be useful for wizards to learn new casting and enchanting techniques themselves, and many methods of spellcraft are based on patterns of magic wave manipulation first observed in nature. 99% of animals and plants that use magic fall into this category. Also, this sort of magic waxes or wanes in power depending on the ambient background magic radiation levels of the area… your magic locket may fail you at the worst possible moment if you take it someplace with very low magical background radiation levels.

Active casting/”Casting spells”: Magic where the power source comes from within the creature itself and can be actively turned off or on, such as the carnivorous plant example above. Animals and plants that are capable of active casting are typically quite dangerous indeed, though their bodies tend to make for incredibly valuable spell ingredients and materials for crafting magical devices. Luckily, this ability is extremely rare in nature… the ability to truly “cast a spell” is found almost exclusively in wizards.

As a half-celestial, Ambroys sits at sort of a weird position. He technically is an active caster, as he has his own magical field and he can summon his abilities up at will (or, more often in his youth, accidentally) using his mind/will as the primary trigger. However, half-celestials and half-infernals have the shape of their magical “filter” predefined by their heritage and physical anatomy—it is not consciously shaped the way a wizard’s is. They may be able to choose which of these predefined forms their magic takes, and may even discover new variations on their powers throughout their life, but they can never consciously teach themselves brand new spells from scratch, and will never be able to switch fluidly through several different types of similar magic without interruption the way a wizard could.

To Hyden, this makes Ambroys closer to a beast than a person, magically speaking (no offense, of course). He can’t talk spellcraft with him because he’s not doing anything on purpose… he’s just brainlessly clicking his silly little claws together to dig through rock like the mole mentioned earlier. He will never truly understand all the complex mental hoops Hyden jumps through every time he conjures up a flame to light his opium pipe, even if Ambroys can do the same exact thing by just thinking “ok, fire time now”. It’s just not the same, you know?

Aaand that wraps up the Amaranthine magic guide! This should hopefully provide a clearer view of how everything works in this setting. :)