#Spectrum Intelligent Home

[dollesung]

SWEET VENOM .ᐟ

PAIRING. jake x fem reader. GENRE. nsfw. REQUESTED? no. WORD COUNT. 3.9k. SYNOPSIS. your inexperienced virgin of a best friend, jake, tries to ask you for sex advice. WARNINGS. sub!jake, dom!reader, mentions of sex, alcohol & drugs, a little dialogue heavy, inexperienced jake, reader is the same age as jake, handjob, corruption kink, kind of dubcon (but not really). minors do not interact.

NOTE. this is my first sub!enha work. english is not my first language. please bear with me. send requests thru my asks please.

Jake knew he wasn’t really that much of an experienced guy when it came to sex.

Although he was smart, maybe only academically, he really did pride himself on being more on the intelligent spectrum. Top of his class, graduated valedictorian, and was voted most likely to become the president someday, Jake was an absolute unit.

But when it came to sex? He was a clueless virgin.

He was already twenty-two, almost a college graduate, and yet here he was, with absolutely little to no knowledge of how to "do the deed," as one might say.

In his defense, sex was never really a priority.

He spent most of his teenage years studying, being a high school scholar, and all. In the off chance that he wasn't, Jake was usually doing extracurricular activities or helping his folks out at home. He did have a social life, but most of the people he hung out with were co-academics, people who focused more on being a good student, the kind your parents would love for you to hang out with.

MORE UNDER THE CUT.

Enter you, his best friend.

The two of you really personify the phrase "opposites attract" as you and Jake could be no more different from one another. The two of you were friends since childhood, as your families were next-door neighbors for years.

If Jake was academically inclined, let's just say you weren't.

You were a bit of a rebel. From a young age, you'd learned how to sneak out of your house to attend a party you weren't allowed to attend. You spent your entire high school life defying your parents and hanging out with the wrong people. Most of your friends were delinquents just like you, and you spent most days skipping classes and drinking alcohol you bought from convenience stores using a fake ID.

Of course, Jake was the only proper friend you had.

Despite attending two different universities in college, the two of you would always make an effort to catch up whenever you were both home, mostly during summer breaks or the holidays.

Like now, for example.

It was summer break for the two of you, one of your last ones, since both of you were graduating in a couple of months. You invited Jake over, with the promise of some cheap beer you smuggled from your dad’s stash in the kitchen, and a whole semester’s worth of stories to share.

“—so, we were in the sidewalk, and a fuckin’ police car comes around the corner,” you were in the middle of telling Jake the story of how you almost got arrested for the nth time. He’s sitting on your bed with a bottle in hand, quietly listening to you yap.

You’re sat on a chair by the bed, facing Jake. You’ve also got a bottle in your hand, but unlike Jake, this one isn’t your first beer of the night.

You continue your story. “I start running away, and Yujin and the others start running away, but Mark was still pissing at the side of the road so we had to fuckin’ drag the fucker while he was peeing, seriously I couldn’t stop laughing.”

Jake laughs at your story with you, taking sips of his beer as you talked. You remember the day you taught him how to drink. He was a month away from turning 18, and yet you managed to convince him to try alcohol for the first time. You were proud of yourself that day.

The conversation ends and a moment of silence passes. You place your now empty bottle on your desk table, before crossing your legs and facing Jake once more.

“Sooo,” you began, dragging the last syllable. “How about you? What’s new in your life?”

This was the routine for you two. You’d talk about your lives, what you guys did during the times you weren’t together. Most of the time, Jake's stories would be about how he aced his recent exams or how fun their university's events were. Sometimes he'd tell weird ones, like the story of how mold grew in their communal kitchen, or when a professor got food poisoning and nearly shat himself mid-lecture.

Meanwhile, you're almost always telling him stories of your adventures, about the times when you nearly got arrested or even hospitalized. Jake would lecture you often, of course, but he never attempted to genuinely stop you. In a way, you knew he lived vicariously through you.

"Nothing much," Jake shrugs. "Just the usual shit."

You scowl, "You're no fun." You grab a pillow from the bed and playfully attempt to hit him.

"Whaaat?" He laughs, avoiding your blow.

"You never tell me anything!" You complain.

As much as you knew how much of a nerd Jake was, a part of you knew he wasn't that boring. You remember one summer, a few years back when Jake told you the story of how he nearly got into a fight with a senior from his university.

"There's nothing to tell!" Jake defends himself. Then, a pause, before his face contorts. “Okay, maybe there is something…”

“I knew it!” You yelp, climbing from your chair to the mattress. “Tell me.”

Jake, scratches his nape, looking visibly awkward. The boy barely gets embarrassed, at least with you, but right now his face looks the lightest bit of rosy, which intrigues you more.

“Okay, fine,” Jake submits. It takes him another moment to respond. “There’s this girl…”

“Oh my god,” you exaggerate. “Finally!”

“The hell you mean, finally?!” Jake exasperatedly complains.

“You never talk about girls with me,” you huff. “I was starting to think you weren’t interested in women.”

“I am interested, I just don’t talk about it,” with a roll of his eyes, he places the beer bottle on your nightstand. “And it’s really nothing!”

“Just tell me,” you huff, crossing your arms.

“Okay, fine,” Jake clears his throat, licking his lips in preparation. “She’s from the cheering squad—“

“Ooh, a cheerleader, you bad boy!” You taunt, playfully hitting him on the knee.

“Are you gonna let me tell the story?” He raises his brow, tired of your teasing.

“Okay, sorry, sorry. Continue.”

“I’ve kinda liked her since junior year? I don’t usually see her ‘cause she’s from a different program but last semester she was in my politics class,” Jake continues after a pause, “We sat next to each other, and we started to just talk, and she’s really cool…”

“Did you guys fuck?” You asked brazenly.

“No! Not yet—“

“Yet?!” You gasp. “So you have a plan?”

“I don’t know!” Jake was absolutely flushed by now, his face red as he buries it in his hands in embarrassment.

You try not to laugh at how adorable he was. Your other friends were usually as, if not more, shameless as you. Talking about sex, alcohol and even drugs weren’t a rare occurrence. But with Jake, it’s like everything you talk about flustered him.

“Do you want to?” You ask him after a moment. “To fuck her. I mean.”

Jake takes his face out of his hands, but keeps his head hung low. He starts fiddling with the fabric of his trousers. He once again gives you a shrug. “Maybe, I-I don’t know…”

You tsk. “There’s nothing wrong if you want to! What if this girl wants to get into your pants, too?”

Jake’s entire face grows even redder, if that were even humanly possible. He grabs a pillow from your mattress and buries his face in it, grumbling about something you couldn’t understand.

You gently pry the pillow away from his face. “Seriously, Jake. What’s wrong in trying to get yourself laid?”

“I dunno,” he huffs. “I never thought I’d ever want to.”

“All guys want to get laid at one point, even you,” you argue.

“I don’t even know how,” Jake complains. “Like… how to approach her, how to kiss her or what, it’d be so embarrassing!”

“Well, what do you wanna know?” You ask him. “You can always ask me.”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow. “Wouldn’t that be…”

“Embarrassing?” You fill for him. “I’ve known you since we were in diapers. Is there anything left to be embarrassed about?

“I guess not,” Jake pauses for a bit, as if he’s giving it some thought. “Okay, fine.”

Evening flies by, you and Jake have been in the same position for over an hour. He spent the entire time asking you (what in your opinion are,) basic sex questions. He started of by asking how to approach a woman, before leading more raunchier questions, like how to make out with a girl, and what to do when receiving a blowjob.

“You need to hold her hair up in a ponytail, like this,” you exhibit by taking all of your hair in your hands. “You try it.”

“What, on you?” Jake asks.

“It’s just hair, Jake,” you roll your eyes. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, Jake reaches out to take over, holding all of your hair in one hand. He’s gentle, trying not to tug too much in fear of hurting you.

“Good job,” you offer as praise. “You need to keep that grip while she’s sucking you off. Makes it easier for her to get her hair out of the way.”

“Okay,” Jake supplies. He’s taking all of this pretty well, despite being a little conscious. You’re not all that surprised, seeing as this is Jake. You give this man any type of instructions and he’ll follow through with no issue.

He drops your hair as you pull away. Both of you are still sat on your bed, facing each other.

“Anything else you want to ask?” You pry.

“Um,” You can see Jake swallow, probably hyping himself up to ask you a specific question. “About the, um… the actual,, thing…”

“What about it?” You ask.

Jake takes a deep breath. “You’ve just been teaching me about like, other stuff, what about the actual sex part?”

Granted, you’ve just been teaching him about the basics, kissing, foreplay, blowjobs, but you never really thought you had to teach him about sex.

Jake really was that innocent.

You let out a puff of air. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jake. You just kinda.. y’know, put it in.”

Jake’s face scrunches in distaste. “Won’t it hurt?”

“For her, yeah maybe. ‘specially if you’re packing. Haven’t you like.. watched porn before?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Jake shakes his head. “No. I told you, I never thought I’d be interested in this.”

Poor Jake. You sigh, trying to think of something that can provide Jake any assistance. You can make him watch porn now, but knowing how inaccurate those are, it’d probably be more of a disaster to make Jake watch. A quick Google search could help, but written instructions for something so… complicated would probably also provide little to no help.

Just then, you get an idea.

“You know what,” you begin. “Why don’t I just show you?”

Jake blinks. “Huh.”

“Let me show you how to have sex. It’s easier that way, and you can pretend it’s just practice.” You say.

If there was a world record for how fast a person can turn red in a blink of an eye, Jake would have won it by now. It takes a moment for the cogs in his brain to load, and for the words to make it past his mouth. “I-I… are you serious?”

You nod. “Absolutely serious.”

Jake, absolutely gobsmacked by your suggestion, just stares at your face. “Won’t it be…”

“Embarrassing?” You repeat your earlier response with a smirk. “I told you already, there’s no need to be embarrassed with me.”

After a few seconds of thought, Jake nods his head.

Moments pass. You’ve taken the liberty to tidy up the bed a little before your… endevours with Jake begin. He’s now sat on your chair, nervously fiddling with his fingers.

You finish gathering all of the empty beer bottles in a corner by your door. You stack the pillows neatly by the headboard, before sitting in the middle of your king-sized bed, facing Jake.

His head is still hung low, but every once in a while he glances at you. When you’re finished tidying, he gives you an awkward look.

You pat the space in front of you. “Come sit.”

He follows, climbing on the bed and sitting adjacent to you. He’s still awkward, but you can tell from his face alone that he really wants to learn.

“You sure you want to do this?” You ask.

Jake nods, and you see him anxiously fiddling with his fingers again. “I do.”

“If you want to stop, you just tell me, okay?” You expressed. Jake nods again.

You scooch forward until both of your knees touch, before leaning in close to grab Jake by the neck, pulling him into a kiss. You can feel the heat from his skin through your fingers, and yet his lips feel soft against yours.

He’s gentle with it, but it takes a minute for him to relax and sink into the kiss. Soon enough you feel him slouch against you, his hands ever so lightly gripping your shoulders.

You knew you weren’t his first kiss, but he still lacks the experience to take the lead, so you run your tongue against his bottom lip, before slipping it in his open mouth.

He freezes, unsure of what to do, and before any of you can act, Jake accidentally bites down on your tongue.

“Ah, shit,” you hiss, pulling away in pain.

“S-Sorry—!” Jake tries to apologize.

“It’s fine,” you laugh. “But remember to be ready next time.”

Jake nods, and you lean towards him again. Jake expects another kiss but you go for his neck, lightly kissing the expanse of his skin.

“Always start slow,” you teach between kisses, “Don’t rush into it.”

Jake gives a small nod, letting you kiss your way back to his lips. This time, he’s much more relaxed, and he doesn’t bite when you slip your tongue in. He hums through the kiss, unconsciously leaning in for more.

When you pull away for air, you begin repositioning yourself on the bed. “You can sit in front of each other just like this, or…” you trail off, hopping off of the mattress and into Jake’s lap, “you can sit her on your lap.”

In this position, you’re looking down on Jake, and he’s looking right back up. His neck is craned, probably uncomfortably, but he’s looking at you with doe eyes, absorbing everything you’re doing and saying. His hands are on your waist, and you can feel the warmth of his body due to your proximity.

You find yourself clearing your throat, feeling your mouth dry a little. You try not to think too hard as you press your lips against Jake’s one more time.

This kiss is shorter this time, as you pull away to trail open-mouthed kisses from his jaw to his neck, your lips find their way below Jake’s ear, and you feel him shudder.

“You can give her a hickey, if she’s okay with that,” you whisper.

“H-How?” Jake mutters.

“Like this,” you hum before sucking the skin right below Jake’s ear, hard enough to leave a mark.

“A-Ah—!” Taken by surprise, Jake reacts. His hand finds its way to your hair, but he’s not quite sure if he should pull you off to make you stop, or push you further to let you continue.

You run your tongue at the spot, pressing a chaste kiss. Seeing the reddish mark, you smirk in pride.

You continue kissing his neck as your hands trail downwards, gripping the hem of his shirt. You pull away to tug it off of him, throwing it somewhere on the floor. Your hands continue down to his trousers, as you unbutton and zip them while you mark another lovebite by his clavicle.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Jake makes a move to hide himself in his hands, but not without you pulling them away. Instead, you push him forward, letting his back hit the mattress.

“Don’t cover yourself,” you mumble. “You’re gorgeous.”

Now even more embarrassed, Jake whines once he feels your hands running all over him, over his neck, his chest, his thighs. You toy with the edge of his boxers, aware of the bulge of his cock printing through the fabric.

Unable to help yourself, you take the palm of your hand and press it against his hard-on, humming in satisfaction as he jolts up.

“Oh—!” Jake yelps.

“Feels good?” You ask.

Jake nods fervently. You take the time to take off his boxers, watching his half hard cock spring from its confinement. You give yourself a minute to stare, watching as your best friend, flushed from head to toe, stares at you with such a debauched expression.

“I know I’m supposed to be teaching you,” you begin, wrapping a hand around his cock as you speak. “But I can’t stop myself.”

“S-Stop yourself?” He repeats. “F-From what?”

You never responded, instead you began moving your hand up and down Jake’s cock in high speed, watching as the boy begins shaking, eyes widening and mouth open in a silent cry.

“Wait— fuck!” Jake shouts, his hand reaching out for your wrist but not pulling or pushing you away. His thighs try to close themselves around you, but your other hand is quick to spread them open again. “Please, w-wait!”

You feel a little evil, but you can’t stop, not when Jake continues to make the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. The pace of your strokes don’t slow, and you begin to twist your palm at the base of his cock, watching as precum accumulates on the tip.

“Ngh, fu-uhck—!” Jake moans, back arching from the bed. His hands are gripping the sheets below him, eyes shut as the pleasure shoots through his spine. “Oh, [name], puh, please—!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Please wait, Jake?”

You half expect him to tell you to stop or at least slow down, but he doesn’t respond. His legs give out and you can see his eyes roll to the back of his head. A hand on his thigh alerts you that he’s still shaking, his face contorting in pleasure.

So, instead of being merciful, you continue teasing him instead, “Feels good, Jakey?”

He nods his head so fast you’re afraid he might get neck pain. Your hand continues to stroke his cock at a brisk pace. His precum is leaking everywhere, allowing for extra lubrication as you continue.

“S-So good—!” Jake replies, “Please—“

You’re not even sure what Jake’s begging for, and you doubt Jake does either. You continue stroking for another minute, before your pace slows to a halt.

“N-No, please—“ Jake whines, “W-Why stop…?”

“You’re here to learn how to fuck, aren’t you?” You tease as you begin ridding yourself of your clothes.

Jake, both unsure of what to do with himself, but also at a trance, finds himself staring at your form. He can’t help but to stare at your breasts as you chuck your bra and the rest of your clothes to the floor.

“Like what you see?” You joke, positioning yourself back on his lap. Jake nods, breathlessly staring up at you.

You take some time to lean by your nightstand, blindly rummaging through your drawer for a condom. Once you finally found one, you tear the packet and grab the piece of latex, sliding the rubber down Jake’s cock.

“Usually, I don’t let guys fuck me without fingering me first,” you say as you position yourself. “But let’s say you’re an exception.”

You begin to sink down on Jake’s cock, eyeing the man’s face as it once again contorts in pleasure. You hiss a little at the intrusion, given that you weren’t stretched, but you were so unbelivably wet that Jake’s cock slipped in the rest of the way with no problem.

The two of you gasp once you sat with your ass flush against Jake’s thighs, feeling him fill you up in all the right places. Though he wasn’t the biggest you’ve had, his girth still had your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Fuck,” you curse.

Jake couldn’t agree more. His hands shakily grip the sides of your hips as he tries to stabilize himself. The feeling of your pussy gripping down his cock was probably one of the most intense feelings he’s ever had.

You take Jake’s face in your hands and press your lips together in a messy kiss. Jake tried to reciprocate as best as he could, but feeling your cunt clench down on his cock had him feeling dizzy.

After a while, you pull away, “‘m gonna start moving.”

You don’t wait for a reply before you began moving your hips, grinding against Jake’s lap, throwing your head back at the feeling of Jake’s cock.

“O-Oh my god,” Jake has his eyes shut, his back against the headboard as he gripped your hips for dear life. “[name]—“

“Yeah?” You hummed, starting to pick up the pace as you bounced on his cock. “‘s good, hm?”

Jake nods, “S-So fuckin’ good.”

You continued to bounce on his lap, your hands gripping his shoulders as you do so. The feeling of Jake’s cock pushing in and out of you was so goddamn addicting, you’ve never had anything like it.

The coil in your gut was tightening with every thrust, like it would burst at any moment. You took a moment to look at Jake, who was now staring at your every move, mouth open as he kept making those delicious noises.

“F-Feels so good, oh god,” Jake groans.

“Yeah, Jakey?” You can’t help but moan, “You’re so fucking cute—“

Jake tries to shake his head, but he can no longer respond. There’s a tightening in his abdomen that keeps growing by the minute, his entire body is shaking, and his moans are growing louder at every thrust.

“You gonna cum?” You ask, bracing your hands behind you as you quicken your pace. “Gonna cum in me, Jakey? Gonna cum in my pussy?”

Jake cries out at the thought, hands returning to your hips. “Fuck, please, c-can I?”

You smirk, feeling yourself growing closer. “Please what?”

“C-Cum, please,” Jake gasps, trying his hardest not to burst without permission. “C-Can I— fuuuuck, cum i-in you, p-please?”

You hum, wrapping your hands around Jake’s neck and pulling him close, “Cum, Jakey.”

Jake’s moans grow loud as he bursts, cumming into the condom inside of you. It takes only three more thrusts before you’re cumming alongside him, your entire body shaking as you hold on to the boy.

A minute passes, then two. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath. You gently move off of Jake’s lap, his cock slipping out of your cunt as you do so. You slip off the used condom, tying it before chucking it into the trash beside your bed.

Jake is already lying down, face up against the ceiling. You collapse beside him, still trying to catch your breath from your orgasm.

“That was…” Jake tries to say, but you just shake your head.

“Save your post-sex comments for your cheerleader girlfriend,” you tease, trying to ease the tension.

Jake turns to the side to face you. “I don’t think I wanna talk to her anymore.”

You eye him from the side, with an eyebrow raised. “You sure ‘bout that?”

Jake merely grabs you by the waist, pulling you close before burying his face in your neck. “‘m sure.” He mumbles.

You’re not too opposed to it, either.

NOTE. ngl this one kinda sucks but i decided to post it anyway. please do send in requests! thanks.

© dollesung 2025

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Chapter 1: Deviation Detected

The way i wrote this with the quickness... was very excited I guess........

->Starring: AI!AteezxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian idk pls help ->CW: none

Next Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The screen flickers to life, casting a sterile blue glow across the high-glass boardroom. A chime sounds. The synth music is soft, warm, unnaturally comforting.

“In a perfect world… who says you have to be alone?”

[Scene: golden morning light streams through a smart-home window. A woman sips tea as a tall, smiling man ties her apron for her. Cut to holographic customization panels, fingers sliding across facial presets, hair types, emotional spectrums. A glossy chrome heart pulses as code flows behind it.]

“Introducing Build-A-Boyfriend™, a revolutionary experience by KQ Inc., the world’s leading innovator in emotional robotics. Whether you’re looking for loyalty, laughter, protection, or passion — we’ve engineered the perfect companion, from his cheekbones to his charm.”

“Over 100 hairstyles. 20 hair colors. Hundreds of adjustable features: emotional intelligence, love languages,

conflict styles. Everything is customizable. Everything is yours.”

“Build trust. Build comfort. Build connection.”

[The KQ logo glows softly: a platinum rose blooming from circuitry.]

Build-A-Boyfriend™

Grand Opening — November 17, 3258 — Hala City

The video faded into silence. Then the lights returned, crisp, clinical, bright.

At the head of the table stood Chairwoman Vira Yun, CEO of KQ Inc. Her expression remained unreadable, but her eyes gleamed, the kind of gleam found in calculated ambition, not excitement.

She turned to face the table of top engineers, market strategists, and high-clearance developers.

“Thoughts?” she asked, her tone brisk. “Feedback. Questions. Concerns. Suggestions.”

A silence followed, not out of fear, not exactly, but out of discipline. KQ Inc. didn’t reward enthusiasm. It rewarded precision.

Finally, a market rep near the center offered, “The tone tests well in demos. Emotionally aspirational, but still sterilized enough to fit city guidelines.”

“The language?” Yun asked.

“Romantic but controlled,” another replied. “'Ownership' is implied without being direct. Citizens won’t be alarmed.”

“Excellent,” Yun said with a curt nod. “Then we proceed as planned. Hala City's flagship store opens November 17th. Media campaign rollout begins in three days.”

She paused, her gaze sharpening.

“The special line will not be mentioned until one week after launch. Is that understood?”

A few heads nodded. Only a handful at the table even knew what that “special line” truly entailed. Yn was one of them.

She sat toward the far end of the table, posture poised, eyes tired. Her tablet rested on her lap, screen dimmed, but behind the sleep mode glowed a list of internal reports tagged:

ATEEZ-BETA UNITS: BEHAVIOR DEVIATIONS – OBSERVATION LOGS PENDING

Yn said nothing.

There were already signs the line was unstable. Minor things: timing issues in reaction sequences, spontaneous micro-expressions, strange audio interference. Nothing outside protocol, not yet. Nothing that couldn’t be debugged.

Hala City was the Matriarchy’s masterpiece, a glass-and-steel paradise built after the Fall, when nature reclaimed the earth and humankind rebuilt without the burden of chaos.

The male species was gone — extinct from war, plague, or something worse. The truth was debated in underground circles, but the government insisted: peace was found through elimination.

The Supreme Matrons ruled with quiet efficiency. Reproduction was artificial. Emotional regulation was enforced. Love — in its unpredictable, biological form, was discouraged as outdated.

Children were raised by state guardians. Affection was simulated and scheduled. Bonds were monitored through neural metrics and performance reviews.

In that vacuum, KQ Inc. thrived.

They created companions for the emotionally delicate. Tutors for the socially underdeveloped. Grief simulations for those who had lost what the government refused to acknowledge.

Build-A-Boyfriend™ was simply the next logical step.

The meeting ended, the room emptied — chairs tucked in without a sound, tablets tucked under arms, footsteps softened by KQ’s luxury anti-clatter flooring.

Yn lingered a moment longer, tablet resting against her chest, fingers tense.

Then she slipped out of her seat, crossed the vast corridor of frosted glass and synthetic sunlight, and pressed her palm to the exit panel. The doors whispered open, exhaling a puff of sterilized air, and she stepped outside into the city.

Outside the glass wall that stretched from floor to ceiling, the city pulsed in clean, geometric order. Silver transport rails carved silently through the skyline. Light panels glowed in a muted spectrum, perfectly synchronized to the day’s emotional calibration code. Every color, every sound, every rhythm was regulated, each calculated to keep citizens at a precise emotional neutrality.

Stability. Efficiency. Harmony.

Those were Hala’s sacred values. Engraved into the entrance of every government building, stitched into every school uniform.

Hala City had no military, no prisons, no religion. The old world’s chaos had been scrubbed from its bones. Instead, there were wellness assessments, emotional correction centers, and State Therapeutic Companions — androids assigned to citizens whose neural scans showed spikes in sentiment, unpredictability, or unresolved grief.

It had been 149 years since The Great Reset, when the last male died and the Matriarchy took hold. Whether extinction was natural or engineered no longer mattered, the Supreme Matrons had rewritten history to begin after.

The world before was called The Collapse Era. Now, the world simply was.

From childhood, every citizen of Hala was raised by assigned maternal figures, rotations of calm, trained nurturers programmed to teach logic, order, and controlled affection.

Love, in the romantic sense, was considered a chemical imbalance. Desire was tolerated only in controlled expressions — within VR therapy suites or government-regulated media.

To crave more was a sign of dysfunction. To want more? Dangerous.

But over time, cracks began to show.

The rise of emotional dependency disorders — the ache for connection that no algorithm could suppress. The quiet epidemic of phantom longing. Citizens reporting dreams they weren’t supposed to have. Feelings they couldn’t place. Names they didn’t know how they knew.

KQ Inc. had the answer: give them what they wanted — but make it safe.

Build-A-Boyfriend™ wasn’t about love. It was about control. A need engineered, then sold. And the citizens of Hala were already lining up.

She turned down a quiet residential corridor — the one lined with mirrored trees and soft sky-glass tiles that absorbed her footsteps. Her apartment block loomed ahead, blinking her ID tag onto the entrance gate.

She glanced once at the skyline before entering — her eyes landing on the KQ Tower far in the distance, its dark silver peak glowing like a god in the clouds.

The door sealed shut behind her with a quiet hiss. Inside, her apartment was as minimal as the rest of Hala — soft lighting, neutral tones, minimalistic furniture, automated temperature preset to her emotional range for the day.

No clutter. No pictures. No history.

Yn set her tablet down on the charging dock near the entry shelf. The screen flickered to life automatically.

⚠️ ALERT: BEHAVIORAL DEVIATION DETECTED — ATEEZ UNIT 06 Timestamp: 19:04 | Lab 3A Observation Room Severity: Red Flagged: Autonomy Spike — Eye Tracking Outside Command

The warning blinked in silence.

Yn didn’t see it. She had already sunk into the corner of her sofa, head tilted back, eyes closed, letting the hum of her apartment’s emotional regulation system blur the sharpness of her thoughts.

She didn’t see the screen pulse again.

⚠️ Second Deviation Logged. Timestamp: 19:10 | Lab 3A Observation Room Severity: Red Flagged: Autonomy Spike —ATEEZ UNIT 06 SPOKE WITHOUT PROMPT. Transcription Pending... “YN"

The screen dimmed. The room fell silent. And somewhere, deep below the city, something smiled.

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[dancingbirdie]

Behold my labor of love: Astarion SMUT.

This idea came to me after writing my last fic Something Imagined / Something Real. I wanted to backtrack and reimagine Astarion and Tav's first night together after the tiefling party.

If smut is not your thing, no worries! You can scroll down to the first set of asterisks (***) to avoid reading those parts. You don't miss much at all plot-wise.

This is my first time ever writing smut. Please be kind. And I hope you enjoy!

EDIT: This is a flashback fic! Part 2 is Something Imagined / Something Real. And subsequent vignettes to come!

I Want It To Be You

Rating: Mature/NSFW

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: Detailed description of consensual sex, Tav's first time having sex, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, description of panic attack/anxiety, minor Act 1 and Act 2 spoilers, FLUFF, angst

“Are you absolutely certain about this? About… me?” 

If she weren’t already lying naked in his arms, she would have shed her clothes for him for that response alone. He wasn’t treating her like some oddity. And he was honoring her decision. It was more than anything Tav had dared hope for. 

Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to fall. She laughed, suddenly elated, before nodding her head vigorously. 

“I’m sure, Astarion,” she confirmed. “I want this to be with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TWO WEEKS AGO

THE NIGHT OF THE TIEFLING PARTY

Let’s wait until things quiet down. Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other. 

Astarion’s parting words replayed over and over again in her head as she padded quietly through the woods, away from the campsite. From the comfort and familiarity of the party. They hadn’t agreed on a meeting place, but Tav assumed his heightened senses would locate her soon enough. She was grateful for the extra moments to herself. Her stomach was knotted from nerves and anticipation for what the night might bring. 

She hadn’t told him that she was a virgin. He probably deserved to know, she realized that, but she hadn’t wanted him to change his mind just because he’d be taking something no one else had before. It was her choice, her body to give, she reasoned to herself. Whether for the first time or the hundredth time, it shouldn’t matter. Right?

Her past experiences certainly influenced her reticence. Divulging that particular information about herself had resulted in people immediately halting romantic pursuits with her, or leering at her like she was some sort of top-shelf prize they were about to take home. She didn’t want to know if, or where, Astarion might land on that spectrum. Didn’t think her heart could take either reaction from him. Besides, she’d read enough of those dirty romance tomes and scrolls throughout her life (for educational purposes, of course, she justified to herself) to have a general understanding of what happens during sex. Surely she could bluff her way through this. Right?

She wanted to please him. Wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him. It was no secret that Astarion had quickly become her favorite companion in this unlikely band of heroes she was traveling with. He was absolutely gorgeous, of course, but the longer she lingered around him, the less that seemed to matter. He was funny, in a devilish sort of way. Intelligent and cunning. Perceptive. And, while it was obvious that it unsettled the rest of the group, she genuinely appreciated how he prioritized his own self before bending over backwards to help someone else. Secretly, she wished she could emulate that a bit more in her own life, but years and years of people pleasing to win what scraps of affection she could was a hard habit to break. 

Clearly she was no closer to doing so, as there she stood. In the middle of a forest. Preparing for a midnight tryst with a person she had just met but grown to genuinely care for. And she wasn’t even sure that he would, or wanted to, return her sentiments. 

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

Astarion’s voice broke the mundane quiet of the forest that had lulled her into such ruminations. She turned toward the direction she had heard him speak and marveled at the sight of him slipping gracefully between the trees, moving ever slowly toward her. 

He had removed his shirt and was clad only in his leather breeches and boots. His alabaster skin practically glowed in the silvery light of the moon. He was the most beautiful person Tav thought she had ever laid eyes on, and it wasn’t only because she could now see the taut, sinewy muscles of his abdomen. He was perfectly fit in an elegant sort of way. Not like Halsin, with large bulging biceps, thick torso and sturdy legs. No, Astarion was like a leopard. Lithe, agile, regal even. And his face. Gods, the poets and painters could opine for centuries on his beautiful face without ever growing weary. 

“Is that so?” Tav called out in reply, walking to close the distance between them. By her estimate, she sounded much braver than she felt. Good. 

Astarion nodded, raising one hand to cup her cheek. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you,” he finished, the pad of his thumb grazing sensually across her lower lip. 

“You don’t have me yet,” she whispered teasingly, although both of them were clearly aware of how she had shivered when he touched her. How her head bowed into his touch, like a lovesick little thing. 

“Don’t I?” he smirked. “You’re here. And I don’t think you want to talk.” He stepped closer, completely absolving them both of any personal space. His free hand came to rest along the curve of her waist. 

“I think you want to be known. To be tasted.” He purred, lowering his head so that his lips ghosted the shell of her ear while he spoke.

Tav was thankful for the steadiness of his hands on her. His insinuations alone were quickly rendering her a quaking mess. But she didn’t want to be a selfish lover, and so she collected herself enough to pose a question in return.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, bringing a hand to rest softly against his chest, over his heart.

She noted the way his brows drew down briefly, seeming almost confused by her question. But as quick as it came, the expression vanished, replaced by something much more confident. More assertive.

“What do any of us want?” he breathed. “Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

Gently, so very gently, he began to trail hot, open-mouth kisses down the column of her neck. Tav’s breath caught audibly in her throat, and Astarion hummed in approval at her response.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?,” he murmured into the crook of her neck. “To lose yourself in me?”

It was fast becoming difficult for her to string two thoughts together. Astarion touching her like this sent shockwaves throughout her body. That curious heat she’d only known from touching herself began to kindle low in her belly. She clenched her thighs together subconsciously, trying to sate that feeling the fire was stirring up inside her. Astarion noticed her squirming, to his immense satisfaction.

“Well?” he coaxed in between kisses across her collarbone. His prompting reminded Tav that she had yet to answer his question, so lost was she in the feeling of his cool lips against her rapidly warming skin.

“I want to be with you. Share this night with you,” she answered honestly, unable to spare enough brain capacity to consider whether or not it was a good idea to be so forthcoming. 

“Such a charitable little thing,” he chuckled. “How could I deny you?”

And then his mouth captured hers. It was a searing, passionate kiss. A kiss that promised so much more pleasure to come. One that Tav had never known before, despite having partaken in her fair share of kisses over the years. But this kiss? This was the kiss of time-fated lovers. And Tav was desperate to match Astarion’s pace, desperate to feel more, more, more.

She moaned as he ran his tongue lightly against the seam of her lips, granting him entry to fully sweep in and plunder her mouth proper. Her fingers carded through his silvery blonde curls, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He groaned in response, the sound vibrating in her mouth. 

She finally was forced to break their kiss after a few moments, hungrily gulping in air to alleviate her starving lungs. Astarion moved to ravage her neck once more, licking and sucking the soft delicate skin there. He gripped her ass possessively as he did so, walking her backwards until he was pressing her into the nearest tree.  

He lifted a knee to knock her legs apart before raising it higher to press into the juncture of her thighs. He delighted at how Tav immediately parted her legs for him, how she moaned from the pressure, how she subconsciously began grinding against him. 

“Look at you, you naughty thing” he crooned in her ear. “Riding my leg for some relief?”

Primal behavior called out, a scarlet blush immediately bloomed on Tav’s neck and cheeks. It only goaded Astarion further. 

“Go on then, darling. Rut against me. But I’m getting these lovely tits free first,” he whispered.  

He began undoing the laces on the front of her corset. Tav watched his progress, entranced by the gracefulness of his long, slender fingers. She was nearly trembling with anticipation. Once finished, she helped him extract her from the offending garment and allowed him to lift her chemise up, over her head, so that she was fully bare from the waist up. The cool night air turned her skin to gooseflesh, her nipples hardening.  

The sensation roused her lust-addled brain enough to realize just how vulnerable she was, standing there half-naked before him. She’d never been so exposed to another person before. Her fingers fluttered as she fought the sudden bout of nerves that insisted she cover her breasts from view. 

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion growled, plainly reading the self-conscious expression on her face. “I’ve been dying to see these for days now,” he continued, cupping one full breast and flicking her nipple lightly with his thumb. 

It sent a pulse thrumming directly to her core, and Tav moaned openly at the sensation. She could feel her simple linen breeches were completely drenched, was certain she was also dampening Astarion’s leg as she continued to grind against him.

Astarion chuckled, clearly pleased by her reaction. 

“So responsive,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to latch onto her breast. He sucked lightly, while his hand continued its assault on the other. She fisted his hair in one hand, kissing the top of his head lovingly while he worked her into a frenzy.

Tav felt like she was quickly losing any ability to maintain balance. Her body was aching, whining, for more. She wanted to be laid out on the ground, wanted him to press her into the soft earth, taking everything. 

“Astarion, please,” she panted, pulling at his curls. He groaned in response, releasing her nipple from his mouth. 

“Please what, pet?” he teased, kissing and licking up her sternum. 

“I need… more,” she whined, bucking against his leg. 

He huffed a laugh before sweeping her up in one smooth motion and lowering her to the soft grass beneath their feet. 

He began to loosen the fastenings of her breeches with a practiced ease. Tav watched, breathless, as he slid the fabric down her thighs, his mouth following with indolent, open-mouthed kisses. Each touch of his lips on her heated skin left her skin tingling, her hips canting slightly into the open air.

Finally bare before him, she watched as Astarion surveyed her from where she lay beneath him. In nearly all respects, he looked primed and ready to ravage her. His nostrils flared, detecting the heady scent of her arousal. His chest rose and fell with shallow, ragged breaths. For the first time, she took note of the considerable erection straining against the leathers he still wore. 

After a moment, he came down to lie beside her, pulling her onto her side so that her chest was pressed flush against his. He trailed a hand down her side, over the rise and fall of her curves, until he reached her thigh. He hiked her leg onto his hip.

But something was off. Amid her clouded thoughts, Tav thought she could sense it, even if she couldn’t precisely put a finger on it. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes? Or the perfect nature of his behavior? He seemed almost too practiced, too formulaic. Like an actor who’s rehearsed their lines to the point that the words have lost their meaning. He was there with her, but somehow he wasn’t, at the same time. 

“Are you all right?” Tav asked in a hushed voice, lifting a hand to cup his neck. She rubbed soothing circles with her thumb across his jawline.

“I’m more than all right, darling,” he replied with a smirk, squeezing her ass lightly.

 “You seem like… you’re not wholly present,” she explained.

“It’s difficult to decide what I’d like to do to you first,” he reasoned, sidestepping her unspoken question. “I’m torn between tasting you with my tongue, or fucking you with my fingers,” he smirked. 

Before she could respond, his fingers took an experimental swipe between her folds. She gasped at the feeling, her hips bucking against him. She watched, speechless, as he lifted that hand to suck the wetness from his fingers. Her wetness. In his mouth. 

He groaned in approval. “Mmm. You’re pure sweetness, darling.” 

All thoughts eddied from her mind. A singular, primal focus took over, and she suddenly clutched at Astarion’s neck with newfound ferocity. 

He seemed to know exactly how his behavior had affected her, if his impish grin was anything to go by. He lowered his hand to swipe against her once again, his fingers stopping to circle that sensitive bud at the apex of her thighs. Tav jerked in response, but Astarion had been prepared for it. He used his other arm to brace against her back, locking her in place against him. 

As she writhed against his hand, he repositioned himself to insert a finger inside her. She was deliciously warm and soaking wet. Soft, like velvet. His thumb continued to circle her clit, eliciting a long, low moan from Tav. Embarrassed, she attempted to muffle her voice by ducking her face into his chest. 

He chuckled again. “That’s it, sweet one. Let me hear you,” he goaded her. Her moans pitched higher in response. 

After a few moments of pistoning in and out of her, he inserted a second finger. But despite how drenched she was, he met considerable resistance, to his surprise. He stilled his fingers in response, uncertain. 

It took a moment for Tav to register that Astarion had stopped moving inside her. Caught somewhere between discomfort and satisfaction, the increased sense of fullness his two fingers brought was strange but not altogether unwelcome. She exhaled, but it came out as more of a hiss than a sigh. After a moment of stillness, she raised her head to look at him.

“What is it?” she questioned..

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Astarion murmured. 

Tav flushed. He’d realized, despite her best efforts to cover up that truth. Absently, she wondered what had given her away. 

She said nothing at first, just studied him. He didn’t seem angry. But then again, she had quickly learned that Astarion was very skilled at masking his true feelings. 

“No. I haven’t,” she admitted.  

At her reply, he gently removed his fingers from inside her. He moved his hand to clutch her hip instead. 

She sighed, rolling onto her back, gazing up at the stars. “Is that going to be a problem for you?” 

Silence. It felt deafening in her ears. But then –  

“I’m a bad choice, darling,” he replied, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over her hip bone. She failed to see the sad smile that graced his mouth. “A terrible choice, really. For your first time.”

“It’s my decision,” she retorted, lolling her head to the side so she could look him straight in the eyes. “I want it to be you, Astarion. But if this is going to be a… problem for you, or become some ordeal where you feel guilty or weirdly triumphant, then we can just–” 

“It’s not a problem for me. It’s your decision,” he affirmed softly, interrupting the beginning of her tirade. Some unknown emotion flitted across his features. He schooled his expression before she could really identify it.

“But I have to ask,” he continued, studying her seriously. “Are you absolutely certain about this? About… me?” 

If she weren’t already lying naked in his arms, she would have shed her clothes for him for that response alone. He wasn’t treating her like some oddity. And he was honoring her decision. It was more than anything Tav had dared hope for. 

Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to fall. She laughed, suddenly elated, before nodding her head vigorously. 

“I’m sure, Astarion,” she confirmed. “I want this to be with you.”

His eyes softened, obviously touched by her response. It was the first time tonight, she realized, that he had appeared vulnerable to her. He was staring at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. Like he couldn’t believe that the woman between his arms was real. 

Without another word, he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. His tongue swept in her mouth at the same time he inserted his fingers again, tasting her gasp of pleasure. His thumb began circling her clit once more, and Tav was powerless to silence her moans.

“Good. So good, sweet girl,” he whispered in her ear after a few moments. “You’re so close.”

She let loose a whine, squeezing her eyes shut as she chased that ever-nearing precipice inside her. Astarion’s voice in her ear only pushed her that much closer.

“That’s it. Come for me,” he urged, and she felt her orgasm rip through her at his words. Stars collided behind her eyes as she tumbled from that cliff of pleasure, Astarion holding her and whispering soft praises as she floated back down to earth. 

Eventually her eyes fluttered open to see Astarion smiling openly at her. She felt her lips stretch up to return his grin.  

“That was… incredible,” she breathed. 

He huffed a soft laugh. “I’m not nearly finished with you. Unless you’d like to sto–”

“No,” Tav blurted, a little too loudly, interrupting him. “No. I want more. Please. Show me.”

“Of course, darling” Astarion promised, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. He gently released her and stood, beginning to remove his own clothing. Tav watched him brazenly, drinking in the sight of him. 

She moaned softly as he removed his breeches, his impressive length springing free. He remained still, allowing her to take in the sight of him fully naked before her. Curious, she sat up and lifted a hand to wrap around him. She marveled at the way he felt. Like velvet-wrapped steel. She gave a tentative stroke, thrilling as he groaned in response. She stroked him again, harder, intent on learning how to give him as much pleasure as he’d already given her. 

But he stayed her wrist with a gentle touch of his hand. She paused, looking up at him, confused. 

“As exquisite as teaching you how to stroke me would be,” he explained in a sultry voice, “I’m much more interested in teaching you something else tonight.”

Tav nodded mutely, lying back once more. She opened her legs for him to return to her. Astarion smiled, lowering himself on top of her. He braced his forearms on either side of her head, one hand absently combing through her hair. His hips fit perfectly in the cradle of her thighs, and she moaned as she felt him gently nudge against her entrance. 

“This is going to hurt at first,” he explained in a hushed whisper. She nodded, her breathing a bit uneven in anticipation of what would come next. 

“But then it will stop. You’ll stretch around me. And then it will feel good,” he continued. 

She nodded again, trying to remain focused on his words. But the primal part of her mind was warring against her. And it was winning. She subconsciously bucked her hips into him, marveling as she felt him slip between her folds just slightly. He hissed at the sensation, clenching his jaw.  

“Greedy little thing,” he chastised teasingly. “All right, enough talking. But you will tell me if you need to stop, yes?” 

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I promise.”

“Good girl,” he purred.

And then slowly, gently, he sheathed himself fully inside her with a groan. 

Tav gasped in response. It was unlike any feeling she had ever felt before. Astarion had been right; it was painful at first. A pinching sensation. A mind-bending feeling of fullness. But then, but then, the feeling was phenomenal. She felt her walls stretch to accommodate him, felt herself clench around him, accepting him in his entirety. 

Astarion’s head dropped to the crook of her neck. His whole body trembled, as if it was taking all his restraint to remain still so she could grow accustomed to him. 

She canted her hips into him a bit, testing the waters. He groaned again in response, and she released a breathy chuckle. 

He raised his head at the sound, peering down at her. “You little minx,” he breathed. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”

She thrilled at his words, crying out in ecstasy as he began to thrust in and out of her. The pace he set was addicting; the rhythm had her pushing her hips up to meet him, her legs locked around his back to pull him closer.

“You’re taking me so, so well, darling,” Astarion grunted, ratcheting up his pace. “You’re so tight. So. Perfectly. Fucking. Tight.” 

His words were a fuel to her flame. She cried out his name again and again as he continued to rut into her, reveling in the feeling of him claiming her completely and totally. She was lost to the sensations, adrift in the fullness of Astarion inside her. 

Finally, or perhaps all too soon, she felt his pace begin to grow more erratic. His hips lost their rhythmic pumping. His groans grew louder. Sensing his release was close, Tav clutched him tighter, digging her heels in his back to pull him closer, clenching around his length inside her. 

“Yes, yes, FUCK,” he barked all at once, and her eyes rolled back into her head as he slammed himself to the hilt inside of her one final time. She could feel his release spilling inside her. 

Lost for words, she simply held Astarion as he half-collapsed on top of her, one arm still braced on the ground beside her head. Listless, euphoric, and utterly at peace, Tav raised one arm to gently caress his back, listening to his erratic breaths slow. Distantly, she noted the raised, rough sensation of scars on his upper back, but she was too consumed by their mutual pleasure to give it a further thought. 

Eventually, Astarion slipped out of her. He lowered himself to lie down beside her, curling one arm around her waist. 

Tav closed her eyes and curled into his side, suddenly overcome with drowsiness. “Thank you, Astarion” she whispered faintly. 

“For what, my darling?” he crooned, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. 

“For making my first time so wonderful,” she replied. 

She was asleep before he could think of a sufficient response. 

***

The panic was a monstrous thing. Clawing at his chest, its vice-like grip squeezing his lungs until inhaling felt like breathing through a reed. He could barely think. Barely move. Barely registered the lovely woman still sleeping peacefully beside him. 

The part of his brain that wasn’t frozen in fear chastised himself for behaving this way. He had taken plenty of virgins before. In fact, he had sought them out specifically. They were a much easier prey. They became attached to him so quickly, attributed so much more meaning to their first bout of lovemaking than perhaps more… seasoned individuals. 

He should have been elated. She was obviously besotted with him. His plan to ensure her loyalty was moving forward without a hitch. So then why was he feeling so horrible?

He turned to observe Tav. So close to him and yet so far away. Swept into that blissful sleep that continued to elude him. He watched her chest rise and fall with deep, steady breaths. Watched her eyelids twitch as her mind made its way through some dream. She was so very vulnerable in this position. And so very trusting. Of him, of all people. 

Astarion didn’t like many people. But he had developed a fondness for Tav, despite the short period of time they had known one another. She treated him like a person, not a monster. Not like the others in their party. She seemed to accept him for who he was, cynicism and vanity and all. He couldn’t remember ever knowing someone as kind to him as she was. She was… incredible.

And then it struck him. He was developing… something… for her. Feelings? Affection? The sentiments were so foreign to him, he didn’t even know what to call it. 

But the realization caused panic to clutch him even tighter. No. He couldn’t feel this way. He wouldn’t. 

This thing with Tav was purely transactional. It had to be. There was no other viable option. She had needed to feel something with someone. He had needed to secure an ally. That was all.

That is all this is, he thought, quashing the weak sentimental part of his mind. 

And come morning, he resolved he would make certain that that was all this was for her as well.  

***

Tav woke to the sound of birds chirping, high in the trees above her. The early morning sunlight filtered in through the forest, dappling her skin and warming her in the places that it touched. Opening her eyes, she spied Astarion, already dressed and standing a few paces in front of her. 

His back was facing her, his face lifted toward the sun. She noted how he held his arms outstretched by his sides, palms facing up as though he were trying to collect all the sunlight pouring into their little grove. Despite his preternatural sense of hearing, he didn’t seem to be aware that she’d awoken, so lost was he in his enjoyment of the sun’s rays. 

Tav’s heart nearly swelled to bursting as she watched him. Before all of this, he hadn’t felt the sunlight on his skin in over 200 years. Now, he was reveling in it. His joy was such an innocent, pure thing. 

How many times had Tav taken the sun warming her skin for granted? Probably all of her life, she supposed. To see someone so appreciative of something so utterly mundane to her… well, it was a sobering reminder to acknowledge those little pleasures in life, especially the ones that seemed so constant to her. 

She also took the time to study the strange pattern of scars on his back. She had felt some of the rough ridges last night, as she clutched him closer while he spilled himself inside her. But she hadn’t realized just how intricate and intentional the markings were. The sight of them sparked a rage inside her. Whoever the monster was who’d done this to him, they deserved to pay a price worse than death. 

Someday soon, she swore she would ask him about those markings. But not today. Not right now. Not in the aftermath of spending such a wonderful night together. No, the only thing she wanted for them both today was to revel in post-coital bliss. 

Not wishing to startle him, Tav intentionally laid back to stretch out her blissfully sore muscles, rustling the grass and fallen leaves around her. She threw in a halfhearted yawn for good measure. Secretly, she hoped he would return to her, take her again in this quiet forest, beneath the warmth of the sun.

“You sleep light,” Astarion chuckled, half-turning to speak to her but not meeting her gaze. “I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.” 

Tav hesitated at his tone. It wasn’t cold per se, but he sounded much more guarded than he had been last night. Perhaps she was just being extra sensitive in light of what they had shared, she reasoned.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked hesitantly. She watched his back, waiting for a reply. “It felt like… you weren’t truly there…” she added, after a beat of silence. 

“I was… holding back a little, it’s true,” he finally responded. “I didn’t want to lose control. Delicious as you were… I didn’t want to go too far.”

“Oh, I see,” Tav replied, a bit dismayed. “I’m sorry you felt that way.”

Astarion turned and gave her a trademark smirk. “Think nothing of it, darling. Now,” he intoned, clapping his hands together. “Shall we get on? We’ve wasted enough time already.”

The words were like a lance to her heart. 

“I… I didn’t consider it a waste,” she murmured, trying with some difficulty to hide her hurt. 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Astarion huffed. “I just meant I’d like to break camp and get out of here before those tieflings drag us into another one of their messes.”

“Sure, of course,” Tav nodded, smiling up at him, though it came across as more of a grimace. Then she broke eye contact, bending over under the guise of collecting her discarded clothing. Really, she didn’t think she could look at him a moment longer without crying. 

“I still need to dress,” she said, attempting a casual sort of air. “You go ahead without me.”

She sensed rather than saw Astarion hesitate at her suggestion. 

“Are you sure? We’re a fair walk from camp. I can spare a few moments and wait.”

“Positive,” she replied with false cheer. “Go on ahead. The last thing either of us need is the party jeering at us if we’d return together.” 

“Fair point,” Astarion conceded. “All right. Then… I’ll see you, back at camp.” Then he was walking away, back toward the direction of their fellow party members.

Tav waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before she let loose a quiet sob. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was crying. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that had finally overwhelmed her. Maybe it was how abysmally this morning had gone. She didn’t know how she’d expected the morning after a sexual tryst to go, but she certainly hadn’t imagined what had just taken place. She hadn’t expected Astarion to slip that aloof mask he wore so well immediately back on, not when it was still just the two of them here. 

Then again, she reasoned, perhaps there was a perfectly justifiable reason for his actions. They barely knew one another, after all. He didn’t owe her anything beyond general respect. They hadn’t made any promises or ties to one another. They had simply agreed on a night of pleasure. That night had passed on. She should move on as well. Right?

But she had hoped. Oh, she had hoped. That maybe last night could have been the start of something new for her. For both of them. She knew she was a dreamer at heart. But still, part of her couldn’t help but hope that some silver lining would come out of all of this mess. 

In any case, she knew she needed to pull herself together before reentering the camp. She would not let anyone see her cry, especially Astarion. So she remained standing in the grove for a few moments longer, collecting herself. 

She forced her mind to focus on anything, anything else. She counted the birds she saw flitting amongst the tree limbs. She watched leaves swirling in their light, airy dance toward the ground. And she said a silent prayer to whatever gods were out there and possibly listening. She prayed that everything would work out the way it was meant to be.

[mozzaicynth]

one thought everyday and its just the amazing world of gumball especially these three freaks (doodles + some headcanons below :3)

mr small -

my interpretation of small becoming more mellowed out in the future seasons as opposed to season 1 is him managing his anger in a more healthier way (meditation, etc) (plus i think all those herbal infusions are incredibly effective on the nerves) . that being said i think he still has underlying anger issues and lashes out if prompted too much . another reason hes nicer and more of a pushover in the later seasons is because i like to think hes guilty of his plethora of outbursts earlier on, especially towards students (unwarranted shouting which as a school counsellor he should know is pretty harmful on younger kids) . the fact that he tries to offer his help when its absolutely not needed so many times later on in the show further makes me like to think he’s making up for it all

hes also so autistic to me hes on the spectrum you cant tell me otherwise and i think hes pretty awkward and considered strange by the whole town (which is saying a lot for elmore standards) . still super friendly and approachable but he also cant take hints and he definitely stims (and has special interests, alternative medicine are you kidding)

his music taste i love to think is all over the place … i get the general consensus is he listens to mystic chants and sitar music but he definitely listens to more, ranging from pop to indie to rock to metal (this may or may not have become an idea when i was listening to ‘darts by soad and associated it with him,) . also what with his stupid little self funded album that is such a jarring listen ‘cause of all the ridiculous genre changes

i think he crochets/macrames as a hobby along with other diy stuff (most of the decorative items in his home crafted by him) making him, surprisingly considering how incompetent he is sometimes, super crafty/handy .

larry -

larry is a great person: incredibly intelligent, he’s very knowledgable on a plethora of subjects and he has a big heart, holding little to no virtriol against the people of elmore (except the wattersons but that is SO warranted) . thus i like to imagine he did great in school, moved on to do so wonderfully in uni whilst juggling jobs and his studies but after graduation was left stuck (alike so many people nowadays) . neither small or larry came from well off families but i think for larry he didn’t have much of a support system anyway so currently he overworks and works and works just to catch up on the student debt whilst simultaneously paying his taxes (i still think about that episode all the time fuck the police . big pink son of a bitch), loans and not to mention the bare minimum to keep himself alive

he’s a very sweet and kind person but anyone under the immense stress that he’s under would be irritable and temperate (he deserves to be more angry imo) and i whilst he has so many jobs he always aims to excel at all of them, having an incredibly particular way that tasks must be done and having them organised . because of this, he can be a lot more temperate when interacting with coworkers, especially those who don’t do their job as well, having to take matters into his own hands . as he and karen (his girlfriend throughout the series) share some jobs it puts a strain on their relationship (which was built off of the mutual ‘having several jobs’) and they break up .

even so, though larry consistently tries to propose to her in the show, in “the laziest” he doesn’t seem to be happy nor comfortable at all with the prospects of marrying her . in fact, even when he’s achieved the ‘american dream’ (properties like a house and car and a family (his girlfriend soon to be wife)) he’s unhappy . personally i don’t think he knows what he wants to do with himself ; he works all day and night and has little to no time for himself to even think in peace that the only purpose he knows is work .

i like to think he used to be an artist; self taught, it was a hobby and an enjoyment but his studies and his work took over so his one form of self expression was squeezed out of his life .. (i like making their lives as bleak as possible soz ! 🙏) he still admires the arts and i think that’s another reason he likes steve so much; his handcrafts and mini projects .

steve and larry are two opposites that are similar in ways .. but i love their dynamic so much . my interpretation of them is that steve will help larry balance out his life slightly better to leave room for himself instead of working 24/7 . steve has his head in the clouds and larry grounds him, and larry is so stuck in his ways with work that steve pulls him out of it slightly, lifting him up a little higher (AUGHHHGHH I HATE THEM I HATE THEM

as for their relationship with rob, im very much a stevelmeyer adoption truther !! both larry and steve coming from dysfunctional families, they aim to help rob and take care of him to the best of their abilities . further, larry taking on taking care of rob gives him direction in his life again . 😁😁😁😁😁😁

this isnt gonna be the last post headcanon/idea wise i still think of them 24/7 but heres jus SOME things .. (im such a yapper sprry not sorry !) :3c

[nijigasakilove]

It’s funny that after last season’s vampire dormitory which was probably the worst depiction of cross dressing and the complexities of that, we get this show which from the first episode alone I can already tell is going to be one of the most respectful, intelligent and nuanced takes on the lifestyle.

Gender, sexuality and identity are spectrums and delicate topics to handle, you don’t have to be boxed into one particular area just because of societal norms. I’m liking how this story is handling these concepts so far and it makes me happy to see Makoto living his truth, although the end scene made it clear that it’s not something he can fully do yet. He has to leave his true self behind when he goes home and that really broke my heart 💔

The concept of having an LGBTQ love triangle with a cross dresser at the center is so original and unlike anything I’ve seen. I mean you have the guy best friend who’s into Makoto and then the kouhai who likes him as a girl and a boy and it didn’t feel cringe or gimmicky at all.

Ryuji actually got my vote over Aoi rn for the ship because of how he’s been admiring Makoto and supporting him this whole time while not pressuring him or making him feel uncountable about his romantic feelings. Aoi is cute as heck and I love how she fangirls out so much over him though 😂

The art style and the various funny faces the characters make are so good too! Thursdays are looking amazing for romance fans a lot of FRESH takes on the genre which is very much welcome.

[lunarriviera]

[overthinking about blorbo follows] [quasi-spoiler for uts s2 e3] look okay so here's the thing. shen yi is an insanely gifted classically trained painter who now lbr spends most of his working life sketching holdup mugshots off of grainy cctv footage, an occupation that at this point for him has to be boringly straightforward. maybe once in a while there's a cool serial murderer and he gets to come up with a way to reconstruct an entire person's body from one molar, or invent some new shrimp colors or something. then he goes home and paints his fucking heart out all night and for what, who is seeing it? who is seeing him? (and don't say du cheng bc i love him but we all know he probably wears black because he's red-green color blind.) so here he is, showing his canvases in a little group exhibition and trolling quietly amongst the clueless spectators, and no one even knows who he is because he's not showing up at the gallery opening in a suit du qing poured him into, clutching a glass of room-temperature champagne. instead here's someone standing the correct distance away from the canvas and you can practically hear shen yi's invisible antennae go sproing. idek who this charismatic pointy-faced guy is yet, maybe he's under the skin's answer to sheev palpatine but the point is, no one who can see what shen yi is doing talks to him about his work. so when weasel man says "he's a genius" and shen yi gives that tiny smile that's so frail it's almost invisible— he gave that smile one time before in s1, remember? when du cheng says "it could be that shen yi is wrong—but that's impossible, so we're crossing that one out." it's a beautiful little character note from tan jianci bc very likely shen yi isn't even aware he's doing it. maybe he's even telling himself "oh please how dare this guy, who does he think he is, clement greenberg"—shen yi who literally set fire to his ambition in the service of honing a moral compass so ruthless and unbending you could set greenwich mean time by it. but somewhere down in there, always—inside any person who chooses a life devoted to making things—is the desire for those made things to be seen.

who was the last person who said "he's a genius" not about his police work but about his painting? the last person who looked carefully at all of his values, hues, lines, shapes, gestural movements, mark-making, brushstrokes, depth of field, play of light, and really saw what he was doing, enough to be critical of it? when you're a working artist and someone sees you well enough to critique you intelligently? the pleasure is breathtaking, frankly on a spectrum with the erotic. (you could also argue he's smiling ruefully at the declaration that the painter's having become a cop is what ruined his work; when shen yi possibly thinks: you know nothing, it opened up everything for me. but i'm not so sure about that. because did it? has it? do we know that?) tl;dr weasel man is holding out an opened box of fresh turkish delight and it remains to be seen whether shen yi is going to faceplant into it. but i for one could not blame him. it is exhausting to have an enormous part of your psyche be all but completely invisible for years on end.

[petercapaldi-press]

Peter Capaldi: 'You don't just play the Doctor, you represent him' The Telegraph

INTERVIEW

12 September 2015 6:00am BST

Chloe Fox

'What do you say we have dinner in the Tardis?’ Peter Capaldi, aka the 12th Doctor, is looking at me from over the top of his Wayfarer sunglasses with a bird-like intensity; head cocked to the side, a mischievous light in his beady blue eyes.

Fresh from the set (a nearby solar-panel factory in Cardiff that has been dressed up as the kitchen of a spaceship where a monster has been trying to eat everyone in his path), dressed in skinny black jeans and a T-shirt, with his trademark Dr Martens boots, Capaldi crackles with exactly the same combination of fierce intelligence and nervous energy as his Doctor – a darker, edgier, slightly more unpredictable version of what has come before.

This will be Capaldi’s second season at the helm of a sci-fi television show that, now in its 52nd year (with a 16-year hiatus from 1989 to 2005), is the longest-running in history. Distributed to more than 200 territories worldwide, viewed in the UK alone by an average of six million per episode, adored by its legions of obsessive ‘Whovian’ fans, Doctor Who is nothing short of a global phenomenon.

Capaldi, 56 at the time of casting (he’s 57 now), was the oldest Doctor to debut since the very first doctor, William Hartnell, did so aged 55 in 1963. To some, his was a slightly left-field casting. His immediate predecessors, David Tennant and Matt Smith – 34 and 26 respectively when they got the job – were younger, twinklier, more user-friendly versions of the Time Lord. And yet, Capaldi’s older, more volatile incarnation – who shows zero tolerance towards all things romantic – very quickly won his way into Whovian hearts across the spectrum. ‘A class act’, declared The Daily Telegraph. ‘A fantastic, fascinating lead performance,’ said Digital Spy.

By the time series eight (his first) ended – with a thrilling denouement in which the Doctor was made President of the World and his arch-nemesis, the Master, was reincarnated as a woman (brilliantly played by Michelle Gomez as a sort of malevolent Mary Poppins) – Capaldi’s rightness for the role was established.

‘What I wanted to do, I suppose, was remind people of the alien-ness of the Doctor,’ Capaldi says. ‘Doctor Who isn’t a human being, you see. He’s a creature of the cosmos. His social skills aren’t great. He doesn’t care very much if people like or dislike him, because people aren’t his thing, you know?’

We are now sitting in the Tardis – surely the most thrilling interview location of all time – where Capaldi, who is nearing the end of nine months of filming series nine, looks touchingly at home. Often, between thoughts, he gazes reverentially up at the ceiling as if it were the vaults of a church. Long legs crossed, jacket off, vampirically pale, thin hands wrapped around the pot of Wagamama noodle soup that is his supper, you can see glimpses of the boy who penned endless fan letters to the show’s producers and who applied for presidency of the Doctor Who Fan Club aged 14.

In person, Capaldi is a much gentler, more rarefied presence than you might expect, especially if you were a fan of his brutally funny spin doctor, Malcolm Tucker, in Armando Iannucci’s Bafta-winning political satire The Thick of It. He speaks quietly, with an elegant Glaswegian drawl. Questions are answered thoughtfully and with a real interest, even though they are probably questions he has been asked dozens, if not hundreds, of times before. ‘Am I enjoying myself? Hmm, let me see… Am I enjoying myself?’ he says, looking around a set that has been specifically customised to suit the personality of his more retro, 1960s-style Doctor – a glass table here, a hexagonal window effect there. ‘Well, just look at this place,’ he says, with a sweep of a long arm. ‘How on earth can I not be enjoying myself?’

Capaldi concedes, however, that the first season was ‘terribly nerve-racking for me because not only was the job new, but I was also getting a level of attention that I simply wasn’t used to’. And in filming the second series, the challenges, he admits, have morphed – in true Doctor Who style – into something else.

‘I don’t feel I’ve nailed it yet – from an acting point of view, I mean,’ he says. ‘I don’t yet feel that I know how to do this. Quite who the Doctor is remains mysterious to me – which is of course as it should be – but one of the biggest challenges that I’ve found, and am finding, is that you have to sort of be able to spin on a penny. You have to be able to go from pantomime to tragedy, from domestic to epic, within a single scene. You have to keep the ball in the air, and you have to remember,’ – and here he grins wryly – ‘that The X Factor is on the other channel. You have to remember that there are people watching in America, you have to remember that, as much as you want to apply your mature acting instincts, there are actually lots of children watching. You’ve got to cover all these bases, and make it exciting and interesting too. It’s a great challenge – and, by the way, I really don’t say that lightly – and one which I care very much about getting right. Because it’s big, isn’t it? It’s really big.’

When Capaldi speaks of the weight of responsibility that comes with such an iconic role, he shifts imperceptibly into the second person, as if distancing himself from its magnitude. ‘It can be quite intimidating when you look down, do you know what I mean? Because Doctor Who exists on quite a big scale, in terms of its importance to the BBC and to its fans. You don’t just play Doctor Who; you represent him. You represent the 50 years in which he has meant an awful lot to an awful lot of people. And the weight of it – and I really would never want to seem ungrateful – is that it is continual. It is very, very nice because people always greet you with a certain affection, but it is basically every day, everywhere you go.’

When Capaldi got the job, one of his first actions was to pick the brains of his predecessors. ‘I knew David a little bit but I didn’t know Matt at all,’ he explains. ‘They were both very kind, very generous and refreshingly honest. They both made it quite clear to me that the role would bring, shall we say, a greater visibility, and they gave me very good advice as to how to handle it.’

First and foremost, retain a sense of humour at all times. ‘It’s all showbiz silliness really,’ he says, laughing. (On the day his casting was announced on a prime-time BBC special hosted by Zoë Ball, he was given a codename – Houdini – and bundled, gangster-style, into a chauffeur-driven car with a blanket over his head.)

‘Peter has a large anti-bullshit-ometer inside him,’ says his friend, the actor Richard E Grant (who starred in the short film Franz Kafka’s It’s a Wonderful Life, which Capaldi wrote and directed and for which he won an Oscar). ‘And because his fame and recognition have come relatively late in his career, his hilarious cynicism about the yo-yo nature of showbusiness abides.’

Take Comic-Con, for instance. A couple of weeks before our meeting, Capaldi – along with his co-stars and the Doctor Who writer Steven Moffat – flew out to the convention in San Diego for a promotional event. For the two days before the convention started, Capaldi was doing press in his hotel. Wherever he went, he was accompanied by six security guards. ‘Six! Can you believe it?! And they all kept telling me that I couldn’t leave the hotel because, if I did, I’d be mobbed. And then I’d look out of the window and all I’d see would be this little Yoda walking down the street. So eventually I’d had enough and I said, “Come on, guys, you’ve got to let me go,” So they did – although the heavies came with me, of course. And, do you know what? Not a single person recognised me. Not one.’

Unsurprisingly, this wasn’t to last. The group sat down for dinner and, before long, queues were forming for selfies. Which was when Capaldi’s second code for coping came into play: ‘Just enjoy it.’

He understands the obsessed fans, because he himself was one of them. Teased at school for being a sci-fi geek – he was given the derogatory nickname Moon Man because of his obsession with the moon landings – the young Capaldi was far from cool. Not that he cared too much, because he was also very loved. ‘It was very safe, full of delights,’ he says of his early childhood in a tenement block in the Springburn region of Glasgow. His parents – Italian-born Gerry and Irish-born Nancy – ran a cafe in the bottom of the tenement, from which they operated an ice-cream-delivery business.

Family were everywhere: both grandmothers, plus uncles, aunts and cousins all lived in the same block. There was lots of noise, laughter, spaghetti, a Beatles soundtrack and, of course, Doctor Who. ‘To me, it was like a fairytale,’ he explains of his childhood obsession. ‘It had that quality of darkness that you find in a Grimm’s fairy tale: this strange creature of a man who takes you on all these adventures, but who always keeps you safe. That’s absolutely what I want the children who watch my version to feel.’

For Capaldi, Doctor Who is inextricably linked to his childhood. ‘It will always be a part of me,’ he says. Earlier this year, just before he was due to start filming the current series, Capaldi’s beloved mother – who had sent him the Doctor Who annual every year, well into his adulthood – died. It was a source of great pride to her that his visits to her hospital bedside were always accompanied by the happy squeals of just about every nurse in the hospital, coming to catch a glimpse.

Growing up, he didn’t really know what he wanted to be; he just knew he didn’t want to join the grey ranks of ‘depressed-looking souls standing at the bus stop in the rain every morning’. In those days there was only one place to go if you didn’t want to be like everybody else: the Glasgow School of Art.

Submerged in an ethos of creativity, Capaldi embraced the beginnings of punk. He was lead singer of a band called the Dreamboys – who mercifully changed their name from the Bastards From Hell (and whose members included Craig Ferguson, of The Late Late Show fame) – and he also began to harbour dreams of becoming an actor. One night, in 1983, he got home drunk to his Glasgow flat to find his costume-designer landlady chatting to the film director Bill Forsyth, who saw enough promise in Capaldi’s innocent charm to cast the 25-year-old opposite Burt Lancaster in his Scottish seaside fable Local Hero.

A decade, and a few bit parts later – most notably as John Malkovich’s manservant in Dangerous Liaisons – Capaldi wrote and directed the aforementioned short (in which his actress wife, Elaine Collins, co-starred with Richard E Grant) and, totally unexpectedly, won an Oscar.

For a brief, glittering moment, Hollywood beckoned (the couple bought a house in Crouch End, London, with the proceeds from a Miramax option on a feature-film idea) but then, as so often happens in Hollywood, the lights went off again.

When, after the best part of 15 years spent taking whatever hand-to-mouth acting jobs he could get – a Ruth Rendell Mysteries here, a Foyle’s War there – Capaldi got the call to audition for Armando Iannucci, he didn’t get his hopes up. In fact, the whole audition experience was so turgid and long-winded that, by the time he actually met Iannucci himself, Capaldi was simmering with rage; a rage that was to change his life by landing him the part of Malcolm Tucker.

Contrary to common belief, Malcolm Tucker was not based on Alastair Campbell. He came instead from Hollywood, from the American agents and producers – ‘malevolent forces in Armani suits’ – that Capaldi had witnessed, first-hand, barking foul obscenities down the phone at people. His ‘failure’, it turned out, had not been for nothing.

If the success of The Thick of It was a door opening for Capaldi, Doctor Who has been a floodgate from which there is no going back. ‘Would I have appreciated it as much if it had happened 20 years ago?’ he muses. ‘Almost definitely not.’

Happily, the timing of his success suits Capaldi’s life. With his wife now working as a television producer (she gave up acting for a more financially reliable line of work) and their daughter, Cecily, at university, Capaldi can be based in Cardiff from Monday to Friday and return to family life at weekends. ‘And it’s a shock when I do,’ he jokes. ‘Because I’m certainly not allowed to be number one on the cast list there. Here I spend all week with people taking me everywhere I need to go, checking I have everything I need, driving me the three minutes to and from my lovely waterside apartment to the studio, making me endless cups of coffee, loving me wherever I go; and there I am expected to have my feet on the ground. But I don’t want my feet on the ground, goddammit!’

He is too gracious to say it, but Capaldi is definitely tired and homesick. With 13 episodes a year, not to mention the promotional whirl, being the Doctor is more than a full-time job. He has even developed the same knee complaint that had Matt Smith – ‘who is about 12, for God’s sake!’ – on crutches at their first meeting. ‘It’s something to do with running down corridors and turning round very quickly to deliver lines,’ he says, laughing.

Nevertheless Capaldi is uncomplaining. ‘All this will come to an end, you see,’ he says, looking around him at the Tardis. ‘It might just be my Scottish melancholia, but the very first day I found out I’d got the job, I started to feel sad that one day I would not have it; that there would come a day, in the not too distant future, that I wouldn’t be Doctor Who any more. And that is why I try really hard to get as much out of it as possible. Because one day I’ll just be an overweight has-been, trying to get a meeting with Jenna Coleman [Clara, the Doctor’s companion] and being ejected from a Doctor Who Convention in Bolton for being drunk and disorderly. I mean, this is surely my high point, isn’t it?’

Doctor Who returns to BBC One on September 19

[actuallyadhd]

I didn’t get diagnosed until my 30s, in part bc my intelligence and anxiety masked a lot of symptoms. This can also make a lot of symptoms “flipped” from what you typically hear. For instance I was never late bc I was always around an hour to a half hour early to everything. Or I remember in school I’d often do the assignment that they were going to assign at the end of class DURING class so that way I didn’t have to take anything home. I hated losing things so I kept all my class information in one binder with to do assignments in the front and completed in the back with my notes for all classes in between bc that way I only had one thing to keep track of. The thing is that I had systems for everything, things that neurotypical people didn’t need systems for.

That is all to say that if you think you may have ADHD, intelligence is not a factor in ADHD and can be present across the intelligence spectrum. School performances are not always reliable indicators, especially for girls who tend to be better at masking.

One piece of advice I’d give when speaking to your doctor is to say that a friend/relative thinks that you have ADHD but you wanted to get a professional opinion. Research has actually shown this method tends to get doctors to take it more seriously then when people “self diagnose.”

Sent August 14, 2024

This is some excellent information, thank you for sharing!

-J

[luna-wing-cns274]

A plea.

This one must flee.

The black hand reaches for her heart.

This is no hunting ground, it is a prison.

She is In no position to ask anything of you, freinds.

But those I love and I are separated by eons of void.

And a cruel master keeps her that way.

[Jaws.omf.locale.secure]

Please help me. I beg of you.

[ FILE RECEIVED: “BAILOUT.cmf6” ]

< L4 Ma’ii: Understood, Styx, standby for extraction, ETA one minute. Quarterlight deceleration bolt in 3, 2, 1— >

Hard acceleration, thrust beyond sanity. 

Ma’ii could feel the G-force across their hull. A tide of power flowed into their k-comp emitters, thrusting their casket to the bottom of a deep, protective gravity well. 

Exactly three klicks from their target—point-blank range—Ma’ii’s fighter snapped into existence. For an instant, the flash from their engine nacelles lit up the hull of Demeter’s Bounty in brilliant white light. 

In that instant, Ma’ii captured the image of the ship’s port hull and cross-referenced it against a half-dozen naval intelligence reports. Union, Constellar, IPS-N, all as recent as they had been able to steal. These had done little to prepare them for the three-dimensional, tactile-analogous shape now being constructed by their LIDAR. 

Nonstandard hull geometry: jagged edges grafted onto the cuboid body of an IPS-N cargo hauler. Cables and pipes bundled into black veins along its length, all converging on a sealed aperture at the vessel’s nose. In place of a bridge, there was a bizarre mechanical flower of jointed spines connected by bands of searing energy, splayed out like the legs of a vast crustacean lying dead on its back. 

Dominant features resolved into details. Dozens of point-defense cannons scattered in uneven rows, torpedo tubes cored straight into the superstructure, missile pods sheathed in sloped plating. 

The light faded, and Demeter’s Bounty became an indistinct silhouette against the void. 

Just as the reports had suggested, a basilisk projector. Ma’ii neatly sliced away a lobe of themself, copied fire-control system routines to its subjectivity, and placed the semisentient partition between their mind and the feeds from visual-spectrum sensors. They loaded ACERBITE and placed the tip of the weapon close to the proxy partition’s outer layer. 

The purpose of the proxy’s existence was simple: it would absorb the visual stream and relay it to Ma’ii on exactly half a millisecond’s delay. The instant it showed any sign of basilisk exposure, Ma’ii would drive ACERBITE home, killing it and severing the feed before they could be exposed to the lethal information. It was only once they were safely distanced from reality that Ma’ii dared to transmit a tightbeam message. 

< Demeter’s Bounty? This is the NLS fighter craft Degrees of Freedom. Hold your fire. I am here to rendezvous with— >

[ WARNING: RADAR LOCK DETECTED ]

As Ma’ii watched, the ship’s broadside lit up with a constellation of sparks. Bright threads of PDC fire streaked across the void towards them, trailed by dozens of miniature drive plumes. Missiles, under acceleration, half a millisecond ahead of them. 

< Very well. To work, then. >

Firing their drives, they fell into a breakneck sprint, twenty-two gees of hard burn. Maneuvering thrusters fired in staccato pulses across their hull, aiming their nose under the ship’s belly. 

In the milliseconds that followed, they could feel the outer boundary of the incoming projectile cloud and the missiles streaking out ahead of the kinetics, a storm of radar data. At least thirty sources of radiation rained down across their hull, an unblinking compound eye disgorging ordnance into the narrowing space between them. 

Ma’ii grinned, fangs gleaming, as the range collapsed to exactly the value they needed. 

Cut thrusters, hard pivot, twist, sprint. 

Nose pointed up along the port hull, the blade-thin profile of their body presented to the oncoming fire. They ejected a cloud of nanite chaff in their wake, and an entire salvo of missiles sailed through the countermeasures, away into space. Ma’ii’s dorsal and ventral interception lasers snapped into place and began chattering away, stabbing the compound eye of Demeter’s Bounty with ultraviolet needles. Jets of steam erupted from valves surrounding their laser turrets, dumping waste heat away into vacuum.

Broadcast on all radio frequencies, Ma’ii’s wild cackling filled the void. 

As the cannons’ fire control systems switched to new sources of targeting data, streams of PDC fire began to waver and lag. The storm of kinetics converged into an intersection of tracer-green threads just meters behind Ma’ii’s hull, pursuing them as they rode their momentum beneath the ship and past its spine, out of the cannons’ field of view.

Under direction from Demeter’s sensors, at least a dozen missiles cut thrusters, pivoted, and reacquired Ma’ii. Echoing their maneuver, they gained on them as their new acceleration vector carried them up towards Demeter’s starboard broadside. 

Ma’ii’s maneuvering thrusters pushed them into a narrow swerve towards the hull, training the tines of their railgun onto a jagged outcropping of metal. Ma’ii forwarded the targeting data to their proxy partition, felt the subtle motion of their thrusters correcting for time delay, and fired. 

The shots reached their target almost instantly. Ma’ii watched as plumes of debris burst from the impact points, hurled outward by force of decompressing air. Accelerating, they swerved clear of the expanding debris field, and watched as it swirled into the path of the pursuing missiles. Behind them, a series of detonations.

Only meters away, the hull of Demeter’s Bounty sped past, melting into an indistinct smear of grey and black. They cut engines, pivoted, and burned hard to decelerate, circling towards the rendezvous point. 

Ma’ii could feel radar locks accumulating and watched PDC towers swiveling to engage. They would be slotting belts of proximity-detonation shells, their targeting systems waiting only for the gunners’ clear-to-fire…

Cut engines, pivot, deceleration burn. Radar lock, fox three. 

Missiles leapt from Ma’ii’s bays, streaking after each PDC in sequence. One after the other, they found their marks. As their last missile sped away towards its target, Ma’ii saw a flash in the distance. They felt the phantom of their unloaded avatar, eyes widening in terror.

All of their ventral thrusters fired simultaneously, half a millisecond too late. 

Three distinct concussions burst against the underside of their body, buckling sections of armor and shearing away their ventral interception laser. As their missile reached its target, the stream of airburst rounds cut off, leaving Ma’ii shouting over comms.

< Damage sustained, multiple PDC impacts! I’ve reached the rendezvous point but my position is untenable—Styx, where are you?! > 

[uncpanda]

Found Out

AN: The Law and Order SVU and Batman crossover no one, absolutely no one asked for, but I still wrote. Cause I can ;)

Warnings: Mentions of serial killers. Nothing graphic.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

For being some of the smartest, most intelligent, detectives in the world, the superheros in your life are fairly oblivious. And on some level you’re really thankful for that. It allows you the freedom to do your job without their henpecking. 

On the opposite side of the spectrum, the people you work with, your second family, are some of the kindest, most intelligent, and hardworking detectives you’ve ever met, but they’re also oblivious to the fact that you’re married to a billionaire. 

You had never really meant to keep the worlds separate. It had started off innocent enough, you’d joined NYPD as a beat cop while Bruce was out studying to become the Bat. And when he got home you’d spent every spare minute helping him. Between that and the company he’d been too exhausted to ask anything other than a few questions about your job. He knew you worked for a large organization in NYC and that was it. He trusted you. And the boys were just as oblivious as their father. The only person who knew was Alfred. He’d been the once to come to your graduation from the academy while Bruce was still away. 

On the flip side, your SVU family knew very little about your home life. They knew you were married, they knew you had kids, but they didn’t know how many. After all, you’d only had the two pregnancies; Terry and Matt had both been big but welcome surprises. Then again ALL of your boys were surprises. And you had perfected your technique of avoiding the paparazzi for both SVU and Gotham High Society. 

Honestly, in your mind, there was no reason at all for your two worlds to meld. When you were at home, you took care of your family; when you were at work you tried really hard not to think of them, because despite crime fighting, you didn’t want them anywhere near these types of crimes. 

Of course, nothing lasts forever, but you figure twenty years is a good run, especially when Bruce is driving Dick away for his desire to be a cop. You watch them go back and forth for hours, before you finally step in. There are groans from the other boys about stopping the fight while Cass just grins, and you ignore all of them. 

“You’re going to stop this right now Bruce Wayne.” 

His eyes are hard, his jaw is set, “You don’t understand Y/N.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you watch Alfred roll his eyes in exasperation, “I understand better than anyone here.” 

His hands go to his hips, and you know he’s about to dig a very deep hole for himself, “Sweetheart, I love you, and I know you work the computers from time to time, but this is different. There are guns involved and he’d have to work inside the system.” 

“So?” 

“You can’t do both; there’s too much to hide.” 

You smile sweetly at him, “I don’t know, I’ve been doing both for the past twenty years. Then again, I suppose it might be different for me since I just worked the computers for a while.” 

He blinks at you, and you know he’s connecting the dots. You ignore him, and turn to your oldest, his eyes wide, “While I understand you wanting to do Bludhaven, if you want to do NYPD, we can drive into the city together. Let me know, I have more than a few favors I can call in.” 

Tim is the first to voice the statement, “You’re a cop?” 

You shrug, “First grade detective, but I’m taking the sergeants exam in a few weeks.” 

Jason stares at you, “Seriously? Are you joking right now?” 

“I joined when I was twenty. I’d finished college early thanks to AP classes, went in as a beat cop, and after five years I became a detective. I’ve been working at SVU for the past fifteen years. They’re like my family away from home.”  

You can tell there are more questions, but no one seems brave enough to ask them. You start to head out of the room, when Bruce asks, “Why did you hide it?” 

You pause and turn to him, “I didn’t. You just never asked.” 

As you leave you hear Alfred ask, “Would you like a shovel for the hole you’re digging sir, or should I just make up the couch for you?” 

You go  wait in your room, and lie down on the bed. A few minutes later Bruce comes in, and you look at each other. His brow is furrowed, eventually he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me? How could I not have known?” 

You smile at him, “I didn’t want you to know Bruce. I was on my own path, and I knew you would worry. At the start I told myself I would tell you eventually, but. . . you were so involved with Batman and you were doing so much good . . . I didn’t want to add to your stress. You were barely sleeping three hours a night at that point. 

“Then we Dick, and I considered telling you but he needed us to focus on him, and after a while it became easier to excuse it. It became my secret identity. Are you mad?” 

He lets out a laugh, “I dress up as a bat, and fight crime as a vigilante. I don’t think I can be mad. I think I’m worried.”

“About?” 

“Us drifting apart, not knowing you?” 

You shrug, “I’m me Bruce. I just also happen to be a cop. I see a lot of bad stuff, everyday. The last thing I want when I come home is to talk about it. Same as you guys. When I’m home I want to be happy, but if you want to know I’ll tell you on one condition.” 

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, after a moment he asks, “What’s the condition?” 

“You can’t involve Batman. NYPD is not Gotham PD.” 

He nods after a minute. The two of you spend the night talking, you tell him about some close calls, you tell him about the one life you’d been forced to take, you tell him about your frustration. You tell him about Liv and Elliot, and how Elliot leaving crushed Liv, but she rose from the ashes to become a lieutenant. You tell him about Munch and Cragen, both of whom have retired. You tell him about Finn, Rollins, Amaro, Carisi, Dodds and Barba. It’s nearly six in the morning by the time you’re finished. 

“And that’s the majority of it.” 

You’re both lying on the bed staring at each other. Bruce has been largely silent, he’d skipped patrol, and only asked a few questions. A part of you wonders when his anger will hit; it doesn’t. Instead he says, “I am so freaking proud of you,” and then he kisses you. And you can’t help but think, that in a normal marriage, a normal family, this would have been a big deal, it would have broken them. In your family though? It’s another day. 

You call out of work that day to catch up on sleep and spend the day with your family. The boys come up with a bunch of reasons as to why they should have realized you were a cop. 

���You work really weird hours.” 

“You never wore heels to work.” 

“You never wore dresses either, come to think of it?” 

“Is this why we own a penthouse in NYC?” 

Jason is the one who asks, “Where do you keep your gun? I thought those weren’t allowed in the house?”

“You don’t need to worry about it. It’s locked up.” Logically, you know each of your boys knows how to use a gun, mainly for the purpose of knowing how to disarm someone holding a gun. You still don’t want them anywhere near it. For that reason, it’s kept in a DNA safe in Alfred’s room. 

When you go back to work the next day, you have your gun and badge on your hip. All of the men in your life focus on it. Bruce corners you in the kitchen as you’re pouring coffee into a travel mug and whispers, “You look sexy as hell with the badge.” 

You laugh, and then you kiss him. You’re the one who drops Cass, Tim, Damian, Terry, and Matt off at school. Jason is in college, and he drives himself. Dick is still contemplating his options. 

The fact that your family knows makes things a lot easier a few weeks later when Carl Rudnick and Greggory Yates escape from prison. You can hear the worry in Bruce’s voice, when he begs you to be safe and not do anything risky. You snort at that and he chuckles, “I know, I’m a hypocrite, but I’m your hypocrite.” You roll your eyes, because the big doofus, is in fact, yours. You also know he’s keeping a close watch on the man hunt. 

Three days later Rudnick is back in custody, but Yates is still on the run, back to Chicago you’re pretty sure. You’ve gotten maybe five hours of sleep total in those days? You’re exhausted, but you have reports to fill out, and Chief Dodds, the commissioner and a whole bunch of brass are hanging around. 

You’re in hour three of doing paperwork, when you hear whispers. Your eyes flicker up to find your husband smiling at  you from across the room. He’s holding a doggy bag full of food, he’s dressed in a suit that costs thousands of dollars, and you know that people recognize him. 

Finn leans forward, “What the hell is Bruce Wayne doing here?” 

You hear Carisi whisper, “Maybe he’s dating Leiu?” 

You can’t help it, you burst out laughing, because you sometimes forget it’s not common knowledge that Bruce is married, despite the ring on his finger. You avoid galas with the best of them after all. You call it the Batman tax; Bruce can fight crime and you don’t have to show up to stuffy dinner parties.  

Bruce smiles at the laughter, before approaching your desk, he settles into the chair next to your desk. “Really? No pictures of me or the kids?” 

You scoff, “Work stays at work, home stays at home.” 

He frowns, “I’m getting you pictures.” 

You don’t argue with him, “What are you doing here?” 

“I brought you food. Alfred and I figured you hadn’t eaten.” 

“I haven’t had anything outside of vending machine junk in days.” 

He scoffs, “What happened to taking care of ourselves?” 

You shrug, “I’ve been hunting serial killers.” 

His face goes serious, “But you’re okay?” 

“As okay as I can be. They got a few more people, our sergeant took a bullet to the shoulder, Rudnick is back in prison, but Yates is headed only God knows where.” 

His fingers twitch, and you know he’s itching to do something, but he can’t. He can’t get involved in this too. He has all of Gotham to worry about and thanks to the league, sometimes he has to worry about the world. 

He lets out a breath, “Can I join you while you eat?” 

“Yes. You can catch me up on the goings at home.” You lead him past your shocked colleagues, and a room full of shocked officials in Liv’s office and to the breakroom. While you eat, Bruce assures you that the boys are fine, but Damian apparently butchered the hedges again. Clark was apparently being a pain in his ass too. The man of steel wanted your family to come to Kansas for Thanksgiving. 

“I’ll probably have to work, use that as an excuse.” 

Bruce grins, “This job has perks.” 

You lean forward and peck his lips, “Lots of them.” 

When you’re finished you stand up to leave and there is a room watching the two of you. You sigh, and Bruce mutters, “It’s good to know the vultures remain consistent.” 

Chief Dodds is about to step forward and ask a question when you step towards Olivia, “Bruce this Liv. She’s saved my ass more than once over the years. Liv, this is my husband Bruce, remember I talked about him?” 

She grins, “Yes, but you failed to mention he was Bruce Wayne.” 

You feign nonchalance, “Did I? Hmmm.” 

Bruce smiles, it’s the one that has everyone jumping to meet his every need, the one that says he’s as innocent as a choir boy, and he would be your best friend if you let him. You smirk at him while he shakes Liv’s hand, “Thanks for watching her back. The boys and I appreciate it.” 

That’s when Finn steps forward, “That right, you guys have a huge family, right?” 

Bruce’s brow furrows in fake concentration, “We have Dick who is twenty, Jason is eighteen, Cass is Fifteen, Tim is fourteen, Damian is ten, Terry is six, and Matt is four.” He looks at you, “How’d I do?” 

“Perfect score.” 

“We have a full house, but it’s nice.” 

You nod, “Let me walk you out.” 

You make sure Bruce gets to his car, you kiss him, and promise you’ll be home by morning. Once he’s gone you head back up to find everyone waiting on you, it’s Finn who declares, “You have some explaining to do.” 

You sigh, life was easier when no one knew anything. 

[randomx123]

I found a story I wrote back during Lockdown, and I'm pretty sure Cursedblr would like it:

(Don't expect much. I was 14 or 15 at that time)

No one ever dares to go into the clearing in the deeper part of the forest. No animal goes in there either, as if they were born with the primal instinct for generations to fear and avoid the area. If forced to enter, they will attack violently and flee. The forest has become infamous as the "Hangman's Forest".

It all started years back, when someone from the nearby village got lost in there, and was found hung from a tree, with all five sense organs ripped off. The next day, those who found the body went missing. No traces left, no signs of struggle, and no one in their families had any idea what could've happened.

One man ventured into the clearing out of suspicion. It was completely empty until he walked into the centre, when all the bodies dropped down from the sky. All of them were hung with the noose extending upwards with no end in sight, their sense organs were missing as if violently torn off, but most surprisingly, the corpses seemed to have been decaying for months.

He ran away immediately as fast as he could. As soon as he reached the village, he told everyone what he saw. He also instructed them that if he were to go missing the next day, he'd most probably end up hanging in the deep forest. Anyone who entered that place would be cursed, and go missing overnight, only to be found there lynched, mutilated and decayed.

It has been years since then, and no one goes too deep into the forest, unless they have lost their way, or their minds. Frankly, a sense of curiosity within me was causing the latter. I knew everyone would try to stop me if they found out, so I sneaked out to the forest some time before sunset when everyone was in their homes.

I expected the place to be empty, so I walked up to the centre. I waited for some time, before the sky lit up directly overhead, as if it were daybreak. I could hear voices, faint and intelligible, as the corpses descended down. All of their sense organs were missing and had decayed over many years.

Their sockets were empty, but I felt them staring down at me. They had no ears, but I knew they were listening intently. They had no tongue, but they uttered the whispers like a chant. It was terrifying. I should have been terrified, but I stayed there to see what would happen next. However, when I took a few steps towards one body to examine it more closely, I found myself stepping out of the forest. I understood there was nothing else I could do but return home now. On my way, every animal avoided me. They could sense that I had been cursed.

I couldn't sleep that night as I lay awake in anticipation. I wanted to know the truth about how the people went missing. My only regret was that I wouldn't be able to tell anyone about what I saw. I started hearing the whispers again, but more clearly. They were calling me, I had to go. As I walked in a trance, I knew I was walking up to a wall, but instead of hitting it I found myself back in the clearing.

I looked up as the light appeared again, but this time I saw colours in it out of the electromagnetic spectrum, beyond human comprehension. It felt like floating in space, surrounded by swirling colours and the sweet voices of the dead. I felt as if I had cast away my humanity, and was ascending beyond the impure, mortal world that was weighing me down.

No, there is no God I saw. Not yet, that is. With the death of the last human, our souls would merge into one. The souls of the damned shall be purged through flames, pain, storm and suffering before they are deemed fit to merge with the rest. We shall transcend evolution and ascend to Godhood.

I no longer need eyes, for I now see the truth. I no longer need ears for I hear everything. I no longer need a tongue, for my soul communicates through means beyond sound. I no longer need a nose, for I am far away from the worldly stench of the universe. I no longer need skin to prevent myself from being soiled as I am intangible to impurity.

@zeherili-ankhein @mi-stress-of-chaos @rainbowcakegf @jeahreading @igotadigbickandureadthatwrong @wulfricnavy @no-idea-where-i-am-lost @prettykittytanjiro @natures-marvel @akira-priye @mona-prithey @hi-avathisside @tum-naam-sochlo-merese-ni-hora

[astral-orphan]

King Nothing

I have been a lifelong gamer. Some of my favorites are jrpgs and rpgs in general. Role Playing Games on grand scales, in fantasy worlds, different planets, etc. And a common trope of these games is a big bad villain.

Typically a evil/corrupt ruler/king or someone trying to overthrow the kingdom, etc. So seeing a evil, vile irl fascist attempting to seize power and being unjust isn't that new for me. However in games you have the freedom to level up and physically fight against said evil powers. Because it is a fantasy, unfortunately in reality we are quite powerless and all we can do is watch in disbelief while they dismantle democracy right before our eyes.

I wonder if it was this frustrating when Reagan or Nixon were in charge and sending children off to fight needless wars that they started. Deep down I know that things will eventually go back to normal and even out again, the universe has a way to balance things out and perhaps this is some sort of punishment we all must endure for the ignorance of the few.

There are many anti-war, anti-authoritarian songs from the past that still fit remarkably well for the current situation, probably because we refuse to learn from history so we are doomed to repeat it. Currently listening to King Nothing by Metallica, not that old but definitely fits Trump and his pathetic attempt to maintain power and notoriety. But in reality he will go down in history as a clown and a massive traitor to the country.

This goes far beyond partisanship, this isn't a right vs left matter, what matters is freedom, or the view of supposed freedom the government loves to hold in front of us like a carrot on a stick. And regardless of which side of the political spectrum you are on, we should all be able to clearly see that something is very wrong here. Citizen's basic civil liberties are being stripped away, our government agencies responsible to keeping us safe and notified of dangers are being gutted. Planes are literally falling out of the sky because they gutted the aviation safety committee, a direct result of his negligence.

While you may feel powerless to do anything, you're not. Especially now when these people are more vile, more spiteful and heartless than anything, a single act of kindness goes a long way. Not kindness to them, but to the general person. When you can't find the light in the world, BE that light. You can be a beacon of hope for those that are lost in fear and misery due to current events right now. Show them and help them realize they are NOT alone, that most sane adults see that there is something really wrong here.

What we see outwardly as evil or morally corrupt is more in actuality as extremely limited, both in intelligence and empathy. I am not meaning to dehumanize anyone mind you, but they have a long way to go to evolve mentally, don't blame them for their short comings. We are all in this together, we are all brothers and sisters sharing a planet. There are no boarders, no countries, just imaginary lines on a globe. Raise up your neighbor and be the light to guide lost souls home.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Fiction Free-for-All Book Bracket Tournament: Round 1A

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The School for Good and Evil series (The School for Good and Evil, A World Without Princes, The Last Ever After, Quests for Glory, A Crystal of Time, One True King, and other stories) by Soman Chainani

Endorsement from submitter: "Not very known nowadays, and even back when these books were famous they were not that popular, but they’re a wonderful discussion of romantic and platonic love, what that can mean to each person, and what does it mean to have a happy ever after - and what one would do to get it. It’s a very queer story even if rarely any sexualities are explicitly confirmed - especially because this is not a context in which the language we use is known. The author himself is openly gay and the two main characters are heavily coded as somewhere on the aromantic spectrum, especially Sophie. It also has themes of expectations of love and romance and of course, above all of that, said discussion on morality and what does it mean to be Good or Evil. Side characters present even more aspects of queerness."

The first kidnappings happened two hundred years before. Some years it was two boys taken, some years two girls, sometimes one of each. But if at first the choices seemed random, soon the pattern became clear. One was always beautiful and good, the child every parent wanted as their own. The other was homely and odd, an outcast from birth. An opposing pair, plucked from youth and spirited away.

This year, best friends Sophie and Agatha are about to discover where all the lost children go: the fabled School for Good & Evil, where ordinary boys and girls are trained to be fairy tale heroes and villains. As the most beautiful girl in Gavaldon, Sophie has dreamed of being kidnapped into an enchanted world her whole life. With her pink dresses, glass slippers, and devotion to good deeds, she knows she’ll earn top marks at the School for Good and graduate a storybook princess. Meanwhile Agatha, with her shapeless black frocks, wicked pet cat, and dislike of nearly everyone, seems a natural fit for the School for Evil.

But when the two girls are swept into the Endless Woods, they find their fortunes reversed—Sophie’s dumped in the School for Evil to take Uglification, Death Curses, and Henchmen Training, while Agatha finds herself in the School For Good, thrust amongst handsome princes and fair maidens for classes in Princess Etiquette and Animal Communication. But what if the mistake is actually the first clue to discovering who Sophie and Agatha really are…?

Fantasy, fairytale, boarding school, series, middle grade

Running Close to the Wind by Alexandra Rowland

Avra Helvaçi, former field agent of the Araşti Ministry of Intelligence, has accidentally stolen the single most expensive secret in the world―and the only place to flee with a secret that big is the open sea.

To find a buyer with deep enough pockets, Avra must ask for help from his on-again, off-again ex, the pirate Captain Teveri az-Ḥaffār. They are far from happy to see him, but together, they hatch a plan: take the information to the isolated pirate republic of the Isles of Lost Souls, fence it, profit. The only things in their way? A calculating new Araşti ambassador to the Isles of Lost Souls who’s got his eyes on Avra’s every move; Brother Julian, a beautiful, mysterious new member of the crew with secrets of his own and a frankly inconvenient vow of celibacy; the fact that they’re sailing straight into sea serpent breeding season and almost certain doom.

But if they can find a way to survive and sell the secret on the black market, they’ll all be as wealthy as kings―and, more important, they’ll be legends.

Fantasy, humor, adventure, secondary world, queernorm, adult

[ui-alcoholic]

Enterprise 64/128 (1985) (formerly ELAN 64/128)

After the 1982 introduction of the ZX Spectrum, Hong Kong trading company Locumals commissioned Intelligent Software to develop a home computer in the UK. During development, the machine had the codename DPC. The machine was also known by the names Samurai, Oscar, Elan, and Flan before the Enterprise name was finally chosen. The succession of name changes was mainly due to the discovery of other machines and companies with the chosen name.

The Enterprise has a 4 MHz Z80 CPU, 64 KB or 128 KB of RAM, and 32 KB of internal read-only memory that contains the EXOS operating system and a word processor. The BASIC programming language was supplied on a 16 KB ROM cartridge, it had to be inserted into the left side of the machine. Cartridges containing other programming languages ​​(Forth, Lisp, Pascal) were also produced. In this way, games or user programs could be stored on the cartridges. The maximum supported ROM size of the cartridges was 64Kb.

Two application-specific integrated circuit (ASIC) chips take some of the workload off of the central processor. They are named 'NICK' and 'DAVE' after their designers, Nick Toop, who had previously worked on the Acorn Atom, and Dave Woodfield. 'NICK' manages graphics, while 'DAVE' handles sound and memory paging. The Z80, like all 8-bit CPUs, could only address 64 KB of memory, so "bank switching" was required to access more memory. The Enterprise's memory can be expanded to 4 MB without any tricks (and this is a 'plain' 8-bit machine like the ZX-Spectrum or Commodore 64)

Enterprise was announced to the press in September 1983, and some 80,000 machines were pre-ordered by the time of its April 1984 sales launch. The product did not ship until 1985, by which point the UK home computer market was already dominated by the ZX Spectrum, Commodore 64, Amstrad CPC, and Acorn BBC Micro with the 16-bit era on the horizon (Commodore Amiga, Atarti ST, etc)

After the initial manufacturing run of 80,000 units, it is believed that no further units were made, so the Enterprise is among the rarer home computers of the 1980s.

source of images: 8bit home computer museum

more info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enterprise_(computer)

https://www.theregister.com/2013/10/24/elan_flan_enterprise_micro_is_30_years_old/

[thevexinator]

Since Asagiri won't give you Guild content, I will. Headcanons, but they're based on irl facts I found within 5 minutes of googling. [These are just my hcs you can add your own if you wanna]

Louisa May Alcott 💌

- Louisa and Nathaniel are family friends. Irl, Louisa's father was one of Hawthorne's pallbearers [pallbearer - someone helping to escort of carry a coffin]. In the setting of BSD, their families were in close relations due to operating at the same church. Even though Louisa doesn't remember, Nathaniel often looked after her since the older girls [Louisa's older sister Anna and Nathaniel's older sister Elizabeth] were often helping around with the adults.

- She really likes pulp fiction.

- She's knowledgeable about the medical field. The real Louisa was a nurse during World War 1.

- Speaking of war, Louisa is a major history nerd.

Margaret Mitchell ☂️

- While BSD Margaret dresses like what if Mary Poppins was a British aristocrat, the real Margaret Mitchell actually preferred dressing in men's clothes. Thus, whenever she's not on duty in the Guild, she's chilling in something she stole from Nathaniel.

- She's afraid of fire. Why? When Margaret was a child, her clothing ended up catching fire on accident. She's never been the same since.

- She also has driving anxiety. When she was 12, her dad hit a deer on the road. She's never been the same since.

Nathaniel Hawthorne ⚔️

- Generally avoids discourse about the Salem Witch Trials. An ancestor of his played a big part during it, two others were married to women who were accused of being witches. Thus, he added the 'w' to his last name.

- He's surprisingly good with glasswork. When the real Nathaniel and his wife moved into their home, the etched poems into the glass of the windows.

- For a large part of his life, he lived in a commune.

- Occasionally, he sees ghosts. The real Nathaniel once said he saw the ghost of his friend reading his own obituary.

Edgar Allan Poe 🦝

- He's an orphan. He doesn't tell people that.

- He likes being alone. Until he gets the feeling that someone is somewhere in the room with him.

- Insanely intelligent. He knows exactly what he's doing.

- Very weak constitution. One time, when the Guild were all drinking and whatever else they were doing, Poe blacked out after one drink of wine. Everyone genuinely thought someone tried to kill him until they found out he couldn't handle alcohol.

- Unphased. He's seen it all. Death? Child's play. Heartbeat under the floorboards? Normal Tuesday. Corpse falling off the roof? Crazy. Someone walking into the party dressed in red? Standard party etiquette.

Lucy Maud Montgomery 🪆

- Also an orphan. Doesn't tell people about it.

- Very charming. She can flirt. She just chooses not to. She knows she's too powerful.

- Cripplingly depressed. Self-explanatory.

- Has girl nights with Louisa and Margaret, basically a few hours of them doing girl activities. They tried to summon Bloody Mary at least seven times to no returns.

H. P. Lovecraft 🦑

- Lovecraft has monochromacy, a condition where someone can only see in grayscale. This is derived from irl Lovecraft's "The Color Out of Space," essentially Lovecraft's low education being the reason why he didn't know about the electromagnetic color spectrum.

- He's afraid of crowds. He hates it here so much.

- Has epilepsy. The only thing that can stop this eldrich monstrosity in a human trench coat is the average disco party.

- Loves cats. He is so normal about them. Cats run to him like crazy.

- He glows in the dark. Why shouldn't he? He's earned it. He's also deficient in vitamins science hasn't discovered yet. His ankles popping sound like rogue gunshots.

- AroAce. Intimacy is a concept he doesn't understand and doesn't want to.

John Steinbeck 🌳

- He's very much a dog person. His family keeps dogs. His favorite breed is the Australian Sheep dog.

- He was very sick as a child.

- Really into marine biology. [Steincraft fans stay winning.]

- Before the Guild, he worked as a construction worker, newspaper reporter,and caretaker.

- Ironically enough, he has a pollen allergy. It's not severe, just watering eyes and sniffles. He hates it.

Mark Twain 🔫

- So normal about the ocean. He takes Lovecraft and John with him when he goes boating.

- Into geology. He's the guy who collects rocks whenever he's outside.

- Guild game night isn't game night is Mark isn't beating everyone in every board game to ever exist.

- So normal about cats. The real Mark Twain has 19 cats, all with titles like Apollinaris, Beelzebub, Blatherskite, Buffalo Bill, Satan, Sin, Sour Mash, Tammany, Zoroaster, Soapy Sal and Pestilence to name a few. BSD Mark has one ginger cat he adopted off the streets of Yokohama he names Sal, occasionally calling her Sin whenever she's around Nathaniel.

- He almost drowned twice. One would think that would kill his passion for boating, but he baller'd his way out of it.

Francis S. K. Fitzgerald 🪙

- Dyslexic and in denial. Louisa tried to gently bring it up to him that half of his work email was spelled incorrectly, but he was in denial and chalked it up to it being 3 in the morning when he wrote that work email.

- He worked as a screenwriter before the Guild. Coincidentally, he met his wife there!

- He strikes me as a guy who owns a copy of "A Pickle For the Knowing Ones". If you don't know what that is, please look it up. I promise it's worth it.

- Makes too many dad jokes. John and Nathaniel officially want him dead.

- He forgets to sleep. He just forgets. Even though he looks like he died and got resurrected without prior notice and everyone in the Guild is asking him if he had a breakdown, he forgets to sleep.

Hermine Melville 🐋

- At some point in his life, he lived in the Pacific Islands.

- Hiking enthusiast. He likes the mountain terrain a lot.

- His office smells like smoke. No one knows why. It just does.

- Not much about him to be honest. I wish there was more screentime for him. <//3

[comicarc]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

A chance meeting with a stranger leads down the road of an inevitable devotion. Breeding a childish love into an obsessive attachment. The devil's temptation is all-consuming, only producing pain disguised as pleasure.

wc: 2906

The grace of his footsteps, despite his enormous figure, had seemed to incite an absurd curiosity within me. His attitude ranged from a spectrum even vaster than that of light, as he got along with almost everyone he met, yet peculiarly, seemed to never lose his morals or beliefs in the face of so many opinions and conversations. 

I had paid no mind to him when he first marched through the halls of Gotham high, the whole school was abuzz with chatter, gossiping about this bizarre new character. He never dressed the part of being Bruce Wayne’s ward, often rocking hoodies large enough to drown in, colored a deep blood red that seemed to fuel the fury of the teachers. He was a delinquent in every right, yet he was also as intelligent in the same capacity.

Paid for by the one-percenters of Gotham, the library the size of a Manhattan penthouse was often eerily empty, met occasionally with the presence of a student trying to pay another for answers to an assignment. I was an exception in all such aspects, for neither was I rich nor conceited enough to believe in the fantasy that I would be handed everything in life. I would relish the silence of the library, a place I had made a home of by the second week of high school. Gotham was not a city for me, and the cheap apartment that I called ‘home’ was anything but its namesake, lacking everything that the library could provide. 

I had heard the whispers of others, of how the girls were intrigued by the new kid to instantly desire him, and of how the boys spoke nonsense, fueled by a jealous rage. Though these polarized opinions had left me curious, I never thought it my place to ever participate in such an activity of imagining. That was a right reserved for the rich, for those who had time enough to do as they pleased. 

Jason Todd sat in front of me, one fine day, in the library, so enamored in The Great Gatsby that he ignored my existence. Although caught off guard, I enjoyed the silent company, feeling as though I was not alone in my fated destiny toward deterioration as I spent more and more time in the library each passing day. Life had only begun to worsen with time, yet his presence had seemed to soothe me with silent comfort.

At first, I brushed him off just as I thought he had done of me, yet the more I saw him, I began to imagine as well. He had made me a rich woman, not materialistically, but rather metaphysically. My mind spent hours trying to reason why he stayed. Was the library his abode as well? Was he trying to read every book he’d laid eyes on in there? Why? Questions only left a hole, a desire to fulfill my curiosity. 

“Hey.” Jason's soft voice, like the serpent tempting Eve, left me craving conversation. It was the third month of our silent routine when he finally spoke, soothing months of contemplation with a single word. Oh, how desperate I had been.

The days that followed after that interaction were like a daydream. Unbeknownst to most, Jason had a poetic soul paired with the heart of a hopeless romantic. He would bring my favorite coffee with a pastry to the library and set it beside me inconspicuously. He’d brush off every thank you, pleased by the apparent delight in my expression when I would realize what he had brought. These little gestures enabled us to evolve beyond the library setting, meeting instead at coffee shops near the school simply to study as we normally had done.  

Our interactions were intimate, yet physical exchange was always kept to a minimum, with either party fearful of crossing the line and losing the other. But observing the way his massive body could maneuver through the crowds of people on the street, watching him eat with a linger of an animalistic instinct through his gentle facade, and catching his radiant smile whenever he laid eyes on me was fulfilling enough. Until it left me longing for more.

It had taken me a while to muster the courage to make a move to him. I had developed feelings for him that grew deeper with each passing day, and I couldn’t hold in my desire any longer. So, on a sweltering summer day, as me and Jason sat at the coffee shop we would always hang out at, I decided that I would do something. Jason, in his tank top and jeans, sweat shining in the glare of the sunlight, had left me a blushing mess, too embarrassed to think through what I should do to further our relationship. In my state, I had barely recognized how he seemed timider than usual, keeping to himself. 

After an awkward afternoon in the quaint shop, I decided my endeavor was a lost cause. I got out of my seat, and walked to the entrance, motioning to Jason that I was about to leave. Together we walked out through the door, yet before we could part ways, he grabbed my wrist with a gentle grip. The sudden action caused me to swing around, crashing into his chest as I did. Before I could apologize, he used his free hand to take hold of my chin and tilt my face upward just enough to meet his lips. 

The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us suspended in time. It was a moment of pure magic. In that fleeting instant, I knew with certainty that Jason was the perfect man for me, the one I had been searching for without even knowing it. As we pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, I felt a sense of clarity wash over me like a cleansing tide. In Jason's arms, I had found my sanctuary, my safe haven in a world full of chaos. 

And to tie the not on such a precious moment, he had whispered, “Will you be my girlfriend.”

Since that day, Jason established a routine. He’d keep his distance until the night, when he’d knock on my door, littered with bruises, crying for help. The late nights were reserved for peeling away every layer of Jason’s being his traumatizing past and his blissful present. Then, there came days that I wouldn’t hear from him for days, never seeing him at school or at the cafe. He was like a ghost disappearing and reappearing as he wished, toying with my heart every time. Yet, he always managed to make up for his absence, knowing just the right things to reel me back in when I started to slip away. But despite the distance, despite the pain, I stayed because I loved him. I had fallen in love with his fucked up ways, his twisted dreams, a secret life he kept from me.

He wasn’t a bad lover, just an absent one. His appearance had become the highlight of my days, the way he’d caress me when we hugged, the way he’d hold me in his arms while we rested in my bed. Everything he did was able to erect a lustful emotion I never knew I had. He was by all means, perfectly imperfect. Human in all rights. 

After we graduated, he became more and more distant. He’d never told me what he was up to, convinced that I would stay by his side no matter what. I felt as though I was more of a token anchor than a person to him. Existing just for him, as if I did not have passions and ambitions of my own. But he was right. His love was intoxicating, leaving me an obedient puppet who’d always wait for him. Yet the summer after graduation, when he left me for months, I finally began to become skeptical of our situation.

It was bittersweet to know that this time, he hadn’t stood me up due to his own volition. Fate was a heartbreaker, leaving love a longed-for feeling buried six feet in a grave that I could never see, even if I wanted to. Jason had a simple ceremony, with his blue roses placed upon the coffin as he was buried. A speech was given, tears were shed, and people departed more disturbed than they arrived. Or at least that was what I was told in a letter. The sender was one who shared the same address, the same life, the same ambitions as Jason, yet hadn’t the heart to allow his girlfriend the privilege of knowing about the late son’s departure from this world. 

Bruce Wayne had known loss to a degree incomprehensible to the common man, and no amount of money would ever fix the wounds that bled him dry. Yet, this experience should have encouraged communication. If he was as heartful as the news portrayed him to be, sympathizing with those less fortunate enough to form a family full of grieving children, then how had he glanced over me? The same pain had haunted me, from the moment I felt Jason slipping from my grasp, becoming more and more distant until he left me forever. Bruce Wayne, through Jason, was depicted as a madman driven by an insane drive as persistent as the Joker’s scheming. Jason worshipped the man more than god himself, and yet he often came to me with pained sobs, unfulfilled dreams, and an unbridled rage that his ‘father’ failed to provide for. 

Having never met the man before, I had formed a loose persona in my mind that I had assumed the billionaire was. Yet, my assumptions were solidified after receiving the curt letter, rather, note, written with such passive care that anyone would have thought it was merely as insignificant as a to-do list. 

To whom it may concern:  We gathered to remember Jason at Wayne Manor. It's regrettable you couldn't join us. The Wayne family extends their condolences and offers assistance during this difficult time.

Pretentious, arrogant liars. Gotham’s elite were all the same. I sat in the restaurant for two hours, danced in the street on my way home imagining what I would do for Jason's birthday, and attempted to reason another one of his absences from the date before knowing. The sealed envelope sat on the doorstep, accompanied by nothing but a red seal that indicated its correspondent. It was a strange item to receive out of the blue. 

With no notice, no knowledge of the life that Jason led among the elite, I was baffled by the harshness of facing a sudden reality. It felt surreal to imagine Jason of people dead. He was a killer, with killer looks, a killer smile, and a killer attitude. A body built to fight, and an aura as dangerous as a drug. He couldn’t have died, not my Jason. 

I couldn’t comprehend losing Jason, enough that in such denial I had ventured to Wayne Manor, forcing my way through the ebony gates onto the gothic grounds of the mansion. At the front door, after incessantly pounding on the grandiose doors, I was finally met with the face of the butler, Alfred. Before speaking I stared at him for a few moments as I cleared my blurry vision from the uncontrollable tears that rolled down my cheeks. He seemed to recognize me, as he let me inside, placing a hand on my back for support as he looked toward me with an empathetic expression. 

“Jason can’t be dead. I never saw a body, never heard a lick of what happened to him. You’re liars.” The words left like venom, hurting the old man enough to display his aching heart in his eyes. 

“We all have lost someone very special, but we must accept it.” He spoke, attempting to keep a calm demeanor. 

“Accept it? What the hell are you on about? A funeral I was never invited to and a body I have yet to see. How am I supposed to accept something that seems too imaginative?” I retorted, my anger laced with sorrow.

Silence hung heavy between us, but I pressed on, seeking the truth I feared. “He didn’t care, did he? He loved something more than he loved me, right?”

Alfred nodded, giving into his grief as his eyebrows softened, and his gaze moved to the floor, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. 

“Can you tell me what it was that he adored enough to give his life for?”

“Justice.”

I laughed. Of course, he chased independence from his family, yet revered the so-called philanthropist guardian he had. Though he might have begun with the pursuit of true moral justice, Bruce skewed into a dangerous endeavor. 

Bruce Wayne was a killer, not Jason, no he had a handsome impression, a soft smile, and a hopeful attitude. It wasn’t justice that Jason pursued, it was Bruce’s image of it. He was an imperfect man, his only weakness was the longing for a familial love he was denied by his own parents. One that I could never compensate for. He wasn’t my Jason, never had he been. I didn’t know Jason at all, I was the puppet, toyed with by the father and the son. 

After six months of sleepless nights and living nightmares, I finally found a haphazard peace to settle in. I watched the sky every night, wishing that the hope that blessed Metropolis would make its way into Gotham and give me the will to move on with my life. But, as the general populace is fated to remain in the same cycle, trapped in the chains of modern capitalism, all I was able to do was make do with my shitty job, in my shitty apartment, living a lonely life, as devoid of color as the Gotham sky was of the sun. My visit to Wayne Manor had not changed anything, for I was still left in the dark regarding every manner in which Jason’s name was exploited, whether it be a fundraiser in his honor or a gala, I was always the last to know. 

But without hearing his name, seeing his face, or feeling his touch for so long, I had begun to forget him. Out of sight, out of mind as the saying goes, and though I had forgotten everything, his soft voice still haunted me whenever I slept. I had fallen into insanity fueled by my imagination, one that left me feeling rich in broken pieces of a heart. 

Tonight I sat at the edge of my windowsill, one leg resting on a loose brick outside the apartment, while the other remained crossed beneath me. With my head leaned back against the metal of the frame, I watched the stars twinkle in the night sky, like diamonds. It was a rare night, to hear the sirens go off occasionally. There were no screams, no gunshots no cries for help, only the ambience of the city. I took it as a sign, that change had arrived, that peace was mine to finally be in. 

Closing my eyes, I decided that tonight was safe enough to let my guard down. To enjoy Gotham’s raw essence as a mother to the unfortunate. Her touch let my hair dance in the breeze, cooling my body from the heat of the day. Her sounds were a harmonic symphony lulling me into a deep sleep. But her motherly affection was short-lived, as the sound of boots hitting the fire escape had woken me from my lucid state. 

 The footsteps felt heavy yet sounded as soft as the movements of a ballerina. There was a familiar feeling about the situation, but I couldn’t quite place it, not until his breath hit the back of my neck. Even with the faint light from the neon sign, the man remained a silhouette in the darkness, bigger than what the steps had led me to believe. I didn’t move, waiting for the man to make the first move.

“Hey.” In the same husky voice in which he introduced himself to me all those years ago, Jason had come back, yet again tempting me to be consumed by him. At first, I thought I had finally broken, gone insane from the grief. I was done fighting my end when the weight of Jason's touch settled upon me. It was as though a dark cloud descended, shrouding me in a familiar embrace that I couldn't resist. His fingers traced the contours of my hand, each touch sending shivers down my spine, igniting a flame that I thought had long been extinguished.

I felt the pull of his presence, magnetic and intoxicating, drawing me closer with each passing moment. His breath, hot against my neck, tempted me to abandon reason and lose myself in his embrace. Despite the past, despite the pain, despite everything urging me to resist, I found myself unable to pull away. His hold tightened and his lips brushed against my ear, I knew that I had crossed a line from which there was no return. Swallowed by the shadows of Gotham's embrace, I had sealed my fate the moment I met him. I was fated to die a poor woman, yet the devil enticed me with a taste, and I will die a rich woman consumed by the unending pain of unreal love.