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edenspoem · 2 years ago

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stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy.

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes?

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak.

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?"

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.."

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table.

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead."

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?"

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.."

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els?

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate?

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish.

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~"

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut. You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped.

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.."

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods.

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.."

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either.

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring.

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around."

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit.

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.."

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–"

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out.

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches.

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from.

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–"

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much.

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.."

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto.

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!"

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.."

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar."

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

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leighsartworks216 · 8 months ago

Text

Broken Glass

Zayne x gn!Reader

Inspired by real life events I would have *loved* to have a Zayne here for

Warning: blood, injury, feet, guilt, self-deprecation, insecurity, swearing, kissing, established relationship

Word Count: 1,252

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

A loud crash has Zayne on his feet in a heartbeat. He runs to the kitchen, standing in the doorway to assess what happened. Glass fragments - big, small, and smaller - litter the floor in a staggering display to your mistake. You’re at the center of the mess, crouched down to carefully pick up the larger shards. Barefoot.

“Be careful. Stay right there.” He disappears from the door to grab his shoes.

God, you feel awful. There’s something so entirely horrendous about breaking a glass object like this. It’s not easy to clean up, for one. You’d have to check under the cabinets and counters to make sure you got all the big pieces, and then sweep the smaller pieces up with a broom, and then vacuum thoroughly to make sure you got it all. And secondly, you never get all the pieces, no matter how thorough you are. Which means the hazard lingers for a while after. It’s a small mistake that has lasting consequences that all add up to make you feel like shit right now.

Sharp, shimmering edges of glass rest against your skin, threatening to dig in if you’re the slightest bit too careless. It glistens across the floor like a stunning array of gems on white tile, catching the glow of the overhead light and refracting it back to you. Zayne’s work shoes crunch over the fragments like thin ice as he carefully makes his way to you. His hands support you by your elbows as you stand. He transfers your small collection to his hands and goes to throw them away. Next to the trash can is a broom and dustpan.

You’re not really sure when it happened. Somehow, between the few seconds it took for Zayne to cross the kitchen and throw the chunks away, and him returning with the broom in hand, you cut yourself. You don’t feel the sting, but you do see the blood on the floor. Zayne quickly props the broom against the counter and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you all the way to the bathroom. He sets you on the countertop and sits on the lid of the toilet to check your feet, which, sure enough, are bleeding.

“Did you step in the glass?” His voice is sharp, straight to the point. He gently dabs a wad of tissue over the cut on your big toe that just seems to keep welling up with more blood, growing into a dark red bead that gets soaked up just before it gets the chance to succumb to gravity. You hiss when something sharp pokes into you at the site. “You have a piece of glass in your foot. Be still.”

“I must have, but I don’t know when…” you answer the mostly-redundant question. Your stomach sinks deeper and deeper with every second. If you didn’t feel like shit before, you definitely do now. You hiss again as he uses his thumb, wrapped in tissue, to pry out the small piece of glass. He wraps it in the spent tissue and grabs a fresh wad to hold tightly to the cut.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He keeps a hold on your one foot while lifting your other one by the ankle to see the bottom. There’s a trail of blood sliding down to your heel from the middle of your foot. He sighs softly, taking in the damage.

��I’m sorry,” you meekly apologize.

He lifts the tissue away to check the bleeding. It’s slowed considerably, allowing him to focus on the other injury you’ve sustained.

You love Zayne, with every ounce your afflicted heart can give, but when he’s this quiet, snapping into his doctor mode, you can’t help but feel like you’ve royally fucked up. “I can put on some shoes and help you pick up the pieces,” you offer.

He shakes his head slightly, gently feeling for any embedded glass in your skin. He, thankfully, doesn’t find any. “I can take care of it,” he dismisses.

And your stomach hits rock bottom with a quiet fwump, weighed down by the guilt of your stupid accident.

Needing to find something to do to distract yourself, you turn your upper body to open th medicine cabinet and retrieve the box of bandaids on the bottom shelf. They’re covered in fun designs and colors, but they don’t bring the same joy right now as they normally would when you use one to cover up a paper cut. You pick out a few of the bigger ones, unsure what shapes he’d need.

He takes a long, fat one and removes the paper tabs, wrapping it securely around your toe. He rests that foot on his thigh as he turns to the other one. He takes a square bandage this time, and sticks it to the bottom of your foot.

“I’m sorry,” you say again.

His hands rest on the back of your ankles, keeping your feet on his thighs as he looks up at you. “You’ve already apologized.”

“I know, I just… Are you mad at me?”

“For breaking a glass?”

“For getting hurt.”

His thumbs rub mindlessly over the lateral malleolus of your ankles. “No, I’m not angry,” he says softly. “I was worried. If the glass went deeper into your skin, you’d need to go to the hospital to have it removed. There wouldn’t be anything I could do for it here.”

You stare at the box of bandaids in your lap, putting away the ones he didn’t end up using. One of his hands slides up your calf to rest just under the crook of your knee. Soft lips press against your knee.

“Look at me, my love.”

You hesitantly meet his eyes.

He offers you a soft smile. Dr. Zayne has been replaced once more by boyfriend Zayne. “I forgive you for breaking the glass, and for getting hurt. I only ask that you be more careful next time you break something.” He squeezes the meat of your calf affectionately, massaging the strong muscles underneath as he presses another sweet kiss to your leg. His other hand massages your ankle, tracing shapes up and down your Achilles tendon.

You set the box aside. The tension in your chest eases up as you run a hand through his hair. Getting so upset over this is so stupid, you know that. There’s just something so demeaning about breaking not just a drinking glass, but something of his. He looks up at you with something that kills the apology bubbling up your throat. You brush his bangs out of his eyes and say instead, “I’ll be more careful next time.”

“I know you will.”

He presses a final kiss to your other knee before slipping your feet from his lap. He stands and throws away the bloody tissues in the small trash can. You wrap your arms around his neck as he picks you up, holding on as he carries you to the living room couch. “Stay here. I’ll clean up.”

You grab his sleeve, stopping him before he can get far. You pull him until he’s leaning over you, with one hand supporting himself against the back of the couch and a raised eyebrow that silently asks what you’re doing. You lean up to kiss him softly, trying to pour all your gratitude and love for him into the kiss. “Thank you,” you murmur when you pull away. “I love you.”

He smiles and kisses your forehead. “I love you, too.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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wangxianficfinder · 3 months ago

Text

In the mood for...

March 11th

~*~

1. A) Hellour! For the next imtf i had an idea and wanted to see if there is any fic on it. What if instead to rebuilding the yunmeng jiang sect, the yunmeng siblings didnt. I mean like, it was completely annihilated and they thought to have a fresh start. I know its ooc for wwx and specifically for jc but i would like to see them just not rebuild the jiang sect. Maybe they founded another sect, joined wwx in making yiling wei etc etc. Just a thought:)

B) Hello, i forgot to add in my last imtf, i was in the mood for a fic that explored the cultivation of mdze characters? Like talismanary, golden core cultivation, arrays, curses, anything. The plot doesnt matter it also doesnt need to the focus point, just no WIPs please:) @just-troy0-0

1B)

O, What Learning Is! by Comfect (T, 60k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Canon Divergence No Fall of Lotus Pier, No Golden Core Transfer, Fix-It, Butterfly Effect, Fluff, Cultivation Theory, Cultivation Sect Politics, JYL and JZX Live, Canon-Typical Violence, LWJ-Typical Unwillingness to Discuss Feelings Initially, WWX-Typical Obliviousness, Unreliable Narrator WWX, The Undeniable Romance of Quests, Good Student WWX (for a given value of good student), Canon-typical treatment of children, Especially WWX, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR)

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 925k, WangXian, WIP, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Getting Together, Supportive LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Supportive LXC, Canon Divergence, Inventor WWX, Possessive LWJ, Cultivation Sect Politics, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Fluff and Smut, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Angst, Sunshot Campaign Not JFM Friendly)

Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don’t look here for bashing)

❤️ in case of fire, break glass by Jenrose (T, 65k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, unless I hate them, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Genius Inventor WWX, NHS Finds His Calling, No Women Die)

Proximity To Knowledge by ChilianXianzi (T, 7k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Married Wangxian, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Teacher WWX, Inventor WWX, And his research assistant Lan ducklings, LQR is not a good educator, the kids are alright, WWX did online learning before it was cool)

🔒❤️ Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by Glitterbombshell (T/G, 53k, WangXian, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Teacher WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, [Podfic] Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets)) parts 1-4

~*~

2. Hii! I'm itmf any cannibalism fic with wwx

🔒 Three Months, but One Day Shy by mondengel (M, 1k, Angst, Gore, Cannibalism, Horror, 🔒 PodFic by flamingwell) Very dead dove, mind the tags!

Once-body by ByCandlelight (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Magical Realism, iZombie Fusion, Funeral Home, Stalking, Gore, Cannibalism, Meet-Cute)

ghosts do not speak of lies and truth by LunaChi_KuroShihone (T, 6k, wangxian, burial mounds, canonical character death, body horror, horror, ghosts, major character undeath, demon WWX, angst w/ happy ending, fluff & angst, hurt WWX, cannibalism)

Misunderstood by Silver_Flame_2724 (M, 250k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Feels, Family Angst, Misunderstandings, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Family Fluff, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Heavy Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Gore, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Breakdown, Night Terrors, Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Worth Issues, Self-Destruction, Dubious Morality, (not WWX of course), Cannibalism, Reincarnation, PTSD, Internally Screaming LWJ, Demonic Possession, MXY Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Scum Villain References, WWX Has an Angry LWJ Kink)

~*~

3. Hello, I'm itmf A) established relationship wangxian with jealous lwj/wwx B) established relationship post canon

3A)

🔒 Four Parts Honey and One Part Vinegar by masked (T, 13k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Fluff, Humor, Time Travel, 5+1 Things, Jealous WWX, the Impeccable Trust between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, POV Outsider, everyone is Thirsty for Hanguang-jun as one tends to be)

everyone wants to be yours, but you're already mine by monsshi (G, 3k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Established WangXian, Married Couple, Jealous LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Grumpy JC, Good Nephew JL, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Public Display of Affection, Married WangXian, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Dynamics, JC & WWX Are Siblings, Protective JC, Everyone Loves WWX)

drunk in love by headBONDmeLWJ, unkorene (T, 4k, WangXian, Established WangXian, Soft WangXian, Married WangXian, WangXian Fluff, Domestic WangXian, Internally Screaming LWJ, Jealous LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ is Whipped, POV LWJ, Drunk LWJ, Oblivious WWX, POV WWX, WWX-centric, VinegarKing!lwj, drunk!LWJ)

The One Where Wei Ying Is Insecure by Asmayi (T, 2k, WangXian, JingYi is a brat, JingYi admires WWX, Angst, Fluff, WWX is insecure, WWX is jealous', Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Canon Era, Post-Canon, Jealousy, Insecurity, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, WWX Needs a Hug, LWJ Needs a Hug, POV WWX)

Not rage but grief by dezemberzarin (E, 14k, WangXian, Jealousy, Established Relationship, Light Angst)

The one about the fishies by Luminos07 (T, 3k, WangXian, Domestic Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Pet Names, Fluff and Humor, Dadji, dadxian, Lwj is a sugar daddy, Jealous WWX, Established Relationship, Modern AU, exasperated JC, Attempt at Humor, Comedy, Married Life, Crack, Cute, Fluff)

3B)

Dear Hanguang-Jun by cavaleira (M, 8k, WangXian, ZhuiLing, Fluff, Established Relationship, Humor, Post-Canon)

a kind of emptiness by ScarlettStorm (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Eating Disorders, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorder Recovery, low angst, Happy Ending, seriously in spite of the tags this fic is very soft, Tender smut, Frottage, Praise Kink, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

🧡 Accidents Will Happen by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 45k WangXian, Post Canon, Mpreg, Fluff, Light angst)

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, 🔒[PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

coop d'état by wolfsan11 (G, 4k, WangXian, Fluff and Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Chickens, WWX-centric, Post-Canon Modao Zushi Novel, Married WangXian, therapy chickens)

Open Up Your Hands by etymologyplayground (T, 2k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Banter, Friendship, Double Dating, POV LWJ)

~*~

4. Hey, do you know any fics where modern mdzs characters travel into canon era? @mivhal

a tide in two seas by occultings (microcomets) (E, 80k, WangXian, Modern AU, Parallel Universes, Modern with Magic, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship, Mild Horror, Case Fic, mildly sci-fi, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Married Couple, Love Confessions)

A-Yuan's Big Adventure by KatanaHatake (G, 18k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, transmigrator WY, Found Family, Canon Divergence, Parents LWJ and WWX, People believing WWX birthed A-Yuan, Eventual Happy Ending, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Implied Mpreg, mdzs canon events)

So Call Me a Pessimist, but I Don’t Believe in It by Anonymous (Not Rated, 138k, WIP, WangXian, Food Issues, Family Feels, WWX is a music teacher, WN and WWX are Best Friends from the future, They use memes to talk covertly, Transmigrator WWX, transmigration au, Slow Burn)

Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, it’s more reality travel but there’s modern wwx and cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences) (link in #10)

~*~

5. hiii do you guys know ab any fic where wwx comes back from the burial mounds and something is just off about him? maybe not undead!wwx but more like the "came back wrong" trope. i rmbr reading one where hes a vampire a while back and thats kind of what im looking for if that makes sense? sorry if this is vauge 🙏

some of these could be considered undead Wei Ying but it's a bit hard to say so I hope that's okay

Grief Kindly Stopped by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 5k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Identity Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, AU after WWX gets dropped in the Burial Mounds, Light Horror, Fix-It)

Looked so alive, turns out i'm not real by KatAnni (M, 36k, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sunshot Campaign, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Necromancy, Demonic Cultivation, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sentient Burial Mounds, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies)

🔒 between the shadow and the soul by Reverie (cl410) (M, 22k, WangXian, QingLi, ChengSang, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Dark WWX, Feral WWX, Memory Loss, Magic, Magical Realism, Protective LWJ, Protective JC, Protective JYL, Grief, BAMF WWX, POV Alternating)

🔒💙 A Heart Undying by NonsensicalRambling (M, 114k, WangXian, Undead WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical dead things the burial mounds, Fix-It of Sorts, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, No Yīn Tiger Seal, Morally Gray WWX, Animals Eating People, WWX’s questionable choices, Morally conflicted LWJ, Oblivious WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei, YLLZ WWX, Sect Leader WWX, LWJ & WQ have an Understanding) The vampire fic may have been A Heart Undying (and this one definitely has an undead Wei Ying in it) in case anyone was interested in that.

~*~

6. Itmf: greatest love stories. Tbh, in most ffs after wx get together, it gets boring for me to read their interactions, but I'm in mood for a love story, so please help? Good wx romance fics with great plot and angst please. No modern au please and canon dynamics are preferred. @jaywuji

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Time, Pining while fucking, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Angst with a Happy Ending, CQL Verse, almost everybody lives/almost nobody dies, epistolary-ish, canon-ish side pairings, radishes)

call me home and I'll build you a throne by anaphoricae (E, 51k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Cloud Recesses, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Self-Indulgent, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, Touch-Starved, Non-Sexual Intimacy... and then Sexual Intimacy, Lán Juniors Gossiping about Wangxian, as a treat, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Farmer WWX, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Mutual Pining, Communication, Quietly Falling Into a Married Life, Light Angst, Wholesome, POV LWJ, POV WWX, LWJ in braids agenda, Sharing a Bed, WWX's Birthday, Semi-Public Sex, Cold Springs, Inventor WWX, Jealous WWX)

wide enough and wild by impossibletruths (E, 64k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Canonical Accidental Baby Acquisition, Families of Choice, References to Depression, Happy Ending, I Swear To God I’m Giving Them A Happy Ending, Overzealous Use Of Imagery, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Well Except WN But He Was Already Dead So, Fix-It of Sorts)

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) (link in #13)

~*~

7. On that note, could you please recommend me some nice fics where LWJ and WWX has different first meetings (no modern au!) and WWX is not adopted by the Jiangs ( or atleast he wasn't abused by them?). WWX having his own sect would be greatly appreciated.

And of course, LWJ and WWX needs to be besotted with eachother and eachother only. (No other ships for them. Not even in passing 😌)

Thanks in advance! @grrumpywoof

🔒 Building it back, stone by stone and seal by seal by KizuKatana (M, 134k, WangXian, WWX & Wen Remnants, WWX & Wen Siblings, canon-divergent, post cultivation war, nobody won, WWX starts out alone as a fugitive lone cultivator, then finds a home, then finds a family, not a reincarnation fic, just alternate reality where not everyone who was in original canon existed during the war, starting the cultivation world over from scratch, Found Family, Comfort fic, carving out a new safe home, First Time)

A Thousand Things by tickertape (M, 108k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Developing Friendships, lots of OCs, miscommunication and misunderstandings (they’re idiots your honor), Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Slow Burn)

Become Tomorrow by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 39k, wangxian, BSSR/LY, Alternate Universe, a story full of tragic pining gays, and one chaotic gremlin, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR’s disciple)

what price is duty, what cost is love by thunderwear (G, 18k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX was never adopted to Jiang, war prize, YLLZ WWX, pining, first kiss, first time, falling in love, angst w/ happy ending)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 45k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death, [Podfic] Cold read of “what builds a home” by Stratisphyre by KeriArentikaiPods (KeriArentikai))

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, WangXian, Case Fic, No Sunshot Campaign, Kid Fic, dadxian, Strangers to Lovers, Found Family, POV LWJ, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Falling in love in metaphors)

~*~

8. Hi! Do you know any good fics that have an interesting storyline with MDZS parents (generation)? Specifically, focusing on them.

At most the main characters are babies but don't play a big role in the story. (No POVs from them either)

Thank you!! 🩵✨✨

Cursed Couple by shorimochi (M, 121k, LQR/WRH, CSSR/WCZ, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Out of Character)

Spilled Pearls by nirejseki (T, 88k, LQR/WRH, sect leader nie / WRH, slow burn, angst w/ happy ending)

casting off (why not take life as it comes) by Nemainofthewater (M, 24k, LQR/WRH, CSSR/WCZ, Cw: sexual assault, not between main couple, timetravel, Canon Divergence, Not Qingheng-Jun Friendly)

~*~

9. Hello! I was wondering if anyone has any recommendations with

A) someone finding Wei Wuxian in the Burial Mounds after he was thrown there by Wen Chao or

B) Lan Wangji time traveling to the sunshot campaigns and taking proper care of Wei Wuxian 🥰

I would prefer book only but cql/other adaptations are great too, also no Jiang Yanli bashing of any kind please 🩷 @menimimimeni

9A)

we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) this involves WWX time traveling back to the Burial Mounds, but he doesn't believe he's alive so he needs LWJ and JC to rescue him from the Mounds

what was once your pain (will be your home) by Jenrose (T, 51k, WWX & WZL, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Sunshot Campaign, Golden Core Reveal, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, POV WZL, Enemies to Bodyguard, Location: Burial Mounds, grievous bodily harm, But they get better, eventually, Graphic Descriptions of Physical Injuries and the Aftermath) Wwx is not found by someone but joined by someone

🔒 Heart of hearts series by apathyinreverie (M, 40k, WangXian, Dark LWJ(Ish), Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Hurt WWX, Recovery, Caring, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, some definite manipulation but not everything is as it seems, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX Goes to Gusu, Possessive WWX, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Not Cultivation World Friendly)

9B)

More than a Dream of You by VoidRune (T, 8k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ centric, Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Talks of Demonic Cultivation)

🔒💖 Resilience. by Vrishchika (T, 7k, WangXian, Time Travel, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Self-Indulgent)

The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 86k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It, Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Gore, Not Lan Sect Friendly, Bad Dads, good dads, JFM's A+ parenting, QHJ's F- Existence, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Mothers Who Live, (sorry Wei Wuxian not yours), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Not Everyone Dies, Canonical Character Death)

~*~

10. Hello! do you have any wangxian slow burn fic recs or lits? please 🙏🏽 thank you!!

💖🔒 love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, Arranged Marriage, political scheming, Gratuitous Domesticity, Mutual Pining, EXTREME SLOWBURN, the inherent eroticism of the forehead ribbon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, neither wwx nor lwj want to be Perceived, but sorry kids! it’s gonna happen!, rated E but the the NSFW stuff doesn’t begin until chapter 19!, bottom LWJ in chapter 20 and 27, Mojo’s post)

Odd Geometry by maziodyne (M, 134k, WangXian, ChengSang, XuanLi, QingLi, WIP, Major Character Death, WWX does not grow up in Lotus Pier, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiangs, Elemental Magic, Healer WWX, Sunshot Campaign, Post-Sunshot Campaign Slow Burn, letter writing romance, flirting at inopportune times, Crows, Familiars, Homoeroticism, epic divorce incoming, triple agent WQ, lockpicking, communication (but does it change anything?))

🔒 The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67k, WangXian, Minor canon divergence, Angst, POV LWJ, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, semi-verbal!LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide)

take me back to a time by DizziDreams (T, 143k, WangXian, College/University, Modern with Magic, Time Travel, Sharing a Bed, Fish out of Water, Man Out of Time, WWX questionable decisions, LWJ lizard brain, Angst with a Happy Ending, WWX’s lack of self-preservation, Student WWX, Time-Traveling Wizard LWJ, Slow Burn, Character Death, reference to abuse, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Abuse, Canon LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Mutual Pining, Chronic Illness, Not A Fix-It, WWX be like “i should be scared but instead im just horny”, feat: lwj horny grip, Case Fic, Russian Translation Available, Transmigration, America, Spanish Translation Available,[Podfic of] take me back to a time by dreamhazer)

🔒 Vagabond by xantissa (E, 65k, wangxian, Slow Burn, Mystery, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Frottage, Case Fic, murders, Supernatural, Angst, Fluff, those two are so in love it hurts, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, badass LXC, Canon-Typical Violence, topLWJ, Bottom LWJ)

stray cat strut by ScarlettStorm (E, 54k, WangXian, No War AU, the world's least mysterious casefic, LWJ reluctantly adopts a cat, LWJ regrets to inform you he will protect this cat with his life, speedrunning the "I didn't want a cat" to "I adore this cat" pipeline, Cat WWX, followed by catboy WWX, Comedy, Shenanigans, comedy shenanigans, Slow Burn, a disgusting amount of magically necessary forehead smooches, switch rights)

~*~

11. Hiiii! So for the next itmf im looking for wangxian fics with ✨misunderstandings✨ not suuuper angsty, happy ending is a must, bonus points if it’s kinda crack !

Thank youu!!!

be still, my foolish heart by mirrorofprinces (E, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Misunderstandings, One innocent rabbit who did nothing wrong, based on a reddit post, Getting Together)

Deep Dive by MimiSpearmint (E, 24k, WangXian, Modern AU, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Are Bad at Communicating, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Therapy, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, counsellor!lwj, give lwj friends agenda, background NieLan, Melbourne, Eventual Smut, Crack, Baby JL, domestic abuse is discussed but does not happen, Baby LSZ, Baby LJY, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Good Sex Practices, Implied Slight D/s, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, Cameos by various minor characters)

Dinner Etiquette by diamondbruise (M, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, One Night Stands, Misunderstandings, Getting Together, Happy Ending)

🧡 Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? By overmountainandmeadow (T, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Office, Modern office AU, IT Director! LWJ, Graphic Designer! WWX, Father!LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Juniors as interns, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn, Rabbits, Cloud Recesses as a company, Happy Ending, Single Parent LWJ)

Not Just Netflix and Chill (Or Lan Zhan’s Lack of Grasp of Euphemisms) by misscam (M, 4k, WangXian, Modern, Getting Together, Humor, Romance)

The Fault in Our Stars by Vamillepudding (T, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Romantic Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Misunderstandings, the title makes it sound like a cancer story, it’s not a cancer story)

together all along by stellarmusings (G, 5k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, Modern, 5+1 Things, Getting Together, Misunderstandings, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Domestic Fluff)

~*~

12. hello! (iitmf)

do you know any fics where wwx and baby sizhui are maybe struggling and (rich/well off) lwj comes along and takes care of them. if possible can it not be too angsty. like the problem can just be how it was when they were in burial mounds, homeless and hungry

Accidental Uncle Acquisition series by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 13k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, LQR & LWJ, Modern, Single Parent WW, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff, Podfic Available, Kid Fic, Soft WangXian, Matchmaking, Humor)

Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy (T, 87k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, Kind of academia AU, Music, Kid Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Action/Adventure, To An Extent, canon-typical JGY, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, we love us some tragic backstory, Happy Ending, for wangxian at least, [slaps fic] this baby can fit so much plot in it)

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition,Kid Fic, explicit in much much later chapters, green card marriage (but not really), pining for your own husband, endless pining, Slow Burn, Happy Ending, Nothing else bad or traumatic happens to the baby, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer)

🔒 so take my hand (take my whole life too) by cicer (E, 92k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition, oh my god they were roommates, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, this fic is not about trauma, it’s about the yearning, slowburn, [Podfic of] so take my hand (take my whole life too) by exmanhater) also features wealthy Lan Zhan paying for A-Yuan's things but he and Wei Ying live together when A-Yuan comes into their lives.

~*~

13. Any fics where Wangxian are just so in love? Like they're just disgustingly loving with each other, like can't be alone for a second, like they breathe each other's air😂 also with them calling each other pet names but not cringey but cute names. Thank you for listening😁

Also do you do other ships beside Wangxian or is this just strictly Wangxian? (You can request any ships! ~Mod L) Just curious. Please and thank you and I hope you have a nice day or night😁 @yasssbassss

later chapters of Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 163k, WangXian, JFM & WWX, JC & WWX, WRH & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, LWJ & NHS, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Genius WWX, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Angry WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Angry LWJ, One-Braincell WangXian, Idiots in Love, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Soft WangXian, Married WangXian, Soulmates, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Immortal WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, Not Yunmeng Jiang friendly, not gusu lan friendly, Immortal LWJ) feature obviously madly in love Wei Ying and Lan Zhan

and i will go this way by detention_notes (T, 24k, WangXian, Romance, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Love Letters, Epistolary, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, Kissing, Drunken Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, Marriage)

🔒 Celestial by apathyinreverie (T, 5k, WangXian, just some silly fluffiness, Smitten LWJ, BAMF WWX, Immortal LWJ. but somehow WWX is still arguably more powerful?, gods messing with mortals, Domestic WangXian, Genius WWX, Post-Canon, Fluff)

concessions to love by besanii (T, 29k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Identity Reveal, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Canon Divergence, Pining, Miscommunication, Smitten WWX, smitten LWJ, Engagement)

Flowers Blooming in the Dark by TheLegendOfChel (T, 64k, WangXian, Gods & Goddesses, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, but it’s still in a xianxia/wuxia setting, Pining, Mutual Pining, Courtship, Forbidden Love, Hades and Persephone AU, Kidnapping, Kind Of, Smitten LWJ, Smitten WWX, Fluff, Courting Rituals, Secret Relationship, Minor XuanLi, Minor ChengSang, references to wwx’s canonical kinks, Child LSZ, Tooth-Rotting Fluff) If the requester doesn't mind a Hades and Persephone retelling featuring Wei Ying and Lan Zhan

~*~

14. For ITMF: I was wondering if anyone knew of any fics that emphasised LWJ's willingness to be more ruthless? Or his dislike of politics and how it gets in the way of things being done? It doesn't need to be the whole fic, I've just been craving vicious LWJ lately lol (like his penchant for chopping arms off) and it's not something often tagged so can be hard to find. Thank you for any help, this blog is a godsend!! <3

❤️ *yakety sax arrangement for guqin and xiao* by Mikkeneko (T, 4k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It Sort Of, A little bit cracky, a little bit angsty, the concept was mostly crack but the execution turned out a little bit serious, Memory Loss, Canon-typical dismemberment, Post-Series, but also mid-series ya feel, Changing Tenses, sometimes your boyfriend's love language includes severed arms, Protective LWJ, Everybody Lives, Confused WWX, Crack Treated Seriously, Portuguese translation available, Mojo's post)

Consequences by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 58k, WangXian, LXC/QS, JYL/JZX, Canonical Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Good Uncle LQR, WWX is a Lan, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Bad Parents JFM and YZY)

when you’re doing all the leaving (then it’s never your love lost) by tardigradeschool (T, 26k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Sharing a Bed, Sharing Clothes, Fix-It, the inherent eroticism of under robes, Golden Core Transfer)

Until It's Dark by suzvoy (M, 120k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, Canon Divergence, LWJ Finds Out, Pining, Fluff and Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hair-pulling in chapter 23)

The (Several) Convenient Kidnappings of the Chief Cultivator by the Yiling Patriarch by misscam (M, 3k, WangXian, Humor, Spoilers, mush of series and novel, some adult action, Switching)

Important Distinctions by nagi_blue (T, 5k, gen, Background Relationships, Fluff and Crack, [Podfic] Important Distinctions by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

the hidden source is the watchful heart by o_honeybees (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Domesticity, Touch-Starved, Grief/Mourning, Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Unresolved Sexual Tension,Eventual Smut, reflections on selfishness and selflessness)

~*~

15. Any recommendations when the juniors get to see the "yiling laozu" arc. @lanwuxian0725

Teen Project to Change the World by animeloverhomura (Not Rated, WIP, 841k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Watching the Show, With a bit of the Manhua and Book thrown in, BAMF WWX, Fix-It, JGS is his own warning, Attractive WWX, Homophobia, disturbing imagery)

~*~

16. I'm itmf any fic with wwx pregnant! It can be a/b/o or not either is fine!

They Have a Son series by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 79k, WangXian, ZhuiYi, Mpreg, overly indulgent nonsense, Curtain Fic)

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mpreg, Gore, Medical Procedures, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Assumed Miscarriage, Explicit Sexual Content, Cesarean Section, Childbirth, Golden Core Reveal)

sweet lotus petals, unfolding in the sun by stiltonbasket (G, 33k, WangXian, Unplanned Pregnancy, Married WangXian, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Curtain Fic, Medical Inaccuracies, Mpreg, wangxian dual cultivation baby, except not how you think, Reincarnation, can be read independently!)

All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, No Powers, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)

🧡 Brilliant Mistake by brooklinegirl (E, 53k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sex Pollen, Mpreg, dubcon, Modern Cultivators, Dubious Medical Science)

On The Way Home by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 58k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mpreg, Non-a/b/o mpreg, Unprotected Sex, Unexpected Pregnancy, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Pining while fucking)

~*~

17. Hello!

For itmf please:

What if WY was hiding another (maybe unusual for canon) skill, like cooking.

Smth like "he knew he could do it better, but .."

Thank you!

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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nasa · 2 years ago

Text

HBCU Students Make Moves with NASA Tech

In September 2023, students at HBCUs participated in a hackathon at the National HBCU Week Conference, where they used NASA’s technologies to create solutions to problems that affect Black communities. The winning team, Team Airtek, proposed a nano-sensor array for medical diagnoses that would give students on HBCU campuses a non-invasive, non-intensive way to test themselves for precursors for diseases and illnesses like diabetes and COVID.

The hackathon they participated in is a modified version of the full NASA Minority University Research and Education Project Innovation and Tech Transfer Idea Competition (MITTIC) that takes place each fall and spring semester at NASA’s Johnson Space Center in Houston.

No matter what you’re studying, you can join the MITTIC competition and come up with new and innovative tech to help your community and the world.

MITTIC could be the beginning of your career pathway: Teams can go on exclusive NASA tours and network with industry experts. Show off your entrepreneurial skills and your team could earn money—and bragging rights.

Don’t wait too long to apply or to share with someone who should apply! The deadline for proposals is Oct. 16, 2023. Apply here: https://microgravityuniversity.jsc.nasa.gov/nasamittic.

#black excellence #BlackExcellence365 #hbcu #tech #competition #hackathon #technology #NASA

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

To a Tea 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character: Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

You don’t often miss work, but that week, a burst pipe throws everything off. A morning spent waiting on your landlord, then the next few hours for a plumber, has things a bit off kilter. Even the next day, you’re not quite back on point.

The patched wall next to fridge reminds you of the disaster and a dingy smell persists. You hope it doesn’t cling to you as you set off for your shift that day. If you can, you want to pick up some hours from others if their up for grabs. Harry doesn’t like Saturday’s, maybe he’ll hand over some.

You try to leave your problems behind as you catch a bus down to the city centre. You get to the tea shop five minutes before the hour. Jenna’s wrapping up the opening tasks as you go to leave your things in the back. You tie on your apron and unlock the front door for the first customers of the day.

At first, it’s a trickle. Never very much at all. The early risers who often come alone or if they aren’t, they don’t speak much or very loudly. The smell of fresh baking and the slow rising sun add to the lazy din.

“Thought the special was strawberry today,” you comment as you transfer macarons from a cooled tray to the display.

“Eh, it was but we didn’t have enough jam,” she shrugs. “Changed the sign, is all.”

“Ah, thought my mind was lagging again. Everything’s been off since yesterday.”

“Eh, how’s the apartment, anyhow? Marilyn said it was something about a leak?”

“Burst pipe,” you explain, “they took out the wall above the sink, buncha clanging all day. When I tell you this place is like heaven.”

She chuckles, “can be.”

“There’s a formal tea booked in the Marigold Room at noon,” she intones, “forgot to mention that. With Mother’s day coming up, suppose we’ll get more bookings.”

“Suppose,” you go to check the schedule hanging on the wall. “Party of twelve, wow.”

“I’ll man the till. Honest, since those ladies at New Years, I’ve hated doing them.”

“No problem, Harry should be here, shouldn’t he?”

“Well, he’s... called in.”

“Again?” You whine as you face her.

“Are you really surprised?” She scoffs.

“No one else to cover? Not even Louisa?”

“Nah, she’s on holiday still.”

You huff, “fine. Not much of a choose then, is it?”

🫖

The tea room is as close to raucous as you’ve ever heard it. You have your back to the rest of the shop as you balance the stacked serving trays with an array of sponge cake, fruit, and biscuits. It’s the typical assortment for a tea party booking.

You’ve already served the tea and the sandwiches, and dessert is the last bit, along with any further pots needed to be steeped throughout. With a partner, it isn’t hard to keep up, but alone, it’s rather overwhelming. Jenna does her best to assist but there aren’t many lulls around lunch time.

Beyond that, the tourists are chatty. You could hardly get away to fetch each course as they wanted to chat about the culture and your suggestions of what they should do next. It’s nice that they’re friendly but still stressful.

You put the trays on the cart and roll it around the counter. As you do, you nearly skid to a halt. In the rush, you hadn’t noticed him. Your eyes meet Raymond’s as he watches you. Intent, intense. You give an apologetic smile and nod in acknowledgement. Jenna wanted to deal with the main room, she’ll have to wipe down his table and do her best.

You roll behind the wall and into the Marigold room. You present the tray and grab it by the ring at the top, lifting it onto the centre of the table. You roll around to gather the empty plates and cups, taking two pots for refill.

You come back out and see Raymond standing, just as he was. He sees you too. Watching, hands folded, knuckles white, jaw set. He’s usually patient but you don’t know how long he’s been waiting.

You roll behind the counter and sigh, clearing off the cart as Jenna steams a tea latte.

“Can you wipe Raymond’s table?” You ask.

“Who?” She furrows her brow.

You glance over your shoulder toward the man in question and she follows. She rolls her eyes, “I tried, I wiped the the table. He didn’t sit.”

“Hm, well... did you wash your hands first?”

“Christ Almighty, what is he a child?”

“Jen, he’s just... you know, my mom’s the same. He can’t help it.”

“You can deal with him. I won’t be arsed,” she sniffs, “he was rude and you know I don’t got time for those ones.”

“Jenna, I’m kinda up to my eyes,” you dump the used bags from a pot. “I know he can be prickly but just wash your hands and redo the table.”

“Ugh, fine,” she sneers, “but you owe me.”

“Let’s call it even,” you retort as you pour boiling water into the pots mouth.

She shakes her head and huffs, “guess it is.”

🫖

It’s nearly three in the afternoon. It’s quiet. Harry’s on his phone instead of doing the cups and your wiping the empty tables to keep yourself moving. The door opens and you glance over to make sure Harry’s alert. He’s not.

Doesn’t matter. It’s him. Raymond. You stand and clutch the cloth tight in your hand as you greet him.

“Be right with you, Raymond,” you assure him.

He barely looks at you as he goes to wait next to his table. You go behind the counter and mutter under your breath in Harry’s direction, “...dirty cups.” You wash your hands and make sure to clink some of the empty porcelain in an effort to draw your coworker’s attention. He’s still entranced by his phone.

You take the disinfectant wipes and go back out. You approach Raymond as he checks his watch.

“How are you today?” You ask.

He grumbles and shrugs, “fine.”

“English Breakfast, black,” you declares as you finish wiping up, “usual.”

“So you remember,” he challenges as he steps close, closer than ever, before sidling around to sit.

“Of course, I always do,” you smile.

“And last time?”

“Last time...”

“Twice.”

You’re confused. What is he talking about?

“I came on Tuesday and you weren’t here. Then on Thursday, you didn’t even say hello.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, Raymond, it was a busy day. Tuesday, I had a personal emergency so I didn’t even know you’d been in--”

“I’ll have my tea now,” he interjects tersely.

“Right, tea,” you confirm and spin around.

“Crooked strings,” he remarks dully, “again.”

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #dark!raymond smith #drabble #series #to a tea #sweet and spicy #the gentlemen #au

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imsofuckingdonewiththisgoddamn · 2 years ago

Text

When Our Stars Cross Paths; II Treech x Mentor!Reader

Pairing: Treech x Mentor!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None

Sweet Angels🪻: @nemesii @mrsyixingunicorn10 @chmpgneprblem

You had no reason to be this nervous.

That’s what you tried to convince yourself as you added the finishing touches to your outfit-a pair of teardrop shaped garnet earrings and an array of silver rings. You brought your hands down to smooth out your olive green dress, opting against wearing the flashy uniforms of the Academy.

The train carrying the tributes was due to arrive at the station in just under an hour, yet you had failed to get yourself to leave the comfort of your apartment. You wrote it off as being a perfectionist and wanting to make sure you embodied the glamour that was the Capitol. But you knew the truth deep down…

You were terrified.

Despite your outwardly confident and bold persona, you had always chased validation from anyone who would give it to you. After you had started expressing your distaste for the Capitol’s vision of the Hunger Games, your parents had almost seemed to forget you existed. Preferring to ignore you than to come to terms with the fact that their daughter was a district sympathizer.

So as you touched up your eyeliner, you started brainstorming ways you could win over Treech’s trust. You knew he wasn’t going to be pleased to have to talk to any Capitol citizen, especially after what you saw of him during the Reapings. The resentment, the bitterness, the disgust.

However Treech hadn’t been the only person who garnered your interest. The girl from District 12, Lucy Gray had put on a spectacular performance following her reaping. Despite her misfortune, she had shown an impressive amount of spunk and moxie. Something that immediately made you gain respect for the younger girl. Coriolanus, who had originally been displeased at being selected as her mentor, had reveled in the attention his tribute gathered, which had transferred over to him. That was the thing about Coriolanus, he loved people who benefited him. You could tell from the mere way he pretended to tolerate Sejanus’s presence. Tight lipped smiles and strained conversation, Snow wasn’t always the most discreet about his true feelings. No matter how many times the district boy tried to convince you of Coriolanus, your opinion hadn’t been swayed. You knew that deep down, the blonde had a small hope of working his way into Mr. Plinth’s good graces through Sejanus. He was a leech, as your grandmother would’ve said.

Gathering your canvas bag—which was filled to the brim with chicken salad sandwiches, water bottles, various fruits you had gathered from your kitchen, and freshly baked pastries, you made your way to the front door. Although you were only given the task of taking care of one tribute, it felt inhumane to only bring food for Treech. After hearing how some of your classmates reacted to their “unlucky picks”, you knew some—if not most of them wouldn’t bother to show up.

The walk to the train station helped to settle some of your anxieties. You adored the outdoors, and wished the Capitol had spared some of their natural forests and mountains instead of urbanizing every square foot of land they could take. The land that had remained untouched however, had been combed over by you, memorizing every blade of grass and every species of bird you came across. Many mornings where you allowed yourself to skip class had been spent taking nature walks with Sejanus, and even Clemmie and Lysistrata when they gave in to your pleading.

Despite your “radical ideals”, you still took pleasure in the company of several of your fellow peers. Before Sejanus moved to the Capitol, you, Lyzzie, and Clemmie had formed an unofficial friend group, spending your school days before the war weaving flower crowns and hosting elegant tea parties. Even now the three of you took care to ensure the longevity of your sisterhood, organizing girls’ days where you binged outlawed romcoms and ordered from whatever takeout sounded the most appetizing. This wasn’t to say they were your only friends, you and Diana were both fond of atronomy, and partnered with each other whenever the topic arose during class. And Festus had been known to forge late slips for you after one of your morning excursions, in exchange for some of your homeade sweets. Even Arachne, as stuck up and anti-district as she was, held a significant amount of respect for you, which you reciprocated. Both of you admired the other’s bluntness and unwavering loyalty to their respective opinions.

Your blissful reflection of your youth was interrupted by a rather grim thought, or rather a reality check. Twenty three kids were going to die. And while you had the privilege to lose yourself in your imagination of the freedom and opportunity you would be granted once you graduated from the academy, you had spared barely a single thought to the pour souls you were about to come face-to-face with. The weight of your bag pulling down on your shoulder eased some of your guilt. You couldn’t save them, but you could ensure they were well taken care of until the bitter end.

As you approached the entrance to the train station, you caught glimpse of a bright vermillion coat. The same coat you had chosen to bury deep in your wardrobe, in favor of a more approachable summer dress. Suddenly refreshed from the excitement of meeting another student, your pace picked up and you rushed around the corner to see which of your peers had had a similar idea to yours. Though to your dismay, you were greeted by the out of breath face of none other than Coriolanus Snow. He gripped a white rose firmly in his hand, his Academy uniform sticking out like a sore thumb against the muted colors of the train station. The peculiar color of the rose indicated he must’ve convinced his grandmother or ‘Grandma’am’ as he and Tigris affectionately referred to her as, to pluck one of her precious roses from her rooftop garden.

While you weren’t a fan of Coriolanus himself, the feeling didn’t extend to the rest of the Snow family. Tigris, his cousin was a stylist—though a heavily taken advantage one, at the boutique you often frequented with Clemmie and Lyzzie on your girls’ trips. The older cousin possessed a sweet and docile demeanor that made you instantly fond of her, often stopping by at the boutique for minor readjustments that you could’ve easily fixed on your own, just for the opportunity to converse with the tall blonde. You learned a lot about the Snow family from these visits; from Coriolanus’s childhood nickname, Coryo—which you found to be endearing despite his character, to the financial struggles they had burdened since they were both orphaned during the war. These small glimpses into the boy’s life had slightly altered the way you saw him. While you would never be able to trust the boy or let alone build a rapport with him, you sympathized with his struggles and hardships.

Lifting your gaze from your bulky canvas bag to the blonde boy standing in front of you, you offered him a gentle smile. Maybe he was maturing after all. Nobody else had bothered to show up for their tribute, not even Sejanus, thought that was most likely due to the dread of having to come face-to-face with a former classmate who viewed him as a traitor.

Coriolanus returned your gesture, though a bit more forced and strained on his part. His eyes were darting back and forth all around the train station, most likely looking for the train that would be pulling in any second now carrying the tributes.

Carrying Treech.

Your quickly spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a throat clearing. You turned to face Coriolanus, who looked as if he was about to speak to you, when the deafening sound of a train horn sounded from down at the end of one of the tunnels.

It was now or never.

Quickly making your way towards the edge of the tracks where the train was currently pulling in, you shuffled your canvas bag from one shoulder to the other. Suddenly quite fearful of the interactions that were about to take place. You hadn’t thought of if they had food allergies or not?? What if one of them was vegetarian?? Could you afford to be vegetarian in the districts?? Before your thoughts could spiral any further, a great fume of smoke erupted from the front of the train, the grand locomotive coming to a complete stop just feet in front of you. Snow wasted no time maneuvering around you and making his way to the back of the train cars, where Lucy Gray was bound to get off. You however, stayed where you were, rocking on the heels of your mary janes as you waited for the tributes from District one to disembark. You had managed to snag a sheet off of Dean Highbottom that contained a list of all the tributes names and their respective districts when he was to intoxicated to notice. A quick glance at your cheat sheet reassured your slight qualms over forgetting their names, Facet and Velvereen.

After a brief few moments of anticipation, the doors of the car flew open and two dirty sickly looking teenagers in matching white cardigans hobbled onto the platform. Facet going first and turning around to offer his assistance to Velvereen, a gesture which she gladly accepted. This small act of chivalry seemed to restore your confidence, and before you could think, your feet were moving towards the pair. A determined smile creeping up onto your face.

“Hi! Are either of you two hungry?”

The pair quickly spun around, eyes wide and startled as if they were frightened by the mere sound of your voice. Getting a good look at their faces for the first time, they looked quite different than the grainy images you had seen from a distance in the Academy. Facet’s golden hair was matted after days of travel, and Velvereen’s heart shaped face was rounded with a softness that made appear to be much younger than she actually was.

Sliding the canvas bag off your shoulder, you held out the bag for them. Offering the goodies and an encouraging smile.

Facet was the first to reach in, hesitantly pulling out a cherry danish before ultimately backing away. After catching a glimpse of the sweets her partner had pulled out, she deemed you safe enough to approach and reached in to grab two water bottles. A peacekeeper then approached, ushering the two to keep moving across the station. They were quick to scatter off, but not before Velvereen sent a soft smile your way.

Making your way down to the next train car, you were met by Marcus and his district partner, Sabyn, both looking weary and confused as they hopped onto the platform.

“Sandwiches? Water?” You offered, slightly intimidated by Marcus’s muscular stature. Sabyn didn’t seem to hold any of the hesitation the pair from District one had, and quickly reached in to grab two sandwiches and a brownie wrapped in tinfoil. She passed one of the sandwiches off to Marcus, and while he eyed you from where he stood, he quickly scarfed the sandwich without a complaint. Sabyn took her time, gently unwrapping the warm brownie from the tinfoil, almost as if she was scared it would disappear if she moved too fast. Once unwrapped, she too quickly ate her food, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips as her hand went towards the bag for a second. However, just as her hand grazed the canvas material, she seemed to recoil as if the bag was burning to the touch.

“It’s okay, you’re more than welcome to take a second.” You were beyond relieved that you were able to provide some sort of comfort after what appeared to be an exhausting journey. Meekly, Sabyn allowed herself to reach back into the bag, this time pulling out a slice of carrot cake. She quickly stowed the sandwich and baked good in her pocket before turning to Marcus, waiting to see if he would take anything. He shook his head, already paranoid at the vulnerability they were displaying to this stranger. Sabyn seemed disappointed by his reluctance but still gave a polite thank you before turning back to walk towards her partner.

Time seemed to fly as you made your way down the cars, stopping at each one to offer your depleting bag. The pair from District three seemed skeptical, but in the end the boy, Circ took a water bottle before the two were pulled away by peacekeepers. Coral from District four was put on defense as soon as you approached, but backed down when she saw how weary her district partner, Mizzen looked. The boy who couldn’t have been older than thirteen, shot out towards the bag after Coral gave him a nod of approval, ultimately grabbing a sandwich and chocolate chip cookie which seemed to intrigue him greatly. Coral gave a curt but polite thank you as she protectively led the now buzzing boy away. Hy and Sol from District five were too dehydrated to be cautious of the welcoming stranger before them, and immediately pulled out two water bottles which they proceeded to down in a few desperate gulps. You smiled at their eagerness and pulled out a few berry danishes, offering them to Hy who had finished his water first and was now wiping his mouth with the back of his dirty jacket. He gave a quick glance to Sol, who nodded encouragingly to him. He gingerly took the pastries, offering a dimpled smile before he and Sol were ushered across the platform. You moved down to the car which contained the pair from District six, Otto and Ginnee. While both appeared to be dehydrated and emaciated, they ultimately refused anything from the canvas bag, scattering off after being startled by a peacekeeper yelling a few meters away from the three of them. Shifting the bag back onto your shoulder, you made your way down to the next car, coming to a halt as you realized who you would be met by…

The doors to the car banged open, and a teary eyed girl you recognized as Lamina appeared in the shadows. The sight of you sent a small whimper to escape from her lips and the redhead quickly vanished back into the shadows as another face emerged.

Treech looked to be almost a completely different person than the one you remembered from the Reapings. His eyes no longer wide and fearful, but rather sharp and observant. His dark curls were still hidden underneath the worn out hat, and his well defined jawline twitched as he looked out across the station, not paying any particular attention to you. After a brief scanning he hopped down onto the platform, turning around to offer his hand to Lamina in a similar fashion to that of Facet. Lamina gingerly took his hand slightly stumbling off onto the platform as she braced herself against Treech’s shoulders. Now deciding that this would be the time to introduce yourself as his mentor, you cleared your throat before approaching the pair.

Lamina who had already noticed you, cowered behind Treech, very much still on edge from the Reapings as well as the train ride. Confused at Lamina’s sudden fright, Treech turned to see what had scared her, and was slightly shocked to see that it was not a peacekeeper or another tribute, but rather a girl.

“Hi, You must be Treech! i’m Y/N, your mentor!”

A/N

Sorry there isn’t as much Treech content this chapter as y’all probably wanted 😭. I don’t want to rush this series and want to spend the first few chapters really building the MC’s background. The good news is that my classes are dying down for winter break and i’ll be posting A LOT in the coming weeks, might even post a third chapter tomorrow 😌.

Would you guys like me to make a playlist to go along with this? Or mood boards?

xoxo

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fuck-customers · 1 year ago

Note

Them: "Here's my problem." Me: "Okay. Here's everything I can do within my power to solve this problem. Has the problem been solved?" Them: "No, I require more assistance." Me: "Okay, since we have done all I can do, I'm going to direct you to another department who can MAYBE do more to assist you. To reiterate: I have done everything in my power to help you and can no longer be of any assistance, so am transferring you to someone with a different and larger array to work with." Them: "YOU JUST DON'T CARE ABOUT ME OR MY PROBLEM. NOBODY WANTS TO WORK ANYMORE. WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO CUSTOMER SERVICE? SERVICE MEANS SERVE US. THIS IS RIDICULOUS." I hope you get caught by every traffic light and railroad you pass for the rest of your life, and I hope your socks curl under the arch of your foot every time you wear them, no matter the sock or the shoe

Posted by admin Rodney.

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reds-writings · 1 year ago

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okay so you begging for more old rust prompts has timed really well with my need for old rust fics and the last two you wrote (and also joni mitchell’s music being put back on spotify, thank god) but i was wondering if you could potentially write something along the lines of prompt #8 on the fluff pt 2 prompt list (sharing a kiss while cleaning a wound — potentially after the beer fail lol) but yeah the lyrics from the chorus of case of you really just made me think of our reader and old rust despite it all:

Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine You taste so bitter and so sweet Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling And I would still be on my feet Oh, I would still be on my feet

i love joni mitchell oh my goodnes. you are a genius anon!!

By the following morning, it turned out Rust did indeed manage to agitate his stitches with his late-night tumble. The line of your brow was set hard in concentration as you prodded at the gash with as much gingerly precision as you could conjure. He tried his damnedest not to flinch given you’d already fallen into enough of a tizzy over the whole ordeal and didn’t need your nerves driven up the wall any further. He loathed the feeling of being any sort of burden towards you but after the stern talking to you laid out on him he had no choice but to sit without another self-deprecating word.

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day I swear it.” You huffed out a breath as you wiped away any remnants of dried blood clean from his skin.

He tried not to bristle visibly at the remark, reminding himself that you didn’t really mean it in the literal sense. Though, with his severe lack of desire for taking care of himself and your incessant need to make sure he didn’t succeed in giving up once and for all there had been plenty of close calls over the years where his brashness could’ve taken you out for good. Another factoid in the sea of many that he tortured himself with time and time again.

The dulcet tones of Joni Mitchell came from the older-than-dirt record player you hadn’t had the heart to ever get rid of after all this time as you carried out your worry-warting on the Texan. You remember you used to joke about the lyrics of Case of You eerily pertaining to Rust’s presence in your life way back then. He didn’t think himself anything close to holy but that was beside the point. No matter where he went off to, a piece of his soul had undoubtedly been melded with yours to the point of no possible undoing. There was no scrubbing him clean from the recesses of your mind or the deep-set cracks of your weary heart.

God knows you tried with all you had when everything went to shit.

You’d have to throw the sheets in the laundry once you were done but it was more than likely a lost cause with the array of staining from his soiled bandages that had taken residence throughout the night. You could run out in a bit to get some new ones in town. That or you’d have to test if he could finally make it up the stairs to your room without being too winded.

Satisfied with your work, you stood to your full height and finished wrapping up a clean set of bandages around his torso. Not much had changed about him physically, maybe he was a little softer around the edges but that did nothing to smother the fire his presence lit in you without fail. Marty could whinge on and on about how Rust looked now but he was just as tragically beautiful to you as he’d always been. Your eyes met and you couldn’t help but melt a little. He was here. He was okay. You just had to keep reminding yourself.

Bringing up a hand to tuck some hair behind his ear you leaned in to press your lips to his. First, shortly then with the second press, you deepened it a bit more. A large palm came to grip loosely at the back of your neck in reciprocation and you could’ve seeped through the floor then and there. Your kisses transferred to stamp themselves beneath his eye, then his cheekbone, making their way up to his hairline so you could embrace him for a moment longer.

With a shuddering exhale, his body released any remaining tension it had as he let himself bask in the warmth of your affection. You leaned back to look at him once more,

“I gotta hop to town real quick. Getcha some new sheets and a couple of other things. Think you can steer from bein' accident-prone for an hour or two?”

Rust tsked and shook his head slightly, “Can’t say.”

“Does that mean you wanna try makin’ it to the truck today? Would probably do you good to get some air and actual sunshine. Pallid don’t suit you none-” You dodged his incoming pinch. His predictable knee-jerk response to your playful ribbing was as old as time. It never truly annoyed him as much as he played it up. He'd selfishly rather have you this way and happy than keeping yourself at a distance forever.

“I’d be inclined to try should you be quiet.” He half-snarked and you scoffed in mock offense.

“I’m a delight. Ask anyone-"

“Mhm.”

“You’re being quite rude to the woman nursing you back to health and that I can’t abide. Lest you wanna try gettin’ dressed on your own without topplin' over.” You started to take some steps away, an empty threat of leaving him in his place.

No other snipe followed, just an outstretched hand after a stubborn moment or two. You snickered as you helped him off the kitchen counter and to his room so that you could set out for the day’s endeavors.

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader #writer blog #anon ask #rust cohle imagine #true detective imagine #jj universe #request #blurb #drabble

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autumnwoodsdreamer · 5 months ago

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Chapter 39: Awakening

Characters: Din Djarin, Sabine Wren, Grogu, The Armorer, Fenn Rau

Summary: Din makes his decision and a declaration

Words: 3965

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

. . . . .

For an hour, maybe two, Din walked.

Away from the camp, away from the covert, he walked.

The land appeared flat at a distance but the plains inclined subtly, smoothly, building to a bank which sloped down the other side, rolling down to a vast expanse of tall, undisturbed grass gently breathing like an ocean. Standing on the crest put the rest of the world far enough behind him that he couldn’t hear or see anything but the land.

Dusk fell into twilight and soon the sky turned indigo, stars unabashedly appearing in droves, joining the twin moons as if called to assembly. The air was cold, there were no clouds, and the wind wasn’t going out of its way to fight; it came, rustled the grass, and then settled languidly. Winter was still too fresh a memory for the glow-bugs to come out of wherever it was they sheltered during the frost-bitten months, but a small gathering of crickets kicked up a slow, quiet chorus.

Din left his helmet off.

As aware as he was of the tribe’s proximity, he needed to breathe the air without a filter and see the world—this world; his world—without a visor’s tint.

Really, he should be back there, sitting down with his clan—that strange amalgamation of Vizslas, Wrens and Djarins. He should be eating, too, but he hadn’t the stomach for any of it.

He had sought Fenn Rau’s counsel, expecting guidance and advice to the tune of who best to include in his party when he went to confront Kryze, perhaps some insight into how best to approach her, what to say, how to initiate a fair and final duel. He knew, of course, the ancient methods of seeking justice through single combat, but he wasn’t so up to speed with the potential amendments and loopholes she may present and going into this with even a shred of ignorance could get him and anyone with him killed.

But Rau’s advice hadn’t steered in any of the directions Din anticipated.

As difficult as it was to swallow, the more the matter churned over in his mind, the more he listened to Rau’s reasoning as it replayed in his memory, the clearer it all became.

In truth, there were many roads he could take, many choices he could make, many different ways this could go, but to end this ordeal, once and for all, there were only really three options.

Give someone—anyone—the blade.

Let Bo-Katan come, kill him and take it.

Or stand up and claim the throne himself.

The first one was most enticing: just bestow the blade on someone else and instantly be unburdened, let it become their problem.

Technically, the second option was the easiest of the list: laying down and dying took no effort at all. But he had a responsibility—to his tribe, to his clan—to live and, if not to rule, then to ensure whoever did rule was worthy; such a quest for a better candidate should take time—it wouldn’t be right to transfer the blade and all the duty that came with it flippantly, just for the sake of freeing himself. And he had already determined that Kryze should not have the throne again—though unaware of the history and scope of things, as far back as their first meeting he knew she was the last person in the galaxy he could ever be prevailed upon to follow.

Being Mand’alor was not what she made it out to be; it never was.

In Basic, they let it be translated to king or queen but that was only because there was no direct translation for what a Mand’alor truly was. It was something else, something outsiders had difficulty grasping and Mandalorians had difficulty explaining in foreign tongues. They spoke of thrones but, truly, there was no such thing, no seat elevated above the people. True Mandalorians didn’t have societal classes, and ranks and titles mattered little, so their leader was not a figure arrayed in finery and revered as something nearly divine: they were still a vod, still a warrior, they had responsibility and expectations and duties, they had the final say, yes, but, come the hour, they would be on the battlefield with their brothers and sisters, not tucked away somewhere safe and decadent. General or chief was a more apt word but they gave the impression of a smaller group to care for; the Mand’alor was the chief of all the clans, houses, tribes and factions combined.

In her resistance against the Empire and even in her loyalty to Death Watch, Bo-Katan had been on the ground with her troops, but she had been formed and grown in a castle, her concept of rulership distorted by her house’s insistence on installing a royal family, her ego fanned with titles such as duchess, princess, and heiress, conferred on her at birth, the ascension framed as essential. Mandalorians of different walks were not Mandalorians as far as she was concerned (and she as a bit too quick to label ones she didn’t understand or agree with cultists and deviants). She could form the image of a Mand’alor of old but her blatant sacrifice of their principles and disregard for the lives of others revealed a thirst for power which no true Mand’alor should ever entertain.

She should not rule.

But should Din?

His knee-jerk response was: no.

Out here, standing in the field, far enough away from all living things that he may as well have been adrift in the vacuum of space, he severed his feelings from the issue and rephrased the question.

Not should he lead; could he lead?

Well?

Could he?

Objectively, yes.

He had been trained to lead squads all the way back in the Fighting Corps.—that was part of basic training. Though he hadn’t graduated, he had used what he learned out in the field, working with mercenary crews. More recently, he combined all his training and experience in organizing various peoples into armies—everyone from non-combatant farmers to warring desert tribes to jaded guerrilla fighters and even skeptical New Republic Rangers.

He could direct and guide and organize, he could delegate and distribute, he could mediate and problem-solve and trust.

He could lead.

All at once, his life—the years already lived, the experiences already inked and sealed in history and memory—spread out before him like an intricate tapestry and he saw, for the first time ever, how the threads had woven, what he had become.

Every day was a lesson, every battle fought and won or lost had shaped him—his strengths, his abilities, his skills, his perspective. The people he loved, the people he lost, the ones who failed him and the ones who came back, they had all left an indelible impression, a slice or a cut or a piece that ultimately sculpted him. Every situation, every trial, every quest, every road travelled, every corner he got himself backed into by accident, by poor decision, by miscalculation had pushed and pulled him into place, the place where he was, the place he needed to be.

Sorgan, Mos Pelgo, Morak, all the jobs, quests, missions, and rescues in between had served as training grounds, forcing him to test his mettle in real-time.

He could lead because he had led before.

Still, it seemed wrong that he should be here, that he should be this.

Who was he?

Dinar Djarin was the son of simple healers, born on a nowhere world skirting the fringes of Wild Space. He was not of noble birth, his family was of no great means, his home and his life, all he knew was small.

Din Vizsla was the foundling son of a scout. He was half-deaf and skinny, ill-tempered and impatient, but, for some reason, they decided he would shape up well in the Fighting Corps. and he did, he excelled, he grew, he was their most promising, if not most unconventional student.

Mando was a Mandalorian and that was all anyone could say for certain. He hated droids and few ever heard him speak but what he lacked in conversation he more than made up for in reputation: he was the Guild’s shining star, the cream of the crop, the best in the parsec.

The Silver Mandalorian was a modern-day legend, springing to life with stories of saving this village and that town, of felling dragons and taming beasts, rallying armies and leading them to victory after victory—the most bizarre thing about it all was that every story, tall as it sounded, was true.

But Dinar Djarin died in a cellar when droids attacked his settlement. Din Vizsla vanished just a week before graduation. Mando threw it all away for a child. And the Silver Mandalorian? Well, wasn’t he, from the start, just a story?

Din was all of them.

He was a child of Aq Vetina. He was a Vizsla foundling. He was a bounty hunter. He was a Mandalorian. And, somehow, he had become a legend.

Here he stood now, in the fields he was grown, under the first sky he ever saw, wearing the armour and the scars he had earned in a life beyond this air, holding the memories and the lessons he had spent his whole life gaining, running from and then back to them.

Everything he was, everything he had been was still a part of him—it always would be.

But now he was being asked to become something new.

He could run.

He could forfeit.

Or he could take all that he was, all that he had been, all the stories and the twisted paths and the unfinished, ill-fitting pieces, put it all together and become what he needed to be.

He didn’t feel ready.

But he had trained for this.

His parents, his buir, his instructors, his tribe, his friends and his enemies—they had all prepared him for this.

The night was well along but it was not late when he returned to the camp.

The meal was finished and the tribe had gathered together in the open air, collected around a steady fire, the warm glow casting glints and flickers on the beskar-clad crowd. Every now and then, something in the fire cracked, sending a shy spray of sparks shooting up as if aspiring to join the star-flecked sky.

Sabine was, of course, easy to spot, her bold colours standing out brightly amongst all the faded paint.

(What if it was restored? What if they stayed out here, above ground, and showed their colours proudly? What if they never had to hide again?)

Her helmet swivelled and her posture straightened subtly as Din wove his way through the gathering to join her. Nevermind that she wore her helmet, he could picture that soft smile she always gave him so freely.

He came and clambered down to sit beside her on a woven mat: less serving for comfort and more as a barrier between them and the dirt. Most sat on similar mats; some, mostly older ones like Ba’Buir, sat on crates.

Grogu was soft in Sabine’s arms, heavy blinks gradually but surely slowing. His ears lifted when his father joined them and he raised his arms, asking to go to him. Smoothly, Din took him and let him snuggle into his side.

“All good?” Sabine asked, voice low as she leaned close to him, a hand resting on his arm and squeezing softly.

“Yeah,” Din breathed out, putting his arm around her shoulders and dipping his head down to touch his helmet to hers. It was a very small gesture but it went some way towards settling the mad fluttering in his chest.

When they parted, she tilted her head to the side and he suspected she sensed something was up with him but a sharp ting-ting rang out before she could ask anything further: the distinct sound of beskar on beskar interrupted all present.

All heads snapped up, visors fixing on the Armourer standing before the fire, framed by the flickering light. She had rapped her hammer against her chest plate to draw the tribe’s attention. As she awaited a wave of silence, she held the hammer aloft.

Beside Din, Sabine groaned softly.

“Oh, don’t tell me that’s the talking hammer,” she muttered, sounded dismayed.

Din frowned. “The what?”

He didn’t get an answer as the tribe hushed like a sea receding and Ursa began speaking, her voice clear and regally controlled.

“By now, you are all aware for the reason for this most recent relocation. Our covert was discovered by an outsider of ill intention and thus compromised. As distressing as another move is, we have ample cause for celebration on this occasion: all have been accounted for; none have been lost.”

Duly, a chorus of clangs rose into the night as the tribe banged their vambraces together in the Mandalorian equivalent of applause. Ursa did not rein them in, rather, she joined in their expression of relief and jubilation; though she did not wear vambraces, she rapped the hammer against her chestplate enough to produce sound, not enough to self-injure or warp the beskar.

In that moment, the grief and anxiety was muted, utterly drowned out.

They were here.

They were alive.

Ursa waited for the metallic clangs to fade before setting her shoulders back and raising her head.

Now for the bad news, Din and likely most in the gathering surmised.

“However, we are not safe yet, nor can we remain here indefinitely.”

The words stunned no one.

Permanency, stability, security—these had all become such foreign concepts to the tribe. It was with subdued acceptance they heard the words.

“We have been offered temporary refuge by the governor,” Ursa said, aiming to soften the blow, “but we will need to arrange a scouting party to find a suitable place to dwell long-term. Tonight, we rest; tomorrow—”

“Pardon me, Alor.”

Din wasn’t so sure where the steady voice came from: his heart was a frantic animal thrashing against his ribs like the bars of a too-small cage, more concerned with freeing itself than whatever wounds its madness was inflicting. Yet his voice came, the words slipping past all that and meeting the air without shrinking or crumbling or fleeing.

Ursa turned to him, sharply. Like her daughter, her head tilted quizzically. Firelight slid along the sea of visors drifting and setting on him and he could feel their gazes as much as their puzzlement.

Din passed Grogu back to Sabine, mindful not to jostle the little one though he was not asleep. Then, drawing a breath, he rose and crossed the distance. He extended his hand and waited, holding his tongue in the interim.

Either Ursa would pass him the hammer and he could speak freely without fear of interruption or she would refuse and he would have to sit back down. It was a convention he had only ever seen utilized in the Nevarran covert and, after Sabine’s clip of a comment, he wondered if it was Ursa’s own invention: a system she had used to curb rowdy family discussions with her own children.

He felt the weight of the hammer’s handle settle in his grasp before he registered her granting it to him.

She held onto the head of the hammer for a drawn out moment and he expected her to push, to question him, but then she released, bowed her head and drifted away, swiftly taking his vacated spot beside Sabine.

For a moment, Din stood there like a thing abandoned, nevermind the fact he had come here of his own volition. He glanced over the tribe, the weight of the hammer and the right, the expectation to speak pulling on him.

In a fraction of a second, uncountable by any physical metrics, it occurred to him that he knew these people better now than ever before, having properly lived among them for the past few weeks. He could, for the first time in a long time, name everyone present. Perhaps he didn’t know every single story yet but he knew more now than before.

He knew that the majority of this tribe was made of foundlings—he was not the odd one out; he was just like so many of them, having been born to a different life, destined for something else but victim to the twists and turns of events that brought them here and transformed them into something new.

Few were clan-born, even fewer had ever set foot on Mandalore itself and only a small handful of the older ones could recall the time before the Divide: that point in the Civil Wars that saw Mandalorians fractured like never before.

Some had fought in the Siege.

Some had fought in the Purge.

Some, like little Ayisa, had only ever known the aftermath: the hiding, the silence, the shelter and seclusion.

All of them had lost something, somewhere, someone.

Din couldn’t fix all that.

But maybe he could stop the losses from mounting any further…

“The Alor has spoken truth, but there is more to the story you deserve to know,” he began, evenly. “The outsider who uncovered the covert was a bounty hunter. He came for me. There is a price on my head and he came to collect. He has had a hand in ravaging other coverts in the network and our tribe would have been attacked in due course.”

He breathed.

Not one word had slipped or stuttered, but the very real fear of missing or mutilating a word pushed him to pause.

His hand on the hammer handle flexed, the leather of his glove creaking as if in protest—the camp was so quiet, he heard it as loud as a crack of thunder.

The visors were still angled towards him, the gazes sheltered behind the tinted transperisteel or the fine, darkened mesh locked on him, watching, waiting.

He found Riel Rook among them. There were some other Rooks but he sat apart from them, apart from everyone, ostracising himself. There was a brittle rigidity to his posture that Din knew all too well.

He did not blame him.

It was a moment of weakness, of naïveté, and his guilt was penance enough; Din saw no reason to make any further point of it before the tribe. After all, the root of the problem was still him, not Riel.

So far, he had given them some extra facts but hadn’t given them a reason for those things to hold any great significance or relevance. It likely came as no shock that he had a bounty set on him: most of them had been on Nevarro, they knew about his rift with the Guild, they knew he had more enemies than friends in the galaxy.

He stood now at a crossroads, at the point of no return.

This was his last chance to back out of all of this.

He could say he just wanted them to know he was the reason they had to move again. He could go back, sit with Sabine, rest tonight with everyone else, perhaps volunteer for the scouting party and find the tribe a place to settle for who knows how long. Perhaps he could take a detour on the way and drop the Darksaber in a blackhole or in the swirling clouds of a toxic maelstrom, permanently and forevermore placing it out of Bo-Katan’s reach.

He thought such things, but he had resolved otherwise.

Privately, away from all eyes and ears, essentially unknown and unrecorded by the rest of the universe, he had made a vow.

A vow to try.

His trying was not feeble attempting with the goal of barely expending effort so he could give up, throw his hands up and say, well, he gave it his best shot.

No.

His trying was a thing fuelled by blood and sweat. His trying was breaking his back and pouring out his heart until there was nothing left and still carrying on. It was marching to the ends of the galaxy alone, year after year, driven by the belief his work was keeping the ones he loved safe and well, that he was buying them another day. It was faith, it was hope. His trying was a dogged, endless, insatiable thing because even when he reached a summit he didn’t stop climbing.

If he could do it as a beroya, if he could do it as a father and a husband, why couldn’t he do it as a leader?

He had vowed.

Now, it was time to follow through.

“Bo-Katan of House Kryze set the bounty on me,” he declared as he transferred the hammer to his left hand and reached with his right behind his back. “She did so because she desires this.”

He unclipped the Darksaber hilt from the back of his belt where he kept it discreetly hidden behind his cloak at all times. He held it aloft and ignited the saber without hesitation.

The paradoxical black and white blade bloomed to life with a gentle, almost negligible weight—so familiar and intrinsic to him it had become. Its song, like echoes in a crystal cave, rose and wavered as he swung it in a short, swooping arc, ensuring all present saw it and believed.

A wave of soft gasps rippled through the camp and a palpable astonishment gripped all.

But Din wasn’t finished.

“Tarre Vizsla, the founder of House Vizsla—my house—forged this saber. It has since become a symbol of the Mand’alor. It’s been lost and won many times throughout the centuries. Bo-Katan Kryze last laid claim to it but lost it in combat to our enemy, the Butcher of Mandalore, Moff Gideon.”

Suddenly, the thrashing and pounding of his heart steadied, like a ship reaching the calm waters of a port.

He paused and drew a breath, his shoulders squaring. He let his arm rest down at his side but he did not extinguish the blade; it hummed softly, certainly at his side as he continued the story.

“I fought Moff Gideon and won the sword.”

Some were whispering things to their neighbours, just low enough not to let the words spill out to the rest of the camp. Casting a measured glance over the gathering, Din found Rau.

They locked visors and the older man bowed his head in approval and encouragement.

Purposely, he turned and looked to Sabine.

She was leaning forward, her hand clutching her mother’s arm. She looked like she was in suspense or like she was about to stand and march right over and stop him—he wasn’t sure which was reality and which was his perception. Either way, she had not been expecting this.

Neither had he, to be honest.

But, alas, this was where life had taken him.

You always go where you belong.

One more breath.

One more heartbeat.

“And I am now, officially, laying claim to the throne as rightful possession of this sword grants.”

Silence.

He closed his eyes.

Nothing felt real. Some voice in his mind shouted, insisting this was happening, that he was here and all around him was true and tangible, but he couldn’t believe it.

Until he heard the first clang of vambraces.

Then another.

And another and another until a chorus of beskar rang out, thunderous, pulsating, undeniable, the tribe seeming to multiply a hundredfold.

He opened his eyes to see all the Mandalorians rising to their feet.

“Oya manda!” someone shouted, sparking an eruption of exclamations, travelling through the tribe like a chain of explosions.

Din Djarin was and had been many things.

Child.

Foundling.

Bounty hunter.

Warrior.

Father.

Husband.

And now, tonight and henceforth… Mand’alor.

To quote Sabine from Head Above Water:

“Every two minutes, it’s something else with you. I’m getting whiplash here.”

. . . . .

🎶chapter playlist🎶

My Kingdom — Alan Doyle

Awakening — Yellowcard

Declaration — David Cook

Believer — Imagine Dragons

Glitter & Gold — Barns Courtney

Silent Majority — Nickelback

Set It Off — Skillet

#din djarin #sabine wren #grogu djarin #the armorer #the mandalorian #star wars rebels #my writing #lift a sail #unsinkable

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 1 year ago

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Trying to work out if it would be funnier for Alastor to do a weird bodyswap with Angel Dust or Vox

On the one hand, vox waking up in an old timey body and accidentally blasting everyone with a dozen stations and on the ither side of town alastor wakes up next to valentino and accidentally blacks out the town, while trying to strangle the moth that touched him...

The CHAOS... can you IMAGINE

"VOX!!!" the door blows off its hinges as all the phones in the room explode.

"Uh, is he... is he announcing himself, or.like what?" Angel whispers to Husk, as charlie freezes mid stride and vaggie whips out a concealed weapon from the nearby coatrack.

The mist horrifically distorted static garbles a statement as a very dishevelled and distressed looking Alastor falls out if a neeby shadow.

"How in the everloving FUCK do you control these fucking shadows you old timey prick?!" The overlord snarls at a vix whose screen is flickering between his face and an array of u pleasantly gorey murder scenes.

"H000w doyou get this damn internet to st##00pp making such a RaCk3t all the time? I have seen far too many portraits of nude sinners whizzing past this last hour alone to last a lifeTiiim3." Glitches the other, furious and maing e lights flicker.

"Well if you ever listened when i told you about it, you anachronistic fucker, you'd know what a spam filter was. And, wait is that... did you fucking kill Valentino?"

"He tr13333d to put his tongue in my mouth fiiiiir5t thing in the mo000rni11ng, how uncouth."

"Yeah, cause he thought it was mine you dick, how could you?! Ugh he's going to be such a fucking pain when he regenerates."

'Vox' is narrowing his eyes at the half coporeal half shadow flicker of Alastor, the dials chittering on and off unevenly. "What. Did. You. Do. To. Me?!" He growls.

"Oh fucking sue me. As if the first thing you did wasnt to check out the competition... and how many decades were you waiting to tell me you had a tail, You smug bastard?! Its fucking adorable!"

"You WHAT?!"

And then lucifer and half th hotel has to drag the pair of badly transformed overlords apart as they try to kill each other. Freaky friday in hell.

Also it could be interesting to see if angel would transfer to another overlord on vals death.

----

On the other hand, the innuendos. And the banter... of those two would be killer.

"I knew you wanted in my pants, smiles but this is a bit too kinky even for me..."

"speaking of pants, would you mind ceasing your explorations in mine?"

"And miss a golden opportunity to see if that cane was compensatin for somethin'? Heh, you gotta be kiddin' m- YOU GOTTA TAIL?????"

"Why am i feeling like i want to eat you but not in a cannibalistic way?"

"Its called being horny, smiles, and i think it might just kill you if you dont calm down."

"Is there anything that will make it stop so i can think?"

"..."

"Im taking your extended silence as deep pondering of the situation. In which you wont offer me a solution for which i will need to kill myself... ergo, you."

"Huh? Oh i uh, got caught up in the thought about how hot itd be to watch that and i kinda blacked out fer a minute. Wait, does thinking about watching my body get off make me a narcissist?"

"Technically no, but i think we need to invent a new kind of sin for whatever you were just thinking right now."

"Ugh, why am i so hungry? I saw you have some pancakes an hour ago..."

"You know i am a cannibal, my envenomed associate, which means that it is not a matter of what i eat... but who. And soon, unless you want to experience bloodlust and perhaps eat someone here, hmm?"

"Wait, ya sayin i just gotta eat some ass and it'll be fine?"

"...i would suggest a meatier part of the sinner, but i supposed the gluteals can be sauteed to something acceptable if that is your preference..."

Angel automatically making flirty statements in alastors body and absentmindedly flirting with husk. The catwould need the stiffest of drinks.

Would the radio filter work or would it flicker in and out? Could he accidentally turn on a naughty radio station and not know how to turn it off?

Could it be stuck on his emotional bandwidth and play songs matching his emotions? Even if hes pretending to be fun and flirty when crumbling inside?

Accidentslly changing into iverlord form and needing to be talked down from the sudden rush, the pain and rage and fear of having Such Power.

Not realising how to use the shadows and falling through some accidentally.

Being caught by vox because he doesnt know how to use the scramble filter properly. Being targeted as an overlord for his power due to perceived weakness.

Oooh, what if he was still i jured post fight with adam and the angelic.light caused the switch somehow, which is immediately discovered by Angel.

Alastor trying to manage the extra height and limbs. Trying to be menacing and succeeding in some ways but not how he intended.

The pig co stantly following him around.

Learning to see through 8 eyes would also be a challenge, and the terrifying sneer smile he wears would come off a little odd onagels lovely face.

Accidentally being unable to let things go until angel tells him how to relax 3nough to, spiderman style.

Would he need to consume substances like angel does, given the dependence?

Discovering angel has venom could be fun. Accidental fun that could go very wrong

Would they try to put their regular attire on or go with the others clothes? Because opening closets in either room could be horrifying.

"Whyve you got a fuckin head in ya dressor?"

"My deer fellow, given the alarming size and shape and indeed angry vibrating some of the items i your own boudouir made as i searched for actual pants, i would hasten to request you cease judging my own rooms. Besides, the majority is in the fridge, so simply avoid looking i there too long and it will all work out in the wash."

"Fine but uh... didja see anythin you liked in my room? Im always happy ta share, smiles..."

"Angel i already died once and several of those items seemed designed to shatter your bones from the inside. So i must decline your courteous offer. You may of course snack on anysinner meat i the fridge as you see fit. But leave the portion of angel wing... rosie and i intend to cook it properly whe this is resolved."he gestures to all of him.

"Pfft, sure okay. But i got a few beginner items that you might like to tr-"

"Not now, thank you."

"S'not a no..." he mumbles, witha lavicious wink that is wildly out of place on alastors face.

He laughs as all 8 of his own eyes roll in exasperation.

Also, to upset angel enough to transform properly into overlord form, alastor looks him dead in the eyes and snaps spaghetti in half. The hotel varely survives the ensuing explosion.

Angel hearing the background radiation of the universe (static) qould be weird and maybe soothing. Also i have wondered if alastor and vox can sense one another given they both work on the same wavelengths, that could make a fun and weird diversion.

It also raises questions on... the contract.

Would alsstors body or consciousness retain his souls and their links?

What about angel? Does his contract remain locked to his body, or would valentino drag the chain to find alastors body on the end to his sadistic delight?

Oooh, what about the secret chains? The one we think is from lillith or eve... do you think angel would notice? Hes worn a chain for a while.

Actually isnt there a poledancing clause in his contract?

This could be a disaster until its fixed.

I have. Many thoughts. And just one little phone to share them on.

#hzbin hotel #alastor #vox #angel dust #au idea

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sirfrogsworth · 2 years ago

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Thankfully this post was a joke. He is not going to put a power cable on a TV that costs less than the actual cable. But I had to look up the product page and see what kind of nonsense AudioQuest came up with for this one. I've already checked out their $12,000 power cable, so I'm curious how their "budget" $430 version works.

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

Low-Distortion 3-Pole Power Cable

Perfect-Surface Copper (PSC) with Silver-Plated Drain Wires

Quiet Background and Minimal Active-Circuit Misbehavior Due to RF/ND-Tech (US Patent # 8,988,168) & Direction-Controlled Conductors and Shields

ZERO (No) Characteristic Impedance (Uncompressed Current Transfer)

THE CHALLENGE: No matter how perfect an AC power source, distortion is added within any AC cable. Even the most sophisticated filters and power supplies cannot eliminate this Transient Intermodulation Distortion (TIM) as the induced RF noise modulates the low-level audio/video signal.

THE SOLUTION: NRG-Z3 cables use direction-controlled Perfect-Surface Copper (PSC) strands in a 7-strand Semi-Solid Concentric conductor arrangement in which strands are packed more tightly and never change position within the bundle. This construction significantly reduces strand interaction distortion. The extremely pure and smooth-surface PSC conductors minimize distortion caused by grain boundaries which exist in any metal conductor.

NRG-Z3’s patented RF/ND-Tech and direction-controlled Silver-Plated shield conductors efficiently drain RF noise from the line and neutral shields to ground via the third “ground” pin. In addition. NRG-Z3’s common-mode phase-cancelling array provides additional differential linear filtering. The net result is powerful, dynamic and immersive!

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

Okay, Star Trek needs to hire these people to write their technobabble. This is next level "reverse the polarity" nonsense.

Gotta get that PSC to control the TIM or else you'll be SOL trying to minimize that grain boundary distortion. The phase-cancelling array is really the star of this cable though. Whenever I hear differential linear filtering, I'm just like, "THIS IS NOT DYNAMIC AND IMMERSIVE ENOUGH!"

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duluthcharterbus · 1 day ago

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brooklynparkcharterbus · 9 days ago

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mmakaylllaa · 9 months ago

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Week 3 Blog 9/12

How do algorithms correlate to anti-black racism?

As discussed in Nicole Brown’s “Race and Technology” Youtube video, predictive policing technology has been used in the past decade to create strategic “hit-lists” to predict who would be most likely to commit or be involved with violent crimes in the area. These innocent civilians and children with no criminal past were on high surveillance in real life, as well as their data. Anything put into their algorithms would count as incriminating evidence. Sociologist Simone Brown’s book “Dark Matters” is briefly summarized through the video. It is noteworthy to acknowledge the racial and Black surveillance themes. As technologies continue to use bias and objectification against Black communities society must create and advocate for safe and inclusive spaces within the virtual world.

How has social media proven to encourage social justice and hate at the same time?

What immediately comes to my head is the BLM movement during 2020. After the unjust arrest and murder of George Floyd, uprisings in Black communities led to protests being broadcasted. With every scroll through social media and flip through news channels we were seemingly seeing the same content with different headlines and reactions. If we circle back, the death of George Floyd itself was unfortunately a trending topic with everyone’s biased opinions rather than a call of action for an act of abuse of power. Things such as his past criminal record were brought up through the media to justify what had happened to him, others used plain excuses such as his race. The Black Lives Matter movement had already gained traction years prior due to another murder of a young Black man. Black communities weren’t feeling heard or supported and the BLM movement was once again brought to headlines to advocate for Black voices and consequences to the police force. Now as this progressed and protests made way, lootings, attacks on protests, and curfews were put into place in many areas across the country. Depending on your algorithm you probably saw an array of discourse about the matter, so much so that it had taken away from the point of what was being advocated for in the first place. WIth the freedom of speech we have the right to voice our opinions on these heavy topics surrounding social justice, but society should practice proper and respectful netiquette so we use our voices with purpose.

How much does the healthcare system really depend on technology and how are people of color affected by this?

As society progresses, so do the systems within such as healthcare. Hospitals are actually quite dependent on technology as it is now considered an essential. Some technological advancements used in the healthcare system include data and analytics, diagnostic tools, telemedicine, and electronic health records. All sounds great so how would these pose as issues to people of color? With Electronic Health Records, hospitals are able to transfer patient data for improved treatment and coordination but when it comes to patients in areas with limited digital resources they are left with outdated medical treatment. “Racial bias in a medical algorithm favors white patients over sicker black patients” headlines The Washington Post as seen on Nicole Brown’s “Race and Technology” Youtube video. So yes, the use of data, algorithms, and technology has been proven to create a progressive era for healthcare and its patients, but we as a society must be aware of how this affects minority communities due to embedded bias and properly advocate for change.

Is AI ruining the future of students?

As students are distanced from pencils and paper and moved onto digital spaces, there is a lack of creativity and critical thinking within the entire generation of students. Students are able to use Grammarly and ChatGPT to write papers. Students are able to use Photomath and Mathway to complete math problems. Students are limited to a keyboard and screen for discussions and are missing raw interactions and conversations. This is a danger to the future workforce as many students are cheating their way through schooling and depending on hands on experience without book knowledge and human networking. Many are afraid of AI becoming the future of everything and that can only happen if we continue this co-dependent relationship with it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8uiAjigKy8

Automating Inequality Intro (Eubanks)

Rethinking Cyberfeminism (Daniels

#wgst320f24

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raisindave · 11 months ago

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[Chapter 72] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Ghost

Simon’s perspective; mirrors the previous chapter.

No setting is unequipped so long as you know where to look. Whether you’re finding yourself in a desert or tundra or dropped in the middle of a frigid ocean. Most bathrooms in these dodgy motels don't bother carting around cleaning supplies; it's easier to clean at the staff's wavering discretion. As luck would have it, the cabinet with ramshackle hinges houses a small patch of rusty steel wool. This will do. Luck also favoured the battery being in the alarm altogether. Using a lens as a firestarter would take far too long. She'd pack up and leave by the time you can fulfill your plot. Lua sat patiently enough, physically, that is, but she's never been good at concealing her true feelings behind those expressive eyes.

"You remember our word, right?" you ask loud enough that she has no choice but to answer, carefully clearing rust from the steely pad.

Her humming vocalization grants you the go-ahead to resume. You should command her to use her words and that hums aren't appropriate confirmations. She doesn't look like she's in a state to receive more corrective reprimands. The extent of whatever's got her so upset is beyond you, and there's no Italian bloke you can wring the truth from. Gaz and Price are so far oblivious to your tussles with Lua. That much you can say with certainty. Johnny, on the other hand, you're not too sure. He's always had a way of reading you; it's annoying. She's not exactly subtle, though, gawking at you slackjawed for days after you fuck her brains out. You'd think someone with that level of intelligence would have the mental wherewithal to recognize her lack of discretion.

When connected with the live end of a battery, steel wool completes the circuit through conductive metal; the fragility of the wiry fibres makes them spark into an ember, an easy chemical fire. 9-volt batteries, easily sourced in most smoke detectors and stove lights, having a two-terminal array on one side is necessary or the wool won't spark. The fire is weak but fast-moving, leaving you precious seconds to transfer the infant flame to the wick. It crackles to life with a pause, and the embering metal is easily smothered with your thumb. Raised eyebrows say she's amazed, but her eyes are still haunted.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Her voice cracked when she spoke.

"SAS Handbook," you grumble, setting the candle aside to focus on more pressing matters.

Soy wax has a lower melting point, it won't leave any lingering pain beyond what's required. She's lucky Laswell didn't gift her paraffin wax, as that would've changed things. You'd never have expected that you'd use your quick-deploy paracord rope like this, but it'd been sitting idle on your keychain for years. With only seven feet of chord, you'd have to calculate the necessary rope to fasten her, a skill you'd been taught when tying skiffs and lean-to's in your training. It's a shame to unravel the paracord, it'll take hours to re-bind it. But now it's time to reposition your tango. Her ankle flinches when you grip it, but you still yank her into the center of the boxspring canvas.

Her eyes lit up when you climbed over her, planting your knees beside her hips to better control your work, it almost made you laugh. Not yet, little Cricket. So eager. Right now, you'll need to create a stem that will connect the loop on her lower chest to the pairing one across her collarbone. Performing a figure eight knot backwards and blind is not something you'd done in this specific setting before, but it'll make a good anchor along her shoulder blades. It's hard to focus when you can feel her eyes lusting at the base of your mask.

A half hitch on the stem and another half hitch bring the ropes back through the loop. This will make the hardpoint to fasten her wrists to. Now again, to the front, crossing a V through the two loops makes an anchor in the middle pull her breasts together just right; it's a true test of your self-control not to tear off your mask and hear what sounds she'll make when you bite those eager nipples. The effort is rewarded when you pull the figure-eight weave taut, and the soft, plump skin is utterly addictive.

"This isn't revenge for that lil ol' thing in the bunker, right?" she squeaked, poorly shielding her apprehension.

"What thing is that?" you turn the question back to her, a scare tactic you'd used on countless warmongers.

A taut-line hitch around her wrists will keel those grabbing hands out of reach, one of the first knots Lofty teaches. The knot is reliable and allows for flexible lengths, and it is easily tightened if a certain sergeant continues writhing. She's grinding that pretty pussy against your groin as if you won't notice. She's a fly in your web now. It's starting to make more sense in your mind why so many people enjoy this kind of thing so much, colleagues bantering about getting kinky with their wives in the workroom when they assume you aren't in earshot. She's entirely surrendered herself to your whims, and this power is fantastic, you can't help but feel pretty chuffed.

"That time I had you on your back, lieutenant, begging for me to touch you," her words snapped you from your trance like a splash of cold water. "Don't you remember that time you were a snivelling, grovelling mess, apologizing so I might let you come?"

"Don't give me any new ideas," you smirk, sucking your teeth in thought.

"It's not a new idea if you're stealing it outright."

"You want a gag?" you hiss, considering the image of your fingers silencing her words.

"But how will you hear me apologize then, lieutenant?"

She doesn't know that the way she says your rank always makes you harder than ever before, even when she thinks it's a jab. It seems she's not entirely surrendered like you'd expected. It doesn't matter. She can think she's won this petty squabble, but the truth is you let her win. You'll permit her this victory only because you've already choreographed the brutal punishments you want to inflict on her. The idea that it could mean not being able to hear her safe word was also a sobering thought. That, and that the songs she sings are just too sweet. All enough to strip the sentiment from your mind entirely.

"You seem like you've done this stuff before," she said, stealing your attention from your work again.

That didn't require an answer. Letting her simmer with the possibilities she's proposed is more fun. The root of your scare tactics revolves around the target creating their imaginary mythos about how horrifying you must be when you wear this executioner's hood. It's worked exceptionally well. But you weren't always violent during sex, if anything you were the opposite. You don't really do play fighting. You do scrimmage or actual combat—little else. Learning to be gentle and playful in a combat situation feels like using your left hand; familiar movements but not the same certainty. Lua seems to have pinned you as some sort of expert rigger, and maybe she'll believe your masque of certainty. The knots are known, and her breath quickens when you touch her soft skin to draw them tight.

"Take off your clothes," she commanded, it made you grin.

"You should've thought about trying to give me orders before you got tied up like a smoked ham."

"You weren't fucking the smoked hams when you were a butcher, were you?" she mused sweetly.

Funny. There she is again, catching you by surprise with serrated banter. A sharp tongue that challenges your own where few people have matched this level of raillery. Johnny comes close, but he's not bitter like she is. It takes a high level of intelligence to be that witty, a trait more attractive than squealing giggles or batting eyelashes. That won't earn her the upper hand, and pinching one of those eager nipples between your fingers makes her writhe in the way you were hoping she would.

"You're deflecting," she tried to look like she wasn't enjoying your manipulation. "What's the matter? Bashful?"

"No."

She's grossly mischaracterized you if she thinks you're some precious meek thing, that you'll cry and shudder if she saw your body under your equipment. Your shirt lifted over your back easily, cool air breathing across your bare shoulders. While wearing heavy clothing can offer protection in more ways than one, you'd never been described as shy by anyone who knew you. The thought of security gave you pause. You'd bet your life she didn't lock the door. If she'd locked the door as you requested, you'd go easier on her, but reignited agitation at her lack of vigilance permitted you to give her your worst. You made sure she'd hear the click of the deadbolt, she always folds when you glare at her. Hopefully, she'll commit this act to memory. The way she's panting like a dog says that she's mentally preoccupied, it's hard not to let it stoke your ego.

Lua couldn't take her eyes off your chest for the longest time, but she managed to pry them away when she heard the clasp of your belt. That sound is evolving into a Pavlovian response to her. It could be fun to tease her or blindfold her here and now and deprive her of the pleasure. But it feels cruel to turn to punishment this early on. Leaning down wouldn't be good husbandry for a fresh injury, you'd have to lean rather than bend. That's a lesson you'd learned the hard way before. You folded your jeans, it'd be a shame to get them dirty on this dubiously stained carpet and set them aside in the chair's safety. Grinning under your mask, she followed your thumbs as they dragged your briefs below your thighs with unblinking eyes.

By now, every other woman you've brought to bed would've asked about your scars. 'What's this one? ' 'What's that one? ' the questions become an expected tax on your psyche as soon as you undress, a predictable conversation that takes away from time you'd soon spend alone. It's a consequence of your long-lived lifestyle. Lua doesn't ask about them, though her eyes still hungrily explore your body nonetheless, but that's typical. A quick shag for convenience is great for morale, but this is more time than you've ever spent with a single person. Sometimes when you're off tour you'd find someone at a bar, but those encounters have become more and more rare through the years. At the thought of it, the last time you remembered bedding another woman was half a decade ago. Partners aren't conducive to a lifestyle where you're on the road for months at a time, not to mention the looming threat of death.

"What a good little soldier," her voice stings your heart.

"You sound nervous," you challenge her knowingly.

She sings so sweetly when you enter her, it inspires an unsettling instinct of aggression within you. At how vulnerable she's made herself. Like when you see a duckling or baby; something makes you want to crush her under your weight. Instead, you pull the ropes tighter, creating a deep strain that presses the swell of her breasts higher above her heaving chest. You couldn't help your wandering hands that slither over her skin, searching for what they've already found. Her lips hang open, glistening with saliva as she gasps when you thrust into her. The thought of smothering her craning mouth with yours makes sweat gather along your spine, you're already pushing your boundaries enough as is. Self-control, Simon. It would be inappropriate. What's the point? It's already inappropriate. You can't. You'd have to blindfold her if you did. But you can't, it's prohibited. You'd already intimidated her into obeying the established rules just moments ago.

Removing your mask entirely flickered in your psyche as a possibility. Lua's position being outside of 141 makes it a complication, though. Her affiliation with the task force isn't like Las Almas, where showing your face was a necessary show of trust during a particularly dubious operation. Not only is she an impermanent foreign IA unit, but she's also alarmingly oblivious to the dangers around her. Lua’s genius in her craft comes at with the consequence of not seeing threats that are otherwise obvious to honed eyes. If she got captured, which is more likely than she realizes, having seen your face could make it possible to describe it if she's under enough manufactured stress. Farah was right to warn you; she'll never be aware of the danger she's exposed to until it's too late. She'd stop to fawn over a yellow scorpion, delighted by its lovely tail, heedless to its heart-stopping venom. You owe it to Farah to steer her from harm she'd be blind to, even if that harm is herself lately. You've taken on that responsibility because that's what you've always learned to do. Take on every burden, regardless of the cost. It’s a worthy trade for someone who takes you so well, groaning so sweetly when you punish her with your cock.

In the haze of lust, those thoughts return. Times like this make you vulnerable to slithering fantasies you'd learned to bury. Thoughts of a swollen belly, of fatherhood, of a family and domestic bliss. It's all so possible, a pipe dream that need not be. It's a terrible idea on all fronts, yet the deeply rooted cravings pry at your wit. Her eyes staring at yours whisper that she wants it, she wants to bear that burden. You try to swallow, but your throat is dry, and a twang of panic snakes through your sinews. You creep. These thoughts can't continue. Full stop. Composure. Your hand found the candle as you found yourself quickly approaching your orgasm sooner than anticipated. Finally, enough heat had created a pool under the wick. Dribbling candle wax spatters on her chest and the way her mouth warps as she cries out makes you crazy. More, more. Enough to wrench those thoughts from your mind with brute force, melting away your sin. Please do it again.

"F-fuck you," she stammered when you were particularly cruel.

Moments like this make you wonder if she's connecting with the irony of the situation right now. At least you're not prying an apology from her for things she scarcely even remembers, emasculating her with her own equipment. Though it's not strictly true to say there's no ulterior motive. You just have to keep drowning these creeping fantasies at all costs. Daydreams that keep you awake through restless nights. There's just something so darling to your conscience that it's been your beacon in the darkest times, imaging a hand-whittled wooden spoons degraded to an angle over years of labouring over homemade meals. A tool that's been there for ages, stable. Reliable and worn. Honed and loved. An odd mental image that keeps a spark in your cold chest that keeps a fire in your will to live. Another drop of hot wax along her belly makes you shudder, how pathetic.

"You've always been an asshole, y'know that?" Another attempt to chastise you as if you're not immune to cheap beratement.

That can't go unanswered. You leaned in closer, lowering to hover over her. The act tightened your abdomen, reminding you of fresh stitches, but the feeling of her clenching around you made it worth it. Pushing her to her limits came with the consequence of testing your control over her own body. Harsh staccato movements of your thumb across her clitoris seemed to bring forward the most intense reaction, only for you to withdraw it without warning.

"Unoriginal son of a bitch," Lua made her opinion known.

She can talk all she wants. She feels so fucking good. You have to get a hold of yourself. Her breast feels so warm and soft in your palm that you had to drown creeping excitement with bitter memories to stop yourself from succumbing. However, she can't keep up with your pace, and you now have the power to decide her fate. She gets this look on her face when she's close, unbeknownst to her, signalling you to relax your pace. The sheen of sweat over her wrought body made pinched skin shimmer, glowing in the light of the candle.

"That's no way to talk about my mother," you whisper against her neck. She smells so good.

"Fuck you," her voice was sharp but still smooth like silk.

"I should make you apologize for that."

Insolent, but a captivating challenge. During your time as a sergeant, you'd also held a certain skepticism toward your insipid commanders. It must be so freeing to be able to tell your superior to go fuck themselves, even if in private. She brings a certain unity to this team, you'd fiercely challenge any administrator or senior officer who considered changing her position. Especially if it comes to the bonus of keeping her in a position like this. Every time you're around her, you say more in ten minutes than you have in over twenty years. It's becoming harder and harder to admit that-... she recoils, gathering her lips to spit at your face above hers. Warm saliva spattering across your eyes, your mind works fast to find a process of reciprocation. Conflicting emotions and pouring outrage propose a dozen disciplinary actions to take. One in particular clicks into place in your mind. She has no idea what she's just done.

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