#how to make big bubble machine

[scarletmika]

The White Witch pt. 2 : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Avenger!Witch!Reader

Summary: Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both.

Warnings: soulmate trope, language, fluff, slight mental illness talk kind of, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, feminine description of reader, this is part two of three

Word Count: 3,576 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

Bob Reynolds was going insane, and it was your fault. The worst part? You didn’t even know it.

At least, he wasn’t sure if you knew it.

You had come back to the tower with the rest of his friends, his team, to discuss the lawsuit that Sam Wilson had filed over the name ‘Avengers.’ Bob heard small bits of the long conversation, how you tried to explain that Sam didn’t have a problem with them, he had a problem with Valentina and the government using the name, how keeping ‘The Avengers’ out of the hands of the government was something that Steve Rogers had fought so valiantly for.

That was all Bob was able to gather from the conversation, quickly disappearing into his own bedroom of the tower. And the second his door was shut, he was pacing the floor so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he left legitimate footprints seared into the flooring beneath him.

He knew three things for certain: you were even prettier in person than in photos, you were in town for the next two months for the opening of the exhibition, and since the moment your hands had touched, he could somehow practically feel you in ways he couldn’t describe. Bob decided to tackle each of those things one at a time.

You were pretty, he couldn’t deny that. He knew who you were; he didn’t grow up under a rock, and even drug-induced fugue states couldn’t make him forget who the Avengers were. Did he, maybe, have the tiniest crush on you growing up? Absolutely, but when there was a superhero witch that was your age, saving the world every day, who wouldn’t fall in love? But actually meeting you, seeing you in person, maybe that little crush he’d buried so long ago was creeping back in, especially when he’d stood close enough to you to even see the crackle of magic in your eyes.

Okay, the second thing he knew was probably the biggest problem, but the one he didn’t understand: why could he feel you? It didn’t make any sense, why even now, when he was sequestered in his own room, he could feel it in his bones, in his gut, that you were somewhere else in the tower and you were laughing, a bubble of joy spreading through him. Did you feel this too? Could you feel the anxiety in him that was practically eating him from the inside out?

The final problem was that you were here, and you’d be here for two months. 60 days.

Bob's solution to all three of these problems was simple: ignore you. Steer clear of you around every turn, and he wouldn’t have to deal with these weird feelings coursing through him, or how every time he pictured your face in his head, you only seemed to get prettier (as if that was possible).

“Morning, Bob,”

The plan encountered a small hiccup when, not even twenty-four hours later, Bob was strolling into the kitchen of the tower hours before the rest of the team would, and there you stood. Hair a mess, a worn-out Black Sabbath t-shirt that looked much too big to be yours hanging loosely off your frame, and a soft smile that made his heart flutter on your face as you greeted him.

“Uh, I uh…hi?”

You’d chuckled at his awkwardness, turning back to the coffee machine before you, while Bob still stood frozen in the doorway of the kitchen, ready to bolt if he needed to.

“Thought I was the only person insane enough to be up this early, nice to know that I’m not. Coffee?”

“Uh…s-sure,” Bob answered after a moment, taking cautious steps around the island counter to sit in one of the uncomfortable barstools Valentina had insisted on for the ‘look’ of the room. “What uh…what are you d-doing here?”

His eyes stayed trained on you as you poured a single cup of coffee into one of the mugs from the cabinets. He followed your movements as you pushed it off to the side, pouring another cup before raising your hand above the mug, fingers seeming to dance over the top of the liquid with the faintest hints of white magic seeping from your fingers as the brown color of the coffee inside the cup lightened into a deep tan.

“It was Yelena’s idea. I’m still a public figure, a prominent one at that, so for security reasons it doesn’t make sense for me to stay anywhere else in the city for the time being. While, sadly, under Valentina’s control, this tower is the safest guarded spot in New York. Plus, it was my home first, so staying here just made sense,”

You were standing directly across from him now at the island counter, sliding the first coffee mug you’d poured in his direction, just watching him. Bob watched you too, even as he took the steaming mug in his hands: you were cautious, speaking slowly and deliberately when you looked at him, as if sensing that he was poised to run if he needed to.

Bob took one sip before shutting his eyes in disgust, a shudder running through him. Bitter. Earthy. Disgusting was the word he’d use to describe coffee. Then, you laughed, and Bob felt it in his bones once again.

“Not a fan?” the amusement in your tone was clear as Bob shook his head, a sheepish, tiny grin crossing his face.

“I uh…I don’t actually drink c-coffee,”

You didn’t laugh, only smiled. And Bob watched as your eyes never left him, hand coming up to rest over his mug still in his hands as your fingers danced again, and suddenly the color of the drink he had just decided he hated lightened, matching your own.

“Try it now,” your voice was gentle, nodding toward the mug. “I hate straight black coffee, too. And your roommates are monsters; there wasn’t an ounce of creamer in this fridge, so I had to improvise.”

Bob’s eyes didn’t leave yours as he tried the new drink. Lighter, with a hint of chocolate. A touch of sugar, and what he thought might be honey, too. His smile was involuntary as he nodded his head.

“Okay…that I-I like,”

You laughed once again, and Bob felt it through his whole body once again. The lightness, as if the darkest parts of him were shoved and locked away. Peace.

He knew, then, that his plan was fucked.

You were everywhere. No matter what Bob was doing, you seemed to end up in the same orbit as him, spending your time around him. And when you weren’t? Bob found his way to you. Coffee in the morning became a constant between you both, a comfortable hour and a half together before anyone else woke up. Whenever John and Alexei managed to convince Bob that he should train, you ended up in the room with Yelena, watching him. And without fail, the two men could instantly notice the way that Bob seemed to perk up and try harder when you were watching.

It got easier to accept how pretty you were…and by easier, Bob meant it was just easier for him to ignore the raging blush that coated his cheeks anytime he was in close proximity to you. What didn’t get easier were the feelings. When you smiled and laughed, he could feel it. The two times he saw you leave a meeting room after having a private conversation with Valentina, he could feel it then too: the anger and the resentment.

There was one night when John and Ava were arguing in the middle of the common room after a mission. Loud, insults being thrown left and right, and nothing Bucky, Yelena, or Alexei said was calming them. Bob was off to the side, wringing his hands together, the argument playing out before him feeling all too familiar to those he’d watched of his parents. Then, suddenly, you’d burst out of the elevator, still in the clothes that you had been wearing from your meeting downtown with the mayor that Bob was sure you were still supposed to be in, throwing the two apart with a single flick of your wrist and ordering them to stop in a tone that only an Avenger could carry.

And when Bucky had asked you why you left your meeting, you’d told him you knew something was wrong. And when he asked you how you knew? Bob swore your eyes had darted to him before you spoke: “I…I don’t know. I could just…feel something was wrong.”

That was the first moment Bob thought that maybe, just maybe, you could feel what he felt, just like he could with you.

“It was right here where we sent Loki back to Asgard with Thor. God…I was a child back then, who thought it was a good idea to let me fight a god?”

Bob enjoyed moments like this the most in the few weeks he’d gotten to be around you. The rest of the team had been sent on a mission, and Bob was required to stay behind for this one, per Valentina’s request. Bob was sick of having to hang back, of feeling like a liability, so you’d taken it upon yourself to stay with him for the duration of his team’s time away. He hadn’t even had to ask, you’d simply appeared in his doorway and said you were taking him out.

He knew where he stood with you right now, you didn’t have to say it: the Bethesda Terrace in Central Park. He’d seen the bystander photos in their quick tour of the unopened museum hanging on the wall, commemorating the ‘Battle of New York’ from way back in 2012, a time that felt like a millennium ago. You were stood side by side, leaning against the railing of the terrace and simply people watching those around the fountain, and while part of Bob wanted to feel upset about not being on the mission, your presence calmed him. Being around you felt like that moment he’d shaken your hand for the first time, that wave of calm and peace washing over him, washing away his anxieties.

“A-At least you got to help, to fight,” Bob mumbled, though he knew you could hear him. His eyes stayed trained on this couple sitting together on the edge of the fountain, their hands wrapped around one another and fingers intertwined as she laughed at him as if he were the funniest person she’d ever seen. “I just do dishes. Makes me…makes me f-feel useless.”

There was silence for a moment, just the sound of everyone milling around the area. The screaming children, the laughter of friends, and then suddenly your hand was resting on top of Bob’s, and every ounce of anxiety just seemed to roll off his body without a second thought. He turned to you, and you were watching him with a soft smile.

“You’re not, I promise,” your hand left his, eyes turning back to the fountain, and Bob felt the need to chase after the feeling immediately. “When Fury brought me onto the team, Steve took me under his wing immediately. He became this brother I’d never had before, but with that came protectiveness. I remember when he tried to leave me out of the D.C. incident and I screamed at him that he couldn’t keep me out of it forever, that he couldn’t…he couldn’t make me feel useless, not when I am what I am. Valentina leaves you out of it because she’s a bitch, and trust me I’m itching for a way to knock her off her pedestal. The team does it because they care about you, which is a good thing, but if you have to be honest with them about how you feel.”

Your words took hold of Bob, but so did your voice. Quiet, but certain, words spoken with a level of care that Bob had never had directed toward him until he met Yelena. And then, he felt it: affection, care, kindness. It felt like you, because it was you, and he felt it so deeply in his bones that it ached.

Bob was aware of the eyes that were on you as people walked past you both, the people who recognized you for what you were in their eyes: a hero. His eyes stayed locked on the side of your face, a gentleness in his eyes and an affection toward you that he hadn’t felt before blooming in his own chest, watching as the corner of your lips quirked up just a hint.

“W-Why do you do it? Why do you want to be a hero?”

“Well, at first I wasn’t given a choice, Fury kind of threw me into it,” you’d laughed, turning your head to look at him again as a smile stretched over Bob’s lips at the sound of your laugh. “Remember that friend I mentioned?”

“The one you lost?”

“Yeah, him,” that fondness was back in your voice, but so was the tug of hurt in Bob’s chest that he’d felt the last time you spoke of your friend. “If Steve took me in like a sister, then I took him in like a little brother. Pe- he was so good, so pure. And I’ll never forget what he said once: ‘When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.’ That’s why I continue to do what they did, what my family did. But the real question is, why do you want to be one, Bob?”

“S-So I can do something good,” Bob didn’t have to think about his answer as he looked at you, at the eyes and smile that encouraged him to speak and held a promise of never judging him. “I don’t want to make things worse…I-I want to make them better.”

The conversation ended there, nothing else needing to be said. Then, Bob found himself curled into a corner of the common room couch hours later while you ran around the kitchen to prepare the popcorn, promising to show him a bunch of movies that you adored and used to watch with the Avengers that came before them—promising to tell him stories of the people that used to be your family.

“Alright, I’ve got kettlecorn,” you reappeared next to the couch, smiling down at him and holding both of the bowls in your hands up for him to see. “And the closest that I could get to butter-drenched, movie theater popcorn. Pick your poison.”

“Movie theater,” Bob nodded his head with a grin that you mirrored. “I-If I’m going to get heart disease, might as well get it happily.”

You laughed, and this time Bob was prepared for that feeling in his bones. He welcomed it, the warmth it brought, and it brought another feeling of his own to the surface: affection. That same feeling he’d never felt before, until just hours before, and suddenly, when he looked at you and how pretty you looked in the dim lighting of the common room, Bob’s breath caught as his brain seemed to catch up with his heart.

Oh god, his crush was back in full force.

He watched as you tilted your head for a moment, still not taking the seat beside him on the couch. You only watched him, a slightly curious look on your face, and Bob shifted. That seemed to break you from your trance-like state as you sat beside him, passing him the popcorn bowl he requested as you kept the other.

But when your hand grabbed the remote, prepared to press play on the first Rocky movie, you stopped. You hesitated. Then, you put the remote back down before you spoke.

“You know…I can feel it, too,”

Bob paused, frozen in place, as you turned to look at him. He opened his mouth, prepared to find a way to talk around the topic, to pretend like he didn’t know what you were talking about, but there was no ignoring it now.

“You…you do?” his voice was a whisper, anxiety dripping off his words. You laughed again, and when Bob felt it this time, he could also feel the bits of anxiety laced through your laugh.

“Yeah, since the moment I shook your hand,” you fully turned to face him now, a perfect mirror of one another. Backs pressed to opposite ends of the couch, legs tucked under your bodies, and nervous, tiny smiles etched to your lips. “And I…I think I know what it is. I didn’t for a while, but then I called some friends.”

“Friends?”

“There’s not much that the Masters of the Mystic Arts don’t know,” you’d tried to joke, getting a breathy laugh out of Bob. “What he explained to me was…ancient. Rare. Something only seen twice in history, but both times it had been with witches. The French were the first to document it…they dubbed it an âme sœur.”

“A-An…an âme-?”

“When the Big Bang occurred, when the universe was created, it created the Infinity Stones. But it created more than that,” you’d cut in, voice speaking so quickly that Bob could pick up the nerves laced throughout your explanation. “Many races in the universe, most notably humans, believed that each of us was born of the stars, that a piece of the universe lives in each of us. And when the universe was born, those stars were scattered, which placed us where we are now. But, in rare instances, those stars would split. They could be hurled galaxies apart, on different planets within the same solar system, or just miles apart. But, subconsciously, they’d find one another again. They’d…they’d complete one another. That these two people were so intune with one another that they could…they could feel one another. The two witches before me, they could feel their other halves…that’s how they found their âme sœurs…their soulmates.”

Bob’s breath caught, eyes transfixed on the way you bit into your bottom lip, more anxious than he’d ever seen before.

“S-Soulmate?”

“It can mean a lot of things,” you’d laughed lightly. “The first pair? They were best friends, and they remained that way forever. The other two…they were friends first, until it became more. Until they fell in love. It’s essentially just someone who’s meant to be in your life, someone destined to walk your path with you. Friends or lovers…that’s for them to decide.”

Friends or lovers. The next question was tumbling through Bob’s lips and out into the world before he could overthink and stop himself.

“T-Then…what are we?”

That question hung heavy in the air between you both. Bob watched you open your mouth to speak, before shutting it, repeating that action time and time again as you tried to find the right words to say.

“I think that means…we’re whatever we decide we’re going to be,”

Those words settled in Bob, and a wave of calm seemed to envelop the room around you both, as if having your destiny spoken out loud put everything into perspective finally. And all he could do was look at you with a look of absolute wonder written across his features.

Before he could speak, the elevators opened.

“AH, OUR BEAUTIFUL HOME! It is so good to be back, my friends! I say we get matchy-matchy in our tracksuits and spend this evening enjoying each other’s company, maybe with a fresh pot of hot cocoa,”

“Hot cocoa? Jesus, you sound more like Santa every day-”

“And how could you miss this place? We only left for the mission this morning?”

You’d gotten off the couch to greet the others, the moment between you both shattered. But Bob’s gaze never left your figure, even as you moved about the room. And when that bloom of affection found its way back into his chest, it had changed: desire, the need to hold you, the need to worship you, the need to taste you and claim you as his in a way he’d never felt before. And by the glance you threw over your shoulder to him, he knew you could feel it, too.

Fuck, this wasn’t just a crush.

So, when Bucky Barnes threw open his door at 2:36 in the morning to a dissheveled Bob Reynolds who looked like he’d just run several marathons, he already knew it wasn’t going to be good.

“Bob-?”

“I-I think…I think I’m in love with her. L-Like, I think we’re destined to uh, to be in love. Like, even if I didn’t want to be I-I wouldn’t have a choice, like I’m meant to love her. Well, not entirely, we can kind of d-decide if we’re going to be. But it doesn’t feel like a choice, i-it feels like I’m meant to. But even if it wasn’t destined I-I think I’d still fall in love with her because she’s so pretty a-and nice and she treats me like me, and…yeah. Yeah, I’m…I’m in love with her,”

Bob took a deep breath, having ranted to the man before him without taking in a single breath of air. There was a beat of silence, and then a sigh from the super soldier standing in the doorway.

“Well, destiny or whatever this is aside, did you tell her all of this?”

“...no?”

Another sigh. “...god damnit, Bob,”

TAGLIST: @cypherpt5fttaehyung @dark-silhouette @greenbean-4ever @qardasngan @one17 @nutellajade @etheralponygirl @spencerreidswifexd @alexwinchester23 @am1525 @artistadistrada2002

[fishnapple]

How they proclaim their love for you

(lover/partner/future spouse)

This reading is about how the person you have in mind would proclaim their love for you. You can consider these as their mini love affirmations

Disclaimer : cheesy edition

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

CUBE 1

• Let's take all our time in this world. There's no need to rush. Time? It might not even exist for us. We have escaped time.

• You sent an electric shock down to my core and I still find myself standing. Stronger than ever. Like a machine getting its fuel.

• Our language is of moonlight, fluttering wings, laughter of the stream, cloudy scents of flesh.

• Our lips kiss through the air with words.

• Actions speak louder and we are loud in our actions.

• My mind is spinning, soaring then diving, goes a hundred miles around then comes back, struggling to take you all in.

• This dark corner is our playground.

• I'm in hardworking mode when it comes to our connection. I have lofty goals. Let's work hard together.

• We look like kids when we're out into the outside world together. People ask whether we are friends? We are best friends, whether we are lovers? We are best lovers, whether we're having fun? Nothing is more fun and more serious.

• I have fears, but when I open my mouth, I don't let them escape. But you helped them get out. Is this a prison break for them or for me?

• My mind keeps going back and forth from past to future and you're there, in all of them.

CUBE 2

• Here, take my money. What's mine is yours.

• Do you know the plot where one character is thrown into a dire situation, and somehow, the other one character will come to their rescue. That's me, I'm the one rescued, by you.

• After winter is spring, time goes on, seasons change, I have you with me to witness that together.

• I've become greedy. Wanting to possess every minuscule expression of yours. If I would just freeze them in time.

• Do you see those wild beasts outside the window? And here we are, snuggle comfortably in our home, safely. The light of our home attracted those beasts, they're outside, cold and hungry. Our home will welcome them, but they won't be able to come in as their old shells. They will come in as happiness, transformed.

• I fall in love fast and then I keep it slow.

• I love giving you a bath, bubbling up your hair, seeing water running on your skin then later drying your hair for you and smelling the fresh shampoo scent. Aromatherapy at its finest.

• There's this need growing in me, and I can feel it growing in you too, we share some parts of ourselves with each other. This need is big, it's overwhelming, it makes my heart feel a tugging pain, it animates my body, giving me energy. It's the need to be, to stay alive, so that I can be together with you.

• I know all the right words yet feel like a fool with you.

• I imagine myself a parent, coming home to see our kids fighting, then I will act as a mediator, coming in to lecture them. I look forward to this scenario more than the promotions of my career. Biggest achievement.

• Thank you for letting me love you.

CUBE 3

• Loving you feels like second nature for me, something I've done so many times already, everything in me just do it automatically.

• We definitely have met before. Did we share past lives together? You look so familiar, like the ghost in my dreams, the daydreams in my head, the face of a character in those novels I read.

• My soul is a trapped pool, I would use my bare hand to scoop out all the dirt and monsters from it, take a cupful of water, boil it over and over again until it transparently pure, keep it warm or ice it the way you like then present it to you.

• I stand firm on this earth, confident that I have someone to come back to.

• Our hearth is the most sacred place to me. I would put offering before it, just like how people of bygone days worshipped at the god altar.

• I will keep it warm and nourishing for you.

• Never fear.

• Our lifetime together will blink by so fast, I'm already missing it. But have no fear, it won't end.

• We navigate this path so well that we're definitely professional travellers.

• Change of places, change of jobs? Doesn't matter, I can go along with everything, as long as there's no change of hearts.

• We've travelled from faraway lands to each other and we will continue to travel together.

• I wish you could read my mind and feel my heart, and I could do the same for yours, it would save a lot of time and misunderstanding.

• This is just the beginning.

CUBE 4

• I will tell you "I love you" everyday. Make that a checklist.

• If you and I went to the same school, you would be my high-school sweetheart, the one that I would secretly gush about in little notes, the one that I would absentmindedly draw a heart next to your name.

• Even if we were continents apart, I still feel you next to me, every waking moment and every sleepy dream.

• You fill my throat with sweet sweet love dripping down so much I feel like I can't breathe.

• I love you.

• I can't speak! Tongue tied. Unlock me. But then, if the door is open, I'm too shy to step out.

• In sickness and in health.

• I feel a part of myself went missing whenever you're not here.

• Your pain makes me bleed.

• This is new to me, I don't know what to do. Help me, teacher.

• I probably have a malfunction somewhere in the system to be acting like this. What have you done?

• You are love personified.

• Life has been good since you came to me. But it also has been exceptionally difficult for me to stay alone.

• I have imagined countless times how you would hold my younger self in your arms and feel soothed by them. I may not get to feel it in the past, but I will feel it now, for my past self, my present self and my future self.

[ecrivainsolitaire]

A summary of the Chinese AI situation, for the uninitiated.

These are scores on different tests that are designed to see how accurate a Large Language Model is in different areas of knowledge. As you know, OpenAI is partners with Microsoft, so these are the scores for ChatGPT and Copilot. DeepSeek is the Chinese model that got released a week ago. The rest are open source models, which means everyone is free to use them as they please, including the average Tumblr user. You can run them from the servers of the companies that made them for a subscription, or you can download them to install locally on your own computer. However, the computer requirements so far are so high that only a few people currently have the machines at home required to run it.

Yes, this is why AI uses so much electricity. As with any technology, the early models are highly inefficient. Think how a Ford T needed a long chimney to get rid of a ton of black smoke, which was unused petrol. Over the next hundred years combustion engines have become much more efficient, but they still waste a lot of energy, which is why we need to move towards renewable electricity and sustainable battery technology. But that's a topic for another day.

As you can see from the scores, are around the same accuracy. These tests are in constant evolution as well: as soon as they start becoming obsolete, new ones are released to adjust for a more complicated benchmark. The new models are trained using different machine learning techniques, and in theory, the goal is to make them faster and more efficient so they can operate with less power, much like modern cars use way less energy and produce far less pollution than the Ford T.

However, computing power requirements kept scaling up, so you're either tied to the subscription or forced to pay for a latest gen PC, which is why NVIDIA, AMD, Intel and all the other chip companies were investing hard on much more powerful GPUs and NPUs. For now all we need to know about those is that they're expensive, use a lot of electricity, and are required to operate the bots at superhuman speed (literally, all those clickbait posts about how AI was secretly 150 Indian men in a trenchcoat were nonsense).

Because the chip companies have been working hard on making big, bulky, powerful chips with massive fans that are up to the task, their stock value was skyrocketing, and because of that, everyone started to use AI as a marketing trend. See, marketing people are not smart, and they don't understand computers. Furthermore, marketing people think you're stupid, and because of their biased frame of reference, they think you're two snores short of brain-dead. The entire point of their existence is to turn tall tales into capital. So they don't know or care about what AI is or what it's useful for. They just saw Number Go Up for the AI companies and decided "AI is a magic cow we can milk forever". Sometimes it's not even AI, they just use old software and rebrand it, much like convection ovens became air fryers.

Well, now we're up to date. So what did DepSeek release that did a 9/11 on NVIDIA stock prices and popped the AI bubble?

Oh, I would not want to be an OpenAI investor right now either. A token is basically one Unicode character (it's more complicated than that but you can google that on your own time). That cost means you could input the entire works of Stephen King for under a dollar. Yes, including electricity costs. DeepSeek has jumped from a Ford T to a Subaru in terms of pollution and water use.

The issue here is not only input cost, though; all that data needs to be available live, in the RAM; this is why you need powerful, expensive chips in order to-

Holy shit.

I'm not going to detail all the numbers but I'm going to focus on the chip required: an RTX 3090. This is a gaming GPU that came out as the top of the line, the stuff South Korean LoL players buy��

Or they did, in September 2020. We're currently two generations ahead, on the RTX 5090.

What this is telling all those people who just sold their high-end gaming rig to be able to afford a machine that can run the latest ChatGPT locally, is that the person who bought it from them can run something basically just as powerful on their old one.

Which means that all those GPUs and NPUs that are being made, and all those deals Microsoft signed to have control of the AI market, have just lost a lot of their pulling power.

Well, I mean, the ChatGPT subscription is 20 bucks a month, surely the Chinese are charging a fortune for-

Oh. So it's free for everyone and you can use it or modify it however you want, no subscription, no unpayable electric bill, no handing Microsoft all of your private data, you can just run it on a relatively inexpensive PC. You could probably even run it on a phone in a couple years.

Oh, if only China had massive phone manufacturers that have a foot in the market everywhere except the US because the president had a tantrum eight years ago.

So… yeah, China just destabilised the global economy with a torrent file.

[magickizu]

Shop Repairs

Crossover dp x dc. So I've got this time line in mind, for my crossover AU and this is a snippet of it. Master Post: Lost Retirement

Jason has to find a solution, quickly: during the last mission his bike received more damage, than he had planned. Bringing it back to the cave will take too long, not to mention the repair time, that he can't make time for! And here's another thing: for like the past week or so, the pits have been acting extremely weird. Bubbling and flaring up randomly, like this pissed off but not revenging rage, if that makes sense?? What is going on???

Jason absolutely hated his luck: not only did these bastards get away, not only was it a pain in the ass anyway to hunt them down, not only did they take their goods with them as they fled after, not only kicking Hood's ass- ohohoho no! Of course his sweet baby had to be pulled into it! They used his bike as shield!! HIS FUCKING BIKE-!!!

The silvered raven groans annoyed, the pits are flaring up again too! He can't even get to the bat cave and fix her up, because he needs her by tomorrow and he does not have the right parts. Let alone the time, since he's got this meeting with this building company to talk over the plans for the Alley's new community gardens he wants to build. So naturally he's on his way to bring her to the only guy he trusts with her, when suddenly the pits flare up again!- right, rightrightright... Of course that wasn't enough, since the pit seemed to have even more problems in the past week, with him feeling like he got run over by trucks. The constant whispering and screeching and hissing about an intruder in his territory, inside his head- ...at this point it's just tiring.

Red Hood was deep in thought, in fact he was so deep in thought, that his feet have carried him all the way to the little mechanics shop and maybe, just maybe, he could be a little lucky today? Please? And they have everything and the damage wasn't as bad as it seemed? The pit is rumbling and gurgling disgustingly and he can see the green tinge slowly creeping into the corners of his eyes. Panic floods him, there's not a single one of the birds or bats around to help him now-

Hood tried his best, to take deep breaths. Steady his thoughts and fight back, imagining Dick would be there helping him concentrate. The mental image of his family just being there for him, helped a little, lately their bond has gotten better and Jason can definitely tell- snap out of it! He can't have a panic attack in the middle of the road! Not as the Red Hood at least... With one last, deep breath Hood's feet begin to move again, as he rounded the corner and pulled into the open garage door or the workshop.

"Ah-hah! The Red Hood," the old man behind the little counter laughs and stands up, Hood's shoulders relax at the sight and sound of him. "Tell me, tell me niño, what can I do for you? Have not seen you in a while, eh?" Mateo, the owner, shakes the vigilante's hand with a big smile and a small hug.

"Hey Tío," he greets back, hugging back briefly and gently. "My bike got... Involved in the action... Please tell me you can fix her by tomorrow, Tío." If it wasn't for the modulator in his mask, Hood would have sounded tired, which Mateo must have known, as he started to laugh out loud before answering.

"Alright, alright. I'll take a look, eh? But no promises." Mateo leaned down slowly with a huff and a grunt, until the man kneeled in front of the motorcycle. He called out for someone, after trying his best to look at the machine. Hood couldn't hear what Mateo said, he was too distracted with suddenly being confronted by Mateo's high age. Neither Jason, nor Red Hood have been here in a while and he mentally scolded himself for it. Jason helped out here and there, ever since he came back, ever since before Bruce... Mateo has always been there- been right here. Hood just wasn't ready yet; Jason wasn't ready. He hadn't realised how old the man was really getting, until now. Now that he sees him squinting at the details, sees him having trouble with finer motor skills of the machinery and now even so much as getting back up again after kneeling down. Hood forced himself back to reality, when Mateo tried to get back up but only grunted, he was about to take a step closer, help, something when-

"¡¡Tío!!" Suddenly a young man was faster. Analysis; same blue overalls as Mateo, just that the upper part is tied around his waist, dirty white t-shirt, work gloves, steel toed work shoes and one black sleeve, seemingly some kind of compression cuffs, on his right arm covering it completely- must be working here, well enough acquaintaned with Mateo, was in the back probably does the work now. Pale skin, dark raven hair with a few snow white streaks- good style! Hehe... And bright blue eyes, that are full of worry and- "Tío, how often did I tell you, just say something! ¿¡Eres estúpido!?" The young man scolded the older, grinning and chuckling one, but Hood didn't listen he was just staring... Jason couldn't look away from these electric blue eyes, that reflected in a strange neon green, that he just knows. The pit was bubbling over, growling and screaming at him and panic rose up like a lump in his throat, nearly clogging it and slowly suffocating him, as his vision is tinging green, bit by bit. This is not happening now, not now!! Shit!! What is he supposed to do!?

Suddenly the same voice breaks through to him; "...fuck, it's you..." And they both look at each other for a moment, then Hood reached for his gun immediately, the second the other man moved- He is the intruder! Shred him... "Wait! I-I'm so sorry! Ancients... I had an offering, but I forgot it at home. I swear, I do not mean any harm, to your haunt nor people nor you! I never meant to be disrespectful." The man held his hands up in surrender and the green subsided slightly from Jason's vision- how?? "-look; if it's good for you, I'll have her ready by tomorrow, as you asked, free of charge. Can that be my offering? Would that be acceptable for you?" And the pits calmed down... Hood stood there, frozen in place, overwhelmed and absolutely shocked, yet strangely relieved. The man also didn't sound hysterical, just calm enough to make it believable that... He wasn't scared... Against every bit of sanity left in his brain, the Hood nodded, his hand no longer hovering over his gun's holster. He straightened up.

"Explain." He growled, shocked by himself how much venom there was in his voice and how deep the rumbling of the growl was... As if it's coming from his chest. But moreover: what does this guy have to do with the pits!? And why the F U C K can he calm it down by T A L K I N G!?

"Okay, listen..." The man sighs, then contemplates something, looking Hood up and down, asassing him. "Alright, uhm... Name's Danny, my siblings and I just got here. We won't make any trouble and just need a place to stay, for now. The only reason I'm entering your haunt is because I work here and it's the only place that would hire me. Again my offering of doing a full round up on your bike still stands. If you don't wanna accept, that's your choice and I'll find something else, somewhere else. Okay?" Hood did listen; the man's alone, apparently desperate for money or else other places would do, he takes care of his siblings and cares for people seeing his instant worry about the old man, peaceful indeed with immediate surrender... And even a useful offering. ...what?

"Fine." Hood sighed, the other man, Danny, also sighed probably from relief. Wait... Where the hell did Mateo go?? Upon realisation, the larger one looked around,

"...Mateo's in the back office. I just... I just sent him back. Uhm..." He fidgeted a little, then stuck his hand out awkwardly. "How about this: Hi, I'm Danny. I take care of the work here now... And you're the Red Hood, that's kinda cool- I mean you are cool, like,... Sorry, I'm new to Gotham." Then Danny smiled awkwardly at him, as if he didn't just threaten to get shot. Hood stared but slowly reached out to grab the hand and Danny's smile widened, revealing the smallest hint of fangs. Hoods guard should be up but for some reason... This somewhat aggressive friendliness was welcome, somehow. "Right! The Ducati!" Danny reminded himself and moved his attention and body to the machine straight away.

"...and you'll be able to get her ready by tomorrow?" Hood asked after a moment of watching him looking through his bike. Danny perked up, seemingly ripped from his focus;

"Huh? Oh, uh... Yes, definitely! Seems like nothing too vital got hit. The tank is still good, the engine and the battery are also unharmed; a blessing in disguise, it's just...maybe a handful of tubes and a couple cables. I'll get you a round check, change the oil and clean up the painting. Be back at..." Danny thought about it. "Would five sound good?" He offered and that was admittedly fast, yes. Hood hummed in agreement.

"Make it six, deal." The vigilante held his hand out to the mechanic, who shook his hand for the deal and then made a little surprise yelp, as he got hoisted back up. Surprisingly light, but lean built. No directly visible muscles, but Danny still holds up strong. With one last look at his baby, then a warning glare at Danny, who ironically seemed to understand as he lifted his hands in surrender again and a small smile.

"I promise, I'll take good care of her. Will make her purr like a kitten." Because if not... What is he talking about? That guy has his family waiting at home and can't even change locations properly. As Hood walked out and began to his closest save house, it suddenly clicked in his mind, when he realises one fundamental thing, as he listened to the streets in Crime Alley and nothing else... That's exactly it, for once Hood didn't hear anything from the pit... As if it's completely gone. The static sensation in his mind, only picked up again slowly, the further away he got.

So this Danny guy has something to do with the pits and Jason will find out how...

"Ta-da!" Danny grinned proudly, as he showed Red Hood his bike, looking brand knew right out the factory. His eyes grew wide under the mask,

"Holy shit..." Hood rounds the machine, softly gliding over every visible surface. Checking even some of the nooks and crannies, after all he has to make sure it's all in proper order. Danny crossed his arms, sure of himself. "... I'll admit, that's good work." Danny nods, his smile widening in appreciation for the man's work.

"Rev her." The smaller man instructed, Hood for once did what he was told without hesitation and it paid: as he ignited the engine and let her reel, the machine simply purred. Litteraly just purred. Low, menicing bass and silent efficiency...

"Holy shit!" He shut her off again, for now. "That..." Hood gestures in slight disbelief, "that's real good work. Thanks man." He holds out a hand, Danny looks down at it, less smiles and a little more perplexed but nonetheless, the shorter one grabs it. What he seemingly didn't expect was for Red Hood to haule him in shoulder bumper- ey, he may be the Red Hood, but he's still from the hood. Danny just starts smiling again. "I mean it, damn fine. I'll bring her around more often, when she needs it. How much?" He reaches for his wallet, cash only of course, but he got waved off.

"Nonsense. Is the least I can do." Danny made his way already around the counter, typing away at the computer and scribbling something in a black book.

"For what? You did the work-"

"-Woopsies! Looks like I already started closing our only register! Oh man, I'm such a dummy! Urgh! My clumsiness...!" Danny exaggerated dramatically, then leaned onto the counter with one elbow. The other hand on his hip, "forget it, the register's closed, we don't take payment anymore." That smug little bastard then had the audacity to start grinning and daringly lift an eyebrow. ...and honestly, the vigilanty couldn't help but smile at this. Danny can be a little shit, apparently, just as he himself which by all means is entertaining. Hell, even the pits began flairing up in an unusually positive way, almost like a low but friendly rumble in his rest.

"Okay, fine... But I can't let this stand unattended." Danny, yet again, waved him off. But there, just for a brief moment, the way his eyes sparked like an idea, he rushed to scribble something out. Then Danny came over.

"Alright... when you're done with your mission, shoot me a message. There's something I'd actually like to talk about..." The mechanic said, shifting a little nervously, but never loosing the hint of a smile on his lips. The pits gurgle a little shrill, almost like dieing chirping... Oh!- uninted, but good one, heh. But now Hood was definitely intrigued, for the lack of better words.

"...Sure." He agreed, with that he swung himself onto his sweet baby and nodded the other bey, who mirrored the action as response and took a few steps back, to give Hood enough space to start up. As he did right in that moment, then he was gone again, into the night.

Even the pits have massively quieted down again, after deeming the young mechanic non-threatening. Yeah, he still needs to figure out, what that guy has to do with the lazarus pits, but right now he's got one real big fish to catch, fillet and fry for what he did and did to his machine.

@georgiefreddie0829 @shirasorin

[karlachismylife]

Happy birthday, British man

A little collab gift for @on-a-lucky-tide from me and @gomzdrawfr since we heard a certain someone has his birthday this weekend :)

Hello Jack! Here’s a small gift from us, I hope you’ll have a pleasant weekend ahead, we love you 💛 - Gomz

You're a really good man, and I hope you realize how much respect and admiration we have for you. You make a much bigger difference in the world and our lives than you probably think. The world is so much better thanks to you in it ❤️🦍 - Juju

Happy birthday!

A tin can lands on his desk with a flat thud. Raising his exhausted eyes, Price stares at the dark mass that is Ghost with a gaze that would make mountains weep – but apparently the Lieutenant is more of a moody cemetery hill on a healthy diet of dead men or something, because he stares right back, unmoving, unfazed, with a dirty skull-faced bally covering everything but his eyes framed by frosty white lashes. Was probably doing a late drill with the rookies – smells like it, too; if the skin-tight shirt on him wasn’t black, there would be vivid dark spots of sweat marking a good workout.

Price would appreciate this equivalent of flirting on Simon’s part if it wasn’t for the overwhelming volume of paperwork he’d been dealing with for several days straight already – thanks to a new useless fucking bureaucratic invention of the paper rats up in the foodchain trying to justify the budget they hogged. With a heavy sigh, he runs his rough hand down his face, as if trying to wipe the sticky exhaustion off, and gives up, asking.

“Wot’s this.”

“Open it.” Very helpful of Ghost. There’s irritation bubbling up John’s veins; if his temper fuse was just an inch shorter, he would blow up on Simon and let out all the frustration on the Lieutenant and his sometimes fantastically inappropriate sense of humour – now is really not the time or place, not when he’s tired like an old race dog. But – he doesn’t; instead, Price grabs what looks like a beer can and cracks it open.

A forceful geyser of something colourful and sparkling shoots up, making him wince, and settles on his desk, shoulders and hat in an even layer of tiny paper confetti. Price blinks, still holding the now empty can, and slowly moves his stern gaze back up to Ghost towering over the unnatural disaster.

“Happy birthday,” Simon hits him with the same deadpan stare. There’s a pause.

“He forgot, didn’t he?” suddenly chimes in a smooth rumble with a familiar accent from the doorway – Ghost has to step aside with his broad shoulders to reveal Nikolai standing there, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed and a softly disapproving look in his smiling eyes. “I knew we should have intervened sooner. John, it’s your birthday, solnyshko, get out from that desk.”

John has to steal a glance at his watch to see the date – and it stings him in the back of his neck with some bitter realization that he indeed forgot completely. His birthday never seemed like a big deal to him, but the sharp, head-on imagery of him not noticing his own life passing – quite literally – while he’s wasting it on useless paperwork for assholes who don’t know how to be useful at all – feels like a sharp blade slashing his skin and letting hot liquid blood drain from his slouched form. Nik smells this metaphorical blood like a white bear in the vast icy desert and pushes off the doorframe, making his way to Price.

“Captain? How copy?” His big fingers with a faint smell of machine oil and iron tilt John’s chin up and carefully pick a blue confetti piece out of his beard. “Come, John. Lieutenant shall finish the paperwork for today, he knows how to forge your signature, right?”

Ghost lets out a calculated grunt – enough to confirm without directly incriminating himself – and walks around the desk from the opposite side of Nikolai, successfully capturing Price in a bear trap between them.

“Ya’re the only one with a birthday ‘ere, sir,” rumbles he with an underlying tease and leans down, pulling his bally up to let John feel his hot scarred lips against his ear. “Gotta celebrate for the three of us, eh?”

His close breath and a brush of a kiss prove enough to distract John in his sleep-deprived state, and before he knows, his prized boonie hat flies off his head to land onto Simon’s smug skull. He himself is pulled out of his chair by a pair of burly arms – very unceremonious of Nikolai – and thrown over a mighty shoulder.

“See you later, Lieutenant,” purrs Nik, patting outraged Price on his arse, and carries him out of the office just like that – ignoring every bit of objections falling from the Captain’s lips and rolling off the pilot’s broad back like sea waves roll off the big dark rocks in the ocean. The last thing Price sees, before Nik shuts the door behind them, is Ghost squeezing his fat arse into the desk chair and rubbing his big hands together, almost too devilishly delighted to take over the paperwork.

Price has no idea when they had the time to do all this – but back at home there’s a whole feast awaiting. Nik sits him down in front of the table and turns into a caricature of every grandma – especially a Ukrainian one – ever, filling John’s plate with a hot, savory meal. While Nik pours him some soup, he makes sure Price is chewing on a gloriously shiny pirozhok with cabbage and egg filling; after that – assembles a crisp sarnie to go with the soup, stoically withholding every commentary on English cuisine he has stuck on his tongue.

“You are not getting away from this table until I see you unbuckle your belt to breathe,” threatens he in a sultry, rumbling voice, kissing a crumble off the corner of John’s soft lips, and John has no choice but to grunt, stuffing his face with full, heavy spoons, watching from the corner of his eye as Nikolai assembles some kind of soft honeyed meat slices on a plate for the second course.

It seems though that it was Price who underestimated the degree of his hunger, because he clears out both plates and polishes it with a healthy little bowl of buttery potatoes before he actually starts to feel full. Nik comes to rescue – pushing a mug of black tea towards John, he slides his arms around his waist and undoes his belt, using this as an opportunity to slide his big palms under John’s shirt and pet his hairy belly, now healthier and rounder with proper food being processed inside. His hands stay respectful, without escalating the touch, but don’t go away either, as if Nikolai is mesmerized by the feel of John’s warmth in his arms and can’t make himself let go of this treasure.

“Makin’ me regret that last plate, Nik,” grumbles John a bit self-consciously, leaning his head back to find the man’s cheek and nuzzle it with a satisfied grunt.

“Bullshit. You’re beautiful,” Nikolai huffs, squeezing the softness of Price’s lower belly, and dips his head to kiss his throat. “I’m just trying to stay patient until Simon gets here. But you’re making it so fucking hard, John…”

“What am I making hard, hm?” Price chuckles – a soft, finally weightless sound, not burdened by the responsibilities and expectations of him he left in the office, and Nik almost growls in response, leaving a longer, wetter kiss on his neck, unable to resist this more relaxed Price. His big palm covers John’s eyes, forcing them to rest, and Price lets out a breathy sigh, feeling Nik’s lips slide over his slightly greasy from the stuffy cabinet work skin, badger-striped stubble teasing and prickling tender little folds around his neck.

“I see you turned the birthday boy into the birthday meal.” They both miss Ghost’s arrival, too busy with the long, sweet kisses – Nik doesn’t seem fazed at all, pulling back and brushing his thumb over John’s lower lip. When their eyes meet, Price feels the rumbling tired ocean inside of him get hit with a heavy thunder of love in Nikolai’s gaze, making the waves surge up into the skies and splash around like a fan made of water feathers. His breath stutters, and Nik smirks – a kind, just a little playful expression, before straightening up and finally letting Simon get an eyeful of slightly rosy, satiated, relaxed Price with adorably ruffled hair.

“Simon,” John tries keeping his voice straight and clears his throat, sitting up in the chair. “Good to see ya, uh…”

“He’s ready for cake,” announces Nik proudly, and Simon nods, pulling his bally off and landing a hasty kiss on Price’s cheek as he passes him on the way to the kitchen. There’s the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, rattling of cutlery, then silence and – a click of a lighter.

Nikolai stands behind John’s chair, peacefully taking out stubborn confetti pieces that got stuck in the fluffy strands, already having cleared out the space right in front of Price – and Ghost appears from the kitchen, gracefully clicking the light switch with his arse so that the little flames on a hefty round cake shine brighter.

“S dnyom rozhdenya tebya,” muses Nikolai the immortal tune, same for every language, and winks at Simon, who sets the cake on the table with poorly hidden pride. Price bites his lip for a second, almost panicking he has nothing to wish for – but then shakes it off and blows out the candles, leaving that distinctive smell in the air.

“Good job, luv,” mutters Ghost gruffly, as Nik goes to turn the light back on. There’s wonky, ugly icing writing on the cake – and light chocolate brown doesn’t flatter the little… caterpillars of letters at all. John doesn’t even need to guess: it’s clear that it’s a creation of Simon and his fingers with fucked up joints, probably shaking like crazy as he was squeezing something so different from a rifle trigger making this cake. “Ya like it?”

John looks at the cake again, squints, weighs the probabilities, and finally asks:

“Did ya draw a prick on me cake, Riley?”

Ghost scoffs, crossing his arms, and looks like a child who was told that his ugly ass scribbles won’t get the front placement on the fridge.

“That’s J for John, ya bastart,” grumbles he and reaches out, turning the cake around to show the backside. “Now this is a prick…”

Price doesn’t miss the absolute delight shining in Simon’s eyes as he presents his masterpiece, the whole poker face ruined by the small smile lines in the corners of his eyes. He almost calls out the cheeky bastard for it, but Nik distracts him with packaging rustling, and next to the cake there appear gifts.

The distraction works again – while John is busy looking through the presents, his partners work swiftly, clearing up enough of the table for the tea and cake part of the birthday party. Lifting his eyes from his dream rugby match tickets there was no chance for him to get, Price catches Nik pulling Ghost in by the back of his head and placing a soft peck on his mangled lips – and it feels like an even greater gift. There are others: a sharp new Swiss knife (“For your fishin’ trips, old man,” adds Simon, passing by with a hot teapot), a bottle of Scottish whiskey – no need to guess who it’s from, several books with a card signed by Kyle’s calligraphic handwriting and a quality beard brush with a nice wooden handle with a cheeky note from Kate.

“It got wonky after baking so there’s more filling on one side,” Simon’s low grumbling pulls John back to the dining table as he plops a generous cake slice on a plate and pushes it closer. “For your fat arse, sir.”

“Ya’re one to talk,” scoffs Price and gives Ghost a squeeze before reaching for the teaspoon, but Nik intercepts him and shoves the first cake bite into John’s mouth himself. “So tha’s the plan? Feed me till I can’t walk?”

Nik and Simon share a glance; Ghost shrugs and lets the sly Russian do all the talking.

“The plan is to do whatever the hell you want, solnyshko,” purrs Nik, picking up a rogue olive from the appetizer plate and throwing it in the air, catching with his mouth with disgustingly low effort, as if he didn’t even notice it. “Do you want to go out? Could dance the night away or get drunk… or what else do you Brits do to celebrate surviving another year.”

John opens his mouth, the answer ready on the tip of his tongue, and suddenly shrinks like an old balloon, rapidly getting into his head with a new heavy weight on his shoulders. From under his fluffy eyebrows, he casts a quick glance at his partners, worried they might have noticed the sudden change in his demeanor – but they stand there, both picking bits of his birthday meal, serene and relaxed, two steady mountains just waiting for his word, whatever it is – like they always do.

Simon’s jaw is unchlenched like it always is when they’re together at home, Nikolai exudes patience. They’re both waiting – with a calmness that slides off the slopes of their broad shoulders like warmed up buttery frosting off a spoon, leaving a greasy, smooth, sweet residue of a lack of expectations. Even the paraffin droplet sliding down the cheap birthday candle cools off and rests in place, stopping the fire clock timing John’s decision and letting him actually think what he wants.

He just wants to sleep.

There’s a voice inside him, pressuring him to live up to the demand to “celebrate for the three of them”, mocking Price for becoming a boring old man at such a young age, preferring his bed and blackout curtains to a nice party or at least a proper pub crawl – after all, his partners are ready to celebrate all night, why isn’t he?

But his eyelids are drooping and his headache just starts to get fucked from the first proper meal in quite a while, and the back of his head is actually itching to sink into the soft pillows. Price taps his fingers on the table near the teaspoon they fed him the first cake bite with and clears his throat before finally outing his deepest, darkest desire.

“Good,” just says Nikolai, cupping his cheek to wipe a smidge of icing with his thumb off the moustache, and starts gathering dirty plates. “Simon, take him to shower. I’ll join later.”

And just like that – Nik goes on to clean up the whole table, while Ghost sits next to Price, watching him eat his cake with a soft look on his face – his white lashes form a misty veil over his dark eyes, giving him a surreal, angelic look, enhanced by the messy slightly coiled blonde strands hanging onto his forehead. There’s a hidden, tamed fire in the brown depths of his irises – calmer than the devilish torches in Nikolai’s; both sharing that inexplicable burning adoration whenever they look at Price – a feeling he still struggles to accept he evokes and deserves.

He chews on the slightly dense sponge cake Simon baked for him, watching Nikolai’s huge forearms, bared from under rolled up sleeves and covered in long, dark fur, appear in his line of sight, pick up a few plates and disappear again – accompanied by a soft purring melody Nik’s humming under his nose. There’s something like an invisible warm blanket settling on his shoulders as he processes this whole birthday arrangement – the way warm breeze at the southern shores slowly covers one’s feet with little dunes of dry sand, a soft, ticklish, friendly feeling.

It doesn’t go away when Simon tugs him inside their comically small shower cabin – only grows as Ghost crowds him under the warm waterfall and brushes his scarred fingers through John’s heavy, darkening hair, massaging slightly pine-scented shampoo into the roots and running his hands over Price’s physique with reverence. Simon behaves – only letting something slip when he runs his palm down John’s shaped thigh, feeling the smooth, soapy skin under his wet fingertips; their freckles on pale skin align, as if they’re two parts of a mirky reflection of night sky in the windless surface of the ocean, and Simon lets out a raspy, shaky breath, squeezing John’s flesh and pressing their lips together in a spontaneous, blood-rushing, overwhelmed kiss.

“Easy, lad,” murmurs John, licking the warm, faintly chemicals-tasting water off his lips, unable to hide the flush in his cheeks from this kind of raw need for him. Ghost huffs and snorts under the water stream like a dog, resuming his devoted worship of Price’s body, rinsing him off and then wrapping in a warm fluffy towel. He helps to dry his rich chest fur and beard before simply picking John up and carrying his warm, softened by warm shower, hearty meal and overwhelming care body to their bedroom.

There’s an outrageously huge pillow nest on their bed, and Simon puts John in the centre of it, letting him sink into the supported softness before climbing in with him. It’s only when he pulls Price to his broad, hot chest with barely visible dusting of soft blonde curls, that John can feel how fast Simon’s heart is beating. Their hands find each other in the thick blanket mess, and John presses his ear to listen to the rapid heartbeat, still in awe that he’s the reason for that. Ghost’s big embrace envelops him, and scarred lips press to the top of John’s head, muttering something indistinguishable – like a doberman grumbles, expressing its undying love.

Price dozes off to this lullaby, missing the sound of the shower starting and ending again, and only stirs awake when the mattress dips under Nik’s weight.

“Happy birthday, my love,” whispers Nikolai, when John tosses and turns, seeking him blindly, and kisses his temple. “Rest. It is your day.”

His heavy arm wraps around John’s waist, the heat of his broad chest with rich dark fur pressed to Price’s side seeps into his tired bones, and finally Nik’s huge bear paw covers the lock of John’s and Simon’s fingers, to keep them warm and secure – all night.

John Price feels the sea waves sting his eyes and nose before he allows himself to soak in the peace and falls asleep, with the only expectation hovering above him being – the expectation to let himself be.

[aquaquadrant]

i would do anything for more pathos and dbubs interactions, they have my whole heart

well i don’t exactly take requests, it’s more just people sending in asks that happen to inspire me to write. and it’s not a guaranteed thing; i’ll hoard the asks in my drafts until i find the time/energy/motivation to write (i’m still sitting on some from over a year ago hafshdgah)

but i’ve really been feeling the pathbubs love lately so i got a little something for y’all :3

~*~

dbubs wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaning back to admire his masterpiece.

it took him five freaking days to gather the materials (only stopping to sleep, of course). chests and chests of diorite, oh yes, mined deep in a cave beneath the jungle. rows and rows of spruce trees grown by hand- they stuck out like sore thumbs in all the natural foliage. stacks and stacks of colored glass, the sand emptied from the bottom of several little lagoons. and then he had to clear out a space, of course. a pretty big space. which unfortunately… meant a lotta choppin’.

it’d pained him to take down so many trees, but it couldn’t be helped, really. jungles are just too dense for any real building. it’s- it’s really not a big deal, the jungle’s huge, it’ll be fine! it’s fine. what’s a few trees, right? he’s not gonna- the beauty of this place, the natural sort of… whimsy and- and majesty, it’ll still be good. he’s just gonna enhance it with some of his own uh, creative… work. yeah. and- well, if there’s anyone in hels who understands how to build in harmony with nature, sure enough, it’s ol’ dbubs!

anyway, he did that, and then the real work started. another three days of solid building. which- it’s not a massive build, alright, it’s- it’s respectable. two stories. maybe three, with the… the crenellations and spires and things. but building ain’t exactly the easiest thing to do, in the jungle. there’s terrain difficulties, big trees and mushrooms and things, and mobs, of course. hoglins, always stickin’ their noses in his business… uh, the ocelots and parrots aren’t really a problem, no, just a little annoying. oh, but then- there was a brief period where a ghostly- a- a ghast spawned outside the jungle’s border and then sorta… drifted into the air above the canopy, and it freaking- it took potshots at him every dang time he climbed up his scaffolding! (he killed it in one shot, of course, first try).

but it was worth it. it’s a lovely temple, a perfect temple. overgrown with vines and moss, with specifically- uh, specially placed cracks and holes to make it look all in… dis- disarray? dishevelment… or uh, abandonment? he even- this is real cool- he put a small custom tree growin’ out the side. the stained glass windows catch the light beautifully, yes, what gorgeous- he really outdid himself, with this one! his other builds, of course, they’re still… uh, wait, did- he can’t quite remember, actually, when his last build was. or, what it was. where did he… wait…

… anyway! his glorious temple is done, and he can’t wait to show patho the next time he visits.

should be any day, now.

~*~

the jungle stirs.

it has been uneasy for many days and nights, now. hissing and flinching as trees are ripped from its shell. groaning and chafing beneath the weight of unfamiliar blocks piled on its surface. its caves and lakes are hollowed out, a gnawing void at its core.

it is disappointed, but not surprised, that its player has tried again. it is in their nature, players, to spread and dominate every biome they encounter. it knew this when it decided to claim him.

natural resources, it can replenish easily. dirt, sand, and nylium will bubble and shift to fill the scarred land. fungi, trees, and bushes will spawn and sprout to cover the barren hills. but that… thing. that blight. the jungle cannot remove the machinations of players, not alone.

it may become a hoglin, to root and dig at the foundations. it may become a ghast, to breathe down fire and ruin. but these are crude forms. the best suited hands to dismantle this structure are the ones that built it in the first place.

the jungle becomes a player; its favorite player. at the dawn of a new day, it rises from sleep in a body that is foreign yet familiar, a fond but distant extension of the whole. vines and limbs move in tandem grace, guiding his feet back to the scene of his heresy. with strong, callused hands, it begins to pick the structure apart, block by block. no mob interferes, and there is no need for food. when the jungle sleeps, it merely drops him where he stands until the cycling of the unseen moon has run its course, before it raises him to his task again.

after days of endless work, every single unnatural block has been removed. whatever did not fit his inventory is left to despawn. the jungle walks its player back to his den (this structure is permissible, a nest among the trees) and finally releases him to sleep. now it turns its focus to regrowth and rebirth, healing over the ugly scar left on its terrain.

the jungle spends no energy on retribution or resentment. it will teach its player this lesson as many times as it needs to.

~*~

dbubs pulls patho through the jungle, excitement bubbling in his chest.

“okay, so- it’s right through here,” he calls over his shoulder. “my perfect- i- i built a whole temple, a sorta fallen temple, y’know. and not to took my own horn, here, but i- eughh, i- i think it’s some of my best work yet!”

patho’s chuckling behind his mask as he lets dbubs pull him along. “oh, yeah? what, uh… what about this build is so special, then?”

dbubs actually pauses at that, giving patho a shrewd look. “y’know, i- why do i get the sense you don’t believe me?” he puts his hands on his hips. “you- i build! i- i good builder!”

patho waves him off. “no, no, i know, i’m- it’s an honest question!” he defends, voice lined with amusement.

“oh-kayyy.” dbubs makes a show of rolling his eyes before resuming his trek, patho dutifully plodding after him. “well, then, to answer your question, i think it’s the uh… sorta vibe, or atmosphere of the build? ‘cause you- it’s like, you’re goin’ through this thick jungle, right, all wilderness, and then- all of a sudden, ka-blammo!” he throws his arms out, nearly smacking patho in the face with one of his vines. “there’s this majestic, ruined temple just there, all by its lonesome, overrun by nature. so- it makes you think, sure enough, like- what happened? who built it? where are they now? so it’s- hyeughh, it’s got a- a mystique, i feel…”

“oh, i see,” patho hums. “well, i can’t wait to see it.”

“yeah, yeah,” dbubs huffs, pushing a tangle of weeping vines out of the way, “you’re about to eat your words, mister! ‘cause heeeeere we are!”

he bursts out from the treeline to his temple clearing- only to be greeted by more jungle. seamless, unbroken jungle. he stops short, doing a double- no, a triple take. ‘cause he could’a sworn this is where he built it, wasn’t it? what’s the big idea?!

patho comes to a stop beside him and lets out a whistle, low and steady. “i- i see what you mean about the mystique, dbubs.”

“wait- no.” dbubs blinks, shakes his head. his chest is tight. “this isn’t- i- i built it here, i swear! it was perfect, it was beautiful-”

“i’m sure it was,” patho says easily, wrapping an arm around dbubs’s shoulders. he turns his head to nuzzle against dbubs’s temple, a masked substitution for a kiss. “c’mon, it’ll be dark soon, yeah? let’s head back.” his tone is knowing, almost consoling, and it feels wrong-

“but…” dbubs wavers, suddenly feeling like he’s on the edge of a cliff, grasping at air. “i- i wasn’t…” he pulls his inventory up, frantically scanning, ‘cause he’s sure that he- he knows that he-

his inventory is filled with stacks of diorite and spruce and colored glass. he inhales sharply.

“i dreamt it,” he announces, loud and abrupt. he gives patho a sheepish look, despite the relief that rushes through him. “i must’ve- listen, i know i- quit laughin’! ohh, you-!”

patho’s laugh is soft as he tugs dbubs into an embrace. “alright, sorry… hey, how about we build it tomorrow, okay?” his mismatched eyes gaze down at dbubs with fondness- and yet, there’s something else there. something almost… sad.

dbubs pushes the thought away, flicking a vine through the air. “oh, great,” he says sarcastically, even as he allows patho to steer them back into the jungle towards his base, hand-in-hand. “yeah, that’s- just what i need, you sittin’ around and crit- crita- critiquing my build! ‘oh- oh, why’d you put that block there, dbubs? why this wood type, dbubs?’ sheesh, gimme a break!”

“so, like… does that mean you don’t want my help?”

“well, hang on- i didn’t say that!”

“okay, just checkin’. you know, i don’t have to-”

“oh, stop it! you can- yes, okay, you may help me, please. for goodness sakes.”

“that’s what i thought.”

dbubs grumbles in feigned annoyance as contentment slowly seeps back in to wash away his earlier unease. it’s fine. this is fine! he just dreamt the whole building process, again, he wasn’t- he didn’t mean to lie. he just�� must’ve been really excited about it, is all. yeah.

he glances back at the build site. “but maybe,” he pipes up tentatively, “uh- maybe… we build it somewhere else. i just- there’s a lotta trees to clear out there, y’know?”

patho’s cybernetic hand tightens around dbubs’s organic one, a comforting squeeze. “sure thing, dbubs.”

dbubs exhales slowly, the last of his worry falling away as he walks deeper into the jungle.

they’ll build it tomorrow. he can’t wait to show patho.

~*~

[slvbum]

L.A mornings ♡ Drew Starkey!

content: Drew Starkey × ItGirl!Reader.

The noise of backstages was now a memory, she stretched on the living room rug, her body itching to move after her return to L.A. She glanced at Drew, sprawled on the couch in a rare moment of stillness. With her jetting off to fashion weeks and him juggling film sets, full days together were a precious anomaly... and today was one of them.

“I’m heading to Pilates,” she said, hopping up to grab her gym bag, her voice bright. “That studio on Melrose— class starts in an hour.”

Drew looked up from his phone, a grin tugging at his lips as he set it aside.

“Pilates, huh? How about I come with? We’ve got the whole day, and I’d rather spend it with you than sit here pretending to read scripts.” He stood, stretching his arms, his black tee pulling tight across his physique, broad shoulders, chiseled from gym sessions between takes.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking as she tied her hair into a high ponytail. “You? In my Pilates class? You sure your biceps can handle it?”

“Handle it?” he scoffed, flexing playfully. “I’m a pro a lifting iron weight, baby. How hard a little stretching can it be?”

Thirty minutes later, they walked into Core Flow Studio, a trendy spot. She wore her signature black leggings and a pink sports bra. Drew, in grey sweatshorts and a tight black tee, turned heads with his broad shoulders and easy confidence— his physique built for the screen, not the reformer. The instructor, a lithe woman named Mia, handed him a mat and smirked. “Newbie?”

“Yeah,” Drew said. “Here to impress my girl.”

His girlfriend snorted, elbowing him playfully. “Good luck. This isn’t about brute strength.”

The class began with warm-ups, and Drew breezed through, his athleticism shining. But when the instructor shifted them to the reformers, those torture machines. His girlfriend moved like water, her core tight as she executed a series of teaser lifts, her legs extended in perfect lines. Drew, meanwhile, grunted beside her, his reformer wobbling as he tried to mimic her. His biceps flexed impressively, but the slow, controlled movements demanded a different kind of power, one his weightlifting hadn’t prepped him for.

“Ow, shit,” he muttered, his abs quivering as he attempted a plank-to-pike. His legs shot out too fast, and the carriage clattered back, earning a stifled laugh from her.

“Need a spot, big guy?” she teased as she held her own pose effortlessly. “Those huge arms aren’t helping much, huh?”

Drew shot her a playful glare, sweat glistening on his brow.

“This is evil. You’re a ninja— how do you make it look so easy?” He tried a leg circle, and nearly tipped, catching himself with a sheepish chuckle.

“Because I’m a pro,” she quipped, winking. She breezed through another move, giggling as he groaned beside her.

By the end, Drew collapsed on his mat, chest heaving, while she stretched beside him, glowing with that post-workout sheen.

“You’re a beast,” he panted, wiping his face with his shirt. “I’m sticking to dumbbells.”

“You survived,” she said, leaning over to kiss his sweaty cheek. “And you were adorable trying.”

“Adorable?” he groaned, but his grin showed he loved it. “You owe me for this.”

They piled into his bike, the LA heat shimmering off the asphalt.

“How about a juice stop?” Drew suggested, steering toward Pressed Juicery on Sunset. “Your favourite reward for kicking my ass.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yes! The Greens 3— I need that ginger kick.”

Inside, the shop buzzed with a cool, citrusy vibe, bottles lining the counter in a rainbow of hues. She grabbed her Greens 3, a crisp blend of apple, cucumber, and ginger, while Drew picked a Citrus 2, pineapple and orange. They settled into a booth by the window, the city’s hum a backdrop to their bubble.

She took a sip, her eyes fluttering shut as she sighed.

“Perfection,” she murmured, the zing of ginger chasing away the workout’s burn.

Drew watched, leaning his chin on his hand, a grin spreading across his face as he admire his girlfriend.

“You’re so cute when you’re happy,” he said, stealing a sip of her juice and wincing at the spice. “Okay, that’s all you— my tropical vibes win.”

She laughed, nudging his foot under the table.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” she said, her eyes finding his. “These days together… they mean everything.”

He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “Wouldn’t miss it, babe. I’d stumble through a thousand Pilates classes just to see you glow like this.”

Her cheeks pinked, and she leaned across, kissing him softly, the tang of their juices mingling.

“I love you so much,” she whispered.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[stark-ironman]

Hi babe!

I was babysitting my friend’s twins this weekend and that may have sent my baby fever into overdrive 🫣

Anyway, I’m hoping you’ll be able to write something about babysitting either with Hugh Jackman or Logan, that’s upto you.

Not giving too many deets cuz I know you’ll do your magic buuuut they’re two year old boys, we painted flowers and there was a bubble machine involved, IT WAS CCUUTEEE OKAY 😭

Baby Fever

18+ No Minors

A/N: I hope you like it 😭 I feel like it could be better

"Just call if you need anything, okay?" Your best friend tells you for the fifth time since walking in the door. "I promise. Logan and I will be just fine but if anything happens then you are the first person I call." You assure, hugging her as she does one final goodbye and walks out.

Now, does Logan know that you two are babysitting twin boys? Absolutely not. Will he be mad that you done this without his approval, also a no. Logan is secretly a big teddy bear when it comes to kids and you're hoping after today that he will finally want to put a baby in your belly.

"Alright boys, what do you want to do first?" You ask, already knowing they're going to name off a million of things to do. "How about we go paint until Uncle Logan gets home?" They jump up and down excitedly and you lead them to the kitchen, making sure they're sat properly before running to your room. You grab two of Logan's old white t-shirts and rush back to the kitchen, placing a shirt on each boy to protect their clothes.

You set the paper and paint in front of them, asking would they rather use their fingers or a paint brush and of course, it's their fingers. So, you three sit and paint random things and you show them your flower you painted which automatically grabs their attention and they start painting their own flowers.

"What's going on here, bub?" Logan asks from the door way with a small smile, walking in and setting his lunch box down. "We're painting flowers, Uncle Logan!" The boys exclaim, causing Logan to chuckle as he leans over to kiss you before examining the paintings. "I hate to say it, babe, but I think the boys drew a better flower than you." His response causes you to laugh.

Logan starts prepping the food for dinner while you and the boys continue to paint. You fail to notice the way Logan is watching you and how he's falling even more in love with you by the second as you interact with the boys.

"I'm going to go outside and get the grill ready for dinner. Why not come outside and let them run around for a bit?" He asks, his eyes looking lovingly at you. You nod and take the shirts off the boys, letting them run outside and you start cleaning everything up.

Once finished, you get started on the sides that go with the steaks Logan is making and you can't help but stare outside while he chases the boys around the yard, the sound of the boys' little giggles filling the air. It also helps you remember that you bought a bubble machine for them a while back so you head over to the laundry room to grab it from the shelf, filling it up and taking it outside.

"Bubbles!" The boys scream, running over to you as you set it down. They chase after the bubbles and Logan comes to stand next to you, pulling you close to him. "They're something else, aren't they?" He asks with a fond smile, wrapping his arm around you. "They're absolutely adorable." You say, chuckling a bit. You both stand there watching them play until Logan notices the grill is smoking.

"I'll go get started, bub. Go play with the boys while I finish up everything." You nod and give him a kiss, chasing after the boys as they run away from you.

-----

After dinner, Logan helps you bathe, dress, and put the boys down on their beds andyou both walk out to the porch with a baby monitor in hand, sitting on the swing Logan built when you first moved in.

He lights his cigar, blowing the smoke away from you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I've been thinking, if you're ready, I want to have a baby with you. Several actually." Logan states, looking at you. Your eyes widen and you can't help but stare at him in shock as tears well up in your eyes.

"Yes! Yes I want a baby with you, Logan. I have for a very long time now." You hug him, feeling him chuckle against you as he kisses your hair. "Then after the boys leave, we will get started on getting one." He tells you.

You cuddle into his side, smiling contently as he slowly swings you both and you can't help but start thinking about how yours and Logan's baby will look.

[dropsnectar]

When a Fox is Bored...

M!Kitsune x gn!reader

NSFW

A Kitsune who recently inherited a new territory, of which your house is smack in the middle of. 

As an easily bored spirit, he finds the thought of pranking you hilarious. He starts out with small things, moving your cereal bowl in the morning, replacing dish washing detergent with dish soap. He laughs quietly to himself as he watches you search for what should have been obviously in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, and confusion fueling his quiet laughter. He watched you run around in horror, trying to scoops bubbles into water buckets. Something about your confusion and panic satisfied him. 

He made a habit of visiting you and making something go wrong. But after the fifth prank, something changed. You laughed at how your water bottle, once filled with water, was now orange juice. Your missing backpack, instead of being on the table, under your bed. You cleaned the place up, reducing clutter. You kept your bags close, and hummed to yourself as you searched about, peaceful. This picked at something in him. Your worried expression had been his after all. He upped the ante.

He messed with your washing machine. That prank took a while, since as a spirit of nature, tech was foreign to him. Filled with pride expecting your eyes to go big and your lips purse for him, all you did was roll your eyes and take your clothes and laundry detergent to the bathroom. You turned on a little play on your little black rock, and filled the tub with water soap and clothes. Then you got to work, stomping like you were pressing grapes for wine. Despite the distraction of the “phone”, your face was still crinkled in effort, sweat drifting down your brow. He liked this expression. Maybe this too was a prank well done.

At some point, you had started making double helpings for dinner. In the past, meals of ramen and grocery potatoes salad had turned into steaks, chicken and pasta. 

You would pour two glasses of wine and put out a plate and a glass on the old stump by the back door. Curious, the kitsune would eat up, soon enamored with your cooking.

About time! It was only right of you to give him offerings. You were in his territory after all. In the mornings you would collect the dishes, and the cycle would continue.

Of course, this didn't mean he would stop his favorite source of entertainment. Far from it. He'd replace your coffee maker with one of a differing model. He'd leave piles of fruit by the door, savoring your surprised reaction as you looked around, not noticing the small form he had taken behind the door. He learned your preferences, your schedule, even your sorrows as you poured over a hastily scrawled budget that just wouldn't add up the way it should. 

He had to admit sometimes his pranks grew even farther then he meant to. You had dressed up to the 9s for a much needed job interview, with a man whose soul was so gray he could see it through the phone. You had gotten in your old, rusty car, only for it to get hit by a huge black Denali, five minutes from your house.

Out stepped a gentle older man in a weathered cardigan. The old man listened to you cry, as you waved about a dead phone, and explained how you couldn't afford this. You had missed the job interview you so desperately needed.

 This was the part that bewildered the kitsune. He wasn't sure if it was his own magic or yours, but the older man offered you a job on the spot, twice the salary you were looking for. The old man's aura was a gentle green. This satisfied the kitsune. This man would take care of his favorite victim.

His heart filled with satisfaction at how you bounced and garbled out thank yous. He didn't fail to notice that dinner that night came with a whole tray of brownies. You made him cupcakes when you got the huge insurance check in the mail. 

After dinner, he was surveying you as you watched “Net-fix”, something about a mute woman rescuing a lake monster, when you turned the TV off and headed upstairs. 

This intrigued the kitsune, as you usually watched television for another hour before passing out. 

You took off your pants and crawled into bed. The room was quiet except for your breathy moans as you pleasured yourself, one hand working yourself up under your underwear.

The smell that filled the room was mouthwatering. And the way you mewled out made the kitsune feral. He was on you in a few minutes, transforming from his invisible form to his most majestic one. He leaned over you, eyes red and hungry, as he pinned your free hand over your head and licked his lips.

“Its you.” You whispered, voice light and merry. It was like it had been a long grey winter and the sun had finally decided to come out. It was an expression he had never collected from you and it made his heart heavy.

“I knew you were here. Thank you. For everything.”

He stared at you, now full of apprehension. But a peice of him was still so full of joy that you recognized him. That you saw him and wanted him with you now.

“You have been my playtoy. I have made your life difficult more times than I have lightened it.”

“You kept me on my toes” you laughed out, tone innocent. “But I know how to deal with boys who tug my pigtails. And you haven't tugged on them in a long time.” You reached your other hand forward and brought it to his cheek. It was a gentle gesture of affection, but it did not have the soothing effect you intended. 

Your hand smelled so full of your core it drove him insane, dick throbing and hard under his robes. He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down any residue that had been left on your fingers. The face you made was adorable, how your eyes glowed and the ghost of your tongue peaked out from your lips. He was going to collect so many faces from you tonight, and they would all be his. YOU would be his.

He discarded his robes and your underwear with magic, a tidy pile on the chair next to the bed. Then, he was on you, mouth nibbling your neck, biting you collarbone, before licking at the marks he had made. He rutted his hips against you for relief as he claimed your mouth, your tongue swirling around his. Your hands grasped hard to his back, nails scratching. It was your way of claiming him too, of this he was sure, and it was just too damn cute.

He dragged himself around your entrance, laughing and saying he wouldn't enter you until you begged him for it. You pouted at him and huffed, but eventually gave in, asking him to fill you. He did so with one hard thrust causing you to cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He kept a quick pace. Your eyes were glazed, your core molten hot as he hit every little spot inside you that would bring you closer to release. You tried to hide it at first, hands covering your mouth but your eyes gave it away. He let you conceal yourself for all of five minutes before he had both your hands pinned above your head, his thrusts jutting at an unforgiving pace inside you. 

He was feral. THERE it was! That was the face he had wanted, the expression he had wanted to capture from you since the very beginning. Your panting, your eyes glazed over, mouth open in a silent plea, THAT'S what he wanted all along. And it was his! You were his now. The realization, the feeling of you, and the way you cried and clenched around him in release was what finally sent him over the edge. Against all odds you came together, riding out your ecstasy with sighing breaths. 

His mind was hazy with afterglow as he pulled you into his arms, large fluffy tails wrapping around your legs, arms, even one teasing at your face, a tickle. You laughed and kissed the fluff before turning over and kissing his nose, eyes bright. You were sated and happy. 

“Could we maybe, make a habit of this?”

He grinned at you. Every single feature of him was dripping with mischief when he replied.

“You think I'm satisfied with just this? There's so much more I have planned for you, you silly thing. Be prepared, got it?”

Part Two-ish

[muffinpink02]

Coffee Shop

Summary - You get a job with Mapi, she's a big flirt, your current partner is a dick, does Mapi sway your mind? Some appearances from the Barca girls. Got a lot done but a lot more to go. This will hava a part 2 at some point.

Warning Smut 18 & rough, consensual sex/shitty partner

“That’s it, just like that. Good” She husked

“Like that?” You whispered, listening intently to the girl's instructions.

“Sí, go a bit higher.” You could see from the corner of your eye she was biting her lip. 

The Spaniard placed her tattooed hands around yours, directing your movements, you felt your breath catch slightly in your throat from her touch. 

“Just like that. You’re doing good, hold it there.” She was so close, you could smell her woody perfume. She let go of your hands, giving you range to move. 

“I can see someone’s getting more comfortable.” Mapi hummed. 

You chuckled softly, her breath tickled your neck. “I have a good teacher.”

The brunette lightly chuckled. “Okay. Now hit it hard so the air bubbles go.”

You pulled the jug of milk from the machine and did as the brunette said.

“Perfecto. Now this part is more tricky, but try and do the heart, like I showed you.”

You tilted the mug with the shot of coffee and poured the frothy milk inside. Trying your best attempt at making the artwork from the steamy milk. You both watched as the hot milk mixed with the coffee. It had started out well but began to look similar to a poo emoji. 

“Ergh. I can’t do it, Mapi.” You looked at the coffee mug, a frown now on your face. 

The Spaniard put her hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s not easy, princesa. I didn’t get it straight away. You’re getting there.” She smiled warmly at you.

“Yeah, I just want to get it right.” You looked down at the coffee mug, letting out a loud sigh. 

——————-

It had been a month since you started working at the coffee shop. On your first day you arrived ten minutes early, you entered the small cosy cafe that you had always passed on your walks, but for some reason had never entered. 

The bell rang above your head, catching your new colleagues' attention. You were greeted by the tattooed Spaniard, the very confident, very beautiful, very cocky Spaniard.

“Hola, you must be the new starter. I’m Mapi.”

Mapi was hot, with a capital H. You drank in her olive skin and tattooed covered arms as she walked toward you. You tried your best to not stare for too long. Though the Spaniard didn't try very hard, her brown eyes scanned your body as soon as you walked through the door. A cheeky smile plastered her face as she stuck her lean arm out for you to hold.

She showed you around, demonstrating the basics of the machines, where the storage cupboard was and where you could find most of the supplies you would need during your shift. She got you to clean for the day, not wanting to overwhelm you on your first day, allowing you to get used to your surroundings. 

You cleaned like she had asked, even cleaning bits that looked like they hadn’t been touched in a while. You weren't able to talk much longer as the shop got busy in its morning rush.

But now and again you got distracted, you had found yourself staring at Mapi throughout the day. Your eyes drifted to her decorated arms as you cleared tables. You watched the way her muscles flexed when making the drink orders for the customers. Or how she stuck her tongue out in concentration as she counted the customers' change. 

The Spaniard had caught you staring plenty of times, but never said anything. She would smirk at you as if she had an idea of what you were looking at, and she would take the opportunity to ask if you were doing okay, or ask if you needed help, smirking to herself as you flustered. 

Of course you tried to make it look like you weren't staring, trying your best to look away before she caught you.  But your eyes would still end up wandering back to her not long after. 

In the quieter hours of the day you found out you had a lot of things in common. Mapi played for a local football team, she played in defence. You explained how you had played before but not since you injured your knee, but you told her you’d love to try again in the future. 

“You are more than welcome to come and try out. Or even come and watch us play.” The Spaniard smiled at you, pure joy on her face. 

“Yeah, definitely. I’d love that.” You smiled at the brunette.

By the end of the shift music started to play through the shop's speakers, Mapi asked what you wanted to listen to. Finding out you had very similar music tastes. 

She closed the shop door behind her, locking it with the keys. She turned to you. 

“Hey, you did well today. I’ll show you more of the coffee making tomorrow, in the quiet times.”

“Thank you. Yeah, that sounds good, I don’t want you to think I’m useless.” You laughed.

“I don’t think you are anything of the kind.” She looked at you with a straight face.

You felt your cheeks warm up, you chuckled gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” She smiled at you.

————

It was now a month in, and you were a lot more comfortable, thanks to a certain Spaniard. It was closing time, and as usual Mapi had her music blaring over the speakers. You swept the floors while she emptied the dishwasher.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight? Me and my friends are going to Club 10 if you want to join?” 

The thought of going out clubbing with Mapi was exciting, and you were a little sad that you couldn’t join, only as you had plans.

“I can’t. My girlfriend’s coming to mine for dinner. But thank you for asking. Next time though.” You smiled apologetically at her. 

“Ahh no worries, I’ll ask again.” She winked at you as she started to stack the mugs. 

Since you started working at the coffee shop, Mapi shamelessly flirted with you. She flirted with such ease it never felt serious. She would laugh after a one liner that made your cheeks go bright red, then get on with whatever task she was in the middle of doing. She never made you feel uncomfortable, it never felt gross or too much, she just liked teasing you. 

You knew the Spanish were flirty, touchy people, you had even seen her do it with customers now and again. She was clearly just a naturally flirty person.

However, it didn’t stop your heart from racing every so often, especially if she was giving you a certain look when she did decide to flirt. Or a certain cheeky smile when she was being extra touchy, you would have to take yourself to the bathroom to have a quick breather. You weren't blind, Mapi was beyond sexy, but not only was she your type on paper, she was kind, funny and genuinely seemed to care about what was going on with you. 

But, you never took your feelings further than that, you had a girlfriend, a girlfriend of nine months. Things were going good, you really liked Frankie, she was smart, successful, funny and great in bed. You had even recently said those big three words just over a month ago, she hadn’t said it back but you weren't going to push her. She would say that in her own time. 

————

You plaited up the food you had spent ages cooking, pleasantly surprised at how it came out. 

“Smells good babe, you didn’t put any spicy stuff in it did you?” Frankie asked while scrolling on her phone. 

“No, nothing too spicy. I added some seasoning, but only for flavour.”

You placed Frankie’s food in front of her. 

“Okay, cos I really can’t do spice.”

You sat down across from her and smiled. 

“I know. No spice. I promise.”

Thankfully Frankie deemed it edible enough to eat. Well, it was more the vegetables that she ate. She attempted the chicken that you had added a small amount of flavour to, she had to stop a few times for extra water.

“So when do you think you’ll get a proper job?” Frankie asked as she pushed around the food on her plate. 

You stopped your own fork before it got to your lips. 

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“Well a waitress isn’t a real job. When do you think you’ll be going back to an office job?”

“Well, I’m not a waitress, it’s a barista role and I’ve only started there and I actually really enjoy it. You know I wasn’t happy at my last job. I needed a break from all that corporate shit.” 

She gave you that look that you hated, it was a look that made you feel stupid, like you had just said the dumbest thing she had ever heard. 

“Well, you can’t do that forever. You’ll have to get back to it at some point.” She drank her water. 

You suddenly lost your appetite, you placed your fork on your plate. You felt that anxious feeling creeping on your skin. 

You had left your project manager role just over six weeks ago, you hated your last job, it had gotten way too stressful. Your manager would make you feel bad for not putting in extra work, and extra work was putting it lightly. He wanted you to do two people’s jobs, and then some. They hadn’t hired enough staff due to people leaving monthly. You wouldn’t have minded too much but they didn’t even pay you for the extra hours you did do.

The job had even started to creep into your personal life. You were too tired to meet your friends as you were working over time and too stressed to not take your mind off work during the weekends as you would get constant emails and calls from clients. 

Your manager had even called you while you were on a pre booked holiday asking you to end it early. And you did leave the holiday early, as you were half threatened that you would lose your job if you didn’t. When you needed a half day for a funeral you were denied straight away, that’s when you knew you were done with the company. 

You gave in your notice the next day and decided to have a small break, you had saved up a bit of money over the years, so financially you were fine. You just wanted to have a two or three month break, to maybe go away or just figure out a new role. Nothing like what you were doing before. 

You had only taken the coffee shop job because Frankie wouldn’t stop talking about you not having a job. It made you feel lazy and insecure, you felt like you kind of had to. So your break was cut short to two weeks. 

“Well, I’m happy there. I don’t think I’ll be looking for anything else any time soon.”

Frankie rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her water.

“Whatever, it’s your life, waste it on what you want.” 

Before you could respond Frankie’s phone began to ring. “I got to take this, you can throw the rest away. It’s too spicy.”

Frankie left the room, her phone pressed to her ear. 

You cleared the table, a lump bubbled in your throat, you felt like shit. You knew Frankie meant well, but she was from a different background. She was from money. Her dad got her role in PR because he knew the owner of the company. She hadn’t worked for the role in any way. And if that didn’t work out he would more than likely get her a role in another firm, like he always did.

————

It was half three, and dead in the coffee shop. You and Mapi were having a debate on what women’s team were likely to win the euros in 2025. 

“Come on, Spain will win, we won the worlds! Why would we not win euros?” 

You loved winding her up about football, she was the only other person that loved it as much as you. 

“Hmm I don’t know. You guys got lucky in my opinion.” 

“Pshhh. You are just hurt because we are the better team.”

“It was luck, just one goal. Nothing to shout about.” You smirked.

Mapi was done with your teasing, she grabbed the jug of milk off the side and flicked the froth right at your face. By the look on her own face she had done more than she meant to, she looked slightly worried until she saw you smile.

You dramatically gasped, wiping some of the mess from your cheeks. You broke out into a playful smile and began to laugh. She smiled instantly at your reaction, laughing at her mistake.

You looked around the counter, trying to find your own weapon, you grabbed the hot chocolate ganache pot, laughing internally as Mapi’s face dropped.

“No, come on. I was kidding. I’m sorry. Please, chica.” Mapi put her arms up in defence. You stepped closer to her, clearly not caring about her protest. She then took a different approach.

“Come on, princesa.” She pleaded.

You couldn't help but feel butterflies at her nickname for you.

“You can’t waste it, you can’t put good chocolate to waste. If you do it, you’ll have to eat it off me” She stepped closer to you, a devilish smirk on her face. The smirk that made your knees buckle, and you had a feeling she knew that. 

You were never one to flirt back, you would normally roll your eyes or batter off whatever hot and heavy sentence the Spaniard would lay on you, but you decided to play her at her own game. The words came out before you could really register what you were saying. 

“Hmm. but I don’t think you could handle my tongue.” 

Mapis' face was a perfect picture of shock. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for being able to make the girl falter like you did. Before the brunette had a chance to reply the bell on the door chimed, you turned around to greet the customer 

“Frankie? Wha- what are you doing here?” 

Frankie walked towards the counter, a big smile on her face. Until she eyed up Mapi, who was probably standing too close for Frankie’s liking. 

“Well, don’t look too happy to see your girlfriend.” She emphasised the last word. 

“No I am. I just. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Frankie loved when she made you a bit helpless, you could see it on her face, you must have looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Well I was passing by, I wanted to see why you loved it here so much.” She then eyed up Mapi once more. 

“Frankie, this is Mapi. She’s trained me on everything I need to know about coffee and how to make the perfect hot chocolate.” You smiled at Mapi. “Mapi, this is Frankie, my girlfriend.”

Mapi reached her hand out for Frankie. 

“Hola, it’s nice to meet you.” The Spaniard smiled at Frankie. 

Frankie looked Mapi up and down like she didn’t want to touch her hand, but she did, and she did it quickly. You didn’t miss it, and neither did Mapi. 

Frankie laughed. “Is there really much to know? It’s coffee, not rocket science. It’s not that hard.” 

You felt your skin prickle. You hated when Frankie was like this.  

“Actually there is a bit to know about coffee and how it’s made. It can almost be a science lesson.” Mapi laughed at her own joke. 

“Mapis right. There’s a lot to it.” You looked at Frankie, almost pleading with your eyes to stop her rudeness. 

“Hmm, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Are you allowed to have that many tattoos showing while you’re working? Does it not put the customers off?”

You heard Mapi laugh under her breath. 

“I actually get a lot of compliments, especially from the ladies.” Mapi winked at Frankie, she wasn’t going to bite back. 

“Each to their own. I just wouldn’t be allowed to have any tattoos showing like that at my work.” 

You then chimed in. “You don’t even have tattoos and I don’t actually think they would care much at your work, Frankie. It’s not like you're a rocket scientist.” You joked but could tell that pissed Frankie off. 

Mapi laughed, she put her hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m going to count the items in the storage cupboard chica. Was nice to meet you Frankie.” Mapi walked away, leaving you and Frankie alone. 

“That was rude. Why are you being like that?” 

“I was just joking. Listen, I came here to apologise. I was a dick the other night, I don’t want to argue.” Frankie took your hand in hers, giving you the puppy dog eyes that she always used when you argued. 

You smiled, you weren't one to stay mad. You squeezed her hand back, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. 

“Do you want to go for dinner next week? We can go to that place that you like?” Frankie asked. 

“Yes! The Spanish restaurant?” You chimed.

“Yeah, that one.” 

“I’d love that.” You clapped. 

Frankie smiled, you could tell she had more to say. 

“I also have to travel for work tomorrow. We’ve got a new client that the company wants to impress. So I’ll be gone for three nights. I won’t be able to talk to you much.” 

You felt your shoulders drop. “Really? Okay well. I guess you can’t say no. We can FaceTime at night.” You tried to be positive.

“Well, maybe, you would have to text me first. Don’t just spring a FaceTime on me, I might be out with the new clients.” She laughed. 

“Yeah that makes sense.”

“I’ll be back Thursday evening, we can go for dinner on Friday evening.” 

“Okay, I can’t wait.” You said. 

“Anyways I got to go, I’ll see you later tonight?” Frankie smiled.

“Yeah. See you tonight.” 

You leaned back in to give Frankie a quick kiss, but you suddenly felt her grab you by the T shirt, pulling you hard. You yelped as she pushed her tongue deep into your mouth. You pulled back, looking at Frankie in confusion, she never kissed you like that in public, she was always one to hate PDA. You caught her eyes, she was looking at Mapi, who wasn’t paying any attention to the pair of you. 

“What are you doing?” You wiped your mouth, slightly annoyed.

“Nothing. Just wanted to kiss you. I’ll see you later.” Frankie walked out the coffee shop, smirking to herself. 

Mapi came back up to restock the fridge. “Your girlfriend is nice.” She said it with enough sarcasm. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why she acted like that.”

“It's obvious, no?” She smirked as she stalked up to you. “You have to work with a very sexy.” She stepped closer. “Very charming.” Her arms trapped your body against the coffee bar. “Very tattooed, Spanish girl, all day.” 

The brunette had your body caged between hers and the bar. Her face was so close to yours, you could feel her breath on your lips. You couldn't stop your eyes from roaming over her delicate pink lips. Your mind wondered what it would be like to have those same lips on yours, or other places. You felt your pussy spasm at the dirty thoughts flooding your brain.

She whispered.“See bonita, you can’t keep your eyes off of me.” 

Her smirk was devilish. It was like she could read your mind. You felt your cheeks blush from her comment. Her dark eyes roamed your face, it looked like she wanted to kiss you. Suddenly her body was gone. Her laugh brought you back from the daze that was Mapi. She started stocking the fridge, chuckling to herself as if she hadn't just had you hanging on to every word of hers. 

“You are like a baby rabbit, no. Squirrel? Some kind of fuzzy creature.” 

You blew out a chuckle, trying to compose yourself. But you could feel the heat between your legs. You looked over at the clock. How many hours did you have left?

—--------------

“Fuck, just like that.” You were between Frankies legs, eating her out while she pulled hard on your hair. It was the third time in a row that you had gotten her off, not that you minded but you had been horny since work. 

Not for any particular reason. 

But you had been desperate to have some release and the minute you stepped through the door you could tell Frankie needed it to. She had just about said hello when she pulled you into the bedroom, kissing you hard. Her teeth sunk in your bottom lip making you whimper against her mouth. But she only swallowed your cries. She pushed your back against the wall, you winced as you hit the foundation. 

“I need your tongue.” Was all she said before you were being pushed to your knees. She unbuckled her jeans and grabbed your head, forcing your face between her legs. She let out a gasp, her head tilted back as your tongue made connection with her clit. You didn’t mind this kind of sex, you were the more submissive one between the pair of you, and it could get rough and desperate and you knew Frankie liked being in charge. 

She grabbed the back of your head as she fucked your face against the wall. Her hips rolled into your mouth, taking complete charge of your movements. 

“Stick your tongue out.” She demanded. 

You stuck your tongue out for her. She grinded her pussy along your tongue, it was like you was her fuck toy. 

She came quickly, pushing your head against the wall as she used you to get off. After she came, she moved you onto the bed. You thought she wanted to do the same to you, but she made herself comfy on the pillows. You watched as she laid back, opening her legs and pointed between them. 

So you did as she asked, you didn't mind going again, you were a giver, you loved pleasing your partners but the wetness between your legs was ever growing. It took her a lot longer to come this time, as she had literally just came a minute before she had you on your knees again. But eventually after some time she came in your mouth, her hand holding your head down roughly. 

Once she released your hair you sat up. You were desperate for her now. It had been a while since you had sex with Frankie. You knew she was stressed from work, having new important clients on. So sex was off the cards. Well, she would be too tired to do bits to you. So you ended up like this a lot of the time, your face or hands between her legs. You moved up to kiss her, she sucked your tongue into her mouth.

“Again.” She husked out. 

“Again?” You chuckled breathlessly.

“Yeah, I need you babe. You make me feel so good.” She stroked your face lovingly.

“Okay. Are you not too sensitive?”

“No.” She kissed you again and started to push your head down.

“Okay.” You gave her a final kiss before you moved down her body, kissing her stomach on the way down. You licked slowly.

“Fuck.” She pushed your head further in between her legs, rocking herself on your tongue. Once again it took her a while to come, clearly too sensitive. You could feel your cunt throbbing, needing to be touched. 

Your jaw began to ache from how long you had been eating her out. She pulled your hair hard, your eyes closed from the pain, she sometimes didn't realise how rough she was being. You wondered if Mapi was ever this rough. You could feel your underwear becoming uncomfortably wet. Finally, you could tell she was close, she started to grip your head tight, it was painful, but before you could stop her, her hips bucked into your face. You groaned as she pushed you further into her core. It was almost hard to breathe.

“Fuck, suck it. Suck it. Yes, just like that. Such a slut” She gripped at your head, not letting you move an inch as you sucked on her clit. 

Her legs started to shake. You felt her wetness start to enter your mouth. Her thighs clamped your head. She kept you how she wanted you, her hips grinding into your face. You swallowed her juices. As she let out a groan. You tried to move your head away to breathe but she pulled you back.

“I didn't say stop, keep going” 

Your lips wrapped back around her clit. 

“Do it gently. Swallow.” She gripped your neck.

You stayed there like she demanded. Finally she let go.

“So good.” She husked out. 

You lied next to her, catching your breath. “Yeah?” 

She sat up, groaning from the pleasure. “Yeah. I needed that. I'm going to get in the shower.”

“Oh?”

“What?” 

“Nothing, I just.. I thought we could carry on? I wa- I really want you Frankie.” You smiled, hoping she would get the hint.

“I’m tired.”

“Okay. It’s just that, it's been a while since you kind of touched me like that. I just miss you.”

She rolled her eyes already annoyed. “I’m tired.”

“No, I get that. I just wanted t-,” 

“God, can’t you just give me a break. I don’t want to. Don’t try to make me feel bad because I’m tired.” 

This was the third time you had mentioned it. Frankie hadn’t touched you in 6 weeks. You tried to ask her what was wrong. If there was a reason she didn't want to touch you, if it was something she needed to talk about, but everytime she just brushed it off and blamed work. 

You already couldn't be asked to argue. You would just take care of yourself. Again.

“Okay.” You looked away, not able to look at your girlfriend, worried she would see your pain.

“Ergh. I’m going to mine. Thanks for ruining a good moment.” 

“No, Frankie don’t.” You begged. 

“No. You’ve pissed me off.” She quickly put her clothes on and left. Slamming the door behind her.

You flinched from the slam. You felt the tears prick at your eyes. Then the hot tears ran down your cheeks. You felt numb. Frankie had been arguing with you more and more lately. Snapping at you for small things, arguing over nothing. And now she wasn't touching you. You felt ugly, unwanted. 

You definitely didn’t feel horny anymore. You took yourself to the bathroom and had a long hot shower, you had your dinner and scrolled through Netflix to watch a movie. It had become a routine at this point, doing this alone after an argument with Frankie. Half way through you got a text, you ignored the giddy feeling you felt when you saw it was from her. You looked at your phone to see Mapi’s name on your screen, you couldn't stop the stupid smile that appeared on your face. 

It was a picture of her cat dressed up in a cowboy hat. She told you about the purchase she had got for her pet. You didn't believe her, but here it was picture proof. You replied.

Mapi - Picture sent

You - she doesn't look too impressed. 

Mapi - ignore her, she always looks that way. She loves it 

You laughed, shaking your head at the Spaniards' antics. Another text came through.

Mapi - I'm going to the ‘Blue Cherry' tomorrow, wanna come?

You bit your lip in thought. You had no plans tomorrow. Frankie was away, and if it was anything like her trip before you didnt get to speak to her once. So, yeah why not. It had been ages since you had a night out.

You - Yes! I’ll be there 🎉

That stupid goofy smile grew on your face once more. Mapi always had a way of making you smile, or feel special, even something as simple as wanting you to go out with her and her friends. You found yourself looking over her instagram page, again. You smiled as you looked over the now familiar pictures. You scrolled down to the very familiar picture of Mapi sitting on a rock in her bikini. The girl's body was unreal. You felt a little bad that you lingard on the photo, learing at your friend. But you had been so worked up from earlier, your body was basically on the edge of exploding.

Your mind drifted to your memories of today. You could still feel the weight of Mapi’s body pressing against your own. You could see the curve of her pink lips smirking at you, the way she always did when she was messing with you. Her lips had become a common thought in your mind, you had wondered how her lips would feel on your own, or how her tongue would feel if it were to trace down your stomach. Followed by gentle kisses.

And suddenly that hornyness returned. 

Your hand slowly descended down your stomach, your fingertips traced small lines on your exposed skin, just teasing yourself with the thought. Recently you had been doing this more and more.

You slipped your hand down your pj shorts. You weren't shocked at just how wet you already were. You tried to put it down to you pleasuring Frankie, but you knew deep down it wasn't because of that, not right now.

You dipped your finger past your lips and just below your clit, finding your essence already dripping. You gathered the juices on your finger tips and brought it straight to your clit. You let out a small hiss. You were past sensitive. It almost hurt to touch yourself, you weren't sure if it was mental strain or physical. 

You bit your lip at feeling the pleasure of finally having some friction on your bundle of nerves, circling your clit just the way you liked. You couldn't stop the images of today flashing through your mind, you could see Mapi in front of you, you could feel the shape of her body pressing against yours, your fingers picked up the pace. 

You could see her brown eyes looking at you, her lips smirking at you. Your imagination got the better of you when you pictured Mapis' hand in place of your own, touching you, pressing your clit lightly. Her smirk became wider as she felt you becoming wetter. 

“You want me, don’t you?” You imagined her voice.

You nodded. Even an imaginary Mapi knew you wanted her. Your hips started to grind into your own hand. You imagined her fingers touching you, her eyes watching you. You then imagined the girl in front of you, in your home, pulling your pjs shorts down, her brown eyes staring between your legs, licking her lips.

You started to get rougher with your touches, needing Mapi more and more. You imagined her tattooed hand reaching between your thighs, stroking your skin, teasing you as she got closer to your core. You imagined her gentle touch as she finally got to your clit, rubbing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You like it, princesa?” Her imaginary voice asked.

You nodded. You could feel your orgasm rising. Mapi invaded your mind, her freckles, her smile, her laugh, the way she smelt, the way she talked, the way her eyes watched you when she thought you weren't looking. She filled your mind with everything that was her, your legs began to shake as her imaginary fingers brought you closer to your orgasm. 

You imagined her lips tracing your neck, sucking gently on your skin. You gasped as you felt your climax start to take over. Your legs began to shake, your back arched off the sofa as you imagined Mapi kissing you while you came. Your hips bucked into your hand at the aftershocks of your orgasm, your breathing slowly returning to a normal pace. 

You laid there, staring at the ceiling, guilt took over for Frankie and Mapi. But before you could think anymore about it a text came through, you looked at your phone to see Mapi replying to your text.

Mapi - Finally!

You let out a loud sigh as your head dropped back on the sofa.

[ckret2]

The second dimension has burned (along with half the neighbors) and now there's a bunch of survivors stranded in Dimension Zero; which means the gods have to talk Bill into letting them leave.

Which should be easy, right? They're a bunch of gods and he's just one puny little mortal. Look how small he is.

Puny little mortal. 👍

Here have a fic.

This is part 6 of an ???8-ish??? part plot about the Axolotl meeting this friendly harmless innocent little triangle in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre and then getting repeatedly slapped in the face with all the atrocities Bill's committed. If you want to read and/or look at the pretty art on the other parts, here's one, two, three, four, and five.

####

It hadn't taken long for VENDOR to make preparations to receive another ten million-odd sentient refugees; but then, the Axolotl supposed it wouldn't, considering that THEY could pop out a planet capable of supporting quadrillions at the snap of a finger. (Somebody else's finger, presumably, since vending machines didn't have any.) The most time-consuming part had been determining which gods would be responsible for the refugee shapes currently stranded in Dimension Zero once they were rescued—for speaking for them, for finding out what they ate and supplying it, for finding new suitable 2D and 1D homes for them in dimensions with compatible laws of physics and chemistry. The Axolotl doubted the shapes themselves had been consulted on who they'd like to speak for them.

And then, THEY'd approached the unstable border barely holding the miasmic rubble of half a dozen burned universes inside Dimension Zero, and said, "I hope you're ready to come out of there."

And just like that, the barely visible, twinkling yellow light in the center of the dimension appeared at its border, as if he'd always been there.

Behind the triangle, deep in their "dream realm," the shapes that the triangle had kidnapped/rescued from the cosmic flames, living and dying and undying and unliving, were still trapped in their eternal dance party. How many of them were paying attention to the proceedings through their forced dance? Did any of them understand the negotiations the triangle was making on their behalf? 

The Axolotl was sure their "Magister Mentium" wouldn't allow anyone but himself to speak for the shapes, but VENDOR could find that out the hard way. The Axolotl didn't see any benefit to trying to warn THEM first.

And as expected, the triangle retorted—just as haughtily as VENDOR—"I'm ready to talk. Are you?" The triangle was swirling a drink in a red disposable cup as though he were aerating a fine wine, looking for all the world like he'd been waiting there for hours and VENDOR was the one late to an important meeting.

VENDOR grumbled something that the Axolotl didn't catch besides the word "attitude," and then said, with a diplomatic air that just edged into patronizing, "Well, as long as we're making progress. Come here, let's get started."

"Hmm... nah," the triangle said. "Howsabout you come over here."

VENDOR stared, THEIR camera whirring as its focus narrowed in on the triangle.  "Excuse me? You expect me to get closer to that thing?" (The Axolotl assumed THEY meant the entirety of Dimension Zero.) "Absolutely not. You're already right on the border; just go through it."

The triangle was, indeed, right on the surface of Dimension Zero, like a fleck of glitter stuck on a bubble. He swung back and forth along the dimension's cellophane skin a few times, as though weighing up the thought of peeling himself off of it; and then shrugged, lounged back against the barrier, and sipped his drink. "Naaah, don't feel like it. You come to me! Get cozy! It'll be intimate!" The triangle purred unseductively, "C'mere, big boy, lemme whisper in your... whaddaya got, microphones? An intercom? What are you, some kind of office building?"

"Of all the—! I'm a vending machine!"

"Wooow, really? You're yanking my chain!" He drew a ghostly blue chain out from the esophagus under his eye like a clown pulling a trail of handkerchiefs out of his sleeve.

"It says 'Vendor' on my face!"

"Really? I figured 'Vendor' was the name of the company renting you!"

VENDOR gasped. "You think a god can be rented—?!"

While THEY tried to find adequate words to express THEIR outrage, the triangle's chain disappeared and he squinted at the silver continent-sized logo listing VENDOR's name. "I don't know how you expect anyone to read that anyway; it's all one color," he said. "Well, they make 'em large where you're from! But okay, vending machine, get over here and lemme whisper in your coin slot."

"No!"

"Hey, big as you are, narrow as I am, I bet I could slide right in without even touching the sides!"

VENDOR shuddered hard enough to set off earthquakes on several of THEIR planets. "Is this how you speak to all your gods, mortal?" The two cops at THEIR back bristled menacingly—the crablike cop with two mushrooms for eyes clacking his claws, and the cop made of two interlocked flaming wheels spinning faster and burning higher. 

"Whoa, since when are you one of 'my' gods!" Smugly, the triangle said, "I thought I heard I'm in Lady Morgenstern's district."

Before they could come to blows without ever starting the discussion, the Axolotl called over to VENDOR, "He can't come closer. He's the only one able to keep his dimension from collapsing back into a singularity on the refugees—he has to stay in there in case emergency maintenance is needed."

"Ugh," VENDOR said. "Nevermind, stay where you are then."

With a singsong lilt to his voice, the triangle said, "If you insii-iist!" He settled back against his bubble and took a long, slow sip from his drink.

The Axolotl hated to admit it, but in spite of it all—the horror, the massacres, the cult recruitment, the dancing corpse puppets—he was starting to really like that triangle.

Along with VENDOR and THEIR unofficial police escorts—both of whom seemed content to do nothing but lurk behind THEM and look imposing—several of the gods involved with helping the refugees had assembled to observe the negotiation with the triangle. The storm cloud currently in charge of the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force's operations—who had less to do now that most of the cosmic fires were under control—was drizzling over several other apoc agents, and the tornado in which it carried its personal effects twisted back and forth in a figure 8 beneath the cloud, as though it were pacing in place. At some point, the barricade keeping the reporters from getting too close to the scene had been breached, and now dozens of them—messenger gods, gods of wisdom, gods of truth, twin-headed deities of secrets and revelations—circled the scene with enormous eyes and sharp ears and pens and recorders and cameras.

Until it burned down, the Axolotl had always called Dimension 2 Delta a "wall," because that was always how he was oriented to it during his daily commute—flying home with the dimension to his side—and the now-bloated Dimension Zero where the wall used to be was oriented the same way; but up and down and left and right were arbitrary directions in space when you could just rotate and change them. VENDOR and THEIR accompanying gods had reoriented themselves in relation to Dimension Zero so that it was like a floor rather than a wall—so that they were looking down on the triangle, and forcing him to look up at them.

Even the Axolotl had unconsciously reoriented himself so that he matched the other gods. He couldn't pretend he had any business in this discussion as anything but an uninvited witness; he'd been flying in nervous circles around the group, only just barely within the perimeter established by the reporters, gazing down into Dimension Zero as he did. Even though the triangle was staring straight at VENDOR, his slitted eye felt like one of those trick paintings that gave off the impression that, no matter where the Axolotl was, it was looking directly at him.

He ended up circling near the Time Giant, who was also avoiding the conversation as she worked on her official report on what she'd found in Dimension Zero. As he passed, she absentmindedly patted his head between his frills. Her glove was coated in grease, heavy metals shavings, and stardust.

The triangle said, "So pitch me your big evacuation plan."

"You don't need to worry about the details; it's our responsibility to handle the situation, not a mortal's."

"Humor me," the triangle commanded.

VENDOR valiantly bit back the urge to say something else snide. "Fine. It's a simple process, at least for you. First: you'll all be temporarily relocated to a safe world, where you'll be taken care of. Somewhere... suited to your species's anatomy, as best as we can manage on such short notice." As THEY spoke, THEY began idly flipping through THEIR worlds, juggling them between THEIR coils, apparently mentally measuring up the triangle before THEM against THEIR available selection. The Axolotl had seen THEM do that earlier. A nervous habit, he supposed. The god from the urban planning committee deciding where a few more residents could be moved.

A few of the partiers far below the triangle had apparently noticed the conversation, and had broken off from the party to fly a little closer to the barrier, eavesdropping on the discussion. There was a quiet flurry of excitement at the suggestion they might be getting a planet. (They had so little in there, didn't they?)

"Second: we clean out the rubble that fell beneath the multiverse and ensure everything is stabilized again. Third: we set off Big Bangs to put up new 1D pillars and 2D walls where the old ones used to be, and repair all the standing walls and pillars that were damaged in the fires. We'll likely recycle much of the rubble into the new dimensions. There, that's nice, isn't it? Your new dimension could be made out of what's left of your old one." THEY talked like an adult who didn't like kids trying to persuade a child that this new toy was just as good as one that had been accidentally thrown away.

As VENDOR spoke, the triangle slid off his tall black hat and held it in his hands, looking down at it. No, the Axolotl realized, not at it—into it. He was looking at his speck. The little pearl that contained the scant remains of his universe.

"Fourth: all the refugees are returned to their native dimensions or their replacements."

The grip on the brim of his hat tightened. The triangle looked up sharply.

A few of the shapes who'd broken off from the dance party to eavesdrop looked dubious of this news—the Axolotl noted the line that the triangle had been dancing with earlier among them—but the vast majority looked ecstatic. One of them—a nearly square blue rhombus—rushed back to spread the news to the rest of the party.

But he stopped without reaching them when the triangle demanded, "You think you're going to split us up?"

"Of course! You can't possibly be placed together long term—you're all from so many different dimensions that your molecules probably don't even operate on the same laws of physics." VENDOR pointedly added, "Besides, I know some gods are very eager to have their people returned to them." The Vitruvian Mandala must have talked to THEM about how the triangle got his new followers. (How many of the listening shapes were eager to return to their gods?)

The triangle stared at VENDOR, eye wide and expression unreadable; but for a split second, an inferno of absolute fury raged behind that blank white sclera. "What about me, genius? You don't have a god to foist me off on."

"No, I suppose not," VENDOR sighed. "Naturally, as the last surviving soul from your dimension, you'll be afforded a few more special protections than the others." (The triangle didn't protest the accusation that he was the last.) "Eventually, you'll have the option to move into an afterlife in whatever replaces Dimension 2 Delta, but until then, you'll have to be housed elsewhere, just like the other refugees. Did you have diplomatic relations with any of the neighboring dimensions?"

He said tersely, "No."

(Then that settled the question for good, the Axolotl thought: none of the other shapes came from his home dimension; and he really hadn't known the shapes he'd kidnapped from other universes and called "his" people.)

"Of course not. That will complicate finding another dimension to move you to, but I'm sure he'll help you with that part."

VENDOR tilted in the Axolotl's general direction. Terrific, THEY'd progressed from accusing him of being a stranger's lawyer to volunteering his services.

"Of course, you should expect to be judged and sentenced by the standards of whatever afterlife you join—"

The Axolotl cut in loudly, "I think he'd rather remain a wandering ghost." It was clear the triangle still saw himself as alive. (Maybe, to his species's culture, he was still alive. If the Axolotl had learned anything during his service as a psychopomp, it was that death was as much cultural as it was physical. Most species saw a soul shedding its body as the end, but others saw it the same way as a butterfly shedding a cocoon.)

VENDOR shuddered in distaste. "I can't believe this district still hasn't outlawed letting unruly expired mortals meander around."

Of course THEY were anti-wandering ghosts. The Axolotl didn't know what else he expected. He made a mental note to throw a campaign donation at Municipalitron before the next election. "Yes, it is still legal, and technically isn't illegal on a district-wide level anywhere in the multiverse—wandering ghost legislation is decided at the dimensional level—"

"You can explain his options after he's come out here into civilized space," VENDOR said sourly. "The bottom line is, everyone gets sent home. And that's the plan! All right?" THEY glowered down at the triangle.

With a flick of his wrist, the triangle's hat poofed out of his hand and reappeared above his top angle. "If you want my opinion—"

"There is nothing I have ever wanted less."

"—you're wasting a lot of time creating a worse solution to a problem you invented! Splitting us up, gentrifying our dream realm, forcing us back under gods and locking us up in afterlives? Yikes! We're not refugees, we're liberated—for the first time in our lives! We don't need to be 'sent home'! We're already living in our home!" The triangle put unnecessary emphasis on the word living.

The excitement slowly drained from the eyes of the listening shapes. They looked so tired. How many were already dead? How many wanted to rest in an afterlife?

The triangle said, "Look, I can save you a lot of time on red tape and bureaucracy." He gestured back into Dimension Zero. "Just give us an empty spot outside reality's butthole, we'll pack up our dream realm and fly it there ourselves, and then everything's hunky-dory!"

"Pack your— Fly it—?!" VENDOR scoffed in disbelief. "You must be mad. It would most certainly not be 'hunky-dory'! Your little organic mortal mind can't even grasp how much more difficult, dangerous, and inefficient it would be to relocate and rebuild this wreck instead of simply recycling what's left of it and setting off a new Big Bang. Is it even possible?" THEY'd directed this last question to the Time Giant.

"Hm?" It took her a moment to drag herself from her paperwork and process the question. "Hell, I hope not. It's the worst idea I've ever heard."

"See? I don't even know which district's jurisdiction such a ridiculous project would fall under!"

"So what's the problem?" the triangle asked. "It probably won't be yours! You can foist the paperwork off on some other sucker!" (The Axolotl choked back a laugh.)

"It would circle back around to the urban planning committee eventually," VENDOR said wearily. "We simply don't have room for a—" They turned to the Time Giant again. "How big is this dimension, anyway?"

"'Bout twenty percent bigger than D-2Δ was."

"Oh, what a disaster. Two dimensional?"

"Technically, zero, but it behaves like it has five or six."

"Absolutely barbaric." VENDOR rounded on the triangle. "We don't even have zoning for an oversized zero dimensional property shaped like a six dimensional property! Every last Planck length in the multiverse is already in use; this is a planned community— Are you paying attention?! Don't you roll your eye at me!"

He was indeed rolling his eye as he took a long, slow sip from his red plastic cup. He held up a finger to signal VENDOR to wait until he'd finished. This wasn't doing the triangle any favors, but the Axolotl had the sneaking suspicion he'd decided to ignore VENDOR because VENDOR had started to ignore him.

"Of all the—you're the one who wanted to waste my time finding out how your evacuation will work! You could at least listen!"

VENDOR still thought THEY were giving instructions to a mortal who didn't quite yet fully understand that it was his responsibility to simply obey, and the triangle still thought this was a parley between equals in which he had the option to say no. And, the Axolotl realized, they were both wrong.

A single reality could simultaneously operate on so many vastly different scales. The Axolotl could still hear the triangle saying that he felt every dying thing that fell into Dimension Zero; he could still see the triangle's gaze unfocused from pain and the distraction of holding up a dimension on his back. While a minor local elected official was arguing about zoning law, a mortal was suffering a trillion trillion deaths.

And on a smaller scale even than that, a trillion trillion lives were suffering death—once.

The Axolotl wondered—what justice was there in the fact that the most trivial concerns of gods were infinitely vaster than the worst horror a mortal could ever endure?

(But what justice was there in the fact that one mortal could force so many more to endure the horror with him?)

The triangle finished his drink and sighed, "Yeah, yeah, I'm listening." Like a bored child fidgeting in his seat, the triangle peeled off Dimension Zero's skin and swung backward into his dream realm, so that he was dangling over his eternal party with the soles of his feet still stuck to the bubble. "And all I'm getting out of your yammering is that you want to destroy my dimension because you don't want to deal with a little red tape!" (He stared at the eavesdropping shapes. They flinched and retreated to the party.)

"No," VENDOR said venomously, "I'm saying we can't move the rubble pile you're calling a dimension, because it would require knocking down half of existence to restructure it around your whims."

"Great! Which half do you want me to knock down?"

The Axolotl could faintly hear the click of VENDOR's camera shutter closing and reopening in horror.

The storm cloud had been brooding quietly back with the other apoc agents while VENDOR and the triangle attempted to negotiate, but now it let out a thunderous rumble as it swept like a cold front into the discussion. "Out of the question. The whole point of clearing out the rubble is to prevent any more damage to the surrounding dimensions. We're not going with a plan that causes more apocalypses."

"Oh, for— No one's talking to you, Fog Brain!" The triangle tried to wave the cloud off. "Who do you think you are, the Killjoy God of Stopping Apocalypses?"

The cloud's tornado swerved down to hold its Apocalyptic Threat Task Force badge where the triangle could see. "Yeah, actually."

He gave it a dirty look. "Okay, Officer Fun Police. Here's the deal: me, my people, and my miasma in here are a package deal. I'm not going a-ny-where without them, and they're not going anywhere without me. So if you don't want us knocking the stilts out from under your palafito, then you'd better make an offer better than Coin Slot's little refugee plan!"

"Your people? What gives you the right to speak for them!" The storm's tornado jumped in intensity from F0 to F2, and only grew faster the more it spoke. Through its clouds, the eye of the storm glared down at the triangle. "You mean the people I've watched die all day thanks to your attempts to kidnap them from their own dimensions?!"

The triangle glared right back up into the eye without flinching. "Yeah, and my attempts to rescue them from our world would have a lot better success rate if you incompetent losers didn't keep getting in my way!"

In a startling display of unity, the storm cloud and VENDOR both started shouting at the triangle, one after the other: "Rescued?! The ATTF was already rescuing them! We're professionals! You're the one mucking up all our operations—"

"And you're the only reason these mortals need rescuing! You caused this crisis in the first place; you spread all the fires—"

"—and mangled or cremated half the people you're trying to save—!"

"You're forcing millions of people to float aimlessly in an unstable, barren void! Those mortals belong out here, under divine supervision, on a real world!" VENDOR punctuated this with a rev of THEIR motors and THEIR coils half twisting forward, like THEY were tempted to launch THEIR whole stock of worlds at the triangle in anger. "I am a vending machine full of planets. Any one of these would be better than your colorful cesspit! What are you offering?!"

The triangle was glowing red-hot, trembling with rage. "Everything they were ever told they can't have," he said. "Freedom. Immortality. Utopia!" With a noise like a whip crack, the triangle snapped his arm down (up?) to point at his eternal dance party; and suddenly his eternal party was right there, and he was in the middle of it. "This is what I'm offering! Isn't that right, gang?! We're keeping this party going forever!" A loud roar of voices cheered in response. (It was, the Axolotl thought, nowhere near ten million voices. The shapes that had been eavesdropping earlier had blended back into the crowd. The only one the Axolotl could still see was the blue rhombus, glaring resentfully at the triangle.)

With an impressive synthesized approximation of the sound of speaking through gritted teeth, VENDOR said, "Why would you want to squat in the rubble of half a dozen destroyed dimensions when we could recycle it into a new dimension?!"

In truth, the Axolotl was wondering the same thing. He could understand if the triangle were just trying to maintain his independence from an overbearing god—the triangle clearly liked being in charge—but then why not offer the rubble from Dimension 2 Delta in exchange for the right to rule the new dimension that would be made with it? VENDOR would never agree to that deal—not that THEY even had the authority to agree—but that hadn't stopped the triangle from making even less likely demands. Or why not trade the rubble to the gods in exchange for an equivalently-sized stable universe to throw his unending party in? Hell, why not say he'd take a newly-vended planet as long as he could rule it without any unwanted divine intervention? His people didn't want to live like this. Why did he?

With great dignity, the triangle straightened out his hat, casually swirled his drink, and floated up off the surface of the bubble—and the Axolotl realized that the triangle hadn't been standing "upside down." All along, he'd been doing the same thing VENDOR had done to him: repositioning himself so that the surface of the barrier between the zeroth dimension and the third dimension was his floor, so that the gods he spoke to were beneath his very feet.

He didn't answer VENDOR's question. Instead, he asked his own: "Why would I want to be a dead freak in somebody else's universe, when I can be an eternal god in mine?"

So many things—his insistence that he was alive, his contempt for the gods that tried to assert their superiority, his determination to repair his own reality, his absolute control over his people—suddenly made sense.

VENDOR leaned away from the triangle. "You? Think you? Get to be? A god?" THEIR two police escorts, who so far had managed to stay silent, burst out in mocking laughter.

The triangle stared imperiously down upon VENDOR, THEIR hundreds of worlds, and the countless gods watching. "It seems to me like I already am one!"  Arms outstretched, he gestured around himself at Dimension Zero, at his eternal party. A cacophony of every song at once poured out into the higher dimensions and all lights shone on him like a strobing halo. "I created a universe by myself! A dream realm where ideas and reality overlap, where a thought's just as powerful as an act! A dimension of color and life that's free from all laws and restrictions—even gravity! If that's not godly, I don't know what is!"

Honestly, the Axolotl thought it was kind of impressive that the triangle had spun his failure to get the gravity working into a perk.

The crablike cop hooted with laughter and said to his partner, "How stupid does he think we are?"

"You're no creator god," VENDOR said. "Everything you have fell in from Dimension 2 Delta and its neighboring dimensions—we know that much."

The triangle was silent for a long moment; and the Axolotl got the sense, by the look in his eye, that he was choosing his next words very carefully. Like a creator god preparing to speak a reality into existence.

Voice low and hard, he said, "You don't think it got in here all by itself, do you?"

VENDOR gasped sharply. THEY weren't the only one. A crackle of thunder and a low rumble filled the still space—followed by hundreds of tiny, twinkling lights from the outer ring of gods, the flashes of the reporters' cameras. Recording the mortal who claimed he'd killed an entire universe.

The triangle, glaring defiantly down at them all, seemed to glow a little brighter with each flash.

No. Not that curious, cocky, bright-eyed little triangle. The Axolotl couldn't believe he had wanted to destroy his own dimension.

But... he did believe the triangle had done it. On some level, he'd known.

The storm cloud cut in, "Hold on, hold on, hold on." It seemed to be the only one who could find something to say. The Axolotl was sure it had known, too; it had only been waiting for confirmation. Making a valiant effort to rein in its rage, it retrieved its interview and asked, "How did you destroy your dimension?"

The triangle's hands curled into fists, crushing his cup. "I didn't say I destroyed it. I renovated." He said it so haughtily. He said it like he needed to believe it himself. "It was close-minded and claustrophobic! It needed a lotta work! The whole thing ended up being a teardown! A place like that, the only thing you can do is—burn it down and start over."

The Axolotl could hear the triangle's voice catch and fall quieter as he regretted his choice of words before he'd even finished saying them. His heart broke. No. He knew the triangle didn't mean that. He was torturing himself to keep as many of his people alive as possible, he couldn't have meant to destroy all those lives—

The triangle raised his voice again—not quite shouting, but straining to project his words, to ensure everyone, everyone, would hear him. (Over the next trillion years, the Axolotl would come to think of this as the default way he spoke.) "We're building a better world here. One where we're all finally free. Isn't that right?!" His undead, undying revelers cheered and applauded. This speech wasn't for the storm cloud; it was for his followers and the reporters. He was putting on a performance. What a show it must be through the cameras: the lights, the music, the proud glittering shape in the center of it all.

The storm demanded, "How did you do it?"

The triangle hesitated again, searching again for the right words, the right story. His eye darted to the side, toward his listening people. Like a bad radio signal, the dance music was infected by a rising static hiss.

But before he could come up with an answer, VENDOR snarled, "It doesn't matter; that's all we need to know! We don't need to wait for him to enter the third dimension anymore—" THEY turned to the cops, "—arrest him now!"

The triangle flinched. "Wait, what?" He glared accusatorially between the Axolotl and the Time Giant. "You! You set me up!"

"Did not," the Time Giant muttered resentfully. "I gave the ATTF my verbal report. What they do with the report ain't my problem."

The Axolotl didn't even respond to the accusation. Operating on pure reflex, he'd already dove in front of the triangle, gills flared and curled forward, putting himself in between the accused criminal and the gods of punishment.

"You can't be serious!" His gaze darted in disbelief between the gods he'd spoken to the most throughout this whole wretched incident. The Time Giant's jaw was set hard and she kept her face turned from the scene as she continued to work on her official report; the storm's cloud had darkened and its rain fell heavy and cold; and VENDOR—well, VENDOR still looked like a vending machine, but the Axolotl had no doubt THEY were determined to carry this through. "He's a refugee seeking asylum! You should be worried about getting him and his people to safety!"

The Axolotl felt the triangle's eye on him like a laser. "They can't do that." (He had only heard that nervous waver in the triangle's voice once before. Yesterday—before Dimension 2 Delta burned—the very first time the triangle had ever met a higher dimensional being.)

"We can." VENDOR's camera focused on the Axolotl. "Unless you have any legal objections."

He nearly demanded THEY explain what legal grounds THEY possibly had to arrest him—and then realized what an idiot he was for not seeing this coming. He'd been so blinded by the fact that he was sure the triangle hadn't meant it that he hadn't registered what the triangle had done.

The triangle had burned down multiple dimensions by ignorantly messing with the fabric of reality. He'd selectively targeted entire populated worlds—and accident or not, he'd incinerated them. On the immense scale of crimes this triangle was operating on, personally kidnapping millions and slaughtering billions who got caught in the crossfire was the least of his sins. VENDOR didn't want the triangle shuffled into some afterlife to get him out of the way; THEY wanted him damned.

But the gods had divine laws, and how they judged the mortals and sentenced the dead were among the most complex branches. What you could punish the living for, and what you had to wait until their death to punish; whether a ghost could be allowed to wander; where a psychopomp could escort the dead; when and how gods could reincarnate a soul... Rules, rules, rules.

And one rule was that a god couldn't legally arrest a mortal outside their own jurisdiction, under any circumstances, without permission from a god who did have jurisdiction.

Any gods who once held jurisdiction over the souls born in 2Δ were dead. The only gods who could arrest the triangle now were whatever gods had authority over the territory he was in.

No one and nothing had ever had authority over Dimension Zero.

The triangle had stumbled his way into the only pure neutral territory in all of reality. He could not be legally arrested.

That was why VENDOR had been so eager to get the triangle out of Dimension Zero; that was why THEY were so impatient with his protests and questions. This was all just a ploy to lure out the triangle so they could make an arrest that neither the witnessing reporters nor the neighborhood's most stubborn afterlife lawyer could legally challenge.

However... those were the rules for arresting a mortal. Arresting a god was different.

Any gods that operated on a higher than galactic level agreed that nothing mattered more than preventing divine threats to the multiverse, by any means necessary. Whoever could make the arrest should make the arrest, and they'd figure out who was in charge of the troublemaker later. Jurisdiction was irrelevant when it came to stopping a god who committed crimes against reality.

Which was exactly what the little triangle had claimed to be.

"Well?" VENDOR pressed. "Any problems, attorney?"

The triangle had the kind of eye that gave off the impression that he was always looking at you, no matter where you were; but now it felt different. Now, the Axolotl truly felt the triangle was looking directly at him.

It wasn't one of those creepy being-stared-at feelings that made his back prickle and his gills curl. It was more like the sensation he got in court whenever one of his clients was looking to him for support and protection, when the Axolotl was the only thing standing between them and death, damnation, or worse.

The Axolotl wracked his brain for any reason to object to an arrest. He was sure, he was sure, that the triangle didn't want to hurt anyone... but the Axolotl's opinions weren't relevant. The triangle was a self-professed god who had confessed to deliberately destroying his home dimension. He was more than an active threat to existence itself—the fires were still burning.

But... "You'll have to prove he's a god." Which was more difficult than one might think. A legally airtight definition of what was and wasn't a god was notoriously elusive. "If you cross dimensional lines to arrest him and then can't prove he's divine, any decent defense attorney could get the whole case thrown out." Which was maybe a slight exaggeration—any decent prosecutor wouldn't let a mortal who'd destroyed a dimension go unpunished, even if they had to hunt him down with their own scythes and fangs—but the Axolotl didn't see any judges here to call him out.

"Pinky's right," the crablike cop said—and only then did the Axolotl realize he and the flaming wheels hadn't budged an inch at VENDOR's order. "Shoulda waited for him to come out."

VENDOR spluttered indignantly. "But you don't have to prove he's a god to arrest him, do you? Just—just that you had reason to think he's one? Isn't that how it works?"

The crab's mushroom eyestalks and the wheels' hundred eyes exchanged a look. The wheels said flatly, "If we claim we had probable cause to believe the mortal's a god because the mortal himself said so, we'll be laughed out of the courtroom."

"Hey! Are you calling me a liar?!" The triangle flared red hot. Some of his shapes had stopped dancing again to stare at the argument. "I made a dimension! If that's not godly, what is?!" Frustrated, he gestured again at the party behind him and the dream realm beyond. (One of the shapes who'd stopped dancing waved.) "Were you listening to that part of the conversation? Or didja get too many retinas to leave room for a cochlea or two, Eyeballs?! How about you, Pinchers; is that gunk growing out of your shell clogging your ears?"

The rings' flames blazed a bit hotter as he seethed, but the crab's two mushrooms reeled back in offense and he clacked his claws furiously. "Those are my brains, you idiot!"

"No kidding?"

The Axolotl swore he could see the malice in the triangle's eye as he thought of ways to abuse this new information. Before the triangle had a chance, the Axolotl dove in the way of his line of sight to the cop and hissed, "Shh! Whose side are you on?" Handing his future prosecutor ammo was bad enough; he had to insult the cops too?

"I could ask you the same thing! All I hear you doing is telling them a better way to arrest me!"

"You don't want to be charged as a god—!" 

"Maybe I do!" Growing more heated, he shouted, "Nobody could do this by accident! It's impossible! Obviously I meant to do it, how could it have happened if I didn't mean to do it?!"

Oh, the Axolotl thought. Oh. Oh, no. This poor child.

The crab laughed loudly. "This pipsqueak's funny!"

"You're a mere mortal with some magic tricks," the flaming wheels said coldly. "You probably have a superpower or two. That doesn't makes you a god."

The triangle's gaze locked onto the cops like a prison searchlight on two escaping convicts. His eye darted between them, sizing them up like a predator choosing the easier prey; and then focused on the crab. "You want me to prove it?" He shoved his crumpled red cup over to one of his nearby followers. (In his rage, he didn't seem to notice that he'd shoved the cup into his follower, in the middle of his 2D organs.) The triangle pointed at the crab. "Come over here! I'll show you!"

"He thinks we're stupid," the rings said.

The crab jabbed a claw toward Dimension Zero. "If you were a god, I wouldn't have to come over there for you to pull whatever dumb trick you're trying! You'd be omnipotent enough to just do it!"

"If you're so sure I'm lying, you've got nothing to lose! So what are you waiting for?! Sounds to me like you're scared! Afraid a little mortal pipsqueak might hurt you if you step into his domain? You scared of pipsqueaks, Pinchers?"

The crab clacked his claws angrily. The two wheels' fires flared up, their furious eyes as bright as stars, glaring at the triangle with the force of a hundred steel-melting sunbeams. The crab growled, "Of course I'm not scared of a stupid little—"

"Then what're you waiting for, fungus brain?!" The triangle didn't even squint under the burning ring lights. If anything, he seemed to soak up the light, growing brighter by the second. He slung an arm around a nearby trapezoid (who started as the Magister Mentium somehow gripped her through a dimension she couldn't see) and said, "Everyone here knows that you're a big, scared coward who's too afraid to face down one puny little mortal. You big chicken!" He turned to shout to his imprisoned people, "Hey everyone, look at the big chicken who's scared of a mortal! What a loser!" 

"Fine! I'll show you what a god is—" Claws crashing together like thunderclaps, the crab stormed up to the border of Dimension Zero.

The second the crab stuck his face through, the triangle twirled upside down.

The entire dimension turned upside down with him. It ground against the nearest walls as it laboriously rotated; all of reality shuddered.

The shapes trapped inside shrieked.

The crab wobbled back.

His face was upside-down, the stalks of his mushrooms were tied in a bow, his claws were attached backwards, and his shell was unevenly coated in purple glitter glue. "Well," he said woozily, "I think that triangle's a god."

"Now will you arrest him?" VENDOR demanded.

The flaming wheels shook themselves out of their shock. "Fall back, kid," they said sharply. "I'll handle this."

"Sure, sarge." Trying to get his mushrooms untied, the crab cop stumbled sideways back toward Dimension Zero. One of the other cop's wheels hooked around one of his legs and tugged. The crab stumbled sideways the other direction. 

And then the wheels turned their full attention on the triangle. "It's too bad hubris isn't illegal here." The rings grew, and grew, and grew hotter, and hotter; until, at last, they were vast enough that one ring could have held a supermassive black hole in its circumference. "YOU COULD HAVE LEARNED THE EASY WAY WHY IT'S A BAD IDEA."

The wheels whirled like some eldritch cross between saw blades and pulsars as they approached the border of Dimension Zero. Their countless eyes opened and shut in hypnotic patterns, red and blue, red and blue. The reporters' camera flashes petered out; the ones taking notes into recorders fell silent. The power that poured off the whirling flaming wheels, both physical and psychological, was suffocating. Even as ancient and powerful as the Axolotl was, and even though the display wasn't aimed at him, he could feel it like a pressure on his lungs—feel it like swimming through water without oxygen. This was the sort of god that could incinerate a million worlds with one rotation. 

But the triangle only momentarily flinched back at the red and blue flashing; and then the display made the triangle stronger. Soaking in the heat, the light—glowing brighter, hotter, redder, angrier. "You wanna get me?!" 

The empty space around him burst into flames—pale, blue flames, reeking of burning hydrogen. Several of the more lucid nearby dancers shrieked in terror.

The helpless shapes burned up. But the triangle simply burned.

He grew in size, larger than the Axolotl, than VENDOR, than even the flaming wheels—larger than all the assembled gods combined—filled the entire visible cosmos with light. "Then come get me!"

Lightning and his knuckles both cracked menacingly; and the sound echoed across a dozen fracturing realities. Gouts of fire erupted from Dimension Zero, shooting from the second dimensions into the thirds. The gods froze as the fabric of reality vibrated with trillions of trillions of voices screaming in agony as they were incinerated.

The triangle's eye was wider than the twin rings' circumference. Dimension Zero pulled taut around him. Dimension Zero was triangular. And though it hadn't moved, it was clear that the gods were no longer looking down at Dimension Zero; they were staring up into it.

The twirling rings skidded to a stop as they realized that, in all their million-world-incinerating wrath, they were a matchstick next to this volcano. "Whoa—whoa! Stay back—"

"Whatsamatter, handcuffs? Can't handle the HEAT?!" The nauseating, kaleidoscopic miasma behind where the wall used to be lurched toward them. Every god flinched back as the formless color feigned grabbing at them. "Shoulda thought of that before you stepped into my kitchen! I'll boil you alive!" The triangle let out a terrible, hysterical, shrieking laugh that echoed between the stars. 

Columns of roiling colors, like amoeba-like feelers the size of a galaxy, bulged out of Dimension Zero, curled around the edges of the crumbling husks of the neighboring dimensions—2 Gamma, 2 Epsilon, 2 Zeta—and reached out, looking for somewhere else to get purchase. Whatever had filled Dimension Zero appeared to be trying to crawl upside-down out of its prison and into the third dimension. In all his existence, in his worst nightmares, the Axolotl had never seen anything like it before. Oozing reality dripped lava-lamplike from Dimension Zero, lurching closer to the shaking twin-ringed cop, preparing to crush them like two pieces of cereal in a formless palm—

And then existence itself let out a howl of pain.

Everyone froze.

The triangle shrank back to his usual size with the speed of a balloon popping. His wide eye darted around nervously. "What."

The multiverse was still. The triangle shook it off, pushed against the border of Dimension Zero, and tried again to squeeze his dream realm out of the bloated singularity into the multiverse—and reality screamed again, like the sound of solid metal being twisted and ripped in half. Its echoes continued long after the triangle froze again—followed up by an alarming series of creaks and punctuated by a CRACK that made everyone assembled flinch.

The Time Giant swore and muttered, "That sounded like something important."

The triangle jerked back again, and only then seemed to notice that he was still burning. He looked at his hands, coated in pale blue flames.

The Axolotl couldn't see the trapezoid the triangle had had his arm around a moment ago.

The apoc agents were already a flurry of activity. The storm cloud—so terrified that it had started hailing—shakily pulled a walkie-talkie from its tornado and demanded info on the status of the second dimensions, trying to figure out what had cracked and what they could possibly do to mitigate the devastation. Replies tumbled in, overlapping each other, frantically reporting fires in dimensions the Axolotl had never heard of before. He could already see how the line of blue fire on the cosmic horizon had grown so much brighter, stretching out into space. Please, don't let the fires have spread to the third dimensions.

The triangle was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Trying to sound more confident than he looked, he squeaked, "I think I've made my point! I'll let you losers off with a warning this time!"

The cops had somehow managed to put the entire line of reporters in between them and Dimension Zero. The crab ducked his mushrooms down when the triangle addressed them. The rotating rings shrank a little smaller, but muttered, "Well—we're—we're watching you."

The triangle surveyed the ring's hundred eyes. "Yeah," he drawled, "you look like you're good at that."

Voice shaking, the Time Giant barked at the triangle, "Are you nuts?" She gestured furiously toward the growing line of fire on the horizon; spurts of blue flame were still erupting into the third dimension. "I told you that moving around would damage—!"

"Don't. Don't provoke him," the Axolotl said. "He still has hostages in there."

"Hey!" the triangle shouted, and the Axolotl flinched. The triangle strained against the thin membrane of Dimension Zero to lunge at the Axolotl. "Watch who you're calling hostages! Hey, are any of you hostages?" He whipped around to stare at his people.

None answered. The ones who were lucid and living simply stared in silent terror.

"That's what I thought!" the triangle said. "Now, why aren't you dancing! Is this a party or not!" He whipped around again to face the Axolotl. "If you wanna go too, let's go. Just try to enter my kingdom, see what happens."

"No." The Axolotl could take it. The Axolotl was an axolotl; anything he lost, he could regrow. But the shapes that would be caught in the crossfire couldn't.

"Didn't think so," the triangle snarled. "If you want to kidnap my worshipers, you'll have to come in here and get them." His voice dropped to a deep, booming growl that echoed through the stars. "Because we're staying. Right. Here."

The Axolotl could hear VENDOR's motors whining in stress as THEY tensed up at that ultimatum, but THEY knew better than to argue. The triangle's eye twisted into a satisfied smirk.

The triangle couldn't leave his "dream realm," the Axolotl realized. That was why he threatened to fight anyone who crossed his borders: he couldn't attack them before then. He could crawl out of Dimension Zero, but not without dragging along the entire world he'd built inside of it. No wonder he hadn't even considered VENDOR's plan to move him somewhere else so Dimension 2 Delta's rubble could be recycled. He and his miasma were a package deal.

But—why couldn't he leave his dream realm?

"You know you can't stay in there," the Time Giant said, gently pushing aside the Axolotl when he tried to shush her. "It's too unstable—"

"I'll repair it."

"And I told you the entire multiverse will collapse if you keep making 'repairs'—"

"Your multiverse isn't my problem," the triangle said icily. "I can stabilize my dimension just fine. Maybe you need to get off my hypotenuse and worry about stabilizing your own dimensions." He was speaking past her now, talking instead toward the reporters—talking to the whole multiverse.

"It'll be your problem when the omnipocalypse crunches you, too! What'll you do when all those higher dimensions crash down on yours?!"

The triangle spread his arms and said, simply, "Welcome them to the party."

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 6 of a 7-or-8-or-9 part fic that keeps getting more parts, about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl deal with the fact that the sweet little triangle is, in fact, the bad guy. :,(

It's ALSO chapter 66 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: tbh this is probably all of you at this point, but I'm maintaining hope that contextless art of Bill & the Axolotl doing stuff will continue to lure in curious new readers until this arc is done lmfao.

At long last, the characters learn what the audience has known the whole time. This chapter had several big moments, looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!!)

[c-monthecob]

Mikey Heacanons pt. 2!

🌿 Constantly in the background of Senju and Sanzu's videos, waving at the camera.

🌿He thinks his disguises are top-notch. He swears nobody recognizes him when he's wearing one. (There's an entire subreddit dedicated to how stupid his disguises are.)

🌿He'll go months without being home. Not because of traveling for work, he's just at everybody elses house.

🌿He can drive motorcycles but not cars. He says they're too confusing.

🌿He always sticks his head out the window during car rides. He hates riding with Draken because he makes him sit in the back and puts on the child lock.

🌿He killed several of Izana's fish by overfeeding them. (He wasn't even allowed to feed them in the first place.)

🌿During the pandemic, he could NOT follow the six-foot rule. He loves everyone's personal space too much.

🌿He actually gave Takemichi, Draken, Emma, and Shinichro covid because of it.

🌿Recorded Draken proposing to Emma, but he was jumping with excitement, so the entire video is a complete blur.

🌿Tries to have conversations with Draken during pit stops, which is how he ends up losing some of his races.

🌿Just as bad with women as Shinichro, but the difference is that they come up to him and he drives them away.

🌿Avoids Takeomi at parties because he'll spend hours trying to convince him to hire him as his manager.

🌿 Peeks into Emma and Shinichro's room at night to see if they're actually there and if the final timeline is real.

🌿He's on everyone's streaming services. Emma and Draken's Netflix, Takemichi and Hina's Disney+, Mitsuya's Hulu, and Baji's HBO Max. And he doesn't pay for a single bill.

🌿He will try any challenge a restaurant has. It doesn't matter how big the portions are. He WILL get his hands on it.

🌿 When Emma's baby bump was growing more noticeably, he said, "Wow, you're getting fat."

🌿For their gender reveal, he shoved Izana, Shinichiro, Draken, and Takemichi to the ground to hug Emma. (Takemichi wasn't even in the way)

🌿Tells the twins to put his order on his tab. (They don't take tabs, and if they did, he isn't planning on paying it anytime soon.)

🌿Every time he posts something about his bike or races, his comments are filled with booktok girlies. (His account is private now)

🌿Set the speed on a treadmill to the max and tried to get on while it was moving. He ended up busting his ass and went flying into the set behind him. (Wakasa and Benkei have to monitor him now.)

🌿Fights with Emma and Draken's kid about sitting in the car-themed shopping carts. He only gets to ride in one because Draken gets a second cart.

🌿Takemichi got carrot cake for his birthday party, and Mikey was genuinely offended at that.

🌿Shinichiro got him a bubble machine for his 20th birthday, and it was his favorite gift ever.

🌿Draken had to get him a friendship ring because he wouldn't stop pouting after he bought their engagement rings.

🌿He's not allowed in bounce houses after putting a hole in one with him and multiple children inside.

🌿At every wedding, he walks away with the serving platters and plates. (Serving spoons included.)

🌿Banned from several all-you-can-eat buffets for testing their limits.

🌿Emma forced him to diet with her and convinced Draken to do it with them.

🌿For two weeks straight, they monitored everything he ate. No sugar, no fatty foods, and no starch. He acted like they stole a part of his soul, so they decided to give up and take him out for ice cream.

🌿When he won his first fight, his mom made him his favorite food for dinner.

[munsonfamilyband]

Okay my recent obsession is just how Weird the rest of Hawkins must think the whole group is, but ESPECIALLY Steve. Steve is weird even in their group and he has no idea. (I also had a realization that his behavior feels so odd because he acts like he’s from the northeast not the midwest. I don’t know how to put this into words but if you’re an american from the NE you get it)

But like, here are some examples of this that I love:

Every time Steve reveals something from his childhood and who ever he is talking to feels themselves aging from the pure trauma of hearing these things

Like he will tell “funny” (read: traumatic) stories from his childhood about like falling off his bike and absolutely destroying his knees, and he dragged his bike home while his knees are dripping blood, and then he couldn’t find the bandaids so he taped paper towels to his knees. He thinks this is funny because he remembers seeing how silly he looked with big bunches of paper towel on his knees. His audience is horrified by the fact that he didn’t even mention finding his parents for help, he automatically did it himself.

He will also talk about the weird beliefs he had or didn’t have like he didn’t have a tooth fairy so when a kid came into kindergarten and showed everyone the coin he got from the tooth fairy Steve cried hard enough to need to go lay down with the nurse because he thought a monster stole the kid’s tooth. He thought something similar about Santa.

He will surprise people with the random things he does or doesn’t know how to do. He blew everyone’s minds when he just knew how to best get blood out of clothes (Nancy had thought he was lying when he told her he could save her clothes in 83). But then they get really sad about why he knows this.

Steve does know how to get most stains out of fabrics and he knows a decent amount about cooking. He doesn’t know how to iron clothes. He knows how to wash dishes or clothes by hand but using the machines ended badly too many times. (He flooded his kitchen with bubbles the first time he tried to use the dishwasher, and he ruined multiple shirts in the washer).

He watched Robin put a shirt in the bathroom before a shower and she explained it was to get the wrinkles out and that changed his life.

I also think he and Eddie met multiple times as kids but they don’t realize it for a while because when Steve talks about the interactions with Eddie a lot of the time he talks about it like the other boy was making fun of him. Eventually he shares a specific enough story that Eddie realizes that the boy with the gap in his teeth who kept leaving things on Steve’s chair at daycare was him. And then Eddie has to explain that he wasn’t bullying him, he thought Steve was pretty and wanted to be his friend.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price is left melancholy after his soon to be ex-wife makes him feel worthless. Nik is there to make him see some home truths.

cw: Price is married but separated with divorce papers on his kitchen table; dirty talk, kissing, groping, handjob in the disabled cause they're bloody classy lads. Potentially Part 1 of 2 because the set up is good for Price's first gay romp.

Price watched the foam pop against the rim of his pint glass, thumb smearing up and down the condensation. He had selected a table in the far corner, closed in by the tall backs of the benches, so when Nik arrived he didn't immediately spot him. Price happened to glance up just as he started drifting with vodka glass in hand, and he lifted an arm to wave him over.

“Nik!”

The big Russian grinned and Price felt something in his chest pop loose. The anxious tension that had built in his shoulders eased away. Nik always had that effect, had for years.

“John, it is good to see you, comrade,” Nik said, stooping down to wrap an arm around Price's shoulders. Outside the formal setting of an operation, Nik abandoned the handshakes and claps on the back. Price found himself taking a deep breath as his nose pressed into Nik's shoulder, and his own relaxed. 

“‘Ow ya been?” Price asked as Nik flopped onto the bench opposite.

“Busy. There is something bubbling in China that may be of interest.”

“Oh yeah? Spill.”

Nik chuckled, took a sip of vodka, and proceeded to update John on the machinations of the Asian gangs he was working with, reminding Price that his best friend was pretty much a damn warlord and he was bloody lucky to be on his good side. 

As the story spun off into other stories, they knocked back their drinks, ordered a few more rounds, and John shared what he could of some recent missions. Unfortunately, the original question had to come back up eventually. “And you? How are things at home?”

Price swallowed, lips tugging down in a frown. Despite the warm glow of the alcohol, he felt a tight knot of icy tension in his gut. “The, uh… the missus ain't too happy wiv me at the moment. Glad you were free to meet, to be honest.”

Nik frowned. “Has something happened?”

This was the difficult part. It was embarrassing. Downright unmanly. But Nik was his longest serving friend, his closest, besides bloody Laswell and this wasn't something he could talk to her about. “She… uh, ya know she asked fer a baby.”

“Da,” Nik said, smiling gently. “And I said you would be an excellent father.”

Price managed a faint smile in return, but it faded as the weight of his situation pressed down on him. “‘m… uh, ‘m…” he scratched the back of his hand and rubbed at his beard. “‘m strugglin’ to give her one. So, she's uh… she's stayin’ wiv her parents ‘til I get my head sorted.”

“That seems a little drastic.”

“I, uh… she said some cruel fings, Nik, and I… uh, I said some fings back. Downright nasty, really. Lost my temper a bit. Not proud of it.”

The words ‘trial separation’ had been used because clearly Price didn't want what she did, and perhaps he needed to decide what he did want. It had felt overly dramatic, considering he'd only raised his voice and not a fist - he was a dickhead, not a thug - and Price had watched her drive away feeling deflated and lost. 

When the marriage had been arranged by his old man shortly before he died; daughter of another nco, needed a sturdy bloke with good breeding. They had hit it off fairly well; she was pretty, he was funny. Price had agreed because he was unlikely to ever meet someone with his work, and none of his previous relationships had blossomed into anything more than the odd shag. It had been difficult, but not entirely miserable, and she had been happy. Happy until it became clear he couldn't give her what she wanted. Two days later, the fuckin’ divorce papers had arrived with an ultimatum attached.

Price needed to fix this. And Nik was the best damn fixer in the business, right? The thought had been amusing at the time. Truth was, Price had reached out to one of the only sources of comfort he had. 

Nik leaned back and looked thoughtful. Price hadn't expected that reaction. Not the pause that followed, like Nik was mulling something over, nor the way Nik’s hand twitched on the table as if he wanted to reach out. “Have you been to a doctor?” he asked finally.

Price's cheeks reddened. “Yeah. Uh, ‘m fertile and ev'ryfin', healthy he said. I, uh… he reckons the issue’s in my head. I mean, I… ‘ve never really… but, she's always had a good time, right? I make sure of that, and…” Price couldn't look up from the table, which is why he saw and felt Nik's hand finally close around his, big fingers pushing into his palm to ease his fist loose. It was an odd gesture. No one ever really comforted Price in that way, or at all, really. And he found himself squeezing back a little, grateful for the anchor.

“It is okay, John. You do not have to be embarrassed with me,” Nik said, his voice soft. “Do you stay hard?”

Price swallowed, his ears burning. He looked up from the table because looking at their hands joined together, how… good they looked, was too much for some reason. “Yeah. For a decent amount of time. Rest of me gets tired first, an’ by then she's usually on her second or third, so… s’never been a problem.”

“Then it is the… end?”

“Yeah, it's… I don't, y’know, finish.”

“Have you tried foreplay?”

“O’ course, I always get her off first, you know, mouth, hands, an’ then–”

“Nyet, John,” Nik said, and Price could swear there was fond amusement in his voice. “Does she prepare you enough?”

Price sat there in silence for a moment, his damn face pulsing with heat. Nik's thumb was circling over the back of his hand and it felt bloody nice. Tender, like. “We kiss, an’ she gropes me a bit, wears cheeky lacy things sometimes, it gets things moving…”

“I see.” Nik didn't look impressed and Price felt like his sex life had just achieved a poor grade, despite his best efforts. He sat in silence for a moment, the rest of the world fading out as he watched Nik's hand. The rest of him felt… warm. A different kind of warmth to the burning embarrassment of his confession. More a low, gentle ebb at his core, a magnetism that made him want to sit closer to Nik's side. Nik hummed. “And you have never thought this was an issue before?”

“Well, there's sperm in pre, an’ I jus’... y’know, I sort myself out after while 'm in the shower and she's a’kip.”

“And she has never noticed?”

“She never really… well, she…” 

Price had nothing. She had commented on it once, giggling that he had the stamina of a Greek god, and he had taken it as a compliment. By the time he was finished, she was always wet and panting, her entire soft body flushed, shaking. He was good in bed. Had never disappointed any of the girls he'd been with. But the finishing thing had always been a… frustration. He’d just always assumed it was the job, the tiredness, the stress. Maybe an old wound. The doctor had put that last one to bed after a particularly in-depth physical.

“In the shower, what do you think of?” Nik asked.

“Nik, I… c’mon…”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, John.”

“Her. Obviously. Ev’ryfin’ I just did.” 

“You are lying.”

Price was lying. Nik knew his tells even if no one else on the planet besides Laswell did. “It's not other women or porn,” Price said quickly. As if the truth was somehow better. The truth was… well, it was bloody worse.

“What do you think about? It is ok. No judgement.”

“I… uh…” John shifted in his seat, pulled his hand out of Nik's to grab his damn pint glass because the contact had suddenly become overwhelming. He took a slurp of beer, wiping the foam off his moustache with the back of his hands. “I… think of how good it would be to have a hand that… uh, that looked like mine tuggin’ me off.”

Truth was Price thought about other men. Not directly. He allowed his mind to glimpse flash images of them; not whole men, not with faces or names. Like opening a box and peeking inside for a split second, and then snapping it closed before the homosexual urges could escape. He focused on abstract things; a certain point on a muscular back, a hairy thigh, the shape and feel of his own hand as if it was someone else’s, the edge of a firm jawline. He had convinced himself that if he didn't ‘look directly at it’, then it wasn't… it wasn't anything.

“You think of men,” Nik said plainly. There was no judgement there. Why would there be? Nik liked men. He slept with them regularly. And there weren't nothing wrong with being gay; Laswell was gay too. That was all fine. Price loved them both, he… it was just…

“I don't fink of their cock and balls or nuffin’, you know, I… it's just their… just…”

Nik was watching him with a ponderous look. Price felt warm under his jacket, the fog of the alcohol making his mind a little loose. His gaze dropped down to Nik's hand again, the way it was so big, dwarfing the beer mat sat next to it. And then Nik was shifting, rolling to his feet and shuffling around the table. “Move over,” he murmured. And Price did, scooching over his bench to make room.

Nik slumped down, turned and tilted Price’s chin back up, because Price's gaze had dropped straight to the full chest now very close. He could smell Nik's cologne too and feel the warmth of his thigh against his. “I think you know what the problem is.”

Price’s whiskers twitched. “Lack of foreplay?”

“Nyet. You want to be touched by a man.” 

“Nik, ‘m not… ‘ve never been…” 

“You have struggled to ejaculate because you are not properly satisfied or aroused.”

“Oi, I get ‘ard, I said…”

Nik sighed, resting his elbow on the table by their empty pint glasses so he could tilt his head to his knuckles. “If you had an orgasm with a man, would you accept that I am right?”

“Had an orga–you jus’... Come out with that shit like…”

“Answer the question. You are a man of action, practical, you believe in proof, and–”

“Yeah, olrigh’!” Price said, a little too bloody loudly. He cleared his throat and dropped his voice. “Olrigh’... Yeah, I'd… if I did, and it… happened, ‘d ‘ave t’ accept that I was… that women aren't… that I might be a bit… fruity.”

Nik nodded and reached for his phone. “Then we will find you a man tonight.”

“Whot? Nik, are ya touched in the–I can't sleep with a rentboy,” Price hissed. He could imagine the headline: ‘best of the worst: sas captain arrested for solicitation’.

“I meant we could use Grindr to find you a partner. No payment needed.”

Price blinked. “That's a… that's a real thing?” Bloody Tindr required three dates, a home visit, several hundred quids worth of gifts and then you'd be lucky to get a peck on the lips. 

“Da. And you are handsome, in excellent physical shape, you would have no problem finding an offer.”

Price flushed, squirming a little in his seat. He actually started bloody well considering it, only to grunt and shake his head. “Naw, Nik, I… I can't. Wouldn' know what t’ do, what t’... put where. It'd… ‘d embarrass meself, wouldn' be able to trust him, I...”

Nik tucked his phone away and watched Price for a long moment with lidded eyes. Price could smell him, feel the heat of him, and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe he just needed to feel close to someone, but he wanted to fold into Nik's arms. “Do you trust me?” Nik asked softly.

“Wiv me life, you know that. Don't ask stupid bloody questions.”

“With your body.”

Price looked up quickly from where his gaze had drifted down to Nik's hand again, big eyes blinking rapidly. “Ya mean, you… that is… you'd wanna… wiv me?”

“Da,” Nik sighed, dropping his hand to cover John's again, fingers sliding over the veins and grooves in the back to circle his wrist. “I must be honest. I would do anything for you, John. But this… this would be as much for me as it was for you.”

“Nik…” God, fuck, Nik was so close. Price adjusted in his seat, his thigh brushing closer to Nik's as he inhaled another deep lungful of his scent. Later, he could blame the alcohol, but the truth was he wasn't even that drunk; his inhibitions were lowered, his body relaxed thanks to Nik's proximity, and he was absolutely, achingly starved of affection. “I didn'... I never knew.”

“I love you as a close friend. I was not willing to sacrifice that for a foolish hope, but… I am a simple man, a weak man, and if there is even a chance of kissing you, then I–”

Price didn't let Nik finish. He closed that miniscule amount of distance between their lips and bloody kissed him. It sent a thrill down his spine, the chapped softness of Nik's mouth, the feel of his stubble so different to the smooth face he was used to. The warmth that had been coiling in his chest now ignited, building to a bonfire that made his skin light up, a tightness built in his groin that pressed against the fly of his jeans. 

When Nik kissed back, his tongue teasing past Price's teeth to caress over his, Price gasped. He reached out, hands scrambling blindly, and found purchase in Nik's shirt, knuckles against the firm wall of his chest as Nik pressed forward. 

They were hidden away from the rest of the pub back here, but Price wouldn't care either way, he wanted to get lost in Nik's mouth, pulled him closer. Nik’s hand curled behind John's head, while the other slid up the denim of his thigh. Price had to break the kiss as pressure built in his chest, and Nik nosed the side of his beard to kiss his neck. Price’s mouth fell open as Nik's hand slid higher, higher, until it cupped over the firm bulge over his crotch. His palm palpated in a slow ripple and Price pressed into it, biting back the moan sat in the back of his throat. It felt so fuckin’ good. The way Nik's palm was so big, so commanding, urging Price’s body to spread itself before him.

“Blyat, I need to touch you now…”

“We’re in the middle of a damn pub, Nik.” Price’s voice was tighter than his jeans, and he knew he should push Nik away, but damn his hand felt good and his lips were kissing just beneath Price's ear. His palm had left the back of his head to slide into his jacket, nails dragging over his ribs to trace circles up and down his spine. Price arched into him, pushing his shivering body into Nik's hand and mouth.

“Da. Come with me.”

Before he could protest, Nik was dragging him from the booth and towards the back of the pub. Price hoped everyone was too busy with their pints to notice his erection as it slid down his right trouser leg. The disabled toilet was empty and clean, and it was in there that Nik shoved Price before locking the door behind them. They waited briefly, both listening for a knock to protest, but when none came Nik pulled John to him by the collar of his jacket and kissed him again.

That same heat flooded his body instantly, hips drawn to Nik's by fingers threaded through his belt loops. This kiss was hungrier, deeper, and Price staggered as he was pushed towards the sink, boots squeaking on the tiled floor. When Nik pulled away, Price’s eyes dropped to Nik's lips, kissed red and glistening, and he leaned up to take the lower one gently between his teeth. Nik smiled, kissing him one last time before tilting his head back, and twisted Price to face the mirror. 

Those big hands swept beneath his shirt to stroke the firm plain of his stomach as he nuzzled kisses against his neck, working his way down to pick open Price’s belt and fly. Oh fuck, oh fuck, it was happening… this was happening. Price felt a sudden spike of panic and grabbed Nik's wrists. 

Nik stopped immediately. “Are you ok?” he asked softly, and Price felt the question against the hammering pulse in his neck.

“Yeah, I… are you sure? Y’ain’t jus’ doin’ this cause you… cause it's me.”

Nik chuckled, actually bloody chuckled. “Of course I am doing this because it is you,” he said, testing Price's grip by moving his wrists again. Price's zipper hissed as it slid down, his buckle clattering against his thighs, and then a big, warm hand was sliding over his cotton boxers to cup his balls. The heat and firmness of the touch was truly euphoric. “John, the things I want to do to you…”

“Yeah?” Price could barely breathe. Nik caressed over the cotton to the elastic of his waistband and slowly slid inside, grasping his cock at the base to lift it free of his underwear. Price got to watch the subject of his shower fantasies manifest in real time; a large, weathered hand, stroking slowly up and down his steel-hard prick, its veins pushing through velvet soft skin a slightly darker shade than the rest of him. His toes curled in his boots, his knees shaking, and Nik's arm curled around his chest just in time to keep him upright.

“Da,” Nik whispered, pressing a kiss into Price's hair. “How does it feel?”

“Mm, Nik, so good… fuckin’ ‘ell…” Price moaned, watching his cock leak precum over the edge of Nik's broad palm. Nik used it to ease the way, squeezing on the up stroke around Price's glans, letting his foreskin slide back and forth over his ruddy crown. “Tell me… tell me what ya wanna do to me, Nik.”

Nik massaged the side of Price's chest, sucking gently on his earlobe. “I will take you back to my hotel room and unwrap you like a gift. I will take you to shower where I will wash you, fuck your thighs, perhaps,” Nik teased his thumb through Price's slit and made his hips stutter.

“Nik, ahh…”

“Then I will spread you on my bed, make you hold your legs apart, and watch me work you open on my fingers.”

Price hadn't thought about what position he would take. Fuck, he'd never thought about what position Nik might want. Price’s default wouldn't have been to be penetrated, but apparently his body was keen on the idea, because his cock throbbed in Nik's grip, another long string of precum coating Nik's knuckles. The thought of Nik's thick fingers plunging into his body made him dizzy with want. “Fuck, ahh, fuck…”

“And when you are begging for release, I will stretch your virgin hole on my cock, John. You will take all of me, with your legs on my shoulders, or perhaps I will turn you on to your knees and make you present that pretty hole to me. Tell me you want that.”

“Oh god, fuck… yeah, mmph, yeah, Nik…” Nik's fist was pumping faster, his grip perfect, the smell of his cologne as intoxicating as the deep, husky growl making filthy promises in Price's ear and the filthy schlick of his palm up and down Price's cock. He wanted it. He wanted it all. The thought of Nik’s powerful body between his legs, his strong hands pressing him into the bed, or gripping his hips as Nik blanketed his back. Price's balls pulled tight and he latched onto Nik's jeans

“You will sob with pleasure, beg me to fuck you harder.”

“Nik, Nik!”

“And I will cum inside you, John. Leave you full of me after you have spent the night submitting your body to mine.”

It was enough. The imagery of Nik pressed balls deep inside him, thick body pressing Price to the mattress as he pumps him full, was enough. The orgasm licked up Price’s spine, locking his limbs as his cock pulsed in Nik's grip. Nik angled it down into the sink, Price's load painting the otherwise pristine porcelain in thick ropes. 

Nik milked him in slow, firm strokes until his cock stopped twitching, and then tilted his chin so that they could share a deep, possessive kiss that cradled Price perfectly in the afterglow. Nik’s hand vanished from Price’s sensitive flesh and Price heard the squeak of the tap, followed by the slosh of water. Several moments past, their kiss petered out to gentle, breathless pecks on sensitive lips, and then Price felt Nik return with a hand doused with warm water.

“Bloody ‘ell, full silver service,” Price whispered, glancing down to watch Nik tenderly rinse his cock and then the sink before turning the tap off. All while keeping Price pressed against his chest.

“There is a good shower at my hotel. If you will allow me, I will show you the real silver service.” 

“Ya mean ev’ryfin’ ya said… all of it.”

“I would take you against this wall, but I would want your first time to be less… casual.” 

Price swallowed. He tucked his cock away with fumbling hands and managed to do up his fly, and then he lifted both hands to Nik's forearm. This had escalated quickly and his name wasn't on the bloody divorce papers yet. But separated meant separated. She had even said she'd go and find a man who could do the job he couldn't. It might have been bravado and intended to hurt, but it had certainly done the job. He felt - had felt - completely worthless.

Nik made him feel… whole. Like he mattered. Like his pleasure, his body and his damn feelings mattered. Price had never experienced that in any intimate relationship. He craved more.

 “Yeah… yeah, ‘d… I want t’... I want it t’ be you, Nik.”

Nik's dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. “I will call us a taxi.”

They left the toilet and returned to the bar. Price managed to sneak in a quick half before the taxi arrived to take them back to Nik’s hotel. Some posh, exorbitantly expensive place on the other side of town. Nik's hand stayed on in Price's throughout the journey, his thumb circling gently across the back. Price knew he should feel nervous, but it was excited butterflies fluttering away in his gut, not anxious ones. His future was uncertain, but for one thing; Nik. He knew he wanted Nik more than anything else in the world.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The largest campaign finance violation in US history

I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Earlier this month, some of the richest men in Silicon Valley, led by Marc Andreesen and Ben Horowitz (the billionaire VCs behind Andreesen-Horowitz) announced that they would be backing Trump with endorsements and millions of dollars:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/dereksaul/2024/07/16/trump-lands-more-big-tech-backers-billionaire-venture-capitalist-andreessen-joins-wave-supporting-former-president/

Predictably, this drew a lot of ire, which Andreesen tried to diffuse by insisting that his support "doesn’t have anything to do with the big issues that people care about":

https://www.theverge.com/2024/7/24/24204706/marc-andreessen-ben-horowitz-a16z-trump-donations

In other words, the billionaires backing Trump weren't doing so because they supported the racism, the national abortion ban, the attacks on core human rights, etc. Those were merely tradeoffs that they were willing to make to get the parts of the Trump program they do support: more tax-cuts for the ultra-rich, and, of course, free rein to defraud normies with cryptocurrency Ponzi schemes.

Crypto isn't "money" – it is far too volatile to be a store of value, a unit of account, or a medium of exchange. You'd have to be nuts to get a crypto mortgage when all it takes is Elon Musk tweeting a couple emoji to make your monthly mortgage payment double.

A thing becomes moneylike when it can be used to pay off a bill for something you either must pay for, or strongly desire to pay for. The US dollar's moneylike property comes from the fact that hundreds of millions of people need dollars to pay off the IRS and their state tax bills, which means that they will trade labor and goods for dollars. Even people who don't pay US taxes will accept dollars, because they know they can use them to buy things from people who do have a nondiscretionary bill that can only be paid in dollars.

Dollars are also valuable because there are many important commodities that can only – or primarily – be purchased with them, like much of the world's oil supply. The fact that anyone who wants to buy oil has a strong need for dollars makes dollars valuable, because they will sell labor and goods to get dollars, not because they need dollars, but because they need oil.

There's almost nothing that can only be purchased with crypto. You can procure illegal goods and services in the mistaken belief that this transaction will be durably anonymous, and you can pay off ransomware creeps who have hijacked your personal files or all of your business's data:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

Web3 was sold as a way to make the web more "decentralized," but it's best understood as an effort to make it impossible to use the web without paying crypto every time you click your mouse. If people need crypto to use the internet, then crypto whales will finally have a source of durable liquidity for the tokens they've hoarded:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/16/nondiscretionary-liabilities/#quatloos

The Web3 bubble was almost entirely down to the vast hype machine mobilized by Andreesen-Horowitz, who bet billions of dollars on the idea and almost single-handedly created the illusion of demand for crypto. For example, they arranged a $100m bribe to Kickstarter shareholders in exchange for Kickstarter pretending to integrate "blockchain" into its crowdfunding platform:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/untold-story-kickstarter-crypto-hail-120000205.html

Kickstarter never ended up using the blockchain technology, because it was useless. Their shareholders just pocketed the $100m while the company weathered the waves of scorn from savvy tech users who understood that this was all a shuck.

Look hard enough at any crypto "success" and you'll discover a comparable scam. Remember NFTs, and the eye-popping sums that seemingly "everyone" was willing to pay for ugly JPEGs? That whole market was shot through with "wash-trading" – where you sell your asset to yourself and pretend that it was bought by a third party. It's a cheap – and illegal – way to convince people that something worthless is actually very valuable:

https://mailchi.mp/brianlivingston.com/034-2#free1

Even the books about crypto are scams. Chris Dixon's "bestseller" about the power of crypto, Read Write Own, got on the bestseller list through the publishing equivalent of wash-trading, where VCs with large investments in crypto bought up thousands of copies and shoved them on indifferent employees or just warehoused them:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/15/your-new-first-name/#that-dagger-tho

The fact that crypto trades were mostly the same bunch of grifters buying shitcoins from each other, while spending big on Superbowl ads, bribes to Kickstarter shareholders, and bulk-buys of mediocre business-books was bound to come out someday. In the meantime, though, the system worked: it convinced normies to gamble their life's savings on crypto, which they promptly lost (if you can't spot the sucker at the table, you're the sucker).

There's a name for this: it's called a "bezzle." John Kenneth Galbraith defined a "bezzle" as "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." All bezzles collapse eventually, but until they do, everyone feels better off. You think you're rich because you just bought a bunch of shitcoins after Matt Damon told you that "fortune favors the brave." Damon feels rich because he got a ton of cash to rope you into the con. Crypto.com feels rich because you took a bunch of your perfectly cromulent "fiat money" that can be used to buy anything and traded it in for shitcoins that can be used to buy nothing:

https://theintercept.com/2022/10/26/matt-damon-crypto-commercial/

Andreesen-Horowitz were masters of the bezzle. For them, the Web3 bet on an internet that you'd have to buy their shitcoins to use was always Plan B. Plan A was much more straightforward: they would back crypto companies and take part of their equity in huge quantities of shitcoins that they could sell to "unqualified investors" (normies) in an "initial coin offering." Normally, this would be illegal: a company can't offer stock to the general public until it's been through an SEC vetting process and "gone public" through an IPO. But (Andreesen-Horowitz argued) their companies' "initial coin offerings" existed in an unregulated grey zone where they could be traded for the life's savings of mom-and-pop investors who thought crypto was real because they heard that Kickstarter had adopted it, and there was a bestselling book about it, and Larry David and Matt Damon and Spike Lee told them it was the next big thing.

Crypto isn't so much a financial innovation as it is a financial obfuscation. "Fintech" is just a cynical synonym for "unregulated bank." Cryptocurrency enjoys a "byzantine premium" – that is, it's so larded with baffling technical nonsense that no one understands how it works, and they assume that anything they don't understand is probably incredibly sophisticated and great ("a pile of shit this big must have pony under it somewhere"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/13/the-byzantine-premium/

There are two threats to the crypto bezzle: the first is that normies will wise up to the scam, and the second is that the government will put a stop to it. These are correlated risks: if the government treats crypto as a security (or worse, a scam), that will put severe limits on how shitcoins can be marketed to normies, which will staunch the influx of real money, so the sole liquidity will come from ransomware payments and transactions with tragically overconfident hitmen and drug dealers who think the blockchain is anonymous.

To keep the bezzle going, crypto scammers have spent the past two election cycles flooding both parties with cash. In the 2022 midterms, crypto money bankrolled primary challenges to Democrats by absolute cranks, like the "effective altruist" Carrick Flynn ("effective altruism" is a crypto-affiliated cult closely associated with the infamous scam-artist Sam Bankman-Fried). Sam Bankman-Fried's super PAC, "Protect Our Future," spent $10m on attack-ads against Flynn's primary opponent, the incumbent Andrea Salinas. Salinas trounced Flynn – who was an objectively very bad candidate who stood no chance of winning the general election – but only at the expense of most of the funds she raised from her grassroots, small-dollar donors.

Fighting off SBF's joke candidate meant that Salinas went into the general election with nearly empty coffers, and she barely squeaked out a win against a GOP nightmare candidate Mike Erickson – a millionaire Oxy trafficker, drunk driver, and philanderer who tricked his then-girlfriend by driving her to a fake abortion clinic and telling her that it was a real one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/14/competitors-critics-customers/#billionaire-dilletantes

SBF is in prison, but there's no shortage of crypto millions for this election cycle. According to Molly White's "Follow the Crypto" tracker, crypto-affiliated PACs have raised $185m to influence the 2024 election – more than the entire energy sector:

https://www.followthecrypto.org/

As with everything "crypto," the cryptocurrency election corruption slushfund is a bezzle. The "Stand With Crypto PAC" claims to have the backing of 1.3 million "crypto advocates," and Reuters claims they have 440,000 backers. But 99% of the money claimed by Stand With Crypto was actually donated to "Fairshake" – a different PAC – and 90% of Fairshake's money comes from a handful of corporate donors:

https://www.citationneeded.news/issue-62/

Stand With Crypto – minus the Fairshake money it falsely claimed – has raised $13,690 since April. That money came from just seven donors, four of whom are employed by Coinbase, for whom Stand With Crypto is a stalking horse. Stand With Crypto has an affiliated group (also called "Stand With Crypto" because that is an extremely normal and forthright way to run a nonprofit!), which has raised millions – $1.49m. Of that $1.49m, 90% came from just four donors: three cryptocurrency companies, and the CEO of Coinbase.

There are plenty of crypto dollars for politicians to fight over, but there are virtually no crypto voters. 69-75% of Americans "view crypto negatively or distrust it":

https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2023/04/10/majority-of-americans-arent-confident-in-the-safety-and-reliability-of-cryptocurrency/

When Trump keynotes the Bitcoin 2024 conference and promises to use public funds to buy $1b worth of cryptocoins, he isn't wooing voters, he's wooing dollars:

https://www.wired.com/story/donald-trump-strategic-bitcoin-stockpile-bitcoin-2024/

Wooing dollars, not crypto. Politicians aren't raising funds in crypto, because you can't buy ads or pay campaign staff with shitcoins. Remember: unless Andreesen-Horowitz manages to install Web3 crypto tollbooths all over the internet, the industries that accept crypto are ransomware, and technologically overconfident hit-men and drug-dealers. To win elections, you need dollars, which crypto hustlers get by convincing normies to give them real money in exchange for shitcoins, and they are only funding politicians who will make it easier to do that.

As a political matter, "crypto" is a shorthand for "allowing scammers to steal from working people," which makes it a very Republican issue. As Hamilton Nolan writes, "If the Republicans want to position themselves as the Party of Crypto, let them. It is similar to how they position themselves as The Party of Racism and the Party of Religious Zealots and the Party of Telling Lies about Election Fraud. These things actually reflect poorly on them, the Republicans":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/crypto-as-a-political-characteristic

But the Democrats – who are riding high on the news that Kamala Harris will be their candidate this fall – have decided that they want some of that crypto money, too. Even as crypto-skeptical Dems like Jamaal Bowman, Cori Bush, Sherrod Brown and Jon Tester see millions from crypto PACs flooding in to support their primary challengers and GOP opponents, a group of Dem politicians are promising to give the crypto industry whatever it wants, if they will only bribe Democratic candidates as well:

https://subscriber.politicopro.com/f/?id=00000190-f475-d94b-a79f-fc77c9400000

Kamala Harris – a genuinely popular candidate who has raised record-shattering sums from small-dollar donors representing millions of Americans – herself has called for a "reset" of the relationship between the crypto sector and the Dems:

https://archive.is/iYd1C

As Luke Goldstein writes in The American Prospect, sucking up to crypto scammers so they stop giving your opponents millions of dollars to run attack ads against you is a strategy with no end – you have to keep sucking up to the scam, otherwise the attack ads come out:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-07-31-crypto-cash-affecting-democratic-races/

There's a whole menagerie of crypto billionaires behind this year's attempt to buy the American government – Andreesen and Horowitz, of course, but also the Winklevoss twins, and this guy, who says we're in the midst of a "civil war" and "anyone that votes against Trump can die in a fucking fire":

https://twitter.com/molly0xFFF/status/1813952816840597712/photo/1

But the real whale that's backstopping the crypto campaign spending is Coinbase, through its Fairshake crypto PAC. Coinbase has donated $45,500,000 to Fairshake, which is a lot:

https://www.coinbase.com/blog/how-to-get-regulatory-clarity-for-crypto

But $45.5m isn't merely a large campaign contribution: it appears that $25m of that is the largest the largest illegal campaign contribution by a federal contractor in history, "by far," a fact that was sleuthed out by Molly White:

https://www.citationneeded.news/coinbase-campaign-finance-violation/

At issue is the fact that Coinbase is bidding to be a US federal contractor: specifically, they want to manage the crypto wallets that US federal cops keep seizing from crime kingpins. Once Coinbase threw its hat into the federal contracting ring, it disqualified itself from donating to politicians or funding PACs:

Campaign finance law prohibits federal government contractors from making contributions, or promising to make contributions, to political entities including super PACs like Fairshake.

https://www.fec.gov/help-candidates-and-committees/federal-government-contractors/

Previous to this, the largest ever illegal campaign contribution by a federal contractor appears to be Marathon Petroleum Company's 2022 bribe to GOP House and Senate super PACs, a mere $1m, only 4% of Coinbase's bribe.

I'm with Nolan on this one. Let the GOP chase millions from billionaires everyone hates who expect them to promote a scam that everyone mistrusts. The Dems have finally found a candidate that people are excited about, and they're awash in money thanks to small amounts contributed by everyday Americans. As AOC put it:

They've got money, but we've got people. Dollar bills don't vote. People vote.

https://www.popsugar.com/news/alexandria-ocasio-cortez-dnc-headquarters-climate-speech-47986992

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/31/greater-fools/#coinbased

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ chapter summary. some things in life are unbearable, and in yours? they’re titled gojo satoru and trying to ruin you.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

genre. enemies to lovers, ‘my bully is actually in love w me,’ comedy, light-hearted romance, aged up characters (in college), gojo being touchy bcs boundaries do not exist to my king

warnings for this chapter. gojo is being particularly troublesome

wc. 3k

author’s note: HOW ARE WE FEELING JJK NATION?!

��✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | next >

CHAPTER 1: imagine minding your own business undisturbed omg

tokyo jujutsu tech is big. real, real big. but no matter where you go, he's there.

gojo satoru has made it his life's mission to relentlessly annoy you for no apparent reason. it was hate at first sight, or something equally despicable as that. for three years now, you’ve had to endure jeers raging from your sorcerer's ability to the size (or lack thereof, as you’re often reminded) of your ass. yes, that does count as harassment. no, gojo does not care.

you don’t know why he can't just leave you alone. he seems to delight in your anger and misery. they say you need to stand up to your bullies and give them a taste of their own medicine, but that does not work on gojo. the angrier – the better. he wants a reaction. he wants attention. he wants your despair served on a platter for him to lick clean and mouth, “delicious, thank you, more please.”

it's the silence and ignoring he can't take. it's like a personal insult. some deep rooted fear you hope he'll choke on.

gojo claims to hate you quite loudly. boisterously, even. wears his spite like a badge of honor, keeps it nice and clean pinned to the lapel of his uniform.

yet everywhere you go, he’s there – by your locker, outside your dorm room, on every mission you’re sent on, and always in the places you frequent. it's not exactly stalking, but it's like...gojo's way of being just as clingy without getting called out. you have called him a stalker. he laughed, pointed, and said, "what kinda idiot would even want to stalk someone like you?”

out the women's showers, you waddle to the common area. there's a vending machine, and you’d like a bubbly drink to refresh yourself. first, from the moist heat of the showers and then from the humid summer just outside the window. it’s peaceful, despite the temperature. the water still clings to your skin.

you just to locate and rejoice the last bottle of cola before you feel eyes on the back of your neck. of course. of course he's here, and you didn’t even hear him. of course.

"ugh," you groan aloud, fingers stalling against the cold buttons

"your ugliest pj's?" you startle from how loud he is, right next to your ear. too close. he’s always too close.

he makes sure to whistle long enough to make you squirm away. fuck him, he towers over you. can’t see his eyes underneath those super expensive designer glasses, but you know they keen for your reaction. once, to shoko, he said he bought them because they looked cool. unprompted, uninvited, unwanted, you chirped that they looked dumb as hell.

"whaddya got there?" his fingers press into your spine, and maybe he uncovered a new technique to turn you into stone. there is absolutely no personal space in this equation. he has none, and he has no concept of invading yours. with anyone else, maybe you wouldn't mind.

keep cool. you’re cool. stone-faced, unmovable. you don’t care if he’s trying to claw into your marrow with his neatly trimmed nails.

you hesitate for a single moment before you punch in the number. the machine whizzes and thunk, “fuck off, please,” you say, bending down to snatch your drink. he hums, sounding too satisfied for your comfort.

"you're gonna fuck yourself up on all that carbonation. never thought you could get any more hideous, but alas!"

you turn to him, and he has the good sense to move back a step to avoid the mouth that’ll insult him. there's a twitch to his brow, and an ease to his smile as he regards you leisurely. the latter is almost never a good thing. it means he's really enjoying this interaction.

if you shake your cola enough, maybe you’ll be super lucky and the spray will land on his face. now that's an idea. but even if you caught him off guard, his cursed technique would likely be in motion and the soda wouldn't touch him. how troublesome. a waste of a drink. you decides against it.

gojo leans on the vending machine. his own personal attempt cower her into submission. for what exactly? no one knows. maybe getou would have an idea, if he’s merciful enough to share. when you don’t say anything or flinch away like ijichi often does, he sighs heavily.

"aw, are ya still mad about last time? that was days ago. c'monnn, kami-”

"don't say my name."

"i forgot. kawakami-chan doesn't like me, right?"

you thought about switching schools. kyoto tech is also very good. you’d be at peace there. utahime hates gojo just as much as you do, and you have already bonded closely over this shared distain.

it's likely gojo would transfer after you. just to spite you.

"don't you have anything better to do than harass me?" you question.

the most infuriating thing about gojo, and about this situation, is that he’s happy. when you’re like this – huffing, shoulders taut, and frowning – he seems to be enjoying himself the most.

"don't pretend like you don't like it, kami-chan."

this asshole has a god complex. he seems to truly believe the earth would have ended up in a heap of smoldering ruin if not for him. to be fair, he's probably right, but still. you would first bite of your tongue than admit to that. you have considered a lobotomy to get the idea out of your head, but in the joke that is your life, gojo would likely be holding the orbitoclast.

you resent him so much you find yourself burning in his presence. it's like he took a personal class to master the art of pestering.

"doesn’t this ever get boring?"

he laughs, pressing a hand to his cheek as if embarrassed, "i never get bored of you, kami-chan. when are you coming back to the field? been too busy hanging out with losers to do some missions?"

"how pathetic must you be," you snark, "to be thinking of me when i'm not there to torment."

gojo ignores you and moves to tug at your top. the audacity has you reeling, and you attempt to smack his hand away only for it to be stopped at the last second, "yup," he inspects the quality of the fabric, his teeth flashing and making his already smug features look haughtier, "cheap.”

you open the can so forcefully the contents fizzle and spray on your hand. gojo grins so hard you expect his face to crack in half. if only.

"can i have some?”

"stop touching me," you hiss, trying to slap him away again, "why are you always touching me?"

gojo sidesteps. the dodge and dash he does, coupled with his agility, is incredible. had you not seen his many victories in battle, or spent any amount of time with him, you might be enamored. impressed, even.

perhaps that lobotomy is still an option.

"just," his arms dart out to pin you to the vending machine and you immediately aim a high kick to his thigh. but, of course, his infinity protects him. bastard. he doesn't let up though, and those hands slide along the expanse of your thighs until they meet your sides, leaving a warm trail, "makin' sure i can see all of these pores up close."

gojo, as disgusting as you often think he is, does always have a bit of honesty in his insults. you want to scream, maybe, because your pores are fine. great, even, you’ve invested into a new skincare routine, and it’s clearly working. it even works on shoko’s dark circles. he’s so full of shit, it's nauseating.

"fuck off," you shove his hands away and gojo lets you, surprisingly.

"really gross," he comments.

"you're the gross one. self-absorbed stalker."

gojo, an absolutely foul looking monster if you’ve ever met one, waggles a finger at you.

"careful, kami-chan," there's no trace of warning, only amusement, "we wouldn't wanna accidentally bump into each other too many more times."

his meaning isn't lost on you.

you hold up a finger, too. right in his face. pause. take a sip of your soda. there's no reason you should indulge this maniacal sadist in any capacity. gojo has an aura. an attitude. he comes off as unrelenting, and for all intents and purposes, he is unrelenting. in and out your life, an unshakable constant, with a lopsided grin and piercing eyes. you hate him.

you try to sidestep and flee to your room, but he blocks you. step. block. step. block. step block. stepblockstepblockstepblockstepblock-

"god! you're fucking infuriating," you explode.

you want to clock him, strangle him, castrate him, kick his head through the concrete. he's ruining a perfectly nice evening. what is it about you that he just loathes to see, so much so that it drives him to see you hurt all the time? is he truly so bad off? does he live a miserable and joyless existence?

"thanks," he looks genuinely honored, "but how'd you come to the conclusion, huh? after a little brainstorming session or-"

"what do you want?"

"lately?" gojo taps his chin, his tongue poking out, "seemed like you needed some space, so i just waited around here till you were done."

christ, he really is a stalker. you’re starting to worry he's like, actually insane.

"but now we can hang out!”

"i'm going to bed," you declare.

gojo ignores your announcement. gojo always ignores whatever you have to say.

"where we heading? your place or mine?"

"you are not going anywhere with me!"

he reaches out to flick your temple. it's so juvenile it takes you by surprise. your hands immediately fly up to protect yourself.

"huh," his face softens as if you’re this small, pathetic thing. not pity exactly, but definitely a worrisome expression, "look,” he snaps his fingers, “look. look,” he snaps them again and you will tear your hair out in 83 seconds if he doesn’t go away immediately, “we both gotta take a mission, right? might as well go together."

"go with suguru,"

gojo sighs dramatically and his whole upper body collapses, like he's pretending you kicked his shin. you reel back a bit from the proximity.

"mmm, but suguru’s so uptight lately," he comments. that’s good. getou suguru, ever the diligent one, was the first person in your sorcery class who made you feel welcomed. you quite like him, but the fact that his best friend is gojo implies there's something deeply wrong with him. you really don’t want to know what.

"go with shoko then," you state.

"shoko's just..." his arms jerk violently as if he's pretending to smash a plate, "not really on board with my mission types lately. says she can’t leave our only doctor since the patients are dying before they have a chance to enter the trauma room."

sad news for shoko, but your mind works quick.

"go alone," you smile, tilting your head to the side. the motion seems to catch his interest, "and don't come back."

gojo clicks his tongue, clearly peeved. victory. you relish this tiny bit of triumph. he starts to walk away and you watch him retreat, hopefully from your life, "i can't,"

"no way you've fallen so far."

"suguru told me to check in with someone before going on my own. it'll just make him and yaga-sensei super worried!"

"oh no," you chime, "i think you should go alone. and die."

he laughs, "come on," a pause, "it'll be fun! team-bonding and shit."

team-bonding and shit is you having a cola and reading a magazine. not fighting alongside the man who torments you like you’re some sort of pet: ‘kami-chan, do a split,' ‘kami-chan, do a roll,' ‘kami-chan, how big is your cup size again?'

the most effective way to hurt him is silence. you turn your eyes away and hum. this must be done delicately. if he catches even a whiff of your intention to flee, he’ll barge right after you. get you in a headlock and make you cry, because maybe he’s grown demented and will enjoy the sight of your tears.

with as much ease as your taunt muscles can muster, you casually pad in the direction of your room. he hasn't tried to tear down your door yet, but that's likely because the senseis would have to reprimand him.

gojo won't leave you be though, will he? as if it's a struggle to keep pace with you, he follows closely and peppers you with requests:

"come with me."

"shut up."

"we can grab dinner and-"

"you can shut up."

gojo sings, "team-building exercise, you're supposed to make a comrade's wishes come true, so come with-"

"i'll kill myself if force me to go with you. stop begging. it's so lame."

he laughs so loudly and unexpectedly that you jolt. this asshole thinks your threat is baseless. it isn’t. you’ll do it, or so god help you. you aren’t one to bitch out on anything, and maybe that’s why he’s so intent about this.

you wish he'd just give up, but it's highly unlikely. he's stubborn, and you aren’t enough to bend him.

"are you implying you'd kill yourself in front of me? for what? to mess with me?"

your face is very serious when you say, "yeah."

"shit, and you expect me to not want to see that? sorry babe, i'll have to tag along," he grins wickedly and you find yourself fighting down a spring at nausea at the sickly pet name. that’s a new development.

you move to stomp away, but he's right there to cage you to the wall. no, please, you’re at your limit. you might crumble into a heap on the floor and never rise again, even if he consistently poked at you for days.

"come," his glasses slide down his nose a bit and you’re met with gleaming, impossible, revoltingly beautiful blue eyes, "on," and he leans down. this close his infinity is gone, and you can feel the hard planes of his muscles, "a mission with me."

"kill me," you bite out.

you don’t like this, nor the rising fluster or the scent of his cologne. he always smells fresh, even in the summer months where sweat sticks like second skin. the cool wall against your back has your skin prickling. maybe this is a new advanced torture method. much more effective than waterboarding, which you would willingly take if that meant he’d let you go.

why must he be so tall? the sunlight bleeding from the windows douses his hair in a halo. it’s completely deceptive to how absolutely giddy he looks. your breathing picks up. what a nightmare. you’d attempt to knee him again if your limbs weren’t suddenly immobile.

he leans forward and murmurs, "is that an invitation for some freaky shit? cuz i like where we are now."

"gross!" you lean back as far as possible.

"i knowwww," he's undeterred by your snappiness, "seriously," he tries, "what else are you doing tonight, huh?" and you wonder why he's getting closer as your neck protests, "don’t tell me," there's a lilt to his voice you don’t trust, "you afraid you can't handle me?"

"is sexual harassment on your daily agenda?" you bite.

he moves away slightly, looking perplexed, as if you’ve given the world's toughest question. his posture becomes defensively slouched. a frown pushes his brows together and for once, the smooth talker has no quip or response.

you’re not one to look a gifted horse in the mouth and scramble.

"hey, hey, you didn’t answer!” he calls out, rushing after you, "hey! kami-chan, where'd your manners go? i need a clear answer."

damn pride. damn self-respect. you’re fleeing.

gojo doesn't let you get away that easy. your path to sanctuary is obstructed again as gojo halts you by plucking at your shoulder. you shake yourself off like a wet cat and bail. yes, you’ve resorted to running, but your room is just within reach.

"why are you running?!" his whine echoes down the empty hall, "answer the question!"

just a bit more and-

he catches up with you and hauls you up by the armpits, spinning, laughing. you squirm, and there goes your drink, your damned, tasty drink. all his antics have been on the short side, but he's never done this before: cradle you against himself, as if he was going to play catch with you.

"let go, creep!"

"creep?!" his voice is scandalized but still mirthful, "for all my gentlemanliness, huh?!"

he tosses you and you can barely right yourself with a solid landing. that's new too, the physical handling. why today of all days has he decided to pick your fights with his hands? does it make you less immune? why are you wondering? you should be running.

"and anyways, where'd your manners go huh, huh, hu-uh? no thank you when a nice gentlemanly guy takes the time of his day, the greatest guy, the-"

you might go insane. actually snap and go coo coo coconuts. kill everyone. this might be the beginning of your villain origin story. your personal vendetta to kill gojo satoru.

"seriously?!" he yells, and you open your eyes (you don’t remember closing them. it's probably a last resort sort of deal. if you can't see gojo, gojo isn’t real), and gojo's much, much, closer.

"would you mind-" you hiss.

"really," he chides, not an ounce of his good humor on his face, and you’re unable to tell if he's taunting or sincere, "all those classes you went to when you were little, and you still can't pay attention to the first thing a good guy says? do i have to spell out your obligations for you?!"

"would you kindly go fuck yourself and allow me to exist in peace?!" you shriek.

a door down the hall opens, and someone, maybe a fellow student or maybe a teacher or maybe someone unrelated all together, pops their head out the crack of their bedroom. you see this in slow-motion, watch a silhouette tilt their head and stare. it's so stupid it could be considered a scene from a comedy.

"would you two keep it the hell down already!?" your would-be-rescuer screams.

gojo glances to the side, unbothered but maybe curious. you run. before gojo can pick up his wits, you slam the door to your room open, lock it, and even fumble a deadbolt for added assurance. your room is dark save for a nightlight plugged into the corner.

your legs are shaking. you feel like throwing up. you’ve never been so terrified in your entire life.

the news reaches you via a text from shoko a good few hours later. gojo goes on the mission alone.

'please die please die please die please die,' you pray.

he returns an hour later, unharmed and cheery.