#if there are abandoned buildings there are likely raves

[anotherpapercut]

wild how much of the time "there isn't anything to do where I live" is code for "I refuse to seek out local artists and events"

[sojutrait]

day one of exploring tomarang its cute okayyyyyyy

[rinhaler]

DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…” he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

© 2023 rinhaler

m.list | chapter two

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Surveillance pricing

THIS WEEKEND (June 7–9), I'm in AMHERST, NEW YORK to keynote the 25th Annual Media Ecology Association Convention and accept the Neil Postman Award for Career Achievement in Public Intellectual Activity.

Correction, 7 June 2024: The initial version of this article erroneously described Jeffrey Roper as the founder of ATPCO. He benefited from ATPCO, but did not co-found it. The initial version of this article called ATPCO "an illegal airline price-fixing service"; while ATPCO provides information that the airlines use to set prices, it does not set prices itself, and while the DOJ investigated the company, they did not pursue a judgment declaring the service to be illegal. I regret the error.

Noted anti-capitalist agitator Adam Smith had it right: "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices."

Despite being a raving commie loon, Smith's observation was so undeniably true that regulators, policymakers, and economists couldn't help but acknowledge that it was true. The trustbusting era was defined by this idea: if we let the number of companies in a sector get too small, or if we let one or a few companies get too big, they'll eventually start to rig prices.

What's more, once an industry contracts corporate gigantism, it will become too big to jail, able to outspend and overpower the regulators charged with reining in its cheating. Anyone who believes Smith's self-evident maxim had to accept its conclusion: that companies had to be kept smaller than the state that regulated them. This wasn't about "punishing bigness" – it was the necessary precondition for a functioning market economy.

We kept companies small for the same reason that we limited the height of skyscrapers: not because we opposed height, or failed to appreciate the value of a really good penthouse view – rather, to keep the building from falling over and wrecking all the adjacent buildings and the lives of the people inside them.

Starting in the neoliberal era – Carter, then Reagan – we changed our tune. We liked big business. A business that got big was doing something right. It was perverse to shut down our best companies. Instead, we'd simply ban big companies from rigging prices. This was called the "consumer welfare" theory of antitrust. It was a total failure.

40 years later, nearly every industry is dominated by a handful of companies, and these companies price-gouge us with abandon. Worse, they use their gigantic ripoff winnings to fill war-chests that fund the corruption of democracy, capturing regulators so that they can rip us off even more, while ignoring labor, privacy and environmental law and ducking taxes.

It turns out that keeping gigantic, opaque, complex corporations honest is really hard. They have so many ways to shuffle money around that it's nearly impossible to figure out what they're doing. Digitalization makes things a million times worse, because computers allow businesses to alter their processes so they operate differently for every customer, and even for every interaction.

This is Dieselgate times a billion: VW rigged its cars to detect when they were undergoing emissions testing and switch to a less polluting, more compliant mode. But when they were on the open road, they spewed lethal quantities of toxic gas, killing people by the thousands. Computers don't make corporate leaders more evil, but they let evil corporate leaders execute far more complex and nefarious plans. Digitalization is a corporate moral hazard, making it just too easy and tempting to rig the game.

That's why Toyota, the largest car-maker in the world, just did Dieselgate again, more than a decade later. Digitalization is a temptation no giant company can resist:

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c1wwj1p2wdyo

For forty years, pro-monopoly cheerleaders insisted that we could allow companies to grow to unimaginable scale and still prevent cheating. They passed rules banning companies from explicitly forming agreements to rig prices. About ten seconds later, new middlemen popped up offering "information brokerages" that helped companies rig prices without talking to one another.

Take Agri Stats: the country's hyperconcentrated meatpacking industry pays Agri Stats to "consult on prices." They provide Agri Stats with a list of their prices, and then Agri Stats suggests changes based on its analysis. What does that analysis consist of? Comparing the company's prices to its competitors, who are also Agri Stats customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

In other words, Agri Stats finds the highest price for each product in the sector, then "advises" all the companies with lower prices to raise their prices to the "competitive" level, creating a one-way ratchet that sends the price of food higher and higher.

More and more sectors have an Agri Stats, and digitalization has made this price-gouging system faster, more efficient, and accessible to sectors with less concentration. Landlords, for example, have tapped into Realpage, a "data broker" that the same thing to your rent that Agri Stats does to meat prices. Realpage requires the landlords who sign up for its service to accept its "recommendations" on minimum rents, ensuring that prices only go up:

https://popular.info/p/feds-raid-corporate-landlord-escalating

Writing for The American Prospect, Luke Goldstein lays out the many ways in which these digital intermediaries have supercharged the business of price-rigging:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-05-three-algorithms-in-a-room/

Goldstein identifies a kind of patient zero for this ripoff epidemic: Jeffrey Roper, a former Alaska Air exec who benefited from a service that helps airlines set prices. ATPCO was investigated by the DOJ in the 1990s, but the enforcers lost their nerve and settled with the company, which agreed to apply some ornamental fig-leafs to its collusion-machine. Even those cosmetic changes were seemingly a bridge too far Roper, who left the US.

But he came back to serve as Realpage's "principal scientist" – the architect of a nationwide scheme to make rental housing vastly more expensive. For Roper, the barrier to low rents was empathy: landlords felt stirrings of shame when they made shelter unaffordable to working people. Roper called these people "idiots" who sentimentality "costs the whole system."

Sticking a rent-gouging computer between landlords and the people whose lives they ruin is a classic "accountability sink," as described in Dan Davies' new book "The Unaccountability Machine: Why Big Systems Make Terrible Decisions – and How The World Lost its Mind":

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

It's a form of "empiricism washing": if computers are working in the abstract realm of pure numbers, they're just moving the objective facts of the quantitative realm into the squishy, imperfect qualitative world. Davies' interview on Trashfuture is excellent:

https://trashfuturepodcast.podbean.com/e/fire-sale-at-the-accountability-store-feat-dan-davies/

To rig prices, an industry has to solve three problems: the problem of coming to an agreement to fix prices (economists call this "the collective action problem"); the problem of coming up with a price; and the problem of actually changing prices from moment to moment. This is the ripoff triangle, and like a triangle, it has many stable configurations.

The more concentrated an industry is, the easier it is to decide to rig prices. But if the industry has the benefit of digitalization, it can swap the flexibility and speed of computers for the low collective action costs from concentration. For example, grocers that switch to e-ink shelf tags can make instantaneous price-changes, meaning that every price change is less consequential – if sales fall off after a price-hike, the company can lower them again at the press of a button. That means they can collude less explicitly but still raise prices:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

My name for this digital flexibility is "twiddling." Businesses with digital back-ends can alter their "business logic" from second to second, and present different prices, payouts, rankings and other key parts of the deal to every supplier or customer they interact with:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Not only does twiddling make it easier to rip off suppliers, workers and customers, it also makes these crimes harder to detect. Twiddling made Dieselgate possible, and it also underpinned "Greyball," Uber's secret strategy of refusing to send cars to pick up transportation regulators who would then be able to see firsthand how many laws the company was violating:

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/03/technology/uber-greyball-program-evade-authorities.html

Twiddling is so easy that it has brought price-fixing to smaller companies and less concentrated sectors, though the biggest companies still commit crimes on a scale that put these bit-players to shame. In The Prospect, David Dayen investigates the "personalized pricing" ripoff that has turned every transaction into a potential crime-scene:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-04-one-person-one-price/

"Personalized pricing" is the idea that everything you buy should be priced based on analysis of commercial surveillance data that predicts the maximum amount you are willing to pay.

Proponents of this idea – like Harvard's Pricing Lab with its "Billion Prices Project" – insist that this isn't a way to rip you off. Instead, it lets companies lower prices for people who have less ability to pay:

https://thebillionpricesproject.com/

This kind of weaponized credulity is totally on-brand for the pro-monopoly revolution. It's the same wishful thinking that led regulators to encourage monopolies while insisting that it would be possible to prevent "bad" monopolies from raising prices. And, as with monopolies, "personalized pricing" leads to an overall increase in prices. In econspeak, it is a "transfer of wealth from consumer to the seller."

"Personalized pricing" is one of those cuddly euphemisms that should make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. A more apt name for this practice is surveillance pricing, because the "personalization" depends on the vast underground empire of nonconsensual data-harvesting, a gnarly hairball of ad-tech companies, data-brokers, and digital devices with built-in surveillance, from smart speakers to cars:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/12/market-failure/#car-wars

Much of this surveillance would be impractical, because no one wants their car, printer, speaker, watch, phone, or insulin-pump to spy on them. The flexibility of digital computers means that users always have the technical ability to change how these gadgets work, so they no longer spy on their users. But an explosion of IP law has made this kind of modification illegal:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

This is why apps are ground zero for surveillance pricing. The web is an open platform, and web-browsers are legal to modify. The majority of web users have installed ad-blockers that interfere with the surveillance that makes surveillance pricing possible:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But apps are a closed platform, and reverse-engineering and modifying an app is a literal felony – several felonies, in fact. An app is just a web-page skinned with enough IP to make it a felony to modify it to protect your consumer, privacy or labor rights:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/07/treacherous-computing/#rewilding-the-internet

(Google is leading a charge to turn the web into the kind of enshittifier's paradise that apps represent, blocking the use of privacy plugins and proposing changes to browser architecture that would allow them to felonize modifying a browser without permission:)

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

Apps are a twiddler's playground. Not only can they "customize" every interaction you have with them, but they can block you (or researchers seeking to help you) from recording and analyzing the app's activities. Worse: digital transactions are intimate, contained to the palm of your hand. The grocer whose e-ink shelf-tags flicker and reprice their offerings every few seconds can be collectively observed by people who are in the same place and can start a conversation about, say, whether to come back that night a throw a brick through the store's window to express their displeasure. A digital transaction is a lonely thing, atomized and intrinsically shielded from a public response.

That shielding is hugely important. The public hates surveillance pricing. Time and again, through all of American history, there have been massive and consequential revolts against the idea that every price should be different for every buyer. The Interstate Commerce Commission was founded after Grangers rose up against the rail companies' use of "personalized pricing" to gouge farmers.

Companies know this, which is why surveillance pricing happens in secret. Over and over, every day, you are being gouged through surveillance pricing. The sellers you interact with won't tell you about it, so to root out this practice, we have to look at the B2B sales-pitches from the companies that sell twiddling tools.

One of these companies is Plexure, partly owned by McDonald's, which provides the surveillance-pricing back-ends for McD's, Ikea, 7-Eleven, White Castle and others – basically, any time a company gives you a hard-sell to order via its apps rather than its storefronts or its website, you should assume you're getting twiddled, hard.

These companies use the enshittification playbook to trap you into using their apps. First, they offer discounts to customers who order through their apps – then, once the customers are fully committed to shopping via app, they introduce surveillance pricing and start to jack up the prices.

For example, Plexure boasts that it can predict what day a given customer is getting paid on and use that information to raise prices on all the goods the customer shops for on that day, on the assumption that you're willing to pay more when you've got a healthy bank balance.

The surveillance pricing industry represents another reason for everything you use to spy on you – any data your "smart" TV or Nest thermostat or Ring doorbell can steal from you can be readily monetized – just sell it to a surveillance pricing company, which will use it to figure out how to charge you more for everything you buy, from rent to Happy Meals.

But the vast market for surveillance data is also a potential weakness for the industry. Put frankly: the commercial surveillance industry has a lot of enemies. The only thing it has going for it is that so many of these enemies don't know that what's they're really upset about is surveillance.

Some people are upset because they think Facebook made Grampy into a Qanon. Others, because they think Insta gave their kid anorexia. Some think Tiktok is brainwashing millennials into quoting Osama bin Laden. Some are upset because the cops use Google location data to round up Black Lives Matter protesters, or Jan 6 insurrectionists. Some are angry about deepfake porn. Some are angry because Black people are targeted with ads for overpriced loans or colleges:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/06/04/meta_ad_algorithm_discrimination/

And some people are angry because surveillance feeds surveillance pricing. The thing is, whatever else all these people are angry about, they're all angry about surveillance. Are you angry that ad-tech is stealing a 51% share of news revenue? You're actually angry about surveillance. Are you angry that "AI" is being used to automatically reject resumes on racial, age or gender grounds? You're actually angry about surveillance.

There's a very useful analogy here to the history of the ecology movement. As James Boyle has long said, before the term "ecology" came along, there were people who cared about a lot of issues that seemed unconnected. You care about owls, I care about the ozone layer. What's the connection between charismatic nocturnal avians and the gaseous composition of the upper atmosphere? The term ecology took a thousand issues and welded them together into one movement.

That's what's on the horizon for privacy. The US hasn't had a new federal consumer privacy law since 1988, when Congress acted to ban video-store clerks from telling the newspapers what VHS cassettes you were renting:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

We are desperately overdue for a new consumer privacy law, but every time this comes up, the pro-surveillance coalition defeats the effort. but as people who care about conspiratorialism, kids' mental health, spying by foreign adversaries, phishing and fraud, and surveillance pricing all come together, they will be an unbeatable coalition:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Meanwhile, the US government is actually starting to take on these ripoff artists. The FTC is working to shut down data-brokers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

The FBI is raiding landlords to build a case against Frontpage and other rent price-fixers:

https://popular.info/p/feds-raid-corporate-landlord-escalating

Agri Stats is facing a DoJ lawsuit:

https://www.nationalhogfarmer.com/market-news/agri-stats-loses-motions-to-transfer-dismiss-in-doj-antitrust-case

Not every federal agency has gotten the message, though. Trump's Fed Chairman, Jerome Powell – whom Biden kept on the job – has been hiking interest rates in a bid to reduce our purchasing power by making millions of Americans poorer and/or unemployed. He's doing this to fight inflation, on the theory that inflation is being cause by us being too well-off, and therefore trying to buy more goods than are for sale.

But of course, interest rates are inflationary: when interest rates go up, it gets more expensive to pay your credit card bills, lease your car, and pay a mortgage. And where we see the price of goods shooting up, there's abundant evidence that this is the result of greedflation – companies jacking up their prices and blaming inflation. Interest rate hawks say that greedflation is impossible: if one company raises its prices, its competitors will swoop in and steal their customers with lower prices.

Maybe they would do that – if they didn't have a toolbox full of algorithmic twiddling options and a deep trove of surveillance data that let them all raise prices together:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-06-05-time-for-fed-to-meet-ftc/

Someone needs to read some Adam Smith to Chairman Powell: "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices."

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/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[enby-jellyfish]

The Incident

Prologue of Managing the Mystery Shack

Grunkle Stan X GN!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your

Summary: You and Stan meet under unfortunate circumstances.

Warnings: Angst, canon typical paranoia, insomnia, cursing, descriptions of a fresh wound, amnesia

Word Count: 4099

A/N: the old man virus tm has caught me again...

Getting hired as a research assistant by Ford when you were fresh out of university seemed like a dream come true at first. Moving to this strange town in Oregon called Gravity Falls, leaving behind everything you had ever known, was hard, but worth it. Gravity Falls is absolutely fascinating, filled to the brim with all sorts of mind-blowing anomalies.

Upon your arrival Ford had explained his plans of building an interdimensional portal. To do this he needed the help of you and another scientist named Fiddleford McGucket. Your job would be to support Ford and Fiddleford in the collection and analysation of data and samples.

The first few days you, Ford, and Fiddleford spend excavating the alien Crash Site Omega to gather materials and technology. During this time the three of you find all sorts of oddities, Ford continuously scribbling away at the journal he keeps with him at all times.

The more time passed, the more progress you made on the portal and the more creatures you discovered, some more violent than others, Fiddleford often taking the brunt of the first, causing him to become more and more paranoid. It got to a point where he asked Ford not to continue the project, but Ford declined, too hungry for the knowledge he was gaining.

Another thing you had been noticing is the odd behaviour off said boss. The yellow sticky notes always covering his workplace read odd messages, like a conversation. Ford also never seemed to sleep. Several sleepless nights you had seen him awake as well, always working. You couldn’t fully explain it but he doesn’t seem like himself in those moments. The morning after he would rave and rant about the things his ‘muse’ had enlightened him with, always refusing to reveal this person’s identity, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The first test run for the portal brought some clarity though. When. The portal was activated Fiddleford got partially sucked into it, speaking a language you didn’t understand when he came out before giving a warning about ‘the beast with just one eye’.

Fiddleford told you that the portal was too dangerous and urged you to destroy it, but when Ford refused his pleas once again, he quit the project and left. After this you demanded that Ford explain himself, to stop with the lies and secrets and to straight up tell you what he’s been keeping from you all this time.

He caved and confided in you about the demon called Bill and his plans with the portal to merge his so-called ‘nightmare realm’ with ours. The two of you decided that you wouldn’t let that happen, so you shut off the portal and built a machine to keep Bill out of the house and your minds.

The tension kept rising, Ford becoming increasingly paranoid. He started writing his journal entries in invisible ink, but that wasn’t enough. With Ford’s fear of Bill’s inevitable return growing stronger, he made the decision to abandon his research and hide his journals. He hid the second and third journals first, not telling you where to protect yours and the secret location’s safety. The two of you also converted his offsite laboratory into a fallout shelter, just in case, before he finally contacted his brother.

Ford was never one to share his personal life with you. He never spoke of his family, you didn’t even know he had a brother, but Ford insisted he was the only one he could trust besides you. And so, a postcard was sent whilst Ford started going borderline insane with paranoia.

It was difficult living with him those next few days. Ford had boarded up all windows, putting up ‘keep out’ signs outside, barely acknowledging you when you tried to speak to him, muttering to himself.

You hear knocking and move to open the front door, only to almost get trampled by Ford wanting to get there first. You look past him when he opens the door to see a man outside, he looks an awful lot like Ford, but a bit fuller, without the cleft chin, and with a mullet. This must be his brother. “FORD, is the crossbow really necessary?”

He didn’t respond to you but lowered the crossbow. “Stanley, did anyone follow you, anyone at all?” Ford hands you the crossbow for you to put away. “Uh, hello to you too pal. Who’s that?” Ford didn’t answer him and pulled his brother inside, shining a light in his eyes. “Wh- HEY, what is this!?” You gently pull Ford back, giving him a look. Ford turned his gaze from you, back to his brother and let him go. “Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren’t- uh, it’s nothing. Come in, come in.” Ford leaves, gesturing for you both to follow him.

Stanley enters, taking in the dishevelled shack. You close the door and introduce yourself as Ford’s assistant. “Sorry about him, I’m sure this wasn’t the reunion you were expecting.” Stanley looks at you. “Call me Stan, and no, it isn’t.” The two of you follow Ford further into the house. “Look, are you gonna explain what’s going on here? You’re acting like mom on her tenth cup of coffee.” Ford grabs his notes and journal exclaiming that there isn’t much time, that he’s made a huge mistake, and he doesn’t know who else he can trust. You watch awkwardly from a distance as Stan tries to calm down his frantic brother.

“I have something to show you, something you won’t believe.” Ford claims. “Look, I’ve been around the world, okay. Whatever it is, I understand.” Stan says confidently, making you feel the need to butt in. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that…”

You and Ford lead him to the lab underneath the house. You open the door for the brothers with a monotone ‘tadaaa~’ and let them enter before you, revealing the portal. “Whelp, you were right. There is nothing about this I understand!” Ford immediately starts explaining how it works, why he created it, and the terrible destruction it could cause.

“That’s why I shut it down and hid the journals that explain how to operate it. There is only one journal left, and you are the only person I can trust to take it.” Ford hands his brother the journal. “I have something to ask of you, remember our plans to sail around the world in a boat?” Stan seems to start glowing at the mention of his childhood dream, a smile decorating his face. You feel bad for what is about to happen.

“Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the earth! Bury it where no one can find it.” Your heart breaks for the poor man as you watch Stan’s happy expression fall. He looks at you for a moment as if to make sure he heard his brother right. You can do nothing but grimace at him, shrugging your shoulders apologetically.

Stan’s expression then changes from hurt and shock to anger. “That’s it?! You finally wanna see me after ten years, and it’s to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?” Ford tries to tell Stan he doesn’t know what he’s up against, what he’s been through, but Stan won’t have it, rebutting that Ford is being selfish by hoarding his college money and only caring about himself.

Not liking where this is going you decide to speak up but are interrupted by Ford. “I’m selfish? I’m selfish? Stanley, how can you say that after costing me my dream school? I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won’t even listen!” You attempt speaking up again. “Guys, let’s not-” But are interrupted again.

“Well, listen to this. You want me to get rid of this book? Fine, I’ll get rid of it right now.”  Stan takes out a lighter, going to light the journal on fire but Ford stops him. “You said you wanted me to have it, so I’ll do what I want with it.” Stan holds the journal to the small flame again and in a panic, Ford tackles him in an attempt to stop him from destroying the research he’s been working on for years.

“Ford! This isn’t-” You feel helpless as you watch them wrestle for the journal, physically intervening could only make things worse. “You are both acting like children! Can’t you talk this through like adults?!” They fall through the door of the control room, Ford pushing Stan onto the console in the process.

Suddenly the lab came to life, lights blaring. They must’ve accidentally activated the machine. Shit. “Guys! Stop it! The portal!” You rush to get to the control room but are pushed aside when Ford kicks his brother. You fall to the ground as you hear Stan scream in pain.

“Stanley! Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you-” Ford’s apologies are interrupted by Stan punching him square in the face. He stumbles back onto a lever, fully activating the portal.

“Some brother you turned out to be. You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family. Well, then you can have ‘em!” Stan shoves the journal back into Ford’s hands with enough force to cause Ford to lose his balance. He stumbles over the caution line on the floor and starts floating towards the portal.

You run to lever, attempting to stop the process. “Whoa, whoa, hey. What’s going on? Hey, hey, Stanford!” Stan is shocked out of his rage, rushing to grab his brother but you manage to stop him before he can get sucked in too. Ford calls your name “, Stanley, help me!”

“Oh, no! what do I do?” Stan panics while you try to get to the control room, but you are too late. “, Stanley, do something!” Ford throws the journal at his brother, calling his name one last time before getting fully sucked through the portal.

With that the portal produces a blast that pushes you against the door frame, knocking you out.

You wake up to a gruff voice and rough but gentle hands touching the right side of your face. Weirded out and uncomfortable you try and move away from the person touching you, your body feeling sluggish, not fully obeying your commands. “No, no. Don’t move. Just let me patch you up.” You recognise the voice but can’t fully place it.

You force yourself to open your eyes, immediately regretting it when a piercing pain cuts through the side of your face, blooming out through your collarbone and into your chest. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and writhing in pain as two hands force your shoulders down onto what you are laying on. “No, stop it. I know it hurts, just try to stay still for a few more seconds.” The hands return to your face, seemingly bandaging the source of your pain. You take deep breaths through your nose in an attempt to calm down until the hands move away and the pain slightly subsides.

“There, all done. You just had to wake up when I change your bandages, didn’t you?” You open your eyes again, taking in your surroundings. It takes a moment of sluggishly looking around before you recognise where you are, Ford’s room. “Ugh, what happened?” You clutch the uninjured side of your head in an attempt to sooth the throbbing. “That bastard’s stupid machine blasted you against a doorframe. Don’t you remember?”

Machine? Blast? What? “I don- agh!” You make an effort to sit up, but everything hurts. Your face. Your brain. Trying to recall anything right now makes you want to curl up in a corner and die but you yearn for answers. “Hey, take it easy. You hit your head pretty hard there, gave you a nasty gash. You lost a lot of blood, and I am about the furthest thing from a doctor you can get, but I managed to stop the bleeding and stitch you up.” One of his warm hands hesitantly comes up to your back to steady you. “Do you have anything for the pain?” You breathe.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t think it’s gonna cut it but there should be some aspirin or something in here.” He rummages through a messy looking first aid kit, taking out the strip of pills. “Here. I’ll get you some water. Don’t move. Or erm, y’know what I mean.” You listen to him continuing to mutter to himself as he leaves. You press your temple against the colourful window, the cold glass feels soothing. When you look outside you notice it’s snowing.

You look up when Stan re-enters the room, handing you a big glass of water. You take the meds, chugging the whole glass after, only now realising how thirsty you are. “I needed that, thank you.” Stan nods, rubbing his neck with one hand, the other on his hip. You look around the room, catching your breath, waiting for the meds to kick in. The room is dark, a pillow and a red jacket are strewn over the carpet, other than that it’s still the same messy room.

‘Yeah, uh, you hungry?” “Starving.”

As the two of you finish your respective can of miscellaneous food, you start feeling slightly better. “So, how long was I out for?” Stan shrugs as he takes your and his can and puts them on the small table next to him. “About 2 days, I think.” Fuck. “And Ford?” Stan shakes his head, not meeting your gaze. “He’s gone, and that stupid machine broke when he went through.”

Stan stands up, picking up the journal from under the jacket on the floor “I’ve been trying to fix it so I can get him back.” He sits next to you, flipping through the thick book. “I’ve been using this but there are mostly a concerning amount of notes on mushrooms in here, not the portal.” He taps the page that shows then incomplete blueprint before flipping to the end. “I need the other journals, Stanford said he hid them. You wouldn’t happen to know where, would you?”

He looks at you with a hopeful expression. “No, I’m sorry. It’s all fuzzy.” While the pain is now bearable, the gaps in your memory haven’t disappeared yet. “Damn, you really hit your head hard huh, fuck. I’m not sure if I can fix it without help."

“I can try, I’m part of the reason he’s gone. If I had been faster he’d still be here.” He laughs humourlessly. “Hey, at least you did something. I just stood there like an idiot.” He looks so sad and tired, tears welling up in his eyes. You grab his hand in an attempt to comfort him. “Hey, it was an accident. It’s no use beating yourself up over it.” He sniffles, looking at your intertwined hands instead of meeting your gaze. “It’s getting late, how about we try and get some sleep and tomorrow we’ll go over everything together.” He clears his throat, letting go of your hand and wiping away the tears he refused to let fall. “Yeah, okay. Um, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the spare room upstairs, just yell if you need something.” You bid him goodnight and he leaves, taking the journal, a pillow, and his jacket with him.

That night you have a hard time getting to sleep, the guilt over what happened plaguing your mind, ruining the sleep you do manage to find with nightmares. Ford might be dead right now, or worse. You know that machine is dangerous, but you have to clear your conscious and get your friend back.

The next morning you wake up to the sunlight caressing your face through the window. Groaning you stand up, head throbbing, you stumble over to the bathroom to take some more medicine. Wiping your mouth, you dare look in the mirror above the sink. Bandages are covering most of the right side of your face, there is no blood leaking through, which is good. The flesh underneath feels swollen and tender though, you can see bruising peek out from underneath the bandages. The rest of your skin looks about as dull and lifeless as you feel. You debate taking off the bandages to fully inspect the damage.

Your curiosity getting the better of you, you gently wet and peel back the bandage, cringing at the sight. The gash is long and deep, reaching from your temple, just above your eyebrow, to your chin, crossing your lips and the side of your eye. Thankfully, aside from the swelling the wound didn’t seem to have damaged your vision. The stitching is done crudely, yet effectively, and the wound looks clean.

“It’ll probably leave a scar.” You see Stan behind you in the mirror holding two mugs of coffee. “Yeah, probably…” You don’t necessarily care about your appearance, but oddly enough, having a permanent reminder of the day your boss got sent to an alternate dimension isn’t exactly a pleasant idea.

You turn around to face Stan. “Yikes! You look even worse up close.” He grimaces playfully as he holds a mug out to you. “Ha, ha.” You deadpan as you take the mug, rolling your eyes and instantly regretting it when the pain returns. You lean against the sink as you sip, taking some weight off your shaky legs.

After the two of you finish your coffee Stan gets you a change of clothes and helps you to the lab where he shows you his progress. The two of you go over the machine and the journal together, him sharing his theories and questions and you elaborating and explaining where you can. This, however, proves difficult due to there still being considerable gaps in your memory.

Days pass and you develop a routine: wake up, drink coffee with Stan, work in the lab or search the house for more information until you physically can’t, scarf down some food, and end the day by getting some sleep, or, rest more like. The guilt and stress make it hard to sleep. Working with Stan is nice though, despite the circumstances. His stubborn and devoted spirit keeps you going. He’s funny too.

Weeks pass and with food running out the two of you decide to venture into town. Arriving at the small store Stan takes a loaf of bread while you grab some instant coffee. The nice-looking elderly lady behind the counter rings you up. “Just this then, there strangers? That’ll be $ 4,99.” You reach to take out your wallet before realising you spent your last penny during your research and Ford can’t exactly pay you now. You look at Stan, he checks his pockets and sighs when he only finds some junk.

You’re about to apologise and put the stuff back when a voice interrupts you. “Hey, those’re no strangers! They must be the mysterious science duo that live in the woods. My, what happened to your face!” You cringe and hide in the hood of your jacket. This has got to be the last thing you want to have to deal with right now. Stan evidently feels the same as he pulls the strings on his hood and tries to tell the lady she’s got the wrong people.

Alerted by the lady’s exclamation the other customers gather around you, saying how they heard strange stories about that old shack, something about mysterious lights and spooky experiments. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans the two of you get up to in there!” The elderly man behind the counter says. “Oh, me too! Do ya ever give tours?” The first lady adds.

“No, really, I-” Stan stops himself, realising he can make money off this. He shares a look with you, as if to ask for permission. The two of you are gonna need money to keep this up so you hesitantly give him a nod. “Yes! I do give tours! 10- nah, nah, 15 bucks a person!”

Stan immediately visibly brightens up as people excitedly start cheering and waving their money at you. You take some of the money they are throwing at you and slip away to get some more groceries. As the old couple bags up your groceries the first lady taps you on your shoulder and introduces herself as Susan before asking what your name is. You tell her and she smiles kindly at you before turning to Stan.

“Sir! What did you say your name was, you man of mystery?” Stan stops counting the money before introducing himself. “Oh, uh, Stan… ford. Stanford Pines.” You then gather everyone up and Stan leads them to the shack.

The tour started out as a slight disaster with Susan getting injured from one of Ford’s machines and people demanding their money back, but Stan’s charisma and showmanship saved the day. There is truly some great potential here.

That night the two of you share a full meal together, the first in a long time, and the first of many to come. The two of you enjoy your meal in comfortable silence for a bit, savouring the meal, before Stan speaks up. “So, I was thinking. We’re not fixing that portal anytime soon and we need money, for food and to pay the mortgage. Now, this town thinks I’m Ford, so I’ll continue living under his identity so we can keep the house.” He moves his hands excitedly as he speaks. “We’ll fix up the shack, make some new attractions, cuz those knick-knacks lying around here ain’t gonna cut it, maybe we can even have a gift shop!” He takes another bite and continues explaining his plan with his mouth full. “By day I could keep giving the tours and you could do the logistics side, like make sure everything runs all smooth-like y’know, and by night we could keep working on the machine.”

You think about it for a second, taking a sip of your drink. “So, we’re going full on tourist trap, okay, do you have a name in mind?” He smirks, leaning back in his chair, one arm above his head, the other on his stomach. “I’m thinking ‘The Murder Hut’! Playing into the mystery part of it, people love that kind of stuff.” He uses his hands to frame the name. “Not a bad plan, but if you’re gonna be Stanford, who’s gonna be Stanley? You can’t be in two places at once.”

Stan clears his throat, sitting up straight. “Um, I was thinking of faking my death? I know some people who won’t ask questions, don’t ask. How about a car crash?” You sigh. This is all becoming very real right now. “Are you sure about all this? It won’t be easy to come back from this.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? I need to get my brother back; to get him back I need to keep the house, to keep the house I need to become Stanford.” He smiles sadly at you. “Look, I get it if you don’t want to get further involved in all this, and you can leave if you want to, no hard feelings, but it’s gonna be a hell of a lot harder without you.”

Stan gives you a pleading look.  “So, what do you say? Partners?” He holds out a hand for you to shake. You take a deep breath, thinking it all through. Agreeing will get you in a whole lot of trouble, but refusing would weigh more heavily on your mind than you think you can take.

So, you shake his hand. “Partners. But I’m telling you, the ‘Murder Hut’ isn’t going to stick.” Stan lets out a loud laugh, squeezing your hand before letting it go. “What? of course it will! I’m somewhat of an expert at naming things, y’know.” He proceeds to tell you all about his failed salesman career with the same eccentric manner of storytelling he used during the tour.

The two of you talked and shared stories the whole evening through. Until you called it a night and the two of you cleaned up and head upstairs for bed. You stop before entering your respective rooms. “Tomorrow we’ll start planning the renovations for the house.” You tell him. He nods. “Sounds good, partner.” You smile at that as he turns around. “Stan?” He turns.

“We’ll get him back, I promise.”

Next part

Masterlist

Thank you for reading <3

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Can You Come Around

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

pairing: modern!steve harrington x modern!fem!reader

wc: 2629

cw: mad flirting, swearing, alcohol, drinking, weed, smoking, mentions of cheating, men being weird, smut, 18+ mdni, fingering, teasing

a/n: set in modern times with the reader as the front woman of a new band in NYC. hope you guys like it!!

steve masterlist

“Goddamn”  Eddie whispered as they all stared up at the stage. 

It was Robin’s twenty-first birthday, causing everyone to meet up in New York City. Since Robin was the last of the eldest teens to turn of legal drinking age, the group decided to go on a small trip in honor of the momentous occasion. 

A four day trip with four of Steve’s closest friends—what could possibly go wrong. 

Originally? Nothing.

Wednesday and Thursday went off without a hitch. Seeing as her birthday was Wednesday, they spent the night bar hopping, snagging free drinks from those who were feeling generous enough to donate to their celebration, and snagging as many free desserts from as many restaurants as possible.

Then Friday night hit. Abandoning their original plan to try this bar near NYU that Nancy had been raving about, they found themselves in some other part of Greenwich, at this random bar that Eddie just had to go to. 

You see, the group had run into one of Eddie’s old friends on Thursday, and he wouldn’t stop raving about this random band that only Eddie seemed to have heard about. And that’s when Eddie turned to look at the group. 

“No.”

“Nancy—”

“I said no Eddie, this was the plan–”

At one point he even got on his knees and pleaded with Nancy. 

She eventually caved when Eddie offered to sponsor her drinks for the rest of her trip.

Which is how they found themselves packed in the back corner of this surprising large space. It had to have spanned across two buildings since it was just this giant, underground hall that was covered in drawings, in stickers, in posters, in murals, in graffiti—dark, but not dingy, which Nancy and Robin greatly appreciated. Once the group had managed to snag a table in the back, and gotten their drinks, they all started talking to one another. 

It was loud, but since there was no music playing, they could still hear one another pretty well. 

That was until your band walked on stage the crowd of college kids roared. 

To say that Steve was completely and utterly entranced by you was an understatement. The roaming lights around the audience would catch his eyes every now and again, but it didn’t matter if he was being blinded since he could only see you anyways. 

As you greeted the audience, Eddie elbowed Steve slightly in an ‘I told you so’ manner. “You’re going to fucking love them man.” 

Steve only nodded in response, watching your smile broaden with each roar of applause from the crowd. 

The night went on like this, Steve being completely despondent from all conversations happening at the table, and the group making fun of his infatuation. He barely even finished the beer in his hand, only able to focus on the sound of your voice filling up every available inch of room. It was hard to not breathe you in with every single inhale he took. 

As the night was winding down, the crowd only grew. But as all good things, your performance had to come to an end. Your voice rang out. 

“New York!” 

They roared in response to you. 

“I just want to thank you all for coming out tonight to support me and my friends. At the end of the day we’re just a bunch of idiot twenty-two years old that fucking love music, and we’re so grateful you guys decided to come out and support us tonight.”

Steve heard Eddie scream over his shoulder with the rest of the crowd.

“Now, we only have one song left in our set–I know I know it’s devastating but some of us wanna get fucked up too.”

The opening chords of the song rang out and Steve swore he was going to go deaf. He had never actually felt sound before, but there was a first time for everything. 

Nancy whacked Eddie’s shoulder. “I fucking love this song, why didn’t you lead with that?” 

Eddie’s eyes grew wide as your voice floated over. 

Can you come around? Fuck me nice. 

“You know—you LIKE–this song?”

Pull my hair. Sing me lullabies. 

“Eddie, we listened to it in the van on the way here..”

And we can pretend that we're in love. 

Steve blocked out the rest of their conversations and zeroed in on the thrumming of his pulse as you continued to sing. 

“When you come around, I’ll wear red. And I’ll forget all the awful things you’ve ever said. And we can pretend that we're in love.” 

Singing has been a passion of yours from a very young age. You were in vocal lessons the second you turned four, and dance lessons by five. Your parents were certain you were going to be the next broadway triple threat. You had even picked up the guitar and piano by age seven. But by the time you hit middle school, you had become more interested in writing, in poetry. You dropped the dance lessons and picked up drum lessons instead, much to the chagrin of your father. Writing poetry turned into writing music, and suddenly you were sneaking off to go to concerts every night, finding ways to get into bars to see local singers and bands. It was exhilarating watching people pursue their passion.

You found your bandmates in your first semester at Columbia. You had been in the wrong place at the right time, finding out that one of your lab partners could also play the guitar and the bass. And then you found out she knew someone who played the drums who was looking for a few people to hangout with. Then you found out that the drummer's sister was a keyboardist who was over at NYU. And NYU’s roommate? Well she just so happened to be one of the greatest guitar players you had ever heard.

That’s when you guys started playing and writing music together. 

“Until I throw a punch and you call me a cunt and that tips me over the edge. Ah, you throw my phone out the window. The next thing the neighbor says she’s calling’ the feds, and I wish you were dead. For a sec. I wish you dead. “

You couldn’t help but feel as though someone had shot electricity through your veins. Any time you stepped out on that stage, it was as if the world shifted under your feet and suddenly you could feel every single pulse of every single person in the audience. 

Tonight was no exception. You had officially released two EPs with collections of songs on them over the past few years, but a few weeks ago, your band had signed with an agent, who was able to get you more gigs, better gigs. She was incredible. 

Exactly a week ago, you had released your first ever single with a label. Your EPs were listened to, and you were an up-and-coming group to look out for, for sure, but you had never had a single before. 

It blew up.

“But you come around. At ten pm. We watch tv. We break the bed.” 

Tonight was the first time you were singing the single live, and hearing the entire audience screaming the words back to you took your breath away. You almost forgot the next words since you were so baffled at just how many people knew your songs, how many people knew the words. 

 And we can pretend that we're in love. We can pretend that we’re in love.” 

You couldn’t help as your eyes roamed the entire audience the whole night, but during this final song, you locked eyes with someone in the back. 

He had these gorgeous eyes that only showed for a brief second as the light that had roamed over him, before it moved on and he was gone again. 

Your heart almost jumped into your throat and your stomach flipped. Who the fuck was this man, and how did you find him once you finished singing this song? 

“Until I throw a punch and you call me a cunt and that tips me over the edge. Ah, you throw my phone out the window. The next thing the neighbor says she’s calling’ the feds, and I wish you were dead.”

This song was written over the course of twenty-seven minutes. 

About four months ago, your relationship of three years had decided that you weren’t enough. And instead of ending it all proper-like, he decided to go and fuck some random girl in his ethics class. 

The irony was not lost on you. 

For a sec. I wish you dead. I wish you were dead.

After you had finished performing, you went backstage, congratulating your bandmates, but your mind was somewhere else. It was in the back of the venue with one of the most gorgeous men you had ever seen in your life. 

At the same time, Steve Harrington was running through all of the ways he would be able to find you in this crowd. He wasn’t about to tell his friends he was running off to find you, since it was Robin’s birthday night after all, but he wasn’t about to not take the chance. 

“They’re fucking amazing…” Robin slurred out a little bit, having had six shots in the past ten minutes. Wearing a “It’s my birthday” sash in a bar is all fun and games until you receive your tenth tequila shot and eighth free margarita from kind strangers. 

“Alright…maybe we should…”

Steve and Eddie chuckled at the sound that emanated from Robin’s mouth. He was sure if he put in the effort, he could translate it to a negative response to Nancy’s suggestion. 

“I’ll be right back Eds, while Nance and Johnny take Robin back. I know you wanted to stay out a little longer.” He muttered to Eddie before heading off, towards the hallway near the side of the venue. 

Steve found a bouncer near the end of the hallway who was smoking a cigarette and nodded outside. “Do you mind if I…?” 

The guy shook his head. “Knock twice to be let back in, yeah?” 

Steve nodded and headed outside, reaching into his pocket to pull out a joint from the small container in his pocket. 

Just as he did so, he heard a cough from beside him. “You don’t happen to have a…”

As Steve looked up, your voice trailed off. The rest of your sentence didn’t matter since you were face to face with the mystery man from the back of the room. 

“Hey you’re–” Steve pointed at you before realzing how fucking dumb he must sound. But you just shrugged and nodded. 

“Yeah. How’d you like the show?” 

Steve held the lighter up and lit the joint that was in your hand. “Loved it.”

“Yeah?” 

All you could notice was how gorgeous his eyes were again, stunned into a moment of hesitation with words since you were absolutely too mesmerized by him. 

“Great fucking show.” 

That and his hands. You would let those fucking hands do anything to you. 

“Think so?”

Steve nodded, and bit his lip as he looked you up and down shamelessly.

You come around. Fuck me nice. Pull my hair. Sing me lullabies.

You shoved Steve up against a wall, lips against his. He tasted like weed and whatever beer he had been drinking earlier. 

His hands cupped your ass as the two of you began to make out in the dimly lit alley behind the venue. 

No other words needed. 

Your body rolled reflexively against his, causing him to moan softly into your mouth. 

“Just gonna kiss me pretty boy or…” You muttered as you kissed across his jaw, sucking and leaving marks all across his neck. 

Steve took the opportunity to roll the both of you against the wall so now his body pressed yours up against it. 

His hands had moved from your back to your hips, squeezing them ever so slightly as to get more of a rise out of you. 

It was working. 

He slipped one of his hands down the curve of your hip and to the front of your jeans, unzipping them as you moaned into his mouth. The fingers that had previously been on his neck were now twisted in his hair. 

Steve’s pointer finger slid up your panties, causing your whole body to jolt at the touch of him between your thighs. 

“Please…fuck…P-Please.” 

His lips trailed down your cheek and towards your neck. 

The feeling of his hand so close to your pussy and the fanning of his breath over your neck was enough to almost send you over the edge right then and there. 

Steve knew better than to keep you waiting. Brushing aside your underwear with his thumb, he pressed a finger up into your core. 

Steve’s eye’s grew darker at the feeling of how completely soaked you were, just for him. 

Your hips rocked back and forth slightly, trying to get him to move, trying to get the friction. 

Steve took the hint and dug his finger in further, getting up to his knuckle in pussy. 

Once Steve had thouroughly fucked you with just one finger, he decided to add another. And then another, causing you to tug even more on his hair. 

Steve decided right then and there, he loved the feeling of your squirming on his hand while you yanked the shit out of his hair. 

“F-fuck–shit I’m…I’m so..” 

Steve started rapidly curling his fingers inside of you, over and over and over again, brushing against your g-spot over and over and over again. 

His other hand came up to your mouth and he slowly pushed his two middle fingers inside, causing you to slightly choke on them, and then moan. 

It was muffled by the digits in your mouth, but it was the final straw that caused your orgasm to snap your body in half. Choking slightly on one hand, and your pussy convulsing on his other, you had ascended to heaven. 

A man had never made you cum just by fingering you before. 

In the midst of your orgasm, body spasming at Steve’s fingers contined to fuck your insides, that Steve was probably just a god—a sex god really. No man could be this handsome and fuckable, while also being phenomenal at sex. 

Eventually as your body calmed down, and Steve removed his hand from your mouth, you felt his lips on yours. Your hand instantly shoved him hard against your lips, feeling the need to feel something of his skin on yours. 

He slowly circled his fingers causing your body to let out another moan, sending a shiver up your spine. 

After a few moments Steve pulled away, and you opened your eyes to take another look at the man standing with you. As you did so, he very gently pulled his hand out, looking you in the eyes the whole time. 

You might as well had cum a second time right then and there as he slowly slipped his fingers, covered in your orgasm, into his mouth. If you thought about it too much, you were sure you basically drooled right then and there for this man. 

“You…”

Steve raised his eyebrows at the fact that the woman he had just heard singing her heart out was now speechless at him. 

“Me?” 

“You’re coming back to my apartment.” 

“Oh?” 

You nodded and slid one of your hands down to zip up your jeans and fix your shirt.  Not that it mattered since you looked like you had just been fucked to heaven and back in an alley. 

Not even a moment later, just as Eddie was leaving the club he received a text from Steve: 

Dont wait up

[vacayisland]

hiya!! can i req a short of king trollex getting injured while in barb's captivity? hurt or hurt/comfort, thanks for considering!

@!; Isolation for the soul (this isn't what I wanted) Trollex / Reader

"Summary"! Have you ever had to sit in a deafening silence? The torturing type of silence. All you ever wanted was some sort of peace, a moment of silence away from the noise. You never thought your wish would be answered in the cruelest way. "Tags"! Hurt / Comfort (a little lest comfort), y'all got the better version of the two stories in my head &lt;3

@!; You always wanted some sort of silence, for an hour, thirty minutes, a minute, a second. It had never been quiet in Techno Reef, it had never been… quiet. And god, you had always wished for some sort of silence, but not silence like this. Not the deafening kind of silence, not the dreary silence, not the alone, abandoned, self-hatred fill silence that creeps up on you and holds you captive. The type that taunts you, haunts you, as you can do nothing but sit and be all consumed by it, encompassed by it constantly. No remorse will find you at the deepest depths of the ocean. You were alone, utterly and wholly. It was only meant to be a quick swim, one to get away from the noise of everyone and the noise of the rave that had been happening at the time. You had told Trollex this, having gone to his side and tapped his shoulder. Even while DJing, he had turned to you with the brightest grin. He had cupped your cheeks, he had given you such a big kiss and then a bigger hug as he softly told you to be careful; to get home soon, to not do anything too dangerous. You know he meant it more then than when he had told you before, after all you both were splitting egg-holding duty. Trollex had one of the twin eggs in his hair, safely tucked away and hidden, and you did too. You had brushed off his warning, giving him a playful look and quipped back he should be careful with the speakers more than anything. He had laughed, gave you one last smooch before you pulled away laughing and rushed off for your swim; yelling at him goodbye, that you would see him later. Later. How much later?

You sat at his DJ booth, sunk down on the floor as you held the only part of Trollex you still had; The egg, which was still warm yet slowly becoming cold due to the ocean. You know you should keep them in your hair, keep them warm so they will hatch yet… you were too alone, too afraid to be alone, to do that right now. Hugging the egg close, you pressed your cheek against the top as you tried to choke back your sobs. Funny, how silence was now the last thing you wanted. Ironic that the only thing you wanted now, more than ever, was the loud blaring music of the Techno reef; to hear your lover shout to the crowd, hyping them up louder than need be. Yet, all you sat in was a cold, silent reef; Having come back to nothing but silence, nothing but destruction, nothing but… nothing. It had been deserted, lettering spelling out ‘Rock’ etched into the side of the reefs and the coral. At first, you had thought it was a tasteless prank pulled by Trollex and the others; He had always been a prankster, had everyone pretend they forgot your birthday so he could throw you a big party and then a smaller one with just you and him and your friends at the end of the day. You had called for them, searched for everyone for hours before you realized you were alone. That feeling hit hard. Even more so when you stood in the center of the rave spot, seeing everything desolate, destroyed, and powered off. It felt strangely empty and cold. You felt strangely empty and cold.

And you panicked, laughing a little as you called out for people. Called out for everyone, anyone, anything! You threw things around, overturned rocks, checked buildings and hiding spots and everywhere you could think, yet no matter how hard you searched you were alone. And you didn’t know why. Why did they leave you? Did you do something? Did no one want to be around you anymore? Was the rave just a ploy to get you to swim away so everyone could pack up and leave? Leave without all their things, pack up and move to a new palace, rich. You didn’t think you had been rude to anyone or did anything to upset anyone, yet now you rethought all of that. Sitting alone, abandoned and utterly cold, you rethought everything you had done; All the words you had said, all the reactions you had given and all the ones you didn’t, all the gifts, all the yeses and nos, all of it. All at once it made you homesick and deathly lonely. It made you think, wonder, if you had shown even just a little more interest, if you had tried a little more, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You wouldn’t be alone, sitting by Trollex’s turntable with nothing but the silence you now wished would go away and be filled with deathly loud blaring music. Even if it was just for a short amount of time.

@!; A week, that’s what it took for Queen Poppy to save the day with the help of her friends. For everyone to restore their sense of music without the need of strings, singing from their hearts and letting music just be. No more Rock-apocalypse. No more feuding and isolation of tribes! Everything was right together again. “This is amazing!” Queen Poppy exclaimed, her arms extending as she watched all the trolls in the crowd interact with each other as though there were no differences; Showing each other their music, chatting and laughing, giggling too. Even the tribal leaders were interacting among the stage. As Poppy turned towards her new found friends, the biggest grin across her face, she paused. There was a small group crowded around the Techno tribe’s leader, who had fallen down onto the stage; He was coughing harshly, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes as a hand was balled against his chest. Poppy, at first, thought it was due to his coughing fit and had rushed over while shuffling around her hair for some sort of cough drop. “Poppy! Poppy, stop-” Yet Branch stopped her, grabbing her shoulder and pulling Poppy back as she sputtered out some sort of yell. “Branch I have cough drops I can help-” Poppy would spew out, rushing around in her hair to find something, anything, to help her new friend. Yet, Branch only cupped her cheeks and turned her attention over to where Trollex was sitting, forcing her to take a second look. That’s when she spotted it, seeping and clumping up under Trollex’s hand was blood.

That’s when Delta’s shouting for a medic began to ring in Poppy’s ears. That’s when Baarb had stopped on stage, her breath hitched as she realized what she had done. That’s when a hush fell over the stage as looks were passed around, unsure what to do about the current situation. Half weren’t even sure how this had happened, or how it went unnoticed during the whole song and dance number performed minutes earlier! “Medic, Y’all we need a medic!” Delta shouted as she extended one of Trollex’s fins, noting the other gash that ran down his leg. Trollex tried shaking his head, trying to say how he would be fine, yet he was only hushed when Delta had applied some disinfecting cream (which she got from Branch) around his flipper gash.  “Uh-huh,” Delta mumbled sarcastically as Poppy and Queen Essence tried to get a Techno medic to help, “Pumpkin, you’re as fine as a horse who’s broken his leg! Stop playin’ the hero, you’re hurt.” But Trollex only shook his head again, knowing there was only so much time he had, “I have to get back home! I-” Though he was only interrupted again as he kicked his flipper towards Delta, feeling the disinfecting cream again. “Hey, we’re all safe and here, right? There’s no rush to get back home! So just stay here and let us help you,” Branch tried to reason with Trollex, yet this wasn’t his speciality. This was something more in Poppy’s area, yet she was off trying to get a medic from the Techno tribe to help Trollex.

“He’s right, you’re going to sit your ass here and not move!-” Started Delta, her adamant tone apparent as she gestured for Branch to hold down Trollex’s fin. If Trollex was involuntarily kicking her for applying disinfecting cream to his fin, she did not want to know how hard he’ll kick once she tried to disinfect the gash on his chest. As Delta carefully moved Trollex’s hand away from his chest, Barb (nervous and almost paralyzed with uncertainty and guilt) tried to jump in to ask how she or anyone could help; Knowing she had accidentally taken things a little too far after the whole rebellion Trollex tried to start to get back the strings—which Barb didn’t exactly appreciate at the time, even if he was the only one who actually had to courage to try and face her. She also regretted threatening the egg that Trollex had been hiding in his hair. Not like she was actually ever going to attack it, that would be going too far, yet… Barb stopped mid-way through her apology as she saw the expressions the others were giving her. She gave a, what looked to be, sheepish smile. “Yeah, maybe you should have cut it off before you started spewing about threatening to attack a baby troll.” Delta pointed out, flabbergasted that Barb would even act upon such a thought; even if it was an empty threat with nothing behind it. “Yeah…” Barb agreed, rubbing the back of her neck.

Luckily, no one had to sit on this subject for long as Poppy rushed back while waving her hands and shouting that they had found a medic from the Techno tribe. The medic had paused at first, a look of terror crossing their face as they saw Trollex. That was, until they were nudged by Poppy to go help and in which they instantly got to work; Pulling out bandages made from a mixture of seaweed, seagrass, and kelp to help stop the bleeding while the salt will help disinfect the wounds. “How’s the little one?” The medic would ask as he made quick work of tightened up the bandages around Trollex’s torso. Carefully, not wanting to ruin the bandages, Trollex reached up into his hair and produce the warm egg; it was slightly colder than it should be, as the ocean temperatures help regulate Techno eggs as much as the parents' hair does—due to the unfuzzy nature of Techno trolls’ hair, the extra warmth from the ocean is needed to stimulate growth within the egg. The medic passed the bandages off to Delta, who got a bit confused upon seeing the bandages but shrugged and went to work bandaging his fin, as the medic stood up. They held out their hands, a silent request to take the egg. Yet, Trollex looked weary passing the egg on. He brought it to himself slightly, a look of confliction crossing his face. And that’s when the medic grew a somber look, knowing the reason behind his hesitation. They haven’t seen you since the attack, and Trollex was sure you had come back before it all. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Poppy jumped in on a chance to try and help, noticing the frowned eyebrows and the somber looks that the two trolls shared. Yet, she received no response. Which clouded the others with nerves, unsure what to do or what to say or how to help with a situation they had no information on. “Excuse me, Barb…” The medic would turn to Queen Barb, who stiffened a little at the sudden addressment. She looked at the two, glancing between them, as the Medic glanced down at Trollex with an unreliable expression for a moment. Trollex would only shake his head, in which the Medic would take a step away from everyone; Creating some sort of space that seemingly was needed for this situation. Trollex was careful as he tried to push himself onto his fins, Delta and Branch helping to support him back up as Trollex held his egg. He kept his eyes down at it for a while, a silence fogged over the silent stage as chatter from other trolls in the crowd could be heard. And despite that, it seemed overly quiet. “Barb,” Trollex started cautiously, trying to pick and choose his words. His eyes narrowed, a pained expression flashed in his eyes as he glanced up at Barb,  “Did you ever harm someone from my Tribe?” “Yeah…?” Barb started, cautiously and a little nervous at the look she was getting. “You!... by accident.”

“No, not me! I mean another Techno troll who happened to be, like, this tall and also had an egg with them that looks like mine?” Trollex hugged the egg tighter in effect to try and show he was crossing his arms in some sort of way. Yet the worry that crossed his face was more than enough to show he wasn’t playing, if anyone had even thought that in the first place. And the panicked look that crossed with realization that flashed across Trollex’s face the second that Barb had said “no” freaked the others out more. Yet, in Trollex’s mind, all he could think about was you. You; Who could possibly be all alone at this moment. You; Who was most likely left in the desolate and destroyed Techno reef. You; Who didn’t handle abandonment well. You; You consumed his thoughts as worry began to boil over him, flooding every single vein on his body as horrible images flashed through his head on what you could be facing right at this moment. None of them he liked. All of them lead to one conclusion; He had to get back to you right now.

@!; A week of isolation was not the best for a Troll; Nevertheless a week of isolation with self deprecating thoughts without something to stop them while having to take care of an egg was absolute torture. At times you wanted to smash the egg, hatred boiling over your body at the isolation, at the fact that you had been left, at yourself; Yet you had always managed to catch yourself before you did so and you always felt so much shame for acting in such a way. How could you try and kill your own child, who had done nothing wrong? How could you even think about taking their life before they had even been able to experience the world? How could you be such a monster? You sometimes grew so disgusted with yourself that you couldn’t touch your egg for hours; Simply taking to stare at it after having wrapped it in a kelp blanket as you replayed the terrifying scene in your mind. So many times you had been close to snapping, so many times you had almost smashed the egg or decided to leave it alone and pray it got eaten. So many times you thought about leaving it entirely and going on your own way, to leave this all behind instead of sticking around with some sort of sickening hope that someone, anyone, would come back and help. Something kept you here though, caged you in your own torture. Trapped you in isolation with a choking self hatred that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you tried. You weren’t sure how long ago you had the color sucked out of you, you hadn’t been counting how long everyone had been gone. You hadn’t slept well since that day, so you couldn’t even attempt to judge the days.

You hadn’t even realized when Trollex had returned, even despite the group of people he had following him (due to his injuries). The ringing in your ears blocked out the shouting, the fuzz in your brain made it hard to think of anything anymore. “Starfish?” Trollex shouted, panicking as he zipped around Techno reef. He turned over every building, trying to find any place you could be isolating yourself at. “Dude, hey!” Synth tried to follow Trollex, “You’re injured, slow down!” He shouted, glancing back at other leaders who had decided to follow. He just had to make sure they were good in the air bubbles they had blown for them before he zipped off towards Trollex, just to make sure he didn’t make his injuries worse. Yet, Trollex couldn’t care less about everyone else. He needed to find you, scratch that he was going to find you before anymore time could pass. “Starfish? Love?” And that’s when he found you at his DJ station, back resting against his turntables as you stared at the kelp-wrapped egg in front of you. Something in Trollex made him stop, despite the feeling that made him want to lunge at you and tackle you in a hug. He knew you were bad alone, even more so horrible with overthinking, and he had expected you to be in a bad shape when he found you yet… not this. Not gray. He had promised you wouldn’t hurt when you started dating and he had failed.

Trollex was more careful to approach you this time around, slowly swimming around his turntables to sit down next to you. He wanted to do nothing more than to hug you, to reassure that he was back and he didn’t mean to leave you. That all those nasty thoughts in your head were nothing but lies, yet he wasn’t even sure where to start; You were so out of it that you hadn’t even acknowledged him yet. In the background, Synth had finally caught up with Trollex enough to see what was happening. He had paused himself seeing the scene, even backing up a little to give you both some sort of privacy; stopping the other tribe leaders as well. They couldn’t see much from where they floated, yet they could make out Trollex carefully taking the second egg into his hands and storing it in his hair along with the first, before turning to you—all gray and desolate. The silence was deafening, it was so deafening all you wanted to do was to cover your ears and forget sound existed at all. Yet, as you tried to cover your ears your hands were caught by Trollex’s; His familiar hands, the way your hands fit into his, and the warmth. It made you crumble, despite everything that circled in your mind like a tornado and you were pulled into a hug instantly. A warm hug, a familiar one. Most importantly one that could cloud all the silence with a simple ‘thump’, ‘thump’, ‘thump’. 

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

[fabled-fiction]

Hiii!! I saw ur across the spiderverse update and I was wondering if you could do Hobie Brown headcanons for maybe a reader in his Earth who’s more techy, and works in like DJ or Techno themed music. It’d be pretty kool

Soundwaves

Hobie Brown x Techy!DJ!Reader Headcanons

Summary: Headcanons for a Techno DJ reader on Hobie’s Earth. How y’all go from strangers, to friends, to something else entirely ❤️💙

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: N/A (could possible have SPOILERS for ATSV but Im pretty sure there isnt)

A/N: I KINDA WENT OVERBOARD??? I had alot of fun writing this and hope it meets expectations!! ☺️

— When you live on an Earth thats as messed up (politically) as Earth 138 you have to find an out. Something to keep you from going crazy.

— For you that was music.

— More specifically techno.

— It was just, easy for you to sit down and plug yourself into your already well loved computer and not come out until you had produced at least one or two songs.

— Soon after you realized you could do so much more with this music.

— It start out small. You would show a few friends, who would show other friends. And soon after that it started to snowball.

— You were starting to hold “shows” if thats what you could call it. After Dark DJ sessions and Midnight rave rallys.

— It was just the beginning of the role you would take though.

— After a while you had started to spread this message through your music. Your flyers for your shows started to also be flyers for change.

— And soon enough you caught the eye of a certain spider. Who’s message wasn’t so different from yours.

— Especially when you were holding an exclusively inclusive rally in an old abandoned Fisk tower.

— He was curious how the hell you were gonna get in the building, it was guarded per say but it had locks even he couldn’t break.

— But as he watched you, he was impressed with how you worked your way around the keypad.

— You had this small little mechanism, which he could tell was homemade, that you plugged into the devices. All you had to do was press a few buttons and reprogram it.

— With two zaps you were in, and the keycards with your calling-card that were on the flyers handed out on it made much more sense now.

— The show itself was probably the hardest you had put on. The music and the lightshow alone were impressive. He especially had a good view from above in the rafters.

— You were in your element. You were moving to the beat, your stage presence alone told him that you truly loved what you were doing.

— After everything was said and done, you stayed on that stage till the very last person left

— Or so you thought

— As you were breaking down your equipment (also all handbuilt, he’d have to figure out how you made all this bulky equipment compactable) he decided to make himself known

— Slowly, he lowered (upside down) till he was technically in front of you. You had your back turned to him though as you were clipping a particularly difficult suitcase closed

— “Need help?”

— Needless to say you were caught off guard, because you whipped around holding what looked like a keyboard ready to smack him

— Luckily he had caught your wrist, and watched as the electronic face on your own mask turned from an angry emoticon to surprised.

— Were you surprised that THE Spiderman was at your show? Yes and No.

— While you’re sure your music wasn’t his style, based off his spike hawk and battle vest, you were sure that your views matched up.

— “Ive got it, thanks though.”

— With one more press of a button, everything else collapsed down. You were left with only two suitcases to carry.

— “‘ow you do all that? Its quiet impressive.”

— “Its quite simple, I could show you sometime.”

— That small little interaction would later spiral into an interesting friendship between the two of you

— While he never called you his person in the chair, he did find himself often coming to or contacting you whenever there was a code he couldnt crack or a person he needed identifying

— And whenever you needed a little extra help spreading the word about another one of your rave rallys there was no doubt he would have a handful of flyers accidentally falling out of his arm as he was swinging

— The night you both showed each-other your faces definitely solidified your friendship

— You were working on a new track, headphones plugged in when your phone started buzzing.

— SPIDEY P: open the window

— When you opened said window, (mask on btw) he had rushed in and then slammed it shut

— He had drew your curtains shut and grabbed your dresser, sliding it infront of your window

— You were very confused

— But when he had explained to you that Osborn had gotten wind of him and your friendship he apparently raced right over to your place

— While you were now a little scared for your life, you were more flattered

— It seemed like he had raced right over, cause he was huffing and puffing as he leaned on the edge of the bed

— “What if I…showed you my face? That way you could know like…who to look out for?”

— You could tell your question had caught him off guard, but he didn’t hesitate to reach for the edge of is his mask. And your were just as quick to reach to the clip on the back of yours

— Maybe this is also when your relationship…changed

— Not only because you both were seemingly breathtaken by both of eachother but…the fact the fact that you both had without question went to rip your masks off

— It was a raw…personal type of respect that had been shown that night

— Afterwards Hobie (whos named you had learned literal seconds after the mask off) started coming over more

— It was usually in the after hours, he would come and relax. You both would start getting to know each-other more personally.

— He started giving you samples to include in your sets, and you EVENTUALLY got him to download some of your songs

— The first time he takes you web swinging you swear you almost lost your life

— Despite the fact that he was holding onto you with dear life

— Because at this point he wouldn’t know how to react if he accidentally got you hurt

— Thats why he rushed over as fast as he could when he saw a screencap of you at one of your shows

— Whenever he went to your place, and your curtains were open he’d take a moment just to watch you in your natural element.

— He loved it when he was listening to one of your songs, and he heard his sample mixed in perfectly

— Your medleys and his always seemed to blend into each other perfectly, despite being from almost two completely different genres

— You started to notice how your heart would flutter whenever you saw him in the rafters of yourshow

— Especially if he shows up as Hobie?? OH BOy does your heart pick up

— You noticed he started being…closer? He would put his hand on the small of your back or between your shoulderblades whenever he would lean over to look at your computer

— He would “accidentally” leave one of his spiked cuffs behind, and lemme tell you he knew you would wear it so you wouldnt forget to give it to him

— So when he sees you wearing it at one of your shows (since it had become almost a tradition for him to help you pack up after a show) his heart always feels like its gonna jump outta his chest

— You guys dance around each other for a while. You both know theres gotta be SOMETHING there. You’ve both noticed the how soft you’ve come around each other

— Both your smiles become sweeter. You hug him for longer, you grip onto him just a bit tighter when he takes you out swinging to his favorite spots.

— Those are your favorite hang out nights. When you just go to sit ontop of whatever building or tower Hobie decided to take you too. Sometimes he even takes you to a tower thats right across from an art piece he had dabbled with.

— It all comes to a boiling point though, one night when you were on a call with Hobie as he was slinging around.

— You’re talking his ear off about some new sound board you were thinking about getting. He was eating it up.

— But then he starts breaking up, and you hear alot of scuffling. When he completely cuts out you lose it.

— You cant go out there, you dont have any weapon of any sort. You also know Hobie would lose it if you put yourself in danger because of him

— So all you can do is keep restarting his tracker and hope he’s okay

— You’re on your apartment fire escape in an instant just waiting for him to come back after a while, to keep yourself from going crazy

— You knew he would, especially since you cut out

— So when he slowly comes into your view, with his mask half down he smiles at you.

— He…SMILES?? SERIOUSLY??

— You don’t know what to say as you stare at him with tears in your eyes, but he does apparently

— He was always a man of action, actions do speak louder than words

— He had pulled the bottom of his mask down just enough to show the bottom half of his face

— And then he’s kissing you, his gloved hand coming to hold the side of your face. It takes you a second before you react, but then you go to hold the edge of his mask and really just sink into the moment

— After that your dynamic changes. You two become MUCH closer physically, share more private kisses and nights actually spent together.

— Those late night swings turn into dates on top of buildings, where he will sometimes (usually every time) play a song for you

— You are permanently always wearing one of his cuffs

— And suddenly the infamous Spiderman has a new patch on his battle vest, that has your stage name on it

[yourdoorisunlocked]

I'll Never Meet Another You - Part Four

📺 【 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑽 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑽 】📺

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: Boss x Employee, power imbalance, manipulation, obsession, Yandere!Vox x Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Since I haven't posted anything here for a damn while, I'm gonna catch ya'll up to what's been happening over on A03 😭 And yes, we have a new update schedule, now!

The moment you stepped into the meeting room, directed there by the irritable receptionist – clearly exhausted by whatever tasks higher-ups had shoved onto her plate - that crushing feeling of not belonging, and the weight of all your decisions had crashed down onto your shoulders. 

As you were shoved into the waiting room, instructed to take a seat in one of the navy-blue armchairs and wait for him to interview you, you’d scrunched up your nose, wondering whether just everyone working in the Vees’ district was that snide and unbearable.

But a simple glance around the general area at all the tech-themed demons told you that, yes. Yes, they were. And of course they were miserable beyond belief. They – just like you, soon enough – didn't work in just any district, nor could they escape their binding contracts with whichever Overlord they were working for. 

That fact cast a grim reality upon the rose-tinted fantasy you somehow managed to build around working at VoxTek, no matter how you attempted to distract yourself as you sat at the interview, fiddling with your nails under the piercing scrutiny of a camera that seemed to never swerve away from you.  

But now, in the frigid, monitored silence, you were beginning to ask yourself the sensible questions you should’ve been considering before you even thought about filling out that application.

For starters, what in Hell made you think you were qualified for a job that was bound to be as grueling as that of an Overlord’s assistant? And how did you even expect to land a such prestigious position as that with your criminally unqualified job history? So why the fuck were you still sitting there like a simpering idiot?  

You had just been debating rising from your seat, about to abandon the idea of building something new for yourself before you even picked up the tools, when the doors burst open. Cold electricity tickled the air, running pulses of shivers up your spine and down again as you laid your eyes on your future boss. 

The door to the meeting room automatically slammed behind Vox, blocking out the crowd of employees. With a soft, irritated exhale, his smile finally dropped, and he laid his eyes on you.

Almost immediately, you stiffened, shooting up from your chair with a hasty greeting. “G-Good morning, sir,” you attempted to keep yourself from squeaking the words out, bowing at the waist before rising to see the Overlord’s dumbstruck expression. 

You didn’t notice how Vox’s fingers twitched by his sides as a soft crackle elicited from his claws, how his sensors were on overdrive, nor the way his eyes lavishly caressed each curve of your body as you bent over in a bow.

He almost couldn’t believe that you were right there before him – perfect, beautiful, sweet little you.  

Every cell in his being raved at him to snatch you up, that you were right there within his territory, his own little darling ready to be rescued from your terrible situation. He wasn’t a demon prone to letting his own imagination wander from the present, but all he could think of now was your bright future together.  

And although you seemed so unsure now, glancing between the door and him with uncertainty, Vox would be sure to correct your hesitation. You had absolutely nothing to fear from him, after all. 

“Good morning!” He adopted a warmer expression, unable to help the enthusiasm from brightening his voice. He paused, looking you over one more time, as if he were mentally taking a picture to remember this moment. Before you could question it, however, he swiftly carried on, summoning a device with the VoxTek logo engraved upon the surface. 

You relaxed your shoulders and managed a steady smile in return, introducing yourself with a bit more confidence. Although Vox clearly held the power advantage here, if there was anything you picked up from dealing with obtusely powerful men, it was that they respected backbone, more than anything, and the ability to easily placate one was the sharpest tool in your arsenal. 

“Welcome to VoxTek. I’m sure you already know my name,” he chuckled, reaching over to shake your hand. 

“Well, who doesn’t?” With a small, fake laugh, obvious in how pitched it was, you hesitantly shook his hand. The way his smile widened, and how his hand fit so perfectly against yours, secure and grounding, shot pleasant sparks through you. 

“Now, you’re here for an interview for the assistant position, correct?” Vox leveled a stare with you, laying on the most stern, no-nonsense attitude that he could keep up around you. 

“I’m eager to begin, Sir.” He shivered. Oh, he liked that, coming from you. What other names would you call him? What expressions would you make while he forced you to choke them from your pretty lips? How would you utter them to him, sweet and submissive, his good little wife?  

The entire time that Vox interviewed you, you were unable to look away from his eyes, too intimidated to trail your gaze up and down seven goddamn feet of sharp, pristine attire, skintight and taught around a wall of lean muscle that easily towered over you.

Though, as the questioning went on, what was supposed to be a rigid interview had miraculously evolved into simple banter between you two, and surprisingly, he even managed to make you laugh a few times. And how he reveled in those bursts of joy he elicited from you. Just beautiful.   

This was perfect. So far, you didn’t even take notice of how Vox barely glanced at the list of standard questions he was meant to be asking you, nor did he even ask for your application or resume, nothing.  

“And why would you want to work here, my dear?” Ah, the first real question that didn’t involve your personal life – or more specifically, your love life.  

To his question, you gave an honest shrug that felt rather light on your shoulders. A strange, persistent buzz in your mind told you that you could trust the demon before you, that you could tell him anything.   “I’m just tired of the same old routine of being beaten around, being given abysmal pay, before collapsing in some shitty apartment in the worst corner of Hell.” 

Vox blinked at you, before bursting into a fit of laughter, a smooth, velvety sound broken only by soft glitches. You didn’t find anything very funny, however, as you raised your hands to your mouth, thinking you’d already blown it. “I-I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Doll,” he interrupted, chuckling softly as he wiped a pixelated tear from his eye. “Nothin’ I haven’t heard before.”

He could’ve melted at the way you relaxed, and how a wobbly smile made its way to your face. Yes, yes, this was ꝑēɍӻēȼⱦ. Everything was going according to plan. All the strings he’d pulled, and here you finally were, at ease with his presence, freely smiling and laughing with him, every fiber of fear and apprehension gone from your expression as you leaned even closer to him. 

Temptation gnawed at his wiring, but he held fast. Like a predator circling its prey, Vox would have to observe your every move to figure out just how to ensnare you. If he treaded carefully enough, he’d soon have his prize. 

And yet, there he sat, his patience running thin as his claws itched to seize you, mind and heart begging to kiss you with every breath he could possibly offer, to watch you entangle yourself in his web and in his bedsheets.

He wanted to drop to his knees and beg for you not to leave him, ever.  But Vox couldn’t afford to scare you away. Not yet, not when you were in his grasp, so close to being captured, being truly his. 

And so, he sat back, attempting to relax himself whilst calming the lovesick ideations that he wished to project onto you. 

“Now, you must know how we usually do things around here, what with Soul Contracts, and all...” your pulse nearly halted at his words, the air growing just a bit tighter.

You were a bit too attached to your soul to part with it yet, and he could tell from the way you immediately went on the defensive. But that was no matter. Soon, you’d be too attached to him to care for such a silly, mundane aspect of your mortality.

Your soul would inevitably belong to him, sure, but such a venture was insignificant, in the face of possessing something as precious as your heart, something he had only ever dreamed of. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking for it right now.” You deflated with relief. “But... it is the company policy, my dear.” Vox’s brows furrowed for a moment, almost regarding you with pity. “I’m afraid we don’t manage loose ends, here.” 

“Oh...” your eyes flickered to the door once more as you bit your bottom lip in deep thought. So far, he’d being nothing but a gentleman to you, absolutely nothing like the frigid, ambitious, pretentious asshole that both himself and the media portrayed him as.

That pretentious, stilted persona that you’d grown so used to hearing and seeing behind the silver screen was long gone, and such an alarming facade raised several red flags, now that you thought about it. Vox could very well be manipulating you into giving him my soul, for reasons that oblivious little you couldn’t seem to pinpoint.  

Overlords, you reasoned to yourself as you gathered your bearings to politely decline the job offer. Perhaps there were other business ventures you could pursue, now that you thought about it. Maybe you cast the line just a bit too far, this time, and it would’ve been in your best interest to draw it in. 

“I understand that you’re apprehensive,” Vox quickly amended, keeping desperation seeping through his voice. Though he could’ve easily kept you in his little kingdom through whatever means necessary, however violent or depraved, he’d truly rather not force you into anything. 

He knew that if he did force you and wrench you away from all that you once knew rather than letting you slowly leave your old life behind in favor of being with him, your feelings for him would sour and spoil, leaving no place in your heart for him. And that was the only place Vox had ever wanted to be. 

It was time to cast out his own line. “Perhaps... we can make an arrangement of sorts. It’s rather unorthodox, but nothing that anyone has to know about,” he offered, and you perked up.  

“What kind of arrangement?” Hook.  

“Think of it as a trial period! You work here for a few weeks, full time with full pay, and if you like it enough, you’ll stay here in exchange for one small thing.” Line.  

You raised an eyebrow. While that did sound rather appealing, it seemed a few stretches too generous. And not even you could bat away your doubts with empty excuses, this time. Little did you know, he could expend any amount of money he wanted with no qualms nor glance at the cost, as long as the gamble had a chance of winning you.  

“Excuse me for asking, Sir, but what exactly would you be getting out of this?” 

More than you could ever know. “Oh, please. Besides, I can spare a few expenses for a charming little doll like yourself.” 

“R-Really?” Sinker.   

“Of course!” A row of sharp neon teeth shone in the pale neon lights, gleaming with temptation as you eyed them warily. “Take it or leave it, darling. The choice is yours.”   

But it really wasn’t, since there was no way that you’d ever say no, though he didn’t blame you for taking the bait. The strings of manipulation were easy to learn, as long as one wielded them delicately. It was simply pure coincidence that he just happened to mean every word he spun to trap you. 

“Well... I suppose I could try it out,” you smiled with an uneven shrug. And finally, finally , Vox relaxed his shoulders for the first time in hours.  

“Perfect!” With a snap, a soul-binding contract was summoned – simply a reassurance that Vox would keep his end of the deal, he quickly explained to you – and he signed his name without hesitation, looking over at you with expectant eyes. You blinked, checking over the details of the contract before signing your name. Smart girl, always reading the fine print.  

Placing your hands to your cheeks, you squeezed them to make sure you weren’t dreaming. The both of you stood, and he immediately took the opportunity to stand even closer to you. “I-I can’t believe you’d do something like this for me,” you smiled as Vox gripped your shoulders, steering you out of the meeting room. 

“Of course, my dear! You’re special.” He grinned, opening the door for you whilst further pulling you against him, being sure to send a venomous glare towards anyone who dared to interrupt this moment with you. 

A giggle tickled your lips, and the very depths of Vox’s heart. “Special, huh? You know, I’m getting the distinct feeling that you’re flirting with me.” 

He raised an eyebrow, before leaning closer to you, so that you could feel the heat radiating from his interface. One glowing, crimson eye whirred erratically as it stared into yours. “And just what would give you that impression, my dear?” 

Almost immediately, you swerved your head away from him, cheeks burning. With a low chuckle, Vox retracted his hand. His claws clenched around your shoulder, tugging you closer towards him as the two of you took tentative steps forward into your future. 

And thus, began your shiny new career at VoxTek. An eternity of commitment. 

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid

@slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo, @crowleysthings, @zombiesnips-blog, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @impulsivethoughtsat2am, @ashdaidiot, @crybabycat1, @repostingmyfavs, @crazii-saber-wolf, @reikamasama, @dudesorriso, @speckle-meow-meow, @alastor-simp

@maggotzdilemma, @nonbinaryanarchist0013, @martinys-world, @introvertreader20

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Posting actual WIPS on a Wednesday? Imagine that.

As long as we are all baring our hearts on tumblr, I have to admit that I have been struggling to write anything since I wrapped up Eternal Life (back in the first week of April). At first I figured I was simply burnt out since I wrote all 42k words of that fic in just about a month, but given that I've started three separate WIPS since then and made zero progress on any of them, I'm wondering if I am just out of stories. I hate all my words--even though I really love some of these concepts. So, as you may have noticed, I've been distracting myself with sewing projects because good progress is so clearly visible there...

Anywho, to motivate myself, I decided to post a snip of each today and hope that having bits out in the world will motivate me to finish at least ONE of them! All untitled. Set up and snips below the cut.

Very creatively titled "Party Robot," this WIP is a silly/fluffy one-shot inspired by an article I read a while ago about a growing trend in American weddings. This one is the furthest along and will likely see the light of day eventually...

A nervous bounce.  From a robot. I recognize that bounce. “I thought you said Shepard was working tonight.” My voice is tight. “He is.” Bunce replies, similarly strained. “What did you say he does again?” Panic rises in my chest.  “He’s in entertain–”  Whether Bunce trails off or I simply don’t hear the rest is irrelevant because the music has changed from easy dinner instrumentals to much-too-loud techno and the show is clearly starting. As the synths build, driving towards a crescendo, my brain reels with the growing realisation that Simon would never just abandon me at the last minute, would never send me anywhere alone, certainly not my cousin’s gay wedding, which is every kind of milestone given his Old Families lineage and Pitch blood specifically and– “PARTY PEOPLE!” The DJ booms into the mic. “Have the grooms got a treat for you!”

A multi-chapter AU I have lovingly nicknamed "Baz in a Bubble." It is sad and angsty and is proving significantly more difficult to execute (despite having a complete outline) than I once thought it would be. Who could have guessed having one home-bound character would make me too sad to write? Thanks to @thewholelemon and @hushed-chorus who've listened to more than their fair share of my griping about this one. Anyway, here's the first bit of BAZ POV:

There are exactly 297 stars in the sky above me. I count them while lying in my bed every night. They do not twinkle or flicker hello like real stars. Instead, they glow a constant yellowish-green that reminds me of the colour artists always make toxic sludge in the cartoons I grew up watching. It's the colour of superhuman villains and their evil plots. Of poison. Of danger. It's the colour of the plastic star stickers Fiona put up on my ceiling when I was 10 and spent the whole year crying and begging her to go outside. Just once. Just for a minute. Because I was starting to forget what fresh air smelled like or how it felt to have grass prickle against your bare feet or how the stars lit up the night sky in Hampshire. There are no stars in the middle of London. Not outside my window. Not in this room.

And then the WIP I have the least progress on (literally almost nothing) but I so desperately want to write and could really use a thought partner to help me brainstorm/plot/figure out what the hell I'm doing--- a canon divergence where Simon successfully exposes Baz as a vamp and Malcolm steps the fuck up as a father. Here's a bit of Simon POV:

It didn't matter anyway. Pitch Manor was empty. While [the Mage] ranted and raved, I wandered into Baz’s living room. The TV was still on. Peppa the Pig was playing. A half-dressed Barbie was splayed on the couch next to a small bowl of grapes, all cut in half. I picked up the doll and brushed her tangled hair out of her face.  Why didn’t I know Baz had a sister? A family that ate snacks together in front of the TV? Parents who loved him so dearly they fled their whole lives under cover of night? In the days that followed, I sat in meeting after meeting with the Coven, listening to The Mage. He demanded the casting of tracking spells, pushed through more dark creature reforms, and rambled about the miscarriage of justice and the dangers of harbouring monsters.  But Baz wasn’t a monster.  He was just a boy.  A scared boy.  A boy who ran because he wanted to live. 

Anyway...here's to accountability via tumblr. Maybe once I've slept for several weeks and feel more refreshed I won't be so frustrated by every word I know, or more precisely, all the beautiful ones I can’t seem to find…

Thanks for the tag @bookish-bogwitch. Cannot wait to devour the new chapter of BPD!

Hellos and high-fives to all. May your words (and art) be faring better than mine: @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire, @facewithoutheart

@emeryhall, @artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple

@drowninginships, @valeffelees, @shrekgogurt, @blackberrysummerblog, @iamamythologicalcreature

@run-for-chamo-miles, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @arthurkko, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

@beastmonstertitan, @supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @fiend-for-culture, @theearlgreymage

@brilla-brilla-estrellita, @skeedelvee, @ic3-que3n, @talentpiper11, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

[zvcvxl]

Ellie Williams x Reader (ONESHOT)

WARNINGS!: mf you aint even reading this shit dont even

You’ve always tried distancing yourself from people outside your friend group, however, when attention is on you, you tend to act like its your natural habitat. Even when your at the brink of - pissing yourself, breaking down in a gut wrenching breakdown, killing yourself leaving.

And let’s just say boy’s are one of your biggest fears, don’t even mention when they are in a group, gosh, you just murmur under your breath, a silent prayer whether you believe or not…

Alcohol, drugs, smoking…listen you aren’t a pussy but you just simply decline usually when any of the three are offered to you, and it’s definitely not cus your scared.

If you even stepped a centimetre within the area of your crush chances are you would loose your shit and blush hysterically, one time you almost passed out, and let me tell you, your friends do not put that past you.

“what am I even doing here” you murmur to yourself at the ridiculously ridiculous situation you are in. Can you blame yourself though? I mean, if you weren’t sitting on large ass, crimson red brick, staring at the abandoned deteriorating building with glass shards speckled amongst the sweaty, dancing people which stunk with a pungent odour of weed and bitter alcohol, strike number one,you would have been facing major remarks from your friend group.

Scurrying to a more closed-off space, the melancholy symphonies evaporating within the orchestra of voices either singing, making out or doing what the f*ck ever. You dont care. Never really have.

As your eyes search the dark sector which only was getting engulfed by the frat boys being provocative and total dumbasses, strike number two, you curse under your breath which was followed by a fog due to the freezing temperatures and how exposed the building came to be.

It was a 40 minute ride from campus, something you normally couldn’t put up with, nor would your friends in reality, but if they’re boyfriends did? They did too…meaning you’d be the last one out and no-one wants that, so you ,reluctantly, join them. Immediately regretting it when you saw the building, frankly it was creepy, had multiple floors and you needed to really squint you eyes to see it was a hospital. And it was pitch dark.

The sound of your pulse may be heard when your nervous, and you’re here to volunteer as a tribute and agree with that dilemma given the circumstances of the situation you have voluntarily put yourself in.

As your walking around trying to make it seem like your not hysterically going to breakdown in tears of you dont find your friends because thats super embarrassing like a lost puppy you cant help but feel pissed at your friends, one for leaving you and another for having toxic ass boyfriends that dont know how to communicate for shit.

A scoff escaped your lips in which your bottom lip was caught between your teeth in a way of dangerous comfort, due to the fact you can taste the metallic bitterness of your blood flushed against your tongue. Suddenly, reminding you of saltburn and you cant help but grimac-

Ayo, what the fu-

Your head darts to the person who rudely interrupted your reminiscent reminder of saltburn by shoving past you with a harsh tone.

And then You see Her.

The girl who raves off of attention, feeding off it, craving for it, addicted to it.

The girl who pays no mind to groups of boys, frat boys, any boys.

The girl who dreads life when a single day passes by without drugs, alcohol or a quick smoke. She never misses on the opportunity, gosh, shed be the one offering.

Your opposite

Your enemy

Your reason for hating college

Ellie Williams

Her harsh scowl interrupts your brain from processing a response, her auburn hair tied into her iconic half-up-half-down which makes you cream lowk annoyed.

“What the f*ck?” You say with a glare that could only be gifted to Ellie Williams.

“not my f*ckin fault your dumbass was in the way” you swear its almost like she has these interactions preplanned in her head because of how quick she always is to reply.

Either way, you cant deny Ellie is totally having you cream piss in your pants right now. The way she stands in front of you with her dark blue skinny jeans and her stupid grey hoodie, she looks like a hobo but pulls it off because her face was gifted.

Her forest green eyes stare into my pigmented ones, shes waiting for my response, and so are a few people near us…

“You know damn well i wasnt in your way Ellie” Is the only way you can fend or even muster up for yourself in this given moment, your heart doing palpitations, hands shaking but folded beneath your chest.

Ellie chuckles, she never backs down and she sure as hell won’t start doing that now, even with her toying with the fabric of her sleeve.

She’s always right, after all.

“Coulda fooled me.”

You roll your eyes, isn’t she creative? “oh wow Ellie, your awfully funny today, want a cookie?”

gosh she just made your blood boil.

She always knew how to get under your skin

“Yeah sure, snickerdoodle sounds good. So thanks.” you don’t even have to look at her to see her smile you could practically sense it, she enjoys these back and forths you guys have.

To tell the truth, you do too.

Doing the smart thing, and totally not because your scared since attention is on both of you and the music is starting to die down you walk away…well I say that but people are quick to block your so called path.

And Ellie grasps your arms before you could even think to push them away.

“Oh wow, running away already? What happened to the girl who would stay and deal with all of my snarky comments.” The feeling of her hand on your forearm sends my neurons crazy, you feel a blush rising up your cheeks.

And why the f*ck is everyone looking at us right now?

You can't help but feel the world freeze for a second, adrenaline too hard to cope, anger through the roof.

And everyone looking at us, the frat boys, the unholy aroma engulfing my nostrils.

Strike number three

Ellie immediately retracts her hand from my arm and her skilled hand hovers over the stinging feeling, which found itself on her left cheek.

Your action was like gasoline pouring on a bonfire, your slap enough to make Ellie's rage burst into a roaring flame.

“You f*cking c*nt” the auburn haired girl spews, her eyes starring daggers at you as her eyes quick gloss at the arrangement of people surrounding the two of you.

And with rapid pace you take the hint that thats your cue to leave another one of your problems…only this one cant be ran from.

“sh*t-sh*t-sh*t-sh*t-sh*t-sh*t-sh*t-sh*t” Is all that escapes your slightly parted lips as heavy breathing almost conceals your profanity whilst strands of hair undone from your ponytail, beads of sweat trickling down your temples. Hurriedly, trying to squeeze through the people towards the parking lot.

The pang in your chest, your heartbeat, so loud Ellie could hear from across the perimeter of the parking lot. Before you could even reach the bustop you feel a firm hand grasp ur arm, so tightly that zinc could feel malleable. You feel your eyes widen and your breath runs shaky.

Looking down, seeing the veiny, bony, tatted hand on your arm you could only guess..no..know this was Ellies hand. However, before you had any time to react her voice roars into your ears and you groan audibly making her spit profanity’s at you left and right like it was her job.

“You fucking bitch!”

“Slut!”

Jeez…wont she ever shut the fuck up…you thought?

Ellies eyebrows twitched, her slit becoming more defined, her eyes narrowed. Dangerous silence engulfed the air making you choke.

“The fuck did you just say?”.

You so fucked up, you internally curse yourself for a mistake like thinking out loud.

Pause, why is she looking at you like that…or why does the moon make her freckles so evident, her eyes mesmerising, her lips softer? The subtle shine of the moon making her attractive. No but why is she inching closer?

Why are you inching closer?

As her eyes stare into yours, she dosent have to say anything, Ellie’s eyes are hungry for you, shes hungry for you.

Her soft lips graze yours

Her eyes close

Her unstable breathing

She, you, kiss. A desperate kiss, a needy one its perfect. You both become one flesh, the auburns girls hands grip your waist as if your gonna leave her, you find your arms slithering around her cold neck as the sound of you guys making out cancels out the frat music, your heart beats syncing. Both of your breaths so hot, panting, trying to salvage the kiss before you pull away to catch your breath.

“Breathe, baby” you both have a moment of staring at each other, the air becoming hot. She grabs you into her arms again. Taking you as hers, your lips smashing with hers again. Only thing different is that, this time her hands roam around your body, touching you oh so desperately. It seems as if shes guiding you somewhere, suddenly, you hear her keys jingling, a car unlocking.

A car door opening.

Ellie pushes you into the backseat of her car, harshly before slamming the door behind her and her emerald eyes catch you in a trance of consent and you nod.

“I need you so bad Ellie…fuck”

“oh yeah?” her lips curl into that stupid smirk.

“yeah baby” you breathe out.

“show me how much you need me then”

And thats all you needed, your fingers find their way to ur clothed cunt, the area wet with ecstasy. You can feel her eyes tracing every one of your movements.

“so wet already? Didnt even need to touch you babe, huh?” Ellies hot breath sends chills through you as you arch your back at the sensation of your fingers rubbing circles on your panties, growing wetter, needier.

She looks up at you, her brow arched as your spread legs close.

“Why’d you stop baby?” she says before realising your shaking too much your fingers cant find the right rhythm on your clit to pleasure you. She chuckles, finding your humiliation comedic.

“Tell me what you want” you tuck a strand of her soft hair behind her ear.

“use your words” She grabs your wrist to stop you from guiding her fingers.

“I need you ell’s, your fingers, your tongue” you huff out.

Ellie smirks, dipping her head in between your thighs, making you subconsciously spread. Her lips grazing the inside of your thighs, kissing them occasionally before she spreads you wider with her fingers emitting a light sigh from you.

As her tongue makes contact with your clit, she skill fully flicks as if shes done this a hundred times before which…wouldnt be too far off (you dont hope). Your hips buckle as she increases the pressure of her tongue on your swollen clit, the darkened car filled with the noise of your wetness and your moans.

Before you knew it, she was inside of you. Increasing the speed. “Taking me so well, hm baby? Such a good girl” .

CBA FINISHING

[brekwrites]

Hi I'm curious, what are your thoughts and opinions on Solar x Eclipse???

Hi! Sorry for the delay here, I was moving and also wanted to give this some thought. Here’s a ramble for you:

Okay, so, my first thought is that at first they’d hate each other. They already do in canon! Most Eclipses seem to have a lot of hatred for themselves, and I think that translates to hatred for other Eclipses as well. It’d be like hating yourself and being forced to watch and interact with a video of yourself lmao. Yuck.

Additionally, we’ve seen that they all look down on each other and are very territorial. Solar and Eclipse also do this, they just have different ideas of what success is, and therefore different standards. Which leads me to my next point: Solar has accomplished everything Eclipse has ever wanted.

Solar wasn’t suppressed and villainized to the same extent as Eclipse. His Sun and Moon were willing to work with him (regardless of how reluctant his Moon may or may not have been to do so) and help him get his own body. This was Eclipse’s main goal in the beginning, but he was trapped by Moon, suppressed and feared by Sun, and they ended up in a battle for Eclipse to have his own body until he was forcefully expelled. Eclipse also used parts of himself to create Bloodmoon and Lunar, which likely didn’t help him in the long run (especially Lunar, who I think he gave a lot of his more positive thoughts and feelings). So, Solar is more “Eclipse” than Eclipse himself is, because he didn’t have to fracture himself to make new AIs. And even though things eventually went to shit in his original dimension, he was still more accepted than Eclipse was in the beginning.

Once Eclipse realized his situation, he wanted revenge. He began to plot to destroy Sun and Moon, to make them pay for what they’d done. Though it wasn’t intentional, Solar accomplished this goal as well. His separation resulted in the death of his Sun, and his Moon suffered greatly in the aftermath. He then killed his Moon directly. For Solar, these two things are shameful mistakes, but for Eclipse? Solar accomplished the thing he set out to do, seemingly effortlessly, and he doesn’t even care. How infuriating!

And finally, though this is a bit more speculative, there’s a good chance that deep down, Eclipse craved acceptance, inclusion, and a feeling of safety. He created Lunar to be his brother as well as his sidekick, took his subsequent betrayal incredibly badly, and used the star to make himself universally loved and Sun and Moon hated. His goal of destroying Sun and Moon was meant to hide this, to prove to himself he didn’t need them when they abandoned and excluded him. Solar was not only accepted by his Sun and Moon initially—he left his home dimension, found a NEW Sun and Moon (someone ELSE’S, actually), and managed to be accepted into their family. He did what Eclipse couldn’t, and I think that would drive Eclipse absolutely insane. He can rant and rave about Solar being the inferior version all he wants, but he knows deep down what the truth is.

From Solar’s perspective, Eclipse is the reason he has a bad reputation and why his kind are universally hated. Solar spent his entire existence fighting to build a life for himself and distance himself from the actions of other Eclipses. To have Eclipse show up AGAIN, and to learn that this version is a copy of him, and wouldn’t exist if he hadn’t come to this dimension? He’d feel so guilty, and it’d make him really defensive.

So I think they’d fight. Like. Hardcore. Eclipse would be like, “This isn’t your home. You’re inferior. Go back to your dimension and deal with the cards you were dealt. Etc.” and Solar would counter with, “You’re the inferior copy here. I was here first, actually. You squandered your chances to be a part of this family and it’s mine now.” And since they know each other so well, they’d be able to hit each other where it really, really hurts. And they’d be able to recognize when something landed, despite the typical unbothered Eclipse facade.

That’s how I think they’d connect, at first. One of them says something that hits a little too close to home. Maybe Solar says something that’s true for both of them, motivated by his own shame, and Eclipse really feels it, and has to take a step back and retreat. Maybe says something about he didn’t ask to be remade. He didn’t want to be remade. And Solar recognizes how hard it hit, and despite himself, despite how much of an asshole Eclipse is, he feels guilty. This isn’t his dimension, he doesn’t belong, maybe he doesn’t deserve this. This isn’t the same Eclipse, despite everything. Solar is happy here, feels safe, and he was so afraid of that being taken away that he failed to recognize that Eclipse doesn’t have any of that. He knows, deep down, how lonely and miserable Eclipse must be, because that’s how he felt. They’re not exactly the same, sure, but… he understands. He understands more than anyone else can.

So he eases up a bit. Gives Eclipse a break and goes for poking fun more than tearing him down. Maybe he starts getting between Moon and Eclipse when they fight, both to protect Moon from Eclipse and Eclipse from Moon. Maybe he goes to find Eclipse one day because he has a project he’s working on that he wants a hand with, and only a partner of equal intellect will do. Maybe he lets Eclipse watch him interact with his family, sharp eyes taking in every detail, and subtly pushes him toward Earth. Maybe he gives him some tough love, tells him when he’s being an ass, but sympathizes with him because that’s what he needs to grow. Maybe he finally manages to get the message across—you were dealt shitty cards, your situation wasn’t your fault, but you are still responsible for your actions and their consequences. You aren’t the original, though, and you can distance yourself from that. You are not doomed to be hated—look, I can get along with Sun, Moon, Earth, Lunar… you could, too, but it’s going to take work. That kind of thing.

They get closer over time. Eclipse is forced to concede that he kind of admires Solar, and Solar begrudgingly admits to himself that he enjoys the time they spend together. It’s nice to have someone else around who gets you. There’s this unspoken part of their relationship, raw and tender, that they dance around and don’t talk about. Instead, they build together, bitch at each other, and sometimes they just sit in silent understanding.

And then Solar dies.

Everyone is devastated. Eclipse, though… he feels lost. Solar was guiding him. And everyone else seems to think he’s not entitled to his grief, so he hides it. Everyone except Earth.

They get closer during this time, just like in canon, but it’s mutual grief and loss that brings them together. Eclipse starts looking into bringing Solar back, is more motivated to do so. He realizes how much Solar meant to him, and what an integral part of his life he’d become. From there it could go several different ways.

Maybe he’s more motivated to bring Solar back, and ends up working with Moon or going to ask him for help, and Moon is getting progressively worse, but isn’t quite so far into his spiral when Solar comes back. Having Eclipse to lean on essentially slows his deterioration.

Or maybe everything goes like it has in canon and Solar wakes up looking for Moon AND Eclipse, and both are gone. Nexus drove himself mad trying to bring him back, and Eclipse sacrificed his place in this universe to save him, and now Solar has to save them both—his best friend/brother and his… uh… Eclipse. Once Eclipse switches his dimensional signature and can come back to the home dimension for visits, he and Solar are reunited. If that’s enough of a slow burn for you, they kiss right there, with the portal in the background. If not, or if you prefer them as friends, they have an emotional reunion (by Eclipse standards), recognize how much they mean to each other, and grow closer as they make up for lost time until they either get together or they’re cemented as long-time friends. Either way, they understand each other deeply, and are bonded together.

That’s… my thoughts I think. I guess if you want you could also have them hatefully kiss because they just CAN’t STAND EACH ORHER ANYMORE RAAAAH. That would also be fun. Thx for the ask lol.

[beingalive1]

Bibi And Her Blue-Eyed Baby ⎯ Pt. 2

Rosie Rosenthal x Oc [Batya Bernstein]

Part 1: Here

Summary: Coerced by Harry Crosby to sing at Captain Dye's 25th mission celebration, Batya spends her evening crooning on stage. Her dulcet tones enchanting everyone around her. Finally calling it a night Batya runs into someone unexpected as she breaks for the door, her toe almost breaking in the process...At least her attacker sounds rather guilty.

Author's Note: Ok so I sad a couple of days - I lied. I'm a woman obsessed so here is another chapter! Hope you enjoy x

September 20th, 1943

The evening had come too quickly. Frozen fingers gripping the singular telephone belonging to the entirety of the female officer dorms – manicured red fingernails shining as she gripped the cord with a newfound sense of cold. Even inside the confines of her dorm she couldn’t feel her ears, the scarf tightly wrapped around her face doing nothing to quell the icy breeze of the English air. Nights like these made her miss New York and her apartment’s central heating.

Her father’s voice transcended through the earpiece; it was too late to be listening to such loud exclamations. How stupid she was for leaving home and joining the war effort. How disappointed he was. How the Rabbi was no longer joining them for breaking of the fast on Yom Kippur due to her terrible behaviour. How he would most definitely have to build a second structural addition to the synagogue in order to make up for such a blunder. He briefly had mentioned her mother: how her mama had not stopped crying in multiple rooms of their apartment staining his new white fringe carpets. Batya assumed she had about ten more minutes of him shouting about shame and the rabbi before he eventually gave up trying to convince her to jump on the next boat back home and ask her what she was having for dinner. She’d tell him she was having whatever the cooks at the mess hall were making, he’d get upset again and rant for another ten minutes.

She’d been dealing with the same scenario for the last year. 

Holding the telephone in her left hand and a cigarette in her right, Batya balanced the earpiece of the phone precariously between her ear and the dirty white dorm room wall. Her eyes drifted around the metal tin box she had called home since she had been shipped over to Thorpe Abbots in the winter months of early 1942. It was unnaturally quiet without the poignant rush of the other girls. Her fellow officers most likely dancing the evening away in their sensible heels down at the officer’s club. She longed to be there. Her father’s speech of shame continued on in her ear. 

Abandoning her park avenue apartment and condemning her parents to a never-ending cycle of shame within the community, Batya had joined the war effort with a smile upon her red-rimmed lips. She was an Air-traffic operator and a damn good one at that. Her dulcet tones no longer crooning across a jazz club in downtown New York, but guiding her many pilots through take-offs and landings onto the cold tarmac of Thorpe Abbots air base. She leaned on the dorm room wall; hair tucked up into what her mother would surely dub as an “unflattering” bun. Her khaki dress uniform tight upon her figure. Thanks to good old President Roosevelt she had finally been granted a rank along with a pretty little badge upon the lapel of her uniform jacket. Second Lieutenant Bernstein. She thought it sounded pretentious, but it gave her first dibs on the red-cross donuts ahead of the other girls every morning, so she didn’t mind it too much. Helen, one of the red cross girls, had told Batya she looked professional with her bronze badge. Batya figured Helen just wanted a friend with a higher ranking than most of the male officers. 

Perks of the job.  

Her father’s time spent raving about her choices in life had finally come to an end. Batya had briefly said goodbye with horribly pathetic kissing noises and a poignant slam of the telephone onto its hook. She had places to be. A crowd to impress. Stepping out of the freezing interior of her dorm and into the even cooler exterior of Thorpe Abbots air base, Batya made her way to the officer’s club with a brisk pace. Her hands stuffed so deeply within her pockets she could feel the rough stitching of her dress jacket. She silently cursed whoever had made it compulsory for female officers to wear a sensible skirt and stockings with their dress jackets in favour of her comfortable tweed work trousers.  It must have been a man, only a man would think woman would prefer to freeze their assess off in the icy tundra that is the English Countryside. 

She heard him before she saw him.

The faint sound of his atrocious voice paired with the crushing noise of gravel under rubber tyres echoed through her ears. She continued on walking. Maybe if she pretended to ignore him, he’d drive past her. She heard the sound of the vehicle coming to a halt. Her eyes meeting his cheeky grin with a slight turn of her head. She was never so lucky. ‘Songbird.’ He greeted cheerfully, his tone dripping with excitement. She briefly wondered what he would do if she stopped and lay down in the path of his jeep’s tyres. Hopefully drive. 

Deciding that taking a ride in his jeep would get her to the officer’s club and out of the cold much quicker than walking in her uncomfortable heels, she climbed carefully into the passenger’s seat. He took off without haste. A cloud of dust formed in their wake. They drove swiftly across base, headlights illuminating the greenery of the surrounding English farmland. He lent across from his seat and reached towards the console placed in front of her person: two cigarettes. He held his face towards her as she lit the one placed within his mouth. ‘So,’ he began, his eyes stilling upon her figure before drifting back to the road. ‘heard you singing tonight.’

Her fingers found their place wrapped around her cigarette. The warm smoke emulating from her mouth a small aid in her fight against the cold. Her scarf blowing in the breeze behind her. If she were with anyone else it would seem almost romantic, an evening drive around the countryside, but she was with him. He wouldn’t know romance if it hit him in the face. ‘Yeah,’ she replied coyly, ‘you jealous?’ 

He laughed, a rough sound breaking through the stillness of their surroundings. ‘No’ he exclaimed, his chuckle still resounding through his words, ‘excited to hear you is all. Crosby’s been raving about you for a week now.’ 

Harry Crosby. The unlucky navigator had been in charge of the decorating committee for the little soiree they were on their way to. Celebrating Captain Glenn Dye completing his 25th mission. Hearing rumours about her enchanting voice from the red cross girls: Crosby had asked her to sing. She would have been ecstatic to preform again if it was for anyone else; but Captain Dye had given her dormmate Susan the clap and she was secretly hoping he’d be medically prevented from flying for weeks now. No such luck. The bastard came back unscathed. ‘Well,’ She sighed her eyes drifting to the officer’s club as it flew into view, ‘hope it lives up to your expectations Major.’ 

They screeched to a halt, her feet already on the ground by the time he had ran around the jeep to help her out. Major John Egan shook his head at her with a smile. ‘You, Bernie, never fail to make a gentleman feel small.’ It was said as a compliment, but the use of her nickname made her roll her eyes in frustration. She grabbed his arm roughly, he chuckled. Bernie. A new nickname given to her by one of her many pilots. They had been rather shocked at the realisation that their flight operator was a woman, but had quickly warmed up to her brash and sarcastic commentary. She had a sneaky suspicion it had to do with the pilot whose arm she held at this very moment. He had always seemed rather forward thinking. She might’ve even had found him chivalrous - if he wasn’t so downright annoying.  

Her red fingernails tapped his cheek in farewell, ‘See you later Johnny boy.’  A smile breaking out upon her face as she entered the warmth of the club. Removing her scarf, she placed it on the overrun hatstand by the club’s entrance door. The stand tilting slightly due to the sheer number of coats upon its hooks. He hated being called Johnny, but she figured it was a fair trade for the hideous name he and his crewmates had given her. Colonel Harding had been extremely confused as to why they were calling her by a man’s name; it had taken two meetings and five cups of coffee to reassure the Colonel that it was merely a nickname and that no man named Bernie was helping her in the radio tower. 

She almost killed Egan.

Her eyes caught the group of women she had been looking for: khaki uniforms of her fellow officers and the blue tint of red cross badges shining brightly in the warm light of the club. They cheered as she caught their eye; her girls welcoming her with a pat on her back and a cold iced martini thrusted into the palm of her hand. She sipped it slowly, the bitter taste bright upon her tongue. 

‘So’ began Helen, her face flushed due to the heat of the room and most definitely a few gin and tonics, ‘How was your talk with your dad?’ Helen’s voice, tinted with warmth and interest, was loud throughout the rush of the room. The small woman definitely succeeding in being heard despite the chaos of the club. 

Batya sighed as she swirled her drink. Ice tinkling against the sides of her glass as she thought back to her previous conversation. ‘Same old same old.’ She started, her finger immediately cooled as it entered her drink and fished out its olive garnish. ‘My mother is moments away from a self-inflicted stroke. The rabbi still hasn’t forgiven them. I’m a disappointment to my family. Normal father-daughter conversation.’ She popped the garnish into her mouth, the bitterness of her drink mixed with the tarte of the olive set her tastebuds alight.

Helen nodded in recognition. She was far from unaware of Batya’s status as the black sheep of the Bernstein family. Her eyes drifted around the room. ‘Well you didn’t miss much.’ She sighed airily, her hand gesturing vaguely to a group of men across the room. Batya didn’t bother turning to look. ‘We were only scoping out the new replacements that arrived this morning. There was this dancer guy that we thought you might’ve liked. Absolute twinkle toes. He looked Jewish, think his name was Ros-‘ Her sentence was cut off by a new arrival at their table. 

He looked flushed. His hair in disarray as he smiled widely at them. ‘Ladies,’ he greeted, his eyes jumping immediately towards Batya’s figure. ‘Bat.’ His head tilted awkwardly towards the stage. She briefly thought he resembled a cartoon character, his face screwed up into an expression she could only describe as mild guilt. She nodded in defeat. The blaring melody of the band tittering to a close as they made their way towards the wooden stage. The palm of his hand wrapped around hers as he led her up the stairs, her red lips drifting towards his ear. ‘You owe me for this Cros.’ He only nodded in resignation, his eyes easily conveying his day-old promise of buying her a drink after her performance.

She’d force him to buy her multiple. 

He swiftly made his way back down the stairs resembling that of a man fleeing a burning building. Her hand wrapped around the base of the microphone. A few of her pilots whistled, she smirked wildly as her eyes met Captain Dye’s across the room. ‘Before I begin, I just want to say congratulations to Captain Dye for achieving his 25th successful mission.’ Her voice echoed over the cheers. ‘Hope everyone clapped when your plane landed safely.’ Clapped. Even from across the hall she could see the burning of the Captain’s ears. Only a few people in this room would understand her peculiar choice of diction. Somewhere within the crowd Major Egan laughed loudly. She adjusted herself on stage, clearing her throat, ‘this one goes out to all of you lover boys out there searching for someone to spend your Saturday nights with. It’s a little song I wrote myself called "Bibi and her blue-eyed baby". Hope you all enjoy.’ The sound of trumpets burst through the air. The crowd roared with a fury.

She sang five songs before calling it a night. The incessant whines of the crowd only increasing when she happily told them that Major Egan would be taking her place on stage. It had made her laugh, a rare smile perched upon her lips as the sound of Blue Skies began to swirl through the room. She minced her way to the bar, the grin remaining upon her face as Crosby handed her a martini. He seemed relieved, the apparent stress of organising such a party and entertainment seemingly melting off of him as he leaned against the wooden counter.  

They spoke for about an hour, her eyes eventually drifting away from the bar and onto the now almost deserted dance floor. Helen seemed to be dancing with a handsome soldier whom Batya had not seen before; must have been a replacement. The smile upon the red cross woman’s face enough for Batya to decide against asking Helen to join her on her walk home. Batya instead headed towards the club’s entrance on her lonesome. Crosby’s promise of buying her another drink tomorrow evening wafting over her ears as she reached for the club’s brass doorhandles. The cool metal of the handle felt icy against the palm of her hand. 

The door opened from the outside swiftly, the wooden frame colliding briefly with her left toe as she stumbled backwards to avoid it. She cursed under her breath. Her head faced downwards towards her now most definitely blackened toe. Pain radiating up her shin as she willed herself not to hop on one foot like a child. ‘Oh god! I am so so sorry!’ A hand reached out and gently perched upon her elbow. The voice of her attacker rambling on as he helped her into the nearest chair he could find. ‘I don’t know why I was in such a rush. First night on base and I’m already injuring pretty officers. These doors should never open both ways I mean that’s just dangerous. You could sue. I would know I’m a lawyer, or I was one before the war –‘ She looked up at him, his ramblings coming to a swift halt at the sight of her face. 

 Through the haze of martinis and aching pain her mind vaguely registered a khaki uniform and a pilot’s badge upon his jacket. Her gaze drifting up and up until she met a pair of eyes. Her entire body froze. 

Two years later. 

Thousands of miles away from New York. 

Here he was, wearing a uniform of a pilot and slamming a door into her toe. 

Her Blue-eyed baby. 

Hashem help her. 

Yiddish/Jewish terms dictionary: • 'Yom Kippur' - incredibly high holy day. The day of fasting and asking G-d for repentance and forgiveness for any wrongdoings you have committed in the past year. Breaking of the fast is a huge deal - inviting the rabbi and him showing up is basically the jewish equivalent of winning an Oscar. • 'Hashem' - word for G-d meaning 'the name.' [If there are any parts of yiddish/jewish diction you are ever mildly confused about - never be afraid to ask! Happy to explain x ]

Authors note: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! This is also posted on my AO3 if any of you prefer reading there: username is All_the_small_things. Link is here. [If you would like to be tagged in any future chapters - drop a note in the comments xx]

[theehorsepusssy]

TheeHorsepussys Portland : Vaseline Alley aka Stark Street aka Harvey Weinstein ( I always get that mixed up) Harvey Milk Blvd

Documenting some gay-ass history for the kids

Red Arrow - 2 blocks to Touche. Not gay but spent most of the 90s in that bar. Fancy looking dining room/pool room but mostly service industry clientele. Hard to find a spot to do drugs discreetly.

Green - Everyday Music. Where to sell vinyl for dope money.

Yellow - Big BIG abandoned, scary building. Looked haunted. Was eventually renovated. But gave you the heebie-jeebies walking past it at night. Gay bashing zone

Green Arrow - The City Nightclub. Underage nightclub. Chicken Hawks(is that Gus Van Sant?), lots of drugs, good DJ downstairs, GREAT DJ upstairs

Red - The Henry Weinhard Brewery (demolished) Made the area smell really, really awful. Gagging thinking of it.

(Stark Street starts to the right here. It looks like they built some weird barrier in the intersection..probably cuz drunk gays in middle of street)

Orange - The Bathhouse. Home away from home. I would sell rip-off size bags of meth to subsidize my habit. Sucked a huge penis here. Gagging thinking of it. Gay bar downstairs was called either Flossies or Silverado or both. Male strippers. Would buy my shitty little bags of dope.

Blue Arrow - at one moment in the 90s, a sex club I think owned by Fantasy Video. Robert would meet his side piece there . The director Todd Haynes, I fuzzily recall reading, was a patron. I went once. Weird vibe. There was a plaque on the wall outside the entrance commemorating the recording of Louie, Louie.

Orange - The Eagle. Bar where it was common to have sex. I saw a guy take a foot up his butt. Cops started randomly coming in to cock block. There is a new bar called the Eagle up in NE Portland up by the Heroin Fred Meyer (I suppose they all are now)

Blue - Transient hotel above the store I hated buying cigarettes from but can't recall why. Maybe it was expensive.

Green - Greasy spoon called Roxys. Horrible breakfast food 24/7. I think it used to be down the street on Everett. Had a tiny basement bar. Moved to Vaseline Alley in 90s. Had ginormous picture of Quentin Tarantino or some shit. Very 90s

Yellow - Three Sisters (Six Titties) dive bar/gay bar. Never really went there. At some point was a male strippers bar. Robert had me escort one of his side pieces there. Kid thought the stripper was really into him. I tried to explain. I won $600 on the poker machine and drove the kid home.

Orange - Django Records. Large amounts of cheap used records. 3 for a dollar bins! I bought Eyehategod In the Name of Suffering here. Also the Cruising soundtrack...33cents!

Red - Fancy, expensive hotel. Yell really loud underneath the windows. They like that. Cops always parked along this stretch. Drunk gays got their first DUIs around here.

Mint- block of amnesia. I don't think it existed

Red - Boxes. Gay bar where you did lines of coke/mda/meth in the bathroom without hassle. TV sets with Oprah or Steel Magnolias, shit like that on. Spartacus Leather fetish store was down a couple doors. Inside Boxes, you could take a wood paneled passage through the fish restaurant kitchen ( I don't think anyone ever ate there) and end up at.....

Green - the Brig. Named because dance floor had bars around it like a jail cell. Imagine the creative dance moves as the queens grappled bars, ass out while Madonna songs played on a loop. Your meth dealer could be found here, doing a fan dance. Don't wear black. Semen stains show up under the blacklights. (or do)

Yellow - the house paint store. Eventually became the Panorama in the age of MDMA. Rave type music. Went there once to meet a dealer. Obnoxious experience.

White - Silverado. Country Western night most nights. My roommate dj'd andtaught line dancing but dance floor was like 10 sq ft so it was just the gays holding hands and boot scootin' in a little circle for eternity. Bar I could get into underage.

Orange - Ben Stark Hotel. Like outta Barton Fink. But really,really seedy. Had some weird sex in there. Now a boutique hotel owned by some Donald Trump guy Gordon Someone who did something once. Probably haunted.

Brown - Scandals. Beer /wine bar. Big windows so you can people-watch and talk shit. Used to go in there underage until I got thrown out snorting a rail of MDA off the tabletop. Had electronic darts and video poker in the 90s. Me and Robert had a domestic dispute there.

Red - row of funky vintage/antique shops. Someone used to broadcast a pirate radio station somewhere around there in the 90s

Blue - Portland Underground. Small venue had some big shows early 90s. Top floor is where I swear I saw Econochrist play. But it's an office building. Maybe confused

Yellow. OBryant Square aka Paranoid Park. Skateboarders and street drugs. I got "chased" by AF Nazis here. Probably more like I ran my fat ass up the street after this girl I knew screamed "run!" And they probably just laughed. I didn't look back. I think it's demolished now.

White arrow- up the block toward the Galleria. Second floor toilet was really cruisy. Careful of cockblocking rent-a-cops. Kiosk by cafe I think was only place downtown to buy pipe to smoke pot

[partyrock-isinthehouse]

Idk why this feels like a weird thing to start on. Maybe since it's something that has been avoided since literally the creation date of Juan himself, and I mean this extremely literally. I always had a gut feeling that he was supposed to be bisexual, but I made him straight because I had never had a straight character before, or something like that... like okayyyy I guess!!!! And even after claiming that Juan was, in fact, bisexual, I would always say that he didn't know. Well actually he does know, and here is how... if it matters? Plus, I'm mildly fixated on learning about things to do with bisexuality recently, like how it's portrayed in media and such. Suddenly all of my bi ocs are on the forefront of my mind and you will have to just accept that...

How did Juan figure out that he is bi?

It was when he lived in Italy, (which was between him being 15 and 18) Juan was always out of the house with his friends. They'd hang around in all sorts of places, whether it was in the town centre or a random field, the beach or the shopping mall. He'd even go to small, messily arranged raves held in abandoned buildings, but that's a different story. Being 15 in a new country, he quickly learned Italian, which wasn't much different to his native Spanish anyway, and settled quite well into school and made many friends, even if he was far from academic. He would start to get attention from girls and this was greatly appreciated. He had a girlfriend for a little while, with whom he would experience things like first kisses and... other things. His attraction to girls was never brought into question, he just knew. However, his affinity for the movie Top Gun wasn't just because he thought the fighter jets were cool and the soundtrack was good. Sure, that was mostly why he liked it, but something about Maverick made it difficult to look away or to stop thinking about him. This could've been due to the pure awesomeness of the character leaving an effect on him... but it wasn't. He toootally had a celebrity crush on him. A similar but much more real feeling would overcome Juan when he was sat with one of his guy friends one day, and the way he'd laugh at his jokes would give him butterflies. The exact same feeling he got when he made a girl he liked laugh. Interesting. He also found his friend to be strikingly good-looking. Kind of like how a girl could be pretty. Interesting again. He would think about this moment, and experience similar moments, and remember moments that had happened already that he didn't realise at first. He knew he wasn't straight but he didn't do anything with this secret information.

Later once Juan was with Gabi, who is also bi, they had a conversation about their bi-ness. This could've been when Juan officially labelled himself as bi, since he didn't really think to do it before. Maybe he was between 19 and 20 now. Thanks Gabi!

Juan has never had a boyfriend, he's never kissed a boy either, (Carlos doesn't count) but that doesn't matter. He's also with Gabi now and they have a daughter together, so I can't imagine that happening anytime soon, if ever. However, neither of these things change the fact that he is still, and always will be, bisexual. He doesn't need to prove anything to anybody and neither does he owe an explanation. I think he knows this, and I think everybody should know it too...

El Fin

[queer-overwatch]

THANK YOU FOR WRITING FOR VENTURE!!! I’ve been trying to read more x readers for venture BUT THERE IS BARELY ANY!! Anyway, is it okay if i can request Venture as a parent? How would they take care of a child with reader? fem reader preferably. If not then gender neutral wound be okay too! I’m loving your writing already <3

Parent Venture

Omg of course! Thank youuu, we 100% think Venture would LOVE kids <3 -Frisk & Xorn

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best parent ever 10/10

While you're young they'd play with you ALL THE TIME, even if you didn't ask them too, they did

Would totally abandon their work for you, and they are VERY passionate about their job so it takes a lot to get them to take a day off

The biggest sweetheart ever, has photos of you everywhere and I mean EVERYWHERE, probably hid one in an compartment in their drill just in case

Raves to everyone and anyone about how awesome you are

Desperately wishes for you to be interested in history just like them, would buy you a little play dinosaur fossil kit

Once you're old enough they absolutely take you to explore caves with them

Only wide, open, safe ones though. They may be super awesome and laid back most of the time but they are well aware of the dangers that come with being underground at all, so they don't play when it comes to your safety

Would try and teach you to use their drill but only under their supervision, they know how heavy it is and don't want you to like drop it and break something, or yourself-

Absolutely LOVES dressing you up, no matter what your aesthetic is you are gonna match with them and you are gonna like it or they will be so sad

Would wear a dress or suit or whatever to match with you if you wanted them too, they don[t give a FUCK as long as you're happy

If you try on their clothes they will cry real, loud, embarrassing tears /pos

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and now, a blurb! -Xorn

Venture had decided that today, since the dig site was meant to be cleaned up in the next couple of days that today would be the best day to bring you along with. They've had so much time to ramble to their co-workers about you and this finally gives you a chance to meet them in person!

You were strapped into the car happily given a couple devices to entertain yourself, along with music that your parent played.

Arriving at the dig site was interesting. All of the buildings while big were crumbled, old and destroyed in one way or another. And you got to see it all in its own beauty.

Venture quickly unbuckled you and picked you up carrying you in their shoulders, a grin plastered on their face as they walked up to the dig site.They shouted immediately holding you up for the world to see.

"Guys! Look it's my kid! They're seven, and they're really interested in archeology, like me!"

Venture grinned as they held you up to their co-workers, before resetting you down beside them, their hand holding yours.

"C'mon, (Y/n) I'm going to show you where I found a creature bone!"

Venture chuckles , as they bring you along happily telling every coworker they come across about your presence, a small fact about you, and just exactly how precious you are to them.

"Alright (Y/n), did ya bring your jar? It's so you can save some dirt from the dig site , that way you can keep this memory, and maybe, just maybe, you can start an ecosystem in it one day."

They bring proudly as they speak, watching you pull a small Mason jar from your bag. They help you fill it with dirt. This is going to be the start of a wonderful collection no matter what path you take.