#never before have i wanted to gatekeep something this bad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eoieopda · 11 months

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meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 I posted an epilogue drabble on 7/26/23. Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it.

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it — your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain.

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance.

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone.

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however.

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs.

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind.

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was —” He gestured vaguely. “— To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night.

That rush of warmth you felt then — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job.

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted. “Was that a windshield wiper?”

“No, that was embarrassing.”

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink.

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours.

“And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?”

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you tease, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —”

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage.

“— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point:

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off. “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?”

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise.

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning.

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict?

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty.

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex.

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk.

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer.

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own.

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness.

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars.

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more.

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank.

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now.

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can.

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement.

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No.

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going.

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap.

Once more with feeling: thank god.

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance.

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances.

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it.

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning.

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all.

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded.

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances, “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck.

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you:

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours.

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours.

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?”

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms.

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod.

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh.

Fuck.

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you.

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap.

Strike that.

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive. “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.”

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes.

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks.

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs.

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?”

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear.

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.”

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist.

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut.

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear.

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow, he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please.

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

Epilogue, posted 7/26/23.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

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anantaru · 4 months

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You think rape is funny? Maybe once you fucking experience it you won’t. Fucking cunt.

hello. so I'll just jump right into this. tw. discourse tw. mentioning r*pe.

@saetoru made this claim about me:

saetoru, could you add proof at least? i can not remember a time where i would repost a joke like that so i'd love for you to show me proof please, this is all I'm asking.

also how was it on your dash, on your own dash and @dottores dash, when you have never followed me? + but maybe it was the for you feature that was the same for the both of you.

accusing someone without proof is not okay, again, i can not remember doing this so if you have a screenshot add it so i can remember and apologize, but i can't do anything because i don't remember saying a joke with SA in mind.

before that i just want to mention: i don't think r*pe is funny, i'm not a dark content blog either so i do not really reblog dark content things because i'm sure most of my readers don't want that + I'm just not into that as well. the only joke i was "called out" for once is when i used a "i want xyz character to smack their laptop on my face or tits" which i got from an andrew garfield interview where he read his thirst tweets out loud, at that time i just deleted it because it's alright.

dottores, your mutuals, two of them to be exact, have sent me multiple of your personal blog hate posts about me and not once, have you made one where you talked about me saying an SA joke. you have only claimed that i am a cunt and that i am a gatekeeping bitch hence why i believed this must be the reason why you would suddenly hate me despite the fact we never interacted.

now, I want to address this next, this is from @dottores post which when i got it sent to me, i would've wished she just tagged me right away and said it with her chest, more so not let saetoru talk about her experience but just handle this with me.

^ this is cat @dottores saying i got it wrong.

^ this is why i believed she meant it just like i said it, why do you go through blogs that grow really fast's notes in the first place? where do you take the right to police other blogs like that when i'm sure your blogs aren't empty of blank blogs either. it is hard to get rid of all of them but i'm sure we all try at least, we don't need you to make us feel bad or come off as belittling, if you have found out a way to get rid of every blank blog, do enlighten us please.

+ at that time of this reblog icks?? post that saetoru added, my blog was blowing up so when a moot of mine (which was also theirs at a time) saw this, they had sent it to me.

"creators that grow really fast" and nowhere has she mentioned she only went through only her own moots notes, aside from that apologies but i still find this weird, i don't think you should invest so much time in other people's blog but this is my opinion.

this is the next thing she said:

i don't know if dottores meant me there but i have never once harassed you nor sent you hate anywhere, again you cannot just accuse me of stuff like that when you have also never reached out to me. The things i claimed about you guys in your callout, i have text messages of the person (your moot) who sent it to me.

but back again, the only thing i did do was block dottores on tumblr and then later ao3 when i saw you in tags, which you made fun of me for later:

also i got this ask that time:

"who blocks on ao3?" i do, ao3 is the platform i use the most so why is it funny when i use the block button? + i just like to point something out here, "they must've clicked to read and realize it was me" you can think that if you want i don't mind, but let me ask you this: i have seen you in tags hence why i was able to block you, but how did you notice i did? you can't see me in tags so surely you didnt click on my work, so you must've searched up my user for whatever reason?

and i know this is about me because she added the "this person called me chronically online" i couldn't find the post but what she was talking about is me calling other writers who reblogged that one "ick post" with not needed things such as "when writers cant characterize a character" or "when they only write headcanons", i have plenty of screenshots of that post but since i don't want to use up all my space here, i don't see why i should show their reblogs from this.

there were plenty of people like that, which reblogged horrible things there so i called everyone under that post chronically online, not just you dottores.

yeah :) like people making fun of someone for blocking them for their own comfort. i just don't want to see you, that's all, but i have never send you hate asks nor harassed you, the only thing i did was block the blogs your own mutuals exposed to me.

^ this is after i felt bad for you after the callout.

this is coming from your own mutuals, i have never alone claimed you guys are jealous of me nor is there anything to be jealous about. i am just a blog, this here is not being popular, no one knows who i am and i do not need to pride myself in having a big blog on tumblr.com, and my readers know that. we are all the same here.

i didn't mean you here saetoru but i understand that it sounded that way, the phrasing was a little off, for that i apologise that i made you upset with this, english is not my first language, i'm french, and when it comes to this callout post i was so fed up with it that i just posted it without looking for grammar mistakes etc. + this is about one of your friends who deleted their personal the second i announced i got their user, that was something with kaeya, when they sent me a hate ask. i won't expose it here but that person was also the one who blacklisted a friend of mine for liking itto.

i think there is a lot more but i will stop it there, this could've ended differently and i'm sad that it ended this way. I wish you all the best and i mean it, i hope we all can learn from this and move on, write on tumblr for our favorite characters because it's fun and stay away from drama. If you made it this far thank you 💓 — yoru

#tw discourse #tw rape

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whorediaries-09 · 24 days

Text

now i'm your daisy;

pairing- priest!remus lupin x reader warning(s)- 18+ content, dark themes. (let me know i should add more) [this is a dark fic. your media consumption is your choice and i'm not responsible for it. please do not continue under cut if you're uncomfortable.] a/n- here ya go honey @fictional-magic. i won't gatekeep ✍️.

ps- not using my regular taglist since this is a topic many people can be uncomfortable with.

little train

don't blame me (part one aka context)

' something happened for the first time, in the darkest little paradise shakin, pacin', i just need you. '

in the sweet innocence of the gentle sin, he worships you like a deity. like fresh poison, he consumes you, his lips travelling to every part of your body. he tells you his sins when he slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. he feels like a dog at the shrine of your light.

'you taste so delicious,' he whispers, as you nod. his hand unzips your dress, taking off the white fabric from your body. the cold air greets you, hardening your nipples into little nubs. he circles his fingers around him, his lips now on your neck.

'i've never had sex in a church before,' he says, sinking his canine into your neck. he sucks on the slightly sore spot and your hand travels into his locks.

'there's a...first time for everything i suppose,' you tease, arching your back. he laughs,

'i'm sure he won't mind. here let me help you with that,' you shimmy out of your cotton underwear.

'you'll have to say more than just your the rosary,' you say as he falls on his knees, his fingers sliding along the folds of your cunt. you arch your hips onto his fingers, the cruel hot madness of lust and greed ruining the plethora of your innocence. he slides his tongue between thighs, and you shake, your fingernails gripping onto his shoulder.

'yes, i'll have to say more than just the rosary. you're very funny,' he laughs, his tongue lapping onto your clit. you shake, and he catches you by your leg. he puts his thigh on your shoulder, his mouth still sucking on your sweet bundle of nerves. you arch your back, and he cranes his neck to see you ruining apart by his constant flicking and teasing.

'god forgive me,' you say, as he inserts two of his fingers into you. your fingers catch onto his hair, and you push him deeper between your legs. he licks up on your cunt, ravaging you like a starved man.

'we-shouldn't be doing this, but i want you so bad,' you scream, your voice echoing through the walls of the church. he pumps into you faster, finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long fingers.

'please, mr. lupin, right there-' you push his head deeper, as deep as you can, his stubble rubbing against the skin, wounding you with the mark of your sins. it breaks you apart into the havoc, when you feel your orgasm snap out of your body, your release pouring out of your body, coating his tongue.

he stands on his feet, his arm circling around your waist as he kisses you again, his mouth brandishing into yours. he lets the taste of you and his saliva down your throat and taste buds. it makes you shiver.

'i don't want to fuck you on the pier, it's not very comfy,' he says. his eyes wander about, and he continues, 'up on the altar,' your eyes widen.

'what? are you serious?' he nods,

'yes i'm serious, now up the altar,'

you walk towards the altar, your legs still shaky with the blissful euphoria. his hands grab you by your hips and he helps you up on it.

'perfect height,' he breathes, spreading your slick legs, 'lie back, sweetheart,' his eyes wander about your figure, legs wide apart, flushed cheeks, tears and mascara rolling down your face, and messy hair.

'just a like fucking angel,' he says, 'lay down for me sweetheart,' the stature of jesus hangs above you, the remnant of the sunshine filtering through the windows. as he slides down his shaft within your folds, teasing your slit with the tip of his cock his eyes wander over to the crucified jesus on the cross,

'perhaps, you'll forgive me,' he says. then he lowers down his eyes to your form, spread down beneath him. his hand wanders to your waist. 'perhaps, he's a bit jealous too,' he smiles. he digs his fingernails deep into your waist, pulling you closer and the other teases your entrance slowly with the tip of his cock.

'i'm gonna slide right in there okay? just tell me if you're uncomfortable,' he gasps, pushing himself inside of you. you arch your back, sinful moans leaving your mouth, his shaft filling you up to the brink. he braces himself by holding onto the edge of the altar, his knuckles turning white with the pressure.

'god, you're so wet f'me,' he praises, his finger now tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.

'jus' for you mr. lupin,' you mumble, quietly gasping as he pulls himself out just to push himself back into you again. his finger circles on your stimulated clit and breathes,

'sweetheart, the sounds you make. someone could hear them and walk right in, but don't you fucking stop.' he chuckles darkly, 'i want them to walk in, let the fucking world know how good you feel,'

'please,' you whimper, motioning him to continue. he nods, catching you by your hips and slowly rutting into you, pining you to the cold wood of the altar.

'god, why haven't we done this before? i have wanted to, believe me so many times,'

'me too, mr. lupin.' the pressure of his hands increase on your waist as he pulls you closer, pushing himself deeper, so deep you feel him in your cervix,

'really? i'm glad to know the feeling is mutual,' he bends down, his teeth nibbling and mouth sucking on the bites he leaves behind,

'that sunday you sat with me for hours discussing the gospels, i wanted to fuck you so bad, take you on the floor, marking you as mine. i wanted to push your head down on my cock the whole time i watched your mouth move,' he says, chuckling darkly as you clench around his cock. his finger linger on your lips, 'those lips, warm, welcoming and glistening with your spit,'

'you like the sound of that? i feel you clenching around my cock,' you nod, and he smiles, his tongue swiping for his lower lip.

'such a perfect warm and wet cunt,' he praises, 'i so quick witted, always has something to say.' he rubs your clit, and your walls convulse around him. your chest heaves as the hotness fills you up. you flutter your eyelashes as you feel his thrusts grow sloppy. wrapping your hands around his neck, you pull him closer, ravaging your mouth on his.

'fuck, fuck, i'm going to cum,' he says. he presses his hand down on your hip, 'please tell me i can cum inside you, fill you up,' you nod, your head in the euphoria of the shrine of your sins, as your cunt convulses around him and you release your orgasm around him for the second time that evening.

'please cum inside me, remus,' when you speak his name, his control topples over the edge of his insanity and he releases himself you, chanting your name. his cum drips out your abused hole when he pulls out his softened cock, painting your thighs and falling on the altar he fucked you over. your chest heaves with satisfactory exhaustion.

his eyes burn through you, and the lores of lust break down. he realizes he should've worshipped you sooner. he should've been your daisy sooner. you were his darkest little paradise, and he wanted nothing more than you. he'd fall from grace, to be succumbed by the madness of your serene lust. the only heaven he could be send to was when he alone with you, even when you offered him a deathless death.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin smut #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #kinkotober #remus lupin fanart #werewolf

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months

Text

The (open) web is good, actually

I'll be at the Studio City branch of the LA Public Library tonight (Monday, November 13) at 1830hPT to launch my new novel, The Lost Cause. There'll be a reading, a talk, a surprise guest (!!) and a signing, with books on sale. Tell your friends! Come on down!

The great irony of the platformization of the internet is that platforms are intermediaries, and the original promise of the internet that got so many of us excited about it was disintermediation – getting rid of the middlemen that act as gatekeepers between community members, creators and audiences, buyers and sellers, etc.

The platformized internet is ripe for rent seeking: where the platform captures an ever-larger share of the value generated by its users, making the service worst for both, while lock-in stops people from looking elsewhere. Every sector of the modern economy is less competitive, thanks to monopolistic tactics like mergers and acquisitions and predatory pricing. But with tech, the options for making things worse are infinitely divisible, thanks to the flexibility of digital systems, which means that product managers can keep subdividing the Jenga blocks they pulling out of the services we rely on. Combine platforms with monopolies with digital flexibility and you get enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

An enshittified, platformized internet is bad for lots of reasons – it concentrates decisions about who may speak and what may be said into just a few hands; it creates a rich-get-richer dynamic that creates a new oligarchy, with all the corruption and instability that comes with elite capture; it makes life materially worse for workers, users, and communities.

But there are many other ways in which the enshitternet is worse than the old good internet. Today, I want to talk about how the enshitternet affects openness and all that entails. An open internet is one whose workings are transparent (think of "open source"), but it's also an internet founded on access – the ability to know what has gone before, to recall what has been said, and to revisit the context in which it was said.

At last week's Museum Computer Network conference, Aaron Straup Cope gave a talk on museums and technology called "Wishful Thinking – A critical discussion of 'extended reality' technologies in the cultural heritage sector" that beautifully addressed these questions of recall and revisiting:

https://www.aaronland.info/weblog/2023/11/11/therapy/#wishful

Cope is a museums technologist who's worked on lots of critical digital projects over the years, and in this talk, he addresses himself to the difference between the excitement of the galleries, libraries, archives and museums (GLAM) sector over the possibilities of the web, and why he doesn't feel the same excitement over the metaverse, and its various guises – XR, VR, MR and AR.

The biggest reason to be excited about the web was – and is – the openness of disintermediation. The internet was inspired by the end-to-end principle, the idea that the network's first duty was to transmit data from willing senders to willing receivers, as efficiently and reliably as possible. That principle made it possible for whole swathes of people to connect with one another. As Cope writes, openness "was not, and has never been, a guarantee of a receptive audience or even any audience at all." But because it was "easy and cheap enough to put something on the web," you could "leave it there long enough for others to find it."

That dynamic nurtured an environment where people could have "time to warm up to ideas." This is in sharp contrast to the social media world, where "[anything] not immediately successful or viral … was a waste of time and effort… not worth doing." The social media bias towards a river of content that can't be easily reversed is one in which the only ideas that get to spread are those the algorithm boosts.

This is an important way to understand the role of algorithms in the context of the spread of ideas – that without recall or revisiting, we just don't see stuff, including stuff that might challenge our thinking and change our minds. This is a much more materialistic and grounded way to talk about algorithms and ideas than the idea that Big Data and AI make algorithms so persuasive that they can control our minds:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

As bad as this is in the social media context, it's even worse in the context of apps, which can't be linked into, bookmarked, or archived. All of this made apps an ominous sign right from the beginning:

https://memex.craphound.com/2010/04/01/why-i-wont-buy-an-ipad-and-think-you-shouldnt-either/

Apps interact with law in precisely the way that web-pages don't. "An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to defend yourself against corporate predation":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/27/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse/

Apps are "closed" in every sense. You can't see what's on an app without installing the app and "agreeing" to its terms of service. You can't reverse-engineer an app (to add a privacy blocker, or to change how it presents information) without risking criminal and civil liability. You can't bookmark anything the app won't let you bookmark, and you can't preserve anything the app won't let you preserve.

Despite being built on the same underlying open frameworks – HTTP, HTML, etc – as the web, apps have the opposite technological viewpoint to the web. Apps' technopolitics are at war with the web's technopolitics. The web is built around recall – the ability to see things, go back to things, save things. The web has the technopolitics of a museum:

https://www.aaronland.info/weblog/2014/09/11/brand/#dconstruct

By comparison, apps have the politics of a product, and most often, that product is a rent-seeking, lock-in-hunting product that wants to take you hostage by holding something you love hostage – your data, perhaps, or your friends:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

When Anil Dash described "The Web We Lost" in 2012, he was describing a web with the technopolitics of a museum:

where tagging was combined with permissive licenses to make it easy for people to find and reuse each others' stuff;

where it was easy to find out who linked to you in realtime even though most of us were posting to our own sites, which they controlled;

where a link from one site to another meant one person found another person's contribution worthy;

where privacy-invasive bids to capture the web were greeted with outright hostility;

where every service that helped you post things that mattered to you was expected to make it easy for you take that data back if you changed services;

where inlining or referencing material from someone else's site meant following a technical standard, not inking a business-development deal;

https://www.anildash.com/2012/12/13/the_web_we_lost/

Ten years later, Dash's "broken tech/content culture cycle" described the web we live on now:

https://www.anildash.com/2022/02/09/the-stupid-tech-content-culture-cycle/

found your platform by promising to facilitate your users' growth;

order your technologists and designers to prioritize growth above all other factors and fire anyone who doesn't deliver;

grow without regard to the norms of your platform's users;

plaster over the growth-driven influx of abusive and vile material by assigning it to your "most marginalized, least resourced team";

deliver a half-assed moderation scheme that drives good users off the service and leaves no one behind but griefers, edgelords and trolls;

steadfastly refuse to contemplate why the marginalized users who made your platform attractive before being chased away have all left;

flail about in a panic over illegal content, do deals with large media brands, seize control over your most popular users' output;

"surface great content" by algorithmically promoting things that look like whatever's successful, guaranteeing that nothing new will take hold;

overpay your top performers for exclusivity deals, utterly neglect any pipeline for nurturing new performers;

abuse your creators the same ways that big media companies have for decades, but insist that it's different because you're a tech company;

ignore workers who warn that your product is a danger to society, dismiss them as "millennials" (defined as "anyone born after 1970 or who has a student loan")

when your platform is (inevitably) implicated in a murder, have a "town hall" overseen by a crisis communications firm;

pay the creator who inspired the murder to go exclusive on your platform;

dismiss the murder and fascist rhetoric as "growing pains";

when truly ghastly stuff happens on your platform, give your Trust and Safety team a 5% budget increase;

chase growth based on "emotionally engaging content" without specifying whether the emotions should be positive;

respond to ex-employees' call-outs with transient feelings of guilt followed by dismissals of "cancel culture":

fund your platforms' most toxic users and call it "free speech";

whenever anyone disagrees with any of your decisions, dismiss them as being "anti-free speech";

start increasing how much your platform takes out of your creators' paychecks;

force out internal dissenters, dismiss external critics as being in conspiracy with your corporate rivals;

once regulation becomes inevitable, form a cartel with the other large firms in your sector and insist that the problem is a "bad algorithm";

"claim full victim status," and quit your job, complaining about the toll that running a big platform took on your mental wellbeing.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/18/broken-records/#dashes

The web wasn't inevitable – indeed, it was wildly improbable. Tim Berners Lee's decision to make a new platform that was patent-free, open and transparent was a complete opposite approach to the strategy of the media companies of the day. They were building walled gardens and silos – the dialup equivalent to apps – organized as "branded communities." The way I experienced it, the web succeeded because it was so antithetical to the dominant vision for the future of the internet that the big companies couldn't even be bothered to try to kill it until it was too late.

Companies have been trying to correct that mistake ever since. After three or four attempts to replace the web with various garbage systems all called "MSN," Microsoft moved on to trying to lock the internet inside a proprietary browser. Years later, Facebook had far more success in an attempt to kill HTML with React. And of course, apps have gobbled up so much of the old, good internet.

Which brings us to Cope's views on museums and the metaverse. There's nothing intrinsically proprietary about virtual worlds and all their permutations. VRML is a quarter of a century old – just five years younger than Snow Crash:

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

But the current enthusiasm for virtual worlds isn't merely a function of the interesting, cool and fun experiences you can have in them. Rather, it's a bid to kill off whatever is left of the old, good web and put everything inside a walled garden. Facebook's metaverse "is more of the same but with a technical footprint so expensive and so demanding that it all but ensures it will only be within the means of a very few companies to operate."

Facebook's VR headsets have forward-facing cameras, turning every users into a walking surveillance camera. Facebook put those cameras there for "pass through" – so they can paint the screens inside the headset with the scene around you – but "who here believes that Facebook doesn't have other motives for enabling an always-on camera capturing the world around you?"

Apple's VisionPro VR headset is "a near-perfect surveillance device," and "the only thing to save this device is the trust that Apple has marketed its brand on over the last few years." Cope notes that "a brand promise is about as fleeting a guarantee as you can get." I'll go further: Apple is already a surveillance company:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

The technopolitics of the metaverse are the opposite of the technopolitics of the museum – even moreso than apps. Museums that shift their scarce technology budgets to virtual worlds stand a good chance of making something no one wants to use, and that's the best case scenario. The worst case is that museums make a successful project inside a walled garden, one where recall is subject to corporate whim, and help lure their patrons away from the recall-friendly internet to the captured, intermediated metaverse.

It's true that the early web benefited from a lot of hype, just as the metaverse is enjoying today. But the similarity ends there: the metaverse is designed for enclosure, the web for openness. Recall is a historical force for "the right to assembly… access to basic literacy… a public library." The web was "an unexpected gift with the ability to change the order of things; a gift that merits being protected, preserved and promoted both internally and externally." Museums were right to jump on the web bandwagon, because of its technopolitics. The metaverse, with its very different technopolitics, is hostile to the very idea of museums.

In joining forces with metaverse companies, museums strike a Faustian bargain, "because we believe that these places are where our audiences have gone."

The GLAM sector is devoted to access, to recall, and to revisiting. Unlike the self-style free speech warriors whom Dash calls out for self-serving neglect of their communities, the GLAM sector is about preservation and access, the true heart of free expression. When a handful of giant companies organize all our discourse, the ability to be heard is contingent on pleasing the ever-shifting tastes of the algorithm. This is the problem with the idea that "freedom of speech isn't freedom of reach" – if a platform won't let people who want to hear from you see what you have to say, they are indeed compromising freedom of speech:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Likewise, "censorship" is not limited to "things that governments do." As Ada Palmer so wonderfully describes it in her brilliant "Why We Censor: from the Inquisition to the Internet" speech, censorship is like arsenic, with trace elements of it all around us:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMMJb3AxA0s

A community's decision to ban certain offensive conduct or words on pain of expulsion or sanction is censorship – but not to the same degree that, say, a government ban on expressing certain points of view is. However, there are many kinds of private censorship that rise to the same level as state censorship in their impact on public discourse (think of Moms For Liberty and their book-bannings).

It's not a coincidence that Palmer – a historian – would have views on censorship and free speech that intersect with Cope, a museum worker. One of the most brilliant moments in Palmer's speech is where she describes how censorship under the Inquistion was not state censorship – the Inquisition was a multinational, nongovernmental body that was often in conflict with state power.

Not all intermediaries are bad for speech or access. The "disintermediation" that excited early web boosters was about escaping from otherwise inescapable middlemen – the people who figured out how to control and charge for the things we did with one another.

When I was a kid, I loved the writing of Crad Kilodney, a short story writer who sold his own self-published books on Toronto street-corners while wearing a sign that said "VERY FAMOUS CANADIAN AUTHOR, BUY MY BOOKS" (he also had a sign that read, simply, "MARGARET ATWOOD"). Kilodney was a force of nature, who wrote, edited, typeset, printed, bound, and sold his own books:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/arts/books/article-late-street-poet-and-publishing-scourge-crad-kilodney-left-behind-a/

But there are plenty of writers out there that I want to hear from who lack the skill or the will to do all of that. Editors, publishers, distributors, booksellers – all the intermediaries who sit between a writer and their readers – are not bad. They're good, actually. The problem isn't intermediation – it's capture.

For generations, hucksters have conned would-be writers by telling them that publishing won't buy their books because "the gatekeepers" lack the discernment to publish "quality" work. Friends of mine in publishing laughed at the idea that they would deliberately sideline a book they could figure out how to sell – that's just not how it worked.

But today, monopolized film studios are literally annihilating beloved, high-priced, commercially viable works because they are worth slightly more as tax writeoffs than they are as movies:

https://deadline.com/2023/11/coyote-vs-acme-shelved-warner-bros-discovery-writeoff-david-zaslav-1235598676/

There's four giant studios and five giant publishers. Maybe "five" is the magic number and publishing isn't concentrated enough to drop whole novels down the memory hole for a tax deduction, but even so, publishing is trying like hell to shrink to four:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/07/random-penguins/#if-you-wanted-to-get-there-i-wouldnt-start-from-here

Even as the entertainment sector is working to both literally and figuratively destroy our libraries, the cultural heritage sector is grappling with preserving these libraries, with shrinking budgets and increased legal threats:

https://blog.archive.org/2023/03/25/the-fight-continues/

I keep meeting artists of all description who have been conditioned to be suspicious of anything with the word "open" in its name. One colleague has repeatedly told me that fighting for the "open internet" is a self-defeating rhetorical move that will scare off artists who hear "open" and think "Big Tech ripoff."

But "openness" is a necessary precondition for preservation and access, which are the necessary preconditions for recall and revisiting. Here on the last, melting fragment of the open internet, as tech- and entertainment-barons are seizing control over our attention and charging rent on our ability to talk and think together, openness is our best hope of a new, good internet. T

he cultural heritage sector wants to save our creative works. The entertainment and tech industry want to delete them and take a tax writeoff.

As a working artist, I know which side I'm on.

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/2023/11/13/this-is-for-everyone/#revisiting

Image: Diego Delso (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Museo_Mimara,_Zagreb,_Croacia,_2014-04-20,_DD_01.JPG

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

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jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear · 11 days

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Why do we gatekeep comics?

Seriously. I've been in this fandom (well, the batman rogues side of it) for years, since '15 actually. It's crazy how often I run across a post that basically says "fandom has bad reading comprehension and valid interpretations of these characters come from me"

Do ya'll realize how snobby that sounds?

Let me tell ya, comics are NOT an easy medium to get into. I'm going to be using Jonathan Crane as my example, because that's my blog's whole thing. Speaking him alone, there's at least eight origins, dozens of verses, multiple versions and stories -- and yes, some do contradict each other. And that's a medium popularity rogue, what if we're talking Jason Todd or Joker? Even Bruce Wayne's set in stone origin can vary from comic to comic.

While I understand comics need to be read to understand a character to it's fullest, and in no way am I arguing that you SHOULDN'T read comics. What I am saying is, there's more than just the fandom popular ones, and comics are not a cheap medium to get into. (and yes, you can 'yo ho ho' comics if you catch my drift, but finding the obscure issues can someone be impossible even taking that route) Comics costs add up quickly if you want to collect, ranging from two to six dollars an issue and god forbid you wanna collect something out of print that never had a big release to begin with. eBay prices can get crazy, and not everyone lives near a comic book store.

I get asks all the time asking me where to start with Jonathan Crane and reading, but really....does it matter? Pick an origin, pick a handful of stories that may interest you and with maaaybe six to ten comics you'll have a solid understanding of the character. This works for any character btw, you don't have nor should you have to read everything or whatever the fandom considers "the most correct"

ALSO! There's more than just comics, maybe you watched the animated series as a kid and that's all you know! That doesn't mean your thoughts are lesser than someone whose read hundreds of comics!! You're allowed to stick with the meidum you like best, like the Arkhamverse video games or Teen Titans cartoon.

Why do we even push the idea that you gotta research comics for years before you can have an "acceptable opinion" on these characters? Comics are a special medium, they can tell multiple stories from multiple artists and writers. No one comic is above the rest, no matter what the fandom tries to tell you

Just. Have fun with it. Make your headcanons. Read the story everyone hates. Take the horrible canon (Jervis Tetch being a predator, for example) and throw it out the window!!

Do what makes YOU happy. I promise, you're never going to be alone in a fandom like the comics fandom. You're allowed to do what you want, I mean--half the time the professionals wing it and bullshit it, so why can't you???

Anyway, I'm getting off my soapbox for today.

#Moffy Speaks #DC #DC Comics #batman

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oriandcate · 2 years

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The List of Raw Quotes immortalized by the Internet:

“People who value any aspect of creation would do well not to pit gods against one another.”

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

“I will face God and walk backwards into Hell.”

“Then perish.”

“I have been through Hell and come out singing.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who dies?”

“Do you think God stays in Heaven because He too lives in fear of what He created?”

“To become god is the loneliest achievement of all.”

“You kneel before my throne unaware that it was built on lies.”

“This is Hell’s territory and I am beholden to no gods.”

“Impudent of you to assume that I will meet a mortal end.”

“Bury me shallow, I’ll be back.”

“Take this gift, for the gods surely won’t.”

“One day, you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you’ve filled.”

“Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?”

“Deviation from the norm will be punished unless it is exploitable.”

“You cannot kill me in a way that matters.”

“Pick a god and pray.”

“We deserve a soft epilogue, my love.”

“We are the timeline that God has abandoned.”

“Pick a Hell and rot there.”

“Every day we stray further from God’s light.”

“I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.”

“I’d sell you to Satan for one corn chip.”

“The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math.”

“If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight as I always have.”

“I am a monument to all your sins.”

“It’s not about whether you win or lose. Sometimes it’s about how many pages you add to the rulebook.”

“You’re rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, my friend.”

“The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.”

“I don’t believe in divine retribution, but then life throws people like you at me.”

“God wanted me dead, now you get to find out why.”

“The fruits of the earth do not exist to be worth something to us.”

“I’ve got a date with destiny, and it ain’t gonna end with a kiss.”

“Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held.”

“To sit still is to submit to a god who cannot stand to see such power in potentia mere inches from realizing itself and overcoming him.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“…but sadly I am only a little bug and you are a garden.”

“In a society where all adventure has been destroyed, the only adventure left is to destroy that society.”

“How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?”

“So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.”

“…For they are a scoundrel and a foul beast of fields untouched by green.”

“Do you not think that Satan, too, has some affection for the inhabitants of Hell?”

“Does poetry flourishing even in the cracks and grime of the world devalue its beauty? Is the divine rendered plain when it becomes commonplace? Would you have the sublime subjected to the gatekeeping of a self-serving elite? Better it should be used and misused as us absurd commoners see fit.”

“Lock your doors and windows. God will forgive your absence.”

“I stand here, a fool of my own making.”

“Canon is but the sandbox in which I strike lightning to form glass. Trouble me no more with your quibbling and quorums, lest I grind you to dust beneath my heel and build stories from the remnants of your bones. Avast, foul fiend.”

“In the end, everyone is aware of this: nobody keeps any of what he has, and life is only a borrowing of bones.”

“’It’s not that deep.’ Maybe not originally, but the ground is soft and I’m ready to dig.”

“Ask the moon. Ask what it has witnessed.”

“Some things don’t belong on this plane of existence and the universe conspires to correct that.”

“Weird is a prerequisite to all things good and entertaining.”

“The sunrise has never caught me sleeping.”

“People are trying to be right no matter how wrong they are, I am here, accepting my primal desires.”

“Swear all you want, but the gods have shut their ears.”

“Tis the nature, curse, and cure of humanity to be forever attracted to the abyss.”

“If you hit a mole over the head for long and hard enough, eventually it learns to mind its own beeswax. Keep whacking.”

“If we built a tower of Babel, in this day and age, no one would stop us. We would build, and build, and one day inevitably breach the gates of heaven. And we would send in a probe, and then an exploratory team, clad in hazmat suits and protective gear, to enter the gates, and lo! before them would be a great, winding mass, a crumbling chitinous mountain range, a swooping winding wormous cavern, pale and sickly and turned to dust. And we will understand why no one stopped us: it will be the exoskeleton of God.”

“I must make time fear me most.”

“My third eye is open but damn it needs a monocle.”

“Some sins follow us, trotting along and planting themselves in dark corners, high shelves, gathering dust like a forgotten potted ficus, forever a part of the inner scenery of our minds. They thrive there. In the dark. Knowing we will someday stumble in. This is why ‘tis unwise to explore the inner chambers of our souls.”

“Ideals are made of gold and light, but human lives are made of blood and tears, and spill with slippery ease; choose carefully what hills to build and die upon.”

“I shall dig my very own shallow grave. Onward.”

“Confidence! A fool’s substitute for intelligence!”

“Weird hill to die on, but at least you’re dead.”

“Our paths may have crossed briefly, but you’ve still had the misfortune of knowing me.”

“What’s a little blood and bone? We all come down to it, in the end.”

“I could set the world on fire and call it rain.”

“War allows us to dress our monsters up as saviors, and many would say I’m one of those monsters.”

“You haven’t learned anything until you learn monsters have nightmares too.”

“To live is to haunt.”

“Can’t shake the devil’s hand and say you’re only kidding.”

“In the future, you will stand at the grave of God which I dug, weeping, and I will be the only creature you will be able to answer to. You will beg for death, but due to what you said today, I will deprive you of that luxury.”

“I wanted rain and I thought the best way to do that was to make God cry.”

“Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.”

“Here’s the thing about a haunted forest: it’s not going to haunt itself.”

“Your skull is the garden where fact flowers into meaning.”

“I shall use your voice for violin string and serenade your widow.”

“If God had wanted you to live he would not have created me.”

“I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering, and tonight I intend to make you very wise.”

“If I cannot bend heaven, then I will raise hell.”

“Remember that if you go knocking on enough doors asking to see the Devil, eventually he may answer.”

"No one of honor is interred here. The dead are raw materials, and nothing more."

"That there is a feller what sat down on a snake in the grass one day, and it ain't crawled outta his asshole yet."

"Pay a man enough and he'll walk barefoot into Hell."

"All these moments will be lost in time; like tears, in the rain."

"To feel sorrow is to deserve peace."

"No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle."

"There is no light at the end of this tunnel; so it's a good thing we brought matches."

"The answer to despair is action."

"You'll be reduced down to a single atom when I'm done with you."

"What's at the end of a million? Zero, zero, zero; big old hole, with a wall around it. That's all a bank is, you know: a great big old hole you throw money into, and all it ever seems to do is make the walls higher."

"Always strive to eat the stars."

"Why would you want to savor the taste of poison?"

"The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."

"It is better to die standing than to live kneeling."

"The anger in your heart warms you now, but it will leave you cold in your grave."

"Darkness without light is an abyss; light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side."

"We can't have faith for everybody."

"Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars you won."

"To rend one's enemies is to view them as objects: hollow of existence and meaning."

"Your soul sparks with a nonsense that makes this world bearable."

"He ain't one of the creatures God made."

“The unconscious hides in a language like a thief hides a diamond in a chandelier.”

“I just know no fruit has ever tasted as sweet as the ones I ate while bleeding under the blistering summer sun.”

“I pray nobody kills me for the crime of being small.”

“That’s the problem with gods; their pleasure and their wrath often look the same.”

“If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man.”

“Stupid should hurt.”

“do you think god is nuclear. do you think you cannot look upon deities the same way you cannot look at the center of a mushroom cloud. do you think the energy generated from fission is released from divine clutches. do you think that god exists in the space between the nucleus and the electrons and in the bonds of compounds and in the numbers on the page that got us there. do you think radiation is a warning. do you think it is an eraser. do you think it is wrath or a mistake or a byproduct of entropy. do you think god is plasma, where electrons are wherever you want them to be. do you think that we were supposed to find this out.”

“If you aren’t worthy enough to pull the sword, be strong enough to lift the stone.”

“I can’t go to hell. I’m all out of vacation days.”

“Despite everything, its still you.”

“The more you kill, the easier it becomes to distance yourself. The more you distance yourself, the less it will hurt. The more easily you can bring yourself to hurt others.”

“My mother says kissing a man without a mustache is like eating eggs without salt.”

“A character is a ghost, a story is what it haunts.”

“Pain travels through families until someone is ready to feel it.”

“The gods did not breathe the breath of life into us and give us gifts of a shape, a will, and a voice just so we could pay bills and die”

“you gotta have friends who are older than you, not because you’re a dumb kid, but because you’ll be terrified of growing up otherwise.”

“you’ve made me so hard i beg for softness”

“Scorn is more palatable than the howling hunger for things to have been different for you.”

“Being able to endure something does not equal an obligation to withstand it.”

“To live is to haunt.”

“I am a chewy rubber Polly Pocket skirt and God is a four year old girl.”

“The big picture is made up of brush strokes, fool.”

“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.”

“these are old bones and i am merely a passing occupant”

“The board is getting dusty but the boogeyman has not yet blinked. when he does, you better make that move.”

“And when we kill the gods neither heaven nor hell will be waiting for them because they created those to imprison us.

“What makes a man a warrior is his willingness to place himself between what he holds dear and anything that threatens it. This is the way.”

“The anchor gives the ship the world to love.”

“In a society where adventure has been destroyed, the only adventure left is to destroy that society.”

“You pretended to be the hero of a story you never saved.”

“this world is a banquet of knowledge and each of us has brought a dish to the table.”

“This is the time of vengeance and no life is worth saving.”

“The ghosts that inhabit this place are more alive than you’ll ever be.”

“May the only thing that dampens the flames of hell for you be God spitting in your face.”

#quotes #writers on tumblr #source: tumblr #raw lines #pinterest #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #writing #spy kids #halo #destiny #comics

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months

Note

WIBTA if i asked my friend to stop being disparaging about romance/sexuality? (sorry in advance for long post, this situation a little complicated)

we are all adults, early/mid 20s. My friend is aroace, but i'm not, although i did spend a few years in the community before i realized my behavior/thoughts are not due to my sexual/romantic preferences, but are actually due to repression/guilt/shame/trauma. This is just personal experience obviously, i'm not trying to gatekeep or tell anyone how to identify

this friend often makes disparaging remarks about sexuality and romance that come off as shaming. i know they aren't talking about me specifically, but it still feels bad to hear them talk about how they wish "the allos would stop being so horny all the time" or how "it's gross how allos are all like this", all while knowing that i count myself as allosexual and alloromantic, and i'm definitely not 'horny all the time' or 'always talking about sex' or 'having sex all the time'. I've literally never fucked anyone in my life (🕺🏻celibacy🕺🏻--joking aside, i personally don't want casual sex, and i haven't dated since i was a teen). The most sexual i get is occasionally hornyposting on my 18+/priv accs, which they don't follow.

Obviously, i'm not trying to invalidate their feelings and i'm definitely not telling them they should enjoy something they obviously don't. i would just prefer if they stopped saying stuff to me about how gross allo people are. It comes off as "we enlightened beings vs those degenerate rutters".

Before anyone says this is bait, no, it's not. i'm genuinely asking for advice bc i value this friendship and i don't think they have bad intentions, just a lot of frustrations. i know it's frustrating that society places so much value in romantic/sexual relationships, and i know it's hard to be practically drowning in something that personally makes them feel gross. i also wouldn't care if they complain about this to other people, or feel this way inside, but it does hurt my feelings when they bring it up to me in this way.

I haven't actually said anything to them yet, so WIBTA if i (kindly) asked them to not talk to me about how 'gross' allos are, or if they do want to discuss their frustrations, to avoid using such derogatory/generalizing statements in the future?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months

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of course

***Spoilers for the Stitch summer event below the cut!***

Of coooourse Azul and Floyd jump on the opportunity to extort their classmates while they’re stranded on a deserted island 😭 Such an Ursula moment when Azul asks the group what they’re willing to do to be rescued… 😭 Not Floyd suggesting they all be Octa’s errand boys until the end of time 😭 AnD NOT hIM CALLiNG AzUL NICE FOR LOWERInG iT TO “just” A WEEk???? 😭 Why are fish like this—

This is even funnier when you look back at Birthday Union/Jacket vignettes, where some characters are asked “If you could bring one person with you on a deserted island, who would you choose?”. Of the 6 characters featured in Lost in the Book with Stitch, Jack is the only one who was asked this question. He at first says he can survive on his own, and though he eventually provides Epel as his answer. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT??? Jack also states in the interview that he would not want to be stuck with anyone in Octavinelle because “they seem like the types to ask for compensation whenever they have to do something” 🤡 Which. Isn’t far from the reality they’re now experiencing…

Addendum: In Jack’s Labwear vignettes, Floyd asks Azul if they can “keep him”, as though Jack were a stray dog. Again, Floyd’s affinity for dogs reappears in the Stitch event, where he doesn’t want to hand Stitch over to Gantu.

Other related points from Union Birthday/Birthday Jacket vignettes (the other 5 were asked “if you could pick any student from NRC to be your sibling, who would you choose?”): Ace would pick Azul to essentially get free stuff I bet he’s regretting his decision right about now, eh, Floyd would pick Ace so Ace can take the fall for him in sticky situations why do I suddenly have a bad feeling for what’s to come, and Lilia would pick… FLOYD 😂 because Floyd is mischievous, challenges people, and keeps surprising him with unexpected things… Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure plenty of “unexpected things” are going to happen, whether the boys like it or not 💦

On a more serious note, I do find it interesting that we get formal confirmation that merpeople in human forms need to remove their clothes before returning to their true forms. (This was always assumed before, but was never explicitly brought up in scenes where they actually had to revert back, such as book 4, Vargas Camp, and the first Halloween event.) However, Azul and Floyd say that the Beachwear clothes must be magic because they can’t be removed. I’m assuming either it’s unsafe to revert while still wearing clothes or the magical clothes just prevent them from bursting out of it a la Vanessa to Ursula in The Little Mermaid:

It’s also implied that their human forms are not suited for swimming long distances (or at least they are not used to swimming long distances in human forms yet)?? Which makes me think their anatomy and physiology must become entirely human when they drink their usual transformation potion??? Like, I’m assuming there aren’t gills on their human forms (because they’d serve zero purpose) which could hinder swimming as a human. (For that one scene in book 3 where Azul joins the group at the Atlantica Museum, I always assumed he just drank one of those “breathing underwater” potions he gave out earlier in the book!)

Side note: thanks to this event for gatekeeping us from potentially getting a peak at Azul’s non-OB octomer form/j 🙄

#twst #twisted wonderland #Azul Ashengrotto #Floyd Leech #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #Ursula #The Little Mermaid #Vanessa #notes from the writing raven #Stitch #Jack Howl #Epel Felmier #Ace Trappola #Lilia Vanrouge #Gantu

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freyito · 2 months

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ + ᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ

✧ a/n: hi. hey. hello. guess what time it is. ANYWAYS. this ones for the bad bitches (gn) with uteruses who have a vendetta against them. i see you and i hear you and you are NOT alone (no geras on this one i genuinely couldn't think of anything for him srry)

🗒 cw: afab reader but gn terms (if any?), period talk, some of these i wrote with 3 days of no sleep so, not proofread

✎ wc: 2136

⎯Liu Kang

You'd think for the man that shaped the universe, he'd at LEAST think about getting rid of that week of hell. Just kidding. But when you joke about it with Liu Kang, he sincerely apologizes. With his full heart.

But, god, is he attentive. He’s gentle with you, like you’ll break at the slightest touch. Which you assure him you won’t. He gets you some ginger tea (or green if you don’t like ginger tea). He essentially condemns you to your bed (sorta) the entire week, he doesn’t want you putting any strain on yourself. Liu Kang will get you ANYTHING you ask of him, absolutely anything.

⎯ Bi-Han

Sure, Bi-Han can be rude sometimes, and he’s a damn workaholic. But I believe he would incorporate a menstrual leave within the Lin Kuei. Granted, he’s normally stressed as hell, but he doesn’t want any of his subordinates to even train under that stress. So he treats you with such tenderness unfitting from a man of his stature. He cares.

He kind of has a checklist he goes through when you’re on your period. Pads, tampons, tea, painkillers, water, tea, anything and everything, especially for the pain. He’ll get you snacks, as long as they aren’t too salty or sweet. Bi-Han doesn’t like to ‘gatekeep’ food from you, but he is worried that something too unhealthy will make your cramps worse.

⎯ Kuai Liang

We all know Kuai is rather attentive. While he can’t necessarily be empathetic, he’s sympathetic. Any little wince you make, he worries over. Doesn’t matter if your cramps are a 3 or a 10. He’s concerned over every little thing, every complaint you make he takes seriously. Even if it’s just a joke plea, asking him to make it stop.

But, seriously. Ask him, and he will do his best. He’s already got all sorts of pads, tampons, and cups. At least three different brands, too. He prepares like it’s doomsday. He has all your comfort foods stocked, and ingredients if it requires cooking. Who needs a heating pad when you have Kuai Liang, though? If you don’t mind, he’ll lay right on top of you, and warm himself up.

⎯ Johnny Cage

Holy shit, you don’t even need a tracker with Johnny. He KNOWS. It’s a little scary. But by god, does he prepare. Snacks? Check. Everything sweet, savory, spicy, anything you want. If you want nothing other than takeout for the week? He can handle it, his wallet won’t hurt a bit. Chores? Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. He’s got them covered for the week. He practically leaps at the chance to take care of you, even if you argue that it isn’t that bad.

Before you even start, Johnny’s massaging you. Trying to make you feel better. And somehow, he’s made the bed feel all fluffy and soft, the pillows have never been so perfect (except last month), and you feel like you can sleep easily during shark week. He spoils you during your period, too. Anything to lighten your mood. Silly little gifts, cute stuffed animals, the sweetest things that could make your teeth ache. He can’t say no to you, or whatever you ask.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Much like Johnny, Kenshi catches your period before you do. It’s not telepathy, no, it’s the fact that somehow, your movements become a little bit more stiff, and you’re just a little bit sluggish. He treats you to a nice little dinner the day before, so you’re well-fed and hopefully have energy to deal with the start of the week.

And when the cramps inevitably start that night, when you get back from the bathroom, he rolls right over and pulls you into a hug. Before you fall asleep, he massages your lower back and waist. Kenshi makes sure there are fresh, clean, and warm sheets almost every night. Something to snack on, some water– in fact, he pushes water pretty damn hard for shark week– and a good amount of emotional support. As much as he can, he will do.

⎯ Kung Lao

Kung Lao is admittedly a little lost– at least at the start of the relationship. He does all he can, and needs just a little guidance. Tell him directly what you need or want and he’s running off to get it. But, with a couple months, he’s gotten into the swing of things. All sorts of snacks stocked up, heating pads galore, and like seven different boxes of product.

The thing he goes straight to is, of course, Madam Bo’s food. He finds her food to be a great comfort, and hopes it will be the same. It’s hearty, so damn good, and hot. He’ll run to her place and back to yours every day if you want. Is it an excuse to get some for himself? No. Seriously. He’s hoping that it can help, even if it’s a little.

⎯ Raiden

Raiden is the sweetest thing. He dotes on you normally, but when you’re sick, it’s even more. And he does the same when you’re on your period. He coddles you, essentially. But not in a childish way, no. It’s just, any time you wince or groan or complain, he’s asking what you need, if you want space, if you want him to help, massage you, whatever.

All sorts of soups and teas are made, he’s got painkillers at the ready, and he’s still scavenging for ways to make you more comfortable. As much as he wants you to stay in bed, he still wants you to get some exercise, because he hopes moving will help a bit. He won’t force you to, but he ‘strongly recommends’ it.

⎯ Zeffeero

Rain is surprisingly cuddly during your shark week. To him, it’s more about making you feel better than anything. Not that he can’t be cuddly, but physical affection isn’t normally his go-to. His normally royal and guarded exterior comes crashing down when he sees you, but more-so during your period.

Any free time he has, he’s got his arms around you, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Even when you complain. It’s the pressure that he focuses on– which, on that note, he has like ten different weighted blankets. Take your pick, he won’t mind which one you use. Zeffeero makes sure you’re comfortable, treats you like royalty, really. If you want (as much as he wants to stay next to you and cuddle up to you), he’ll sleep elsewhere. All the chores? Done. Especially if your period wipes you out.

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Tomas might go a little overboard when you’re on your period. Any time he can manage, he worms his way into your arms, treats you like true royalty. I mean like the whole package. Carries you everywhere, makes you whatever you want or request. Even if you mention it in passing, he’ll bring it to you. He doesn’t pass up the opportunity to pamper you, ever.

His main go-to is fresh baked goods. He’s a pretty damn good baker. If you’re okay with it, he tends to sorta drag you along with him anywhere in the house, as if the minute he takes his eyes off you, the cramps will get worse. But, if you want space, that’s okay, too! And don’t worry about laundry, dishes, anything. He makes sure you have a clean and fresh environment, to at least make your mental health feel a little better. Tomas has a routine, really. Cuddle up to you in your sleep, massage at your hips, make sure you have a heating pad by you and some water on the bedside table for the morning, and then he gets right to cooking before you even wake up.

⎯ Baraka

Oh, how Baraka wishes he could essentially smother you, hold you, do whatever he can physically to take away the pain of the cramps, and just reassure you. But he is blocked by his affliction, and the fear of himself. Regardless, he’s a little bit more clingy. In his own way.

He’s got a survival kit, essentially. Pads, tampons, cups, painkillers, painkillers, snacks and takeout almost every day, fresh clothes and clean sheets every morning. He knows what he’s doing. Baraka has an entire water jug by the bed, heating pad on standby, and one of your favorite snacks, as well. He tries to treat you the best he can, by some fancy food he was able to get at the market, or maybe a little gift.

⎯ Syzoth

Syzoth is also pretty clingy during your period. Considering his favorite past-time is wrapping himself around you, he works like a walking weighted blanket. He’s kind of hard to shoo away, cause he’s just so worried over you.

While most of his support and comfort comes from pressure and cuddles and all, he practically jumps at the idea of getting you your comfort food or just snacks. Something to tide you over. It satisfies a kind of primal urge within him, like hunting down food. Even if it’s just walking down the market and grabbing a couple of things.

⎯ Havik

Havik's a "what size pussy you wear" kinda guy. I apologize. In his pursuit for total anarchy, some things ended up lost on him. It’s not that he doesn’t know, it’s that sometimes the thought of his partner having a period evades him.

With some convincing though he’ll get you what you ask for. Sort of. He’s not necessarily welcomed in Sun Do or many Outworld cities due to his… reputation. But somehow, he manages to get you a couple snacks, painkillers, and pads or tampons (whichever you asked for), surprisingly! Just don’t ask how he got it. And don’t ask why his bounty was raised the next time you enter town.

⎯ General Shao

Shao wants to stay at home with you during shark week. He would, if he could. He wants to make sure you’re all comfy and secure and okay. He insists on changing the sheets the night before, because he believes it’s the very least he could do.

He will leave you little notes and try and make you some breakfast before he leaves, though. He focuses on the little things, because that’s all he feels he can do. And when he comes home, he’s more focused on you. Could care less if he’s injured, or just had a hard day. No matter how tired he is, he’ll find a way to try and massage and try and ease your pain. Half the time it’s done on instinct, he’ll be half-asleep, muttering something incoherent, running his hands down your back and massaging at the knots in the small of your back.

⎯ Shang Tsung

If you thought Shang Tsung couldn’t get anymore sappy… you’re WRONG. He becomes horrifyingly sweet, whenever you're sick or on your period. The minute you curl up or complain he’s on you, pampering you, saying stupid, sassy things like ‘awh, my love’. But he doesn’t do it to belittle you. He says it in a joking manner, because he wants to distract you. Laughter is the best medicine… or something.

The thing about Shang Tsung is that when he falls in love, he falls hard. And he (not so) secretly wants to pamper and spoil and treat you like royalty. And when you show any amount of hurt, even if you just make a face, he’s at your beck and call. You don’t even have to say a full word, he’s already got whatever you’ve said. He mainly showers you in gifts, because he really does want to try and distract you as I said. But he’s more than fine with simply sitting by and letting you complain, too. He kinda eggs you on, like hell yeah, take that verbal abuse, uterus!

⎯ Reiko

Reiko’s head of heels for you. And he melts in your hands. He’s a little bit prideful, so sometimes he tends to restrain himself around you. But, when you’re hurt in any sort of way, those walls fall instantly. He’s all over you, asking what you need, checking in on you almost every hour on the dot (when he can), and massages. So. Many. Massages.

He’ll return home from work, with some sort of treat for you, and beeline straight for the bed (or the couch, or wherever you are), and just curls up right behind you. He won’t say anything, but his hands will wander, massage around your waist, rub circles below your stomach, that kind of thing. He just hides his face in the crook of your neck and does whatever he can to ease your pain. Reiko isn’t really good with words, and it takes him some time to get used to what you like and your favorite foods to help. But, he’s very confident in his strength, and with that,– especially with his training– he’s pretty confident on the body and just enough pressure to apply to ease your aching body.

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ladykailitha · 6 months

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Well Met By Moonlight Part 7

Hello! It was a bit of a rough morning for me with the hate I got earlier. Maybe I could have worded it nicer, but I'm tired of gatekeepers that think everything ever has to be canon inspired, but if you have a difference of opinion about what is canon then them you're delusional.

And then my son nearly fainted at his school singing program this afternoon. He got sent home yesterday due to being over emotional at school (couldn't stop crying), but we thought it was just a bad mental health day. Apparently not.

So it was a little hard wanting to post today, even though I have a backlog of 15 chapters across 5 stories because I was feeling overly emotional.

So I hope you enjoy a little bit of sexy times for our boys. I told you I'd bring Eddie back sooner, rather than later.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

18+ Under the Cut

****

Eddie was in his room trying to nail down the bridge on a song he was writing when he heard a small scratching noise at the front door. He set his guitar aside and listened closely.

There it was again.

He wasn’t expecting anyone today. He got up warily and was at the door in an instant. He looked through the peephole and huffed out a laugh.

He opened the door and leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed.

“You barely left me last night and you’re already at my door step again?” he teased.

There was that wolfie laugh Eddie adored so much.

“Come on in before the twins next door think you’re a doggy to play with and chase you all over the trailer park.”

Steve laughed again and Eddie shook his head, moving to the side to let his boyfriend in.

Steve shifted back to human and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck loosely. “Hey baby.”

Eddie purred. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Even though he knew that Steve being naked wasn’t a sexual thing, it didn’t stop him from grabbing that beautiful bare ass anyway.

He dived into Steve’s lips kissing and licking his way into that perfect mouth.

Steve’s arms tightened around Eddie’s neck, grinding against the hard planes his body. He wrapped his legs around Eddie’s waist and let him carry him into the bedroom.

He kicked the door closed and proceeded to have his wicked way with him.

Once they had come several times and had finally wore themselves out, Eddie rolled over on his back and huffed out a laugh.

“I know you didn’t just come over to fuck,” he said, throwing his arm over his eyes, “so what’s the real reason for the visit?”

Steve laughed. “You are very distracting, you know?”

Eddie grinned. “It’s that ass, baby. I just can’t get enough.”

“That’s fair,” Steve said. He rolled over on his side to look at him. “You know how it was Josh’s first day with the pack?”

Eddie immediately straightened up and looked down at Steve. “Yeah? How did that go?”

“He’s a good kid and I don’t think we’ll have any problem with him,” Steve hummed.

“But...” Eddie asked, tilting his head forward.

Steve sat up and wrapped one arm around his knees. “When you were growing up did you have any days where the teachers would talk about supernatural kind? But not like on days the supernatural kids would be there?”

Eddie sat up too and frowned. He thought hard. “You know, now that you mention it, there were days like that. It was straight up bullshit, so I never really paid attention...” His eyes went wide. “Shit you don’t think that’s why Jason and them went apeshit, do you? The shit they were learning about on moon days?”

Steve bit his lip. “I don’t know. It worries me that they’re getting anything like that at all.”

Eddie nodded. “I don’t know of anyone who’s not supernatural, not anymore.”

Steve lifted his head. “Yes you do. The drummer of your band, what was it called, Carrion Coffin or something?”

“Corroded Coffin,” Eddie gently corrected.

“That’s the one,” Steve said, snapping his fingers. “I know Jeff is a vampire like you and Brian is some other supernatural being...”

“Siren,” Eddie said, rubbing his chin. “I’ve always suspected Gareth might be a supe of some sort, but I could never confirm it.”

“But if he’s still going to school,” Steve said hopefully, “and not allowed to take moon days off due to whatever kind of supe he is, then he might be able to do some recon for us.”

Eddie nodded. “I have band practice tomorrow, I’ll ask. Maybe Brian remembers something, too.”

Steve sagged in relief. “Thanks sweetheart. I appreciate it. If the schools are indoctrinating kids against supes that might explain the rise in hunters over the last few decades.”

“Leading to whatever the hell it was that happened to you...” Eddie said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, because why a cross?” Steve said. “Crosses are vampire lore, not werewolf.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “I’ll talk to Wayne about it when he gets home. Maybe he can get more out of Patrick and Jason tomorrow, too.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Steve murmured. “That’s weight off my mind.”

Eddie grinned. “Now where were we?”

Steve laughed and then tackled his boyfriend back to his bed. He straddled Eddie’s waist. “You are insatiable, you know that?”

Eddie snapped his jaws at Steve playfully. “You love it.”

Steve moved up enough so that Eddie’s cock caught on Steve’s taint, causing Eddie to gasp.

“Oh, so that how you want to play it, pretty boy,” he growled, slowly pushing Steve backwards onto his cock until Steve bottomed out.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve whined. “I love the way you fill me.”

Eddie lifted him up and then snapped him back down his cock. “I love the way you look when you’re stuffed with my dick, sweetheart. I love the whimpering mess you become when I fuck you so hard. But you’re on top this time, so show me what you’ve got.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He started off slow, allowing the drag of Eddie’s cock to come almost all the way out before slamming back down onto his hips.

“Like that, Stevie,” Eddie said his voice husky with desire. “Just. Like. That.”

Steve nodded. He kept up the slow pace, grinding up and down, touching his throat, his chest, his stomach, his thighs, everywhere but his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie cooed. “You putting on a show for me?”

Steve nodded, biting down on his lip. He ran his fingers through his hair and then back down his body.

Eddie was about to explode from the sight alone. His last ounce of control snapped and he flipped them over.

Steve let out a gasp of surprise. “Too much for you, rockstar?”

“Not even close to being enough, sweet cheeks,” he growled and then starting railing him hard and fast.

Soon Steve was spilling on his belly as he watched Eddie chase his own release.

Moments later Eddie was stock still as he filled Steve, his eyelashes fluttered shut and his breath came out in a shuddering sigh.

They were drenched in sweat, Steve was covered in come, and they both panted for breath.

Eddie slipped out and flopped on the bed next to Steve. “Fuck, I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Steve giggled. “Supernatural sex tends to be better because we have better stamina, strength, and flexibility then humans do.”

Eddie rolled on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Despite what this town thinks I was no blushing virgin coming into this relationship, babe. I’ve been with human, siren, and werewolf–” Steve opened his mouth to ask but Eddie held up his hand, “no one you know, I promise. This is at a supernatural bar in Indy. But I have never had sex like when I’m with you. It makes all the noise in my head fade to the background.”

Steve smiled. “I’m glad. And of course I’m completely gone on you, too, you know. I don’t it’s the type of supe you are that makes being with you so easy, the sex so good. It’s you.”

Eddie smiled dopeyly at Steve as he watched his boyfriend get up and head for the showers.

He cleaned up the bed and got dressed again. He was back working on the bridge he was working on before Steve came around, but this time with added clarity.

“Sounding good, Eds,” Steve said when he came back in.

Eddie grinned up at him. “Maybe I should have sex with you every time I’m stumped writing, I mean it about the clearing my head.”

Steve leaned down and gave him a kiss. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Eddie giggled. “Go on, pretty alpha boy. Your pack awaits.”

Steve laughed, skipping away lightly.

He opened the door and then transformed, leaping down the stairs. He tore down the road and Eddie just shook his head fondly as he shut the door behind his boyfriend.

Steve loved his wolf form. It was two-toned unlike most of his pack. The dark brown of his upper pelt and honey color of his muzzle, legs, and belly made him look more like an oversized friendly dog most of the time.

It made it easier to walk the streets of Hawkins without people batting an eye at him.

There were those that recognized him on sight, of course. But they never called him by his name, they always called out, “Sandy!”

Which always made him laugh.

“Hey, Sandy!” Mr Thacher called from his tire shop as Steve loped by.

Steve barked his hello and continued on way.

A little boy spotted him and Steve patiently sat still as he buried his face into Steve’s fur until his dad tugged on his hand to make him come with.

“Not now, Charlie,” his admonished. “You have a dentist appointment.”

Charlie sighed and allowed himself to be led away with a mournful, “Bye puppy.”

He finally got to the mayor’s office and grabbed the robe waiting by the door. He went into the bathroom and came out with the robe wrapped around his naked form.

Lucy, Major Roberts’s secretary, shook her head. “It’s damn shame that Mayor Roberts put that robe there for you.”

Steve laughed. “You just like looking at my ass.”

She pretended to be affronted. “Darling, it’s your thighs!”

Steve laughed again. “Is he able to see me right now?”

She nodded. “I’ll buzz you in.”

“Mr Harrington!” Mayor Roberts greeted, standing up to shake his hand. “What an unexpected pleasure, how can I be of service?”

Steve sat down and told him everything Josh had told him and his discussion with Eddie about the possibility of anti-supernatural rhetoric being taught in the schools.

Mayor Roberts nodded. “I was aware there was extra-curricular subjects being taught on moon days, as the teachers can’t teach their subject to only half their class. But I don’t think I ever thought about what was being taught.”

Steve nodded. “If we can find the source here in Hawkins maybe we can get it changed on a national level.”

“Thereby stopping the rise of hunters in the country,” Mayor Roberts agreed. “I’ll look into it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Steve nodded again. “Of course. Thank you for your time.”

They shook hands and Steve was slipping through the door as wolf, the robe carefully carried in his jaw.

Lucy laughed. “Sneak!” she teased.

Steve put the robe back on the hook and looked at her innocently.

Mayor Roberts laughed. “He got you good there, Lucy.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, yeah.”

And with that Steve slipped out of the mayor’s office and back out onto the street.

He shook himself off and the broke into a run. He had a lot to think about but first he had one more stop to make.

****

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @bookbinderbitch @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @goosesister @tinyplanet95 @anaibis @she-collects-smut @irregular-child

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #werewolf steve harrington #vampire eddie munson

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