#that’s so much better than supplies or funding!

[andtherestishistory13]

Omg y’all the county I teach at is letting teachers wear jeans for Teacher Appreciation Week and we don’t even have to pay $5!

[genericpuff]

Tbh at this point you should just make your own webcomic app/website because it would probably be 100 times better than whatever going on with webtoon right now.

hahaha it wouldn't tho, sorry 💀

Here's the fundamental issue with webcomic platforms that a lot of people just don't realize (and why they're so difficult to run successfully):

Storage costs are incredibly expensive, it's why so many sites have limitations on file sizes / page sizes / etc. because all of those images and site info have to be stored somewhere, which costs $$$.

Maintenance costs are expensive and get more so as you grow, you need people who are capable of fixing bugs ASAP and managing the servers and site itself

Financially speaking, webcomics are in a state of high supply, low demand. Loads of artists are willing to create their passion projects, but getting people to read them and pay for them is a whole other issue. Demand is high in the general sense that once people get attached to a webtoon they'll demand more, but many people aren't actually willing to go looking for new stuff to read and depend more on what sites feed them (and what they already like). There are a lot of comics to go around and thus a lot of competition with a limited audience of people willing to actually pay for them.

Trying to build a new platform from the ground up is incredibly difficult and a majority of sites fail within their first year. Not only do you have to convince artists to take a chance on your platform, you have to convince readers to come. Readers won't come if there isn't work on the platform to read, but artists won't come if they don't think the site will be worth it due to low traffic numbers. This is why the artists with large followings who are willing to take chances on the smaller sites are crucial, but that's only if you can convince them to use the site in favor of (or alongside) whatever platform they're using already where the majority of their audience lies. For many creators it's just not worth the time, energy, or risk.

Even if you find short-term success, in the long-term there are always going to be profit margins to maintain. The more users you pull in, the more storage is used by incoming artists, the more you have to spend on storage and server maintenance costs, and that means either taking the risk at crowdfunding (ex. ComicFury) or having to resort to outsider investments (ex. Tapas). Look at SmackJeeves, it used to be a titan in the independent webcomic hosting community, until it folded over to a buyout by NHN and then was pretty much immediately shuttered due to NHN basically turning it into a manwha scanlation site and driving away its entire userbase. And if you don't get bought out and try your hand at crowdfunding, you may just wind up living on a lifeline that could cut out at any moment, like what happened to Inkblazers (fun fact, the death of Inkblazers was what kicked off the cultural shift in Tapas around 2015-16 when all of IB's users migrated over and brought their work with them which was more aimed towards the BL and romancee drama community, rather than the comedy / gag-a-day culture that Tapas had made itself known for... now you deadass can't tell Tapas apart from a lot of scanlation sites because it got bought out by Kakao and kept putting all of its eggs into the isekai/romance drama basket.)

Right now the mindset in which artists and readers are operating is that they're trying way, way too hard to find a "one size fits all" site. Readers want a place where they can find all their favorite webtoons without much effort, artists wants a place where they can post to an audience of thousands, and both sides want a community that will feel tight-knit. But the reality is that you can't really have all three of those things, not on one site. Something always winds up having to be sacrificed - if a site grows big enough, it'll have to start seeking more funding while also cutting costs which will result in features becoming paywall'd, intrusive ads, creators losing their freedom, and/or outsider support which often results in the platform losing its core identity and alienating its tight-knit community.

If I had to describe what I'm talking about in a "pick one" graphic, it would look something like this:

(*note: this is mostly based on my own observations from using all of these sites at some point or another, they're not necessarily entirely accurate to the statistical performance of each site, I can only glean so much from experience and traffic trackers LMAO that said I did ask some comic pals for input and they were very helpful in helping me adjust it with their own takes <3).

The homogenization of the Internet has really whipped people into submission for the "big sites" that offer "everything", but that's never been the Internet, it relies on being multi-faceted and offering different spaces for different purposes. And we're seeing that ideology falter through the enshittification of sites like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc. where users are at odds with the platforms because the platforms are gutting features in an attempt to satisfy shareholders whom without the platforms would not exist. Like, most of us aren't paying money to use social media sites / comic platform sites, so where else are they gonna make the necessary funds to keep these sites running? Selling ad space and locking features behind paywalls.

And this is especially true for a lot of budding sites that don't have the audience to support them via crowdfunding but also don't have the leverage to ask for investments - so unless they get really REALLY lucky in EITHER of those departments, they're gonna be operating at a loss, and even once they do achieve either of those things there are gonna be issues in the site's longevity, whether it be dying from lack of growing crowdfunding support or dying from shareholder meddling.

So what can we do?

We can learn how to take our independence back. We don't have to stop using these big platforms altogether as they do have things to offer in their own way, particularly their large audience sizes and dipping into other demographics that might not be reachable from certain sites - but we gotta learn that no single site is going to satisfy every wish we have and we have to be willing to learn the skills necessary to running our own spaces again. Pick up HTML/CSS, get to know other people who know HTML/CSS if you can't grasp it (it's me, I can't grasp it LOL), be willing to take a chance on those "smaller sites" and don't write them off entirely as spaces that can be beneficial to you just because they don't have large numbers or because they don't offer rewards programs. And if you have a really polished piece of work in your hands, look into agencies and publishing houses that specialize in indie comics / graphic novels, don't settle for the first Originals contract that gets sent your way.

For the last decade corporations have been convincing us that our worth is tied to the eyes we can bring to them. Instead of serving ourselves, we've begun serving the big guys, insisting that it has to be worth something eventually and that it'll "payoff" simply by the virtue of gambler's fallacy. Ask yourself what site is right for you and your work rather than asking yourself if your work is good enough for them. Most of us are broke trying to make it work on these sites anyways, may as well be broke and fulfilled by posting in places that actually suit us and our work if we can. Don't define your success by what sites like Webtoons are enforcing - that definition only benefits them, not you.

[cherienymphe]

A Caged Bird (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, blackmail, stalking, abuse of power, hints of dacryphilia, slightly spoiler-esque

summary: Birds are best kept in a cage where one can see them...and where you know where they are at all times.

~

You thought that it was over when you won.

That’s what winning The Hunger Games meant, right? The psychological torture, the grueling conditions, and the fear that wouldn’t leave you until you finally left the arena was supposed to be over. You made it out through blood, sweat, and tears, and so your reward was to go home and reunite with your family and try your best to put the memories behind you.

Try your best to put him behind you.

So, why were you still being tormented?

When you first locked eyes with Coriolanus Snow, your first thought was how strikingly blue his were. Almost as if they weren’t real and had been specially manufactured in The Capitol for him, somehow. His hair, too, was just so much blonder than anything you’d seen in District 12, and again, you noted how so much about him seemed…artificial.

…but then he spoke…and the effect his voice had on you was very real.

“You don’t seem like you’re supposed to be here,” you’d said to him after stepping off of that train.

His response was expected, a charming chuckle leaving his pink lips, blond curls the perfect addition to his features.

“I’m not,” he slowly admitted.

The intensity behind his gaze whenever he so much as glanced at you was enough to make any girl’s heart race, and despite what you wished, you weren’t immune. He was beautiful—gorgeous as some of the other tributes and mentors liked to call him—and despite the initial intimidation, there was something about him that made you want to let your guard down.

…but he was your mentor…and a capitol citizen…and you were nothing more than his ticket to notoriety.

“Don’t you know who his dad was?” another tribute, one from one of the better districts, had said to you in a tone like you were stupid.

That was all the confirmation you needed, really.

…but he’d hopped onto the truck with you and gotten into that cage with you and brought you and your district mate food. He gave you poison to use against the other tributes. He wanted you to appeal to the audience so he’d have the funds to send you supplies. It was hard to decipher what was purely for show and what was just because he wanted you—and him by extension—to win. Perhaps, they were one in the same though, and it was impossible to have one without the other. Maybe it didn’t matter his reasons behind his desire to have his tribute win.

Maybe all that mattered was that you’d win.

…but that was when you thought winning meant you’d be free.

Coriolanus Snow was your best chance at winning, and so when the rebels rigged the arena, you didn’t hesitate to stay behind and save him. It wasn’t even a question in your mind because mentor or not, he was hurt, and you had to believe that that one fluke was not your only fighting chance. You couldn’t allow yourself to believe that in saving him, you’d allowed freedom to pass you by.

“You saved me,” he told you, a gentle brush of his handkerchief under your eye to catch your tears. “You saved me, and I am going to get you out of here.”

You had no idea then that he meant out of the games…and to him.

It was that flickering moment of doubt where you wondered if you could actually win, and you recalled what you’d said to him earlier about believing you could, how much you needed him to actually believe it. Now, you were the one doubting, and he could see it, blue gaze flicking over your face and soaking in the fear and uncertainty, because if you couldn’t win…

You’d die.

A lingering gaze and a tense atmosphere, and you felt yourself pulling back, realization hitting you as to just what you were about to let happen. It was hard to decipher who overstepped first, but you couldn’t allow yourself to get wrapped up in something that was only ever meant to be strictly professional. Coriolanus was your mentor, and you were his tribute.

That was all.

You didn’t know then the full lengths he went to just to ensure your victory. How could you? You were too busy trying to survive, trying to fight off rabid tributes and teenagers driven mad with the sole desire to just live. It was all so unfair and angering, and you were sure that with less focus, you might’ve gone insane too. You didn’t have the luxury to worry about your eerily handsome mentor and whatever ulterior motives he might’ve had to see you beat this thing.

So, when you did win, all you could feel was relief. All you could focus on was your family and their faces when you’d ultimately reunite with them. All you could even entertain were thoughts of pushing this very real nightmare to the back of your mind for as long as you possibly could. Initially, you didn’t even notice that you weren’t immediately reunited with your mentor when they crowned you as the winner and got you out of there.

At least, not until you came face to face with him in your own district.

“I thought they’d killed you. I didn’t know if my actions had come back on you too,” Coriolanus told you in a secluded corner, the loud music drowning out his words and the cover of darkness hiding your faces.

Those beautiful pale curls were gone, and any thought that so much of his beauty relied on his golden locks was gone too with one drink of him. He was still the same handsome boy that mentored you, the same one who’d garnered the nickname ‘gorgeous’ among the other tributes. Up on that stage, you’d been thrown to meet a familiar gaze, your harmonious tune pausing for half a second as he met your shocked stare with an expression of his own you couldn’t place, pink lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

Any question of how and why he was here had disappeared as you registered his words. Confusion filled you as you stared at him, a slight frown between your brows as you wracked your brain for how that could possibly make sense.

“Why would they kill me…?” you slowly asked him, and you and the shadows were all that was privy to his confession.

The water bottles, the handkerchief, and the snakes—even the poison. Coriolanus had cheated to secure your victory, broken rules that plucked him out of The Capitol and dropped him here in your very own district as a Peacekeeper. The shock you felt that your victory was far from a fair one warred with the confusion you felt as to why he’d risk everything just for you to win.

If you’d lost fair and square—as you probably should have—there was no doubt in your mind that he’d be safely tucked away in the lavishness of The Capitol instead of lingering about in some rundown excuse for a bar in lowly District 12. If he knew what awaited him should his treachery be discovered…then why chance it? Nothing about your brief tutelage with him could justify what he’d risked and ultimately lost.

You wanted to ask him why, but something in you was afraid of the answer.

That almost kiss—a kiss you hadn’t thought about in months—suddenly came to mind, and even though you didn’t ask him why, something in you knew why even if you wanted to deny it. It was there in the dim lighting and rowdy atmosphere of some rundown building that every minor interaction didn’t start to feel so minor.

Every brush of his hand against yours as he reached for you, the unsettling way he seemed to watch you in that short time that you’d simply written off as concern for his tribute, and the ruthless desire to see you out on the other side of the arena. The kiss that never was only seemed like a lapse in judgement to you then, but in this moment, you had suspicions that it was very much intentional.

You swallowed, realizing that in that brief internal introspection, Coriolanus hadn’t taken his eyes off of you once.

“Did they send you to District 12?” you finally asked him.

You didn’t know what gave you away. Perhaps your tone, maybe your face, or maybe your eyes weren’t as secretive as you’d like to believe. Either way, something about your visage and demeanor gave the blond man pause, head tilting just a tad as those baby blues glinted with something you didn’t recognize but you know you didn’t like. He studied your face before coming up with the answer he probably thought you wanted.

“Of course.”

You didn’t know if you believed him.

…and Coriolanus could tell.

You’d played enough cat and mouse games in the arena—you never thought you’d have to play them in your own home too.

Starving off the affections of some boy in your district wasn’t hard or uncharted territory. Even spurning the forbidden advances of a Peacekeeper or two wasn’t unheard of, but Coriolanus was different. He wasn’t some average Joe turned cop. He was born and raised in The Capitol with a powerful father, and even though the man had been taken before his time, your former mentor still had been brought up with the kind of influence and reach and mindset that surpassed the average Peacekeeper.

They were followers—controlled by The Capitol and tasked with maintaining order. Most were no more than dumb brutes, mindlessly following orders without question, simple enough to be bribed and swayed. If Coriolanus’ actions had shown you anything, it was that he was not a follower. He did what he wanted and played by his own rules, and it was how you found yourself hunted by a gaze you thought you’d left behind in the arena.

Since the discovery of your former mentor’s presence in your district, you never felt alone.

Every walk to trade for food felt shadowed, every footstep home was accompanied with an echo, and a sweep of your eye over the crowd as you played an instrument or sang a tune was rewarded with a familiar blue one that made your heart freeze. You were forced to ignore it no longer when a single rose was left for you on the doorstep, your ma’s gaze questioning as she held it out to you.

You didn’t know where or how he got it, but you only cared about giving it back.

“I can’t accept this,” you told him, gaze steady but fingers trembling as you held it out to him.

It was raining, and the cover over your heads sheltered you from the downpour, but it did little to drown out the sound of it. Coriolanus simply stared at the flower for what felt like too long, making no moves to take it from you, and you swallowed. His blue gaze zeroed in on the action before it lifted to your face.

“…and why not?”

“Because I think it means something different to you than it does to me.”

Your response was swift, and you watched him sigh, eventually reaching out to finger the flower like he did that day before he’d proceeded to put it behind your ear. He finally took it, and just like that day before the games, it found its way behind your ear once again. The only change this time was the shudder that traveled down your spine, and the apprehension you felt when his gaze met yours.

For the longest time, the only sound was that of the rain, a few stray drops making it’s way onto your face and clothes due to the wind. If the man before you still had the locks you’d met him with, they would’ve been rustling with the breeze, right now. Both of you were very still, or maybe it was just you—nervous and fearful of how he’d respond. He briefly looked past you, eyes glinting briefly before they hardened once again, his pink lips pressed together as he regarded you.

“…and if it does?”

He continued when you frowned.

“Mean something different to me than it does to you,” he elaborated, and you blinked.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I know…that I’m only standing here, now, because of you,” you slowly started, watching him push his shoulders back. “I won because of you, I know that, but-.”

“Exactly,” he cut you off, making your lips part. “You won because of me…and everything I sacrificed was to make sure you won.”

“…but I didn’t ask you to do that!”

You felt…cornered, somehow, because on the one hand, yes. You did owe so much to the man before you, but at the same time, what did you owe specifically? Your attention? Your affection? Whatever he deemed an appropriate compensation? When you saved his life in the arena that day, and he vowed to save yours in return, you didn’t understand the full ramifications of the deal you were agreeing to.

“I saved your life, and you saved mine, and I’m sorry for the things you felt the need to risk, but that’s where it ends.”

The cold from the rain didn’t faze you nearly as much as the heat from his gaze boring into your back.

You wanted to believe that your lack of confrontation was what led you to the predicament you found yourself in. After all, things between you two had held too many ‘what ifs’ and lingering feelings and questions. You liked to hope that telling the man in no uncertain terms that your relationship should never and would never progress beyond anything professional would fix things.

You never would’ve guessed that your bout of confidence would only prove to make things worse.

“My ma doesn’t even know any rebels, and you know that.”

You’d whispered the words so quietly, throat too choked up to speak any louder as you tearfully stared Coriolanus down, your words only intended for the two of you. Your back was pressed to the doorway as he stood before you, a foot or two of space between you as other Peacekeepers did their duty to search your house as thoroughly as possible. The reason you’d been given was suspicion of treason—to the shock of your ma—but both you and the handsome man before you knew the truth.

“One can never be too sure. It’s always those you least expect.”

His cool response only made you look away, a few tears escaping.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You won, you were free, so why did it still feel like you were in the game…except a much more dangerous one this time? You could feel his eyes on you as you watched man after man rifle through you and your ma’s things, your younger sister not home to witness this. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him take a step towards you—just one, but one was enough to make you flinch.

You still didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him though.

“Unbearable,” he quietly said. “…not able to be endured…or tolerated.”

You swallowed.

“Not to be confused with hard—requiring a great deal of endurance or effort.”

Another step towards you.

“To find something unbearable means that you quite literally cannot stomach it any longer. It forces a change to come, forces something to…give,” he whispered.

Your gaze was still focused ahead, but his words made you blink, made your heart sink, and you swore that he knew that.

“I can make things incredibly unbearable for you…and your family.”

You straightened at that, finally looking at him with a venomous gaze and a heaving chest. Coriolanus reached up to pick at your shirt, removing a piece of grass from it, and you watched him inspect it before turning his blue eyes back onto you. They lingered on your own eyes before lowering to your lips, his own twitching so subtly you might’ve missed it if you were anyone else.

“Or I can make sure you’ll be taken care of, looked after as if you were my own…” his gaze met yours again. “It’s entirely your choice.”

You two stared at one another for an infuriating amount of time before he let out a sharp whistle, telling the other men that nothing seemed to be here and to move on. His wording was not lost on you, and you crossed your arms over your chest. Coriolanus was the last to walk out, and despite the feel of his heavy gaze, you didn’t look his way the entire time.

Your ma commented on the strangeness of the whole ordeal, but nothing about it was strange to you. It was all very calculating and sinister actually, and while you grew up hearing countless talk of running away and living off the grid, you were never more tempted than in this moment…but you were not alone. Your ma was sickly, and your sister was too young.

…and if you left, you could only guess what you’d be leaving your family susceptible to.

Your future seemed inevitable no matter how much you tried to find a way out of the path set for you.

The first night you slept with Coriolanus Snow, it was storming just like that day you’d attempted to give him back his flower. You’d cried for a good three hours before, feeling helpless in the aftermath of another so-called inspection from Peacekeepers—this one much more destructive. The only light that night came from the brief flashes of lightning, and the sound of the rain drowned out the reluctant gasps to leave your lips.

Hands much softer than you ever expected trailed down your frame, curving over your hips and dipping underneath your thighs. The blond man’s lips rarely left your skin, kissing whatever part of you that came to mind, nose gently grazing you as he did and pulling shudders from your frame. It was a foreign feeling to be so heated and afraid at the same time.

Under the cover of darkness, his fingers intertwined with your own and his hips were flush with yours. The feel of him inside of you was much more jarring than you thought it would be, choked deep breaths leaving your parted lips as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts were slow, the complete opposite of what you expected, and you didn’t know if you liked that better or worse.

Every kiss felt wrong, like you were betraying yourself, but in the same manner, they also reminded you of that first day you met. You thought about when you stepped off of that train, and that smooth voice escaped those pink lips, and your stomach flipped no matter how much you pretended it didn’t. The person you were that day wanted to throw your head back and welcome the little nips he left along your skin.

The person you were, now, wanted to crawl inside of your skin.

This man had stalked you to the highest degree, following you all the way from The Capitol just to collect on the young woman whose survival he ensured. The things he’d risked and ultimately lost, he placed the weight of on your shoulders as if you were responsible to compensate for that somehow. As if it was your duty to make his sacrifices worth it.

When he pulled you into his lap, resting on him with arms circled around your waist, it was your turn to press your face into the area where his neck and shoulder met. His fingers dancing along your skin made you shudder, and that just made the tears collect more because you didn’t want to enjoy this, but your body and your brain didn’t seem to be in alignment.

When you were forced to come around him, you saw stars, and you were positive your nails left marks on his back.

You didn’t really think that no more trouble from Peacekeepers was worth the figurative collar around your neck. The abundance of food and supplies might have been, if only to just see the smiles on your ma and sister’s faces, but even then, when you found your back pressed to Coriolanus’ chest as he drove his cock up into you, you wondered if it was actually worth it.

Your ma would say no, that you knew for sure, but you supposed it wasn’t her call to make.

After all, the alternative was psychological torment and worst-case scenarios you didn’t even want to entertain.

“Would you have had her arrested?” you quietly wondered one night.

The sheet was clutched to your chest, and you were facing the wall, still unable to look him in the eye directly afterwards. You’d never been able to, feeling used and low and indefensible. You tried not to dwell on the feel of his fingertips tracing patterns into your shoulder, his cool breath hitting your skin as he exhaled.

“I mean…would you have…framed her somehow? Found some justification for it?”

You didn’t know why you were asking, certain you wouldn’t like the answer, and as you predicted, you felt your throat tighten the longer the silence stretched. Against your will—like many things you’d been doing as of late—a few tears escaped, and even before he answered, you knew what you were going to hear.

“Yes,” he confessed, just as quietly.

You squeezed your eyes shut, subtly wiping your face.

“I sacrificed so much for you to win, and not just because your win was my win…but because I wanted to see you win,” he murmured, placing a kiss to your back. “…because I wanted you.”

You knew that, but having it confirmed so plainly was disturbing.

“…and when I eventually make my way back to The Capitol, as we both know I will, I’ll still want you.”

Your stomach sank at that, and for the first time, you turned to look at him while still trembling in the aftermath of what had quickly become a nightly occurrence. His gaze was still focused on where your back had been, and when his eyes flitted up to connect with yours, you didn’t have the words to convey how you felt about what he was insinuating.

“In The Capitol, you’ll have access to things you could never even imagine…and you could send those same things back to your family,” he told you, reaching up to touch your face.

When you moved to sit up, he stopped you, a firm grip on your arm. Coryo—as he liked for you to call him—fixed you with a look that you knew all too well. It was the look he gave you when you tried to come up with any excuse as to why you couldn’t meet with him. It was the look you received when you briefly forgot the power dynamics here, turning away from him and attempting to push him away.

It was a look that told you not to fight the inevitable.

“I want you there with me.”

His tone left no room for argument, and there was so much conviction in his voice that the thought of arguing seemed legitimately draining. You simply stared at him, eyes glassy, and he stared back, waiting for verbal confirmation of what you both knew was going to happen, anyway. You had no choice in the matter, you never did, and for a brief horrifying moment, you almost wished you were a lone orphan who didn’t have to look out for anybody but yourself.

That thought did make tears spill over.

It was a horrible thing to think, but your loved ones were being used against you, and you knew that your ma—and your sister if she were old enough to comprehend these things—would never want this for you. Coryo sat up with you, a hand resting on your cheek as he gazed at you, a thumb brushing the tears away. It wasn’t meant to be comforting.

Nothing he did was ever meant to be comforting.

“I want you there with me,” he repeated.

You wondered what someone like you would possibly do in The Capitol.

“I don’t belong there,” you whispered, a poor attempt to get him to change his mind.

His response was swift and clipped.

“You belong with me.”

When he pressed his lips to yours, it was expected that you would kiss him back. His thumb brushed along your skin as you did, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat that quickly escalated into a groan. His free arm snaked around you, and your last attempt at resisting proved futile, so you let him lay you down.

Sex with Coriolanus was a maddening experience.

You didn’t want it, and your brain didn’t want it, but it was as if your body was its own separate entity running on hormones and animal instinct.

When he rested his full weight on top of you, you shuddered for a multitude of reasons—one of which you didn’t want to acknowledge. When he slid his hand between your breasts and down to your stomach, your back arched, chest pressing up and into his. When he pushed into you all torturously slow as he always did, you involuntarily held your breath, shaking at the feel of his hips connecting with yours, the length of him fully sheathed in your warmth.

You were terrified of him, so that was why you opened up for him like those budding roses he used to carry around, but in doing so, you made yourself vulnerable beneath him. You made yourself more susceptible to his kisses and his touch and that maddening voice that knew just how to get its way. He wasn’t a very talkative man when he was inside of you, much more content with letting his actions speak for themselves, but tonight was different.

“Look at me,” he whispered, curving his hips into yours. “Look right at me.”

You did, and while you didn’t know the specifics of the psychology behind this, you knew that looking into the eyes of your tormentor while in the act couldn’t be good.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he breathlessly told you, nose brushing against yours with every thrust.

You could hear that it was starting to rain again, and you pressed your hands into the small of his back, trying to ground yourself in some way—trying to have control over something, anything. Tears kissed your eyes, and you swore—you swore—that something in those blues of his twinkled. It sparked something in his gaze, and in his psyche, his thrusts becoming more powerful and making you gasp, nails pressing into his skin.

He only looked especially satisfied when the tears spilled over.

When he came inside of you, and you around him, you swore you saw stars.

You even thought you saw snow.

[bynux]

"don't vote for Harris or you're supporting genocide" "voting blue is still voting for fascists" Then what else do you expect us to do?

Here are some options y'all seem to insist on and why they're fucking stupid:

Vote Third Party :: Until we have ranked-choice voting (and probably even if we did have ranked-choice voting), it is practically impossible to make a 3rd-party candidate viable. There's not enough of the population that's far enough from moderate to give up their "safe" blue vote for some "revolutionary."

Don't Vote At All :: I'd prefer to pick my enemy. If I'm going to be working in spite of the government, or even against it in some ways, I'd rather the people I'm working against not already be targeting me for being queer, for example. If my options are "bad" or "much, much worse" I'm gonna pick "bad" and try to improve things from there.

Violent Revolution :: It's a cosplay power fantasy in the same vein as the Right-wingers looking for a reason to shoot protesters. Assuming you even have enough people organized and enough firepower to pull that off in the first place…have you prepared a plan to keep the innocents alive and safe? Are you sure you can keep supply chains for food and medicines intact? Are you sure there will be resources available for the disabled, the scared, the young and old, those who won't be able to fight and still need to be taken care of? Turns out revolution is ugly and causes a lot of undue collateral damage. Are the lives "saved" really going to outweigh those whose lives will be upended and destroyed? It's not like a newly-toppled, unorganized country will be able to do anything about Israel/Gaza, so you're just hurting and killing far more people than you're saving.

As for the power you do have to better things (and make Leftism more viable as a political stance in the US)?

Work at the level of your local government. If you're in a small enough town or neighborhood and think you have what it takes, run for local office. Be a local face of the left wing; you're far more likely to sway a small town to your views than the whole country, and each small town with a socialist-leaning government is a dot on the map for larger-scale viability, and you can help keep your community safe while trying to build up in scale.

Build community so we can keep each other safe if worse does come to worst. Push mutual aid initiatives, help at food banks, grow produce to donate to those in need, apply to work at your local free clinic, empower local businesses whenever possible so that if there is a socioeconomic collapse, you and those you love aren't left completely without resources.

Protest, and make it disruptive. You can be disruptive without being violent: graffiti, blocking roads, encampments, sit-ins, to name a few examples. Create inconveniences so it gets people's attention whether they like it or not.

Above all, FUCKING VOTE BLUE. You're choosing your enemy. You get to help decide if the government we're working in spite of is run by milquetoast neoliberal war hawks who do, on some rare occasions, actually make things marginally better…or full-tilt Christo-fascists who want to kill some of us for kissing people with the same genitals as us. There aren't any other options that are going to be picked. It sucks, but at the bare minimum we can pick the option that isn't going to actively murder us while we try to build up viability for a candidate who won't sell out brown people to an ethnostate.

If you aren't doing at least one of the things above, then don't lecture me about how I keep myself and my community safe. I'd love to see a United States (or some future iteration of it) that acknowledges the sovereign rights of indigenous peoples, that doesn't fund genocide, that provides healthcare as a basic human right, that doesn't meddle in every other country's business. But if we are to see that, let alone help that happen, we need to survive this next presidential administration.

Edit: y'all have lost reblog privileges. If you wanna screenshot this and have stupid unnuanced opinions OFF of my post, be my guest. Just leave me tf alone.

[suzukiblu]

Day nine of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon.

Tim's nucleus of an idea requires some careful math, some even more careful bank fraud, and a lot of planning. Less planning than the supervillain timeline, at least, but still a lot of planning. He has to time it very carefully to make Kon won't have forgotten about the museum heist and the idiot civilian he saved from it, but so there won't be anything suspicious about said idiot civilian having managed to track him down. Admittedly, Kon isn't very hard to track down, but normal high schoolers aren't very good at tracking people down.

Well, not unless they're stalking a celebrity they have a crush on or doxxing a YouTuber who's mildly annoyed them or something.

. . . okay, Tim's probably being too paranoid here. If Kon asks how he found him, all he has to say is he follows him on Twitter or something.

He does actually follow Kon with one of his undercover IDs, because Caroline Hill needed a few social media accounts to round out her existence and giving her ones that she just focused on following celebrities with saved him from having to rig up a bunch of bots and other accounts to be her "friends". It's way easier to just keep up lurker accounts for her and occasionally like a few interesting photos and generally inoffensive comments about current events.

He didn't even deliberately go find Kon's account; Twitter recommended it to him after he followed the Titans and he decided if Bruce asked he could just sell it as a way to keep tabs on a new ally and teammate in a way they wouldn't notice. Caroline Hill also follows Arrowette's official account, even though Tim knows Cissie's mom is the one who actually runs it, plus the Titans' and a couple of other more public-facing heroes'.

So as long as Bruce doesn't notice just how many thirst-trap selfies Kon has posted in wet swimsuits or post-fight ripped-up costumes or with that stupid flirty smirk on, Tim might actually be able to get away with that excuse.

Heteronormativity might protect him, if nothing else.

Maybe.

Look, there's a reason it's Caroline and not Alvin following Kon's account.

Tim works on his idea and his plan and the bank fraud that'll let him crack into his trust fund early without his dad noticing, because while his allowance is frankly appalling and he has a lot more in savings than anyone under the age of twenty probably should, it's not actually enough to fund an entire new life for his stupid sexy teammate, and unfortunately Robin-duties kind of put a crimp in the idea of getting an after-school job, so bank fraud it is.

Just a little touch of supervillain practice, he figures.

Tim works out some reasonable timing and a few different possible approaches to take with Kon, and he tries to stay logical and patient about the whole process even though literally every day this takes is another day that Kon is stuck in a shitty lab that tried to mind-control him and is still actively taking advantage of him, under new management or not. Even Superman doesn't trust Cadmus–understandably–but apparently having an inside man in with them is more important to him than protecting Kon from them? Somehow?

Which is much, much less understandable, to Tim. It's not like Kon volunteered for that. Superman only came to him about it after he took the job for lack of other options. And also he asked him to do it while offering him a real name tied to his family, and while Kon doesn't even know his real name exists.

So yeah, Tim really needs to get a personal kryptonite supply going. Just so much of a personal kryptonite supply. A full rainbow of one, just in case. Like, carefully lead-sealed and code-labeled so Kon will know to avoid it just in case he stumbles across it, but still.

Fuck, Superman better be being mind-controlled right now or something. Or impersonated. Or just somehow compromised.

If he's not, there is not enough Kryptonite in the world for Tim's needs.

So Tim works out his plan, and then he goes back to Metropolis. Specifically, he goes back to Metropolis after Kon updates his Twitter with a selfie that has the Metropolis skyline in the background and a caption about a local café he's about to hit up, which hopefully will give Tim an hour or so to get there before Kon swans off to some random beach or goes back underground with Cadmus or whatever, and also hopefully won't be swarmed with fans or supervillains when he does.

Actually walking up to Cadmus's front door and asking Superboy to come out and play is not in any way in the plan, though if it takes long enough to "find" Kon somewhere plausibly deniably findable for a high school student to manage, Tim's open to the possibility. Fuck knows he's done stupider and weirder and still made it work.

Tim gets to Metropolis in forty-five minutes because of judicious abuse of the Batplane and Bruce being busy on the Watchtower for the day. He'll be telling him he went to see Superboy, since obviously Bruce isn't going to miss the missing jet fuel and Alfred has no reason to keep his mouth shut about it either, but be lying about why he went to see him. As far as Bruce knows, this is business.

Technically, Tim could spin this as business if he had to.

He gets to the café and there aren't any supervillains but there is a small handful of preteen girls on the sidewalk outside giggling over their collection of newly-gained autographs, which means the local supervillains are either behind the times and not properly tuned into social media or just don't have beef with specifically Superboy. Which . . . quite possibly they don't, Tim is realizing. The locals would know how little investment Superman has in Kon, after all, and Kon spends more time either underground with Cadmus or running around with Young Justice than he does actually in the city proper, so it's not like he's had time to collect many personal grudges. Those are probably all back in Hawaii. In Metropolis, he's mostly just been reported as covering petty crimes that'd slipped through the cracks while Superman was busy handling Brainiac or Parasite or having another cold war with Lex Luthor.

It's Kon, of course, so eventually he'll piss off Toyman or accidentally trip over Mxyzptlk or something, but right now, Metropolis mostly just remembers him as that slightly too eager kid who stopped a bomb from killing them all that one time and helped Superman stop Engine City from happening to them. Kind of like Superman has a very enthusiastic but well-intentioned super-powered fanboy kicking around downtown, as opposed to an actual sidekick or any kind of partner that he regularly works with and supports. Steel gets a lot more Metropolis street cred and appreciation, for obvious reasons, but Kon just hasn't been around the city that often since his initial debut. He's a little bit like a tertiary mascot character.

Tim thinks Metropolis is full of idiots, but their standards for vigilantism were set by a man who can bench-press a planet, so he supposes it makes sense that they see a teen idol telekinetic as a charming little side character and not really anyone too impressive in his own right.

No wonder Kon ran off to Hawaii the first chance he got after Superman came back to life, though.

Though in retrospect, why did Superman let him?

Tim walks into the café in civilian clothes and immediately spots Kon at a table in the back and gets a very sharply assessing eye from the woman behind the counter. He doesn't patronize her by pretending to be here to order anything and just heads straight for Kon.

She watches him, and so do a couple of assorted patrons that might be regulars. Tim wonders if Kon's a regular himself, or if Metropolis is just more protective of its Supers than he'd previously realized. Kon isn't here often enough for him to have really looked too closely into it.

Kon doesn't look up from his phone or his mostly-empty plate and mug; it looks like he's playing a cell phone game or something similar. Tim debates the best way to introduce himself, since he doubts Kon will immediately recognize him, but before he can–

"This better be worth ditching out on the refill I just ordered," Kon says distractedly without even glancing up.

"Sorry?" Tim says, a little bemused, and then Kon does look up and startles a little, looking surprised.

"Shit, sorry, thought you were somebody else," he says. "Blame the coat."

"You weren't looking at my coat," Tim says, looking down at it himself in vague mystification anyway. It's just a coat. It's long and dark and on the heavy side, but that's literally the only notable things about it.

"I don't think you understand how TTK works," Kon says, lowering his phone with a wry smirk. "I don't have to look at you to see you, man."

. . . well, that's definitely an application of tactile telekinesis that Tim wasn't previously aware of.

He's just going to try not to think too hard about any implications of Kon's telekinetic field potentially being in constant passive contact with literally everything and everyone around. Especially not him.

If he's lucky, he'll be able to forget that new bit of knowledge as anything but an unfortunate new angle to his occasional sex dreams and just leave it at that.

"Oh," Tim says, feeling vaguely faint and still trying very hard not to think too hard about this new bit of knowledge. "Uh, that's . . . cool. Um. Can I talk to you? Er–please?"

"Need another museum un-robbed?" Kon asks, and Tim is genuinely surprised to be so immediately recognized. It's been over a week, Kon saves people's lives every day, and they'd barely even spoken.

"Not so much," he says. "I just wanted to thank you again. Um. Properly, I mean."

Kon tilts his head, a brief flicker of curiosity flashing through his eyes, then grins up at him.

"I told you, man, it's no big," he says. "It's just what I do, you know?"

"I know, yeah," Tim says. "But I still appreciate it. Can I cover your lunch for you?"

He figures that's a subtle little nudge towards what he wants out of this conversation. Get a foot in the door and all; set some expectations. Or at least try to work up to it.

"I don't know, can you?" Kon says with another brief flash of curiosity, though his grin doesn't change.

"I mean, you're a superhero so I assume you could stop me if you wanted, but otherwise I'm not really seeing any obstacles there," Tim replies reasonably. Kon laughs a lot more brightly than Tim usually gets to see him laugh, which is incredibly distracting, but the people glaring bloody murder at his back finally start letting up.

"I dunno, you're pretty cool under pressure," Kon says with a sly smirk. "Maybe I couldn't."

Tim hates his useless brain and all the totally inappropriate thoughts it immediately conjures up about various options for getting one over on Kon, because of course all of said options are sexy options. Kon's smirking at him all sly and teasing and Tim just made him laugh; there is literally no possible way they could not be.

God, he's going to be thinking about this for their entire next training session, isn't he. That's gonna be mortifying as fuck.

"I think you're underestimating yourself," he says. "You handled those assholes at the museum like they were nothing."

"Well, they weren't exactly Intergang," Kon says wryly.

"Still," Tim says. "The only casualty of an armed robbery and hostage situation was a vase."

"Apparently a very important vase, according to the papers," Kon says, making a face. "Superman told me I need to be more careful next time."

"Over a vase?" Tim says incredulously. He doesn't care how important the stupid vase was, Kon was busy protecting his skull from bullets. The vase's untimely demise is mildly unfortunate at best.

"Well, he wouldn't have broken it," Kon says with a shrug, picking up his mug to knock back the last of his drink. It looks like hot chocolate, not coffee.

"Neither did you," Tim points out. "You're not the one who freaked out and dropped their gun."

"Tell that to Superman," Kon snorts, briefly eyeing his empty mug before setting it back down. Then he shrugs again and grins again too, leaning forward a bit towards Tim. "It's whatever, man, no big deal. Wanna sit?"

Tim isn't actually sure what to do with that offer, but it would be helpful for making his pitch, so . . .

Though he doesn't know why Kon's making it, to be honest.

Still, no time to be looking the gift horse in the mouth, so Tim takes him up on it and sits down across from him. Kon looks weirdly pleased about it, for some reason. Tim still doesn't know why, but isn't gonna question it.

"Thanks," he tries.

"Pleasure's all mine," Kon says, flashing him a grin as he rests his chin in a hand. Tim remains mystified as to why he seems so pleased and why he even remembers him at all, but . . . okay, sure. This might as well happen. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Tim Drake," Tim says, feeling increasingly mystified.

"Nice to meet you, Tim," Kon says. "You know, without any weird magic goats or guns to anyone's head being involved."

Honestly, the magic goat and the gun to his head were both less weird in Tim's personal frame of reference than Kon's apparent interest in chatting him up in this trendy Metropolis café is, but whatever. It's useful, so he's gonna make full use of it.

[beesmygod]

perhaps foolishly throwing my hat in the ring here about cohost developers making 90k/yr (as someone who used cohost for like five minutes but does work in software. although I'm not even close to making SWE-level money lol): depending on your stack, experience, location, other benefits, etc., that's genuinely in the bottom twentieth percentile for engineer salaries at your average startup, if not lower. especially for a "founding engineer who does literally everything"-type role. idk how much experience these people have or what their stack is, but just to guess, at your average seni-marture startup they could easily double that salary, and at a big FAANG company or whatever stupid acronym we're using now they could probably quadruple that, plus or minus whatever part of your comp package is stock instead of actual salary.

there are a couple interesting/relevant reasons I bring this up: (1) at really really early-stage startups, where you only have four guys and a couple hundred grand in the bank, having bottom-twentieth-percentile salaries is normal *because they make up for it by giving you a shitload stock options that will theoretically be worth a lot in the future*, if things ever take off, although of course they rarely do. in cohost's case, it doesn't seem like stocks and shit were part of their long-term plans (which, fair enough, not trying to say they should've been), so in theory the cohost devs were making a lottt less than your average early-stage startup devs, even though overall comp at an early-stage startup is mostly monopoly money.

(2) the other thing is that if the pay is uncompetitive, which it obviously was, then attracting worthwhile talent is really hard. again, idk these devs, they could all genuinely be very good at their jobs. and cohost was clearly a passion project for them. but it makes me wonder if *some* (not all) of their problems stemmed from technical or even positioning/market issues that having more people or more experienced people would've solved, and they just weren't able to hire them. especially since they were doing design work and moderation and other shit in addition to plain old engineering!

I guess my angle here is that unless you see how the sausage is made, it's really really easy to underestimate just how much money (and human labor!) it takes to build anything, and that most projects only manage to pull it off for as long as they do thanks to a near-bottomless supply of venture capital funding. even not-for-profit community projects (which I was considering whether something like cohost could survive as, but even then I'm unsure) rely on corporate sponsorship and free labor from people who are getting paid a lot of money at their day job. so like many of you I am not at all shocked that they're folding—easy to say in hindsight but I definitely say this coming, although maybe not so quickly lol.

but like, even most VC-funded startups fail despite having way better odds and a shitload more money. legit kudos to them for trying anyway, because the only way we get cool shit is if someone's willing to take a risk and maybe fail. that said as a *user* there's still no way I'd hitch my wagon to a fledgling startup unless I was totally okay with that wagon falling into a gulch within 24 months, because that's usually what happens

interesting insight. thanks boss. much to learn about this world that, as an outsider, seems uniquely annoying and stupid to try to navigate

[whereserpentswalk]

The Night Hunt

I need to eat. It’s not eating anymore. It doesn’t feel like thirst or hunger. It’s not something I would have understood as a human. I feel like I’m going to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t think anyone would mind if I did. My mouth is shaped so differently than it once was, I can’t move my jaws, I feel empty, I need it to fill me, and I feel empty.

The upper west side vampiric community center was cramped, getting everything it could from limited funds and real estate. The walls were white and the lighting sterile, their deadness only broken by overly enthusiastic posters. It was strange looking at the other vampires in the building, most of them seemed to be doing much better than me. Even most of the ones that ones you could tell weren’t human at a glance usually looked more human than me. It felt like everyone I saw was doing better than me, the petite girl in a black dress talking to her parents on the phone, the bearded man with cats eyes dressed in fancy clothes he had probably owned some version of for centuries, the snake mouthed person guzzling down a can of commercially sold blood like it was soda. I could assume a lot of the vampires I saw here had supportive families, and many others were old enough to be well adjusted to their lives. It almost hurt looking at vampires who could pass better than me, or who could better mask vampiric traits, this embarrassing envy, that I was a monster even by the standards of monsters.

I could have socialized, but I was too tired, and too thirsty. I had just been denied a good behavior slip by the New York State government, and thus denied a month’s supply of donated blood, and the building stopped being somewhere I wanted to be. Most vampires can’t get a good behavior slip, A lot don’t even try just because of how humiliating and restrictive life during the audit can be. A lot of them live off of relatives’ and friend’s blood, or buy it wholesale. I don’t have the option for either of those, at least not consistently.

I walked up Broadway, when I left, below the safety of the dark sky, and the calming yellow light of the windows, past the old brick buildings of a childhood that now seems alien to me. Best to get outside time in while I can, it’s summer, giving me few hours before the sun rises. It’s strange to remember when I walked down that street as a human. That deep loss of something I can remember but will never feel once more. Remembering how easy things were. When the restaurants smelled good to my body, instead of sickly sweet. It would’ve made me cry to see myself reflected in a window, if my eyes had tears to cry. To see I was the type of vampire other even other vampires shunning, too vampiric perhaps, to close to what they all fear being, too close to what they’re all accused of. I used to think of losing my humanity was a horrible fate, and now I am the bad ending for so many other nonhumans. I wonder how many of my kind’s advocates think I’m worthy of oppression. They say not all vampires look horrifying to humans, but I look horrifying to humans. They say not all vampires think violent thoughts about humans automatically, but I find myself doing that so often. They say not all vampires are weak to sunlight, or are hurt by symbols of their prior faith, but I am, and it hurts, and if acceptance means telling people it doesn’t hurt I’ll just get hurt more.

I tried to think of something to distract myself. Tried to think of friends who still cared about me, about that show I wanted to finish, tired to think about that Lord of the Rings fanfic that I wrote in middle school that I had though about on that street, on a bright day so alien to the humid night I walked through. No matter what I thought about there was always blood in the back on my mind. Even when a vampire isn’t thinking about blood directly, when they’re low, as almost fatally low as I was, it’s always able to be felt in the background. I could feel my body’s desire for blood, feel the pain and weakness of not having it. It was strange, to know that my body hurt because it wanted like, that my body only transformed into a vampire because it would have died from being bitten by one if it hadn’t. My body wanted to live as a vampire so much more than I did. My hands shook, my gate more unbalanced, more stumbling than it usually was, my twisted and inhuman mouth, the most inhuman part of my body, salivating. The staggered and almost animalistic walk must have made me look even more like a monster. The pigeons flew away when they saw me, they must have known, or maybe that’s just what pigeons are like.

 My once tan skin now so pale my organs are visible, my once fit body now skinny, my brown eyes forever white, and my mouth perfectly round and unmoving and filled with sharp tooth after sharp tooth like a lamprey. All so perfect to drink blood, all built to drain blood. It hurts to think I’ll probably be in this body for centuries. The same hoodie I’d been wearing for days still covers me a bit, as does my mess of uncut hair, I don’t really have to wash these things without human oils on my body anymore. It’s not good to think too long about that fact. There is no wonder my parents would rather consider their precious daughter basically dead, than know that she lived as this. I might do the same if I had a choice. I think about when I was turned sometimes, how I didn’t get to be turned out of love, or lust, or spite, how the bite was meant to kill me, how it would have killed me if I wasn’t rushed to the hospital, or if I hadn’t fought the attacker off. I never even knew the name of the vampire who attacked me. I didn’t know why he did at the time, I assumed it was from hate, I understand now, I would never defend attacking someone like that but I understand, he was hungry, I know how it feels to want blood like how he must have. People would have had me better in their memories if I had died, nobody admits it, but it’s true, my parents convinced themselves I had on religious grounds, saying my soul had left my body, I understand why, my reputation was not tarnished.

As I walked past stores and restaurants that had closed hours earlier, saw how little the world wanted me. I wondered how I would keep existing. I remembered that my transformation has made it so I wouldn’t age, couldn’t die a natural death at all, I realized how strange it would be for me to exist in a body like the one I did for hundreds more years, thousands if I got lucky. There was the feeling that maybe I’d be murdered, most of society didn’t even want the most human passing, most privileged vampires to live, it sucked even for people who had it so much better than me, maybe I’d just die, maybe one of those monster hunter gangs would finally due me in like they always threaten to online. But what if I didn’t, what if I had to still live. If I actually had put the work in to having positive relationships with the community maybe some vampiric elder would be able to tell me. As it was I felt lost, I didn’t know what I could be doing a hundred years from where I stood. Would things be better than, for me, for us? Would I be ok?

For a moment my eye caught a girl around my age. As a human I would have felt lust for her, she had that exact look that I used to like. Glistening hair dyed a candy colored red, a pale pink Cowboy Bebop t-shirt covering her chest. I would have felt lust, or perhaps a more noble sounding attraction, but now that part of me is gone, and seeing a young healthy body like that just makes me think about what it would be like to drink her instead of making me think about being in bed with her. I knew it was wrong, but it would feel so good, to feel my mouth punch into her neck, and drain her dry. I don’t want to feel this way, the logical part of my brain doesn’t like feeling this way, but it’s a feeling in my body. When I looked at her soft skin my teeth ever so slightly extended outwards, and the tiredness from the pain of thirst temporarily ceasing as my body filled with energy, my dreaming mind fantasizing about holding her as I drank her blood, as ashamed as I am of such thoughts, as little as I’d want to ever hurt someone like her, it felt so good in the moment just to fantasize. It was the closest I still had to feeling anything sexual or romantic, as many social media posts as there are telling you it’s a myth that all vampires lose their sexual or romantic feelings, it’s true for me, I don’t even have breasts or sex organs anymore, as horrifying as that is to even acknowledge about myself. Just another thing that makes me seem less human, and just another thing that makes drinking human blood seem to desirable. I didn’t want to hurt her, just looking at her walking, she seemed so happy, so pure.

I did nothing, yet she still crossed the street. I understood, it was late, and I was a ragged looking vampire walking near her, she had a right to feel safe. I ran, as thirsty as my body was I didn’t want to be near her, and didn’t want to cause a scene.

Best to flee uptown, Time Square is filled with Faeries, and Central Park with werewolves, and neither take kindly to my kind in the places they tend to hang out. There is a safety in being human, despite all the stories of young maidens scratched up in monster’s arms, with blood contrasting on top of their pretty white skin, most monsters with ill wills are way more likely to target other species of monster rather than humans. Humans are often well armed, and well defended by the law, and so many monsters are so eager to prove their kind’s validity through their hatred of another species of monster.

My running only stopped when I had to cross the street to avoid a church. One of those big ornate ones you’d see a vampiric villain hang out in in a thriller movie, with that shining stained glass they haven’t built in generations. They say it’s not anything divine that burns vampires that are weak to holy symbols, it’s just the memory of faith that hurts, the memory of the most human of all actions. Doesn’t change the fact that the pope still says we don’t have souls. The church ghosts all fled, they floated somewhere else just from seeing me, I wanted to yell to them “What? Are you too good even to haunt me.” I didn’t of course, I didn’t want to cause a scene. Maybe I would have if I wasn’t so weak from thirst.

I can’t get blood. The state won’t give it to me. My friends would say no if I asked. I can’t afford to buy it. I dropped out of school when I was turned, there wasn’t accommodation, and late classes were hard to get. Most of the friends I still have either treat me like a tragedy to fawn over, or like I could kill them at any time, they’re only human after all. I guess that’s why they recommend socializing with other monsters. I barely look for work anymore, even well-meaning humans are uncomfortable around me, though to be fair I’ve done nothing not to make them uncomfortable, and it’s impossible to ask them to close daytime windows, or keep silver and garlic away.  I spend so much time on the internet. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be this thirsty. I don’t want to look this way, and I don’t want to need blood. I never chose any of this, never chose to be bitten, never chose to be saved.

For a moment I saw another person on the street, alone with me. Some rich kid staggering drunk and barely knowing where he is, a sweatshirt from some fancy wizarding school clinging on to his body. His rosy yet pale cheeks, so vulnerable, not so privileged that he could hurt me, just privileged enough to feel like every bad though I could have towards him was punching up. He was the exact type of asshole that I’d expect to call me a slur, to be proud that wizards like him had engaged in just enough vampire hunts in the thirties and forties to be considered another type of human. But he didn’t. He didn’t notice me at all, he just sang to himself with his earbuds in and his eyes glued to his phone as he stumbled past closed stores.

I can smell blood on his lips. I remember that there is another way to quench my thirst. I’d have to drain him dry so that nobody would know. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be that type of vampire. His body is so fresh, I’d be full for like a year. I can’t stop looking at him and remembering my life. He’ll run but I can catch up to him, and he’ll taste so good. And I would be so hard to catch if I drained him to death, he’s a stranger, the case would go cold. I need blood, and he has blood, it’s like a trolly problem, you don’t need sadism to pick yourself when you’re tied to the tracks. And I can’t think of another way I could get blood before starving to death.  It feels weird to grab his wrist as he struggles, too thirsty to think too deeply. I don’t want to look at his face when he screams, but something deep within me is excited to hear a human scream. I feel sorry for him I think, he didn’t deserve this, I didn’t deserve this, if things were different… well they aren’t different. God my voice sounds demonic with this mouth. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

[gabessquishytum]

Dream is bored and he'll be the first to admit that his boredom tends to make him an easy mark for his siblings shenanigans. Case in point, his sister Tel has convinced him - cajoled, dared, whatever, to give a few classes at her always in need of funds community center.

Dream is a world renowned international (dance, ballet, artist, designer) star and he has never been know to hang around normal people, but his inspiration is in a ditch, hole, dark empty place,,,,so he decides how bad can it be.......

Well it's certainly not good, there are no supplies for the classes he wants to teach, and the kids have no idea who he is....just that he seems stuck up. After his first disastrous first day [if it's art classes not dance, Dream leaves the center with paint in and covering places he hasn't since he was teaching Del to paint,,,,, when she was 5], he is taken under the wing of (after his sister leaves him to a hoard of children on his own) the cheerful "Mr. G".

Hob "Mr. G" Gadling has been working at the community center forever, and the kids love him. If asked, Dream would say that he is only flustered around Mr. G because he's still finding his way around the community center, not because on top of being nice Mr. G is gorgeous.

This is so sweet - gotta love Dream doing his best to function around normal people!!!

The kids really aren't so bad. They are, for the most part, simply bored. The community centre is a wonderful place but it lacks funding for really exciting projects, and the kids are kind of tired of making macaroni art, ya know? "Mr. G" kindly explains all of this to Dream as they sit in the car park (and Dream vainly attempts to scrape some of the paint off himself so he can avoid dirtying the interior of his fancy car). And Dream realises that he had been kind of an ass to the kids, and patronised them a whole not... maybe he needs to figure out a new approach.

So he recruits Hob’s assistance and together they head for the nearest art supply superstore. Dream buys several carts full of stuff with his own money and Hob maybe tears up a little bit because Dream is so determined and kind and pretty. Hob definitely has a weakness for beautiful men with big hearts.

Art classes at the community centre take a turn for the better as Dream asks the kids what THEY would like to do. It's settled that they'll make a big mural for the reception area, and everyone gets involved doing stuff that they enjoy. Dream and Tel's brother Ollie is persuaded to come in and help out with some woodworking so the kids can even help make new furniture! Hob offers his own assistance wherever he's required, whether that means opening paint tins or comforting frustrated artists. He's much more gorgeous covered in paint than Dream was.

And at the grand opening of the new reception area, complete with mural and custom artworks, Dream has hardly ever been so proud. Mostly because he's found his inspiration: his sketchbooks are full of sketches of Mr. G... and yes, some of them are nude, but Dream just blushes when asked how he knows about the tattoo on Hob’s left buttock!

(He knows about it because Hob showed him, in great detail. But Dream isn't one to kiss and tell about his boyfriend's intimate parts!)

[phoenixyfriend]

Flip the Hourglass 3

Chapter 3: Monster(?)

Anakin has some bad conversations

Read on AO3

-----------

Anakin has emergency credits on hand, but Republic currency is going to be difficult to offload to anyone who’s actually staying on planet. He has some peggats, a just in case measure he never fully outgrew, and one he is grateful for now. He saves the peggats for later, and drags Ahsoka Soka to the spaceport to find a more appropriate set of clothing for her. A few of the traders here do take credits, as they spend enough time going back and forth that they generally need both currencies in their coinpurse. It won’t work for everything, but fabrics and food and water are in supply here.

Soka complains, even whines a little, but he knows it’s mostly the heat and the dawning grief that they are slowly coming to terms with as a group. He lets her have a little bratting for her own good, as a teenager in a horrible situation. He still makes her get better clothing. Togruta are just as sensitive to solar radiation and the associated risk of cancer as humans.

“Ugh, I look like Obi-Wan,” she asserts.

“Not all beige is Obi-Wan,” Anakin tells her. He passes over the haggled price to the trader. He’s lucky in that his money is worth more now than it would be in a decade and a half, so everything certainly feels cheaper. Still more than he’s comfortable with, but it’s the cost of doing business. “You can wear your burgundy as a base layer, and the belt.”

“I don’t like beige,” Soka says. “It clashes with my markings.”

“Cheaper than white, and it reflects the sun better than dark colors,” Anakin reminds her, far from the first time. “I’m getting some too, you know.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

It’s not just the color that she objects to, but that’s a safer point of contention than the loose and flowing shape of these clothes, or the fairly rough weave. It’s smoother than most of what can be purchased locally, unless one has far more funds than Anakin is willing to expend before he can secure a building and his family’s freedom; it’s also more expensive than the slave fabrics, but he can push the budget a tiny bit here on the Republic credits side. It’ll soften with a few washings, anyway, and the main concern he’s got is for temperature regulation and blocking the sun.

The shape… he doesn’t want her targeted for kidnapping. If she fights them off, she risks getting noticed by Gardulla and Jabba. If she doesn’t fight them off, Anakin will probably kill someone to get her back.

Shmi could probably talk him out of it. Rex might not bother.

At any rate, kidnappings are bad. Wear the shapeless dresses. Anakin got some for himself and the rest of them, too.

“What’s next?” Soka asks.

“Water,” he tells her. “Buying it from off-planet isn’t always easy for locals, but it’s the best option for using our remaining credits without losing most of it to currency exchange fees. Some food if we find it cheap, but water is probably still going to give us the most clang for our credits.”

Soka makes a face. Anakin ignores it.

They shop around, each carrying more and more products without a floating carrier for it. They get looks, of course, but nobody is too willing to ask why they’re not having difficulty with such weight. Too many options, and half of them are deadly to the asker.

Anakin’s comm rings. He picks up.

“Hey, General,” Rex’s too-easy voice greets, “tell me, how much trouble would I get if I shot someone?”

[dairy-farmer]

The Drakes get into some financial trouble. They’re not sure how, but their supply chains have been scooped up left and right. Their stocks have been very volatile. They’d suspect a hostile takeover attempt, except there hasn’t been any actual attempt. It’s strange.

Luckily, they get offered a great investment opportunity. Low risk, high rewards. It’s almost too good to be true. But the problem is they’re not very liquid at the moment and can’t really raise the funds.

So they decide to sell Timothy.

There’s no point in having an heir if there’s nothing to inherit. (he wasn’t that great of an heir anyway. It’d be better to increase their net worth and try again with hopefully a less needy child)

Luckily, Bruce Wayne has just started looking for a nice gift for Jason, and Timmy would suit him nicely. And Bruce Wayne is willing to pay higher than they’d thought they’d get for him!

At first, Tim is relieved when he hears who’s going to own him. Bruce Wayne famously bought Jason from Willis, only to turn around and adopt him instead. But then it turns out that Bruce has enough sons, and he really is a gift for Jason.

And then Tim finds himself owned. A possession. Just as much rights as a toy. Hell, he is a toy, just one that needs to be fed and watered.

It could be worse, he tells himself. His parents were also going to offer him to Sionis. And Jason isn’t cruel like him.

Turns out he is a bit of a bully though, and very demanding. Especially with all his teenage needs. Jason is insatiable.

But unlike Tim’s parents, he doesn’t mind teaching Tim new things. Like, Tim is a LOT more flexible than he was before. And he’s still learning to improve his gag reflex. Luckily Jason doesn’t mind when Tim struggles to swallow him down. He just takes what he needs, so even if Tim can’t get it quite right, Jason’s not mad. As long as Timmy tries.

And he does try! Tim has never liked doing anything but his best. So he quickly learns how Jason likes to be woken up-with Timmy bouncing on his lap or swallowing him down. He learns to always stay warm and wet for Jason. To hold Jason’s come inside as long as Jason wants.

Tim’s favorite days are when Jason brings him to school and he can listen in on the lessons from under the desk between Jason’s feet, head buried in Jason’s la, keeping him warm. It’s where Tim belongs now.

Tim only wears enough clothes to satisfy Jason’s possessiveness, and never when he’s in Jason’s room-unless Jason is in the mood to rip them off. His chest is often sore from all of Jason’s pinching and pulling and biting. There’s finger-shaped bruises on his hips. His lips (both of them) are red and swollen and wet from all the biting and sucking and using.

There’s two collars on Tim’s neck now- the one listing his owner and the ring of bites Jason refuses to let fade.

Tim doesn’t mind being owned as much as he thought he would. He was already a very obedient child, and it turns out he had been craving boundaries and structure. And belonging to Jason means no more anxiety or guesswork.

He sleeps where Jason puts him, eats what Jason feeds him, wears what Jason gives him. He doesn’t need to worry about pleasing his parents anymore, just pleasing Jason. And while Jason is demanding and insatiable, at least he’s willing to teach Tim. And he may be rough sometimes, but he’s not cruel about it. Any aches or pains Tim has is simply from Jason chasing his own pleasure. (Tim’s wants had never been important before, but now that he’s owned he doesn’t get any wants.) It’s not his place to have any desires beyond what he is given. It’s simple and easier that way

But the best part is that little Timmy doesn’t go a day without touch anymore. He’s never left alone for long. Jason’s hands, his cock, his mouth. Even when Tim is just curled up at Jason’s feet. He loves it.

He never knew how much he would enjoy being owned and kept full. How much he loves being desired and wanted and belonging. Being possessed.

-

Jason loves having a Timmy. He’s warm and wet and eager to please (it’s much less work training him than Jason thought it would be). Jason loves having something that belongs solely to him. Having that control. Being able to take out the days frustrations with a less destructive outlet. Knowing that whatever he says will be obeyed without question has done wonders for his mental health.

He thinks that once he graduates, maybe he’ll give Bruce a grandchild as thanks.

yesssssssssss!!!!!!!! this was so good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! bruce buying tim for jason to be his plaything, to keep him entertained, to keep him out of trouble, and to have something to work out all that teenage aggression and horniness out on!!!!

tim THRIVING in a situation where all he needs to be is a pretty, dumb little doll. although jason is mean to him sometimes he sometimes holds tim and kisses him, and once when jason was fucking him hard and fast he'd grunted about how much he loved tim's pussy. sure he'd specified it was tim's pussy he loved but it counted!

and jason- like bruce- has control issues and tim is the perfect outlet! he's something only jason owns and only jason can tell him what to do and use him. no one but jason can fuck tim or dress him or choose what he'll do or eat. jason has him trained just the way he likes him. he taught tim how to suck his cock the way he liked, how to tighten up his sweet little cunt so jason can cum really hard. jason has made tim perfect for him. and it wouldn't be crazy to say that he loves tim because tim never makes him angry or frustrated like other people. he's just a dumb little puppy who's ready to suck jason's cock at any momement and god does jason love him so much.

its why jason grows more considerate of tim, starts letting him cum while they fuck, starts having tim sleep in bed with him instead of on the floor like a dog. starts praising tim more and getting him regular health checkups. jason's had too many almost-girlfriends try and demand he get rid of tim, that they didn't like jason having tim around to screw. of course jason dumped them all like hot potatoes because like fuck was he listening to some broad who he wasn't even official with. but he also noticed how their words had....irritated him. the way they'd scrunched their nose at tim in distaste when tim was probably better than all of them combined. jason doesn't really see a future where he gets rid of tim in exchange for a steady girlfriend. he wants tim to be around at all times because he makes jason feel so good.

and bruce probably wouldn't care if jason never got married but he had done that old man thinking about sighing wistfully about grandkids. so...it seemed like a perfect oppertunity.

bruce's thorough health checkup of tim before buying him had been a fertility test and that's why he'd put tim on birth control so jason wouldn't knock him up.

but jason is graduating soon. he'll be a full grown adult. and if he wants to see his timmy all round and fat with his baby well...he doesn't think bruce would be too opposed.

[urbanism-and-transit]

Minnesota has been a hot spot for Urbanism and Public Transport progress for the better part of the last couple of years.

I-35 is being removed and is now in the process of designing what the new stretch would look like, and if you want to read more on how and why they did this, I will drop their mission statement below

Olson Memorial Highway has been granted the funds to convert into a Boulevard

Lastly to take more about Minneapolis proper, a report done by Fortune in 2023 showcased that the removal of single house zone restrictions and building more mixed used housing that had a percentage carved out for lower income people, was the main reason Minneapolis was about to cool off inflation and basically stop the nation wide rental spike from hitting the cities.

To add on, HF 4009 is a bill that will shore up multifamily zoning and make sure towns and cities use the ground when they are available.

Minnesota is also taking a huge step, with a new law introduced last year to ban parking minimums state wide. Parking minimums are one of the main reasons single family homes take up so much space, and the large, dead parking lots that every shopping center has

And for the final thing, and the most important in my view, the Northern Lights Rail last year had funding allocated from the state for the project and are now waiting for the release of federal funds to complete the last 80% of the funding

Even though Minnesota is seen as a more quiet state where nothing really major happens, it goes to show that when the a group of passionate people gather and want to make a change, and are able to convince a state body to throw their weight around to get the grants for it, the sky's the limit on what can be done for communities

-Wamter

[alienpossession]

The Pagon Prologue: Brick by Brick

Read the first part here

Not stopping at the military operatives, Pagon asked for more manpower to be utilized to infiltrate Russian criminal society in order to fund the establishment of New Skrullos in a way that is less track-able by the government in Moscow. It's a process of starting to build their ideal temporary home brick by brick, and after the groundwork with the military, they need to stretch out their control a bit further

Posing as the decorated General, Pagon strut his way to meet an old friend of the General that went rogue and eventually worked for a criminal oligarch.

The friend would never expect that it was all just a ruse by the manipulative Skrull as he got hauled and then locked away in the Fracking Pod where a Skrull operative named Zirksu took his likeness and absorbed his memories to infiltrate deeper amongst the criminal underworld

Just like wildfires, the Skrull moved swiftly and decisively, targeting oligarch from various background that they found necessary to support the success of their operation. Starting from the commander's best friend boss who owned sprawling construction empire and illicit drug trafficking mixed with it named Wassily Kirilenko. He was in the middle of his workout in his private gym when his very own right hand man who spotted his bench press suddenly shape shifted right in front of his eyes and pressed the heavy weight to crush his body. After telling fellow Skrulls he brought along that already infiltrated the innermost security detail of the oligarch to dispose the real body, he checked himself in the mirror and flexed his newfound affinity for big tattooed muscle and the insane thirst for power and control

Skrull love to toy around with their target and taunted them to the maximum pain before locking them away in the Fracking Pods or outright killing them. Just like how Nuro taunted Maxim Yagudin, a former KGB spy turned telco oligarch, on how Yagudin is not that smart after all for being easily tricked by a shapeshifting alien half his size.

"Let's see later how you got so rich, bro. I have theory in my mind that it's all about nepotism and being an eye-candy for an influential widow with wide connection from what I read about you, but I'll know every single thing about you without you even saying a single word anyway.....so.....keep your mouth shut," he said before choking him close to his death to make him unconscious

But all in all, the infiltration of the criminal oligarch can be qualified as a successful operation. Not only they raised so much more capital to support the cause, now they have wide range of services they can use and manipulate to further wreck havoc among human. For example, he might look young, but Gennady Tatishvili is a real danger with his 10,000 well-armed militia that he inherited from his father

The Skrull operative that is directed to pose as him cornered him to the en-suite bathroom in his own sprawling mansion where he met his demise after a heart attack for being so goddamn terrified when he witnessed the Skrull shapeshifted from a woman he's about to fuck to a perfect replica of himself. A portable fracking devices he brought along proven to be handy as he copied all Gennady's memory before leaving the real body unattended in his own pool of pee and sweat, a tragic end to an up and coming oligarch overlord. The plan on his militia is to basically do Gravik's dirty work without sacrificing Skrull operatives in the process

Then, there's this trio of gun manufacturer and also owner of various exclusive restaurant, clubs and gyms across Russia and its former Soviet area. Gravik simply want to have endless gun supply to support his causes to wage war among humans and what better way other than seizing the control in its production to do just that. The high-end chain of entertainment spots can also work wonder for the Skrulls as it will ease transportation process of goods to remain illicit and untraceable. Plus, the spots are well-known among the 1% so it's a perfect breeding ground to get more shells if necessary. The 3 man are related because the first two (Aleksander Samsonov and Boris Samsonov) are step-brother from the same father while the last one (Jurij Alimov) is an in-law that entered the family through marriage with the eldest child and only daughter of the Samsonov family. They were kidnapped as their dinner already spiked with sedatives that can knock an elephant within minutes, and they all fell flat to their plates of privately-catered food in the confine of their own home not even a minute after their first bite. They never wake up during the transfer of their body to the continously-developing Skrulls operation base and once they lined up to the fracking pods, Skrull operatives already await to replicate them and returned right away to their estate in order to not raise any suspicion

Usually, before these operatives went out of their way to live life as humans for God knows how long, Pagon as the Acting General of New Skrullos will test the operatives loyalty and dedication to the cause. Ibragim Musayev is a high-ranked Chechen officials that the Skrulls decided to target since he has close connection with some scientist that would be beneficial for the Skrulls cause, and obviously, Chechen militia (do we need to spell this out?). As the Skrull operatives finished changing into Musayev, Pagon asked him to stand straight and interrogate him

"What's your name?"

"Warrior,"

"What's your fight?"

"Skrullos,"

"What's your dream?"

"Home.....in my own skin,"

"Your enemy is?"

"Humans, of all kind, sir,"

"Can you assure me your utmost dedication to the cause and will not let any humane distraction swerved you from the goal?"

"Yes I can, sir,"

"Well, let the time talk on that. Remember warrior, no spot, no flaw. You're Ibragim Musayev now and there's no going back unless I or Gravik tell you to,"

And just like that, the 260 lbs 6'5" mass monster of a military commander just walk right out to the next room to pick up his clothings, ready to straighten up some unruly Chechen fighters under his command and see how beneficial the scientific community he has close ties with can be leveraged and utilized for the cause of his people

[hiemaldesirae]

The Hazbin Graduate's Guide to Homicide [4]

ENCLOSED IS AN EXCERPT FROM THE JOURNAL OF ALASTOR HARTFELT. IF YOU ARE NOT THE INTENDED RECIPIENT, DISPOSE OF THIS LETTER IMMEDIATELY LEST YOU BEFALL SEVERE CONSEQUENCES INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO, LOSS OF FINGERS, LIMBS, AND LIFE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR DISCRETION. SIGNED, DEAN LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR.

To my generous patron X, I'm still not quite sure how I feel about this... impromptu academic journey. Though I thank you dearly (and cannot ever fully repay you) for giving me the opportunity to study such unique and diverse methods of... disposal, shall we say, it is a double edged sword of sorts. I have made a few friends- two of whom I would consider close, though I doubt I have much experience in the lane of 'close' friends- and yet more enemies, one of which is particularly aggravated by me for reasons I simply cannot fathom. I'm choosing to believe right now that it is because she is immune to any form of good comedy (a politer way of saying that the girl simply has no sense of humor whatsoever and should possibly schedule an appointment with Professor Beelzebub to see if there's something to be done in regards to her vehement refusal to let any joy in life into her heart). In any case, X, I will take this chance to reassure you that I am learning more than I ever thought I would have in the hands-on and rigorous academic processes of Hazbin Institute, and that the people I have met during my stay all total to a very enjoyable stay thus far. I will, of course, keep you updated on the various comings-and-goings of my studies and how my thesis is being planned out, as well as the various roadblocks I have no doubt I'll be facing. Once more, thank you for your thoughtful sponsorship. I do hope that my results are to your liking.

Yours sincerely, A.H.

P.S. A note to all the lovely readers, I've made a few updates in the previous installments of this series. Alastor is now rooming with Charlie and throwaway lines have been corrected to not mention the names of plot-relevant characters. Also, as a content warning, there is some slightly transphobic rhetoric used (I tried to limit it as much as I could but there really wasn't a way for me to word it properly while trying to express the idea.) If you don't want to see that, then feel free to skip to the end of Vox and Alastor's conversation in the Jade Forest. Please enjoy this new upload of the Hazbin Institute for Homicide Practitioners!

[ 1 ] / [ 2 ] / [ 3 ] <- more murder academy radiostatic

Though it may come as a surprise to those who knew him in a broader sense, Alastor wouldn't consider himself particularly well versed in the art of cooking (though he knew several people who would immediately jump to say otherwise). In his mind, cooking had always been more of a pasttime for him: a hobby to spend time bonding with his mother during and hide from his father's harsh words and harsher actions.

That was why Alastor's impromptu (not actually impromptu, he simply referred to it as such because he hadn't spent days agonizing over it like he would on other choices) decision to take up work in the Institution's kitchen was so out of character for him.

However- however out of character it seemed on the surface, Alastor was also quite the frugal spender. Though the funds entrusted to him by his sponsor were more than enough to supply him with everything he needed through the academic year and then some, Alastor was a man who had lived his childhood and early pre-teenaged years through the desolation of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl, barely managing to scrape by thanks to his mother's innovation and resilience.

This upbringing, in turn, translated to a refusal to spend more than what was needed for a modest life, and a need to save every last penny that came his way. Plus, given the current path his thesis looked to be taking, Alastor had decided some weeks ago that it was much better to have excess funds left over than to have to struggle his way through the bayou once more.

Besides, this way, he got to learn more recipes to show to his Maman once he got back home.

The main chef of the kitchen was named Vortex, and from the interactions Alastor had witnessed while coming in and out of the back kitchen, he was involved with Professor Beelzebub in some sort of way. Whether they were courting or married or perhaps engaging in some sort of extra-marital affairs was a question completely beyond him, but either way, they both seemed happy and Alastor didn't quite care enough to ask further.

This was not to say that didn't mean he didn't speak to Vortex at all, of course- in fact, when he found out that the man spoke French (though it wasn't Creole French, he'd take it), the two had started talking on and off during shifts.

He'd also started to play piano at the local on-campus bar, a place that was surprisingly affordable given their one-drink only rule (a precaution to make sure that the undergraduates of Hazbin's didn't turn to alcohol to cope with whatever poor decisions they had made to land themselves here, no doubt).

This was a decision that had led to him making friendly small talk with the bartender, Husk (another student working odd jobs around campus to make up for the money that wasn't going into tuition) and adding another acquaintance to the motley crew of fellows he'd gotten to know in his weeks spent at Hazbin's.

There was his roommate, Charlie- who he'd never actually seen, save for hearing the occasional quiet sobbing from the bathroom at ungodly hours in the night while he was trying to concentrate on studying- a short young woman who introduced herself as Niffty and proudly proclaimed that her major was 'Murdering Your Spouse!', Husk, Rosie; the woman that Vox had told him about, and-

Well. Vox himself, obviously.

When Alastor had figured out why it was that Vox had sounded so familiar, he'd spent days agonizing over how to confront the man.

There was no way in any of Dante's infernos that he would be going straight up to Vox and saying something along the lines of 'I know your true identity and how you're dressing as a man when you were born as a woman' because if Alastor had learnt nothing from his father at all he had at least been engrained with a sense of subtlety and chivlary. And if his intuition served him right, he had a feeling that Vox wouldn't quite appreciate being referred to as a woman anyhow, given how he'd gone to such painstaking lengths to conceal his identity.

In the end, he hadn't even had to broach the topic himself. Vox had brought it up one day, completely out of nowhere while they were sitting under the shade of bamboo stalks in the Jade Forest, a place on campus grounds meant to imitate the serenity of real Chinese bamboo forests. "You know you're not the best at hiding your feelings, right?"

Alastor had immediately shot back with an offended, "And you are?"

This had come after a night spent at the bar, where Vox had somehow managed to get himself drunk after exactly three quarters of a glass of whiskey and ended the night sobbing into Husk's hat. He realized only after the words came out of the mouth that he was doing nothing but proving Vox right, but to the other man's credit, the only reaction he showed was the small upwards tilt of his mouth, a smile that said, I got you.

"Have you seen any of my movies before, or was it something else that gave me away?" Vox asks casually.

So casually, in fact, that the almost flies over Alastor's head, and he has to do a double take at the other man, who throws his head back and laughs, long and hard, howling like a hyena.

When he finally calms down, Alastor is staring at him unimpressed, which just sets him off again.

"Oh- oh my God, your face- oh, dear God, that's the best. If I knew that wasn't genuine I'd try and have you nominated for an award. Jesus, Al, I'm not an idiot, you were looking at me like I'd grown two heads in that one seminar from Professor Beelzebub when I said I had personal experience with chopping off someone's breasts." Vox finally got out, wiping a tear from his eye as he gasped for breath. It was oddly endearing as much as it was absolutely exasperating.

"Can you really blame me?" Alastor frowned. "I mean, even past... your own proclivities- or, I mean, your- ah-"

"Taking matters into my own hands?"

"Right. That. Even past that, it feels like a bit of an odd comment to make in the middle of a lecture."

"She was asking for examples. What was I supposed to do, not say anything?" Vox rolled his eyes, then flopped back onto the picnic blanket he'd brought out.

Neither of them had actually brought out any foods that day- it was clam chowder soup day in the dining hall, and Alastor had simply elected to skip out and bake a loave of bread for himself later, whereas Vox... honestly, given what he knew about the man, probably didn't eat anything at all. It was almost concerning how skinny the other was, considering between the two of them it had been Alastor who'd lived through the worst economic decline of the century.

In any case, the picnic blanket had mostly been decoration, but Vox had also cited not wanting to get his uniform dirty when he laid down.

Now, looking at the other man lying down on the picnic blanket, Alastor was reminded of a motion picture that Mimzy had dragged him to after several hours of painstaking bargaining- one that had featured Vox (well, the name he'd went by outside of Hazbin, anyway. Alastor still had no idea which of the names Vox considered his 'real' name and he frankly had no intentions of asking) in the same position, but in a great deal less clothes (thankfully, not none or else he wagers he would've picked up a rock and started bashing his skull in), and he looked away once more, willing himself to stop the flush spreading over his face.

"So..." Vox spoke again, breaking the relative peace of their silence. "Have you wrapped your head around the whole thing?"

Alastor paused, then nodded, still resolutely not looking in Vox's direction. "I assume this is... who you would rather be?"

"Well, obviously," Vox confirmed, though not without a bit of snark that Alastor had come to know was standard for the man over the weeks they'd spent together. "Being Vox Vanhal is... a great deal better than being Aussen Vesper, I'll tell you that much."

"Okay," Alastor said. And then, "That's quite the relief, then, because I was not prepared to start treating you like a lady."

Thankfully, despite Alastor's un-characteristic slip of the tongue, Vox only barked out another hyena-like laugh at that comment, and they spent the rest of the day trading murder tactics.

So that was one of Alastor's problems resolved. Another one, though, happened to lie with another one of his housemates in Pride House, a woman who had been there for a year or so by the time of his arrival. For whatever reason, Vaggie Mariposa had taken it upon herself to try and upstage Alastor in every class they'd shared together- which was a lot, considering they were both undertaking the same major of Murder Your Enemies.

It wasn't as though she was succeeding very well, though, besides a prank she had pulled on his radio that had- embarrassingly- caught him off guard and ended up earning him a demerit. Of course, not even a week later, he'd gotten her back with much the same setup, and earned her that same demerit. So in all, it wasn't as much a concern to him as it was a very petty move done by a woman who really should know better, considering she was taking a course to murder her enemies.

(Of course, there was also the times he'd caught her waiting outside the hallway to his room, but that was of as much concern as a stray mouse would be to an eagle.)

In truth, the only real thing that actually concerned him was the girl he shared a room with. He had confided in the matter with Rosie, who, as Vox had told him before, was really quite the counselor when it came to giving advice. He was glad to have met her here- the woman, of course, being a student taking the major of 'Murder Your Spouse' had nothing but an endless patience for Alastor's troubles, the same way he imagined that she had had to have cultivated for dealing with the absolutely useless man she was married to.

"...anyway, I don't understand there is to do about her. She's weeping every night and keeping me up, but it's not as if I can breach the topic with her when she's someone I hardly know," Alastor shrugged. "I'm no good with weepy overgrown children. Whatever it is she's discovered about herself, I wish she'd simply keep it to herself."

"Alastor," Rosie chided him. "That's no way to speak about your roommate. She's likely under a lot of pressure, poor girl- some students are on the verge of flunking out, you know, and as I'm sure the Dean has told you, there are very severe rules for failing at Hazbin's. At least show her some sympathy. Talk to the girl, lecture her if you must, but don't disparage her."

Vox had said much the same thing when Alastor had gone to him to complain instead, so, in the end, he'd given in. The next time he'd found himself poring over one of the large textbooks Professor Mammon had insisted on them buying and heard the stifled sobbing coming from the bathroom, Alastor sucked in a sigh and left his seat.

He knocked on the door hesitantly. "Hello? Are you alright in there, dear?"

The sobbing stopped near instantly, though Alastor could still hear quiet sniffling. "I'll need an answer, if you don't mind. I'd rather not have it on my conscience for causing you to hit your head on the bathtub edge and drown- though I suppose that may earn me a few more points."

"I'm fine," came the firm but quiet response on the other side. "I just- I need a bit."

"I'll be here, then, if you wish to talk," Alastor said. With that hand of invitation extended, Alastor went back to sit down at his desk, feeling a little prouder of himself for managing a show of compassion instead of harming the girl's esteem further.

What he didn't expect, though, was for that hand to be taken- weeks later, during a pre-Track warmup.

"Is... Is this a good time?"

Charlie Magne, the girl who Alastor had been roomed with stares at him with eyes so wide she looks like a caricature more than a person, and when Vox and Rosie let out twin gasps, Alastor feels a part of him shrivel up inside, knowing both of them will make him talk to her.

"I... I'm sorry, but I think... I might need your help."

[goingmerryied]

The Pirate who Loved Me- Chapter 1

18+

Masterlist

Bridgerton kind of meets One Piece in this.

Summary: (Y/N) grew up in a noble home and island. Her family were members of high class, and were invited to lavish parties thrown by the highest members of society. Although she was raised to be a proper woman, she always longed for something more in life. At the age of 18, she is now ready to enter the social season and her father is to find her a suitable husband much to her dismay.

That same season, a group of rookie pirates in a submarine land on the noble island to secure funds and supplies for their next adventure.

*3 years before Luffy sets out on his adventure*

Pairing: Trafalgar D. Law x reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ explicit sexual themes, Teasing, Dom Trafalgar D. Water Law, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Be Safe Out There), Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Creampie, Pet Names, Overstimulation, Biting, Bruises, Hair-Pulling, Aftercare

I do not own the rights to Bridgerton and One Piece

_______________________________________________

"My Lady, per your mother's orders we must fit the corset as tight as possible."

"Until I can't breathe?" I snap back as my lady's maid Lana as she fastens the strings to the corset that will keep me entrapped under the elegant dress my mother had fashioned for me. She was obsessed with the fabric once the designer had drawn her eye to it. It was a gold silk gown that was lined with gold beads.  My necklace was a line of gold bows that were mixed with the finest diamonds. My hair was placed up with a feather attached to the top which made me feel absolutely ridiculous. It was beautiful but it was not me.

My breathing continued to hitch as Lana tugged and tightened the corset. A brief knock and my door opening stopped us both as my mother walked in. She looked me up and down as tears began to form in her eyes. I mentally groan as she observed me as if I were her prized pig that she had raised for the past 18 years.

"Oh my darling you look absolutely stunning!" She exclaimed and tears spilled down her face. I gave her as a big a smile as I can muster but deep down I resented her for this. How could she be okay with marrying her daughter off to a complete stranger? How could she allow her husband to find a match that would better the family's image rather than ensure the happiness of her own daughter?

"You are going to find a husband in no time there's no doubt about it. You're father is not going to have any trouble securing your match once the rest of the nobles lay eyes on you. I'm sure of it. Your beauty is unmatched compared to the other ladies this season. I'm so glad to have bred a beautiful daughter " She exclaimed. I felt sick to my stomach.

"Mother you act as if I'm getting married today," I say as Lana tied the knot to hold the restrictive undergarment. She walked to the closet to pull out the dress I was to wear to be shown off to the Queen of our tiny island. God, Sabo, Ace and Luffy would be mortified to know that I was still trapped on this island, following the traditional noble values, but it was for their safety.

When mine and Sabo's parents had found our whereabouts in the forest with Ace and Luffy 8 years ago, we were both forced back to our lives as nobles. We were also under a very watchful eye, I more so than Sabo. However, he still managed to flee from his babysitter, but that only ended in tragedy for him and heartbreak for Ace, Luffy and I.

After the celestial dragon destroyed Sabo's ship, I was able to run from my bodyguard in order to find Ace and Luffy but my parent's guards were much quicker in finding me. My parents were beyond furious at my attempt of another escape, so much so they locked me away in my room, training me to be a proper wife until I turned 18 and was ready to be presented for the social season. During that time, I was given the news that Gray Terminal was set a blaze leaving me to believe that Ace and Luffy were also gone.

It wasn't until years later that I saw a wanted poster of Ace, I cried with joy knowing that he was out living his dream. He was free. He was living the life he wanted, his dreams of becoming pirates stayed alive. Now I could only hope that Luffy would do the same if he was alive.

I on the other hand played the role of the perfect daughter, entrapped in her room and being trained to obey the man that I would call my husband. I fought back as much as I could but it would only lead to nights without dinners and harsh slaps to the face from both my mother and father. Then a month after my 18th birthday came a night were I decided I would make my escape, the security guard on post fell asleep and I saw an opportunity to finally leave this god forsaken island.

I grabbed whatever supplies I deemed necessary and made it all the way to the dock. I was to take my father's fishing boat and find a way to maneuver it. Dangerous I know but I couldn't take it anymore. Just as I was getting ready to push the small boat from the dock I heard the footsteps. Multiple footsteps heading my way, I then heard the guns being raised towards me.

"Did you really think you would be able to get away so easily (Y/N)?" My father was beyond livid when I looked into his eyes.

"I thought you had broken this habit but it seems you were just trying to deceive us so you could run away to be with that criminal." I knew he was talking about Ace. I would join his crew in a heartbeat if I had found him but now I would never get the chance to. I stumbled as the boat was pulled back to the dock and I began to get as far away as I could from my father. However he had harshly grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the boat.

"Grab whatever supplies she stole and bring them back to our home." He stated as he pushed her into the carriage.

"I've had enough of these games (Y/N). You are not to leave the house unless you are chaperoned by your mother, lady's maid or I. You are not to leave your room unless your mother or I allow it. You are only allowed to speak with staff. If you as so much try to step foot outside your room, I will have Marine admirals chase down your little friend and have him killed with his head brought to us on a platter. Are we clear?"

The hatred I had for my father that night continues to find new ways to spread through me. I was ashamed to be his daughter. How could he threaten my brother like that? How could I leave knowing I would put his life in danger?

"Miss?"

"Yes, Lana?" I respond as I'm brought back from my thoughts.

"Your parents are waiting for you downstairs."

"Of course they are. We should not keep them waiting then." I say.

Lana held the back of my dress as I walked carefully down the stairs. My mother and father waiting at the bottom as each step got heavier as I walked.

"My darling daughter, I'm so glad you finally came to your senses" my father say as he meets me at the foot of the stairs and holds his elbow out for me to take. I grimace and hook my arm into his as he escorts me to the carriage, my mother following close behind.

"No funny business (Y/N), you'll soon be out of our household with your new husband, but I'll still keep a close eye on you. Remember what I said."

"I wouldn't ever dream of running away again father, it was foolish of me to try." I say but he sees straight through my bullshit.

"Very well then. Off we go."

The carriage ride to the royal palace was short and hot. I felt as if the dress would melt of my skin as the sun turned the small box into an oven. My fan could only do so much to keep me from sweating while my father had sweated through his coat. Bad day to wear blue old man. It was ridiculous that Goa Kingdom kept up with present day hygiene but couldn't bother to add air conditioning to their must have carriages. They liked to stay in a regency style era to make their island more appealing, all the more reason to run to the hills from this place.

We soon arrived at the palace and although I was ready to jump out of the carriage, I, a proper lady had to wait for her lordship to exit before she is to exit. As my father exit he turned and held his hand out for me to take. I don't wait a second longer before I'm clambering out of the wheeled oven before I began to overcook. The cool breeze hits my skin and I relish in it. I begin to look around at all the other ladies that are to be introduced. They all seemed happy and were shaking from excitement, I on the other hand felt my corset getting even tighter and my lungs struggling to intake oxygen. I see many of the men who are here looking for wives this season and none of them are charmers.

"There's a an abundance of excellent men to pick out for you dear. Don't worry we'll secure you the perfect match" says my mother as she exits behind me. We begin to follow the crowd towards the entrance, as we enter my mother and I are separated into a room where all the other ladies who are to be introduced are.

"Mother, I need a drink." I say as I begin to get warm again.

"Don't wander too far dear, the procession shall start soon." I nod and make my way over the refreshment table. There are two male staff members behind who are oddly arguing with each other. Generally royal staff are as quiet and still as can be. Simply staring straight as they serve guests. However these two are whispering in hushed tones as I approach them. They both look up as I make it to the table.

"Wow pretty girl." The orange haired one looks at me dumbfounded as the other one nudges him. I giggle as the other one smiles.

"Excuse him miss, what can I get for you?" He asks.

"Lemonade please." I respond.

He begins to pour the drink as his friend continues to burn holes into my face.

"Is your friend alright, he seems to be drooling a bit." I ask

"He's fine, he's just feeling the effects of the heat."

"I don't blame him if I could I would take this dress off entirely and let the breeze cool me down."

Just as I said that the orange man hair mouth hangs open and blood begins to pour down his nose. His friend pinches his own nose and pushes him towards the bathroom.

"Is there a problem here?" A man with raven black hair that run down the side of his face asks. His grey eyes are somehow bright as dull as they are but hold a serious demeanor behind them.

"This young woman was just looking for a refreshment sir. Shachi on the other hand is feeling a bit sick due to the warmth and the crowd beginning to grow."

"You should have him take a minor break sir. It is a bit hot, I was just telling them that I myself am sweltering with all the layers on. I can only imagine how you all feel." I reason with him, he was handsome indeed. I could see tattoos peeking from his chest that he tried to hide with the uniform but failing.

"Noted ma'am. I'll be sure to have a doctor check on him. Penguin continue serving the guests."

"(Y/N) it's time!" I can hear my mother yell. I take a deep breath and down my lemonade in one go. When I look back up and see the staff member eyeing me in shock.

"Ma'am I can assure you that you'll be able to find an adequate match." He says amused.

"What if I don't want an adequate match?" I whisper but he hears.

"A noble woman not wanting to marry into another wealthy family that's a first."

"This noble woman wishes she were never weathly in the first place. I want to be free of this life but I can't."

"Sure you can."

"I'm sure that's easier for you to say Mr..."

"Law. Just call me Law."

"Nice to meet you Law, I'm (Y/N) (L/N). You know I find this whole ordeal a bit odd. Royal staff members aren't usually this talkative, mainly due to fear of punishment from the royal family." I say looking around to see if anyone has taken notice of our small conversation, but everyone is concerned about their presentation to the Queen.

"Let's just say I'm allowed to break the rules a bit as these guy's boss." He smiles a bit and looks me up and down. I hate to say it but I grow a bit insecure under his gaze, my breath hitches but not because of the corset but the way his grey eyes analyze my features right before me.

"How-"

"(Y/N)! Pardon us sir but we must get going now for my daughter's presentation."

"Of course, apologies my lady." He answers, I look back to him and he gives me a nod and smile. I felt my breath hitch as I smile back at the mysterious staff member. If only he were one of my options, I would accept his courtship almost immediately with or without my parent's approval. However I can't be so ridiculous I've only met the man, yet his are like staring deep into a clouded sky. There's beauty and there's mystery behind them that I would like to know more about.

The staff begins to take our names and we are lined up to make our debut, i feel my hands begin to shake. It's becoming real now, the fact that I may never get to have my freedom. My chest begins to cave in itself and my mother grips my arm tighter as to reassure me. However this only make me angrier with her, I want to cry, but I can't. We are third to walk and it will be over much faster than I believe it to be. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

The door opens and the first pair go, I can see the queen awaiting at the end of the procession to see who is being presented this season. The queen is famous for choosing one special person to be her diamond. The diamond is what every lady who begins her courtship wants to be. She is to have the first eyes of all the bachelors and is usually the first off the market. She is also the most beautiful lady in the Queen's eye. Once she picks her diamond, she'll generally call off the rest of the procession as there is nothing more to look for. However I do not have the luck of being in the crowd that is called off as I am in the first three.

Before I know it, my mother and I are next to walk. We take our places at doors and wait for the footman to announce us.

"Just smile dear and remember to bow to the queen. All eyes are on you know?"

That last sentence didn't calm me at all. I would rather not have eyes on me.

"Presented by her mother Viscountess Eleanor (L/N)."

Here goes nothing, to calm my nerves I think about Ace, Sabo and Luffy. They would be dying of laughter seeing me so dressed up, and walking oh so elegantly to the Queen of Goa Kingdom. The thought alone brings a smile to my face which I'm sure makes my parents happy. I began to look around at all the guests in attendance. My father content with how I am behaving. I move my head slightly to the right and catch grey eyes once more. He's looking at me and nods once more as encouraging me. As if I'm doing just fine yet I was anything but fine.  As we reach the end my mother and I both bow. I then see the Queen's dress move and she begins to descend down. She places her gloved hand under my chin and gently lifts it up. I make eye contact with her and slowly stand a bit. She simply smiles at me and says the words I never thought were possible to me.

"Flawless my dear. A true diamond. I've seen enough for the evening." She says. She places a gentle kiss on my forehead. My mother pinches me.

"Thank you your grace." She nods and simply walks out of the room. The crowd begins to the disperse. I had to say I am completely flattered by the Queen, never would I have thought to be considered beautiful, nevertheless a diamond in the eyes of the Queen. However, there is pang in my chest and my nerves begin to twist. That means that my wedding date may have drew nearer and more callers would be at our door soon enough. My chance at freedom was running out.

***

"I can't believe I'm saying this but I actually agree with the government for once. That girl is beautiful." Shachi says as he and Penguin stand on either side of Law.

Penguin rolls his eyes and Law chuckles a bit "Did you get the information you need captain? Do you want me to ask Bepo to ready the Polar Tang?" Penguin asks.

"Not just yet. There's some more information I'd like to find out, have the crew dock somewhere safe and away from here. We may be here for a couple of months." Law says as he watches the young woman be whisked away by her parents. Every eye in the room is following her as were his.

[netherworldpost]

Been following you since the Evil Supply Co days, was very pleased to place my first order from Netherworld Post recently! I love the "hope this fireball finds you failing to save" design so much! A few people in my d&d group are definitely getting that one.

I hope you have an awesome day and something nice happens to you!

I am incredibly honored that so many folks have been following since Evil Supply Co.

It was nearly four years to do the day from when I first emailed friends "What do you think of this business name change?" to flipping the switch to launch.

One thing that hasn't made it through the transition

(I emphasize)

...yet...

...is the stories.

I used to write 3 - 6 very short stories a week. Sometimes a few paragraphs, sometimes longer. Most got posted here -- started here, on Tumblr!

The structures needed work, more connectivity. The genre, the characters and locations, the softness? All remain. But the structures needed work.

This will take time.

Not four years of time (length of shop closure to rebuild).

But they will come back.

I'm rambling. I'm a bit nervous over how all of this is operating. The nerves are not based in evidence -- the roll out has been smooth, the response bigger than expected. Just personality quirk, I suppose.

Back to sense-making.

I'm grateful you're here and that I am able to do all of this.

Phase One (where we are now) is to launch the shop and get the initial orders out the door. The presses are pressing ink to paper, first batch of orders goes out late next week. Continues onwards at a steady pace forever.

Phase Two (rest of the year) will be slowly adding more. Both to the shop for pay and the downloads "pay if you want."

Phase Three (next year, probably) is when I think we'll have stories again. It won't take that long to launch them -- launch will be part of Phase Two -- but I think it'll be next year until I'm at a steady pace.

I'm rambling again. I'll cut this to the end.

The primary availability of stories for Evil Supply Co. was free via social media posts.

I want to keep that availability. I don't trust social media to maintain its presence as it stands in the next several years (I'm looking at 3, 5, 10, 15 years forward).

The zero-cost-to-read prohibited basic structures such as "hm I like Strawberry, this mermaid, I wish to read more about her wacky antics." There simply wasn't funding to build out any of the million ways to do that.

Part of Phase Three is solving that, finding the balance. There are a million options, with strengths and drawbacks and costs. I'll have a better answer for it as the year progresses.

As I say, I am wary of social media (all platforms) direction -- they will continue to exist, I'll continue to use them to their fullest advantage, but they are growing increasingly hostile to independent creators. I don't work for Tumblr, Tumblr doesn't owe me continued access to audiences at the current pace.

Ultimately, I work for the moon and you come to the Post for the things you're interested in -- neither of us work for a social media platform -- and I'm keeping that tightly in mind to ensure I can continue to service your desires + build new things you'll love but didn't know existed yet.

Thank you for being here.

The something nice you hoped for came true in two ways.

Your note and an afternoon pulling together notes on how to independently publish myths and legends and stories and rambles about the Netherworld.

The scale of this equation is...

...significant.

Fortunately. So is my willingness to tackle it. :)

Cheers to you and thank you again for being here.

Long may we sip potions, in the moonlight, while sitting on our folded cloaks, listening to ghosts, telling stories of dryads and mermaids and witches and more, as the jack-o-lanterns surrounding us wile away the hours with their flickering tongues of flame and smoke.

[poursomesunaonme]

better ride

pairing: freeloader!toji x f!reader

summary: toji's (negligible) payday finally came, so he's treating you to a road trip!

wc: 1.1k

an: HELLOOOOO BEANIE'S BACK ! this crack shit is for the wet hot slimeball summer collab put on by @bastardblvd ! dreams rly do come true :') as always - likes, rbs, and comments always appreciated <3

cw: car(?) sex, major crack fic, voyeurism, exhibitionism (unintentional?), oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, please laugh at this i think im so funny

cameos from: landlord!sukuna, slutty mailman!geto, yuuji, nobara, megumi, tired cop!nanami, and mcdonald's worker!aki <3

“oi! are you ready yet?” 

toji’s call into the apartment you share (you pay for and he crashes in) doesn’t go unanswered.

“just a sec, babe!” you yell, applying the last of your lip gloss, checking your summer fit in the mirror.  it was hot, hotter than satan’s cleavage, so you decide to show some.  a skimpy cropped cami and revealing jean shorts - it wasn’t anything toji hadn’t seen before.

you grab your purse and shut the door behind you, seeing toji standing by the car.  it was his most prized possession that you both and the entirety of bastard boulevard called the flintstone mobile™.  a four door sedan (?) equipped with butterfly doors and a (saran wrap) sunroof - all entirely made out of cardboard he stole from the mcdonald’s whenever they got their supply shipments. 

“she’s purring and ready to go,” toji said proudly, patting the side and shaking the whole vehicle (she was in fact, not purring, as there was no engine).  

“and you,” he purred, looking you up and down.  “i might have to have a taste before we get going.”

you saunter over to him, planting your hands on his chest. “put on my cherry lipgloss that you like so much.”

he smirks, turning to lift the cardboard flap door for you.  “let’s get a little more comfortable, then.”

within about a millisecond of the two of you settling into the backseat, his tongue is shoved down your throat, his hands crammed into that skimpy cami to pull your tits out.  within about a millisecond, he’s pulling down his gray sweatpants so you can get his dick wet.  within about a millisecond, your lips are fastened fast around the salty gorgeous banana curved slightly to the right #ac907c 8.386in shaft, the cut mushroom tip (#735354; circ done homemade to sell it online) nosing the back of your throat, nose pressed against against the trimmed bush and tongue sliding along the spindling veins and over his #6a6057 fat breeder balls.  within about a millisecond of giving him the sloppiest toppiest gluck gluck cross eyed white knuckles tongue twister gut wrencher 9000, he’s folding you in half and bullying his 6in girth into your death trap of a cunt.

“god damn!” you hiss as he crams himself in, not stopping until the base kisses your clit.

“there you go, pretty.”  he grins, letting out a low groan as he spends a moment just relishing in your warmth.  “knew you could take it.  you always do.”

you pant, flustered and already sweating, already squeezing around his stupidly pleasurable length as he begins to move.  you throw your head back, nearly crashing through the cardboard side of the flintstone mobile™.  toji lets out a guttural groan, picking up speed as the sounds of his hips slapping into your ass fills the air.

it doesn’t take long for him to reach his peak.  the sight of your tits pulled out from your cami, bouncing with every thrust, your flushed and panting face begging for more, the warm gummy walls squeezing around him - it’s all too good.  the deepness of his thrusts and the fat thumb on your clit send the orgasm crashing down through your body in tandem with his. 

there’s something about the excitement of going on a road trip with him funded by his last few scams working perfectly on the dumbasses on the boulevard and the pre-trip sex that makes this peak even better than the last few.  you let out a high-pitched whine and thrash, unable to control your limbs.  at the potent feeling of your cunny convulsing around him, toji straightens as he shoots ropes of hot cum into you.

the inability to control your bodies sends toji’s head through the (saran wrap) sunroof, and you through the side of the flintstone mobile™.  this doesn’t stop either of you, however, as you’re determined to make the most out of the most euphoric feeling.  he continues to slam into you, and you continue to milk his cock, oblivious to the fact that you’re literally tearing the car apart.

the mailman tries to ignore this scene as he delivers the mail to the landlord just a few doors down.  he knocks on sukuna’s door, the latter of whom was watching through his fucked up blinds that barely hide his voyeuristic tendencies.  he goes to the door to meet suguru.

“and i thought i could deliver a package,” suguru mutters as sukuna signs off on his bunnygirl senpai merchandise in conveniently discreet packaging.  sukuna ignores him and immediately slams the door in his face.  other residents of the boulevard hear the ruckus and look, then promptly look away (most of them, at least).  nanami rides past in the patrol car, pinching the bridge of his nose and deliberately ignoring the scene.

you and toji struggle to catch your breath, not even processing the fact that the flintstone mobile™ literally collapsed and left you tangled on the concrete, still enveloped in each other’s bodies.  you close your eyes, the haze beginning to wear off.  when you open them, you realize.

“fuck!” you yell, scrambling out from underneath him, setting your tits back into your cami.  “toji, the car!”

“it’s okay, pretty.”  toji stands up, looking around.  “i’m a better ride anyway.”

you eye him curiously. “huh?”

he only grins, turning his back to you and crouching down.  “get on, baby.  nothing’s gonna stop this trip.”

“you’re the worst.”  you grin and oblige him, jumping on him to piggyback to whatever destination he has in mind.  it’s a hot summer day, but the wind in your hair dries the sweat as toji nearly gallops to the nearest mcdonald’s.  the message on the board reads “TOJI. NO.” but he ignores it and quite literally screeches to a halt in the drivethru.

“toji. i’m not doing this again.” aki’s voice drips with annoyance.  toji only grins, walking to see a car parked by the window waiting for their food.  he doesn’t say anything, and you know better than to question his methods.  after a few seconds, he takes off at a breakneck speed and you wrap your arms tightly around his neck to avoid getting thrown off his back.  in a flash, he steals the food that aki was handing to the car waiting, and you glance to see megumi, yuuji, and nobara staring open mouthed at the ridiculous scene.

“sorry son!” toji yells when he sees his kid driving the car.  “man’s gotta eat!”

you giggle and continue to hold on until toji finds a hidden spot for you to enjoy the kids’ food.  after you eat, he motions for you to get back on his back.  in a truly cinematic moment, you drive him off into the sunset on bastard boulevard, smiling at the promise of the roadtrip of a lifetime (it’s to the ihop three streets over).

© all work belongs to poursomesunaonme. do not copy and repost.