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onyourowndaisymae · 1 year

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when mammon falls in love

content + warnings: mammon x gn!reader, fluffy, just mammon getting rescued from hanging in the stairwell and realizing he's smitten // [masterlist]

word count: ~1.5k

mammon really fucked up this time. most times, he fucks up pretty bad. his greedy fingers snatch and take without discretion and his brain allows it, entranced by the allure of his favorite reward: grimm. he should know better by now than to let his greed get the best of him within the demon lord's castle, but it's just so tempting--

he tried to wander off with priceless treasure. barbatos caught him. lucifer was punishing him. tale as old as time.

hours had passed. his body hung from the ceiling of the stairwell, each miniscule movement making him sway slightly in the air. all the blood had long since gathered in his head, making his brain soggy and useless. his thoughts blurred together into a pile of mush. he wasn't having fun. his head hurt. his arms were tired. lucifer is a bastard. he misses you. if he could muster up the brainpower to count, he'd start counting the stairs on each flight to cure the boredom that came with hours of hanging still. he'd given up on calling for help long ago-- that only seemed to piss lucifer off more, and sometimes encouraged a brother or two that was really fed up with his antics to come spin him and laugh.

the house of lamentation grew bitingly cold at night. his jacket kept him warm enough, but the way his shirt rode up left him shivering in the overwhelming darkness. he could hear the drip of the kitchen's leaky faucet, and... what was that?

shuffling. slow and quiet, like someone who didn't want to be seen. the faintest of lights reached his eyes, like something was around the corner.

"mammon?"

his world is engulfed in a bright light, and mammon flinches away from it. you curse, and that's when he realizes you just shined a flashlight through the darkness and accidentally blinded him. he hears hissed apologies and shuffling as he blinks rapidly, trying to regain his bearings.

"what are ya doin' here?"

"i couldn't sleep thinking about you hanging out here all night," you explain, carefully leaning over the railing to reach for him. he gladly takes your hand and lets you lead his to a solid edge. he grasps at it tightly and tries to restart his body after hours of swinging dormant and bloodless. "so i came to get you. you can sleep in my room for the night."

once he's got a secure hold on the ledge, you begin to tug and pull at the ropes binding him. they're tight, but you persist. when he's finally free enough to save himself, he hears your footsteps scurry up to the next flight and mess with the rope up there.

riiiip!

the rope collapses with a loud groan, and suddenly the pressure on mammon's body loosens. he yanks his body towards the ledge, quickly, before gravity makes him splatter at the bottom of the stairwell. his body flings limply over the railing and he collapses on the smooth floor in a heap. your footsteps, muffled by your socks yet still urgent-- not that mammon would ever admit to memorizing the sound of your footsteps-- get closer and closer until you're by his side. your voice is a gentle coo as you help untangle him from the slack ropes clinging to his torso.

"lucifer told me not to come get you but... you always look so miserable up there."

he slurrs out something akin to a thank you, but you don't let him speak much. his chest is warm as he fumbles to stand. you're an angel. his beautiful, loving savior. his heart thumps in his chest, in part to get his blood flowing again but definitely also because your arms are now wrapped around him, gentle and steady as you help him to his feet.

"shhh, it's okay. c'mon, don't push yourself too hard. you look like shit."

you assist him to your room. he feels like an idiot stumbling down the steps and across the house, but with you he doesn't mind as much. his brain slowly returns to him as his body gets moving. you're in a big sweatshirt and comfy sleep shorts-- fuck, you look pretty cute like that. he can't seem to keep his eyes to himself as you walk him across the house, but you're too concerned with making sure you both get to your room unnoticed to care.

you nudge the door closed with your heel and coax him up onto your bed. even though he can stand just fine now, you don't seem to trust him to remain upright all by himself. when he spreads out on the bed, you begin lecturing him-- firmly, so he knows you're disappointed, but your heart's not behind it. your eyes are soft and forgiving as you look at him.

"-- just," his thoughts finally clear, and he tunes back in to the lecture, "stop... doing stupid shit, okay? i hate seeing you get in trouble like that."

he nods dumbly, but you don't seem convinced.

"i mean it. watching you hang there makes me anxious-- i know you're not gonna fall or anything but i still can't help but worry about you. it makes me sick, mammon. just... come to me before doing something stupid, okay? and i'll talk you out of it."

"okay." his mouth feels like cotton as it forms around the word. he'd agree to whatever you said as long as you keep looking at him like that. this kindness is not out of character for you, but it makes him hot and bothered under the collar.

how long have these feelings been festering inside of him?

before he can even process what you're doing, you pull him into a tight hug. your body is warm against his, situated nicely between his legs as he sits on the edge of your bed. he wraps his arms around you on instinct. he nuzzles his neck into your shoulder and breathes your scent in. you're so you. so unapologetically human, so flawed, yet so wonderful all the same. his arms tighten around you.

he's never had as much fun as he's had when you're in the devildom. whether it be at home in his room or lost in the lights of poker tables and slot machines, as long as you're there, he's feeling unstoppable. he likes passing you notes at RAD and watching your lips curl into that sneaky smile. he hates sharing you with his brothers-- they don't understand you like he does. you have an unshakeable bond, formed by that first pact inked in your skin. you're his human, his best friend, his-

that's the moment that it hits him.

mammon is completely, utterly in love with you.

his face burns at the realization, and he nearly pushes you away when he straightens up suddenly. you blink up at his hurried movement, startled, and ask him what's wrong.

what's wrong? what's wrong? dammit, he's in love with you! his hands tremble as he nervously pulls at his jacket. he hears himself mutter some lame excuse about being tired and shaky after a long night of hanging upside down.

you climb onto your bed and coax him to lay next to you with a soft smile. his limbs feel heavy but his head is swimming through cotton. love. love. he loves you. he loves you when you curl up under the covers and when you lift them up to invite him to join. he loves you when you nuzzle into the sheets and when you lay your head down and when you scooch a little closer so he can feel your heat and--

relax. breathe. mammon's thoughts are racing as fast as his heart and he needs to take a moment before his head explodes all over your bed.

you cuddle closer and he takes a moment to wrap his arms around you. there's a content sigh that leaves your lips. he's smitten.

you, who he babysat in your early days at RAD. you, who tricked him into a pact. you, who defends him from his brothers even when he's wrong, clearly wrong. you, who came to rescue him even though you know it'll probably put you on the receiving end of a lecture.

your breathing steadies out and he can tell you're on your way to sleep. just like that, huh? mammon is having one of the biggest realizations of his life, and there you are, falling asleep. you must feel really safe in his arms to do something like that. his lips find the top of your head and he presses a soft kiss against your hair.

morning will come in a few hours. soon lucifer will notice that mammon's spot is empty, and he'll come searching for him to instill a new punishment. soon the day will begin again and he'll have to give you up, let you out of his arms where the devildom is harsh and unforgiving.

but tonight, you're both here. still, quiet, drifting into unconsciousness while intertwined. tonight, mammon is all alone with the human he's fallen completely, desperately, unequivocally in love with.

taglist for this series: empty

#i like starting w mammon bc you bitches go crazy over him #(said with so much affection)#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me mammon #obey me x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me fluff #otome

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sanhaswife · 2 years

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Bakugo Angst part 2:

Katsuki’s reaction to you leaving<3

He found the note.

The second he stepped up to the door he had a feeling of dread build up inside of him. Unlocking the door he hesitantly stepped through only to freeze. The photos and decorations that used to line the walls by the entrance were gone. The pile of shoes that he always complained about whenever they blocked the door were gone. From the doorway he could see through the open door to your room where everything was bare, where everything was gone.

Panic. In that moment all he felt was panic. It had only been three days since last saw you, three days since he’s routine bickering and fighting, and three days since once again he found himself leaving you for another time. What did he say this time? What pushed it too far? Did he say something wrong? What could be have possibl-

Then he saw it. The note on the kitchen counter.

He practically ran to it, stumbling over himself to grab the tiniest piece of paper. With shaky hands he unfolded the note, hoping that it would give him a clue to a location or a hint on your well being-

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺.

It was as if he was frozen in time, his eyes reading the same three words over and over in disbelief. A boy? Was it true? The pain was hot, it was blinding and it crushed his heart that in a moment of shame and rage he spit out the most hurtful thing he thought of in the moment and left.

You would be a great mother, the greatest. He never thought that he would ever be a dad but regardless you would’ve been a great mother. You are a great one. And of course he thought about it before- having kids with you, and in his mind he had the perfect family.

He collapsed to his knees clutching the paper to his chest, his brows furrowed in pain at the image of his chance of a family, his chance of being with you again gone. With a heaving chest he sat up against the counter and pulled out his phone, desperate to hear your voice again except it went straight to voicemail.

“Please y/n i’m-“ He felt like he was choking.

“I’m sorry. Shit y/n I didn’t mean it! I was being stupid, you know I never mean anything I say so 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 answer me.” He knew it was useless, to beg after leaving again. But he couldn’t help but worry, because you were always waiting for him; because he would always come back to find you safe and sound in the same apartment after every fight.

Sniffling into the phone he forced out a slow sigh and sat in silence for a bit before letting out a sad laugh.

“I’m a dad…”

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bakugo #bnha angst #mha angst #bakugo katuski #bakugo angst #bakugou x you #katsuki x you #angst #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #mha bakugo

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 7 months

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#392

“Well Lucas, I had pretty much given up on you. But here you are. And for some reason, you are in my home wearing clothing. This is not the way to beg me to allow you to service and serve me once again…. That’s better. You will need to be disciplined for that. Remind me before you leave to punish you properly….

“I see the envelope. Hand it to me.

“What the fuck are you doing. Get back there and crawl to me. It may have been only a few months since I dismissed you, I can’t believe you are forgetting the basics. Don’t make me regret offering you a second chance.

“Atta boy. I was surprised when I got the call from Dyson at his leather shop telling me that you were in and wanted to be fitted for that cock cage. Get back on your knees and present your pecker to me…. Eyes down.

“Dyson did a good job. Most cages aren’t fit well. Faggots can easily pull their shaft out and give it a tug. This one is nearly impossible. And after I pierce that dickhead of yours, the cage will work even better with the lock, as the jewelry secures you inside. Your useless pecker won’t be coming outside to play for a long, a very long time.

“This envelope doesn’t look tampered with. That’s good. It contains a pair of keys, each in its own smaller envelope. On the back, Dyson signed his name across the seal…. Here you go. Add this envelope to your pile of clothes. That’s his way of telling me the key is secure.

“That envelope, or one that I markup, is to be always with you. If there is an emergency, a real emergency, you may open it up and remove the cage. If that should happen, I am to be notified immediately. If you can contact me prior, do so. You got that?

“Good boy. Come with me down to the work and playroom. You may walk.

“…This is my key here. Come over to my worktable. See all the keys I have? There’s 18 here. Yours will be number 19. Each are screwed down. That’s why I have this drill here.

“…There. Yours is now just like the other slaves’ keys. None of them are marked. And if you notice, none have been unscrewed. The reason for that is that all screws are stripped so they can’t be easily removed.

“I said there are 19. Sixteen of them are the keys to slaves that have walked away from serving me. That option is always available to you. Number 8 is on the other side of the country. You’ll meet number 15 next weekend.

“Now that’s done. It’s blumpkin time. Come with me into the shitter…. And don’t worry, I’m not going to shit in your mouth.

“Help me take my pants off…. You better be ready to do this. You back out now, you better just go away,… permanently.

“…Kneel there…. Here, get that mouth over here. I see you are weary. To take your mind away from the idea of blowing me while I take a dump, let me give you something you can focus on. I need to piss real bad.

“Get your mouth on it. Man, you have a very talented tongue. Now hold still. There! That feels so good. Going forward, I want to have all my piss go through you first.

“You’ve been drinking me on every visit. It only makes sense.

“You hear that? You smell that? You get to smell my rank farts before I do. Heh heh.

“I can tell you are squirming on the inside. I know you are repulsed with the idea. Good. You knew this moment was going to be happening from day one.

“I’m done pissing. Go ahead and suck. …To the root. You know how I like to be blown. Do it.

“When I first brought you home from the bar, I fucked you the entire weekend. Your answer to two questions led us to today. I asked you what your favorite part of your time here was, and you said that you liked the non-stop fucking of your ass with my gigantic dick.

“Every time you came by afterwards, I could tell you wanted me to fuck you long and hard. I purposely haven’t. I told you that I don’t fuck after the first time, unless you agree to give me something in return.

“It’s all about balance. You want something from me, you have to offer a sacrifice. I told you I demand a form of monogamy from you. That would be monogamy of your dick or monogamy of your cunt. You could have any man I allow have access to your dick, even yourself, and that your cunt would only be used by me. A lockable butt plug would be installed. Or, you could have your cunt available to any man I allow, and your pecker would be unavailable and locked up to all, again even yourself.

“Seeing you in that cage tells me that you made up your mind. Going forward, you’ll service men who will give you their loads. Next weekend you and I will be going on a fishing trip with slave number 15, where both of you will serve and service me and a few of my buds.

“The second question I asked you that night, was what your limits were. You remember what the only thing you listed?...

“No. No. Keep up with the blowjob. Don’t start easing up. Give it the attention I deserve. Yes, there you go.

“You only gave one limit. It wasn’t animals or kids or women or even something really gross like dead people. Those would be an immediate no for me too. No, you just said ‘poop’.

“No, I’m not going to make you eat out of the toilet bowl, so you can relax. In fact, let me flush that down.

“Sit back. Keep your eyes down. I need to finish up here…. Oh fuck. I’m out of toilet paper. I forgot to get some when I was out. Damn.

“Come with me back into the playroom…. I said, ‘Come with me.’ Lay on the fuck table. I need to plow that hole.

“Well, that got you smiling. Yeah, I just hate to see an erection go to waste. Especially considering the amount of throat slime you put on it.

“Reach up and hold your legs…. There’s the cunt. And here’s a little gob of my spit.

“Right to the root! Goddamn! Like I told you on that first weekend, your cunt was made to be fucked. It takes the long dicking of my eight inches with just enough struggle. That look of ecstasy on your face tells me you are enjoying this….

“I should be pissed off. But I’m not. A bitch like you should have some moments of heavenly pleasures. These moments come from my dick taking care of your hole. You can expect my dick in your ass two or three times a day. Yeah, I can go multiple times. You get this intense pleasure. But it can stop at any time. All I have to do is… pull out.

“Damn! After six or seven thrusts, there’s just the beginnings of a gape. It’s hungry for more! It needs to be fucked. Doesn’t it boy?... Don’t worry, my dick will take care of your ass.

“That’s what it will be doing day in and day out. But that requires balance. It can’t be all me taking care of the needs of your ass. It has to be balanced with you taking care of the needs of mine.

“Bring your legs down. Get off the bench and get under the rim seat. You have some work to do.

“Don’t fucking say a word. You do NOT want to disobey me on this.

“I see the heavenly bliss on your face went to terrifying fear in only a few seconds…. Good.

“No, lay behind me on that four-inch riser. I don’t want your torso between my legs. And I don’t have to worry about you beating off, not that I expect you to be remotely hard doing this.

“Your head goes between those two padded pieces of wood. That’s to keep your head from moving side to side. That four-inch platform is designed to elevate the seat so that it fits my legs. This will allow me to sit on your face for a good long time. The other thing about this platform are the two holes on both sides of your neck. That’s where this neck lock gets secured… like that.

“You cannot pull out. I don’t expect that to be an issue now, but later once we get to the end of your full toilet training, that’s a different situation.

“Get that tongue ready. Stick it out. I better feel it go to work…. Now bitch! Lick!

“Remember, you are the one who decided this on our first time together. You said this was your limit. It’s all about balance. You take care of my ass, and I’ll take care of yours.

“You can knock off the gagging. You are going to be down there for a while. Reach around and stroke my cock. Feel how rock hard I am. Think about the fucking you are going to get once I am cleaned up. Oh yeah. After we are done here, I am so going to destroy that ass, just like I did that first time. It’s all about balance. You are gagging from disgust, and I am rock hard aroused.

“…You know, I thought you were going to say something different about what your favorite part of the weekend. I thought it was waking up next to me both mornings, with you in my arms and my cock either in your cunt or snuggled up next to it.

“Did you like that? Flick your tongue twice across my asshole for yes or once for no…. Thought so. I enjoyed that too.

“After you clean my ass, we’ll go up to my bedroom and I’ll fuck you there, just like that first weekend. And afterwards we’ll just stay in bed for the rest of the night. Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. Normally slaves should be locked up, and I use that cage over there for those slaves. But you are going to get your first night in my bed to wake up in my arms.

“You can look forward to that too. But we need to balance out the tender caresses you will receive from me…. Keep licking…. It’s decided then. Tenderness from your loving daddy will be balanced against the cruel beatings from your sadistic master. And I have just the belt to do that with. Yeah, we’ll get you welted up and bleeding before I fuck you again. “Mmmm, I like that idea. A lot. Let go of my cock. I don’t want to cum too early.”

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breedtheseed · 12 days

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Hear me out

Big useless dick Adam, like it's so big and thick and any size queen would want it. However Adam secretly doesn't want it but he has to keep up appearances because who would want to top you when you have such an amazing dick to ride.

Adam sat in the meeting room tapping on the table and shaking his leg, he was supposed to meet with Lucifer but the guy was late. It was particularly annoying considering Adam had a particular date with his hands that evening. He had the idea to sneak into hell and buy a few toys which he had done successfully, only objective now was to finish the meeting and go home.

When the doors finally opened Adam was surprised to see Lucifer looking like he just ran there in the hell heat. His face was red his suit was partly opened and his eyes were sharp, it made Adam want to whimper.

Appearances

Adam laughed and pointed at the short devil: You look like shit!! Did you seriously just run here like that!!

Lucifer didn't answer as he pulled a chair, it scrapped against the floor with an angry screech. The sound made Adam wince and looking back at Lucifer the guy really looked like shit, his hair barely managing to stay out of his face along with his outfit looking out of place.

Lucifer sat down and snapped his fingers, a pile of documents appeared: I'm in rut, you remember that stupid hell curse you came up with.

Lucifer growled and Adam had to squint to remember. When Lucifer and Lilith got banished Adam had the brilliant idea to curse the damned with heats and ruts, but it was random and no one knew what they'd get. Adam had originally thought of it as a joke that the sinners would basically become animals during that time.

Adams smile widened: aww is someone in heat and wants a fat knot inside him *he said with a high voice, mocking the devil's pain*

The attempt did work but not in the way Adam was hoping or maybe it was? Adam only knew that he was pinned against his chair, the devil had grown a few feet to the point of towering him. The white and red wings spread all around him while his horns framed a singular flame that raged, Adam gulped feeling hot all over.

Lucifers voice rumbled and rattled as he spoke: shut your fucking mouth bitch, or you're going to be the one I'm fucking knotting

Lucifers eyes widened when Adams voice cracked and a whine escaped him, his eyes traced the angel until his gaze landed on a very hard very obvious boner. A dark mischievous look appeared on the devil's face before his finger traced the growing wet spot.

Lucifer purred: maybe that's what you want hmm, me knotting you like a bitch in heat.

Adam gasped which Lucifer did not miss as he grabbed Adams hulking size and began pumping it, the angel was weak in seconds his hands going to his holographic face trying to hide the expressions as pleasure coursed through him. Adam was hot he needed to take off the mask, but if the fallen angel saw he'd most likely laugh at the brunettes state.

Adam whined: Don't stop

Lucifer only leaned closer till he was under Adams arms and kissing at the angels neck: take off your mask I want to see your face when my knot knocks you up.

Adam practically came at the words, his hips spasmed and he moaned high like he'd never cum before. It was definitely the situation that really had Adam going, especially when he'd never bottomed before but fantasized about this.

Lucifer kissed Adams neck as he pulled off the angels mask, the cool air making Adam gasp. Lucifer nibbled at his ear and licked up his jaw till sharp teeth teased at his chin hair.

Lucifer pulled back and looked down at the man, his smile wide and eyes red as his demonic tone dripped into his words: now we're getting somewhere, why don't you bend over this table for daddy

Going into this meeting Adam wasn't actually planning to get fucked till he actually thought he'd get pregnant, or how him and Lucifer would set something up. It just wasn't something the first man ever thought would happen and yet that's exactly what happened. His big useless dick being teased every time him and Lucifer would fuck and Adam loved it.

(don't mind the bad grammar it was just a random idea, I do love Adam with either a big useless cock or a tiny useless cock. They are great and yummy)

#potato writes #adamsapple

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daechwitatamic · 4 months

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Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless.

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea.

is it bad??

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words.

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right.

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes.

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor.

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill.

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness.

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes.

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game.

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly.

“Not you, too,” you groused.

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased.

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in.

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there.

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches.

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas.

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence.

Still nothing.

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night.

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good.

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems.

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot.

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after??

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink.

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try?

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment.

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly.

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought.

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best.

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill.

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering.

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification.

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again.

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips.

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for?

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

<- Prev | Next ->

thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

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thatfreshi · 1 year

Text

Not if You Collect Them Like Ex-lovers (Astarion x Reader)

Tw - couple arguing

Recommended Song: This Is Me Trying - Taylor Swift

Whenever you and Astarion fight, it gets ugly. Two extremely emotional people, two people who still aren't used to letting their guard down all the time, people with faults.

"I don't understand why it bothers you."

Usually, it starts with a misunderstanding, an attempt at love, a hand reaching out to simply ask a question.

"Because Astarion, it's my house too!"

Full names, no more sweets and doves. Throwing words around like rocks, glass bottles breaking on countertops, shards, shattering.

"Yes, our house, I thought that's what you wanted? Or was I mistaken when you pleaded with me, saying you wanted this forever."

Questions lose answers, no longer searching for love, just words to defend yourself with. When the friend becomes the enemy and your throat closes up with grief, what do you do other than fight back?

"I wanted a house that at least had some semblance of looking like a house, not just your shit everywhere!"

Wounds that run deep, that need to hold onto every little thing he finds, your home decorated with the most meaningless items, things that mean everything to him. To you they're knick-knacks, some of them even garbage, and that hoarder's mentality drives you mad. The argument was so incredibly stupid, easily solved, but it's impossible to be peaceful when you never get time apart.

"Well, why don't I just take my things and leave then?"

And there he goes, escalating when he feels cornered.

"Oh right, and go where Astarion? Go burn to a crisp in the sunlight, or maybe hide in an alleyway somewhere? I'm sure that'll be so much better than living with me!"

Poking the bear, as you do when you're stressed. You know he hates the fact that he's lost the sunlight, cursed to be in a wooden box with blackout curtains.

"I'm sure you'd love that, if I just disappeared right?"

Deflecting, but also wrapping himself in insecurity. It's a test, a trick question, a puzzle.

"At least I'd have some room in this fucking house to do anything without tripping over all your useless 'treasures.'"

From trying to understand to going on the prowl for hatred, you've reached a point of no return.

"Why do you even care Tav, I just like having things! Is that so much to ask? Are they not allowed to mean something to me?"

"Not if you collect them like ex-lovers!"

Astarion opens his mouth to say something else, but trembles. Now you've done it, gone too far. He scoffs, tears leaving his eyes.

"Well then perhaps I should have another."

It's late, the stars dotting the sky like scars from teeth, allowing the vampire to storm out of the house, slamming the door. You begin to cry as well, knowing you shouldn't have said that, knowing you didn't really mean it. You're just frustrated, the stuff scattered everywhere is overwhelming, and you just don't get why it matters.

When Astarion leaves, he knows he only has a couple of hours to cool off, to think things through. It's infuriating at times, being so chained to one place, after getting to explore the world for months on end. He wasn't allowed to have things with Cazador, not anything that was his own. After the nautiloid crash, he started grabbing everything he could get his hands on. Jewelry, pretty fabrics, anything that could possibly mean anything. Now he's stuck in one place again, but a place where he can finally store all those little finds, a nice-feeling rock, a bottle that reminds him of a night stroll the two of you took. It's a comfort in a scary transition, to be allowed to keep something, anything.

While you're thinking of where he's gone, you look around at all the things Astarion has piled up on the coffee table. A couple rolls of thread from the market, ones he hasn't even started to use, a stack of books he'll probably take forever to finally read. You go through these items forever, trying to organize all the little things he's left around the place, filling drawers with memories you didn't realize were important. After clearing out most of the things in the living room, you find a small, poorly crafted ring. It's heavily scratched, but has an inscription on the inside. Your mind floods with the magical feeling of the grove, and Astarion pocketing this ring after showing the young tiefling child a magic trick. Back then, his intentions were just to show the child that your things can get snatched up so easily, but he slowly began to believe it was lucky, just as the kid said. You meditate on the thought, realizing these items, they're all either moments or possibilities. The front door opens.

Somber steps, the sound of his dagger being placed on the nearby table. You turn around and walk towards him, wrapping your arms around each other.

"I'm sorry."

You manage to choke out.

"It's alright darling, I'm being ridiculous."

You shake your head, breaking the embrace.

"No, no you're not. I was going through all of this, all of this stuff, and you're right. It all means something."

"Stupid meanings though. It's all fear Tav, fear I'm going to forget, fear I'm going to lose everything I have."

"That's okay, it's okay to be scared."

You show him the tiefling's ring.

"But we don't have to be scared anymore. We have luck on our side, right?"

He laughs, fiddling with the silly scratched-up band.

"You remember this?"

You nod.

"Of course I remember. I still don't know how you did that trick."

"A magician never tells."

You both laugh, still crying

"Gods, I thought you were so annoying."

"Well apparently I still am if you had to take that heavy of a jab at my past."

You frown.

"I-"

"I know you didn't mean it love, but we can't just say things we don't mean to get a rise out of each other."

He's become better at being the voice of reason, growing, changing.

"It's just so overwhelming sometimes. I know you're new at this whole, living a domestic life thing, but I just want to have a say in our space. That's all."

"I know, I hear you and I respect that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made our space my space."

"I'm fine with all your keepsakes, but can we just organize them? Have a space for all your little treasures and such?"

"We do still have that extra room upstairs."

You push him.

"That's supposed to be another guest room!"

"Do we really need that many guest rooms?"

The two of you giggle to yourselves.

"You know if we can't host all our friends at once, they will throw a fit."

"Well, I'll find some way to give you some more space. I never wanted to make you feel suffocated."

You look into each other's eyes for a moment, seeing that spark again, finding that love bubble back up. Saying things you don't mean, meaning things you don't say, it's all so new to both of you.

"I know my love, I know."

You hold each other by the doorway for a while, mumbling about how to make this space work for the both of you, how when you start raising your voices, you need to just step away and rethink it. Learning to love, to truly love, to exist as one, it's such a struggle, but a worthwhile cause. After all, there's no one else you'd rather fight with.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #angst #comfort

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nayatarot777 · 1 year

Text

what do they adore about you? • love pac

a love pac? from me? shocker, i know. but i’m in the mood to tap into some cute and lighthearted energy so…here it is 😂

there is an extended 18+ reading for this pac on my patreon where we look at what this person adores about you sexually in particular. go check it out if you’re interested!

if you’re interested in a personal reading, then please read the info here

• pile one • 🏔️

this person adores how who they’ve grown to know you as is completely different to who they met you as. this could be due to you experiencing some ego deaths while knowing this person, or this is just about this person being granted permission by you to peel back the curtain to see what was behind the persona that you originally portrayed. and they’re in deep adoration of what they see fr. they love how you’re such a good match for them and how you can meet them halfway. i’m feeling like this person knows that they’re a handful at times and not the easiest person for most people to deal with, however you seem to know exactly what to do to help stabilise them and still make them feel like an equal. there’s a dedication that you have to genuinely participating in team work with them and your commitment to them, and you’re so generous with your nurture and your emotional care too. you may have known this person since childhood or you make them feel the same way that they did when they were a kid - safe and loved and cared for. highly nurtured. they adore your physical beauty. you could be natural most days - no/minimal makeup, simple outfits - but yet your beauty is still so obvious and bright to them. you don’t need any enhancements of any sort, in this person’s eyes. they adore your self esteem and how you know how to give love and compassion to yourself, therefore it’s not a difficult task for you to give that to them as well as others, either. they adore your self-care rituals - whatever that may be. i’m seeing someone watch you do your skincare routine and just stare 😂. i’m seeing something specific about them getting home from a long day of work and you ensuring that they have a comfortable, structured space to relax in with a nice meal to eat that they can tell has been made with a lot of love by you. that’s another thing. if you cook for them, they LOVE your food. this person could be on some old person vibes lmao. “grandad vibes” i’m hearing, and they love how you match that. if you’ve built a stable home together, they love how you know how to keep it orderly and structured. again, i’m feeling like this person would be a little lost in relation to that 😂. especially if you have kids. not to say that they’re useless, but there’s definitely more of a calm energy to you when dealing with these duties and responsibilities, whereas they may feel like they don’t hold that same energy as much - they might be a bit more high-strung and frazzled usually. all in all, you’re extremely healing for this person. especially with how you celebrate any accomplishment that they achieve - whether they think that it’s big or small. you could be the type to constantly want to celebrate in some way - maybe even throw parties - and they admire how you see anything and everything in life to celebrate and value.

extended 18+ reading here

• pile two • 🍰

you could’ve been drawn to pile one, too, since 2 out of 4 of the same cards came out for the both of you. this person adores how you’re really on your boss shit. you could be someone who owns your own business (a business woman in particular), or you’re just very high in your work position. either way, you do the damn thing and they see it. they love that you’re able to be completely stable on your own, not having to rely on anyone if you don’t want to. you have a lot of knowledge about your work, finances, and just the way that the world works. knowledge that could even be seen as something to not speak about by the majority of people. knowledge about the government? especially if you speak to this person about politics - they LOVE that shit. even if they don’t understand it themselves lmao. they adore how you carry yourself in such a strong and powerful - yet divinely feminine way. you show everyone that there’s strength in femininity. you could also fit into the typical definition of a “classy” person. whether it’s the way that you dress, your mannerisms, the way that you speak, etc. this person can see that you’re highly educated - even if not academically, you have so much self-education in that head of yours - and they can tell that you’ve really put in the time and energy to graft in either your work/career as well as your self-development. how much you value yourself. just like in pile one, your self esteem is adored by this person. nobody can tell you shit about yourself. you’ve done too much introspection to let someone else tell you who you are or who you need to be. they know that you’re constantly seeking for answers within. they love your introspection and how you question yourself and your behaviours. perhaps even as a way of finding your own worth - not coming from a place of a lack of worth - but more so “am i living up to my full capabilities?”. i’m hearing that you could remind this person of their mother in particular? maybe their mother had this demeanour too, and you naturally match that same energy extremely well. they have so much respect for you because you have so much respect for yourself. they also adore how, although you’re extremely abundant, you’re still very down-to-earth. you don’t let your money or materialism get to your head at all. you keep yourself connected to what you believe truly matters - which is your internal state. they also adore how you don’t speak that much. you’re not someone who just runs your mouth and talks about your business to just anyone. you’re extremely self-protective and make decisions based on what you intuitively know is right for you. you’re not a follower and you’re not easily swayed by what people tell you - you’re a free thinker. you’re deeply in tune with yourself and they adore you for everything that comes along with that.

extended 18+ reading here

• pile three • 🏖️

i literally just heard “a baddie with anxiety”. PERIOD 🗣️😂. this person adores how you still view life in the best way possible with the best confidence that you can possibly muster up when you’re met with adversity. a lot of you in this pile struggle with pretty severe mental health issues, but they see you dealing with this extremely well. they also love how you’ve managed to release any fears and anxieties that have stemmed from the judgements of others - especially from your family. you did this for the sake of your own happiness and honouring your own joy - and most of all, honouring your inner child. you have a very healthy sense of self despite being someone who has gone through certain types of treatment from others that would usually result in the opposite. you’re the embodiment of strength to this person. i’m seeing fire signs heavily throughout this reading - Leo and Sagittarius in particular, but definitely Aries too. i’m hearing that you’re able to “re-parent” yourself. where your parents perhaps didn’t “match up” (for lack of a better term) to what they were supposed to be, you decided to be your own damn parent and implement the teachings and the wisdom that you needed to, towards yourself. you’re also a pretty big “larger than life” personality to this person. i’m hearing “goofy ass” for a lot of you 😂, meaning that you’re always laughing and joking and not taking life all that seriously. they adore the connection that you have to your inner child and how you can see life as one big playground, almost, despite everything that you may mentally struggle with. these psychological struggles could get worse at night, but they admire how you know how to re-group and acknowledge the following new day as a new opportunity to make the most out of your experiences in life - big or small. they love your acceptance and readiness to just experience life. it’s like you have fears about insignificant things when you get into a tough headspace, but the shit that you should probably be worrying about (in terms of important life things) are the things that you don’t take too seriously. and it’s like this is your good luck charm for yourself. to just keep things lighthearted and fun. they also love how you’re awakened. to what you feel like your purpose is, or what your life is supposed to be all about. you could also be extremely aware of how other people live their lives in other cultures to learn from them and take from their teachings to implement them into your own life - that sagittarius energy is coming through. they could love your culture and how you stick to your cultural roots too - especially if this person is a different race, ethnicity or culture to you themselves. you take pride in yourself when you know that you’ve done a good job with something. they adore your confidence in yourself and where you’re directing yourself in life. period ☺️. i love your energy, pile three. you seem like a fun but knowledgeable person to be around who sees the bigger picture to your existence and i have to respect it and admire it myself 😂.

extended 18+ reading here

#pick a card #pac #pick a photo #pac reading #tarot #pick a picture

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darkcrowprincess · 2 months

Text

Mike has a breakdown/ Mike goes off:

The last time Mike had a breakdown. He was 12, and the world was ending. The second time was no different. But everytime it happens, Mike is still surprised when the anger/sadness/powerlessness explodes out of him. It all comes spilling out in the worse way, like a shaken can of coke a cola exploding when you flip open the top. Lets set the scene. A empty office in the radio tower station, as Lucas and Mike wait for Will and Dustin. Mike and Lucas being the only two in the room. Mike has been on edge all day. Lucas is getting a little tired of it honestly. He knows you shouldn't go poking the angry bear known as Mike. But well, they have been avioding the obvious long enough.

"Its almost like you're afraid or something," Lucas says nonchalantly. Mostly to himself. But really to get a reaction out of the skinny, tall, brooding idiot he calls a best friend.

"What?" Mike asks confused. He turns to Lucas. Done with his staring match with the wall. Brings the seat he was leaning on it's back legs fully onto all fours again.

"You heard me, your scared of being with Will. Your terrified to love him. Or terrified to at least tell him." Lucas states matter of fact. No bullshit in his face or in his tone.

Seeing that he's serious, Micheal Wheeler's face goes through so many emotions in the span of seconds. Confused, realization, fear, acceptance, and then finally anger. Actually no anger isn't the right word.

Mike was in two words; pissed off.

"Fuck you. You know what Lucas fuck you.

Lucas doesn't get mad, "Well are you?"

"Im not talking about this!" Mike angrily whispers. Its the whispering that gets you. You can tell thats Mike's pissed because he hadn't started yelling yet. He's trying to hold it in.

"But are you? Are you scared? It will make you feel better if you talk about it Mike," Lucas declares with and honest, yet haunted look in his face. Unspoken between is whats obviously haunting Lucas.

Mike wants to cross that line and bring Max up to piss Lucas off. Get him to hate him and back off with this line of questioning.

But Mike thinks, he doesn't want to. Partly because he's just so sick of hurting his friends. But mostly because Mike is just tired. Tired of keeping it all in. So he pops open the soda.

Mike's pale face becomes red quickly in anger, "Of course I'm fucking scared! Im scared of losing him again!!

Mike yells this out into the room. Its loud and people could probably hear him.

Lucas though, oddly is in favor of the anger. For Mike to be honest, even if he is angry. Lucas feels like his best friend needs it. Seemingly wiser than his age suggests, "Mike your not going to lose him. You haven't lost Will. Will is still here."

"Yeah but for how long Lucas! How long huh? I couldn't handle losing him for a week when I was 12! 12 Lucas! He got lost from my house that day! My house! He was suppose to be safe! And he wasn't! I couldn't do anything! I was helpless! Then the next year with losing El, he was being possessed and hurt by that thing! He was hurt and everyone around us was dying! The best thing I could come up with was to burn up a hole in the ground! That was the best I could come up with to help him! I'm always useless! Every year its some new fucking disaster nightmare that could kill us all, but losing him in this mess is what terrifies me most. And your asking me to listen to my heart and get into a relationship with him. Tell him I love him and act like everything will turn out hunky dory, we'll be skipping off into the sunset, Will and I?! Are you out of your fucking mind Lucas!"

Mike is full on yelling now, and he seems to just be getting started.

Mike throws his hands in the air and starts pacing. Back in fourth like he needs to move.

"The whole town is this close to going crazy psycho mob on us, the upside down is leaking into our world. Plus you know homophobia is still a fucking thing in the 80s. And the cherry on top of all the piles of shit we are dealing with, Vecna wants Will.

Mike starts laughing in a cruel hysterical vocie, pulling his hair tight in his fists, still pacing. "Which is just another can of worms. That creep does not only want to kill my family personally, but he's making the moves on Will. Like no the universe can not let William Byers have a fucking break in this life! Lets add a homicidal pervert to the equation!"

"Mike calm done it will be ok." Lucas says, getting up and going to Mike.

That is the wrong thing to say.

"DONT TELL ME TO CALM DOWN LUCAS SINCLAIR! NONE OF THIS WILL BE FUCKING OK!!" Mike grabs something on the desk in anger. A paperweight. Turning to the window(behind him, no where near Lucas' vicinity) Mike throws the paperweight with all his strength towards the office window and breaks the glass. It makes hauntingly loud shattering noise. It echos loud in the room, and the glass from the impact falls out from the hole made with the round paper weight. Then the room is filled with silence and Mikes harsh breathing. His shoulder moves with his angry breathing, but doesn't turn around.

"Whats going on?" Says a soft familiar voice.

Both boys turn around, there standing in the open doorway is Will.

Mike turns back around, not wanting to make eye contact with Will. Not wanting anyone (especially Will) to see him like this. Mike just keeps staring out the broken window. In the reflection of the broken glass, if you look, you can see Mike Wheeler start to cry. Silent tears appear in his eyes.

Lucas tries to cover for him, " Nothing everything is-."

"Please don't say everything is fine Lucas. Mike shouldn't be yelling at you like that. Especially with everything going on." Says Will. But he isn't yelling. He says this with a tired but gentle look on his face. A look that he's only sending Mike's way.

Lucas is tired too. "I'm going to give you guys some space to talk."

Will nods as he fully walks into the room, heading towards Mike. Mike still hasn't turned around.

"Thanks Lucas, please shut the door too."

Lucas doesn't say anything. No point really, Mike and Will are in their own world. But he does as Will asked.

As he closes the door, he catches Will hugging Mike from behind. Mike leans into the touch as much as he can. Turns around (tears staining his face) and hugs Will fully.

*******

(God this took forever to write!!! But I'm so glad I finished. Would love to hera your opinions Byler shippers!)

#my thoughts #my writing #byler #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #will byers #Mike has a break down #Mike goes off #stranger things

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reds-skull · 10 months

Text

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[NEXT PART]

Okay I'm trying to be brave and post this before I chicken out, first time writing a fic, and I'm not sure if this is any good.

So, since I don't have time to draw out all of the revenant au story, but I still want to share it, I'm writing it instead.

Will continue this if people are interested!

[this isn't requiered but reading the comic might help you understand this better]

[also there's a Soap pov version of this by Badolmen, it doesn't line up 100% because we didn't work together but it's very very good and you should read it regardless]

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking, Ghost.”

He shifted in his place. Can never get used to Price’s voice in his head.

“You know I work best alone. All he’s gonna do is get in the way.”

Price’s mustache twitched, as if he’s fighting a smile. Bastard is about to drop something to win the entire argument, Ghost already knows.

“He’s a revenant. Strong one too.”

Fucking figures. Still, he could argue he doesn’t need any support-

“Intel is rigged with explosives. And the Sergeant just so happens to be explosion-proof.”

…Fuck.

Ghost sighs heavily like he was presented with an unreasonable amount of shit to deal with. He watches as Price sits there, shit eating grin spitting at him. He looks back to the folder, at the details of this already annoying mission, “you said there are 2 buildings?”

Price snaps from his self boasting to confirm “one suspected barracks and the other an abandoned warehouse. Warehouse contains the majority of explosives.”

Finally finding something to work with, Ghost straightens his back to his usual self-assured posture, “the Sergeant can deal with the warehouse, I’ll clear the barracks. No need to work together.”

Price seems less happy about that. Serves him right. He sighs and drags a hand over his face, and Ghost almost feels bad for ruining his plan to get him to play with a team. Almost.

“Will it kill you to try and work with the lad?” Price asks offhandedly, while organising the folder back to the never-ending pile of documents on his desk.

“You mean again?” Ghost would wear his own shit eating grin if his face wasn’t permanently covered.

Price still seems equally pissed. Probably saw it in his literal mind’s eye. “Get out of my office Lieutenant, wheels up at 0500.” He gets up and walks around his desk to face Ghost, “don’t scare the kid off alright? I have a feeling you two could mash well together.”

Ghost tilts his head and projects the most doubt he could muster at Price. “Yes sir.”

This is going to be a bloody long day.

It’s not that Ghost hates people per se, it’s just that most of them seem hell-bent on being annoying, disruptive, or boring. Useless on the field for someone of his caliber, and even more useless off-field.

He knows he’s not exactly easy to relate to, but he couldn’t care less about trying to be. He’s here for one purpose. And it’s not “making friends” or whatever Price and Gaz has been trying to push him towards.

He wonders which category the Sergeant currently standing in front of him will fall into. By his fidgeting nature and easy smile, Ghost would put his money on “annoying”.

The Sergeant, “Soap” apparently (Ghost wonders if that callsign was given to him before or after he died a probably painful death), now directs that smile at him, seemingly undeterred by the giant man wearing a skull like a stereotypical grim reaper. He has to give it to the lad, at least he hides his discomfort well.

“You must be Ghost, eh? Let’s get ourselves a win LT” The Sergeant says with an obvious Scottish accent, fist-bumps his shoulder and walks off towards transport.

Oh, annoying is definitely winning.

Despite that, Ghost can’t feel like Soap really fits it. He’s unlike the other muppets in the category, He’s not poking him like the rookies do, trying to make him reveal his powers.

No, the Sergeant is annoying like an overly friendly dog is to someone that doesn’t want to be licked. He’s acting like they’re just two normal soldiers on their way to a normal mission, not the unnatural, unexplainable phenomena they actually are.

Ghost will have to keep watching. Certainly on field he will be able to find out his true colors.

On the helo, Ghost picks his usual spot near the ramp, where the lights don’t reach as much and most prefer not to sit, and observes Soap. His fidgety nature stayed the same, but the carefree expression he wore on ground morphed into a determined one, face stern and serious. He seemed lost in thought, eyebrows twitching here and there. He sees how his fingertips flicker, watching flames dance between them before the rapid movements put them out.

Well, at the very least Soap doesn’t fall into “boring”.

Clearing the barracks is a laughably easy job, even without using his powers. Although, it would’ve been so much faster with them… too bad he doesn’t hate the Sergeant enough to send him to Limbo.

They practically run through both buildings, untouchable storms. Ghost has to admit, Soap is clearly competent, disarming bombs and taking down hostiles at an impressive rate.

God, he hates when Price is right.

“Ground floor clear, heading to the basement” Soap relays on comms.

“Copy, clearing third floor, keep an eye out for Intel.”

“I have to say LT, you’re not quite like I expected.”

Feeling’s mutual, Ghost thinks to himself. “That so?”

“Aye, you’re not a major cunt for starters.”

That startled a small huff out of him. What the hell do the rumors say about him? He would have to ask Gaz about that, “Could still change that Sergeant.” he mock-lectures him.

A small laugh is what he gets in return, “I doubt that. I’ve worked with some bastards before, you barely make top 50.”

“Only 50? I hoped for at least 20”

“Got work cut out for you then, sir”

“That I do.”

Ghost continues clearing the floor methodically before faltering for a moment. Why was he entertaining the Sergeant like that? Since when does he joke with people?

Though, he would’ve done it more if he had someone so ready to joke back…

Useless thoughts.

Cursing Price, Soap, and all other stupid distracting things swirling in his head, Ghost takes down another hostile.

The mission is going without a hitch. Which is usually when something “hitches”.

A couple of minutes after Soap’s last words, Ghost sees a bright light flash from the warehouse, before a soundwave shakes the windows of the now barren barracks.

One of the explosives went off… “Soap, what the hell happened there?”

No answer.

Ghost knows he’s fine. Price wouldn’t brag about how “explosion-proof” he is otherwise. But he’s not answering…

“Sergeant, give me sitrep, now.”

Ghost stands still for another minute, listening to static. He checked the last room right before the explosion went off, so he just has to go to exfil and wait for the Sergeant at this point. His part of the work is done.

He should just go to exfil.

Ghost climbs down the stairs and heads for the warehouse, a foreboding plume of dark smoke billowing from its roof.

If asked why he didn’t ignore his gut feeling and use his brain like always, he wouldn’t have an answer.

Maybe he just wanted to exchange one more joke with the Sergeant before they finish the mission and never see each other again.

Arriving at the doors, he sees how the ground floor caved in, creating a ramp down to the basement. He starts making his way down, when he sees bodies littering the debris. Was Soap ambushed?

“Soap? Where the fuck are you Sergeant!” Ghost shouts. He has half a mind to be quiet, not wanting to attract enemies to their location, before realizing no one would’ve survived this. No one but-

“LT…?”

“Soap, why weren’t you answering comms- what…”

He stumbles upon Soap. Soap, who's laying on the grey concrete floor, wheezing and shaking, a metal rebar in his hands. Ghost walks closer and realizes the rebar is going through his stomach and pinning him to the floor.

The Sergeant’s eyes blearily look at the metal “I need, I n-need to get this out…”

He lifts himself half an inch and Ghost sees how the blood rushes out of the wound, how Soap pales.

Ghost rushes to his side. “Stop fucking moving”, he slides his hands under his torso, feels his gloves getting soaked in blood, “let me help you”.

Soap’s breathing becomes less harsh, and he looks up at him, “you… you don’t have to-”

He slowly lifts Soap before he can say another useless remark. The muscles under his fingertips clench and the Sergeant chokes out a scream.

“Fuck” Soap mutters between pants.

“We’re halfway there, you’re doing good.” Ghost lets him rest before continuing to lift his body up. The blood keeps rushing out of the wound, enough that he doesn’t understand how Soap is still conscious. The sergeant let go of the rebar, and is now gripping Ghost’s forearms like he’s about to fall to his death.

After a few seconds, which Ghost is sure felt like hours for Soap, he eases him off the metal and onto the ground. Soap immediately collapses, shuddering and holding his hands around the wound.

Ghost then realizes he’s not sure how the Sergeant’s powers work. Is this supposed to even happen? Is he actually dying?

Soap looks up at that moment, giving him a small smile that looks more like a grimace, “I just… give me a minute to heal, I’ll be ready to go soon.” he uncurls and drags himself to sit against a piece of wall.

Ghost frowns and slowly steps towards Soap and slides to sit next to him, “take however long you need.”

He doesn’t look, but from his peripheral, he sees Soap’s head whipping around and staring at Ghost like he told him he’s giving him a million pounds.

He seemed to find something in his expression (however much he could even see of it), and looked down at his bloodied hands, “thank ye…”

Ghost blinks down, “I hope this doesn’t lower my cunt rank.”

Soap lets out a small laugh that turns into a fit of coughs. More blood rushes out of his wounds, and Ghost internally winces.

“Ha… I think it takes ye off the list, mate.”

Ghost heaves an over-the-top sigh, “shame”.

Soap smiles at him, and Ghost notices it’s different from the one he gave him before the helo. This one is… warmer. Or at least it makes him feel so.

Soap lifts his shirt to inspect the wound, and Ghost can’t help by take a look. The wound stopped bleeding, and when Soap wipes some of it away, he can see how it’s already closing.

So he does get hurt… it just heals. Ghost still wonders how it all works, but he knows their powers work with bizarre rules, weird exceptions and what not. He can almost hear his Reaper laughing. Or whatever you would call that chilling noise it lets out when it finds something funny.

It doesn’t matter either way. Not like he’ll get to work with Soap again.

The Sergeant exhales and lets his shirt drop, “a’right, let’s fuckin’ finish this.” he slowly starts lifting himself up before Ghost wordlessly grabs his arms and helps him.

Soap mumbles a thanks, “did you find any intel?”

Ghost looks ahead. The climb out of the basement won’t be easy on his wound… “Negative. We’ll keep looking.”

Eventually they reach a door labelled “storage”, that is blocked by several tonnes of concrete and metal. Ghost internally curses.

Soap, who’s been trailing behind Ghost, reaches the door and looks around. Ghost is about to ask him if he’s got a few C4’s hidden somewhere when the Sergeant asks him, “permission to use my powers, sir?”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, “what are you planning?”

“Gonna blow it up sir” Soap says like it was obvious.

“...go ahead.” Ghost replies, half baffled Price forgot to mention the Sergeant, besides being unkillable by explosions, can also create them.

Was probably in the folder he didn’t bother reading.

He takes a step back to let Soap Have a go. The Sergeant rests his palms on the debris, inhales, and…

A loud boom makes Ghost’s ears ring. He’s momentarily blinded by the bright explosion before he regains his vision, and sees Soap stepping around the remains of the door into the small room.

Ghost shakes away his slight shock and joins him. Soap’s powers intrigue him… he wonders what else he could do.

Somehow, the intel survived the explosions. Ghost could barely care. At least they won’t have Price on their case later on.

As they walk towards the exfil point, a heavy feeling sinks within Ghost. He’s not sure what to call it, but if he had to it would be “regret”.

Regretting what, he’s not sure. Maybe he should’ve prolonged their walk.

And from a glance at his face, Soap might understand this feeling as well.

“You did well Sergeant.” He has the sudden urge to say. Maybe it will make him regret less.

Soap casts a smile at him. It doesn’t warm him in the slightest.

The chopper blades slashing through air never made him feel worse.

“I guess this is it then.” Soap says when they land.

Ghost turned to face him. That heavy feeling in him just kept getting heavier throughout the flight. Why?

“So it seems.”

Soap stares for a moment longer before sighing. Ghost wants to do something about the annoyingly heavy air of despair around them.

“Soap” the Sergeant hums, “Why did the Scotsman’s prank fail?”.

Confusion takes over his features, “what?”

Ghost inhales, “because no one let him get away scot-free.”

Soap stares at him like he brought shame to his entire bloodline. Ghost grins like he did.

“Steamin’ Jesus LT, that was horrendous.”

“Ah Sergeant, just admit my jokes are better, no need to be a sore loser.”

“My gran got better jokes than this, fuckin’ hell” Soap laughs.

“I’d like to meet her.”

“So you two could battle? I rather not see you die of embarrassment sir.”

Soap’s transport decides to arrive at this moment, chasing away the small joy they both found.

Soap looks back at it and turns to Ghost.

“It’s been great working with you sir.” if Ghost was feeling bold, he would say Soap almost looks sad, “I hope we’ll get to go another round later.”

Ghost hates the hopeful tone in his voice. Hope is uncertain, leaves everything up to chance.

Useless.

“Likewise, Sergeant.”

He stays standing there for a few minutes, staring at the truck vanishing towards the horizon. As if it will lighten the boulder in his chest.

“So, Simon, what’s your verdict?” Price finishes after debrief.

Ghost thinks about the entire endeavour. Not annoying, not disruptive, or boring.

Soap is…

“He’s something else…”

Critiques are welcome! Nobody beta'd this so I'm sure there are mistakes lol (that and this isn't my first language...)

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kolos013 · 1 year

Text

I've recently read a post on here about the library of babel, and I cannot seem to get it out of my head, because it is esssntially a cosmic horror of our own creation, and it fascinates me to no end.

For those that don't know, the library of babel is (or rather, was, since we made it real) a concept of a place, that has all the possible combinations of the letters of the alphabet (lower and uppercase), spaces, commas, and full stops, that fit into 400-something pages. The idea comes from some french guy, because of fucking course it does.

This is, of course, an incomprehensible amount of data. No mortal could ever hope to sort trough all of it. I imagine endless corridors and mazes with walls from floor to cieling piled with endless books, and scrolls, and scriptures, and poems, and laws, and research papers, and newspapers, and any other assorted literature. Every single text that ever has been written, or ever will be be written is, by defenition, there. Split into chapters, maybe, but there.

Every single pice of writing, string of letters EVER just so much as tought of, is present, yet you can only access it once you know exactly what you're looking for, rendering it practcally useless. It's vastness only outmatched in size by it's pointlessness. The irony is, that it's precisely its barely finite size that makes it essentially just a fun curiousity. If this is not the most eldrich horror shit that exists out there, I do not know what is. It both greatly entertains me and absolutely horrifies me to my core, this labirinth of text.

But you see, you can make a search request to the library. You can input any writing, and it will show you where exactly it can be found. This, however, is functionally useless. You can try, let's say, to find a complete version of a long lost greek epic, which we only have fragments of. You input it, and boom. 7 billion results. What you're looking for is in there. Certanly. But the rest of it? Well, the rest of it is just meaningless word salad, nay letter salad.

Thank you for reading a madman's ramblings, have a pleasant rest of the existential crisis we call life.

#library of babel #existential dread #cosmic horror #eldritch

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anonymousauthorsblog · 3 months

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Turning Passions

Chapter 1 - Introductions

*note there is writing sections in this chapter ^.^*

put your records on - Corinne Bailey Rae

•.•.•.•.••.•.•.••.•.•.•.••.•.•.•.•.••.•.•.••..•.•.•.••.•.

Megumi pov (3rd person)

Megumi stares back at the text sent by his friends, he turns off his phone and slides it back into his pants pocket- returning to the piles of homework he has spread out through the small desk he is at. He looks around him seeing nobody near, he lets out a small sigh as he continues working- he sips on the small coffee brought by him. It’s been about two hours since Megumi has been at the library, with it only being the second week of school, Megumi swears he feels the pressure settling in already with professors already assigning multiple projects and dates to get it done soon. He works slowly not feeling any more energy to decode another thing instructed by his computer science professor. He gently lays his head on the table with his headphone blasting music- before he pulls out his phone to check the time to see another twenty minutes has past by. He remembers he was supposed to be back at the dorms 15 minutes ago asked by his friend- but truly he doesn’t really care. He starts to get overwhelmed by the demanding pressure of school and now fans awaiting to see him. As the anxieties start to finally start setting in he gives up and in the same movement Megumi starts to pack up. He shuts his laptop down and exits the library to make it back to his dorm where he would be forced to partake in another video.

y/n pov (3rd person)

Y/n is in a rush, no she’s in a hurry. She’s running not aware of her environment as her two friends are trailing behind her trying to catch up to her speed. Maki is practically yelling out for her telling her to slow down as y/n is toning her out. Right now the only things that are in her mind is the fact that the dance store closes in ten minutes and how she needs to get new shoes. Y/n finally arrives as the owner is practically locking up, “wait” she yells, finally making it to the door in time. The owner laughed at her actions before welcoming her in and reminding her that she has ten minutes before she’s locking up the store. “I only need 5” y/n replies back before running to the exact same spot she spends most of her time at. Luckily for her she spots the shoe in her size, she only buys one specific brand because she swears the rest don’t make her dance the same. as she speeds to go checkout she gives a wink to her friends almost taunting them for making them rush over. “you don’t need to try these on?” says the owner, “nope” y/n replies back as she’s pays for them. “alright you guys have a good one” the owner grins as she’s walking the group out. When getting outside Maki uses this as an opportunity to yell at y/n. “You didn’t have to be so extra we were going to make it on time” she scolds. y/n doesn’t care she’s lost in her own world hugging the box to her chest already visioning how she’s going to break these new pairs in. At this point Maki deems it’s useless to continue to scold her friend as she turns to the criminal of the broken shoes in flesh, Toge. She turns to see that he’s been on his phone ignoring the madness that’s been happening all this time. “hey who you texting a girl” Maki teases, Toge quickly whips his head up scoffs at her and replies “no I made a new friend”. Maki gives a confused face and walks away telling the group they need to go back to the dorms.

Megumis pov (3rd person)

As megumi finally walks in he’s greeted in by his two nosey dorm mates, Yuji practically jumps onto him asking why he was late and how he could he leave him with a monster like Nobara. Megumi pushes him aside as he starts to unwind from the classes and studying he had to do. He puts down his backpack and unpacks his things from the library. “You look like shit” Nobara laughed. Megumi groans and lays face down on his bed, he mumbles “don’t you guys have to make a video isn’t that the only reason we’re all here”. Yuji’s head pops up and says proudly “guys i’m here to say that i have ANOTHER grand idea” Nobara quickly throws a pillow at him reminding him of his “grand plan” last time. Yuji cowards away like a dog and yells “WELL I HAVE A BETTER ONE NOW SO”. As their bickering goes on for a bit as Megumi finds himself getting tired and irritated as the last thing he wants to do is film, he tries to stay calm until a pillow is thrown in his face- getting caught in the backfire of his two stupid roommates fight. That’s when he shoots his body up and shouts at them to shut up and to tell the stupid plan and get it over with. Both nobara and yuji shot up in shock and coward near each other in defense to megumi’s harsh tone. They start to gossip about how Megumis moodier than usual, until Yuji finally finds the confidence to stand up and say “I made a friend and we’re streaming with him.”

Authors notes: WE’RE HERE CHAPTER ONE!! HEY GUYSS thank you so so much for the outstanding support on turning passions!! im so ready to get this story going and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and like usual see you next chapter!! <333

Fun facts:

• Toge broke y/n’s pointe shoes by trying them on during a live of his and them breaking in half (no one tell y/n that they were dead already and needed to be replaced though)

• yuji originally was in college studying business and media but dropped out due to the workload and wanted to be a full time streamer with his channel on peek

• the dance store owner recognizes y/n because of how often she’s in there getting new pointe shoes

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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Tiktok's enshittification

Here is how platforms die: first, they are good to their users; then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers; finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

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

I call this enshittification, and it is a seemingly inevitable consequence arising from the combination of the ease of changing how a platform allocates value, combined with the nature of a “two sided market,” where a platform sits between buyers and sellers, hold each hostage to the other, raking off an ever-larger share of the value that passes between them.

When a platform starts, it needs users, so it makes itself valuable to users. Think of Amazon: for many years, it operated at a loss, using its access to the capital markets to subsidize everything you bought. It sold goods below cost and shipped them below cost. It operated a clean and useful search. If you searched for a product, Amazon tried its damndest to put it at the top of the search results.

This was a hell of a good deal for Amazon’s customers. Lots of us piled in, and lots of brick-and-mortar retailers withered and died, making it hard to go elsewhere. Amazon sold us ebooks and audiobooks that were permanently locked to its platform with DRM, so that every dollar we spent on media was a dollar we’d have to give up if we deleted Amazon and its apps. And Amazon sold us Prime, getting us to pre-pay for a year’s worth of shipping. Prime customers start their shopping on Amazon, and 90% of the time, they don’t search anywhere else.

That tempted in lots of business customers — Marketplace sellers who turned Amazon into the “everything store” it had promised from the beginning. As these sellers piled in, Amazon shifted to subsidizing suppliers. Kindle and Audible creators got generous packages. Marketplace sellers reached huge audiences and Amazon took low commissions from them.

This strategy meant that it became progressively harder for shoppers to find things anywhere except Amazon, which meant that they only searched on Amazon, which meant that sellers had to sell on Amazon.

That’s when Amazon started to harvest the surplus from its business customers and send it to Amazon’s shareholders. Today, Marketplace sellers are handing 45%+ of the sale price to Amazon in junk fees. The company’s $31b “advertising” program is really a payola scheme that pits sellers against each other, forcing them to bid on the chance to be at the top of your search.

Searching Amazon doesn’t produce a list of the products that most closely match your search, it brings up a list of products whose sellers have paid the most to be at the top of that search. Those fees are built into the cost you pay for the product, and Amazon’s “Most Favored Nation” requirement sellers means that they can’t sell more cheaply elsewhere, so Amazon has driven prices at every retailer.

Search Amazon for “cat beds” and the entire first screen is ads, including ads for products Amazon cloned from its own sellers, putting them out of business (third parties have to pay 45% in junk fees to Amazon, but Amazon doesn’t charge itself these fees). All told, the first five screens of results for “cat bed” are 50% ads.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is enshittification: surpluses are first directed to users; then, once they’re locked in, surpluses go to suppliers; then once they’re locked in, the surplus is handed to shareholders and the platform becomes a useless pile of shit. From mobile app stores to Steam, from Facebook to Twitter, this is the enshittification lifecycle.

This is why — as Cat Valente wrote in her magesterial pre-Christmas essay — platforms like Prodigy transformed themselves overnight, from a place where you went for social connection to a place where you were expected to “stop talking to each other and start buying things”:

https://catvalente.substack.com/p/stop-talking-to-each-other-and-start

This shell-game with surpluses is what happened to Facebook. First, Facebook was good to you: it showed you the things the people you loved and cared about had to say. This created a kind of mutual hostage-taking: once a critical mass of people you cared about were on Facebook, it became effectively impossible to leave, because you’d have to convince all of them to leave too, and agree on where to go. You may love your friends, but half the time you can’t agree on what movie to see and where to go for dinner. Forget it.

Then, it started to cram your feed full of posts from accounts you didn’t follow. At first, it was media companies, who Facebook preferentially crammed down its users’ throats so that they would click on articles and send traffic to newspapers, magazines and blogs.

Then, once those publications were dependent on Facebook for their traffic, it dialed down their traffic. First, it choked off traffic to publications that used Facebook to run excerpts with links to their own sites, as a way of driving publications into supplying fulltext feeds inside Facebook’s walled garden.

This made publications truly dependent on Facebook — their readers no longer visited the publications’ websites, they just tuned into them on Facebook. The publications were hostage to those readers, who were hostage to each other. Facebook stopped showing readers the articles publications ran, tuning The Algorithm to suppress posts from publications unless they paid to “boost” their articles to the readers who had explicitly subscribed to them and asked Facebook to put them in their feeds.

Now, Facebook started to cram more ads into the feed, mixing payola from people you wanted to hear from with payola from strangers who wanted to commandeer your eyeballs. It gave those advertisers a great deal, charging a pittance to target their ads based on the dossiers of nonconsensually harvested personal data they’d stolen from you.

Sellers became dependent on Facebook, too, unable to carry on business without access to those targeted pitches. That was Facebook’s cue to jack up ad prices, stop worrying so much about ad fraud, and to collude with Google to rig the ad market through an illegal program called Jedi Blue:

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

Today, Facebook is terminally enshittified, a terrible place to be whether you’re a user, a media company, or an advertiser. It’s a company that deliberately demolished a huge fraction of the publishers it relied on, defrauding them into a “pivot to video” based on false claims of the popularity of video among Facebook users. Companies threw billions into the pivot, but the viewers never materialized, and media outlets folded in droves:

https://slate.com/technology/2018/10/facebook-online-video-pivot-metrics-false.html

But Facebook has a new pitch. It claims to be called Meta, and it has demanded that we live out the rest of our days as legless, sexless, heavily surveilled low-poly cartoon characters.

It has promised companies that make apps for this metaverse that it won’t rug them the way it did the publishers on the old Facebook. It remains to be seen whether they’ll get any takers. As Mark Zuckerberg once candidly confessed to a peer, marvelling at all of his fellow Harvard students who sent their personal information to his new website “TheFacebook”:

> I don’t know why.

> They “trust me”

> Dumb fucks.

https://doctorow.medium.com/metaverse-means-pivot-to-video-adbe09319038

Once you understand the enshittification pattern, a lot of the platform mysteries solve themselves. Think of the SEO market, or the whole energetic world of online creators who spend endless hours engaged in useless platform Kremlinology, hoping to locate the algorithmic tripwires, which, if crossed, doom the creative works they pour their money, time and energy into:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/11/coercion-v-cooperation/#the-machine-is-listening

Working for the platform can be like working for a boss who takes money out of every paycheck for all the rules you broke, but who won’t tell you what those rules are because if he told you that, then you’d figure out how to break those rules without him noticing and docking your pay. Content moderation is the only domain where security through obscurity is considered a best practice:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

The situation is so dire that organizations like Tracking Exposed have enlisted an human army of volunteers and a robot army of headless browsers to try to unwind the logic behind the arbitrary machine judgments of The Algorithm, both to give users the option to tune the recommendations they receive, and to help creators avoid the wage theft that comes from being shadow banned:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/05/tracking-exposed-demanding-gods-explain-themselves

But what if there is no underlying logic? Or, more to the point, what if the logic shifts based on the platform’s priorities? If you go down to the midway at your county fair, you’ll spot some poor sucker walking around all day with a giant teddy bear that they won by throwing three balls in a peach basket.

The peach-basket is a rigged game. The carny can use a hidden switch to force the balls to bounce out of the basket. No one wins a giant teddy bear unless the carny wants them to win it. Why did the carny let the sucker win the giant teddy bear? So that he’d carry it around all day, convincing other suckers to put down five bucks for their chance to win one:

https://boingboing.net/2006/08/27/rigged-carny-game.html

The carny allocated a giant teddy bear to that poor sucker the way that platforms allocate surpluses to key performers — as a convincer in a “Big Store” con, a way to rope in other suckers who’ll make content for the platform, anchoring themselves and their audiences to it.

Which brings me to Tiktok. Tiktok is many different things, including “a free Adobe Premiere for teenagers that live on their phones.”

https://www.garbageday.email/p/the-fragments-of-media-you-consume

But what made it such a success early on was the power of its recommendation system. From the start, Tiktok was really, really good at recommending things to its users. Eerily good:

https://www.npr.org/transcripts/1093882880

By making good-faith recommendations of things it thought its users would like, Tiktok built a mass audience, larger than many thought possible, given the death grip of its competitors, like Youtube and Instagram. Now that Tiktok has the audience, it is consolidating its gains and seeking to lure away the media companies and creators who are still stubbornly attached to Youtube and Insta.

Yesterday, Forbes’s Emily Baker-White broke a fantastic story about how that actually works inside of Bytedance, Tiktok’s parent company, citing multiple internal sources, revealing the existence of a “heating tool” that Tiktok employees use push videos from select accounts into millions of viewers’ feeds:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/emilybaker-white/2023/01/20/tiktoks-secret-heating-button-can-make-anyone-go-viral/

These videos go into Tiktok users’ ForYou feeds, which Tiktok misleadingly describes as being populated by videos “ranked by an algorithm that predicts your interests based on your behavior in the app.” In reality, For You is only sometimes composed of videos that Tiktok thinks will add value to your experience — the rest of the time, it’s full of videos that Tiktok has inserted in order to make creators think that Tiktok is a great place to reach an audience.

“Sources told Forbes that TikTok has often used heating to court influencers and brands, enticing them into partnerships by inflating their videos’ view count. This suggests that heating has potentially benefitted some influencers and brands — those with whom TikTok has sought business relationships — at the expense of others with whom it has not.”

In other words, Tiktok is handing out giant teddy bears.

But Tiktok is not in the business of giving away giant teddy bears. Tiktok, for all that its origins are in the quasi-capitalist Chinese economy, is just another paperclip-maximizing artificial colony organism that treats human beings as inconvenient gut flora. Tiktok is only going to funnel free attention to the people it wants to entrap until they are entrapped, then it will withdraw that attention and begin to monetize it.

“Monetize” is a terrible word that tacitly admits that there is no such thing as an “Attention Economy.” You can’t use attention as a medium of exchange. You can’t use it as a store of value. You can’t use it as a unit of account. Attention is like cryptocurrency: a worthless token that is only valuable to the extent that you can trick or coerce someone into parting with “fiat” currency in exchange for it. You have to “monetize” it — that is, you have to exchange the fake money for real money.

In the case of cryptos, the main monetization strategy was deception-based. Exchanges and “projects” handed out a bunch of giant teddy-bears, creating an army of true-believer Judas goats who convinced their peers to hand the carny their money and try to get some balls into the peach-basket themselves.

But deception only produces so much “liquidity provision.” Eventually, you run out of suckers. To get lots of people to try the ball-toss, you need coercion, not persuasion. Think of how US companies ended the defined benefits pension that guaranteed you a dignified retirement, replacing it with market-based 401(k) pensions that forced you to gamble your savings in a rigged casino, making you the sucker at the table, ripe for the picking:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/25/derechos-humanos/#are-there-no-poorhouses

Early crypto liquidity came from ransomware. The existence of a pool of desperate, panicked companies and individuals whose data had been stolen by criminals created a baseline of crypto liquidity because they could only get their data back by trading real money for fake crypto money.

The next phase of crypto coercion was Web3: converting the web into a series of tollbooths that you could only pass through by trading real money for fake crypto money. The internet is a must-have, not a nice-to-have, a prerequisite for full participation in employment, education, family life, health, politics, civics, even romance. By holding all those things to ransom behind crypto tollbooths, the hodlers hoped to convert their tokens to real money:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

For Tiktok, handing out free teddy-bears by “heating” the videos posted by skeptical performers and media companies is a way to convert them to true believers, getting them to push all their chips into the middle of the table, abandoning their efforts to build audiences on other platforms (it helps that Tiktok’s format is distinctive, making it hard to repurpose videos for Tiktok to circulate on rival platforms).

Once those performers and media companies are hooked, the next phase will begin: Tiktok will withdraw the “heating” that sticks their videos in front of people who never heard of them and haven’t asked to see their videos. Tiktok is performing a delicate dance here: there’s only so much enshittification they can visit upon their users’ feeds, and Tiktok has lots of other performers they want to give giant teddy-bears to.

Tiktok won’t just starve performers of the “free” attention by depreferencing them in the algorithm, it will actively punish them by failing to deliver their videos to the users who subscribed to them. After all, every time Tiktok shows you a video you asked to see, it loses a chance to show you a video it wants you to see, because your attention is a giant teddy-bear it can give away to a performer it is wooing.

This is just what Twitter has done as part of its march to enshittification: thanks to its “monetization” changes, the majority of people who follow you will never see the things you post. I have ~500k followers on Twitter and my threads used to routinely get hundreds of thousands or even millions of reads. Today, it’s hundreds, perhaps thousands.

I just handed Twitter $8 for Twitter Blue, because the company has strongly implied that it will only show the things I post to the people who asked to see them if I pay ransom money. This is the latest battle in one of the internet’s longest-simmering wars: the fight over end-to-end:

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

In the beginning, there were Bellheads and Netheads. The Bellheads worked for big telcos, and they believed that all the value of the network rightly belonged to the carrier. If someone invented a new feature — say, Caller ID — it should only be rolled out in a way that allows the carrier to charge you every month for its use. This is Software-As-a-Service, Ma Bell style.

The Netheads, by contrast, believed that value should move to the edges of the network — spread out, pluralized. In theory, Compuserve could have “monetized” its own version of Caller ID by making you pay $2.99 extra to see the “From:” line on email before you opened the message — charging you to know who was speaking before you started listening — but they didn’t.

The Netheads wanted to build diverse networks with lots of offers, lots of competition, and easy, low-cost switching between competitors (thanks to interoperability). Some wanted this because they believed that the net would someday be woven into the world, and they didn’t want to live in a world of rent-seeking landlords. Others were true believers in market competition as a source of innovation. Some believed both things. Either way, they saw the risk of network capture, the drive to monetization through trickery and coercion, and they wanted to head it off.

They conceived of the end-to-end principle: the idea that networks should be designed so that willing speakers’ messages would be delivered to willing listeners’ end-points as quickly and reliably as they could be. That is, irrespective of whether a network operator could make money by sending you the data it wanted to receive, its duty would be to provide you with the data you wanted to see.

The end-to-end principle is dead at the service level today. Useful idiots on the right were tricked into thinking that the risk of Twitter mismanagement was “woke shadowbanning,” whereby the things you said wouldn’t reach the people who asked to hear them because Twitter’s deep state didn’t like your opinions. The real risk, of course, is that the things you say won’t reach the people who asked to hear them because Twitter can make more money by enshittifying their feeds and charging you ransom for the privilege to be included in them.

As I said at the start of this essay, enshittification exerts a nearly irresistible gravity on platform capitalism. It’s just too easy to turn the enshittification dial up to eleven. Twitter was able to fire the majority of its skilled staff and still crank the dial all the way over, even with a skeleton crew of desperate, demoralized H1B workers who are shackled to Twitter’s sinking ship by the threat of deportation.

The temptation to enshittify is magnified by the blocks on interoperability: when Twitter bans interoperable clients, nerfs its APIs, and periodically terrorizes its users by suspending them for including their Mastodon handles in their bios, it makes it harder to leave Twitter, and thus increases the amount of enshittification users can be force-fed without risking their departure.

Twitter is not going to be a “protocol.” I’ll bet you a testicle¹ that projects like Bluesky will find no meaningful purchase on the platform, because if Bluesky were implemented and Twitter users could order their feeds for minimal enshittification and leave the service without sacrificing their social networks, it would kill the majority of Twitter’s “monetization” strategies.

¹Not one of mine.

An enshittification strategy only succeeds if it is pursued in measured amounts. Even the most locked-in user eventually reaches a breaking-point and walks away, or gets pushed. The villagers of Anatevka in Fiddler on the Roof tolerated the cossacks' violent raids and pogroms for years, until they were finally forced to flee to Krakow, New York and Chicago:

https://doctorow.medium.com/how-to-leave-dying-social-media-platforms-9fc550fe5abf

For enshittification-addled companies, that balance is hard to strike. Individual product managers, executives, and activist shareholders all give preference to quick returns at the cost of sustainability, and are in a race to see who can eat their seed-corn first. Enshittification has only lasted for as long as it has because the internet has devolved into “five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four”:

https://twitter.com/tveastman/status/1069674780826071040

With the market sewn up by a group of cozy monopolists, better alternatives don’t pop up and lure us away, and if they do, the monopolists just buy them out and integrate them into your enshittification strategies, like when Mark Zuckerberg noticed a mass exodus of Facebook users who were switching to Instagram, and so he bought Instagram. As Zuck says, “It is better to buy than to compete.”

This is the hidden dynamic behind the rise and fall of Amazon Smile, the program whereby Amazon gave a small amount of money to charities of your choice when you shopped there, but only if you used Amazon’s own search tool to locate the products you purchased. This provided an incentive for Amazon customers to use its own increasingly enshittified search, which it could cram full of products from sellers who coughed up payola, as well as its own lookalike products. The alternative was to use Google, whose search tool would send you directly to the product you were looking for, and then charge Amazon a commission for sending you to it:

https://www.reddit.com/r/technology/comments/10ft5iv/comment/j4znb8y/

The demise of Amazon Smile coincides with the increasing enshittification of Google Search, the only successful product the company managed to build in-house. All its other successes were bought from other companies: video, docs, cloud, ads, mobile; while its own products are either flops like Google Video, clones (Gmail is a Hotmail clone), or adapted from other companies’ products, like Chrome.

Google Search was based on principles set out in founder Larry Page and Sergey Brin’s landmark 1998 paper, “Anatomy of a Large-Scale Hypertextual Web Search Engine,” in which they wrote, “Advertising funded search engines will be inherently biased towards the advertisers and away from the needs of consumers.”

http://ilpubs.stanford.edu:8090/361/

Even with that foundational understanding of enshittification, Google has been unable to resist its siren song. Today’s Google results are an increasingly useless morass of self-preferencing links to its own products, ads for products that aren’t good enough to float to the top of the list on its own, and parasitic SEO junk piggybacking on the former.

Enshittification kills. Google just laid off 12,000 employees, and the company is in a full-blown “panic” over the rise of “AI” chatbots, and is making a full-court press for an AI-driven search tool — that is, a tool that won’t show you what you ask for, but rather, what it thinks you should see:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/1/20/23563851/google-search-ai-chatbot-demo-chatgpt

Now, it’s possible to imagine that such a tool will produce good recommendations, like Tiktok’s pre-enshittified algorithm did. But it’s hard to see how Google will be able to design a non-enshittified chatbot front-end to search, given the strong incentives for product managers, executives, and shareholders to enshittify results to the precise threshold at which users are nearly pissed off enough to leave, but not quite.

Even if it manages the trick, this-almost-but-not-quite-unusuable equilibrium is fragile. Any exogenous shock — a new competitor like Tiktok that penetrates the anticompetitive “moats and walls” of Big Tech, a privacy scandal, a worker uprising — can send it into wild oscillations:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/08/watch-the-surpluses/#exogenous-shocks

Enshittification truly is how platforms die. That’s fine, actually. We don’t need eternal rulers of the internet. It’s okay for new ideas and new ways of working to emerge. The emphasis of lawmakers and policymakers shouldn’t be preserving the crepuscular senescence of dying platforms. Rather, our policy focus should be on minimizing the cost to users when these firms reach their expiry date: enshrining rights like end-to-end would mean that no matter how autocannibalistic a zombie platform became, willing speakers and willing listeners would still connect with each other:

https://doctorow.medium.com/end-to-end-d6046dca366f

And policymakers should focus on freedom of exit — the right to leave a sinking platform while continuing to stay connected to the communities that you left behind, enjoying the media and apps you bought, and preserving the data you created:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

The Netheads were right: technological self-determination is at odds with the natural imperatives of tech businesses. They make more money when they take away our freedom — our freedom to speak, to leave, to connect.

For many years, even Tiktok’s critics grudgingly admitted that no matter how surveillant and creepy it was, it was really good at guessing what you wanted to see. But Tiktok couldn’t resist the temptation to show you the things it wants you to see, rather than what you want to see. The enshittification has begun, and now it is unlikely to stop.

It's too late to save Tiktok. Now that it has been infected by enshittifcation, the only thing left is to kill it with fire.

[Image ID: Hansel and Gretel in front of the witch's candy house. Hansel and Gretel have been replaced with line-drawings of influencers, taking selfies of themselves with the candy house. In front of the candy house stands a portly man in a business suit; his head is a sack of money with a dollar-sign on it. He wears a crooked witch's hat. The cottage has the Tiktok logo on it.]

#pluralistic #Lauren Leffer #tiktok #surplus allocation #fauximation #potemkin ai #the algorithm #creative labor #algorithms exposed #enshittification #bytedance #giant teddy bears #convincers #big store con #pivot to video #scissor bucket #Emily Baker-White

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