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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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How I got scammed

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

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

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

#pluralistic #social engineering #phishing #ai #swiss cheese security #infosec #finance #fraud #carding

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buried-in-stardust · 10 months

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打鐵花 (da2tie3hua1; struck iron fireworks) is a traditional folk firework that began in Henan and Shanxi, first arising in Queshan county, Henan and later circulating through the whole country. It had first appeared during the Northern Song dynasty, and was most popular during the Ming and Qing dynasties.

For Queshan struck iron fireworks, a two-layer pergola is built and covered with willow branches for performances, under which the molten iron is struck up with two willow sticks to create a rain of fire.

[eng by me + edited an ad out]

(On top of the information in the video, I have some more about its recent history under the cut.)

*Also, a note about one of the subtitles: I realized later that "going into battle without a shield" actually just meant going shirtless. I was only confused about this phrasing while translating because she didn't go shirtless, although that is for obvious reasons

Queshan struck iron fireworks had almost been lost before Yang Jianjun unearthed it again in 1988. It had almost died out in the early years of the Republic of China being established, after which there had only been three performances until 1988: 1952, 1956, 1962. Yang Jianjun had seen the 1956 performance as a 7-8 year old and later on as the director of a cultural centre, began digging up the skill and its history. In the process, he became an apprentice to Li Wanfa, who had been the last head of the Queshan Struck Iron Fireworks Society. He practised with sand and water, learning of its historical origin, its ancestral inheritors, craftsmanship and performance arts, but didn't touch the real thing until 1988. Through Yang Jianjun's efforts and investment, the first struck iron fireworks performance in more than 25 years took place in Nanshan Square (then a deserted area) in Queshan county.

Queshan struck iron fireworks are different from other struck iron fireworks in that it requires a wide area to perform, whereas others only needed a wall or could be hit straight up into the air, and it costs much more money to set up.

The names of inheritors are difficult to trace, and can only be traced back to the Qing dynasty during the Qianlong period, making Yang Jianjun a sixth-generation inheritor, and Jiang Xunqian (OP) the first woman and a seventh-generation inheritor.

#douyin #arts #imparting culture #struck iron fireworks #creator: 江寻千（九月）#personal fav #i spent wayyyy too much time on this #def the most time i've ever spent on a post #i'm v v excited to post this #also i originally tl'd 打铁花 as blacksmith's fireworks and then i realised that wouldn't work

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neil-gaiman · 8 days

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Id like to let you know that I recently lost my annotated and very well-loved copy of Fragile Things in the San Diego Airport.

Rather, I lent it to a goth kid who'd been sitting next to me and wanted to know if I had an Android charger. I did. She plugged her phone in, and a pinhole light on the screen blinked into life. We both looked at the otherwise dead screen for a moment, and I asked her where she was flying to. New York, she said.

Then she asked me what book I was reading - Fragile Things, I told her, by the same guy who wrote Coraline. What's it *about*, though, she asked again.

Im at best a mediocre writer, so I rather gave her the book than trying to explain things myself. I figure some folks get Hugos for writing stories, and I should let 'em do it.

She didnt seem to mind my scribbles in the margins, and it was fun, watching a painted face that looked so somber and serious just a few minutes ago smile. A Study in Emerald had its surprising share of humour. After a while, I stopped paying attention and scrolled absentmindedly through my phone.

Then I hear my flight called - San Diego to Philadelphia, the boarding now, group C, C as in Coconut. I grab my bag, my phone, my ticket, pat my pockets down for my passport, my overstuffed backpack, precariously balanced on my carryon luggage, my headphone wires tangled in the strap of my purse and jerked out of my ears. I trot hastily over to the gate check - a smile, a beep, and I'm shuffled down the gangway and into the plane. My things stowed, and myself cozy against the window.

This was when I went to reach for my book, and realised that it was missing - still nestled comfortably in the hands of a 15-odd goth.

I miss my book. It had many memories in it, beyond the stories told there. My grandfather was still alive when i first read Fragile Things, and he was the one who gave it to me. But I hope that the kid who has it now will also love the stories you wrote. I hope maybe she will remember me and our little story, that we now share. Maybe she will also keep other memories of her own in there.

It seems an oddly fitting way for me to part with this book. It was an old fragile thing, given to me by a fragile man, and left to a child with whom i had only a fragile, tenuous connection.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into things, i don't know.

At any rate, if you read all this rambling, thank you mister Gaiman.

I hope it was the book she needed.

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cy-cyborg · 1 month

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How The Owl House did amputee representation right before Eda ever lost her arm - Disability in Media

[ID: A screenshot of Eda from The Owl House, an old woman with pale skin, very large, grey hair and pointed ears in a red dress. Beside the screenshot on a dark pink background is text that reads "Disability in media, How the Owl House got amputee representation right before eda ever lost her arm." /End ID]

Dana Terrace's The Owl House has some of the best disability rep I’ve seen on a Disney channel show in a long time, with Eda, the main character’s mentor, being one of many stand-out examples.

Plenty of people have discussed how Eda’s curse and the loss of her magic can work as an allegory for disability and how refreshing it is to see a story (especially one aimed at a younger audience) who’s focus is not on her “overcoming” it, but learning to accept it as a part of her and go from there. Eda’s story tackles a lot of subjects that are often mishandled in other examples of disability representation, from the subject of parents who refuse to accept, to glass siblings and much, much more, The Owl House handles all these topics beautifully.

But one thing that dawned on me during my most recent re-watch of The Owl House is how well Eda (and later Lilith) worked as amputee representation, long before Eda actually lost her arm.

One of the side effects of Eda and Lilith’s curse is that sometimes their body parts, mainly their limbs, can fall off. It doesn’t hurt them, and Eda is seen removing them intentionally at multiple times in the series, but they can always be reattached.

[ID: an image of Eda holding her sister Lilith's hand. Lilith is a pale woman with long, black hair, wearing grey clothes. She is looking at her other arm suprised, as her hand is missing. Luz, a Latina girl with short brown hair and a purple hoodie is looking on, smiling. /End ID]

While most likely unintentional, the way the show depicts this with Eda in particular is exactly what I wish more people would do with their prosthetic-using amputee characters.

Eda detaches her limbs, especially her legs, when they’re inconvenient or when she’s relaxing.

[ID: an image of Eda laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

The fact that this is mostly played for laughs is actually a good thing in my opinion (though obviously, the show’s overall tone is part of that), as it shows the audience who are mostly children and teens, that in a world of weird and downright scary (from the perspective of the characters) things, this isn't one of them. It’s just a thing she and Lilith can do, and it can even be funny.

[ID: An image of Luz and Eda dressed as pirates. Eda is sitting on the ground, her legs detached and off screen somewhere. /End ID]

It does startle Luz and Lilith on a few occasions, but that’s more because they didn’t know the curse could do that, but once they’re introduced to it, it’s never really brought up as a big deal again.

I’d love to see more amputee characters who do this with their prosthetics. So often media is almost afraid to have amputees take their prosthetics off on camera or on the page. For some folks, our prosthetics are like a part of our bodies, but that doesn’t mean we never take them off. Show your leg amputee flop on the couch and throw their legs across the room. Have them go without on occasion, not because they have to, but because they just don’t feel like putting them on.

Likewise, the owl house creators never shy away from showing Eda when her limbs aren’t all attached. A lot of media, and kid’s shows in particular, will avoid having an amputee character’s stump visible if they ever do take their prosthetics off - treating that part of the character’s body the same way they treat gore or nudity. I’ve talked before how this actually does have a real impact on how kids in particular react to amputees - I’ve legitimately had kids I worked with cry when I took my prosthetics off, then immediately calm down when they see there’s nothing "scary" under my socks. As much as I love How To Train Your Dragon, it’s very guilty of this. Hiccup looses his leg at the end of the first movie, and wakes up with his prosthetic already attached. The Netflix series has a few instances where he has his prosthetic off, but the camera almost always avoids showing it until he can cover it up again, or is super zoomed-out so you wouldn’t be able to “see anything”. To their credit, they do get better with this in the last movie (though it's still always covered), but for the majority of the series, they are very reluctant to have any shots where hiccup’s leg is in view without the prosthetic (unless they’re very far away).

[ID: a screenshot of Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon 3, a white man with short brown hair, and one leg missing, wearing armour made of black dragon scales and no prosthetic. He is holding onto toothless's head, a black dragon. /End ID]

Ironically, Eda does (permanently) loose an arm at the end of season 2, but I don’t really have much to say about her as amputee representation on that front, since she’s absent for a lot of Season 3, and when we do see her again, everything is so hectic, the story doesn’t really have any time to focus on her missing limb (which is reasonable). I will say, I do appreciate that they kept the amputation when she's in her owl-beast form in the finale, but there's honestly not much more to say about it. We do see her again in the epilogue after she’s had some time to settle into the amputation, wearing a hook prosthetic, but it’s, once again, too quick to really say anything from a representation standpoint. There's a few little nit-picky things I could bring up, like the fact they seemed to change the type on amputation she had (when she looses it, we see the split was very close to the elbow, but in the epilogue she has most of her forearm again) but those read to me more like animation mistakes or an odd prosthetic/clothing designs rather than a representation issue - and as someone who's worked in animation, given the stress the team was under for the finale, I'm not really worried about it. Like I said, it's more nit-picky than anything.

[ID: A screenshot of Eda, her hair tied back and wearing a red robe and a hook for her right hand. /End ID]

Despite all that though, I still think Eda is still good amputee representation, but mostly because of how they depict her curse’s side effects rather than her actual amputation. She’s honestly one of the only characters that I think you could refer to as “amputee coded” (outside of maybe Teen Titan’s Cyborg), and I genuinely wish more creators would treat their actual amputee characters the same way the Owl House treats Eda in that regard.

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morallyinept · 5 months

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Back Alley Bang! - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Down a dirty back alley, sleazy Dieter Bravo coaxes you into some lewdness. But, do you really need coaxing?

Pairing: Sleazy!Dieter x MenaceF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However, Reader wears a dress and has hair that can be pulled. Otherwise, reader is a blank slate.)

Word Count: 6k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/spitting/mild voyeurism/dirty talk - A LOT of dirty, filthy talk - Dieter calls you a slut & whore which you love/verbal degredation/very mild ass eating, just a slurp/sleazy/lewdness/come eating/mild drug use/Dieter lives up wholly to the trash rep & he is not a famous actor in this story. Reader is incorrigible and wants it all.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: I blame the recent outtakes of Pedro's Esquire shoot for this. Probably the filthiest thing I've written so far... 🫠

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

In the pulsating nightclub, bodies sway in the oppressive furnace as the bass reverberates through the crowded space.

Coloured lights flash sporadically, casting erratic shimmers of neon lights in the glassy eyes of the feverish dancers around you.

The packed dance floor is a writhing mass of heat; bodies moving in sweaty unison lost to the rhythms of the slick night. The heat is palpable on your skin, a relentless force that wraps around you like a ruthless, suffocating hold.

It's as if the very air is saturated with fervour, clinging to you like a hot, heavy mist. You feel it in the back of your throat, under your eyelids.

The flimsy dress you’re wearing clings to your frame; a barely there silken slip of oil, black and saturated with your perspiration as it sticks around the swell of your nipples. The dance floor becomes a crucible, each striking beat intensifying the atmosphere until it's as stifling as a steam-filled alley after a torrential rain.

Amidst the chaotic tempo, eyelashes damp with exertion and your mascara creasing no doubt, you lock eyes with a persistent figure at the crowded bar.

His gaze is predatory, a calculated intensity that tops the disorienting haze around you. You’ve noted him watching you from various positions in the club.

As you lock eyes with him at the crowded bar, a magnetic pull ensnares you like a chafed noose around the throat. His gaze, penetrating through the vapour, stirs a primal response within the pits of your belly.

A tingling sensation ripples across your skin, heightened by the throbbing ache settling between your legs. It's a visceral reaction, a silent acknowledgment that something beyond the ordinary is unfolding in the dimly lit confines.

Your breath catches in anticipation; the air thickening with a heady cocktail of desire and apprehension. The chaotic energy of the nightclub momentarily gives way to a singular focus on the mysterious figure.

Despite his seemingly dishevelled appearance, there's an inexplicable allure that transcends the rough surface. The stranger's grimy exterior only fuels the flames of attraction, a paradoxical magnetism that bends societal norms until they crumble. A scummy diamond in the chintzy rough.

You hazard a guess at his age, mentally placing him around his early to mid-forties; the salt and peppered scruff around his jaw is lined with the scuzz of a moustache that taints his top lip. His hair is an unruly affray of dark chocolate curls, spiked in their fluff and streaked with grey when the strobes hit it.

His shoulders, hunched over the bar, seem far too broad to fit into the leather that sculpts around them and his biceps. His hand engulfs the glass tumbler, making it appear comically small, as though he could crush it with a simple squeeze of those thick fingers, some with silver bands woven around them.

You swallow dryly, feeling your trachea pulse at the thought of those hands crushing you.

You get a brazen flash of an earring, possibly a hoop, in his left lobe; a gold twinkle at you as he turns his head, cocking it, to observe you.

Watching you watching him.

His gaze is akin to a solitary predator surveying its prey from the shadows - unseen, but undeniably present. A lurking panther in the urban wilderness, patiently observing the dance of gazelles amidst the chaos of the nightclub.

His dark eyes, gleaming with a primal hunger, follow your every sway; an intense focus that obliterates the mere act of watching, and enters the realm of silent pursuit. It's a chary stance, like a sentry in militant vigilance and absorbing every nuance of your dancing amidst the nightclub's frenetic energy.

You feel his eyes all over you, in every sweaty nook and cranny of your flesh.

You like it, the way he circles you from the outer orbits; the way you sway and dip your hips deliberately lower, giving him a show. Bending purposefully this way or that, a flash of inner thigh, the trench of your cleavage… And you can sense he knows it’s all for him.

He sups from a glass knocking back the golden liquid. His intense stare pierces at you through the smoky ambiance, and a subtle beckoning gesture of his head soon suggests an invitation beyond the confines of the pulsating music.

In a daring move, fuelled by the flutter between your legs and the need to seek a respite from the intense heat of the nightclub's intoxicating energy inking your skin like a cheap stick-poke, you decide to follow the tempting hulkness of him.

Drawn by a magnetic force, even if a small ebb inside your gut warns you against your chagrin. It's the kind of sensation that leaves a lingering taste of ash in your mouth - a pertinent reminder that, in the urban landscape, even what feels undeniably good can be wrapped in the coarse fabric of moral ambiguity.

But you quickly push it aside as you totter after him; you know what you crave. And come Hell or high water if you're not going to get it.

As you step into the night, the abrupt transition from the seismic warmth of the club, to the cool night air, is palpable on your skin. Emerging from the sweltering cocoon into the refreshing breath of the outside world, a welcome, soft breeze soothes your neck and stirs the tendrils of your hair stuck to it. Your lungs fill with condensation as you breathe in.

The distant thud of the music forms a muffled backdrop to the dimly lit street as you search his broad shoulders out.

The neon glow from the club spills into the side alley, casting long shadows on the brick walls as you navigate the uneven pavement after him.

The cool air becomes a pragmatic balm for your overheated skin, salved in as you wipe at it. The atmosphere shifts from the previous frenetic energy of the dance floor to a hushed anticipation, as guided by a heated curiosity, you venture further into the unknown and shadows alike.

The sounds of the city, normally drowned out by the nightclub beats, become more pronounced in the secluded alleyway, adding an eerie dimension to this clandestine encounter. The pungent aroma of a nearby Chinese restaurant weaves through the air. The piquant notes of soy, ginger, and garlic emerge, battling with the prevailing stench of decay from the dumpsters that line the labyrinth, blocking out the light in its opacity the further you follow.

You can feel your body buzzing; a low hum that centres in your core, radiating outwards down your limbs that feel wibbly like spaghetti.

He lights something, smoke billowing out from behind him; the embers fizzing a vitriolic red in the darkness as he turns to ensure you’re still following. The only light on his succinct features as he inhales through the dark.

You palm at your neck, feeling the clammy stickiness of your own skin, cracking it out from side to side as your heels scrape along the rough concrete, matching the tempo of your heart beating in your ears as you keep pace.

The abrupt shift in the atmosphere is palpable. The cool night air, tainted by the distant scent of fetid dumpsters, provides a stark contrast to the stale waft of the club. Neon signs from nearby establishments cast erratic patterns on the uneven brick walls, revealing the hidden textures of urban decay.

The stranger, a silhouette in a dark leather trench, against the backdrop, beckons you further into the shadows down the alley. The flickering lights create a break dance of uncertainty, as the city's nocturnal sounds amplify in the secluded space.

In the grit and shadows of the back alley, you confront the dichotomy between attraction and uncertainty. It's a feverish anticipation, the air thick with a blend of arousal and the acrid scent of the city's underbelly. Your mind becomes a battleground of intense desire and shrinking caution, drawn to the enticing danger that lurks in the shadows, tumbling further down the rabbit hole, giving Alice a run for her money.

In the dank ambiguity of the alleyway, the decision to follow him becomes a bold plunge into a swampy narrative where the lines between hazard and want blur.

You’re not afraid of him, you’re incredibly turned on; the duality of forbidden fruit, smirking as you can feel your heat soiling your underwear.

He stops, smoking on what you now see is a fat blunt, and he offers it out to you, smoke billowing from his nostrils. You drag on it deeply and hand it back, before he takes another for himself and flicks it away, a comet’s tail sparkling in the dark.

The man materialises fully from the alley's shadows, a silhouette of dismantled disarray under the glow of purple neons from above on the rear of the club.

He reaches for you, giant paws maraud on your hips and he pulls you close, skin soldering to yours.

You make quick notes of the scuffed denim clinging to his waist that tells a story of hard-worn days around the knees, while the long leather trench, battered, drapes over his form, riding especially tight around his upper body, with an air of seen-it-all nonchalance. The leather is scratched as you feel your way up his arms.

The deep V-neck top underneath hints at a familiarity with the less savoury corners of the nightlife; a sartorial choice that leans into the sleaze rather than away from it. A cheap brassy chain with an indiscernable pendant hangs long beneath his clavicle. His sternum hints at tone and muscle whilst his stomach puffs out slightly at the waist, indicating the embryonic stages of a middle-aged spread.

His slovenly facial hair seems more like an afterthought than a fashion choice; a careless, scruffy embellishment left to weed on a face etched with the marks of countless dubious dealings. The moustache, weathered yet defiant, clings to his upper lip like a survivor in the chaos. Caught in the purple glow, it resembles the dark foliage of a tangled landscape, patchy in places up close.

You lick your lips wondering what it will feel like running against your cunt.

His tanned skin carries a patina of large pores over a hawkish nose, the biggest feature on his face with a prominent ridge as the harsh clinical glow of the neons expose every imperfection. He becomes a figure caught between reality and illusion in your foggy view; the violet tinge revealing a chiaroscuro of contrasts on his skin, transforming him into a nocturnal spectre that will haunt your dreams long after this clandestine tryst is over.

He pulls you closer into the raw, unfiltered reality of his fingers squeezing your hips and bunching up the obscenely thin material of your dress around them; the breeze licking delectably up the back of your thighs. His dark eyes wander obviously down to your chest, licking his own lips as he revels in the absence of a bra as your nipples dare to harden.

“What’s your name?” You query as you inhale him in.

Despite reeking of a calculated indifference, a cloud of stale cigarettes and clumsy hand-rolled joints clings to him; an obvious scent that weaves through the fabric of his jagged clothes, reminiscent of countless nights spent in the gutter with a different body wrapped around him, no doubt. It's the kind of smell that seeps into the pores and stays there until you wash it away in the morning.

Beneath this layer of grimy urban residue, there's a faint trace of cheap cologne, a feeble attempt at masking the raw essence of the streets. It's a fragrance that mingles with the sour tang of sweat, creating a cocktail of dizzying odours that hovers around him like a weary trail of late-night escapades that stack up against him.

The subtle hint of leather from his long trench coat adds another dimension to his olfactory presence. It's a stink of marred resilience, a tangible reminder of his nocturnal tales that have seeped into the very fabric of his attire.

He hums of sex, of regret and bad choices.

“Does it matter?” He responds with a lazy click of his tongue as his eyes penetrate yours again. A voice that is raw with the thickness of phlegm, grating at the back of his throat.

You nod. “I wanna scream it as you make me come.” You say, a smirk across your dewy lips as you saturate them.

You carry an aura that bears no wanton shame; you flout it at him, challenging him. Your red light in the window signalling that you're free of constraint, of moral and disregard.

There's a lingering hint of your sweet and zesty perfume, a delicate fruit ripe for the plucking. It's a fragrance that, despite the allure, cannot completely mask the subtle undertones of sweat and exertion from your time amidst the pulsing crowd of the nightclub.

Your fingers find their way up the lapels of his coat, the soft leather creaking in places as you tighten your grip around it.

His fingers have pulled your dress up now, revealing the cheeks of your ass to the potent kiss of the cool air and anyone who would happen a glance down into the deep trench of the ally.

“Dieter.” He gruffs.

Your lips meet in a gritty collision. His bedraggled scruff brushes against your skin; a coarse texture that adds a raw intensity to the kiss. It's not tender, but a desperate melding of the two of you clattering against one another. A rebellion against the urban pulse around you.

His fingers claw into the meat of your ass as your tongue clashes with his, sucking the remnants of the whiskey he sank at the bar out of his gums.

When his hands make contact, pawing at your bare skin as he pinches the plump flesh between his fingers, there's a roughness; an unapologetic texture that speaks of calloused resilience. Delectable abrasiveness that cuts through the usual softness associated with human contact.

You briefly wonder what it is he does for a living, if he has one at all. Something with his hands perhaps? Either that or he’s not adept to the external care of them. It's not a touch that seeks to comfort as you gasp with his grip that binds. It'll leave bruises and you soar at the thought.

He slaps you; a sting burning on your right cheek, echoing down the alley, which is rewarded with you pushing your tongue further into his mouth with hungry groans.

“What are you gonna do to me, huh?” You tease, catching your breath for a moment. The bite of his chapped lips against yours makes you shudder.

He grabs at your skimpy thong, pulling the sheen of the flimsy material from the nestled crack of your ass, and tears it with ease. The elastic snapping makes you claw deeper into the leather.

“What do you think, baby?” He smirks.

“I think I’m gonna have a good time with you right here.” You gasp as he tongues your neck, tasting the salty brine of your skin.

“Right here, in this nasty alley?” He taunts.

“Yeah.”

“Fucking filthy aren’t you?” He draws back to watch your eyes as his fingers swipe through your folds and coat them in your slick that’s almost watery, there’s so much of it dripping out of you.

“Yeah.” You nod, biting your lip.

“I like it.” He says, as his finger, you're not sure which, teases the entrance of your hole.

He can feel you clench, wanting to bear down around it as he slides the rough pad of it in.

“So fucking wet for me,” Dieter praises.

Your hand palms him, hard and bulging inside his jeans. He grunts like a hog searching out truffles as you squeeze.

You moan as he slips his fingers in, feels like two, but they're so thick it could be more.

“Mmm, fuck.” You whine as you feel him pump them in and out. The sensation grips you like a vice; a gut-wrenching mix of pleasure and discomfort as he stretches and scissors inside you.

“Want to stretch out this little hole, get you ready for me.” Dieter says, as the sound of your cunt squelches loudly around his digits. “Tell me how it feels?”

“It feels so fucking good.”

And it does; it's a prickling awareness that crawls beneath your skin, like the unsettling shiver that precedes a storm as it crawls over your scalp. There's a metallic taste in your mouth as you bite down on your cheeks, groaning and feeling your body start that delicious wind inward.

He pushes in deeper, stroking against the fleshy, swollen spot that makes your thighs tremble.

“Oh God…” You whine, trying to steady yourself against him as you cling onto this belt. Desperate to unlatch it, but unable to focus on the task fully as he faps harder.

The cleft of his hand pushes against your clit as a noise similar to a toad escapes your throat.

“You don’t even know where these fingers have been, do you?” Dieter says, lips rolled over his teeth. “And now they’re in your cunt. Oh, I can feel you tighten… you like the thought of that, huh? My fingers in someone else and then fucking you with them. God, you're nasty.” He smirks.

You grin as you pull on his bottom lip, nipping on it ravenously as he hisses.

“Taste it. Taste how wet I just made you, baby. Yeah.” He slips his fingers out of your pussy and into your mouth; your slick coating your lips like freshly applied gloss. You lick in between them, murmuring in delight as he simmers at you darkly.

He stuffs his fingers back into your soaked hole. You’re so wet that it sticks in your thighs, cooled by the faint breeze that ripples down the scummy alley.

“Look at you standing here with my fingers in your pussy. Fucking slut. Are you a slut for me?” Dieter mutters, his hot mouth in your face.

"Yeah, I'm a slut for you, Dieter." You moan.

He licks up the side of your jaw, all the way up your cheek and hums in your ear. “Get my cock out.”

You pull his belt open, chinking against itself as you unbutton and unzip him. You reach in and groan loudly at what you find.

“You wanna fuck me with this big cock, Dieter?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

He’s heavy in your palm, thick. A prominent mushroom head that's flushed scarlet under the purple hues and weeping. Sticky and warm as the strings of his precum coat your fingers like webs.

“Shit, you’re so big.” You groan, glancing down at it. You stroke up and down, engrossed in the skin that rolls back over his glossed head.

“You like big cocks inside you?” He utters, losing his breath as you squeeze around him.

“Yeah.” You nod, hypnotically.

“I bet you do. I bet this pussy’s been filled with lots of ‘em, hmm?” He emphasises the point by gripping you close and pumping his fingers in and out of you in a punishing tempo.

“Fuck!” You caterwaul. “Oh God! Yeah!”

The squelches are louder, the wetness of your pussy obscene as the drenched smacks of it click down the alleyway.

“Look at the mess you’re making.” Dieter stops to pull his fingers out, your slick running down them, and he sucks them into his mouth hastily. “Mmm… fuck, you taste good.”

He faps again, curling his fingers up inside you and your thighs thunder against him.

“That’s it, give it to me. Come on my fingers, baby.” Dieter prompts.

It pulses through your veins like a relentless drumbeat, a primal rhythm echoing the anticipation bursting in your chest. It's not a refined thrill but a visceral surge; an electric charge that sets every nerve ablaze. Your senses become hyper-aware, as if the world around you is dialled up to an intense, crackling volume.

The city sounds - horns blaring, distant sirens, the muffled thump of music from the club - merge into a chaotic symphony, adding to the cacophony of your racing heartbeat. Standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground beneath you vibrates with potential.

There's a heat that radiates from within, a feverish warmth that consumes any traces of hesitation, burning it up, as you willing step off the ledge, unafraid of the abyss below.

You cry out, freefalling as his fingers pull it out of you; tightening around them and bearing down as you come.

“Fuck! Fuck!” You pant, your thighs shake and your hips jerk as he thumbs against your clit. The force of it propels you forward into his chest.

“There we go.” He cajoles, grinning at you as you tremble and contort. Your knees buckle as he holds you upright, hand firmly on your ass, still kneading as you regain your sight. “You needed that, didn’t you, baby?”

Dieter leans in and licks up the side of your face again. The sweat from his neck sticks to your jaw, grazing with the hairs on him that smatter there.

“Let me suck it,” you pant as he slips out of you. Your fingers are still curled around his cock as you pump him.

“You like being a slut and sucking strangers' cocks in alley ways, hmm?”

“Yeah. I wanna be on my knees for you as you fuck my mouth, Dieter.” He can’t stop you from kneeling, feeling the pebbly pavement hard on them; gravel embedded in your skin as you lower yourself willingly into the dirt.

You want to be vile, disgusting, perverse for him. Every bit as filthy and unabashed as he is.

You lick up the length of him; a meaty musk floods your nose and the tang of the salt bubbling out the slit of him glues to your tongue.

“Show me what that slutty mouth can do.” He urges, resting back against the wall, legs slightly bowed.

You take him in, feeling your lips stretch around the circumference of him, hollowing your cheeks as you take him down as far as you can without choking. Coating him in sticky saliva as it pools around your mouth.

He shuffles his jeans further down, releasing his balls from the tight confines of them. He grunts as he gathers your hair into a pony around his fist, cocking his head to get a better view of you in the violet lights sucking joyously on his dick.

“Suck on my balls, baby.” He instructs as he watches you pop him out of your mouth. “That's it. Get ‘em nice and wet. Fuck. Yeah.”

His breath bounces in his throat as you lick them, alternating between pulling each of them into your mouth as you suck and roll your tongue around them.

He bends forward, those swollen plums slipping from your warm, wet orifice and taps your cheek with the two fingers he fucked you with.

“Open.” Dieter spits in your mouth, quick and with precision.

It hits the back of your tongue; a discordant punctuation mark that echoes like a rebel yell in the night. You cream instantly as he does it, marks you, tasting that thick glob in your mouth as he butts his cock against your lips.

“So eager to suck dick, aren't you? Fuck, you’re so good at it. Take it deeper.”

You feel the heaves rumble up from your gut as he punches the back of your throat with his thick head. Saliva pools in your cheeks, and you can feel it seep out of your lips and down your chin.

“Oh, you make my cock so wet. Look at that.” Dieter smirks as he tightens your makeshift ponytail around his fist. Pulling you further onto his length until he thrusts in and your nose meets the soft fat of his lower belly.

Pushed in so deeply that you inhale the coarse, curly hairs of his happy trail. Snuffling around them as you try to breathe.

“Choke on it, baby. Fuck, like that.” He grunts out loudly, hissing around his teeth. You hear it echo around the alley. It's like the growl of a neglected engine, a primal sound that refuses to be drowned out by the urban hum.

He does it again, rolling you back down the length of him as you splutter, and before you can inhale, he thrusts hard again, taking your breath away as you retch. Thick strings of drool drip gloopy onto your chest.

He fucks your mouth and revels in it, revels in your eagerness to get off with it.

“Stand up, baby. Gonna fuck that tight pussy right now.” He gasps, unable to delay the gratification any further.

“Yeah!” You cough, wiping your mouth and chin.

“Yeah you want it. Want me ploughing you against this wall?” He pushes you against it, face first, and smacks your ass again. Your cheeks ripple with the force as you whine with a delirious giggle.

“Bend over, baby. I want that ass.” Dieter instructs and you gasp. It's a sonic rebellion, like the crackle of worn vinyl, where each pop and hiss claws up your spine to tantalise and leave you begging for more.

“Oh my God, yes! Put your tongue in my ass hole. Oh yeah! Fuck!” You groan, nails scraping down the wall as he pries your cheeks apart and you feel the wet on his tongue teasing around your puckered rim.

You feel him spit on it; a raw, unapologetic truth as he tongues you, dipping in slightly whilst you squeal. You feel him lick down along your seam, tasting you as his tongue butts your clit and you groan in want.

“Fuck me, Dieter.” You wail. You can’t wait anymore. You need him. “Fuck me hard.”

“Oh, you want it, don’t you?” He stands up, pulling you up a little and positioning you with your legs apart.

He runs his cock inside your wet folds, teasing and groaning as he greases himself up in you.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He growls again. You feel another sting on your ass as he swats it.

You hear his breath pelting in the back of his throat as he jerks himself a couple of times and lines up. His head notches at your entrance, and you automatically push back, lipping yourself over him.

“Desperate for it, aren’t you?” Dieter gruffs. "Take my cock."

The stretch burns a little, but you're so wet that he slides in with minimal effort. You clench around him, dragging him in as his grip knots at your hips.

He pulls back, admiring the purply sheen of you around his dick and then plunges in until he bottoms out.

“Ah, yeah. Fuck this pussy, Dieter.” You seethe through gritted teeth; an internal tempest, a storm brewing within the confines of your body and mind as he fills you up and packs you out.

It's a visceral upheaval, an electric surge that ignites every nerve and sets your senses ablaze. Another coiled spring, ready to unleash a torrent of unrestrained energy.

His cock plunges deeper, faster, setting into a rapid-fire surge that jolts your senses into hyperactivity. Every synapse seems to spark with the pulsing flare of just coming, and coming hard around him.

It's a fireworks display of thoughts, each one exploding before you can decipher it, gone before you have the chance to form coherent understanding as his cock batters all sense of symbiotic thought out of your skull.

“You feel me? Stretching you open like that?” Dieter puffs as he winds deep.

“Yeah, I like it. Balls deep in my fucking pussy.” You grunt, biting so hard at your lip that you can taste loose change.

“Oh, you like it deep, baby. Fuck.”

“Does my pussy feel good?”

“So good, baby. Shit.” He pants. You feel his fingers clawing into your hips now, yanking you back with each snap.

“So tight around your big, hard cock fucking me.” You husk as he strips your breath from you again.

“Oh fuck, you got a mouth on you, baby.”

“I want you to fill it with your come, Dieter.” You throw a look over your shoulder at him, and he smirks, puffing as he works; lilac sweat inking around the trench of his throat, tracking down his chest and staining the V of his top darker.

“Come all in that dirty, whore mouth.” He agrees.

“Yeah.”

“Are you a dirty whore?”

“Mmm.” You nod, smiling. You reach round gripping onto his wrist tightly, nails digging in.

“Must be, letting me fuck you like this. Fucking you down this alley, balls deep. Anyone could see you getting it. They can probably hear you.”

“Yeah.”

“Hear how desperate you are for my cock filling you up.”

“I love it! Oh God!” You shriek as he hammers now. The sound of his thighs slapping against your ass cheeks rebeverate down the alley like striking plastic relentlessly.

“Oh my God, your cock feels so good in my pussy! Fuck, you’re so fucking hard, Dieter!”

“You make me hard, baby. You and this tight little cunt.”

“Don’t stop!” You nails claw down the brickwork as you pant and push back onto him.

You can feel it, snapping at you, winding deep into a strangling coil ready to break, urging you to dive headfirst into the current of the electrifying unknown.

"Come for me, baby." He sneers. "Want this pussy soaking me."

He stands you upright taking a step forward so you’re crushed into the wall. The curve of his cock grinds against that perfect spot within you as his thrusts are more indolent, more deliberate now.

His hand is gently on your throat, swallowing into his palm, as he bites on the back of your neck skin, tasting your perfumy glaze.

Your nose grazes against the brickwork as his fingers sweep back and forth, around and around on your rioting clit, tightening with every stroke as he fucks you deep.

“God, you’re fucking me so good right now, Dieter. Don’t stop. Show me how good my pussy makes you feel.” You pant into the mortar, your tongue tasting it as you wail.

“You gonna come for me again, all over me? Let me go home with my cock stinking of you?” Dieter grits in your ear.

“Mmm… fuck.” You groan as he pushes you into the wall further, crushes you as you feel like you could sink into it.

“Say my name, baby. Let everyone hear how good I’m fucking you right now. You wanted to know my name to scream it, yeah? So scream it.”

“DIETER! Oh fuck, Dieter! Yes!”

You flood him as you come, tightening around him as you shake, losing your voice. The shockwave hits you; a dynamo unleashed, a surge of energy that feels as if a thousand champagne bubbles are effervescing beneath your skin.

A pressure cooker reaching its boiling point, the lid lifted, and the steam of excitement escaping in a hissing crescendo.

“Yeah, baby. Come all over my cock That's it… oh fuck!” Dieter grizzles.

The fog of his breath steams in your ear as you come; soaking and contracting around him. Dizzy from the cognitive buzz that thumps heavy between your ears and deafens you with white noise as your ears ring.

“Are you ready? You wanna make yourself come in my mouth?” You challenge, catching your breath.

“Get on your fucking knees, baby.”

Dropping to them with a heavy thud that’s sure to have left them grazed up and bloody, you take him back in your throat, eagerly pumping the base of him as you slurp him down.

“That’s it, suck it for me. Taste that slutty pussy all over my cock.”

“I want you to come, Dieter. Come in my mouth.” You gasp as you take him in deep, sucking hard.

“Oh that’s good, like that. Pretty as a fucking picture. Oh shit. Come on, I know you want it... Pull it all out of me. Suck it harder. Take what you want.” He encourages you as you speed up. Fingers slipping over him as you taste the sweetly honeyed remnants of yourself on him.

“Yeah, keep doing that. Right there. Oh shit… Oh shit, shit. I’m gonna come. Fuck. I’m gonna come right down your throat, baby!” Dieter warns, and you feel him pulse around your lips.

“Fuuuccckkk!” He floods your mouth, pumping hot and salty streams into it as his voice chokes in the back of his larynx.

“Fuck. Show me… let me see it before you swallow.” Dieter pants, tapping the underside of your chin as you pull off of him.

He takes his cock in his hand and squeezes the last drops out onto your tongue that’s full of his pearly spend.

Then, he leans forward, slipping his adept tongue into your mouth as you both swirl them around one another. You groan in delight as he drinks himself from your mouth, both of you swallowing it down together.

A momentary calming serenity descends like a gentle fog, softening the edges of your racing thoughts, settling them into a tranquil pool of abject satisfaction. It's a mental sigh, a release of held breath, the wrangling of taught limbs, as you sigh and hum contentedly as you fall deeper into his rancid mouth.

Questions linger, threatening to jab and pierce through the conscious veil, thoughts that you hold off drafting cohesive answers to until later, refusing to cross over into a threatening taint of reality.

“Fuck,” you groan dreamily as he pulls away. He grins at you, licking his lips as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

Your dress flaps back down around your thighs as you stand upright; the silk of it rippling in the breeze.

Your discarded and torn thong is tangled around the heel of your shoe; you lift your ankle, pulling it free and tossing it aside like your morals and any sense of regret.

“You need money for a cab, baby?” Dieter asks you as he lights up another joint he pulls from his trench pocket.

You shake your head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Sure, sure,” he says nodding nonchalantly, blowing thick smoke into the air.

He offers the joint out to you, the rings on his fingers catching the light in the back of your retinas, but you shake your head again with some unbridled mirth.

A few beats exist between the two of you, marred in something more than post-coital awkwardness. It's as if the exchange between you, marked by the weave of purple hues and the coarse air of the city, has left a lewd mark, staining the alley with more than your flouting promiscuousness and bodily fluids.

As you move forward, back up the alley with your heels clattering and your arms wrapped around yourself and sticky in between your legs, he ambles beside you, throwing a lingering glance that cements the layers of filth permanently under your skin.

His eyes trawl up and down your body as he tokes contemplatively. There's a magnetic pull, an invisible thread that seems reluctant to sever as you reach the familiar noises of the street and branch out towards the curb.

He pulls your elbow back so you avoid colliding with revellers you haven’t seen coming, and his touch leaves a brand that sears blisters on your skin.

You smile and he nods, turning away from you, ready to slink off into the shadows of the night like some would-be anti-hero etched onto the pages of a dogeared comic.

You take a few paces and stop, calling out to him; breaking the charged silence that had veiled over you both during that walk up the deep vein of the alley.

He turns with a whiff of skewed curiosity as you linger, his eyes still roaming over you; a dog still craving your meat.

“You wanna come back with me?” You ask brazenly, the breeze blowing the greased tendrils of your hair onto your lips.

Dieter inhales on the joint thoughtfully, eyebrows knitting together into contemplation and blows a thick wad of smoke out into the air that dissipates above the crown of unruly tufts that are slicked with sweat and have lost some of their fluff now.

The gossamer smoke glows as it thins out, cast in ultraviolet hues from the fuzzed indigo neons of the adjacent club.

He licks his bottom lip wet and sucks it in, releasing it with a pop as he considers the scenario you’ve now put to him - all of them.

You watch with anticipation prickling on your arms and down your back. You can’t help but smirk at him as you wave down a cab. You linger, with the door open, one foot inside the well of the back passenger seat; on the cusp of a farewell that's both a challenge and a beckoning.

Dieter twists his face into a wry acknowledgment; a deep grin that slices at you through the street. A crude, filthy mark left on the gritty canvas of the brickwork, graffiti on the walls and marked on your body alike.

In that uncertain pause between you both, the alley holds its breath.

Thank you so much for enjoying some sleazy Dieter. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and please give it a re-blog if you enjoyed reading. Thank you, lovelies! 🖤

MASTERLIST

Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter on Discord Lovelies:

If you want to be removed, that's cool 🖤

@for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @nerdieforpedro @laurfilijames @goodwithcheese @maggiemayhemnj @linzels-blog @ladybess-a03 @undercoverpena @legendary-pink-dot

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo the bubble #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x reader #jett's writing

373 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 8 months

Note

Not to be rude or derailing your answer to the ask about the scorched earth post, but I do think quite genuinely that the site is becoming more openly hostile to its userbase, or at the very least its disabled userbase. While I’m not a fan of mobbing people’s personal blogs in targeted harassment campaigns, I think some people are also ignoring that staff blatantly said in a recent post that epileptic users would need to pay for ad-free to have their safety assured

I kind of don’t think that’s being ethical or user friendly, to me that sounds like they’re refusing to meet basic accessibility requests and answering with ‘pay us money to be safe’. Strobing and flashing ads aren’t just eyestraining, they can legitimately lead to serious injuries for epileptic folk, and telling people with epilepsy to just pay up or get lost is kinda… I dunno… disgusting?

So it looks like in a livestream (not on a post so far as I've been able to see) either photomatt or zingring made a glib and inappropriate response to an epileptic user asking about flashing ads and suggested that maybe they needed to pay for ad-free.

That's bad, I don't like it, and if it was supposed to be a joke it was a shitty one.

Zingring, tumblr's COO addressed that comment in a post where she said:

Buying ad-free (or gifting ad-free to someone else) is always an option, but that is not the solution (and of course, some folks simply can’t afford it). Sorry that it sounded dismissive in the session! That was not my intent.

I still think that's inappropriate (it's not that ad free isn't *the* solution, ad free shouldn't be *a* solution to accessibility), but it looks like Zingring has addressed this issue multiple times.

She got tagged in this post listing ways that tumblr could improve accessibility for photosensitive users and seems to have pretty consistently followed up; she has explained that there are rules against flashing ads that are sometimes violated by the advertisers and asks people to please report ads that break those rules so those advertisers can be blocked, has noted that there is apparently a "stop all autoplay" option in the works behind the scenes. She does also seem to take it seriously when users reach out with complaints about accessibility issues and seems to be willing to explore options.

Looking through that blog, this does not seem to be a site that is hostile to users with accessibility issues so much as, like everything else that's wrong around here, it is ridiculously understaffed so every project that someone wants to have as a priority is a project that someone else needs put on the backburner.

However, to very gently push back: how much of what you're experiencing as hostility from tumblr is actual hostility and how much of it is seeing posts like this, which suggests that tumblr is removing accessibility features because the lightbox didn't have double-tap-to-zoom on mobile for some users for a short while, claims that the blocking/flagging issue is a false flag against trans women, shared the inaccurate fearmongering post about tumblr live's ToS, and also claimed that tumblr "allowed" flashing ads that violated the in-place rules that tumblr has for advertising?

(this kind of goes with the 'nobody understands the ToS' but also nobody understands ads; tumblr does not have enough staff to look over the ads that go on their site every day, no social media company does, they rely on advertiser agreements as a sort of enhanced honor system and reports from users if the advertisers don't hold up their end of the bargain; the only way around this for any site that uses ads is to not have ads and that post is explicitly saying don't pay for tumblr because they are doing ads wrong - either they have to run ads and some bad ones are going to slip through and users will have to report them or tumblr will have to be 100% paid by the users or tumblr will go away. If you see ads that are unsafe for photosensitive users on *any* website you should report them to the site because the site almost certainly doesn't know that there's an advertiser violating the ad ToS unless someone tells them)

Generally speaking, I am actually *not* seeing worsening accessibility features, I'm seeing improvements compared to where we were five years ago - alt text on images is now built-in and devs are working hard on making tumblr more compatible with screen readers (as noted in the changes blog regularly); tumblr itself started offering different dashboard themes for users after years of complaints about contrast levels and readability; the "tiktok/twitterified" desktop dash view that everyone hates is supposed to be more readable on wider screens.

Compare this post in October of 2022 when Changes celebrated adding animations for posting (and told users those could only be disabled at an OS or browser level) with this post from July 2023 when they rolled back a feature because of an unexpected use case that could cause problems for photosensitive users.

These aren't things that I'd expect to see from a company that didn't care about accessibility, or that was openly hostile to questions around making the site more accessible.

I don't disagree with you that the comment from the stream about buying ad free was inappropriate; it absolutely was and it must have made photosensitive users feel like shit. But in the three months since that comment tumblr has been very responsive about getting flashing ads removed as soon as possible and seems to be working on more permanent fixes. I think this may be an instance of able-bodied people not realizing how shitty and dehumanizing their joke was (and it was) and taking the steps to do better.

If you don't think they're doing better, I probably can't convince you. I certainly don't think that tumblr is perfect about accessibility and I think that users need to continue pushing for improved user control of how the site displays and interacts with various devices. But compared to the kind of responses users complaints got from staff in 2018? I feel like things have improved a lot.

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thydungeongal · 4 days

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Reminded of this ask and specifically the phrasing "narrative cruft."

Folks, I'm something of a fan of RPGs. I think RPGs are a pretty neat marriage of narrative and gameplay. I think the two are pretty neatly intertwined. If the fiction and mechanics of an RPG are in tune, I would hesitate to call the fiction "narrative cruft." It would do a huge disservice to the game.

So what is being called "narrative cruft" here? I can't say for sure but I believe the source of this ask was the recently resurfaced really smart post by yours truly where I talk about how trying to reframe the action of D&D (killing creatures and taking their stuff either as amoral tomb robbers or basically a posse of vigilantes under the blessing of those in power) as somehow aspirational may be a lost cause and how people would do a lot better to just accept the gameplay of D&D for what it is because the game itself will suffer for attempts to turn it into something it very much isn't.

Here's the thing though: D&D is very much a game about dungeons and also dragons. And I feel a lot of modern D&D players already reject that premise. Simply looking at what D&D, by its rules, says:

All characters will have to take part in some degree of resource management. At the very least they will have to track hit points throughout the day. Depending on edition and class they will have to take part in managing class-based resources. Even equipment is often consumable.

When it comes to resource management during the gameplay these games are the most opinionated about (combat and exploration) depletion of resources is very much the name of the game. You can, throughout the day, recover some resources, but often at the cost of another. Characters will generally not be gaining more resources throughout the day.

Looking at the types of creatures that are represented as adversaries in the game, most of them occupy the fictional space of "the dungeons," a type of nebulous mishmash of underground complexes, often implying some kind of underworld, or the wilderness.

I won't go further than that but these three things are actually pretty harmonious with the traditional gameplay of Town -> Wilderness -> Dungeon that is pretty much part of the game's DNA. Even D&D 5e is at its core still a dungeon game. It is very opinionated about things like "the adventuring day."

This is no coincidence. D&D is very much a resource management game, a "trying to survive in a hostile space while your resources get depleted" game. The interplay of having to make meaningful decisions between when to move out of the dungeon and back into civilization to rest and recuperate is an important part of the game. The game itself tells you this by asking the GM to take the shape of the adventuring day as a whole into account as a consideration in adventure design.

And there's a lot to criticize there: some people don't want to engage with that gameplay loop. Thankfully there are games other than D&D out there! Some people may see the gameplay loop as problematic. True, and I do think that the division of the world into effectively conflict zones and "civilization" is deeply ideological, but it's as txttletale said in that post of hers that my post was a reaction to: you can either take the media at its own word ("for the duration of Return of the King we are monarchists") or twist yourself into a pretzel shape trying to argue that the things that the text itself says about the world and game it is trying to get across aren't actually meaningful and no no the core gameplay of D&D is clearly about a plucky little found family just doing goodness.

Anyway, the way I personally reconcile is by not bringing moralism into it. At least in my opinion, "Amoral tomb robbers" and "sell-swords working for the highest bidder" are infinitely preferable to any of the ways that try to frame the action of D&D as somehow heroic, because now that there is no attempt to sell it as somehow aspirational we can actually have a discussion, during gameplay, about how the way of things in the fictional setting of the game are actually kinda fucked up.

Also if I wanted a queer take on dungeon fantasy I would play a game built with that as part of the text from the ground up, like Dungeon Bitches, and even Dungeon Bitches doesn't try to frame its dungeon-crawling disaster lesbians as somehow aspirational: they are fucked up women in a fucked up situation forced into a lifestyle that is violent and dangerous because they have chosen it over the comforts of a civilization that often doesn't treat women and especially queer women well.

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eat-limes-bitches · 1 month

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Nowhere else I'd Rather Be

PAIRING: Female Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: Soft blues and sunsets make for the perfect wedding.

SONGS: Entrance (0:42 if you want the specific time), Y/n's vows, Bucky's vows

WARNINGS: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

Word Count:

A/N: So here it is! The last installment of this, mini-series I guess! I had such a blast writing this and between you and me, I had fully intended on waiting to post this until I was back from my horse show next week, but I couldn't wait. No way in hell, so I hope you enjoy it! If you have any ideas for future writings, my ask box is looking a little empty and sad! Send some ideas my way!

Italics are memories, bold italics are song lyrics

Part 1 | Part 2

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

(3 YEARS LATER)

To say he was nervous would be an understatement. Bucky frantically fiddled with his tie, looking at the color, which caused him to smile for a moment. It was blue, but not bright, soft. Like worn denim. The same blue that matched the upholstery on the deep oak chairs that lined the dried flower petal pathway to where he was standing. The soft fall breeze caused a few of the petals to swirl around at his feet, reminding him of why he was here in the first place.

Bucky heard her humming from the other room when he got home from his morning run. Kicking off his shoes, he followed the sound of the humming to find Y/n plucking the drying petals off of the most recent bouquet, carefully depositing each petal into a glass jar.

“What’cha doing doll?” He called out, startling Y/n causing her to drop the flower she was currently working on.

“Jesus Buck! You scared me!” The pout that appeared on her face caused a chuckle to rumble in his chest. He swept her up in his arms, placing a kiss on her temple.

“Sorry darlin’. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Y/n hummed in delight as Bucky tightened his embrace.

“Well, if you must know-” She teased, spinning in his arms to face him, “I'm saving the flower petals from the bouquets you give me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Can I ask why?”

Y/n just smiled. “Someday, when we get married, I want to use the flower petals from all of the flowers you have given me to decorate the aisle I walk down towards you.”

A hand on his shoulder snapped Bucky back to the present.

“Hey man, you good? You looked a little lost there for a moment.” Sam said, brushing off Bucky’s suit. Bucky let out a shaky breath and smiled.

“Yeah, jus’ thinkin’ bout how we got here.”

Sam nodded his head and gave Bucky another pat on the shoulder before resuming his spot as best man. As he stood there, Bucky looked around at everyone who was there. Y/n’s immediate family was there of course, along with a couple of dear friends in her bridal party. On Bucky’s side, he had Sam and Torres as his groomsmen, and sitting in the crowd, he saw Suri sitting up front with both of Sam’s nephews, to help with the rings, Sarah was sitting nearby with a gentle smile on her face as she visited with the other folks. The kid who worked the counter at Joe’s on Saturdays, Howie, was there too smiling up at Bucky. Most of Sam’s family, who had accepted Bucky as one of their own were in the crow as well, mingling with Y/n’s family. Sam was gracious enough to let the couple use the backyard of the house for the small wedding.

The pair were a few weeks into wedding planning when the talk of location and size came up.

“How big is this whole thing gonna be, doll?” Bucky asked as he looked at the different swatches of blue fabric sitting on their coffee table.

Y/n sighed, “Would it be bad if I said I didn’t want a lot of people there? 50 at most?” Bucky looked up from the fabrics to meet Y/n’s gaze.

“Not at all.” He said with a smile, reaching for her hand across the table. “I think a small wedding is just our style if we are being completely honest.” Y/n smiled sweetly at him before resuming her mission to find the flowers she wanted.

“I think you are right. Do you think Sam would let us use the backyard of the house in Louisiana? It's so quiet, and in the fall when those big trees in the backyard are changing color? Underneath that willow tree? Oh, Bucky I think it’d be perfect!”

Y/n was gushing at the idea, and with the way her eyes sparkled as she described the scene, Bucky was willing to do just about anything to make that dream a reality for her, and of course, as soon as he asked Sam, he said yes.

Bucky blinked back into the present. The fairy lights were starting to show their glow hanging from the branches of the willow tree, swaying gently in the breeze. The sun was just starting to set, the inky purples and blues of the evening starting to slip into the sky, just letting the stars peak out through all of the colors dancing above them. The colors of the leaves danced in the golden light, reflecting off the water nearby, creating a beautiful mosaic of color all around the crowd of people. Suddenly the music changed. The filler music that had been playing for how long now, Bucky didn’t know, but he did know the song that was playing, it was the song that they danced to that night in the living room when Bucky decided that she was the one for him.

The pair had been cooking dinner, but when the next song on Y/n’s playlist came on, her eyes lit up, matching the smile that found its way onto her face.

“Oh Bucky I love this song! I know it’s not really slow dancing music but will you dance with me?”

Bucky chuckled as he swept her into the middle of their kitchen. He spun her just as the chorus started and what happened next sealed his fate forever. As she spun, she laughed, one of the most beautiful sounds Bucky had ever heard. The golden rays of the sun danced off of her hair casting a golden glow in the room around them. When she was back in his arms, he pulled her close and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Marry me?” He asked softly. Y/n’s breath froze, perpetually stuck in her lungs.

“What?” She whispered, staring up at him wide-eyed.

Bucky looked at her. “Y/F/N Y/L/N, will you marry me? I swear I’ll do this again, proper with a ring and everythin’ but I gotta know darling, will you marry me?”

Right as the same chorus started, Y/n appeared at the end of the aisle from Bucky. Sometime during his reminiscing, everyone had stood up and watched her appear, and now were now watching him as he took in the love of his life, standing there in white, bouquet of sunflowers, spray roses, and chamomile in her hands as she started walking towards him. Bucky couldn’t think of a single thing he had done right in his incredibly long life to deserve to be standing where he was right now, but he was forever grateful.

Time flew by and before he knew it it was time for their vows. Y/n went first.

“Bucky, ever since I’ve met you we’ve had a lot of learning and growing we have done over our three years together, one of the most noticeable things I have learned is when you go quiet, and won't let your guard down, I hear through the silence that you're trying to figure it out. You're trying to make me proud, believe me now, Baby, to the Moon and back

I still love you more than that. When your skies are grey, and your whole world is shaking

To the Moon and back, I love you more than that.”

Bucky’s Adam's apple bobbed furiously up and down as the tears streamed down his face. He pulled the pocket square out of his suit pocket and tried to stop the tears flowing down his cheeks but to no avail, they had started flowing the moment Y/n had appeared at the end of the aisle. Steadying himself with a breath, Bucky began his vows.

I remember when I saw you at the movies, and to me, you were a stranger in the room.

But to my surprise, I met your eyes and that was when I knew. Yeah without a doubt, I took you out for coffee. We sat for hours at a table made for two. I love the flowers in your footprints and the sparkle in your eyes. It doesn't matter if it rains or shines cuz I'll be by your side. For the record, you're my treasure, I love you more and more, and after all that we've been through, I can say it, you're my favorite and you'll always be my muse and I hope that in your heart you know it's true.”

Sam’s nephews brought up the rings, and with a little help from Suri, Bucky had a ring on his finger, identical to the one decorating Y/n’s hand. After the preacher said ‘You may now kiss the bride’ The rest of the evening was a blur for the couple. But once the party was in full swing and they took a rest from dancing, Bucky pulled Y/n into his arms, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered in her ear, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, than here with you.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x you

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dduane · 9 months

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Firefox (for Windows) folks: A Way To Get Back Tabs From A Previously Closed Session

Normally I don't have hundreds of tabs open in a given session, but sometimes I might have ten or twenty or thirty of them open. I use them as a casual to-do list, shutting them down when complete. (shrug)

Sometimes, though—and I bet some of you have been there—Firefox will close down incorrectly, or close down secondary to an update, and all those tabs will be GONE when it restarts. ARGH!! —because these closed sessions aren't easily recoverable by using control-shift-T or whatever the command is.

This happened to me just this last week-and-a-bit. I closed the desk machine down before going to FinnCon, and when I brought it up again... zero tabs. Much cursing ensued.

But then I went hunting for a way to get tabs back from a previously closed session... and WTF? I found one.

So here's what you do. (NB: This presupposes you're working in Windows. I have yet to see whether the file structure we get into below works in a Mac. More on this later.)

First of all, bring Firefox up and load this page. This is a lovely tool called Session History Scrounger. (And all praise to Jefferson Scher who created it.) Its job is to parse the files in which Firefox stores session info—including info about your open and recently closed tabs.

Now: use the search box in W10 or W11 and enter the following:

%APPDATA%\Mozilla\Firefox\Profiles

It'll take you to a directory where you'll see files with names like these.

Find the one that was most recently updated and doubleclick on it. You'll see a directory structure something like the following:

Doubleclick into the sessionstore-backups folder. (Save the contents of this whole directory to some other safe spot: maybe your documents folder or desktop.)

Inside that directory you'll find files that look like this:

You may also find files that look like "recovery.jsonlz4" or "recovery.baklz4", which would be the windows and tabs in your current session, or a backup copy of those windows/tabs, respectively.

What you may have most interest in, though, is previous sessions—and in my case, the one that was running on 21 June, which I knew (though it was an upgrade, as you can see by the name) would have the tabs I was concerned about having lost.

What you then do with that compressed .json file (the "lz4" signals the compression Firefox is using) is drag it onto the empty box on the Scrounger page: or else use the "browse" button in the page's right hand column to find and load it. Then hit the page's "Scrounge URLs" button and let the page process the file. (NB: this process stays "within the page" and does not go to the network.)

It'll then produce you a list of all the tabs you had open, as well as those you'd recently closed. (Here's a bit of mine so you know what it looks like...)

...And that's it! Click on the URLs to bring them up and save them as bookmarks, or just open them as tabs so they register as "new" in your history. Or whatever.

So. If you're a Firefox user and feel inclined, please reblog this so others can find it. (And also, if it helps you and you should feel moved to do so... oh, I don't know: buy me a coffee.)

Cheers, all!

#Firefox #closed sessions #session recovery #get your tabs from previous (closed) sessions back

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thmles · 11 months

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| You're losing me.

- stop. you're losing me.

[warnings: spoilers! not proofread, brief mention of dying, angst with no happy endings, symbolic breakup]

[a/n: this was just a quick write because i saw an edit of Gwen and Miles with the song you're losing me by taylor swift and it gave me an idea!! i hope y'all enjoy this tho 🥹]

As a member of the Spider-Society, you knew you had a part in protecting the multiverse. You had to ensure its safety because you live in it. You love the friends that you made from other dimensions, other Spider-folks. And you love him. Miguel O’Hara. He told you that it was his responsibility to protect the multiverse, that he lost too much to give up. You somehow convinced him that he can share that responsibility with the rest of the Spider-Society. With you. But with the recent events with Miles, you weren’t sure if you could do it anymore.

“Is that why you’re here? To let me down easy?” Miles looked over at Peter. You could tell Peter felt uneasy and guilty as he looked away. You looked around the room, a handful of Spider-Men were gathered. Mayday looked scared in her little carrier, watching Miles intently.

“For the last time, why not run it back, huh?”

“Hey, hold on, hold on-” Peter was quick to cut him off. You could understand both sides of the story. Miles just wanted to keep his dad alive, but to everyone’s eyes, it would jeopardize the multiverse. You knew there had to be some way to save his father and the multiverse. Deep down, you doubted Miguel's ideas were true, that there is a way for to disrupt canon events without risking that universe.

“You were right, Gwen. You should have never come to see me.” Your eyes widened and your heart ached for Gwen. You knew that she was doing what she thought was right. It’s hard to make decisions when you’re lost. Gwen was teary-eyed as she watched Miles. You looked up at Miguel beside you and he looked tired of the situation.

The situation was escalating quickly and you were sure Hobie was amused at the scene unfolding in front of all of you. Peter tried to reason with Miles again, attempting to convince him that the death of his father had to happen. That loss is normal, that it makes you all who you are. That we lose people but good things come too.

“You can’t ask me not to save my father,” Miles’ attention shifted from Peter to Miguel, who was beside you. Miles would not back down and Miguel would not try to understand Miles' reasons. He was stubborn and would only want it to go his way.

“I’m not asking you.”

A force field encapsulated Miles and you were quick to face Miguel.

“Miguel!” You exclaimed in disbelief as Peter and Gwen protested as well.

Miguel turned to face you. “You let him leave, and he’ll only cause more damage.”

“You don’t know that! We can figure something out! Don’t do this, Miguel.” You pleaded with him to the best of your abilities.

“I’m sorry, mi vida. You know I can’t let him do that.” He replied with a sigh. Miguel turned towards Peter and Gwen who tried their best to reason with them as well. He turned his back on them.

“Sorry it had to end like this, kid.” Miguel gravely said. “I-It can’t end like this, Miguel! We can figure something out, okay? Please can we just discuss this further!?” You exclaimed as you ran in front of him. He let out a sigh and held the bridge of his nose as he stopped in front of you.

“And risk the whole multiverse? To risk you?” Miguel snapped back at you harshly. You were taken back by his sudden change in attitude.

“I said not to call me that!”

When Miles blew up the force field that imprisoned him, Miguel was quick to shield you from the blast, holding you tightly against his chest. Miguel looked back at Miles who ran out the room in hopes of escape.

“Miles!” Miguel exclaimed, ready to bolt after him. You pulled on his wrist to stop him from chasing after the poor kid. “Don’t do this, Miguel.” You warned him as the other Spider-Men began to chase Miles. “I can’t risk losing you.”

After a long chase, Miles lead the whole Spider Society on a train going up the atmosphere. You were quick to follow the crowd earlier with the sole purpose of stopping Miguel. However, Miles managed to escape Miguel by using the ‘Go Home Machine’. Miguel clawed at the force field surrounding Miles as the rest of you stood there in silence. You didn’t even know what you could do to stop Miguel anymore. He was pissed to say the least and when Gwen retaliated, he sent her back home too. You were horrified as Gwen was fighting against the machine, hoping to escape its grasp.

Miguel quickly formed a team of you, Jess, and Ben in an attempt to bring Miles in, to stop him from disrupting the canon event. He waited for you to enter the portal first but you didn't. Instead you pulled Miguel’s hand and opened it up, placing the promise ring he gave you a year ago on your anniversary.

“You’re losing me.”

That was the last thing you told him before going back to your dimension. You knew that Miguel knew you were going to attempt to help Gwen or Miles, so you knew that he would most likely block out access to creating portals through your watch. Luckily, Miguel had shown you how he and Lyla formed that watch. With a little patience and hardwork, you managed to create your own. And a couple more. You stashed them in a bag and slung it over your body. A picture of Miguel and you in a beach was perfectly framed on top of the table in the hallway. You grabbed it and with a heavy heart, you put the picture frame face down to hide the memory.

I can’t find a pulse, my heart won’t start anymore.

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miles morales x reader #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara

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trans-rite · 6 months

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How to join the Transgender Ancestor Rite: an FAQ on our updated format

What is it?

an annual, non-denominational ritual honoring transgender individuals who have passed on

an act of solidarity with the lineage of transgender ancestors who have come before us and paved the way, as well as with the descendants who will come after us when we are gone

a chance to share tenderness and kindness with the restless spirits of transgender people who lost their lives to violence

an opportunity for living transgender folks, including those who have lost trans loved ones, to grieve, mourn, and pray

a labor of love from a multiracial group of trans spirit workers, each at various stages of study in ancestor veneration practices, who have been putting on this ritual since 2014

When is it?

the ritual should take place on or around the Trans Day of Remembrance on November 20th, preferably within a week

most of us do it at night but any time of day is fine

if you need to do it a little before or after the 20th, don't sweat it

Where is it?

wherever you are!

groups are welcome to host local events and inform us about them, but the ritual itself takes place in a location of your own choosing, usually at home

if you have access to a local TDOR event that could incorporate some or all of this ritual, you are welcome to bring it there

most of the organizers have historically been located in the northeastern US but you don’t have to be

Who is it for?

it honors everyone from this year’s Trans Day of Remembrance official list, as well as any other deaths of trans individuals from the year that participants wish to include

illness losses, violent deaths, suicides, and natural deaths are all eligible for inclusion

it includes, cumulatively, all transgender deaths from previous years as well, named on the TDOR lists and unnamed, throughout history

it honors and praises the trans ancestors, people who were alive both recently and longer ago, who feel themselves in connection with us, who have received the care and honor we offered through previous years’ rituals, who are bright and well and who can tend the line from the other side

participants can be trans or cisgender, of any or no denomination or faith

Does it cost money?

nope! this is an anticapitalist affair

you can buy incense and offerings if you like, but you don’t need to spend money to participate

Why are y’all doing this?

honestly this could take pages and pages about the importance of this work and of soothing the troubled dead and tending our ancestral line et cetera et cetera ad infinitum but the short version is

we gotta

our ancestors require it and we’re making sure they get it

Okay, how does it work?

during the ritual, you sit or stand at an altar, light a candle, put out a glass of fresh water, and read a prayer

you may also make any other offerings you feel called to do

if so moved, you read the names of the dead from this year's TDOR list and call on our bright and well ancestors to tend to these newly passed souls

all the people participating in all the different places in the world help create a rising raft of energy that is greater than the sum of its parts, delivering the restless dead among our line into the care of our bright and well ancestors, who, in turn, also care for us, the living

Prayers? I thought you said this was non-denominational.

prayers can involve divinity, or they can be kind and soothing words to say to the dead

you can look through our prayers tag to get ideas and inspiration, but feel free to find poems on your own and/or write something yourself as well

you are welcome to include deity or not, as you prefer

the organizers of this ritual incorporate gods and spirits in our practices but you by no means need to

on the flip side, if you want your gods involved, feel free to do so in whatever respectful manner works for you

What do I need on my altar?

the basics are an altar cloth (white is traditional; a bandana works), a cup to be filled with water, and a new or dedicated candle (white is traditional here also but follow your instincts)

other great offerings include cut flowers, portions of your food and drink (though alcohol is not advised with restless spirits), tobacco, honey, pictures and/or names of the deceased, art, music, dancing, and any gender paraphernalia you think the ancestors might like

do not put pictures of living people on the altar

it can be as simple or ornate as you choose: the important parts are the candle, the cup, and the cloth

Isn’t it sketchy to be working with dead people?

a little bit

it is much less sketchy since our format change in 2022, at which point this ritual shifted from working directly with restless spirits (dicey) to interfacing with them only through our cadre of elevated bright and well ancestors who have already benefited from previous years' rituals

we advise that you cleanse or purify in whatever way you prefer, ideally before and after the working

if you’re in a Western (especially American Christian) culture that views death as The End and discussion of death as taboo, consider reading up on cultures where ancestor veneration is a normal part of everyday life (hint: it’s most of them)

Other questions? Send them in and we’ll answer them, and maybe add them to the list! If you post about the ritual, tag #troe2023 and we will check it out!

Thank you for joining us!

- Mod Alder and team

#troe2023 #trans rite of elevation #transgender rite of ancestor elevation #troe #mod post #faq #will update the page link soon but pinning this post for now

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 10 months

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I don’t think Jason has ever hated Tim

I recently revived my Jason Todd hyperfixation from its torpor and realized I had... Means and Ways of reading as many comics as I want for free, so I made the transition from Fanon Only to having read Lost Days, Under the Red Hood, Teen Titans #29 (where Jason fights and beats the tar out of Tim), Hush, Red Hood and the Outlaws (the majority of both runs), Red Robin: The Grail, Batman and Robin: Streets Run Red, Green Arrow #70 - #73 (where Jason kidnaps Mia), Battle for the Cowl, and a smattering of other bits and bobs, all within the last month.

I have come to the conclusion that the idea that Jason hated Tim before slowly learning to be okay with him is completely backwards.

Jason starts respecting Tim as a fellow combatant after basically their first meeting, and was sympathizing with him even before. Fandom talks a lot about how Jason repeatedly tried to kill Tim, but I think there’s a good argument to be made that actually Jason has never tried to kill Tim, and there’s a better argument that Jason has never tried to hurt Tim out of a dislike for him.

Tim is the one who feels viciously betrayed by Jason, hates his guts, and depending on if you blend in the New 52 either learns to begrudgingly like him or just stays hatin.

Obviously I need some proof here, since this goes completely against the grain of every relationship interpretation I’ve ever seen for them, so approximately seven miles of character analysis under the cut lmao

I’m gonna try to go in chronological order of the characters’ history here, which means we’re starting with Lost Days, and Jason’s first reaction to finding out there’s a new Robin:

This does not look like anger to me.

Lost Days is only six issues long, and this is the entirety of the pages devoted to Jason’s feelings on Tim. Jason succeeds in a plan that would have almost certainly killed Batman if Jason had gone through with it. Jason undeniably has Joker dead to rights at one point, but lets him go. Jason at no point in this story attempts to harm Tim at all.

Now for Hush.

Context for fanon only folks: this is where the “throat slitting” bit happens.

Context for a lot of confusion: I don’t know if Jason is the one who holds Tim hostage or not.

In the original Hush plot line this is only Clayface; Jason isn’t here at all. It was later retconned in Under the Red Hood that Jason was actually in this fight for... some amount of time. It’s highly unclear to me when they swap out. Probably because originally, they didn’t swap out. Oh well! In either case, it’s now canon that Jason coached Clayface on his acting, so for the purposes of this essay, Imma hold Jason responsible for the throat damages and the words said regardless of who did what!

Right off the bat: this is a hostage taking, not a murder. Yes, Clayson Jayface does nick Tim’s neck and absolutely makes the threat of murdering him to Batman, but it’s clearly a threat. Like, look at this panel:

He is talking a lot. This isn’t an attempt to kill Tim, it’s an attempt to screw with Batman. No matter who this is, they have every reason to expect that Batman will stop them before they do any permanent damage. Can you see that little, blurry, half-hidden line of red? Lets look at what the damage was later on:

The bleeding was stopped by a bit of cloth, some pressure, and he’ll need stitches eventually, but they can clearly wait, and Tim doesn’t seem alarmed. That’s enough to scar, and enough that it is perfectly reasonable for Tim to assume that he would have died if he hadn’t been rescued.

However, Jason being deeply protective of kids is a reasonably consistent character trait. “You really think I’m gonna bring the pain to a ten year old?” Even at Jason’s most villainous, he is willing to put himself in danger in order to protect his own sidekick Scarlet. I think it would be very out of character for him to have gone through with it. Combined with Jason’s later actions and the general fact that a hostage is pretty useless dead, I come to the conclusion that Jason was bluffing.

It is ambiguous though, and I admit that this is probably the weakest link in the “Jason never tried to kill him” chain.

But enough of that, was he angry with him? Is the hate there?

I argue no, and that really there’s no emotional investment in Tim at all. In terms of hard numbers the pages Jalay Toddface spends holding Tim hostage is 3 and the number he spends fighting Batman is 13 and the number of times he even so much as LOOKS at Tim is ZERO, like actually, literally ZERO TIMES. He does not spare poor Timmy a SINGLE GLANCE.

Now make a special note here because those three pages of no eye contact from someone who might not even be Jason are the ONLY times that Tim is called Pretender or Imposter.

I’m relying on this research done by Kiragecko: https://kiragecko.tumblr.com/post/128411908944/bat-sibling-interaction It only goes up to Battle for the Cowl, (as does this essay it turns out, I just don’t know how to bridge between that and the New 52) so it isn’t every interaction ever, but it’s still excellent research, go leave a like.

According to them: “Comments: Tim thinks about Jason a lot while he’s first training. He imagines the former Robins giving him pep talks, and uses them to fight off fear gas. When Jason comes back, though, Tim’s really nasty, especially in his head. Jason, however, is somewhat respectful. He usually calls Tim ‘Tim’, and seems to kind of like him. ‘Pretender’ and ‘Imposter’ are things that CLAYFACE said, not Jason.“

How many times are those said? Once. Each. That’s it. As a comment under the Jason and Tim post done by Kiragecko points out, “Replacement” doesn’t even get used.

Under the Red Hood is basically THE Jason Todd comic. To my memory he doesn’t interact with Tim in it. However, it does contain that aforementioned reconning! So we get to see his reasoning during this encounter.

And it very very clearly isn’t at all about Tim.

Moving on to Titans Tower, which is indisputably focused on Tim: When he fights Tim, he is absolutely violent and over the line, but he’s NOT out of his head. Jason is clearly very lucid and careful about what he’s doing.

Is he angry? Of course! He’s angry at the Titans who in his mind cared about him way less than their other members, and accepted a replacement robin as though his life, his whole flesh and blood self, was something that could be so easily forgotten and swapped out.

But I think it would be a mistake to assume that Jason’s at all mad that he isn’t Robin anymore.

A very interesting direct parallel to this fight is when Jason kidnaps Mia, Green Arrow’s sidekick Speedy, fights her, appeals to their commonalities and encourages her to solve crime his way rather than Green Arrow’s way.

In both scenarios Jason engineers a way to isolate a sidekick and attempts to teach them something through combat. He makes a direct appeal to them against their mentors, and seems genuine about what he’s saying. He also lets both of them live, and with Mia is honestly pretty damned polite about it all. At least, as polite as a guy can be about kidnapping you and encouraging you to try to kill him in your high school gym that he definitely should not know about.

The plain fact of the matter is that Jason knocked Tim out, had time to paint his whole ass name way up high on a wall, and did not kill him. This is the same Jason who just prior to that took out all of Tim’s allies non-lethally. The same Jason who kept Mia’s protector’s busy non-lethally. The same Jason who cuts Mia free and gives her weapons back and starts slow in their fighting to make sure he doesn’t hurt her too badly. The same Jason who seems to feel very strongly that killing, trafficking, or selling drugs to kids is an unforgivable offense and very clearly sees Tim as a kid.

Quite frankly, this reads not like a murder, and not like a jealous beatdown, but an attempt to convince Tim that he’s going to get himself killed and needs to get out while he still can. In Jason’s mind before they meet, Tim is purely A Robin, a kid who deserves better than to be put into danger against the same monsters over and over again until he finally slips up and dies.

Is this a hairbrained and back asswards way of doing that? Yes! But it does track for someone who tries to do all of his talking through his actions, which do speak louder than words, but unfortunately C-4 loudness is not actually a significant boon to nuanced communication.

If you want to put it in a less charitable way (and maybe we should, this is a bonkers asshole move on Jason’s part no matter how you slice it) then we can say Jason is testing Tim, trying to see if this one has what it takes to be better than he was, to survive where he couldn’t. Personally I think it’s a mix of both, and for this end of that emotional mess: Tim passes the test.

Jason leaves while talking about Tim in present tense, showing that he has every expectation of Tim being alive, and praises him in the process:

Did you know that the fun panel of Tim kicking Jason in the nuts is actually from the same comic run, about twenty or so issues later?

Did you know that the argument they were having starts with Dick and Tim wrestling with Jason and accusing him of a murder he did not commit, and in fact tried to save the victim from?

Did I mention yet that the death in question was of Duela Dent, aka the JOKER’S DAUGHTER, whom Jason caught attempting to hold a young woman hostage for ransom? And that Jason repeatedly shot her getaway balloon instead of her and then tried to save her life immediately afterwards despite the fact that she was going to let the hostage plummet to their death? And it is implied that part of the reason he’s so easy on her is because of “Once a Titan always a Titan” loyalty, with this being our first clue that Jason isn’t the one shooting at her anymore?

Did I also mention that he comes to her funeral in part to be around Donna (the starry leotard lady whose statue he smashed) because it’s nice to be around people who understand being displaced by their own death? And that the one who sticks up for him in this scene is Donna?

At risk of negating my own thesus here, I’d say it’s reasonable to think that maybe Jason feels rage-hate for Tim in this “kicked in the dick while Dick grins smugly” moment.

Lets go now to Robin #177 at the tail end of the 1993 to 2003 run - Bruce has “died” and Tim hasn’t yet gone on his epic quest to find him. Tim finds Jason unifying street gangs with the intent to bring them under control and solve the current crisis. He appeals to Tim for help with this, in fact he comes off as almost puppy dog eager to work with him, and seems really sad when he says fuck no.

This is one of the first fights in which Tim really holds his own against Jason, and I am very proud of him, yes :3

This gets Jason arrested. Then Tim actually goes through with a heavily modified, less violent version of Jason’s plan that Jason didn’t think could work. A few issues later, when Tim decides that he’s going to try to honor what Bruce would have wanted by springing Jason out of jail, Jason makes note of that.

Jason is pretty damned civil at their next meeting, even though Tim makes it pretty damned clear he doesn’t want him around.

And now... we have to talk about Battle for the Cowl.

I’ve seen it described as a masterclass in how NOT to write Jason Todd, due to it portraying him as being an absolutely off his rocker anger murder violence man. I am inclined to agree.

In this three issue comic Jason Todd has been dRiVeN mAd (in the most bullshit comic sense of that word) by Bruce’s will... telling him to go to therapy. Yeah. So uh, he dons a Batman suit to shoot people in AND pretends to be Black Mask so he can enslave a bunch of villains Amanda Waller style, and like it gets weird from there. It is an extremely jarring transition from that last scene to GUNS BAT HATE MAN.

He still does not hate Tim in it. I really, seriously thought I was going to have to make a lot of excuses for this portion but then the more I read of it the more vindicated I was cause let me repeat: One of the most unhinged with Bat hate and crazy juice versions of Jason ever put to print does not hate Tim at all.

Hell, he likes Tim! He compliments him!

And on top of that, even though he is MUCH more lethal against his fellow robins when they attack him - Jason straight up shoots a ten year old Damian in the chest. It’s fucked. - There is still evidence to suggest that Jason deliberately didn’t kill Tim when he had ample opportunity.

Jason first of all never hunts Tim down. I’ve heard Battle for the Cowl described as Jason tracking Tim down or kidnapping him or going after him to force him to Be His Robin, but that’s just not how it goes.

Instead he waits for Tim to come find his Batcave, disorients him, and goes for a ton of surface cuts. He only actually goes for a real body blow after Tim picks up a crowbar and beats Jason across the face with it a few times.

(Again, proud of you Timmy)

After the stabbing, Jason doesn’t just leave Tim there; this isn’t a matter of hurrying on before he could check. He’s seen dragging Tim off. When Nightwing later comes to rescue him, Dick is downright certain Jason is lying to him about Tim being dead because Jason is refusing to show him the body and Dick figures it’s because he knows there’s no body to show (if in part because he can’t let himself believe Tim is dead without hard proof).

Tim himself wonders about this, noting that the batterang was rusted and shattered on his armor.

Sure, Tim used playing possum to make his pulse slow to a near stop for a while, maybe that fooled Jason, but keep in mind that BRUCE taught Tim that skill, and if there’s one thing these comics have established, it’s that Jason is dangerous precisely because he is so intimately familiar with the techniques of the Bat. Jason even makes specific note of the fact that Tim being trained like Bruce and fighting like Bruce would be his downfall at the beginning of their fight.

The whole comic leaves me wondering just how much of what happened went completely according to Jason’s plan. I really would not put it passed him to engineer a ‘death in the family’ recreation for the next Batman in line! As much as I agree that this is garbage characterization for him in many many ways, I do think Jason makes a fantastic villain. I love to see him run rings around the Bats in some places, and make lemonade out of getting his ass kicked in others.

No matter how we interpret the stabbing here though, what does seem very clear to me is that Jason makes the Be My Robin offer to Tim first and foremost because he thinks pretty highly of Tim! He’s been rejected by Tim at least three times over but keeps holding a hand out for him. This does not seem like Tim hater reaction hours here!

Also that whole thing about kids being dragged into this vigilante life irresponsibly? Yeah that’s still there!

I have TRIED to find evidence that Jason hates Tim at like literally any point here. I have gone through the shit people point to. I have looked at the context around those and dug up more obscure interactions for second and third views. Everywhere I look I just see more instances of Jason complimenting Tim!! It’s driving me nuts!

The only conclusion that I can come to is that people read this stuff and just trust that Tim is right about Jason. Tim’s internal view waaay more closely resembles fandom interpretation. Tim assumes that Clayson Toddface would absolutely have killed him in cold blood, that Jason beat the shit out of him purely to prove he was stronger, that he’s a brute, a moron, an active danger to society, and that every bit of leniency given to him will result in betrayal and death.

I don’t have clearer proof for it, but I also don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Tim probably believes Jason has it out for him and holds him responsible for his replacement.

So yeah. As a fascinating reversal of my expectations going in: I don’t think Jason has ever hated Tim, but boy fuckin howdy has Tim HATED Jason.

#jason todd #tim drake #character analysis #jason todd and tim drake #jason todd & tim drake #jaytim #jason todd/tim drake #robin #red hood #red robin

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mrsbrookemunson · 3 months

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Hi, love you’re writing! I was wondering if you were open to a Sebastian request… there’s a HC that the reason his hair is always so chaotic is due to Solomon taking sheep shears to his head, and I was wondering if you could use that to do a small fluff, possibly revealing a crush, between Sebastian and MC, in which he’s received another Solomon haircut and is feeling really self conscious about it, so MC assures him it’s not so bad/he’s still handsome

I'm not even kidding, I saw this request and immediately had to do it because I love it so much - I recently went to Universal (Islands of Adventure) and saw the Hogwarts castle and Hogsmeade... I may have cried a little. Summary: The request Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x MC (No pronouns used) Warnings: Uncle Solomon (there, I said it), angst, fluff, food mentioned, use of 'MC', honestly just real fluffy fluff which I feel like we don't have a lot of. Wrote this in one sitting so most definitely typos. If you're on a computer, the pictures might be formatted weirdly. Contains (Or Lacks): No specific house mentioned. The main plot of the game still happened, but Sebastian's side quest did not. Which means Solomon's alive, but Anne is not cured. Set in summer.

(Pictures Found on Pinterest)

The summer sun was always a lovely feeling after the long and cold winters that occurred in the Scottish Highlands. You could admit the snow was pretty, but the way the warmth engulfed you as your journey took you through fields of flowers, across crystal clear water streams, all whist surrounds by tall mountains that were accented with green. Green was everywhere - green grass, green trees, green bushes, and everything so forth. Each breath you took filled you with peace.

Then there you were.

Feldcroft.

It was only a month and a half ago since you last saw your best friend, Sebastian. The end of your 6th year left you torn. Why? Because ever since you and him met in 5th year, you couldn't deny the spark that ignited when your eyes first met his. It was almost as if Merlin himself wrote in the stars that the two of you would find each other one day. And thank Merlin you did. He was there for you during your fight in the Goblin War, he was there for you in the search to find all the answers that led to more questions, and he was there for you when you lost Professor Fig. But, there were lows that came with it.

You couldn't help him. Over the last two school years, you've tried and failed to have found a cure for his twin sister Anne. You both now knew Rookwood was behind the cruelty and not a goblin, but what good did it do when you were too blinded by the fight to have forgotten to force the answers Sebastian so desperately needed out of him? At least, that's what you tell yourself. Sebastian had to have told you a million times not to blame yourself, but you couldn't follow through. The only way to fix things was to find a cure for Anne.

You clutched the handle of your trunk as your eyes caught the all too familiar well of Feldcroft.

"Off on another adventure?"

You turned your head with a raised eyebrow toward Ignatia Wildsmith. With a chuckle, you continued forward.

"Ah! MC, good to see you again!" Bernard Ndiaye, the Feldcroft shopkeeper, called out.

You smiled and walked up to him. "Hello, Bernard. Doing well?"

"As good as one can be," he answered. "What brings you to town?"

"Oh, I'm just visiting a friend," you replied, vaguely. "Sebastian," you added.

"Ah... young Sallow. I've seen quite a bit of him recently."

"Hm?" You gave him a questionable look.

"He's been helping the folks around here with some labor. He's been a great help to me, keeping my shop tidy and stocked!"

"Sounds like Sebastian," you laugh.

He echoed your laughter. "I shouldn't have been surprised of your arrival, he's been talking about you."

"Has he?" You perked.

"Oh yes... all good things, of course." He grinned, smugly.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him in suspicion. "I'll take your work for it..." you dragged in amusement. "Well, I should probably be going, they are expecting me."

"Yes! Yes! Don't let me keep them waiting." He waved you off as he takes a sip of his tea.

You smiled and waved goodbye. You walked away toward the Sallows' house which you deemed as the most whimsical looking one out of Feldcroft, but maybe you were biased. You sighed as you took in the house. It was small, but beautiful. You took note of the new elements that have appeared since the last time you were here. A few new plants, a few new fruits and vegetables in their garden, even a new painted wood sign that claimed their residency. Everything looked perfectly tended to.

You raise your fist to knock, but before your knuckles could touch the door you heard what sounded like a grunt coming from behind the house. You froze in attempt to make it easier to hear. Your eyebrows furrowed when you heard yet another one. You took a step back from the door and set down your luggage. Your curiosity led your feet around the house, eyes bouncing around to spot the source of the sound.

You stopped over by the training dummies when you heard another sound, louder than had been before. You turned your head rather abruptly knowing you had finally found your conclusion but that backfired when you felt your knees nearly give out on you.

Oh.

Your face flushed when your attention was suddenly drawn to none other than your best friend. Your best friend that you fancied like mad, right here in front of you, skin glistening from sweat, breathing heavily with the occasional grunt as he moved large trunks of wood. Your eyes widened the more you continued to gawk at him, you didn't even notice that your jaw had dropped a little at the sight of him.

He stood up straight and lifted his hat a little to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He let out a long sigh of exhaustion and let his head hang low for a moment before shaking it off and turning his body to where you stood. You swore you saw his soul leave his body when he was smacked in the face by your presence.

He jumped and grasped his chest with a gasp. "Merlin MC, don't do that to me! How long were you standing there?" he scolded.

Your brain didn't process his scolding. You smiled and walked with vigor up to him. Without a word you threw your arms around your neck and pulled him into an embrace. He stiffened for a second before hugging you back

"I missed you," you said.

He wouldn't have admit it in that moment, but hearing your voice after haven't heard it in a while made his stomach flutter. A smile made its way onto his face. "I missed you too."

You pulled away, but not too far as you scanned his face for any changes. He did the same.

"You've grown," you pointed out.

"Have I?" He smirked.

"At least an inch." You narrowed her eyes. "And you got a new freckle... right... there." You poked his cheek.

He jokingly slapped your hand away. "I see you haven't change one bit," he teased.

You rolled your eyes. You raised a hand to block your eyes from the sun. "Merlin Sebastian, how are you wearing a hat right now in this weather?"

You didn't mention it, but you saw the way his cheeks turned a light shade of red.

"Where's your luggage?" he asked.

"At the front." You jutted your head in the direction.

"C'mon, let's get you settled then." He placed a hand at the small of your back and guided you to the front of the house. He grabbed your luggage and brought it inside, holding the door open for you.

The first thing you saw was Anne. She was standing there with a weak smile on her face. She had gotten a lot thinner since last summer when you saw her, and the dark circles under her eyes were more noticeable. It was a jab to your heart seeing her this way, knowing you couldn't control it.

"MC!" she exclaimed, happily.

"Anne!" You opened your arms and hugged the girl.

"How've you been?" she asked, moving so she could look at you as she spoke.

"I've been good - busy - but good." You hesitated at first, but asked, "And you? How have you been feeling?"

"Some days are worse than others, but today has been good. Probably because I knew you'd be here today." You laughed together. "Uncle has gone out to go get supplies for supper tonight, he should be back soon."

Sebastian behind you muttered something incoherently.

Anne looked at him. "Something on your mind?"

He glanced up from the palm of his hand which he had been absentmindedly tracing. He formed his lips into a tight line. "Nope. Nothing at all... I'll be outside if you girls need anything." He was quick to leave.

You grew a little confused at his rushed exit. "Is there anything I should be aware of?"

Anne scoffed a little. "Oh, it's - it's nothing, it's silly." She brought you to sit at the dining table with her. "He's just a little snippy because Solomon gave him a haircut," she explained.

You didn't know whether to laugh or not. "What?"

Anne shook her head a little. "Ever since we were young, after our parents died, every summer Uncle Solomon will give Sebastian a haircut if he thinks it's gotten too long to do labor with."

You grimaced at the thought of that man giving you a haircut and began to felt sympathy for Sebastian the more you thought about it. "Oh..."

"Solomon recently thought it had gotten too long... I have never seen Sebastian fight it more than he did this time. Honestly, I think it had something to do with you coming so soon."

You frowned. "I'd never make fun of him if that's what he thought."

"He knows that, it's just..."

You tilted your head. "It's just... what?"

She leaned in a little. "It's just that he wants to look his best when he's around you."

"Why should that matter?"

She looked a little taken aback. "My Merlin, do you really not know?"

"Know what?"

"You don't!" she exasperated.

"Don't know what?" You were starting to get a little desperate.

Anne looked around as if to make sure no one was listening. "Be honest with me here... do you fancy my brother?"

You nearly choked out your saliva as you gasped in shock. "What?! No! Me?! No!" You avoided her eye contact as well as her wide grin.

"Oh my gods! You do!" She began to laugh as if it was hysterical. "I knew it!" She slapped the table. "And Sebastian told me you didn't think of him that way..." She shook her head. "I should've listened to Ominis." She began to ramble off about you, Sebastian, and Ominis.

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't tell him I told you, but sister to sister you have to know... that my brother - my twin - is totally in love with you."

You blinked a few times as you attempt to process this information. "What?"

"Now before you start asking - "

"Has he told you that?! Since when?! Why has he never told me?!" you blurted.

"He - "

Suddenly, the door swung open. Heavy footsteps treaded in, the wooden floors creaked underneath the new weight. You turned your head and was met with Solomon whose facial expression hadn't changed since the last time you saw him. A deep scowl.

"You're here early," he grumbled.

Your eyes glimpsed at the grandfather clock in their house. You weren't early, in fact you were actually a little late, but there was no way you would correct him. So, instead, you gave a sweet smile. "I had anticipated some interruption during my travels, but lucky for me none came."

He gave a stiff nod and shuffled his way to the kitchen. "Hope you like Shepard's pie."

Even if you didn't, you would never admit it. "Love it!" You eyed Anne who was holding back a giggle.

"Where's that boy?" he asked, unpacking the produce and meat.

"He's outside, working in the back," Anne answered.

He glared. It wasn't directed toward Anne, but it still managed to make you two cower a little. "No manners that boy has! Invites a guest over and then - " The rest of it was mumbled as he stormed out of the house.

You and Anne could hear muffled shouting.

You turned to Anne. "Anne, about Sebastian - " You were interrupted this time by the door. However, Solomon was now accompanied by Sebastian.

So, that's why he's wearing a hat. You thought to yourself.

Solomon shoved his toward the table where you and Anne sat at. He huffed and sat down beside you.

Anne glanced between the two of you with a sly smile. "So, MC... you said you've been busy, doing what exactly?"

"I've been helping Mr. Weekes at Spintwitches Sporting Needs, he has some new ideas for broom upgrades that I've been assisting him with."

"Sebastian told me you were a good flyer, better than Imelda from what he's told me."

Sebastian had seemed to've perked up. "She's the best on the team."

You breathily scoffed. "That's pushing it a little."

"Nonsense, people think you're gonna get chosen for captain in this new year," he said.

"Don't let Imelda hear that, it'd be over her dead body would I get that position," you half-heartedly joke.

"Anything else you've been doing?" Anne inquired, resting her chin against her knuckles.

"I've been helping Mr. Hill with modeling clothes, helping Sirona at the Three Broom Sticks - cleaning and whatnot, helping J. Pippins with potion deliveries, of course running my own shop - "

"Have you been taking breaks?" Sebastian asked.

You frowned a little at his look of concern. "Of course I have been taking breaks, I''m taking one right now, being here." You could tell that didn't ease him. "It's a busy season, but I've been managing."

"But, you've been drinking enough water, right? Eating enough? Sleeping enough?"

Anne could relate this back to the 'he's in love with you' claim, but you could relate it back to the two of them. He's had to care for Anne for a while now and witnessed her downfall, it's to no surprise he'd be protective over your health and making sure you're okay.

"Yes, Sebastian," you assured.

Solomon was cutting carrots (why is that funny to imagine?), when he grumbled to himself about something. He set his knife down shook his head. "Boy! What did I say about wearing hats indoors?"

You eyed Sebastian's expression. It flickered with embarrassment.

"I am not taking off this hat," he argued.

Solomon crossed his arms and stared down Sebastian. "And why is that?"

Sebastian's lip trembled a little. "W-Well, because - " He sighed in defeat, he didn't want to argue in front of you. That was an embarrassment in itself as he learned the more he thought about the day you first met Anne. "Yes, sir."

Solomon went back to cooking. You didn't know whether to watch or not as Sebastian slowly took off his hat. His eyes casted down in shame. Some of his hair was matted down from the sweat while the rest of it had it's own mind. You had never really seen his natural hair, always tamed with gel. This was the first time you had seen the chaos that was Sebastian's hair, and oh how Solomon did not understand it.

Sebastian ran a hand through it, but it only seemed to have stirred it more. The shorter layers sticking out a little, some parts wavy, some parts straight. The longer layers uneven. You deep down hoped that one day it'd be you who'd give his hair the treatment it deserved, because you knew how much Sebastian cared about it.

"I'm just going to step away for a moment - " Sebastian started.

"No, I need your hand in the kitchen," Solomon countered.

Sebastian shut his eyes. His nostrils flared ever-so-slightly as he breathed in sharply. He stood up and walked to the kitchen.

"Due to the arguing, Solomon did haste the cutting process," Anne explained in a hushed tone

"What does he use for it?" You scooted closer toward her so Sebastian nor Solomon heard.

"Sheep shears." Anne cringed at the thought. "I've been fortunate enough to have never experienced it, Sebastian on the other hand..." she paused. "In our second year, Solomon cut it right before the start of first term, and let's just say... it ended him up with an awful nickname."

"Oh, poor Sebastian..." You sympathized.

"After that he learned how to style his hair and built a new reputation for himself, but I know it haunts him every time this season comes around. I think he's just scared you'll somehow lose interest in him all together if you see him - well... this way..."

You frown and looked at Sebastian whose energy drained in the last hour.

"I don't think that's possible," you whisper, unknowingly.

Anne grabbed your hand that laid on the table. "Maybe it's time to tell him that."

You bit your lip. Your nerves grew the more you thought about such a conversation between you and Sebastian. Where you'd reveal the feelings you've contained since the day you met him. Yes, when you met him, you thought he was attractive, but then you got to know him and suddenly he was beautiful. Inside and out, and that's what scared you.

Were you enough for someone beautiful?

You know Anne said he liked you back, but what if it was all a big misunderstanding? It wouldn't have been the first time.

Could you afford to get your heartbroken by Sebastian?

You think not. Which is why when you got your plate of food, you managed to build up no appetite. You pushed around the potato meat and vegetables until it was nothing but a pile of mush. You could feel the heat of Sebastian's gaze burn into you, but you did you best to avoid it. Eventually, Anne allowed the awkward silence to take over until everyone was done with dinner.

Sebastian stood up. "I'm gonna go get some air," he announced before leaving.

You watched him carefully as he left.

Anne picked at her fingernails. "I'm gonna go help Uncle with the rhubarb pie," she said, slowly, as if hinting toward something. "If you know... you wanna... talk." She eyed the door.

You picked it up her cues rather easily. "Yeah," you breathed. "Yeah, maybe that's for the best." You cleared your throat as the both of you stood.

Anne could read by your stance how nervous you were. She grasped your upper arm. and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Hey, believe me when I tell you that you have nothing to worry about. I know my brother better than anyone and I know... you're everything to him."

You could've argued against that, but chose to bite your tongue and nod. She smiled and gave your upper arm one more squeeze. She walked past you to the kitchen. You sighed and glanced at the door. After what felt like a lifetime you took the first step toward exiting the house until you felt the cool breeze against your face. You ventured out a little and turned your head to your right. It was where you two met up the day you first came to Feldcroft all that time ago, before you met Anne, before him and Solomon got into that fight, and before you told Sebastian all about the keepers.

You walked up the steps and to him where he was leaning against the railing. His back was still turned to you which prompted you to rest against the railing next to him. The two of you wallow in the silence.

"I'm sorry," he said, breaking the silence.

"What for?"

"For being distance."

"It's okay - "

"It's not okay..." He groaned a little. "It's stupid." He shook his head.

"What is? I can tell you, whatever it is, it is not stupid if it's affecting you this much." You knew what it was, but for you to truly understand, you needed to hear his feelings on it.

He shakily sighed. "I know you've noticed, how could you not notice?" He tugged at a strand of his hair which stuck up and out of place. "I swear he treats me as though I'm still a child."

"Sebastian..."

"Don't even lie and tell me it doesn't look bad."

"Could you look at me, please?" He hesitates but does so. "Here..." You stand upright, guiding him to do the same. Cautiously, you began to run your fingers through his hair. You don't verbally mention the way he shuddered immediately when doing so, or when he sighs again, this time of content. You smile, and continue to use your fingers to carefully style his hair. "This is the first time you've ever let me do this."

"Is it really?" He sounded absent. You noticed he had close his eyes and was now leaning into your touch a little more than before. "I've been missing out..."

"Just give me the word and I'll do this at any time for you." You smiled even though he couldn't see it.

"Careful... I think I'd tell you to never stop at some point."

You chuckle but don't respond. You finish by brushing his bangs to the side. Your eyes flickered all around his face. You were so close, you could've counted every freckle, every eyelash, every scar and imperfection that was perfection simply because it was him. Without another thought, your fingers dragged to trace the side of his face down to his jawline. During that, his eyes slowly opened. Your hand didn't leave his face as his eyes bored into yours.

Have they always looked at you that way?

"Have I told you lately that no matter what... you're beautiful... to me?" you stammered.

His breath hitched in his throat. "No," he breathed. "But, then again, I've been doing a terrible job reminding you that as well."

"We ought to really work on that together then, hm?"

He lifted up a hand and pushed your hair back behind your ear. "Yeah..."

"Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

You could only describe the moment as the stars having finally aligned. He wasted no time placing his lips against yours. There was no barrier of friendship keeping him from doing the thing he's been wanting to do for so long. You both have well crossed that safe line and now there was so turning back. Sebastian pulled you closer as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to make up for all the time he let go by without making you his. And he really wanted you to be his as much as he wanted to be yours. He wanted to memorize the feeling of your lips against his, your body pressed to his body, the tickle of your hair of his face, the feeling of your fingers in his hair. All that he wanted to consume was you.

The two of you pulled away to catch your breath. You both laughed and leaned into each other as you processed the moment as it was really happening.

You sighed, happily. "You know, your uncle is going to be wondering where we went."

"I honestly could care less about that right now." He couldn't stop smiling. He goes to lean in again but is interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

"As much as I'd love for you guys to continue your moment, I was ordered to tell you that the pie is ready," Anne said with an amused glint in her eye. "I'd also like to mention that I told you so, to both of you." She spun on her heel and began to slowly walk away.

You and Sebastian watched Anne walk away with wide eyes. Sebastian intertwined your fingers with his. "I guess we do have all of summer to spend time with each other."

"I'd like to think it wouldn't end just there," you tease as the you both start to walk back to the house.

"Don't you worry, you're gonna be stuck with me for life. Bad haircuts and all." He nudges you, playfully.

A perfect life.

Your eyes soften. "Lucky me," you whisper.

#sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy x mc #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #harry potter

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maychorian · 1 month

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Found Family Anime Recs

I recently reblogged a list of found family anime recs and was a bit surprised by how many reblogs and likes it got. I had really reblogged it just so I can find it later to watch the shows I hadn't already seen on the list, but apparently I have a lot of followers who are interested in this topic! Well, I've watched a lot of anime, so here are ten found family anime shows that I absolutely love. These are in no particular order.

Buddy Daddies

This show is similar enough to Spy X Family that you might be tempted to call it a rip-off. It's really quite different though. There's a lot less comedy (though there's still SOME comedy) and a lot more healing from past trauma. The animation is gorgeous, and the relationships really tug at my heart. It's more realistic than Spy X Family, in some ways, though it's still pretty ridiculous. The melodrama in the last couple of episodes did annoy me a bit, but it's still a very satisfying show. It's like a fanfiction I would write, which is really the highest recommendation I can give, haha, because that means it's exactly the kind of story I would like.

2. Samurai Champloo

This show was made by much of the same team that created Cowboy Bebop, but for some reason it never got the same cult status, which is really too bad. I love Cowboy Bebop, but I love Samurai Champloo more. It's about two ronin and a teenage girl traveling through Edo-era Japan to find someone the girl is looking for. Throughout the series, the three form a very strong bond, despite all of their communication difficulties and past traumas. I've rewatched this show probably more than any other anime. It's brutal at times, but so very satisfying.

3. Natsume Yuujin-cho

Natsume lost his parents as a young child and was passed around from relative to relative, most of whom couldn't deal with him because his ability to see yokai (Japanese folk spirits) made him a freak in their eyes. As the series starts, he's finally taken in by an older couple in a rural village who actually want him, and he's finally able to start forming connections with other people and find a support system with his new caretakers, his peers, and the yokai he tries to help. It's a very sweet, sad series, much more sentimental than the first two entries on this list, but a very soothing and lovely watch when you are in need of some relaxation. Warning, though, the flashbacks to Natsume's past families can be truly gutwrenching. He was not treated well for a very long time, and it's hard to stomach.

4. Barakamon

Handa is a calligrapher who gets essentially exiled to a remote island after causing problems on purpose. He has a hard time connecting with people and is struggling with his art. Over the course of the story, he forms relationships with his neighbors, especially an adorable child with possibly the best child voice-acting I've ever heard, and slowly rediscovers his joy in creation again. It's cute and funny and beautiful, and it makes me want to live on a remote Japanese island.

5. My Roommate Is a Cat

Subaru is a young novelist who recently lost his parents, who were pretty much his only connection to humanity. While trying to recover from this massive loss, he adopts a stray cat who quickly becomes the most important creature in his life. Through the cat, he begins to form relationships with other people, as well. The show is unique in that the first half of each episode is from the human's POV and the second half is from the cat's POV. It's a very lovely and soothing show. Pets are family, too!

6. Haikyuu

Haikyuu was the show that opened my eyes to the aspect of found family in sports anime. I know a lot of tumblr enjoys Haikyuu for the shipping, but to me it's more satisfying to view it through the lens of found family. Each team is essentially their own found family, in their own unique way, and the relationships are particularly realistic and well-depicted by this mangaka. I love Tanaka being a big brother to the first years, Kuroo and Kenma's mutual protectiveness and support, all of it.

7. Kuroko no Basuke

This is the silly basketball show, and in my opinion it's not as good as Haikyuu, but I love the relationships here as well. Especially between Kuroko and Kagami, of course. Their mutual protectiveness is just chef's kiss. But the whole Seirin team is really great. I love them so much. The teamy goodness is what makes the silliness watchable for me.

8. One Piece

What is there to say about One Piece? This is, like, the ultimate found family show. All of the pirate crews with any kind of goodness at their core are found families, but especially the Strawhats. Luffy is just going around looking at people and declaring, "Okay, you're in my family (on my crew) now." If you've never watched One Piece before, I'm going to make an unorthodox recommendation and suggest you watch the live action Netflix adaption first. It does a really good job of capturing the feel and aesthetic and just pure loveliness of this story in a much more compact and approachable way than the anime. However, if you like it, I do recommend that you watch the anime from the beginning, because there is a lot of expansion on the themes there, and the characterization is slightly different. Usopp in particular kinda got shorted in the live action, so you'll understand him a lot more if you watch his introduction arc in the anime. But honestly both versions are great. I'm on my third rewatch of the live action version already, and I will watch and rewatch the anime until I die, probably. One of my favorite stories of all time.

9. The Weakest Tamer Began a Journey to Pick Up Trash

I found this one slightly annoying in how it was obviously carefully designed to tug at my heartstrings, but it's working, so I don't have much right to complain. It's about a little kid driven out of her home who gradually gathers a found family of both monsters she tames and adult adventurers and guardsmen who take one look at this lonely child and go, "Well, guess I have a baby now." The isekai element is very lowkey, in that she basically just has a voice in her head giving her advice, and I like that it's about fighting local corruption instead of a demon army or what have you. I want more shows like this and less shows like every other generic isekai, haha.

10. Dungeon Meshi

This show is blowing up tumblr right now, so you've probably already seen it a billion times, but I'm going to make one more appeal for you to watch/read this story. It is so, so so good. And in my opinion, it is much MUCH more about family, both born and found, than it is about shipping. I could write a whole essay about Marcille and Falin's relationship that has nothing to do with romance, as I could for any other two (or three or four) characters in the main party, plus those outside. There is a LOT going on. I've been playing RPGs and LARPs for twenty years, and one reason I love the hobby so much is for the joy of creating found families with my best friends in new and different worlds, over and over again. This is the first piece of fiction I've found that really captures that particular aspect of party-based fantasy stories, the relationships that form and grow, the tight-knit bonds that keep everyone moving forward despite the monsters you must face (and consume).

#anime #anime recommendations #buddy daddies #samurai champloo #barakamon #my roommate is a cat #natsume yuujinchou #one piece #dungeon meshi #haikyuu #kuroko no basuke #found family #the weakest tamer began a journey to pick up trash

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