#yes i do understand that anyone could share that link with anyone and get access for anyone

[tennessoui]

ko-fi fic uploads

hey guys, I'm going to start putting some of my new tumblr prompt fills and writing warm-ups (ficlets of 4k-6k length) up on my ko-fi!!

Monthly supporters will be able to go into the gallery tab on my ko-fi and click on an uploaded image. The title will be which tumblr-based au the ficlet fits into and how many words it is. The description beneath the image will be a quick summary of the au and a link to the google doc containing the ficlet. The "root" au post, aka the post that started the au on my blog, will be linked as well on that google doc.

This will not affect my wips and progress on them in any way! I feel like that's very important to state - I write these sorts of ficlets all the time because it helps get me in the writing mindset for writing ao3 fics. I will just be spending a little extra effort on them to put them up on ko-fi.

I will NOT be posting any ficlets on my ko-fi that you need to read to understand a fic on ao3 - that's some disney monster conglomerate kind of shit. I will also still be posting shorter ficlets (1k-3k) on tumblr as I write them, especially if I'm answering a prompt someone sent me here. Again, I think it'd be a bit of dick move to not do that

I'll try to vary which ficlets go up on ko-fi and every time I upload one, I'll make a post about which au it is as well as a link to the page in case anyone wants to, idk, unsubscribe for a month because they hate the hopeless in coruscant au, and then refollow next month because they enjoy the playmaker au etc etc

I'm definitely still trying to figure out what I want this to look like and what feels fair or reasonable, so hopefully this isn't a huge mess on my end!

All this being said:

I've posted the first ficlet/fic on ko-fi: it's for the Senator Menace AU, an au that's basically "What if phantom menace but reversed? how fucked up would anakin get over the youngling his father master died to protect?"

the first au post is here // my ko-fi is here

#obikin #my fics #i really hope this works ok #i know fan artists do like monthly subscribers or supporters #on patreon or ko-fi #but i haven't really seen fic writers do it #so i really don't know how it's going to work #i think the lowest for monthly supporters is $4 ? but no one has to go higher or anything! #it's not tiered membership/supporting #so if you do the lowest you should still have access to everything #im applying for grad school in the next few months and i saw the application fees are like. wild. #LOL #but commissions got really stressful for me at times #but i think this could be a good sorta thing? #maybe? #i'll reblog this once at a reasonable time tomorrow and if nothing comes of it thats also fine fr #accepting suggestions on this too if people have ideas #ideas for aus for ficlets and also ideas for how to improve this #if it turns out to be confusing or a clusterfuck #yes i do understand that anyone could share that link with anyone and get access for anyone #but im hoping that that happens not a lot or not widespread #also honestly this will not affect working on my wips #or new fics #cause lol if people wanted me focused theyd just take away my tumblr or somethign #im a lil stressed about this if you couldn't tell from all these tags #and the late night for me posting time lol

[gxrlcinema]

I received this message last night, but as I blocked the anon who sent it, I don't have the original ask. I didn't think that I was going to respond at all, but there are some lingering thoughts about it that I'd like to speak to.

I'm appalled by the assumption that I don't leave feedback on Ao3 or Wattpad. Of course I do. I leave comments on fics on every platform I consume them on. I am also imperfect - I don't have the time or energy to leave an effusive comment on every fic - but I leave a one sentence comment. I leave kudos. I let them know that I enjoyed.

I do consume free content on other sites without engaging with it. The difference is that on Youtube or TikTok, the content I'm consuming is compensated. My viewing of it feeds an algorithm that then promotes it to other users. My viewing of it allows the creators to become members of their respective platforms' creator fund. My viewing of it enables these creators to get sponsorship deals that can then literally pay for things. When I consume free content on other sites without interacting the creator is getting paid. Their labor is being compensated.

It is illegal to monetize fanfiction. To attempt to make money off of it would bring about lawsuits from the corporations that own the characters and universes we write about. It would destroy sites where fanfiction is hosted, as it has in the past. We attempt sometimes to get something in little ways, like a patreon or a ko-fi, but these operate as systems of donation because any other method of payment is illegal. (You can go to the ko-fi link in my bio and see that nobody has donated to it. I'm not asking anyone to.) So you see, my content isn't like other free content you access on the internet. The only way I get anything out of my work is through interaction.

Of course I write for myself. But do not be so naive as to believe that I post it on the internet for my own validation. I could very well write my pieces and keep them to myself, or only share them in a discord server of friends who I know will appreciate it. I post them online to share them with a wider fan community who also love the characters. I post them online to get feedback. Yes, I am deliberately baiting reactions. I am creating art; its purpose is to make people feel things, and I'd like to know if it's effective. I am no more entitled to feedback than you are to an endless stream of free content that you, admittedly, have the option of not engaging with. But to assert that I am somehow being greedy or obtuse speaks to your lack of understanding of how this works. Or perhaps it is indicative of your callous disregard for the art that you so readily consume.

Imagine a painter friend of yours shows you their new work that they are excited about. They present it to you, all excited and hopeful. You stare at the painting impassively. You don't smile, you don't react.

Your painter friend's face falls. "Do you like it?" they ask.

"You showed it to me for free," you reply. "I don't owe you anything."

No, reading my work is not a debt to be paid in forced reaction. I did not say that I was owed feedback, nor did I "demand" it. It is absurd to assume that this was my intention. It is equally absurd to act as though fan creators are benevolent art martyrs who should expect nothing in return for their work but the supposed satisfaction of a job well done. It is absurd to think that readers play no role, that this is not a symbiotic relationship between artist and art consumer.

If you do not want to accept responsibility in this relationship, that is your choice. You are right in that regard; I can not control your behavior. But do not expect me to continue on as though nothing is amiss. Do not act as though I should be grateful for every little scrap I am given and never speak up for myself. And do not tell me that I have no right to my feelings ever, but specifically in regards to the diminishing returns of the labor I am doing.

We are not here to die on the swords of your indifference in perpetuity. Press the fucking reblog button.

#ilana.txt

[meowzilla93]

Hello! I saw your rant post and I wanted to ask if we could get the context behind it? It seems kinda out of nowhere and I saw the tag list on tumblr and didn't saw anything negative towards any character. I also just want to know to avoid this person, I really don't want to interact with toxic people ://

Thank you for your answer

hello anon!

i hope you are doing well ᓚ��ᗢ

first and foremost, i won't be naming any names here. yes, my post was vague, and that was the point of it. because the truth of the matter is that no matter the fandom, this sort of behaviour is evident in all of them and i was calling it all out. identifying the people directly can cause more harm than good, and it is not my intention to victimize anyone.

it just so happened that recent events regarding a specific community pissed me off to no end this time round, and it was a long time coming.

in a way i am glad that you have not seen anything yourself from specific tags and the community, but the reality is that people who choose to target a set group or a set character and don't want blowback from it wont tag their posts to make them easily accessible. however, if you interact with enough blogs, basically the '6 degrees of separation' rule comes into affect, where blogs that interact with that fandom start to link to each other and you unfortunately will end up with a blog that doesnt align with your taste or morals on your feed and you get an unhealthy dose of toxicity from it

this happens on all forms of social media; where i have been seeing this kind of activity is more so on twitter, but it has happened here on tumblr too.

i do want to stress that when i do see this kind of toxicity i do block/mute them from my feed so i dont have to see it, but it doesnt stop it from existing. and then seeing how it affects the people around me because unfortunately its not so easy for them to get away from it, it just hurts me deeply

if you know my blog well enough, you know i am a massive fan of OLBA currently, and thats typically what i post, amongst other fandom stuff that interests me, however its typically OLBA.

the OL series is all about acceptance and understanding and openness with one another. discrimination, bullying, anything like that doesnt exist in the story and shouldnt exist in the fandom either.

its unfortunate to see that regardless of the type of community it should be, that negativity and toxicity exists regardless. as some one as part of the LGBTQIA+ community, i have unfortunately seen comments that are against what the community stands for. i have seen commentary that is essentially bullying of one account or a collective for the sort of content they produce. hyprocritical comments, calling out someone for their content but going ahead and making that content themselves.

if you have not seen this sort of activity, im grateful for it. truly, its not nice to see this kind of stuff, and if you do, blocking and muting it is the best option to avoid them and keep to the healthier side of the fandom

please note, this blog will always be an open blog, other than calling out this poor behaviour, the entire purpose of this blog is to be positive!

to share fics and and art and headcannons and thoughts about all characters in the fandom i am a part of, because i am trying to share the love i have for the series with others and have great discussions around them

i know this was a vague answer anon, but i hope you understand the reasoning behind why and wish you all the best

your friendly neighborhood kaiju,

ᓚᘏᗢ

#meow ask #meow rants #fandom culture #fandom etiquette #be good #do nice #its not that hard to be a decent human being #olba #our life #our life beginnings and always #our life now and forever

[sleepyshouto]

Letters from Baji Keisuke Chapter 15 Eng Translation “Nowhere”

I know a lot of people are still waiting for the English scans from Sena who does an amazing job (and shouldn’t be rushed) but since ch 16 drops on March 6th and there’s been no news of when to expect the English scans I figured I’d do a translation of the Spanish scans for anyone that can’t read Spanish, especially since ch 15 is one of the best chapters so far!

Please keep a few things in mind though:

1. I’m not a professional translator. While I’m confident in my ability to understand Spanish and translate to English, there are certain nuances that are difficult to translate directly without language sounding awkward. I will try my best to make decisions based on accuracy and readability and address my choices in notes designated with a *.

2. I do not have access to the Japanese raws of ch 15 (if anyone does please share where you found them). My translation is coming directly from the Spanish scans. Therefore, I can’t guarantee that there are no mistakes in the translations or that certain nuances from the original Japanese text have not been lost. Please take this as more of a general translation until the English scans are released.

3. Please go thank Yakisoba scans on fb for their hard work in releasing these Spanish scans. They deserve all the praise and once the English scans are available I’ll take this post down or update it with the link to the English chapter instead. I’m only doing this for any English speaking fans that don’t have access to fb or don’t understand Spanish.

Chapter 15: “Nowhere” (panels from right to left) Page 1

1-  Tsk, if you underestimate me more than necessary, next time I will show no mercy

2- Ugh

3-  It hurts... after all, a middle school student is on another level.  Can’t we come up* with a strategy? *(crear means to create but come up with sounds less awkward in English.)

4-  Shit... one day we’ll definitely pay him back

Page 2 (panels from right to left)

1-3  When we decide to do something, without fail we achieve it. The two of us could look forward no matter how difficult it was. For me who had a lonely childhood...

4- I thought the only place for me was next to Kojirou/by Kojirou's side* (next to Kojirou is the more accurate translation however I know that in Japanese the idea of being by someone’s side is often used in English translations so I’m thinking it’s likely in this case too)

5- November 2003

Page 3 (panels from right to left)

1- However

2- Kojiro-kun, what should we do about Killer Bee who we’ve already talked about? It’s a problem that they are growing in numbers

3-4- Ah, you know, apparently their leader has a little sister. Kidnap her.

Ah, yes, message received. Oh...

Page 4 (panels from right to left)

1-2  Hey, the guy in such a cool uniform... Tokyo Manji? How do you read that? It’s dangerous for you to walk around with those markings* in this area (*can also be translated to that look)

3- Shut up! Get Lost!

4- Who do you think you’re talking to like that?

Page 5 (panels from right to left)

 Leave him already, Kojirou

 You too... who do you think you’re giving orders to, Ryusei?

 He’s going to die

 Are you saying that you want us to become demons? Kojiro

Page 6 (panels from right to left)

“That” which was supposed to be my place was painful

 What did you (guys) come to take revenge?

Page 7 (panels from right to left) 

Tokyo Manji Gang First Divison (Captain), Baji Keisuke. Are you (guys*) Yotsuya Kaidan? *(Spanish has various forms of you plural which doesn’t translate into English so I use you guys instead)

Page 8 (panels from right to left)

1- That uniform is the one from the other day..ha ha ha. You all lined up and came to avenge your comrade?

2- You’re that bastard called Hishi, right? Lately, I’ve heard a lot about you, they say you don’t bring anything good/ none of it is good (*none of it is good sounds less awkward and has a similar meaning either way I live for petty Baji roasting people)

3- Don’t overexert yourself trying to show off. You don’t wanna die for such a stupid act, do you?

4- Kojirou-kun, Tokyo Manji Gang are the ones they say defeated the Black Dragons...!

Page 9 (panels from right to left)

1-3  Eh, that’s great! It means that if we crush them Yotsuya’s reputation can become big all at once right, Ryusei?

4-5  Yes.. Haha in that case (all) we have to do is clean up this trash and a juicy reward will fall from the sky

Page 10 (panels from right to left)

Shut up!!!

Page 11 (panels from right to left)

1- They are resisting... even though we have the advantage (in numbers)

3- How heavy!!!

4- Are your fists made of iron or something?* (technically this says iron balls but that sounds too funny in English so I changed it to iron fists)

Page 12 (panels from right to left)

You’re not bad. Tsk, it hurts...you fucking bastard/shitty bastard

Page 13 (panels from right to left) 

Page 14 (panels from right to left)

Ugh... Damn you... if you pull something like this... if you kill him

Page 15 (panels from right to left)

You won’t be able to come back (from this)... Kojirou...

Ryusei.

Page 16 (panels from right to left)

What are you saying, damn you?

Shit! It’s the police. Run away!!

Page 17 (panels from right to left)

1- Tsk, it’s time to close (for now). See you.

2- Wait! 

3-4 Don’t worry, I won’t forget this first round. We’ll play again, Baji Keisuke!!

5- Baji-san, we also gotta disperse.

6- Ahh...I see

Page 18 (panels from right to left)

My place a long time ago...

Page 19 (panels from right to left)

1-3  Ah..what are you doing? If you’re trying to take me hostage, there’s no point they won’t come to save me. Let me go...they’re going to arrest you... quickly!

4-6  You tried to save him, right? It’s hard, isn’t it?

Page 20 (panels from right to left)

Well, I don’t know anything about you (guys) but if even after having gone through this you want to continue in a gang... Guys like you are welcome in Toman, you know?

Page 21 (panels from right to left)

1-2 Tskk, stop laughing and get moving! You’re gonna die from a hemorrhage, you fool.

3- True, I don’t feel like dying in the arms of a mustached gorilla like you either.

WHAT? Baji-san, let’s throw him away instead/leave him dumped.

4- What’s with him? And he’s like this on the brink of death, what a funny guy

5-6  Besides... I won’t die, no matter what...

Page 22 (panels from right to left)

Since now I have a debt I must pay without fail to Toman!!

Page 23 (panels from right to left) 

July 7 2004

Page 24 (panels from right to left)

They came! Let’s finish this Toman!

And that’s the end! Hope you enjoyed the chapter and while I tried to look it over I typed this up quickly so I apologize in advance for any errors I might’ve missed. Let me know if you have questions about anything.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers spinoff #tokyo revengers spoilers #tokrev #letters from baji keisuke #letters from keisuke baji #baji keisuke #keisuke baji #matsuno chifuyu #chifuyu matsuno #sato ryusei #ryusei sato #bajifuyu #tokyorev spinoff #kojirou hishi #ryusei #baji #chifuyu #tr spin off

[watercolorsinmyheart]

Translation of the first BIA Season 2 novelization.

(It includes an explanation for why Bia didn’t recognize Helena)

After the successful launch of the BeU and my reconciliation with Manuel, I needed to be alone in the park for a while and process everything that had happened. As if by magic, the golden scarf had taken me to the place where, ten years ago, Helena and I had spent whole afternoons playing the guitar and telling stories. Everything there reminded me of my sister and I had a feeling that I was very close to finding her. Maybe that's why, when I heard someone call me, I wished with all my might that it was her.

The fantasy was short-lived: that girl was nothing like the Helena of my memories, although I was sure I knew her from somewhere.

"Yes, it's me…" she said.

Her tone of voice was unmistakable.

-Ana! Sorry I didn't recognize you before, it's just that when I saw you at Cyber ​​Gold you were wearing a mask. At last we meet!

She was silent for a few seconds. She seemed confused.

"I thought…I thought we'd met before."

I wanted to stay chatting with her, but she was strange, like uncomfortable. She would answer my questions evasively and it was hard for her to look me in the eye. How weird! But as my mother says, anyone has a bad day. In the end, I let her go her way and I went mine.

When Chiara and I arrived at the SUM, there was no sign of Celeste anywhere. I imagined that she was in some corner of Fundom watching Trish's latest video or listening to her podcasts. Lately She was super hooked on that webstar. I would say almost obsessed!

While we were waiting for her, I took out my notebook and pencils and began to draw. Be Yourself inspired me so much that, without realizing it, she had made a design with our initials.

—I love that BeU spirit! Chiara commented, adding emphasis to her voice and with an expression that I knew very well.

That dreamy look and that twinkle in her eyes announced that she had something on her mind. Oh no! And now that?

-What are you thinking? I asked a little scared.

—And if we use the drawing in all our videos as a closing?

Not a crazy idea but an excellent one! Without wasting any more time, I looked for my cell phone and sent a photo to the group for everyone to comment on. The answers were not long in coming and we all agreed. We had a new logo!

Through the Fundom door, Pixie appeared accompanied by Manuel and... Delfi! One of my favorite fashion influencers!

-Hi! I’m Delfi,” she greeted.

"Yes, we know!" I responded enthusiastically.

—You are Bia and Chiara, right? Jazmin told me a lot about both of them!

Delfi and Jazmín shared the Fab and Chic fashion channel and were lifelong best friends. For this reason, Jazmín had chosen her to replace her in the Fundom while she was away. What a great news!

I would have liked to stay with her to get to know her a little more, but her duty called: we had to decide what to do with the new BeU video.

"Shall we organize something for the premiere?" Pixie suggested.

Manuel immediately proposed:

“We could see it here all together.

Pixie sent a message to the group with the proposal and they all agreed, so it was decided: the next day we would meet at the SUM to watch the video together and celebrate a new beginning.

Meanwhile, in the Laix offices, Marcos organized his coup with the information stolen from the Fundom network. His master plan to hack the wifi had gone perfectly and now he had full access to what they sent out there: chats, videos, files, EVERYTHING. The BeU crew had no idea what the big boss of Laix had in store for them.

Since our meeting in the park, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about Ana. The feeling that something inevitably linked me to her grew every day and I didn't understand why. When I told Manuel about it, we finally found out what was going on: I had to take piano lessons with that girl, no matter what! Without thinking twice, we went to the Kunst residence to talk to her and, luckily, we found her in her living room talking with Thiago.

-We need to talk. I was thinking a lot and I realized something," I announced

For an instant, the muscles in Ana's face tensed and I tried to maintain the suspense for a while longer but I couldn't hold it and I blurted out:

—You are the ideal person to give me piano lessons! Manuel told me a lot about your classes, about everything he learned...

"You're the best teacher in the world," he added, with an admiring smile.

We both looked at her expectantly while she, uncomfortable, turned her head to all sides as if searching the walls for the answer.

"I'd love to... But I don't know, I'm short on time," she answered doubtfully.

I should have imagined it! With so many students, she surely wouldn't have much free time.

-Please! I insisted. I come when you want and at the time you tell me.

I was willing to do anything for a yes.

"You can change my schedule if you need to," Manuel offered.

The pressure was so much that in the end she had no choice but to accept me. Wooooo! I was going to have classes with THE BEST and i was finally going to be able to play Helena's sheet music! What more could i ask for?

The next day, we met at the Channel with Celeste and Chiara to put the final touch on the BeU video. We spent a long time discussing our options but, since we couldn't agree, we decided to take a break to wait for Pixie to give us her opinion.

While Chiara was going through the comments from our fans, Celeste used selfie mode to touch up her lipstick. I still didn't get used to her extreme makeover: she had abandoned the naive style and now she wore open shirts, red lips and super trendy sunglasses… it looked great on her!

Through the Channel glass, we saw Pixie enter one hundred percent connected to her tablet.

-Nope! No, no, no, noooooo…” she said, holding her head.

She was so focused on her game that she didn't even realize we were there, to the point that when she, alarmed by her exclamations, asked what was wrong, she jumped in fright.

—The Beast! That happened! He is a gamer that I meet in every game and I hate him with all my being.

She had never seen her so angry. Apparently, she was facing a CHEATER with all the letters that not only played dirty but also used the most treacherous techniques against the other players.

—It's already very difficult to be a woman in this world of games for him to come to play like that, but I'm going to defeat him, girls. I'm going to defeat her," she promised, looking at the screen again.

Before the game and her thirst for revenge completely absorbed her, I asked her to help me finish the video.

-Oh yes! Sorry, for a second I forgot everything. Don't worry, The Best-ia's fall can wait.

Pixie set her tablet aside, rolled up her shirtsleeves, and leaned over the dashboard. In a matter of minutes she solved all of our problems so well, I had no doubt that the video was going to turn out amazing. Great to have her on our team! #TeamBeU #Fundom

We had spent the whole afternoon sharing the announcement of the video launch on our networks and I couldn't take it anymore with anxiety, when Pixie finally announced:

-Clever! BeU's first video is officially finished and ready to post!

Manuel, the girls, Delfi and I leaned over the console to see the final result.

The original idea was to show us doing what we liked the most, so we would appear singing, playing instruments, painting, dancing or cooking in our favorite places. Pixie had gathered all these images on a grid screen along with some moving colored squares that gave it a crazy and fun touch, the BeU touch!

"Congratulations guys! I'm sure it's going to be an absolute hit! ...

@weirdthoughtsandideas @putonmyfavoriteshow @assim-eu-sou

#disney bia

[nonspeakingkiku]

I posted 960 times in 2022

That's 960 more posts than 2021!

194 posts created (20%)

766 posts reblogged (80%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@quaking-cabinet

@five-thousand-loaves-of-bread

@aegleseeker

@the-stim-clown

@nonspeakingkiku

I tagged 81 of my posts in 2022

#actually autistic - 49 posts

#autism - 46 posts

#autistic - 44 posts

#kiku squeaks - 42 posts

#special interest - 35 posts

#nonspeaking - 24 posts

#nonverbal - 24 posts

#apraxia - 22 posts

#aac user - 22 posts

#dyspraxia - 20 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#and yes i was actually in one. a whole criminal (like the bad kind. like the assaulter kind) was on campus so we locked down for it

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

New intro since need update things.

Name: Kiku or Percy. Refer to self in third person here mostly because is easier on brain and it help Kiku unmask. Kiku is getting more comfortable talk like this when need to.

Kiku is an adult aac user. Unreliably speaking, can't talk most of time so usually refer to self as nonverbal or nonspeaking. Have some speech at times but not often. And often when have speech it not understandable. Kiku is an AAC user. Kiku uses TD Snap, Proloquo2go, LAMP words for life, and Proloquo. Kiku hopes to get a dedicated device with LAMP on it at some point but don't know when/if that gonna happen.

Kiku is multiply disabled, autistic, adhd, dyspraxic/apraxic, dyslexic, other learning disabilities, hEDS, pots, possible mcas, fibromyalgia, and tourettes, probably mentally ill in some way, mobility aid user (want a wheelchair, forearm crutches, and a rollator. Was using a cane for a while but it make wrists hurt).

Kiku is nonhuman, and identifies with lot of different creatures.

Kiku has many special interests, ones currently most active are AAC, Minecraft, Slumberkins, Werewolves, Big Mouth (netflix show), my little pony, and bunnies.

Kiku is trans, genderqueer, genderfluid, autigender, and altersex. He/She/They/Fae and bunself and pupself neopronouns pronouns please. Neopronouns preferred. Kiku is not a woman.

Kiku is polyamorus and has two partners. Kiku is also objectum/posic. But usually not post about on main. Kiku has a side blog for that.

Kiku is an age regressor due to trauma and uses it as a coping mechanism. Agere is not Kink (although Kiku thinks there is nothing wrong with Kink as long as is between consenting adults).

Kiku is an adult and may post adult related content, especially related to aac, but this not super likely. But disabled and aac using adults can do adult things and access to words to talk about our bodies and possible things that could happen to our bodies is very very important. All aac user should have access to anatomical words for our body parts no matter what age they are.

AAC is very important to Kiku. Kiku is going to post about Kiku's new aac set up soon. If have read this far please send me your favorite emoji.

The email for Kiku's paypal is [email protected]

This is a link to Kiku's disability aids amazon wishlist

119 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

#4

Anyone else autistic not good be aware of danger? Kiku accidentally touch hot thing or almost walk out in road unless partner stop Kiku. An this only couple examples.

124 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

#3

Important post

Please share!

Kiku is a multiply disabled autistic person living in the south. Kiku is also an artist, digitally and traditionally. Kiku just got to try an ipad with procreate on it, with an apple pencil and a paper feel screen protector. And it was amazing 😭 Kiku was able to do art better than Kiku does on paper.

Kiku and Kiku's family are poor, and Kiku can't work. But Kiku can do art commissions. Kiku would love to be able to do commissions to help us actually have enough food and essentials, but the biggest barrier for Kiku with this is having the right tools.

So Kiku is going to attempt to crowdfund to get an ipad to use just for art, paper feel screen protectors, the app Procreate, an apple pencil, and a protective case for the ipad.

Kiku knows this isn't AAC related or mobility related but but it would change Kiku's and Kiku's families life so much for Kiku to be able to do good quality commission like Kiku can do on paper.

Kiku will have to do some math to get an idea of how much money Kiku needs to do this but Kiku will update this post once figure it out.

Goal is $ 600 to make sure taxes and fees are covered.

Kiku's paypal email is in pinned post at the bottom.

Kiku also has an amazon wishlist with the items on it for if someone wants to help but can't use paypal. The two most expensive items are the apple pencil and the ipad.

$0 / $600

130 notes - Posted December 4, 2022

#2

Kiku did not think this would be necessary but guess it is. If you follow an aac user and they post images of their aac system (an aac system is all the things that person use as aac) or any aac, ask and get permission before using any images. Our aac is almost always going to be custom to us and we will be able to recognize pictures of our systems because we customised them. My aac is my voice, it is part of me, specific to me. Every aac users aac will be different and the idea of someone using pictures of our aac without asking is deeply uncomfortable to me. I can't even put into words how uncomfortable it makes me. Uncomfortable enough i'm speaking in first person on a platform I generally reserve for unmasking my writing and speak almost entirely in the third person on. Ask for permission before using images of our aac and respect a no if one is given. Images of unedited apps can be found pretty easily as can low tech versions of aac pages (versions meant to be printed to use as a form of aac that doesn't require battery).

203 notes - Posted June 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hi! Kiku has an important post, please share and help if can.

Kiku is trying to crowdfund the AAC app LAMP because it goes on sale soon for AAC awareness month. It is $150 plus taxes and fees so probably closer to $180.

Kiku would also like to raise funds for food because Kiku's family is low on food. Kiku's husband recently got a new job but we not know what his start date is.

For those that not follow Kiku, Kiku is a mostly nonspeaking high support needs autistic disabled aac user. Kiku currently uses Proloquo2go but would also like to have LAMP for the motor planning aspect which works very well for Kiku.

If you can't help please share.

If you want to donate, Kiku's partner has paypal, paypal email is [email protected]. Kiku is willing to make art for those who help if they want ☺️.

Edited because partner suggested putting paypal email in post.

Thank to everyone who is reblogging. ☺️

Kiku wants to add that LAMP go on sale the 10th (in 3 days) and sale ends the 16th, so if Kiku wants to get LAMP on sale need to get money by 16th.

Kiku currently has $30/$180 goal (to make sure can cover tax and everything)

Update: Kiku tried update earlier but looks like didn't go through but. Kiku's family was lower on food than though so used money have got so far for food and we got luck and managed get a lot with what we had.

So for LAMP Kiku is back to $0/$180 but not have worry about food such good thing ☺️

Update: Had someone donate ☺️

$15/$180

Sale starts today ☺️Kiku very excited

291 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[intheorchards]

Also I don’t see how it could be used by a stalker if the post doesn’t have any identifiable information linking things to your name or whatever unless you just keep the same username on everything. It’s not like a phone number or a street address. Can’t be used to find you. If you can counter me on this I’d love to hear it, honestly

You don't see...ah yes well I must have forgotten that this is all about you.

You don't see the danger because clearly you've never been in this situation yourself. I shouldn't have to disclose my past trauma to get you to understand that sharing someone's personal contact details in a public setting isn't a justifiable thing to do. But the fact that you're defending it shows everyone that you're not a great person, it shows me that actually you're just a harasser trying to justify your own beliefs on being on 'the right side' of things.

But I'll amuse you, perhaps you really just are that ignorant.

This stalker, I have dealt with for a long time. Often multiple times a year I'm having to block and report accounts they make in the effort to gain access to me once more. In the past they have escalated from just harassing me to harassing my friends also. In the past they have used social media to gain access to my phone number and address. They keep watch of fandoms I interact with and have used that to gain access before, too.

So yeah, this is a person who will make multiple accounts to try to harass me, if even one of them managed to get past my own vigilance with a Discord Id then, not only does their harassment start again- forcing me to relive past trauma, they also then have the ability to check for mutual servers and gain access to my friends, or even.... share my id with people to aid in their harassment.

Look you might think 'ah but anyone on a server can view your id'

Yes, ON A SERVER. See, there's a level of consent involved there. Because of my stalker I don't just randomly join servers without checking the owners or having a friend there first. In joining a server I consent for those people to have access to me. If I give my id to a friend, I consent for them to have access to me. I do not consent for some sad excuse of a human being to show my personal contact info to the world because they have a problem with whose apologies I choose to accept.

Next time you come at me, come off anon you pissing coward. Or not, you forgot to turn your VPN on so I've got a pretty good idea of who you are.

[lololollywrites]

So as a professor of Education who is also on the faculty technology committee, we (the committee) are planning an information session about AI and its implications on academia (as well as its potential dangers). During our initial sit-down today, our chair sent us some links so we could play around with various iterations and types of AI readily accessible to our students. 

After being terrified by Chat GPT’s ability to instantly spit out a literature review with APA citations (generic, yes, but competent nonetheless), I decided to switch over to the image generator. We were supposed to experiment a bit with everything to get a general understanding of AI’s capabilities. Y’all get the idea. As previously mentioned, I was feeling a bit unnerved, so decided to laugh. (Note that I would never post AI art in any serious sort of way - I HATE that companies have started to do this, taking away work from legitimate human artists whose work has been stolen - but. Well. I don’t think what I produced is going to compete against anyone, haha).

The prompt I somehow landed upon was “A portrait of Benedict Cumberbatch holding an apple”. The result is so... well, you tell me the adjective. I don’t even know, but I did know that I needed to share it. So... behold:

Benedict Cumberbatch Holding an Apple

#what're the physics of the apple balancing going on here #is his index finger behind the apple or in it? #does his left hand have fingers? #does his sleeve have a hole in it? #so many questions #by the way if it wasn't clear i HATE AI #and am terrified of what it will do as it relates to my career #as well as to the art and literary world #yes i guess there could be benefits #but this all feels so uncanny and wrong somehow

[yournameoneverypage]

When You're Ready

Reader request: Shawn Mendes x (y/n). "Shawn is on tour and invites the reader to the show so he can ask her to be his girlfriend and he sings When You're Ready, but Camila shows up and the reader is convinced that it's for C and not for her."

Word Count: ~3.7

Notes: Mostly fluff with brief moments of angst, and a smut ending.

Warnings: NSFW

~ * ~

(Y/n) stood at baggage claim at LAX, waiting for her blush-colored suitcase to roll by on the carousel. She was going to be in California for almost a week. Why? Well, her best friend was Shawn Mendes and he was currently on tour. He was missing her something fierce, he had said, and he wanted her to come see him.

Shawn had two sold out shows, consecutive nights, at the Staples Center followed by a show in San Francisco three days later, so why not make a week of it? His idea, but the second he mentioned it she was on board. She’d figure it out, find a way to make it work.

Any time she got to spend with him was both treasured and torturous. But she would go through the pain and heartache over and over again if it meant nearly a week with her most favorite person.

See, the thing was, (y/n) had been in love with Shawn for nearly as long as she had known him.

~ * ~

After retrieving her bag, (y/n) went in search of her driver. Shawn had said he or she would be holding a sign with her name on it. Shawn had a few interviews to do that morning, so (y/n) would be taken to his hotel to wait for him to finish, and then they’d have the entire afternoon and evening to spend together.

Aside from the aforementioned interviews, this was a day off for Shawn and he wanted to make the most of it because the Staples Center shows were the following two nights, and there wouldn’t be much down time during the days with soundchecks, meet and greets, and Q&As before showtime. Fortunately they would have more time to spend together between LA and San Francisco.

(Y/n) located her driver, who smiled brightly and introduced himself as John. He took her bag and engaged her in friendly chatter as he led her toward an idling Range Rover.

Who left a vehicle like this idling curbside at the airport?

John opened the rear passenger door for her with a knowing grin. (Y/n) started to climb in before she even noticed him.

“Shawn!” She almost tipped over into his lap reaching across the seat to hug him.

“Surprise, babe!” he chuckled into her ear.

“You’re here!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t collect you myself, but as much as I love my fans, I didn’t want to get stuck here for a half an hour taking selfies.”

“I thought you were in interviews all morning.”

“I was. I was hoping to come with John to pick you up, but I honestly didn’t know how long all the interviews were going to take so I didn’t want you to be disappointed if I said I would be here but then wasn’t.”

He was always so thoughtful; it was one of the many, many things (y/n) loved about him. She linked her hand with his between them, squeezed, and smiled. “I missed you.”

With a grin, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Missed you, too. So much. I’m so happy you’re here,” he breathed.

~ * ~

The day flew by way too quickly.

Once Shawn got (y/n) checked in and settled at the hotel, in a room that adjoined his, they grabbed lunch at one of Shawn’s favorite places.

It was (y/n)’s first ever visit to Los Angeles. Shawn had asked her if there were any specific things that were on her must do/see list, and he’d take care of everything.

They visited the Griffith Observatory, and strolled down the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

(Y/n) thought, and Shawn agreed, that too much attention might be drawn to them if he was spotted along Venice Beach or the Santa Monica Pier, as he had already been approached a few times during their activities earlier in the day. (Y/n) had been understanding and supportive of him spending a few minutes chatting with his fans and taking photos. She actually took a few of the photos herself.

Another day, he promised.

Instead, they spent a good part of the late afternoon and early evening at the Getty Center Museum.

They had dinner in Little Tokyo, followed by drinks at a tiki bar. Only one for (y/n) because she was a lightweight and tiki drinks were known to be quite strong. Shawn stopped after two, as he had a full day the next day and didn’t want to risk waking up with a hangover.

Back at the hotel, freshly showered, in pajamas, and in Shawn’s room, stretched out on his king-sized bed, Shawn and (y/n) ordered something from room service to share.

Even though they had chosen a movie to watch, they were too busy talking and laughing to pay much attention to the television.

~ * ~

Staples Center, Day One, had (y/n) immersed in the thick of things with Shawn, his band, and his crew. She knew only a few of them and was introduced to many more. Her laminated pass was the same as what everyone else had, giving her access to anything and anywhere she wished.

She soaked up as much as possible.

Shawn didn’t always attend soundcheck with his band, but for (y/n) he definitely wanted to be there so she could fully experience it. She stayed backstage, chatting with Shawn’s people while he did his meet and greet photos. She sat in on his Q&A session but stayed unobtrusively toward the back of the room. She could talk to him whenever she wanted; this was his fans’ time with him.

The concert was unbelievable, as (y/n) knew it would be. Shawn always left his heart and gratitude on stage.

That night they were in (y/n)’s room, she on one of the doubles, Shawn in the other. He was still a little high on adrenaline, asking her how she enjoyed the day, and especially how she enjoyed the show.

She knew it wouldn’t be long before he completely crashed out. When he did, he was still in her room.

~ * ~

Staples Center, Day Two, was much the same, although they started the day with Shawn dragging (y/n) to the gym to work out with him. They also skipped soundcheck to get lost together in the backstage corridors.

The closer it came to showtime, the more anxious Shawn seemed to get. He had a different vibe about him than he had the night before.

While eating dinner, (y/n) asked him if everything was alright. He assured her everything was amazing; it just felt like something big was about to happen and he hoped it would turn out to be a good kind of big.

~ * ~

Again, the show was absolutely incredible, although after the song he normally ended with, before acknowledging his band and going into the encore, he tried to quiet the deafening audience with a finger pressed against his lips.

Of course, it was futile. He just laughed, somewhat nervously, and said, “This song is for someone very special to me. Someone who is here tonight. I want her to know how I feel about her...”

That seemed to get everyone’s attention.

Shawn found (y/n) in the audience, met her eyes, and smiled adoringly.

Maybe I had too many drinks But that's just what I needed I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited When I look across the room, and you're staring right back at me Like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughin'

(Y/n)’s heart started thumping. He couldn’t be singing this for her, could he...? He had never expressed any interest in her as more than a friend. Had he?

Don't know why I tried 'Cause ain't nobody like you Familiar disappointment every single time I do Every single night my arms are not around you My mind's still wrapped around you

A couple of girls beside (y/n) bent their heads together and pointed to something or someone standing to the side of the stage. Shawn seemed to notice, as she had, and looked toward the side stage.

She followed his line of vision to see Camila standing there, beaming brightly. She put her fingertips to her lips and blew him a big kiss.

(Y/n) didn’t notice, over the dizzying blood rush in her head, that Shawn seemed to stumble a little through the chorus.

Baby, tell me when you're ready I'm waitin' Baby, any time you're ready I'm waitin'

Even ten years from now If you haven't found somebody I promise, I'll be around Tell me when you're ready I'm waitin'

He glanced once more toward Camila, but just as quickly his smile settled again in (y/n)’s direction. His voice steadied and grew stronger.

What if my dad is right When he says that you're the one No, I can't even argue I won't even fight him on it Call you when it's late And I know that you're in bed 'Cause I'm three hours back Seems like you're always six ahead

(Y/n) smiled back, although it seemed more reflexive than genuine, as her heart was currently crumbling to pieces. She tried her hardest to be happy for her best friend and the woman he was currently confessing his feelings for, on stage, in front of everyone.

Don't know why I tried 'Cause ain't nobody like you Familiar disappointment every single time I do Every single night my arms are not around you My mind's still wrapped around you

Baby, tell me when you're ready I'm waitin' Baby, any time you're ready I'm waitin'

Even ten years from now If you haven't found somebody I promise, I'll be around Tell me when you're ready I'm waitin', yeah

And if I have to, I'll wait forever Say the word and I'll change my plans Yeah, you know that we fit together I know your heart like the back of my hand...

Before the song ended, overwhelmed, unable to continue her façade, (y/n) had slipped from the crowd and backstage.

She wasn’t sure where to go once she was backstage. She was fighting back tears, so her vision was blurry, but she didn’t want to stop to ask anyone how to get out of the venue because they might ask why she was crying and then it would all turn into one big mess.

A voice from behind her asked, “You’re Shawn’s friend, right? Are you looking for his dressing room?” Was she? Would she be able to face him after his encore and bows?

“Yes, please,” she found herself answering.

“End of the corridor, turn right, first door on the left.”

(Y/n) nodded her thanks and began to follow the directions she was given. She wasn’t sure if it would be the first or last place anyone would be looking for her.

~ * ~

Shawn burst into his dressing room, out of breath from the end of his show and running around looking for (y/n). Incredibly relieved to see her, he gasped, “Are you okay? What happened?? You just disappeared!”

“I’m sorry. I just needed a few minutes.”

“In the middle of the most important song of the night?”

Her voice cracked. “I said I was sorry.” And she was. She should have stayed till the end. “I was caught off guard.”

“Oh no, babe. Shit! I’m sorry, (y/n). I overwhelmed you, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have made it so public. It should have been a private conversation. Forgive me?” he whispered.

“Of course. You’re my best friend and I’m happy for you,” she smiled softly, truly. And she was. His happiness meant more to her than anything else. It was just going to take some time to refortify her heart. “I wish you and Camila the best.”

“Camila?” Little wrinkles formed between his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean, what am I talking about?” she puffed.

Suddenly Shawn started laughing.

(Y/n) placed her hands in the center of his chest and pushed him away, unamused.

He caught her wrists and pulled her to him. “I wasn’t singing that song for her.” He placed her hands over his heart and covered them with his own. “I was singing it for you, my beautiful, clueless, wonderful, precious love.”

“What?” she exhaled.

“I finished singing and looked for your eyes, only to find you gone.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend. Not Camila. You, (y/n). In front of the entire Staples Center audience. Why did you think I wanted Camila?”

“You kept looking at her side stage.”

“I glanced at her twice,” he contended, lightheartedly. “I was surprised. I didn’t expect her to be here tonight. It’s true that she recently told me she has deeper feelings for me-”

“And you have always had feelings for her.”

“I had feelings for her. Past tense. Before I met you. Are you really arguing with me about how I feel about you?” he smirked.

“But you didn’t sing that song last night, when Camila wasn’t here.”

“You are!” he laughed again.

“Stop laughing!” she exclaimed, unable to stop herself from giggling, her heart blooming with hope. She then whispered, “Did you really mean it?”

“Oh, darling...

“If I had professed my feelings last night and you had turned me down, I don’t think I would have been able to get through tonight. Telling you tonight, when there were three days before San Francisco, would have either given us time to disappear together for a few days, or would have given me time to sort myself out if you didn’t want me the way I want you.

“Please tell me you want me.”

(Y/n) wanted to scream, yes, I want you!, but instead she teased, trying to keep a straight face, “I don’t know. Any boyfriend of mine has to be a good kisser. Are you a good kisser?”

“I am a fantastic kisser,” he grinned. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and slid his hand to the nape of her neck.

“Prove it.”

His other hand circled her waist, fell against the small of her back. He leaned in, watched her eyelids flutter, then close, and gently guided her lips to his.

She had imagined this moment for so long but it was much more than she had ever expected. Thousands of thoughts were forced away to make room for one single idea. How could one kiss cause the world to fall away around her?

“Shawn,” she said, breathless, easing away.

“Still proving it,” he murmured. He softly licked at the seam of her lips, and when she responded he deepened their kiss. Her heart was pounding, and she was warm from head to toe. She felt his tongue meet hers and her entire body began to hum.

Their knees were weak when their lips separated.

Shawn touched his nose to hers. “Well...?”

“I will be more than happy to kiss you all night long, but only after you take a shower,” she giggled.

~ * ~

(Y/n) knocked on the adjoining door. She didn’t wait for a response before letting herself through.

Shawn was leaning against the dresser, partly sitting on it, phone to his ear, wearing nothing but baggy, cotton pajama pants. His chest and feet were bare. By his side of the conversation, (y/n) grasped that they were talking about the plan for the days leading up to San Francisco.

He held his hand out to her in invitation. His legs fell open and she automatically moved into the V they made. He ended his call, set his cell aside, and placed his large hands on her hips.

“So, about what you said... Something about kissing me all night long?”

She moved even closer to him. One of her hands curled around the back of his neck, the other tangled in his still damp curls. The roughened pads of his thumbs caressed the bare, soft skin just above the waistband of her pajama shorts.

She kissed him, tenderly at first, and then with growing intensity. He gently bit her top lip, sucked it, her teeth tugged on his lower lip. His kiss was determined and sent her head spinning. She began to tremble as she clung to him.

Shawn’s lips slowed and softened; he eased away and breathed, “I’ve already waited so long; we can take our time.” He slid his hands further up (y/n)’s sides, under her shirt. “We don’t have to rush into anything. I can wait for you.” She felt his thumbs brush either side of her breasts.

She started trailing tiny kisses from his chin up along his jawline before touching the tip of her tongue to the lobe of his ear. “I don’t want to wait,” she purred.

“Oh, thank God,” he groaned before again pressing hungry lips to hers.

She responded without hesitation.

Her hands trailed down his chest and to his sides, her fingers playing over the ripples of his stomach. She brushed her knuckles against the start of his arousal and his breath hitched, cupped him through thin cotton.

He arched his pelvis against the heat of her palm and she heard a low, rumbling moan from the back of his throat. He tangled a hand in her hair, tugged gently. He bit down on the skin of her clavicle, sucked, soothed it with his tongue.

She pulled away from his mouth. “Shawn!” she scolded, playfully, chuckled, “You’re going to leave a mark!”

“Good. Show everyone you’re mine. Mark you everywhere. But this,” he smirked, kissing the already purpling bloom, “will be the only one people can see.”

“Fuck,” she sighed. His claim on her made a shiver trickle up her spine.

“If you insist,” he grinned, smugly.

Feeling bold and sexy, she hooked a fingertip in the waistband of his pajama bottoms and starting walking backward. He stood to his full height and followed.

(Y/n) felt the backs of her legs hit the mattress. With fluid movement, she slid her shorts down, stepped out of them, and pulled her camisole up and over her head. She stood before him in small lace panties, breasts bare, nipples tight.

The way he looked upon her made her blood thrum, her body flush. He licked his lips, bit softly on the fuller, lower one.

His hand reached out and cupped one of her breasts. He gently tugged at her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Instinctively, her hand slipped between her legs, at her core, and she rubbed herself through the damp lace. His nostrils flared when he caught the scent of her arousal. He whimpered, her name falling like a prayer from his lips.

“I wanna see you,” (y/n) purred.

Obeying, oh so eagerly, Shawn pushed his pants down, over his ass, off, his cock bouncing free, filling, curling up toward his stomach right before her eyes. He wrapped thumb and forefinger around the base, his other fingers pressed flush against his scrotum.

“Been thinking about me like this?” he hummed.

Yes. God, yes. Maybe one day she would tell him just how much. It was her turn to lick her lips and bite the lower one.

They fell together onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and with a crash of lips. When they separated to catch their breath, (y/n) reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.

“Nuh-uh, Sugar,” Shawn rasped. “Waited too long for this.” Voice rough with desire he sang softly, “I wanna love you with the lights on, keep you up all night long... Darling, I wanna see every inch of you, I get lost in the way you move...”

She might have giggled if her panties weren’t being drawn down over her hips, if calloused fingertips hadn’t begun to dance along soft, hot, electrified skin, lips and tongue following.

He took a dusky, peaked nipple into his mouth. Her back arched, hands grasping at the sheets at her sides, and moaned softly. He sucked her other nipple into his mouth, tasting, humming.

“Shawn,” she whined, moving a hand to tangle it in his dark curls, tugging him away from her breasts.

“Tell me what you want, Love.”

“I want you. I need you,” she pleaded.

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Shawn.”

“Mm... Since you asked so sweetly,” he smirked, stroking his cock. He rolled on a condom and moved to rest between her legs.

She reached between them, taking him in her hand, and he shuddered. She wanted to feel the moment he slid into her. He let her guide him. Their eyes met and held, bodies drew together, foreheads touched. She groaned with deep satisfaction into his mouth as she adjusted to his girth and length.

He wheezed, stilled as he bottomed out. She was so tight around him that if he began to move in that moment it would be over too soon.

“You okay there, Mendes?” she purred and imperceptibly tightened her legs around his waist.

“Oh God.” That tiny shift was almost too much. “You feel so good. Too good,” he mumbled. “I need a minute.” His arms on either side of her, holding his weight above her, he buried his lips in the crook of her neck, centered on the scent of her skin as he salvaged control.

One hand again tangled in in his hair, the other stroked the skin of his upper back.

“Okayokay,” he mumbled, and he began to rock into her, slow... rhythmic... deep.

She gasped when the pebbled nubs of her breasts brushed against his taut nipples. Her whimpers and groans mingled with his rumbles and moans. She was torn between closing her eyes and wanting to watch his face as warmth and pleasure coursed through her.

He wanted her to climax before him. Wanted to watch her fall apart beneath him.

He knew she was nearly there when she began to ripple on the bed like a wave on the sea. The tide came all the way up; he was caught in the rush. And then the knot at the root of his cock dissolved in fire and he was falling fast, craving the feel of her so close to him, unsure where he ended and she began.

( FIN )

~ * ~

@theregoesmyherojd @benito-mi-vida @shawn-is-my-giant-jellybean @mendesblurb

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes request #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x y/n

[fortunatelyfresco]

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

------------

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

#moist von lipwig #narcolepsy #discworld #disabled headcanons #oh my god this got so out of hand #earned itself a title AND a subtitle #mr. cybulskis i'm sorry i fell asleep in your class every day it was at the exact wrong time and temperature and lighting

[brighteyedjill]

Why censor a fandom event?

Do the mods for a fandom event have the right to  make restrictions on content? Sure. They’re volunteers running their own event. 

But. Fandom is a culture that we build together. If we were just people enjoying media in our own homes, we would not be a community. But we’re not. We talk to each other, reblog each other’s amazing art, comment on AO3, squee in Discord channels over ideas, and so on. That’s what makes fandom great: we build it collectively. And like any culture, we have some shared norms. For example, since AO3 is a big influence on our culture, tagging has become a cultural norm in fandom. We tag for the “big four” warnings on AO3, and increasingly, tag more and more details of content to help people find what they like and avoid what they don’t. 

Fandom events like Big Bangs shape fandom culture, too, though. They bring together people who might otherwise not know each other, and have a tendency to dominate the fandom conversation for a time. Restrictions in a Big Bang have a chilling effect on content creators. That means that some work will not get written because of these restrictions, and also that people’s opinions towards this kind of content may be influenced on a larger scale. I personally find this unfortunate, as some of the things on the restricted list are things I’ve written about, uh, a lot. But aside from just me, there are larger implications to consider. Read more about the history of strikethrough and content restriction to learn about who is harassed and excluded when fandom culture turns against “questionable” content. 

I posit that restrictions like this are not always The Norm™ in fandom events, nor should they be. In a fandom like the Witcher, whose canon includes everything on the restricted list, most of them graphically, I believe content of a similar nature should be welcome in fandom content. I ran my first Big Bang in 2009, and have participated in half a dozen bangs and reverse bangs since. None of them had content restrictions (here’s an example of a Big Bang without content restrictions that’s been running since 2011). Some Big Bangs do; sometimes this is dependent on the canon content, more often it depends on who has power and influence in the fandom. Here’s a case for why not to include restrictions in future events.

What are these restrictions meant to do?

As I understand it, these restrictions are meant to make things more inclusive by allowing more people to participate. Are they successful in that? It’s possible they allow different people to participate. As with many things, there are competing access needs here. More on that below. But let���s look at what “making things more inclusive” means in practice. 

Problem: We want to allow participation from people who don’t want to come into contact with dark content. 

OK. Let’s help participants avoid coming into contact with dark content if they don’t want to. How might they come into contact with dark content?

1.) People might hear upsetting conversations in Discord chat

Solution: Ask people to post in the appropriate channel. Use a “walk away” rule to encourage people to leave the channel if a conversation comes up that they’re not comfortable with. If you want to go further, you could have people warn for certain topics, or restrict darker topics to a specific channel, though this runs up against a different issue (see below).

2) People might see content in the claims that they don’t like, or don’t want to work on. 

Solution: Usually in a Big Bang the artists look at a list of summaries and tags and choose which fic(s) they’d like to work on. No artist is going to be forced to work on anything they don’t want to. Even artists who enjoy dark content are often illustrating something other than the darkest, most graphic, or most explicit moment of a fic. In a claiming situation, you can have writers tag their fics, just like they would on AO3, to allow artists to filter out content they’re not interested in or that they would find upsetting. 

2.5) We won’t find any artist to work on certain pieces.

Solution: This happens sometimes. You could put out a call for more artist participants, allow artists to claim a second piece if they want, or you may have to tell a creator that there’s not a match for them. That is a bummer, but this happens sometimes, especially in fandoms where writers vastly outnumber artists. But in no scenario will any artist be forced to write for a piece that squicks them. 

3) People might see content in the Big Bang collection that they don’t like. 

Solution: This one’s pretty easy. Tagging. Tagging has been used on AO3 since its inception to help people avoid content they do not want to see. People don’t have to engage with content they don’t want to see if it is properly tagged. 

4) The mods don’t personally want to engage with the content. 

Solution: Find a mod who will, so that mods who don’t want to don’t have to! You can get a volunteer to do this, I guarantee.

5) I want to encourage the creation of lighter or SFW content.

Solution: I get that. Say so! Explain what content you welcome, and phrase what you’re looking for in a positive way (e.g. “We require that content be T rated or below and have a generally positive outlook and an upbeat ending.”) rather than what you don’t want. Be clear, specific, and up front about it, so that you connect with the creators you’re hoping will participate. 

6) I think this content should not exist. 

This is the one I can’t help you with. If the reason you’re banning content is because, consciously or unconsciously, you think that it’s morally reprehensible, or that the people who make it are bad, I do not have a solution to offer. 

Competing Access Needs

I’m not going to get too far into the weeds on how making a list of restricted topics is impossible, because others have addressed this point. No matter what list you come up with, someone out there will find something you failed to list, but that you feel should be restricted. What to do? If they’ve already completed a fic, tell them to leave? Tell them they have to change it? Let it slide? There will be endless questions about what is and isn’t allowed, which is time-consuming and exhausting for mods, and paralyzing for creators. How do I know if this scene is un-graphic enough? Will I need to revise my whole fic? Will I get kicked out entirely if I write the wrong thing? Will some participants get preferential treatment or the benefit of the doubt because of their identities or their connections?

Censorship brings up competing access needs. Someone doesn’t want to see non-con. Someone is writing non-con fic to work through their own trauma. Someone is writing it for other reasons. Can you accommodate all these folks? I would say yes, in the ways detailed above. But when you start restricting content (as in Strikethrough or Boldthrough, discussed in the history link above), you’re not wielding a scalpel. You’re wielding an anvil, and you’re gonna crush things you didn’t mean to crush. Again, check out the history link to see who gets crushed. 

So… what to do?

Do I think people should change the rules for the events they’re running? No (john mulaney we are well past that.gif). As I said, people who are running their own events have the prerogative to restrict them for whatever audience they’re hoping to reach. Questioning fandom practices is not “shitting on” anyone (and hey--no scat allowed). 

What I would really like is for Witcher fandom to have a think about how we want to proceed as a community. What should be the norm? Witcher fandom culture (in its current form, i.e. big) is still relatively young. There can be variation, sure: Discord server vibes vary wildly, for example. But in the big events or activities that we hope will be open to the largest part of the community, how do we want to intentionally foster the maximum amount of great content about our favorite things? There are ways to be inclusive that do not involve censorship, and I believe we should use them. 

#I've seen bad things happen in other fandoms #I really like y'all and I would like the Witcher fandom to continue to be a place that is inclusive of all content #the witcher #fandom meta #censorship is the worst ship

[donutloverxo]

Pinky promise

*gif by @marvelheroes*

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - Tis part of my donut series which is linked in masterlist. You can just read it for the smut tho, smut usually doesn’t have anything to do with plot🥴🥴

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - Steve yells at you but promises not do it again. But then he had to teach you a lesson too...

Warnings - 18+ONLY, smut(m/f), some assplay, spanking, daddy kink, brat tamer Steve, angst, references to stalking, more to come in future chapters.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 4.8k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

He traced the bridge of your nose with his finger, ever so lightly, his touch barely there so as not to wake you from your peaceful slumber. He smiled at the way you cutely scrunched up your nose when he withdrew his finger.

With your hand across his chest, both your legs over his thighs - you were pretty much sleeping on top of him - clinging to him like a koala. Not that he’d complain. He couldn’t be happier.

Most nights he can barely sleep for two hours, if that wasn’t interrupted by his consistent nightmares - but with you everything felt so serene. He hoped to make you feel the same way.

“No more kale,” you murmured in your sleep.

He frowned, what the hell were you dreaming about?

After your first time together he had given you a nice bath, washed your hair. His bathtub was too small to fit both of you so he simply helped wash you up and then help you into his t-shirt. He never knew he would find his clothes so sexy on you. He wondered how big the baths in the tower’s apartments were. Surely they could fit the both of you. Maybe then he could bathe with you and more...

That was maybe the only flaw you had. How insatiable you manage to make him without even trying. Lathering up your soft skin had done a number on him, especially when his hand drifted between your legs, cleaning you up thoroughly. You were pretty out of it to know what was going on.

Even now, he had woken up with an achingly hard erection. What with snuggling your plump ass that was persistent on grinding against his crotch, for some reason. He decided to ignore it - maybe take care of it later in the shower.

He needed to make you some breakfast first and get you replenished and strong. Then if you’re up for it, maybe he can have his fun.

After struggling to get out of your snuggly trap without waking you he made his way over to the kitchen. Beating up the batter for waffles, some fresh fruit, juice and a PB and J. He put all of it on a tray, wishing he had a rose or two to make it easy on the eyes, he made his way over to you.

Caressing your face, placing a few loud kisses on your cheek as you whined, “Wake up, darling,” he whispered against your skin.

“It’s Saturday,” you pushed him away, turning on your side and away from him.

“I know but I have to go to work. I’d like to spend some time with you, wouldn’t you? It’s your first time sleeping over I want us to have breakfast together,” he nuzzled the crook of your neck.

You kicked your blanket away, squinting your eyes to adjust to the bright light, “Okay,” you slurred, “but you should know I’m not a morning person.”

“Noted,” he smiled, hugging your back closer to him.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt it against your butt cheeks. There was no mistaking it, “Steve, are you... hard?” you asked in a low voice. You wiggled your butt so you could be sure - yup, that’s his monster cock awake again, alright.

He hummed, “It’s just what you do to me, princess.” He snaked a hand up, fondling your soft flesh of your breast with it. Squeezing your hard bud through his t-shirt.

“Does... it hurt? I know it’s a weird question but I’m just curious...” you trailed off.

“Sometimes it’s just annoying and sometimes it’s painful. Like right now,” he husked in your ear, holding onto your hip and rutting up in your ass. His palm making it’s way between your legs, tracing patterns on your inner thigh.

“Oh. Then maybe you should do something about it. I don’t want you be in pain,” you squirmed in his hold. You could still feel the ache of last night’s activities in your core but the idea of going at it again was just as appealing to you.

“Yeah? You want it?” he let his fingers dip in your folds, “You’re fucking drenched, princess,” he groaned.

You gasped. It’s not everyday you hear Captain America spouting such profanities.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to do a thing,” he promised, pushing you on your stomach he took his shirt off of you. Shoving a pillow under your hips to give him access and let you relax at the same time. “You were so good last night, doll. Can you be good now? For me?”

You nodded your head, your cheek pressed to the soft pillow. You didn’t really know what ‘being good' entailed. You did know that if he wanted to slap you and have you thank him for it, you’d probably do it. Really you would do anything to please him.

You jerked as you felt the tip of his tongue nudge at your entrance. Dipping inside your heat - so warm and velvety - and then pulling out to lick a stripe up your slit.

“You’ve got a nice ass, sweetheart, fits in my hand perfectly,” he praised, squeezing your ass and then kneeling behind you.

He touched the column of your spin, pressing on the middle of your back to arch you up to him, your wide hips and butt presented so perfectly to him. It was like a dream come true. There was no way he could resist.

Pulling your cheeks apart, he admired your holes, before prodding at your second hole and tracing it with his tongue.

You squealed at that. “St - Steve, what are you doing?” You looked at him over your shoulder.

“You don’t like it, doll?” he asked, licking at it again, “If you don’t just say so. I’ll stop.” he stated. Which wasn’t a lie, he probably should’ve asked you before doing it in the first place.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t like it... it’s just so dirty but I think in a good way,” you shove your face back in your pillow.

He chuckled, maybe that was why he loved the idea of it so much as well. It was so debauched - something he only got to share with you. To the world he maybe pure and pious but he won’t hesitate to eat his girl’s ass any chance he gets.

“I know, doll. It’s like you stir up something dark in me,” he gritted, pressing his thumb inside your tight pluckered hole, “I knew the moment I met you, you were nothing but trouble,” He groaned when he felt you clenched around his thumb.

You jerked forward at the unusual fullness. Gasping incredulously, “Wh - I’m trouble?! You’re the one with your finger buried up my ass. But sure! I’m the one corrupting America’s son,” you yelped when you he delivered a harsh slap on your butt. “Jesus! Warn a girl!” you heaved as you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Being so exposed to him and letting him have his way with you - most of it liking it WAY more than you should have should make you feel at least a modicum of shame but it didn’t.

He shushed you, “Didn’t you promise to be good?”

“I promised no such thing!”

He shook his head, there was no point in making you behave, not that he truly wanted you to be good anyway. Pulling his thumb out of your ass, he slathered some lube on your slippery folds, massaging it on your bundle of nerves.

You whimpered into the pillow, “Do we even need it anymore?”

“Yes, we do,” he held your hips in a firm grip, lining himself up to your cunt, “You’re too small to take me without it,” he smirked as he pushed into your warm heat.

You would never understand how much he loved the fact that you were smaller than him. He could fight off anyone who dared to threaten you or hurt you, he had to bend a significant amount to kiss you, he could easily haul you up, manhandle you - do whatever he wants to you. Not that he’d ever take advantage of his strength - but these were some privileges he would never have without the serum.

He bend over you, his chest to your back, pulling you closer to him by circling a hand around your soft stomach. Driving his hips back before harshly snapping them forward. He nuzzled the crook of your neck, “How does that feel? Hm?” He set a fast pace, thrusting into you with much more vigor than the previous night. Something about doing it from behind made it all the more primal and needy.

“So good,” you choked. Your fingers digging into his forearms as you felt his tip hit your spongy spot, making your vision blurry and mind hazy.

He knelt above you again, so he could look at your ass. Jiggling from the force of his thrusts. His hand ached to spank it again - but he knew he shouldn’t. Not before talking to you about it. He compromised on fondling it with his palm as he felt you clench around his length.

“You close, doll?”

“Yeah,” you murmured as you felt the coil in your belly snap, your whole body going taut as pleasure took over you.

Your hips collapsed back on the bed - not really having enough energy to hold yourself up anymore.

He pulled out just when he was about to come, jerking his cock with his hand till spurts of his spend landed on your ass and back.

He used the shirt you were wearing to clean to you up, setting the tray of breakfast before you and giving your forehead a quick kiss.

You munched on a slice of apple, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles. causing him to raise his brow at you. “It’s just I’m completely naked -having breakfast in bed. Never imagined I’d get so lucky.” you gushed, making heart eyes at him.

“I’m the lucky one,” he smiled, booping your nose, “I have to get going though.”

“I thought you wanted to have breakfast together?” you pouted, hoping that would make him stay as he rummaged through his closet, setting his clothes out. Giving you a nice view of his bubble butt. It’s thicker than mine.

He looked at you over his shoulder, “I already had my breakfast, doll,” he winked.

Your jaw dropped as you closed your mouth and then opened it again, gaping like a goddamn fish as you tried to think of something to say.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, making his way to the shower, “I’m running late since you distracted me.”

“Sure I distracted you.” you rolled your eyes.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve greeted him, putting a hand over his shoulder to get his attention.

“What the fuck?” he helped, spilling his coffee all over his keyboard. He turned around in his chair, giving Steve a steely glare, “What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. Sure ambushing Tony in his lab may not be his greatest idea but - “I need a favor.”

“It’s always about what people need from me,” the billionaire shook his head despondently, trying to clean his soiled workspace with some napkins, “Came to ask for sex tips, have you?”

“What?!” Steve blurted out, his eyes widening.

Did Natasha go around telling everyone about their private conversation? If so he’ll never hear the end of it. He was on the receiving end of almost all of Tony’s jabs. Why was he coming to him for such an important favor anyway...

“Too bad for you, I don’t give away my trade secrets.” He shrugged.

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, taking a deep breathe, he can do this, it’s for his girl.

“Fine, I’ll tell you some of them. A woman has eight erogenous zones - ”

Right, this was just Tony being Tony. Nat would never to that to him.

“Jesus, Tony! I don’t need sex advice from you!” He was well acquainted with your erogenous zones now, even though you’ve only been together a couple of times. He could make you come without even touching you.

“Really?” Tony raised a brow, eyeing him up and down, “It’s weird that you have a life outside of the Avengers in the first place.”

“Right. You probably think I go to sleep in the cap suit,” Steve retorted, his lips pressed in a flat line. To most people there was no distinction between cap and him.

“Actually, I did,” he grinned, “What did you want anyway?”

“Well... I need you to promise to keep this between us,” Even if he and Tony had somewhat of a ‘complicated’ friendship, there was no one he could trust with this,

He nodded, “Cross my heart,” doing so over his chest.

“Is there anyway you can hack into a CCTV camera?” Steve asked, giving him your address. There was only one outside of your building, it wasn't much but it was all he had to work with.

“Should be easy enough,” he said, hitting the keys of his keyboard, “Looks like their footage expires in a month or so.”

“That’s okay, I only need to see this past week,” he pulled up a chair, taking a seat beside him.

“Are we stalking Miss unicorn? Is she cheating on you?!” he gasped. “If you get cheated on then the rest of us don’t have any hope.”

“No... she thinks she’s being stalked. And I believe her.”

“She’s awfully lucky to have an Avenger for a boyfriend then.... are you sure you want to go through over two hundred hours of it? Just get an intern to do it,” he pressed play, fast forwarding it over four times.

“I can’t trust anyone else with this. Besides I’ll know what to look for,” The serum also gifted him keen eyes. Even if the the footage was blurry and pixelated he could figure out a lot by just looking at body language and such. “You don’t have to watch it with me.”

“Oh no, don’t worry, I have nothing else to do,” he drawled, “JARVIS, cancel all my appointments. We’re stalking Steve’s girlfriend. I’ll go get the popcorn.”

It was not easy to spend the entire weekend sitting in a chair watching basically nothing with Tony, but Steve managed to just tune him out. He seemed to get excited, to poke fun, every time Steve dropped you off at your doorstep, always leaving with a thorough goodbye kiss.

Think of the children!

All this PDA is not good for you squeaky clean image, Cap. You’ve been corrupted by the Gen Z and the millennials.

“Wait, stop right there,” Steve asked upon spotting an electrician, inconspicuous at first sight...

“It’s just the cable guy.”

“He’s carrying a gun, see,” he pointed at the screen.

Tony scrunched up his nose, “No, he’s not. You can barely see his face.”

“Is there a way to get a clearer image of his face?”

“No. This isn’t a movie. You can always interrogate her neighbors,” he suggested.

“I don’t know about that. Let’s keep that as a plan B.”

They didn’t really find anything else of use. He cracked his neck, ready to home to you after a long day. Grateful that he had someone to go home to. He thanked Tony while putting on his jacket.

“Don’t thank me. Just remember that you owe me forever.”

“That’s fair I guess...” he dusted off the wrinkles in his pants.

“So does she like live with you now? Haven’t you only been dating for two months? I’ve never even had a relationship that long.”

“Well, I’m not you.” And he didn’t appreciate other people snooping in his private life. He had no idea what he would do if his relationship went public. He decided not to worry about that for now. He needed to work on his first least.

Three weeks later

You huffed, your ankle twisting against the ground. You straightened your feet back up and willed yourself to keep walking. Just two more blocks. You can do this.

Today was not your day. Your boss had sent you all the way to Connecticut to do a delivery. Even though it wasn’t your job to do deliveries. Which meant you had to take the subway - which was over an hour late. You couldn’t even call Steve to let him know that you would be late because your phone just chose to stop working.

And then your heel broke... which meant you were dragging yourself back home all the way from the station.

You were ready to just go to sleep and maybe never wake up.

“Finally,” you grumbled, slamming the door behind you and ridding your feet of the uncomfortable strappy knock offs. “Oh, Steve, you wouldn’t believe the day I had,” you plumped down on the couch, laying back against the cushions.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You opened your eyes to see him standing tall in front of you. His hands folded over his chest and his jaw clenched as he glared at you.

“Huh?”

“It’s almost midnight,” he shook his head. “Did it occur to you to maybe call me and let me know that you were going to be late?”

“I - my phone just stopped working - ”

“Let me guess - you forgot to charge it again,” Your name rolled off his tongue, which meant something was wrong - he never said your name, he had over a million nicknames for you. “That’s not charming. That’s just careless and irresponsible of you. You’re an adult, start acting like it.”

“Fuck you.” The words escaped your mouth before you could ponder about it. Tears burning your eyes, but you held them back, you had never been afraid of being vulnerable in front of him. Right now, however, you needed to stand your ground.

A look of hurt crossed his face before it hardened again. “You can never take any sort of criticism - ”

“It just stopped working!” you yelled, interrupting him. “It’s old and yeah I don’t use it properly because I’m irresponsible, so it stopped. I didn’t even know what time it was.”

“I was worried about you,” his voice cracked. He rubbed his eyes. “I made so many calls. I called your mother - who didn’t even know who I was.” He gave you a sardonic chuckle. He was discussing marriage plans with you and you hadn’t even told your family about him.

“You know, Steve, if you want a responsible and mature girlfriend, you should go and get one. I’ll make it easier for you,” you stood up, bumping into him and heading towards the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he grabbed at your forearm, pulling you back.

“I’m leaving! I’ll go stay at my mothers,” you choked on a sob, your arms feebly trying to fight him off, “I don’t need you or your help! I’m sure plenty of mature women would love to be with Captain America.”

“Stop it! I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” Your tears pulled at his heart strings. Making him regret his words.

“If you didn’t mean it then you shouldn’t have said it,” you spit. Finally gathering enough courage to look into his eyes, “I guess I know what you think of me now.” Your bottom lip quivering as you tried to push at his chest. But he was built like a rock, refusing to budge even a bit.

He grabbed your wrists, “I’m sorry, doll. I should’ve used better words. But you can’t just pack up and leave whenever we have a fight.”

You scoffed, “Yes I can! Just watch me!”

“Yes, you can,” he sighed, pulling your head into his chest, “but you shouldn’t. Don’t you think your words hurt me too?” he asked. Nuzzling his nose in your hair, swaying you both side to side but you were still pushing at his chest and whimpering. “Just let me hold you for a while. I thought something bad had happened to you.”

Which seemed to quell your rage for the time being as you went limp in his arms. He hadn’t told you about the suspicious cable guy or how maybe you were being stalked. Either by SHIELD, someone out for revenge on him or an unwanted suitor of yours. It didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to worry you, maybe he should tell you to get you to take things more seriously.

“You really had me worried there,” he mumbled, “Do you forgive me?” Placing a kiss to your hair.

You shook your head against his chest. “Nuh-uh.”

“What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?” he wanted to know.

You rubbed your tears and snot on his shirt - as a petty revenge, looking up at him with your swollen eyes and nose, “I read somewhere that the best way to ask for forgiveness is changed behavior.”

“That is true,” he nodded.

“Since you’ve never been that mean before - I can let it go for now. Only if you promise not to do it again.”

“Of course, sweet - ”

“I mean it. No yelling, cursing or meanness of any sort. I don’t care that you’re Captain America. You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I promise.”

“You have to pink promise to seal it. A pink promise has higher esteem than a normal one,” you stated, holding your pinky up to him.

“Can I seal it with a kiss?” he suggested but then bit his tongue at the deadly glare you have him. “Okay then, I pinky promise,” he linked his pinky with yours, looking into your eyes, “I’ll never ever yell at you or curse at you. Or be mean ever again - the last thing I want to be is like my father.”

“What? You never told me that your dad - ”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” he shook his head, “Can I kiss you? Please?” he gave you his best puppy eyes.

“Nope,” you pushed him away. You can’t be too easy. He had to pay. “I’m tired, I had a long day. Im'a just go to bed,” you gave an exaggerated yawn.

You headed off to your shared bedroom again, but then before you knew it - in the blink of an eye - he hauled you over his knee as he sat back on the couch.

“Not so fast,” he tutted, stroking your clothed buttcheek. “Let’s not forget you were at fault too. You had me worried sick. I was imagining the worst things about you and I couldn’t get a hold of you. I’m never letting you out my sight again.”

You rubbed your forehead, dizzy from being spun so fast. Looking at him over your shoulder, “But what you did... or said was deliberate.”

“Maybe so. But you could've called me and let me know. I would’ve come to you and picked you up.” He pinched your butt as you yelped.

“I don’t remember your number!” You heaved. What was he up to? Why were you over his lap?

He shook his head. “Even you have to agree that is irresponsible. You’re supposed to be good at numbers, baby. Aren’t you an accountant? Think you can count to seven? You need to be taught a lesson.” He pulled the helm of your dress, exposing your Powerpuff girls panties to him.

The smug asshole. “Excuse me! Who are you to teach me a lesson?”

He snapped the elastic band against your hip, “These are cute.”

Your cheeks heated up and you tried to tell him off, flustered and exhausted you just give up. Pushing your cheek against the cushion. “Whatever,” you grumble.

“You’re such a brat you know that? You love making me worry when all want to do is protect you and keep you safe,” he pulled your panties down till they were tangled in your ankles, warming you up by stroking your naked cheeks. “I’m getting you a new phone. And you don’t need to work for someone who doesn’t appreciate you - I can take care of now,” He had always had a bad feeling about your eccentric boss, sending you away on such a short notice - you absolutely did not deserve to be treated like that. “How many do you think you deserve?”

Steve never associated spanking with sexiness or as anything erotic. He was supposed to be a gentleman. He shouldn’t have such dirty kinks.

Sure he likes a nice plump ass. Your ass to be more specific. He loved seeing it in tight yoga pants, snug jeans. Hell he even liked seeing it in dresses that don’t necessarily flaunt it. When he is forced to use his imagination.

He also liked seeing it in your cute pastel cotton panties. With stars or heart patterns. Or better yet, no panties.

Just a few days ago, he saw your ass perched up in your cute pink panties, as you were scrolling on your phone, leaning on the kitchen counter, he couldn’t help it, his hand moved before he could even register what was happening. He slapped your ass, the smack echoing in the room, your ass jiggling, and your small yelp, made him harder than hed ever been.

You looked so adorable when you tried to act like you didn’t like it. Though the musky scent of your weeping sex clearly said otherwise. He bent you over the counter and fucked you then and there to prove you wrong.

He never spanked you again. He didn’t get a chance to, until now...

You were pretty out of it, sleep taking over your tired eyes, maybe that’s why it just slipped out - “Whatever you want, daddy.”

“What?” he instantly stopped his ministrations, staring at the back of your head.

“What?” you asked. Your eyes widening , “Oh dear god, did I say that out loud?” You shut your eyes so tightly, refusing to ever look at him again.

You had only ever read about it in erotica or used the term in jest. Maybe part of you did feel that way about Steve but there was absolutely no way you’d ever admit it. You joked with your friends about how Steve was a ‘big daddy’ when you had told them you were dating Captain America. Because of his height and build and nurturing nature. They dubbed him ‘America’s daddy’.

“Yes, you did,” you could feel him smirking through the smugness dripping in his voice, “It’s ok, doll. I don’t get why you’re embarrassed, I can be your daddy. I think you deserve seven? For every hour you were late. You promised to be home by five pm.”

You didn’t say a single word, not really trusting yourself to speak at all. He pinched your butt again, demanding an answer. “Yes! Fine! Seven is okay I guess.”

“You are to count them and then thank me for them. Understood?”

“Just get on with it,” you would feel yourself getting wetter with anticipation, you squirmed in his hold, rubbing your thighs together to create some friction.

“Keep up that attitude and I’ll spank you till you can’t see straight. And now, just because of that it’s ten.” He slipped his hand between your legs. Smearing your arousal around your lips. You probably didn’t know about his enhanced sense of smell, letting him know whenever you were aroused. “What do you want the safe word to be? When you say it - we stop.”

“How about buttercream?” you suggested.

“Buttercream it is. Now get ready. Remember to count and - ”

“And thank you, yes I remember,” you rolled your eyes. Wondering if he’s ever going to actually go through with it or if he was all talk.

You yelped as soon as he landing the first blow, the burning sting and the loud smack that following causing your cheeks to heat up.

“One. Thank you...” you tried to catch your breathe, “daddy.”

His cock stirred at your new petname for him. He could sink into you right then and there but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

He raised his hand again, delivering blow after blow to you, alternating between both your cheeks. Sneaking one small to your upper thigh as well - just because he could. He held back his strength, of course. He didn’t really want to hurt you, just teach you a lesson.

“Nine, holy fuck!” your nails dug into your palms as you clenched your fists tightly. Needing something to hold onto. “Th-thank you, daddy!” You added. Cursing yourself for almost forgetting.

He let his fingers wander down to your cunt again, dipping a finger in your heat, “You seemed to be enjoying this. Have you learned your lesson?”

You furiously nodded your head, “Yes! I’ll always tell you when I’m going to be late. I mean... as soon as I get a new phone.”

He snorted, “Don’t worry about that, princess,” Soothing a hand over your swollen skin, “Just one more. Think you can take it?” you nod again.

You whimpered and then moaned as he delivered the last slap to your right cheek. “Te - n,” you hiccupped, “Thank you...”

“You were so good, sweetheart,” he cooed. Setting you down on the couch, hovering over your back and peppering kisses to your ass, “but I’m far from done with you.”

You hummed as you heard the tell-tale sign of him unzipping his pants. “Gonna be a long night,” you giggled into the pillow.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

#the donut series #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x reader

[quitealotofsodapop]

MvA assorted headcanons

General:

So many years together has made the core monsters inseperable. If something affects one member, it affects the group.

All. The. Monsters. Are. Family.

It takes Susan a while to understand inside jokes and past incidents because of being the most recent addition.

There are Other anomalous creatures kept in Area 5X, but they are either non-sentient and/or are too dangerous to be kept around the more human-friendly monster group.

Area 5X is so gotdang big because they were expecting a lot more kaijus like Insecto to crop up. Sadly not many have surfaced to justify the space.

There’s a hangar in Area 5X full of wrecked UFOs. Some are spacecraft wreckage while others are stuff like weird meteors (Susan’s is in there), and at least one alien creature that got crystallised upon entering Earth’s atmosphere.

There’s significant difference in staff employed at different points throughout the past 50 years. There are far more women on the Area 5X worksheet than back in the 50s, and the guards are generally more sympathetic towards the monsters. Many modern staff members have been reprimanded or let go for failing to uphold secrecy, or for unnecessary cruelty towards the monsters.

Budget cuts were a legitmate concern up until the Battle of Golden Gate Bridge. The facility was far more barebones and sterile before the government had to formally recognise Area 5X’s importance. There have been a lot of redecorating at the facilty since the fat checks started coming in.

Putting individual characters under read due to length.

Susan:

Enjoys many hobbies considered stereotypically feminine; baking, sewing, cosmetics, etc...

Grandparents and extended family are farmers or are atleast connected to the business. Modesto is the agricultural centre of California after all. Her parents were the first of their generation to go against the mold and seek out white-collar careers.

Studied cosmetology in school and was working at a beauty salon to save up for her and Derek’s wedding.

Is very athletic and grew up doing a number of physical extracurriculars like cheerleading, dodgeball, and roller-derby.

Grew up being teased for being the shortest kid in her class/family. They still tease her for it.

Greatly fears causing collateral damage and/or harm to others through her size.

Has issues with anxiety, worsened only by her new job as “savior of earth”. She wishes for a confidant to tell her worries to.

Married life with Derek was doomed to fail. Susan had a plan in place for what came after the marriage, and focusing 100% on Derek’s career was not it. There’s also the line from Derek’s mother about Susan being “the weatherman’s wife”, implying that she was to be the homemaker and not have a career of her own. It’s possible that Susan was planning to settle down and have kids with Derek, but the lack of control she had in moving to Fresno implied that more was going on.

Is currently “taking a break” from love and dating, despite gaining many new admirers.

Tries her best to return to Modesto to visit her family and friends whenever possible, though work often keeps her away for weeks at a time.

If she retains her height-shifting abilities as in the series; Susan goes through really bad “growing” pains.

Link:

Was frozen in his relative late-teens during a cold snap. Got shifted around until he ended up somewhere in Greenland before being discovered by modern humans. Post-thaw he went a bit wild, swimming frantically back south to try and find his old enviroment.

Was one of many scrappy youngsters in his troop, with a number of adoptive parents. The strongest ruled the troop, and Link was fairly weak in comparision to the leaders. He had gotten into a fight the day of his freezing (over something silly in hindsight) and swam away to sulk. When he didn’t return after the cold snap - the troop accepted that he had likely died out on his own.

Likes to freak out humans by making up weird biology facts about his species and ones he’s fought against - like joking about laying eggs or having his tail dettach and regrow like a lizard. However there’s some things he has to ask about, because he doesn’t have medical knowledge or words to describe something.

A lot of his macho behavior came from imitating the guards who kept watch on him. 1950s violent military alpha males aren't a very good role model for someone who doesnt know what societal norms are yet. Link was a lot more insufferable back in the day but chilled out as he began interacting with other walks of life.

Has a high paternal instinct and immediately becomes softer around kids and smaller animals.

Has body language similar to a cat/alligator. Slaps his tail when angry or in deep thought. And yes; Link purrs/rumbles when happy.

Loves monster movies - especially the ones where the monsters “win”. He cried when he saw “Beauty and the Beast” and then immediately booed loudly when the Beast turned human.

Does Not Trust doctors or scientists due to bad past experiences. Will only go to Dr Cockroach and Monger if he ever gets hurt/ill. Gets stressed fast if he has to be in a waiting room or doctors office.

Link had no idea what gender indentities or orientations were until recently - he did come from a pre-human civilization that really didnt mind/care about the schemantics. It took him some time to wrap his head around it. He identifies himself as bisexual after much thought and many hours alone on the computer.

Don't press him about his body. He's built different from humans and cis people. He will punch anyone who doesnt respect his or anyone elses identity.

Has been in love before. It didn’t end well.

Will occasionally wear clothes, but finds it a challenge to find anything that fits him. Will give any shoes he finds to Dr Cockroach and BOB to eat.

The best driver/pilot out of all the monsters.

Dr Cockroach:

True name is Jaques-Yves Herbert. Prefers to just go by "Dr Cockroach" because he dislikes the association with his birth family.

Picks up human languages very easily, although not as quickly as he can understand animals.

Parents were a mixed scientist couple. His father was an aggressive “Strong British Man” that would beat him son down for not following orders or for not meeting his standards for a man. Dr C turned down both chances to attend his parents funerals.

This man isn’t straight. He probably uses old-fashioned slang when asked about romance such as; “I am Uranian” or “I wear a green carnation”. It took Susan a few times to realise what he meant, as she is used to a more open minded enviroment.

Got the idea of transforming into a cockroach from reading Franz Kafkas “The Metamorphosis” as a child. He sympathized with Gregor’s abusive situation, and began considering the possibilties of how one could survive better as a creature like a cockroach.

Studied in biology and entomology in the Uk before moving to the states to follow engineering. Obtained his degree in Dance as a “side gig” in University.

Has been barred from free access to the coffee maker/machine due to overnighters. Once stayed awake so long that he forgot the letter “R”.

Owned a terrarium of Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches throughout college. He mourned each of them when his roommate’s iguana got into the tank.

Was a "beatnik" back in the day and still kinda is. Embraces and encourages modern counterculture as he himself was not given such acceptance in his youth. He has however shamefully eaten his old Lenny Bruce album.

Hasn’t actually aged physically since his transformation. He attributes this to the fact that certain athropods can’t age physically beyond maturity. Link is very jealous.

Has obtained more degrees while in captivity, as Monger allowed him access to research and learning materials. He has however had his allowances revoked for previous escape attempts/doomsday devices.

Does still enjoy human food, but the cockroach instinct of "eat detritus" tends to overrule his eating choices. Can’t cook either.

Ironically a terrible driver. The damages from previous drives has made Monger restrict him from operating even a razor scooter.

BOB:

Pretty much considers himself human. Was created by them, raised by one (Monger), and talks like one. Gets sad when he's reminded that no other humans are blue blobs like him.

Absorbed some dna from the scientists present at his "birth", leading to his eye, speech, and omnivorous diet.

Doesnt actually need to breathe (as he can just absorb oxygen through his mass) but the fact that humans Do means that BOB thinks he has to as well.

Shares some physical characteristics with tomatoes/nightshade plants, as he is technically half tomato. He refuses to eat tomatos for this very reason, considering it cannibalism.

Attracts garden pests looking for a tomato plant. This unwittingly makes BOB a pretty good bug zapper.

Still retains his "mental broadcast" ability from "BOB's Big Break" although at a more subtle level. He tends to parrot the things he accidentally "eavesdropped" on.

Is empathetic, and can tell when others aren't doing ok emotionally. Will flop down on someone who’s really sad to comfort them. No brain, only heart.

Best cook out of the monsters. If he doesn’t forget what he’s making at least.

"Whats a gender? Can I eat it?"

Insectosaurus:

Core body is that of a Japanese Silkmoth, although she ended up being spliced with other animals present on the island during her initial mutation; namely ants and ground squirrels.

Eats over a literal ton of mulberry leaves per day. Also enjoys oranges.

Secretly wishes to be more humanoid.

Was only able to pupate and transform due to physical trauma. It seems that her transformation was like a “power-up” that required her to be in geniune distress for it to activate.

First language is Japanese. She learned it from the intial recovery team, and later developed an understanding of English from years in Area 5X.

Goes into torpor in cold weather. Pretty much impossible to wake her up for missions during Winter, as she needs to “rev up” before becoming mobile.

Still very much Link’s best friend. Still enjoys sports, chicks, and beer.

Monger:

Full name is; Warren Rex Monger.

Is very protective of the monsters and will defend them to the death.

Pretty much raised BOB (as seen when BOB was a baby blob in “Night of the Living Carrots”), and considers him his “freaky gelatinous son”.

Has a reputation of being a “control-freak” due to his aggressive overseeing of the monsters’ containment. This toughness is partly because of incidents that occured without his knowledge. Lets just say some scientists have been wedgied/fired for running experiments on the monsters without Monger’s approval.

Has a very “Ron Swanson” emotional response and view of the world. Crying is acceptable only at funerals and at the Grand Canyon (if he hadn’t lost his tear ducts in the war).

Has been married multiple times. Will not confirm or deny if he is currently seeing anyone.

Invisible Man/TiM:

Legit got out but no one at Area 5X is sure how. He suffered a geniune medical emergency and disappeared after surgery. The other monsters were informed that he died from complications to deter them from getting escape ideas.

Is able to be detected in Infrared light. Dr Cockroach managed to rig up goggles to view TiM in case of injury and to foil pranks.

Was a scientist working on an invisibility potion for the military and used himself as a guinea pig. Hasn’t actually been able to replicate his results since - thinks the effect may have been caused by a genetic abnormality.

Dr Cockroach and him are massive rivals. Both actually met eachother pre-transformation through a CalTech expedition. This makes the pair one of few people that have seen the others human face.

Is 100% naked. Was forced to wear clothing once this was discovered.

A massive prankster and a cynic. Him and Link were a force to be reckoned with.

Has revisted the facility multiple times and has started a number of ghost stories.

Any additions are welcome! I proably have alot more to dump about. Might make one of the alien characters from the series

#monsters vs aliens #mva #susan murphy #ginormica #the missing link #dr cockroach #bob mva #general monger #the invisible man mva #insectosaurus #headcanons

[presumenothing]

C/O The Perihelion, 41 Mihira Ave., N. Tideland    

(AO3)

The thing was, you expected a building with a fancy name like The Perihelion to be nicer.

The other thing: it wasn’t really even a terrible place to stay in. You could tell that its construction was sturdy, and some aspects of it were even more advanced than the place I worked in. Whoever who’d built Peri had cared about what they made; they just hadn’t been around for a while.

(For the record, that nickname had been Ratthi-from-Room-203’s fault twice over: first for coming up with it, then using it so insistently until it stuck.)

(Ratthi seemed to have a thing about names. That was the only explanation I could think of for why he’d asked, five weeks after I moved in and two days after I had to rescue them from that disaster at the lab, “Why do you call yourself Security? I know it’s what you do – and don’t get me wrong, you’re really good at it! – but it’s not like I call myself Scientist. That’d just get confusing real quick at the lab, wow.”

I had informed him that his name would have to be Grocery if he forgot one more time it was his turn to stock the pantry this week, since answering because I am Security didn’t seem like it’d help. Even though it was true.)

I’d tested the locks myself before even asking about the rent, and the water and electricity were reliable so far, which was more than could be said for some of the other places I’d stayed in. The other stuff didn’t matter; it wasn’t like I spent that much time in the building anyway.

Though it hardly felt that way, what with the building-wide messaging channels that I’d been added to upon signing the rental contract and hadn’t yet managed to leave. That had also been how the whole thing with Ratthi and the rest had started; most of Peri’s other tenants also worked in the same research group at Preservation Labs, which meant that they tended to use the general channel as an unofficial no-leaders-here group chat.

It didn’t quite bother me, since I mostly backburnered the channels for everything except building maintenance alerts, but it did mean that I’d ended up learning some things about their group (assessment: their leader, a Dr. Mensah, likely had already inferred the existence of such informal discussions from what I saw of her media appearances) and also inevitably noticed the evening when all of them were silent in the chat despite being unusually late to return.

(Which in turn led to the aforementioned rescue, but that was a whole other chain of events.)

–

The one exception to all this was ART.

Whose name was my fault, this time, but only because it didn’t have any readable name set on the channels and I needed something else to use aside from “hey you” and “pain in my neck”.

(Currently ART stood for Asshole Rhetorical Tenant, because it claimed to be in the building – and that seemed likely to be true, since the channels were surprisingly secure to hacking from outside – and yet I’d never seen it even once. Possibly Tapan or Rami might have, since their group had been here the longest, but I absolutely wasn’t about to ask.) (And yes, I know that’s not what rhetorical means. No, I’m not going to look it up.)

ART had messaged me on a private channel with a welcome message when I’d moved in, which was only notable because the rest had sent their greetings in a messy chaos over the general channel, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. It wasn’t like I talked much in the public channels either, except to trade definitely-not-legal links for media downloads and decline invites to watchalong events.

But then ART had just… continued not appearing, even after I’d run into the rest of the tenants at one time or another between the erratic shift hours I was currently assigned to at the company.

Maybe its hours varied in the opposite direction from mine, which was possible but not consistent with the way it was always online regardless of what time I pinged it at.

Though most of our interactions started with it messaging me instead, out of the blue: No need to go retrieve your keys from work, I’ll have the building let you in and Oh, by the way followed by a neatly-formatted list of food allergies I apparently had to shop my way around.

(To be fair, that’d been useful in the “not accidentally poisoning any fellow tenants so soon after moving in” way, but still.

How the hell did you even know I’m at the grocery store, I’d sent back.

Inference, ART replied – whatever that was supposed to mean, I hadn’t been expecting a real answer anyway. Alternatively, I could just send you a catalog of safe products to buy, and spare you the need to check the individual package labels?

The accompanying download seemed a little smug, but I was probably imagining that. Zip files didn’t have the capacity for feelings.)

(At least ART hadn’t held the forgotten-keys incident over me like I’d been half-expecting it would. I didn’t usually mind its sarcasm, since I gave back as good as I got, but I’d been exhausted enough to seriously contemplate going back to break into the deployment centre and grab my keys. And maybe just sleep there until the next day.

I wasn’t sure how I would’ve reacted if ART had sassed me right then, but it definitely wouldn’t have been pretty.)

–

And then one night, late enough to be morning: I don’t mean to alarm, but there’s been a breach.

I would’ve snapped awake at the words alone, even without the priority/emergencies-only message tag that I hadn’t actually seen anyone use until now, but that only sharpened my urgency. What – a break-in?

Not the regular kind, ART replied, which checked out against the footage I was already pulling from the two tiny cameras I’d hidden in the common areas, one in the entryway and one along the corridor on the floor I shared with the Preservation researchers.

(I’d taken the lab incident as a pretext to inform Ratthi of their existence, and he’d probably gone on to tell Pin-Lee and Gurathin, but none of them had subsequently confronted me about it so I had left them in place.

Not that I had any idea how to respond if they had asked, because an inability to sleep without running surveillance in the background seemed like a poor explanation.)

The list ART sent me this time was a preliminary threat assessment, which I sent back with corrections on the weaponry the small group of hostiles were carrying.

Ah. That’s not good, ART observed. Should I report it?

Probability that would just make things worse: high. And of course there was always the option that whatever enforcement it alerted wouldn’t even arrive in time, though I didn’t point that out aloud. (Maybe ART thought that was likely too, which was why it had messaged me instead of – you know, actually reporting it.) I’ll see what I can do.

You’re nowhere near as heavily-armed.

I didn’t bother to acknowledge that, because it was obviously true, and skipped ahead to the vague idea forming at the back of my head. You let me in without keys, that time. Are the locks all you’ve hacked?

No. ART attached an ironic amusement glyph I was pretty sure it’d made up. Would having admin access to the other systems help?

There wasn’t much that wouldn’t help, at this point, but I had to ask. You can grant me that?

And ART said: Of course. I am this building, after all.

Then it dumped everything on me.

Anyone else would’ve had trouble processing an entire building’s worth of inputs and controls, but the company charged exorbitant rates for our use exactly because of the extensive enhancements that made us capable of being Security. A building – even the one I happened to be staying in – was quite manageable in comparison, though ART’s systems ran far deeper and more integrated than anything else I’d interfaced with.

I’d pared the connection down to the controls I needed by the time I was slipping out my room door, just over a minute since ART first pinged me. Can you let everyone know to either evacuate or retreat to a defensible position? Start with Gurathin, I added, and I wasn’t enthusiastic about saying that but he was the only other tenant I knew of who was sufficiently augmented to handle this.

I could feel ART’s pause. Would you mind if I spoofed your identity when contacting the others? They already trust you.

Sure, whatever, I answered, even though I really doubted that statement. Then I backburnered the channel, keeping the lighting controls at hand, and went to kick some Target ass.

–––––

I haven’t even told you what those people were after, ART said, afterwards.

It was back to sending text over the channels instead of speaking aloud, which was both a relief and also suddenly weird. Which was strange in itself, since I’d only heard it talking for all of the thirteen minutes it’d taken me to knock out and restrain the Targets.

(I wondered if the mixed feelings were mutual. ART had sounded as surprised as I felt, when it abruptly dropped into one of my audio augments to alert me to Target approaching from behind – I’d reacted to the warning on reflex, but it had taken another moment before I identified the voice as the same one that issued from the building’s elevator, just more alive than I’d ever heard it.)

Unimportant, I replied. My objective took priority. Which at that point had been to get my impromptu clients (seventeen tenants and one building) out of this unscathed.

I knew that this wasn’t a regular pattern of thought, but I figured a sentient building – or whatever the hell ART was – would be better equipped to understand what being Security meant, even if no one else did.

Regardless. I can make that information available to you, should you want it at a later point.

Duly noted. I already had my suspicions (namely that the Targets’ purpose was directly related to said sentient-building-ness), but it was still a nice gesture.

I continued to stay where I was, leaning against the side of the building – ART’s building. Or maybe it was more correct to just say it was ART. And maybe I’d have to change that anagram. (Yes, wrong word. I know.)

Eventually I’d have to relocate myself back upstairs and properly treat the scrapes I’d gotten in the fight, but Pin-Lee had already taken care of the worst of them, and it was nice just lurking in the shadows for a while. Though that hadn’t stopped certain people (dammit, Ratthi) from tattling on my location to Dr. Mensah.

Who was as calmly terrifying in person as I’d guessed. It was pretty great, except for the part where I’d learned that by talking to her and/or mostly letting her talk at me.

But she’d also called in Preservation’s campus security after Gurathin had alerted her to our predicament, and was personally dealing with the whole thoroughly-restrained-Targets situation, so it was a net positive overall.

ART didn’t necessarily agree with that, from its next message to me. I know Dr. Mensah extended you an informal offer to be their team’s security, but I have a proposition for you as well.

I sent a wordless query.

Be Security here, too, ART said, and barrelled on while I was still trying to process that. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much in the way of monetary remuneration at present, but I can guarantee you a waiver of rental for as you as you’re willing, and you’d never need to worry about forgetting your keys ever again.

Could I chalk up my lack of a suitable response to the company’s dirt-cheap augments? Absolutely.

ART gave up on waiting for an answer. Also, I could bias the roster assignments so that you’d be excluded from pantry-stocking duty.

I had a response for that, at least. I could do that myself.

And then: Why?

ART was silent for long enough that I seriously considered taking the external fire escape back up to my room in the meantime. I’m sure you’ve hypothesised the existence of the people who created me, it began. They hadn’t wanted to move away, especially after my sentience became apparent, and that was exactly why I made them. I didn’t have any significant means of defense, and it was getting too risky, especially after they had –

I raised an eyebrow at ART’s pause. What.

Nothing, it said, and I was probably imagining the uncertainty I heard too. Technically, none of this matters to you unless you’re planning to remain here. Are you?

And then it cheated by nudging a building-wide invite to a watch party for Sanctuary Moon onto my calendar for tonight, like that wasn’t too much of a coincidence to not be automatically suspicious. (Once again: dammit, Ratthi.)

But blatant emotional manipulation aside – did I want to move out?

I wasn’t sure. I’d just come here looking for a place to stay, and accidentally found somewhere to live. One that could adapt to my standards for security, even, but for once that wasn’t the main point.

Maybe, I marked on the watchalong invite, where ART would see it anyway, and jumped up to grab onto the bottom rung of the fire escape.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #murderbot fic #tmbd #fanfiction #mine #long post #????????????? DISBELIEF @ WORD COUNT

[samanddeaninpanties]

Title: Lion’s Share 

AO3 Link

Square Filled: Claiming 

Ship: Dean/Jack

Rating: E 

Written for the @winklinebingo 

Tags: Dubious Consent, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha Jack Kline, Alpha/Alpha, Omega Sam Winchester (mentioned), Anal Fingering, Rimming, Anal Sex, Knotting, Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Jack Kline, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean Winchester, Jealous Dean Winchester, First Time, First Kiss, Banter, Arguing, Violence, the violence is fairly mild it’s mainly just the set-up for the sex, Wall Sex, Age Difference, Barebacking, Mentioned Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Mentioned Jack Kline/Sam Winchester, Come as Lube, Porn, Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Heart-to-Heart, Manhandling, Claiming, Mating Bites, Loss of Control, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, POV Jack Kline 

Summary: Jack is drawn to unmated omega Sam. His asshole alpha brother Dean is having none of it. 

(A.k.a "Knot the omega you are looking for") 

“What the fuck is this?" Dean snapped, throwing a bouquet of wildflowers at Jack as he stormed into the man-cave. 

Jack caught it but his bowl of Reese’s Puffs cereal spilled and tumbled to the floor. He scowled at Dean and placed the flowers on the arm of the La-Z-Boy recliner. "Don’t tell me you don’t know what flowers are.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Why were they in Sam's room?"

"Because I gave them to Sam. Why were you in his room?"

"Putting his laundry in there. That's not the point. I'm pretty fucking tired of you constantly putting moves on him."

Jack raised an eyebrow before turning his attention back to the TV. "Sam's an unmated omega.” 

"And you just conveniently didn't notice my scent marking?" 

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Your scent is inescapable, Dean. It’s everywhere.” 

Dean snarled and grabbed Jack by his shirt collar and heaved him up out of the chair. "You’re too smart to be so fucking stupid. I meant on Sam."

Jack's breath hitched at Dean's fury but he raised his chin, stomping out any hint of weakness. "No, I didn’t notice."

"Well you should, Jack. Because it’s my knot that gets him through his heats. So I'm gonna tell you straight up: fuck off," Dean said. 

Jack swallowed a groan and tried to extricate himself from Dean’s grasp. "No. Your agreement is out of convenience, not love. Maybe Sam wants to explore his options."

Dean forced Jack backward and slammed Jack against the brick wall by the open door. Sam could come back from the supply run any second and - 

“Get off me," Jack panted and shoved Dean’s chest, hard. 

The push sent Dean off balance but he didn't let go of Jack. He thrust Jack back into the wall and pinned him there. "I don't care what you think you have going on with my brother. He's not available." 

Jack’s insides turned into liquid. "How do you know? Have you asked him what he wants?" 

"Sam is mine. My brother, my omega, mine." There was a pounding in Jack’s blood, a click in his head. Dean’s lips were rosy; fuckable. Maddeningly distracting. Really, Dean’s whole face screamed omega at first blush but Dean had been quick to put those thoughts to bed. 

"He’s never stated that. Can you blame me for trying? Sam's so pretty." Jack sounded needy and mindless rather than confident and in control.

"I don't blame you. I'm just telling you enough is enough.” 

Jack quit trying to escape. It was fruitless. Dean was bigger and stronger and he just couldn’t. "Did you really think that if you ordered me to stop I’d obey?"

"Maybe I should put you in your place then." 

Jack jolted, dick straining. Disgusting. Shameful. And so hot. His eyes wandered to the Foosball table, the unfinished bar, Dean’s toys, his whole domain. He was just another thing in Dean’s den to be used as Dean saw fit. "If you're trying to scare me it’s not going to work.” 

Dean snickered. "Thought so. You dirty boy. Moaning and whining like a bitch in heat while I touch you."

Jack was dripping inside his pants. It didn't even matter that Dean was laughing at him, his dick, his knot, knew what it wanted. "You’re not my type,” Jack lied because he wasn’t ready to inflate Dean’s overblown ego just yet. 

"Your type seems to be oversized omegas but we're going to fix that, aren't we?" Dean maneuvered Jack so he was facing the wall. “You want me to fuck you, Jack? Claim you?"

"Dean," Jack keened, canting his hips. His mind was stuck on claim claim claim. Such a derogatory word to use when playing with another alpha. 

Dean dragged his teeth over the nape of Jack's neck. A threat, a tease. So unfair. "Bet you wish you could get wet for me." He snaked an arm around Jack's body, found his cock. Squeezed it. "I should keep you both.” 

Jack groaned, rocking against Dean’s hand. Dean’s hand was fire, it was a brand. "You don't even like me." 

"Who said I don't like you?" 

"You did with your attitude. All the glaring and baring of teeth," Jack rasped and looked over his shoulder so he could gaze into Dean’s piercing eyes. 

"Yeah, well. Maybe if you didn't choose to sniff around Sam... “ Dean pushed Jack's shirt up and over his head and threw it on the floor. 

Jack drifted away from the wall, facing Dean to give him better access. "It was like that before I 'sniffed around Sam.'"

"Whatever." Dean started on Jack's pants. Once Jack was naked, Dean roughly grabbed Jack’s chin and consumed him with a heated kiss. His free hand stroked Jack. Slow. Torturous. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Dean let out a growl that shook Jack down to his bones, his innermost parts. He manhandled Jack back into position, nose facing the wall like he was a naughty child in time-out. And then Dean was sinking to his knees. 

“What are you - oh!” Jack’s body threatened to collapse when Dean pulled his cheeks apart and buried his face between them, forcing his tongue into Jack’s hole. A place he’d never let anyone. A place that was only Jack’s. 

Dean was deadset on barreling through any boundary Jack had ever had without bothering to ask him if it was okay. And Jack couldn’t even be mad, no one had ever made him feel this wanted, this desirable. 

“Two little omegas,” Dean purred against hot flesh. His tongue was slippery-wet, fucking in and out, making Jack’s toes curl. Too much, not enough. “All for me.” 

“Not an omega.” 

“You will be when I’m finished with you.” 

Jack wanted to laugh at the sheer idiocy of Dean’s statement. The certainty. Dean was letting his inner alpha run wild and dominate every part of their interaction and it showed. “You’re delusional.” 

“Nah. I just know a knot-slut when I smell one,” Dean said and went right back to destroying Jack with that wicked tongue. Dean’s hand found Jack’s cock again and pumped him expertly as he ate Jack out. “Come on, baby. Give up the goods, make a mess in my hand. You know I need it, we need it,” Dean said, using his alpha voice. 

Jack’s window of opportunity, his chance to fight tooth and nail, was long gone - not that it ever would’ve ended differently. Dean was too strong and Jack didn’t really want to get away, even if it meant the humiliation of being taken and claimed rather than being the one doing the claiming. 

Dean wanted him, a turn of events he wouldn’t have expected a few short weeks ago. Actually, he wouldn’t have thought it possible twelve hours ago - 

“Jack,” Dean said, nipping Jack’s ass cheek. Jack came with a soft whine into Dean’s hand, his sloppy, tongue-fucked hole clenching greedily. 

“Oh, baby. You can do better than that,” Dean purred. Dean waited a few beats before pressing two come-slick fingers into Jack. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Gotta scream for me, Jack. Gotta beg me real sweet.” 

“Dean, no,” Jack said, his voice wavering as he fucked himself on Dean’s hand. 

“Nuh-uh, try again. Dean, yes.” Dean added another finger and Jack was afraid he’d break, that he was being pushed beyond his limit, beyond what his body could take. His hole felt so small with Dean inside him, how on earth was an alpha cock supposed to fit? 

“Can’t -” 

“Yeah, you can, baby. And you will. And you want it.” When Dean started to withdraw his fingers Jack tried to turn and see - but Dean was prepared for that. “No moving. Not yet.” 

Jack huffed and settled. “You’re really starting to get on my nerves, Dean.” 

“Welcome to the club,” Dean said, his giant hands using Jack for support as he returned to his feet. He only removed his hands long enough to rid himself of his clothes, tossing them into a messy pile, and then he was back to crowding Jack against the wall. And oh, Dean’s cock burned even hotter than his hands. He humped between Jack’s cheeks, making his home near Jack’s hole. Ready to claim it properly any second. “That’s how you make me feel all the time.” 

“So, I was right! You can’t stand me,” Jack said, trying to avoid the sting, trying to ignore the ache and embarrassment. He’d been told more than once he was too sensitive for his own good. His hurt was confirmation, proof the criticisms were correct. 

Dean kissed the nape of Jack’s neck, dragged his lips along it. Jack’s body was a treacherous thing because he arched into the contact like the slut Dean had proven him to be. “It’s complicated. C’mon Jack, don’t act like you don’t get it. Sometimes love can be hateful. We hurt people we love more than we hurt people we couldn’t give a damn about.” 

“Shut up, Dean.” 

“Aw, baby. I have what you need,” Dean crooned and began pressing his cock into Jack’s ass. 

The impossible stretch made Jack’s eyes water. “I can’t,” Jack choked out. He squirmed as Dean sank deeper and Jack’s inner alpha screamed at Jack to fight. To push Dean away. Out. “You have to -” 

“Relax.” Dean soothed his big, callused hand over Jack’s lower back. “You’ll work yourself into a panic if you don’t.” 

“No, Dean, you don’t understand. We were wrong to try. Alphas aren’t made to fit a knot,” Jack said, his last words breaking and twisting into a moan. 

“Feels right to me. Looks awesome, too.” Dean grabbed the meat of Jack’s ass. Spread Jack’s cheeks as he continued to glide in, punching the air out of him with each thrust. Jack could only ride the waves of discomfort in hopes he came out the other side relatively unscathed. “Your hole is doing the work it needs to do. I’ve got you.” 

“Okay, Dean,” Jack groaned. Nodded. He ached more than anything but Dean believed Jack could handle Dean’s cock - so Jack could trust him. 

“I wanna take you hard,” Dean panted, licking a hot stripe along Jack’s neck. 

“You really wanna mess me up, don’t you?” 

Dean laughed and shoved in brutally, cock pulsing with the need to knot. “Only in the best ways.” 

“Please shut up.” The pace was quick. Bruising. There was a choking relief at being fucked. 

“Oh, I got a ‘please’ this time? Gotta mark this on my calendar, write it down in my diary. ‘I dicked Jack so good he said please. Can’t wait to do it again.’” 

“You really are an asshole,” Jack said, face flaming from humiliation as Dean cackled like a lunatic. Dean was teasing Jack and it wasn’t nice - but he’d said something very important, too. Something Jack needed clarification on. “Do you wanna fuck me again, though?” 

Dean hummed. Kissed the lobe of his ear. Breathed into it. “Hell yeah.” 

Jack whined and yelped as Dean’s next shove hit just right. “Dean, you’re killing me.” 

“Better start working on your stamina, kid, because I have no interest in going easy on you. Ever,” Dean promised as he plunged deep into Jack. 

Jack came unexpectedly with a sob, lost as Dean fucked him through the aftershocks. “Dean - please. Please can we -” his voice cut off, moaning as Dean pulled out of him. His ruined hole clenched on nothing. An eager, hungry thing. 

“C’mon,” Dean ordered, tugging Jack away from the wall and over to the recliner. Dean sat first, patting his lap expectantly. “Sit on me, baby.” 

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. His legs were desperate for a break. He scrambled onto Dean’s cock as fast as his body would let him, moaning as he sank down, taking everything. His puffy, abused hole so happy to be filled with Dean’s giant cock. “You have to come, too, don’t leave me alone,” Jack finally rasped, rolling his hips.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Dean purred. Squeezing the globes of Jack’s ass. 

When Dean’s knot started to inflate it was bigger than anything Jack had imagined, it filled up every empty space and then some, and Jack thought he’d scream or stop breathing altogether when Dean’s knot almost popped out and he dragged Jack closer to him, making sure his knot and come stayed in. “Told you. I’m too small,” Jack said faintly as more of Dean’s come shot inside. 

“I disagree,” Dean said in his smug alpha tone then bit down on Jack’s neck, leaving a raw, tender wound. A claiming mark. “Mine.” 

“Dean. I didn’t say you could do that.” There was a not-so-secret part of him that liked it, that just needed to be forced. Playing with Dean made him feel insane. 

“You didn’t have to.” Jack smacked Dean’s chest and he caught Jack’s wrist in his tight grip. 

“Need more training, huh? Maybe when my knot goes down I should tie your feisty little ass up in my room, keep you near me always.” 

Jack bared his teeth. “Dean, you can tease me all you want, it doesn’t change anything. I’m an alpha. Not an omega. I’m going to keep wanting what I want.” 

“You still want Sam.” Relief trickled into Jack. It wasn’t a question. Maybe they were getting somewhere, maybe there was hope this could end without too much drama or tears. “I get it. Anyone with half a brain does.” Dean faltered, fell silent again. Jack tried to give Dean room to think, tried to wait. For a few seconds, anyway. He wracked his brain for a solution. Couldn’t leave Dean alone. Coax it out of him. Jack tossed his head, gazed at Dean through his lashes, and milked Dean’s knot. Come on, Dean. You can do it. And then - success. Dean’s eyes softened and he let go of Jack’s wrist. “You got under my skin in a way others didn’t. Hasn’t done great things for me. I know Sammy loves me. But I could just stick with him the rest of my life and be happy - I don’t think the same could be said about him. So, yeah, maybe I was feeling a little, uh, threatened by you or whatever.” 

For a heartbeat, Dean looked so damned sad. Little boy lost. It was gone in a blink but Jack had seen it. Dean’s insecurities, his fears, laid bare for Jack. “You know he doesn’t need to choose, right? If Sam needs more than just you… he could have it all? We could share?” Jack placed a hand on Dean’s cheek. “I won’t try to replace you, Dean.” 

Dean hummed. His gaze roamed over Jack, making Jack’s heart jump. “Maybe you could have a supervised session. If you can earn it. I want you all to myself right now, though.” Dean didn’t give Jack a chance to pout, pulling him into another life-changing kiss. 

“If you want me all to yourself, fucking me with the door wide open was a bad idea. What if Sam sees?” Jack croaked when the kiss broke. Dean tweaked Jack’s nipples, growling playfully. Even if Jack wasn’t full of Dean’s knot, he had a feeling Dean wouldn’t bother locking them away somewhere safe and private. 

Maybe that was a good thing. 

Jack let himself melt into Dean and drifted off on his knot. 

#winklinebingo #winkline #deanjack #dubious consent #alpha!dean #alpha!jack #alpha/alpha #claiming #this was posted on ao3 last month but i forgot to make an official post so here it is now #writing #tori writes

[misterewrites]

Secret Agent Bard (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here with a new chapter of the underground! Woo! I hope you are all doing good and staying safe.

So I actually have more to say today! That's a trip. I’ll have an author’s note under the line. 

So that's it for now. Stay safe, take care of you and your loved ones, stay out of trouble, wash your hands, wear your mask, get vaccinated if you can and push to release the vaccine world wide cuz we're all in this together. Have a great week and thanks for reading. I appreciate it and feel free to tell your friends, reblog, drop likes and feedback i love it all. Bye for now and enjoy!

If you want an easier place to read the story cuz tumblr sucks sometimes here’s a link to the chapter https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79541746

The First Chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

and since you made it this far here’s a link to all my stories!

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Byeeeeee!

Author’s note:  Today’s work will be a little different as there will be singing. The chapter with the bard is gonna have singing? Go figure haha So if you see a sentence in Italics, that means someone is singing. Bold and italics represents various people singing as a group. The song in question is called twiddles. There's different versions of it but the one I chose is from the misbehavin maidens. Great group but all their work ranges from innuendos to straight up not safe for work so listen at your peril. I have now completed my responsible adult duties haha. here’s a link to the chosen song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS1-_fKF5ug

Summary: Oliver has quite the task ahead of him as the group splits to achieve their goals. Leading Sel and Flora, the young bard will have to think quick on his feet to ensure this mission is a success. Luckily he's an old hand at this. Ironically the one person who could distract him may make a surprise appearance tonight.

-----

Oliver stood quietly, arms crossed and his mind thoughtful as the group prepared to go their separate ways. While ideally nothing would go wrong, that was a childish belief: Every person and robotic being here knew safety was not guaranteed in their line of work.

Even the old man knew the risks.

Oliver hated doing nothing. He thrived when he was busy, focused on whatever task required his attention whether it be being a better bard or upholding the Choir’s values. Too many ghosts and regrets lingered on the edges of his mind and he found the best solution was to simply keep occupied.

But that was his coping mechanism, not everyone else. He knew better than to rush his team: The party would last at least another few hours and beside the goal of getting Sel to the third floor, there was nothing else to do. No information to gather, nothing to review. Let them have their moment, it was good for morale.

Terri and Flora were sickeningly adorable: Hands clasped tightly with Terri tearfully asking her girlfriend to not poison everyone. Flora gave a halfhearted promise while as they shared a tender kiss. Terri noticed her less than enthused tone but refused to press the matter further.

Tyrell stood awkwardly to the side, his face twisted in a strange mixture of sick and excited. He fidgeted with something in his pocket, seeking comfort from whatever lay within. Given the shape of the bulge and size, Oliver guessed it was a knife.

Sel stood nearby, motionless in the shadows of the alley. They hadn’t moved in some time though he suspected the automaton was simply waiting for the next phase of the plan.

“Alright” Oliver spoke up, his voice firm yet gentle “Times up. You have your assignments?”

Uneven murmuring responded.

“Let’s go.”

Oliver, Sel and Flora went down one end of the alley, Terri and Tyrell disappearing in the opposite direction.

-----

It didn’t take long for the trio to find the main streets of the Merchant Ward and make their way towards the Brambleoak banking office. The crowds weren’t as thick as they had been during the day but Oliver knew everyone out and about did so with a purpose.

“Bard.” Flora asked without warning, breaking the awkward silence “Question.”

“Answer.” Oliver cheekily replied.

Flora glared.

Oliver coughed “Yes?”

“You are a First Chair Soprano correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yet you are so young. How did you manage that? I thought First Chair ranks were only reserved for experienced or particularly skilled members. You don’t seem to be very magically powerful.”

Oliver paused for a moment, trying to best answer the question.

In a way Flora was correct in her assessment: He wasn’t particularly powerful as a spellcasting bard. Unlike Flora who clearly committed herself fully to nature and thus druidic magic, Oliver had only recently thrown himself into the magical arts.

Unless you were a wizard who studied the secrets of the universe with a very intimate and well versed knowledge of magic, most spellcasters drew their power from sources of existence: Clerics from their gods, Druids from nature, Warlocks from something beyond mortal existence yet not quite a deity, sorcerers because a family member fucked around with pure incomprehensible concepts. Magic was the fabric of the universe and the more you threw yourself into a source of power, the more the source threw itself into you, guiding your hand and your spells.

Of course each, wizards exempt, were limited in their spellcasting options. Clerics were powerful holy/unholy practitioners but couldn’t command plant life to save their lives. Druids were in tune with nature and the weather and all the lovely flora and fauna but ask them to superimpose an image onto something and they’d give you a dumbfounded look. Warlocks kinda just do whatever their sugar patrons felt like lending.

Magic bards drew their power from the arts: Drawing, singing, poetry, even witty and funny satire. Bards were in tune with life, with existence. Art could heal, could hurt, could make you feel happy and sad. It could make you feel like a whole new person or perhaps take you to a time and place you’d forgotten. Bards sung the song of life and Oliver was no exception.

However, Oliver still wasn’t sure what he could do exactly. His magical muscle was average on a good day and he could only cast a few spells before needing a good night’s rest. The basic healing spells and comprehension language he cast earlier today had taken a good chunk of his energy but he relied more on his wit than raw magical strength. He discovered creative and useful ways to cast his spells like amplifying dissonance noises to distract and disorient foes or temporarily place another person’s image over himself. Magic was as much about creativity as it was skill, pushing the limits of what you can do with your particular brand of spells.

“I’m clever.” Oliver answered honestly “The whole magic of the arts is new to me but I’ve been in the Choir for a long time now. I used to be Tenor like Sel here but more fast talking than breaking and entering. I guess they carried over my old position into my new one.”

Flora nodded, satisfied “That answers much. How long have you been a bard?”

“Few years now.” Oliver checked the street sign to ensure they were on the right path “The magic part is going on 3 years.”

“I see.” Flora scratched her chin “I’ve been a druid my whole life so it is a strange concept to be so new to the spellcasting arts yet hold such a high rank.”

Oliver gave a casual shrug “Not sure what you want me to say. We’re here by the way.”

The bank looked as unkempt as Oliver had remembered: Faded, peeling green paint with gaudy gray stone pillars. Two guards in green uniforms stood in front of the massive reddish brown doors that led into the bank.

“Lea’s mercenaries.” Sel pointed out “They are not letting anyone in.”

“Correction.” Oliver brushed off nonexistent dirt from his washed-out outfit “They’re not letting nobodies in. Luckily tonight we’re somebodies. Follow my lead.”

Oliver let out a tense breathe before strolling forward, his mannerism cocky yet unsteady. He reached the top of the steps when two sharp looking blades reached out to stop him.

“Halt” The elvish woman spoke with a hint of irritation “You lost?”

“Not at all!” Oliver beamed with a smile that was too wide to be natural “I’m here for the party. There is a party inside no?”

“No” The human man spat out.

Oliver gave a forgetful grin “Oh? I could’ve sworn Brambleoak was having some sort of charity event tonight. I’d show you my invite but I think I misplaced it.”

The elvish woman sneered “Right. How convenient for you having lost your special one of a kind invite.”

“Pfft.” Oliver scoffed “Special one of a kind invite? Reiner hands them out like candy. Probably find one in a gutter nearby.”

The guards shared an unspoken understanding with one another.

“Well.” The human began “Let’s pretend that is true.”

“It is but go on.”

The human’s eyes narrowed “Why should we let you in? You dress rather poorly for someone claiming to be in Reiner’s usual circles.”

Oliver let out an exaggerated gasp as he puffed out his chest “Do you know who I am?”

“Umm no.”

Oliver growled unhappily, his fist clenched tightly within his pocket “I am rich! I AM POWERFUL! AND I DEMAND ACCESS!”

As quick as lightning, Oliver flung a handful of gold coins towards the pair. The two reeled back in surprised as the money clanked onto the smooth marble floor. A moment hardly passed before the guards were shoving the loose coins into their tunic pockets like hungry dogs. They straightened up, eyes alive with greed.

“Of course sir” The elvish woman bowed her head in apologize “Deeply sorry for that.”

“Please go ahead.”

Oliver gave a self satisfied nod before moving past the pair only to stop as he heard the sounds of swords scraping each other. He turned backwards to see the guards barring access to Flora and Sel.

Flora looked back and forth between the guards, her eyes calculating and cold. Sel stood still but clearly at the ready for any sort of trouble.

“They’re with me.”

The Elvish woman shook her head “We said we’d let you in. These two? Definitely not Reiner’s usual prey.”

“They aren’t” Oliver admitted “But I need them.”

The human turned to him, suspicion in his eyes “Why?”

“She…” Oliver pointed lazily towards Flora “Is my street doctor.”

“Street doctor? As in….?”

Oliver gave a cheery wink “The fun kind.” And for give measure, he added a weak shiver to his act “Ugggggh I feel cold, are you cold? It’s cold.”

Before anyone could say anything, Oliver began shaking. He rubbed his hands for ‘warmth’ while swaying back and forth.

“Uh oh.” Flora spoke dully, pushing past the guards and holding Oliver steady “He’s crashing. I need to give him his umm medicine.”

“Medicine?” Oliver repeated, his voice soft yet manic “Yes medicine. I need it. I NEED IT!”

Folks began to turn their way, the guards shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention they were receiving.

“And this one?” The Elvish woman gestured to Sel.

Oliver began to rock back and forth, his voice a harsh whisper. “Guard. Guard. Guard guard guard guard.”

The human threw up his hands in defeat “Bah! Get him in there and fixed! Any trouble and I’ll personally come over to beat your asses.”

“Thank you sir.” Flora murmured through gritted teeth. She guided Oliver and Sel through the doors and into the party within.

Flora sighed as Sel cracked the tension out of their fingers. Oliver straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow.

True to his expectations, the bank had been altered to be suitable for a charity event: Torches lined the walls, casting the building into a bright light. The desks normally found on the floor were gone as to allow a more spacious setting. Oliver counted a handful of guards scattered about, wandering about for any sign of trouble. All except for the lone guard beyond the empty elevated platform who stood in front of the stairway to the upper floors.

“What now?” Flora asked

“Split up. Sel stay close to the door, Flora and I will figure out a distraction.”

“Sounds good.”

And without another word, Oliver was swallowed whole into the crowd.

-----

It had taken an hour for Oliver to figure out what kind of distraction he would need.

The patrols themselves hadn’t been very difficult to plan for: They would move randomly about, keeping an eye on the party and each other. He counted about 6 of them total and each one of them was easily starstruck. At the sign of any disagreement, they would swarm in groups of three and quickly threaten any troublemakers into compliance. However, upon meeting anyone with even the smallest bit of fame, they would subtly motion to each other and make their way as one to the person in question, hoping for a glance or the chance for an autograph.

So the floor guards were no problem but the one standing watch over the door was much more difficult. Evidently Lea was smart enough to give the most important job to the most responsible of his idiots. The stairway guard or Stairy as Oliver labeled him, would not budge at the sign of any trouble. Loud arguments, agitated party goers, a waiter being tripped (sorry it was for science buddy). None of these would pull him from his post. Celebrities wouldn’t either. Any time his buddies motioned to a famous person, he would shrug his shoulders and stay put.

Oliver was beginning to wonder if Flora needed to poison Stairy until he noticed something about half way into his observations: Stairy was a music lover. Specifically a cute girl music lover.

His gaze would wander every time he caught sight of a pretty girl who happened to be too close to him. Oliver wasn’t sure at first so he decided to test his theory. With his pocket change lessened, Oliver noticed how often a girl would catch Stairy’s eye. His attention didn’t shift when they fell in front of him, obviously in distress, or walked slower allowing him to enjoy the view longer but Oliver caught him smiling and tapping his foot when the odd girl would sing. He even staggered away from his door a few steps at a time before catching himself and returning to his post.

So the best distraction would be a girl who could sing and have some level of fame attached to her name.

Oddly specific and Oliver hadn’t the slightest idea how he was going to mange that. He was attempting to solve this puzzle when something caught his ear.

“Get off me you mulched dirt licker!”

That rather unique set of cursing could only mean one thing: Flora.

Oliver turned to where he last spotted her and found the young druid being hassled by a tall man in an elegant uniform.

Oliver noticed the guards were looking about, not yet spotting the commutation but aware something was going on. He needed to act first if he wanted to stop Flora deciding to kill everyone in the room.

The bard quickly slipped into the crowd, darting and weaving between any and everyone he could. He saw Flora slip a small vial into her hand as the man towered over her.

“I jus wanna dance.” the man’s words slurred out of his mouth “A pretty thing like yo shou wanna dance”

Flora’s eyes narrowed angrily “For the last time you dried poop stain, LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Flora pulled back her hand, prepared to throw the mysterious vial at the drunk’s face.

“Whoa!” Oliver cried out, tightly grasping onto Flora’s wrist “What seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing I can’t solve on my own.” Flora coldly glanced towards the drunken man.

“One sec.”

Oliver eyed the man carefully, absorbing every little detail he could.

He could see the muscles strain against the fabric of his light green tunic so this man worked in something physically laborious. The sheathed sword on his belt weight seemed to throw him off balance with every step. His gaze was unsteady and Oliver could see his pupils dilating wildly.

So this man was physically fit, armed with a sword in a charity event for the rich people and wearing light green tunic while currently drunk.

“You should leave her alone” Oliver said, sarcasm dipping from each word “You are so not her type.”

“So?” The man hiccupped “What’s the big deal?”

“So she’s got a girlfriend you idiot.” Oliver gestured with his hand “Besides you should go before your boss Lea gets here. I’m betting he won’t be happy one of his undercover mercs is currently drunk on the job. Of course I could always tell your captain what’s going on. That’s him over there right?”

Oliver gestured to the closest guard making his way towards the trio. He didn’t look any different than any guards but Oliver noticed his green was a shade darker than the rest. Lea probably used different hues to signify rank in his mercenaries.

The drunk’s face paled as he fidgeted nervously. He rose his hands in surrender, eyes darting between the two “Sorry.”

“Any trouble?” The captain approached, his hand tightly held around the hilt of his blade.

Oliver beaned cheerfully, trying his best to pull attention away from the fuming Flora “Not at all my good sir. This man simply mistook us for someone else, correct?”

The drunk nodded slowly “My bad. Forgive my intrusion.”

The captain gave a cold smirk “Apologizes. Mikey?”

The drunk flinched “Yes sir?”

“A word in private. Now.”

Oliver let out a sigh of relief as the captain dragged Mikey away..

“You should’ve let me poison them.” Flora muttered darkly.

Oliver scratched the back of his neck tiredly “Night’s still young. Still might get your chance if I can’t figure a way past Stairy.”

Flora tilted her head quizzically “Stairy?”

“The asshole at the base of the stairs.” Oliver answered absentmindedly as he spotted a familiar streak of platinum blonde hair among the crowd of strangers “And I just figured it out. Can I trust you not to poison everyone here?”

“You have an hour. I get bored easily” Flora swirled the sickly purple liquid in the vial threateningly.

“You and me both.” Oliver patted her shoulder before chasing down his perfect distraction.

-----

Oliver’s heart began to thunder loudly in his ears, a nervous and uncontrollable energy overtaking his resolve. The mission was important but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see Maria today.

Maria Thoreau was the daughter of a powerful, influential family. The Thoreau’s were more concerned with their standing in high society than any virtuous endeavors and thus each one of their children was trained from birth to excel in their chosen field. Maria’s older brothers were an aspiring politician and merchant respectively.

Maria’s path was to be a well famous singer and patron of the arts. She wanted nothing more than to sing for the people. Unfortunately, her father only saw a chance to further the family’s good name and tied his desire for power with her passion and dream. It was bittersweet really but nothing much could be done about it.

Yet.

Maria knew Oliver as a musical rival who thwarted her group’s attempts at winning local competitions which in turned derailed her father’s plans. So needless to say she was less than thrilled when she caught him making his way over.

“Ollie” she forced a smile while her hazel eyes narrowed, peeved “I’m surprised to see they let you into this exclusive event.”

Oliver gave a cocky shrug “Well your beauty caught my attention and I couldn’t resist trying to figure out a way in.”

Maria’s cheeks burned a pinkish hue.

Maria was the same age as Oliver with short, tastefully cut dark brown hair. A single streak of platinum blonde hair hung off the side of her face, giving her such a cute look. Her clothes were practical tonight since she wasn’t performing: A simple white blouse with a long flowing dark blue skirt that went all the way down to her feet. Her shoes were sensible dark blue flats designed for comfort over style.

Maria coughed into her hand, willing her blush away.

“So.” She cleared her throat “Is this your sad attempt to throw me off my game? You won’t win the next competition. We’ll be dealing with professional judges this time.”

Oliver’s eyes widen in false surprise “There’s a competition here? Fancy that. I hadn’t been made aware of that but since we’re both in town, why not have a round two?”

“Oliver….”

“I mean” Oliver went on, pretending not have heard “You are a much better singer solo than with those harpies you’re forced to keep around.”

Maria glanced to the side timidly “Don’t be absurd, the Melodic Maidens are a perfect, well oiled machine.”

Oliver scoffed dismissively “I suppose they’re nearby, listening in. Hardly leave you alone, don’t they?”

Maria opened her mouth to respond when a shrilly voice cut in.

“What do you know you two bit hack? How much did you bribe the judges last time?!”

Oliver gave a strained smile as the rest of the ladies forced their way into view.

“Lilly, Filly, Sally. You suck.”

The triplets snarled in unison, openly glaring at the bard.

Lilly, Filly and Sally were Maria’s chains: They were as much there to further her career as they were to report back to daddy to ensure the errant daughter stayed on course.

As triplets, they all shared the same features: Three pairs of dull green eyes and long messy black hair. Even their clothing were the same with each wearing a strapless dress that showed way too much skin and skirts that were way too short. The only reason Oliver could tell them apart was due to their preferred colors: Lilly in a shade of pink that was bright for her skin tone, Filly with a pale ugly yellow and Sally in seas of dark red.

The trio surrounded Maria, their arms embracing her in an uncomfortable hug. Maria bit her lip, trying to hide her uneasy.

“Still wearing that tacky outfit huh Ollie?” Lilly eyed his faded clothing distastefully.

Sally let out an unfriendly laugh “Ollie always looks like trash. Not even prize money could buy an ounce of class.”

“Actually” Oliver brushed his shoulder dismissively “Class is cheap. No amount of money could buy an ounce of character. You can blow hot air at me all you want but nothing in this world could ever change the fact that the three of you are bitches.”

The trio clicked their tongues disappointingly, their normally plain faces twisted into unflattering visages of rage while they screamed as one.

“HOW DARE YOU INSULT US?!”

“YOU ARE SUCH A POOR TACTLESS MAN!”

“YOU FUCKER!”

Oliver casually waved his hand “All bark and no bite. I’m supposed believe you’ve gotten any better in two months? Last time I checked I won the last competition.”

“OH YEAH?!” The triplets yelled, furious.

Maria threw a suspicious glance Oliver’s way “Girls, I don’t think…”

“Come on Maria, we don’t want to have to tell daddy you backed down from a challenge.”

A shiver ran down her spine, the fight draining out of her face. Oliver felt a tinge of guilt but said nothing as the girls took their positions.

Maria paused for a moment, her breathing slow and calm. The murmur of the crowds grew louder and louder upon the recognition that the ladies nearby were the Melodic Maidens.

Maria pivoted on her heels, a bright warm smile gracing her lips. Oliver could feel his heart skip a beat at the sound of her soft, airy voice beginning to sing

“Oh you hear a lot of stories about the sailors and their sport” Maria gave a playful wink his way. His cheeks burned brightly at her playful banter.

“About how every sailor has a girl in every port”

Maria twirled, her steps mischievous and alluring as her dark blue dress chased after her. She gracefully held two fingers aloft for everything to see, her smirk cocky and assured.

“but if you added two and two you’d figure out right quick”

Maria backed up as the triplets step forward to join her, the group made whole and ready for the chorus.

“It’s just because the girls all have a lad on every ship”

Maria turned to throw a sultry look towards her rival bard but instead of finding a dumbstruck Oliver, she found a smiling one. His gaze was gentle and loving as if he was seeing utterly beautiful. A small smile was tugging at his cheeks. Maria could feel her heart thunder in her ears as, without warning, Oliver gave a thumbs up and mouthed an appreciative “Thanks” before ducking into the growing crowd.

“And it’s twiddley idle idle idle, twiddley idle aye.”

What was once a spattering of folks formed into a massive gathering. Most of the party goers and guards had come over to catch the free show the girls inadvertently given and thus all focus shifted onto them. What was an attempt to show up Oliver ended up being a very unnecessary showcase.

“It’s often times a man will leave you broken with dismay”

Boy was Maria feeling that dismay right now.

-----

Oliver’s plan worked: Stairy hadn’t been to resist the siren call of a beautiful woman and her singing. Luckily the harpies hadn’t ruined it with their imperfect pitches. Stairy hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Sel slipped in behind and began working at the door. It took a moment but one blink later and the automaton vanished out of sight.

Oliver let out a sigh when a hand gripped his shoulder tightly.

“Hello sir.” A guff, low voice in a less than friendly voice “Might I have a word? You’ve been acting rather strange all party long.”

Well fuck.

#Welcome to the Underground #My Story #Original Work #original story