#also some of the time measurements might be off it's been a while okay
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can you just like imagine being James Holden? he grew up in Montana with eight parents then ran away to join the military, got kicked out, and became an ice hauler, which is like the equivalent of being a garbage truck driver in terms of how essential yet unappreciated it is, but then the truck fuckin got exploded by politics and long story short two years later he's got a psychic connection to this entity/extraterrestrial disease that breaks the laws of physics and reality and has become the most well known person in the universe now making calls affecting the fate of all of humanity, talking to world leaders and reshaping history.
imagine being a garbage truck driver and then a few years later the president is calling you like hey I need your help and you're like yeah this is normal and then you discover a billion planets while discovering new physics and go "well...that's going to be a political problem :/" like he was just an ice hauler a few years ago how did he get here
#james holden#the expanse#like yeah I know how he got there. but like how did he get there#also some of the time measurements might be off it's been a while okay#shout out to holden for having eight biological parents though. pretty cool of him#anyway#like his life so radically changed#and he just always looks so tired of it. just like ah shit here we go again#sci-fi is just like that sometimes I guess#anyway holden isn't even my favorite character I just can't stop thinking about it
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Dirty Dozen (ft. +2)
GN! MC x Pervert! OM Characters
(Cause y'all seemed to love the first one omg. Also TW: I made everyone wayy more sleazy and nasty than before so read at your own risk. MInors DNI)
Pervert! Mammon who likes to ask you for something specifically when your hands are full. "MC, lend me a few Grimm could ya?" He asks when you're in the middle of cooking.
"My hands are covered in cake batter, just take some from my back pocket."
"Are you sure it's there? Let me check both pockets." He isn't so much searching for coins as much as he's feeling and practically groping your ass. Seriously you start to wonder how it's taking him 20 minutes to find something that's right there.
Pervert! Solomon who keeps his room colder than usual when you come over for magic lessons.
"Is it too cold for you MC? I apologise, I kept it this way because some of the potions have bad reactions to heat but if you'd like-"
"I'm absolutely fine, Solomon. You worry about me too much." You smile at him reassuringly, not noticing how his eyes are so eagerly trained at your nipples perking up through your thin t-shirt.
Boner Bonus points if you allow him to hug you for some warmth. His fingers will definitely brush against your chest more than once.
Pervert! Beel who seems to make a mess whenever he's trying to help you in the kitchen. "I'm so sorry, MC. I didn't mean to spill it on your hands!"
"It's okay Beel, it's just some cream and syrup. I can just wash it off right away."
"But it's such a waste. Please allow me." He starts to thoroughly lick your fingers and you shake your head and let him knowing his fixations on food.
But he can't help it - you taste so good. He secretly wonders what you might taste like down there, drooling at the thought.
Pervert! Levi who has taken to sitting on pillows Japanese style while gaming and offers you the same. Sure enough you don't even suspect an ulterior motive.
"Did you get inspired by some human world anime again? Careful though - your legs and butt will start to cramp after a while."
"MC you're too gracious! Caring so much for an otaku like me!"
After you leave, he promptly takes the pillow you were sitting on and puts it in his bathtub. He's going to sleep on it ofc. Your scent on it helps him jerk off better.
Pervert! Belphie who now asks you to rub his belly till he falls asleep. "What's so funny?" He asks as you giggle at his request.
"Since when do you need help falling asleep?"
"I care about the quality of my sleep. And I sleep better this way."
Fortunately you believe him and don't suspect that it's because it's the closest he can get you to fondling his dick. He has such a difficult time holding in his moans and hard ons, every time your hands go even a bit lower than usual.
Pervert! Barbatos who got into sewing clothes as a hobby and specifically likes making them for you now. But you never understand why he needs to take same measurements over and over again.
"Oh? This is a different kind of design, MC. So the measurements will vary from before."
"Always making new things aren't you? You never fail to suprise Barbatos." You smile at him admiring.
The tightening of the tape around your chest and crotch are subtle. He can hardly keep it together when you praise him after all. But he has to if he wants to skim his hands over your body like this again.
Pervert! Diavolo who takes you on such long drives that you always doze off in the front seat, waking up apologetic for missing so much of the journey.
"Hahaha, it's okay, MC. We've been on this same road lots of times. I assure you, you didn't miss anything. And I like that you feel safe to sleep in my presence."
"But still, I'm so sorry, it feels disrespectful..." You apologize, not even knowing how hard he is in his pants right now.
Afterall, he can keep squeezing your beautiful thighs, maybe let his hands wander between them and imagine himself fucking you in the back seat as much as he wants, when you're asleep.
Pervert! Simeon who will have noone except you as his muse for art classes. And the themes just keep getting more erotic each time.
"Are you sure you're okay with this, MC? You don't have to do it if you're not comfortable-"
"Nonsense, Simeon. I feel super comfortable if it's you. You're a true artist after all." You say as you lay on his bed wrapped up only in bedsheets, exposing your entire back and legs.
If only you knew, this angel has thoughts dirtier than most demons. How he's practically fucking you with his eyes. How he's definitely going to jerk off into those bedsheets, moaning your name.
Pervert! Satan who loves teaching you things - standing right behind you, guiding your hands to make latte-art, or trying a new style of painting.
"That's it, nice and slow. Look how much you've improved, MC." He beams at the cute kitty in the coffee cup.
"All thanks to you, Satan. I can't wait to learn more from you." You smile at him earnestly.
He almost feels guilty for tricking you this way, but the way your hands feel in his, and your ass feels against his groin is so addicting. One of these days, he wishes could teach you to be on all fours and take his length in your pretty little mouth.
Pervert! Asmo who loves keeping your eyes on him and noone else. From elaborate performances to petty staring contests, he cannot have enough of your gaze.
"Oh you're turning red in the face, Asmo. Did I manage to flutter the heart of the Avatar of Lust?" You lean forward smiling.
"You're my only weakness after all, MC. It's your fault for making me this way." He almost moans.
You laugh and mock apologize at his antics but you don't know he's been grinding like an animal on his seat, and creamed his pants under your innocent gaze. Your undivided attention just turns him on so much.
Pervert! Lucifer who makes his desires too obvious sometimes. He'll regret it in the morning and take you to dinner to apologize but not until he's already done something dirty.
"Lucifer, it's 2 am. You need to throw away that coffee and sleep." You're practically dragging him to bed.
"Fine. I'll go sleep if you'll stay in my room tonight." He says knowing you'll comply. You care too much for your own good. He's not even going to let you sleep on the couch, no you have to stay wrapped up in his arms.
You might wake upto him groaning your name in his sleep and you might mistake it for a nightmare - not knowing how he's balls deep inside you in his dreams.
Pervert! Thirteen who likes how excited you get over her newest inventions and keeps making more things to call you over.
"And this little baby and can throw pie at people's faces without ever missing. Guaranteed headshot." She smiles proud.
"This would be so useful in a cafeteria food fight and then get banned right after its glory. But I so wanna use it!" You whine.
She loves how much you appreciate her inventions. She is secretly working on a 'pleasure' device scented like her to give you - she hopes you'll like it just as much.
Pervert! Mephisto who is actually taken aback by your duality. You're such a mischievous little imp usually but turn so well-mannered in front of Diavolo's esteemed guests.
"So even you can be prim and proper sometimes? If only you could maintain this on the daily." He huffs.
You laugh and mock-bow in front of him. "Of course, anything for you my dearest lord. Would you like to dance with this proper human while you can?"
He blushes at the sudden offer. Why you little- how dare you tempt him like this. You can't complain about him gripping you somewhere improper or too tight. You deserve this for your attitude.
Pervert! Raphael who is still navigating new feelings of lust he's never felt before he met you. Why his heart skips every time you fall asleep on his shoulder or why he felt a sudden warmth at the pit of his stomach feeling you breath so softly into his neck.
"Thank you for helping me tidy the classroom, MC. I didn't even know where the cleaning supplies were."
"That's alright. It's more fun with two people anyway and wait Raphael there's a bucket over the-" The fresh bucket of water already spilled splashing all over both of you.
You immediately fetched a towel to help him dry up but he couldn't stop staring at you instead. With the uniform sticking to your body like and the water glistening on your exposed skin - why was he so enthralled? Why does he feel a strange pulsing between his legs as you hover over him?
#obey me#obey me smut#obey me solomon#obey me satan#obey me asmo#obey me lucifer#obey me beel#obey me mammon#obey me simeon#obey me belphie#obey me barbatos#obey me diavolo#obey me leviathan#obey me thirteen#obey me Raphael#obey me mephisto
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Okay, I've made enough "blease knit gauge swatches. Swatchless projects killedy family" posts. This post is an informational post a out gauge swatches. It will mainly be written in knitting terms because that is my main craft but it applies to crochet too. Even if you're an experienced crafter, you might learn something from this post. I talk about different reasons to make a swatch and some reasons a swatch might lie to you.
What is gauge?
Gauge is the size of your stitches, ie how wide and tall they are. It can be affected by the way you hold the yarn, your tension, and your needle/hook size. In knitting the style you knit can affect this, with the tendency being that English style is usually, but not always, tighter than continental. When I went from knitting English style to knitting Norwegian style, my gauge drastically changed to be much looser.
What is a gauge swatch?
A gauge swatch is a small piece of work that you use to measure your stitches per inch and rows per inch gauge. "Standard" gauge swatches are 4in/10cm squares, but often you'll see different sizes, especially for lace patterns that have you test knitting a certain chart or stitch
Why do we make gauge swatches?
We make gauge swatches to check if our gauge is the same as the pattern designer's gauge. Because you want your gauge to be the same as the pattern designer's so you know your size XL sweater will actually be size XL or your six foot in diameter shawl will actually be six feet across. Or that your airy and beautiful lace will actually be airy and beautiful and not too dense or too loose.
We also might swatch if we are substituting yarns. For example, a blocked lace swatch of wool will have different dimensions than a blocked lace swatch of pure silk because silk is less stretchy than wool. So if you are substituting fibers, you want to know that you'll like the finished item and might swatch a bit of the pattern before starting in earnest so you don't waste your time making something you'll be dissatisfied with.
There's also some differences between yarns of the same fiber and same weight. Some lace weight yarn is categorized as lace weight while being 600 yds per 100g, and some lace weight yarn is 800 yds or 1000 yds per 100g. So you should knit a swatch when substituting yarn even if they are the same fiber and weight if they are different yardage per gram ratios.
Do I always need to make a gauge swatch?
I talk a lot about the importance of gauge swatches but the honest answer is no, you do not always need to make a gauge swatch. If you are making something that doesn't require a certain size or airiness of pattern, like a bag or a simple scarf, you don't need to do a gauge swatch.
How do I make a gauge swatch?
Most patterns have a simple gauge listed, such as 22 stitches by 18 rows is 4in/10cm square in stockinette. However, some patterns have an "in pattern" gauge swatch or a separate pattern/chart for their swatch. So you cast on however many stitches (I often cast on a few more than the swatch calls for, but you don't have to), and knit that many rows in whatever pattern is specifed. If it's stockinette, knit stockinette. If it's "in pattern," locate the repeating part of the pattern and knit the designated amount of rows. If there is a separate pattern/chart for the swatch, knit as directed. Bind off. Don't measure on the needle, it will lie to you.
Then, you want to treat the swatch how you'll treat the finished object. If you're not going to block the finished object, measure it as is. But if you're going to block the finished object (and most things you should tbh blocking hides so many sins), you get the swatch wet, pin it out to shape, and then leave it to dry.
THEN! And nobody talks about this step for some reason and it's been the reason swatches lied to me in the past. Unpin it and let it rest. Different people give different time amounts for this resting. I'd let it rest at least three hours but some people recommend up to a week. The reason for this resting period is that many yarns, especially wool and other animal fibers, have elasticity to them. They'll rebound back a bit. Cotton and linen will have less rebound than things like wool. I'm not 100% sure where acrylic falls on that scale since I hate the texture of most acrylics.
OK I made and blocked the swatch and let it rest, what do I do now?
Now you measure! Does your stitches/rows ratio match up with the pattern designer's? Compare your gauge to the listed gauge. If it is different, you need to adjust needle/hook sizes. If your swatch is larger than the given measurements, your gauge is too loose and you need to go down one (or several) needle/hook sizes. If your swatch is smaller, your gauge is too tight and you need to go up one (or more) needle/hook sizes. At this point you can say "it's probably just one size up/down" and start your project, or you can repeat the entire swatch process. If unsure, repeat.
That's cool, can we see an example?
Sure! Here are two swatches I have pinned out.
I didn't follow my own advice about swatching and just started the Sapphira Lace Shawl on the recommended size 4 needles, but I got all the way through the first repeat of the body chart and then frogged the whole thing because my gauge was so loose you couldn't even see the pattern.
The Sapphira Lace Shawl has a separate pattern just for the gauge swatch and says "gauge is not important, swatch in lace pattern and use comfortable needle size to achieve airy lace that is not too holey." Too holey means that the stitches and yarn overs are so loose you cannot properly make out the pattern at all. That's what happened when I used size 4 needles.
The swatches you see here were knitted on size 2 (top) and 3 (bottom) needles. I knitted the bottom swatch first but was unsure if I liked the result so I went down another needle size and knitted a second swatch.
You'll notice the size 2 swatch is smaller and it's easier to make out the design. The stitches are smaller and denser, so the places where decreases and plain knit stitches are grouped together are easier to see. Versus the size 3 swatch where the stitches are looser and it's a bit harder to make out the design, though not impossible. On size four needled my stitches were so loose you couldn't really make out the design at all. With these swatches pinned out, I personally like the size 2 swatch better. However! That may change once I let the swatches rest for a while!
This yarn is an alpaca/silk mix. Alpaca is known for stretching out and not holding its shape. It's not ideal for lace. Silk is very good at holding its shape, but not very stretchy. I'm hoping together they make an okay yarn for lace because separately neither is my preference for lace. It was what I had on hand that was dyeable. Alpaca has some elasticity so it will spring back once I unpin it and let it rest. At that point, I may like the size 3 swatch better. I won't know until I get there.
I'll try to remember to post pictures of the rested swatches tomorrow to show if there's any difference. I might work up another swatch on size 4 needles to show what "too holey" looks like but that's more of a "how to knit lace" educational swatch than a "how to knit swatches" educational swatch so I might not bother.
That's it, that's the post. I'm sure my knitting mutuals will have comments and things to add so check the notes.
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PRETTY BOY MANICURES ෆ KAGEYAMA TOBIO
⠀ note: don’t look at me idk
kageyama’s really trying not to flinch—he is.
it’s just that his hands are extremely sensitive and you’re handling them so gently that it’s a bit like sensory overload for him—the feeling of your skin on his, the way you’re carefully holding his fingers as if they’re delicate, and the intensity of your gaze on your task. it’s both physically too much for him, and emotionally it’s a lot to handle as well.
his hands are his pride and joy, they’re what help him further his volleyball career and he’s always taken really good care of them. some might even say he’s focused too much on taking care of his hands, but he’s never even regarded opinions he deems unworthy to have any sort of weight to his life.
when you asked if you could paint his fingernails, he adamantly refused. he had volleyball to worry about, and while the polish wasn’t directly on his fingers, he was worried they might upset his carefully measured equilibrium. you’d been a bit downtrodden, but you’d understood and he’d loved you all the more for it. so, when it was summer vacation and he was technically in off-season and the matches were fewer and far between, when you asked him again, he’d agreed.
which is how he finds himself with you sitting across from him, holding up two small bottles of nail polish in one hand—one black and one white—with your other hand carefully inspecting his hands.
“which color?” you ask, shaking both of the bottles in front of his face. he’d already done his normal routine to file them down and trim the excess nail length, but you’d been happy to sit behind him and rest your chin on his shoulder to watch.
he shrugs. “i don’t care.”
“okay, well you have to pick one.” you combat, holding the bottles closer to his face and making him lean back slightly with a very slight smile. if you were anyone else, he’d have already changed his mind on this.
“i don’t really care. pick what you want.” he insists, hand resting on top of the both of yours to lower them out of his field of view. he hated when you blocked him from looking at you, even unintentionally.
you huff, leaning back away from him but back in again, as if you couldn’t stand to be even a foot apart from him. “but what if you hate the color i pick?”
“you picked it, so i couldn’t hate it.” he says, and he means every word of it. just the sight of it would remind him of you, so it’s not as if it’d be a bad choice all together.
“sweet talker.”
he furrows his brows together. “no, i’m being honest.” he’s been working hard on his honesty and candidacy on the court, so it’s been reflecting back a bit in his personal life as well.
“i know you are.” you smile, uncapping the black nail polish and holding his thumb steady in your hand. “makes you even sweeter.”
then, you stop talking for a bit, focused on making sure none of the nail polish ends up on his cuticles, and if it does, scraping it away with your own nail. you’re slow, steady, and methodical with your movements and kageyama is, for all intents and purposes, mesmerized by you.
there’s a sort of gracefulness to what you’re doing that he’s never really considered before—the movements to know how to manipulate the paint and then also how to make it lay flat.
he likes watching you concentrate because you’re sticking your tongue out and he thinks it’s adorable that you do that. it might be unconscious, just like when you open your mouth into a cute little ‘o’ shape when you put on your makeup, but he kinda wants to let you do his nails more if he can see it again. he likes watching you, because he finds that he’s always discovering something new about you. something that makes him fall harder and harder every time.
it takes time, doing his nails, and when he thought you were done, nails completely saturated in black paint and a look of accomplishment on your face, he’d wanted to move to hug you.
“hey!” you cry, hands reaching out to grab his wrists suddenly. “you have to let it dry, tobio.”
“how long will that take?” it’s been twenty minutes since he got to hold you and he’d getting antsy.
you think for a second. “probably five minutes, to make sure the coat is dry, but then i have to add the second coat, and then the top layer.”
he furrows his brow. maybe he hadn’t thought this plan through at all.
#kageyama tobio#kageyama x reader#kageyama tobio x reader#kageyama tobio x you#kageyama tobio x y/n#kageyama tobio fluff#kageyama fluff#kageyama imagine#hq!! imagine#hq imagine#hq fluff#hq kageyama#kageyama x you#kageyama x y/n#hq!! fluff#hq blurb#txt!writing#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu drabble
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Kinktober Day 9: Lactation
Rating: R-18+
Word Count: 8971
Afab!reader, noncon, mentioned/implied abduction, lactation, milking machine, medical kinks, injections, human experimentation, breast expansion, breastfeeding, possible body horror elements depending on how you want to look at it, general horror/ psychological horror themes, let me emphasize again that this is VERY non consensual
A/N: okay, this one is dark. It might be upsetting or uncomfortable to some so PLEASE read the tags and pay attention to your own comfort levels before clicking the read more. It’s Dottore and you should expect the worst, so honestly just multiply that by 5 before you make your decision to read or not ndkvndke
⭐
You were hand selected from a group of other women and girls. Neither the oldest or the youngest, you’d fallen somewhere in the middle. It had been a diverse selection, ranging in size and shape, and even physical maturity, but he chose you out of all the rest. You’d watched him summarily dismiss the matrons standing in line with little more than a glance, outright scoff at the ones who hadn’t even hit puberty yet, as if they disgusted him, and then wave off the girls who were thin and malnourished. It was impossible to tell what he was looking for at the time, especially when it had come down to you and a few others who were healthy and ripe; old enough to be of marriageable age but not so on in years that your bodies were showing signs of aging yet … but you’d long since come to realize the answer for yourself.
After that humiliating selection process and the equally invasive exam that followed, your world receded to a fine, pinprick of existence that consisted almost exclusively of cold metal equipment and him. Sterile and unpleasant, he touched you with impartial hands encased in powdery gloves while he conducted his preliminary experiments in the cold laboratory where he kept you like an animal. When not on his exam table or hooked up to strange, whirring machines that you did not understand the purpose of, you were securely locked inside a cage in the corner. You’d been foolish enough to think it somewhat nice and even comfortable at first, since it was bigger than the one you’d had to share with all the others after those masked deviants took you from your home. He even provided you with a blanket so you wouldn’t catch a chill and expire before he was through with you — or so he’d said — but the appeal had quickly faded. It was impossible to stay optimistic when you'd been in here so long that you were even starting to forget what the outside world was like.
You couldn’t tell how much time you’d spent there, unsure if only several weeks had passed or if months had flown by without your noticing. It could have been either, and he never responded when you asked. He never said anything to you, only at you. The Doctor in the frightening bird mask. As cold as any of the steel equipment he touched you with and just as silent as the machines, he merely conducted whatever trial or objective was on the schedule for the day and then left. You weren’t even sure if he had a name, but if he did you certainly didn’t know it.
He’d also never asked for yours.
The Doctor called you ‘Specimen’ when he bothered to refer to you at all, sometimes murmuring instructions to the exceedingly rare assistant that would stop in from time to time to help him with tasks. Either to get you hooked up to another set of plugs and monitors, or to strap you down to the table for him. You were much too scared to actually struggle or fight but it seemed to be the way of these things, so you allowed them to secure leather straps over your ankles and wrists without a fuss. He never hurt you beyond temporary discomfort when he’d take stabbing metal pincers to your breasts and notate the measurements with a low hum, or slip an uncomfortable metal device inside your cunt to spread you open. This, you could accept. You tried to tell yourself it was probably still better than what the others were experiencing, wherever they were, and the pain never lasted long anyway.
But then came the day where he wheeled a small tray over after already securing you in place on the chilly metal slab in the center of the room, and you just caught a glimpse of what was on it. Needles. That wasn’t so strange. He took blood samples from time to time, to do what with you had no idea, but … these syringes were full of something. A mostly clear fluid that looked only slightly murky in the glaring overhead light. He was going to inject you with it.
You understood this on an intrinsic, innate level of comprehension but still maintain your obedient silence while he putters around with whatever else was on the little tray. It’s not like he would have explained anything to you even if you’d asked. It’s only when he finally turns to you and wipes a cold, faintly clinging swathe over one side of your breast do you start to realize that something is not quite right here. The smell of antiseptic floods your nose all at once and you gasp, jerking against the bindings holding you down.
It’s no use though. The leather is entirely unrelenting no matter how much you anxiously jostle your wrists, and all you can do is lay there, watching with big, frightened eyes, as he thoroughly wipes the area clean. It was so chilly in the lab that your nipples were already stiffly coiled but the one he’s clinically wiping down with that damp cloth seems to pebble to an even finer point that makes you whimper low in your throat. The Doctor had touched you like this before, many times in fact, so you didn’t understand why your body was reacting like this to him. Almost like it knew something you hadn’t yet realized …
When he brings the first needle close to your tit you panic even though you try not to. But he merely clicks his tongue at you, murmuring something under his breath about behaving as he reaches out with his other hand to cup the swell of your breast and still you. Your toes curl at the sensation even as you anxiously shake your limbs, so scared and wracked with uncontrollable shudders your chest heaves under his hold but he doesn’t even give it a moment's pause. One second the sharp needle is arching through the air on a sure, steady trajectory, and the next it’s sinking deep into your flesh.
A hurt, gutted little moan escapes you, hot tears flooding your eyes while you watch him swiftly depress the plunger. It only takes a few seconds for the syringe to empty and he leaves you wildly gasping for breath when he withdraws it from the skin before turning back to the tray.
You can’t process any of it as he sedately moves around the table to come up on the other side and repeat the process. It’s like you’re suffocating, looking up at him in horrified confusion and disbelief. What the hell was he injecting you with?
“Wait …” It's little more than a timid mouse squeak.
Softly tutting at you, The Doctor quickly wipes the area down with a second antiseptic wipe and then bends over your chest to bring the next needle close. “Hush now, Specimen. I’ve got you.”
The sharp point pricks into the meat of your breast and he lets out a low, faltering breath as it sinks in. You lurch on top of the table, too restrained to actually pull away, but it does little to stop you from devolving into hysterical, heaving gasps. You didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. But if your frantic reaction concerns him in any way he certainly doesn’t show it as he straightens up, eyeing you from under that horrid mask for a long moment before humming a brief sound.
“Perhaps Specimen needs a sedative for today. We don’t want you hurting yourself carrying on like that, do we?”
Chuckling faintly at the way you wordlessly squawk and shriek, he steps around you again to dig in a drawer on the far side of the room. You’d never admit it but you were so gripped by wild, mindless panic, very nearly choking on it, that you’re almost a bit relieved when he returns and injects another shot into your pinned arm. Almost immediately a false, manufactured calm starts to wash over you and you readily relax into it, happy to let your mind drift off rather than be forced to face the reality you were living.
*~*
The next day finds you strapped down again, but this time with the upper half of the table propped up so you could sit. You’d woken up sore, your chest aching so fiercely it made you wince and seethe each time you moved, and having the weight of your breasts settle without any support like this was just making it worse. If you could have brought your hands up to elevate them and lessen some of the pressure you would have gladly done that but your wrists remained locked next to your hips.
The Doctor takes his time giving you the usual examination as he always does, checking your temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, etc until he finally gets to the end and sets his clipboard aside. You cautiously watch him reach out then, twitching when he tentatively prods the underside of one breast with a blunt knuckle. He doesn’t miss your reaction even though you’d tried to conceal it, scared of what he might do with that information, and he noises a brief sound of interest as he brings his other hand up as well.
Simultaneously, he nudges both of your tits to lift them slightly but not actually support them, and you hiss through tightly clenched teeth. You were already starting to feel lightheaded, a bit nauseous. The deep ache you felt was so close to being unbearable that you can’t help but react even when you know he’s only going to turn it back around on you.
“My, how interesting,” He murmurs to himself, sounding really quite pleased with this result. “You’re already this tender, Specimen? It must be working even quicker than I thought … looks like I made the right choice when choosing you for this experiment. Aren’t you happy?”
You want to ask him what experiment, desperate for any information at all, but you bite your tongue, already knowing full well he wasn’t going to explain anything to you. All you can do is helplessly watch as he pokes and prods, and paws at your chest until you can’t hold it back any longer and stinging tears track a wet path down your face. Your chest was so sensitive and sore it felt like he was jabbing you with blunt knives.
Softly laughing under his breath, The Doctor lifts his hands a little higher and just brushes over your stiff nipples. You choke at the instant, blinding sensation and jerk back against the table so hard it clatters in response. It was all you could do just to keep drawing air into your lungs. You were so oversensitized it hurt!
“Please,” You somehow manage to grit out. “Stop it!”
“How precious,” He purrs, low and mean, as he takes delicate hold of the hardened buds between thumb and forefinger. Just holding them for the moment but even that is enough to make you writhe in place, thrashing against the bonds as much as you physically can. “You know, this is the kind of feedback you just can’t get with animal test subjects. All they do is scream and bleat, but you …”
He leans closer — so close the curved beak of his mask almost touches your face — and you suck in such a ragged, threadbare gasp that it seems to claw at your throat on the way down. Trembling like a leaf now, you just stare at him. Fixated on the spot where his eyes should have been. You can catch only a very small glimpse of the corner of his mouth like this, and you’re more than a little unnerved to find he’s smiling. Delighted. Pleased.
You just shake even harder.
“Isn’t it nice that we can communicate like this, Specimen? You can beg me for mercy and I can laugh at you for being stupid enough to try. Why, if I suddenly find myself feeling generous I could even attempt to have a conversation with you.” Pausing, The Doctor appears to give that a moment’s consideration only to softly click his tongue at length. “Probably not, though. I doubt you have anything of interest to say.”
Before you can even think to respond or formulate a convincing argument for yourself, he abruptly pinches down on your nipples and you shriek. Jerking back against the table only makes your tits bounce and pull at your sore teats where he’s still got them squeezed between his fingers, fresh tears welling behind closed eyes. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever felt. Even worse than the barbaric looking contraption he’d wedged inside your cunt and used to stretch you open when he first brought you here. You’d thought nothing could compare to that discomfort but you were now realizing just how bad it could really be.
In this manner he spends what feels like many agonizing, endless hours just toying with your breasts; tugging and pulling, and twisting, until the sharp sensitivity somehow exceedes the threshold of comprehension in your mind and dwindles to a dull, mostly numbed but still aching throb. You’re distantly aware of it but too strung out to give it voice anymore. You barely even register the sound he makes when he finally breathes out a quiet sigh of satisfaction and pulls away, leaving your chest screaming in the aftermath. All you knew was that he was stepping away, leaving you to the agony …
But then he comes back, and a broken little sob bursts out of you when you recognize the two needles in his hand. Whatever this experiment was, it didn’t look like it would be over any time soon.
~*~
The next few days continue in the same manner, repeating the same process over and over again until you almost start to become acclimated to it. The Doctor visits you once in the morning to make note of your vitals and jot down whatever remarks on his clipboard before leaving you to waste away in solitude until midafternoon. Another round of vitals and more note taking, then another session of having him paw at your chest until tears were streaming down your face and, finally, another shot in each breast. He leaves you for the rest of the day until his final check in late in the evening when he makes his final notations and then secures you inside your cage for the night. It all would have been rather humdrum at a certain point except …
Except that by the end of the first week you start to notice certain changes in your body. You’d thought it was your imagination at first, just a result of the injections and all the brutish pawing he insisted on doing for no reason you could conceive, but your breasts were in fact getting bigger. Swelling to the point that it was noticeable and you couldn’t write it off as a mere flight of fancy. Even worse though was the way your nipples had likewise become puffy and constantly stiff, like they were in a perpetual state of arousal. It was all very strange, to look down at your own chest and see yourself looking like that, but The Doctor was nothing if not pleased.
He marveled over the results to no end, constantly remarking on how well you were reacting to the treatment and muttering under his breath that it wouldn’t be long now. You didn’t dare to ask until what, really not sure if you even wanted to know, but it’s not as if he would have told you anyway. Utterly helpless, all you could do was try to grin and bear with it for as long as you were able to, hoping that this trial would soon come to a close.
But of course you’re not quite so lucky, and at the start of the second week he suddenly introduces double dosages of that mysterious substance he was injecting you with. Instead of one in both breasts, you now got two in each and with that increase so too do the results start to speed up.
Your chest is not only growing bigger, you're more than a little horrified to realize one day, but heavier too. Initially you think they’re one and the same, and you were feeling jittery panic over nothing. But then you’d touched them, lifted them in your palms to lessen some of the strain, and it had occurred to you that your tits weren’t just filling out … they were swelling with an internal pressure, like something was building up under the skin and the resulting inflation was forcing them to expand. You couldn’t make any sense of it. Not only did you just not understand what was even happening in the first place but you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around why he would do this to you. What was his goal? Were these really the results he’d hoped for, or had something gone wrong?
Trying to tell yourself you were still likely faring better than any of the others you’d shared a cramped little prison cell with or any of the women you’d stood in line with to be evaluated like livestock only goes so far. It soon becomes especially hard to consider your situation a lucky one when the daily breast massages steadily turn into a truly tortuous experience. Where you’d once been simply too sensitive and tender, there was now the added sensation of having too much pressure without any way to relieve it. You sob all throughout these little sessions now, groaning and heaving against the exam table while he squeezes and pinches, tugging on your raw teats until you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind. It gets so bad that even after he leaves you to your own devices you find yourself rubbing your chest in a blithe attempt at easing some of the constant ache there.
That’s how you eventually figure out what’s really going on.
It’s the start of the third week (you’d made it a point to keep track from that first injection) and your tits are so heavy and swollen they look like they’re ready to burst. Fighting back harsh, body wracking sobs, you desperately run your hands over them even though it’s done you little in the way of good up until now. It’s like an instinctive urge though, something deep in the primal part of your brain compelling you to massage your breasts even when it just causes you more discomfort. But you can feel something building in them and you’re half delirious with the thought that you would soon find relief if you just kept at it long enough.
The first wet dribble almost goes unnoticed. You think it’s a mistake. A bead of sweat, perhaps, or maybe even a faint little droplet of blood where your nipples felt so chaffed and sore. But when you look at your fingertip only to find a clear, somewhat thick consistency clinging to the skin, you feel faint with disbelief. Try to convince yourself that it’s not what you think it is, that you were excreting literally anything else — anything at all, but … the proof smacks you across the face when you bring it up to your mouth and take a cautious lick.
It was sweet and bitter at the same time, and more than just a bit cloying and you’re suddenly left with the crushing realization of what he’s done to you.
~*~
For the first time ever, you fight him tooth and nail when it comes time to strap you down to the table for your midday exam. It’s difficult with your chest so swollen and heavy that every shuddering movement hurts, but you still manage to hold out until he’s forced to call for backup. You feel rather proud of yourself for that up until two sets of hands descend upon you, grappling to get you secured in place, “without harming the Specimen!”, he’d irritably snapped.
It seems to stretch on for many, many minutes, but at last they manage to buckle a restraint around one of your wrists and it becomes frustratingly easy for them to get the rest. You’re left panting and heaving, shooting daggers at The Doctor as well as his assistant when they step back to sort themselves out. The younger man was nursing a bruised jaw where you’d successfully caught him with your elbow and The Doctor … you’d almost knocked his stupid mask off his face, and you regretted not being able to see him without it as he tersely readjusts it’s placement. Maybe next time though. There was always a next time with him.
Finally drawing himself up, The Doctor impatiently tugs at the cravat around his neck where it had twisted askew before barking at the other man. “Get the table up. I want the Specimen sitting for this.”
His assistant rushes to obey and you narrow your eyes at him in warning, still gasping for breath as he comes up next to you. Bending down, he reaches under the table to fiddle with some sort of lever or mechanism and then moves to incline the top half of the table, slowly inching you up until you’re left staring directly at The Doctor. He’s standing at enough of a distance that you can see his mouth under the curved beak, and you’re quite pleased to note he’s scowling at you. Good. A bit of frustration was well deserved after what he’d done to you.
“Now then,” He finally intones, low and dangerous, as his assistant reaches back under the table to lock it in place. “Might I ask just what it is you think you are doing today? I was so sure you knew better than that.”
It takes you a moment to realize he hadn’t asked you a rhetorical question for once and was actually expecting an answer. You were so unused to him acknowledging you in any way that for a moment you’re not quite sure how to respond.
“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is you’re injecting me with.” You finally spit.
The Doctor tips his head to one side, looking so much like a curious carrion bird in his beaked mask and feathers that it actually sends a chill down your spine. “Do you really think you’d understand if I told you? How ridiculous.”
Your cheeks start to grow warm, but you pull yourself up as much as you’re able to and try again. “You’re a monster! What did you do to me?”
“That’s better.” Simpering, he roughly yanks at his coat to straighten it and then strides forward. Your already erratic heartbeat picks up at his approach but you can’t pull away when he comes up alongside you and reaches out to rather disinterestedly grab one of your tits. Sharp splinters of pain immediately shoot through you and you wheeze, looking down at his hand on your chest in dull disbelief. “What I did to you is rather simple, really. If you want my honesty so much then let’s just say I’m a little surprised you didn’t start to figure it out sooner. Even someone with rocks for brains should have noticed the correlation when their body started to undergo sudden change. I mean, really. Are you that oblivious or are you just trying to get under my skin, darling Specimen?”
He emphasizes that last bit with a tight, incensed squeeze on your chest, and you outright choke when a tiny little spurt of discharge flies from your nipple. Going so completely still it’s disconcerting, The Doctor simply stares down at you for a long, tension filled moment. Then, to your reeling surprise, he abruptly lets you go.
“I see,” He eventually murmurs, tapping a gloved finger to his chin in thought. “So that’s what finally tipped you off. We’ve already made it this far in the experiment so it simply wouldn’t do to kill you now and have to start over from scratch … but we’ll have to adjust the parameters. Specimen is far too erratic to be left to their own devices anymore. Might even need to be put under permanent sedation until the final test results are obtained.”
Muttering under his breath, The Doctor turns from you to pace the room in deep consideration and leave you violently shuddering on the exam table. You didn’t want to be permanently sedated … just the thought alone is almost enough to send you spiraling into full blown panic. Although you’d welcomed its comforting embrace once you were far too alert now to willingly slip under like that. You needed to think of something. Quick.
“I’ll cooperate - -“
“Your cooperation means less than nothing to me.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip, making you cower in place. Suddenly turning on his heel, he stalks towards you again and you can do nothing at all when he slips his hand under the heavy weight of one breast so he can lift it in consideration. “Specimen should be close to full production levels at this rate. Another day or two, I suspect.”
A heavy silence settles over the room, interspersed only by your labored panting and the nervous shuffle of the assistant somewhere behind you. But The Doctor is perfectly still while he seems to weigh the options laid out before him, his blunt thumb brushing idle circles over the straining swell of your tit while he thinks. You’re certain the waiting is going to kill you.
“Dimitri!” He abruptly snaps, startling both you and his assistant, if the tiny yelp behind you is anything to go by. “Prepare the machine immediately. I know just what to do with this one.”
*~*
With your hands secured behind your back, you’re led from the enclosed section of the lab you were usually kept in and into a different section that housed far more complicated machinery than you could reasonably process. You’d never seen so many different kinds of knobs, buttons, circuits, control panels, hanging wires and thick cable power lines in your life. Half of it you hadn’t even known existed until being brought here, but your relative familiarity with the banks and complicated components in the other room did serve as an effective baseline to at least understand that what you were looking at was far outside your sphere of comprehension.
Even the tall cylindrical machine The Doctor’s assistant pulls you up to is so far beyond anything you could reasonably wrap your head around that you have no idea what it was supposed to do. You feel a bit like an oblivious sheep being peacefully led to the slaughter, but there wasn’t much you could have done about it even if you did know what was happening.
Leaving your side, the assistant scurries over to the control bank and starts to fiddle with various levers on the panel, evidently fine tuning the parameters of the output as the strange machine starts to sputter louder. You momentarily consider making a run for it, weighing your odds of escape with your hands tied behind your back, but then The Doctor steps up behind you and takes a pinching hold of your elbow to give you a brief, teeth rattling shake.
“Did you know,” He says rather amicably, at complete odds with the rough treatment. “Mammalian births are some of the most successful in nature. Even putting aside mankind, they’re among the most common class of animal and for good reason. Tell me, Specimen. Do you happen to know why that is?”
You give your head a mute shake, a little too unnerved to play this game with him, and he barks out a clipped, humorless laugh. Yanking on your arm, The Doctor drags you closer to the heaving machine until the sound of it seems to swallow you whole and set your guts to vibrate. Suddenly finding yourself more scared than you’d ever been, you instinctively try to backpedal but he all too easily holds you in place.
“It’s the milk, you silly little nitwit. It promotes growth and development, in addition to a wide variety of benefits to brain functionality.” Grinning a sharp, eager smile under his mask, he reaches up with his unoccupied hand to tug at a clear tube sticking out of the machine. Your mouth drops open when it jerks loose with a loud, forceful suck of air but nothing comes out, not even a peep. You were starting to have strong suspicions what this machine was used for and yet — you didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it.
Turning to you again, he holds up the open ended tube piece and tauntingly waggles it at you. “Now, answer me this … do you have any guess as to what happens to developing infants if they’re denied that very milk they need to grow? Say, in the instance of the untimely death of their mother?”
Your stomach lurches with an intense, sinking feeling of dread. You did not like this line of questioning and what it would suggest any more than you liked the aggressive shucking noise coming from the machine. Surely you were misunderstanding something and he didn’t really mean what you thought he did. “I — I don’t know. I don’t understand - -“
You cut off with a frightened squeak when he gives your arm another tug to drag you closer, nearly pulling you stumbling right into him. Your heavy tits bounce with the sudden motion and bring fresh stabs of discomfort with it, but you’re much too focused on The Doctor to get swept up in the pain. It was all you could do just to stay on your feet instead of collapsing in a dead faint. You’d never been so terribly frightened.
“They don’t grow.” He hisses, sharp fingers digging mercilessly into your skin. “Not to their full potential, anyway. All the amino acids, antibodies, vitamins and minerals they should have gotten from their mothers milk … gone, just like that. I’d ask you another question but it’s obvious you don’t have the intelligence to even follow along so allow me to spell it out for you instead. A colleague of mine runs an orphanage. Some of the children she takes in are quite young indeed and there is a noticeable difference between those who lost their parents early in development and those who did not. The ultimate goal of this experiment was to determine whether or not a reliable production method could be used to — fill in the gaps, so to speak.”
He leans down then, putting his face close to yours, but you just stand there, staring up at him in wide eyed terror. It was like he was speaking a foreign language now, every other word so bizarre and incomprehensible that it may as well have been complete gibberish. But somehow you still grasp enough of the meaning to be afraid. You still tremble uncontrollably when he tips his head, and suddenly his breath is intermingling with yours without his mask in the way to block it.
“And lucky you, our first test subject. Such a resounding success too.” He purrs in a soft, velvety croon that makes your spine snap straight. “Even I wasn’t expecting to see these results so quickly. If only you could have just had the sense to stay nice and docile for me … oh well. It doesn’t really matter now does it, my darling Specimen?”
You force your constricting lungs to expand, sucking in a harsh, stuttering breath, but he just nudges your right up against him before you can think of something to say. Your blood instantly turns to ice when you feel his coat brush against you as well as the body heat coming off him, and frantically try to twist away. It was much too late though. His hold on your elbow was as good as iron and he now had you standing close enough to the machine that he could direct the suctioning tube towards your chest. So gripped with terror, you desperately try to angle away from it to no avail and you outright shriek when it sucks your nipple up and seals to your breast with a deafening loud schuck.
Throwing your head back, you scream up at the ceiling until your throat seizes under the stress and you trail off into a gutted, hollowed out groan that seems to echo off the walls. The pressure is so extreme on your swollen, sensitized teat that for a wild moment you actually think it’s going to pull it right off. But when you sway unsteadily, nauseous and sick, then chance a look down, immense relief washes over you when you see the tip of your breast very much intact. That doesn’t make it any less painful though, and you viciously seethe through your teeth as you watch the suction pull at your nipple, stretching the pliant flesh to the point that it hurt just to look at it.
But then, to your groaning horror, you catch a brief jet of milky discharge getting sucked out of you to disappear up inside the tube and whatever it was attached to. You understood perfectly now. This was a milking machine. A horrid creation of The Doctors, no doubt, and it was so powerful that even when his hand falls away it stays suctioned right where it was over your teat. To your surprise, however, the sharp discomfort you’d first felt quickly starts to recede into a dull thrum under that constant pulse and you can’t quite stop yourself from issuing a low, faltering sound of relief. There was still an immense amount of built up pressure inside your breast but somehow the intense suction actually helped make it a bit more bearable. It wasn’t by much, but you were willing to take anything at this point, and your knees violently knock with that realization.
“O - oh, blessed Archons!”
Chuckling faintly, The Doctor slowly releases his hold on your arm and you nearly collapse right then and there. The only thing that reminds you to catch yourself is the tube attached to your breast which showed no sign of loosening its hold anytime soon. You stagger and try to reestablish your balance without him there to keep you propped up as he shifts behind you to step up on the other side. From the corner of your eye, you watch him reach out to grab the second suction device, grimacing even when your neglected tit throbs at the prospect.
“Please, dear Seven, I’m begging - -“
“They aren’t listening, I’m afraid. Such a pity.” Casually, The Doctor curls his unoccupied hand under the weight of your tit and lifts it slightly to better bring the tube down on the nipple. It firmly sucks into place just the same as the first did, and you scream at the initial pain that tears through you. But same as before, it only takes a few moments for the constant, rhythmic sucking to alleviate some of the tension in your chest and, shuddering, you force yourself to relax into it. Easier said than done when it felt like this horrible machine was actively trying to suck the life right out of you but you manage, somehow.
“How … how long do you intend to leave me like this?” You pant, struggling to swallow around the rock lodged in your throat as you awkwardly shuffle your feet to better ground yourself.
“Hm?” Crossing his arms, The Doctor puts his head to one side in faux consideration. “What a silly question. As long as it takes for your production levels to reach their maximum output and for you to start milking properly, of course. Your current rate,” He nudges his chin towards the shuddering tubes, still mostly clear save the occasional tiny wet bead moving along their length. “Isn’t even close to being sufficient. Your lactation ducts need to be thoroughly stimulated until they start to trigger your let-down reflex for optimal milk flow. Truth be told, I had wanted to save this for the final step since things could get … messy, but you just had to go and force my hand, didn’t you?”
With a faint click of his tongue, he starts to turn. “No matter. At least now I won’t have to spend quite so much time monitoring your progress to ensure that everything is proceeding as it should. One way or another, that machine will have you sorted out in no time.”
Gasping, you give a little jerk when he moves to walk away but you manage to catch the subconscious reaction before you can yank on the suction cups and hurt yourself. “Wait! Please don’t actually leave me here! You can’t — nghn! It hurts, you bastard!”
The Doctor doesn’t even acknowledge your desperate pleas and he disappears further into the lab without so much as a backwards glance, leaving you at the mercy of the machine.
~*~
You’re not sure how long he’s left you like this. All of your careful tracking since that first injection, gone just like that without his clockwork appearances to track the time with. It could have been mere hours or the whole day, a whole night. You never would have known any different.
Your legs shudder under you, exhausted and sore from standing for the indeterminate period you’ve been hooked up to the machine but the tubes are too short for you to sit. You were effectively tethered to the faintly groaning mechanism with only enough lead to shift from side to side before the powerful suction started to pull and cause a great deal of discomfort. It wasn’t so bad when you just stood there and let it suckle at your raw teats, but that was hardly any comfort to you at this point.
You’d watched your breasts shudder against the force and slowly, so slowly you hadn’t even realized it was happening at first, let down on the intense pressure that had steadily built in them over the last two weeks. What was initially just an occasional spurt of creamy fluid, shuddering beads sucked up through the tubes and into what you could only guess was a collection unit, had gradually turned into a relatively steady stream of creamy white fluid. Even without any real knowledge on the topic, you still recognized it for what it was and could no longer try to pretend it was something else. You were not only lactating but quite excessively by the looks of it. Whatever he’d been injecting you with had caused such an extreme physiological shift in your body that you were now rapidly producing milk without ever having been pregnant and the output only seemed to be steadily increasing.
The innate relief that comes with having your tits milked doesn’t do much to pacify you though, and your head slowly comes up when you catch the sound of approaching footsteps. You know it’s The Doctor, so familiar with that slow, confident gait and the unique sound of his boots on the floor that you’d know it anywhere at this point. Shuddering so hard you nearly collapse, you force yourself to straighten from the tired hunch you’d fallen into, hissing when the suction tubes give a stiff jostle over your nipples. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he’d found the capacity for mercy in his twisted soul but a little part of you still hopes …
“Good morning, Specimen. You look lovely today, don’t you?” He drawls as he comes up behind you, and a hurt little groan bursts out of you when more of the pressure in your tits gives to release a thick, creamy dollop into the sucking machine. You just stare down at the tubes in frozen, slack jawed disbelief. At the sound of his voice?
He steps up beside you then, startling you, and you snap your attention up to find him grinning under that ugly mask. Waves of deep satisfaction practically roll off him as he halts close enough you can feel his coat brushing your thigh. The two of you just look at one another for what feels like an eternity, your shoulders trembling with every labored breath.
“I see the machine has served its purpose.” He says at length.
“Screw you!”
Clicking his tongue in admonition, The Doctor reaches out and casually — much too casually — slips a gloved hand between your thighs. You jolt so hard the tubes bob with the motion, pulling at your poor tits, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it as he worms his wrist in the tight space even when you try to squeeze him out. Long, blunt fingers find the seam and rudely nudge up into you, nearly knocking you off balance when you give a fierce jolt.
“My, my, isn’t that interesting?” He croons, baring sharp teeth with a mean, perverse grin as those oppressive digits slip and slide through an obscene amount of slick. You’d been so focused on the continuous suction on your nipples, the stilted relief of pressure, that you hadn’t even noticed how the rest of your body was reacting.
Your stomach wrenches with this knowledge but you just stand there, thighs quaking around his hand, while he casually pulls soft, wet little clicks out of your cunt with the drag of his fingers. It was horrible and disgusting, and your nausea only increases when you catch a glimpse of yet more creamy white discharge being pulled up through the tubes.
“Are you enjoying your milking, Specimen? Good. You’re going to be here for a while so it’s probably best if you find some way to entertain yourself.” Chuckling, The Doctor slowly withdraws his hand, much to your shuddering disappointment, but he ignores your quiet whimpering in favor of straightening up. “Dimitri!”
A sudden bang sounds from somewhere in the lab. Within seconds, the young man rounds the corner at a flustered sprint and you sway unsteadily on your feet when his eyes widen at the sight of you.
“Lower the settings on the machine,” The Doctor hisses at him, low and dangerous. “Then leave me for the rest of the day. I will oversee the experiment myself from here.”
He turns back to you as his assistant goes scurrying off to fiddle with the control panel, leering viciously under his mask when he reaches out to palm your hip. You gnash your teeth, chest heaving with fast pumping terror but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he tugs you closer. Your pelvis bumps his firm thigh and you suck in a harsh breath. He couldn’t be serious … now, after all this time treating you like little more than a slab of meat?
Seething, you grimace when the suction suddenly lessens to a weak, hollow tug that you can barely feel through your raw teats. The change in pressure is immediately apparent though and your nipples pulse in its absence. You have to fight back the sobs that try to tear their way out of your throat as you watch him slowly reach up to wrap his hand around one of the tubes still clinging to your breast. He doesn’t pull it off though, not yet, and instead just looks at you for a long beat.
“I suppose you do deserve a reward. After all, you’ve far exceeded my expectations and I’m quite pleased with you, you know.” He purrs at last. “I wasn’t expecting you to take to the drug so quickly, nor did I foresee you reaching this production level so soon. You’ve impressed me a great deal, Specimen, and I always make sure to reward good behavior where I can.”
He doesn’t warn you before he does it. So abruptly it leaves you reeling in hurt disbelief, he pops the suction tube free with a firm tug and your nipple throbs against the total lack of pressure. It feels like a million tiny pinpricks are stabbing into the sensitive flesh all at once when the air hits it, wafting uncomfortably against hot, swollen skin. Unable to stop yourself, you look down only to instantly wish you hadn’t.
Not only was the swollen teat so puffy and dark from the suction, fat with milk that beads and dribbles wetly from the tip, it was also humiliatingly engorged. The constant sucking had pulled at the pliant skin for so long that it now stuck straight out in a plaintive, attention grabbing point. Meaty and so starkly different from how it had once looked, you feel bile rise in the back of your throat.
The Doctor doesn’t allow you enough time to fully process what you’re seeing though, and you helplessly watch him take the remaining tube in hand so he can pull it loose as well. You shudder so violently at the onslaught of sensation that your knees give out but he’s quick to steady you with both hands on your hips. Fingers digging in mercilessly, he pulls your lower body against his own and your mouth drops open at the hard press of his cock on your stomach.
“That’s a good look for you, Specimen. Much better than all that hissing and kicking you did yesterday.” Casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do, he lifts a hand from your waist when he’s sure you’re steady enough not to fall and nudges a single finger under one teat. You loose a gutted, broken sound when a fresh bead of milk trickles out to run down his hand and, humming, he idly presses up to make more come out. “Yes, your production levels are excellent. Your let-down reflex seems to be working quite well.”
You aren’t sure what he’s going to do next when he withdraws his fingers, but the very last thing you expect is for The Doctor to hunch over your chest and seal his mouth around the nipple. Going stock still at the sensation of a hot, wet mouth suckling at your breast rather than the cold, impartial machine, you just stand there and … let him do it. You were horrified with yourself but couldn’t quite find the wherewithal to be disgusted when it felt good. So much better than you could have imagined it would. His tongue laps at the swollen bud to gather the creamy secretion and swallow it down, the suction of his mouth so much less intense than the merciless tubes and yet — somehow far more satisfying.
A frazzled whimper rattles through you with the sensation of your milk ducts giving out completely, releasing a steady stream into his mouth. The Doctor groans very softly against your skin at the influx of milk and nuzzles deeper into your breast, bringing his teeth down around the puffed up areola to make it squirt at the back of his working throat. Numbly glancing down at yourself, at his face pressed into your chest, you’re more than a little horrified to find a sympathetic dribble coming out of the opposite teat to splatter on the floor below. You didn’t understand how you were making so much milk and you knew even less why your body was reacting to him like this, but all of that seems to get swept up and dissolved in the dreamy haze that slowly comes over you.
You’d felt it while you were hooked up to the milking machine as well but had written it off as a defense mechanism of some sort … just an old, primal part of your brain trying to make the situation more bearable so it didn’t break you. The physical discomfort as much as the mental strain of watching your body change against your will was taxing enough that it had made sense at the time. But now you knew, innately, that it was a natural response to feeding. As much as the let-down reflex was, this strange sense of peace was just the nature of your mammalian instincts.
Suddenly his strange questions and even stranger answers made a lot more sense.
“Goodness,” He groans when he finally comes up off your breast some moments later. A heavy squirt of milk follows after him, splattering across his open mouth but, much to your heaving shame, he just reaches up to wipe it away. “You really are producing more milk than I expected you to at this stage of the experiment. I suspect at this rate you could likely fill almost two gallons in a single day … such a sublime Specimen you are, darling, and a resounding success at that.”
You can see he’s breathing heavier now, either excited by the results or the act of feeding from your breast, and you bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet as he straightens so he can reach for his slacks. He’d never crossed this line before, had never shown you even so much as a passing interest even when he had you spread out and helpless on his exam table, and you don’t know what to expect. The rigid cock that springs up in the space between you surprises a strangled gasp out of you though, and you try to jerk away from it. He was big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take.
The Doctor just grabs onto your hips, squeezing so hard you cry out even as he drags your pelvis closer so he can slot himself between your thighs. Wheezing, you shudder uncontrollably when he takes a moment to sedately thrust into the space and drag his stiff length over soaked lips that seem to cling at him. The calm that had mercifully fallen over you while he was suckling is quickly replaced by jittery panic, and you can’t help blubbering like an idiot when he none too gently forces your pelvis into an upward, tilted angle that almost drags you up onto your tip toes.
You didn’t want him touching you like this. Didn’t want to even think about him moving inside of you, claiming your body for himself.
But the stiff rope keeping your hands behind your back is unrelenting and there isn’t anything you can do about it as he nudges closer to line himself up with your entrance. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m sure you’ll like it. Your sweet little cunt is already so very wet and I bet it’s just aching to be filled, isn’t it?”
Hissing through your teeth, you twist your head around so you won’t have to look at that horrible mask looming over you. But that does absolutely nothing to deter him though, and you cry out when he starts to slowly sink into your hot, squirming guts. Taking him like this is difficult, the slow stretch so much worse than it would have been if you could properly spread your legs. He just forces you to stay upright when you waver, and you let out a hurt little groan as his fingers dig into your hips so hard you can feel bruises blooming under the pressure. Your cunt grants him entry one stilted inch at a time though, welcoming it as much as your mind wants to fight it.
But you’re completely at his mercy and when he finally settles inside you, as deep as he can reach in this position, you feel something in you snap. Your hips nudge forward of their own accord to weakly rut against the intrusion as you tip your head down, intending to look at where his body connects with yours, but all you see is … your breasts, so swollen and heavy, leaking copious amounts of milk all over your front. Like being penetrated had loosened a faucet and you were now freely dribbling all over the place without the need for any stimulation. The sight alone almost sends you shuddering right over the edge.
Hunching closer when your eyes start to roll back, The Doctor studies you up close for a long, drawn out beat while your cunt hollowly contracts around him, squeezing his length in pulses. You feel the excited shiver that runs through him as much as you see it, and then he tips his head to just touch his mouth to yours. “Aren’t you being good for me?”
“P - please —!”
He softly shushes you, lips brushing when he speaks again. “You’ll get your reward, not to worry. But tell me something first, Specimen. If you can do that for me I’ll make sure you feel so good you won’t know what to do with yourself.”
Mewling softly, you sway against his hold while your tits just keep leaking. “What do you want?”
“Can you tell me your name?”
You go still, so caught off guard by the question you can’t seem to process it at first. But then a stiff shudder tears down your back and your eyes go big, jerking back as far as you can when he’s got a hold of you like this. A helpless, trapped little animal sound bursts out of you but he just grins at you, his mouth a razor sharp slash under the mask. You didn’t remember. It had been so long since you’d spoken it, since anyone had called you anything other than Specimen … you truly didn’t know anymore.
Where there once had been a solid, tangible thought there was only ringing silence. An echoing void inside your head, and The Doctor’s leering smile only grows when he sees the horror dawn on your face.
You weren’t anyone now.
Just Specimen.
⭐
Crossposted: here
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Secret Sorrows || 4 -B.Barnes
Summary: Former special ops, Bucky, seeks solace in a cold refuge to escape his past. However, his haunted history catches up, unraveling mysteries that persist relentlessly.
Series Masterlist
Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.
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Monday. It was the first day of the week, a day that dawned not just for the adults who had to rise early for work, but also for the children.
Ethan grumpily buttoned up his school uniform shirt, realizing it was time for him to continue his studies. His mood soured further as he watched his aunt, who didn't utter a word to him, only stroking his hair before slipping into her car.
He crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks in frustration. Couldn't she at least say something to him?
From the rear window of the car, Bucky caught sight of Ethan's grumpy expression, likening him to a disgruntled hamster.
"I thought you liked to study?" Bucky asked, noting how diligently Ethan applied himself to his studies. Despite being just seven years old, Ethan focused intensely like his aunt.
If it weren't for the butler placing their meals in front of them, Bucky mused, both Ethan and Y/N might only eat once a day.
Ethan replied, "It's great, but I don't like the kids. They're childish."
Bucky nearly choked on his surprise. Of course, the other children were childish; it was an elementary school.
As their car arrived at the private school, where attendance was reserved for children with influential parents or those who had made significant donations, the security measures were top-notch, with some students even accompanied by their own bodyguards. Bucky noted with a raised eyebrow that the school even employed a sniper.
Straightening his shirt and adjusting his bag, Ethan muttered, "Here we go."
Offering reassurance, Bucky said, "I'll be nearby if you need anything."
"Okay," Ethan replied, his tone tinged with uncertainty.
Entering his classroom, Ethan was immediately surrounded by classmates offering their condolences. Bucky observed from a distance, noting Ethan's warmth and camaraderie with his peers, silently relieved that Ethan had good friends by his side.
Soon, Bucky discovered the reason behind Ethan's reluctance to attend school. In fencing class, a taller boy from another grade, Greyson, regarded Ethan as his rival, though Ethan didn't share the same sentiment.
Greyson constantly challenged Ethan, but Ethan, still grappling with some underlying trauma, found himself unable to respond.
Sensing Ethan's distress, Bucky intervened, only for Greyson to call upon his own bodyguard, escalating the situation further.
The clash between the bodyguards began. Bucky, unfamiliar with fencing techniques, relied instead on his instinctual combat skills. Despite Ethan's doubts about Bucky's abilities in fencing, Bucky couldn't afford to lose this battle today.
Disregarding the rules of the sport, Bucky unleashed his full capabilities, catching Greyson's bodyguard off guard. With a swift motion, Bucky's final attack sent the fencing sword hurtling through the air, narrowly missing embedding itself in the thick wall.
The spectators, including Greyson, watched in awe and fear, while Ethan's admiration for Bucky only grew.
Greyson, now intimidated, pointed a trembling finger at Bucky. "I’ll tell my father."
Bucky simply stood tall, his expression unyielding, ready to face whatever consequences lay ahead.
Because of Greyson, Bucky found himself in the same situation again, standing before Y/N. This time, however, she wasn't preoccupied with signing documents; instead, her focus was entirely on him. Bucky knew this meant he was in big trouble.
The situation reminded him of the time he and Iris were called to the supervisor's office and punished together.
Y/N placed her hands together before her lips, her expression unreadable. She had been on a conference call from abroad when she heard about Ethan's situation.
The silence made Bucky nervous until she finally uttered some words. “The last time it was the swimming coach, and now do you want to tell me why the senator is blaming my nephew's bodyguard for making his son cry?”
Bucky responded, his tone respectful but firm, “With all due respect, those children trying to bully Ethan are not just kids, but devil spawn.”
Y/N's secretary, Marie, coughed awkwardly upon hearing Bucky's words, while Y/N remained silent, her lips quirking into a small smirk. “You're always a troublemaker, aren't you?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow in confusion. Why did she say “always”? Once again, she left him feeling puzzled.
Y/N continued, her tone surprisingly lenient, “I'll let it go this time. The senator didn't make this a big deal since he knows Van Alen is one of his main sponsors.”
Bucky had expected her to be angry, but her reaction caught him off guard.
“If something like this happens again,” Y/N warned, her voice firm, “handle it quietly.”
Bucky smirked confidently. “Of course.” With that, he left her office.
Marie couldn't help but glance at the closed door. “You're too kind to him. Is it because he's handsome?”
Y/N shot her a glare that silenced Marie immediately.
Returning her attention to her work, Y/N picked up a pen and began signing a document. “Is everything prepared for dinner?” she asked casually.
Marie checked her tablet. “Yup, the food and beverages are ready, including your and Ethan's outfits.”
Ethan paced back and forth, his expression troubled, his mind consumed with worry about his bodyguard. Spotting Bucky, he rushed over to him. “Bro, is my aunt mad at you?”
Bucky shook his head. “Not really.”
A relieved sigh escaped Ethan's lips. “You're my bodyguard, but I always worry when my aunt calls you.”
Bucky couldn't help but chuckle softly at the boy's concern. Then, his gaze fell upon a semi-formal dress adorning a mannequin inside Ethan's wardrobe.
“Are you going somewhere? I didn't see it in your schedule,” Bucky inquired, curious about the unexpected attire.
Ethan turned to look at the mannequin. “Oh, my aunt has a guest coming for dinner.”
“Who?” Bucky asked, intrigued.
Ethan shrugged his shoulders. “Don't know. Usually, it was my parents who welcomed the guests.” His voice quivered slightly as he mentioned his parents, the pain of their absence still raw.
Bucky felt a pang of sympathy for the boy's loss. “Do you want to join the dinner?” he offered, hoping to provide some comfort.
Ethan nodded eagerly. “It's the only time I get to be with my aunt.”
Bucky sighed inwardly, his heart aching for the strained relationship between Ethan and Y/N. When would things get better for them?
********
At dinner time, Bucky discovered that Y/N had already welcomed the guest, and it was time for Ethan to join the table. As they approached, both Bucky and Ethan finally saw who the guest was. Bucky had expected someone older, but to his surprise, the guest was around the same age—a young man named Duke August Walker.
Ethan murmured, “He’s Duke August Walker,” informing Bucky of the guest's identity. August Walker was an oil tycoon whose company collaborated with Van Alen.
He had become acquainted with both families, and there were rumors of his interest in Y/N, which she had apparently declined.
Bucky's eyes widened slightly in recognition. August Walker— the name stirred memories. Bucky remembered him from their school days; they had attended the same school. He recalled their encounters, but their paths had never crossed closely.
Observing Y/N and August chuckling together, Bucky couldn't shake off a twinge of jealousy. He didn't understand why he felt that way, but the sight bothered him.
Walker noticed Ethan's arrival and greeted him warmly. "Hey there, big guy," he said, fist-bumping Ethan.
Ethan reciprocated the greeting politely before taking a seat near Y/N. Meanwhile, Bucky remained standing outside the dining room, still able to overhear their conversation.
Y/N engaged Ethan in conversation, their interaction warm and familial.
Observing their aunt and nephew interaction, Walker commented, “Now I understand why you didn’t answer my call.”
Y/N shot him a look. “You have a problem with that?” she countered.
Walker chuckled, unfazed. “No. In fact, I’m impressed you’re starting to act like a normal human.”
Ethan's grip on his utensils tightened as he hissed at August, clearly displeased by the remark.
Walker laughed softly before changing the subject. “Do you have any plans to send Ethan to Vanguard Academy?” he asked Y/N.
Bucky's breath hitched when he heard that name—the same Academy he and Iris attended. It was the place that had become his sanctuary when he felt alone in the world. There, he learned valuable lessons about skills, friendship, love, heartbreak, and betrayal.
The mention of Vanguard Academy stirred up a mix of emotions within Bucky. He disagreed with the idea of Ethan attending the academy, feeling that he was too young for such an environment.
While the academy catered to students from kindergarten to high school, most of the younger students lived in the same area. If Ethan were to study there, he would have to be separated from Y/N—a prospect that Bucky found unsettling.
As for Ethan, he had heard about the academy from his mother. He had seen her photo from her days as a student there. Although his mother didn't speak much about the institute, it was evident that she harbored some dislike towards it.
Ethan didn't want to live far away; he was afraid, especially after hearing his Aston family's grandfather mention their plans to send him to Vanguard Academy a few times.
Y/N responded to Walker's suggestion with firmness. “He doesn’t fit into that place. Who do you think you are to even consider sending my nephew?”
Walker raised his arms defensively. “Whoops, don’t get mad. I only mentioned it because Iris seemed to have the time of her life there.”
Y/N wiped her mouth with a napkin, her expression unreadable. “Do you want to discuss my nephew or business?” she asked pointedly.
Walker shifted uncomfortably. “You’re really different from Iris. But your business instinct is top-notch,” he remarked, attempting to steer the conversation back towards business.
The remainder of the evening passed in a flurry of business discussions between the adults, their voices filling the room with a serious undertone. After Duke August Walker departed, Y/N decided to check on Ethan.
Ethan, feeling the weight of sleepiness settling upon him, ran eagerly to his aunt, his arms outstretched in a silent plea for comfort. The weariness seemed to dissipate from his demeanor as he looked up at her with hopeful eyes, seeking solace in her presence.
Y/N raised a quizzical eyebrow at Ethan's sudden request for a hug. "What are you doing?" she inquired, her tone laced with curiosity.
"Please, give me a hug," Ethan implored softly, his voice tinged with a hint of longing.
Y/N regarded him with a mixture of confusion and tenderness, unsure of what had prompted this sudden need for affection. Nevertheless, she couldn't resist the innocence in his request.
Before she could utter another word, Ethan rushed into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. His warmth enveloped her, momentarily melting away the worries of the day.
Y/N's initial stiffness softened as she returned the embrace, though uncertainty still lingered in her movements. She wasn't accustomed to such displays of affection, especially from Ethan.
As they stood in the embrace, Ethan's voice barely above a whisper, he confessed, "I miss my mother."
Y/N felt a pang in her heart at his words, her own emotions mirroring his sorrow. She wished she could fill the void left by his mother's absence, but she knew she could never truly replace her.
In an attempt to offer some comfort, Y/N gently stroked his back, her touch tentative yet comforting. "Go to your room. I’ll read a bedtime story for you," she promised, her voice soft and reassuring.
Ethan's eyes brightened with gratitude at her offer. "Really?" he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Y/N nodded, a small smile gracing her lips, and Ethan hurried off to his room, eager to prepare for their nightly routine.
Meanwhile, as Bucky helped Ethan select a book from the shelf, he noticed a slip of paper fluttering to the ground. Curiosity piqued, he bent down to retrieve it, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized what it was—a photograph.
This was a photo of him and Iris back at the academy. And why did Ethan have this photo?
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Happy to present to y'all this 911LS fic list for stories related to one of my favorite episodes 3.13 Riddle of the Sphynx! I try to make these as comprehensive as possible, so if you have any you think I missed, let me know so I can add them. (I also might make edits to these posts to add more fics as they get written. If I ever do so I'll be sure to reblog the post for visibility!)
Enjoy all of our amazing fandom writers and leave them some comments & love!
[Disclaimers: • If you're an author and don't like to be tagged or linked for any reason, let me know and I'll remove the tag and make sure not to do so in the future, no questions asked. • I usually post TWs in rec lists. Due to the episode subject matter, assume all of these have a TW for discussion of addiction/drug use and possibly discussion of parent death/grief.]
◆ Chasers by @carlos-in-glasses (Words: 13.4K; Rating: E)
After 3x13 – while TK is alone with Cooper, Carlos is alone with his thoughts. Both recall times they’ve chased the next high, other men, or each other. When Carlos arrives home, TK still has something important to say – and it's something he didn’t tell Cooper.
◆ trying my best by @reyescarlos (Words: 10.3K; Rating: M)
An exploration of TK's sobriety journey from 2017 to now.
Or, a season 3 coda spanning 3x08-3x13
◆ You Showed me How it feels to Truly be Seen by @ramblingdisaster73 (Words: 3K; Rating: T)
Carlos works through the events of 3x13 "The Riddle of the Sphinx".
◆ Measure of a Man by @chicgeekgirl89 (Words: 1.8K; Rating: T)
“I want to be everything you need. That I can’t be, it hurts, T.K. It feels like a failure on my part. And as much as I’m trying to accept it, it’s hard.”
A 3x13 coda in which Carlos struggles with a new definition of being "enough."
◆ I'll be here all the same by @strandnreyes (Words: 4.8K; Rating: G)
“I am glad you have someone you can talk to who can maybe do a better job at fixing things,” Carlos insists before dropping his eyes to their tangled together fingers. “All I want is for you to be okay.”It’s not surprising to hear, but it hits as if it was. That really is the root of this whole thing. As much as Carlos wants to do what he can to be the person to get TK to that place, at the end of the day all he really wants is for TK to get there.“I will be.”Or, three late night conversations following the events of 3.13
◆ Trigger by comes2gusu (Words: 4.7K; Rating: T)
TK is struggling with his newly found sobriety. After being triggered at an NA meeting, Cooper takes TK for omelets
◆ this love we carry by @thevenstar (Words: 7.6K; Rating: T)
A 3x13 coda in which Carlos has a conversation with a friend, puts his heart to rest, and learns that walking away does not mean surrender.
◆ Those Pieces by @taralaurel (Words: 7.3K; Rating: M)
"I, I'm not telling you all - this - so you can fix me," TK huffs a hot breath against Carlos' chin, "or save me or really, do anything, okay?"
Carlos nods against TK's forehead.
TK has done a lot of things in his life to deserve the bad that has happened to him.
He has no idea what good he's done to deserve Carlos.
Coda to 3x13
◆ the one i want by @chaotictarlos (Words: 2K; Rating: E)
TK gets Carlos to take his shirt off.
◆ i want you to unravel me by @reyescarlos (Words: 4.2K; Rating: E)
In the aftermath of the strain that's fallen over them, TK and Carlos bridge the gap with open conversation that brings them closer together, both emotionally and physically.
[3x13 coda]
◆ Just Wanna Breathe by @theoceanismyinkwell (Words: 1.9K; Rating: G)
Carlos doesn’t dare look at him for long, knowing that his eyes have always been the window to his soul, the weakest part of his body, unveiling everything in the well of truths he’s kept a lid on for years and years. His family may not be able to read him as well as he feared for the decades he was in the closet, but TK has a way of crashing into his life with a formidable gentleness and a piercing understanding that unmoors him in every possible way.And that’s precisely what TK is doing now, keeping the warmth of his palms flush against the beating of Carlos’ skin, cradling his face, forcing them both to gaze into each other’s eyes and face each other’s unspoken terrors without flinching.TK sounds like he has a lump in his throat. “I’m going to say something, and I want you to listen to me and I want you to remember it.”---Or: What happens when Carlos comes back home after TK's talk with Cooper, and the confessions that spill out after.
◆ waiting on the sidelines by @morganaspendragonss (Words: 1.5K; Rating: T)
They’d promised each other no more secrets, and while Carlos rationally knows that these aren’t exactly secrets, there’s still this grain of resentment inside of him that scratches away with every beat of his heart. It’s something he can’t let show in front of TK ever again, which is why he’s here, outside Owen's house while TK and Cooper talk in the loft.If anyone’s going to understand what he’s feeling, it’s Owen Strand.
◆ Three Weeks In by @masterroadtripper (Words: 3K; Rating: T; TW: self-harm)
It’d been three weeks since Sadie had drugged them - nineteen days since TK started a ninety-day NA sobriety program at the local Synagogue and eleven days since Carlos had met Cooper for the first time - before Carlos realized that there was something else TK wasn’t telling him.
◆ What We Need by Ehm (Words: 3.1K; Rating: T)
"You okay, bud?" Cooper startled him out of his thoughts and he let go of the spoon with a clinking noise. He straightened up, embarrassed.
"Sorry, I zoned out."
"I can see that," Cooper sounded vaguely amused. "You wanna talk about it?"
---
Three times TK has a conversation with Cooper, and one time he talks to Carlos. Or, 3x13 and beyond from TK's point of view.
◆ Nocturne by @sanctuaryforalluniverses (Words: 735; Rating: T)
Carlos comes home. (Post-ep for 3x13)
◆ Precious Love by @rmd-writes (Words: 11.6K; Rating: M)
This is five times TK thinks he doesn’t deserve love and one time he knows he does – an exploration of TK’s relationship with love and self-worth.
◆ Inside a snow globe by @goodways (Words: 6.9K; Rating: E)
It isn’t until TK is on top, lavishing Carlos’ neck, stroking his hand up his side, that Carlos brings their faces together, barely a suggestion of a kiss between them. He holds TK’s jaw and keeps him close whilst he readies the question in his mind. He breathes out a straightforward and tempting, “fuck me,” over TK’s lips which silences the world outside their bedroom.
TK’s response whenever he’s asked for this has few variations between immediate enthusiastic compliancy and the sweet reassurance he knows Carlos is dying for. The answer is always yes.
-
The evening after TK gets his one month sobriety chip.
◆ my home has been your heart since the day i met you by @lavendergiroux (Words: 1.8K; Rating: M)
After Carlos leaves Cooper and TK to talk, all they do is talk about him. When Carlos comes home - they are still talking about him.
◆ Deep Talks and Cuddles by raniaswritings (Words: 1.2K; Rating: T)
TK talks to Cooper and Carlos comes back home after a few hours
◆ “What are you doing?” “I don’t want you to do that.” by @irispurpurea (Words: 1.1K; Rating: T)
Fictober 2022 Day 13 and 14. Prompts: “What are you doing?” “I don’t want you to do that.”
“What are you doing?”
Carlos looks up to find TK frowning at him from their bedroom.
“I…” Carlos holds up the blanket in his hands, unsure what else to say. He thinks it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing. Then again, tonight has proven that he can’t do anything right, apparently, when it comes to TK.
◆ "It's your shirt..." by @lavendergiroux (Words: 780; Rating: M)
TK really didn't want to talk about it, he just really needed Carlos to claim him...
◆ sunkissed face by mooshkat (Words: 1K; Rating: T)
To show his appreciation, TK decides to make Carlos breakfast.
Spec Fics Written Prior to the Episode Airing/Canon Convergence:
◆ if the darkness comes, i'll stay by @doublel27 (Words: 3.2K; Rating: T)
“I had some things to do,” TK says, his stomach twisting.
“Some things?”
“Carlos, I texted,” TK reminds his boyfriend, because he did. “It’s fine.”
“Is it?” Carlos asks, his voice dangerously calm.
or
TK comes home late for the third night in one week, and he and Carlos have a necessary confrontation. A speculative fic for 3x13.
◆ Caught by @littlemissmarianna (Words: 761; Rating: G)
“Who’s that?”
Carlos doesn’t answer Mitchell’s question because he doesn’t know. There’s only a handful of people he can identify from the back, and this guy isn’t on the list. He has broad shoulders, though, and nice hair and is probably good-looking. Why else would TK be staring at him so intently?
◆ In Order to Get Back to Us by reyestrand (Words: 2.2K; Rating: G)
Carlos waits up for TK when he’s late coming home and they talk about the things they’re afraid to.
- a 3x13 speculation fic
◆ still comparing your past to my future by @kiras-sunshine (Words: 17.4K; Rating: T)
Something else than the wallowing feeling of uneasiness, anxiety and hurt in the bottom of his stomach. All of it seems to have a chokehold on his heart and no matter what he tries to think about, his thoughts always go back to TK, to worry that keeps mixing in with everything, and the brightness of TK’s smile, the way the corner of his mouth curled up and his eyes shone, when he smiled at someone else than him.
#911 lone star#911 lone star fic rec#fic recs#fic rec list#tarlos fic#episode: s3e13 riddle of the sphynx#fic writers are amazing and we need to hype them up#my gifs#cutting it close on finishing up this list while still on the rewatch week for it!
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Hey babe, wanna hear something hot? *whispers* history of metformin
Ok okay I'll talk
So metformin is commonly thought of as the most boring of diabetes drugs. Like, everyone who has ever thought about maybe having type 2 diabetes is taking it unless it gives them diarrhea, and even then their doctor still probably wants them to take it. But it's a first line because it's old, it's cheap, it doesn't often cause hypoglycemia, and it has relatively few side effects compared to other diabetes drugs. Also, like a lot of older drugs, it does way more than it says on the packaging. And a lot of stuff we're still learning about.
In order to talk about metformin, we have to talk about a plant called goat's rue. Goat's rue is a plant native to Europe, Africa, and Asia, and currently grows just about everywhere. In ancient times it was used as an anti-parasitic, a plague remedy, and to relieve the excessive urination caused by what might have been diabetes. In 1918 it was found to contain a chemical called galegine, which did lower blood sugar. Galegine as an anti-diabetes medication is probably too toxic to use long term. However, with a few chemical tweaks, it could become a drug that lowered blood sugar without the toxic effects. Metformin was born.
Metformin came out in 1923 and is a type of drug called a biguanide. it's actually the only type in it's class still available as an anti-diabetic agent, because the other drugs in it's class that came out in the 1920s and 30s caused lactic acidosis and liver problems (similar to the types of reactions seen with galegine), and were taken off the market.
Metformin (and pretty much all oral antidiabetic agents in development at this time) didn't do well initially, probably because they came out the same decade as insulin, and insulin was a lot more effective at treating any kind of diabetes.
It fell out of use extremely quickly, and didn't get picked up again until the 1940s, when US access to antimalarial drugs was cut off, just as a war in the pacific was ramping up. Metformin was evaluated as an antimalarial during WWII, and while noted to have some anti-malarial properties (particularly as a malaria preventative) it also was noted to significantly lower blood sugar in diabetic patients- while not lowering blood sugar very much at all in non-diabetic patients.
This effect, rather than it's antimalarial properties, was what got scientists really interested. Unfortunately, it would not be until 1957 in France that metformin had its first major studies to determine that it did, indeed, work against diabetes. Metformin lost the race to the "first" (successful) oral antidiabetic agent by a year, to a different drug that was found while looking for a new antibiotic- Diabenese.
Metformin became a commercial success in France, while Diabenese became successful in the United States. Metformin would actually not be approved for use in the US until 1995.
But now we get to talk about what metformin does and why it's so freaking cool.
Type 2 Diabetes- lowers A1C (a measure of blood sugar control) by 1-2 full points
Prevents/reverses weight gain due to antipsychotics
Prevents and treats malaria
Makes the flu shot work better
Decreases severity of respiratory illness and complications related to the flu
Changes gut microbiome for the better
Regulates periods and reduces other symptoms in people with PCOS
Lowers risk of breast, colon, and prostate cancer
Lowers risk of dementia
Lowers risk of stroke
May increase lifespan
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“𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞”
2.8K, explicit, post China Sprint
Read on AO3 or bellow the cut
He’s still fuming even when the roar of all engines has shut off. Absurd move, and for what? Fucking out of the podium and pole again. He yanks the balaclava as he seizes the ‘55’ of the garage, each step he’s taken has slowly made the anger subside but still sits in his gut like lava.
Everyone turns to him with their eyes wide and unblinking and Charles breathes. So, they’re waiting for a scene. A screaming match or maybe blows but it’s not the stuff he and Carlos are made of— apparently. He bites his tongue in his mouth when Carlos comes, eyes deep and gone.
“What the fuck was that?” Charles repeats himself, but his tone is far lighter than he intended it.
“Not right now, okay?”
And just like that, he flips the switch. Just like that, Charles’ fire dies and he thinks anyway. He thinks whatever. He thinks good riddance.
Because it’s always been like this with Carlos. Always half-measures and stolen glances and mixed messages and never enough. He should’ve known better than to hope their last year would’ve been different.
If anything, this might just prove to be the worst one yet.
By the time he’s done with the media circus, smiling in the absurdity of his frustrations, he’s ran out of fuel to keep him fired up, and when Carlos approaches him –fucking finally– he’s only greeted with a tired, heavy sigh. “I have to speak to the stewards because of the shit with Alonso, listen—if I was too aggressive—”
Charles taps his chest and through the layers of fabric, he can still feel the heat coming off Carlos, the steady pumping of his heart and the hard carcass that surrounds it. “It doesn't matter. I've been there, too, haven't I?” he relents and it's pathetic. He knows.
But Carlos squeezes his fingers and looks at him puzzled, as he's often done lately. Half-here, half-somewhere else. One foot out, Charles remembers.
And he doesn't say anything else before he disappears from his grip again, Charles also doesn't stick around to listen.
Instead, he replays the sprint idly in his mind after he's showered, revisiting all the missed twists and turns and convincing himself that his fight with Carlos didn't fuck up his chances for a podium. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. What counts is tomorrow, anyway.
But then a flash and he's pushed out of the track like nothing but a bug and his head is spinning and it's a hundred degrees but his gut is boiling with more than just that. His heart is racing for more than just racing. Fucking see me, I'm right here.
I'm yours to push and shove.
He doesn't have to open his eyes and look down to know what he knows already. His shaft's hardening as he lies and overthinks, great. It's not the first time he's gotten hard after a fight on track, it's not even the first time he's gotten hard after a fight on track with Carlos. But it'd been a while, and it'd been a while since the race, too.
He bites his lower lip and eyes his problem. His cock is nestled only somewhat uncomfortably inside his briefs. He could leave it there, he's only halfway into hardness. But then it's also just 10 p.m. in Shanghai so he's got a few more hours to kill before he's ready to rest. Social media seems like a good idea for a minute until he watches one too many videos of the race and his minor issue goes right to considerable.
It's starting to itch, the fabric. But when he moves his hips a little bit the constriction provides friction and Charles' interest is piqued, then. Fine, he'll stoop lower. It's one sprint video that leads to interviews with bullshit excuses that make Charles lose himself in brown eyes like he's done for the last three and some years that then lead him to a myriad of Sainz footage and he's gone.
And Charles could call him up, could get the whole actual show. But Charles was weak enough already to turn down his apologies when Charles very much deserved them, Charles was weak enough already to just let him fucking push him over, he'd been weak enough lately.
This was still weak, of course. But it was at least between him and God. Did he mention he was the bigger man earlier already?
He throws the phone to his side when Carlos' smile begins spinning in his head after three or so photos. It always took so much of his face, but Charles noted that it didn't matter because his laugh was contagious. A lot of aspects of Carlos were like that, could make you feel whatever he wanted in just a flick.
Charles palms himself, just a press of the heel of his hand to his bulge and he breathes heavily. Inhaling deep as his teeth trap his lower lip. He turns over and pushes a pillow between his legs, just to keep the pressure subsided.
Except that Carlos' fingers earlier linger on his, in his mind, and Charles eyes his hand like it's foreign to his body. He's washed off, it's been hours already; there's no trace of Carlos' smell or his heat at Charles' fingertips but it doesn't hurt to imagine. It doesn't hurt to rub himself softly, index finger moving from his clavicle to his chest to his navel until Charles breathes heavily again before he pushes down the briefs and ends the charade that he's wishing this away. He squeezes the pillow harder between his legs to keep his cock from flinching at the cold of the dead darkness of his room. The nearly dead emptiness of the life he carries. And his finger draws faint circles on his body again. Aimless, odd-shaped figures across his arm and his torso and his shoulder just like Carlos would. Touch and graze him like Charles was made of the most precious marble.
And kiss him. Carlos would kiss him breathless. Would kiss him like his life depended on it, would kiss him like he'd fight him on track. Like he did today.
This is all that I've got— can you take it?
Charles bucks into the messy lump he'd already made of the pillow as a yes echoes in his head, chanting, nearly. Yes, I can fucking take it. You want to fight me harder than the rest? I'll meet you halfway there. I'm no coward. Crash into me if that's how bad you want it. We'll give them a bloody show.
He grunts when his tip grazes the silky fabric of the pillow just slightly enough to sting and he comes to think that maybe he ought to just get on with it and use his hand, instead, but the rough friction is good. The rough friction reminds him of calloused, big hands, tanner than his. Musky smells and hairy wrists that always manage to twist right how Charles needs. It's unbearable, really. How perfectly they piece together.
And now Carlos wants to fight me.
All because they have left us in these ruins.
It's not my fault they didn't pick him.
He whimpers as his rhythm picks up, back arched as he's shifted to topple the pillow that's now under his belly. He no longer worries about the cold because his many efforts now got him glistening in sweat and panting, just like he was inside the car earlier.
Riled up because of Carlos fucking Sainz, albeit in two entirely different ways. Or were they? Wasn't their predicament the entire cornerstone of Charles' current frustrations?
They couldn't love each other, they could never love each other. They couldn't even have each other, because they didn't have a say in that.
And they couldn't hate each other, either. They couldn't go at each other's throats.
Well, at least that's what I thought. But he didn't give a shit about that, did he? Maybe that could mean…
“Merde,” he moans when he starts rocking his hips easier because he's started leaking. The moist spot he's made gets slicker with each roll of his hips and soon he just thrusting wantonly into the misshapen lump.
He supports himself a little on his elbows on the mattress, back arched just enough to make room for him to thrust back in, and so he repeats in a frenzy dance. He imagines himself squeezed into nothingness like the pillow, and bucks harder, relentless. Carlos wouldn't lose the pace, not at least until the very– very end. But he wasn't Carlos. He was only the mess Carlos had made of him, whimpering and moaning into his mattress and about to come untouched like a fucking teenager.
I bet he's smiling. I bet this is what he's wanted all along. To see me lose my damn mind like this.
He curses and he can nearly taste the bleach they used to clean the sheets; his tongue dries in the cotton as he lets go of the fabric, and adjusts himself a little. Legs a little spread, this time just pressing on his knees and he moves his hips in circles. Charles breathes at the slight change of pace but his mind provides more reasons to keep him going. Flashes of Carlos meaty lips dropping wet kisses all over his back before he claimed him, the way his bushy eyelashes would flicker before he came, mouth slacking in a soundless ‘o’ that Charles always needed to stick his tongue into.
Carlos' breathy laugh and silly jokes and big hands, crowding all of him both in public and private. Did he even know? How easily can I be undone under his fingers? He picked up his pace again as frustration started filling him once more.
“Charles?”
Yes, he'd fucking say. Sharl all soft like nothing's ever been wrong in the world. Like they're not caught up in the shittiest situation. Like Charles isn't absolutely dreading the end of the season. Like Charles doesn't lo–
He freezes when a hand wraps around his nape and Charles feels like an exposed wire, ready to electrocute. But the hand holding him knows him all too well, and it is as firm as it is tender. So Charles breathes and leans back into it.
“Vai avanti,” Carlos whispers in his ear and Charles wants to kick him out, kind of. He also wants to turn around and kiss the living daylights out of him.
It's always a bit complicated after a race, anyway. Carlos is the one he has to beat all the time, no matter what, but he also needs to have Carlos do good.
And they can't fight, so they don't fight. They make love instead, which is its own kind of fight, if you ask Charles.
He moves slowly — slower than he was a second ago— and the hand at his neck is so hot suddenly the pillow is too cold and rigid and Charles is no longer interested in it. He twists his face to see him, but the room is pitch black and the angle isn't right anyway.
“Carlos…” he whispers. It's not a plea, he wouldn't call it that. He's still got some dignity left in him.
But Carlos answers like he's made to answer, and Charles reflects on how bad he's been to him for the last two or so hours, until he reflects that he's in fact been soft. They both have.
“Shh, keep going. I got you,” Carlos says, and the hand around his neck rolls down his spine slowly to sneak under and wrap around him and Charles moans louder this time because it's what he's wanted the whole fucking day, since that stupid stunt he pulled.
Touch me the way it fucking matters.
“Venga, amore,” he prompts again, in the weird mix of Spanish and Italian he can muster, just towering over Charles somehow. Here and there and all around and Charles is dizzy in lust and something as intoxicating. He pushes himself up, pressed fleshed against Carlos, who's still gripping him loose and Charles knows this is what he'll give him this time. Just this, not more.
You get one piece of me this time. You'll never have me whole.
Charles loves a good challenge.
But he wasn't aiming to win this particular battle, so Charles just moves against the hand holding him firmly, Carlos rubbing his thumb on his tip so the precum would make the grip pleasant while Charles lost himself to the sensations and soon he was bucking erratically into Carlos' fist before spilling his release all over it.
Carlos supports him through the wakes of his climax, holding him to his chest as he stands just right near the edge of the bed, dropping soundful kisses on Charles' shoulders that make him shudder while he's still coming down from his high, Carlos still milking him through.
After the lights have stopped sparkling, Charles finally looks up at him. “I’ve been texting you,” Carlos says at the side of his face, but he sounds amused.
Charles half shrugs, before turning around fully, arms thrown over Carlos' shoulders. “I've been busy.”
“Clearly.” Carlos' right hand is sticky on his hip.
“How did you get in here?” Charles inquires, after he finally gains some clarity.
“Asked Nicolas for a spare key. Told him that if he's gonna tell the media you and I kiss then he might as well help me give it a shot,” Carlos says but there's a trace of amusement in his tone.
Charles still frowns. “Seriously?”
“‘Seriously’ did I ask him for the key or ‘seriously’ did he tell the press we kiss on the mouth?”
Charles rolls his eyes because he didn't really care that much about the answer. The world wasn't burning, so, who cared if his manager joked on international TV about something that may not be a joke? Who cared if Carlos outed them to his manager in response?
He leans forward slowly and drops a kiss on Carlos' lips only to realize he still smells like gas and sweat and tastes like their energy drinks. “Are you still dirty from the race?” Charles blurts, almost absentmindedly.
Carlos slaps his cheek in response and it makes a slick sound cause it's still covered in cum. “You're one to talk about being dirty.”
He chuckles, head falling on Carlos shoulder and trying not to giggle too much but the embarrassment is slowly getting to him. When he stretches his neck again, big brown eyes are looking up to him like he hangs the moon every night.
It's hard to imagine this is the same Carlos that would force him out of the track. The same Carlos that will fight tooth and nails this year to prove Ferrari that they should've chosen him instead of Charles. But, then again, they were all different people once the lights went off.
Charles could never begrudge him.
“Wanna take a bath with me?” he offers. “You can do your hair routine on me so I can have amazing hair after a race like you do,” Charles adds, playfully.
“Anything for Lord Perceval,” Carlos jokes in the same nature.
“You know it isn't personal, right?” Carlos asks after they sit in the tub for a while. His fingertips are drawing circles on his scalp and Charles lives, however long this moment lasts, in a world where none of that matters.
For this fleeting, miniscule moment, he's just having a bubble bath with the most beautiful man he's ever been near.
“I know.” Does he wish it was? Does he wish Carlos wasn't lying?
“It's not easy, though. It's not what you and I are used to,” Charles says, honest, too. Carlos is the longest teammate he's ever had so comparisons are dull. But, still…
Carlos stares at him unblinking as he does, and his eyes sparkle with sadness and wonder alike. It's a weird mixture that only Carlos can pull off, Charles reckons. “I'm afraid we're heading into territory that's gonna have us outside of what we're used to, amor.”
Was it a threat or just a bad omen?
“I can't say I won't be aggressive again for the rest of the season. You know why this one is more important than most to me, Charles— but… but I can promise that I'll come back to you still after. And we'll sort it out.”
The corner of Charles' mouth draws up as he looks at him. Yes, he knows. Ever since Carlos joined him, three years and so ago, Charles has known.
The only place Carlos would ever serve him is the bedroom and the only way Carlos would ever be gentle with him is like this.
#charlos#f1 rpf#my shitty writing#anyway. im sorry for my transgressions its Charles' fault for leaving his radio on
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Strange Relationship - Steddie - E
A/N: This came to me the other morning while I was waiting for my hubby to finish in the bathroom before I had to leave my warm duvet cocoon, and I had to write it down. I guess “HOLE” is just that good of a prompt, because this is fic number 3 (first fic here, second fic here – all unrelated to each other). Don’t forget to check out all the other great fics at @steddiemicrofic too💖.
Written for prompt: HOLE | wc: 404 | E | cw: mentions past underage for US not for Europe where it happened
(Also on AO3)(check out my other ST fanfic on Tumblr here)
Strange Relationship: Of Sex & Revelations
If Steve was honest, he had a somewhat strange relationship with sex. He usually treated it like a sport. One that he was good at, but where the end game was to make sure his partner got off in the most spectacular way possible. His own pleasure was often irrelevant. He’d even faked it on occasion so the girl he was with didn’t think she’d left him hanging.
The last vacation his parents had taken him on had been to Europe where he’d met Mercedes. She was German, a year or so older than his sixteen at the time, and had none of the American puritanical hangs up about sex where dick goes in hole, jiggles around a bit, and a baby is made, the end.
She’d introduced him to the concept of female pleasure in a big way, not shy about teaching him exactly what she liked. He’d taken this knowledge when he returned to Hawkins and never looked back. His reputation was well earned. It was just that his hand and his imagination usually got him off better than actual sex with a girl.
But this, this was different. This was so different it was in another galaxy.
As Eddie slowly pushed into him, he thought he might understand why some of his dates had looked at him like he had performed a miracle. It wasn’t just the feeling of fullness, the burn, the stretch that made him moan into the pillow he had his face buried in, it was the sheer intimacy of the moment.
His body opening around Eddie’s cock, accepting it inside himself, was blowing his mind.
“Okay, Stevie?” Eddie asked, breathless.
“Yes, god, yes,” he promised.
When Eddie began to move properly, Steve forgot how words worked.
He came apart on Eddie’s cock, losing himself in the experience and the precious knowledge that it was Eddie inside him. Time was measured by the rocking of Eddie’s hips and the slick slide within his ass. He came without remotely touching his own cock or being able to stop it in the slightest, hole clenching around Eddie’s amazing dick.
Eddie stilled. Steve whined.
“K’p going,” he mumbled.
“Sweetheart, I don’t…”
“Please,” Steve begged. “Need … need…”
He didn’t have the words, but Eddie got it, gripping his hips, and reinitiating their previous rhythm. He was oversensitive, open, and in heaven.
As Eddie came, shuddering inside him, Steve felt perfectly complete.
(check out my other ST fanfic on Tumblr here)
#steddie#steddiemicrofic#steddiemicroficjanuary#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie ficlet#steve x eddie#eddie lives#eddie munson lives#steve/eddie#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#fanfiction#stranger things fic
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Along with what he recently said on Game Mess Mornings, Jeff Grubb and a co-host/guest also commented on the recent BioWare news on Game Mess Decides, in an episode called "BioWare Troubles". Here is a transcript of relevant quotes:
Grubb: "I saw this story first from Dean on GamesBeat, then I looked into it a little bit more. Let's start from the top. 50 people of the 250 people that work at BioWare are no longer there. These are not necessarily just low-level people, whatever that might mean, it's people who've been there a long time. It seems like a lot of people who might be pretty high in the chain and maybe have pretty high salaries. This feels like an aggressive cost-cutting measure for a studio that is being asked to cut costs for the first time in quite some time, but they haven't put out a game in a while. And EA is getting pretty strict about this sort of thing, and it's hitting BioWare, pretty much on the cusp of them releasing Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, a game that is now expected internally to come out next year [2024]. The summer of next year [2024] at the earliest is what I'm hearing."
---
Grubb: "It's rough. I talked about this a lot on Game Mess Mornings, so if you want the detailed reporting, feel free to listen to that. Just to summarize, kind've, what's happening here: EA is changing. Apex Legends is on the decline, I can confirm that. They said, publically they said they were too aggressive and too optimistic with their expectations for that game last quarter. That's what they told investors. [...] In my opinion, taking risks on things people really want, and having the best studio do the thing they're best at is the right answer, I think in EA's mind that would be like, good money after bad, is how I think they would view that.
The other factor here is that EA has had this corporate restructuring, it's no longer EA where everything's 'EA'. It is [now] EA Entertainment and EA Sports. EA Sports used to cover everything, where it's like, hey, that money from FIFA Ultimate Team is paying for BioWare to BioWare, they can keep being BioWare. And now those are two separate buckets of money. And Andrew Wilson, when they announced this split, the words he used were like 'financial accountability for our leaders'. Like, the writing was on the wall for this. BioWare doesn't look sustainable, probably, to EA, when they are no longer looking at that Ultimate Money as like 'oh, this pays the bills, we're fine'. So EA made this choice, BioWare made the tough cuts and now they have to go put out Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, a game that was supposed to come out this year - that's what they were aiming, they were aiming to put it out next month actually [September 2023. episode was recorded in August], was internally, was the first original goal. I know, it's impossible to imagine that now. But now they're thinking next summer [2024] at the earliest.
It was actually, for a little bit there, gonna be March 2024 at the earliest, that's not happening anymore, no way. So Summer [2024] at the earliest. And they're taking people off of [the next] Mass Effect to work on Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, so that means also [the next] Mass Effect is gonna be even further down the line. So, um, yeah, y'know... games are bigger than ever, they take more time than ever, and so the idea that, okay well, you're taking more time, but you're also gonna have fewer people working on these things, that doesn't feel like the right solution here. Baldur's Gate 3 shows that RPGs can be if not the biggest, among the biggest games in the world, how do you not lean into that, how do you not see that and lean into it? But I mean obviously these layoffs were in motion before they ever saw what Baldur's Gate 3 was doing."
---
Co-Host/Guest: "There are people who just, love Mass Effect and Dragon Age."
Grubb: "Yes, LOVE - IT."
Co-Host/Guest: "They still carry giant torches for those franchises. How do you mess that up? Cause they still care so much about those, right? Man, people still freak out about N7 Day and stuff like that. It seems like they should've just been able to make those games, like take breaks here and there maybe, but now, I just wonder, like what happens if Dragon Age: Dreadwolf comes out and it doesn't work quite well?"
Grubb: "Now, I don't want people to take away from this that that's what we're saying, that's that's what's gonna happen. That is a concern, and we're talking about that hypothetical. Still, what I've heard about Dragon Age: Dreadwolf is that they are pretty happy with where that game is at, internally. Now, it's taking longer, it's taking more time, it keeps getting pushed back, but that's every game, that's pretty much every game these days, goes through those growing pains. So that's not, some, you know, alarm bell ringing, or anything like that, but, y'know, internally being happy with the game and it being able to live up to, live in a world where all of these other massive games are coming out. Y'know, not just Baldur's Gate 3, Starfield's gonna be coming, Tears of the Kingdom happened, it's like, yeah, if Dragon Age: Dreadwolf comes out and it's just another Dragon Age, and it feels kinda like it hasn't grown much, you know like, if it's as good as Dragon Age: Inquisition, I don't know if that plays as well. But, internally, they're pretty happy with it. So, I mean, take that for whatever it means to anybody, for fans, I don't want people to be like, oh let's go light torches and freak out about this because the game's gonna be terrible now, that's not what I'm hearing."
Co-Host/Guest: "That is kinda like my concern though, is that an 'Dragon Age: Inquisition 2' would not be good enough anymore, I don't know."
Grubb: "Yes, I mean, that's my feeling, but I don't know. Again, we've noticed this, a lot of fans, maybe they would be happy with that. You know, I think as long as they get the characters that they really love, for the most part, many of those fans actually will be happy, but, we'll see."
---
Co-Host/Guest: "Apex Legends, that's like a whole other side of this story. There's been some intense stagnation in the shooter market."
Grubb: "By the numbers, the shooter genre is probably the biggest one, like the biggest genre of video game in terms of dollars and people who play, it's probably the shooter genre. There's probably an argument to be made for some others, but it's very very big. And that meant, you know, at certain times throughout our history of shooters, we would have 20 to 25 different shooters releasing over the course of a couple of years. All these other tertiary shooters. [...] [but] It does seem like these days that money is all sort've coalescing in Fortnight, and then a few other things hovering around Fortnight. [...] I mean, I'm hesitant to go be like, well, and this is the problem with live service games. Because obviously live service games have made a lot of money for the shooter genre.
And Apex Legends did pay a lot of the bills for a lot of these other games at EA, and enabled a lot of things, and it was a massive hit. So it's like, it did work for many years, and that's okay, right, like you made a product, you put it out there, it succeeded and made all this money for several years, and now it's not doing that anymore, and you gotta make something new. That's just the way it used to work, just on a shorter timeline. So it's like, oh, they expanded that timeline, that's nothing but a good thing. It's just like, okay well, how do you make something to replace Apex Legends. Cause back in the day it would've been like, make a sequel, the old one goes away, here's the new one. And now there's no like, obvious pathway towards making Apex Legends 2. [...] Internally, Apex Legends, on the decline, they're not expecting it to be the big thing for them going forward. Maybe they're able to bring it back, it's not gonna like, go away over night, it'll keep making money for them, but it's not going to be the The Answer to their problems. They will be looking for the next thing."
---
A question from chat asked "'BioWare Magic' - still there?"
Co-Host/Guest: "You know, I see a lot of people say this, people say it about Blizzard all the time. I get what they mean, and I get that they don't really mean magic, but y'know. Magic's not real. There's only hard work, good management, and other factors like that, and good people. But it's also, there's a part of me gets tired where I'm like, oh, those people aren't there anymore. Well yeah, a company like BioWare, whose first prime was in like 1997, of course, right. But, you know, a lot of people making Zelda today aren't the people who were making it in the past. And that series is still able to manage well, so. It's not necessarily about magic. I know what you mean by magic, but I don't really think it's about that. I think it's just about management and a lot of these other factors. Culture. Culture's the important thing. You kinda have to keep a culture consistent throughout. You can't be swayed by trends like 'let's make everything online multiplayer, let's have fifteen zillion microtransactions, we think RPGs aren't cool anymore'. That's the kinda stuff you gotta work against."
Grubb: "Yeah, Walt Disney's been dead for a long time and Disney still has some appeal, and it's like, well how does that work? I mean it works in that the people that get good in a certain discipline wanna go work at these studios, and so it's up to the people running those studios to make sure that they're attracting that kinda people. I think there's a lot of people working at BioWare who came there because they deeply care about BioWare and their games, and their fans, and I think a lot of those people were previously working on Star Wars: The Old Republic and kinda getting that game back into shape. A lot of those people are in charge of BioWare, and I think that's mostly a good thing. I would still expect good things from BioWare. Great things might be difficult, but I think the studio has the possibility to still put out games that really please fans, so. And I think the Mass Effect Legendary Edition, that sorta love letter, kinda proved that to a certain extent. Now let's just see if they can do that with a new game."
---
A question from chat asked "Why don't they remaster Dragon Age: Origins?"
Co-Host/Guest: "I think I understand why they don't necessarily wanna do a trilogy remaster like they did with Mass Effect, but why not just do Dragon Age: Origins at least? Are they worried that people will bristle because expectations are for a whole trilogy now?"
Grubb: "I think the sort've, it makes more sense as a trilogy, if they could do it as a trilogy, cause then you could put it out as this big $60, $70 thing, right. If you're just remastering Dragon Age: Origins, you gotta do a lot of extra work, you basically have to do a remake to get it to a $60, $70 thing, and then the expectation is, well then they'll do Dragon Age II and Dragon Age: Inquisition, and it's like, well they're not, they're not gonna do that."
Co-Host/Guest: "I know at least, Dragon Age: Origins looked uglier than Mass Effect 1, but I remember despite coming out after Mass Effect 1, Dragon Age: Origins may have been older tech, or at least was like definitely, was like noticeably an uglier game."
Grubb: "It wasn't Unreal Engine."
Co-Host/Guest: "And it was in development longer even than Mass Effect. So yeah, it would be harder to probably remaster than any of those Mass Effect games were, even the first one."
Grubb: "And the Mass Effect games were one continuous story with the same character, and it was all in the Unreal Engine, so it was just all kinda lined up easy to do a remaster trilogy of that. Dragon Age doesn't really have that going for it. Obviously a lot of crossover characters, a lot of characters from one game to the other, but not in the same way as Mass Effect."
[source]
#dragon age: dreadwolf#dragon age 4#the dread wolf rises#da4#dragon age#bioware#video games#mass effect#next mass effect#I'm about a week late posting this up sry :') been lost in the sauce of BG3#long post#longpost#sw:tor
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Because I’m an ass another what if ask for your Kris-mas:
In More than This - Steve deserves the world. That’s a fact. And I will not be taking questions. So my what if:
What if readers mom and Steve’s dad didn’t get together until they were adults?
If you don’t already know where I’m going with this…what if Linda was actually onto something about Steve and readers relationship (again they did not grow up together, etc.)
😘
Ok, first off, I'm answering your 2nd ask before your first and just ruining all continuity. 😂 I just love this question so much and couldn't wait to get it posted!
So, I thought very long and hard about this and I knew I wanted to rewrite a scene from More Than This with this alternate alternate universe in mind. I considered doing their Ch 2 conversation together right before the wedding with Linda as a kind of looming specter, but Steve let me know that in these circumstances, he would have taken control long before then. So instead, here is a rewrite of their first scene in Ch 1. This happens right after Joseph makes her sign the contract. I hope you like it!
This is also about 1.2k and really pushes the limits of the definition of a drabble.
Tell Me One Thing
Pairing: Steve Rogers x f!reader
Warnings: Explicit language, angst, hopeful ending
You let yourself into Steve’s apartment, using the key he’d given you on the day he’d moved in. He wasn’t in his front room, so you moved all the way to the back, to the spare room he used as an art studio. As you entered, you lightly knocked on the doorframe, trying not to startle him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-finished painting, but looked over his shoulder as soon as he heard you. There was a warm, loving smile on his face, but it dropped as soon as he took in your expression. “What happened?” he asked as you stepped into his arms.
“I think we might be really fucked, Steve,” you muttered into his chest. You knew you shouldn’t be taking comfort in his body right now; you should be starting the process of pulling away, putting distance between the two of you, but you just couldn’t. He was all you had and you didn’t know how you’d survive losing him.
He took your face in both hands and made you look at him. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded seriously, as his eyes searched your face. You were freaking him out.
You sighed. “Your dad–” you blinked away tears as Steve’s face darkened. Another sigh. “I’m engaged.”
He dropped his hands and stepped back, looking at you carefully. “You’ve been engaged before,” he said, his voice purposely measured, trying not to show he was upset. “Nothing ever comes of it.”
“I think this one is real, Steve.”
“What makes you think that?” his voice was harsh, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you. Never at you.
“They set a date.” His eyes widened and he pursed his lips. You took a deep breath and continued, “A month from now.”
“A month from now?” he almost shouted, and your resolve finally crumbled, unable to hold back the tears anymore.
“I’m sorry,” you shook your head while you tried to wipe the tears away. “I can’t– I–”
You were in his arms before you realized what had happened. “Hey, hey,” he soothed. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“How?” you asked. “How is it going to be ok? I’m getting married, Steve!”
He gently sat you on the couch and then pulled a chair from the corner to sit across from you, close enough that your knees touched. “I’ll talk to my dad. Buy us some time at least.”
You shook your head, remembering the most damning detail. “It won’t work. Everything’s already signed.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I signed. They made me sign, Steve. I’m so sorry!”
You felt him grab your hand and you reluctantly opened your eyes, afraid of what you’d find on his face. But when you made yourself look at him, all that was there was concern for you. How had you been so lucky as to find this man? Four years ago when your mother had finally been desperate enough to accept another arrangement, you’d only expected more of the same. Just another old man with a say as to what your future would look like. Joseph was exactly who you’d thought he’d be. But Steve, you never could have dreamed up Steve. Kind, attentive, generous, and so beautiful. The two of you quickly became very good friends, and then, after a drunken night out, something else. As you found yourself repeatedly falling into his bed, you knew you should stop. You both did. But you couldn’t. How were you supposed to resist him? He was your one good thing. So you kept it between the two of you, knowing your family would never stand for it. And before you knew it, you’d fallen in love with him. You’d kept that a secret too.
His voice brought you back to the present, his thumb gently moving over the back of your hand. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“What are we going to do, Steve?” you whispered. “I don’t think I can lose you.”
“You’ll never lose me,” he said, in his most serious voice. “Not ever. No matter what.” Neither of you said anything for the next several moments, Steve seemingly lost in thought, while you just tried to remember how to breathe. Then, finally, he spoke again. “Maybe nothing really has to change. We’ve kept this a secret for so long. We can just keep doing that.”
You took a deep breath, still not ready to confront the worst part of this. “He lives in Boston,” you said quietly. “I’ll be moving to Boston.”
Steve’s face fell, his hold on your hands getting tighter. “Who.” he said, without any inflection.
“Ransom Drysdale.”
Steve stood up so fast that the chair tumbled over behind him. “No,” he growled. “Absolutely not!”
“Steve,” you sighed, suddenly so tired, looking up at him from the couch.
He didn’t say anything, just stood there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head, his jaw ticking, staring into the corner.
You sank into the silence, holding your head in your hands. You couldn’t believe how quickly everything had fallen apart. You should have been more prepared. Of course, this day would come.
Finally, after you didn’t even know how long, Steve spoke again, still staring into the corner. “We could just go.”
Your head shot up. “What?”
He turned his attention back to you. “We could go. Tonight. Why not?”
“A thousand reasons why not!” You were suddenly shouting. What was he thinking? Where had this come from? You couldn’t keep up. “I– What? Where would we even go?!”
He shrugged. “Somewhere. Anywhere. I have a little money put away, don’t you? Anywhere we want.”
You wanted to shake him. “Steve, that’s not–” You shook your head. “That isn’t a plan!”
“You want a plan?” he asked.
You stood up, throwing your hands in the air. “Yes! At minimum!”
“Ok,” he nodded and then grinned at you. “Come back in an hour and I’ll have a plan.”
“Steve,” you breathed, helplessly.
He stepped back into your space, taking your face in his hands. “I love you. More than anything. Do you love me?”
Your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment then looked back at him. “Yes. You know I do.”
He nodded as a genuine smile lit up his entire face. He was so beautiful. “I think, I’ve always known we might have to do this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it’s always been there. I’m not losing you. Especially not to Ransom Drysdale,” he growled the name. “Go home, get Lola. Maybe an overnight bag. Then come back here and I’ll have a plan for you.”
You searched his face, for what you didn’t entirely know. He was confident, resolute. Sure. Despite yourself, you nodded. “Ok.”
You started to pull away but his hands on your face wouldn’t let you. You looked at him in question and he shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve been in my home all this time, and I haven’t kissed you yet. What’s wrong with me?” He leaned in and kissed you, gently at first, but as soon as you started kissing him back, he made it more passionate, filthier. It felt like he poured everything he wanted you to know into it. How much he loved you. How sure he was of a future together. This, of all things, had you believing, too, that maybe it was possible.
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I know I mostly just ask random thoughts about brozone and how unbelievably angsty they are but
What about any headcannons about brozone? Individually or as brozone as a whole?
-🦦
(Also happy holidays!!)
Oh, that's a fun question. I genuinely haven't put too much conscious thought into it but I have a few that I can share off the top of my head.
There's at least one headcanon involving Branch in there for all of them but I might follow up with more headcanon posts somewhere down the line. (Excuse the funny little doodles, I wanted to see if I could make decent headers and I did... okay.)
-> He doesn't like being alone. He didn't spend the twenty-some years after BroZone broke up just on his own in the Neverglades but instead hopping around from place to place looking for new experiences and new people to meet. He'd always go back to the Neverglade Trail, though. Just in case someone needed him.
-> It was still really lonely but he never thought too much about his brothers or the Troll Tree. He's an expert at denial and avoidance.
-> He's pushy with Branch because he wants to try and help Branch be more open and direct with him but he doesn't really know how to sit down and have a serious conversation about it.
-> He's not stupid. He can be unobservant and a bit full of himself but he has a good head on his shoulders.
-> He and Branch bond over survivalist tips.
-> He was worried he was going to be a bad father. He still had a lot of stuff he was working on when he and Brandy had their first kid and he was old enough that he really didn't remember his dad. He certainly didn't want to emulate John Dory. He knew they'd be okay the second he saw his son in Brandy's arms for the first time.
-> Brandy helped him get over the toxic mindset BroZone gave him and while he can still struggle sometimes he's never been happier.
-> Amazing cook. His food is amazing. Cooking, baking, it's all divine.
-> He cooks for Branch a lot when he visits. At first it's because he couldn't get the image of his baby brother out of his head but then it was because Branch had confessed that no one really cooked for him before and he just couldn't have that.
-> Clay chose the admin building as his room back when he was still desperate to be anything other than the fun boy. He regrets it.
-> He and Viva have bonded a lot about their family traumas, especially over how much they missed their siblings. He never wanted to stay away as long as he had but after they found refuge in the Golf Course he never got the courage to leave Viva behind to go find his brothers.
-> Clay's hair just naturally changed color with age. It wasn't stress-induced or anything, it just happened. Like how some blonds change to brunette when they get older.
-> He really likes crossword puzzles and sudoku. It has nothing to do with his desire to distance himself from his fun persona. He's just a nerd.
-> He really enjoys Branch's input. Branch is an incredibly handy, if not a bit paranoid, realist who isn't afraid to share his opinions. It's really helpful when it comes to safety measures or even trying to avoid complicated emotions.
-> Floyd may be alive but he doesn't recover fast. The effects of the diamond vacuum (exhaustion, weakness in the limbs, a chill in his bones, dizziness, etc.) linger with him for years afterward and he finds it incredibly frustrating.
-> Floyd is such a smug little shit. He will give you shit and tease you to hell and back and then give you the most innocent smile immediately after.
-> He moves into Pop Village after he's rescued. It reminds him a lot of the Troll Tree when he was a kid and it's bittersweet.
-> He finds out about Branch's puzzle tradition and the two of them start doing daily puzzles together.
-> Floyd's pod is in the clearing where Branch's bunker is.
Surprisingly I don't really know what to put for Branch here but I think I'll reblog this later with additions for Branch and Poppy.
I hope you enjoy the holidays, thanks for the fun question.
#{ the sensitive one }#{ the leader }#{ the fun boy }#{ the heartthrob }#| branch answers |#| branch rambles |#( 🦦 )#dreamworks trolls#trolls floyd#trolls john dory#trolls bruce#trolls clay#trolls brozone#| Clue Board |
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Underground, Pt. 2
Once they return to the Genii homeworld, their poor sense of direction is again highlighted. Sheppard actually says "I prefer a straight line" but what he actually does is the complete opposite of this. And while Rodney teases Sheppard about being lost, he's exactly as lost as he is. They walk unnecessarily close, bumping into each other. They banter. They seem to be real comfortable around each other.
Sheppard, uh. Checks McKay's assets in the barn.
He was actually watching McKay's "six" for real, too. All the team members usually arrange themselves around McKay in some formation likely because he is inexperienced in field work and a valuable asset. Here, Sheppard could have entered the barn in front of Rodney to make sure it's safe, but he opts to trail after the man, guarding him from behind, allowing McKay to lead the way. They are working as a team. Also, Sheppard does go down the hatch first to take the brunt of what ever might be in there. Later on, in the hive, he actually explicitly tells McKay "Okay, I'll cover your six. Go!"
They are having such a good time together that Sheppard actually has to remind McKay that they are there for a reason. He also seems to be continuing to educate McKay on how to act on a mission like he did at the beginning of Childhood's End:
McKay: I'm picking up a strange reading from right over there.
Sheppard: Define strange.
McKay: You don't know what ‘strange' means?
Sheppard: I know what ‘strange' means, Rodney ...
McKay: Weird, freakish, odd ...
Sheppard: ... I'm just trying to determine whether it's worth getting off the route back to the village.
He calmly explain why he needs to know and needs McKay to be clear about it.
We never see Sheppard teach him about weapons other kind of military training, even though McKay does become somewhat proficient in them over the years. But this we see, Sheppard instructing McKay on what he needs to know when they're on a mission and how communication on the field differs from regular communication.
Then, of course, they get caught. Tell me McKay's first instinct here isn't to grab Sheppard's hand:
In the underground bunker scene, they mirror each other to a ridiculous extent. Once more, a sign of attraction. Even with guns pointed at them, they seems to be in this world of their own having a private conversation. They are also finishing each other's sentences.
Notable is that they're also both trying to keep the other safe, here. Sheppard communicates to McKay through a mere look that he shouldn't reveal all of their cards to the Genii. McKay, on his part, offers up his own know-how in hopes that they will be spared. It's very sweet.
The bit where Sheppard shifts in his seat and licks his lip after McKay tells him that most of his high school chess club could design an A-bomb has been pointed out by many:
Aroused? Maybe. But I've pointed out before that this mouth thing he does when he's feeling some kind of discomfort, it's a nervous tick. While they have been bantering and going back and forth all day, possibly because he's feeling uneasy that McKay has started asserting his intellectual superiority here and while it's mostly directed toward the Genii, Sheppard does receive some of it. He doesn't like it, obviously. It's natural to feel the need to be liked and respected by someone you are attracted to.
We also return to the topic of having children (cf. Childhood's End). Sheppard is worried about the radiation exposure McKay is describing. He tells Sheppard that they're going to be fine, as long as he wasn't planning on having children, clearly jesting. John's reaction is interesting:
His first, purely instinctual response is a nod to Rodney. Subconsciously yes, he does. But then he shakes his head, which is the more measured response. He also seems confused, probably because he can't be 100% sure whether McKay was joking or not. Like he's suddenly thinking at least a dozen things at the same time. Interesting that we keep return to this topic. (Also, there's kind of a ring composition going on between the final season and the first, which is why they return to the topic then).
Related to this, I did wonder about the nature of Cowen and Tyrus' relationship here. Tyrus has a daughter, so the viewer will naturally interpret him as a straight man. However, we never see nor hear any word of Sora's mother. Unlike Tyrus, Cowen has curly hair and Sora's curls are her most notable feature. Cowen very obviously holds her in high regard. But it's the way he sits down, defeated, once they return to the jumper and he finds out that they lost Tyrus, that Tyrus is dead. Like he doesn't think his legs will carry anymore. Clearly Cowen cared very deeply about Tyrus.
And oh, here is the exact moment John Sheppard falls in love (this is during McKay's technobabble about separating different radioactive isotopes which is to say, being completely in his element):
This is when he goes from being interested in and attracted to this strange person that has come into his life to "Oh sh--."
Even when they are in the wraith ship, surrounded by a thousand terrible things and McKay is about to undertake the potentially extremely dangerous task of cutting into its electric wiring, Sheppard can't quite keep his eyes off of him. One would think that cutting into a living ship, something he cannot ever have seen previously, would be pretty interesting and worth looking at. But, uh. Gotta check out the boo first. You have a problem, my friend.
(And let's maybe return to the vagina symbolism of the wraith and the hives at some other time but wow, is it not subtle).
Finally, let me point out a contrast in visual story-telling:
Weir is wearing a skimpy light tank top, Sheppard is wearing a black turtleneck sweater and his hands are folded, a universal sign of a defensive posture. They are alone in a poorly lit balcony outside, so the reason can only be her. They are made to clash, not to complement.
Whereas with McKay and Sheppard, we are not only made to note their similarity here, but also the open body language they have toward one another while having guns pointed at them by bad guys, and while they are inside, underground, in a bunker, the scene is very softly lit.
As already stated, there were so many people involved in making this happen.
#stargate atlantis#sga#sga meta#john sheppard#sheppard is bi#rodney mckay#rodney is gay#ep. underground
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new year, new food crime
I hate it when recipe bloggers tell you the entire rundown of their day before giving the recipe, so just to start off, I'm going to put this here:
3 cups of liquid (water + shrimp water)
3 packets unflavored gelatin
1 tbsp vegetable base (or a bouillon of some kind; that'd probably be fine)
1 large handful of shrimps (approx 20)
3 eggs, hard-boiled and sliced
1 small bag mixed frozen vegetables, thawed
a gelatin mold or bowl with a capacity of 4 cups
now, looking at this ingredients list you might be asking, "hey SBS, what the fuck did you cook this time?" and to that I say: buckle up.
so I've been watching Arne & Carlos' videos for a bit, firstly because I was curious if they were gay (they seem to be), and secondly because I like their knitting patterns
but their channel isn't just knitting! they also cook together, and it's fun and chaotic, and one of the things they cooked…intrigued me.
I don't know how this dish is spelled. cabaret? kabaret? there are only a few recipes for it online, and most of those are not in english. but essentially, it is a Norwegian aspic with shrimp, vegetables, and hard-boiled egg in it.
what is aspic, you might ask? well, it's…I mean…it's meat jello. that's what it is. you cook meat for a while (some recipes say to use pig's feet, snout, etc), and it makes a gelatinous broth, which solidifies when it cools.
delightful!
however, I am not willing to make aspic from scratch for this, so I substituted it with unflavored gelatin packets. hooray!
(apparently in Norway, you can buy packets of instant aspic! but since you can't do that here, I looked up what ingredients are in instant aspic, and after putting them through google translate, decided "huh, seems like gelatin powder with some kind of bouillon", so that's how I ended up here)
this recipe isn't so much cooking as it is…construction. like sure, you heat up the gelatin, but after that it's pretty much just putting stuff together.
and apparently you can make this with pre-cooked or canned shrimp, but I only had the raw frozen kind, so I put them in a saucepan with just enough water to cover them, heated them until they were fully cooked, and then saved the water from the pan to mix in with the gelatin.
so, shrimpy water + enough water to make 3 cups of liquid, and then I mixed in vegetable base until it tasted…fine. (it didn't taste good, it just tasted…okay.)
then I heated up the liquid in the microwave (in a big 4-cup measuring cup), mixed in the three gelatin packets, and there you go! that's all of the cooking done.
now, for the assembly.
I put some of the shrimp all the way at the bottom of the jello mold, trying to arrange it so that it would look nice. I sliced the hard-boiled eggs, and put the prettiest slices of egg around the edges, sprinkling in some vegetables and pouring gelatin as I went.
…and then I gave up on being artistic, and just kinda lumped everything else in, and covered it with the gelatin mixture.
(unfortunately I didn't think to take pictures of the assembly portion of this, because I was multitasking at the time and got distracted, but you'll just have to trust me that it was a tolerable experience, and didn't look very interesting)
after that I chucked it into the fridge (gently), and left it alone while I streamed with makerrcat for a bit, stayed up way too late, and then passed out in a dramatic fashion.
13-ish hours later, I rescued it from its frigid prison.
hmmm
stare into the murky depths with me for a moment. look at this…nightmarish placid soup. this motionless broth.
one of my egg slices definitely didn't get covered all the way.
ah, well.
to unmold this monstrosity, I put it in a bowl of hot water for a minute or so, until it seemed like it could pull away from the edges. it really didn't take much, so if you (god forbid) try this yourself, keep an eye on it. gelatin melts fast.
then I put a plate over the jello mold, and flipped it over.
after a few tense seconds, it released from the mold with a slimy kthnk sound.
carefully. nervously. I lifted the mold.
and then I let out an involuntary "oh!" because…
…it's kind of…eerily beautiful?
like in a horrifying sort of eldritch way, it looks…lovely
vegetables and shrimp and eggs, suspended not just in space but in time, preserved and surrounded by a gelatinous cocoon…
I just like staring at it, okay! I just think it looks cool! so here's another picture of it from the side:
the egg slices…the little bits of yolk…enchanting
it definitely smells like food. but it's unclear what kind. vaguely shrimp-vegetable-egg, but muddled
let's cut into it
oh. oh god. it made kind of a…squelch? when I cut it?
hold on, you have to experience this for yourselves
god. deeply unsettling.
now, seeing what the inside is like is kind of interesting! there are places where the gelatin has sort of splintered apart from being cut, and there are gaps where pieces of vegetable have fallen out.
but...how does it taste?
...
fuck.
I really like it
this bizarre combination of textures is weirdly satisfying! the squish of the egg and the gelatin, the slight crunch of the vegetables and shrimp, it's just…good?
the gelatin itself just tastes vaguely of broth, but I don't mind it! I don't know if I would eat it by itself, but with the shrimp, egg, and veggies, it's perfectly okay!
the shrimp, egg, and vegetables of course just taste (respectively) like shrimp, egg, and vegetables, but that's...fine? I like all of these things, so this is pretty enjoyable!
so, some of the recipes I managed to find mention serving it with sort of a mayo-mustard mix, so obviously I have to try that
this...helps? like, it tastes really pleasant?
not that it was bad before, but it remains an enjoyable experience!
and a video that I saw (but could not understand) seemed to show it served on a piece of bread, again with the mayo-mustard.
this is also fine! I enjoy this too! I don't feel like it needs the bread, but it's all right!
this is bizarre.
I think most people would probably hate this. it's got the look of a 1960s party food (which is probably what it is), and "meat jello" isn't a texture that modern society regularly enjoys, but…I love it.
I actually love this.
I kind of understand now why people call dishes like this a "jello salad", because…I mean, I'm eating it, and my brain is saying, "yup. this is a salad" and I have no fucking idea why, but this right here? salad. for sure.
cold, wet salad.
damp, even.
so like...is this objectively good food? probably not.
but is it fun to eat? I think so.
it's refreshing, somehow. it's light, but also more filling than I expected it to be. I have no idea how much would be considered a reasonable serving, but I intend to figure it out as I go along.
so I'm not saying "go make this!" because although this combination of textures plays well with my brain in particular, I don't think that would be the case for everybody.
but I will be eating the rest of this.
weirdly? weirdly, it's just good.
-
an edit, a few days later:
I have done it. I have consumed the entire thing. and I enjoyed every bite of it.
in fact, I plan on making it again! probably more than once!
food crime? no. food…
(pauses to look up what the opposite of "crime" is)
…food blessing. food virtue. food achievement! food…benevolence.
this is what cabaret is.
at least, that's what it is to me.
(create and consume at your own risk.)
#food crimes#food#beware the tags if you haven't clicked the read more#beyond this point there are spoilers#well. I dunno. can a food crimes post be spoiled? who knows. probably#anyway#you have been warned#cabaret#kabaret#aspic#gelatin#shrimp#by the way#I decided a reasonable serving is about 1/4 of this recipe#that was enough for lunch#serve it with a slice of bread and a glass of milk#and I think that'd probably be enough for dinner#for me anyway#idk how other humans operate#I did genuinely enjoy this by the way#this isn't a joke - I really genuinely loved this#there was something so pleasant about the texture#it's hard for me to explain#but it was delightful#joyous even#and I will make it again#oh! another thing#one thing that's the opposite of ''crime'' is ''justice''#so it could be ''food justice''#which is‚ if I'm not mistaken‚ what happens in a food court
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Dungeon Meshi Anime Review, Season 2, Episode 17 review
OH GOD OKAY here we go...
Once again, I am a broken record: good episode!
My two major complaints:
The bit where Laios and Kabru stand around talking next to an off-screen, roaring, screaming monster seemed kind of silly in animation. In a comic it works, but they really should have animated them walking or stumbling away while delivering those lines, having them just stand there until the monster attacks them again is really goofy.
ALSO, something Trigger keeps doing that I am NOT a fan of, is throwing animated speed-line backgrounds behind characters when they're reacting to something. Sometimes these were in the original manga, other times they are NOT... and they break the immersion of the anime completely IMO.
The coloring in DM is so moody and wonderful, the aesthetic is generally grounded, so when suddenly the background is bright blue or lime green or pink and strobing, it's VERY jarring... and the joke DOES NOT NEED these effects in order to be funny! In fact I think it leeches some of the humor out of the jokes.
Imagine if every time someone had a strong emotion in a classic Disney movie you'd get this:
This type of sudden background color change, strobing and speed lines are artifacts of older, cheaper anime, tricks that used to be done to hide the lack of budget, as a way to make a quick joke. It's now used as a shorthand to tell people a joke is happening.
But Trigger doesn't NEED to use these tricks, they're using them because "that's how you make sure the audience knows a joke is happening", but the jokes in Dungeon Meshi are so well written, you don't need to cue us with a visual laugh-track, Trigger!!!! ESPECIALLY when Kui didn't do it in the manga!!!
They've done it in other episodes, but I felt like they were particularly noticeable and bad in this one. Makes me sad because I feel it's dragging the anime down from the genuine peak of artistry that it's otherwise achieving.
As always, animation is fantastic. The stuff with chimera falin is obviously top notch, brutal and fast and amazing... But I also have to say that the Toshiro and Laios argument was animated INCREDIBLY well, with a lot of loving detail given to what is, ostensibly, just talking, something Trigger normally hates to animate.... But they put movie-quality work into that argument and it really paid off.
Honestly can't think of much to complain about. It's a solid adaptation of this part of the story, one of the biggest, coolest action sequences that we've all been waiting for.
Vocal performances were all great in both English and Japanese. Kabru's English voice actor did a great job, despite my misgivings about him in previous episodes. I hope he continues to improve.
A dub script change had Kabru think "He's excited" about Laios instead of "his pupils are dilated"... This isn't a terrible change, but a bit baffling. Saying his pupils are dilated tells viewers HOW Kabru knows Laios is excited, and indicates that he is using some kind of scientific criteria to measure it, it makes him sound smarter and more detached from what he's doing. Just saying "he's excited" doesn't tell us how Kabru knows... and it's a thought, not dialog, so it's weird for them to change it in the script, since there's no need to match mouth-flaps.
The sequence where Kabru strips off all his armor and does a surprise attack on Falin is still fantastic in this, though I am a little bit sad that they didn't find any ways to add any extra emphasis for it - in the manga it's drawn out a bit, to the point where you might miss what was happening on your first read... I think the amount of shots we got in the anime was the same as in the manga, but somehow it felt less impactful to me. Maybe pacing?
At any rate, it was an incredibly solid episode.
I already liked Toshiro, but seeing this part of the manga animated really made me like him more, I hadn't realized in the past just how damn romantic the twin bells thing was, but damn. Toshiro really has forgiven Laios by the time they part ways here, it's easy to forget that since Toshiro very much takes a back seat after this.
#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#dunmeshi#spoilers#review#dungeon meshi spoilers#delicious in dungeon spoilers
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