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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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How to save the new from Big Tech

This Saturday (May 20), I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on May 22, I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On May 23, I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

It’s no longer controversial to claim that Big Tech is a parasite on the news business. But there’s still a raging controversy over the nature of the parasitism, and, much more importantly, what to do about it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/18/stealing-money-not-content/#beyond-link-taxes

This week on EFF’s Deeplinks blog, I kick off a new series on the abusive relationship between Big Tech and the news, analyzing four different dirty practices and proposing policy answers to all four:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The context here is that various governments around the world have taken notice of the tech/news problem, and are chasing a counterproductive “solution” — the “link tax,” where tech firms are required to pay for the links and short snippets their users or news search-tools make to news-stories. In some cases, the “tax” is indirect: tech is required to negotiate a payment to make up for other misdeeds (like ripping publishers off with ad fraud).

You can argue that this isn’t a link tax, it’s just pressure to bargain, but because these rules typically ban platforms from simply blocking publishers’ content if they can’t reach an agreement, they become link taxes: “You must carry links, and you must pay the sites you link to” isn’t meaningfully different from “You must pay for linking to those sites.”

This “must-carry” dimension — requiring tech firms to publish links to sites they don’t want to link to — has lots of things wrong with it, but in the US, must-carry has a showstopper bug: it contravenes the First Amendment and any law with a must-carry provision is unlikely to survive a court challenge. So people who care about protecting the news from Big Tech predators — like me — need to try other approaches.

But no matter where you are, requiring tech to pay fees to news is the wrong approach. For one thing, it’s a solution that only works for so long as Big Tech stays big: that means that efforts to break up Big Tech, force it to pay taxes and fines, and limit its profits (say, through privacy laws that end surviellance ads) are incompatible with link taxes and adjacent proposals.

The big risk here is that news outlets will become partisans in the fight against shrinking Big Tech, because news companies’ destinies will be linked to the tech giants’ own fate. More immediately, there’s the risk that news companies that depend on negotiating payments from Big Tech will not act as the effective watchdogs we need them to be.

That’s not just a hypothetical risk: in Canada, Big Tech entered into negotiations with the Toronto Star — the country’s widest-circulating paper — ahead of a proposed “news bargaining code” that was working its way through Parliament. Once that settlement was reached, the Star abruptly killed “Defanging Tech” its excellent critical series on the tech giants it had just climbed into bed with:

https://www.thestar.com/news/big-tech.html

Another important risk from “bargaining codes” and link taxes is that they tend to favor the largest and/or most sensationalist news companies, who have the leverage to bargain for the highest sums. In Australia, Rupert Murdoch’s NewsCorp bargained for a sizable payment from the tech sector — but then it laid off its news workers. Merely transferring money to media giants doesn’t mean an increase in investment in news. That’s especially true in the Canadian context, where a US vulture-capitalist fund bought out the National Post and its nationwide affiliates and then loaded the chain up with debt, while hacking newsroom staff to the bone and beyond. There’s no reason to think that tech payments to the Post will go anywhere except to the financial speculators who are its major creditors.

Meanwhile, the proposed US version, JCPA, has a payout schedule based on the number of clicks a news outlet generates for each platform — a metric that will see the lion’s share of money going to the far-right clickbait sites that push conspiracy theories, disinformation, and culture-war nonsense — and see floods of social media traffic as a result.

Any solution to the tech/news conflict should benefit the news, and the workers who produce it — not the shareholders of the giant companies whose short-sighted consolidation, mass firings, and sell-offs of physical plant created the hyper-concentrated, brittle news sector of today:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/16/sociopathic-monsters/#all-the-news-thats-fit-to-print

Luckily for the news, there’s a whole bushel of policy levers we can yank on to make the news better, stronger, and more sustainable, even as tech monopolies and the surveillance they rely on are consigned to the scrapheap of history.

In this series — which will publish weekly over the next four weeks — I’ll dig into four policy prescriptions for making a better news that is free of Big Tech, not dependent on it:

I. Break up ad-tech: Following the lead of Senator Mike Lee’s AMERICA Act, we must end the ad-tech sector’s self-dealing. Ad-tech scoops up 51% of every ad-dollar. That’s thanks to the ad-tech companies practice of offering marketplaces in which they represent both advertisers and publishers: that’s like a game where the referee pays the salaries of the head coaches for both teams. If we pare back the ad-tech tax to, say 10% and split the difference between advertisers and publishers, then every publisher will see an immediate 20% increase in their top-line revenue, without having to “bargain” for a “voluntary” payment from tech companies.

II. Ban surveillance ads: America is long overdue for a federal privacy law with a private right of action. When we finally get such a law, surveillance advertising is dead. Ad-tech has long argued that people like ads, so long as they’re “relevant,” a state that can only be attained through continuous, invasive surveillance. In reality, no one consents to surveillance — which is why, when Apple gave its users a one-click opt-out from spying, 94% blocked spying (unfortunately, Apple only blocks its competitors from spying on Apple customers; even if you opt out of spying on your Apple device, Apple will continue to spy on you).

The natural successor to surveillance ads is context ads: ads based on the content you’re looking at, not the surveillance data an ad-tech platform amassed on you without your consent. Context ads are intrinsically better for publishers: no publisher will ever know as much about a reader’s behavior than a spying ad-tech platform, but no ad-tech platform will ever know as much about a publisher’s own content than the publisher does.

That means that the benefits of a ban on surveillance ads wouldn’t just be an end to creepy internet spying — it would also transfer power from tech companies to news companies, online performers and other creative workers.

III. Open up app stores: 30% of every dollar spent on app-based digital subscriptions is claimed by two companies, Google and Apple, the mobile duopoly. This app store tax is a pure transfer from news to tech. The EU’s Digital Markets Act and the proposed US Open App Markets Act are both designed to kill the app store tax. Dropping mobile payment processing fees from 30% to the industry standard 2–5% will instantaneously make increase the revenue from every subscriber by 25% or more.

IV. Make social media end-to-end: Tech platforms’ predictable enshittification strategy always ends with publishers no longer being able to reach their subscribers unless they pay to “boost” their content. Social media companies claim to be facilitators of the connection between publishers and audiences, but in reality, they take those audiences hostage and ransom them off to publishers. An end-to-end rule for social media would require platforms to reliably deliver material published by accounts to their own followers, who asked to see that material.

The debate over news and tech starts from the erroneous — and dangerous — assumption that the platforms are stealing the news media’s content, by letting their users talk about, quote and link to the news. This isn’t theft: if you’re not allowed to talk about the news, then it’s not the news — it’s a secret.

The platforms are stealing from news, though: they’re not stealing content, they’re stealing money. Between sky-high ad-tech rakes, app store taxes, and ransom demands to reach your own subscribers, the tech companies have grabbed the majority of money generated by news workers and the companies they work for.

Ending this theft will produce a more sustainable and robust source of funding for the news — without compromising news companies’ ability to aggressively hold tech to account, and without propping up financialized, hollowed-out media monopolies at the expense of an independent press.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/18/stealing-money-not-content/#beyond-link-taxes

[Image ID: EFF's banner for the save news series; the word 'NEWS' appears in pixelated, gothic script in the style of a newspaper masthead. Beneath it in four entwined circles are logos for breaking up ad-tech, ending surveillance ads, opening app stores, and end-to-end delivery.]

Image: EFF https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

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

#pluralistic #eff #end-to-end #big tech #monopoly #news bargaining codes #link taxes #open app markets act #ad-tech #antitrust #digital services act #breakups #america act #privacy law #app store breakups #app stores #digital markets act

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rocicrew · 1 year

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#the expanse #theexpanseedit #naomi nagata #klaes ashford #marco inaros #mine : gifs.#i am unable to stop making naomi gifsets that hit me right in the feels #she tried sm to do that #even with marco in her youth #she wanted to change things - for the better -#but every attempt ended up being weaponized #her code #giving the protomolecule as a bargaining chip and that ending up in marco's and later duarte's hands #(not that i think she's responsible for it bc fred had the sample for years - it was his responsibility at that point)#and nearly tearing up the new family she found #her work on the behemoth - rlly wanting and needing to be a part of the belt's step forward -#and seeing that ship be used as a weapon to fire to the people she loves #(i tried to find another way but there isn't)#and she's left in this in between of wanting to be involved wanting to take action for the better and fearing the cost #because it has always been the same cost #she even thinks she killed filip for the greater good #and that's i think where she gets misunderstood #at least in the terms of loyalty #because she's not really selfish nor truly disloyal #it's just that her loyalty doesn't come without questioning (not to a nation not to even a person)#because blind loyalty led her to the worse outcome

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satorimoney · 1 year

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I’m a bargain hunter – the ‘secret’ TKMaxx codes that help you find genuine bargains

YOU might be missing out on a few TKMaxx bargains \- and it’s all in the codes you look for. Bargain hunter Hotukdealstt shared on TikTok exactly how to look for these worthwhile Read Full Text

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#I’m a bargain hunter – the ‘secret’ TKMaxx codes that help you find genuine bargains #Money #News #Top #UK #US

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one-time-i-dreamt · 11 months

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Not a dream

Was just talking to a friend about clothes and she was telling me she loves my style but she can never find anything affordable and cute so I am going to teach her all of my tricks and share knowledge about buying on a budget. I love helping people.

I also gave her some unworn items that I no longer fit in because she loved them. ❤

I hunt for bargains, buy things second hand from people and thrift. I don't remember the last time I bought anything for a full price or brand new (except undies). That's my rec to anyone.

I also use BestSecret and you can find really nice clothes there from previous seasons on big sales. I bought a really expensive coat that had a button missing and a few threads loose there for maybe 15 euros and I fixed it up. Usually the items are in perfect condition though.

Idk why BestSecret even has invitation style joining (I think you get perks as the person who invited someone) because it's a really good site.

Here's my code if anyone wants to join. Pretty sure I get some sort of points for it and I think maybe a discount once I give out all 6 invitations and people join in but this is not sponsored in any way!

https://invite.bestsecret.com/V5V-AYG-VVU?c=hr&utm_campaign=app_invitation&utm_medium=app&utm_source=invitation&utm_content=registration

Last thing I was looking for there was a cheap but cute dress for a wedding this summer, since I gained weight and don't fit into my fancy clothes.

I really liked this one but held off on purchasing because my laptop broke suddenly and fixing it up cost a lot of money so now they're out of my size.

The green one is just sooo pretty. There's an orange version but I don't like it as much.

#not a dream #fashion #advice

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imagining-in-the-margins · 8 months

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🏖️ Summer Sunshine Fics

Hey everyone! I want to start by saying thank you so much to everyone who participated - it was so much fun to write alongside you all, and I can’t wait to share everyone’s hard work. You are so appreciated, and the diversity only makes these events better.

Without further ado, here are all of the entries + recs for the Summer Sunshine Challenge! ☀️

☀️ SFW S.R./Reader ☀️

Sleepy Sunshine by @ssahopelessly: [Fem] After time in the sun, Reader wants a nap, but Spencer is more concerned about the signs of heat exhaustion.

Check You for Ticks by @andiebeaword: [Fem] Reader gets set up to share a tent (and a sleeping bag) with Spencer.

Embarrassed by @babymetaldoll: [Fem] The annual FBI beach trip could be the perfect place to make things even more awkward between Spencer and Reader.

Little Miss Reid, Entrepreneur by @/babymetaldoll: [Fem] Spencer and Reader help their daughter with her lemonade stand. So does the BAU.

Heat Stroke by @0and0its0doctor0: [Fem] Reader is self-conscious about the scars on her arms so she wear long sleeves in the heat.

Beach by @c-m-stuff: [Fem] Reader and Spencer are married. They have a beautiful daughter, and they all are going on vacation.

Pyrotechnics by me: [GN] Reader has a hard time on Fourth of July, and Spencer helps them fall in love with fireworks again.

Summer Nights by @foxy-eva: [GN] Summer may come to an end but the kisses Spencer shares with you will not.

Check below for more Spencer Reid fics, as well as Hotchgan, Penemily, Temily, and several Gen fics!

☀️ NSFW S.R./Reader ☀️

Sunscreen & Statistics by me: [Fem] Reader asks for Spencer’s help putting on sunscreen (and rinsing off).

Lost Time by me: [Fem] Reader and Spencer spend mandatory leave on the vacation Spencer never had.

Nude Beach by @foxy-eva: [Fem] Reader finally convinces Spencer to go to the beach with her. Turns out it's a nude beach.

Summer in the City by @/foxy-eva: [Fem] Having a nearly naked roommate made the heatwave much more tolerable for Spencer.

In This Diary by @fortheloveofwonderland: [Fem] Spencer was hoping to relax before his started his new job at the BAU, but best laid plans often go awry.

Summer Heat by @/fortheloveofwonderland: [Fem] The BAU must undertake a team building hike in the woods. Reader and Spencer get themselves lost and have to find a way to pass the time.

Summertime Service by @pinkiceee-prose: [Fem] Reader throws the BAU team a summer barbeque feast. Spencer is moved by her hard work and decides to show his gratitude.

Popsicle Love by @reidmotif: [Fem] Reader and Spencer are at a ridiculously hot precinct and getting on each other's nerves. Reader realizes she can get back at him using a certain sweet treat.

Spencer Reid Doesn't Know How to Swim by @reidsfav: No one knows that Spencer doesn't know how to swim and Reader is willing to help him keep it that way.

Just Hanging Out by @reiderwriter: [Fem] Reader finds herself at Rossi's mansion for a big summer barbeque. A hammock catches Reader's eye.

Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress by @/reiderwriter: [GN!AFAB] The AC at the BAU breaks during a heatwave, and Reader decides the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion.

☀️ Other Pairings ☀️

The Shape You Take by @masterwords: Hotchgan. Hotch is dwelling on an empty nest. Morgan has just the ticket: sea, sand, food and naps. While exploring a nude beach one night they find a little more than they bargained for.

July by @gaelic-symphony: Temily. The couple takes a trip to the beach.

August by @/gaelic-symphony: Temily. The couple rides out a summer storm.

Watermelon Sugar by @putting-the-bi-in-bau: [NSFW] Penemily. Emily has spent her vacation trying - and failing - to keep her eyes off Penelope while she walks around the house in nothing but her underwear.

Pool Parties and Secrets by @alicewonderao3: Spencer/Fem!OC. Swimming can be both fun and scary all at the same time.

☀️ Gen/Platonic ☀️

A Very Serious Fight by @alluring-andraya: Platonic. The team is very lighthearted, but one thing they do take seriously other than their jobs, is water gun/balloon fights.

Scars by @codename-mom: Hotch. Jessica offered Aaron to come to the beach with her and Jack, but there is something she doesn't know that stops him.

Baseball and Barbecue by @writing-till-i-run-out-of-time: Everyone went over to Rossi's for a family fun day of barbecue. Then something happens to Spencer.

Lemon-aide to the Rescue by @/PandorasDreaming [Ao3]: Henry, Michael, and Jack make their first lemonade stand but disaster strikes. They have some pretty important friends backing their first business investment!

Happy reading!

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sturniozo · 4 months

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Savage Love Part Four

Matt Sturniolo x reader Mafia AU

Masterlist

“How’d it go?” She asks as we walk to our desks.

“I didn’t get any information from him, he’s not a talker.” I reply and sip on my coffee.

“But you slept with him?” She asks easterly and I blush, nodding. “Oh my god, how was he?”

“Emma!”

“I need deets, girl!” She smiles at me. “Leave nothing out, go!” She leans back in her chair and sips her coffee.

“I’m not saying anything here, we’re at work.”

“Come on, y/n.” Emma groans. “Did you go down on him? Did he go down on you?” A faint blush appears on my cheeks. “Oh my god, he went down on you! Was he good?”

“Emma, I’m not talking about this.” I say trying to hide my flustered face from the rest of our coworkers.

“Did you at least use protection?” She asks and I pause. The silence was confirmation enough for her. “Oh my god, y/n even I make them wrap it!”

“I’m on birth control!” I whisper to her.

“That doesn’t matter, it’s a man you’ve never met! He could have an std!”

“I doubt the leader of the mafia has stds.”

“Did he have the all clear from a doctor and you confirmed it first? Did he ask you if you were good? What makes you think he asks other girls that and not you? He could and you just wouldn’t know!”

“He thought I was a virgin.” I mumble to her and her jaw drops.

“Oh my god that’s a scoop. That’s a big scoop. Matt Sturniolo has a corruption kink.” She says and her smile widens. “Your articles are gonna start to sound like mine.”

“Oh god. I want to help people, he seems so nice I don’t want to expose him.”

“If you didn’t want to expose people why did you become a journalist?”

“I want to bring attention to the struggles of the people.”

Emma pretends to gag before turning back to me. “Sorry, but that’s not something people will read.”

“That’s why I need to put the hidden messages in with my articles about Matt Sturniolo.”

“When are you meeting with him next?”

“Well, he didn’t want me to go this morning, so I bargained with him and he agreed to let me get to work if I meet him tomorrow night for dinner.”

“Is dinner code for sex?” Emma asks.

“Well probably, but he’s having me meet him at this nice restaurant in downtown New York.”

“Downtown huh?”

“I just can’t believe I didn’t get any information from him last night.”

“I dunno, the corruption kink thing might be good.” Emma shrugs.

“I just feel like I had sex with him for nothing.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “Nothing? Sex with Matt Sturniolo was nothing to you?”

“It was a hookup, I don’t do hookups.”

“Nothing.” She repeats, still surprised by my words.

“Emma, focus.” I snapp my fingers to get her attention.

“I am focused, you’re not. You’re the one who thinks that sex with Matt Sturniolo is nothing.”

“Stop saying his name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s-“

“The head of the fucking MAFIA?” Emma almost shouts.

“Emma keep your voice down, someone will hear.”

Emma groans and stares at me. She pauses for a moment before saying “So you’re meeting him tomorrow night, huh?”

I stand outside the restaurant that Matt had picked. My legs shake slightly from the chill air. The short black dress Emma let me borrow clung tightly to my figure, as Emma is a bit smaller than me. At 6:30 on the dot a black car pulls up and Matt steps out.

“Cold?” He asks me as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“Just a little.” I shrug. I look up at him and stare into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

“Then let’s get you inside dollface.” He says and we walk inside the restaurant. The inside is beautiful with hand painted ceilings and beautifully carved columns.

“This looks like a museum, Matt.” I say with astonishment.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” We stop at the hostess station. “Reservation for Matt Sturniolo.” He says and the hostess nods, leading us to a table by the giant window.

“Oh my god, this is beautiful!” I say as Matt pushes my seat in for me.

“Well, dollface, you deserve a beautiful night out before I plow you like the little slut you are.” He whispers in my ear. He sits down in his own seat across from me and begins looking over the menu.

I open the menu as well and look it over. I can’t even pronounce half the things on the menu. I stare in shock, unable to even comprehend what I should order. I hear Matt chuckle.

“Is this too much for you?” He asks.

“I just… don’t understand what’s on the menu.” I laugh softly.

Matt chuckles again. “You’d like the crab wraps.” He suggests. “But that’s just an appetizer.”

I nod. “Okay…” I bite my lip and look back down at the menu.

“Maybe I should just order for you, huh dollface?” Matt sets down his menu and looks at me. “Do you want me to make all your decisions for you?” He reaches under the table and caresses my thigh. My breath hitches. “Do you like that pretty girl? Do you want to skip the dinner and go back to the hotel?” He asks in a low voice. “I thought my pretty girl would like a night out. It’s rude to use a girl just for sex, you know.”

A blush creeps up my cheeks. Now he’s talking. How do I get him to confirm he’s the leader of the Mafia in New York? I take a breath before asking “You’ve had a lot of practice with this then?”

Matt laughs and says “I’ve slept with a girl or two but never treated them as well as you, dollface.”

“Is that a line or something?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You’re a stranger to me, I can’t believe anything you say.”

He laughs again and replies “So what do you want to know? Ask me anything.”

How do I go about this? I need to get the information I need out of him. I have to do it slowly. Maybe I can make this into an article for the paper, the inside mind of Matt Sturniolo.

“You look like you’re lost in thought there, dollface.” He laughs. “Got to much you wanna ask me?”

“Oh yes.” I laugh softly.

“Why don’t I start then? My names Matt Sturniolo, I’m 24 years old, I’m a triplet, and I have another brother besides that.” He starts. God I wish I was recording this, he talks so low and fast. “What about you, doll?”

“You’re a triplet?” I ask.

“Sure am.” He nods. “They both work with me too. They’re my best buds.”

“I didn’t know you were so soft.” I laugh lightly. “What do you do for work?”

Matt sighs “I oversee things.” He says after a short pause.

“What sort of things?”

“Businesses. People.” He shrugs. “It’s nothing worth talking about.”

“No, but I’m interested!” I plead, trying to get him to talk more.

“No, a pretty girl like you wouldn’t think what I do is anything worth talking about. Just look over the menu, dollface. I’ll make sure to order you some crab wraps.” Matt says with a smile and picks up the menu.

Well, I guess you could say it was progress.

Tags: @stargirlsturniololover @sturniolobessed @eyelessdemon00 @sturnioloenthusiast @sturniolopookie @urmommysbathroom @qwertytit @whatever1021 @chrisfavoritepepsi @stramboli4life @sturniolosreads @timmyscomputer

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lilgoblinbitch · 2 months

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saw your post about rick and daryl, do you think you could write a rick TOWL smut with him angry that you left your post and got yourself injured and he takes out his frustration on you? idk why just had that idea after the recent episode😫

Grimes' Dominion 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

a/n: ahhh omg yes i actually had time to think abt this for a few nights. i added a bit of plot to this because i love me some backstory & descriptions. but anyway i made this pretty lengthy so if u wanna skip to the smut part just look for the '💋'. here is your plotty smut! lmk your thoughts ₊˚⊹♡

warnings: smut 18+, PinV, unprotected sex, oral/face fucking (male receiving), slight bondage, fingering, ass slapping, hair pulling, orgasm denial, degradation (use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’), language, mentions of blood and injury, angsty angsty angst!, reader is a mother, overall Rick is very rough so you have been warned

It was training day at your post. You had recently graduated from consignee and signed up to become a CRM soldier. It took you six whole years to get to this point. While your agility and militia knowledge were already unprecedented, the CRM didn't fuck around when it came to producing the world's most unrivalled soldiers. It was serious business.

Nearly eight years ago, you trekked a long journey down from your small community in southern New Jersey. You lost everything: your husband, your friends, and the people you lived with and grew stronger with through the grisly and dilapidated post-apocalyptic world. Terrible people – which were apparently becoming more and more common – destroyed your community, leaving very few survivors. It was you and your newborn child who managed to escape safely; you weren't able to go back to see if others had made it out. For almost two years you were alone, and your only hope left was keeping your baby boy alive...

Fast forward two years after the traumatic fallout you managed to escape, you discovered, or rather you were found by, a giant military in Pennsylvania, called the CRM. A military that bordered and protected a whole city of people – 200,000 of them. Out of desperation and maternal instinct, you bargained with the militia in hopes to give your two-year-old son a stable future. The CRM agreed to place your son in a 'nurturing fostering service' within the safe confines of the protected city – known as the Civic Republic of Philadelphia – so long as you swore to abide by the military's code and regulations by becoming a consignee. Of course you agreed, because you were nonetheless terrified of what would happen to your baby boy if you didn't play it safe with this strong force. But for a while you lost it, you couldn't bear not seeing your child – they took him from you. You became defensive of your child, throwing yourself into dilemmas with whoever refused to listen to you. Except no one ever took notice of an angry and hurt mother because the CRM showed little mercy about their policies. And no matter how much force you put into finding hope about getting to your son, you'd always end up falling right back where you left off.

Soon enough you learned from acquiring an acquaintance that not only did the CRM take the only family you had left away from you, they were the ones responsible for destroying your home in the first place.

But now, six years later, you were predisposed to fight whoever and whatever got in your way in order to see your son again. You were a force to be reckoned with.

"No, you're doing it wrong. You gotta follow through, like this—" your sweaty hand maneuvered the heavy spear, sending it soaring through the air at high speed and finally piercing the bullseye of the target. You turned to the soldier beside you, who, to say the least, looked perplexed.

"What?" You huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face. "Ya give up? Need a break?"

"’Ey! Rogers, I'mma need ya to head back inside. We're gonna start sizing you all up for your new gear."

A brooding and strict man, Sergeant Major Rick Grimes, commanded the young man beside you. "Uh, yes sir," he saluted, then jogged toward the dome-shaped building.

Rick Grimes used to be a consignee like you were, and you even heard stories where he tried escaping at least four times. No one ever fled, or even attempted to, without failing. Escaping the hellhole was like trying to fit your right shoe on your left foot, it was entirely fruitless. But you heard all the stories about Rick, and how he got to become a leader. After the death of Lieutenant Colonel Donald Okafor, Rick was trained to replace his position by virtue of General Beale taking note of his loyalty to the military. Now, Rick was scaling further up the ranks. He was Sergeant Major, and in charge of the post you currently resided in.

You looked up to him, though, not because he was your leader, but because he understood you. He recognized how it felt to have your family ripped from your hands and not be able to do anything about it. You were able to bond with him. Most nights he would invite you to his apartment and the two of you'd spill your guts to one another over a glass or two of bourbon. That is how he got to know you, and see through your clouded demeanor that you kept in check. You were fierce and obstinate, because the place you were trapped in forced you to be that way, and truthfully Rick admired that about you. He was never able to relate with someone as well as he did with you.

Feedback echoed from Rick's receiver and he lifted it to his masked face, stating his position and whatnot. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to give you an order. "Well?"

He turned his attention to you, finally. "We need to talk." His one good hand snagged a hold of your arm and guided you toward a smaller brick-designed building, which you recognized to be the building that housed the high ranking officials like Rick himself.

"What do we need to talk about? And why is Rogers getting his gear but I'm not?" You struggled against his grip, a decision that ended with futility as his clutch tightened when you tried pulling away from him. You furrowed your brows and grunted in annoyance.

"Relax, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. Actually it's quite the opposite." Once again he faced you, stopping in his tracks as you both had reached the air-conditioned building. His grasp on your arm loosened and then reached for his matte black helmet detailed with red outlining. Your eyes darted across the room, taking in the essence of prestige and momentarily locking in on the various framed photos on the walls, which depicted a few recognizable CRM authoritative figures. One particular photo caught your attention, and you carefully examined it, discerning it to be Rick himself with a shiny black name plate decorating the bottom of the frame.

Your gaze finally diverted back to Rick, whose helmet popped off in a swift motion, freeing his slightly disheveled brown and gray curls, and his stern blue eyes – the spellbinding reflections to his enigmatic soul. And this man was undoubtedly a sight for sore eyes.

The silence was disrupted by the shuffling of Rick’s boots, his curt footsteps leading him across the room. He pulled out a chair from the corner and without any trouble picked it up with one hand and set it down across from a dark wooden desk. “Sit.” He motioned to the chair, and then found a seat in the larger, more cushioned chair adjacent to it. Without a peep you sauntered over to the wooden chair and sat, folding your hands on the desk in front of you.

“You gonna keep me on edge or are you gonna tell me why I’m here and not at training and getting my gear?”

His serious eyes bored into yours now, hinting that he wasn’t in the mood for your cynicism. “I brought you in here to tell you that you’re going to become Colonel under my order.”

You scoffed comically and dropped your hands to your sides, gripping the chair with force. “That’s ridiculous. Me – Colonel? Why?”

Rick’s focus never left your unserious face – one that was twisted with amusement. With a slight tilt of his head, he spoke, “Because you’re one of the best fighters and you’re fit to start leading, I know it. And I trust you, so does Major General Beale. We both expect your habitual commitment from now on.” While you were still preoccupied with processing this information, Rick reached into one of his sleeve pockets and pulled out a silver badge, decorated with ��Col.’ followed by your full name. He slid it across the desk toward you and you scrutinized it before giving him a look of disapproval and sliding the badge back to him. You shook your head in defiance.

“No thanks.”

He frowned and once again his frigid stare taunted you, something you’d undoubtedly gotten used to very much over the past few years that you'd known him. He leaned forward and for a second you could feel the steam emitting from his nose as he exhaled, eyes scanning your face for any signs of possible sarcasm. You were dead serious now, though.

“This isn’t an offer you can refuse. It’s an order,” the sergeant commanded, grabbing the badge reiteratively and this time placing it firmly into your hand. “So take it, and don’t lose it.”

You remained perched in your spot, not stirring any muscle, just studying his face with the badge dancing across your fingertips. Rick was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Now do as I say, and meet me in that meeting room over there, in 10 minutes.”

You snarled and swiftly rose, shoving the badge into your zipper pocket. Without even giving Rick another look you booked it out the door full tilt.

All throughout meeting with Grimes and Command Sergeant Major Thorne and overlooking your shared brigade of soldiers, your mind couldn’t escape the worry you had about your son, and how you were going to escape and find him. Your mind raced as you tried to recollect what the map of your base looked like, so that you could pinpoint which weak spots there were around the perimeter. You recall a little while back which security took which shifts at each area of the southwest perimeter where your complex was, but it wasn’t all that simple since sometimes they’d switch shifts around. However, security officers periodically switched their attention to different areas at a time out along the walls, so you could use that as leverage to sneak your way around and cut a hole in one of the fences–

Nah. That would be too obvious, and dangerously stupid. You needed to really think this through – come up with a strategic plan. So that’s what you were prepared to do after your first night of training as Colonel.

Sweaty and disheveled, you entered your sleeping quarters and kicked the door shut, immediately peeling off your bulky armor and tossing your heavy combat boots across the floor. With a satisfactory sigh, you trotted over to the shower and flipped the handle all the way to the left – you needed a steamy shower to filter out all the stress your body had been loaded with that day. Not only that, the steam would help you think, and you needed your head clear if you were going to figure out how to leave successfully that night.

If you were going to escape – if. You needed to keep that thought in mind, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.

Frantically you shoved a handful of essentials into a black backpack – a lighter, duct tape, a pocket knife, flashlight, and a small glock you 'borrowed' from your trip with rick to the armory earlier. After zipping up the bag you threw on your combat boots and your gloves. You checked your watch for the time; 11:48 it read. The moon was scintillating in the sky and beaming with conviction. You took one last glimpse around the room to check if you had forgotten any extra tools or gadgets, and before you confirmed that you were ready to head out, you spotted something on the rusty gunmetal colored nightstand. Inquisitively you wandered over to the table and examined a small, white folded paper. You unfolded it and inside it read, in urgent script:

“Meet me at my place at 11:30 tonight. Need to talk again.

-R.G.”

Too late now. Not happening. Besides, you were sure it was another booty call because for one, on busy task days like tonight, Rick often had a knack for ‘letting off steam,’ which meant fucking your brains out. Sorry, Rick, but my child is more important to me than easing your sexual frustration. And two, it was already reaching midnight…why else would he want to “talk” to you so late at night? Rick was just too obvious.

Speaking of Rick…

The man who shared his bourbon with you for the first time two years ago. That very night he had spilled to you CRM’s legacy and the nightmares behind it. The two of you bonded over your mutual grievance toward the antagonizing militia. Rick spurred hope in you finally leaving and finding your son; if anyone could help you escape it was him. But he changed – his interest in leaving the CRM no longer seemed to exist. After all, he was already climbing his way up the military rank. He was gaining power and respect, and that seemed to be more crucial to him then getting back to his own children.

So, screw him. He had his chance to leave with you, and it already passed – because now you were tiptoeing out your apartment and being welcomed into the darkness of the night.

You were cautious of your surroundings, turning a few corners and eluding one or two officers. You noticed the southwest wall, which didn't look impossible to climb. You discovered a hefty pile of broken shipment container parts – bingo. And that's what you used to climb the wall. unfortunately your endeavor led to you stumbling and hitting both your knee and your arm against the metal object, then landing with your hands scraping against the unforgiving concrete. Fuck. What an idiot you were. Surely someone within about twenty feet of you heard you basically eat shit.

Gritting your teeth and whimpering from the twinge that shot through your knees and hands, you managed to put every fiber of your being to use and push yourself off the ground, only to end up on your ass with a humph. You winced as you peeked at your hands, using the flashlight from your bag to examine how badly cut they were. Blood leaked from multiple crevices in your palms, and you didn’t even bother paying much mind to your bruised knee or elbows because there was no time to dawdle. “Shit. You need to get up now!” You scolded yourself, but as you tried standing up completely, your knees buckled. Well, at least behind this building it was dark enough for no one to see you, unless they heard you already…

Your alert ears picked up the sound of shoes marching upon the solid ground, and you cursed to yourself; someone was coming, but there was nothing you could do because they had already heard you most likely. “Just play dead, or pretend you passed out!”

You heard your name being called out from somewhere behind you.

The pace of your heartbeat quickened drastically, causing your head to spin toward the voice. Well, shit. It was Rick Grimes himself. This time his helmet wasn’t on and he seemed to have abandoned his uniform. He was instead dressed in jeans and that black tee that always hugged his muscles so perfectly–

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice boomed in your ears as he knelt down to your level, and you shivered.

You wheezed and resumed your pursuit of getting your ass off the wretched ground, to which you failed. Rick noticed the cuts and bruises decorating your injured body and his face softened. He sighed, gathering your belongings, and then in one swift motion he lifted you up off your feet, holding you bridal-style. You bit your lip to stop the tears forming in your eyes; your plan backfired, you got caught, and now everything was out of your control. You felt so stupid and useless.

Rick shifted around with you in his arms, taking one last glance at your injured figure. “Oh, honey. Let’s get ya cleaned up now.”

He had carried you all the way to his room without any hindrances, and the whole time you honestly thought about kicking out of his tight grasp, nailing him where the sun doesn't shine, and booking it out of there. But the way his strong arms cradled you made you melt into him.

Rick lay you onto his large – well, larger than your own – neatly made bed and pulled your shoes and socks off. Before he could reach your pant zipper to pull them down and examine your knee, you slapped his hand away, scowling at him.

“I can do it,” you promised, although of course your trembling hands reaching for the zipper illustrated a paradoxical story. Not to mention, the stained blood and soreness reminded you that you needed to ease up on any further use of them. It felt like carpal tunnel. Damn, that concrete did some damage to you. Your exasperated grunts caught Rick’s attention and he ignored your misleading comment, zipping your pants down and peeling them off himself. The look you gave him could have been detected as either annoyed or demoralized. Either way, your body was weary and your mind still raced with unrelenting thoughts.

Rick brought back a wet cloth and a first aid kit he kept under his sink. Gingerly, he brushed the cloth over your battered hands and then bandaged them up. You let out a few pained huffs while he went to work on your scraped hands and busted knee with his doctor abilities. When finished, his eyes scanned your body, being certain he didn’t miss any other wounds or minor cuts. You, however, were busy ogling him; his beautifully sculpted figure that was outlined by the black t-shirt he wore, and the scruff that layered his defined jaw, and the way his pink lips pursed as his rough hand prodded your exposed flesh – it sent you into a trance.

He adjusted his gaze back to your face, and you snapped out of your trance promptly, painting that stern cast back on your expressive face. You recalled why you were irritated with him in the first place – he prevented you from escaping.

“Y’alright now? Gonna tell me why you were scurrying around past midnight with this bag on you?”

Your hard stare didn’t falter. He tsked at you and grabbed the backpack off the ground, unzipping it, and dumping its contents onto the bed. When he recognized the gun to be one from the armory, it was his turn to scowl at you.

“You better start talking before I get angry, sweetheart.” His body flexed as he folded his arms across his chest, eyes cornering you and making you feel small.

“I was–,” you cleared your throat and sat up with your hands on your bare thighs, “I was going to escape, Rick. I… I need to see him…”

Rick lowered his head to the floor in disappointment, rubbing the bridge of his nose while his other arm rested on his hip. He paced the room. “You knew this was going to happen. We even planned it together, for fuck’s sake!” You pleaded with him, emotion spilling from your lips. You stared at his back, watching the way his muscles tensed. “I have a child I haven’t seen in years and I–”

“Yeah, so do I!” He interrupted, “But that life is over, there is no more escape plan pipe dream. Don’t you get it?!” His pacing ceased, and he waited for your focus to meet him. When it did, he inched toward you daringly, almost wanting you to test his patience. “I got you that ranking because I trusted you and expected you to be cooperative with me in this mission. I was planning on trying to convince Beale to let you visit your boy but that won’t be for a while. I need your trust in this,” Rick’s footsteps approached the bed, his towering figure intimidating you. “Do you understand? Look at me—” his rough hand pinched the sides of your chin to tilt your head up at him.

Your lips cracked open to speak but truthfully nothing could be said in that moment. The tension in the air was heavy and laced with despondency. You choked trying to enunciate words as you felt your shoulders drop, and your heart chugging on. Soon you gathered yourself from breaking down in front of him, masking the persistent commotion going on inside the walls of your skull, and the unabated sense of dread pouring over your body. You nodded your head in compliance and Rick released your chin.

This was a confirmation that Rick was never going to let you get away. And if he did end up finding a way for you to see your boy, living under an unlawful and controlling military organization was not something you stood for. With or without Rick, you needed to escape with your son, using any proper chance that swung your way. But if it was going to be without Rick, you needed to be secretive.

You batted your eyes at him, aiming to give him a reason to believe that you were officially yielding to him. The way you looked under him, all battered and desperate, made a spark ignite in his brain. You belonged in this position – underneath him, following his lead, and obeying his orders. He was going to need to show you how insistent he really was.

Your attention remained undivided. Rick stepped backwards a foot and took in the sight of you – your whole body and the way your thighs begged to be kissed and touched.

“I’m assuming you saw the note I left you, right?” His tone dripping with vehemence and his southern drawl rasping, relaying a yearning to your eager core, which you attempted to ease by clenching your thighs. He certainly did not miss that.

“So you were planning on not only ignoring my note, but being reckless and trying to leave this post and then, what? Risk getting caught and dying and never getting to see your son ever? You need to get your head on right, and I’m telling you this from experience, because it’s never going to work out the way you want it to, no matter how perfectly you think your plan will go.” You gulped and studied your hands, which were thankfully stinging much less. You fiddled with the bandage, until Rick demanded your attention with his authoritative tone.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you to cooperate with me. Keep that in mind,” he warned. Your front teeth bit into your pouty bottom lip as you struggled to make yourself look uncritical of his “plan.” Rick’s eyes targeted your every move as you, this time successfully, propped yourself up and off the bed, bending down to grab your pants which were sprawled out next to your feet.

💋

“What were you gonna talk to me about, y’know….if I ended up showing up earlier?” You flipped the pant legs so that they were no longer inside out.

“I was gonna do this—” Your heart quickened as he neared you rapidly, his arms finding themselves exploring your body and causing goosebumps to multiply across your vulnerable skin. He dexterously greeted his lips to yours, catching you by surprise. The man was quick with it.

You melted into the kiss while his hands continued to trace your curves, eliciting longing whimpers from your throat. You craved his touch.

Breaking away from the kiss, the Sergeant gave you no time to protest, spinning you around so that your back was facing him. Taking your jaw prisoner in the tight clutch of his hand, his hot breath fanned against your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck come alive. “Originally I was going to fuck you gently, make you relax from your big day—” His hand slid to the middle of your back and he forcefully bent you over on the bed, scoring a small grunt from you. He took your pulled back hair into his hand and with a tantalizing tug of it, he pushed his clothed hips against your bare ass. “But now I’m not gonna be so easy on you, because you decided to go and put yourself in danger. Well, I’m gonna have to punish you instead of reporting you, hm? For your own sake…”

Your heat practically leaked through your panties and down the inner part of your thighs. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved when he was rough with you. It stirred you up with the perfect concoction of salaciousness and angst. Still, your alacrity temporarily repressed your aroused state and you barked back at him, “All I want is to see my son…you have no goddamn right to take that from me, Rick,” you cried, with your trembling hands supporting your upper body as he gripped your hips.

Rick delivered a firm slap to your ass cheek, then promptly straightened you up and turned you around to meet his sifting stare. You gulped, feeling submissive under his touch. You watched the way he contorted his face in vexation and you abruptly felt overpowered by him.

“In case you’ve forgotten you are under my command, and if you disobey me I have every right to correct you where I see fit,” he eyed your pout, huffing, “and I fucking told you already – you have to be patient, it’s gonna take a while.”

The hope you had was dwindling slowly, even though you really wanted to trust him. It almost felt like putting your full trust in him was equivalent to playing with fire. You couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. But ultimately Rick was right, you were under his command and the very least you could do at this moment was take his word.

His leer intensified. “Get on your knees.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the command jolt through your body with a cogent nudge. You conformed to his request and scrunched your face in slight discomfort from your bruised knee making contact with the floor, but it was still tolerable. With urgency he unbuckled his belt and wasted no time in freeing his thick, throbbing length. The sight of his cock was not something foreign, as you’d slept with him many times; but the way he was so much more ambitious in getting his cock inside your mouth and feeling you gag around him, made you squirm.

The restless man bucked his hips forward, enjoying the way your soft pouty lips hugged his shaft so magnificently. You moaned softly, the vibration inciting a groan from Rick as he grabbed at your hair. “Gotta do more than tha’. I know you know how to be a good slut f’me.”

You took his whole length in your throat, feeling spit drip down your chin as you choked. You started to bob your head back and forth, becoming accustomed to the size of his dick and how it collided with the back of your throat incessantly. He took it upon himself to grasp your head and guide you up and down as his hips pushed against your needy mouth. Your tongue traced the veins that protruded across his length, as your head quickened its pace. His grunts echoed in your ears and you prepared for his sweet release when you apperceived the twitch of his cock against your tongue.

“Fuck, yes…good slut,” Rick sung out as he thrusted thrice more, shooting his thick warm seed down your throat and riding out the remainder of his orgasm. He pulled out and stared intently at your lips licking up the remnants of his juices while panting. His hand patted your head in approval. “You think you deserve to cum tonight?” He taunted, his hold on your hair taut. You didn’t respond, but instead observed the way his muscles flexed when he lifted his shirt off his back, and how he flattened his hair back with the palm of his hand. You were getting wetter by the second, shifting your thighs in anticipation.

You stood up, tracing your hand over his bicep and fluttering your lashes at him enticingly. He smirked, recognizing that look to be your calling for him to fuck your brains out. Your hands reached down to lift your own shirt off, but he swatted them away in protest, throwing the shirt across the room hastily. All you desired was for him to make love to you, to comfort you and promise you that everything was going to work out, and frankly your sore muscles from training could use as much appreciation as they could obtain. But love-making wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.

Rick flopped you onto the bed, and effortlessly your panties were torn off and thrown next to your shirt. He kneaded your tits with his hand then bent over top of you to hungrily kiss your lips. Your fidgety hands stretched up to tussle through his hair but he broke from the kiss to pin both your hands above your head, rousing a dissatisfied whimper from you. The carnal man bent down diligently to grab his belt and release your hands for a moment, before grabbing your wrists and securing the belt around them. Bondage wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar to you but you had never expected Rick to ever want to partake in it with you. Nonetheless, your core ached further for his touch. His hand went back to pinching your sensitive nipples, while keeping his ferocious eyes locked onto yours, and lowering his head down to your throbbing heat. The lewd mewls escaping your parted lips sent Rick into a frenzy. You bucked your hips up in an attempt to get him to do something, to give your desperate parts the treatment you longed for, except he just remained concentrated on the way you jerked and crumbled beneath him – he wasn’t even touching you anymore, and yet he had you folding already. How pathetic you looked.

“Rick, please do something!” Your pleas left him unphased. The only thought in his mind at that moment was how rough he was eventually going to fuck you.

Finally, his finger swiped up your soaking folds and came into contact with your swollen clit, giving it a soft pinch, stimulating a ribald whimper from you and inducing your back to arch off the bed. “What d’you want, sweetheart?” His husky tone intimidated you.

“Need you, please. ‘M lonely,” You sniffed, overworked from all the teasing. He cooed in a mocking manner, and with two fingers he plunged into you, sending you into the clouds.

“This sweet pussy needs attention, dun’it?” He curled his fingers upward, activating that sweet spot inside your squelching sex. With his thumb he circled around your sensitive bud, accelerating the speed of his thick fingers inside your tight, wet hole. Bliss clouded over you, and your head lulled to the side.

Rick hissed, dissenting your lack of eye contact. He yanked his fingers out all the way, giving a slight tap to your voracious cunt. “Nuh-uh, eyes on me.” The glazed-over look you gave him was enough for him to give in and slide his digits back into your heat, this time being merciless by the way he finger fucked you with racking momentum.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, legs syncing with the rhythm of your swirling hips. Rick sensed your orgasm approaching – he ascertained that you didn't get to reach its peak by ceasing his thumb's labor and plucking his drenched digits out of your weeping center. Your sensual clamors didn't go unnoticed; instead he hushed you, and bringing his mouth near your ear he rasped, "I decided that you don't get to cum yet. Not till I feel like it."

Rick really loved tossing you around, especially tonight. He arose, untying the belt around your wrists – almost as if he was showing mercy, but that thought was surpassed as he effortlessly flipped you around so your bandaged hands were gripping desperately onto the sheets, as if that'd prevent you from losing your grip on reality from what was about to go down.

Your begging hole cried for his further attention, causing you to become more agitated by the second. That is, until you felt his hard cock slap against your ass cheek, and his hips striking the back of your shaking thighs. The grumpy commander pressed his leather-sling gloved fist slightly against your upper neck, just enough pressure to ensure you stayed where he wanted you. You didn't plan on leaving, though – not until he fucked you to your heart's content.

He could take a picture right now, the way your ass pushed against his solid member so hysterically, as if your pussy lived to be stuffed by his cock. In that moment, it did. Rick grabbed his cock and lined it up with your welcoming entrance, collecting the condensation on his tip.

"God, just fuck me–"

One rigid thrust was all it took for you to fully engulf him. Your eyes rolled to the ceiling, stars eclipsing your vision while his thrust followed another one, this time much deeper. Your whines bounced off the pale room's walls, alerting Rick, who hushed you with a growl, "Shutch'er mouth, the whole building's gonna hear ya." A third thrust ensued, with the sound of his pelvic bone smacking against your backside and the echoing of your sodden cunt being governed by his greedy shaft. The wet squishy insides of your walls hugged Rick so magnetically, he almost gave in right there.

His pace picked up with each ram of his hips, and his assault to your clit. Your grip on the sheets tightened, bandages likely slipping off but that wasn't a concern. Shy whimpers were trapped inside your mouth as you gave it your all at keeping your lewd blubbers and cusses at bay. Your soft, muffled cries continued as he pounded into you strenuously and tirelessly.

"You're not gonna try to leave again, not ever." The thumping of his hips on your ass and him fucking you into the mattress was all too much for your brain. "I won't fucking let you."

You felt fuzzy. The dauntless rebel attitude you once had vanished, and now your were a blubbering hot mess under a relentless leader. His bulging biceps flexed as his leather arm continued pushing on your neck, the other hand groping your hip and then going back to flicking your clit as his cock rutted into your core. He fit you like a puzzle piece.

Your walls were pulsating and you sensed your climax approaching quickly. "Oh, fuck, Rick!"

"Don't you even think about it. So help me god, if you do..."

Rick's demands only filled you closer to the brim with pleasure, and you weren't assured how much longer you could hold it. His thrusts became sloppier and sloppier, indicating that he was probably close too.

"Mmmph–" You focused on grasping desperately at the sheets again, trying to fixate on the way the soft fabric felt against your hands and your face which was pushed into the bed.

Rick groaned out, whispering filthy affirmations as his pounding became more jagged and his grunts more urgent. "Wanna fill ya up, but you don'need another baby, not yet."

One last press against your clit and the band finally snapped, your juices releasing all over his cock, and his orgasm causing him to grasp your hips roughly as he used your dripping hole to help him ride out his own orgasm. He pulled out, releasing onto your back with a few strokes of his slippery member.

The bottom half of your body gave in finally, collapsing and being suffocated by the plush mattress. Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. He truly fucked the energy out of you.

"You gonna try that shit again with me?"

With half-lidded eyes you simpered and muttered, "Not without you."

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dduane · 10 months

Text

At @dduane's Ebooks Direct, now in progress: the Summer Solstice "Get Our Whole Store For $44" Sale!

(ETA: I'm reposting this because some folks have been getting the non-discounted version of the sale, and I want to make absolutely sure the right version of the sale URL is in place. Obviously I don't mind refunding people the overpayments, but I think we'd all rather they didn't happen.) :)

(Sound up for Vaguely Inspirational Music!)

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That's right: we're reinstating the "Get Our Whole Store For $44 Sale"! That's 36 of Diane Duane's ebooks (@petermorwood's are still with another e-publisher, sorry, though there's a freebie of his in the package...), all DRM-free and with free replacements included in the price if they're lost or you change platforms. The package on offer includes the 9-book set of Young Wizards New Millennium Editions and the LGBTQ-centered Middle Kingdoms books, along with much more fantasy and SF. So if you've missed out on this offer previously, now's your chance to take advantage of it! (And us. We don't mind.) :)

Also, in honor of Pride Month—and much earlier than we'd normally put a new release into the whole-book package—we've added Tales of the Middle Kingdoms #2: Overdue to the offer. The only other place this new work appears at the moment is in the 2023 Pride Month package. (If you've been looking at that package, please note that everything in it appears in the Whole Store bundle, at a similar discount level. But the Whole Store offer will only last for 72 hours. The Pride package will be available until Irish midnight [GMT+1] on June 30.)

Interested? Then just click here to put the $44 whole-store package in your shopping basket and grab yourself a bargain! The product page will say it costs $55. But the link above has the discount baked in. Use it and the store will show the $44 price when you've gone through all the checkout steps before payment. (Sorry about this: it's how the store behaves when there are two discount offers running at once.)

If you go through to the just-before-paying stage and are still seeing the $55 price, please put the discount code EVERY72 into the "gift card or discount code" field on that page, and enter it. That'll sort things out.

Meanwhile, If you're not interested in the offer, would you consider reblogging it so that others in your timeline can have a look? Thanks! (And one final note: due to Brexit, unfortunately this offer isn't valid in the UK. Details about the situation are here. Our apologies, as always, for the inconvenience.)

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#ebooks #sale #get our whole store for $44!#seriously we should have our heads felt #(and I say that as a retired head-feeler)#Diane Duane

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ostrichmonkey-games · 6 months

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And we have a winner!

So let's talk about the TECHNOCCULSTIST, how it fits into Stampede Wasteland, and the anatomy of a class in general.

TECHNOCCULTIST

mage-priests of the Wastes. sorcerers who bargain with tech-devils. preachers who spread the impact words of the Crash Saints. +LVL when rolling with TECH: when you're dealing with logic, construction, crafting, ritual, tech-devils, magic

Technoccultists are the spellcasters of Stampede Wasteland. They're the only class who can actually cast spells due to both their connections to the Crash Saints and the tech-devils. If you have levels in Technoccultist, you get to add your level to any roll that has you dealing with anything that falls within the purview of the class.

Aesthetics

Countless charms worn across your body

Tattoos of Crash scripture scrawled on your skin

Incense emitting, heavy cloak

The mark of a tech-devil upon your brow

ABILITIES

Here's where we start to get into the meat of a class: its abilities. Currently, there's no limit to how many times you can use a class ability, though some do come with built in narrative restrictions. The Gunslinger for example has to consume a bullet (really just the gunpowder inside it) to use an ability and the Wildwander needs to have their symbiotic beast with them to access some of their abilities. The Technoccultist is a little special in that it has only two kinds of "abilities": Learn a Spell or Pledge yourself to a Crash Saint.

Learn a Spell: This ability can be taken multiple times. Each time it is taken, roll + Spells known. On a success, you are corrupted by the tech-devil you are consorting with. Gain the mark of this tech-devil in a visible location upon your body. Tradition teaches caution when consorting with the tech-devils. Proper rituals and offerings to your Saintly patron will protect you.

Technoccultists are really the only people in the Wastes who can learn spells, and for good reason. The only things out there that can grant the power to cast spells are the tech-devils: ancient, pre-Crash AI that have been changed by the Warp. They're dangerous, powerful, and capricious. Some orders of technoccultists have half-shackled tech-devils enshrined within their monasteries. But far more common are tech-devils that wander the Wastes or inhabit ancient Crash Sites, waiting to tempt the unawares with powerful bargains. Or at least that's what the orders teach. Spells are, within the fiction, complicated. Like psychic brainworms, pieces of sacred digital code, ancient executables transmuted into something else by the psychofield of the planet. No one's entirely sure, and most folk don't ever want to find out. The full mechanics of spells are still in-progress, but they're gonna be wild. Powerful and dangerous. Though technoccultists don't have a ton of abilities compared to some of the other classes, the spells they can learn more then make up for that.

Pledge yourself to a Crash Saint: Each time this is taken, choose a new saint. Gain one minor relic or icon of the Saint. When you wield the relic or icon, roll+LVL when dealing with anything that falls within their domains.

Technoccultists are also the only class that have this level of flexibility in their "skills", effectively making them the "skill monkeys" of Stampede Wasteland. It is not easy to get bonuses to dice rolls in this game (you can lower the difficulty in other ways though)! But if you ever wanted to round out some "skills", then you can pick up some new patron Saints. How does this work in the fiction? The different orders all have slightly different theories, but the best working one is that the Crash Saints left "impressions" of themselves within the Warp, and when a technoccultist wields an icon or relic of that Saint, they can wrap those impressions of the Saint around them, effectively tapping into the powers of that Saint. Allegedly. Outside of the orders there's plenty of other ideas.

There are many Crash Saints, here are but a few.

PREREQ: Make a sacrificial offering at a notable Crash Saint holy site.

The last mechanic that each class has is their prerequisite. The prereq is something that only becomes applicable as you start gaining levels outside of character creation and want to invest some of those levels in new classes you have no levels in yet. All prereq's are entirely narrative and can form the basis for future adventures.

And that's the TECHNOCCULTIST! Of the four classes, it has a fairly unique structure, but honestly, each of the classes has their own special quirks.

If you want to know more about Stampede Wasteland, you can check out the other posts in the tag, and follow along as I continue development! It's getting decently close to being text complete, so hopefully we'll see a release in the next couple of months.

#ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpg design #stampede wasteland #osr #together we go

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es46 · 27 days

Text

Submas Prompt: Not even Hours -

Ingo opens his eyes. Darkness first, soon giving way to the silver gaze of moonlight through the window. It takes a moment for his vision to adjust, but frankly he need not see to know Arceus had upheld its end of the bargain. He can feel the comforting swathe of his own bedsheet beneath him. He can hear the faint ticks of the old clock on his mantlepiece. The familiar warmth, the familiar smell- a mix of oils and metals. Home. Breathing deeply, Ingo sits up, places himself at the foot of his bed. It's almost hard to believe that he's here. His hands brush over the smooth duvet. His eyes take in familiar features. His own room. His own house- more accurately, his and Emmet's. Or is it? Ingo can't imagine Emmet would have beared to stay without his brother. He has to take this slowly. Ingo knows he's been gone a long time. Three years, five months, ten days, and four hours. He needs to adjust quickly, find out what's happened in his absence before revealing himself. If the house has new owners, having the police called on him wouldn't be a good start. But wait. The room hasn't changed, has it? The wardrobe, the desk, the model trains, even his laptop. Everything is where it was when he 'left'. Something about that perturbs him. Emmet may have wished to keep what he had left of his brother intact, true, but the laptop would have been sold, wouldn't it? No sentimental value there. And if the laptop was there, then- Ingo looks back to the drawers beside the bed. His phone is there. Again, Emmet wouldn't have kept it, once he'd scoured through all the messages in an effort to find clues of where Ingo had gone. The perturbing feeling settles in his gut and writhes. Ingo reaches for the phone, unlocks it. Still has charge, still the same code. If he has been gone for as long as he has, Ingo considers, then doubtlessly he'd have received plenty of texts enquiring where he was. He opens his messages. Ingo feels a chill go down his spine as he reads the top message. Not because of any real unease to it. It's Skyla, somehow sounding flustered through text, asking him for advice on what to wear for Elesa's latest TV gig. Should she go fancy? Go casual? She doesn't want to make her girlfriend look bad on live television. His reply is there; go casual. Elesa's only rule about inviting her girlfriend to events was that Elesa always had the fancier outfit. His hands shake. He looks at the time the messages were sent. He shifts back, looks at other texts. Little Lacey, reminding him that she'd be home from the Academy for the Christmas break and that he and Emmet had PROMISED to take her on the multi-battle Subway. Drayden, once again stumped on what to do about his flunking grandson and clearly desperate for anyone's help. One of the Triplets, suggesting a train that was also a restaurant (he had advised taking up the matter with Emmet). Absolutely no-one, not even his brother, is asking where he's gone. The feeling in his gut writhes harder. Ingo feels oddly out of breath, like he's swaying, dazed, disorientated. A horrible thought is dawning on him. Ingo remembers when he was taken by Arceus, right down to the minute. Eight thirty-five PM, December 15th, 2015. Shaking, he exits his messages and checks the date. December 15th, 2015. Eleven forty-seven PM. The phone falls from his hand and clatters onto the floor. Ingo wrenches himself upwards, staggering from the bed towards the wardrobe, gazing madly into the mirror affixed to the left door. He see a man who's spent over three years in another time. Shadows under his eyes, a paleness to the skin, uneven shave, scratches, the rugged clothes. The perturbing feeling is twisting in his gut, shaking Ingo to the bone, leaving him panting in panic as the realization hits him. He has lived over three years in Hisui. He has been changed in ways not even Arceus could undo. But for his brother? His friends? Unova in its entirety? It's only been three hours.

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onboardsorasora · 2 months

Note

For de aged Daniel, max has a stream with red line that he can’t get out of so he sets Daniel up with a coloring station and Daniel draws the two of them racing or on the podium. So obvs he has to show max and he does so during the stream which is how the Max Verstappen secret kid rumors start

And since the kid is wearing so much Ferrari people assume that it’s a secret Lestappen baby which max hates because he loves Daniel and Charles is just laughing at all of the tweets/chaotically liking them to add to the rumors

“Mate, when are you gonna be able to get here?” Max asked over the phone, keeping an eye at the coffee table where Little Daniel was colouring with his tongue sticking out adorably while he concentrated.

“Mate, I told you I'm gonna be late. I am helping maman with something, then I will be there.” Charles' voice was distant on the phone and Max sighed explosively.

“Ok, the door code is the same. I have to jump on.”

“It will be fine, Max.” Charles tried to soothe before they hung up. Max looked towards Little Daniel. “Daniel, Charles will be here soon. Are you ok out here while I go into a meeting?”

“Shaarrllll.” Little Daniel drawled, not looking up from choosing his next colour.

“Daniel? Did you hear me?” Max asked again softly.

“Yeah Maxy. I'll shtay here.” Little Daniel nodded up at Max, brown eyes bright.

“Pinky promise?” Max asked sticking out his finger.

Little Daniel looked at him consideringly before hooking his pinky with a grin. “I'm gonna draw you a picture Maxy!” He declared.

“I'd love one thank you, Daniel.”

Max went into his sim room after taking a long look at Little Daniel who took a new sheet of paper and started colouring again. He settled himself in his rig and joined the stream, apologizing for being late.

“Everything ok, Mate?” Crane asked. Max glanced up at the camera and waved before straightening his shirt across his chest while he watched them play a round.

“Yeah, I just had to deal with something. Of course, I would never miss staring into your eyes Crane.” Max laughed when his friends snorted.

They set up for iRacing, Max letting the chatter wash over him while he slowly tried to relax and stop listening out for Little Daniel in the other room. Little Daniel had snacks, he had his crayons, paper and a colouring book. The TV was also on, playing another race, and Jimmy and Sassy were around to distract him. He only needed to last at most a half an hour before Charles came.

After the first race– that Max won, he begged off a minute and turned off his camera. He got up and peaked out of the room to see Little Daniel where he left him, looking up at the TV attentively and nibbling his finger.

Max sighed and relaxed further before climbing back in the rig. He came back to chaos as Bennett and Gianni were arguing about whether iguanas truly fell asleep if it got too cold. Max joined in, stating a few animal facts he learned while looking up information for Little Daniel.

They're going through qualifying again when the door to the sim room busts open. It wasn't fully closed in the first place so Little Daniel met little resistance when he barrelled in like the koolaid man.

“Maxy! I finished it!” He's waving his drawing around like a flag. Max's eyes widen and he lunged for his camera, fumbling to turn it off.

“Fu–sorry mate! He's really fast.” Charles charged in and scooped up Little Daniel in his arms. Max yanked off his headphones and turned to look at Little Daniel who is smiling broadly at him before frowning at Charles.

“Shaarrllll I wanna show Maxy!” Little Daniel whined, his body going toddler tantrum tense.

“How about we make him another one then put it on the fridge so he'll see it as soon as he's finished his meeting?” Charles tried to bargain, walking out of the room. Max heard the first sounds of Daniel's unhappy cries and followed them out of the room.

Little Daniel looked up at Max with wide, wet, unhappy eyes and Max reached for him. He pressed his face in Max's neck unhappily and Max rubbed his little back, underneath his red Ferrari shirt.

Max took the crumpled picture that Little Daniel still clutched and looked at it while small hands squeezed around his neck. It was a picture of Max and Little Daniel in their race suits in front of a race car.

“Thank you for the drawing Daniel. It is lovely.” Max said softly, soothingly. Little Daniel sniffed loudly and scrubbed at his eyes

“You like it?” He sniffled.

“I do! Can you and Charles make me another one?”

Little Daniel nodded against Max's neck and Max thought he must have been very upset to forgo his usual “Sharl” vocal stim.

Max looked over to see Charles watching him with an unreadable expression. Max ignored him and put Little Daniel safely in his arms.

“I'm going to beg off the rest of the stream. I'll be back in five I think.”

“Of course. Sorry.” Charles looked contrite but Max waved it off.

He got back in his rig and put on his headphones, listening in as the guys gained control over the stream again after his very abrupt departure. The chat was going wild based on what Max could see. He turned on his camera and Crane visibly relaxed.

“Everything ok over there Maxy Max?”

“Yeah mate. But I've got to go, something's come up.”

“Would that something happen to be toddler shaped?” Gianni asked

“Was that Charles??” Bennett jumped in.

“I'll talk to you guys later. Bye!” Max turned off his camera and mic quickly, before shutting everything down and quitting the room. He found Charles and Little Daniel exactly where he left them and Little Daniel raised his hands immediately when he saw Max, wanting to be lifted. Max obliged without hesitation.

Both Max and Charles’ phone went off at the same time– denoting a group chat message. Max watched curiously as Charles' eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

“What's happened?”

“Apparently we have a love child.” Charles raised his phone to show the looping gif of Little Daniel running up to Max and Charles coming to scoop him up before Max turns off his camera.

“Well, crap.” Max muttered.

“Shaarrllll….crap.” Little Daniel mumbled tiredly against Max's skin.

“No, Daniel we don’t need to repeat that.” Max mumbled, narrowing his eyes at Charles who was giggling at his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Mate, the internet works so fast, theres already theories about which one of us got pregnant.” Charles snickered into his palm and Max rolled his eyes, knowing he was on twitter liking tweets. Well there went his hope that this would blow over quickly.

“Why would I even want to have a baby with you?” Max groused, not wanting Daniel to be seen as he and Charles’ anything.

“I would be a good mommy, no?” Charles rubbed his belly before giggling again. “I am going to call Lando to sort this all out.”

“You do that, Daniel and I are going to order pizza.” He rolled his eye before looking down at Little Daniel who seemed to perk up a little. “Would you like to choose the pizza?”

Little Daniel nodded against his chest before covering his face. Max frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m schowy.” He mumbled while biting his palm.

“What for?”

“I-” Little Daniel frowned and looked at the floor sadly.

“Daniel?”

“I broke the pinky pwomise.” He whispered morosely. “‘Shell says it's bad. I didn’t mean to Maxy.”

Max felt that cuteness aggression that he’d become very accustomed to feeling. He stopped himself from squeezing Daniel’s little body to his chest and stroked his hair instead.

“It's ok bud, you didn’t mean to. You were just excited.”

“I won’t do it again. Pwomise!” Little Daniel vowed.

“I believe you, let's get some juice. Do you want juice?” Little Daniel nodded and Max walked them into the kitchen, ignoring Charles’ heart eyes and the phone trained in their direction.

#skskskskssks #de aged daniel #maxiel #max/daniel #my fic #answered #anonymous

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elegantsplendour · 9 months

Text

Of Blossom and Betrayal

Summary:

AU: Green victory, the realm called for a new queen after Queen Helena's demise

Seraphina Tyrell did not belong to the worldly realm of Westeros; a lone child conceived of loyalty, love and devotion. A beacon like her attracts the darkest of souls, in the darkest of times.

💌 Aegon II Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: manipulation, abuse of power, mentions of rape, slight underage, dub con, violence. Specific warnings will be added at the beginnings of each chapter.

Cast

Chapter 1

Prologue: Highgarden

Tag list: @purple-writer8 @vhagarswar @femmechaotic

Other friends: @boundlessfantasy @arcielee @qyburnsghost

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Lord Lyonel Tyrell was a man of honour, loyalty and vigilance. Succeeding in remaining neutral, assuring his family’s survival and maintaining the influence of his house in one of the bloodiest war since Aegon’s Conquest, if not of all of Westerosi history, was an accomplishment that many of his position had dreamt of.

Loyalty? He laughed bitterly at the memory of the bright and confident smile on his long gone brother Bryan’s departing figure to King’s Landing to serve under Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Be loyal to no one but his family, his loved ones.

It was the code he had lived by since Bryan’s unexpected tragic demise at the hands of Rogue Prince himself, a man his poor brother, the innocent messenger sent by King Viserys, admired and sworn loyalty to, fourteen years ago.

Lyonel remembered the day the news of his demise reached his father, the former lord of Highgarden.

People sing that there were six stages of grief.

Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

But when it came to a devoted seventy two year old father, the grief ended in the very first.

Two days later, Lyonel, the second son, whose ambitions never surpassed the allure of marrying Lady Jayne Lannister and sampling the finest wines and sugary with his beloved, inherited the legacy he had never been prepared for.

The Targaryens will always do what’s best for the Targaryens.

Those were his late father’s last words.

To survive the Targaryen rule, Lyonel played by their rules. Schemes, betrayals, deceptions and bloodshed? He did not shy away from them. He bore the burden so his family, his people, didn’t have to.

With his hands on the cold balcony, Lord of Highgarden bathed the fresh air of flowers, the peaceful chirping of insects, the giggling of young maids and the distant melodies from the small folks returning to their homes after a long day of labour.

This was his empire he defended.

One of loyalty, honour and love.

His beloved Jayne, her arms wrapped around his waist.

Seraphina, his precious jewel, his sweet little rose, the one and only fruit of his and Jayne's love's many attempts at blooming.

His Lancel, Bryan's illegitimate offspring, whom he had taken under the Tyrell bloodline, a fierce and honorable knight, a fine protector, his heir.

“Lord Ormund has written again,” Jayne rested her head on his shoulder, her golden curls soothing his skin as much as his mind, “The letter touched me, the words he’s chosen, the sincerity of his voice. He truly desires a betrothal between his first born and Seraphina.”

Jayne traced her fingers on her husband’s cheeks, “He wishes to introduce them in King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing?” Lyonel frowned deeply, “It should be fit for them to present themselves to Highgarden, especially when Phina was the one who treated their wounded bodies in the woods, risking the slaughter of the ruthless Northerners.”

Jayne swallowed hard as she recalled the turbulent times of the war.

Although negotiations, strategies and armies kept the castle away bloodshed and dragon fire, the walls were not impenetrable to whimpers of loss and screams agony from the highborn’s well acquainted soldiers calling the Rose without Thorns to their rescue, even at the interdiction of her parents.

Every time the Rose sneaked away from safety, the Lord and Lady of Highgarden sobbed while the peasants and soldiers rejoiced. Her empathetic smile, attentiveness to their wounds and of course, the herbs and food she had carried with her ignited the flicker of hope in the darkest times.

One fateful day, Seraphina stumbled upon two injured knights bedecked in green armor, hidden in the woods—Ormund and Daryn Hightower, gasping for air, on the brink of death from the Battle of Tumbleton.

As Seraphina returned with the blood stained figures of the castle, Lyonel and Jayne’s anger and fear exacerbated.

Highgarden had remained unharmed because of its neutrality that their naive daughter had just broken.

Yet, the gods seemed to show them mercy, perhaps in honor of the lives House Tyrell defended. The Blacks remained oblivious to this act, which could be seen as a declaration of allegiance. Instead, Seraphina’s uncalculated move of benevolence eaned House Tyrell a favourable position in the new Targaryen court: an intimate alliance with the most influential house beside the new king.

As Lyonel contemplated the offer in silence, Jayne squeezed his hand, “Daryn is a handsome, brave and honourable young man. I recognized the look on his face when Seraphina brought him back from the wild,” she pressed a kiss on cheek, “It’s the same way you looked at me years ago, lord husband.”

Lyonel’s gaze softened as he enveloped his wife into his arms with a light chuckle, “Your jest on formality never cease, my love. If the young Hightower truly feels the same about our daughter as I did to you twenty five years ago,” he cupped her cheeks, “Then, perhaps, that boy deserves her hand.”

Jayne held her husband tightly, relishing his scent and warmth. In a world cruel as this, she thanked to the gods everyday for granting her a man of his devotion, wisdom and strength.

“To King’s Landing then?”

“To King’s Landing,” Lyonel nodded before rolling his eyes, his never dying youthful side emerging, “Where the drunken king will be holding a foolish lavish pageant while his people starve. Seven bless the poor girl he will choose as the new queen.”

Jayne laughed wholeheartedly before tending to his arm, returning to the warmth of the interior, “You know, fate favoured us immensely,” she whispered with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety, “If we had agreed to the Kinslayer’s proposal in marriage-“

Lyonel suddenly gripped the touch of her hand, “Thank the wisdom my father and brother had bestowed me. Never trust a Targaryen. The rumours of…” disturbance and disgust written all over his face, “Lady, now a Princess, Cassandra Baratheon’s screams of pain echoed through the Red Keep on her wedding night. I cannot imagine-“

He buried his face in his hands as he sat down with his wife next to the fireplace.

Jayne brushed his hair with adoration, “Don’t overthink about the past, my love. Phina is about to marry a good man.”

The lord smiled as he lifted his head to face his beloved, “Everything I risked, I fought for, it was worth it. For you, for her, for Lancel, and for our people.”

Jayne kissed him passionately before whispering, “You are too good for this world, Lyonel Tyrell.”

As the stars gracefully pirouetted around the moon in the embrace of the night's darkness, and with the imminent date of embarking on the journey to King's Landing drawing near, the wheel of fate began its inevitable revolution once more.

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aegon ii fanfic #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #alicent hightower

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glade-constellation · 5 months

Text

“We’re going to literally spell out why the bad guy is bad, and how to help them, but do nothing about it because they are Bad Guy™️ and bad guys can’t change.”

The current running theme for every single fucking villain in TSAMS. A running theme I viscerally hate with my entire being. I think KC was the only one to escape this, but even then they just killed him off later.

For a show that seems to want to handle sensitive and heavy topics, they sure as hell never handle them well. Listen, if a majority of your audience is young teens, you need to be careful with the story you tell and what might be taken from it. TSAMS is teaching its audience that bad people will never change.

That’s just not true. At all.

Often people who act out do so because of past trauma. Trauma can be healed with time and therapy. Yes, it’s difficult, especially when the person says they don’t want to heal. But you can do it. Did you know that rejecting help can be a subconscious survival tactic? It doesn’t instantly mean that the person wants to be bad, or wants to stay bad. They are simply living in survival mode, and their brain thinks the way they currently act is the only way to survive.

Just because Bloodmoon says they can’t be helped doesn’t mean it’s true. And it definitely doesn’t mean they immediately deserve death. Yes, they have done terrible things, but nearly everything they’ve done has been ordered of them by another person. That, or their coding. The coding may be a harder thing to fix, but listen. Look at your current cast. You can’t tell me Moon and Solar couldn’t work together to fix it. Or Earth couldn’t help them with therapy and they’d eventually turn to killing just animals. There are so many ways Bloodmoon could be helped, but no. Just no. They don’t want to be helped, so we won’t go out of our way to try.

It’s just so unbelievably frustrating that several fans have pointed this out and the show doesn’t seem to care. Bloodmoon has room to be redeemed, even now, but the show doesn’t want that. They seem to be stuck on this idea the Bloodmoon can’t be redeemed.

And it’s not like this is a new theme they’re trying to tell for the story. No, this has been around since Eclipse. Yes, Sun and Moon did try to help Eclipse in the beginning, but help is a strong word. It was more like they tried to bargain with him. No one actually tried to help. And the moment the bargaining didn’t work, they just dubbed him the villain and turned against him. In the end, Eclipse tried to help. It was pretty terribly done, yeah. But he was trying. He even gave up his one piece of power and told Moon he could send him anywhere in the multiverse. But no, the only way out was through death. I get that Eclipse did a lot of terrible things. I get that a large majority of the cast had their own trauma because of Eclipse. But he could have been helped. We have seen moments where he wanted help, but would immediately turn back to his survival tactics. Eclipse was bad, but he didn’t have to die.

Anyways, they already taught the “villains always bad” story with Eclipse. They don’t need to retell it with Bloodmoon. That’s just reusing old parts of the story.

The only reason I don’t bring Ruin up is because Ruin was different from all the others. There wasn’t anything that made him a villain besides the fact that he was a virus. There was no “sad backstory”. He just was evil. That is how you write a villain you want your audience to love but still want to kill off in the end. Ruin was fun to watch, and a great villain, and I wasn’t mad when they got rid of the virus. I was attached but not at the emotional level as I am with Eclipse, KC, and Bloodmoon. He had no backstory to make me want him to live. I love a villain that is enjoyable to watch but don’t mind when they’re gone. That is how you write a good villain you don’t want people to riot about afterwards.

This has just turned into me ranting about storytelling and character analysis, but honestly. TSAMS. Do better. A good portion of your fan base is screaming for a Bloodmoon redemption. Why are you pushing so hard for people to hate them? You’ve already told the plot line you’re currently trying to sell. What is the point of just upsetting your fans?

#🌟 Ten Talks #tsams #sams #the sun and moon show #sun and moon show #tsams bloodmoon #tsams eclipse #tsams killcode #tsams ruin #long post #not super long but long enough

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caroldantops · 10 months

Text

like a stray to the arms that were open

ship: dark!wanda maximoff x fem!reader; dark(ish)!valkyrie x fem!reader

summary/request: wanda needs a safe place for her and her pet to stay. valkyrie comes up with a compromise. for @maximotts

word count: 1.9k

warnings: smut (18+), dom!wanda, dom!valkyrie, sub!reader, dark themes (kidnapping, brainwashing), very light pet play (just the term pet and collaring), free use, fingering, overstimulation

masterlist | ao3 link

"Enter."

Valkyrie absentmindedly sharpens her dagger, not caring about the mess that accumulates on her desk. She watches the cloaked figure move into the room carefully, each step echoing across the tiles. You follow close behind, a shimmering red trail of light linking your bound wrists and the collar around your neck to your owner. You're dressed in a very plain, but delicate light pink silk garment that hits you just at mid-thigh. The two of you together are a stark contrast, but it's rather fitting, Valkyrie thinks.

"Thank you for meeting with me, your majesty."

"Save your formalities, Wanda," Valkyrie rests her dagger on the table and kicks up her feet, resting her hands folded together on her abdomen. "Or should I say, Scarlet Witch?"

"Well, since we're dropping the formalities, Wanda is just fine." The king gestures to the seats in front of her desk. Wanda takes one of them, and you remain standing, frozen as you wait for permission. Valkyrie watches you carefully, your gaze set hard on the handcrafted tiles beneath your bare feet. She bets you're freezing in the Nordic air, her raging fireplace at the back of her office doing little to soothe your bare skin.

But you don't complain. You don't even shiver.

You've been told to keep quiet and still and wait for your orders, so you do.

Valkyrie can imagine a laundry list of ways she'd like to test that obedience.

"Kneel," Wanda finally commands. You drop to the floor, kneeling silently beside her. She rewards you with a gentle stroke along the back of your neck, silent code for good girl.

"So, what brings you to my neck of the woods, witchy?"

You can feel Wanda's energy radiating off of her, your body and mind deeply in tune with your own by this point, and you can tell she doesn't appreciate the nickname. But, she's here to ask a favor, so she does not take the time to argue about it.

"I've come to ask if you would be able to provide a safe place to stay. I have been...forced to find somewhere where I can keep a low profile."

"This about the whole New Jersey situation?" Valkyrie raises an eyebrow. She knows little about Wanda, mainly from Thor, but a certain sorcerer won't stop contacting her with updates on "multiversal threats" as if she has time to give a shit about that.

"Partially. And some events after that." You see Wanda tap her Darkhold stained fingers against her thigh. A few moments of silence pass as Valkyrie thinks. You dare dart your eyes upwards to see her for briefly, her eyebrows furrowed deep in contemplation.

"Well, y'see you're putting me in a bit of a dicey situation," Valkyrie sighs dramatically, like she's not plagued by the thought, but rather ready to bargain. "How am I gonna be sure that you're not gonna hold New Asgard hostage?"

"I have no intentions of doing that, Valkyrie," Wanda answers firmly. "What I had there I no longer have. There's no reason to repeat it."

"Hm. I believe you, y'know, I do. But if word gets out around town that I'm helping harbor a witch on the run, my people might not be very fond of that." The magic chain attached to your collar shifts, tugging slightly as the tension in Wanda's body grows. You squeak at the pressure, and she shoots you a look. Valkyrie also looks back down at you. "Y'know, you haven't properly introduced me to this one."

"This is my pet," Wanda answers, resting a hand on your head. You take this as cue to meet Valkyrie’s intense gaze over the edge of her intricately carved desk. She leans over out of her chair to see you better, and you shrink a bit under the attention. “In my…cross universe excursions, I found her all alone, just waiting for someone to come along and take care of her. So, I did.”

You lean into Wanda’s touch as she pets you. She wasn’t lying. At least, as far as you remember. She’s flushed out the hard parts, the parts that she didn’t want your sweet little mind plagued with. You didn’t need to remember that you had another Wanda at one point, one who left you for a variant of the man that Wanda thought she wanted back so desperately.

Lost and alone, desperate for your Wanda to come back. She never would, your new Wanda had told you when she yanked you from your universe, bringing you back to a secluded house in a withering forest. She terrified you, you had no idea what it was that she wanted with you - whenever you asked, all she replied was, “You.”

Wanda turned you into her prized pet, got rid of all those early memories that were holding you back from being as compliant and obedient as she needed. Every waking moment of your current existence was dedicated to pleasing her. And hers was now dedicated to keeping you safe.

“Interesting,” Valkyrie hums, sizing you and Wanda up. You can see the gears turning in her head, and you know that there’s no doubt that Wanda is peeking into the King’s mind. But, she doesn’t say anything, just waits for her to bring the thoughts up, which of course, Valkyrie does. “I think that I can manage to house you without raising any suspicions, witch. But you’ve got to sweeten the pot for me.”

“Just say what you want already,” Wanda says, face stoic.

“I let you live here, and you - ” Valkyrie points teasingly at Wanda. “ - let me play with your little pet here. Whenever I want.”

You can’t help but dart your eyes up to your owner. Wanda shows no signs of emotion on her face, not allowing you or Valkyrie to get any sense of where her head is at. Your body shivers at the idea of Valkyrie toying with you. Wanda doesn’t miss it, tugging the magic leash and making you squeak again.

“I scratch your back, you scratch mine, yeah?” Valkyrie chuckles as Wanda continues to sit in silence.

“Angel,” Wanda speaks to you. You perk up at her acknowledgement. “You would do anything I asked of you, right? Because you’re my good girl?”

“Yes, mommy,” you answer with no hesitation.

Wanda nods, like she knew the answer anyway. Or rather, would’ve decided despite your response. She turns back to Valkyrie.

“Deal. As long as I’m present.”

“Course, wouldn’t want me to snatch her away from ya,” Valkyrie grins, offering her hand across the table as if she’s just secured a fancy business deal. Wanda can’t help but roll her eyes as she shakes it. “Can’t wait to break her in. Actually, why even wait?”

“You’re cashing in already?”

“I did say whenever I want, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Wanda breaks the magic tethering you to her. You look up for her guidance of what you’re supposed to do, but you don’t have to sit wondering long. Valkyrie comes around the table and lifts you off the ground with no effort at all, tugging you to bend over the side of the table.

“C’mon, cupcake, gotta give your mommy a nice view huh?” Valkyrie whispers in your ear as she runs her hands up your bare thighs. She leans away from you to push your slip up over your ass and is pleased to see you’re completely bare underneath. “Wanda trying to freeze you in this weather, love? Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up in no time.”

You’re putty in her hands as she kisses up your spine, leaving small bites along the way that make you squirm against her hold. You feel her laugh against your skin as you wiggle, murmuring to herself how pretty you’re gonna look all bruised up.

“You like that, baby? You like my mouth on you?”

Your eyes dart to Wanda yet again. “Answer her, sweetheart. You can speak if she addresses you.”

“Yes…” You’re unsure of how to address the woman kneeling down so she’s face level with your already dripping cunt, and her breath against you makes it even harder to think.

“Hm, I think if you have a mommy already, only seems natural you call me daddy, hm?” Valkyrie licks a long stripe through your folds. You moan and buck against her face, her nose nudging your clit as you do. “Or, my king will also do.”

“Hungry for power much?” Wanda raises an eyebrow. She’s leaned back casually in the plush chair, watching Valkyrie work her pet as if she’s been doing this for years.

“Like you can talk,” Valkyrie shoots back before diving back into your waiting pussy. “Fuck, she’s delicious.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Wanda’s voice betrays her, that little arousal filled rasp that you’re so used to coming out as she shifts in her seat.

“Mm, I know why you wanted to keep her so bad.”

You feel Valkyrie stroke her fingers along your folds as she takes a break licking you to mark up your thighs. Her rough fingertips rub your clit and dip into your hole teasingly. You can’t help pushing back against her hand, which prompts her to deliver a swift smack to your core. Sharp heat pulses through your cunt as she does, and you cry out for Wanda automatically.

“Behave, baby,” Wanda responds to your sob.

“Need more,” you whine.

“Greedy little thing, are we?” Valkyrie’s fingers return to lazily teasing your clit, now throbbing and swollen. “I’m being so nice to you, and you complain about needing more?”

“No, no, ‘m sorry,” you cry. “I’ll be good.”

“Mm, bet you will. Bet your mommy keeps you in line, huh?” Valkyrie rewards your submission with three fingers in your aching cunt. You arch against her, pushing your hips back to meet her deep thrusts. “That’s right, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers. Feels so good, doesn’t it? God, if I’d known I would have a perfect pet bent over my desk today I would’ve brought my strap to work.”

“She’d love that,” Wanda says. “Loves being filled up so much. Loves being bred too.”

“Oh yeah?” Valkyrie grins and stands up, fingers never slowing their thrusts as she presses herself against your back. She leans down beside your ear and whispers, “You like being filled up with cum, huh baby? Want me to stuff that tight little pussy full?”

“Y-yes, please.”

“Course you do, ‘cuz you’re nothing but a desperate slut. Only desperate sluts let strangers fuck them in front of their mommies.” You can barely respond with more than a whine, but that doesn’t matter to Valkyrie. She feels you clenching around her fingers, and curls them just right against your sensitive spot, ripping a raspy moan from your throat. “There you are baby, cum for me. Show your mommy how good I fuck you.”

You can feel a surge of wetness gush past Valkyrie’s fingers as she keeps fucking you through your orgasm, uncaring as you go completely limp on her desk. You expect her to pull out soon, but instead you feel another finger pushing inside of your spent hole. Dizzy with pleasure, you hardly notice as your head is lifted and placed in Wanda’s lap. She strokes your hair and shushes your whines as Valkyrie continues pounding into you, stretching you out more than Wanda ever has.

“Be a good girl and let Valkyrie play with you, baby. She’s gonna take her fill no matter how tired you are, might as well get used to it now.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #valkyrie x reader #silver writes #c: wanda #c: valkyrie

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leikeliscomet · 5 months

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“But We Love Martha Jones!” - The Doctor Who Fandom’s Selective Memory of Racism

Chapter 1 - Everybody Hates Martha

Contrary to now popular Whovian belief, no, the fandom didn’t like Martha at first. In fact, most Martha praise wouldn't come until years after her exit. The issue came from the “Rose shadow” of RTD1. Rose’s traumatic exit hit Ten like a truck and this echoed throughout The Runaway Bride. The episode beautifully covers the stages of grief; his denial as he forgets he can’t have another Christmas on the Powell Estate; his anger at the Racnoss; his bargaining as he reminisces good times with Rose; his depression knowing her can’t get her back and eventual acceptance - ending the episode with a solemn “her name was Rose”. On paper, this was the perfect closure Ten needed for Rose and a lovely way to say goodbye to her even in her absence. But her shadow still covered the rest of S3 and S4. And not in a good way.

From the jump Ten tells Martha she could never replace her but mind you, Martha never claimed she would, but the fandom acted like she did and was. Her presence is mentioned throughout S3: the “not that you’re replacing her” in Smith and Jones; the “Rose would know” in Shakespeare Code; Ten taking Martha to the New New York slums in Gridlock when Rose got “glitter and cocktails”; the ink drawing of Rose popping out of Ten’s subconscious through John Smith in Human Nature/Family of Blood to Jack and Ten’s convo about her in Utopia to even the Master in Last of the Time Lords, calling Martha useless for not absorbing the Time Vortex like a certain companion. Can you guess who she is? Martha to this day is the only companion to be treated as the rebound to a previous companion and this bled into the fandom. Despite Donna’s growth in Partners in Crime working so well because of her growth after The Runaway Bride, it was still a common sentiment to “wish we went straight from Rose to Donna”. The S4 writing didn’t help Martha’s case either. Ten tells Donna about the crush and other “complications” while conveniently leaving out the mixed signals he sent to her. Plus, he admits his mistakes to well… Donna, and not to Martha’s face despite sharing three whole episodes with her. Martha spent those episodes being a host to a Sontaran clone and being kidnapped by the Hath so the “I’m sorry for underestimating you and comparing you to my previous companion, Martha Jones” never came out of Ten’s mouth. The show’s insistence on Martha as the “failed Rose replacement” gave the fandom great excuses to attack her and welcome a mountain of bad faith criticism that haunts Martha Jones discussions to this day.

It doesn’t matter Martha saved the Doctor with CPR in her debut episode, used the Gamma Strike to defeat the pig men on the spot, saved John Smith, Joan and the rest of the village from the Family of Blood despite how racist they all were towards her, came up with the right word to banish the Carrionites on the spot, got the DNA sample needed from Lazarus and distracted him for Ten, got the 42 crew to dump the sun particles in the fuel, warned Ten about Yana’s watch and most importantly, stayed alive in one of humanity’s most hellish years to restore the Doctor and defeat the Master - she was incompetent.

It doesn’t matter Martha never attacked, belittled or actually insulted Rose but was rather tired of being put down for her instead, or the fact Rose within minutes of seeing Martha said “I was here first” and “Who is she?” with disgust - Martha was jealous and bitter.

It doesn’t matter Ten kissed her for a DNA sample despite her cheek, forehead and hand being available, knew about Martha’s crush and still acted oblivious post-Smith and Jones, hugged her then blamed her for said hug, lied to her about Gallifrey but told Rose the truth in her 2nd episode, called her a novice and literally screamed in her face in Utopia - Martha 100% to blame for the failed TenMartha friendship but not our unproblematic fave Ten.

It doesn’t matter Ten was willing to protect and travel with Donna in The Runaway Bride minutes after losing Rose and Eleven having no issue welcoming Clara after watching another version of her, Amy and Rory die in front of him - Martha had to be belittled by Ten because of grief.

It doesn’t matter Rose and Donna, then Amy and Clara in the Moffat era would need supernatural intervention to gain their titles, or that Rose and Donna needed Ten’s help a few times in their series - Martha had no agency.

It doesn’t matter Ten fell in love with Rose, Madame de Pompadour, Joan Redfern, Queen Elizabeth I, River Song, Astrid Peth AND Lady Christina, or RTD1’s insistence of (heterosexual) romance being the most human trait of humanity (which is a whole other conversation) - Martha’s romantic feelings were a flaw she needed to correct.

It doesn’t matter Rose, Amy and Clara would fall in love with the Doctor to the point of being willing to abandon their families for him, forcibly kissing him or trying to be him - Martha was the clingy one. It doesn’t matter Professor Yana’s drumbeat began before he met the gang because it was Martha’s fault the Master came back too apparently. Remember little Tim Latimer stealing the fob because it was reaching out to him? The fans didn’t because Martha was blamed for losing the fob too! Martha’s not a flawless person but it can’t be denied Martha was critiqued for moments that were out of her control. From various nuanced plot points where she was a victim of circumstance to lacking hindsight she literally couldn't have had because she wasn’t in S1/S2, to being disliked for doing the exact same things her white female counterparts did, it’s highly unlikely the Martha Hate Train was born from constructive criticism.

<- Intro Chapter 2 ->

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

Text

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (Part 16)

tw: literally Yves watching ur every move, super suffocating stuff, Yandere shenanigans

Yeah ok u guys decided to lust for the creep, then the creep u shall receive

after this chapter i mean

Part 17

You told him your opinion on Montgomery.

"I see." He replied. Yves deadpanned at you before pulling you in for another kiss on the lips. Your face and the tips of your ears heat up, you're still not used to this yet.

He pulled away and chuckled at your bashfulness. Trying to cover your burning face with your hands is futile, as it only makes him tease you more.

"Call me if you need to go somewhere. I'm available for you any time." He slung the straps of his handbag around his shoulder, and Yves prepared his car keys in his hand.

You told him 'okay' as you're rubbing the last of his lipstick marks off using a piece of wet wipe.

He stroked your head, traced his fingertips down your jaw and finally held your chin. He tilted your head upwards and gave you a forehead kiss.

You whinged as you now have to wipe off one last print. He bid you goodbye before closing and locking the front door behind him.

Soon after, you dashed back into your room trying to escape your housemates hollering.

Days would go on like this: Yves breaks into your house using the spare key, scare the shit out of you when you open the door to see him standing there, receive adequate kisses, eat (br)lunch, talk for hours, landlord comes over to fix more stuff, eat dinner and finally, at around midnight- sometimes later, Yves would leave.

You would go to sleep almost immediately, but definitely looking forward to the next day.

He started coming in earlier and earlier, working on his things during times where you had nothing to say. You asked him about his work, he tried explaining it to you but you zoned out. It's so boring and complicated. Full of numbers, charts and graphs, you couldn't care less.

Needless to say, he cooked all your meals and did all your chores for you. You always protested, because it isn't his job and you should be responsible for taking out the trash or keeping yourself alive.

Yves would simply ignore you and do them anyway. If you're particularly worried, he assures you that it's some sort of a hobby of his to take good care of you. If you insist that he stops, he will guilt you; making you think that you're unnecessarily taking away part of his joy in this relationship when it isn't even harming you. So you just let him do what he wants, and you benefit from it greatly.

You really like him. He lets you take a nap on his lap while he types away at your desk, Yves listens to you ramble about your interests and occasionally adds his own fascinating commentary to it. You were astonished to know he has a whole database of random fandom trivia in his head. He washed your sheets and made your bed for you every morning.

He lets you hog his portable fan to yourself. But eventually, his bargaining powers lead to your landlord installing a ceiling air conditioner in your room. The best part? No rise in rent.

Yves gradually introduced you to a solid skincare routine. It started off with a simple face cleanser and moisturizer. Then he added toner to the regime. Then a weekly exfoliation and bi-weekly usage of sheet masks. It was hard for you to remember to do it or have the motivation, but Yves didn't mind maintaining your skin.

You just love the tingles you felt when he reclined you on your chair and he massages your face with the moisturizer. His fingers skillfully work to unravel you.

He made your house actually enjoyable to live in. You haven't gone out in three weeks and that didn't alarm you. You are glowing, physically fitter than ever, clean and most importantly, happy.

You have the drive to do so many things. Like learning a new language, learning to code, learning to knit or crochet, learning to draw... anything you wanted to do, Yves is always the expert to consult. He would buy the materials you need and teach you step by step. It made sense for him to be an extraordinary mentor, because you found out that he was also an exemplary lecturer at your university at one point.

You confirmed that he's currently a researcher, specifically, a research mathematician who works together with other branches of academia including but not limited to human Psychology, biology and sociology. The gist of his project has to do with predictive algorithms and probabilities. It's impressive and complicated, too bad you're not interested beyond what was described in a nutshell.

It's no secret that you look up to him, seeing that you're also a student looking to advance their education.

But it begs the question of his age. He has done so much in a short span of time. You wonder what his true age is.

But it's almost impossible to know because he would be offended whenever his age is brought up. It seems like he despised being perceived as ancient, which you understand. He probably comes from a time where youth is overly worshipped. You let it go, it isn't like his age affects you in any way.

It doesn't mean you didn't try searching him up. At first you suspected that he was lying because you couldn't find anything about him working at your university on the internet. But you sent an email to the administration asking about him. They came back with the confirmation that Yves is currently a hired researcher there. Strange that they knew who he is without knowing his last name. You guess there's only one Yves in the entirety of his faculty.

Speaking of names, you were shocked to find out that Yves didn't have a last name. After tons of relentless teasing from Yves for wanting to know his surname and a platitude of shame-induced face coverings later, you finally discovered he doesn't have one. This was bizarre to you, but Yves only told you off for being insensitive towards him, as not everyone has the privilege of a last name. It seems like a touchy subject, better not bring it up again.

Although it has been around a month since you think you first met Yves, you can safely say that you're madly in love with him. He is way more attentive and caring of you than anyone you ever met. Not even your parents or guardians can compare. Absolutely no one in your life has treated you this well.

There is that nagging feeling that something is very wrong. It wasn't a "He is going to leave you for someone better" feeling, it was more of a "what if Yves is secretly an organ harvester and he's healing you up to make a good price on the black market?"

But due to blind love, you forced yourself to brush it off as some implausible, impossible, silly thought.

...is it though? Yves does give off uncanny vibes sometimes no matter how suave and sexy he is. He has a lot of things to hide and the knowledge that you have of him is not enough to save you if he ever decides to steal a kidney or two.

Maybe this relationship isn't good for you. It keeps giving you inner turmoil to lose sleep over. This is definitely too good to be true, no one likes being a full time babysitter for their partner; this has to be a trap! You think you should quickly break it off with Yves before it gets too--

You were interrupted from your thoughts when you felt the chilly air from the air conditioner nip at your skin. The bliss of not being boiled alive by your own fluid trickles down your forehead.

You close your eyes and grin, letting the wind blow on your sweaty hair. This is lovely, you're so grateful to have Yves in your life. If you didn't have him here, you wouldn't be able to enjoy this temperate luxury.

Yves lets his focused gaze linger on your form for a few more seconds before replacing the remote back onto the holder. Yves pressed the button on his stopwatch, the beep was soft enough to go unnoticed.

He checked the temperature, the time and the humidity of your bedroom before logging them all into his computer. Yves turned his head to look at your position on the floor, you're splayed out like a rag as gusts of cold air strike your body.

He opened another file, which is the floorplan of this house. His eyes scanned the screen, noting down the exact coordinates of your precise location.

It would always be like this. You would start formulating thoughts and suspicions on Yves, spiral so much that you contemplated ending everything to protect yourself, then something interrupts your mind and eradicating the unwanted ideas entirely. Be it a change in temperature, texture, hunger or thirst. Sometimes, it's because you feel you hit your Yves-interaction/social quota for the day. So he would excuse himself and leave your house until you recovered.

He always comes back at the perfect time. Just right when you're starting to yearn for him. Yves ensures he never leaves for too long to make you think he's neglecting you. But he wouldn't come back too soon to make you go "yuck, this bitch's face again?"

Your signs could be as minuscule as a lower lip twitch, a brief, split-second movement of the eye, flaring of nostrils, positioning of your arms or even a change in the depth or rhythm of your breathing.

Or it could be an increase in heart rate, body temperature or sweat beading from your pores. Hell, it could even be the sound of you swallowing your spit or the smell of irritation.

They are all telltale signs that you're about to do or think about something undesirable due to overwhelm or underwhelm.

It's scary. He could just detect it with his superhuman senses. But ignorance is bliss, you still didn't know that he's puppeteering your environment accordingly. He would very much like to keep it that way.

Yves must admit, he has been careless. For the past three weeks, he failed to consider that his daily presence is wearing you down. It was his own fault for disregarding his calculations, Yves was originally only supposed to see you four times a week; that was the most optimal arrangement.

But he was enamoured, as desperate and feverish as you to be together. He just hides it impeccably well. Could you blame him, though? This was the first time you acknowledged him, the first time Yves got to kiss, touch, and hug you as freely as he wanted. The first time he gets to observe past the use of cameras- he does not need to hide. He gets to put his elaborate meal plans to use, you're eating his cooking, he's washing your clothes and you're accepting his backrubs. This is the closest so far to the ideal he wanted in his life with you. Anyone would be greedy in his situation.

But he flew too close to the sun like Icarus did. The wax melted off his wings and now he has to face the consequences that would have been avoided if only he had controlled himself better.

He's starting to notice you're not as positively receptive to his kisses as before. Sometimes even outright grimacing and shuddering in disgust when you think he's not looking. You spent a couple minutes longer in the bathroom, sometimes up to an hour, claiming you had stomach issues. But you didn't have problems with your digestion, your boyfriend made sure of that. He meticulously checks everything that goes into your mouth and he knows you didn't even pull your pants down. All you did was sit in the corner and scroll on your phone.

You did it just to escape from Yves and he's fully aware of that.

It devastated him when he went through your internet history:

Yves removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He checked the timestamps, and you accessed the web since three in the morning.

"Why are my boyfriend's kisses and hugs gross to me now"

"Clingy boyfriend"

"How to tell my boyfriend to stop being clingy without hurting his feelings"

"How to say no to hugs"

"How to say no to hugs and kisses"

"How to say no"

"How to stop people pleasing"

"How to tell people that i dont want to see them but not forever just for a few days"

"Social battery"

"Therapists near me"

"Therapy price"

"is University counseling free"

"university counseling wait times"

"How to break up with my boyfriend"

"Is it rude to break up over text"

"Script for breaking up"

"Nice script for breaking up"

"Kind script for breaking up"

"Breaking up without hurting his feelings script"

"ChatGPT"

"Do retired lecturers have a habit of checking for plagiarism in their day to day life"

"Is AI generated content plagiarism"

"Jobs near me"

He knows he has no one but himself to blame. He had a plan all laid out, if he followed it to a Tee, it would have conditioned you to ultimately accept his intense love without complaints. He was supposed to give you a maximum of one kiss on the lips and four others somewhere else on your face. But gave you a whopping average of 76 kisses a day, 20 of which are on the lips; 1520% of the actual daily cap on kisses.

Likewise, he hugged you too much. Yves was only supposed to give you 12 hugs, lasting 8 seconds each at most, spaced throughout the day. However, you're in his arms for a total of 6 hours a day; 2250% of the maximum.

He is the first thing you see in the morning and the last face you perceive before sleeping, From before sunrise to past beyond sundown, you would be exposed to him; from 6am to 12am the next day; he would already be in your room before you're even awake. Subconsciously, you know he's there because the brain never stops working.

Of course, you would be sick of him! It doesn't matter if you came from an affectionate family or you turned out severely touch-starved, with extreme figures like these, anyone would be nauseated with his presence by the third week!

Yves fought back the urge to run the numbers back the fifth time. The cold hard facts are there, he made a grave mistake. Painstakingly recalculating everything is just a pathetic attempt to appease his denial that he lost control over himself.

He sighed and propped his head up by an elbow, absentmindedly fiddling on his calculator. Yves's eyes flitted up to the monitor. You're curled up into a ball on your bed, scrolling on your phone. Most likely to try and catch up with your own me-time. Yves could see pixels of bags forming under your eyes.

He shook his head and decided he must rectify this. Yves got up from his seat and sauntered out of his office, switching the lights off but leaving his surveillance equipment on.

Meanwhile, you yawned, closing your eyes and letting your phone slip next to you. Finally but reluctantly drifting off to sleep.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #oc montgomery

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