#[And the tracker is broken]

[maddieandangel]

Consider: character-exclusive trinkets.

[rrat-king]

personal headcannon that jawbone and tracker have like dog allergies (not deadly but think like severe lactose intolerance type reactions) and like people who are lactose intolerant, they will still eat things that hurt them cuz it tastes good which leads me too:

there is a constant battle between jawbone, tracker, and their respective partners over whether they are allowed to have hot chocolate or not.

jawbone: i should be allowed to eat whatever i want. i am a grown man!

sandra lynn (actively confiscating the cocoa he just brewed and replacing it with tea): yes! a grown man trying to poison himself for the sake of hot chocolate.

kristen and sandra lynn are unlikely allies in the war against their partners need for a sweet drink that will ruin their stomachs. sandra lynn is great at hiding the hot chocolate mix where they can’t find it and kristen has spilled every drink that she’s ever looked at so if they do it gets destroyed.

just. shenanigans ya know

[valistheanshield]

Mutual checker is broken, again. Why can't this stupid hellsite work for more than a day?

[meenaxskz]

when the bed gave up on life (hyung line)

ot8 reactions | bf!skz x reader au genre: crack | light smut warnings: language | suggestive content a/n : (testing new posts layout, it will probably change again idk) i always try to not write cliché gym rat changbin... but it has jokes potential so yeah lol. ✧ hyung line | maknae line

bang chan

“C’mere” Chan growls flipping you onto your stomach. You gasp, already dizzy “Holy shit-okay-aggressive!” “I said I’d make you feel it” he grunts, pressing into you, “so shut up and-” CRRREAK. SNAP. Silence. You’re on the floor. The mattress is sideways. A piece of the frame bounced. Chan’s still inside you “…Did the bed just die?” you whisper, stunned. He’s frozen. Still holding your hips. “I-I think I just alpha’d the IKEA out of it.” You collapse face first into the blanket, wheezing. Chan pulls out gently like he’s scared touching you will trigger another collapse. “I’m so sorry,” he says, horrified. “Are you hurt??” You look up with tears in your eyes...from laughing “You fucked us into poverty” He starts pacing. Still naked “I JUST WANTED TO MAKE YOU SEE STARS” “You did! But the bed saw heaven!” --- Five minutes later, you’re both wrapped in the blanket on the floor, drinking water and staring at the broken frame like it’s a crime scene. Chan sighs. “That was expensive.” You snort. “tell me about it” He looks at you, grins. “You still wanna finish?” You raise a brow. “On what the rug?” He shrugs. “Bet it won’t break.”

lee know

You’re clinging to the headboard. He’s behind you, low growling, full feral mode, hips snapping. “Don’t even try to run” he pants. “You wanted this.” You gasp “Min- the bed’s creaking-” He grips your hips tighter. “So are you. Guess which one I care about more.” CRRREEAAAK. SNAP. THUD. You drop. Flat on the mattress, now tilted at a cursed 45 degrees. Minho flops on top of you like a sweaty, breathless. Silence. “…Did we just fall?” You’re wheezing into the sheet. “THE BED BROKE YOU PSYCHO.” He slowly lifts himself off you, glancing around checking the crime scene. Then calmly : “…It was probably loose before we started.” You sit up, wild-eyed. “I literally heard you say ‘I wanna break you tonight.’” “I meant emotionally. That bed just had bad build quality.” “...Minho, one of the legs is across the room.” He shrugs. “That’s not my fault. That’s gravity. And weak screws.” You glare at him, tangled in sheets and shame. He wipes sweat off his chest with a smug little annoying smirk. “You’re welcome by the way.” “For WHAT?!?” “For the experience. You’re glowing.” "Oh my god" --- Later, you lie together on the mattress, which is on the floor now, panting and sore. You mutter “we need a new bed.” He hums, already falling asleep “...and it better be able to handle me”

changbin

It starts innocent enough... LIES. Sweat is dripping, you’re moaning, he’s muttering things like “You’re so tight,” “I love this angle” and “This is why I do leg day" (??) The bed is screaming. You clutch the headboard “It’s creaking-” “I’M CREAKING TOO BABY STAY FOCUSED—” CREEAAACKK. SNAP. BOOM. The bed dies. You both collapse mid-thrust like the mattress got drop-kicked by karma. You gasp. “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” Changbin is hovering above you, wide-eyed, hair sticking up like he got electrocuted “…Did I break the bed?” You stare. “Are you asking me while you’re still inside me?!” He slowly pulls out, rolls to the side, and looks around at the hurricane damage. One bed leg is completely gone. A bolt rolled under the dresser. He exhales. “That’s kinda hot though.” You blink. “You BROKE our BED Binnie!” “I told you I was strong” You smack his arm. “This isn’t CrossFit! This was my peaceful coochie session!” He giggles. --- He grabs his phone. “Wait. Wait. I need a pic. I gotta show the guys.” “DON’T YOU DARE” He grins. “I’m putting ‘broke the bed during sex’ on my gym progress tracker.”

hyunjin

You’re on top, breathless, hair sticking to your forehead, hands planted on his chest. Hyunjin’s gripping your thighs, eyes rolling back as you ride him. “Fuck-yes...just like that, baby...” CREAAKK. SNAP. THE WHOLE RIGHT SIDE DROPS. You scream as the mattress collapses, pitching sideways. Hyunjin yelps, legs flailing as you both go crashing down mid-thrust. A full thud echoes across the room. Silence. Then his voice : “…WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” You’re tangled in blankets, still half on top of him. “DID YOU JUST ASK ME LIKE I PLANNED THAT?!” He stares at you with wide, scandalized eyes. “YOU WERE ON TOP THIS IS YOUR FAULT.” You sit up, offended. “I was riding you into heaven and the bed flopped.” He throws a hand up dramatically. “EXACTLY I WAS LITERALLY JUST LYING THERE BEING SEXY AND SUPPORTIVE.” You glare “supportive?? You kept yelling FASTER like I was a fucking engine!” He rolls off the broken half of the bed and flops onto the floor like a naked fish “The bed wasn’t ready for that kind of passion. I wasn’t ready. My ass hit the wood slats” You cover your face. “I think I bruised my knee.” --- 10 minutes later, Hyunjin is sprawled across the mattress on the floor “we need a new bed. And... knees.” You open one eye “You still came though.” He chucks a pillow at you.

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[muntitled]

Force-Fed

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: You didn't need a job. Not when you only needed him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Coercion, Standards Relationship, Abuse, Isolation, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Jealousy, Codependency, Stalking, Yandere!Salesman, Smut (+18) mdni, DDLG, Taboo Sex (she literally calls him dad), Freudian Slip, Daddy Kink, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Subspace, Slight!Age Regression, Choking, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Dacryphillia, Breeding Kink

A/n: If this isn't your vibe, leave the fic alone. Read something else. Like always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Installing a mobile tracker on your phone might not have been the most morally good thing to do, that he could admit. Perhaps even more incriminating is that the idea struck him while you were passed out on the floor, your body thoroughly spent from all his ravaging. He was nothing if not an inquisitive man and he needed to see what you got up to during the week, when you were without him. (Note: this started out as a precaution. For your own good. You ought to be thankful to have someone like him in your life).

Who knew that the tracker would bring him here?

His jaw is screwed shut as he leans down under the awning of a building, spotting you through the window of a tired coffee shop, donning a uniform he hadn't even known you owned- it set him alight with a certain level of possessiveness that was foreign to him.

He admits that before you, he'd never had much use for any pointless emotions like love or care. They were, at their very core function, just hormones injected into the brain in order to trick humans into reproduction. That's what he saw you as for the longest time: A means of reproduction. A conduit through which he could fulfill all his most absurd fantasies- fantasies that scared even himself.

When he hit you, fondled you, groped you or stretched your body beyond its tantalizing capabilities, he truly believed he was making you useful, and in return for your services you got to coast through university without having to worry about bills.

That's what it was supposed to be. Nothing less and certainly nothing more.

So what the hell is this?

Today is a Tuesday and your 'sessions' together are scheduled on Wednesday. He ought to just keep on walking and go about the rest of his day forgetting having ever seen you.

As far as your agreement was concerned, you were strictly expected to leave him to his devices throughout the week- it never occurred to him that he would also be expected to leave you to yours.

It makes him tsk, seeing you scrub the counters of a cafe... as if you didn't have him to provide for you.

Had he not provided you with enough?

Had you not gotten everything you wanted?

You were like a dog without a leash.

And his hand was itching to pull you right back to him.

He walks into the coffee shop before his brain is finished processing his movements.

"Good afternoon-" greeted the young man behind the counter. The place smelt like roasted coffee beans and debt. It's obvious in the very few patrons milling about that this business was doomed to fail. Your Salesman had a knack for spotting abject poverty and the owner- your boss, one Lee Junmin was teetering on the edge of financial ruin. It's a very good thing that your Salesman is here to save you from this sinking ship.

"Good afternoon," your salesman says stiffly, almost amicably.

He finds you mid-conversation with your coworker. There's a smile on your face as you crane your neck back, holding a cup under the burning faucet of a coffee machine. You're speaking amicably and you're still smiling. Genuinely. Not at all the robotic smile you reserved for the Salesman during your 'sessions'.

He realises now, watching you with a real smile plastered on your face, that you had been lying to him. You don't seem as broken as you claim to be. Seeing you here, assimilated into society. Sporting a part time job?

His knuckles clench around the handle of his briefcase. He was brimming with the need to punish you for it.

It's absurd.

To punish someone for being a fully functional human being. Not even his own psychological issues could adequately reason that.

The younger boy behind the counter rests a hand on your shoulder, finally letting your eyes settle on the tall Salesman behind the counter.

He can see the moment your breath catches in your throat.

How he wishes he had his heavy hands wrapped tight around that throat. He'd choke you for trying to get rid of him. For trying to... not need him.

"Could you take care of this customer? I need to go out for a break-" Your co-worker mumbles quietly and your heart drops like a bag of dipped in molten lava at the sight of him standing there on the opposite end of the counter. There's a smug sort of smirk playing across his features. I've caught the traitor, now it's off with your head.

You begrudgingly steel your nerves before turning to face your co-worker again, trying to even your breathing as you assimilate back into your easy banter, "And how many times have I told you smoking is bad for you-"

Your co-worker raises his tattooed hands, sporting a boyish grin. It's oddly refreshing to interact with a boy your age- someone normal who wasn't drowning in psychopathic tendencies or bullying homeless people for fun.

"Who said I'm going for a smoke break?" He asks, as you slide up to the counter. You situated yourself behind the barrier as if it was going to keep you safe. You knew nothing could keep you safe from the tense shadow hovering over your benefactor's eyes. The Salesman is livid as your co-worker finally makes himself scarce and after a few tense seconds, he finally speaks.

"I didn't know you did this." He says, staring you down the bridge of his nose.

Play it calm. Play it cheeky. Play it coy.

"You didn't know I make coffee?" That snooty remark doesn't earn you a single gratifying chuckle. It doesn't even earn you a soft, meaningless smile. In contrast, all it gets you is monotony. He's pissed.

"Worked." He spits out, "I didn't know you worked."

You only manage to stare up at him, silently before turning your attention to the screen in front of you.

There were a great many things he had already stolen from you- full autonomy over your body being the greatest loss. You'd raise up hell itself before you truly let him strip you of your independence.

"What can I get you for today?" Swift. Curt. Professional. As if you hadn't felt this man inside you. As if he hadn't choked you out until your vision was sparkling with stars. As if you didn't have his cock down your throat. No one here knew about your arrangement. In this coffee shop, you were safe from your history with the Salesman.

"Americano," You sigh softly, thinking he'll respect you enough to keep things professional. Poor, naive you.

“Tell them you quit." He says, forcing you to look up at his cold, dead orbs. "Do it now."

Your finger pause over the screen and your breathing picks up.

He couldn't do this. Not here. Not when you've finally found refuge away from him, his sadism, his demands and his reminders that he held the keys to you obtaining your degree. This coffee shop was the one place he couldn't reach you...

So why were you already on the cusp of giving in?

Your eyes flit over to the few patrons milling about before staring up at the man on the other side of the counter. Daylight was dwindling and beyond the windows, the city was drenched in an orange, almost pink late afternoon glow.

"Your order's coming right up."

"This place is going bankrupt soon. They'll fire you. It's better you quit now before they do." Your hands falter as you struggle to swallow that deeply authoritative veneer in his voice. That fatherly sort of guidance. Be careful, it said.

"Oh, this is you protecting me?" You hated that this was taking place at work, but business is indeed slow and the only other worker here is in the back of the building, smoking away his problems.

"Not protecting you." He says with a shake of his head, as a slow smile curls the ends of his lips, "Warning you."

You rolled your eyes then. It made his hand twitch with the need to correct you. To force you to submit to him. If there's one thing he couldn't stand, it's a rabid little girl.

"You can have a seat while you wait for your Americano-"

"Fuck the Americano." It comes out louder than he intended. It's a surprise, just like the vein popping out of his forehead. His mask was slipping.

"Tell them you wanna quit." He says in a much softer, more in-control tone of voice. He leans against the counter so that the words exchanged are heard only by the two of you.

There is deep anger and menace in his eyes. You can see the warning in them. Its blood-red and calling for you to just submit.

But you're feeling particularly brave. And so you immediately respond.

"Or what?"

"Or I’ll fucking kill you. You or that co-worker." His gaze fits to the door through which the boy disappeared as he sighed and said, "Remember the roommate's boyfriend?"

How could you ever forget?

There was blood.

So much blood.

Who knew humans were walking around with that much blood inside them?

"You want to threaten me out of having a job?" You were losing this battle and quickly. Desperation is the only thing you cling to as your eyes peer up at him.

"Want to?" He shakes, “Little Girl, I am threatening you. Quit now. Your co-worker would greatly appreciate it.”

He taps that counter once before taking a seat. "I'll get that Americano to go."

𓂃

Devastation.

A hyperbole of sadness and a pure manifestation of self pity that overwhelmed you in the taxi ride back to your apartment. Your mind replayed the confusion that graced your co-workers friendly face when you told him you 'just couldn't work here anymore'. The genuine sadness in his eyes had stopped you dead in your tracks. It triggered tears that you didn't even know you had because he actually made you feel loved.

Real love, not the fake stuff given to you by this hulking man seated silently in the taxi beside you.

The interior is flooded with neon lights and myriad little stars are plastered in the black sky.

"Fix your face," he grumbles without looking at you, "You're ruining everyone's mood."

You went the rest of taxi ride, sulking up a storm, until you arrived at your apartment building where you didn't look at him once, as you rode the elevator up, up, and up.

While you were contemplating genuine suicide, he, on the other hand, was one of the happiest- if not the happiest man on the planet.

He told you to correct your mood but the truth is he loved it. He loved seeing you so juvenile, as if you were teetering on the edge of a tantrum he so badly wanted to correct. He loved seeing you sulk like a child. It set his bones alight with a deep, uncomparable need.

He thought pain was the only thing that got his dick hard.

Perhaps he stands corrected.

"Take off your shoes," he hollers in that same tone of authority once you've entered your apartment building. You're like a ghost as you turn to kick your shoes off at the door before lugging your body deeper into the house. He watches you drop your handbag right there on the floor, before you're throwing yourself on the couch, face first like a sack of potatoes.

He attempts to hide his smile as he walks in along after you. He undoes the buttons of his blazer as he stands above you, eyeing you under a quirked brow as your shoulders begin to wrack with your tears.

He shrugs off the blazer before folding it on the nearest armchair.

You flinch when you feel his hand on your foot, lifting it up to make space for his large frame lowering onto the couch.

That infuriatingly warm voice is back as he quietly asks "Why are you crying?"

He extends his hands to the small of your back, rubbing dizzying circles while you cry and cry. He's comforting you after being the very reason you need comfort in the first place. Everything about this man is one big contradiction.

"I thought you'd be happy about this." Your voice is muffled by the cushion. You don't look up at him.

"What on earth would give you the impression that I want you to work?" He asks.

"W-Well," you attempt to rain in your sniffles and he attempts to not visibly grow a boner as your bloodshot eyes finally come into view. You're a beautiful mess for him. Your lashes are wet and your nose is runny and he wants to do so many vile things to you, its eating away at his soul.

He wants to play this game for as long as he can though, this sulking game that he didn't know hed enjoy so much. He settles for setting his hand at the back of your head as you talk.

"If I have a job that means there's less stuff you have to buy for me and-" You answer, sniffling cutely as you sit beside him. You're staring down at your hands fidgeting in your lap while his eyes can't leave the pathetic tears running down your face.

He doesn't think when he says it. He's not thinking about anything other than your body. How little you become for him. How sombre and sullen and sulky you are.

"And what if I prefer it?" He asks softly, "Taking care of you?"

You shake your head, trying to remove his hand ghosting behind you but he only weaves his fingers into your braids, keeping a wonderful grip on your scalp.

"You had no right to do that- you had no right to make me quit."

He leans over, sufficiently done with all these terrible games you've played and forced him to play. He was so dangerously close to combustion, his hands were trembling as he reached over to undo the buttons of your work polo shirt. You let him.

Of course you let him.

"Who was that then? You kissed him before?" His eyes find you before moving back down to the t-shirt. His fingers hook under the ends of the shirt as he lifts it up.

"Who was who? My co-worker?" You sound tired and dejected and you immediately hug yourself when nothing but cool air drifts over your naked torso. He moves a large hand over your breasts, marveling at the sheer size of it, comparing it in his hands. Your body truly was magnificent, he realizes. And all he has done this whole time is try to kill it.

"That... child," he breathes before dropping his hands down to your work pants. He undoes the buttons and you watch him with an intense look in your eye.

"You have a knack for calling every boy my age a child," you say shortly.

"That's because you're young," he admits before tapping your thigh slightly. You lift your hip and let him maneuver you out of the khaki pants, never to be worn again. The smell of coffee still hangs heavily over your skin but it's significantly less intense. Right now all he smells is you.

"And yet," you showcase to him the latest bruise along your collarbone. It's big and angry and hid very easily under the polo shirt. However, here under the overhead lights of your apartment, he could see them, "Look at everything you've ever done to me-"

He groans then. He actually groans.

His eyes flutter shut as his legs spread a little wider and he sinks a little lower into the couch. "Fuck," he whispers, head swinging towards you as he flutters his eyes back open.

"Come sit on my lap?"

His request only catches you remarkably off-guard. “Excuse me?”

"I said come sit on my lap," he replies so defiantly it nearly has your brain short circuiting. You narrow your eyes, not trusting it.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Because I'm hard and I'd like you to sit on my lap."

"Is this another game?" You ask, still remarkably on the fence about the man who had been the pinnacle of sadism, suddenly force-feeding you his affections.

"If you don't sit on my lap I will bring out the cane again, don't tempt me-" before your able to make a decision, he makes one for you- attacking you with his large hands before you're able to protest any further. He wrestles you onto him, forcing you to take what he gave.

You're made to straddle his left thigh as he pulls you in close until your tits are pressed up against his shirt. He buries his head in-between the crook of your neck and you croak out a moan as he inhales you sharply. He hugs you towards him, bouncing you slightly on his knees. The feeling shoots straight to your cunt and you immediately begin to groan on top of him.

With his head over your shoulder, you can feel his fingers grace over the marks he'd left before. The marks from the cane. It scarred your back. Moulding the flesh in his image. Branding you as his

"You're young but you can handle it." He whispers, swiping his thumb over your scars before drifting his hands down to your hip. He slowly begins to drag your hips forward and you gasp, immediately searching for something to grab onto. You settle for his shirt. Your fingers curl around the fabric and he lets you ruin it as he pushes you back slowly on his thigh. He continues these torturous movements until your cunt gets the message and starts acting accordingly.

He watches with a slow nod as you begin to ride his thigh like he's conditioned you to.

"Jeez-" It was the sheer intimacy of the actual act that had your arousal dripping out of you and onto his thigh. You'd never had sex with him- purely for sex. It had always been an act of torture or punishment that had always led to sex. But never something so sexual being done so blatantly .

"Fuck yourself on my thigh-" he whispers hoarsely, almost pained as he urges you along. "You can do it, can't you? You can be a good slut for me?"

An equally pained whimper seeps out of your closed lips as you begin to ride his thigh like your life depends on it- spurred on by darkness in his glare and the bulge tenting his pants.

When you notice him undoing the buttons of those pants you realize you are utterly done for.

"Good little slut," he mumbles as he mindlessly reaches inside his boxers to uncover his cock already dripping precum.

"Open your mouth-" he's already shoving his fingers inside, flattening your tongue in order to collect as much saliva as possible before spreading it all over his cock. You watch in complete wonder as he begins to fuck his fist to the same rhythm you ride his thigh- it's so mesmerizing.

"D-Does this count as a session or-"

"Shh-" he says, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand squeezes the base of his cock.

He fluffers his eyes open again, only to state deeply into your lust-filled gaze.

"I don't think I've ever cum inside you with the actual objective of getting you pregnant." His words completely knock you off-kilter and he needs to bring his hand up to your side to stop you from slipping off his thigh.

He continues to stroke his cock, picking up speed.

"I've only ever just... did it.”

“Pl-Please stop talking-” you mumble, “I’ll cum,”

He doesn't listen.

“I cum inside you 'cus it's what I feel like doing in the moment," you try to stitch every piece of this moment to memory. The wrinkles lining his manic eyes, smile wiped clean from his face, leaving only a serious, aroused look of an incredibly grown, strong man.

"F-Fuck," your hips stutter on top of him as you softly whimper. "D-Dad-"

It cracks out of you.

And almost immediately you wish you could take it back but you're already cumming. And your words have his eyes widened as he lifts his hips from the couch fucking his fist deeper.

"F-Fuck I'm cumming-" he admits oh so gravely as his eyes squeeze shut.

"Me too-" you whimper as your own orgasm splits through you, soaking his thigh and ruining the fabric further.

Beyond a few shallow words, guaranteeing you that you won't be annihilated, he almost never initiates affection. In fact, you weren't even really sure if he was capable of it yet here he was, confessing the only way he knew how.

You're cumming on top of him as spurts of his cum land on his chest, making a mess on his shirt. You're both breathing heavily in the afterglow. The fog has yet to clear.

You sit up slowly, body wracking with aftershocks.

"This was nice but um- I need you to be rougher-" the words barely leave your mouth before he's clamping your throat shut with his fist. He's breathing heavily with his eyes still squeezed shut.

"You don't need anything-" he reminds you quietly, "You don't make demands, you take what I give you."

He squeezes and squeezes your throat like he did his cock.

"You're like a baby being forced fed.” He says, “My baby. My thing to take care of.”

[witherby]

What would happen if any if the batfamilys enemies kidnapped baby y/n and ended up hurting them badly?

I'm happy to tell you, but not in any fantastic detail. When you say "baby" I think "infant, no teeth, still in diapers, etc."

Content warning for bruises on an infant

--

The contexts in which you would not be with a family member as an infant are very few and far between. I'm thinking a couple of your brothers have you on an outing, like a soiree or a networking lunch for Wayne Enterprises, where they have to put the masks away and act like civilians. There's lots of people around, their attention spans are divided, and they're also counting down the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave.

When that time finally hits, Dick politely excuses himself and goes to collect you and Tim so they can head home. But he only finds Tim.

And Tim turns and only sees Dick.

"I thought you were watching them," Tim says, immediately turning sheet white. Dick's complexion is the same.

"I thought you were watching them."

Cue the immediate panic. Tim has his phone out and is trying to pinpoint your location via the tracker they put in all your pacifiers. Dick's eyes are sweeping the area for any signs of you having either crawled away or gotten scooped up by some confused and well-meaning socialite.

You are far away, and getting farther. Someone definitely took you on purpose. They don't hesitate before leaving the gathering and radioing backup. They'll handle all the screaming and scolding from everyone else as long as you get back home safe.

Whoever did take you, be it someone from the usual rogues gallery or a rando that likes kidnapping kids, it doesn't take long for them to catch up to him. It also doesn't take long to do any damage, either, so when they do find you, it's unfortunately with some significant bruising. Your chubby cheeks are red from tears and your arms and waist have handprint bruising from being dragged around, but nothing is broken or bleeding.

Your brothers can't say the same for the one that had the balls kidnap you. He should be thankful Jason was already on another mission.

(Jason comes back and pays him a visit anyway. Nobody gets to lay a fucking finger on you.)

In the aftermath, you're almost overwhelmed by the attention. You don't sleep in your nursery alone again for months; either someone is in there with you, or you're simply relocated to one of their bedrooms for the night. You're handled so, so delicately, like you're made of porcelain. It's all very soft play and quiet voices for a couple days. If you flinch at contact, either due to the trauma of the kidnapping or because someone brushed against a bruise that's still healing, there will be tears shed from that person.

Bruce notices you flinch when he burps you after a feeding and he has to sit on the floor with you in his lap because his hands are shaking so badly.

Damian will not touch you directly at all. If you need to be picked up, he's fashioning a hammock to slowly and gently roll you into and then carry you off.

Alfred maintains the calmest facade when he carries you around, but if you make any kind of whine or pained face, he has to take a moment alone to recollect himself.

Dick and Tim can barely stand to look at you. They're overwhelmed with guilt for assuming the other person was watching you and not simply double-checking themselves.

Jason asks Tim if he can do some tummy time with you, and he just straight up shakes his head.

Dick fucks up his sleep schedule keeping an eye on you in the night, because even though Dr. Thompkins cleared you, what if she missed something and you develop a complication and need help? He doesn't patrol Blüdhaven properly for weeks, instead coming over to Gotham to keep vigil at your window.

Needless to say, the general public does not see you again for months, and when they do, you are with the entire family. They will not let that happen again.

[falsementor]

i literally have so many thoughts about how macaque was meant to be lady bone demon's original 'champion' before the mayor, and eventually sun wukong.

[uhuhmaries]

Ovulating | H.S.

You’re engaged to THE Harry Styles. ‘Nuff said.

Warnings: Very NSFW

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

You’ve been teasing him without meaning to.

Wearing those little shorts around the house. Stretching in front of the open fridge. Pressing your thighs together every time he so much as breathes near your neck. Harry’s noticed it all. He always does.

And when he found your period tracker open on your phone screen earlier—he didn’t say a word. Just smirked to himself.

“Fertile window, hm?” he murmured as he walked off to make tea, like it wasn’t the most dangerous piece of information he could’ve gotten his hands on.

Now, he’s behind you in the kitchen. You’re doing something ordinary—pouring a glass of water, checking your phone—and then he’s crowding you, warm chest against your back, hands firm on your hips.

“I know what this is about,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your neck. “You’ve been walking around this house like a little heat-struck kitten.”

“Harry—”

“You want it, don’t you?” His voice is so low, it’s practically a growl. “Want me to fill you up while you’re ovulating like a good little thing.”

You should say no. You should remind him you’re not ready, that just because your body’s desperate doesn’t mean your mind is. But your legs go weak the moment his palm slips between them, cupping your pussy through the thin fabric.

“So wet already,” he purrs. “Fucking dripping.”

He turns you around and lifts you onto the kitchen counter in one swift move. Your shorts are yanked down. Your underwear follows. He doesn’t waste a second. Two fingers dip into your soaked folds and your entire body reacts like it’s been waiting for him to do that all day.

“You ovulating, baby?” he asks again, teasing you with the tip of his finger. “Need Daddy to take care of you?”

His words burn into your skin, molten and reckless. You nod, lips parted, the heat in your belly unbearable now.

That’s all the confirmation he needs.

His pants are barely pushed down before his cock is out—thick, flushed, leaking.

“You don’t wanna be pregnant?” he asks while lining himself up, like he’s trying to give you one last chance to change your mind. “You sure?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know—fuck—I don’t know.”

“But your pussy does,” he hisses, dragging the head through your folds. “She’s fuckin’ begging for me.”

The second he pushes in, your back arches and a choked moan escapes you. He’s too big. Too deep. Too much.

And it feels so good.

He doesn’t start slow. There’s no gentle rhythm. He’s been holding back for days, maybe weeks, and now he’s unhinged.

“You’re taking it,” he snarls. “So fuckin’ greedy for my cock.”

Your legs are spread wide, your back pressed to the cold countertop, his fingers bruising into your hips as he pounds into you. You can feel every drag, every twitch. His eyes are locked on your belly.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you,” he pants. “Gonna fill you till you’re leaking down your thighs.”

Your body pulses at his words, and that’s when it happens.

You squirt around him without warning, a high-pitched cry ripping from your throat as your vision blurs. He groans deep and slams in harder, wetter sounds filling the kitchen.

“Fuck yes,” he growls. “Milk my cock, baby. Take it all. You’re gonna make me come so deep.”

And then he’s there—hips jerking, cock buried to the hilt, coming inside you with a raw, broken sound. His hands tremble as he holds you in place, making sure none of it spills.

You’re both shaking. Covered in sweat. And he still doesn’t pull out.

Instead, he slides out just enough to watch his cum drip from you… then pushes it back in with his thumb.

“Look at that,” he whispers. “Didn’t even pull out. What if that was it? What if I just made you a mama?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because your body is already clenching again, needing more.

And Harry—still hard—just grins.

“Round two,” he says, eyes dark. “On the floor. I’m not done with you yet.”

Your legs are still trembling when he lowers you to the cold tile floor. You barely have time to adjust before he drops to his knees between your thighs like a man possessed.

You try to protest—softly, uselessly—something about being too sensitive, too full. But Harry looks up at you, lips shiny, eyes blazing.

“You thought I was done?” he says, voice dark and low. “Not when you’re still dripping with me. Not when this cunt’s still clenching like she’s begging.”

He grabs the backs of your thighs and spreads you wide open, forcing you to hold eye contact.

“Gotta taste what I gave you.”

And then he dives in.

There’s no warm-up, no teasing. His mouth seals around your pussy like it belongs there—tongue lapping greedily at his own cum leaking from your hole. It’s filthy. It’s feral. It makes your head fall back and your mouth open in a silent scream.

“Harry—oh my god—”

“You taste so fuckin’ good with me inside you,” he growls against your cunt, tongue thrusting in, then dragging up to your clit. “Gonna make you squirt again. All over my face this time.”

His fingers join his mouth—two, then three—stretching you open, fucking his cum back inside you while his tongue works your clit in fast, relentless circles.

You try to close your legs. He yanks them apart wider.

“No, baby. You don’t get to hide from this. Let me have it.”

And then it hits you—violent, uncontrollable. You come with a strangled cry, body jerking as you gush all over his mouth. He groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, lapping up every drop, completely drenched, and still hungry.

He’s hard again. You feel it before you even open your eyes—his cock rubbing against your soaked folds, slick from your squirt and his spit, twitching with need.

“You’re gonna take it again,” he says, dragging the head of his cock against your sensitive entrance. “One more time, baby. Let me fill you again. Wanna see it dripping twice.”

You don’t even answer. You just whimper and nod, already lifting your hips toward him, aching for more.

He sinks in fast and deep, both of you gasping. It’s too much—too full—but you take it anyway. Your walls flutter around him, overstimulated and stretched wide, and Harry groans at the feeling.

“That’s it, fuckin’ hell—milk my cock again, just like that.”

The thrusts are slower this time but deeper, heavier. He’s watching your belly again. Watching your tits bounce. Watching your face twist in overstimmed pleasure.

“You feel that? My cum still in there? Gonna fuck it in deeper, make sure it sticks.”

Your nails dig into his back. You’re shaking again, on the edge, your pussy pulling him in tighter with every snap of his hips.

“I’m gonna come inside you again, baby,” he pants, hand gripping your throat now—not hard, just enough. “And you’re gonna take it. Let me fuckin’ breed you.”

You shatter again.

Squirting around him as your orgasm explodes through you, crying out his name, soaking his thighs and stomach while your pussy clamps down and pulls him over the edge with you.

He lets out a wrecked, feral moan as he comes inside you again—thick, hot spurts spilling deep until you feel like you can’t hold anymore.

But he doesn’t pull out.

He just presses in deeper. Lets it sit there.

Lets you feel how full you are.

Both of you breathless, tangled, shaking on the floor.

Then his mouth is at your ear.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he whispers, hand sliding down to your belly. “You were made for this. Look at you—overflowing for me.”

And somehow… you love it.

Every messy, filthy, fucked-out second of it.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author’s Note:

Who else is in their ovulation please with me because omg HELPPPPPP

[monicfever]

ben poindexter as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

cw ᝰ .ᐟ obsessive tendencies ,, dark themes ,, gn reader unless i slipped up somewhere ,, headcanons ,, i mean he’s a murderer so

BEN POINDEXTER AS YOUR BOYFRIEND... is obsessed with you. not the “likes your selfies” kind — more like memorized your schedule, cataloged your facial expressions, and would absolutely kill for you without a blink. no hesitation. no regret.

he has a tracker on your phone. not because he doesn’t trust you — he just doesn’t trust anyone else. he tells you it’s for your safety, and when you raise an eyebrow at him, he just shrugs and kisses your forehead. “i’d rather know where you are than bury you, baby.”

he gets jealous. so easily. and he hates it. hates how tight his jaw gets when you laugh at someone else's joke. how his fists curl when someone makes you smile. but he’s so good at holding it together — until you’re alone. then he’s pacing. spiraling. pulling you into his lap just to feel your heartbeat under his hand. “you’re mine, right?” he’ll ask, low and tight.

dex does everything for you. carries your bags. makes your coffee. walks you to class. waits outside your job. doesn’t matter if he’s had the worst day imaginable — he’ll still show up to tuck your hair behind your ear and ask if you’ve eaten.

he gets scary when he thinks you’re pulling away. it’s subtle at first — quiet stares, clenched jaw, questions masked as concern. but the second he’s sure something’s wrong he snaps. cold. sharp. wounded in that dangerous way. looks at you with that unhinged grief behind his eyes. like it’s betrayal. like it’s death.

he’s weirdly soft in private. you’re the only person who gets to see the version of him that’s quiet and needy and kind of broken. he sleeps with his head on your chest, fingers clinging to your shirt like you’ll vanish if he lets go. sometimes he just stares at you, like he’s memorizing you in case you disappear.

always brings you little things he finds throughout the day. not flowers or jewelry — no, ben’s gifts are weirder. more him. a vintage matchbook he liked the design of. a cool rock he found on the sidewalk. a bullet casing from his last mission. “made me think of you,” he says, dead serious.

his love language is acts of service — intense ones. fixes everything in your apartment before you even notice it’s broken. goes grocery shopping and memorizes your favorite brand of literally everything. remembers how you like your tea down to the exact amount of honey.

can’t sleep unless he’s touching you. even just a pinky finger brushing yours. if you roll away in the night, he subconsciously follows, pulling you back like a heat-seeking missile. “where you goin’, sweetheart?” he mumbles, half-asleep.

keeps a photo of you in his wallet. it’s old, kind of faded, maybe creased in the corner — but he looks at it constantly. you catch him doing it once, and he just shrugs. “keeps me sane.”

loves forehead kisses. won’t ask for them. won’t say a word. just leans down a little and looks at you with that tilted-head stare until you get it. and when you comply? his whole face goes soft like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.

has a surprisingly dark sense of humor. says the most horrifying things in the most affectionate tone. you’ll say “i’m cold” and he’s like, “want me to burn the world down for you?” you laugh. he doesn’t.

likes watching you do normal stuff. brushing your teeth. folding laundry. humming while you cook. he sits quietly, just watching — so still it’s unnerving. to him it’s peace. it’s you alive.

plays with your fingers absentmindedly. twists your rings around. traces the veins in your wrist. holds your hand even when you're just sitting on the couch doing nothing. asks what every little scar is from. “this one?” he’d question. “fell off my bike.” a pause. “want me to go back in time and kill the pavement?”

notices everything. you don’t even realize how closely he’s watching until he casually mentions things like, “you switched shampoo, didn’t you?” or “you tapped your foot three times before locking the door today. usually it’s four.” and it’s not judgment — he just keeps mental notes on everything that makes you you. so if something changes, he knows. and if something’s wrong, he really knows.

he’s extremely routine-oriented — and he builds you into his structure. once you’re part of his life, you’re in it.

your coffee order gets timed to the minute. your text messages get categorized in his head (green = happy, yellow = something’s off, red = drop everything).

he gets agitated if plans change too suddenly, but if you’re the reason? he softens instantly. you ground him. you’re the only thing that doesn’t throw him off.

he gets attached fast. his BPD makes it so once he feels something for you, it’s intense. there’s no casual dating. no half-measures. he goes from “i think i like them” to “i will absolutely die if they leave” in under a week. he’s so good at hiding just how deep it runs.

he replicates your habits without meaning to. if you fidget with your sleeves, he starts doing it. if you use a certain word a lot, it shows up in his vocabulary. he mirrors you because it comforts him.

he hyper-fixates on your favourites. if you say you like a snack once, he’ll buy ten. you compliment a song? it’s on every playlist he makes. you wear a certain lip balm? he’ll go out of his way to buy backups. he wants to memorize what makes you happy so he can recreate it. perfectly. every time.

he spirals when he thinks he upset you. even slightly. a weird tone in your voice? a shorter text reply than usual? his brain jumps to you hate me. you’re going to leave. i ruined it. he’ll pace. his routine will fall apart. instead of lashing out on you he gets quiet. self-destructive. unless you pull him back in with something soft — a touch. a word. a look. then he clings like a shadow.

he makes you things with his hands. little wood carvings, origami, folded napkin animals — he fidgets constantly, and you’re the outlet.

his hands don’t stop moving, so they move for you. you’ll come home and find a tiny heart made of safety pins on your nightstand. he won’t mention it, but he’ll watch to see if you notice.

he always asks for reassurance, but never directly. he’ll say things like, “you still like having me around, right?” or “you’d tell me if i was being too much?” and it breaks your heart a little, because he’s so desperate not to be a burden. you always answer the same way: “you’re my favourite person.”

can’t fall asleep without saying goodnight the same exact way. it doesn’t matter how late it is, how exhausted he is, how bad the day was — he has to say it. same tone, same words, same kiss on your temple. if he doesn’t it eats at him. he’ll lie awake, heart racing, staring at the ceiling like something terrible’s going to happen because he broke the pattern.

refuses to let anyone else drive you anywhere. he doesn’t care if it’s your friend, your boss, your own damn parent — if he can’t be the one driving, he’s deeply uncomfortable. he’ll sit by the door with his keys, ready to go.

has ‘rules’ for loving you. like brushing your hair off your face with his left hand only. or always kissing you three times before you leave. he doesn't need to do it — he has to. if he breaks the pattern, his brain tells him something bad will happen to you.

saves every single voicemail and text you send. even the dumb ones. especially the dumb ones. he replays your old voicemails when he’s spiraling.

he screenshotted the first time you said “i miss you” and keeps it in a locked photo album. you’re proof that something good happened to him once.

gets overstimulated easily, but hides it around you. if the lights are too bright, the room’s too loud, someone’s tapping a pen too much — he’s unraveling inside.

but if you’re talking to him? smiling? holding his hand? he’ll grit his teeth through it, just to stay in your orbit a little longer.

has a favorite version of you, but it’s not what you’d think. it’s not when you’re dressed up, or being cute, or saying nice things. it’s when you’re sleepy. messy. barely awake and murmuring nonsense with your face squished into his chest.

“you’re not real,” you mumbled once. “i made you up.” he still thinks about that. hopes it’s not true. but if it is? he’s glad you dreamed him.

collects your words like scripture. if you ever say something sweet to him, he will not forget. he repeats it to himself, over and over, like a mantra.“you’re safe with me.” ,, “you’re not too much.” ,, “i like you exactly the way you are.” he mouths the words in the mirror. sometimes he believes them.

panics if he forgets anything about you. can’t remember your shoe size? his heart races. doesn’t know if you take your coffee with sugar that day? hands start shaking.

his whole sense of safety is tied to knowing you. so if anything slips, it feels like the whole foundation is cracking.

he loves you in patterns. in rituals. in coffee orders and folded blankets and kisses placed in the exact same spot on your shoulder every night.

gets annoyed when you shower without him. he doesn’t even want to do anything — he just sits on the toilet lid with his chin in his hand while you’re in there like, “you left me out here alone for twenty-three minutes.” you open the door to steam and a pouty six-foot weapon of a man sulking.

gets weirdly quiet when you’re on your phone too long. not mad. just a little neglected. you look up and he’s just sitting there like a sad cat, hoping you’ll notice. you say “benny, you okay?” and he melts like, “...m’here. just waitin’.”

clings after arguments like his life depends on it. doesn’t matter if it was something small or serious. once things settle, he’s already reaching for you, forehead pressed to your collarbone. “not mad anymore.” he murmurs. translation: don’t leave me.

keeps weapons stashed in every room ‘just in case.’ under the bed. behind the fridge. in your car’s glove box.

memorized your ex’s face and car within the first week. he won’t say what he did with that information. but he didn’t like how they looked at you at the grocery store that one time. he made sure it wouldn’t happen again.

he hates parties.not because he’s antisocial, because he can’t relax when you’re in a room full of strangers.

he’s watching everyone — every glance, every shift, every hand that moves too close. he stands behind you the whole time, hand at your lower back, barely talking to anyone.

texts you “where are you?” even when he knows where you are. he saw you leave. he knows you’re at work or running errands or at the gym. but he still needs to hear you say it. needs the proof. the reassurance. you say “i’m fine, benny,” and he responds with “miss you.” (you’ve been gone 20 minutes.)

calls you his “person.” not partner. not babe. just “my person.” says it in a tone that sounds more like my reason for breathing.

won’t let you walk on the street side of the sidewalk. you’ve tried switching sides — he’ll switch with you immediately. doesn’t matter where you’re going. doesn’t matter if the road is empty. “nope,” he’ll mutter, hand on your hip. “you don’t get hit. not on my watch.”

he has a folder on his computer labeled “them.” inside: blurry security cam screenshots of you walking alone at night (yes, he tapped into feeds), saved texts from people who’ve upset you, and a detailed list of names he keeps tabs on. you don’t know it exists.

takes everything as a threat. you flinch at a loud noise? he’s already scanning the room. someone bumps into you too hard in a crowd? he steps between you like a human wall. you say “i don’t feel safe,” and he’s already reaching for his coat.

he doesn’t yell unless someone talks down to you. he’ll take endless shit from people when it’s about him. but the second someone disrespects you? his voice goes sharp. dark. you see it flip in his eyes like a switch — “you wanna repeat that to me?” and suddenly the room’s ice cold.

he’ll sit in complete silence beside you while planning murder in his head. someone made you cry? he holds your hand gently, rubs circles into your palm, kisses your wrist — and behind his eyes, he’s already figured out the five best ways to ruin their life.

he keeps track of your patterns better than you do. you get headaches before rain? he brings you meds before you mention it. your trauma responses show in tiny shifts? he spots them immediately and gets you out of the room.

he might be unstable, but when it comes to protecting you — he’s the most focused man alive.

stares at your contact name before calling you, like he’s bracing himself to hear your voice. thumb hovering over the screen, eyes soft and far away. sometimes he doesn’t even call. just stares. like maybe that’s enough to survive another hour.

doesn’t know how to be casual. you say “i like your shirt” and he’ll buy five more. you compliment his cologne once? he never uses another one again. every word you say means something to him.

loves when you wear his clothes a little too much. he acts all chill but inside he’s screaming. watching you walk around in his hoodie with the sleeves over your hands? ruined. he has to sit down.

he has no idea what a normal reaction is. you get a weird DM? he’s already tracking the IP address. you trip and scrape your knee? he’s acting like you got shot. “you’re bleeding.” he mutters, completely still. “baby, it’s a scratch—”

gets scary quiet when you’re in danger. like full military-mode, voice low and flat. grabs your hand. pulls you behind him. “stay down. don’t move. don’t look.” and you listen — because in that moment, he’s not your sweet clingy ben. he’s the weapon the government built.

has trauma responses built around you. you’re late? his hands start shaking. you stop responding? he spirals. he doesn’t just worry— he catastrophizes. his brain jumps to body bags. blood. everything he’s lost before.

so when you walk through the door, totally fine, he just grabs you. holds you so tight it hurts. “don’t do that to me again,” he whispers. “please.”

doesn’t forgive people who hurt you. ever. you may move on. he won’t. he keeps the memory. files it away like a grudge on ice. and if he ever gets the chance to settle the score? he’ll do it without blinking.

knows all your “tired” cues. you yawn a certain way when you’re really worn out vs. just sleepy. you go silent when your brain’s overwhelmed. so he’ll quietly turn the lights down, warm up your hoodie, and run a bath without you even asking.

obsessively keeps the place safe. deadbolts, alarms, cameras, backup flashlights, reinforced doors. not because he’s paranoid. because you live there. and nothing — nothing — is allowed to hurt you where he sleeps.

he does not know how to regulate jealousy. like. at all. you compliment someone? he’s quiet for hours. you laugh too hard at someone’s joke? he stares them down until they suddenly remember they have somewhere else to be.

he gets clingy after. full body contact. face buried in your shoulder. won’t let go. “you like me better, right?” you tease him and say “maybe…” his whole face drops. “dont.”

and if he sees them in public, he’s pulling you closer with a hand on your waist like mine. mine. mine.

he repeats the same three phrases every time you’re hurt. like it’s a spell: “you’re safe.” “you didn’t do anything wrong.” “i love you so much it hurts.”

he checks in constantly. not just “are you okay?”but “did you eat today? do you need quiet or company? can i hold your hand right now, or just sit near you?”

started 4.23.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 13. Damian attempts self-reflection

PREV PART trigger warning: medical + physical + emotional neglect, name is officialy fucking done and they'll make it known, Name is no longer hiding that they want to leave, Damian centric chapter, short filler  main m.list       series m.list

You are about to kill a motherfucker, and that motherfuckers name is Damian. Not only is he following you, he continuously attempts to place trackers and to get your medication to give to Bruce. And after your latest shift, you were done. Robin was now spying on you while you were working, and you are absolutely fucking done.

So when you see him at the dining table you couldn’t contain your anger. “You and I are going to have a talk, privately,” you hiss at him, smacking a bag of broken trackers on the table. “or so help me, and I actually get a fucking restraining order against you.”

This sure as hell got his attention, and he nods and follows you to the kitchen. You need a room that can be trashed, and in the kitchen you have more shit to throw. “You are out of line,” you say, looking at him with a stare that one could describe as threatening, enraged and calculating. “if you do this again I’ll be sure to fuck Robin up the next time he comes to visit me at work.”

You didn’t want to play your cards out, they have no need to know that you know. Of course Duke knows, but he’ll always be the exception.

Damian laughs, he can’t help it. You think you can fuck up Robin? Please, he didn’t know you had a sense of humour. What a delightful surprise.

At least he has enough sense to stop laughing when he felt your stern gaze become a glare. Truly, you aren’t like Bruce a lot, but your stare… your stare is purely Bruce. “Why do you think you being followed by Robin has anything to do with me?” he asks, genuinely curious. He just hopes you won’t put all the clues together, he’s quite relieved with the fact that your pain keeps you oblivious. Unable to use all of your intelligence.

“Nightwing and then Robin, it’s obvious they are in Bruce in pockets,” you say trying to make it seem like you weren’t omitting something. But Damian did notice a slight change in your body language, but he’ll dismiss it for now. “get him to back off, or I will file a formal complaint of stalking against him. Wouldn’t be so good for his already shitty reputation, right?”

Seems like you hit a nerve, Damian looks away ashamed, regretful and at the same time grateful. Good, let him think you’re oblivious, the more he underestimates you the safer you will be. A boy like Damian is even more dangerous than a man like Jason, Damian was raised to kill, but Jason just copied the aggression he learned. And when he lost his joyful nature, he became the monster he is today. You take Damian’s silence as compliance. “Do me a favour and tell Brucie that I will be at Maria’s for the rest of the week,” you say as you turn around, ignoring how he takes a sharp breath. “I don’t want to see your face until I return.”

Damian knows your hyper independent nature is due to their actions, due to what they’ve done to you. But he can’t help but feel bitter, he didn’t know better. He didn’t understand your side, and he wants to be your brother. He always wanted to be your brother.

From the moment you defended Tim he knew that he wanted you to defend him like that, that he wanted you to love him like that. But after Jason’s attack he learned how your family treated you, and he wanted nothing to do with you. Fearful of losing his father’s approval, and you don’t know about their life. Involving you would lead to you being kidnapped and at worst killed.

He knows he could have had a civilian relationship, but after he chastised you for your anger towards Jason he knew he no longer had a chance. He knew, so he didn’t try.

He didn’t try because he didn’t understand.

So now, as you pull away from them instead of them pulling away from you Damian doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be your sibling, he wants the bond you seemed to have with Tim (a bond he now knows doesn’t exist), he wants to be loved by you. And he wants to protect you.

Can’t you let your brother protect you?

You’re the older sibling, shouldn’t you do anything to make your younger siblings happier?

NEXT PART guys, I know this is short, but listen, I wanted this out because I keep having Damian being a gremlin brother thoughts and not in a good way. also I keep seeing one specific username that is such a typical name where I am from that I'm like; shit do I know this person?

taglist CLOSED!: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[paradoxcase]

Right, so, after reading some error logs, obtaining a copy of the objects.package that shipped with the Sims 2 rerelease, and talking about this with Lazy Duchess, I have a conspiracy theory about why the rerelease is so damn broken

So first, I looked at an error log that was happening in the Enthusiasm Tracker. It was coming from the function that signs sims up for a magazine subscription after they choose that option on the phone. It's a very short function, all it does is 1) check to see if the family has a magazine subscription token, 2) create one if it does not already exist, and 3) set a property on the token regardless of whether 2 was necessary or not. All three of these actions make use of the Manage Inventory primitive, which controls not just sim inventories, but also tokens like this, memories, and gossip. I compared all like five lines of this function to the one in my objects.package, that I have from the Ultimate Collection, and they were exactly the same. But for some reason, in the rerelease, this throws an error. There is no explanation at the level of this function. I kind of scratched my head and thought, maybe they changed how the magazine subscription token works in this version, and forgot to update this function? Or something?

Next, there was an Too Many Iterations error log that had a very obvious cause: for some reason, the active family had over 500 tokens in its inventory. The family inventory isn't listed in the error log, so have no idea what those tokens were, or how there came to be 500+ of them. BUT. The aforementioned magazine subscription token is a token that goes in the family inventory. Maybe these two problems are somehow related. Are those 500 tokens all magazine subscription tokens, or something?

And then there is the infamous error that the game now throws when a sim goes to get abducted. I didn't see an error log for this one, but I was making a post on MTS listing all of the known issues with the rerelease, and someone mentioned there that the issue is not so much with the abduction as it is with other sims reacting to the abduction, and if there are no sims on the lot to react to the abduction, the error does not occur. Someone else then mentioned that the Abduction Reaction Fix mod that I made actually fixes this error. I made that mod, I know exactly what it does. What does it do?

Well, you see, objects in the game all have what is called a tree table, which is a table of interactions and the functions that need to be called when those interactions are triggered. One of the interactions on the telescope is the interaction to run to the telescope after someone has been abducted. But, in the Free Time expansion, a lot of new interactions were added to the telescope, and for some reason, EA decided to renumber all of the functions when they did that. They forgot to update the tree table, which references functions by their numbers, and as a result, the function that was called when sims were supposed to do the run-to-telescope interaction was actually the function that gives sims credit for discovering a new planet. In my mod, I fixed this, so that when sims are supposed to run to the telescope, the proper run-to-the-telescope function is called instead.

So, the error happens when my mod is not installed (when the planet discovery function is being called erroneously) and not when it is (when the run-to-the-telescope function is called instead). So the error must be coming from the planet discovery function. What is in the planet discovery function? It is almost identical to the magazine subscription function. It checks for the planet discovery token, adds it if it isn't there, and then modifies a property on it, using Manage Inventory. So this is exact same bug. And other people are reporting that some sims cannot gain memories - another game function that is handled by Manage Inventory. There is also an error that happens after a sim cooks food - one thing that happens at that point is that tokens and memories are added to the sim's inventory marking that they have successfully (or unsuccessfully) learned to cook that food.

So at this point, my theory is that EA somehow broke the Manage Inventory primitive. It's used all over the code, to do all sorts of stuff, if you break something that ubiquitous and fundamental, of course it's going to cause a whole lot of seemingly completely unrelated errors. Manage Inventory is now going hog-wild, throwing errors, adding hundreds of extraneous tokens to inventories, refusing to give sims memories, and who knows what else. I can feel it, this is the answer

[timmydraker]

Tim Drake first took a life when he was twelve.

It wasn’t in an armed robbery or attack from a rogue, not to protect himself or in defence of an innocent.

In fact, it was practically an innocent that he killed.

Batman was so deep into his grief filled rage that he was attacking any poor mugger or civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Albert Jones, a thirty year old man working as an apprentice to his father’s shoe repair shop, was dealing with a recent heartbreak with some pick me up drugs.

Batman didn’t give his usual speech of ‘find another coping mechanism and don’t let me see you here again’ and instead swung at both dealer and customer. The dealer, a teenager no less, was left with two broken legs and a busted shoulder.

Albert was left with bruising all over his face and three stomps directly onto his chest.

Tim found him gasping for air as blood filled his lungs and was left with the truth of this man not having a chance. No ambulance was going to be able to save him like all the others, there was no basic first aid or well educated aid that could save him.

This was going to be the first murder of Batman.

Unless…

Tim didn’t feel good as he picked up the knife from dealer had tried to use on the bat and quickly jab it into the man’s neck.

And then he stabbed again.

And again.

Albert Jones was dead by his hand, not Batman’s, not Bruce’s. Tim’s.

The dealer, who was really just a kid, ended up taking the fall as Tim had selfishly planned.

Batman didn’t even notice or recognise the faces of either man on the news.

Albert’s father sobbed on TV, talking about his son didn’t even like being an apprentice but knew his father needed the help with his growing arthritis. He talked about how his son had been in an emotionally abusive relationship and just wanted to feel better for a bit, he wasn’t a druggie, not really.

Tim throws up and wears gloves for weeks to avoid looking at his hands. He swears he can see blood in them and not in a metaphorical sense.

Nobody ever finds out and when Tim becomes Robin and gets Bruce to stop hurting people so badly, he decides it’s worth it. That innocent life was taken by him, so his death isn’t on Bruce’s soul. It’s okay, Batman is still good and he’s getting better, which he wouldn’t have been able to if he had cleared his head and found out he took a life.

Robin never takes a life, not exactly, but seen as he’s already killed someone with his own hands, Tim doesn’t really hesitate at opportunities to leave certain people to die.

Rapist, pedophiles, zoophiles, fascist… it doesn’t really count if he didn’t double it by his own hands and he’s done that anyway, so who cares if a few stray people die from the new Robins pack of skill and baby faced newness to the horror of the world.

Batman always yells at him, ups his training, but Tim doesn’t care if it means leaving that one bad person behind helped him save more decent lives.

Red Robin kills more… purposefully.

Not in a serial killer sense, he’s not stupid, but in a ‘blowing up the entire LOA and just assuming Ra’s will dunk at least some of them in the pit’ kind of way.

Truthfully that’s it.

He’s not like Red Hood or Slade or Harley, he just doesn’t mind bending and shifting his moral compass every now and again to better fit certain situations.

Like when Kon’s clones woke up and he had to slaughter them all with an emergency kryptonite sword he kept on stand by.

Or the two he had to track down and hunt after they escaped and, thank god he planted trackers in them, because they weren’t Kon and instead seemed more like animals that couldn’t even talk.

Oh and that one time this guy tried to drug Damian at a gala and Tim managed to ‘dispose’ of the guy before Damian realised what he had tried to do and did something stupid.

There was also that time he cut of Ra’s head in a luckily opening during a fight and kept it in a jar in The Nest as revenge for the whole spleen thing…

But that doesn’t count, cause he just got brought back to life.

[yiichan]

KYII'ᔕ TᕼOᑌGᕼTᔕ Oᖴ TᕼE ᗪᗩY 🌷💌 — NSFW IMAGINE — yandere!poly!bandmates!svt x gn!14thmember!you. WARNINGS — yandere/obsessive elements, dub-con/non-con elements, emotional manipulation/gaslighting, petnames, poly relationship elements, smut elements inclusive of: breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, power play, impact play, auralism (dirty talk, audio erotica), exhibitionist, voyeurism, somnophilia, katoptronophilia (mirror play), dacryphillia, cockwarming, bondage, orgasm control, oral sex (giving and receiving), implied threesomes/group sex. slight fluff and crack if you squint. WRITER'S NOTES — hey all! 'kyii's thoughts of the day' is a new series i launched in celebration that i have almost reached 100 followers! (YAY!! (: ) i will update random drabbles from time to time (results of my very rich imagination during 2am to 3am). i should have written a kinktober fic with all those warnings up there.

speical mention — @sousydive

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✿ yandere!seungcheol whose favourite member is actually you, not mingyu. ✿ yandere!seungcheol whose mood will turn sour if you called him by his full name. ✿ yandere!seungcheol who would always wrap his arm around your waist possessively when you stand beside him.

✿ yandere!seungcheol who punishes you by shoving his cock down your throat if he catches you interacting too long with another idol outside of the group, man or woman. ✿ yandere!seungcheol who takes his fustration out on you when he lost a game, grabbing you while you were just passing by and bullying his cock into you. ✿ yandere!seungcheol who watches his members fuck you into oblivion, but he's just there as a safety measure (that's what he told himself as he pumped his length up and down).

✿ yandere!jeonghan who is always alert and aware about your emotion, noticing even the smallest discomfort you were feeling. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who teases you about almost everytime, making you choose between him and the other members (to stir up drama, just for fun). ✿ yandere!jeonghan who would grab you and rest on you during concerts if he got too tired. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who knows the power his face holds, and would guilt trip you into staying with him, isolating you from your own friends and even family. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who would make you wear a vibrator and forces you to go out while he toys with the controls in his pocket. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who enjoys hearing your broken voice begging him for release as he edges you repeatedly for a long, long time.

✿ yandere!joshua who would smirk knowingly when he saw you wearing that bracelet he made for you, because he had inserted a tracker in it. ✿ yandere!joshua who was always soft-spoken to you, calling you petnames like 'darling' and 'sweetheart'. ✿ yandere!joshua who would invite you on 'dates' with him, whether it be candlelight dinners, a walk in the park or just drinking some red wine at the dorm. ✿ yandere!joshua who would make you practice guitar playing with him on his cock, thrusting upwards into you if you ever strum the wrong string. ✿ yandere!joshua who smiles ever sweetly as he pounded into you, kissing your tears away while whispering sweet-nothings. ✿ yandere!joshua who would often share you with the other 95 liners, his sadistic fantasies coming true when the three of them ravishes you.

✿ yandere!jun whose gaze would float to you subconciously whenever you enter the room. ✿ yandere!jun who would call you chinese petnames like 宝贝 baobei，宝宝 baobao and 亲爱的 qinaide. ✿ yandere!jun who misses you like crazy whenever he's back in china for his acting career, and he would expect you to answer every one of his calls. ✿ yandere!jun who would cling on to you the most when he's drunk, talking about how much he loves the members and mostly, how in love he is with you. ✿ yandere!jun who would groan and whine as he masterbates himself to the videos of you getting fucked by the other members in the secret groupchat the thirteen of them shares. ✿ yandere!jun who would send lingeries as his souvenirs for you when he's back in korea, making you wear them and then fucking you in it (he destroys them in the end, but he could always buy some more).

✿ yandere!hoshi who makes enjoys making your favourite kimchi. ✿ yandere!hoshi who would climb into your bed while you were asleep, spooning you or making you spoon him. ✿ yandere!hoshi whose face turns red with blush when you rubbed his hair and called him a 'fierce tiger' after his stage performances. ✿ yandere!hoshi who abuses his power as the leader of the performance team by having 'one-to-one' practice sessions with you alone in the practice room. ✿ yandere!hoshi who would fuck you during those practice session, mauling your neck like a real tiger would as he make you look into the mirror in front of the two of you. ✿ yandere!hoshi who has a huge breeding kink and would plug you up after he cums in you (regardless of your gender), he did want a football team of kids after all.

✿ yandere!wonwoo who likes taking a short nap with his head in your lap. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who would discreetly hold your hand when you are outside. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who would purposely tease you in games and gose just to rile you up, because you are cute when you're angry. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who have albums of you in his phone, which captured moments that you know and you don't. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who couldn't help but record your face when you're choking on his cock, or taking a picture of your drooling face while he fucks you into his sheets. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who would request for you to cockwarm him while he games, and if you fell asleep, he would gently wake you up by rocking into you.

✿ yandere!woozi who has a thumbdrive full of love songs for you. ✿ yandere!woozi who would be the one initiating skin-to-skin contact with you, even on cameras. ✿ yandere!woozi who would unabashedly stare at you while the two of you worked out in the gym. ✿ yandere!woozi who secretly loves it when you nag at him because he had spent too much time in Universe Factory. ✿ yandere!woozi who had a whole other thumbdrive that holds recordings of your moans and whimpers, along with the things you said (whether you had recollections of it or not) during sex with him or the others. ✿ yandere!woozi who would test you on your concept of beats by snapping his hips rhythmically. If you guessed wrongly, well, be ready for the consequences.

✿ yandere!dk would just be more posessive and expressive around you. he just can't stop yapping about his day, his thoughts, everything. ✿ yandere!dk who would constantly seek your attention and affection, trying to make you laugh with jokes and stunts. ✿ yandere!dk who would go up to you during concerts and fansigns and interact with you, making sure that CARATs could get that couple shot. ✿ yandere!dk who changes completely in bed, the sweet and lovable lee dokyeom replaced by a lee seokmin who had endless stamania and greed for more. ✿ yandere!dk would moan into your ears (the vocalist he is) as he tells you how much more he wants while rutting his hips against yours. ✿ yandere!dk who would turn all whiney and pouty if he has to share you with his other members, but would gladly fuck you all the same.

✿ yandere!mingyu who is ready to be a fulltime househusband for you. he'll do the cooking, cleaning, fucking, anything for you. ✿ yandere!mingyu who is willing to share his food with you and would even offer you a bite, unlike his other members. ✿ yandere!mingyu who would pout and seek comfort from you like a puppy despite his tall structure. ✿ yandere!mingyu who struggles with the tent in his pants during gym sessions with you. ✿ yandere!mingyu who easily manhandles you into all kinds of position, even helping his hyungs to tie you up. he enjoys how helpless you are during your cute little attempts to escape him. ✿ yandere!mingyu who can't decide his favourite position - fucking you from the back or making you ride him. well, why not go for two rounds - or more - instead?

✿ yandere!minghao who gave up on meditation a long time ago, because no matter how much he tries to clear his mind, it's filled with nothing but you. ✿ yandere!minghao who would take time to bring you outside to shop for clothes, dressing you up and then paying for them, much to your protests. ✿ yandere!minghao who would have a smile on his face to whatever you are doing (he genuinely finds you cute), unlike the side eyes and judgemental looks he gives to his other members. ✿ yandere!minghao would take time to brew you your favourite tea and invite you to solo tea sessions with him. ✿ yandere!minghao who has a sketchbook full of you, or more precisely, your expressions when you are fucked and cockdrunk. ✿ yandere!minghao who likes to see you come undone on his long and talented fingers, embracing his scorpio side as he watch you scream his name, begging and crying and looking like a mess.

✿ yandere!seungkwan who would, like dk, yap non-stop in front of you. he would also constantly cue you in front of the cameras, making sure that you have enough exposure. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would go through his connections in the entertainment industry whenever the company announces you are going on a variety show. he would make sure that you are well taken care of. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would lean into you whenever you stood near him. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would press his erection against you and ask for permission to fuck you, pressing light kisses on your neck as he do so. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would repeat 'i love you's as he gently make love to you. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who is great with after care, wiping your tired and sore body and coaxing you as he dig his cum out of your body.

✿ yandere!vernon is just vernon. don't expect him to get hyper and posessive and all 'YOU'RE MINE UGH WOOF WOOF BARK BARK' on you (not throwing shade at mingyu or dk, nope). ✿ yandere!vernon would be more clingy than usual, though. like holding onto you when you tried to leave the couch or hugging you from the back if he sees you at the kitchen in the morning. ✿ yandere!vernon who would be less vernon-like on certain situations. if someone is looking at you? vernon stands in between them and you. if some other idol is talking to you, vernon is right beside you, staring at them. if someone held or shake your hand (even CARATs)? vernon is ready with the bottles of hand sanitizers in the pockets of his tracksuit. ✿ yandere!vernon who likes to eat with you. it just somehow improves his appetite by a lot. besides, you never give him leftovers. ✿ yandere!vernon also loves it when he gets to 'eat' you. His cock just strains against his jeans as his tongue enters you, licking and flicking, causing you to arch your back and moan wantonly. ✿ yandere!vernon might be wearing earphones, but you might never know whether he was listening to his music playlist - or the recordings of your moans.

✿ yandere!dino who loves it the most when you baby him. he's the maknae of the group, after all. ✿ yandere!dino who always comes to you for comfort when his hyungs teased him too much. ✿ yandere!dino who sulks when his hyungs steal you away from him (the main culprit and repeated offender is yoon jeonghan, of course). he just wants you for himself! ✿ yandere!dino who likes to hold your hand and link his arms with yours when the two of you walks side by side. ✿ yandere!dino who watches you like a hawk when you dance, willing his erection to go down (it's practice time, he can fuck you back at the dorm later, anyway). ✿ yandere!dino who loves it when you compliment him on how good he's fucking you, well, if you are capable of speaking, that is.

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Trump's not gonna protect workers from forced labor

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/07/03/states-rights-trumps-wrongs/#mamdani

As fascism burns across America, it's important to remember that Trump and his policies are not popular. Sure, the racism and cruelty excites a minority of (very broken) people, but every component of the Trump agenda is extremely unpopular with the American people, from tax cuts for billionaires to kidnapping our neighbors and shipping them to concentration camps.

Keeping this fact in mind is essential if we are to nurture hope's embers, and fan them into the flames of change. Trumpism is a coalition of people who hate each other, who agree on almost nothing, whose fracture lines are one deft tap away from shattering:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/14/fracture-lines/#disassembly-manual

The vast unpopularity of Trumpism presents endless opportunities for breaking off parts of his coalition. Take noncompete "agreements": contractual clauses that ban workers from taking a job with any of their employers' competitors for years. One in 18 Americans has been captured by a noncompete, and the median noncompete victim is a minimum-wage fast-food worker whose small business tyrant boss wants to be sure that she doesn't quit working the register at Wendy's and start making $0.25/hour more flipping burgers at McDonald's.

The story of noncompetes is bullshit from top to bottom. The argument goes, "Your boss invests heavily in training you, and lets you in on all his valuable trade-secrets. When you walk out the door and go to work for a competitor, you're stealing all that training and knowledge. Without noncompetes, no boss will invest in the knowledge-intensive industries that are the future of our economy."

Now, like I said, the vast majority of people under noncompetes are working low-waged, menial jobs with little to no training, and no proprietary trade secrets to speak of. Which makes sense: workers with less bargaining power end up signing worse contracts. That's half the case against noncompetes.

Here's the other half: the most IP-intensive, profitable, knowledge-based industries in America operate without any noncompetes. California's state constitution bans noncompetes, which means that every worker in Hollywood and Silicon Valley is free to quit their job and walk across the street and join a rival.

If Hollywood and tech are examples of industries that "can't attract investment," then we should be shooting for every sector of the American economy to be so starved for capital. Silicon Valley's origin story is based on the ability of key workers at knowledge-intensive firms to quit their jobs and go to work for a direct competitor: the first Silicon Valley company was Shockley Semiconductors, founded by William Shockley, who won the Nobel Prize for inventing silicon transistors.

Shockley literally put the "silicon" in Silicon Valley, but he never shipped a working chip, because he was a deranged, paranoid eugenicist who ran such a dysfunctional company that eight of his top engineers quit to found a rival company, Fairchild Semiconductor. Then two of the "Traitorous Eight" quit the Fairchild to start Intel, and the year after, another Fairchild employee quit to start AMD:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/24/the-traitorous-eight-and-the-battle-of-germanium-valley/

This never stopped. Woz quit HP and Jobs quit Atari to start Apple and the tradition of extremely well-capitalized companies being founded by key employees who quit market-leading firms to compete with their old bosses continues to this day. There are many things we can say about AI, but no one will claim that AI companies – especially not those in California, where noncompetes are banned – have trouble attracting investment. Half of the leading AI companies were founded by people who couldn't stand working for Sam Altman at Openai and quit to found a competitor. Just last week, Altman flipped out because Mark Zuckerberg poached his key scientists to work on competing products at Meta:

https://fortune.com/2025/06/28/meta-four-openai-researchers-superintelligence-team-ai-talent-competition/

Knowledge-intensive industries are provably compatible with a system of free labor where workers can work for anyone they want. You know who understands this? The lawyers who draw up employment contracts with noncompete clauses in them: the American Bar Association bans noncompetes for lawyers! Every law firm in America operates without noncompetes!

Everyone hates noncompetes. They are bullshit, and only get worse with time, as the largest companies in America metastasize into sprawling conglomerates, they compete with everyone. Who isn't a competitor of Amazon's?

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Biden's antitrust enforcers hated noncompetes, too. Former FTC chair Lina Khan held listening tours and solicited comments to hear workers stories about noncompetes, developing a record that she used to create a rule that banned noncompetes nationwide:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/25/capri-v-tapestry/#aiming-at-dollars-not-men

America's oligarchs weren't happy. They sued to overturn the rule, and got a nationwide injunction (you know, those things that Trump's illegitimate Supreme Court claims are unenforceable) that suspended the FTC rule pending a full hearing.

It's clear that Trump's FTC is going to walk away from this fight and let the rule die. Trumpism is wildly unpopular, and this is no exception. Americans overwhelmingly support banning noncompetes, but Trump's richest donors are terrified of another Great Resignation and want to keep us indentured to their shitty companies, so Trump's FTC will sell us all out.

But that's not the end of things. As David Dayen writes for The American Prospect, states and local governments can pass their own noncompete bans, and they are:

https://prospect.org/labor/2025-07-02-ftc-noncompete-state-regulation-workers-wages/

Take NYC mayor-in-waiting Zohran Mamdani: unlike Trump (and the Democratic Party's billionaire wing), Mamdani campaigned by offering to create policies that are popular, including a ban on noncompetes. New York City has two distinct groups of workers who are screwed over by noncompetes. One of those groups is Wall Street finance bros, who work for some of the most legendarily toxic assholes to ever draw breath, and are overwhelming bound by noncompetes that will all become null and void the day Mamdani dons his sash.

The other group of workers Mamdani will liberate are those at the very bottom of the income distribution, from fast food workers to gig workers to doormen, who are victims of some of the dirtiest noncompete clauses in America, including "bondage fees":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/21/bondage-fees/#doorman-building

Big cities are filled with workers who are getting screwed by noncompetes and every city government has it in their power to liberate every one of those workers (who are also voters).

States can do even better. There are already four states that ban noncompetes, two of them blood red: California, Minnesota, North Dakota, and Oklahoma. Other states place significant restrictions on noncompetes, including Washington, Colorado, Illinois, Virginia, Maryland, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Maine. Nevada bans noncompetes for hourly workers, Idaho only allows them for "key employees"; Louisiana limits noncompetes to two years, and NJ bans noncompetes for domestic workers.

Up and down the country, in states blue and red, noncompetes are unpopular, and banning noncompetes is popular:

https://www.ipsos.com/en-us/majority-americans-support-ftc-ruling-would-ban-non-compete-agreements

Oregon just banned noncompetes for doctors and other health workers, as part of a sweeping, bipartisan law that banned the "corporate practice of medicine":

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/20/the-doctor-will-gouge-you-now/#states-rights

Oregon's in good company: noncompetes are banned in the health sector in 32 states, including Arkansas, Indiana and Colorado.

Lina Khan's FTC developed an irrefutable evidentiary record about the abusive nature of noncompetes, proving that industries can attract capital and field successful companies without them. States have it in their power to step in where Trump has betrayed American workers. This isn't the most efficient way to protect workers – that would be a federal ban on noncompetes – but it will still get the job done, and it will weaken the Trump coalition, which is barely holding together as it is.

[leafydory]

Heavily Yearning Sylus

(Suggestive, Fluff, Sylus x Mc)

(600 words quick midnight thoughts lol)

Heavily Yearning Sylus that he would check the time always as it ticks and tocks, it grates on his nerves, Luke and Kieran would find themselves fixing the clock right now because Sylus instructed so, none of it was broken, yet the yearning man insisted on more 'fixes' anyways.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that stares at his plate, half of it was eaten, the rest should be done by now but he doesn't finish, waiting for you on that long hunter mission that he could have done in just seconds if you want him to, but no he respects you, respects your skills and expertise that now he found himself staring at this plate, maybe waiting for it to break down to pieces with his glare alone.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that he would watch the tracker that he put on the motorcycle he gave you on his phone every stop over, every turn of directions in the streets, staring, biding his time, fueling the boiling need on himself, like a flame slowly engulfing the objects around him. everything is affected after all, meetings? Cancelled. Sleep schedule? Broken. The leader of Onychinus? On leave. You were the priority now.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that was already by the door when you opened it, before you can even greet or walk your first feet inside, he lifted you up in his arms, one hand, weightless as he takes a shaky sigh of relief

"I thought another person used the motorbike I gifted to you sweetie… Considering how long that mission took for you to return here than usual..."

"Wait Sylus you can you at least--"

"I had waited enough kitten."

Heavily Yearning Sylus who would strip you up let you sit on his bed, naked with only your undies in, you swore his eyes we're so hungry that it devours your resisting thoughts but suprisingly, he stood there... Suddenly on his knees on the ground, head resting against your thighs trailing reverent kisses there, arms wrapped around your legs, breathing in and out deep, warm, yearning.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that reads every twitch and changes in your emotions, on how it started with confusion, surprise then understanding, the touch of your hand on his hair makes a man like him feel like a putty, and he doesn't deny that. He can only feel this with you.

"Where you thinking of something naughty?"

he smirks noticing the sudden flush of your cheeks when he heightened his kisses to your waist up to your bare stomach. You can only protest in embarrassment over the accuracy of his words

"No??? Look... Just do as you please Sylus. I'm here now"

Heavily Yearning Sylus that he eventually rests his head on top of your chest, laying you down in bed, hands on your thighs, tight and assertive and breathing in your scent around your collarbone and neck. Gun powder, perfume you use and his own unique scent still lingering, good, it was the usual just like how he wanted in the first place.

"Then stay with me to bed. I'm already past my sleep schedule waiting for you to return kitten."

Heavily Yearning Sylus who would now sleep like a weightless feather beside you, holding you close never wanting to let go, secure, reassured, fulfilled. After all he simply was a man yearning for more of your presence, more of your attention. More of you.

(i love men yearning) (sylus occupies my thoughts lately lolol)

[suiana]

(yandere! alien x gn! reader)

the human spirit is indomitable. that much was obvious, especially with how you were still fighting against him even though there was clearly no escape. or at least that's what he thought.

"why do you still fight against me..."

the alien mumbles, voice cracking as he tries to move under the rubble you trapped him under. shit, this was not ideal at all. he can't believe you actually manage to drug him and then trapped him under the broken ceiling you shattered when he was chasing after you.

he still didn't know how you did it. he was faster, stronger, smarter... you shouldn't have been able to trick him like this. yet, his overconfidence might've been a reason as to why you got a one-up over him.

"you know there's no escape right? my spaceship has yet to dock at a port and we are light years away from earth."

the otherworldly creature tries reasoning with you, staring at your shaking figure as you tug at the collar he made you wear. it was a pretty thing, made of the finest jewels he got from another planet he visited a few years back.

he thought it would look good on you, and it did. so his heart aches when you destroyed it, allowing the jewels to scatter all over his once pristine floors.

no matter, he can just fix it again.

"darling, you should stop resisting. you will just tire yourself out."

the alien sighs, not finding your actions amusing as he shakes his head.

he doesn't get humans at all. why do you try so hard even when there's clearly no intelligent way to win this? perhaps that's why your civilization is still heaps below others, like his.

that was, until, he saw you dig out the microchip tracker he implanted into your neck with your bare hands.

his eyes widen in horror, jaw going slack as he screams, body shaking as he desperately tries moving under the rubble only for you to step on his face and throw the chip at him.

"fucking alien... don't you know? adrenaline is one hell of a drug."

he hears your laughter resounding through the hallways, your footsteps growing softer and softer as he tries to recover from your painful stomp.

his eyes shake, his features in undeniable pain as he feels his body giving up on him.

no, no, no!

he tries wiggling more, but unfortunately, his species had not adapted to recover from situations like this. so all he could do as he laid in pain under the rubble was to shout at you, desperation in his tone as he sees you touching and entering something into the emergency escape pod he had on his spaceship.

"darling don't you dare leave!"

he screams, looking absolutely pathetic as his eyes widen in both fear and anger. no! you weren't supposed to leave! you were supposed to be just some human who would give up escape and love him! you were supposed to accept him as your mate the second he kidnapped you because of how obsessed he had become after observing you for weeks in his spaceship!

you weren't supposed to leave him under the rubble like this!

you're clearly weaker, more stupid... and definitely an inferior species! why couldn't you just love him?! why couldn't you just give up and accept his affections?!

"darling! i'm warning you! if you leave i will find you and i will be very angry!"

the alien tries threatening, wincing in pain as the effects of your face stomping still lingered. but of course, he knew you wouldn't listen to him. not when you so eagerly pointed your middle finger at him (a sign he came to see as disrespect in human customs) before leaving in the space shuttle.

he lets out a strangled scream, completely still under the rubble as his frustration and anger reaches it's peak. god damn it! now he has to wait for god knows how long until the drug wears off to finally be able to move and try to find you!

maybe he shouldn't have doubted humans so much. perhaps the rumors about the human spirit being indomitable were right. maybe the humans really were meant to conquer the stars.