#and came across these.. abominations

[friskydabunny]

I don’t what I made but it sure is a drawing ‼️‼️‼️

Design under the cut idk

[tomasletcombe]

I firmly believe there is no excuse to use generative AI to create art, if you genuinely care about and want to make art you find away that you like and are able to. For years people who are unable to use their arms fully have learned to draw with their feet or their teeth. You do art to make something beautiful and human not lazy weird looking crap. If you are unable to do one of the most basic things for sentient creatures to be able to do (don't forget: elephants, crows/ravens, and racoons have been taught to paint) that we've been doing for thousands of years that says more about you than art

Hey, you reblogged that AI post and I was surprised to see something so mean on your blog. "If you cant write unassisted, fuck you, youre a disgrace to the community." Is that really something you want on your blog?

Just in case this isn't a spam message:

Posting AI-generated content to a platform intended to be an archive for writers is not appropriate use of the platform. On a platform intended for human creation, it is rude and inappropriate to clog search results with AI-produced content which often plagiarizes the work of human authors.

Use of generative AI is also horrible for our environment, leading to massive waste of fossil fuel energy and water. We should not be doing damage to our planet for the sake of generating (robot-produced, often plagiarized) fiction, especially when the joy of fiction comes from the creation and emotion of real people.

Rather than giving a prompt to a generative AI, people should consider attempting to write their own work, or asking another writer from the fandom if they would be interested in writing it. Anyone who is capable of typing a prompt into ChatGPT is capable of writing a story. The first attempts may not be amazing, but that is true of any skill, and anyone can improve with time and practice - and while ChatGPT may give you big returns in your time, it doesn't give you practice, growth, or creativity, which is where the joy of writing should come from.

[ktempestbradford]

I have been on a Willy Wonkified journey today and I need y'all to come with me

It started so innocently. Scrolling Google News I come across this article on Ars Technica:

At first glance I thought what happened was parents saw AI-generated images of an event their kids were at and became concerned, then realized it was fake. The reality? Oh so much better.

On Saturday, event organizers shut down a Glasgow-based "Willy's Chocolate Experience" after customers complained that the unofficial Wonka-inspired event, which took place in a sparsely decorated venue, did not match the lush AI-generated images listed on its official website.... According to Sky News, police were called to the event, and "advice was given."

Thing is, the people who paid to go were obviously not expecting exactly this:

But I can see how they'd be a bit pissed upon arriving to this:

It gets worse.

"Tempest, how could it possibly--"

source of this video that also includes this charming description:

Made up a villain called The Unknown — 'an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls'

There is already a meme.

Oh yes, the Wish.com Oompa Loompa:

Who has already done an interview!

As bad (and hilarious) as this all is, I got curious about the company that put on this event. Did they somehow overreach? Did the actors they hired back out at the last minute? (Or after they saw the script...) Oddly enough, it doesn't seem so!

Given what I found when poking around I'm legit surprised there was an event at all. Cuz this outfit seems to be 100% a scam.

The website for this specific event is here and it has many AI generated images on it, as stated. I don't think anyone who bought tickets looked very closely at these images, otherwise they might have been concerned about how much Catgacating their children would be exposed to.

Yes, Catgacating. You know, CATgacating!

I personally don't think anyone should serve exarserdray flavored lollipops in public spaces given how many people are allergic to it. And the sweet teats might not have been age appropriate.

Though the Twilight Tunnel looks pretty cool:

I'm not sure that Dim Tight Twdrding is safe. I've also been warned that Vivue Sounds are in that weird frequency range that makes you poop your pants upon hearing them.

Yes, Virginia, these folks used an AI image generator for everything on the website and used Chat GPT for some of the text! From the FAQ:

Q: I cannot go on the available days. Will you have more dates in the future? A: Should there be capacity when you arrive, then you will be able to enter without any problems. In the event that this is not the case, we may ask you to wait a bit.

Fear not, for this question is asked again a few lines down and the answer makes more sense.

Curious about the events company behind this disaster, I took myself over to the homepage of House of Illuminati and I was not disappointed.

I would 100% trust these people to plan my wedding.

This abomination of a website is a badly edited WordPress blog filled with AI art and just enough blog posts to make the casual viewer think that it's a legit business for about 0.0004 seconds.

Their attention to detail is stunning, from how they left up the default first post every WP blog gets to how they didn't bother changing the name on several images, thus revealing where they came from. Like this one:

With the lovely and compact filename "DALL·E-2024-01-30-09.50.54-Imagine-a-scene-where-fantasy-and-reality-merge-seamlessly.-In-the-foreground-a-grand-interactive-gala-is-taking-place-filled-with-elegant-guests-i.png"

"Concept.png" came from the same AI generator that gets text almost, but not quiiiiiite right:

There are a suspicious number of .webp images in the uploads, which makes me think they either stole them from other sites where AI "art" was uploaded or they didn't want to pay for the hi-res versions of some and just grabbed the preview image.

The real fun came when I noticed this filename: Before-and-After-Eventologists-Transformation-Edgbaston-Cricket-Ground-1024x1024-1.jpg and decided to do a Google image search. Friends, you will be shocked to hear that the image in question, found on this post touting how they can transform a boring warehouse into a fun event space, was stolen from this actual event planner.

Even better, this weirdly grainy image?

From a post that claims to be about the preparations for a "Willy Wonka" experience (we'll get to this in a minute), is not only NOT an actual image of anyone preparing anything for Illuminati's event, it is stolen from a YouTube thumbnail that's been chopped to remove the name of the company that actually made this. Here's the video.

If you actually read the blog posts they're all copypasta or some AI generated crap. To the point where this seems like not a real business at all. There's very specific business information at the bottom, but nothing else seems real.

As I said, I'm kinda surprised they put on an event at all. This has, "And then they ran off with all our money!" written all over it. I'm perplexed.

And also wondering when the copyright lawyers are gonna start calling, because...

This post explicitly says they're putting together a "Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory Experience" complete with golden tickets.

Somewhere along the line someone must have wised up, because the actual event was called "Willys Chocolate Experience" (note the lack of apostrophe) and the script they handed to the actors about 10 minutes before they were supposed to "perform" was about a "Willy McDuff" and his chocolate factory.

As I was going through this madness with friends in a chat, one pointed out that it took very little prompting to get the free Chat GPT to spit out an event description and such very similar to all this while avoiding copyrighted phrases. But he couldn't figure out where the McDuff came from since it wasn't the type of thing GPT would usually spit out...

Until he altered the prompt to include it would be happening in Glasgow, Scotland.

You cannot make this stuff up.

But truly, honestly, I do not even understand why they didn't take the money and run. Clearly this was all set up to be a scam. A lazy, AI generated scam.

Everything from the website to the event images to the copy to the "script" to the names of things was either stolen or AI generated (aka stolen). Hell, I'd be looking for some poor Japanese visitor wandering the streets of Glasgow, confused, after being jacked for his mascot costume.

HE LIVES IN THE WALLS, Y'ALL.

[charcoaldustonmyfingers]

Me, a fool: It would be cool if TOTK brought back old Zelda enemies!

Me, later: I take it back I take it back I take it back

Something about the hand shaped enemies in Zelda games give me the absolute heebie-jeebies. I hate them so much. They freak me out man, it’s legit bad for my heart!

So here’s an artistic interpretation of the first time I came across those damnable gloom floormasters in game. It was like every creepy hand enemy merged into one nightmarish abomination come to haunt me. Link almost met the goddesses that day…

See if you can spot all the references!

[nekoashiii]

⠀ ⠀ Tides of Treachery

pairings: Pirate!caleb x Mermaid!reader.

notes/warnings: violence, brief mentions of blood. Nearly drowning. Reader is intended to be afab!bodied and gender neutral. no smut in this part, part 2

The sea has always been Caleb’s first love. The way the waves rolled and crashed against the hull of his ship, the scent of salt thick in the air, and the endless horizon stretching beyond his reach—it was all he had ever known.

Years ago, he used to happily laugh around and run in the water, throw sand at his friends and enjoy the rays of warmth radiating from the sun. But all good things come to an end, Caleb had learned the hard way that nothing in life was permanent—not love, not safety, not even the land beneath his feet.

His father had gone out to sea one morning to fish for their humble family business, promising to return before nightfall, but the tides swallowed him whole, leaving behind only whispers of his name in the crashing waves.

His mother, left to raise him alone, had done everything she could to keep him safe. But safety was a fragile illusion. The night the world flipped upside down for him, the thugs came, she had fought for him, desperate to keep her boy safe as she hid him in a corner, tears streaming down her face as she hugged him for the final time. Caleb still remembered the way her blood pooled on the wooden floor, how the coppery scent mixed with the salt on his skin as he was dragged outside, kicking and screaming.

He was meant to die that night. The leader of the gang had loomed over him, blade in hand, expression cold and indifferent. But something in Caleb’s eyes must have reminded him of himself—some old, bitter ghost of the past—because he hesitated

“Take him,” the man had ordered. “Teach the boy how to survive.”

And so he did.

Caleb was thrown into a world of cutthroats and thieves, learning how to wield a dagger before he could grow his first beard. The boy who once ran across the shore, carefree and full of laughter, had long since vanished. In his place stood a pirate feared across the seas, his name whispered in drunken taverns and city guards.

He should have felt satisfied. He had carved his own place in the world, commanded a crew that would die for him, listening to his every whim and commands and sailed waters that no man dared to cross.

But sometimes when his crew went to their beds and bunkers, he would step out of his own, in the quiet of the night, when the ocean was calm and the stars burned like embers overhead, he thought of the past. He thought of a life that had once been his before fate stole it away.

A creature he recalled, a siren. an abomination mix of fish and human. he never entertained the talk of catching a siren to keep it for him to sing. if one was unfortunate enough to fall in the nets of his ship would immediately have its scales taken away and itself shipped off and sold to some lord with fortune, that easily explains the amount of coats he has with shimmering scales.

It was on one such night, when the sea lay still and the wind barely stirred the sails, that Caleb saw them.

A shape, moving just beyond the reach of the lanterns’ glow, barely a ripple in the water. He narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the edge of The Wayward Star, gripping the wooden railing with steady fingers.

Then, the moonlight caught them.

A figure, half-submerged, skin glistening like pearls beneath the pale light. Their hair floated around them in thick, damp strands, creating an illusion of ink swirling around them, and their eyes—dark and knowing—locked onto his.

Caleb inhaled sharply.

A mermaid.

Not the kind sung about in sailor’s tales, with golden curls and gentle voices. No, this was something else entirely. Their gaze held no innocence, no wide-eyed wonder. Instead, they studied him, unblinking, as if deciding whether he was prey or something more. It made a humming gurgling noise, the odd scent of seasons and spices had attracted it towards the ship.

His fingers itched toward the cutlass at his hip, but he hesitated.

“You watching me?” he called out, voice low, roughened by years of salt and rum.

The mermaid didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, they tilted their head slightly, eyes glinting like two beads covered in obsidian in the dark.

Something about them made the air feel too thick, too heavy in his lungs. He had spent his life commanding men, stealing from those unfortune to pass his ship, fighting battles and staring death in the face without flinching. But this? This was different. that thing unsettled him.

Then, as silently as they had appeared, they slipped beneath the waves.

Gone.

Caleb exhaled, only then realizing he had been holding his breath.

Caleb barely slept that night. He couldn’t. After returning to his bedchambers, his eyes wouldn’t stay closed, he felt like a nail was being jammed into his head, and when he felt comfortable enough for sleep to lull him away, a thunder would wake him up.

Caleb gave up trying to get a brink of sleep. He sat at the bow of The Wayward Star, staring out at the sea as if drilling his gaze into the water infront of him would will the mermaid to return. The waves lapped lazily against the ship’s hull, rocking it. and the stars shimmered like scattered silver, but the water remained empty.

By dawn, the mermaid still hadn’t resurfaced.

He told himself to let it go. He was a pirate, not some fool enchanted by sea myths. There was plunder to seek, ships to raid, and yet—he found his thoughts drifting back to them. The way the moonlight caught the wet sheen of their skin, the quiet intelligence and stupidity in their dark eyes, the way they had simply watched him, like they were trying to understand him.

He had spent his life being feared, respected, hated by most. Never had someone looked at him like that before.

He shook the thought from his mind. Damn that fish, he had better things to do.

But fate, it seemed, had no intention of letting him forget.

The second time he saw them, it was in the middle of a storm.

The sea raged, tossing The Wayward Star like a toy, and rain pelted the deck in thick sheets. Caleb barked orders over the howling wind, his clothes soaked through, his hands raw from gripping the ropes. The storm was bad—worse than most—but he had survived worse.

Then, amidst the chaos, he saw them.

A shadow beneath the waves, moving too fast for the current to carry. At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, lack of sleep always did funny tricks on people, but then the ship lurched violently to the side, nearly throwing him off balance.

He barely had time to react before a massive wave surged forward, hitting the ship with unnatural force. The wood groaned under the weight, and his crew yelled in alarm, struggling to hold the vessel steady.

Caleb barely had time to brace himself before the wave struck.

The impact sent him staggering backward, boots slipping on the rain-slicked deck. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the rigging, but another violent lurch of the ship sent him sprawling. The world tilted—dark sky and raging sea spinning together in a blur—before the deck vanished beneath him.

Cold, crushing water swallowed him whole.

The ocean was deafening. It roared in his ears, filled his nose, dragged him down with merciless hands. Caleb kicked, fighting against the force pulling him deeper, but the storm churned above him, tossing him around like he was nothing more than a scrap of driftwood.

For the first time in years, true panic clawed at his chest.

His lungs burned, muscles screaming as he thrashed against the weight of the sea. He had survived battles, betrayals, and the cruel hand of fate itself—but drowning? Dying alone beneath the waves? The thought sent a sharp bolt of fear through him.

Then, just as the darkness at the edges of his vision threatened to consume him, something moved.

Not the waves. Not the current.

Something else.

A shadow slipped through the water, too fast, too smooth, circling him like a predator. a creature made for water.

He didn’t have the time to register the shape before arms wrapped around him—strong, steady, and colder than the sea itself. A rush of movement followed, the water parting as he was dragged downwards with unnatural speed.

Then—air.

Caleb’s breath came in ragged gasps, his throat raw from seawater and the force of the storm. His hands pressed into the damp sand beneath him, fingers curling around the fine grains as his body shook with exhaustion.

The cave was dimly lit, the glow of bioluminescent corals and strange, shifting lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of salt and something else—something unfamiliar, earthy, and deep. The sound of dripping water echoed in the cavern, mixing with the rhythmic crash of waves outside.

His mind reeled.

How was there air here? How was he even alive?

A flicker of movement made him tense.

Slowly, he raised his head.

The mermaid was there.

They lingered at the water’s edge, half-submerged, their dark eyes watching him with the same unreadable intensity as before. The glow of the cave cast shifting patterns across their skin, highlighting the smooth muscles of their shoulders, the glint of scales that shimmered with every small movement.

Caleb swallowed, still breathless.

“You saved me,” he rasped, voice hoarse from nearly drowning and coughing out salt water. He didn’t know why he was stating the obvious, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

The mermaid tilted their head slightly, considering him. Then, slow and deliberate, they moved closer.

Caleb’s instincts screamed at him to be cautious. He had spent his life surrounded by liars and thieves, men who would slit your throat for a handful of gold. Trust was something he had long since abandoned.

And yet—

He didn’t move as the mermaid reached out.

Their fingers brushed against his cheek, cool and slightly rough, like they weren’t quite used to touching something as fragile as human skin. Caleb held still, his breath catching as they traced the outline of his jaw, their expression unreadable.

Their touch lingered for a moment longer before they withdrew, retreating slightly into the water, as if waiting.

Waiting for what?

Caleb exhaled sharply, running a hand through his soaked hair. He needed to think, to figure out where he was, what they wanted. But the storm had drained him, and the warmth of the cave—unnatural as it was—lulled his body into something dangerously close to comfort.

He should have been afraid.

But for the first time in a long, long while, he wasn’t.

Instead, he found himself staring back at the creature before him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming with something dangerously close to curiosity.

“…What are you?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

The mermaid didn’t answer in words.

But they smiled—slow and knowing—before slipping back into the water’s embrace.

After a few hours, you returned. Different types of fishes for your lovely guest you had dragged to your home, could you be blamed? the deep ocean was starting to get boring and dull, hunting fishes would not excite you. Days weren’t looking brighter and you felt like day by day you were evolving into a sea cucumber laying uselessly on the sand waiting for your eventual demise.

You swam through the water effortlessly, the cold depths parting for you as you carried your prize—an assortment of fish clutched in your hands, still fresh, their scales gleaming under the soft glow of the cave’s bioluminescent corals.

It had been years since anything had truly interested you. The ocean, vast and endless as it was, had lost its thrill. Hunting was easy. The other creatures of the sea were predictable. You had seen everything there was to see, done everything there was to do.

But him—the human—you had never encountered something quite like him before.

He was fragile. Small, in comparison to the beasts of the sea. His limbs were awkward and unfit for swimming, his body weighed down by the very waters that carried you with ease. And yet, despite his weakness, he fought.

You had seen the fire in his eyes, the defiance that burned even as the sea threatened to swallow him whole. A lesser creature would have gone limp, accepted their fate, but he had thrashed, struggled, survived.

That made him interesting.

And interesting things did not come often in your world.

So, really, could you be blamed for dragging him here? For watching him as he gasped for breath, the air in the cave filling his fragile lungs? For wanting to see how long he would last before his fear turned his survival instincts to recklessness?

You breached the water’s surface, the fish still held tightly in your grasp, and your dark eyes immediately sought him out.

There he was.

The pirate.

He had not moved far from where you left him. His body was curled slightly, one arm slung over his bent knee, head resting against the damp rock. His breathing was steady now, slower, but his exhaustion was evident.

You took a moment to observe. Poking his feet to test the waters before crawling out of the water and on top of him.

His skin was warm, unlike the cold-blooded creatures you were used to. His hair, still damp from the ocean, clung to his face in uneven strands. His chest rose and fell in slow, rhythmic motions, his lips slightly parted as if caught between sleep and wakefulness.

The fish in your hands flopped weakly, their gills opening and closing in vain. You had chosen well—fat, fresh, the best you could find. Surely he would be pleased.

But as you placed the offering beside him, he did not react.

You frowned.

You reached out, fingers ghosting over his skin, pressing against his shoulder. The warmth of him startled you, even now, and for a brief moment, you simply felt—the rise and fall of muscle beneath your touch, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly in response.

You raised your webbed hand and slapped it down on his firm chest.

Plap!

His eyes snapped open with a gasp. For a long moment, you two simply stared at each other.

Then, slowly, ever so slowly, his gaze flickered downward—to the fish beside him, and to the naked scaled-covered chest of the mermaid hovering over his face, blocking his view of the cave. he averted his eyes to the fish, it was still twitching, their silver scales glinting in the dim light.

A pause.

Then, he exhaled through his nose, something between amusement and disbelief flickering across his face.

“…Did you just bring me food?”

You blinked.

Of course you did. What else would he eat? Rocks?

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he sat up. His fingers brushed over the fish idly, as if testing to see if they were even real.

“Well. Can’t say I’ve ever had a meal delivered to me by a sea creature before.” He glanced back at you, his lips quirking at the corners. “Guess I should be flattered.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him.

Strange.

You had given him a gift—an offering of peace, even—and instead of taking it seriously, he was… laughing, what was laughing supposed to mean here? humans were so so strange.

You narrowed your eyes, leaning closer, your face mere inches from his. His breath caught slightly, his gaze flickered to your lips that were inching just centimeters away from his, but he held his ground, his eyes returning up to watch you in return.

Interesting.

Your lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t quite a threat, either.

This was going to be fun.

[lamb-teaa]

` last of his kind, or not

` C.1 - dragons, flowers and what?

—⁠ tags: AU for Sylus's myth. canon divergence. Sylus x fem!reader. human-dragon hybrids. comedy/crack me thinks.

—⁠ teaa’s note: short scenario. possible future fic. or not lol. cliffhanger am sorry (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

—⁠ edited: caved in and wrote C.2 ooft. happy reading!

—⁠ ` C.2 - first impression failed successfully

Sylus believed he was the last of his kind. Doomed to a life of solitude as an extinct race and condemned by the humans as an abomination.

Yet he persevered, survived and lived out of spite against those foolish humans - creating havoc everywhere he goes, stealing treasures for his trove of collections, and when he's feeling mischievous, he'd toy around with humans that dared to even dream to cross him.

Or stupid enough to try to kill him.

Sylus wouldn't even grant them an instant death, no no, that'd be too boring. He'd let them live for a short while, torture them as he deemed fit and watched in amusement as they begged for mercy. Truly, these humans are much more entraining alive than dead.

That is until he gets bored of them and stabs them straight in the throat with his sharp tail.

Just another normal day for the last dragon of Philos.

Only the rarest day when Sylus isn't being a menace is when he took himself to the skies to observe the lands below, especially towards a certain flower field that gave him even just the tiniest taste of tranquility.

His large wings flutter behind his back, his eyes gazing down at the field of red daturas coming into view. The sight of the flower field that brought solace to his empty heart.

Until he saw something that made him freeze mid-air.

He saw you.

You were crouching down slightly amidst the vast field, picking the flowers into your arms to make a lovely bouquet, your dress fluttering as you moved around, your light blue tail swaying calmly behind you, your moonlight horns shone slightly by the evening sunset - completely oblivious to the dumbfounded dragon watching you from above the sky.

Sylus thought he might have lost it. That the centuries of isolation and loneliness finally caught up to him that he hallucinated the existence of another dragon like himself.

A trick of the light. An illusion. It can't be rea-

But the moment you stood up with an armful of daturas, your eyes flickered up towards the sky, locking gaze with Sylus - he felt time stilled around him.

The confused tilt in your head, the wondering gaze in your eyes and the slightest of movement as you took a step back while still maintaining eye contact with him.

His eyes widened at the sight of you, his heart raced both in anticipation and trepidation, his fist clenched so hard that his claws stung his palm.

You looked alive.

You weren't an illusion.

You are real.

You -

His body reacted in an instant, his wings flapped strongly behind him and before Sylus knew it, he was flying fast towards the alarmed humanoid female dragon.

He didn't even think, subconsciously causing the speed of his flight to increase. In his mind, he'd already be thinking of landing calmly and gracefully in front of you.

Unfortunately for him, his lost control of his own speed caused him to crash unceremoniously into you, sending both of you tumbling across the flower field until he ended up hovering above you.

His breath hitched as stared down at you sprawled on the ground, jaw slightly agape as he took in your similar draconic scales like his, only yours shone in light blue unlike his dark red ones.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, too stunned at the prospect of finding another dragon like him in this lonesome world.

But he should say something, anything, just speak damnit-

Sylus snapped out of his reverie when he felt a strong smack of the flowers against his cheek, causing him to freeze up for the umpteenth time that day. His gaze flickered between your bewildered eyes to the flowers in your hand - he could only continue to stare at you in utter silence, flabbergasted.

You had just slapped him with the daturas.

[sekhithefops]

How to Kill Microsoft's AI "Helper" Copilot WITHOUT Screwing With Your Registry!

Hey guys, so as I'm sure a lot of us are aware, Microsoft pulled some dickery recently and forced some Abominable Intelligence onto our devices in the form of its "helper" program, Copilot. Something none of us wanted or asked for but Microsoft is gonna do anyways because I'm pretty sure someone there gets off on this.

Unfortunately, Microsoft offered no ways to opt out of the little bastard or turn it off (unless you're in the EU where EU Privacy Laws force them to do so.) For those of us in the United Corporations of America, we're stuck... or are we?

Today while perusing Bluesky, one of the many Twitter-likes that appeared after Musk began burning Twitter to the ground so he could dance in the ashes, I came across this post from a gentleman called Nash:

Intrigued, I decided to give this a go, and lo and behold it worked exactly as described!

We can't remove Copilot, Microsoft made sure that was riveted and soldered into place... but we can cripple it!

Simply put, Microsoft Edge. Normally Windows will prevent you from uninstalling Edge using the Add/Remove Programs function saying that it needs Edge to operate properly (it doesn't, its lying) but Geek Uninstaller overrules that and rips the sucker out regardless of what it says!

I uninstalled Edge using it, rebooted my PC, and lo and behold Copilot was sitting in the corner with blank eyes and drool running down it's cheeks, still there but dead to the world!

Now do bear in mind this will have a little knock on effect. Widgets also rely on Edge, so those will stop functioning as well.

Before:

After:

But I can still check the news and weather using an internet browser so its a small price to pay to be rid of Microsoft's spyware-masquerading-as-a-helper Copilot.

But yes, this is the link for Geek Uninstaller:

Run it, select "Force Uninstall" For anything that says "Edge," reboot your PC, and enjoy having a copy of Windows without Microsoft's intrusive trash! :D

UPDATE: I saw this on someone's tags and I felt I should say this as I work remotely too. If you have a computer you use for work, absolutely 100% make sure you consult with your management and/or your IT team BEFORE you do this. If they say don't do it, there's likely a reason.

[satori-runa]

—The star of the night

Summary: In the middle of chaos, Reca chooses you, his assistant, to replace the actual actress.

Words: 2k

Tags: Fluff, slight comedy, mr reca being mr reca

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

In your lifetime, you'd never been anywhere more glamorous than Reca's movie set. It was a polished spectacle of wealth, fame, and sheer creative ambition concentrated in a single place.

The set was pristine. Everything from the polished equipment to the crew buzzing around the latest cutting-edge technology spoke of high-budget prowess. Reca had wrangled only the crème de la crème of actors, and the script itself was a masterpiece, lauded by critics before a single frame had even been shot. Naturally, it was no surprise when the man beside you, the very architect of this grandiose vision, let out an audible groan, throwing his head into his hands. He pulled them down his face in a gesture so theatrical it almost belonged on the screen itself.

"No, no, no." He groaned, his voice laced with overdramatic despair. “Not like this. This is supposed to be art. Art!” He gestured wildly at the set. “Any three-year-old could create such a display with macaroni!"

While you found yourself captivated by the scene's intricate design—each prop in perfect position, the textures, the layout of furniture—all meticulously assembled to support the vision of an unfolding narrative, Reca saw only flaws. In his eyes, it was a desecration of the perfection he had so painstakingly envisioned.

To him, everything was wrong. The lighting was lifeless, casting shadows that fell harshly across the actors’ faces, robbing them of the soft glamour he’d imagined. The music? A hollow echo that failed to evoke a single stirring of emotion, as far from evocative as a flat note played on a broken piano. And the actress—the poor, unknowing actress who, in any other setting, would be lauded for her skill—was, to Reca, nothing short of an abomination in this moment. His eyes were fixed on her, his lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head.

“Does she even know her lines?” He muttered, mostly to himself, though you heard every word. “It’s as if she’s performing in a high school play, not…not this.” He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth, his presence a cyclone of perfectionism.

For the past hour, Reca had been tearing every detail apart. The set he'd once raved about was now an "ill-matched mess." The weeks you'd spent booking this elusive location, the endless calls, the backup locations you’d scouted, and the rejections you’d faced until this one finally came through. The casting? The exhausting process of reviewing tapes, organizing callbacks, going through Reca's list of notes and opinions on each actress, often just to have him change his mind the next day. And that demo track? You’d pulled every string, barely scraping by deadlines, just to make sure everything was in perfect order for him.

And here you were, watching it all unravel with each of Reca’s sighs and exasperated mutterings. As he kept pacing, criticizing the lighting again and muttering that the entire production was in danger of "crumbling into mediocrity," you couldn’t help but let out a silent prayer. An aeon, a muse, a miracle—someone save me, you thought, raising your hands briefly to the heavens in a quiet display of surrender.

Because if Reca’s mood didn’t lighten, there was absolutely no way this movie was getting made today.

Just as you were silently pleading for an escape from this nightmare, Reca’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. His head snapped in your direction, and his gaze narrowed, a glint of sudden inspiration lighting up his face. You felt a jolt of dread. That look—oh, you knew it too well. It was the same look he had whenever he came up with one of his “brilliant” ideas, which, more often than not, meant you were in for another impossible task.

“You.” He said, pointing at you with a fervor that made you take a step back. “You’ll be perfect.”

You blinked, uncertain if he was joking. “Me?”

“Yes! You!” He clapped his hands together, excitement bubbling up in his eyes. “Don’t you see? You have everything this role needs. Raw energy, authenticity—a complete lack of…training! It’s fresh. It’s real!”

“Reca, I don’t think—”

“Nonsense!” He cut you off, waving your protests away. “You’re exactly what this film is missing! All this time, I was looking in the wrong places. These actresses…they’re too polished. Too practiced. They lack that something—that spark of untamed potential that you have.” He smiled, a bit maniacally, but you could tell he was deadly serious.

“But I’m just your assistant.” You stammered, feeling your face flush. “I don’t know the first thing about acting. I’d probably ruin the entire film!”

“No way.” He insisted, eyes blazing with enthusiasm as if he’d already envisioned you on the big screen. “Think about it! You’ve been here for the whole process, you know every detail. You’ve seen every scene in my head just as I see it. Who else could be better prepared?”

You opened your mouth to protest again, there was no one that had the same vision as him, but he was already motioning to the costume designer, barking orders to prepare an outfit for you. Any hint of hesitation had disappeared from his face. In his mind, you were already cast and rehearsed, the missing piece that would bring his vision to life.

The next thing you knew, you were being ushered into the dressing room, handed a costume, and given a rapid rundown of your character’s motivations—directly from Reca himself, who seemed thrilled beyond measure. Somewhere between his impassioned monologues and the mounting nervousness that took over you, you found yourself on the set, standing beneath the very lights he’d spent hours cursing.

And as the camera rolled, with Reca’s wide-eyed gaze fixed intently on you, you couldn’t shake the surreal feeling. You’d gone from assistant to lead actress in a single, unpredictable twist, and despite your inexperience, you found yourself saying the lines and stepping into the role…all under the watchful, eager eyes of a director who now thought you were the perfect star.

The set had quieted down, and the crew took a break, leaving only a few people around. Reca, still lingering near you after that intense practice, watched the others drift away before turning back to you with a small, thoughtful smile.

“Let’s run through it one more time, mon cherie.” He said, his voice softer now. “Off camera. Just us.” There was a vulnerability in his tone you hadn’t heard before—a subtle, unspoken invitation.

You nodded, though your heart was pounding again. With the equipment and the audience gone, the space between you felt strangely intimate, as if stepping outside the boundary of the roles you were supposed to be playing.

He took a steadying breath and stood before you, his gaze searching yours. “Close your eyes.” He said, his hand brushing yours. “Forget the lines, the lights. Just…feel it.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in. You could feel the warmth of his presence, so close now that every brush of his hand seemed to linger, every movement deliberate. He guided you gently, his fingertips tracing the edges of your hand until your fingers were laced together, his touch grounding, even protective.

“Imagine…” he whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion, “Imagine there’s no one here but us. No cameras. No crew.”

You opened your eyes, and he was watching you, his gaze vulnerable and sincere in a way you hadn’t seen before. His expression held an emotion that was entirely unscripted—almost a question lingering in his eyes, as if he was daring you to step closer.

His hand moved to your face, fingertips lightly tracing your cheek. The way he looked at you was overwhelming, like he was seeing parts of you no one had ever seen before. It felt like he was letting you in, past the director, past the confident professional, to something real and deeply hidden.

“Just us.” He murmured, almost to himself, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. His eyes softened, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. For a second, it felt like he might kiss you—not as part of a scene, not as an actor in a role, but as himself.

You swallowed, your own emotions swelling, breaking past the practiced distance of assistant and director. The way he looked at you, the way his touch lingered just a moment too long, felt impossibly real. It wasn’t just acting. Not anymore.

And in that shared silence, the line between character and reality blurred completely, leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was something there that neither of you had dared to speak aloud.

Your breath caught as Reca leaned in closer, his hand cradling your face with an intensity that made the world around you disappear. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat that stretched on, filled with a tension so thick it felt like the air had turned electric. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek, and you felt your heart pounding, anticipation building with each passing second.

You closed your eyes, half-expecting, half-hoping for the kiss that seemed to hover right on the edge of happening. The moment felt impossibly fragile, a secret shared only between the two of you. And just as you felt him draw in that final breath…

He pulled back, a sudden spark lighting up his eyes, and he spun around, letting out a shout that shattered the delicate silence. “Yes! That’s it! THAT expression—exactly what we need!”

You blinked, still reeling, as he practically leapt away from you, his energy blazing. “Everyone!” He called out, his voice filled with exhilaration. “Get ready to film! Now, now, now! We have to capture this—she’s got the emotion perfect, it’s exactly what I’ve been looking for!”

The crew scrambled into action, quickly setting up cameras and adjusting lights as you stood there, frozen and feeling a little…lost. You watched him pace excitedly, giving orders and pointing out positions, his focus now on preparing the scene. Meanwhile, you felt your cheeks flush with the sudden realization that the almost-kiss hadn’t been what you thought at all.

You felt the warmth creeping up your cheeks, your heart still racing from the almost-kiss that had left you somewhere between flustered and bewildered. As the crew finished setting up, you broke into a grin, chuckling softly at the absurdity of it all. Reca had played you perfectly, swept you into the scene so thoroughly that, for a moment, you’d forgotten where the acting stopped and the real feelings began. You couldn’t help but shake your head, laughing at yourself.

Reca, seeing your smile, grinned back, clearly thrilled that he’d managed to get such an authentic reaction. “That’s the spirit!” he cheered, clapping his hands together in delight. “I knew you had it in you!”

“You know, Reca.” You said, trying to keep the teasing note in your voice light as you crossed your arms, “you played me well. Got me all caught up in the moment. Almost too well, actually.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Only did what any good director would do.” He replied, a playful edge in his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of confidence as you leaned in just a little. “Well, maybe we should rehearse some more roles in private sometime.” You suggested, your smile turning slightly coy. “You know…just to pick up where you left me hanging.”

For the briefest second, he looked taken aback, his eyes widening as if surprised by your boldness. But then, that familiar grin returned, his gaze lingering on you with a newfound intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps we will.” he said, his voice a touch lower, his gaze still locked on you. “Only if you think you can handle a bit more of my…methods.”

Your smile deepened, and you felt a thrill run through you. Maybe, just maybe, the line between acting and reality was thinner than you’d thought. And if Reca wanted to blur it a little more…well, you couldn’t say you’d mind.

[radiance1]

So, Ghost Prince Danny. Except that he also, ALSO, is Damian's younger twin brother who was sent to keep an eye on the Fentons because of their discovery of a substance that looked like Lazarus Water yet isn't Lazarus water.

In truth, it was really just Talia's way of getting Danny out of the way because he lost against Damian in the battle of heirs (No Danny did not hold back, Damian was just better than him) and she didn't want him dead so that was the next best thing.

Danny does pop up in the League at odd times, mostly to report about the research done by the Fentons. When he became half dead he's around a lot more, mostly to be monitored for his unique condition (somehow someway they don't know about Vlad) and because Danny can just come and go as he pleases cause ghost powers.

So, Danny gives Damian a flute that he handcrafted himself as a birthday present because really, what can he buy that Damian himself couldn't? Also, because he didn't actually want to spend money on his older brother.

They're brothers, but they don't have the most cordial relationship. They don't hate each other, but they don't like each other either.

So, Damian takes this flute and is like: "Fuck you gimmie this for I don't need this shit."

And then Danny is like: "Just take the gift you stupid ahh fruitloop."

So, Damian takes it while berating that Danny would give him something as stupid as this, but then does a full one 180 by keeping the thing on his person at all times.

Not that Danny knows that, really.

So, cut forth to Damian being known by Batman and taken in. Trying to kill Tim and being an overall little shit, I can see one of the Batfam coming across this flute just, randomly really, and then Damian is fucking pissed that they dared to touch it and then takes it back.

Leaving basically everyone stumped over the significance this random ahh wooden flute has but decides not to touch that landmine.

So then the Batfam don't know that Damian has a half sibling (Danny came from Jack and Talia, so he isn't blood related to Bruce but is to Damian) running around out there and Damian isn't gonna say anything and you already know Talia isn't since Danny AIN'T his kid.

Plus, he got a job to do that being with Bruce Wayne would make harder.

So then Damian becomes robin an allat, then the entire Batfam pull up to the Justice League for some big threat and then both Constantine and Zatanna are like: Yo why do you kid carry round an item drenched heavily in death energy to the extreme

Batman is obviously like: Excuse me?

Damian, meanwhile, just does not give a fuck about the flute given to him by his half-brother on his birthday is apparently drenched in death energy to the extreme because that is his and he isn't going to just give it up.

So then one way or another Damian ends up playing it, maybe he was told to play it by both Batman and Constantine just to make sure it isn't actually anything dangerous or whatever and also because Damian wouldn't let anyone else hold it, let alone play it.

Which Damian smirks at because he's played it before and literally nothing happened aside from very good music, but Damian hasn't played it since he came to the Wayne household and has missed it. So he reminisces over how he got it, thinking of his half-brother and their relationship.

He plays it, but this time, since he genuinely thought about Danny death energy just condenses in waves. Damian couldn't see it since he was too focused on playing and reminiscing, everyone isn't really that calm and tries to get him to stop but the death energy blocks them.

Then a summoning circle appears in front of Damian and Constantine recognizes it as being from the Infinite Realms category and it seemed to be a high-level summon circle too so he's like: Well fuck.

Then, contrary to their expectations of some eldritch abomination, it's just Danny. Who, fun fact, was in the middle of his coronation as prince and such, dripped out in royal wear.

Safe to say, Constatine goes: Well double fuck.

The tension is just broken, as all Danny does is cry. Like, genuinely, he just cries because Damian still kept his flute that he made, he genuinely thought the guy just threw it away since he hated it so much.

Danny: Ancients, my big brother actually liked what I made this is making me emotional.

Damian: Why the hell are you crying this thing is still trash btw.

Danny: Yea whatever you say big bro, you love it.

Batman: What do you mean big brother?

Danny: Who in the hell is that-

Damian: Right, I never told him about you.

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

after listening to an among us song i was given the drive to reboot this au so ,

originated from a doodle that spiraled , SPREAD THE INFLUENCE is an au where ragatha is the ( unwilling ) host of a parasite called ' the influence ' which is a virus that only wants to spread and survive . she wasn't compliant about it at the beginning which was ' fixed ' with an itty bitty bit of psychological torment !

also yes i know the abbreviation is unfortunate and i do not care it's funny

even though ragatha's still our usual sweet little optimist , there is this persistent feeling of wrongness . too positive . too affectionate . it's like all of her humanity has been scooped out and you're left with the mask she made for others in the circus .

which is how the virus spread in the circus - they preyed on vulnerabilities which was what their host is perfect for . striking when the victim puts their guards down , making them submit under the guise that their problems will be fixed ... unfortunately it's a monkey's paw situation .

of course , that's only for this particular instance of the influencer ! something to note is that the virus takes a lot from the host's personality , so t.i's mellow and passive , only resorting to violence whenever necessary . t.i's not really an opposite ragatha she's more like a Dark , Fucked Up Version of ragatha the amazing digital circus . she cares a lot for everyone she considers a part of her hive , but it took a lot of manipulation and gaslighting for them to get infected .

caine is left uninfected because " i would do that if my goal is to destroy this place ! " t.i's ultimate fear has always been dying . it'll do everything to not die , to the point it's trying to spread out of the circus ( <- honestly take this info with a grain of salt i wrote this before i fully developed the story ) . unfortunately there's this jester who's resisting the virus with pure lesbian rage and is trying to stop her .

now rags would eventually get de-influenced and the circus will no longer be infected , but we will talk about the extremely rocky journey of recovering from knowing you harmed everyone you cared about Later

was this ' the influence ' that amanda ( ragatha's va ) keeps referencing ? sighs ... yeah . ( feels so surreal that i can say i have their seal of approval for this )

why ragatha ? in story , how is she not the perfect host ? metatextually , this is an au of an au - this came from a blog about ragatha getting a virus that is inconveniencing her life . i simply thought of an idea of ' hey what if the virus took over her body ' one day . then this abomination was born . i would reveal the why and how she got infected ... eventually .........

is she still afraid of centipedes ? is it a ragatha if she doesn't have a fear of centipedes

does pomni still use a taser ? yeah

could i use / be inspired by the influence for my au ? i did not invent the concept of Computer Viruses so feel free to be inspired by it , no credit needed . for t.i as a character specifically , please credit me !

are there ships ? just pomni x ragatha

is suggestive content of t.i ok ? just don't send them to me , tag it as #tw suggestive or #suggestive so i could filter it out

is nsfw content of t.i ok ? my tiny artist hands are powerless against the unstoppable force that is the internet so my answer will not matter . that being said , i recommend that they're not put in the main au tag so people won't unexpectedly come across it . and no i do not want to see it please do not send them to me

could i draw fanart / write fanfic of this au ? 100% yes you could either mention me or tag it under #tadc influence au

does this au have an ask blog ? nah just a normal blog lol

READ THE COMIC ... I GUESS ... !!

the main story

oh boy a prologue

[ultravi0lence14]

Butterfly

sam winchester x angel!reader

1k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: you and sam were complete opposites of each other, and sam had no idea how a gorgeous, pure girl like you could even chose him in the first place.

sam sometimes just stared at you when you weren’t looking, wondering how he got so lucky in finding a girl like you.

you were so sweet, someone sam thought his wretched soul wasn’t worthy of. he’s got demon blood running through his veins, the vessel of lucifer himself. why would you — an angel as pure as snow — even remotely look his way.

that was the funny thing with you angels though. you guys always saw the best in people.

before you touched down from heaven, you had learned the copious stories of the winchester brothers lives. how their mother died, springing them into the hunting life. their tragic upbringing, and how their father raised them poorly. but most importantly, you learned about the youngest.

sam winchester. the boy with demon blood. every angel you spoke to said he was an abomination, but you thought differently.

this wasn’t sam’s fault. he was a defenceless baby, having this curse brought forth onto him by his mother’s actions long before his conception. sam was a victim, a child forced into this life with no say whatsoever; and you felt like the only angel who truly saw it like that.

when you had made it to earth, cordially meeting both sam and dean for the first time, you wondered why your brother’s and sister’s talked so poorly about the man.

he truly was a friendly giant. too sweet for his own good. he cared. about people he didn’t know, his brother especially, and all the strangers he came across on hunts with dean.

watching him console a victim for the first time tugged on your heart strings. he was so kind, so thoughtful and unlike anything said about him up in heaven. it was at that moment you felt your first human emotion. a surge of fondness rushing up your body like bile coming up your throat.

for a fleeting moment, you experienced what human love was truly like.

as time moved forward, you and sam got closer and closer. more often than not, you decided to stay back and research with him instead of going out with dean and cas. you talked with him, learning about his childhood from his mouth and truly understanding the full truth and severity of his life growing up.

the day that he kissed you for the first time was magical, better than the feeling of all angel grace combined. he was nervous, hands shaking as the cupped your face and shyly asking if this is what you wanted.

of course you wanted it. you wanted sam winchester since the moment you saw him, and now you were finally getting what you hoped for.

just as you believed, sam truly was the perfect boyfriend. he was caring and considerate, always willing to drop anything and everything to make sure you were okay. though he was also tough and protective, turning full hunter mode whenever someone bothered you or made you uncomfortable.

one thing you loved was how he spoke to you. he held you at the highest point in his mind, addressing you with the upmost love and respect that he could muster.

because that is how he really saw you. sam in his heart believed that you were possibly the most gorgeous being he’d ever laid his eyes on. you were truly the apple of his eye, and he wouldn’t dream of letting someone as perfect as you go.

he even called you his butterfly. a gorgeous creation of God that flys around and somehow always lands somewhere on him. which was true, because you were a very clingy person.

you two were always holding hands, arms linked, or sam’s arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. dean had to stop himself from hurling 24/7, and you had to stop yourself from getting cartoonish hearts in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

the peace and serenity that you brought to sam’s life was all he could ever ask for. when you decided to take up drawing and painting, he cherished the times you two would find an empty space, setting down a picnic blanket and drawing whatever your heart desired surrounded by nature.

when he joined you for the first time, and you handed him over a intricately detailed drawing of him sitting down at that very moment, eyes opened and staring woefully at the large trees and flowers surrounding him, he couldn’t help but let a couple tears fall.

“oh no,” you had exclaimed, sitting up on your knees so you could get nearer to him. “you don’t like it, do you?”

he instantly snapped his head towards you, watching as tears filled your bright coloured eyes. his heart shattered staring into your glassy irises, and he cursed himself for ever making you feel like that.

shaking his head and putting down your sketchbook so he could cup your face, sam pulled you over to him so you were delicately perched in his lap. eye’s boring into his as he delicately stroked your cheek.

“i love it butterfly. that is the prettiest drawing i have ever seen. even prettier cause it was made by you.” his cheesy words made you blush, not caring in the slightest how silly you two probably looked to on lookers. with your finger reaching out to trace the slope of his nose, you looked at him with a soft smile on your face, pouring your heart into one look. “you mean that?”

“of course i do.” his eyes held that glossy puppy dog look you loved so dearly, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. “i am not trying to sound cheesy when i say this, but you truly are the best thing that ever happened to me, butterfly. you’re the one of the only one’s who believed in me.”

his words brought a gleeful smile on your face. and as the midday sun trickled across his, you thanked your father for whatever he did to make you and sam come together.

[bamfkeeper]

Mercy. | K.W

summary: You find sanctuary by following a little blue creature.

warnings: GN!reader | Physical mutation!reader | Physical injuries | Canon-typical mutant hatred & bigotry | Use of canon derogatory term for mutants | Hints of past abuse & neglect

a/n: I don't know what this is exactly but I hope you enjoy, came to me while fleshing out an oc and thought those with xmen ocs who look different would enjoy. Slightly darker than I normally write. I left it open for interpretation appearance-wise so it could fit whatever you imagine. Unedited, I wrote this down quickly. ;; wc: 3.5k

You ran through the darkened streets, your heart pounding against your ribs. There was no other choice - survival meant flight, even as your instincts screamed at you to fight back.

You just wanted to satisfy your gnawing hunger, to feed the emptiness inside. But in this deeply religious town, where ornate cathedrals loomed on every corner casting judgmental shadows, the humans reacted with predictable horror at your appearance. You didn't look human, after all. You were an abomination, a monster - those words had been beaten into you since childhood, repeated so often they had become truth. Why did you have to be born so different?

You never chose this existence. You never asked to be born different, to be marked as something other than human. The burden of your nature wasn't one you volunteered to carry.

Lightning split the sky as you limped down the rain-slicked cobblestones, each step sending shockwaves of pain through your leg where the arrow protruded. Your feet splashed through growing puddles, leaving bloody footprints that the storm would soon wash away. Still you pressed on, knowing that to stop was to die at the hands of those who hunted you.

Damn those heartless townsfolk.

You just wanted some food, a measly piece of bread, a bruised apple, even a rotting vegetable - anything at all to fill the emptiness in your aching stomach. The painful hollowness reminded you that you couldn't even remember when you last had a proper meal, when food had last passed your lips. You gave your last bit of food to a small cat in an alley, its yellow eyes gleamed at you and seemed to silently plead to be fed. You couldn’t deny it, so you have up your last meal to it before it disappeared.

Through the darkness, you heard their distant shouting echoing off the cobblestone, saw their blazing torches casting dancing shadows on the walls, and you were absolutely terrified. The angry mob was actively pursuing you through the narrow streets, their sole purpose to hunt you down and end your life.

For absolutely nothing at all - just the crime of existing.

A sharp whirring sound suddenly cut through the cold night air behind you, and before you could react, a steel arrow viciously tore through your left shoulder. The searing pain made you cry out in agony, the sound echoing off the walls around you. Though the impact nearly brought you to your knees, survival instinct kept you upright - but the wound significantly slowed your desperate escape.

Their shouts grew louder behind you, the sound of heavy boots on stone drawing closer. “It’s this way! Come on, we’ve got it wounded!”

Pure desperation drove you into the deep shadows between a narrow alley, pressing yourself against the cold stone wall. You watched with bated breath as the group stormed past, their wild eyes frantically scanning the street for any sign of you. The angry flames of their torches reflected in their eyes and cast grotesque images across their faces, making them look evil in their pursuit of you.

"Come out little mutie!" They called out mockingly, their voices echoing through the darkened streets as they made exaggerated animal-like sounds, treating their pursuit like some twisted game of hide and seek. "Don't be shy now! We know you're hiding somewhere... Come out, come out, wherever you are... Stop running and we'll make it quick and painless!"

"Don't say that, you idiot," someone snarled, delivering a sharp smack to the back of the man's head with an audible crack. "We ain't gonna kill it quick - that defeats the whole purpose. Gotta burn the demonic spawn nice and slow, make an example of it. Need to purify this town once and for all, send a message to all these damned muties that they ain't welcome here. Let 'em know what happens when they dare show their faces in decent folks' neighborhood..."

You huddled in the darkness of the alley to try to stay out of their sight, blood seeping through your fingers as you pressed against the wound, your heightened senses detected a subtle movement deeper in the shadows. Turning your head cautiously, trying to minimize any sound that might give away your position, you caught sight of those unmistakable yellow eyes that you'd come to know. The cat.

It moved with silent grace through the darkness, its lean form barely visible except for those luminous eyes. The feline paused, tilting its head in that peculiar way that suggested both curiosity and concern, its shadowy figure weaving between patches of darkness as it investigated your presence.

A pained frown crossed your features as you slowly raised your empty hands, showing the creature that you had nothing to offer tonight. Your heart ached, both from your injuries and the inability to provide for the small creature. You silently willed the cat to understand the danger you were in, desperately hoping it would resist any vocal greetings. Your eyes met its glowing gaze, wordlessly pleading for it to move on before its presence could inadvertently reveal your hiding spot to those who hunted you.

It turned away deliberately, carrying itself towards the far end of the dimly lit alley. As it walked, the creature cast a lingering glance over its shoulder, golden eyes seeming to pierce through the darkness straight to you. It came to a calculated halt, its posture suggesting an unmistakable invitation for you to follow.

You managed to push yourself up from the ground, your legs still unsteady beneath you. The journey down the narrow alley became a careful dance of maintaining balance - several times you nearly pitched forward, your coordination betraying you as you pursued the cat. Despite the close calls with losing your footing completely and nearly eating shit, you somehow stayed upright.

When you finally emerged from the tight confines of the alley, the sight of the cat caused you to freeze. What you had been following wasn't exactly a cat - not in any conventional sense anyway. Its fur was an impossible shade of deep azure blue that appeared black in the low light. Brilliant yellow eyes, like twin flames in the darkness, stared back at you with an almost knowing intelligence. A thin, serpentine tail ending in a distinctive devil's point swayed behind it as the creature settled into a seated position, regarding you with apparent interest as its pointy ears twitched.

The revelation sent your mind reeling. You had been so certain you were following an ordinary street cat, but now, faced with this clearly supernatural being - this diminutive blue demon.

"Bamf!" The creature chirped in a voice that was somehow both playful and otherworldly, its gaze fixed intently upon your surprised face.

"What the..." You began, but another sudden arrow pierced through your body with a sickening thud, this time dangerously penetrating your abdomen from behind. The sharp metal tip tore through flesh and muscle, sending waves of excruciating pain throughout your entire body. You shouted again, your voice echoing through the air as you realized you had now been impaled three times by these vicious metal weapons.

"Nngh...fuck-" You cried out in anguish, your legs trembling before finally giving way as you dropped heavily to your knees, the overwhelming pain causing your vision to blur at the edges.

The blue 'bamf’s’ expression shifted to one of concern, a worried frown pulled at its lips as it repeatedly made the same distressed sound over and over. Its tiny, three-fingered hands reached out to touch your knee, its large eyes darting between examining the severity of your wounds and watching your face with growing anxiety.

The small imp's head suddenly whipped around to peek behind you, its eyes widening as it spotted the hostile townspeople who were now turning the corner and rushing around the building, their footsteps thundering against the ground as they approached you after seeing you were fallen.

"Bamf, bamf," it desperately attempted to move you to safety, its little hands urgently pulling and tugging at your wrist. "Bamf!" It cried out with increasing desperation.

You were far too wounded to move much more than a slight shift, the searing pain overwhelming every sense and thought. You could barely maintain your sitting position like this, your body swaying dangerously as your strength continued to fade. Your head felt increasingly woozy, the world starting to spin around you, and all you wanted was to give in to the growing urge to lay down and sleep.

Unfortunately for your screaming body, the persistent bamf refused to give up, yanking hard on your wrist with determined force. Your exhausted, heavy limbs nearly gave way beneath you, threatening to send you crashing to the ground. The thunderous footsteps and angry shouts of your pursuers grew increasingly louder in the distance, the sound sending fresh waves of panic through your mind as you knew, despite your body's protests, you had no choice but to keep moving.

The bamf chirped insistently and continued tugging until you managed to force yourself upright once more. Your entire body trembled uncontrollably as waves of adrenaline surged through your system once more, propelling your feet forward as you stumbled after your small guide through the winding streets. Blood flowed freely from your wounds, but the steadily falling rain proved to be a blessing, washing away the telltale crimson trail that would have led your hunters straight to you.

A violent cough wracked your body as you followed after the blurry bamf, and you could taste the distinct warm, metallic flavor of blood filling your mouth, feeling it mix with the cool rainwater as it trickled down your chin. The bamf's large eyes reflected as it looked up at you, desperately trying to encourage you to move faster despite your deteriorating condition.

With each twist and turn through the labyrinthine streets, your vision began to swim more severely, the world tilting and spinning as your strength continued to drain away with every passing moment, all the same as the water funneling down the grates in the sidewalk.

Just as your small companion led you to a towering set of imposing stone steps, your body finally surrendered to its injuries. You crumpled to the ground beside massive stained doors, their ancient oak surface adorned with intricate metalwork that formed elaborate divine patterns characteristic of classical European architecture.

You lose consciousness just as the little bamf is shaking you.

The first thing you noticed upon regaining consciousness was the blessed absence of the searing, unbearable pain that had previously consumed your every nerve ending.

Your clothes and skin were completely dry, where multiple arrow shafts had pierced your flesh there was now only phantom pain and bandaged skin, and instead of the cold hard ground, you found yourself resting on a proper bed. The transition between soaked agony and the dull, dry pain was somewhat disorienting.

With some effort, you managed to push yourself into a sitting position, but you immediately regret the sudden movement as your head spun in protest. A low, involuntary groan escaped your lips as you attempted to orient yourself in the unfamiliar space. Your hand held onto your head, gently and weakly rubbing in order to try to console yourself of the weird sensations you felt.

The little bamf sat at the foot of your bed, its head lifted to meet your gaze, large luminous eyes boring into you. It crawled closer to your side, reaching out with one small hand to gently touch the pristine bandages wrapped securely around your abdomen. Through the fog of your semi-delirious state, the realization slowly dawned that someone had tended to your wounds - and while the little creature before you seemed intelligent enough, you were certain it wasn't the one responsible.

"You'll have to forgive me, I am not an expert in sutures but...I tried my best." A voice spoke softly from your side, causing you to tense immediately and whip your head towards the source. The sudden presence startled you - the voice was distinctly masculine, deep and accented, and in your vulnerable state, your mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenarios.

"Ach, ach...do not fret, I mean you no harm. Though, I can understand your initial alarm at my appearance, ja? Most have such a reaction." The previously disembodied voice finally revealed its host as a man emerged slowly and carefully from the darker recesses of the room you found yourself in. His appearance matched the bamf precisely in every detail, from his rich blue skin to his luminous yellow eyes, even down to the pointed ears and sinuous tail that moved gently behind him.

You attempted to speak, your mind racing with countless questions - who was this mysterious figure, what medical attention had he provided, where had he brought you? But as all these urgent inquiries tried to tumble out at once, you found yourself overcome by a fit of coughing and hacking. Your throat felt like sandpaper, painfully dry with flakes of dried blood irritating the back of your throat and triggering even more violent coughs.

"Easy now, take it slowly, drink this...I have some warm broth prepared as well, if you prefer something warm with flavor." The blue-skinned man moved forward with carefully, holding out a cup of cool, clear water towards you with gentle insistence, encouraging you to take small sips.

You naturally didn't feel very secure in this unfamiliar environment, despite the gentle care being shown to your wounds. Throughout your life, kindness had been a rare commodity, and when it did appear, it was nothing more than a façade masking darker intentions. Your eyes darted nervously around the room as the man approached, his warm and welcoming smile doing little to ease your deep-seated suspicions as he extended the cup in his hands.

"Bamf!" The small creature perched faithfully by your side chirped enthusiastically, seemingly trying to convince you that it was safe to accept the offered drink. Though your inherent stubbornness and well-earned wariness fought against it, the burning desperation in your parched throat ultimately won out. With trembling hands, you reached for the cup, bringing it to your cracked lips and drinking deeply until not a single drop remained.

"There we go...much better I bet." The blue man's voice remained deliberately soft and measured to avoid startling you, like one might speak to a wounded animal. The townspeople spoke to you like you were an animal too, but his words and tone were completely different. "You were very wounded...running with three arrows out of you is quite the feat, Liebling." His eyes filled with concern as he gently indicated your abdomen, adding with quiet gravity, "A hair to the right and it would've pierced through your organs. You are very lucky."

You didn't feel lucky. In fact, the word seemed like a cruel joke given your circumstances.

The blue man sensed your unease in your defensive posture, and possible offense to his innocent words, his expression softening into a concerned frown. "I meant no ill meaning," he began carefully, his voice gentle and reassuring, "But I am truly glad you are alright...the residents here are quite...how should I say...closed minded when it comes to those who look different from themselves."

He glanced down at his own unusual appearance, shoulders slumping slightly as he let out a weary breath, "I have found sanctuary here, in the church, under the watchful eye of God. I place my complete faith in him, and he provides me protection through every hour of day and night while I remain within these sacred walls. The townspeople, in their fear and ignorance, don’t dare bring harm to this holy cathedral."

You listened to his words with divided attention, your mind primarily focused on the immediate concern of finding safety. As he continued his discourse, you recognized the familiar religious rhetoric - the same exhausting litany you had been forced to endure since your earliest memories. The cruel words echoed in your mind: you were condemned as a monster, declared an abomination against nature, labeled a demon deliberately sent to earth as divine punishment for your parents' transgressions against God's will.

"You are safe here, Liebling," he spoke softly, his gentle use of the endearment finally breaking through your defensive walls and capturing your full attention. "These doors shall remain open to you for as long as you require shelter."

You swallowed nervously, looking up at him from your vulnerable position on the bed as you shifted warily, your muscles tense and ready to flee at any sudden movement regardless if your wounded body protested. He tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment, studying your fearful expression, before he perked up with sudden realization, "Ach, where are my manners...you must be terribly confused and frightened. Waking up with a stranger after being chased by those who wish you harm. My name is Kurt, Kurt Wagner," he offered his three-fingered hand slowly and carefully towards you, maintaining a gentle, non-threatening posture.

You naturally recoiled from the offered hand, your body instinctively shrinking back as memories of past violence made you unsure if he would strike you or not. The blue man - Kurt - immediately recognized this defensive reaction, his golden eyes softening with understanding as he slowly pulled his hand back to give you more space. "Es tut mir Leid," he spoke softly in German, his voice carrying genuine sympathy, "I won't hurt you. I promise. You are safe here, as I said. No harm will come to you while you are here."

The aroma of the steaming broth wafted through the air, catching your attention and drawing your gaze behind him. Several of the small blue creatures had gathered there, their curious eyes fixed on the bowl as they too were enticed by the appetizing smell. Your stomach let out a prolonged growl that seemed to echo in the quiet room, betraying just how desperate and eager you were for sustenance.

Kurt's expression softened as he heard the sound, a sympathetic smile crossing his features. "You poor thing...you must be starving." He reached for the bowl and carefully brought it closer to where you sat. "Here, drink this. It's quite tasty, I promise you. Perhaps you'd like some fresh bread to go along with it?"

The broth smelled absolutely divine, its rich aroma making your mouth water instantly. The warmth rising from the bowl was a comfort to your aching belly and long-neglected taste buds, which seemed to come alive at the mere prospect of food.

At the mention of bread, you found yourself nodding softly - you did want bread, more than anything.

You began to sip the broth quietly, anticipation building as you waited for the promised bread. When he finally brought it to you, the combination proved to be the most heavenly thing you had ever tasted, each spoonful and bite more satisfying than the last.

Having survived on nothing but old, stale food for so long, the experience of eating something fresh and warm was like discovering an entirely new world of flavors.

"You like it, I presume?" Kurt inquired, his tail swaying back and forth with evident pleasure as he watched you eat with such enthusiasm. The small group of bamfs that had gathered grew bolder, clambering onto the bed with you and reaching their tiny hands toward the pieces of bread.

Kurt's expression shifted slightly as he addressed them, "Ah, ah...nein, this is for them to eat, not you. You get plenty enough already." His voice carried a gentle but firm authority as he spoke to the bamfs, his brow arching with paternal sternness. "They need to eat...they are weak and need their strength."

You finished the warm broth and crusty bread, finally setting the empty ceramic bowl down in front of you. The soothing liquid had worked wonders - your raw, scratchy throat felt significantly better, and the gnawing ache in your empty stomach had finally subsided. Kurt reached over to take the bowl and quietly set it to the side, his yellow eyes watching you with concern.

"You should rest for a while," he suggested softly, his German accent adding warmth to his words. "I promise, you'll be safe here. I can get these little rascals out of the room if they're bothering you -"

"No," you spoke up, your voice still quiet and unsteady but carrying enough strength to make yourself heard. You swallowed carefully before continuing, "No...it..." Taking a slow, deep breath to gather your scattered thoughts, you finally managed, "It's okay...I don't mind."

Your hand drifted down almost of its own accord to touch one of the small bamfs clustered near you, your fingers gently stroking from the crown of its head down along its spine, much like you would pet a beloved cat. The little creature responded immediately to your touch, arching its back in clear pleasure and preening before settling down snugly against your side, its tail curling contentedly.

Kurt watched this interaction with mild skepticism written across his features, but seeing how unusually calm and well-behaved the normally mischievous bamfs were being around you, he could see no real reason to make them leave.

"Alright then..." he conceded with a small smile, his posture relaxing slightly as he settled into the chair beside your bed. "Get some rest. I will be right here for anything you need."

It felt nice...not being alone.

Thanks for reading <3

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight | Image from Pinterest

[cupidsworstcrime]

SELF INDULGENT BONUS TO THIS !!!

Older!Jason Todd x Reader

He knocked gently on the balcony glass, knuckles tapping just enough to let you know it was him.

It was late. He was tired. Bleeding a little. Okay—a lot. But his feet still brought him here. Always here.

The door slid open with a soft scrape.

“Oh my God, Jason,” you muttered, reaching for his arm, fussing immediately. “You’re tracking blood on my rug again—”

He laughed, low and unbothered, already kicking off his boots. “It’s not that much.”

You glared, but there was no heat in it. Just affection under the exasperation. “You’re here every night,” you said, tugging at the collar of his suit to check his shoulder. “You should just move in.”

Jason blinked.

And then—without thinking, without panicking, without planning five exits and six excuses—he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said simply, and leaned in to kiss her temple. “Okay.”

It started with the towels.

Jason, armed with absolutely no sense of order, had folded them in half. Vertically. Then rolled them. Rolled them. Like some kind of hotel spa demon.

You stared at the linen closet like it had personally betrayed you.

“What the hell is this?” you asked, voice flat. Suspicious.

Jason didn’t look up from where he was scrubbing blood out of his glove. “Towels?”

“No, no. This—this abomination—is not towels. This is chaos. This is wrong.”

He blinked. “You roll them. Saves space.”

“You fold them in thirds, then half. The proper way. You don’t roll towels. Are you a serial killer?”

Jason raised a brow. “You put the toilet paper on under, sweetheart. You can’t talk about proper anything.”

You gasped like he’d slapped you.

“That’s how it came,” you defended, pointing at the bathroom like the toilet paper roll could back you up. “I just put it on the same way!”

“Monstrous,” he said solemnly, shaking his head. “A true act of violence.”

“Oh, I’m the violent one? You walk around Gotham with guns.”

You stared each other down across the couch, tension thick—until you threw a rolled towel at him and he caught it mid-air, smug.

“See?” he said, smirking. “Convenient.”

You launched another one.

He tackled you gently onto the couch, laughter tangled between you, your fists thumping half-heartedly against his chest as he tried to kiss your cheek through the chaos.

“No mercy,” you declared.

“Too late,” he grinned. “You live with me now. It’s war.”

they are my sweet sweet babies xxxx

[fazedlight]

Helicopter

(Lillian witnesses the helicopter crash in 2x01 that takes Lena's life... and then the day starts over. Inspired by this post)

Lillian’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the large screen.

Her small-but-elite CADMUS team was standing around her in the dark room, watching as Kara Danvers and Clark Kent made their way down the sidewalk, several blocks away from LuthorCorp.

LCorp, Lillian thought to herself in disgust.

“Ma’am, we have a lock. Two minutes remaining.”

Lillian nodded, holding back a smirk. Downtown National City was about to have a tragic accident. Two civilians would be lost as a gas line exploded in the middle of an urban crosswalk. Bystanders probably wouldn’t notice the slight sheen of green that would pass over the sidewalk, drowned out by the bright light of the gas line burning.

The kryptonians would soon be gone.

“One minute remaining.”

Lillian couldn’t believe her luck. The plan to kill Kara Danvers had long been in motion. A small drone carrying powdered kryptonite flew below in the sewers, the old lead pipes proving useful for CADMUS’ plan. But it had been pure coincidence that her cousin would join her that day. Not that “Kara Danvers” and “Clark Kent” had any formal relationship to each other - though the DEO would soon figure out that their deaths had not been mere accident.

Still, there was no way for the double homicide to lead back to CADMUS, which didn’t formally exist at all.  

“Eight seconds for alignment. Ma’am?”

“Go,” Lillian said.

When Kara Danvers and Clark Kent went up in flames, cheers rang around the room, and Lillian almost cracked a smile.

---

Lillian had been sipping scotch in her office when the news came in. “Helicopter Crash on LuthorCorp helipad.”

She felt her heart stop in her chest as she rose from her seat, darting across CADMUS before exiting the secret facility, making her way across town in a haze as Lena didn’t pick up the phone. She can’t be dead, she can’t be dead, Lillian thought, praying that her damn philandering husband’s spawn had somehow survived the fireball pictured in the alert. Maybe Lena hadn’t been on the helicopter at all.

But luck ran out when Lillian was pushed away from the police line on the streets of the LuthorCorp building. Lillian shoved past, finding the mangled remains of her daughter, burnt beyond recognition or saving.

She hadn’t cried when Lionel died. She refused to give him that - not after the night the discovery of his philandering came out, where she screamed in fury as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Since then, her eyes remained clear.

Until that day. When Lillian tried to drown her sorrows that night, she ended up smashing her glass of scotch on the floor, sobbing over the child she hated as much as she loved, lost in a brutal accident.

---

She fell into a fitful sleep. Or, she thought she did. But then she was awake, in CADMUS, surrounded by her soldiers.

“Ma’am, we have a lock. Two minutes remaining.”

She blinked, eyes darting to the soldier, who seemed confused at her hesitance. She nodded, slowly. What the hell happened?

A dream, she thought, as she watched Kara Danvers and Clark Kent cross her screen in the dark room in a scenario that felt all too familiar. Did I doze off?

“One minute remaining.”

Lillian cleared her throat, choking back tears that wanted to be shed. It was a dream, I must’ve drifted off for a minute, Lillian thought, pondering whether she had accidentally been given decaffeinated espresso that morning - an abomination almost as bad as the aliens in front of her - and she focused ahead.

“Eight seconds for alignment. Ma’am?”

“Go,” Lillian said.

After much flames and cheering and celebration, Lillian made her way to her office, placing a call to a woman who almost certainly didn’t want to pick up. “Mother,” Lena said, the soft lilt in her voice tugging at some dark corner of Lillian’s heart, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lillian couldn’t say the truth, of course. “I dreamt of your death, and wanted to hear your voice” was hardly fitting to their relationship. “I want to have dinner with you tonight. To discuss LuthorCorp.”

She could almost hear Lena scoff. “I’m meeting with the Tokyo investors in Los Angeles in two hours,” Lena said, “We can discuss LCorp some other night.”

Los Angeles? “You’re flying?” Lillian asked.

“The company helicopter is landing now.”

“Lena-”

“We’ll talk later, mother.”

Lillian’s heart raced as the phone clicked shut, and she found herself running. Out of CADMUS, out onto the street, looking across the way to National City. No, no, no, she thought, her eyes landing on the new LCorp tower miles away, knowing what would happen there.

It didn’t take long at all for the aviation fuel to ignite, and she knew she had lost Lena again.

---

She woke.

She, of course, knew this whole situation was insane. Or was it? All manner of alien life had descended on this planet, she had discovered life that could alter minds and memories. Perhaps time was in some alien’s powers as well.

But that’s not what she cared about, as she woke to “Ma’am, we have a lock” again. Instead of nodding along, she handed off power to her second-in-command, rushing out of the CADMUS control room into her private office.

She was still on the LuthorCorp board, of course, and it didn’t take her long to contact the pilot who would be flying the helicopter during the upcoming accident. “I will pay you $100,000 dollars to overspeed the engine upon landing on the helipad,” Lillian said.

“Dr. Luthor,” the pilot replied over the phone, confused and bewildered, “That will damage the engines. I won’t be able to take off.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you sure-”

“I am. Understood?”

There was a pause. “Of course, Dr. Luthor.”

Lillian breathed a sigh of relief. If the helicopter oversped on landing, there would be no takeoff, and therefore no takeoff accident with Lena onboard. The oversped helicopter would be presumed to have damage - requiring a full overhaul of the engine to make sure the cylinders and push rods and magnetos were all aligned.

Lena would be grounded. Lena would be safe.

Lillian smiled as she called her driver, intending to head over to LuthorCorp. Lena wouldn’t be able to take the short flight to Los Angeles. So she’d be free for dinner after all, and Lillian needed to see her face and know she was finally safe. Sentimental nonsense, of course, but Lillian felt almost cheerful as she loaded into her car.

There’d be no helicopter accident. Lena would meet the helicopter as it landed, and the pilot would admit he couldn’t take off again due to his mistake.

Lillian’s car had just pulled up to the base of LCorp tower when the roof exploded. Not long after, she discovered Lena’s body for herself.

And that’s when she realized the explosion had been no accident.

---

“Ma’am, we have a lock. Two minutes remaining.”

Lillian’s eyes opened wide. Fuck, she thought, eyes darting around the room, someone is trying to kill Lena.

And I can’t stop them.

“Ma’am?”

Lillian barely noticed Kara Danvers and Clark Kent on the screen in front of her. Her mind was stuck, racing on her daughter’s impending death. She nodded out of habit as her second-in-command stared, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. How can I save her?, Lillian lamented.

“One minute remaining.”

That’s when Lillian dragged her eyes to the screen again, and a light went off in her head. These kryptonians… save people, she realized, heart pounding as she wondered if the answer was in front of her.

“Eight seconds for alignment. Ma’am?”

Would they save a Luthor? “Abort!” Lillian shouted.

“Ma’am?” her soldier said, looking alarmed.

“Abort,” Lillian half-shouted, rising from her seat, mind scrambling for an explanation. “We need these kryptonians alive,” she said, as every head in the room turned to her in shock, “For now. We need a new plan. To capture them alive. They have information we need.”

“Ma’am, the window-”

“This mission is over,” Lillian growled.

The soldier swallowed nervously. “Understood.”

---

Lillian’s car was parked four blocks down from LCorp, giving her easy sight of the LuthorCorp helipad.

Her heart pounded as she watched the helicopter take off.

She held her breath as she watched two figures fly up, circling the building. She could see the drones now - the devices that must’ve shot down the aircraft carrying Lena. But instead, Superman destroyed them in midair, as Supergirl flew up to catch the out-of-control helicopter.

There was no fireball this time.

The helicopter settled to the rooftop again, and Lillian could see the caped figure make her way inside. Lena’s safe, Lillian thought gratefully, my daughter is safe.

Her eyes watched as the two women - far enough away to merely be dots in her vision - seemed to converse. And Lillian couldn't help but wonder… 

Who are you to my daughter?

Her jaw tensed, and she knocked on the slatted door separating her from the driver up front. The blackened window rolled down. “Dr. Luthor?” her driver said.

“Take me home.” 

[imedited]

Imagine, Dom!Simon Riley punishing you for disobeying him.

He blindfolded you and strapped your wrists and legs down the bed, making you unable to move as he took it as an opportunity to put as many toys on and in you as possible.

A seven inch vibrating dildo plunged deep inside your cunt as a shell vibrator is strapped on your clit and a clamp on both of your nipples. And if it wasn't enough yet, Dom!Simon walks around you with a leather flogger in hand, slapping it on your body, making your body even more sensitive.

You moan out loudly as he increases the intensity of the dildo inside you, making you cum again. You don't know how many times it has been or for how long it has been going,you just kept cumming over and over again as he continues to over stimulate you.

“P-please,I can't do it anymore, I won't do it anymore, I-I behave from now on." You whimpered, trying to plead with him, but it was only met with a cruel laughter followed by him hitting your breasts with the flogger, making you moan and cry out. “P-please,I c-can't cum anymore."

“Really?" Dom!Simon said as he chuckled darkly as you can hear him walking around you until he stopped after a few steps.

It was silent,only the sounds of the machines could be heard until you suddenly felt him pushing the dildo inside inside you making you cry even louder as you squirted. Your body was shuddering and trembling violently as you shot out your orgasm all over your body, making yourself wet.

“See? You said you couldn't cum anymore, you're lying to me,I think you should be punished even more,huh?” He said he roughly pulled the toys out from you and threw them across the room,before you could even say anything, he suddenly thrusted his cock inside you making you gasp loudly.

“My little girl, already learned how to lie to her master, we definitely need to fix that right away." He whispered,his voice laced with lust and malice as he began to pound into you aggressively.

You cried loudly and begged him to go slower and be gentle but he ignored it all. He continues to increase the intensity,his hands gripping your hips tightly,leaving marks on it as he holds on tightly to keep you in place. Your pussy is already overstimulated but still, you could feel your orgasm building up,ready to explode anything.

Your eyes already rolled back and your mind was blank and hazy from the intensity but he just smirked at you,loving the way that he had finally broken you. He kept thrusting,until you finally came again and he felt your walls clenching around his cock, milking him for his cum. He groaned as he bucked his hips forward, filling up your insides with his hot seeds.

When he finally finished,you were a mess. You've already lost consciousness from overstimulation and your body was covered in sweat and cum. Dom!Simon smirked as he took off the restraints and picked you up from the bed to give you a gentle aftercare.

a/n: I'm seriously sorry for this, I'm bored, ovulating and has nothing to do in life so I wrote this abomination:'))