#ethical climbing practices

[wanderguidehub]

Vertical Escapes: Climbing and Mountaineering in Boulder Canyon, CO

Scaling New Heights Welcome to Boulder Canyon, an iconic climbing destination nestled in the heart of Colorado. With its diverse rock formations, challenging routes, and breathtaking vistas, this canyon offers a haven for climbing and mountaineering enthusiasts of all levels. Whether you’re a novice seeking a thrilling introduction or a seasoned climber chasing new challenges, Boulder Canyon…

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

[lexirosewrites]

I started watching too many videos abt human pregnancy & pets... & this thought wouldn't leave me

Steve & Eddie aren't mated yet, but they're living together, plan to mate, r already engaged, planning to maybe have a wedding or elope depending on how much a wedding would cost, when they adopt a dog (specifically a scottish deerhound bc I dream abt owning this breed in my wildest fantasy & what is fanfic if not wish fulfillment) after moving into a house they bought with the hush money

They love this dog, they did a lot of research into ethical breeders & how best to care for her breed, they've trained her in basics before moving onto more complicated commands & finally going thru a process to train her in the basics of emotional support (bc both of them have nightmares)

her full name is Gandalf the Gray Munson but they've both ended up just calling her Gray, for the most part Gray likes both of her owners equally she'll sit w Eddie as he paints minis or writes, she'll follow Steve around the kitchen or go with him on his morning run, & she'll sit w her owners as they watch something or try to dance w them when they listen to music, she even guards the door to their bedroom when either of them goes into heat/rut & will only move when a human she trusts comes to pick her up so they can take care of her without her owners worrying

Steddie finally elope & have a party w their closest family & friends afterwards, they exchange mating bites & have a short honeymoon, Gray is ecstatic when they get back to say the least, then a week or 2 after they get back Gray starts acting differently... she'll almost exclusively follow Steve around, she sniffs him more often, she cuddles him A LOT & then... Steve's period doesn't arrive so he takes several tests & every single one is positive!!

From there Gray's behavior starts to change more dramatically as the happy couple prepare to welcome their sweet baby into the world, as Steve progresses & his belly starts showing Gray needs to be near Steve like never before, she's purposefully slow on their morning jaunt tht has gone from a run to a walk, when they're out & she's w them & ppl decide to treat Steve's belly like it's public property she'll actually growl & even once jumped at a particularly insistent woman, she begins guarding Steve against pretty much everyone especially Eddie, the only exception to this is Aunty Robin the 3 of them often have cuddle puddles as Steve gets bigger & Eddie is very jealous, Gray especially loves lying w steve in a way tht allows her head to rest on his belly & as the baby grows she feels the baby kick more than once quickly loving the connection w her younger human sibling

when the day of the birth gets near she is glued to Steve & when his belly drops she's climbing into bed w steve & comforts him as the discomfort of pregnancy makes itself known even more

(This part is partially inspired by my mom's experience when she went into labour w me)

Steve gets up late at night because he thinks he needs to pee, Gray follows him into the bathroom as she's done all these 40 weeks, when he pees he realizes right away it isn't actually pee & gray obviously knows it as well

While steve slowly stands & processes tht his water just broke, she does something they never trained her to do: she runs & wakes up Eddie as Steve grips the sink when a contraction hits practicing the breathing he's learned, Eddie is literally dragged into the bathroom by Gray bc she's got his shirt in her mouth, he realizes what's happening & it's controlled chaos as he runs around grabbing Steve's shoes, a pair of clean sweat pants for his omega, & the maternity shirt Eddie’s been scenting every day for the last 40 weeks, he's got the hospital bag over his shoulder, car keys, he's actively calling Robin to come to their house & watch Gray while he's helping steve to the car, as they're driving to the hospital he's on the phone w their doctor telling her to meet them at the hospital they all planned to be at,

after they get to the hospital it all goes relatively smoothly: steve gives birth to a healthy baby boy, Eddie is a helpful presence in the birthing room, neither baby boy or steve have health complications, but it still takes close to 10 hours of active labor to meet their son, after its done steve demands Eddie get him a cheeseburger, strawberry milkshake, & French fries from their favorite diner that's literally open by the time steve is in his hospital room recuperating and their son is back from a short bath & the usual medical procedures tht hospitals follow after the birth of a baby

When Steve & the baby come home a few days later Gray is ecstatic to see Steve again & so so curious & loving of her new human brother 💖

(I'm so sorry if there's any inaccurate medicine happening here, please tell me what I missed or even messed up)

i’ve always said that Steve and Eddie need an emotional support dog to help them with their trauma after everything they’ve been through, but Gray goes above and beyond for his little family🥺😭💕

[kdogreads]

Dirty Gibbs smut please & or Christmas Santa smut?

Honestly the image of Gibbs in a Santa suit is too much for me to handle 😂🥵🎅

Merry everything, sweetie pies!!

“Please, baby,” You whine from outside your bedroom door, “Just a little peak?”

“What’s in it for me, Mrs. Claus?” Jethro’s gruff voice had an unusual lilt to it as he cracked the door open barely an inch.

“Anything you want, Santa,” You answer a little too excitedly, not even slight sexy.

He lets out a huff and swings the door open wide. You stare with glee as he lifts his hands up and motions as if to say, Happy now?

It’s quite a sight to see — Jethro Gibbs, known for his cold demeanor and unwavering work ethic, dressed up in a full Santa suit complete with black work boots, a fuzzy red hat and his home-grown, lush white beard. It was so adorable, and somehow still so Jethro.

You can’t deny it, he looks a little ridiculous is his get up, but they needed someone to play Santa your work Christmas party, and you were quick to volunteer your husband up for the task.

“Anything at all?” He questions playfully, an eyebrow raising up so that it’s just barely shows from under the white fluff of his hat.

The pure domesticity and wholesomeness of his costume should remind you of all the sweet reasons you married him. He’s fun and will do anything to make you happy and loves to be around kids, but somehow, even with his fake rounded belly and gaudy red covering every inch of him, a fire starts in your belly. A fire that can only be contained if he takes you to bed. Now.

A sultry smirk spreads across your face as you nod in response, “Anything, Santa.”

You step through the doorway and grab his hand to lead him towards your king-size bed, stopping only to kick off your shoes before climbing on.

“Jetty?” You question sweetly as you start working on the buttons of his red jacket.

He hums in response, sliding his hand up to cup the side of your face. You turn your head to plant a kiss onto his palm before continuing your thought.

“Everything else has to go, but I guess the hat can stay,” You stifle a giggle as he becomes more urgent, hands shoving yours out of the way to make quicker work of all the buttons.

He lets out a low laugh, almost as his he’s practicing his best ho ho ho.

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Claus,” He’s still smiling as he moves to place a peck on your lips before sliding his lips to the shell of your ear, “Anything you want.”

[honeyjars-sims]

3.23 Making an Impression

Part 1 of 2

It’s the day of my hike with Lucy and Lacey. I somehow manage to convince a few other coworkers to come with us even though a lot of us aren’t particularly athletic. Robi, Clara, Quinn, and Lilly are joining us and I’m feeling pretty good about my plan to help Lucy make friends.

While we’re waiting for Lucy and her brother to show up, Lilly shows off her hiking fit. She always has the craziest outfits and they’re usually themed, which is fun.

Today she’s wearing a fishing hat with fabric fish attached to the brim. As Lilly poses for us, Lacey swats at them and they swirl around each other like they’re in a chase. “What’s with the fishing hat?” Lacey asks her.

Lilly starts untangling the fish. “It’s the most outdoorsy thing I own,” she explains. “I thought it really completed the outfit.”

“I think it’s cute,” Clara tells her. “No one said you had to be practical.”

“I don’t think Lilly could be practical if she tried,” Robi laughs.

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

“I meant it as one!”

“I think that’s Lucy,” Quinn says, looking toward the entrance to the trails. She abruptly slaps herself on the neck, which makes all of us stare at her in confusion. “Mosquito,” she explains, her face flushing red. “They always eat me up.”

Lucy and her crew approach us. A guy I assume is her brother is with her; he looks like the stereotypical Tartosan with his jet black hair and I can see a family resemblance. There's another girl with them, which is great because if there's one thing this trip is lacking, it's female energy.

Lucy introduces them as her brother Paul and his best friend Danica.

Once the introductions are done, we all start making our way up the hiking trail.

“What do you two do?” Clara asks Paul and Danica.

“We’re both students at Foxbury,” Danica answers. “We’re in undergrad now, but I want to be a Psychologist and Paul’s going to be a doctor.”

“Wow, that’s really cool!” Clara replies.

“What kind of doctor do you want to be, Paul?” inquires Lacey.

“I’m not sure yet,” Paul admits. “I want to wait until I’ve done a few clinical rotations in med school before I settle on anything.”

“That’s really wise,” Lilly says, sounding impressed.

All of the girls make their way towards Paul as soon as they hear the word "doctor." They start talking to him about his bright future.

Wow, Paul, it’s so cool that you got a full ride scholarship!

You must be really smart!

I love when guys have a strong work ethic!

I hate to admit that I start feeling a bit irritated. A few weeks ago they all gushed over me when they saw my drawing, but now it doesn’t seem as impressive.

We come to a cliff that Lucy informs us is a popular climbing spot. “If you feel confident in your climbing skills you can go up this way. Otherwise the trail takes you to the top,” she explains.

“I think I’ll climb up,” Paul says confidently. The girls look at him in admiration. I can practically see the hearts forming in their eyes.

I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I blurt out, “Yeah, me, too.”

As soon as we begin to scale the rocks, I realize I made a big mistake. Why would I think climbing was a good idea? I don’t have any experience and Paul is clearly in better shape. Of course, he reaches the top of the wall with no problem and I’m left struggling halfway up. All I can think about is how badly I need a cigarette.

“Johnny, do you want to just climb back down?” Lacey calls up, with more concern in her voice than I feel comfortable acknowledging.

“No, I’m good,” I lie. It takes what seems like forever for me to get near the top. Every passing second just fills me with more embarrassment.

As I approach the top of the cliff, I see Paul crouch down at the edge and reach his hand out. “Need some help?” he offers.

No, nope, not going to happen! I scream internally, but then I start to lose my footing. Faced with the possibility of this horrible moment being my last one on earth and forever cementing me in everyone's memories as The Dumbass Who Fell Off a Mountain Trying to Impress Girls, I see no better option than to take Paul’s hand. I feel defeated, but at least I still have the rest of my life ahead of me to try and save face.

“I have a lot of climbing experience,” Paul tells me once I’m secure at the top of the cliff.

“No problem, I was just trying to be funny.” Liar! Now that the moment is over and done with, I realize I’m more embarrassed by trying to engage in some sort of macho competition for the girls’ attention than I am in my lack of skill. It’s not the sort of thing I usually do.

“Oh, okay,” Paul responds. He doesn’t sound convinced but at least he doesn’t call me out.

“Are you okay?” Lacey asks me once we catch up with the others.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell her. Just a bruised ego is all.

“We’re almost to the top!” Lucy exclaims. We round the corner and Lucy guides us to the edge. “Be careful,” she warns, and I ignore that she’s looking right at me when she says it.

Cautiously, I peek down over the edge. I’m surprised at how much of the city I can see. It doesn’t seem like we went that high up, but laid out below us are hundreds of buildings and trees that seem surreal in their tininess. “Cool,” is all I can manage to say.

“I can see the studio!” Lilly points below, and the rest of us look excitedly at the building we spend 5 days a week in. It’s funny how something we see everyday seems so much more impressive when it’s viewed it from a different angle.

“There’s where the food truck parks!” Clara shouts and we all turn our heads like we’ve discovered a hidden treasure.

“Great, now I want tacos,” I joke, and I feel the embrace of laughter surrounding me. Maybe the day won’t be a total waste.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[boundinparchment]

Blasphemous Rumors - VIII

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.  Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year.  A marriage of convenience.  Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.”

Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality.  Slow-ish burn.  Semi-enemies to lovers. Minors DNI.

On AO3 here, reblogs and kudos appreciated.

You stared at your desk, the office still dim and quiet this early in the morning.  Once pristine, polished, and neat, the space had apparently been turned into a floral shop in your absence, vases lining almost all of the surface area.  A stack of envelopes, some thicker than others, were neatly piled in your inbox tray.

It was a sight only slightly more improved than Lord Dottore’s quarters, which were filled with arrangements and boxes and a tea set from the Tsaritsa Herself.  Unpacking proved difficult when both of you were buried in a sea of congratulations that were just as fake as your vows. 

You tried not to consider them to be your rooms, even if that was where you currently slept.  After all, you wouldn’t be in them much longer than necessary.  Would your husband let you keep the house you chose after all of this, you wondered. 

In hindsight, perhaps you should have taken another few days.  Your thoughts swam with a list of names to send appropriate thank you notes to, laundry was still a burden, and you had yet to determine how to stash your notes securely.  But the Segments had expenses to track and your husband was diving right back into his most expensive project…someone had to keep Pantalone happy and off your backs.

“I hardly expected you in at this hour, my lady.  Most in your position would have gladly slept in.”

You hadn’t even heard the elevator doors chime nor the familiar footsteps of Lord Pantalone as he approached, congenial smile in place and eyes narrowed.  He bowed ever so slightly at the waist, as was customary for a lower-ranking Harbinger, but only enough to be polite; you still worked for him, marriage to a Harbinger or not.  You returned the gesture, shoulders aching from the tension settling in them.

Something in his words sat wrong, like a picture frame a hair out of alignment.  You expected certain insinuations from those who understood the gravity of your position, especially after Lord Dottore’s words on the ride back to the Palace.  Ironic, when you recalled that Lord Pantalone especially had a soft spot for the ethic of the working class he so lovingly exploited.  You smiled.

“Most in my position are unable to multitask due to never having worked a true day in their lives.  I believe I’ll manage, Lord Harbinger.”

“Of that, there is little doubt.  Anyone else would be a poor match for our dear Doctor.” 

Lord Pantalone tilted his head, leather gloves squeaking as he gripped the top of his walking stick.  The Electro delusion pinned over his heart winked in the dim light as he turned and walked away.

Your coworkers, polite though their gifts were, set your teeth on edge.  Within a few hours of the work day, it was impossible to miss the notable silence whenever you walked into a room, eyes averted, heads bowed in passing.  Many said your name when they knocked on your office door and then dropped their sentence, immediately correcting themselves. 

Worse yet were the exchanges you caught when no one thought you were around or could hear (or, more than likely, they didn’t care if you did). 

“She climbed the ladder, crazy thought he is; why is she even here?”

“Do you think they—”

“He’s unconventional but come on, even you can admit the Second is demure.  They went on honeymoon for practically a month and the maids said she looked a right mess when they left.  Give it three months, tops, before she resigns wearing looser clothing.”

You made a mental note to consider a private coffee pot in your office instead when you walked into the communal break room and topped off your cup without a word.  Hopefully no one noticed how flushed your face was (or if they did, they attributed it to modesty). 

On one hand, you were thrilled enough people seemed to buy it so quickly; on the other, did they really need to throw around…

Your stomach dropped as you walked back to your office.  Nonsense.  It wasn’t on the list and this wasn’t going to last.  Besides, there were specific actions required you doubted your new husband intended to follow through on.

He’d been candid thus far, after all.

Such thoughts eased your tensions just enough to stave off a migraine. 

A knock at your door brought them right back when your shoulders snapped back at the sound.  Pantalone’s assistant, one of them, stood poised with eyes skimming you.  Young, chosen for their shrewdness, charm, and efficiency; hardly without a brain but certainly void of personality, you learned, from your years in the department.

“Lord Pantalone would like to see you,” they said.  “Bring all of your documents and records pertaining to Lord Dottore.”

They walked off before you could confirm or question anything further.  Naturally.  Lord Pantalone preferred to keep one guessing, allow for the fear and anxiety to stir.  The weak-willed fell for it every time.  You were used to treading on eggshells and cleaning up loose ends.  The physical reactions would subside soon enough. 

You ran your tongue over your back teeth as you turned your attention to the bookshelves, where you kept your ledgers.  All of your documentation was a tall order; you had several years of bound ledgers, multiple books per year thanks to the Segments’ contributions to the account activity.  It would have been easier to simply tie a bookshelf to a handtruck and wheel it into Pantalone’s office.  Instead, you settled for the most recent finished records and a rough estimate of the number of books involved before you made your way towards your boss’ office.

Calling you in was more intentional than it seemed, you realized, when Lord Pantalone told his assistant to go on lunch after she brought in freshly brewed tea to the sitting area in the far reaches of his office.  He didn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation.  But why?

The double doors were shut with a soft click and you wished the too-soft sofa would swallow you whole.  It would certainly be easier to disappear into the cushions of a couch than layer lie on top of falsehood and then beside another untruth.  Yes, a day off would have been appropriate. 

Lord Pantalone stared at the single leather bound book on the table beside the tray before his gold eyes flickered to you.

“That surely can’t be all of your record-keeping, my lady.  I’m beginning to suspect my colleague married you for a different kind of cooking ability,” he said as he poured tea for both of you.

The smile that plastered itself across your face was the same one that pulled at your lips on your wedding day.  Just a tad too tight and you had to remind yourself to make your eyes crinkle.  Your eyes skimmed the tea cup placed in front of you

“There are several years’ worth of ledgers, given Lord Dottore’s projects and Segments.  This is the most recent one and the rest are filed in my office.  Anyone can find whatever they need quite easily, sir.”

And I wasn’t about to carry two armfuls of ledgers for no good reason.  I’m already humiliated enough as it is, you thought.

It would be rude not to take the tea in front of you, of course, and so you took it with a practiced carefulness.  There was a smokiness to it that made you pause when a pang of memories of snow creatures and sticky treats ran through you.  For a moment, you felt your face relax at the familiar scent as you glanced up at your boss.

Always impossible to get a read on him, of course.  Eyes closed, he was lost in savoring a sip of his own before he returned his cup and saucer to the table.

He wouldn’t drug you, not here, at any rate.  Too many people saw you go into his office and he wouldn’t risk his companionship with Dottore so early on.

A taste of home ran over your tongue, soured only because it was brewed for too long.  The cinnamon tingle lasted far longer than it should have and stung as it met your throat.

“I will speak to the rest of the staff regarding the loose tongues everyone seems to have,” Pantalone began.  “I made it quite clear before your return that such behavior would not be tolerated but most seem to have forgotten how much finds its way to my ears.”

“That’s not why I’m here though, is it, Lord Harbinger?” you replied, resting your cup on your lap.

“It’s not the only reason, no.  Given your new...arrangement, it would be unethical for you to continue monitoring your spouse’s accounts.  Although you’ve done a far better job than most have in centuries, to the point that your social status has changed because of it, it is still a conflict of interest I have no desire to foster.”

Not even a chance to prove that you wouldn’t commit such acts.  Not even a single day back.  You steeled yourself and picked up the cup again, taking another sip as you waited for the other shoe to drop.

“You’ll instead be the auditor in charge of my personal accounts and balancing my books.  Few have ever been able to keep any of the Doctor’s records straight between his projects and those of his Segments.  That you’ve been as thorough and steadfast as you have been is a testament to your work ethic.”

“And so someone else can learn how to do my Lord Husband’s books in the event I’m not here,” you surmised.

It was fairly logical, to say nothing of the fact that you were already prepared for such moves from Lord Pantalone in particular.  If you ever were indisposed, no one else would know how to balance the Doctor’s accounts and track everything properly.  The Second’s spending was rivaled only by the man before you.  Your work for various other accounts could be transferred to anyone (although it put you at a disadvantage, naturally).

This put you in a far better position, though.  The ledgers of nobles were helpful, sure, but what exactly was Lord Pantalone doing with his money?  That would be telling in comparison, wouldn’t it?

“It will also keep you out of earshot of the rumor mill, which I’m sure you’re sick of hearing.  Lord Dottore is a dear friend and although he was far from pleased to be on display for your marriage, I would be remiss to not look out for you in his stead.”

“Thank you, Lord Pantalone,” you replied.  “I will, of course, do my best.”

“I would expect no less.”

You knew that tone well, the same one used when terms could not be negotiated: polite but not without the sharpest edge pressed to the tender part of one’s neck, what you imagined an assassin’s kiss might feel like.

It took everything in you to smile and take another sip of home instead of throwing the scalding liquid and spitting venom.  All of this would pay off in the end.  You wouldn’t be under the Regrator’s thumb forever and you wouldn’t be married to Lord Dottore for the rest of your life.  This was temporary.

Your blood pressure disagreed but that was a problem for later.

As you rose to leave, dismissed to spend the rest of the day organizing your new office or leave to tend to other matters (how generous, you mused, resisting the urge to roll your eyes), Lord Pantalone returned to his desk briefly to leisurely browse through a stack of papers.  You watched his expression shift slightly as he located what he was looking for and held it out to you, a silent order to come fetch.

“I will be hosting dinner next month out at my estate,” he said.  “A cordial dinner between colleagues and friends to celebrate your nuptials.  The Tsaritsa and the Jester will not be present. The Segments have told me the schedule is free.”

How easily that might change, you thought, taking the sealed envelope carefully.

“I’ll be sure to let Lord Dottore know,” you replied mildly.

“Do be sure he arrives in an agreeable mood, won’t you?  He’s insufferable when he’s been cooped up for too long.”

As you left Lord Pantalone’s office to see to your own new accommodations, your cheek scar, faint though it was, burned at the insinuation.

To your surprise, dinner continued to held in private, the two of you shut away from the world in a suite far too large for either of your liking.  You left the invitation tucked beneath his dinner plate, already laid out when you returned from work, and were handed a letter from the serving staff that you opened as your husband broke Pantalone’s seal.

“I’d rather eat glass,” Lord Dottore said, looking at you and holding up the envelope for context.

“Maybe we can make a special request and have it added to the menu.  After all, we’re supposedly the guests of honor.”

Across the table, Dottore’s shoulders shook as he grinned, tongue pressed between his back teeth in thought.  You couldn’t help but give a small laugh as your shared secret floated in the air, that neither of you were pleased with Pantalone’s interference.

Your smile fell as you read cramped handwriting, loopy and quick.  Your father’s physician's.  Not a bill but hardly a new diagnosis, either.  Reiterations of the last message, with more urgency than your father used.  Management was beginning to no longer be feasible.  This coming year might be the last.

Immediately, you relayed your promotion, ignoring the crease that formed at the corner of Dottore’s mouth at your change of subject.  The rest of the meal passed as they usually did, filled with conversations you might otherwise have had in the walls of your office. 

Afterwards, you played chess with a strange mix of unease in your chest, wondering with every move how to navigate not just the board but the man before you.

The promotion was key but now both of you were in the loop and aware you would be under Lord Pantalone’s nose now.  The Segments needed to know, at the very least, but that was his business. 

How was that going to work now, anyway?  Should you be around them?  Hard enough to keep one Doctor in your sights…another thing to manage…

You could do it, keep going.  You had to.

“Are you going to move your rook, Accountant?  Or are you holding onto it like a magpie hording its treasures?” Lord Dottore drawled, resting his elbow on the chair’s arm and resting his head on his scarred fist.

When had he removed his gloves?

You blinked and tried to clear your vision, focusing on the board long enough to place the rook in a proper position, capturing a bishop in the process.

“We might as well stop for the night; you just set yourself up for failure.”

To prove his point, you watched a gloved hand position one piece, capture your queen, and put you into check.  At this point, it would be a standoff in three moves or less.  Damn him.

“Was your day back truly so awful that your focus is shot, dorogáya moya?  Usually you’re so sharp during these conversations.  That banker can be obnoxious and chatty but you’ve worked in the Palace’s accounting department for years.  You aren’t the type to be easily intimidated.”

Your skin prickled at the observation and you felt a twitch in your brow.

“If you were, you’d have departed the Fatui in Liyue and never returned and many of my projects would not have been financed,” Dottore said, arranging the board back to the starting point.  “The nation of contracts and commerce is always in need of book-keepers and accountants.  But you aren’t the type for easy work.”

“Don’t do that,” you snapped.

“You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Act like you know me.”

“I know a version of you.  It is inevitable we will come to know others over the course of this year.  Would you rather I not engage you at all?  Treat you as others in my position would, leave you to your own devices?”

Dottore leaned back in his chair, his work on the board done as he rested an ankle over his knee. 

“Who was it that made the case for being meaningful with one another?  I do not benefit from your mind being cluttered, Accountant.”

He was giving you a chance, that much was clear.  But a Fatuus was still a Fatuus; if you gave an inch, he would take a mile and a half and your kidney for good measure.  Lying wouldn’t do you any good, you well knew, even if your extracurricular hobbies were for the benefit of others. 

And something in the way he tilted his head and seemed at ease before you seemed to only encourage you to trust him.  Something that was slowly beginning to be less and less of an option and more of a necessity.  Especially here, back at the Palace, with eyes everywhere. 

“My father’s physician wrote.”

“Your post from dinner?”

“He is encouraging my father to spend time with loved ones and advised me that this winter has been particularly brutal on him.  It always has been, as I mentioned before, but his lungs are heavily scarred and aren’t working properly.  In his professional opinion, his physician does not think he’ll see next spring.”

Your words hung in the air like a held breath after an executioner’s blade fell.  When Dottore didn’t respond, you pulled out the letter between two fingers and extended your hand so he could inspect the letter himself. 

A jolt ran through your finger and up your arm as his bare finger brushed yours, slightly cold but not unpleasantly so.  He was rarely without gloves of any kind, even back at the beach, and you were immediately reminded of sticky honey and flakey dough

Silly, wasn’t it, to want that moment back.  Both because of your tiny slip-up and because you wished you’d admired his hands more.

He was quiet for a long while, contemplative for so long that you wondered if he fell asleep beneath his mask. 

“The Regrator’s country estate is out to the north.  It seems quite inefficient to make two trips when we could suffer through the dinner and then continue further north to visit your family.  Certainly takes care of several items all at once.”

At least three, four if the dinner counted as a private event, you recalled.  That he was so quick to plan caused a pit to grow in your stomach.  What should have eased the anxieties for most seemed to only amplify them.

He continued on.  “In the meantime, I will rearrange my schedule to accommodate property visits to find a suitable living space.  Does this sound agreeable, Accountant?”

Your heartrate increased ever so slightly, just enough to make your stomach churn, when you noticed the corners of his mouth turning upwards.  Different than the vicious grins he loved to terrorize people with when he was feeling particularly playful and miles apart from the variations you saw at your wedding.

He needed to stop doing that.  But he was right.  You were the one who had asked for some attempt at making this…at least have a believable foundation.  Who agreed to ingratiating him into your life, your family. 

And when things inevitably came to an end…

“Yes, it does,” you said at last, a weak smile crossing your lips.  “At least one matter will be settled long enough to…refocus on ensuring our shared success.”

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Hello! Recently my family discovered a place called "Sustainable Safari" that promised people they could pet kangaroos and see exotic wildlife. It ended up being a store in a mall, with no windows and claustrophobic amounts of space. I don't know enough about kangaroos or the behavior of the other animals, but they seemed lethargic, one kangaroo was attacking another and had to be wrestled by an employee, and one weasel-like creature was running and pacing the length of his cage. Is there somewhere I could report this place to? Or some sort of welfare check?

Oh America why are you like this? Researching this place gave me psychic damage so I apologise for the long winded response.

What you've described sounds like an absolute nightmare. So I looked through their website... And it's... really bad. They boast over 100 species - they have a Coati! Binturongs! Capybaras! Thomson Gazelles! In a mall in very small enclosures! And they say they're getting even more species! What the heeckkkkkk

Most of them are species that have absolutely no business being in a mall under artificial light all day - including endangered and threatened species and nocturnal species (Bush Babies have eyes specifically for seeing the the dark but sure lets flood them with light all day). This facility is very much prioritising "exotic" encounters over practical and reasonable species with the welfare of the animals in mind.

Way too many hands on that Binturong - please give him some trees to climb omg

Not appropriate substrate for red kangaroos, no grazing/foraging, way too many animals (not surprising they're probably needing to breed a lot of them for the joey holding)

They also have a timed holding of wild animals (including a need to have a constant supply for kangaroo joeys for holding - just a new form of cub petting with a less regulated species), with nothing said about whether they're rotating multiple animals, if animals are getting breaks ect.

There's no informations about animal living conditions outside of the mall except that they rotated from "a farm" - big red flag for transparency.

I really hate what is essentially "conservation washing" with something like this. They claim this is all about education and conservation of species - but these animals aren't in anything that resembles their wild habitat to make those conservation message connections work. And there's just no way that nocturnal animals and animals that live in very isolated areas of the world - in jungles, rainforests ect. Are appropriate ambassador animals for conservation messages.

I'm actually shocked at this list: https://sustainablesafari.net/safari-species/ this is insane.

The emphasis on each holding being so cheap and only 4 minutes feels like a way to get as many people through the door holding animals. And you'd have to have *a lot* of Fennec Foxes and kangaroo joeys to make that sustainable and not just an animal that's forced to be touched for hours.

Every "Guided Safari" has about 5 time slots which all involve handling and interactions with "exclusive species". It honestly makes me physically ill seeing the species list.

Yeah no animals should be kept like this. Ambassador species should be appropriate for the environment they're brought out into. Not just the most exotic and rare species you can get (seriously how the hell did they get these animals this is insane, not even accredited zoos have some of these species)

Since they're licensed by the USDA, that would be the place to send a complaint. The fact they got a license for interaction programs with these animals is insane to me. USDA is.... not great at holding facilities accountable.

Maybe someone knows more about this facility and will say its fine but honestly I cannot ethically condone any sort of interaction program like this.

[preet-01]

3,B Maxiel:))

3 - Celebrity AU; B - "How did you even find me?"

Daniel had gotten used to how things were in Monaco. No one cared who he was or what summer blockbuster he'd just starred in. There he was just another pretty face with more money than sense and no one cared because he was far from the richest person there.

But Daniel wasn't in Monaco anymore, or LA and New York. And he definitely wasn't in Perth where people had seen him grow up and leave to become a bigshot actor. Instead, he was in Amsterdam for a press tour, and people here weren't used to him.

Shockingly, he had more than a handful of fans in the Netherlands which was a big fucking shock to him. Daniel had found out about it as he got chased by fans from where he'd been buying his mum a gift to wherever he was now... in some shady alleyway. Fuck, he should've listened to Blake when he said that Daniel should take his new bodyguard with him. But no, Daniel had wanted to blend in with the crowd (and it definitely wasn't because Daniel didn't know how to not make a fool of himself in front of his beefy, thick-thighed, mesmerizingly blue-eyed bodyguard. It definitely was not because of Daniel's inability to be normal around Max.)

Daniel's thinking of how to contact Blake without getting an 'I told you so' when he sees Max. "How did you even find me???!" Daniel questions, utterly shocked to see Max.

"Find My Friends," Max replies with his phone held up. Of course. "Hop on," Max says, and while Daniel has thought of that more than he'd admit to Max, he doesn't think it would be practical for them to fuck while there are hundreds of fans and paparazzi looking for him.

"What?"

"Hop onto my back," Max clarifies, "I don't have a car or a bike. So it will be easier for you to be on my back."

"On your back?" So Max doesn't want to fuck in the alleyway, pity, Daniel could've been easily convinced to drop his pants.

"You will be able to hide your face in the space between my neck and I can run us back to the hotel with no one figuring out that it is you," Max explains as if it was very obvious, which it wasn't, but Daniel won't say that now. Right now he'll climb Max like the tree he is and wonder how ethical it would be to seduce his bodyguard. He'd seen enough movies about people falling in love with their bodyguards, hell he'd been in one himself. Maybe he should watch it for some creative inspiration.

[punkeccentricenigma]

might I request some headcanons for the rise! boys with an S/O who was born and raised out in the country? I just love the idea of country! reader x city boys (especially since the todd scouts episode)

please, and thank you <3

Rise!Boys with Countryside!Reader

Relationship status: Can be read as romantic or platonic

Reader prounouns: They/Them

TW: Leo being dumb as always, Some aspects described here may be different from the countryside in your countries, Some grammatical errors because english is not my first language.

Author's note: Honestly for the last few days I was just thinking about this idea, because I live in the countryside myself, and now at least I have a better excuse to write about it, lmao. Enjoyyyy!

Leonardo

◇ Leo respects your down-to-earth mentality and your ability to find joy in simple things in life.

◇ However, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows right away.

◇ When Leo first met you, he secretly judged you and thought that because you come from the countryside, you seemed boring and uncultured. LOOK AT YOURSELF, LEO.

◇ He tends to subtly highlight your lack of knowledge and city life experience whenever it comes up in conversation.

◇ He secretly compares his urban lifestyle to yours and sometimes feels superior to you.

◇ He might occasionally come across as insensitive and indifferent to certain issues and circumstances you've encountered or witnessed as a person from the countryside.

◇ However, over time, some of these things have lessened or faded away. All thanks to Dr. Feelings

◇ He finds your passion for nature and outdoor activities adorable.

◇ He appreciates how the ethics of hard work and practical skills can balance out his more carefree and humorous nature.

◇ It slightly shocks Splinter, but whatever, lmao.

◇ He admires your sense of adventure and willingness to try new things, even though you come from a rural background.

◇ Leo loves hearing your stories about life in the countryside and thinks they make you even more charming and interesting.

◇ He believes your close connection to nature and respect for animals are endearing.

◇ But if he ever catches you talking to animals or imitating them, you'll get the "weirdo" label.

◇ But he's a bit of an ignoramus himself, bringing up this one scene:

"Wow, [Y.N]! I didn't know you had a swan!"

"...Leo, that's a goose..."

◇ He enjoys hearing about your tight-knit community back home and loves learning about your rural traditions.

◇ Leo appreciates how your ability to adapt quickly and be resourceful in unfamiliar environments can help him broaden his perspective and become more versatile.

◇ You'll have to train him in this at Raphael's request.

◇ Sometimes he'll want to visit the countryside, especially if he's feeling overwhelmed by the responsibilities of being the new leader and after a Kraang invasion. Then, climbing onto the roof and stargazing is a must!

◇ He doesn't quite understand all the talk about plants, but if you have orchards, he'll pick every fruit to try.

◇ Please, give him homemade cherry juice, HE'LL FALL IN LOVE WITH IT.

Raphael

◇ Raph finds you incredibly interesting.

◇ But he's not sure if you're up to date with modern technologies and practices. Despite your exposure to television and the internet, he sometimes doesn't think you have a broad understanding of them.

◇ Besides finding you fascinating, Raph is somewhat surprised by your accent and way of speaking because he's never met anyone quite like you.

◇ Of course, he doesn't make fun of it if you have such an accent.

◇ Raph is genuinely curious about the history of your hometown and the people you know.

◇ He appreciates your rural atmosphere, and the lack of city knowledge doesn't bother him. He actually likes it when he guides you or explain things.

◇ However, he can get irritated sometimes when he asks you a question, and you respond in a way that's clear to you but not to him.

◇ Usually, you use rural slang if you have any.

◇ And sometimes, he can be impatient when trying to explain something to you, and you don't understand. This is where his anger issues come into play, but he's more likely to take it out on himself than on you.

◇ Sometimes, he'd like to go on a trip to your countryside and meet the people who shaped you, but because of the ‘whole situation’, he'll have to settle for the area around your home and fields.

◇ If he manages to find a moment, he'll come. He'll gladly let you guide him and explain everything.

◇ He'll probably start bragging about the skills he's acquired from Todd's training, whether they're useful in your parts or not.

◇ He thinks your conversations with animals are cute and will start talking to them himself.

◇ Except the goose will start chasing him, wanting to nip him.

◇ Plants aren't his strong suit, but like Leo, he'll start picking some fruits from your orchard, asking for permission beforehand.

◇ He loves walking with you in the forest, especially in the approaching evening. That's when he feels the most masculine, protecting you from potential wild creatures.

Donatello

◇ Despite everything, Donnie respects your connection with nature and finds it admirable.

◇ However, despite his ultimately good memories of Todd's teachings, he wasn't that inclined towards topics related to the countryside until he got to know you better.

◇ Donnie might sometimes underestimate you because of your former rural lifestyle and simplicity (using the phrase "common sense tells " literally), considering you now live in the city. However, he realizes that you're equally intelligent in your own way.

◇ He really appreciates that you're willing to listen to his explanations about his new devices. Bonus points if, in subsequent conversations, you remind him of potential solutions based on previous information.

"... And you know, I think when you combine this with that, it could give a good result-- Donnie, what's with your face, are you crying?"

"No, I just looked at Leo's face and felt disgusted!"

◇ He has definitely been moved by the fact that you haven't completely ignored him.

◇ Donnie finds your rural lifestyle and your knowledge of plants and animals intriguing.

◇ You'll probably drag him to the countryside for a few days if he pulls another all-nighter due to his ambitions.

◇ Expect some grumbling of discontent, like that of a five-year-old.

◇ He won't complain about the lack of Wi-Fi; after all, it's the 21st century, and some households have internet. Instead, he'll complain about the weak signal.

*Donatello rocks back and forth, watching a spinning loading wheel on YouTube*

You: *visibly wtf*

◇ If you have animals, you'll likely enlist his help.

◇ He's one of the few who won't think poorly of you when you start talking to the aforementioned animals in his presence. Whether you're having a small talk with a cow or imitating a passing duck, he'll probably do the same.

◇ He'll boast that he can communicate with animals using sign language to impress you.

◇ The Weird Duo.

◇ Ohoho, if you have orchards or gardens, he'll be thrilled!

◇ He loves botany, so ever since he saw the first cherry tree, your conversations always start with botanical topics and curiosities.

◇ In my country, such competitions are rare, but while watching The Incredible Dr. Pol, I noticed that there are frequent contests for the best-grown vegetable/fruit, etc. Expect Donatello to help you with that.

◇ And he might accidentally overdo it with his assistance, hah (those worms from the end of season 2)

◇ Donnie partly considers the peace and quiet of the countryside a welcome change from the city's hustle and bustle and all the stress it puts on him.

◇ But in the long run, it's not for him. He misses the excitement of the city.

◇ And he laments the lack of interesting attractions nearby.

Michelangelo

◇ He appreciates your unique straightforwardness. I don't know how it is in rural areas in other countries, but where I come from, people from the countryside can be incredibly direct and won't hesitate to say anything. This meshes perfectly with his Dr. Delicate Touch persona.

◇ Mikey often teases you about your rural roots, but in a typical friendly manner. You, on the other hand, have permission to tease him back. No mercy.

◇ He really enjoys your accent and dialect if you have one.

◇ Mikey finds your accent adorable and charming.

◇ Michelangelo likes listening to your childhood stories from the countryside.

◇ Michel finds it cute when you use rural sayings and expressions.

◇ Every time you crack a joke or make a wisecrack, Mikey laughs and finds it endearing, even if others don't always get it.

◇ Honestly, he's probably the least judgmental of the four, but he still has his quirks.

◇ Mikey can sometimes find your lack of refinement due to your rural upbringing slightly annoying, especially if you're too slow or don't understand something.

◇ Mikey might find it frustrating when you're afraid or hesitant about new experiences or things you haven't seen before.

◇ BUT, that doesn't mean he won't help you get acquainted with new things; he'll just have to push you as if you were learning to skateboard for the first time.

◇ Oh, and Mikey once taught you how to skateboard.

◇ You fell off the vert ramp.

◇ Anyway, he seems to have some strange attachment to forests and the areas around them, which is why he wanted to go there almost immediately when he heard about your upbringing.

◇ And when he got there, he was thrilled with everything.

◇ Starting from the decoration of the house, through the fauna and flora, to the atmosphere of the place itself.

◇ If he had an art block, this place would definitely unblock it. So, be prepared for frequent visits from the youngest of the turtles.

◇ He thinks it's cute when you talk to animals, but yes, he'll tease you about it a little too.

◇ He'll probably offer to help you with fruit or vegetable picking.

◇ He'll definitely start calling you "pumpkin" or "wild goose," whether you have them with you or not.

◇ He's not a big fan of homemade foods like juices, etc. The kid is used to mechanically processed food.

[pendarling]

Agonizing Corruption

Smutty with like a dash of lemon

It was just one mission, and that was it. Only a little bit of intel and nothing else. They let Villain go this time, but only because of a favour.

Little by little, as they stayed up late at night, staring at their empty ceiling, Hero concluded they were slowly becoming corrupted.

Their heroic morals and goals were immediately tossed to the side as soon as the sly call of their enemy beckoned them closer. They would switch up, show a change of face and eventually— "I guess I could do that for you." became "Whatever you need, I'll give it."

They had a way with words that just couldn't be described. It was greedy but gifting all its intricate details. So how could Hero stop pursuing something so addictive?

Every night their weekly patrols had led them back into Villain's arms repeatedly until these stopped becoming patrols and simply rendezvous in the dark.

Hero let out a cold shudder of breath as soon as Villain lifted their suit enough to become exposed to the cold. Their back pressed up against the tall building, tongues tangled with what was presumed to be an enemy. Hero couldn't tell where their hands would end up next, but the thrill of not knowing had made them grow more excited. Their face burnt a bright crimson in the cover of the night, trying to hold their moans back.

"Villain--" Their body tensed as they pulled their lips apart. Their bodies were too close. Too warm. Too... 

"Easy, baby," They heard them whisper back, the shivers climbing up their spine again at the feeling of their hot breath. "I'll be gentle with you." Hero gripped tightly onto the other, losing concentration all over again. Their head spiralled out of control. 

Villain's readjusted their grip on Hero's hips with a light squeeze and pushed their thighs apart. "Please, Villain don't..."

"Why?" What a cruel and beautiful smile Villain had on.

"Not in public."

"No one will see us." before Hero could argue again, their lips reassured their safety. "Trust me..." Their gaze lingered for a bit longer, and Hero felt their cheeks flush. "Don't I owe you thanks after all the hard work you've done for me?"

A small pat between their legs sent a wave of shivers as soon as they got to business. It was always like this, some taunting, some flirting, and then...

"V-Villain-!~" They pushed harder, their teeth clenching on the pressure. "Please-- I can't take your teasing--"

They heard a low chuckle against their ear; it felt so humiliating to be whining this desperately, but who was to blame when Villain captivated them every time?

"I'm only preparing, dear. You can wait for me, hm?" Their other hand came up to pull their reddening face toward them. Villain's towering figure left them struggling to speak. "Now, where did you say that election was being held, sweetheart?"

Hero struggled with their code of ethics for a second. They knew Villain was planning on toppling it. They knew this was a manipulation tactic. But for manipulating, this was taking it a bit too far, wasn't it? This was just too real to be fake.

Villain gave their hips another light squeeze when they noticed their difficulty responding. "You can do it for me…" their lips kissed their cheek, encouraging them to speak.

They couldn't say no to them. Never them. So with daring confidence, they spoke again. "Downtown, near the city's park…" 

"Good." Villain cooed, their hand working their way through their suit. They watched Hero's eyes roll to the back of their head. "And what are the times?" Their touch pushed harder and faster, pleasuring them.

Hero breathed quickly, their heart racing with every strong and gentle stroke. Their hips tended up, too caught up in the moment and left unable to speak. 

"What time, Hero?~" they repeated. This time, Villain's hand pulled back a bit, dissatisfying Hero all over again. They moaned lowly as their hips pushed up onto Villain's palm desperately. Their feet were practically tip-toeing to meet friction. "Nine—"Hero's fists clawed onto Villain, their body aching to feel more. 

"Nine?" Villain pushed back down, right where they knew Hero liked it. Of course, they knew. They've done this sort of work between them too many times.

They buried their head into their chest, panting harder. They were so close… almost… 

"Nine-thirty to… two in the afternoon."

"That's perfect." With that last sentence, Hero savoured their reward, finally releasing themselves from the deliberation. 

Almost instantly, their legs gave out underneath them. Villain held them tightly as they came down from the euphoria, exhausted and still sensing the warmth around their cheeks. 

"You did wonderful, darling." They gave a short peck to their head. Hero smiled, their mind still reeling from the experience. The only person who showed this amount of love for them had been Villain. How they longed for these nights to see them again. Anyone could say Villain was like a forbidden fruit, but something too sweet to ignore wasn't possible.

Every minute spent with them was worth it, even if it came at a cost. 

~~~

MASTERLIST

[leonenjoyer69]

Do you got some angsty headcanons for Elias? Elias and anyone else?

Apologies that this took actual weeks to get to, but we're so fucking back (this is also an answer for @dustmint who asked the same >:3)

Okay, starting off, (I think I may have mentioned it before but who knows,) Elias is lowkey a workaholic, for many different reasons tho!!

First of all, out the gate he has that work ethic that Lanyon Sr. tried to encourage Robert to have. Elias has to keep himself busy somehow, so why not get things done? Like previously stated, he has more of an affinity for all the doctory stuff Lanyon learned, so he tends to play doctor for the society. Otherwise, he also helps Jekyll with paperwork, no matter how boring, because the light thanks he gets at the end makes it worth it.

Secondly, and back onto the keeping busy part, Elias is restless af. Being more emotional and such, he's very prone to over thinking and spiraling over things- thinking he's not enough, or that people hate him, etc.- and gets overwhelmed by his thoughts quite easily (think like Hyde in Shatter me!, when he's getting chased and such, his thoughts becoming more base and fearful.), he's generally able to hide it though. When he's around Jekyll/Hyde these thoughts tend to go away, and when he's actively working or being praised/complimented for his work, they also tend to calm. So, when Jekyll/Hyde are unavailable and Lanyon let's him take over (usually after much nagging, bribery, or pleading) he buries himself in work. Whether that be medical research, paperwork, cleaning, or anything else he can do to keep occupied, he doesn't really care.

Because of this excessive emotional instability and restlessness, Lanyon tends to snap at him a LOT when they're alone together, Especially because Elias avoids going into the subconscious as much as possible. Being outside with only the presence of his other half? Overwhelming and usually not great, but being completely alone and numb in the subconscious? 100x worse to him. After the first time Lanyon finally bullied Elias into the subconscious, he came back a couple hours later near hysterical. after that debacle, Lanyon just decided that Elias bugging him and floating around with minimal breakdowns and complaining was better than having to deal with that again.

Also, Elias is absolutely obsessed with Jekyll and Hyde. Practically codependent, he's like a puppy. He yearns to be around either of them at basically all times, and when he isn't he, of course, becomes super restless and lowkey depressed. Also, the thoughts that tend to mess him up the most are ones related to them, like Jekyll or Hyde actually hating him, or thoughts of something horrible happening to them, like getting caught or hurt, or even killed.

There are times though where he's able to sit and think without absolutely spiraling though. Usually when he feels this sort of emotional content, he'll go to a park and climb up and sit in the trees (usually at night, to watch the sky). These tend to be the nights where Lanyon and Elias have more of their heart to hearts, since Elias is more mellow and less likely to get emotional. Also, any trinkets or gifts from Jekyll/Hyde tend to soothe him a decent bit, as well as wearing or cuddling up with any stolen clothes.

Those heart to hearts don't tend to help with their constant disdain for each other though. Elias wants to constantly be in control and occupied and around Jekyll/Hyde. Lanyon, of course, also wants to be in control, because he does NOT like having that control stripped from him, especially when he's forced to watch his other half live the life that HE wants. They tend to fight for control a lot, and quite quickly have accidentally done half transformations multiple times ( I actually have a fic idea for this teehee :3). Otherwise, like previously stated, Lanyon is VERY jealous of Elias, for many reasons-- His work ethic and the praise he gets, how forward he is with Jekyll, how much more people seem to enjoy his company than Lanyon's, things like that.

Quick thing for Jekyll and Hyde too! Jekyll tends to get a bit self conscious when Elias gets touchy, mainly because he's half convinced that no part of Lanyon really loves him and that he's just gonna get used and heart broken again, despite how utterly romantic Elias acts (which Jekyll still tends to absolutely eat up). Hyde doesn't have such qualms, he absolutely thrives on all the physical contact and kissing and such. The romanticism tends to throw him off though, makes him super flustered and kinda makes him shut down a bit.

Okay! That's all I've really got for now. Once again, sorry this took so long 💀 if there's anything more specific or questions about how he would react to specific situations perhaps, feel free to send an ask, my inbox is always open, even if it takes a minute for me to get to it 💀

[ssahotchnerr]

who do the twins take after? looks and personality wise, at least? do they have a favorite parent? how alike are they with jack?

i feel like in terms of looks, the twins would favor aaron for the most part, and i love the idea of them being identical as well <3 they both have his dark hair, the same brown eyes, they even happen to be lefties, which aaron was absolutely ecstatic about 😭 but they have your nose, your lips, they share your height as they get older.

plus you always tease aaron over the fact that you carried them for so long, only to have them coming out looking like him 😭

and i don’t think they have a favorite per say, but they’re definitely daddy girls <3333333

personality wise, definitely a mix of both you and aaron! they've mastered furrowing their little eyebrows just as he does - when they're frustrated or upset. they're so driven and goal-centered when it comes to hobbies, school, or just anything - they have the same work ethic as aaron. meanwhile, their talkative and more open/flexible side definitely comes from you. (i would go more into detail about reader's personality, but i don't want to make this exclusive :))

and i feel like your personality would rub off on them a teeny bit more - only because aaron travels for work and you're around them constantly. but the girls are both so equally similar to you and aaron it's crazy. hehe it takes both of you aback all the time. one of the girls would do something in front of you, and you're just like ?? you are your father. and vice versa, aaron will catch a glimpse of you in one of the twins and doesn't know what to do with himself 🥹 and as the girls get older, maybe one favors aaron more, then the other you, in terms of personality. it's ever changing <3

and the twins are so so so alike to jack, because they look up to him so much 🥹 they've been utterly fascinated by him from day one, ever since they first met him in the hospital, just staring at him as itty bitty newborns <33 as soon as they're mobile, they're always crawling towards him, trying to climb on him, and bringing little stuffies or toys to him to play. and jack absolutely loves his role as older brother- he's always asking you if he can help with them, give them their bottles, in the morning- he's the one going into their nursery to wake them up (admittedly earlier than you and aaron would like hehe, but you can't even pretend to be upset🥹) he loves snuggling them. if one is upset, he'll do whatever it takes to get them to smile, and he loves teaching them. he loves showing the girls how to do things, helped when they were learning how to walk, taught them colors, and he's always talking to them, even if they can't understand 🥹 they're all practically inseparable 🥹 the sweetest kiddos ever, and both you and aaron can't believe how lucky you are <3 they get into soccer because of him, and the girls always show interest in his hobbies to begin with - they just want more reasons to spend time with him 🥹

[fathercharlesoffdensen]

In my experience as a fandom veteran of [redacted] years, hyperfixating on fictional people is a lot more fun a) as a curated experience that maximizes enjoyment and minimizes 'hate-watching' and ship wars and harassing franchise creators and trolling; and b) when the end-goal of every interaction, fandom contribution, etc. isn't mining for ~problematic elements in a piece of media and/or amongst those who 'like' something the 'wrong' way. I spent last summer mired in health issues from mold poisoning and the house renovations that followed, during which consciously escaping into beloved fictional worlds via Tumblr and AO3 kept me sane(r than I probably would have been otherwise) - knowing that they're there when I need/want to visit is probably going to factor into my survival of the current summer as well ngl. Fandom! Come for the .GIF sets, fanart, meta, memes, (civil) discourse, and friendships; weed out unnecessary drama as much as possible.

Case-in-point, I've been working my way through the original Uncanny X-Men comic run from the 1960s, and Charles Xavier's moral ambiguity is on dazzling, four-color, two-dimensional display, as well as some rather ~dated representations of disability and the era's gender roles. Indeed, those who balk at the Rogue / Magneto ship likely have even more ire for Professor X's old-school skirt-chasing, pipe-smoking incarnation, especially when he struggles not to make his mentor-student relationship with Jean Grey even more inappropriate than it already appears to be. In my personal life, I try to avoid relationship drama, behave ethically, and communicate clearly because, like daydreaming about gay ships, doing so enhances my quality of life. On the other hand, I want to roll around in the stank of all of my favorite fictional hot messes and their bad decisions and 'unhealthy' relationship dynamics and weird sex preferences, essentially for the same reason. Below are clues for an in-post skeevy Charles scavenger hunt for your continued enjoyment:

Charles out-skeeving Mister Sinister;

Chillaxing at the Hellfire Club with Tony Stark;

Mystique remarking on Krakoa! Charles' "gross" notion to create / continue a mutant leg of the CIA;

Early 60s Wolverine isn't a fan of old-school Chuck either;

Charles scaring the crap out of Scott Summers(/other mutants);

The X-Men rough-housing and nearly harming Charles;

Odin Charles in a jaunty wizard disguise;

Jean practically climbing onto Charles' lap during a battle;

Jean taking up both nursing (!!!) and cooking (!!!) duties for Charles and like four gross teenage mutant dudes;

Charles and Jean icing out the other X-Men regarding Charles' impending death(/'death' - he gets revived almost as much as she does), much to Scott, Hank, Iceman, and Angel's discontent.

TL;DR: In the immortal words of the great philosopher, Thor Christopher Hemsworth, "Do stuff, be nice, have fun" aka don't be a dick. Have a great summer!

[deersaints]

⤑ martin sensmeier, 38, cis man, he/him 𓇢𓆸 here they come, one of blackwater’s finest— montague "monty" simmons. everyone thinks they're so altruistic and stalwart, but i know that they’re really intransigent and doleful. whatever the case, it seems like weird stuff happens wherever they go, ever since they got here five months ago, especially at their job as a worker ( odds & ends ) at coyote creek campground.

content warnings for... tbd.

profile.

full name — montague simmons.

nickname(s) — monty; tag; simmons. will respond to any name if said with enough conviction.

place of birth — anchorage, alaska.

date of birth & age — september 23rd, 1986. thirty8.

gender / pronouns — cis man, he / him.

orientation — bisexual.

occupation — odds & ends worker at coyote creek campground; general handyman; hunter ( of the regular kind ).

astrology — libra sun, gemini moon, capricorn rising.

kind of being — angel.

abilities — healing, sedation, dream - walking, heightened senses; a slight sense of danger.

residence — a relatively well - kept mobile home in cricket hill. small but cozy; easy to tell that he doesn't spend a lot of time home. bed is always made; the faint smell of bacon in the morning.

interests — wildlife preservation. fishing, ethical hunting. cooking meals that don't necessarily taste great but are sustainable for his body. yardwork. giving a helping hand whenever able. minimalism. black coffee. diet coke. pretending like he doesn't listen to lana del rey. cowboy hats. plaid shirts; plaid in general. standing out in the sun like a plant gaining photosynthesis. goes crazy for a sprinkler honestly; get this man to a water park. minding his own business when it comes to matters of the heart. mechanical bull riding ( he's really good at it ).

aversions — cooking for others. spending too much time indoors. the riverman, fuck that guy. giving advice; why are you looking at him? too much attention on himself. people who quote shakespeare at him; he doesn't get it. he wasn't a big english literature guy. real bull - riding; got concussed real bad once before. love, maybe; no he's not bitter. shut up. people who pry too much into his personal life and try to "help". people who offer their help to him to begin with; he can do it all on his own. being told he's too stubborn ( it's true ).

quirks — wears exclusively boots but once he wore sandals and it was a whole issue. keeps socks on his feet at all times now. practices lassoing when nobody is looking. presses flowers in an old journal of his and accompanies them with small poems. refuses to sing at karaoke but 5 shots later and he's blasting that shit. he's climbing on tables. listens exclusively to "sad old man" music; whatever that means.

most played — elderly woman behind the counter in a small town by pearl jam.

notable features — stubble that sometimes turns into facial hair that everyone yells at them to shave back down. overall strong features, including a sharp jawline and thick brows. he thought the goatee looked good. apparently not.

general disposition — built tall and built strong; confidence in the muscle gained from farm work. complimented with a smile just short of shy.

character study — ben hargreeves ( the umbrella academy ) & bob belcher ( bob's burgers ).

background.

tldr; never one to stay in one place for very long, monty goes where he feels he's needed. a habitual helping hand. not quick to fall in love, but falls hard once he does. if only things could've lasted. moved down to blackwater to accompany his friends, offer his skills. an angel can only do so much with what they do not know. was once a lover; now their soul's gone, taken by the riverman for reasons monty cannot fathom.

details.

to be discovered.

[renpil]

returned to this abandonned cold room, probably a former restaurant's, in which people recently removed a large panel from the insulating wall i guess as an attempt to uncover a hidden room. only to find the cave-like walls of the basement behind

cold room's hygrometer still in place on the opposite side ; this whole part of the buildings is semi-underground and windowless

then climbed to the empty apartments on the two highest floors, had to literally *cut* through lots of brambles to manage to enter there. the whole place is devastated and has like 8 entire apartments empty, a good chunk of it really dark

got an opinion : i don't know how u feel about "urbex", but personally i kind of disavow the term. i did such things way before i was even aware of the word, and i think children and people probably always entered and spent time in abandonned and empty places. it makes me think that in a way the simple act of trespassing in empty places doesn't fully overlap what "urbex" is.

so, what "urbex" would mean then, more precisely ? as it can't simply be trespassing, i think it is left with a few specific things like the broadcasting of the activity, as well as seeing it as an activity on its own, and more importantly, its commodification. you can sell blogs, books, exhibitions, and even actual places using "urbex" as a signifier. the "aesthetics" of devastation as a whole became commodified ; occasionally, you'll see professional urbexers go further and defend "urbex ethics" : do not take anything, do not deteriorate the place further, do not move anything, do not *use* the place (in short, make it a museum)

these fairly common "rules" alongside with commodification are kind of bullshit in my opinion ; it transforms it into a purely aesthetic experience, dismissing as illegitimate any form of squat or scavenging, or to deliver yourself from frustrations, breaking some shit. so many times i thought that the discourse of some professional urbexers radiated a weasely desire to privatize abandonned buildings and control what happens in them, even though they're doing something illegal like us all.

empty and abandonned places have fairly common uses like occasional squatting, and i use them for that ; to find seclusion and space to do stuff i otherwise wouldn't feel comfortable to do, when i'm surrounded with people ; it's an opportunity for some people to sleep a couple nights with a roof above their heads, crack some beers, smoke some joints without being seen ; if there's something interesting to take, i will surely do rather than letting it rot, and i think that's fine and cool.

though i don't want to dismiss "urbex" entirely because it would be a bit pretentious, and i don't think that "urbexers" are broadly responsible for its commodification. some of them seem like geniune chill guys. some people and practices can be blamed in some ways though imo. anyways, some more pics of these apartments :

wish i could someday paint bullshit on my walls like that without having to fear the annihilation of my face by some landlord

roofs, etc... there's even more empty and abandonned buildings on the same block but i think the rest of it is either innaccessible or still somewhat in use. so that's all for now.

[tiredflowercrown]

there's no bandage (to lessen the damage)

Hehe @panthera-tigris-venenata you wanted all three right? You wanted this right? Are you prepared for what you asked for? I'm not sure you are but oh well.

Trigger Warning: Dehumanisation, Unethical medical practices, Human experimentation

All vauge, but you have been warned

CJ had always been reckless. Ever since she could walk she had been getting in trouble, running into situations she shouldn’t belong or climbing up masts. She was rambunctious and loud and free.

There was no one really free on the Isle like CJ was. A luxury granted to her by her siblings, who held so much fear on the Isle no one dared touch her unless they were a fool. She ran from place to place doing as she pleased. So it was no wonder that it was these habits that did her in.

CJ had been enjoying Auradon. There was so much for her to explore, to find, to steal, to simply wreck havoc upon. Running from place to place, kingdom to kingdom, was exhilarating. She finally had people willing to give chase. The thrill of the hunt had been the most addicting thing she had felt yet.

So when the guards got close, within eyesight, and she ran, her voice bubbled with laughter. Crazy psychotic laughter. The only kind she knew, well the only kind she let the public know she had a reputation to protect. It rang out for miles, hiding her in the scenery to most, yet one guard kept her eyes on her, tracking her through the trees and brush, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect shot.

CJ had stopped for a breath when it happened, standing on a branch, a huge smile across her face. The arrow in her chest took all of that away. She fell, shock replacing her smile, blood quickly blossoming along her shirt. Upon hitting the ground, the audible crunch of bones had even the guard flinching.

She approached closer, careful due to CJ’s known trickery, calling in the fall and potential capture of a wanted fugitive. The young girl just lied there. She seemed so simple, so small with her quickly blood soaking shirt and glassy eyes.

Somewhere on an Isle miles away, two people scream. A piece of their heart gone. They don’t know how. They don’t know why. Just a sinking gut and a searing pain telling them everything they need to know.

“She’s dead. The fugitive is dead. Prepare for extraction.”

The guard looked mournfully, remembering the details of the profile she was given: Calista Jane Hook, Age 14. She had only been a child.

No. She couldn’t think like that. The fugitive was dangerous for a reason. The property damage and millions of stolen goods spoke for itself. No. The world was far better with it out of it. (It had to be right?)

The body is taken in. A full work up is done. Medical tests and examinations. A full autopsy. A full cause of death and all the contributing factors. Everything is done. No stone is left unturned. No one had ever gotten a chance to truly see what the Isle had done to people before, they didn’t want to miss a single detail. Not when something so fascinating, so rare was in front of them. A whole study at their disposal, no ethics board sitting in their way. Not when there was no eligible next of kin. Not when there wasn’t a single soul who cared about the dead fugitive.

In a castle miles away sat a girl searching. For a way to talk, to get her back, to make a deal. A life for a life. Anything. She didn’t mean what she said. She didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to be in a world without her wildfire. She couldn’t do this without her.

Finally after much pushing from the Crown, the fugitive’s body was released, but not without plenty of samples taken to continue testing. When it finally reached the hands of one Freddie Facilier, she wept at the loss of her dear CJ, who was almost unrecognizable. She was lifeless, none of her abundance of energy to be seen. Massive chunks of her hair were missing, surgical lines across every limb of her body. Every part of her dissected.

She crafted letters, being careful of who saw her. It wouldn’t do to have her surprise ruined. She mourned and buried her wildfire. CJ deserved to rest, deserved to be left alone from Auradon’s pain and torture. She watched and waited for vengeance, it didn’t belong to her, not really. And the sea always helped the sea, a ship couldn’t sail without waves. They grew closer and she grew more content, they will avenge her. They will avenge CJ.

When the siblings finally reach Auradon, it will burn. Their fury will reach levels never seen before. Lives will be taken, buildings broken into and burned. Every inch of what had been done to their sister, every reminder, every document will be destroyed. They don’t deserve her or the knowledge that their “research” on her gave them.

But it will never be enough.

Because Calista Jane will remain dead. She will remain in the ground (Or in labs never found.) She will never speak again. She will never laugh again. She will never run again. She will never be again.

Only the memory of her will remain untainted. And even that is not enough.