#it’s just that whatever he had going on was significant enough that it was the trait elves linked to him

[sagescented]

Not me going on a whole rant about how, traditionally, modern Sci-Fi that includes an active military power has typically been a genre where the Military is the antagonistic force against a group of Anti-Hero mains they're trying to destroy ...

And that Stargate SG1 never really reached the cult status it deserves because no one really wants a covert commentary on the US Military Industrial Complex and what happens when you allow the military to be in charge of Extraterrestrial power and technology ...

Especially in a show that's much closer to Star Trek in nature, where the baseline, or core mandate of the show, is ultimately to explore strange new worlds- a subgenre of Sci-Fi in which Stargate SG1 ultimately broke all known rules and tropes of the time, as established by Star Trek ...

And how it's not really until Stargate Atlantis that it kind of stops feeling so much like a military show (but not really)- but by then its reputation was already waning, and didn't have enough drive or compulsion to hold onto the power it once did.

ETA: Actually, you know what? I'm not done. Stargate SG1 actually does fall in line with the "Military is the traditional antagonistic force against an Anti-Hero group of mains" trope prevalent in Sci-Fi. It just does it in an untraditional manner.

To understand that, you have to understand that SG1 is built around 3 primary conflicts: The SGC against the Goa'uld (Primary). The SCG and the Asgard against the Replicators (Tertiary). And The SGC against the US Government (Secondary).

Throughout the whole course of the show, it is made abundantly clear that the SGC is a military program at its core, whose core mandate has become "to seek out alien technology to aid Humanity in the fight against the Goa'uld". However, it is also made clear that the SGC is doing so in significant opposition against its own military and Government. Particularly because General Hammond, Dr. Frasier, and the members of SG1 specifically, are all morally upstanding individuals who are unwilling to compromise on the morals and ethics of interacting with Alien cultures in order to fulfil the SCG's core mandate.

This is in direct contrast to the Military and Government, who are repeatedly shown as willing to do "whatever it takes" to obtain said technology- up to and including running illegal operations, backstabbing, murder, theft, blackmail, and more; many actions of which has been carried out explicitly against the SGC specifically. In fact, they've intentionally tried to shut down the SGC multiple times, because the SGC, under Hammond, wouldn't cooperate with the way they wanted things done.

Teal'c's whole thing is literally a Warrior's Honor. Major Carter is almost always a rational voice for the group. Daniel is moral and ethical to the point of straight up being freaking obnoxious at times- and even gets kicked out of being an Ascended because of it. And while Colonel O'Neill certainly has his selfish moments, he always eventually does the right thing. Hammond is a fair leader who listens to the people beneath him, praises them, and generally takes the ethical stance to the point they literally had to blackmail him to get someone "more sympathetic" to their mandate into his position, because he puts ethics above the mandate to acquire technology.

So even though the show largely consists of semi-detached episodes that show the SGC (and SG1 in particular) traveling to other planets and interacting with Alien cultures a la Star Trek style ... And even though it's based around a military premise- which is highly unusual in that genre ... It still actually does maintain the traditional trope of the military as an antagonistic force. And in doing so kind of gives a rather scathing criticism of the government and military.

And I think that non-traditional blending of these two genres and tropes is part of what makes Stargate SG1 so great.

[ohmylcve]

are we, though? ready for this night? maisie questions, as she's too busy trying not to show off the consequences of the rush her heart had just put herself into, after what it might be the deepest moment they've shared that night. had her shyness not taken place, perhaps she could've noticed how his heart seemed to be racing just as much. had her gaze not tried to find somewhere else other than his eyes, she would've noticed how he was looking at her. for someone who's been studying human life, behaviours and culture, maisie seemed to lack all knowledge when it came to her interaction with julian. applying theories was never her thing to begin with: first, she saw the agony, pain and whatever other feelings that her patients were feeling; then, she would find a theory to understand their moments. but how could she find a theory, when she was the object of the study? when her own feelings were at stake? of course, she could look at julian and try to read him as she did to her patients... but whenever working, she would always try to stay numb, to not let her thoughts and feelings intervene the session. that was just impossible with julian: if there was one to make her feel something, it was him. maybe, that was the whole reason why she loved being with him, because he was not like her patients, and yet cultivated on her just the same curiosity as if he was one.

as maisie was now feeling way more relaxed than before, perhaps not only by the chemicals from the drug messing with her biology, but also by the moments they've shared messing with her psychological, there's her own hidden allowance to just staring at him. as the joint goes back to his own mouth, the movement of his lips to embrace the thin cylinder seems like his own way of living poetry; as if a julian joint was finally meeting the lips it belonged to. half-shut eyes while appreciating the pull, holding the haze, then letting it all out... maisie even closes her eyes to feel like she's being part of it; as if when he lets the haze out, she inhales it once again, just to make them both feel like one. after opening her eyes, with the haze fulfilling the environment between them, she offers him a smile when he silently invites her to go back to his own bedroom.

this is where it all started. a first step into his room like it's the first time, like the room is now made to hold both of them, and only them, which is precisely why she closes the door behind them: it was their place, and though he didn't share his house with anyone else, there was a hidden - one more secret of theirs - significance to closing the door. one she was sure he would understand. enlinghtened by his bedside lamp, maisie looks up to the ceiling. the textures she was now seeing, the waves over here and there, it all made her want to move as if she was enjoying a song - and perhaps she was: the same she was humming back then. almost woken up by the sound of the snacks being put on the bed, maisie lets out a laugh after noticing how off she was for a quite while. then following his moves in a clearly not so balanced walk to the lamp, turning it off as the television's already turned on. she also drops herself, way closer to him than usual, and for a moment she forgets that they're supposed to watch a movie, because the way she sits.... it's facing julian, instead of the television. then, a julian joint on julian's lips again... then once more... maisie's mesmerized by the movement and now, she can't even control herself: she looks at his lips, wondering how would it feel to be the joint. to be pulled, to be inhaled, to be held, and to be let go by him. for a split second, she feels just like the joint, leading her hand to it, pulling him with the joint once more, to her own lips. of course she's already too high... but she's safe. there's nothing she can't do with him around. being as high as she can... perhaps enough not to fool herself into thinking the only reason why she's holding his hand is because of the joint.

after the pull, she holds back and sees his finger slightly touching his lips - what's with his lips today, anyway? - and follows straight into his eyes. though he gestures a silent command, the subtle laugh daring to come out makes maisie let out the haze with a laugh, coffing a bit while doing so. "sorry. won't make a- sorry." she says it in a lower tone of voice, finally turning to face the television when she feels his body closer to her. he's feeling it too, she thinks, there's no way he's not.

as the movie begins, the whole sound atmosphere seems to drag them away from the bedroom, to that very empty field. with a slight tilt of her head, focused on watching the movie, maisie tries to withdraw all of her strength to still keep on looking at the screen: though she's interested in watching it, she knows her state of mind isn't quite ready for it and she also knows that julian is looking at her. it demands too much of her to pay attention to the movie, while knowing he looks at her and while feeling hungry. so she turns to him once more - noticing how close they are - and measuring the snacks with her head. after all, she was dared not to say a word, right?

julian watched her, mesmerized, as maisie hummed to herself, preparing the popcorn with such quiet focus it was almost meditative. he loved these moments—the ones where she got so absorbed in something ordinary, like popcorn, as if it held some hidden significance only she could see. her words floated through his mind: the world isn’t quite ready for our skills. he grinned, the warmth in her playful confidence making him laugh softly to himself. they both knew they’d probably end up ordering pizza or something later, but he couldn’t care less. the point was that they were here, together, making something silly and ridiculous and completely theirs. when she laughed, teasing him about his 'weed resistance', julian couldn’t help but notice the light in her eyes, brighter tonight, somehow—an energy that seemed to mirror the thrill he felt building inside. she’d always had this groundedness, something that balanced his carefree nature. he was all too aware of the unspoken things between them tonight, of the way her gaze held him just a second longer than it usually did. for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she was feeling it too—the shift, the tension that neither of them could seem to name but both felt so strongly. he pretended to busy himself with the random snacks he’d gathered, lining them up on the counter, but his focus was entirely on her, on the way she moved through his kitchen as if it were her own. he felt like he was seeing her in a new light, one that had somehow always been there but that he was only truly noticing now. she was humming softly, her back to him, and he was struck by how much he’d miss her if she weren’t here, if these quiet, ordinary moments didn’t exist.

he chuckled when she struggled with the popcorn bag, a little fumble that she quickly fixed with that proud little smile he knew so well. and then, out of nowhere, she was right there, inches from him. his pulse quickened when she reached for his wrist, guiding the joint to her lips. the touch was so natural, so easy, that it felt like she’d done it a thousand times. yet there was something about the way her hand lingered, her fingers gently encircling his wrist, that made his heart race in a way he couldn’t quite control. as she inhaled, her eyes met his, and for a split second, everything around them faded. there was something electric, something neither of them was quite saying but was undeniably there, simmering just beneath the surface. he held her gaze, letting himself get lost in it, until she finally exhaled, the smoke swirling around them, leaving a hazy intimacy in its wake. maisie’s cheeks flushed slightly as she took a step back, breaking the spell with a quick, casual laugh, as if trying to brush off the moment. but julian noticed the blush, the way her heart seemed to be racing, as if her body were betraying a secret her mind couldn’t—or wouldn’t—put into words. he could feel his own heart beating faster, a rhythm he couldn’t ignore. “movie-food-tasting night,” he echoed, his voice lower than he intended, softened by the haze and whatever this was between them. “yeah… i think we’re ready.” he felt the urge to reach out, to close the space between them, but he held back, letting the moment settle. there was a line here, invisible but palpable, one that they’d been skirting around all night. it was fragile, delicate, and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to cross it or simply savor this closeness, to let it linger in the air around them like a shared secret. julian took a deep, steadying pull from the joint, the smoke filling his lungs as if he could somehow inhale the clarity he needed for this night. he held it for a moment, letting the haze wash over him, then exhaled slowly, watching the tendrils swirl into the air between him and maisie. with a quiet nod, he motioned her toward the bedroom, gathering up the bowl of popcorn and the absurd assortment of snacks and sauces, as if they were embarking on some ridiculous yet sacred ritual.

back in his room, the atmosphere was cozier, more intimate. the dim glow of his bedside lamp cast a soft light across the bed, making everything feel more private, as if they’d created their own little world apart from the rest of reality. julian set the snacks on the bed, then dropped himself onto the floor beside it, leaning back against the mattress. he took another hit from the joint, this time slower, as if savoring the taste would somehow steel him for whatever was simmering between them. and another deep drag, feeling the weight of the haze settle over him, softening the edges of the room and making everything feel surreal, almost dreamlike. with a sly grin, he turned to maisie, his eyes half-lidded but shining with mischief. he lifted a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to keep quiet, but the look in his eyes was anything but serious.there was a teasing challenge there, daring her to keep silent while he pressed play on the remote. he could barely stifle his laugh as he shifted closer to her, the silent dare hanging in the air between them like a private joke, a game only they could play. he leaned back, letting the movie begin, the screen’s soft glow filling the room. with every puff, he felt himself drifting further into a state where everything felt like it mattered and didn’t, all at once. the film’s opening scenes flickered across the screen, but he found it hard to focus, his attention drawn back to maisie every few seconds. the film he’d chosen, a field in england (2013), was an odd, haunting choice, the kind of movie that burrowed into your mind with its surreal visuals and strange, atmospheric tension. the screen flickered with images of a bleak english field under a stark, washed-out sky, the colors muted as though the life had been drained from them. the story was set during the english civil war, following a group of deserters who find themselves lost in the countryside, their journey quickly spiraling into a bizarre nightmare of paranoia, power struggles, and twisted alchemy.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Friendly reminder that Ulfang’s name means ‘terrible beard’, but it means that in sindarin, thus the elves first saw him and thought ‘that facial hair is awful’

[bayetea]

also I'm a percy jackson stan until I die of course but it would be nice if we could not exclusively talk about other members of the main cast (the non-white ones especially) only in furtherance of percy and his character/personal acclaim/strength as a demigod

like every time I see a high-note text post about the percy/frank/hazel dynamic it's about "WOW frank and hazel think percy is so cool hazel literally thought he was a god he is so powerful." like yeah. did you guys know that they're also friends and they love each other!!!! did you know that percy admires frank and frequently praises him and encourages him to build up his self-worth and confidence! did you know that hazel comforted percy when he was emotional and scared at the neptune altar in camp jupiter and he gets angry when phineas insults and degrades hazel for being undead! did you know that frank and hazel saved him when he was so frightened and disturbed by evil centaurs and cyclopes that he was paralyzed and couldn't move!

did you know that frank and hazel also just have their own things going on divorced from percy because they're heroes of olympus too! did you know that they aren't just decorations for percy's character they are their own people! idk something to keep in mind (I'm a SON stan if u can't tell)

[exopelagic]

List of my curses:

• Cassandra

• straight boys keep happening to me

[toytulini]

lightly defending Toshiro while also fully understanding Laois frustrations. as a bitch who let teachers call me the wrong name all through high school cos it was kinda funny

[lxvvie]

Y'all know that whole trend that was going around social media with women calling their significant other by their full name? Yeah, that one. Yet another conversation was had, this time it was about the reactions your favorite babygurls would have if you called them by their full government name because of reasons. Maybe.

Capt. John Price - He's, uh, startled but not enough to drop his cigar this time. Does take a puff of it, though, before addressing you like it's the calm before the storm. Isn't too fazed because he heard it enough from his own mom growing up and he figures he's suave and diplomatic enough to placate you.

Gaz - Pointedly ignores you while giving you side glances here and there which is a major indicator that he's gotten into some shit. Probably. More than likely. Yeah... it was Soap's fault.

Alex Keller - Actually did get into some shit. Does not answer the call of duty.

Soap - You hear 'ah, shit', heavy footsteps, probably a crash, and Soap's peeking his head out from the other room. Has a deer-in-headlights look about him. It was Gaz's fault, goddamnit. He's so adorable. It's enough to make you giggle.

Ghost - You get a grunt. And then it hits him. He stops doing whatever it is he's doing. Fuck, he knows that tone. Simon turns to look at you and he stares into your soul or something like that. What in the hell kind of made-up middle name is that? You spend the better part of a good minute staring each other down before you're all, "I love you ♥️," and Ghost groans and rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was he was doing. But not before he grunts out a "Love ya, too." in return.

Alejandro - This is one of the few things that'll actually faze the man. Will damn near break his neck turning to face you to see what's wrong and his eyes will be wide. Oh, the last time he heard his full name called like that was from his beloved grandmother and he'd gotten into some shit then, okay?

Rudy - Ducks his head. Doesn't show his face; he can't bear the sternness of your voice, your gaze. It wasn't him this time, he swears; it remains, though, the way you say his name, an echo in his mind: Ro-DOL-fo. Why'd you have the emphasize THAT part of his name, huh?

König - König.exe stops working. Actually does break something trying to get to you. His eyes are fucking saucers, okay? Oh shit, what did he do this time, Schatz? Are you getting him back after that one time he snuck up on you to surprise you and you dropped dinner? Did you find out about the time he accidentally messed up the laundry and the white clothes came out pink? WHAT DOES HE HAVE TO DO FIX THIS?! Oh, you... just needed him to grab something off the top shelf for you.

Horangi - Also did some shit. Is unapologetic about it. Hits you with a nonchalant, "Yeah?"

Graves - STAYS IN SOME SHIT, OKAY? Saunters in like the smug bastard he is. Smirks and winks at you. "Haven't heard that name in a while, darlin'. What's your fancy?"

Valeria - Pulls a Uno Reverse and calls you by your full government name. Wait―

[shadowwfoxx]

Give my Husband More Food

Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: You decided to prank Logan by doing the TikTok trend where you give your significant other more food and see their reaction

“Dinner’s ready Lo!” You shout as you plate yours and Logan’s dinner. Tonight you made steak and fries, one of Logan’s favorite dishes.

You hear heavy footsteps pad making their way to the kitchen. Logan enters the kitchen looking eager to eat.

“Someone’s excited,” you say giggling, opening the fridge to grab him a beer before placing it on the table.

“M’starving sweetheart and it smells amazing,” Logan says as he sits down in his chair. Logan is known to be a grumpy man most of the time, but the key to his heart is a delicious plate of food (with beer ofc).

You grab the plates of food before walking over to the table. Logan rubs his two hands together as you set his full plate down in front of him.

“God, looks amazing, thank you baby.” He says as he leans in to give you a peck on the lips. He immediately gets started, cutting his steak to eat.

Just as he’s about to stuff his mouth full of food, your plate catches his eye. He froze in place, now confused why you have barely had any steak and like 3 french fries on your plate.

“Sweetheart where’s the rest of your food?” He asks as he puts down his fork.

“Oh there wasn’t enough.” You say.

“What’ya mean there wasn’t enough?” His face twists in confusion.

“Well we didn’t have enough steak or potatoes and you said you were hungry so I gave you most of it.” You say as pop a fry in your mouth.

Logan’s brows furrowed as he looks at you confused. You eyes meet his confused expression. “Trust me I’m ok. Besides I’m not even that hungry.” You reassure.

He shakes his head at you. “Honey that’s not even enough to feed a damn bird.” He says gesturing towards your plate.

“Logan it’s fine, eat your food.” You say. Just as you’re about to pick up your fork, Logan picks up both of your plates and swaps them.

“Logan!” You whine.

“Go. Eat. I’ll eat whatever you don’t finish.” He says as he leans back into the kitchen chair, crossing his arms over his chest. You both sit there looking at each other.

You quickly find the opportunity to get up to try and steal your plate back, only for Logan to snatch it from the table now guarding it

“Uh uh. Sit down and eat baby c’mon.” He says as he nods his head towards the chair.

“My girl needs to eat. So eat.”

[rebelfell]

A li’l more self-indulgent bestfriend!eddie fluff…

reader w/ boobies, cont’d from here

“Do you, um…do you think you got a good enough look?”

Ringing. There’s a ringing in Eddie’s ears and he’s pretty damn certain his jaw is on the floor. And he is going to need about a million q-tips stat before he believes he actually heard those words come out of your mouth in that exact order.

Did he die? Is this a dream? A coma? Did he get trapped in the Matrix? If so, which color pill does he take to stay in it forever?

“Eddie? You okay?”

Your face fell the longer he took to respond, shrinking into yourself as worry washed over you.

Thinking you must have misread things, thinking he was just being nice, thinking you’ve just ruined everything by throwing yourself at the best friend you’ve ever had…

YES, YOU IDIOT! SAY FUCKING “YES” SAY SOMETHING YOU’VE BEEN QUIET FOR WAY TOO LONG SHE’S GONNA THINK YOU’RE—

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Pretty sure I hallucinated. Uhh…any chance you can repeat that?”

“Eddie…”

He can almost hear you scoff and see your eyes roll before it happens. You glance around, looking for where you tossed your bag when you got here, but Eddie reaches out and wraps his hand around your wrist. His thumb rubs over the delicate skin on the inside of it, praying he’s not imagining it that he can feel your pulse quickening underneath the calloused pad.

“Sweetheart, you just offered me the single greatest honor and privilege of my life,” he says. “Forgive me for wanting some extra reassurance. Seriously…how is that even a question?”

Relief floods Eddie’s brain as your lips slowly spread into a smile prettier than every sunset he’s ever seen before combined. His heart is pounding in his chest, all his other organs shuddering with the force, as your hands carefully pull from his grasp and drop to the hem of your shirt.

The pounding stops. His breathing stops.

Everything stops as you lift it off fully this time, letting it fall to the floor beside your feet. It lands in a heap and Eddie is struck with the urge to fold a piece of clothing for maybe the first time ever in his life. Because if you ask him, that thing should be in the Smithsonian behind a bulletproof glass barrier—the shirt you removed in his presence.

If that’s not historically significant, what is?

Except Eddie can’t even think about that any more, because now your arms are raising again and your hands are reaching behind your back to unhook the clasps of your bra.

Forget the Matrix. This is heaven.

He stares at you raptly, not even trying to hide the fact that his eyes are about to jump right out of his skull. Black lace falls to the floor and Eddie is tempted to join it, more than ready to sink to his knees for you and do whatever you say for the rest of his life. Only he can’t form the words to tell you that because all he can think about is how your bare fucking boobs are out in his room.

You are topless and literally a foot away from his bed and—god fucking damn it why didn’t he change his sheets?!

“Can I, um…”

His eyes dart between you and them, his mouth still agape. His hands flex at his side, his fingers trembling with the need to grip their softness, to mold and squish them in his palms, to roll your nipples between his thumb and index until he hears the sweet, sweet sound of your moans—

“Please,” you whisper.

Okay, yep. Definitely heaven.Only in heaven would you be the one pleading for Eddie to touch you.

“Fuck, they’re so pretty,” he sighs, almost mournfully, his eyes rounding as his hands came up to cup them gently. “How do you walk around with ‘em all day? I’d never get anything done if…”

He trails off, a flush coloring his cheeks, bashful smile making his dimples deepen.

“If, what?” you prompted.

“If they were mine.”

His eyes lifted to meet your gaze, deep brown irises brimming with heat. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and his hands stretch, his fingers spreading wider and squeezing tighter.

“They’re all yours, Eddie,” you tell him with a small smile. “Do whatever you like.”

He doesn’t need any further instruction.

A breathy laugh flutters in your chest as he buries his face in between them. Eagerly, as if he was trying to suffocate himself. Shit, maybe he is. He’d happily die right now with your warm flesh on his face, the scent of you in his nose, and his breath rippling down the middle of your sternum.

He kisses and kisses and kisses them, like he’s the pope and you’re the tarmac. And then he’s shaking his head back and forth, moaning and humming and groaning while you erupt giggles—downright giddy with all his attention on you.

It almost makes you feel…proud of your boobs.

Because there were ones out there that were bigger than yours; ones that were smaller than yours; ones more evenly sized or shapely that better filled out dresses or low-cut tops.

But none of those boobs were the ones currently reducing Eddie Munson to a puddle before your very eyes. That’s just yours.

And they are perfect.

Eddie jumps when he feels you pull away, his head popping up, his bangs mussed and sticking out to reveal his vast forehead and his panicked eyes. Shit, what did he do? Did he bite you? He could have sworn he only thought about doing that, but maybe—

You step backwards, smiling as you walk him to the bed and guide him down with you to lay on the mattress. He slides up next to you, his body finding a home against every dip and curve of yours. He looks at your face, brows raising in a silent question until you give him a nod.

“Can’t believe this is really happening,” he moans, burying his face back where it belongs. “I’ve wanted this so long, you have no idea...”

“How…how long?” you gasp, breathless as he kisses all over them, his tongue swiping over your nipples. “Eddie, how long have you felt like this?”

“Fucking forever,” he groans into your skin and the vibrations make waves across your chest. “Can’t remember the last time I went to bed and didn’t think about this…about you.”

And you know you should be melting. You know you should be flattered by what he’s saying and to be over the moon that the boy you’ve been in love with your whole goddamn life actually wants you too—but all you feel right now is rage.

“OW! What the—”

Eddie yelped as you reached over and pinched the skin on his stomach as hard as you could. He pulled away, staring down at your hand and the bright red spot it just made on his pale skin.

“You idiot!” you snapped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Wh…what?”

“I’ve been going out with losers for years trying to get over you.”

Eddie blinked back at you, his mouth falling open so he looked a bit like a carp with stage fright. His head started to shake back and forth, wiry curls rustling as he stammered out an answer.

“I…I thought…”

His head dropped, shoulders slumping as he thought of all the men he’d ever seen you with. Cool guys. Normal clothes. Normal interests.

No freaks.

“The guys you were picking were nothing like me. I…I figured I wasn’t your type.”

His big, round eyes flashed back up to yours and soundly vaporized all the anger that overtook you. Because it was true. You always avoided guys that reminded you of him. Always went for the dishes the polar opposite of the one you craved.

Because eating frozen yogurt only ever made you want ice cream more.

“You should have said something, Eddie,” you whisper. Half scolding, half an apology.

“You should have said something,” he countered.

But Eddie nodded, leaning in close to bump your head with his. It made you both smile, yours and his cheeks both pushing up as they touched. And then it wasn’t just your cheeks touching.

His lips met yours with a gentle brush. Almost accidental, but not quite. Delicate and light like the start of a snowfall. It made your stomach swoop and your neck stretch, chasing the feeling. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of hesitation before he dove back in.

There was none.

“Now, if you don’t mind…” he smirked as he crawled on top of you, scooting down until his face was level with your chest, “I’m getting back to the greatest moment of my life. That okay?”

thank you for reading, love you mean it 😘

[cloudcountry]

Could I request how would Cater, Jamil, Rook and Idia react to their (s/o)’s overblot? :0

SUMMARY: your significant other, who has been part of an overblot before, has to witness you going through the exact same thing.

COMMENTS: hi so im experimenting with yuu overblotting and so. you and grim are fusing because i said so.

yk after writing this i realize i was absolutely inspired by delicious in dungeon. if you get it you get it.

You’ll have to forgive Cater if he blurts out some stupid slang or a joke as he watches ink consume your body—as he watches you fuse with Grim. The result is a terrifying monster, blue flames shooting out of your very human face, ink pouring out of your eyes and mouth and nose as Grim's claws grow sharper and his legs grow longer.

He’s vaguely aware of Trey trying to get him out of there and Riddle throwing himself into a fight to attempt to disarm you and Grim—whatever you have become. Cater isn’t even sure if you’re separate anymore, but he hears your screams and the echoing growls of Grim, and the blue flames are searing his skin but he isn’t budging.

He shoves Trey off of him and goes running towards you, heart pounding in his chest. He has to save you. He has to help you. His signature spell is activating and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it—he just knows he has to get you back, one way or another.

Jamil knows what’s happening before anybody else. He can see the frustration at being treated the way you are, and he sees the way your hands shake. He tries to reach out but it’s not enough, and maybe it never would have been because he’s too late, and the air is hot with anger and longing for a home neither you nor Grim had.

You become one. He sees it and he can do nothing but watch as you sprout hairy arms and legs, claws tearing through your skin as blue flames shoot out from you. Ink spurts from your eyes and mouth, pouring onto the floor as you howl and wail. He can hear the echoing, pitched remnants of Grim in your voice as you charge, heading straight for the students. Jamil whips out his pen, pointing it in front of him and casting a barrier.

He needs to get everyone else out of here. He can’t be the one to fight you—he can’t do that to you. His ears are ringing and only now is he aware of Kalim rapid firing questions at him but he doesn’t have the time, he grabs Kalim and yells at him to leave, to get the Headmage, to get you help. You can’t die on him. You just can’t.

Rook thinks you’re beautiful. He always will, no matter what state you may find yourself in, no matter what form you may take. That’s part of the reason he stands there in awe, watching as you transform in front of his very eyes. Tears are rolling down his face as you scream out in pain, and his body reacts by running to you but someone is holding him back, his sobs mixing with you and Grim’s howls as you merge in a tornado of inky blackness.

People are screaming, someone is yelling that he needs to get out of there, he falls to his knees as your form—no, the form you’ve taken, writhes and screeches on the ground. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard, it sounds like nightmares, it sounds like pain and suffering and like nothing will ever be okay—

Two backs appear in his vision, a perfectly manicured hand shielding his vision from the sight. Rook looks up, eyes locking with Vil’s. Epel is beside him, pen at the ready. “Can you stand?” Vil asks, and anyone else wouldn’t be able to hear the tenderness in his voice. Rook takes his hand and stands, breathing shakily as he stares at your form, vision blurry but locked onto you—he’s going to save you, no matter what.

Idia’s hands are shaking as you scream. He needs to go to you, to make sure you’re okay but he’s petrified, feet tripping over nothing as he stumbles to your side. He reaches out for you but you shove him away, a sharp NO ripped from your throat. Idia swallows his tears as he whips out his tablet, sending an SOS message to STYX as a familiar black ink splatters to the ground at his feet.

You tried to protect him. It makes him feel so worthless but he gets through it, knowing this must have been how you felt when he overblotted. Why can’t he do anything right? He went through the same thing and he can’t do anything to help you. Isn’t this his family’s business? He should know what to do by now!

He doesn’t leave from that spot, even when people are screaming at him to evacuate, even when STYX arrives to take you away, even when Ortho explains the situation to them because Idia can’t talk. The only thing he manages to say, with eyes glued to the malformed shape you’ve taken, is that he demands to be taken back with you to his home so he can oversee your treatment. He needs you to be better. He doesn’t know what he’d do otherwise.

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Pt. 4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

Danny blinked down at the cart, where a red hoodie and pants with red stripes along the side laid over the lip of the cart. Considering they’re in this universe’s brand of Marget- seriously, who names a store Target? If anything in Amity Park was named that, Skulker would have wrecked it in five seconds flat- it’s hilariously on brand. Though, to be fair, this was Gotham’s version too, which meant a lot of security guards (who definitely doubled as goons for the Rogues, Danny was sure) and the vibes were spooky.

“I’m guessing red’s your favorite color.”

Instead of the humorous way he meant the sentence, Jason looked up anxiously and Danny immediately hated himself a little bit more.

“Sh- I can put it back..?” Jason hunched in on himself.

Danny tracked the movement with clearer eyes than he’s had in a long while and ancients, does it remind him of how Dani was in front of Vlad all those years ago. And Danny has spent his entire half life being not like Vlad, so he’s not going to start now.

“Nah, you should definitely add some more stuff. This is no where near enough clothes.”

It really wasn’t. Danny had taken Jason to the store to pick out clothes- “Ther’s a second hand store down the stree’, ya know,” Jason had mumbled when they went through the doors- but the kid had only tentatively put in a small red hoodie and some pants in the cart. Now he had to put this in a way that’ll wipe the stubbornly hesitant look on Jason’s face off.

“Think about it this way, then. You’re repping me now, and while I might be the alley drunk, I’m not the poorly dressed alley drunk, yeah?”

“Oh. Tha’ makes sense.” Jason nodded to himself determinedly, and the kid strode over to the t-shirt section. For all of his confidence, he still glanced back to see if it was okay with Danny.

Well, Dani was the same way before she found her confidence (when she knew Danny wouldn’t abandon her or hurt her) so Danny just gave him a thumbs up before reaching into the rack and sweeping an armful of clothing straight into the cart. Then, he strode over to the jackets and grabbed the ones in Jason’s size and slightly bigger. Oh, he has to grab shoes. He’ll leave that for later, but Danny was going to get those ratty trainers off of Jason’s feet and into the nearest trash can if it was the last thing he does.

The halfa hummed, pausing at the first decidedly not miserable sound he’s made in a while. Dammit, if that wasn’t a sign of Danny’s attachment to Jason, he doesn’t know what would be. To be fair… Danny already committed murder for the kid, which was pretty much something he thought he’d never do, so in for a penny out for a pound or whatever.

He put a significant amount of the budget aside for the section labeled “JASON” so Danny shopped without a worry. Charlie’s ill-gotten assets were a good monetary compensation for his crime of existing near Jason or existing, period.

He picked up toiletries, toothbrushes and the like, when Jason came back sans t-shirt. Instead of a shirt- Danny had actually hoped that Jason would try to get multiple shirts- Jason was clutching a book.

Before he could even voice anything, Danny plucked the book out of his grip and put it into the cart with a disarming smile.

“Oh, good idea. We should get you books too. Wanna go pick out some more?”

“Uh- y’re just gonna get a book, just like that?”

“More than one book, I should hope. You are going to school, right?”

“…Yeah!” Danny couldn’t fathom ever being excited at the thought of school, but as Jason bounced away to peruse the admittedly poor selection of books, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe he should give this education thing another try. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be less stressful now that he’s not Phantom.

Danny walked to the aisle next to the books and promptly proceeded to shove every single piece of stationary he thought was nice- pens, gel pens, cooling pens and pencils, a thick stack of notebooks, flash cards, etcetera- into the rapidly getting full cart.

Jason came back with three more books- nice, the classics- and froze at the sight of the cart.

��Oh, hey. Getting all of those?”

“Wha’- wha’s wit’ the stuff?”

“School supplies! Quality education starts with quality supplies, you know!” Danny said, a sliver of the grin that used to come so easily to him making an appearance on his face. "Don't worry, I budgeted. See?"

Danny handed Jason a piece of paper, confident that the kid would know if it was good or not.

"Where'd... ya get all of this?"

"Hmm... here and there."

Jason looked up at him, squinting suspiciously. "I hear' Charlie's gone poofed up."

Danny shrugged and put a calculator in the cart. "Oh, I'm sure he's busy."

Yeah, Danny thought vindictively. Busy being dead.

"Ya sound like a walking con," Jason said as he visibly decided to give up fighting against Danny's spending. "We nee' food."

"Gotcha. Well, if you need anything else, just bring it into the cart."

"I want veggies. Frozen, 's cheaper."

Danny nodded, resisting the urge to ruffle Jason's hair.

----

"Hey, you's the Alley Drunk, right? 'Bout that boy you've been toting ar-"

Danny punched the guy in the face, dropping him like a stone. He looked up slowly and swayed.

"Any of you ask about my kid brother again, and I won't bother with being drunk when I hit you."

Rapid nods. Danny shuffled away, satisfied.

----

Two weeks later, after a school day, Danny finds Jason heading to the bathroom with a box of...

"Hair-dye?"

Jason, who was marginally more relaxed and assured that Danny wasn't going to kick him out, nodded.

"Dye's fadin' n' I dun wanna get nabbed on the streets for having red hair."

Danny blinked. "You have red hair?"

"Sure do. See? Roots are showin' again." Jason pointed at his scalp where Danny could see the hair was getting lighter.

"Right. Well- I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need help, kiddo." Danny said, desperately hoping he hid how off kilter he was feeling well.

"I don't need help, ah've been doing this for ages." The kid went into the bathroom and closed the door harshly. When the lock clicked and the faucet began running, Danny let himself slide down the wall into a crouch, hands cradling his head.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Tan skin. The facial features. The intelligence and empathy.

Danny chuckled hysterically under his breath.

Was Jason this universe's version of Jazz?

"Fuck."

[hotpinkstars]

LOST POSSESSIONS - aventurine, boothill, x reader

- in which you lost your wedding band during a conflict with something/someone.

- novas comeback post guys I'm gonna be more fluent with writing I promise. hope you enjoy this though I was gonna add Sunday but my computer is literally at 1 percent sooooooo....

- a lot of crying, minor swearing, besides that all comfort... wc 912

When Aventurine walked into your shared home to the sight of you sobbing on the couch, he thought of the worst. Are you hurt? Did something happen while he was at work? He went up to you to seek for answers.

“What happened? What's wrong?” He internally panicked, not wanting to allow you to see his current emotions. He kept calm as you sat up, tear stained face poking a hole through his battered heart.

“You’re gonna be so pissed!” You sob, somehow starting to cry even harder. You dove back into the warm cushions of the couch when you felt the part near your shins dip, and a hand running through your hair and massaging the back of your scalp.

“You can tell me anything. I won’t be upset, I promise,” he gave you a sympathetic look before proceeding. “But if you’re not comfortable with it, I won’t push you.”

You hesitantly show him your bare hands, and he takes them in his. You roll over to face him and look at him with a pained expression, and that's when he seemed to realize. 

“Where's your wedding ring?” He said, his words quick. He looked at you slightly wide-eyed before you began bawling again. He began to swipe the tears out of your eyes, his thumb coming into contact with your lower lashes as he quietly attempts to hush you and calm you down.

“Was it stolen? Did you lose it?” 

You bring a hand up to your face before sniffling. “It got stolen. The diamond was too appealing to some bastard on the streets on Golden Hour, and it was swiped right off of my hand!” 

You curl back into yourself before Aventurine comes down to kiss your face. “I’m not mad at you, babe. I’m beyond pissed off with the person who did that. Nobody seems to have even a drop of human decency these days, do they?” 

You slightly shrugged before hugging him close. He returned the hug, and held you there until you quietly whispered a question into his ear. “What are we going to do about the ring?”

He slightly chuckled before bringing his head on top of yours. “I might as well get you a new one. The old one was rather… out of date, if I must say so myself. I could get you a bigger, brighter diamond.”You attempted to protest, attempting to say everything he knew you wanted to say- even something made out of paper would be good enough for me. But he thought you were worth the shiniest, biggest, rarest stone in the world. Worth much much more than that. And this incident wasn’t much of a setback for him, and really didn’t make his wallet cry very hard at all.

Boothill doesn’t play when his significant other is not doing very well. He’s immediately at your side, stroking your hair and trying to do or say anything he can to make you feel better. 

But in this instance, it didn’t really work. He realized after a few moments that he just had to be patient, and wait for you to come to him,

“You’re going to be so mad at me if I told you,” you hiccuped, before continuing to talk. “Please don’t yell at me.”

“Why would I ever yell at ya’?” He said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Whatever's got your pretty face all stained with tears can’t be that bad. I hate gettin’ mad at ya’, and ya’ know that.”

You nodded, but dug your face deeper into the pillows. Boothill simply put his metal hand on your back, and rubbed up and down. While the sensation felt cold, it seemed to work to help calm you down because you felt more at ease, and he could tell that too. 

“I lost my wedding ring. I don’t know where it went, but one moment it was there and then the next it wasn’t on my hand anymore,” you cut out, trying to hold back more tears. You could see his face change from scared to relaxed.

“Hey, don’t stress it. That’s just a lil’ setback, nothin’ to worry about. We’ll either find it or I’ll buy ya’ a new one,” he says as he picks up your now bare hand, a flash of sadness showing through his eyes. “What’ll make ya’ feel better? Cuddles? If we went out to try n’ find it?”

You shrugged, and he nodded. You buried yourself even deeper into the blankets, giving him the hint that you just wanted to stay inside for now. You felt too bad and your face was rose red from crying, your eyes puffy and your voice raspy. He climbed into the bed with you, wrapping his strong, metallic arm around your covered torso. 

“I’ll do a thorough investigation tomorrow. People don’t usually lie to Galaxy Rangers, but I doubt those adorable cutie pies would know somethin’ like that,” he immediately cringed, realizing how the sentence came out. His stupid synesthesia beacon. 

But he heard you laugh, and the cringe feeling dissipated into a warmth in his metal chest. His whole goal is to keep you happy, healthy, and safe. If he were to fail at one of those things, he’d fail at his own purpose. For now, his only thing is to cheer you up, and make sure you know that he would never be mad at you for a mistake that's not even your fault.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hey I'm not sure if this is one of yours so feel free to ignore if it's not but justin case, I'd love to see the fallout of honeypot dick and danny after dick reveals that he was just using danny to gather evidence.

Tim remembers the day Danny Crowne came into his life. It was on one of his parents' rare trips home. They were always busy, but they loved him as much as possible. When they allowed themselves to remember about him.

He thinks he was four or five the first time someone uttered the phrase "out of sight, out of mind" around him. Tim believes it had been a nanny, one of the last ones before his parents deemed him old enough to handle things independently.

It took him some time to understand the phrase—he had to piece it together based on phrases in books since search engines online were not the best then—but when he did, Tim thought nothing fit Drake's parenting style more than that.

His dad and mom loved him, but they would get caught up in their work with every new discovery or issue at the company, and their son would fall into the afterthought category. They didn't mean to, and Tim had witnessed his father and mother's guilt when they could resurface long enough to remember that they had a son waiting for them back home.

Even inside the Manor, the Drakes were so used to being in their own rooms, with the doors sealed shut. Rarely would they all sit down and chat, believing if they existed in the same building, that was bonding.

Tim hadn't realized until Danny that he and his parents shared more of a roommate relationship than a family one.

He had tried to understand them when he was younger, as Tim definitely had the same issue. He knew what it was like to enjoy something so much that it took over every aspect of his life. He got so lost in whatever new hobby or interest he had that he forgot to accept the international calls his parents set up.

It crushed him to see the new voicemail blinking on his answering machine, but it's not like he could undo forgetting to sit near the phone since he was busy staring at bugs in the yard. (Tim was really into bugs at one point)

Tim doesn't realize how lonely he is until Danny Crowne randomly appears as the new sole hire for the crumbling Crowne company. A few years after Bruce Wayne took in Richard Grayson, he was taken in from the streets for his advanced mind after Mr. Crowne had stumbled upon him at a school fair or something.

People scoffed at Crowne's pathetic attempt to butter up to Bruce Wayne, especially since only a week after Danny was announced, his father bullied his way into a party invitation for Dick Grayson's birthday event.

He remembered it was supposed to be a birthday party, but the adults treated it like a birthday gala instead. They separated the children into another room full of games and music while they wined and dined in the main hall. It was a big event since Bruce Wayne only hosted three significant events of the season at the time, despite his party animal persona.

To get into a party hosted by Wayne was like getting the golden ticket to Wonka's factory. This also meant that if you were invited, you had to attend as it would ruin your chances of networking and it would also plump your reputation.

Tim's parents knew this very well as they had returned just to go to the event in honor of Dick Grayson, the boy who went from rags to riches. People whispered that he was shaping up to be Bruce's heir, as Bruce had taken him in when he was nine and no wife or other children to speak of.

Dick Grayson, at fourteen, was the gateway to Wayne's wealth and connections. Every teenage girl was told to make him fall in love with him and every boy to befriend him. Tim was no different.

His parents spoke non-stop about Tim needing to endear himself to Dick Grayson, but how could tiny little eight-year-old Tim do so? That was Robin!

He couldn't look at the older boy without becoming flustered, not that his folks knew about Robin.

His parents were in a foul mood because one of their digs was post-pond due to permit issues, and they were forced to attend the gala. They had been so upset that they had not noticed Tim was still strapped in the backseat when they handed the keys to the valet to park the car.

Thankfully, the employee quickly noticed the sleeping child and woke him for the party as he was parking. Tim had been insanely obsessed with NASA back then and had anciently stayed up all night reading about the space program- he hadn't even realized the time until he saw the sunrise behind his curtains.

The valet had walked him to the front door, worried about Tim being separated from his parents, but the young boy had convinced him to let him go to the children's room alone. He was very independent and could handle finding the party for his age group well enough alone.

He just wasn't expecting to take the wrong turn and end up in the main hallway, where the adults were performing their gala. It was slightly intimidating, as Tim had never been in the adult room.

All the elites like to separate the children right at the entrance of their parties- out of sight, out of mind- and he felt so tiny standing in the doorway of the gala.

He had been eight, wearing one of his best suits while clutching a NASA key chain for courage and trying to find his way around the fancy gowns and expensive shoes. That's how Danny had seen him.

The other boy had zeroed in on his keychain, gliding gracefully across the room to Tim's position that belied his roots. It was the first thing Tim noticed about Danny Crowne.

Everything he did was regal.

Despite being the youngest person in the gala attendees' room, he seemed far more respected, like a prince among his subjects. He was also beautiful, with features of nobility that many elites would kill for.

Tim remembered gaping up at him as the gorgeous teenager grinned. "You like space too?"

That was the first time someone older than him had asked about his interests, pulled him to the side, and let Tim ramble on about all the information that cluttered his head. Danny knew more about NASA and space than Tim had been able to find on his own.

The older boy eventually led him back to the children's room and vanished for the rest of the night. Tim's parents told him the following morning that Danny was found taking apart Bruce Wayne's home security, wanting to see the world's most advanced technology up close.

They laughed, dismissing the child, and Tim sat silently as his parents mocked the poor street urchin who thought he could understand what he was ripping apart.

People thought him odd because Danny had started doing that at every event. He was always in a corner, staring intently at some random machinery with a slight craze look in his eye.

His looks, mannerisms, and terminology were at odds with his upbringing, though, as they went against everything people said about him. Tim was enthralled by Danny Crowne's mystery, even when the rest of the elites dismissed him—until Danny started making decisions at his adoptive parents' company.

It made sense why the Crownes had adopted him. Danny's mind, talent, and looks were far beyond average. In only a year, his decision-making took the failing company out of the red, and with him spearheading the research and development department, the company broke ground in the technological world like a raging hurricane.

In one year, he regains all the wealth and honor of the crumbling Corwne family name. He was the ideal heir.

Everyone who used to mock him was now scrambling to befriend the rising star, but Danny Crowne kept to himself. He had gotten what he wanted from the various events he attended and was now focused on making his company powerful.

Of course, his adoptive father was still in charge, but everyone knew that Danny had really turned the company around.

His parents were among those who wanted Danny's influence, but they had no way of appealing to him. That is, until Danny's limo passed Tim, who was walking down the street late at night with his expensive camera, and the prodigy had the driver pull over.

Danny had been horrified to find out the little boy who loved NASA just as much as he was left unattended. His parents had scrambled to make up a story about their old nanny having a heart attack, and the company she came from did not send a replacement.

They were unaware that Tim had been left alone, or so they claimed. Tim thought Danny didn't buy it in the least, but the teenager had been happy to babysit him anyway.

Tim figured Danny would be like every other babysitter: He would show him attention for a few hours and then eventually ignore him. Tim just had to wait for him out.

Danny didn't even have his adoptive parents' attention, either. They lived in a different penthouse and called him once a week. Their conversations were stiff, like neither party knew how to converse with each other. If Tim didn't know any better, they didn't even remember they had adopted Danny.

Half the time, Mr. and Mrs. Crowne seemed unaware of their decision-making. Tim wondered if they were taking some substance because no one rapidly went from displeased to agreeable.

The odd thing about Danny, though, was how much he cared about the silliest things. Only a month after Danny became his babysitter, Tim's English class had a mandatory poem-reading event, during which each student wrote a dumb poem about education.

The parents and guardians were all invited to some cookies and refreshments afterward. Tim thought it was stupid for the assignment because it was in the middle of the day. If guests wanted to make it, they would need to ask their bosses for time off from one to three p.m., which smacks of the workday.

He figured he wouldn't be the only kid without someone there because of this, which made him feel a little better about not mentioning it to his parents. They weren't even in the country.

Tim was one of the first kids to read his poems because the class went by alphabetical order of last name; he was supposed to go third. He was sitting on stage in boredom when he heard the bang of the gymnasium doors swinging open.

Danny was standing in his Gotham Academy uniform, huffing and puffing. He locked eyes with the shocked eight-year-old Tim and gave him the warmest smile to every grace on his face. He quickly dodged one of the teachers, who must have realized Danny had walked out of his classes, scurrying to an open chair and waving at Tim the entire time.

Tim's poem was half-assed at best, as he wrote it ten minutes before the event, but Danny had still cheered like it was the second coming of Shakespeare.

After school, Danny took him for ice cream and chatted about how proud he was of him as if he had not received detention for skipping class to go to Tim's little event.

Since then, Tim's goal has been to protect his regal but gentle-hearted big brother. He's always been insanely intelligent for his age, and now that intelligence had a target, something guiding it rather than his mind wandering to whatever new thought appeared.

In his quest to protect Danny, Tim figures out Batman and Robin's identities and finds the location of the Court of Owls headquarters. He maps out the heavy hitters in Gotham's gangs, mafia, most of the Rouge's secret lairs, and their supplies.

Tim quickly discovers Danny's operation to relocate the poor and orphaned children into safer homes. What he was doing was well intended, but there were many risks to trusting the men and women taking child protective laws into their own hands.

All these threats were too big for Tim to handle alone—what if the Talons were told to take Danny out? What if the gangs and mafias thought they could threaten Danny? What if a rouge took him hostage?

Tim realized he needed a plan. He never told Danny any of what he knew. Not the Bats, not the court of owls, not the rouges, and not the tiny group of meta children that Danny had unknowingly saved from the streets and trafficking.

Another thing Danny needed to learn about Tim was that he was really good at hacking into other people's bank accounts. Lex Luther, Oliver Green, Bruce Wayne, and Jack Drake woke one day to find someone had run off with millions.

Those funds were used to hire Tim's two instructors.

"I will not be kind," Lady Shiva told him at the ripe age of nine. She studied him like a bug trapped under glass, and Tim knew he was one to her.

"Neither will I." Henri Ducard sighed, taking a drag from his cigarette. "But I will make sure you are ready."

Tim's training was harsh, but it made him strong enough that the night the court sent their Talons, Tim could dispatch them and capture one to reverse engineer its creation. He reminded the Court that they may be elites, but they were nowhere near the level of gods.

Lady Shiva was so impressed by him that she introduced him to Deadshot, a man who had a soft spot for children after what had happened to his son. Between the two, his combat training made him a very threat, and Henri marveled at his mind.

"I don't think I ever encountered a mind so advanced since...one of my last students. You'll give him a run for his money, boy."

Tim appreciated his mentor's words about his skills but saw no reason to join their world. He didn't want to be the best fighter in the world, nor did he need money. All he wanted was to be Danny's sword and shield in their corner of the world.

He realized that he needed more hands and eyes to do so successfully. To this day, he does not know what Danny was working on—out of respect, he never investigated his brother past his child relocation program—but he knew that he would support him no matter what.

Danny saved Tim from the sea of darkness he was unaware he was drowning in. The least Tim could do was ensure that Danny's efforts came to fruition.

Turns out he wasn't the only one.

"What can I do to help Danny?" Max demands of Tim when the heir of the Drakes ten. On Max's face are bruises that have only now started to heal. He was taken in by the Parkers the night before after Danny had nearly broken down the door to his old home.

Max had been discovered to have meta powers, ones that let him turn invisible, and his birth parents decided they could beat it out of him. Tim read the file that Danny had stored away in his notebooks.

"Can you fight?" Tim asked, as his new foster parents had discovered the twelve-year-old and relocated him.

"No, but I can learn"

"So can we." A girl, fifteen years old, announced from the group of children that had come to see Danny Crowne in the flesh. Security stopped them before they could see him, but Tim was close enough to give them a hand.

Her name was Heather. She lost her whole family in a fire, where a burn scar edged itself on the lower half of her face and neck. Once, she was a beautiful girl, but the wounds ruined her- or so she was told by people who felt she was dangerous because of them. Too much like Two-Face, they said.

She had been thrown into juvie because there had been no space elsewhere in Gotham's fostering jurisdiction.

It was meant to be temporary. She had gone in at age ten and was now fifteen, only released through Danny Crowne's paid-off guards who had helped her sneak out through the laundry.

Tim studied her, the children grouping behind her, and figured that one didn't become a master without having some students to teach. They became the Ghosts in honor of Danny. Tim had noticed that Danny was really interested in the paranormal, just as much as he was about technological advances, and one of the kids designed their symbol.

A green ghost, flying around a white stylized D so that other Gothamn children would know they were not forgotten even when the Bats and the government turned their backs on them.

"Leader?" Max calls from his computer station. They are deep underground, having taken over the old Court of Owls lair. The day Tim was able to create a weapon that turns the talons back into dead corpses, they had rounded up all the rich court members and erased their memories.

Danny was unaware that Tim stole one of his inventions meant to help the human mind see where he was going between this world and the next thing, and he changed it into a mind wiper.

The Ghost remained neutral in most conflicts, only taking action when someone made a move against Danny, Crowe Corp., or the children of Gotham.

"What is it?"

"Danny wasn't taken." Max's voice is rough with grief. He gestures to the big screen that towers over the city, young adults and children of various ages. Realizing Max was to cast his screen, Tim inclines his head to grant approval.

The screen blinks open to show Officer Black beating Danny on his way to his cell. It looks to be a camera in the hall of the holding cells. Tim's hands curl into fists to see his brother being attacked like that. Someone bites out a swear aimed at Officer Black.

The camera fizzes momentarily before Officer Black flickers to walk away from an empty cell. There are three other unknown men with him, and they are pushing a trash bin. "Someone edited this."

"Yes. I just finished getting it back to its original image." Max types something on his computer, and the video starts over. This time before their eyes, with the image nearly as clear, showcases Danny getting a heavy hit to his head, slamming against the wall with a tump.

He slides to the floor as Black turns away and does not move until a glowing figure rises from where Danny's body is lying. The figure looks alarmingly like Danny but has white hair and green eyes.

It stares down at its hands before it looks at Danny's body in confusion. It rises off the ground, leaving Danny crumbled on the ground of the cell and fades from view.

Officer Black finally looks back, having missed the whole thing before, kneeling and checking Danny's pulse. He doesn't need the officer to shake his head or attempt CPR to know the truth.

Ice runs through his veins as Tim stumbles back into his chair. His choked voice echoes through the room like a bomb setting off.

"Danny's dead."

[murdrdocs]

dacryphilia; implied squirting; paul calls r "desert mouse" bc i said so; MDNI 18+ w/ PAUL ATREIDES

you're wasting too much water.

deep beneath the focus on pleasure, somewhere woven between your strong desire to reach the end, is the nagging realization that you are wasting too much water.

yet, it is not your fault at all.

paul did not listen to you when you told him to take it slow.

the wind had picked up today, a sure sign of a storm approaching, and in result arrakis had been just a little cooler. not extremely significant, but noticeable.

it had been cool enough to take more exertion to break a sweat. cool enough that stilgar was not nagging about water conservation. and paul, in the mood to take advantage of the circumstances, turned to face you once your leader was distracted. he wore a boyish smile that was subtle enough to go unnoticed by anyone who did not know him as well as you did.

but you knew paul almost as well as you knew yourself. and unfortunately, you feel as if he knows you better.

he knows your body better.

you would not call him an expert, at least not to his face, but paul is extremely adequate and well versed in the topic of your pleasure points. he knew the pace he needed to set, where he should angle his hips, what words would spur you on and calm you down. he is dedicated, a hard worker who could not half do something even if his life depended on it.

like usual, his efforts yielded great results. a little too great, as your secretion is entirely paul's fault.

tears glide down your warm cheeks, spreading out towards your ears if they are too quick for either of you to catch. paul, certainly feeling bad about the state he has put you in, is attempting to do his part. he has one hand dutifully on your cheek, the still-soft pad of his thumb catching your tears and gently guiding them back into your mouth.

"don't waste them, desert mouse," he tells you, a stupidly charming smirk on his lips the entire time as if he is proud of himself.

you know he is, because it had not taken much to get you to this point at all. he kissed you, removed your stillsuit with his to follow, slid into you with humiliating ease, and then he began to fuck you.

there were times where you and paul made love within the secluded area of your shared tent, but that was not what he did to you. he took you like your body was his and only his to own.

your legs wound around his lithe hips, your eyes welling up with tears of pleasure as you watched his toned figure work through blurry vision. he kept you compliant with encouragement. delicately spoken words of praise. as soon as you opened your mouth to tell paul to slow down, worried about the low possibility of dehydrating your body, paul would speak before you could.

"doing so well for me. staying so quiet. just a little more. you're close, yeah?"

and you were. you've been so, so close this entire time, but held back on your own direction. for fear of letting go was threateningly paired with fear of excretion you could not afford.

your thigh pack lay off to the side, completely useless, and there is nothing more you wanted than to strap it onto you and finally get to let go with assurance that whatever it was that wanted to come out of you would be conserved.

but that assurance did not exist. and paul, like the thoughtless man he tended to become whenever he had you underneath him like this, clearly could not care less.

"come on," he tells you, his voice a low and deep rasp as he starts to rut into you with more determination. his eyebrows furrow, they dip a bit into a look similar to the one he wears when he fights. his hair, tousled from both the wind and the exertion, bounces in lazy curls with every single movement. they provide a tether, one that keeps you distracted enough to avoid cumming.

until paul takes his hand and grips your chin, pulling your gaze to him.

"look at me," it's a command and you find yourself easily following it. "i know you wanna let go. can feel you squeezing around me. need you to do it."

you start to shake your head, pleading with paul for him to understand just why you could not afford to let go like this.

but he shakes his head, too, tutting gently, softening his voice to one you cannot ever turn away from.

"it's okay," he promises. "just let it go. it'll be okay. i got you."

"it's a waste," comes your feeble response.

"don't worry about it. i want it. we'll make up for it." he leans down, pressing his lips to your warm forehead once before lowering his face enough to nudge the tip of your nose with his.

then, he tells you, "i'll even clean you up."

and it's really not your fault that you let go instantly.

[pippin-katz]

In Defense Of Edwin

Something that has bothered me is that there's a significant amount of people who talk about Edwin being unaware of Charles' pain as if he's oblivious, or like he did something wrong; that is simply unfair to Edwin.

Charles is happy, friendly, and wonderful. That is his personality. That is not all forced.

People are quick to jump on the line that Charles has been hiding his pain from Edwin, but a line people are ignoring from that argument is: "He's probably been hiding it from himself!"

His behavior indicates that he doesn't talk or think about trauma or negativity unless it's relevant to the situation. I doubt Charles even realized how bad his trauma was until the Devlin Murders. His pain was so repressed that he wasn't "feeling" it anymore.

Charles’ Triggers

While I'm not going to say that Charles did not hide his pain from Edwin at all, I am going to point out that this may have been the first time, in a very long time or ever, that they encountered something this close to home for him.

The only real reason Charles discusses his trauma now is because the Devlin House triggers him, genuinely in a psychological way. It's not just the "crazy dad" that gets to him. There are so many details that fit Charles personally. That whole situation is too fucking much for him.

The song Owner Of A Lonely Heart playing in the background; a song that he says he liked enough to get the cassette tape but that it was smashed by his father.

The controlling and restrictive behaviors of the father on his daughters. The eldest daughter writing about walking on eggshells and looking forward to graduation.

The way that the father kills them; he doesn't shoot them, or poison them, or whatever, he butchers them. His attacks are physically direct. He swings an axe, so his movement is the root of the violence. If it had been a gun, it would've been his finger on the trigger, but the bullets hitting them. Charles was abused by his father through the means of a belt, which is physically direct.

The loop, having to watch it over, and over, and over again with no break, no relief, and not being able to do anything, no matter how many times he sees it happen. Charles' abuse seemed to be regular and constant, no matter what he did. It always ended the same way.

All of that is then exacerbated by the Night Nurse forcing him to reexperience his trauma the very next day. That's a lot of specific details and events that lead to his complete breakdown.

Charles hasn't been consciously choosing to hide all of that pain from Edwin. It had been buried to the point where even he couldn't see it anymore, but the Devlin House uprooted it from his subconscious.

Charles’ Parents

Now, he does hide his habit of checking on his parents from Edwin, but that's not fully about his abuse. Charles misses his family, his life, being alive.

It's worth noting that he only shows Crystal his parents because he's trying to connect with her about not being able to go home. He didn't bring that up on a whim. It was relevant to help Crystal feel understood. She's not special; if someone completely different from her did the exact same thing, Charles would've shown them too.

Now, let's talk about him not telling Edwin. Charles may not have a full comprehension of Edwin's experiences, but he knows he's different from "normal" people. Hiding his parents from him is likely just as much about not wanting to hurt Edwin as it is protecting himself.

Edwin does not show any type of longing for his life. Everything he knew about the world from his time is gone or been changed beyond recognition. He doesn't have a family to miss, not that he was close to them in the first place; even if he did have an emotional connection to them, they've been long dead.

And Edwin seems unbothered, but there’s no way for Charles to know that for certain. Watching his parents weekly would remind Edwin constantly that he does not have anyone. He’s worried about being insensitive; he feels like he would be unintentionally taunting Edwin and rubbing salt into the wound.

Edwin has been dead for over 100 years and spent 70 of those years being torn apart by a demon in Hell; how could he even remember physical sensations other than pain and exhaustion? How could he remember the taste of food while running through Gluttony, watching its inhabitants vomit profusely? He never saw the appeal of romance or sex prior to his death, and then he witnesses the bloody masses of people in Lust; how could he be anything other than repulsed?

Charles tells him that pain is not a contest, but he almost without a doubt compares his own experiences to Edwin's. It's something people with low self-esteem do more than others. He feels guilty, like he’s selfish for being upset; Edwin has it so much worse.

How does being abused by his dad compare to being dragged to Hell? He got hit with a belt; Edwin was ripped apart. Who is he to whine about his life to a boy who has died more times than days Charles has existed?

He may not have had the specific details before, but the knowledge of it being Hell was enough. When you don't put your own needs on your priority list, that's one of the first "justifications" your brain comes up with. They already have enough on their plate, and you don't need to talk about it. You're totally fine! So yes, hiding his parents from Edwin makes sense from his perspective.

But his abuse? Charles doesn't even realize how much pain he's in; how could Edwin have realized?

My point is that Charles wasn't actively choosing to hide all of his pain from Edwin for thirty years, so to blame Edwin for not noticing is like blaming a blind person for picking up a red ball instead of a blue one. He couldn't have noticed; there was nothing for him to notice. Charles wasn't wearing a full mask.

The second Charles shows any indication that something is wrong, Edwin does notice!

Edwin may have trouble with people, but he's not oblivious, and he knows Charles. If he's ever been upset like this before, he would've noticed. He notices Charles' change in behavior after Crystal joined in only a day, and he doesn't deny it when Edwin calls him out.

Edwin also follows up on asking if he needs to talk about his father. Charles brushes him off, but Crystal and Niko show up before Edwin has a chance to press a little more, which I think he would've. I don't think Charles would've opened up, but it would've shown that Edwin is aware that all is not well. He is aware, but on top of being in the dark about it, he's got his own shit he's working out and cases to solve. His attention is divided.

I think it's important to remember this fact that has been driving me mental for months now:

Charles and Edwin’s dynamic during the show is a completely different dynamic than the one they've had for the past thirty years.

The introduction of Crystal, going to Port Townsend, meeting Niko, Monty, fighting Esther, the Cat King, etc. etc. etc. Everything about their relationship gets shaken up from the start of the show. They're both acting differently in all sorts of ways, and some they even acknowledge to each other.

What we saw of them in Port Townsend is not what Charles and Edwin were during those thirty years. It's unfair to pass judgement on something we don't actually know about.

I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting really tired of fics/posts making a commentary about Edwin not noticing being something he has failed at. Does Edwin feel guilty for not realizing it sooner? Absolutely, but please, at least acknowledge that it wasn't his fault if you're sticking to canon. If you want to twist some shit into it to make it more complicated, make it more angsty, go right ahead! I'm absolutely not stopping you!

But canonically, at least I feel after studying these characters under a microscope, Edwin could not have known sooner.

(ko-fi)

[sweet-as-an-angel]

how about yan!dilf finding out that his darling has an onlyfans account?

Yandere DILF! Reaction to You Having an OnlyFans

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Manipulation, Blackmail, Infidelity, Pet Names, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Wordcount: 4364 words

♡ Good Lord, WHO gave this man internet access.

♡ Going to keep it real with you, babe, you’re finished if he finds your OnlyFans account. And so is he (in more ways than one) – but more on that later.

♡ Let’s say Domninic’s many, many hours of internet sleuthing (stalking) have led him to the pearly gates of your Only Fans account, the only thing separating him from whatever lies on the other side being a pay wall. One of the only kinds of walls that can’t stop Dominic.

♡ Of course, he buys a subscription. Of course, he does it under an alias, through an unlisted online banking app, on a burner laptop.

♡ And, upon seeing what you’re offering, he’s glad he took so many precautions.

♡ At first, the two emotions Dominic has felt most commonly throughout his lifetime flash in his ribcage, dance along the edge of his eyelids – make his eyes grow heavy.

♡ Lust and rage.

♡ Lust for the obvious. Rage for that which shouldn’t have angered Dominic.

♡ In a lot of ways, Dominic is a traditionalist; one’s significant other is for their partner and nobody else (even if Dominic doesn’t abide by this logic himself). Thus, to see you, the person he wishes he’d married, the person he knows is fated to be his, spreading their legs for any guy with enough money to buy a coffee, mortifies him.

♡ One, because you’re his. Two, because you sell yourself for such a low price.

♡ Dominic’s too wrapped up in his wrath to see to the vague throbbing between his legs. He’ll just make it Marilyn’s problem later when she returns from book club or whatever it is she does these days – and continue to make it her problem well into the morning when she struggles to emerge from bed, her legs buckling beneath the weight of his anger.

♡ For now, he paces around his office, checks the camera inside the bear he’d given to you months before.

♡ How had he not noticed sooner? He watched the footage from that bear enough times that he can recite everything you’ve ever said, can predict everything you’re going to do, has memorised all the unconscious quirks you adopt when you think no one’s watching.

♡ Dominic comes to the conclusion that you must be conducting your business in another location. One where you won’t be so easily found.

♡ Sure, he could go out, follow you to this location when you think you’re alone. He could even pay someone else to do it. But, amidst his rage, an idea sparks.

♡ No, he has a much better, much more cunning trick up his sleeve.

♡ The next day, Dominic comes to you with an offer he knows you can’t refuse.

♡ “Marilyn and I are going out tomorrow night and we’d like for you to babysit the boys for us.”

♡ You tried to refuse. You tried to make up a reason less nefarious than the one you held in your mind as to why you couldn’t do it. And Dominic only smiled, his eyes never crinkling, the sentiment never reaching them. He looked through you.

♡ He offered to raise your pay to an amount you both couldn’t accept and couldn’t pass up.

♡ This newfound amount was, considering how few subscribers you had on OnlyFans, irresistible. A godsend, in some respects. Especially when Dominic began taking his wife out more and more frequently, needing you to care for his children more often than not.

♡ To Marilyn, Dominic was finally, finally, trying to fix their marriage. To make good on the world he’d promised her those twenty-or-so years ago when he’d imprisoned her in a loveless marriage.

♡ To you, Dominic was being an understanding neighbour who was offering you a chance at a normal living wage out of the kindness of his heart.

♡ To Dominic, it was all a ploy to get you right where he wants you.

♡ The weeks passed. Dominic kept a close eye on your OnlyFans page.

♡ It would soon be time for you to upload your newest batch of material. If you ever found the time to do so, of course. What, with all the extra work Dominic had given you, he wouldn’t be surprised if you’d forgotten. Or simply hadn’t the time.

♡ It mattered little to Dominic now. He knew he had you on the ropes.

♡ The shift from one foot to the other as he offered you yet another night to babysit his boys, only for your eyes to lower. Uneasy.

♡ You’d tried the old “I’m sorry, Mr. Laurier–”

♡ “Please, (Y/N), we’ve been over this.” He smiles down at you. “Call me Dominic.”

♡ You try again.

♡ “Dominic – I’m sorry, but I just don’t think I’ll be able to tonight–”

♡ And Dominic used the tried and tested: “Oh…is it the pay? I can pay you more, if that’s the issue–”

♡ Issue. You’re making a problem out of this, not him.

♡ You backpedal. You sigh. You try to stand your ground.

♡ Unfortunately for you, the ground you’re standing on is merely a sheet Dominic is going to pull out from under you at any moment.

♡ You tried. Really, you did. Tried to reject Dominic’s kindness.

♡ And he looks down at you. He’s too beautiful for a grimace, he knows this. He puts on a mask he’s sculpted just for this moment – the false front.

♡ “I see,” he says, his voice low. His gaze shifts off to the side. He pretends to look for the right words to say. He already has them in his back pocket.

♡ “I understand. It’s just that…well…” He sighs. Places a hand on his hip. A change in posture. Something’s shifted about him. You’re paying attention, the oncoming of regret starting to form in the pit of your stomach.

♡ Dominic looks you dead in the eyes.

♡ “Don’t…tell anyone I told you this,” he looks behind him. Turns back to you. “But, Marilyn and I don’t really trust anyone else with our babies – we only keep asking you because…well, you’re brilliant with them.”

♡ He says it like it’s common sense. Flattery is every manipulator’s best friend.

♡ He senses reservation in you. He keeps going.

♡ “And…no, forget it, it’s fine. We’ll just cancel,” he smiles down at you. This time, the smile does reach his eyes. Makes it look like he’s hiding something else. Sorrow.

♡ You gasp inwardly, you take a step towards him.

♡ “Oh, I’m sorry! No, no, I can watch them tonight. I’ll just…do my work tomorrow,”

vYou try to smile. Dominic’s becomes genuine.

♡ “You sure? We–” Marilyn and I, halve the blame– “wouldn’t want to be keeping you from anything important.”

♡ You assure him they aren’t. That he isn’t. He’s won this round.

♡ He puts his hand on your shoulder. You’ve known each other long enough now that this is no longer a gesture that would inflict upon Dominic a problem he’d be lumbered with until he can, quite literally, take it into his own hands, and that you don’t flinch beneath his touch.

♡ There will be time enough for that. He knows this.

♡ And so, Dominic leaves you with an estimation of the time of his outing and his arrival. 

♡ “We’ll be back before you know it,” he says. He smiles at you from the front door, the handle in his grip. He leaves, his victory ringing in his head, making his heart thrum.

♡ And he didn’t even need to bust out the old ‘My marriage is failing’ shtick.

♡ True to his word, Dominic and his wife leave early into the evening, a rehash of their sons’ bedtimes and snack preferences no longer necessary. Second nature to you now.

-

♡ Your work – your OnlyFans content – played on your mind for the whole evening. Time seemed to slip away and stand still – paradoxy – as you pleaded inwardly for Dominic and Marilyn to return.

♡ The hours bled into one another, tearing away from what you could have been doing instead of guarding the house while Marilyn’s children slept upstairs, for truly they were more Marilyn’s offspring than they were Dominic’s.

♡ A half hour passed. Forty-five minutes. An hour.

♡ You came to face the possibility – the likely reality – that you would simply have to announce to the few followers you had that there would be no new content this month; that you would supply them with what they paid for twice over in a few weeks’ time. And pray that you actually had an audience patient enough to outlast your absence before that.

♡ Amidst your planning of damage control, an idea poked its head from the shadows. A failsafe. A sequel to your desperation.

♡ You could always just…take a few pictures here.

♡ The idea flashed in your mind like a life alternate to your own; past, with the certainty of already having been lived. All consequences already tangible. Foreseen.

♡ Perhaps that was why the anxiety associated with such expeditions into unfamiliarity had failed to catch up with you.

♡ Or, perhaps something masked it. Desperation, or one of its subsidiaries.

♡ Of course, you tried to stifle the idea. Tried to suffocate it with the smoke through which it walked. Though, its fiery grasp had mastered the art of survival.

♡ It wouldn’t go away. Much like Dominic’s lingering gaze whenever his wife was out of eye-shot and only you remained.

♡ Ten minutes crawled by and you almost wished for the rapidity with which the last hours had passed to find you, seek you out amidst this frozen landscape Time had entombed you in.

♡ And, as is the folly of man, you entertained that which should not be. You considered the likelihood – the schematics – of indulging such a proposition.

♡ Nobody was home and the boys were asleep, out of the way. Most rooms were large enough and devoid of personality so to mask your location – especially if the Lauriers had more of the sterile white sheets they laid their bed with.

♡ Then, a memory.

♡ A basement, tucked away between the folds of your psyche as its location within the house. You recalled the couple having one – a sizable one at that – when Dominic had invited you down there with him to retrieve more seating for his lawn party.

♡ You knew where it was. Knew where the keys were kept.

♡ And so, with a hammering heart and a withering step, you sought your fortune.

♡ The keys were easily enough discovered. As was the creaking door of the basement. And, upon your descension – biblical in your visage as the light from the hallway, dim as it were, cast a glow about your silhouette amidst the depths of the basement – you found precisely what you needed.

♡ A space – clean, untouched – equipped with white sheets covering a mass of boxes. Sure, they were creased; stained with Age’s attempts at youth, gripping onto the sheets and leaving his spectral marks – wrinkles – in their cotton-thin sheets, but they were there.

♡ You cast a keen ear to the ceiling, the living room floor, every few minutes as you looked for a place to start filming, a place to lay the sheets down, something to cover your face.

♡ You find a place, retrieve a Halloween mask from one of the boxes, and, without much deliberation, begin filming.

♡ What you do is nobody’s business but your own. Well, yours and the hungry men who survey your account for any crumbs you deign to feed them.

♡ What you don’t hear through the conduct of your business is the return of the home’s owner.

♡ Dominic hung up his coat, made little show of announcing his presence, and went straight for the basement.

♡ Don’t ask how he knew you’d be there.

♡ His steps grew more deliberate, louder, the closer he grew.

♡ You didn’t even know he was home until it was too late.

♡ At the height of your percussion, just when you were about to reach the moment of your video that would make the lead up worth it, something hit the floor behind you.

♡ You jumped. Whipped round to see what had happened.

♡ And there was Dominic. Hair black as the corners of the room, eyes void of any discernible emotion as he looked down at you, arms crossed over his chest, the top of his shirt undone by two buttons, not even out of his work clothes.

♡ You fumbled, the apologies, explanations and defences lodged in your throat as you choked to get them out, slamming your thighs together and reaching for the camera in your bid to shut it down. You tore the mask from your head, revealing blushed cheeks and a light sheen of sweat forming from the neck up.

♡ Dominic made sure to stay out of the camera’s line of sight, to remain only an anonymous spectator as he circled the room. He said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched and waited, walking.

♡ It was only after he knew the camera was off, your confidence in tatters around you, that he approached.

♡ You tried explaining, but he just shushed you.

♡ “No need to explain, my Dear,” he told you. He sighed, deeply, brought the corner of his lip between his teeth. He donned the veneer of disappointment.

♡ “I suppose I’m just…shocked,” he said. He leaned against a stack of boxes, solid against his back. He ran a hand through his hair and looked off somewhere. “I never knew you were…that kind of person,”

♡ The way he said that, like it had bleached his tongue just to speak it, made your heart sink lower.

♡ “I mean, what do we do now?” He made sure he gave you an incredulous glance, feigned disappointed abashment. “I pay you to look after my sons and I find you here, doing…” He looked to the camera, briefly, then away. As if he could still see what you had done on the tiny screen attached to it.

♡ You apologised profusely, tried to defend yourself: “Mr. Laurier, please – I didn’t– I never–”

♡ He didn’t interrupt you. He let you tie yourself in knots. Like a pretty present, all for him.

♡ Once you had exhausted your ability to explain yourself, Dominic let your fear hang for a moment, let it sink before you like a darkness bowing the ceiling above you. The singular lightbulb flickered.

♡ Dominic sighed. Pushed off the boxes. Came to you.

♡ “Honestly, (Y/N), if you were that desperate for money, you could’ve just asked.”

♡ He knew that wasn’t why you were doing this. But he also knew you’d accept whatever out he gave you. You listened.

♡ “Have I not been paying you enough? Have I misvalued your capabilities for this position?”

♡ The way his eyes flickered to your locked-together legs as he said position made your skin shiver.

♡ “Or…” he looked down on you. Relaxed his posture.

♡ “Is there perhaps some other reason you chose to…conduct yourself here?”

♡ When you didn’t answer, trying to decode his crypticism, he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side.

♡ “Could it be that you…wanted me to find you like this?”

♡ You tried to deny it, tried your utmost to say you’d never do such a thing to anyone, least of all your married neighbour and employer, but Dominic would hear none of it.

♡ “I’m flattered, really.” He says. He cast his eyes down, as if mulling over a secret. “My wife and I’s deteriorating marriage must be worse than I thought if it was so apparent to you of all people.”

♡ You knew such a comment, especially under these circumstances, shouldn’t have stung the way it did. Dominic only let you ruminate on it for a moment.

♡ “Maybe you wanted to show me something you knew Marilyn couldn’t.”

♡ Your jaw dropped. Dominic came to stand behind the camera. He toyed with it, general, not looking at anything in particular. You begged that he wouldn’t find a way to review the footage.

♡ Domonic stood back, looked down at you.

♡ “How about a compromise,” he offered. You watched him, eyes wide, heart pounding, stomach churning, breath short. He gave a pale smile.

♡ “You help me burn off some of the tension I’ve had building up over the last few weeks,” his eyes darkened. “And we’ll never speak a word of what happened here tonight.”

♡ Your words caught in your throat again.

♡ You knew Dominic was attractive, sure, but to help him cheat on his wife? And one so kind and loving as Marilyn–

♡ Your head span. Dominic had thrown you a lifeline.

♡ With a sigh, you evaluated your options.

♡ Your OnlyFans rarely made enough money to keep you financially independent, even for a short while; you had more to lose if you couldn’t keep your babysitting job. And you knew there was no chance Dominic would let you babysit again if he thought this was what you’d be doing during the dark hours of the evening.

♡ And what if he told Marilyn? What if she told their neighbours, your parents–

♡ In your vulnerability, your worry for your own preservation, you quietly agreed.

♡ And besides, you rationalised with yourself as the weight of the situation, of Dominic settling behind you, sank in. Better for Marilyn that he’s doing this with me rather than someone she doesn’t know, right?

♡ Given your bottom half was already bare, Dominic didn’t have to waste time undressing you himself. Though, under any other circumstances, he’d have jumped at the privilege.

♡ He’d often dreamed of this entire process being slower, gentler, and in the comfort of a bed in some lush space – usually a hotel. Not the sheet-covered ground of his cold basement.

♡ That evening, the mask Dominic wore was that of the common thief, for from you he stole your dignity. Your future.

♡ What you hadn’t realised was, as Dominic had been stood by the camera, he’d set it to record. Premeditated.

♡ You didn’t question why he pulled the mask from beside you onto his head. You just assumed, in your post-panic haze, that this was something he was into. Something he hid from Marilyn.

♡ Dominic still wore his work pants and had them pulled down to the bottom of his thighs. He’d also done away with his shirt from what you could feel of his skin; he radiated heat like you’d never felt before, even when you’d been in close proximity to him prior to this.

♡ You didn’t even have chance to think of much, to let the guilt and abashment of this whole situation weigh in on you as, with Dominic’s hands about your waist as if to steady you, he pushed in, filling you by an inch or two. 

♡ You were easy to penetrate given your recent activity, but that only served to quell the stretch by a slight margin. You gasped, jolted, and Dominic’s grip about your middle tightened. He pulled you back, inadvertently pushing more of himself into you. You bit your lip, trying not to enjoy the mortifying implications of this entire affair, the feeling of being filled by the man who held your future in his hands.

♡ He was, regardless of whether you’d done this before, nothing like you’d ever experienced. He alternated between being gentle and rough, eventually lodging himself inside you entirely and guiding you up and down his shaft at a rate that suggested patience. Just a minute later, he’d pick up the pace, pulling out and slamming back in, pushing you down so he could reach the deeper parts of you.

♡ And all the while, you could feel a tightness below your stomach. One which, to your panic, strengthened whenever you considered that you were helping a married man cheat on his wife, that your situation was buried beneath so many layers of complexity you feared you’d never see the light of clarity again.

♡ A married man. One who, if his soft touches and stifled moans were anything to go by, held rather a fondness for you in this moment.

♡ Dominic didn’t talk at all throughout the entire encounter, opting only to communicate with an occasional squeeze to your thighs, reaching around to your front to touch you in ways that had you whining and crying, and tugs to your hair whenever you tried to hide your face in your hands.

♡ The whole sordid affair hadn’t unfolded exactly how Dominic had wished – dreamed – it would.

♡ In his dreams, it had been gentler – consistently so. More private. Though, no less taboo.

♡ Now, he was harsher. Rough, though not enough to hurt you. Just enough to make sure you felt every inch of him; just what these subscribers of yours would pay to see.

♡ Dominic pressed close to you as the camera recorded, your face exposed for whoever came into possession of the video to see.

♡ Of course, so long as you remained an obedient little pet, Dominic would never have to release it to anyone.

♡ The transaction, one which left you breathless and sweltering, finished only when Dominic did. He made sure you were satiated, too, something to think about over the coming weeks as you curated more content for your subscribers, every moment no doubt a reminder of your encounter with him.

♡ Afterwards, he removed himself, though with much hesitance. He’d finally, finally attained that which he wanted most – you – and yet it hadn’t been under the circumstances he’d romanticised for so long.

♡ He tried not to think about it, storing it with the rest of the undesirable humanisms he had locked away elsewhere in his psyche. He focussed only on how explosive it had felt, how…alive he was in comparison to all the other times he’d been with someone, using them as nothing more than a mannequin to pump himself with rather than someone to give himself to.

♡ He let you lie on the floor, a blanket draped over you as he sorted himself out. He clicked the camera off, took out the memory card and kept it firmly attached to his palm – all while you weren’t looking, weren’t listening, senses still dazed with all Dominic had given you, done to you.

♡ As he removed the mask, there was a sheen to his skin and a passive glint in his smile that suggested something inhuman and false about him. Something you discovered too late, it would seem.

-

♡ After that evening, you had no choice but to continue on as if nothing had happened. For so long as Dominic was in possession of that night – that memory card – nothing had. You, of course, knew nothing of the card at first. Not until Dominic had let it slip that the camera had been rolling the entire time.

♡ And still, you didn’t question his use of the mask. The serendipitous timing of it all. You could hardly breathe for the ocean boiling in your stomach, your heart bleaching white and your brain paling as you realised you’d just filmed a sex tape that could ruin not just your life, but Dominic’s too.

♡ Oh, if only you knew just how little Dominic cared.

♡ Dominic told you not to worry, that he’d salvaged the memory card and put it somewhere safe only to now return it to you.

♡ He’d duplicated the video, of course. That, he kept somewhere even safer.

♡ Sure, he’d allowed you to upload it to your account when you asked him with wide eyes, your face blurred and his figure already unrecognisable to any of your simps. You still needed content, after all, so why not profit off your late-night tryst with your neighbour?

♡ Which was what led you to come to him now, eyes downcast as he stood before you, arms crossed, smile ready to split his face in half and reveal the parasites that made up his interior.

♡ The truth you gave him? Your account had garnered a great deal of traction since your…uploaded encounter. About three thousand new subscribers, to be exact.

♡ “Oh?” Dominic offered. “And why are you telling me this, mon Chèr? Do you plan on splitting your earnings with me?”

♡ He graced you with his charm, his humour. Tried keeping the situation light.

♡ A redness rolled across your face. Dominic smiled, slim and sly, and allowed you to foster his silence, his attention.

♡ You suggested filming something else. Something that could make the guilt you felt for your last encounter with him feel half worth it.

♡ Nothing ever would, of course. But you could at least try.

♡ And so began a lustrous alliance between yourself and Dominic, the man who had once been your neighbour, then your employer, now your owner.

♡ He used you as he pleased, donned the mask and bent you over under the guise of being the conduit for your growing fanbase. In reality, the scorching, pulsating, blistering reality you inhabited with him, you were his. His star who he made and will break when he sees fit.

♡ So long as he had that memory card, and the growing catalogue of blackmail you keep adding to in your bid to chase what you thought was the weight of your self-worth in cash, you were his.

♡ Infidelitous, yes. But that mattered little to Dominic. Nothing mattered more now that he had you in his hands, whimpering for him, coming undone for him, all while he maintained the safe anonymity of both his mask and the façade of a loving, caring family man.

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