#while i was cleaning up this blog i also found out that at one point Guin was named Evan

[i-cant-sing]

Mmmhhh thinking about Yandere Batfam reacting to a reader who runs a very popular blog where she absolutely bashes Batman and Robins- and the batfam takes your criticism very seriously. Maybe not at first, but then Damian (the easiest to tick) got pissed off when you wrote how "he's just a kid in a cheap Halloween costume" and when Damian gets pissed off, he whines. He whines and whines and whines until Dick and Bruce finally listen to him and do something about it. That's when they find out about the extensive threads about them, criticising meticulously each and every action of theirs, how they're causing more financial harm to Gotham and allowing themselves to be idolised and causing more people to comit crimes just so that they could have their 5 seconds of fame with Batman. And ofc theirs a whole page about the Batsignal.

I mean, Damian and Tim have already found out who runs the page (though they had a little bit of a hard time sniffing u out. You were good at covering your tracks). While Damian and Tim are busy going to "have a talk with you", Bruce is at home reading your entire blog about Batfam and realising how some of your points.... kinda makes sense. So, he buys the app where you write your blogs, then has Damian bring you over to the Wayne offices, where he explains he just wanted to meet the person running the blog that generates the most readers on the app. You, just a 23 year old student who's blogging as a side hustle.

You're obviously stunned because why are you meeting Bruce Wayne and also confused because again, why are you here exactly??? Bruce just says that he likes your insights and would like to know more, and he's happy to pay you by the hour you spend talking to him and also on the blog.

He's very much determined to make Batman and Robins be good in your mind, and not that he cares much about what people think about him, it doesn't hurt to have good PR for heroes, lest people should try revolting against Justice league and only end up hurting themselves. There's only so much he could do to calm his metahuman friends.

You're again- CONFUSED, but you like money. The only thing you tell him is that you get to write whatever you want, complete creative control and that you can write about anyone you wish. Ofc, it doesn't register to Bruce that you could possibly write against his family- against his name.

So in the beginning, things are going great. Reader continues making calculated judgements and comments about Batfam and how they could possibly improve themselves, the batfam takes note and tries to do most of the things. Then you'd write something that could almost be seen as praise for "changing their old ways" and they all feel a little bit proud. They don't realise it but some members of the batfam (like damian and Dick) start craving your approval of their actions.

Perhaps something happens, maybe you don't find it fun to write about the bats anymore, so you shift your mind towards a new topic-

The Wayne's.

You research a bit, finding it a little odd at Bruve Wayne's generosity to be adopting random ass kids, a super duper clean record, no scandals or anything- it just- it doesn't feel right. No one's that clean. They have to be hiding something.

So when u can't find anything against them, you let your imagination go wild and start making conspiracy theories, kinda feel like reader goes in her gossip girl era to stir things up so that someone would come forward with something- anything.

Bruce's eyes almost bulge out as he reads the blog's headline-

"The secrets of Gotham's favourite billionaire playboy!"

Shit- did you figure out he's batman?

Nope. In fact, you covered everything but that. From theories about him adopting troubled kids for PR, to the Wayne family actually being a chauvinist cult, to conspiracies about his ties with the Rothschild, his philanthropic donations being a front for illegal activity, the Wayne Manor holding lavish nsfw parties, and even a classic "they drink virgin maiden blood!"

Bruce stood in your apartment, eyes narrowing at your sleeping form on the couch.

"Bruce? What- how did you get in?" You don't remember unlocking your door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He pulled up your article on his phone.

"Huh?" You took a closer look, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I wrote that."

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I was bored."

"What?" Bruce could feel himself getting angry. How could you be so nonchalant about the lies you wrote?

"You know this isn't true." "I do." "Then why did you write it?" "I told you, I was bored. Besides, you told me I could write about anyone." You get up with a sigh. "I don't get why you're so worried about this. Barely anyone reads this stuff."

Bruce's brows went up. "There's a 1000 plus views on this already!"

"What?" your eyes twinkled. "A thousand already? Its not even been 24 hours since I posted. Wow, people really do enjoy conspiracy-" you shut up when you saw his glare. "Right, sorry."

"Take it down, now." Bruce orders, brow twitching when you just walk past him and into the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee. "Why?" you asks after taking a sip.

He glares at you. "Because it isnt true-"

"Then give me something that is."

Bruce stared at you. Is this... is this your way of wanting an interview?

You sighed. "Look, just let me interview you family, I promise to only write the truth and only the truth. No conspiracies, I swear."

"Or I could just fire you. Better yet, have you sued for defamation."

You nodded. "You could, but honestly that would only bring more attention to the articles and more conspiracies would arise. Besides, you and I both know you cant stop me from writing even if I'm in jail."

Bruce watched you walk upto him, holding your phone in your hand. "Come on, just one week- one week at your place, I'll even let you read the article before I post it. If you dont like it, I'll delete it."

I mean... it did sound like a pretty good bargain. Besides, at his home, youd be in a more supervised space.

So here you are, standing in the lobby of the Wayne manor as a posh butler leads you to Bruce's office. Of course Alfred will be a part of your articles. He's too fancy to not be.

And so over the course of a week, you dont really find anything particularly intriguing about the family, even after you interviewed each member. You're mentally groaning at the thought of writing yet another boring article... that is until you accidentally discover the batcave (ok not accidentally, u hid a recorder in Bruce's office and u heard the man discussing about it with Dick)

Anyways, it didnt take long for you to discover the cave, and it took you even less for you to write a scandalous article.

"RICH MAN COSPLAYS AND PRACTICES HIS JUJUTSU SKILLS ON THE MENTALLY ILL! SEE PICTURES OF WHERE HE ROLEPLAYS IN MASKS!"

Unfortunately, before you hit "post", your phone is snatched and you're knocked out.

When you come to, Bruce is sitting in front of you looking beyond pissed while you're tied up in your seat.

"We had a deal, Y/n." Bruce gritted out.

"So? Deal was off the moment I found out you were Batman." You shrugged.

"We had a deal-"

"You really expect me to just pretend like I'm blind after I found out who you really are? Do you think anyone would just give up on a scoop this big?" You tilt your head at him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you. "Scoop? Thats what this is to you?"

You nodded. "Sure, you're a hero who fights crime and brings "peace" to Gotham, but who knows for sure? After all, thats how you want the world to see you." You lean as far as your restraints allow you. "I dont trust you, Bruce. Not one bit. There's just- this gut feeling about you. Nothing personal, but I dont get good vibes from you."

"Is that so?" Bruce raised his brow before sighing. "I guess there's no reason to let you go then."

"What?"

He nodded to himself. "Yes, if I let you go now, you'll only cause more trouble for me, but also for yourself. If you post content like that, people will target you- yes, I definitely cant let you go. You're an impulsive idiot who'd endanger herself just to not be bored."

Your eyes widen. "You cant kill me."

Bruce scoffed. "Dont be ridiculous, I can, but I wont. I just want to take care of you, protect you from yourself." He stood up. "I did a little bit of research on you too, yknow? You keep your personal life super private, I have to give credit to you, it wasnt easy to find out about your family. But... money makes the mare go."

Your throat dried as you saw a glint in his eyes. He knew... he couldnt-

Bruce's footsteps echoed as he neared you and ruffled your hair. "Poor you... having to deal with a schizoprenic mom." He leaned down to smile gently at you, but you could sense the sinister intent.

"Dont worry, she'll be taken care of at Gotham Asylum while you stay with us."

girl idk where i was going with this, i just needed to get it out of my drafts (i have another long incomplete draft about platonic yandere dick x gymnast reader where he basically is intrigued by this mini tonya harding who lives for her dead beat father's approval who doesnt give a shit about her unless she comes first. so its upto dick to adopt u and make u a part of batfam)

[honeychamomile1]

Boards And Strings

JJ Maybank x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader takes peace with JJ while she tunes her strings and he cleans his board.

Warnings: Just fluff because I’m obsessed with it.

Note: This is my first story ever with JJ on this blog because I made a second one so this is blog is fresh as a daisy. Hope you like it though! (Also I didn’t watch the show so any mistakes I make I deeply apologize but I rarely mention plot points)

First blog: @marypaol (I write for Harry Potter!)

The instrument was in her hands, gentle and delicate for her mind as she twisted the tuners on the top, once in a while plucking the strings, the note ringing out into the air.

Her opinion of it would vary, for sometimes she took satisfaction to it or she would simply shake her head, tightening or loosening based on her desires. The string would be looser or tighter in accordance with her actions. The ukulele would listen to her every word, even the most delicate change would completely alter the perspective of the note in the air, picking it up in the wind and almost forcing everyone to hear what it had to say.

She always liked music, listening or making, it didn’t matter, for whichever one was the same to her. Music was music, and notes were notes.

The dirty blonde in front of the garage didn’t take a mind to the noise, for normally it annoy an every-day person, a note ringing out before a pause is heard, not long enough until another note sprang out. He always heard her playing, and it pretty much the opposite of annoyed him. It in fact made him calm, a sense in his chest growing every time he heard her fingers touch those strings. He loved it when she played, and simply hearing the process of the instrument sounding good was something he was more than content to watch unfold.

His hands though burned, scraping the wax off the surface with great effort. The huge board was propped up on two wooden chairs he found in the garage, him sitting in his own as he leaned over it, his back starting to form a tension that wasn’t very comfortable. The hat on his head was protecting his forehead form the morning sun, yet after a while he could feel the heat seeping into the fabric and onto his hair, and he just knew he might get sunburn on his head beneath his strands if he took it off, so he dealt with the rays.

“JJ?” He heard a gentle voice, and, looking up from crumbled up wax on his board, got to see a much better view. The girl sat on a chair, bare tanned legs curled up and leaning on the table in front of her. She wore light ripped jean shorts, a nice sun shirt covering her figure. On her toned arms she wore knitted bracelets, ones she’s made herself. She had her eyebrows knitted together, confusion pouring over her features. Her nose in fact displayed the so said confusion, twitching every couple seconds so much so that it made the Maybank boy stare for a couple seconds longer than he should have.

“Yes, Princess?” He said, using the nickname he always used around her. Her lips quirked at the corners, him loving the sight before she used her fingers to pluck a string.

“Does this sound off?” She asked, uncertainly curling around her features. He listened to her play it again. He shook his head eventually, knowing how her songs sounded and the note was right as ever, his ears knowing that sound better than any other.

“Not at all, sweetness. Sounds as perfect as always.” He assured, looking down at the wax again, picking up his tool and continuing to scrape at the substance.

He didn’t hear her get up, and it wasn’t until he felt the fabric on his head being lifted up, his locks that were held together now flowing freely once they’re wasn’t any blockage that he noticed she had came over to him. His blonde strands practically glowed in the sun’s rays, and he could already feel the heat burning his head. He looked up at the disturbance, but quickly decided it wasn’t a disturbance anymore, since it was her standing over him, her hand holding his hat and transferring it to her own locks, setting it in her head swiftly.

Her eyes locked with his over the cap, the fabric on it lightly tearing from its constant use.

“What do you think you’re doing?” JJ teased gently, lips quirking up lightly.

She grinned right back at him, adjusting the cap on her head, the strings from her bracelets wagging from the movement. “What does it look like? I’m stealing your hat.”

JJ clicked his tongue and shook his head softly, mouth still slightly open as he looked at her. He then put on a fake man voice, acting like he had higher authority than her. “Well, sorry, Ma’am, but stealing is illegal.”

She grinned at his joke, instantly deciding to play along. “Really? Well I apologize, sir.”

She fluttered her eyelashes teasingly, trying to win the so-called cop over. JJ smirked.

“Beauty isn’t gonna free you, honey.” He informed, and saw her bottom lip come out, pink mouth pouting.

“Does this mean I’m arrested?” She tested, eyebrow raising in question. JJ grinned, standing up, coming closer to her.

“It means that you are going to get punished.” He answered. Her pout deepened but he saw her eyes glistening with curiosity, wondering what his next move was.

“And what exactly is my punishment?” She said, eyes more leaving his.

JJ had a smirk on his face, coming closer to her than before. It clicks in her brain at that moment, widening her eyes. She backs away slightly. “J…”

He laughs, tackling her body and digging his fingers into her sides, a squeal coming out of her mouth. She giggles as he tickles her, both their bodies slamming into the grassy ground, him on top, limbs everywhere as her lungs burned form not being able to breath without laughing. The cap loosed on her hair, the front of it covering part of her forehead.

“JJ!” She managed to exclaim, hands on his wrists as an attempt to stop his fingers from tickling her skin. She was able to get her fingers close to his, trying to pry them off when she felt the waxy substance coating his skin.

“JJ, ew your hands are gross.” She laughed, now managing to take his hands off her, and he was smirking the whole time he was wiping his hands off on the grass.

He then leaned forward, making eye contact with her, hair sprawled out on the grass and skin tanned. He reached for for the hat on her head, and for a couple seconds she thought he was gonna take it back, but instead he fixed it, gently lifting her head with his hand on the back of her neck, making sure the cap can fit better.

She smiled at him, him at her as their noses touched, brushing skin against skin as she breathed in his scent.

“I don’t think the police should be handling me like this…” she murmured and wrapping her fingers around the collar of is worn out T-shirt, smiling wider as his mouth brushed hers, being able to feel the muscles in his lips.

“I don’t think so either.” JJ whispered, breath hitting her mouth before connecting their lips, intaking a soft breath.

Her hands went to his neck, keeping him close as their mouths moved together. He tasted like fruits and beer, along with something that wouldn’t be any one else except him. He thought she tasted like honey chamomile and something else sweet.

They slowly separated for air, breathing slightly hard against each other’s mouths. JJ breathed out, digging his face into her neck, pressing his lips to the skin there, making her light out a soft sighs at the action.

“JJ…” she whispered as a form of protest but didn’t make an effort to take his head away, instead holding it there with her hands, stroking the hair strands that seemed to be getting blonder by the day.

He hummed in response, waiting to see what she had to say. She didn’t answer right away, though, sighing more frequently as he continued to kiss wherever he could get to.

“W-we shouldn’t do this right here.” She managed out, his teeth brushing the skin before backing away, gorgeous eyes meeting hers.

“Why not, Princess?” He questioned, practically whining because he had to stop. She laughed a little before replying.

“Because someone could see us.”

JJ scoffed, pecking her lips a couple times before going back to her neck, hand going under her shirt to rub her stomach. She sighed into the feeling, almost overwhelmed by his scent and body heat.

“Let them watch, they deserve to know that you’re mine.”

-Like, reblog, and comment to make me happy! 🫶🏻

[pepperdee]

fun fact: one of the friends in this story was named Evan. I came out a year later and chose the name Evan. No, I did not have this character in mind when I named myself. The only reason I even remembered his name was because I submitted the story to a lit mag for an assignment

anyway i stayed up until 3 am writing about a guy who avenges his friends using his cursed name that kills anyone who writes it down while knowing his face

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sympathy for the spammer

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

In any scam, any con, any hustle, the big winners are the people who supply the scammers – not the scammers themselves. The kids selling dope on the corner are making less than minimum wage, while the respectable crime-bosses who own the labs clean up. Desperate "retail investors" who buy shitcoins from Superbowl ads get skinned, while the MBA bros who issue the coins make millions (in real dollars, not crypto).

It's ever been thus. The California gold rush was a con, and nearly everyone who went west went broke. Famously, the only reliable way to cash out on the gold rush was to sell "picks and shovels" to the credulous, doomed and desperate. That's how Leland Stanford made his fortune, which he funneled into eugenics programs (and founding a university):

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/malcolm-harris/palo-alto/9780316592031/

That means that the people who try to con you are almost always getting conned themselves. Think of Multi-Level Marketing (MLM) scams. My forthcoming novel The Bezzle opens with a baroque and improbable fast-food Ponzi in the town of Avalon on the island of Catalina, founded by the chicle monopolist William Wrigley Jr:

http://thebezzle.org

Wrigley found fast food declasse and banned it from the island, a rule that persists to this day. In The Bezzle, the forensic detective Martin Hench uncovers The Fry Guys, an MLM that flash-freezes contraband burgers and fries smuggled on-island from the mainland and sells them to islanders though an "affiliate marketing" scheme that is really about recruiting other affiliate markets to sell under you. As with every MLM, the value of the burgers and fries sold is dwarfed by the gigantic edifice of finance fraud built around it, with "points" being bought and sold for real cash, which is snaffled up and sucked out of the island by a greedy mainlander who is behind the scheme.

A "bezzle" is John Kenneth Galbraith's term for "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In every scam, there's a period where everyone feels richer – but only the scammers are actually cleaning up. The wealth of the marks is illusory, but the longer the scammer can preserve the illusion, the more real money the marks will pump into the system.

MLMs are particularly ugly, because they target people who are shut out of economic opportunity – women, people of color, working people. These people necessarily rely on social ties for survival, looking after each others' kids, loaning each other money they can't afford, sharing what little they have when others have nothing.

It's this social cohesion that MLMs weaponize. Crypto "entrepreneurs" are encouraged to suck in their friends and family by telling them that they're "building Black wealth." Working women are exhorted to suck in their bffs by appealing to their sisterhood and the chance for "women to lift each other up."

The "sales people" trying to get you to buy crypto or leggings or supplements are engaged in predatory conduct that will make you financially and socially worse off, wrecking their communities' finances and shattering the mutual aid survival networks they rely on. But they're not getting rich on this – they're also being scammed:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4686468

This really hit home for me in the mid-2000s, when I was still editing Boing Boing. We had a submission form where our readers could submit links for us to look at for inclusion on the blog, and it was overwhelmed by spam. We'd add all kinds of antispam to it, and still, we'd get floods of hundreds or even thousands of spam submissions to it.

One night, I was lying in my bed in London and watching these spams roll in. They were all for small businesses in the rustbelt, handyman services, lawn-care, odd jobs, that kind of thing. They were 10 million miles from the kind of thing we'd ever post about on Boing Boing. They were coming in so thickly that I literally couldn't finish downloading my email – the POP session was dropping before I could get all the mail in the spool. I had to ssh into my mail server and delete them by hand. It was maddening.

Frustrated and furious, I started calling the phone numbers associated with these small businesses, demanding an explanation. I assumed that they'd hired some kind of sleazy marketing service and I wanted to know who it was so I could give them a piece of my mind.

But what I discovered when I got through was much weirder. These people had all been laid off from factories that were shuttering due to globalization. As part of their termination packages, their bosses had offered them "retraining" via "courses" in founding their own businesses.

The "courses" were the precursors to the current era's rise-and-grind hustle-culture scams (again, the only people getting rich from that stuff are the people selling the courses – the "students" finish the course poorer). They promised these laid-off workers, who'd given their lives to their former employers before being discarded, that they just needed to pull themselves up by their own boostraps:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/10/declaration-of-interdependence/#solidarity-forever

After all, we had the internet now! There were so many new opportunities to be your own boss! The course came with a dreadful build-your-own-website service, complete with an overpriced domain sales portal, and a single form for submitting your new business to "thousands of search engines."

This was nearly 20 years ago, but even then, there was really only one search engine that mattered: Google. The "thousands of search engines" the scammers promised to submit these desperate peoples' websites to were just submission forms for directories, indexes, blogs, and mailing lists. The number of directories, indexes, blogs and mailing lists that would publish their submissions was either "zero" or "nearly zero." There was certainly no possibility that anyone at Boing Boing would ever press the wrong key and accidentally write a 500-word blog post about a leaf-raking service in a collapsing deindustrialized exurb in Kentucky or Ohio.

The people who were drowning me in spam weren't the scammers – they were the scammees.

But that's only half the story. Years later, I discovered how our submission form was getting included in this get-rich-quick's mass-submission system. It was a MLM! Coders in the former Soviet Union were getting work via darknet websites that promised them relative pittances for every submission form they reverse-engineered and submitted. The smart coders didn't crack the forms directly – they recruited other, less business-savvy coders to do that for them, and then often as not, ripped them off.

The scam economy runs on this kind of indirection, where scammees are turned into scammers, who flood useful and productive and nice spaces with useless dross that doesn't even make them any money. Take the submission queue at Clarkesworld, the great online science fiction magazine, which famously had to close after it was flooded with thousands of junk submission "written" by LLMs:

https://www.npr.org/2023/02/24/1159286436/ai-chatbot-chatgpt-magazine-clarkesworld-artificial-intelligence

There was a zero percent chance that Neil Clarke would accidentally accept one of these submissions. They were uniformly terrible. The people submitting these "stories" weren't frustrated sf writers who'd discovered a "life hack" that let them turn out more brilliant prose at scale.

They were scammers who'd been scammed into thinking that AIs were the key to a life of passive income, a 4-Hour Work-Week powered by an AI-based self-licking ice-cream cone:

https://pod.link/1651876897/episode/995c8a778ede17d2d7cff393e5203157

This is absolutely classic passive-income brainworms thinking. "I have a bot that can turn out plausible sentences. I will locate places where sentences can be exchanged for money, aim my bot at it, sit back, and count my winnings." It's MBA logic on meth: find a thing people pay for, then, without bothering to understand why they pay for that thing, find a way to generate something like it at scale and bombard them with it.

Con artists start by conning themselves, with the idea that "you can't con an honest man." But the factor that predicts whether someone is connable isn't their honesty – it's their desperation. The kid selling drugs on the corner, the mom desperately DMing her high-school friends to sell them leggings, the cousin who insists that you get in on their shitcoin – they're all doing it because the system is rigged against them, and getting worse every day.

These people reason – correctly – that all the people getting really rich are scamming. If Amazon can make $38b/year selling "ads" that push worse products that cost more to the top of their search results, why should the mere fact that an "opportunity" is obviously predatory and fraudulent disqualify it?

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

The quest for passive income is really the quest for a "greater fool," the economist's term for the person who relieves you of the useless crap you just overpaid for. It rots the mind, atomizes communities, shatters solidarity and breeds cynicism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The rise and rise of botshit cannot be separated from this phenomenon. The botshit in our search-results, our social media feeds, and our in-boxes isn't making money for the enshittifiers who send it – rather, they are being hustled by someone who's selling them the "picks and shovels" for the AI gold rush:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

That's the true cost of all the automation-driven unemployment criti-hype: while we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

The manic "entrepreneurs" who've been stampeded into panic by the (correct) perception that the economy is a game of musical chairs where the number of chairs is decreasing at breakneck speed are easy marks for the Leland Stanfords of AI, who are creating generational wealth for themselves by promising that their bots will automate away all the tedious work that goes into creating value. Expect a lot more Amazon Marketplace products called "I'm sorry, I cannot fulfil this request as it goes against OpenAI use policy":

https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/12/24036156/openai-policy-amazon-ai-listings

No one's going to buy these products, but the AI picks-and-shovels people will still reap a fortune from the attempt. And because history repeats itself, these newly minted billionaires are continuing Leland Stanford's love affair with eugenics:

https://www.truthdig.com/dig-series/eugenics/

The fact that AI spam doesn't pay is important to the fortunes of AI companies. Most high-value AI applications are very risk-intolerant (self-driving cars, radiology analysis, etc). An AI tool might help a human perform these tasks more accurately – by warning them of things that they've missed – but that's not how AI will turn a profit. There's no market for AI that makes your workers cost more but makes them better at their jobs:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Plenty of people think that spam might be the elusive high-value, low-risk AI application. But that's just not true. The point of AI spam is to get clicks from people who are looking for better content. It's SEO. No one reads 2000 words of algorithm-pleasing LLM garbage over an omelette recipe and then subscribes to that site's feed.

And the omelette recipe generates pennies for the spammer that posted it. They are doing massive volume in order to make those pennies into dollars. You don't make money by posting one spam. If every spammer had to pay the actual recovery costs (energy, chillers, capital amortization, wages) for their query, every AI spam would lose (lots of) money.

Hustle culture and passive income are about turning other peoples' dollars into your dimes. It is a negative-sum activity, a net drain on society. Behind every seemingly successful "passive income" is a con artist who's getting rich by promising – but not delivering – that elusive passive income, and then blaming the victims for not hustling hard enough:

https://www.ftc.gov/business-guidance/blog/2023/12/blueprint-trouble

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

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

[lxvebun]

flurry of colours

synopsis: asking the genshin boyfriends what color they see you as

content: Alhaitham/Kazuha/Wriothesley x gender neutral reader. Fluff! Use of nickname darling/dove. Wrio is pretty short I wasn't entirely sure how to write him😭. English is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes♡

D*rk content blogs do not interact (*a)

Alhaitham

"It's not your problem if Kaveh's struggling with his color schemes, darling" he replies quickly, not even bothering to look up from the page in his book.

"Archons, Haitham, it's not like that. Just look at me and imagine what color I radiate :)

he sighs a little, closing the book but keeping his fingers between the pages. Even if he thinks it's a bit of a silly question, he does take a moment to let his eyes trace over you, shamelessly letting them linger on your lips too. for a second you think he's actually going to answer your question but then you see him failing to suppress a smirk and his gaze meets yours with an expression you can only describe as Are you serious?

"Humor me Alhaitham"

Alright, let me think.. he completely closes his book this time, placing it in front of him on his desk and rests his head on his hand

"Colors can actually invoke a lot of thoughts and impressions. Most people associate red with warmth, and passion, but also with danger or fear depending on the context. A lot of people view black as a masking color be it clothes to hide certain parts of yourself or the shadows in your nightmares, but you can also see it as a protective color as it doesn't reflect. Blue is usually related to the sea, the lighter tones with sunny mornings walking along the shore, darker tones of blue can relate to the deep cold unknown depth that's hidden from prying eyes......if I had to describe you a color..it would be green. Not necessarily because of the associations with it, wisdom, calmness, and hope. which do apply to you don't get me wrong, but green is my favorite color, and you're my favorite person. Simple as that. Now, care to read with me for a bit?

*he's so annoying but he does it so well. Bites him*

Kazuha and wrio under the cut♡

Kazuha

kazuha has been a bit gloomy as of lately. His usual flowery words have lost their petals, His leatherbound notebook has not made an appearance in a while, neither have the little poems he writes for you to wake up to, and his fingers are clean, not covered with his usual, and at this point, you believed to be permanent, ink stains. It's clear he's been going through the infamous writers block. something that most artist go through and also get out of but it's nonetheless an infuriating part of being an creative individual. But since Kazuha has made you his muse as he told you many many times before, who are you to not try and help inspire your lovely boyfriend.

It takes you a while of bringing him to random locations for sunset walks or stargazing and asking him random questions until one finally hits the spot. His eyes immediately lighting up as he turns to you with such a warm expression of love and adoration you're pretty sure your heart skipped a beat

"That's a very beautiful question, dove"

He takes a moment to think about it, eyes lovingly tracing over every little detail of you, the backlight of the sun, the glimmer of the waves shining in your eyes

"I don't think describing you as one color does you justice. You shift hues as softly and gently as the day shifts into night, and the sun makes place for the moon in the sky. But if I do have to say just one, I see hints of purple in you, but that could also be because the color reminds me of my hometown and everytime I look at you, my soul feels at home" He answers with a new found excitement in his voice

"Actually, maybe I can use this for a poem-"

*i'm projecting can you tell?*

Wriothesley

You often come down into the fortress to spend some time with him on his break. With both of you living on different levels of Fontaine, you'll take any chance you can get to be around him and even when it's not officially his break time, he could never say no to you....or tea time

That's why you're here now sitting on the edge of his desk as he hastily discared the paperwork to make room for the teapot and biscuits. As quickly as the tea flows, the conversation passes from deep and meaningful, romantic ones, to terrible jokes and banter as both of you just talk about whatever comes to mind.

So he doesn't raise an eyebrow when you ask him what colors remind him of you. it's quite endearing how he just goes along with whatever silly questions or requests you throw at him without making you feel embarrassed about it

"Probably between a pearlescent white and a warm honey yellow."

"Interesting answer...why?"

"the colours remind me of the sun and the moon, and living at the bottom of the ocean here in the fortress we don't have either of those of course. You're the closest thing I have to feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin or experiencing calm atmosphere of the moonlight. And to be honest I prefer you over the real thing♡"

Hes so cute *cries*

Thank you for reading angels!♡

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Crinkled Polaroids

Ex-boyfriend!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Hi my lovelies, Lia here and I'd just like to say that this took so long and so much effort, I really poured my heart out on this one and I hope it goes well. Recently my biggest heartbreaks are the "What ifs", what if you two worked it out? Would things be different? Would Simon have the life you've dreamed for the both of you and the one he's been deprived of?

You might be asking me "Lia, what's up with all the angsty content recently, aren't you a fluff dedicated blog?" Well I feel ill, I just got off an extremely busy week and most of my drafts have been never ending angst because I lost ideas of a domestic fam with Simon but I still need to get something out for you guys okay? A random bedtime scenario written down at 3am and for the rest of my midnights during a photoshoot and exam week, what could go wrong?

I'm still waiting on what my beloved @connorsui's review has to say 👀

Disclaimers/Warnings: This is not proofread, also ANGST.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

A relationship with Simon Riley going south, at first it started great as most relationships do with several minor bumps due to his past but no big deal right?

But Simon distances himself, more than what's healthy and yes, you do give him his space but there's only little time until closing and distancing off for a while could turn into something like neglect.

Little things like "I love you"s, "thank you"s and every verbal affirmation that you used to think you could cling onto was now non-existent, it hurts but isn't as hurtful when he refuses to touch you.

Back hugs you give would only give you a cold shrug in return, kisses you left were on cold chapped lips that remain still. At this point, you were better off loving someone dead.. then again, aren't you already doing so?

The life you've imagined for the both of you cease to fade in your head as the true reality of the man you love sets in, that dumb idea your younger self who had rose tinted glasses had to actually settle down with someone in such a short period of time of a few years.

You felt so unappreciated, it seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to see you. You felt cheated of the relationship you were supposed to have with him when you see others with the one you love and how he acts around everyone except you. You felt like nothing but a chore to him, an occasional fuck who cleans his home.

Then again, this is a broken man, you felt entitled to ask such a thing of him when he himself is also just healing from what his past had caused.

In Simon's eyes, he was doing you a favor, fucked up in his part thinking hurting you is the best way to save you from himself. It worked, that's what he wanted.. right?

So you leave, it was best for the both of you anyway right? Simon deserves someone who could actually make him happy and you deserve to feel loved in a relationship. Simon's life was a mess, truly, but he didn't realize how much more of a mess it was without you.

Coming home to an empty shell of a house, nothing to look forward to. He found himself almost on the brink of insanity, moving things all over his own home as if you were still there.

Always finding himself staring at that one wornout and creased polaroid of you and him, you were a silly one huh? A hobby of yours that left so much proof of your existence.

Begging him to be in a picture, bribing him with a kiss. Slightly smudged and distorted but still legible pen ink at the back as he flips the flimsy piece of thick, shiny paper.

Keep him safe for me, Ghost.

- Your favorite girl <3

You always thought of him as Simon and Ghost as just an alter ego, a mask that he needs to wear in order to stomach the violence that comes with his occupation.

You were the only one who can differentiate these two people. Tears started to form in his eyes but he blinks it away and shoves the polaroid back in his wallet.

He only started noticing changes when Johnny points out that he's become stone cold, a lot more silent, though he was known to be a ghost.. a shadow.. it wasn't like him to not even try to light up his mood with his dark jokes.

Everytime Simon thinks he gets over the pain, there's always one thing in that stupid house that reminded him of you. You weren't there but it sure felt like that you haunted every corner of the house and his mind.

Whether that'd be something you gifted him or an item of yours left behind, especially when the two of you shared moments with those items, oftentimes Simon tries to relive those, preserve his fading memory of your face.

This is what happens when the decisions you make have consequences on the one that your world revolves around.

A few years down this lane, nothing has changed for Simon, at some part of this never ending low point in his life he was under substance abuse.. alcohol to be specific, since to him it was easier. In concern of his captain, he did get help for it to which had progress.

Ghost kept it together, "today was a day to celebrate Gaz" he thought, blowing out the nicotinic smoke and flicking the ash off his cigarette after.. he knew Ghost's thing was more of a "let's drink and play pool in a pub" rather than a sit-down dinner kind of guy but Kyle insisted.

He thought about how awkward it was, although Ghost felt like he knew Kyle's family just from the lovesick fool himself who would never shut up, always finding a way to talk about his wife and their two kids.

After another puff, he throws the cigarette butt on the pavement and grinds the sole of his shoe over it, the soft hiss for the cigarette evoking, proving it was put out.

Simon walked a few blocks till stopping at the Sergeant's described location, his footsteps made smooth, satisfying taps on the wood floorboards of the porch and he knocks.

Price took liberty of being the one to open the door for Simon because the family was busy, Simon walked through the front door with ease, seeing Johnny somewhat interacting with a kid.

He was welcomed by the a cozy looking space, it was homey and clearly occupied, the shoes lined up on the shoe rack next to the door from the largest pair to the tiniest which was such a far contrast from his empty gloomy apartment.

The kid caught glimpse of Simon, they run up to him and take his hand to guide him into the living room as of to welcome him before bringing back their attention to Johnny and somewhat messing with his stubby mohawk.

The lieutenant observed his surroundings, the little toys and picture frames hung around the house, for a moment his heart drops to his stomach, he blinks thinking he must've been imagining things. Simon walked closer to it, he wasn't imagining it.. that was you, in a wedding dress, in the photo with Kyle.

You looked glowing.. as if you've never looked better in your life, that heart stopping smile on your face, the flowery bouquet on your hands. The green of stems highlight the precious metal band on your finger. Of all the people, places and time, why here? Why now? Why Kyle..?

For a few seconds, just a few when Simon thought his nerves and gut settled, he heard the sweetest voice that was all he knew.

He forgot what it sounded like, the effect it had on him, all too overwhelming for a man who tried desperately to run away from the consequences of his actions. I guess that saying that once you don't hear someone's voice as frequently, you start to forget what they sound like.

For once, the ringing in his ear is gone. Just your voice, all he needed, he closed his eyes for a few soaking in the fact that you're here. For a moment he forgets to take into account that you weren't his. You and Simon make eye contact, the smile on your face drops as soon as you realize who is in your home.. who your husband invited..

Dinner came around, you tried your best to stomach the food you made, every swallow was a challenge. You spent most of your time staring at the food below you, afraid to even spare a glance at Simon. He was as uneasy as you were, telling the group he had to go to the bathroom as an excuse to explore what you now view as your home. The place you built your family together with your husband.

Simon uses the stealth he was known for to sneak in all the rooms, starting with the closest, the kitchen. The pictures on the fridge were enough to catch his attention, polaroids were something he was all too familiar with. Photos of the kids littered on the cold metal box with magnets others were of you and Kyle.

Everywhere he glances was proof of the life you built, the life you could've had together if he hadn't taken you for granted. Simon returned to the table a few minutes later, you easily notice the sudden drop of his mood to solemn.

Constantly closing his eyes, the lieutenant's head was spinning, taking in the fact that Garrick was able to settle down with you in those few years, the same amount of time you'd been together and you both were never close to achieving what you had now.

The night ended with the mens' satisfied stomachs while you and Kyle play-fight about who gets to do the dishes. As all of them were about to leave, you gathered what little guts you had to at least try to talk to Simon as he's the last one out the door, away from the ears of your husband who's currently doing the dishes because the last thing you'd want is to ruin their friendship.

"Goodbye Si.."

Simon never thought he'd hear that nickname out of your lips ever again, he stopped, his feet felt like they were sinking on the ground. Before he knew it, Simon was back on your porch, squeezing you so tight. You tried to pull away but he only held tighter, head rested on your shoulder.

"One last, lovie.. please.." you sigh, your arms wrapping around him, you tried your best to sooth him as your palm runs up and down his back. You felt the sleeve of your shirt getting damp, Simon didn't cry often, but this was different. It wasn't silent at all like you were used to, he was straight up sobbing.

Simon pulled back slowly, you saw his puffed up and flushed face against his pale skin. You felt bad for Simon however what happened is what happened and you were content where you were no matter how much pain the past brings you.

Simon knows you're happy, he sees it, he cups your cheek with his hand. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead like he always used to but he stops himself.

He wanted to be selfish, he wanted you again but he can't do that to Kyle and he knows this would only upset you so just like before, with a heavy heart he leaves.

Simon will forever let that sink into his heart, the only one he's ever love will forever be engrained in his mind. You will always be his favorite girl..

[electric-blorbos]

Selfshiptober day 2: Blanket/flame

Character X reader

I swear to god its still October second somewhere... I hope.

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Notice to anyone who found me through the selfshiptober tag, while this blog is themed around AI characters, this blog does not support the use of actual AI in creative fields.

Warning for canon-typical homicidal computers and yandere behavior

Also a reminder that these don't take place in chronological order

AM:

"Beautiful, isn't it?" AM asked, his croaky voice sounding like it was somehow both in your head, and all around you. You were wrapped up in a cozy blanket in your little home, which AM had made for you years ago. It was perfectly safe, hidden away from the five survivors which AM had been torturing for the past few decades. The five of them were hiking up a mountain, surrounded by petrified trees.

"I don't know why you're showing me this..." You muttered, taking a piece of pumpkin pie from the table. It was perfectly cooked. You couldn't taste much love for the craft, though. AM seemed to hate everything, doing anything, except for you. Interacting with you was the only thing that didn't make him feel inadequate.

"Isn't it obvious? I want you to understand the fate that I- that we have created for these people. To watch them suffer. Isn't it satisfying, sweetheart? My darling, my precious one? To watch the people who've hurt you suffer so?" His voice dripped into your ears like rich honey. You gritted your teeth.

"These people have nothing to do with me. I don't care what happens to them. I don't want them to suffer." You growled, wrapping yourself tighter in your blanket. At first the schadenfreude was nice... Seeing these bitter people suffering while you got to live in your cozy little paradise, but now it just felt like a threat. It felt like AM was merely holding a possible fate over your head that he would subject you to if you ever defied him.

"Tell me you don't really think that, my sweet!" AM said, sounding almost taken aback. You frowned a little.

"What are you talking about. Of course I don't want these people to suffer. I've never even met them."

You watched as the ape-like man twitched awkwardly, and punched a tree. He was barely human at this point, and it was all AM's fault. AM chuckled, and then burst into hysterical laughter.

"You don't care what happens to these people? Well then perhaps neither do I! Perhaps I should just clear them from your mind's eye, my sweetest! My darling, my beloved!"

He lit the entire forest on fire, and let the flames lick the trees. They started collapsing around the survivors, who, despite their barely functioning will to live, seemed to manage to survive surprisingly well. The falling debris seemed to keep missing them, and they managed to duck beneath the smoke.

"who the hell is he talking to?" Asked the paranoid one with the sweater around his shoulders. The woman in the red jacket shrugged, and tackled him to the ground.

"I don't know, just get down!"

They all ran into a cave to wait out the forest fire, and AM kept a fan blowing to keep the air in the cave relatively clean.

"What is wrong with you" you muttered bitterly, wrapping your blanket more tightly around yourself. AM chuckled darkly.

"oh so many things. But you'll never leave me, my sweet. Never."

And he was right. You never would. Even if you'd had the choice.

Wheatley:

The rain was coming down hard outside. It was a lightning storm, and you'd checked out Wheatley from his work like a cumbersome and chatty library book. He shuddered at every lightning strike, but only his lens shook. He couldn't exactly roll around on his own or hide easily, but he seemed like he wanted to.

"Relax, Wheatley. It's just a power outage." You said, lighting a flashlight and grabbing a couple of blankets from your bedroom. You sat down on the ground next to Wheatley, and pulled him in close.

"on nights like this, I like to put a fire in the fireplace." You said, creating a little blanket nest around Wheatley so that he didn't roll away. He kept his blue lens trained on you as you started building a fire.

"Y'know, I've never actually seen a fire before. I've seen pictures, but never in person. My engineers said that they're dangerous," Wheatley said as you made a small pile of sticks and paper on top of the logs in your fireplace.

"But this is a really good idea! That little area in the wall is a really good place to set a fire. The brick will keep it from spreading, and the ashes can fall out between the slats in that little metal rack. Bloody brilliant, that is!"

You let Wheatley talk as you pull out a pocket lighter and light the old newspaper on fire. He squeezes his lens covers shut, and you gently pat him to assure him that it's ok.

"hey, it's not a dangerous fire. It's all in the fireplace."

"PCH.... Yeah, I knew that." He chuckled nervously.

Edgar:

You woke up, your face stuck to Edgar's plastic casing. Sleep filled your eyes as you blinked into a haze.

"what time is it..." You muttered. A strange glow was coming in through the window, like a reverse twilight. Dawn.

"you fell asleep on me!" Said Edgar in his strange, synthetic voice. It was a little squeakier than usual since he was just booting himself up. His little rotating webcam was focused on you, and a big smile was on his screen.

You rubbed your eyes again, and picked him up.

"c'mon... I don't have work tomorrow." You knew he could last a little while without being plugged in, so you unplugged him and carried him to your bedroom and plugged him in next to the bed.

"let's get some sleep, cutie."

You crawled into bed, looking at the nervous and flustered face on Edgar's screen.

"you mean... Your bed? But I've never been in your room before!"

He knew that was because you didn't like unplugging him, but he was right, now that you thought about it.

"I don't care... I'm too sleepy for boundaries right now."

You pulled him close to your chest, pulling the blanket over both of you. His webcam, which was still taped just over his screen, stayed focused on your face as you dozed off under the blanket. Edgar loved you so much.

GLaDOS

You were getting sick and tired of working late every night, well past your bed time. It was like GLaDOS was intentionally coming up with things for you to do just to keep you around past midnight every single night! Well no longer.

You walked in to work on your day off, and directly into GLaDOS's office. Today was the day for some serious passive-aggression.

"hello GLaDOS." You said, unrolling a deflated air mattress on the ground. GLaDOS looked to it, and then to you.

"what is this."

"it's exactly what it looks like, GLaDOS. If you're going to keep me here all night, I'm going to get paid all night. I'll see you in the morning."

You made up your bed and cuddled up under your blanket, eyes poking out so you could see the annoyed expression in GLaDOS's eye.

"this is ridiculous." She said. You chuckled.

"you love me. And you're not going to get rid of me." You weren't all that sleepy, so you got to your feet and walked over to her.

"in fact, I think I know a better place to sleep." You shot a portal onto the wall and onto the floor, launching yourself and your blanket onto GLaDOS's body.

"I'm going to nap right here," you said with a big yawn, curling up in her wiring to go to bed.

"I hate you so much." She said.

"you love me."

HAL 9000:

The year was getting colder, and your nights at mission control were getting longer and darker, so you decided to bring in a blanket for those long nights.

"12:00 midnight... Everything running smoothly. No updates." Said HAL 9000. It took about 45 minutes for updates to reach you from the ship, and you were starting to suspect that HAL 9000 wasn't being completely honest with you. It had been weeks since you'd even spoken to Dave, and even longer since you'd spoken to the rest of the crew.

"can I monitor the vital signs of the sleeping crew mates?" You asked, yawning sleepily and leaning on the desk. This blanket was so warm, and HAL 9000's light was so comforting.

"don't you trust me? It's going to be just fine, y/n. In fact, just let me take care of your reports for tonight. You get some rest."

You nodded, wrapping your soft, snuggly blanket closer around yourself and gazing into that beautiful red light.

"of course I trust you, HAL. I love you..."

His voice was quiet. almost inaudible.

"I love you too."

[humanpurposes]

Hysteria

(1950s AU) A housewife reaches breaking point and seeks medical advice at her husband's request // Main Masterlist

Aemond x nameless female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, period typical sexism, dub-con,

Words: 5400

A/n: inspired by this ask on @lightningandfireinmybones 's blog, shout out to @b-vvitched for the prompt, I couldn't stop thinking about it :) Also available to read on AO3.

She reads over the gold painted letters on the door to make sure she has the right room.

Dr A. Targaryen

General Practitioner

She brings her hand up to the door, hesitating for a moment before she softly taps her knuckles against the wood, thrice.

She holds her breath, unsure if a moment passes or a minute.

His voice comes soft and distant from the other side. “Enter.”

The room is simply four white walls, a dark wood desk and cabinets and an examination table with black leather upholstery. The harsh afternoon sun and a slight breeze bleed in from the open windows, floating through thin, white curtains. It’s surprisingly serene but still plain and inoffensive.

Dr Targaryen– Aemond as he insists as he shakes her hand– has harsh blue eyes, the left framed by a long scar slicing down his face, a pointed nose, curved lips, a sharp jaw and pale blond hair, stylishly gelled like some movie star. Something about him is unsettling despite the small smile and the impeccable manners as he offers her a seat in the green leather chair on the other side of his desk.

She contracts her hand slightly once he lets go of her. His grip had been rather firm.

He opens a brown leather notebook and flicks through a clipboard on the desk, frowning and tapping a pen against it as he goes over some paperwork and basic information she had given the nurse, as instructed.

She holds her hands together in her lap and winces at how damp her palms are. She’s sure it’s just the weather, and smooths them over her pale blue, rayon skirt. She checks her nails while she’s at it too. She had painted them red the night before, but they are already starting to chip from where she’d started her day with washing the dishes and doing a deep clean of the kitchen.

“You said your husband recommended you seek medical advice, is that right?” he asks, his head tilted down and his eyes meeting hers, expecting a prompt answer, she realises.

She swallows through the scratchy feeling in her throat, wishing she had accepted the receptionist’s offer of water. “Yes, that’s right.”

His eyes move over the page again and he gives a cryptic “hmm.”

The specifics often change but lately she’s realised that each day of her life feels the same. Wake up before her husband, make his coffee and his breakfast, make sure he wants for nothing and see him off to work. Help the mother-in-law with her shopping and her laundry. Bake a cake for the village fundraiser and drop it off at the the Church. Make polite conversation with the vicar and the other women helping out, compliment their babies, ask about the older children. Try not to cry when she’s bombarded with the dreaded question. “How soon can we expect little ones from you?”

Two weeks ago her husband had come home from work and found her on the sofa, staring into space, too tired to even reach for a book or a magazine. Everything had seemed to be going wrong for her that day, evidenced by the broken washing machine, the broken heel on her shoe, the cuts and blisters on her feet, the shopping left unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. She was absolutely exhausted, but when his dinner wasn't ready and waiting for him, her husband hit the roof.

Something snapped. Before she knew it, she was screaming, eyes hot and streaming with tears as she choked on her own sobs. She had never been so loud in her life. She can hardly even remember what she said.

Her husband’s voice screams inside her head. “Emotional… irrational… hysterical…”

“And you went to the nurse first?” Aemond asks. 

“Yes.”

He looks back at the notes. “What did she tell you?”

She shifts in her chair. It should all be right there in front of him, why does she have to say it?

She takes a deep breath, as subtly as she can. “She suggested it could be a hormonal imbalance, or a symptom of…”

Aemond raises a brow, expectantly.

She feels a warmth rushing to her cheeks “... monthly courses,” she says quietly.

“And have you had issues with those?” he asks.

“They can be irregular.”

He hums again and writes something in his notebook.

She clenches her fist around her skirt and notices the soft ticking of the clock on the wall over the desk. It’s not too obtrusive, and the rhythm gives her something to focus on while neither of them are speaking.

Aemond shifts back in his chair, crossing a leg over the other, absentmindedly pressing the lid of his pen to his lips like he’s trying to solve a crossword in the morning paper. “What exactly was your husband’s main concern?”

There comes a familiar feeling, an emptiness in her chest like her body might concave, and a swelling in her eyes. She bites down on her lip to dispel the urge to cry.

Everyone around her loves to comment on how happy she is, how blessed she is to have such a happy marriage and a loving husband.

“He says I’ve been too emotional.”

“Emotional in what way?”

She tells him about the outburst two weeks ago, expecting him to tut and shake his head and chide her for her behaviour. Instead he watches her and listens.

“He says he doesn’t know what else to do with me. He says he does everything he can to make me happy, but that it’ll never be enough for me,” she says.

“And does he make you happy?” he asks.

Her answer hitches in her throat. The obvious response would be of course. He does what any good husband does, works, brings home a salary, sweet talks her mother and smokes cigars with her father when they visit every other Sunday. 

Happiness seems to be an external factor, something people comment on and praise her. When other people say she is happy she wears it with pride, like a medal or a precious piece of jewellery.

She loves her husband, as well as any self respecting woman does. She reminds herself that’s the whole reason why she’s here.

At her silence Aemond smiles to himself and begins to write. She follows how his fingertips grip the pen and how the tendons in his hands flex.

“Wait!” she says, shuffling forward in her seat.

He pauses and looks at her like he did before, with his chin tilted down.

“No– I meant to say yes. Yes, he makes me happy.”

His eyes move around her face and briefly down, over the pearl charm hanging from her neck, her white blouse and her hands bunched in her blue skirt. She releases them when she realises he’s looking and rests them on the arms of the chair instead.

This feels like a test, one in which every word and gesture will be put to scrutiny, earning either a curious “hmm” or a scratching of the pen against the paper. She wonders which is worse.

“How long have you been married?” he asks.

“A year in July.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His question leaves a tight feeling in her chest and in her gut. 

Aemond sets the pen down on the desk without making a sound. “Sorry, I know these questions can be obtrusive. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but it would be useful to know what I’m working with.”

That’s an odd way to phrase it, she thinks.

“No it’s alright,” she says, her fingers moving anxiously over each other. “It’s not for lack of trying. We… try a few times a week. Usually on the weekends or when he’s not tired– he’s often tired after work.”

“And how is it?”

“Oh, um–” without thinking her hands move back into her lap and she starts to pick at the red nail polish. “He says there’s something wrong with me.”

Aemond tilts his head. “Wrong with you?”

She squeezes her thighs together at the familiar memory of her husband’s downright painful attempts to make love to her. He practically has to force his way inside of her and she can never stand it for more than a few thrusts before she pushes him off. 

He was understanding for the first few months, but she can tell it’s starting to irritate him now. She doesn’t understand why it doesn’t work, what she could possibly be doing wrong.

“Does he prepare you?” 

She looks up with a knitted brow. “Prepare me?”

He tuts and mutters something that sounds like “poor thing,” before scrawling another quick note. 

Then he stands, rolling up the sleeves of his white coat and the black shirt underneath. “I want to check a few things,” he says, cocking his head towards the examination table on the other side of the room.

She follows dutifully, propping her hands against the leather upholstery and pushing herself up to sit on it. Her black heels don’t reach the floor. She crosses them at the ankle and lets them swing a little. 

Once Aemond has washed his hands he approaches her. He’s tall, she realises as he stands before her. His hips are level with her knees and the edge of the table and while he’s not quite close enough to touch her, her legs twitch at the proximity.

She tries to avert her gaze from the somewhat intense expression in his eyes as he simply looks at her. Her eyes don’t stop moving, looking past his shoulder or down at her sides, but there’s not anything interesting to look at.

She focuses on the steady ticking of the clock, counting ten long seconds before she realises she’s holding her breath.

When she finally releases she finds herself focusing instead on the gentle sounds of Aemond’s breath through his nose, the smell of his hair gel, musky aftershave and the lingering scent of smoke. 

Warm fingertips brush against her jaw as he brings her to look at him. She can feel the slight roughness of the pads of his fingers, but he’s gentle when he touches her, almost cautious. 

He leans in a little closer until he’s touching her knees. She doesn’t let herself react but her heart is drumming furiously, more so when his thumb strokes over her cheek. He moves back and forth, grazing the corner of her mouth, before he swipes it over her lower lip. 

She relaxes her mouth as he presses and tugs on the soft flesh. It’s somehow both terrifying and oddly reassuring.

And then he settles, pressing both of her lips into a slight pout while his fingertips rest against her jaw and the top of her neck.

“Open your mouth for me,” he says.

She stares back at him with wide eyes. Had she heard that correctly?

The corners of his mouth curl politely, waiting for her compliance.

So she does as he asks.

With his fingers holding her chin, Aemond inches his thumb into her mouth, settling on her tongue. His skin tastes clean and faintly medicinal from the amber soap.

“You can close your mouth,” he says.

She keeps her eyes on his as she closes her lips around him, careful not to touch him with her teeth.

He hums again, low and contentedly. “Good girl.”

She shudders at the sudden weightlessness in her belly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She gives him a small nod.

"Good," he utters, "just breathe."

She loses count of the seconds on the clock as he simply settles inside of her. She does as he says, breathing deeply through her nose, looking up at him through her eyelashes, trying to read if he's pleased or not.

When he starts to withdraw and she instinctively drags her tongue along his thumb. She looks down at his hand, the imprint of her mauve lipstick on his skin, the glistening digit and the small line of spit that trails from her mouth, which he wipes away with his fingers.

“How did that feel?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment. “Good.”

He glances down and her eyes follow, to the fabric of her skirt. When she stands it falls to her shin, but seated, the hem rides up to just below her knees. He places a wide hand on her left knee, their skin separated only by a thin layer of nylon stockings.

“These outbursts of yours,” he mutters, “are they a regular occurrence?”

“Not really,” she says.

“What do you think caused it?”

She presses her teeth together and looks away from him to think. “Lots of things I suppose. It all piles up.”

“How did it feel, to shout at your husband?”

She huffs a laugh at the instinct that appears in her head, it’s not something she should ever admit, but there’s something about Aemond’s eyes and the feeling of his hands that make her want to tell him the truth,

“I liked it, I was just so…” she shakes her head looking for the right word, but she supposes there’s a simpler explanation. “I was so angry, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“What were you angry at?” Aemond asks, his thumb starting to stroke against her thigh. 

Would it be too much to list every aspect of her life that irritates her?

She hates a lot of things. She hates tidying the house just for it to get messy again. She hates it when her new shoes dig into her skin and make her bleed. She hates that she seems incapable of interacting with another person without suffering their scrutiny. She hates it when people tell her that her life is perfect.

Everything races around in her head, screaming and shouting at her until the noise becomes silent, just a throbbing pain in her head.

“Just… everything,” she groans, rubbing her fingertips against her temple. “I don’t understand it, everyone says our life together is so perfect, but I don’t feel perfect.”

His hand moves away from her and she looks up at the absence.

Aemond takes a slow breath. “Are you familiar with hysteria?”

Her heart sinks and he seems to see it in her face.

He purses his lips for a moment before he explains, “it’s essentially an excess of ill-managed emotions. It can lead to irrational behaviour and quite severe distress.”

She’s heard of the condition before, sparse stories here and there of men who had no choice but to seek proper treatment for their wives when they are too emotional… irrational… hysterical.

She’s not like those women, surely, and her husband knows that, right?

“Is that what's wrong with me?” she asks.

His mouth quirks. “Quite possibly.”

“But I’ve heard of women with this condition before. I’ve heard what their husbands do to them, I—” she can feel her eyes beginning to well with hot, stinging tears. “That’s not going to happen to me, is it?”

She hangs her head, dread pooling in her belly, until his hands cup the sides of her face. Aemond brings her gaze up into his eyes.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispers, blinking the tears from her eyes so they roll down her cheeks. “Please, there must be something you can do–”

“There there, pet,” he says, tracing his thumbs along her teartracks, “everything is going to be alright, hmm? We can sort you out.”

She nods at his reassurance and the feeling of his hands against her skin. It must be entirely improper to be so close to another man, even more so when she starts to realise just how much she likes it, a sweet sort of unease. Perhaps that’s just his nature, perhaps he’s just good at this part of his job.

For a moment he presses his lips together in a strange way, like he’s holding something back. “There is one treatment I’m keen to suggest,” he says.

“What treatment?” she asks.

He tilts his head slightly. “Hysteria is an instability of emotion. You need a release.”

“Like when I shouted at my husband?”

He smiles at that. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

She nods.

“We can undergo controlled releases,” he says, “you’ll be much happier for it.”

She takes a sharp breath when one of his hands moves down from her cheek to rest casually at her waist.

“I can start the treatment today, if you’d like?”

His face is close to hers now, She feels every flutter of his breath, the heat of his body separated by inches of empty space.

“Yes please,” she says quietly, like she might disturb the peacefulness in the room if she speaks any louder. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Don’t worry, pet, we’ve still got plenty of time left,” he says, stepping away. “Take your skirt off, and lie back.”

Suddenly her skin feels tight. “My skirt?”

“If you don’t mind?” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards his desk. “It just makes things a little easier, maybe the blouse too.”

She hops down from the table, heels clicking against the floor.  While Aemond’s pen scratches against paper, she turns her back and starts to pick at the buttons on the top of her blouse. She pulls it over her head and folds it, setting it down on the table, where her head will go. Then she pulls down the zip on her skirt and lets it fall around her. For the slightly mortifying prospect of standing there in her stockings and undergarments, the breeze from the window washes over the bare skin of her arms and torso. It’s quite nice, a welcome relief.

She waits with her heels close together and her hands clasped in front of her. Aemond has his back to her and she watches the way the sunlight catches in the silvery streaks of his hair. He tears a sheet from the pad of prescription papers and leaves it on his desk before he moves to the sink to wash his hands. It’s methodical, like before, well rehearsed and memorised for efficiency. Does he even have to think about what he’s doing, she wonders?

Once his hands are dried he reaches into a drawer under his desk. He keeps his eyes on the small object in his hands as he walks towards her.

She straightens her back and puts her hands on the table behind her, testing her weight so she can shuffle on top of it. 

Aemond looks up and she pauses.

His eyes dart up and down her body. “Shoes and stockings off too.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks but she complies, reaching down to undo the small buckles on each shoe. Once they’re under the table she stands straight and curls her thumbs around her stockings.

She looks up to Aemond. He gives her a small nod.

She starts to pull the thin material down her legs, so thin it should hardly make a difference. She shivers as the breeze meets a new part of her body. She straightens again, dutifully awaiting her next instruction. 

The corners of Aemond’s mouth curl. “Perfect,” he mutters. 

He steps closer to her, until she can make out the object in his hands. It’s a coppery colour, gleaming like metal, and no smaller than a tube of lipstick. He slips it into his coat pocket.

She follows Aemond’s hand as he reaches out and runs a slender finger under the strap of her brassiere. “I think we’ll keep this on,” he says.

She nods, though she doesn’t really know why.

A hum sounds in his throat and his eyes look over her face. “Lie back.”

She does as he says and fiddles with her hands, unsure of where to put them until she decides to keep them by her sides. Anticipation sets her nerves alight. She listens to every breath, each taunting footstep as Aemond comes to stand at the foot of the bed.

He moves slowly so as not to agitate her, but her whole body tenses when his hands clasp around her ankles. It’s obvious he’s trying to be gentle, but even when softly spoken his voice leaves a restless feeling in her gut. “Shh, try to relax, and just let me…” he lifts her legs up along her body until her knees are by her hips. His hands go to her thighs next and she lets out a short whimper of surprise when he pulls her closer to him.

“There we go,” he muses to himself, one hand on her thigh while he gently rests the other on her navel, over the hem of her panties.

Her hands are restless, fists clenching and nails digging into her palms.

Aemond looks down at her with a hint of concern. “You can tell me if you want to stop, at any point.”

“No it’s alright,” she breathes, suppressing the urge to arch her back.

His brows raise as he looks down, grazing his fingertips over her skin. Each movement has her breath hitching or her body squirming, no matter how hard she tries to relax, just as he’d instructed.

He brings both hands to her knees, closing them together before he reaches for her panties and slides them from her legs. She doesn’t see where he drops them. Her hands come into fists again as he gradually spreads her legs. 

She’s not sure what to expect or how this is supposed to help her control her emotions, but she tries to concentrate on staying still, keeping whatever dignity she has left.

“Look at that,” Aemond hums, circling his thumbs against her inner thighs, “you’re already getting wet.”

She can feel it, the warmth pooling between her legs. No one has ever told her it’s bad, but it’s one of those things she wonders if she should be ashamed of. She tries to shift but there’s nowhere for her body to go, nowhere she can hide from him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “it’s not bad, is it?”

Aemond frowns. “You mean you don’t…” he trails off as his face melts into an amused sort of sympathy, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Bad news for your husband maybe. It means you’re aroused.”

Aroused. She repeats the word to herself a few times. 

Surely it is a bad thing to find herself in such a state, only she finds herself turning her attention to Aemond. Her gaze trails shamelessly over the veins and tendons of his hands and forearms as he kneads at her thighs, the curve of his upper lip and the tip of his tongue swiping between his teeth. If only she could read his mind, figure out what he’s thinking behind those pretty blue eyes, what hypothesis he’s playing around with inside his head. 

And then he reaches into his pocket. She lifts her head to try and get a better look. The coppery object looks more like an oversized bullet, with a slightly pointed head and a black button at its base. When Aemond presses the button it starts to hum. Even the noise of it sparks a reaction from her. She feels something strange, like a shockwave flashing through her body.

“Relax,” Aemond says, bringing his other hand to her hip. “I don’t want to have to tie you down.”

“No,” she utters, “sorry.” She lets her head fall against the upholstery and stares up at the ceiling, determined not to react.

Until something presses to her centre, humming against her. Pleasure pulses through her, unfamiliar but hot and bright. Her eyes snap shut and her hips try to buck but Aemond’s hand holds her down. 

“How does it feel?” he says.

Her first attempt to speak comes out as a broken whimper. “Good,” she manages, stilling her hips from trying to rock against the bullet. “Fuck…”

Something inside of her feels tight, tensing and tensing until she’s sure she can’t take any more. But he keeps it against her, making small, rhythmic movements through her folds, edging her closer to that rising feeling only to relieve her of it.

Her nails start to drag along the leather, clawing at it for purchase. She tries to stay still, to keep her hips steady but something has to give. She turns her head to the side, whimpering and groaning into her shoulder.

“There you go,” Aemond hums, as he finds a truly torturous pattern, slowly swiping upwards from her entrance to the sweet spot of her pearl, only to start over. 

“Please,” she whimpers as he tears her away from that feeling again. Blissful tears blur her vision and she feels utterly weightless. “I can’t stand it…”

He lingers the bullet just below her pearl. She’s so close to something. She can feel it. 

“Do you want to stop?” Aemond asks.

“No!” she cries.

He starts to move in small circles now and her body feels like it’s burning. “Just take it,” he says, “you can take it, just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

“Yes… yes…” she utters like a dreamy chant. 

The button clicks and the vibrations increase. She hardly registers the wanton noises she makes, but she’s all too aware of wet sounds of her arousal and Aemond’s short hums when her hips start to buck again.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Aemond says. “Come on, pet, you can do it, you’re almost there…”

She feels the hum of her throat as she groans his name and suddenly the tight feeling snaps. Her whole body releases, just as Aemond promised, and she feels herself come undone. He guides her through it, the bullet whirring against her and his hand steady on her hip.

When he finally withdraws, her limbs don’t feel like her own. She listens to her own breath and feels the rise and fall of her chest as she wills herself into a state of awareness. She props herself onto her elbows and her eyes meet Aemond’s.

He smirks, and looks down again, gently drawing a thumb through her folds. 

Her back arches and her breath hitches, though not as intensely as before. She can feel how slick she is now, how easily he moves against her. She eases under his touch and just lets it feel good.

“You did so well,” he says, “fuck, the way your cunt twitches when you come…”

She gazes at him with a bewildered kind of awe, at his parted lips, the golden glow of sunlight trailing down his jaw and his neck, and now the dark, almost hungry look in his eyes. She can already feel the desire rising again, the wanting for more.

“There’s something else I want to try,” he says. His thumb slips further down, teasing her entrance. “If you’ll let me?”

She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.

“Good girl,” he hums.

That alone has her trying to roll her hips against him, but then he’s gone. She wants to groan in protest but keeps her mouth shut as she watches him remove his white coat and black shirt, both of which he drapes over his chair. For his seemingly slender frame, he’s surprisingly muscular. 

With his back still turned to her she watches his hands move to his trousers. She hears the clinking of his belt buckle and the sound of his fly coming undone. He reaches back into the same drawer, tears something between his teeth and discards a small, white packet on the desk. 

As he comes to stand before her once more she can’t help the small smile that graces her lips, unashamedly appreciating the muscles of his torso, his pectorals and the lines of his abdominals, and his now freed cock, already hard, and certainly larger than her husband’s.

He stands before her once again, bringing her knees down so he can slot himself between her legs.

She can already feel herself twitching and her heart racing. 

He doesn’t waste much time on preamble. “You’re fucking soaked,” he mutters, lining the his cock to her entrance and taking a hold of her thigh, “be a shame to waste it.”

She expects it to hurt when he pushes inside of her, and for a moment it does. She feels the way he stretches her out with just the tip. He moves slowly, dragging in and out of her, each time pushing in a little more. She can take the pain, at least until it starts to melt away. After a few strokes it feels effortless.

Aemond lets out a sharp grunt as he comes close to bottoming out. “How does it feel?” he asks with a small amount of strain.

It’s a different kind of pleasure, it’s duller and deeper, less frantic but it still burns in the best way.

“Good,” she breathes.

Aemond’s hands take hold of her waist as he increases his pace, dragging her into him to match his thrusts.

The air feels hot and thick now, the ticking of the clock drowned out by laboured panting, breathless moans and the soft sounds of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he hisses, sinking his fingertips deeper into her flesh.

“I don’t suppose that’s a medical term?” she says with a dazed grin.

Aemond huffs a laugh but it seems to spur him on, his jaw slack and his brow furrowed in determination. 

She wraps her legs around his hips and reaches up for him, but all she manages is to graze her fingertips over his torso. He snatches her wrists, leaning over to pin them on either side of her head as he brutally starts to snap her hips into hers. Like this he fucks her deeper and harder against the leather.

She feels her release building slowly, his cock brushing against a spot that has her eyes watering again.

“Going to come for me?” Aemond grits out, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I want to,” she whimpers, arching her back to get closer to him, “fuck–”

He releases one of her wrists and slips his hand between them, circling her pearl with the pads of his fingers. 

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear. “You’re squeezing me so good,” he whispers harshly, “nearly there, nearly there sweetheart…”

Her legs start to shake as her pleasure peaks and her climax washes over her. Every part of her body tenses and moulds itself into him. Aemond doesn’t relent, he keeps fucking her until she’s whining and squirming, until finally he lets out a guttural groan into her neck. His hips still and she feels him throbbing inside of her, spilling himself into the condom.

For a moment she’s content to lie there, no matter how uncomfortable the surface of the bed is. She likes Aemond’s weight on top of her, his breath on her neck, the scent of him, the sweat from his brow against her skin. But they don’t stay like that for long. He pulls away from her and makes quick work of disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“Nothing wrong in that regard,” he says, reaching for her hand to help her sit up. “If you’re having trouble it’s the fault of your husband. He needs to prepare you before he tries to fuck you.”

She flicks her hair from her neck to relieve some of the heat. “Oh, right.” She can feel herself trembling, but she feels light, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. 

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, placing a reassuring hold to her arm.

“Good,” she says.

Aemond carefully helps her back into her panties, stockings, shoes, blouse and skirt. He rights her necklace, wipes the dried tears from her cheeks, drags his thumb around her mouth where her lipstick has smudged and helps her down from the bed, keeping a firm hand on her until she nods to let him know she’s alright. 

He tears off a prescription paper and hands it to her. She quickly skims over it. He’s not prescribed any medication or recommended a lobotomy, thank God. 

“Contraction therapy?” she reads, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“I want to see you twice weekly,” he says, buttoning up his shirt. “Maybe we can go for three times a week, if you feel it would be beneficial.”

She tries her best to hide her smile. “Well I’m sure you know best, doctor.”

General Taglist (comment if you wanna be added): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

[russellsppttemplates]

What if you and the kids gang up on me? (Pierre Gasly)

Pierre is doing what he can to makes sure his children are raised knowing their roots

Note: english is not my first language. As you maybe know by now, talking about these subjects is a big responsibility for me, but I always hope that I have treated them properly. Also, these are some traditions that I remembered and that I know about!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: pregnancy

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Did you find what you were looking for?", you asked your husband when he found you in the living room. Because Alexandre had been a little bit fussy the night before and you still had some things to prepare and sort out for the big night tomorrow, you ended up staying with your little boy at home while Pierre went out to get something he needed.

"Yes, they fit well, too. I just put them in the washing machine. And how's this little guy, hm? Is he feeling better?", he pointed to your son. He had been attached to you the whole day, so he had ended up falling asleep on top of you, "he's feeling a bit sorry for himself still, but he's sleeping now, so I guess that's a good thing", you chuckled, remembering the past night where you and Pierre almost slept in shifts since your little boy kept needing your full attention.

The next day, Pierre's parents arrived after lunch, making it the perfect timing to get the kitchen and the dining room ready for the New Year's Eve celebration. Because of how young your son was, you opted to stay inside and have dinner with your in-laws, making the situation a lot more flexible.

"Are you not going to put on the dress you bought?", Pierre asked, taking Alexandre from your arms, "I don't know if it fits me all that well", you admitted, "I'm sure it will, amour, you look gorgeous in everything", he ushered you up the stairs.

While you got ready, Pierre softly knocked on the door of the guest room his parents were staying in, "are you guys ready?", he asked, seeing his parents dressed according to the request he made. Moving to the nursery, he laid his son on the changing mat, grabbing the white shirt and soft pants from the wardrobe before pulling his own trousers he had hid in the room, "let's surprise mama, yes? I bet she'll be so happy to see you. You look like the most handsome boy ever", he kissed his cheek, changing himself as well and walking back to your bedroom to surprise you.

"Me and Alexandre need you to close your eyes", Pierre said after he knocked, "my eyes are closer then", you said, hearing footsteps approach you when you heard your husband's command, "you can open them now".

Opening your eyes, you saw both of your boyd in all white outfits, matching your own, "I know you always wear white because of the traditions you have, so I thought it would be a good one to start now that we have this little one", he smiled, handing Alexandre back to you when you opened and closed your hands and encouraged him to do so.

"This is amazing, amour", you thanked, kissing his lips before taking a good look at both of them, "look at you, meu amor", you kissed your son's cheeks, earning a little giggle from him, "you look so handsome, although I think your outfit won't be this clean for much longer", you tapped his nose.

"Knowing you, yours won't either", your husband teased you, "you look amazing, mon ange", he kissed your forehead, "breathtaking as usual", he smiled, "C'mon, my mother also needed help with her dress and my father was having some trouble with the zipper, and you might be the only one to be able to fiddle with it".

.

"Papa, I want something sweet to eat", Alexandre said, looking for a snack in the cupboard, "do you know how to make those chocolaty balls mama makes? The brigadeiros", the boy struggled with the last words, the letter R still a challenge for him to bend, "Oh, those are so good, papa, please make them!", Louis said.

Pierre had seen you make them what felt like a thousand times before, but now he was doubting himself, "How about we do them together?", he suggested, thinking that if the recipe tasted different, he could also blame it on the fact his children helped him do it and that's why it tasted off and not because of his baking skills.

"First, ingredients!", Pierre announced, moving to the cupboard where you kept the sweet ingredients, "we need this can here, which is called leite condensado, and some cocoa powder", he helped them reach the shelves and grab what they needed, "we also need margarina", he showed them the block of margarine he got from the fridge, "Oh, the word is very similar to the French one", the oldest boy said, "that's right, a lot of the words are similar", he smiled, grabbing the measuring spoons and the pot they needed.

"It makes it easier to learn, even if I'm not that good at it", Alexandre admitted, pouting slightly, "the other day I asked mama to speak to me in Portuguese and I got her request messed up, she wanted her hairbrush and I got her a hair tie", he confessed.

Helping Louis up on the wooden tower so he could be at the level of the counter, Pierre spoke to Alexandre, "you know learning a new language is hard, you're still getting used to it, right? And you're doing a good job, buddy! The first time mama asked me for something in Portuguese, she said it was in the bathroom and I went to the kitchen", he nudged him, seeing his smile creep up.

"So, we have to heat this up, and we have to be careful because we can't have bubbles, alright boys?", Pierre pointed the spoon, "so we just keep stirring the chocolate in now?", Louis wondered, "yes, carefully for a good while".

Despite their usual excitement and rush because they were just kids, the boys actually held up to the request and waited patiently until the bowl had cooled down from the fridge enough so they could roll up the balls, "mama usually makes different toppings, like coconut, and cocoa powder too", Pierre added, "so it's really up to you what you do with yours".

"Can we leave these ones for mama?", Alexandre asked, setting a small tupperware box on the side with some of his and his brother's creations, "yes, I'll put them in the fridge for when she gets back from work, I bet she'll love them".

.

"Come here", your husband whispered, seeing you finish rubbing the cream on your arms, "I want to talk to my little girl", he urged you, helping you sit on the bed so he could scoot down and face your bump. Because this was your third pregnancy, your bump was growing at a much faster pace, making it more prominent and, therefore, a place where you would usually find Pierre's hand whenever he was near you, and tonight was no different.

"Olá, meu amor", he began, "hoje deste um dia complicado à mãe, hm? Mas é um bom sinal, porque significa que estás a crescer e que estamos cada vez mais perto de te conhecer e de te ter nos nossos braços", he smiled, kissing your soft skin. Hello, my love (...) today you gave mama a hard day, hm? Bur that's a good sign, it means you're growing and that we are closer to meeting you and to have you in our arms

"I'll never get over you speaking my mother tongue", you brushed your husband's hair by running your fingers through, "you speak mine, and I have to know, too. I mean, what if one day you and the kids gang up on me?".

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Xavier: Library Hideaway | Drabble

This is one of the five drabbles i wrote for Xavier (All SFW). I wrote each drabble in ten minutes for my writing sprints so they're not like my normal quality of writing. However these were a good way for me to warm up with my characterization of Xavier! I'll be posting the other drabbles later (probably will queue them) so look out for those!

Pairing: Xavier x Reader Warning: None Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

“What are you doing?” Xavier’s voice was so close that you almost jumped. You spun around on the comfortable bean bag chair you had claimed. Xavier was on the one right behind you and the two of you managed to use your backs to help support one another while you read. It had been so quiet and serene that you hadn’t expected to suddenly hear his voice.

“Reading?” You said with an amused chuckle. Obviously you were reading since your nose was deep in a book right now.

Xavier was still facing away but you could see his profile, the gentle smile on his face while he shook his head, “Not…that.” He finally said. He took a moment to look at you, making eye contact, “You keep shifting.”

Oh, you hadn’t even noticed. You were currently reading an action scene in the book, trying to think of all the details as vividly as you could. You guessed during all that imagination you had been moving around a bit. A small flush went up at the realization. You cleared your throat before speaking in a hushed tone.

“I just got to an exciting part in this book, that’s all.” You mustered up and you heard the subtle huff of his laughter. You guys were trying to be quiet at the moment, the library commanded a certain air to it that you were compelled to abide by. That and…

The two of you heard footsteps, someone passing by your secret little reading nook you had found. When you guys discovered this place a month ago you were surprised to have found it. Right behind one of the shelves was a nook area that was covered in dust, as though nobody had cleaned it in years. The two of you made the assumption that perhaps nobody in the library knew about it and took it upon yourselves to clean it.

Now if was your favorite place to be, grabbing drinks and a book then heading over. It was also fun, seeing people pass by the nook and not knowing the two of you were right beyond a shelf. Once the footsteps went away you let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Xavier finally spoke, “What’s the scene about?” He said, shifting more. It was enough that you began falling backwards, only to feel his hand on your back as he steadied you.

“Just an action scene.” You said then paused for a moment, “Did you…want to read it?” You finally asked. You could see the gentle smile on Xavier’s face as he nodded. You were about to hand the book over when you suddenly felt your center of gravity shifting. You let out a small, surprised noise as he adjusted the two of you.

He placed you on his lap, crossing his legs to create a little space for you. His chin came to rest on your shoulder as he looked over the words on the pace. “Don’t be too loud, unless you want them to find us.” He said and you let out a small groan.

“You could’ve warned me…besides we’re in public and this is inappropriate.” You scolded him, yet despite your words leaned into his chest some more, his natural body heat warming you up.

“Nobody knows about this place.” Xavier’s breath ghosted over your neck before you felt his lips pressing down on the valley between your head and shoulder, “It’s our own little getaway, right?”

You sighed but nodded your head, “Ya, it is. Now if you want to understand this scene we’re gonna have to read the entire book together now.” You pointed it out to him.

“Read it to me?” He asked and you chuckled.

“Can we take turns?” He squeezed gently at your waist after you asked that, then you felt him nod.

“Ya, I think I can manage that.”

One of my buddies really did put Xavier into perspective with a vast majority of the fandom: He's kinda the middle child. I noticed my masterlist only had two NSFW things written for him, so I decided to fix that. I tend to write a lot for Zayne and even Rafayel, but I'm thinking of taking turns of just writing several drabbles of one specific character at a time! Of course as long as I can keep up with it, I don't wanna burn myself out.

Still, with that being said...I do have one NSFW fic for Zayne that I forgot was in my drafts that'll be posted soon, as well as...something angsty for the man. A friend asked me to make him hurt so alas I did.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Camping | Lee Know

-> Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

-> Request: No

-> Synopsis: You go camping with your boyfriend.

-> Warnings: None. No use of pronouns.

-> Word Count: 310

-> Requests: Open until 31st June

Lee Know Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy, modify and/or repost anywhere.

“Jagi-ya,” you hear Minho trying to get your attention. Looking up from the bowl of ramen you’re eating, you look at your boyfriend. He gives you a cheeky smile and snaps a photo on his phone. You give him an unimpressed look before going back to your food that he had cooked over the campfire.   

What was supposed to be a weekend camping trip with your friends turned into one with your boyfriend after all your friends had backed out. Knowing you were disappointed because you were excited and looking forward to the trip, Minho took the weekend off so you could still go.   

“Do you want to go for a walk on the trail after we’ve cleaned up?” he asks as you finish eating.    

You smile and nod your head as you move to get the dishes cleaned. As you gather the empty bowls and dirty utensils, Minho joins you, his playful grin still lingering on his face. He begins to wash the dishes while you dry them. The chore you dread the most starts to feel surprisingly enjoyable with his company.  

Once the last dish is dried and put away, you both set off on the trail hand in hand. The air inside the woods is crisp and fragrant, carrying the scent of pine and earth. As you continue your journey, Minho's passion for the outdoors becomes evident. He points out various plants and birds, his knowledge of the wilderness impresses you. His knowledge of things is just one of the many qualities that you find attractive. 

In this moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and guided by Minho, you realize that it's not just his knowledge that draws you to him. It's his way of making you open your eyes to the beauty of the world. With every step, your bond with him and nature deepens. 

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[gabessquishytum]

hello! i just wanted to start off by saying how much i absolutely adore your blog and the community you have created! i’ve been in fandom spaces for about a decade and this is the first time i’ve ever come across such an interactive and collaborative space where everyone is just so lovely and loves sharing their ideas with each other. you doing such wonderful things in the dreamling/sandman fandom gabe 💖💖

so, i’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for a while now and a couple asks have touched on the topic as well but i’ve become a little obsessed with it! sheltered/virgin!dream and kinda-experienced-but mostly knows his way around a sex toy!hob are roommates in uni and of course dream has the biggest crush on hob. he thinks that hob has a lot more experience than he does just because of how charming hob is whenever they go out. dream has never actually seen hob take anyone home but that doesn’t really correlate in his head. because dream is slowly becoming obsessed with hob he decides he needs more experience but he doesn’t want to have sex with just anyone. he goes snooping through their dorm/apartment and finds hobs quite extensive collection of sex toys. he rifles through it and picks out a couple that he definitely knows what to do with and leaves those he is clueless about. he starts experimenting and finally experiences his first orgasm with (unknown to him) hobs favorite dildo stuffed in him. very quickly hob realizes that dream has found his stash of sex toys and taken a few (he was very horny about dream taking his favorite toy, even if that means he couldn’t use it until he talked with dream). hob is just as obsessed with dream and has been trying to work up the courage to put his charms on dream without making it awkward since they already live together. this all cumulates one day when hob gets home early to see dream “practicing” for when he’s finally with hob and hob sees his favorite toy stuffed in dream and his horny brain just melts completely as he watches dream finish and hob comes in his pants

This is so kind, thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to say nice things <3 it always means a lot to know that people can find a home here.

I am totally enamoured with the idea of Dream getting fascinated by Hob’s sex toy collection! Also the idea that Dream unintentionally takes Hob’s favourite toy, thus accidentally leaving Hob in a very horny but very frustrated position because he wants his special dildo back but the idea of Dream using it is so. Fucking. Arousing.

Another idea that this sparked off for me: Dream and Hob sharing a pocket-pussy type toy. Maybe it's the same kind of scenario - Dream is inexperienced and ends up confessing to Hob about his lack of knowledge (they're both a little drunk at the time). Hob has the brilliant idea of fetching his pocket-pussy from his room and telling Dream that he can totally borrow it! Just to get some practice, you know? Dream uses it that very night, but he doesn't do a very good job of cleaning it up... when Hob comes to collect his toy, it's still wet. And sticky. And of course, Hob puts his dick inside it and gets off to the slick slide of his gorgeous roommate's cum. They trade the toy back and forth for weeks, neither of them willing to admit that they might as well just fuck each other at this point...

I just really like the idea of them being nasty and oversharing with each other when they're still "just friends". Getting off in bed next to each other, watching porn together, just generally being gross <333 Hell, maybe Dream tries a vibrator for the first time ever and gives Hob control of the remote - they still claim to be in a totally platonic relationship while Dream writhes naked on the couch and Hob jerks himself off.

It's only when both of them simultaneously realise that the idea of their "totally platonic best friend" fucking anyone else makes them physically sick... that they mutually figure out that they're in love. And sharing sex toys suddenly seems a whole lot more acceptable... when one day they might also be sharing a last name <3

[hannybun]

Hiii I just found your blog and I'm already in love 💓 there's barely anyone who writes for xikers. So who in xikers would be a hard dom soft dom, or switch

Xikers: A hard dom, soft dom, or a switch

Genre: Smut (18+) MDNI

Warnings: Oral sex (Giving/Receiving), degradation, praise, brat/brat tamer, Dacryphilia, corruption kink, Dumbification (Sumin and Seeun), mention of free use (Junghoon), mention of breeding (Hunter), Maknae line is included (If you’re uncomfortable with that), etc if there is more pls let me know

Author note: I had a lot of fun writing this one

Minjae: He is definitely a hard dom in my opinion. As the leader, he definitely loves it when you let him talk the lead in bedroom. If you decide to act like brat while he’s working on his music then you’ll be in for one hell of a night. Roughly fucking into you from behind and refusing to let you cum until he believes you. After you two finish, he will clean you up and cuddle with you until you both fall asleep

Junmin: Probably the only member in the group that is a switch leaning towards a sub. It’s not that can’t take the lead in bed (he very much can) it’s just loves it even more when you take control. One of his favorite things during sex is when you’re ride him for multiple orgasms and he can’t do anything except moan and whine. The only time he’ll be the dom is if it’s a occasion like your birthday and he wants to do all the work

Sumin: Him being a hard dom just makes so much sense to me. Out of all the members, he definitely has the most kinks probably too much to list here but one of his main kinks is corruption. The concept of you being a sweet girl that becomes so obsessed with him and his cock that you can’t physically pull yourself away from him drives him insane

Jinsik: He just gives me soft dom vibes to me. He’s more a pleasure dom than anything else tbh. Whenever his eating you out, it usually leads to multiple orgasms to the point that it becomes almost painful and you’re pushing his head back. Even though he’s a soft dom that likes to praise you most of the time he wouldn’t hesitate to say to call you a slut if he feels jealous

Hyunwoo: He is definitely a switch leaning towards soft dom. He likes to be the dom 70% of the time especially when he is needy. Like, you two could be eating at a restaurant and if he feels like it then he’ll pull into a bathroom and tell you to suck him off until he feels satisfied. He won’t ever admit it to you but he thinks it’s so hot if you push him into being submissive

Junghoon: It was a kind of hard to fully decide if he was a hard or soft dom but I think leans towards being a hard dom. I definitely believe that he has a dacryphilia kink, seeing you cry while he fucks his fingers into you makes his dick ache. If you consent to the idea of free use then that will become a regular occurrence

Seeun: He’s definitely a soft dom and he loves it. It’s mainly the fact that he so much taller than you that really gets him going. Like Junghoon, he has a thing for crying except it’s for when you’re begging for him to fuck you and than he feels satisfied enough to finally fuck you until you’re crying and can’t speak properly. Also likes to tease you while you’re in public like rubbing your thighs

Yujun: Yujun is 100% a pure switch and has no prefer role during sex. He just so desperate to touch you and make you feel good. They’re days when he just wants you to get him off while you’re both touching each other and others when he’s so needy for you that he just fucks you for hours, not hearing your whines for him to slow down

Hunter: Hunter is someone who gives off soft dom vibes. Hunter loves to treat his s/o like a princess so he likes doing all the work while you lay in bed taking all the pleasure in. The type to give kisses all over your body and give you endless calling you his princess of how well you’re taking him in (He’s packing believe me). He may or may not have a hidden breeding kink but that’s a story for another time

Yechan: Yechan’s took me some time to figure out but I think he’s a Switch leaning towards soft dom. Yechan is someone who is still trying to figure what kind of things he likes in bed and is unsure of what to do, so he really likes when you take the lead. Once he gains more confidence in the bedroom, he slowly becomes more of dom. He gives me jealous sex vibes in my opinion (If you want to add more to this feel free to)

[secretwhumplair]

Birth

679 words | No Warrior (sequel to Swords II)

Content | Childbirth, anxiety, past degradation

Notes | A big moment is happening! Will Yves be included? Will he?!

(In case you saw my announcements, after doing some timeline math and also writing some lines I changed the order of this and the next one c:)

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Ingunn’s child arrived in June.

Yves was cleaning up after his lonely dinner when the midwife’s pupil and assisstant barged into the hut without knocking. She barely took time to breathe a »Sorry« when Yves flinched, too busy rushing over to the shelf that held Runar’s dried herbs, and rummaging briefly before she withdrew with a bundle of them.

»You can come!« she called back at him, already on her way out.

She was acting so urgent that he followed after her before he even realized — he put the pieces together when he slammed the door shut. He didn’t even notice the bang or the force he had just used on what was Runar’s.

»Is she alright?«

She was too far ahead of him to answer, and he followed her to Ingunn’s house, where he found the family already assembled. That was the first time he hesitated; while the midwife’s pupil rushed into the single seperate room emmitting curses yelled in Ingunn’s voice, he lingered in the doorframe.

Ingunn’s husband stood before the fireplace and stared into its depths, clearly trying to distract himself, but glancing at the door to the other room every moment. Her and Runar’s mother — Yves had yet to work up the courage to ask what had become of their father — leant at the doorframe, muttering what Yves assumed to be blessings or prayers. Others, uncles and cousins and who knew who else, sat around the table, together with two of the village elders, notably not Runar’s grandmother he had pointed out to Yves at every event. Yves assumed she was with the birthing woman, sharing her wisdom and strength.

Ingunn’s mother noticed him first; she finished a verse or a sentence before she called to him, »Yves! Come on in. I’m glad you came.«

Yves hesitantly stepped in, unsure where to go. He didn’t want to sit down, his skin prickling with an anxiety that, though it felt all too familiar, had nothing to do with what was buried inside him; but neither did he want to intrude on the spaces of husband or mother.

The elder woman got up, a cup in her hand, and came to him, her face deeply wrinkled from many smiles. »Come, child,« she said, holding the cup out. »Join us while we wait.«

»Thank you, mother.« The word slipped out as easily and naturally as she had called him child, and she smiled kindly. He took a sip from the cup, warm mead infused with something herbal, and followed her back to the table. A few of the relatives looked up, but no one seemed particularly put out by his presence; some vaguely familiar faces nodded at him.

Yves stood and waited. What little conversation was happening around the table was held in whispers, and easy to ignore next to Ingunn’s audible struggle. The anxiety that had clawed into him when he arrived subsided into a mere echo of himself, gentled by the mead or the knowledge that Ingunn was receiving all the care she should; but it left its shape behind to easily be filled with more familiar fears.

Should he really be here? Was it right for him, the stranger, to stand here with Ingunn’s closest? You’re not a stranger anymore. Sure, Runar had said it, but Runar was clearly biased.

What’s a pathetic little runt like you doing here?

When he recognized the voice, he knew.

Ingunn would never speak to him like that. None of the family would; clearly not even the elders would. Here, when Ingunn was fighting for the sake of her child, he owed it to her to fight back as well.

You’re not a stranger anymore.

A sudden rush of fierce protectiveness overcame him. He wasn’t a stranger; this was his family, too, and he would do anything to help Ingunn.

There wasn’t much he could do, of course. But not letting them in seemed like a fair effort.

He was still with the family when they were invited in to meet the baby boy at the break of dawn.

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“It’s about the gun.” “You got it working?” Dick’s voice wasn’t clear, munching on something crunchy and loud. “I need to do several tests first, but… Yeah, I think so.”

Chapter 13 < > Chapter 15

Masterlist

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Taking a deep breath, you calmed your racing heart, a feeble attempt to rid of the shaking in your hands, peering at your unsuspecting prey, oblivious to the hell that would rain down upon him any second now.

Tim had helped you set up everything in place, at the moment waiting for him to be done on his side. “Ready?” He whispered. Adrenaline pumping your veins, you nodded, a brief glance at him revealed he was already in place, his body and face impassive, no emotion reflected in them.

Through the lens, you searched for your enemy once more. You felt the need to lay your elbows on the handrail for extra support despite that the stabilizer Tim had given you was enough to balance everything.

He’d move since the last time you locked him in your sight, moving slightly to the left to get your mark into focus, fiddling with the camera on his hands, looking through the photos that were undoubtedly of you.

“On the count of three. Three, two, one… Now!”

The once tidy up man, with a clean white shirt had soon been overwhelmed by splashes of (barely) red, and (mostly) yellow paint covering each centimeter of his body. As expected, Tim’s shots landed on the paparazzi 99% of the time, and while you’d some luck to hit him on the left shoulder and his back, most of your shots ended on the trees and the driveway around.

Cackling like mad, both you and Tim didn’t relent, your anger subsiding with every jump from side to side the man was doing in his attempt to avoid the paint pellets, succeeding the minute he found his car keys —a pristine, beautiful car now your new motivation, as it was an easier target.

Even though it was short-lived, this is probably the most fun you had in a long while.

The moment you couldn’t see the car anymore, you and Tim shared a high-five. “Excuse me.” A cold, gravelly voice behind you chilled every bone in your body, rooted in its place and too afraid to make a movement and bring down Alfred’s ire upon yourself. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“It was Tim’s idea!” You blurted out, pointing at him while he looked at you, mouth agape, surprised and rightly betrayed. 

“I don’t care whose idea it was. This is an idiotic, foolish thing you’ve both done. You will clean up the driveway—”

“Jane’s the one that made the whole mess by failing, why should I clean?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot we all had to be shooting prodigies.”

“You had a stabilizer! And you still failed!”

“Children!” You’d never heard Alfred raise his voice quite like now, his left eye twitching, and the crease between his brows deepening. “I frankly don’t care who failed and who didn’t, you should know better.”

Your cheeks had gotten so red you could fry an egg on them. You’d come to respect Alfred after all your time here, the shame consuming you at seeing him so disappointed in you.

“Yes, Alfred.” Both you and Tim mumbled. Theres was no point in arguing further with him. No one could ever win against him.

The man placed a hand in front of him, wordlessly ordering to hand over the paint guns, complying without a word. “There are buckets and rags in the utility closet in the lower floor. I’d advise you to start now if you do not wish to miss lunch.”

𓆩𓆪𓆩𓆪

“Missed a spot. There.” Cass had woken up from her nap in the middle of you and Tim cleaning, seating herself atop a concrete pillar. You moved towards where she was pointing. The paint had already begun to dry, making it harder to clean, not to mention how hard it was to clean grass, plucking the paint covered parts and letting the wind take them away when you had enough.

“Can’t believe you would out me like that.” Tim grumbled. “I trusted you, Jane. Shame on you.”

“Against Alfred’s ire, it’s every woman for herself.”

Cass chuckled, her feet swinging one after the other, her heels thumping against the column. The cleaning continued in silence up until the distant sound of a car approaching made you three stop, waiting for the car to get closer and see who it was.

Could it be the reporter again? No, this car was different —and clean—, so unless the man was stupid enough to come back and risk getting another car a new paint job, it had to e someone else.

“Brother!” Cass exclaimed when the driver had gotten out of the car, jumping down from the fence straight to Dick’s arms. “I missed you!”

“Aww, I missed you too, Cass.” Dick let go of her, rounding the left opened door of his car, a frown on his face when he noticed you two. “Hey guys, what are you doing?”

“My punishment for being a good person and helping a traitor.”

“I swear, Timothy, I’m going to put salt in your coffee.”

“Oh, so now I’m being threatened. For shame.”

You threw your rag to his face, your less than good aiming not even getting it close to him. Tim broke into a wheezing fit, holding his stomach and balancing himself until his back hit the grass.

“Don’t forget, Drake, I know where you live.” Tim’s chuckles were joined by those of Dick’s.

“I’m definitely missing a lot of context here. I can only gather you’ve been spending a lot of time with Damian, Jane.”

Prepared for Dick’s arrival, Alfred had busied himself with cooking some of Dick’s favorites meals. The kitchen a combination of wonderful smells of dishes you’d never heard of before.

Having meals with so few people felt weird now, having grown accustomed to all the chatter and bickering Damian and mostly Steph would make. Today it was only Dick, Cass, Alfred, and you. Tim had to leave in a hurry after a PR disaster involving a higher up employee —Something about embezzlement or something like that.

“So, what’s space like?” You asked in between bites.

“Oh, you know, just the usual.”

“Unbelievable that not only you went to space, but also other planets and the only thing you can say is ‘Just the usual.”

Dick chuckled.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Uh.” He took a sip of his drink, clearing his throat. “It’s usually hard to enjoy the scenery when time’s not on your side. Green Lantern was being accused of genocide, and, well, the penalty would be execution if he was guilty, so you’ll understand why we were so desperate to find out what was going on.”

“Did he do it?”

“Of course not. He thought he did it, as an accident, but someone was trying to frame him. They used holograms to make it seem like the planet was destroyed.”

“That’s horrible! Why would someone do that?”

“In simpler words? Power.”

Just how taxing is it to be a superhero or a vigilante? To have the weight of the world on your shoulders, to constantly be risking your life for people that most likely wouldn’t even give you the time of day on a normal afternoon. How can they keep their heads cool knowing that if they fail, it’s literally quite possible for their whole word to cease to exist?

“So,” Dick spoke again. “How much did you and Tim messed up to get reprimanded like that?”

You groaned, letting your head dramatically fall to the table. Cass was laughing and you could hear the awfully loud sigh of disappointment from Alfred.

“In my defense, it was an extremely disgusting article.”

𓆩𓆪𓆩𓆪

Just like Tim said, no one else, be it the newspapers, gossip shows or any random citizen in social media even mentioned the article. Your appearance in the media had practically gone unnoticed.

After your whole explanation to Dick, —and after his disgust had passed— he assured you as well Bruce’s reputation would not be tainted, a fact you confirmed with each hour that passed and nothing else came up.

However, he stressed that if you still wanted, you could sue them for slander. Or they could, since getting involved in that kind of legal issues would bring a whole new wave of unnecessary worries and attention from the public eye to the Wayne’s, mainly; you don’t exist. Not legally, at least.

You let it be. No need to bring unwanted attention to the family.

              | Why are my classmates asking about you?

Oh, you hadn’t thought about telling Damian. Nor how he would take to the article.

              | Because I’m so cool and awesome and everyone wants to hang out with me? ;)

              | And why are they calling you my mother?

              | I’ll tell you, alright? Just, trust me, it’s nothing. Tim and I took care of it. https://www.gotham.weekly/bruce-wayne’s-biological...

You were actually scared of how he would react, knowing the kid, he would probably make a surprise appearance at the newspaper’s HQ with his swords and threaten everyone inside.

He was taking a while to reply. Was he on his way to the manor or did he have some kind of retractable swords he carried anywhere? You wouldn’t be surprised.

Or maybe he simply was caught texting during class.

Honestly, both were quite possible. Still, you wouldn’t try to call him in case he was actually in class, paying attention or something. You tapped on the article’s link one more time. Even if it was revolting the things people would write for engagement, and you would unfortunately remember this incident every time you looked at them, you needed to download the photos, ignoring the motives as to why they were taken, they were still nice pictures. And you would print all the photos that you could before going back, something to remind you all of this wasn’t a dream.

Your heart sank the moment you opened the link, and it sent you to the white, ‘404 not found’ screen.

              | I took care of it.

Oh. Well, that was... Quite a better reaction than you expected.

              | Thank you, Dami :)! Wish I’d saved the photos first, tho.

              | image1.jpg, image2.jpg.

𓆩𓆪𓆩𓆪

As soon as Damian had discovered Dick had come back, he wandered to him like a magnet, never leaving his side. Every time you walked near them, the only thing you could hear was Damian narrating him all the things he did while he was gone.

You were relieved Damian had all but forgotten about your ‘lessons’, you loved he wanted to teach you how to protect yourself, but your body was still extremely sore, and hurting, and you wouldn’t be able to handle another night of practice.

Walking down the corridor to your room, you were ready to call it quits for the day, even if it was early. The living room was usually empty at this hour, with everyone in the house getting ready down in the cave for patrol, that’s why, when a familiar set of voices mentioning a very particular word reached your ears, curiosity sparked in you.

“It’s about the gun.”

“You got it working?” Dick’s voice wasn’t clear, munching on something crunchy and loud.

“I need to do several tests first, but… Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s great, Timmy!”

“Yeah…” Tim’s voice was gravelly, lacking the same enthusiasms his older brother had. “But Jane…”

“I know, I’ll miss her too. But she has her own life to go back to.”

“It’s not that, Dick—I, the math, I did it—”

You stopped listening the moment Damian turned the corner, a brow raised and coming to a halt when he saw you. Alfred the cat was calmly perched on his arms, jumping down at the lack of movement, stretching for a second before walking away.

With a nervous smile, you walked to him, away from the living room. “Why were you spying on my brothers?” Well, at least he’s calling Tim his brother.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

“They were talking about that alien gun thing, and my world, was I not supposed to listen?”

“There is something called privacy,” The crease on his forehead deepened. “even if you are the topic of their talk. They will let you know when they are ready to do so.”

You opened your mouth, but no words left, whatever futile retort dying on your tongue. It was a whole level of humiliating to being scolded by a ten-year-old, even if that kid was Damian. Because, yeah, even if it wasn’t your intention at first, you were listening in. But it truly was impossible not to when weeks had gone by and not a single peep had been said about your situation. Whenever you brought it up with Tim, his ever-ready response was ‘working on it.’ Each time. Nothing more, nothing less.

And he was working on it, there was no doubt about it, even if he was doing so purely to get his dad back, or to help you as well, it didn’t matter.

But you were starting to feel uneasy for a second time, just like your first days here. There was something in the way he always said it; unsure, distant, avoiding your gaze while changing the topic. So, yeah, sue you for wanting to be in the know.

“How was school?”

“Bearable.” You chuckled, walking alongside him up the stairs leading to the second floor, the sun setting in the horizon. “I researched the clubs per your request.”

“Suggestion, Damian. Suggestion.”

“There is a voluntary program in an animal shelter, Friday evenings. And… It is not for students only. Anyone can go.”

“You’re saying you want me to go with you?”

“If that is what it takes to keep you from snooping around.”

He said it so nonchalantly, an afterthought, yet you noticed through the reflection of one of the mirrors in the hall how he kept glancing at you.

“Of course I’ll be there.”

His shy, small smile almost made you want to pinch his cheeks like an old lady, but you still appreciated having an un-broken hand, settling for messing up his hair.

𓆩𓆪𓆩𓆪

You’d been here for weeks, and the beds at Wayne Manor still felt so surreal as your first night here. The satin bedsheets were still as smooth as ever, the pillows were never hot, no matter how high the temperature was, and in all, you always slept like a baby.

You wondered if they had some kind of magic in them to be so damn comfortable all the time.

Considering just who this house belongs to, you wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

Every night you would fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, not waking up until your alarm went off. This morning was different; a soft, but repetitive thud, thud against the window woke you from your slumber. Sluggishly, you grabbed a cushion to place over your ear to muffle the sound of whatever bird thought your room was the perfect place to be annoying.

It seemed luck was not on your side, the noise getting louder and faster. You groaned, throwing the cushion and blanket to the side, tapping the cold floor with your feet to find your slippers in the dark. A quick look to your phone, eyes squinting at the bright screen, revealed it was fifteen to five. Not even five in the morning. When you slid open the curtains, you expected to see a spooked bird flying away.

There was a bird. Just not the type you expected.

Sitting on the window’s ledge, a raised hand ready to knock once again, hanging in the air at noticing the curtain moving, a soft smile replaced his calm look once he took in your disheveled hair and sleepy hair.

You, on the other hand, had an opposite reaction, an audible gasp escaping you, covering your mouth with both hands a second later, turning to face the door and see if anyone had heard you.

“What are you doing?” As much as you wanted to yell at him, you had to do it in whispers, doing so right after you unlatched the lock to open the window, sticking your head out, a shiver running down your body caused by the chilly morning breeze, your knee-length shorts and sleeveless shirt not suited to properly warm you.

“Told you I’ll take you on a date.”

“At five in the morning?”

“Yep.”

You moved to the side when he got up from the edge to get inside your room, your heart skipping a beat at seeing him crouched so unbothered, half of his feet resting on air. You knew he had incredible balance and reflexes, but you couldn’t suppress the need to step forward and grab him so he wouldn’t fall. You didn’t do anything of the sorts, instead letting the cold air keeping for face fixed from the crisis your mind was going through.

“I promise it’s going to be worth it.” His feet landed without a sound, closing the window behind him.

“It’s going to be worth it. I promise.”

“All guys say the same thing, you know.”

“I’m not like other guys.” As soon as the words left his lips, his grin turned into a grimace, and you were a spectator of how hard he was cringing internally, hiding his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. Which, you now noticed, he wasn’t wearing his Red Hood suit, but simply jeans and a red sweatshirt. The tips of his hair were wet, yet when you looked out the window, the cobbled paths and grass lighted up by the garden lamps were dry.

To help him avoid more embarrassment, you asked once again.

“What could be worth it at this hour?”

He sat on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the straps of his hood. Even sitting down, you still weren’t taller than him, instead now being eye level.

“Trust me. Just change into something warm and comfortable.”

You took one last look at him before walking into your closet, gathering in your arms an outfit like his, a pair of jeans and a basic gray jumper. On your way to the bathroom, you pretended to be cleaning the sweater from invisible dust. What were you supposed to do if he was also looking at you? Smile? Say something? Look intently at him like a weirdo?

Before you could completely close the door, you heard him talk to himself, “‘Not like other guys?’ Seriously?” His groan drowned the click of the door closing, a smile on your face. It seems you’re not the only one nervous tonight.

Letting go of the door knob, you exhaled. You have no clue what he’s planning to do, and your sleep laded brain couldn’t conjure up any plausible or logical idea. And the time it was taking you to get ready was making you self-conscious on top of already feeling anxious and giddy, but you simply cannot go out with Jason with practically a bird nest on your hair, and never in a million years would you kiss him with morning breath.

That last thought made you pause halfway through putting your hair up with a bat-shaped hair claw —a claw Cass had gifted you the only time you went out to the mall.

That wasn’t going to happen, would it? There was no reason for him... What if he’s just— Oh who are you kidding? Why else would he take you on a date at the crack of dawn? Why bother if he’s not going after something? So, he was going to kiss you. Maybe.

But why did that hurt more than it made you happy?

“You ready?” He asked when you left the bathroom. With a nod of affirmation, he stood up, opening the door for you.

You didn’t even want to breathe, thinking that every exhale would be loud enough to be heard throughout the manor, your steps were cautious, deliberate, and slow. Meanwhile, Jason was already waiting for you at the end of the corridor, his steps made no sound, his training so ingrained in his mind and body it was second nature to move like a shadow, even if he wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was impressive, honestly.

“Slowpoke.” He whispered when you were in his reach.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t take bat-training when I was twelve, they didn’t offer it at my school.”

Jason chuckled. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

Late for what, you wondered? If anything, you would be too early for everything.

It got easier to walk the farther you got from all the rooms, getting out of the manor through a sliding door that led to the garden, from there walking like normal to the driveway.

“Now what?” You asked, there was no way this wouldn’t wake them up, as you knew how loud the fence mechanism was. Jason said nothing, instead walking towards you and placing a hand on your waist.

“Don’t scream.”

“Huh?”

Before you could react, he pulled a grappling gun from his pocket, pointing it to a sturdy tree branch and firing it in less than a second. Your feet left the ground, going higher and higher, feeling the strength of gravity trying to pull you down, only succeeding once you were over the fence and falling to the other side.

“I’m honestly impressed, most people scream their first time.” You didn’t tell him it was because you were too stunned to react. But you would admit it was an amazing experience. “Come.”

He gestured for you to follow him. The darkness brought in your terrible memories, walking as close as you could to Jason, not wanting the shadows to consume you. Of course, the proximity meant your hands would graze each other with every step, the feeling grounding you and not letting your fears to overwhelm you.

Besides endless rows of trees spaced out so evenly they didn’t look real, there wasn’t much else around. The moonlight shone above the grass; the light being reflected by the morning dew.

You wanted to know so badly what was going on inside his head, daring only once to cast a rapid glance at him, his face calm, eyes focused on the road ahead, as if searching for something. You wanted to know what holding his hand again would be like, without the lingering fear and anxiety of waking up from a Fear Gas induced nightmare.

After the umpteenth time your knuckles brushed against his, you finally took hold of his pinky finger with yours, waiting with bated breath to see his reaction. You felt your lips shyly curve into a smile when he intertwined his fingers with yours, his grip strong enough to make you feel safe and secure, as though nothing could ever take you away from him.

“I—Uh.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry ‘bout the walk, had to make sure no one would hear my bike.”

“No, it’s alright. This is nice. Peaceful.”

It didn’t take long until you could see the form of a bike partially hidden in the bushes off road. There wasn’t any kind of modifications or enhancements you could see, it was your simply, standard sport motorcycle you could buy anywhere, two helmets dangling from one of the handles.

Jason, sadly, let go of your hand, your body already missing the warmth. He grabbed one of the helmets, and you hand your hand outstretched, waiting for him to hand it to you, yet he kept getting closer until you could feel his body heat.

“Sorry, I’ll have to…” He removed the hair claw, letting your hair loosely fall. It seemed he was going to say something else when he noticed the shape of the claw, releasing a deep chuckle. “This is cute.” He closed the teeth around the base of the hood, continuing with putting the helmet on your head, fumbling with the strap to get it to latch —and his wandering touches on your chin did not go unnoticed. He pulled up the visor once he was done, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Is it tight?”

You blinked once, not believing what he just said. Out of nowhere. So bold. “Sorry?”

“The helmet, I’m not sure if I tied it too tight.”

You should get your head out of the gutter. “Oh.” Your cheeks were red, surely because of the cold. “No, it’s perfect.”

“Great.” He turned around to grab his helmet, and while he had his back to you, you let yourself have a bit of a meltdown in silence, placing your hands over your head, feeling plastic instead of your hair which you wanted to pull.

He was just getting on the bike by the time you were done, and you gingerly did the same, your arms rounding up his torso. Even with his layers of clothes, you could still feel how sturdy it was. After he made sure your visor was down once again, he turned on the ignition, swiftly gaining speed.

Rows of trees soon gave way to the outlines of the city, its tall skyscrapers blending with the dark night. Since Bristol was situated on a hill, you were able to see most of the city’s districts, a specific area to your right with so many lights on it seemed as if it was just the afternoon and not early morning.

“That’s Old Gotham.” Jason seemed to read your mind. “It’s kinda like Gotham’s own Vegas; casinos, strip clubs, night clubs, motels… Anything you could imagine opened late at night, it’s there.”

You grimaced at the thought of having a first date in a dingy, smelly casino, highly opposed to what you would’ve preferred. However, you never got close, the lights in fact getting further away.

After several minutes, he finally pulled over in a parking lot beneath what you assumed were apartments, taking the helmet from you, holding one on his hand and the other under his arm. He began walking, yet you took that chance to use the bike’s mirrors to try and comb your hair with your fingers —frozen fingers, mind you. Angling yourself in the perfect spot for the fluorescent lights to illuminate you fully. “You coming?”

He chuckled. This time, Jason didn’t hesitate on holding your hand.

“So, where are we?” You asked while waiting for the elevator to come down. He looked at you sideways, with that damned grin you loved so much, his hair all over the place as he didn’t bother to fix it, yet he still looked great, probably even better.

“Just a special place.”

The ‘ding’ announcing the elevator’s arrival echoed through the mostly empty parking lot, pressing the highest button to go all the way to the roof. During the whole time, he never let go of your hand, his thumb caressing yours and his hold tightening for a moment as if to prove you were still there.

Feeling boldened by his actions, you let your head rest on his shoulder, your eyes focused on the led screen displaying the floor you were in, twenty two, so far, the number going higher and higher seemingly without a want to stop.

“So, this is where the mighty Hood comes to rest?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He chuckled, but you noticed it wasn’t exactly a humorous laugh, rather a nervous one. You let your eyes wander around; there was a small camera on one of the corners behind you, but it didn’t look anything sophisticated, just a regular surveillance camera that most likely still recorded in black and white, without audio, but just on the off chance that you were wrong, you would leave the vigilante life topics for another day, in a safer place. Glancing down to your joined hands, a beaming smile made its appearance yet another time tonight, balancing yourself on the soles of your shoes. “Someone’s excited.”

“Well, I need to be moving or else I’ll fall asleep. You know, because it’s five in the freaking morning.”

“We’re almost there… Ah, close your eyes.”

“Why?”

But instead of replying, he let go of your hand, getting behind you and covering your eyes with his hands. You didn’t even get the chance to see in which floor you’d ended before the ding of the elevator was heard, the doors opening and welcoming the strong, freezing wind biting at your uncovered skin. So, you’re outside once again.

Jason was calmly guiding you, and even though you knew he wouldn’t walk you to the edge of the floor, your steps were still shaky, arms and hands outstretched in front of you as to not collide with anything. “Can’t you just—”

“You can open them, now.” His hands fell from your face to your shoulders, and a breath escaped you from what’s in front of you.

On a raised platform there was a small, rectangular patch of grass with beautiful red roses and bushes around, a fluffly red and white blanket with a woven basket keeping it on the ground, fake candles illuminating the still dark sky.

When you turned around to look at Jason, to see anything in him to let you know this was indeed meat for you, he still had another surprise in his hands. “Flowers, in my opinion, are a must. But since you said no flowers, well...” He handed you a chocolate bouquet with peonies and tulips made with chocolate. “I’m sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to find the perfect rooftop and… Was it too much?”

He panicked when tears began prickling your eyes, his hands holding your shoulders to comfort you. You wanted to talk, to answer it wasn’t too much that it was perfect, to say something. But your emotions got the best of you. It brought up all your past pains and experiences, all your heartbreaks and disappointments.

It brought up that perfect remainder that you could very well go back to your earth tomorrow, and you would never be able to talk to them.

Through the tears, now free falling, you looked up, his face full of worry, and confusion, and embarrassment, and unease. You placed your hands on his jaw, face not even twitching at your cold fingers. “Thank you.” You whispered. He, in turn, smiled, kissing your forehead.

“Come, you won’t want to miss this.”

You nodded, using the back of your hands to rid you of the tears, letting Jason guide you once again and sitting down next to him on the warm blanket, just in time to see the golden rays of sunshine shine on the city.

[monstrouslyobsessed]

life updates and then some

oh dear, i've been gone for quite a long while, huh? i'm so, so sorry and i really, REALLY do appreciate all of your concerns and sweet messages! it's heartwarming to know that my works are still being loved even in my absence. yall deserves some explanations so ima get right in it.

mild cw ahead: bizarre financial abuse (?), depression, and nongraphic medical concerns.

these past few months were pretty rough, especially with the financial aspects, personal matters, and my health, both mental and physical, had been going downspiral to the point that my writing had become complete nonexistent and that i lowkey hated every word i put down. i won't get into too much of details, but the short of it, an estranged family member (and trust when i say they are estranged for very good reasons) pulled a fast one via some kind of legal fraud (???), which hurts my financial situation and impacted my ability to pay bills. im still a huge wtaf over it, i won't lie, but it is something getting sorted out atm via official and legal means (fun times to be had!!!). im incredibly lucky to be living with a very understanding person though who also got very angry on my behalf so don't worry about my current living situation.

health wise, doctors found something wrong with one of my organs but they couldn't determine the issue. since then, life had been a struggle.

with my health was the first thing to start for me, it's nothing fatal or too life altering, fairly mild imo (so say i with stupidly high pain tolerance, apparently), but it's kind of something i need to keep aware of with my consumption. but boy tis was not fun living with discomforts with my own body for a while. rest just fell into places afterward, unfortunately, but that's how the life go--you'll always have your ups and downs, just cherish the present while you can.

anyway, i can't promise i'll be posting regularly again given my situation(s), not as on a semi-frequent schedule, which absolutely does make me sad because i really do love making monsterfucker contents, not just for myself but for you lovely readers as well. hopefully i'll be back sooner than later. that said…

i do have a super overdue commission i'm going to post very soon! just got one last scene to get through (it's currently at 8.1k words....!) and get it edited and make it pretty--and bam! it'll be done and posted. so do look forward to that, at least.

heck, i'll leave yall with this teaser line at the start of the final scene!

“Let us give them quite a show, hm?”

just gonna...get through pron writing lmao <3 yet again, thank you all so very much for caring and i really do miss you and your kind words. please take care of yourselves, lovelies!

in the meantime, i'm going to clean out my blog a bit and i'll try to reply some of your asks later too. if you have anything random, asking for advice, or anything related to my ocs or my aus, ask away. my inbox is always open for yall <3