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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 8 months

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Service Fee

Llewyn Davis X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 3: Exhibitionism

Summary: Jerry offers Llewyn money to watch him and you fuck.

A/N: Llewyn and reader are in a realtionship. So Llewyn kinda realises he's into someone watching him. (martymachlia). Also $500 in 1961 is about $5134.21 today. This was so much more difficult that I thought it would be.

Warnings: martymachlia, exhinitionism , p in v sex, cream pie, hand on throat, cum eating, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, being 'paid' for sex, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3035

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, this was a fucking bad idea.

Llewyn hadn’t been drunk when the idea, business deal, had been proposed. But he had been a little tipsy, pleasantly buzzed. Enough to make him think, ‘fuck it, sure $500 for thirty minutes and an orgasm?’ He’d be an idiot not to, right?

Jerry, some friend of a friend of a work colleague of Marty’s, had bought him the drinks. Presumably to butter him up to what he was about to ask.

It seemed that Jerry got off to watching other people go at it. In the flesh. Like a horny theatre performance.

He had brought up the subject of porn during their conversation in such a subtle way that LLewyn hadn’t really noticed until they were well into the discussion.

“I mean, everyone enjoys a bit of x-rated content from time to time, wouldn’t you say?” Jerry spoke with a deep voice that was like a snake charmer, easing Llewyn into agreement without a second thought.

“I like watching, I need it right there in front of me. Like a sports game, always better seeing it live right?” He had laughed. “Used to just watch people get off on their own, but I tell you, there’s something about seeing a couple really go to town on each other.”

What really could you say to that? “Sure,” Llewyn answered, two too many shots down.

“I used to pay hookers you know, for a show? But it’s just not the same. No offence to the professionals, but I need at least one of them to not be... overly performing if you get my drift.”

Llewyn nodded.

“I still pay, of course, gotta pay people for their time.”

“Of course.” Llewyn took another shot.

“$500 a time, for a couple. $400 for two strangers. Couples are just better.” He shrugged.

Llewyn’s ears perked up.“$500?”

“Hmm.” Jerry smiled, sickeningly sweet and took a slip of his hardly touched beer. “Cash.”

Now, in the cold light of day, or more accurately, the cold dark of three hours later, with his pleasant buzz gone, Llewyn knew he had been gently coaxed into asking the question.

He had practically stumbled over his words in his rush to explain to you. “$500, for like thirty minutes. $500!”

You had stared at him uncertainly. “Llewyn-”

“No, no, I checked. It’s in this club, The Deep, private room, it has like a viewing mirror thing so he can see us, we can’t see him. Only us fucking, nothing we don’t normally do.”

You chewed your bottom lip, it wasn’t like the money would be unwelcome. “He knows Marty?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“This isn’t... illegal is it?”

“No, no, the club it’s like, people go there to do all kinds of stuff, we wouldn’t be getting paid to have sex... just Jerry would give us a gift... after. A thank you.”

“Does he... want anything particular?”

“Just for me to cum in you.” Llewyn shrugged, still a little too tipsy to not feel inebriated. “Like we normally do.” He nuzzled into your shoulder and you paused, looking over the slight flush on his skin.

“How much did you have to drink?”

Jerry had met you outside the club, paying your fees to get in. The bouncers greeted him by name.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Llewyn whispered into your ear as you both entered.

You glared at him. “Llewyn, this was your fucking idea.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered as you followed Jerry. Llewyn kept his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

“You’re not getting stage fright, are you?” You teased, trying to downplay your own anxieties.

He gave you a look.

The room was surprisingly nice. Clean and well kept.

Llewyn sat gingerly on the bed.

“Well, I’ll let you two get started.” Jerry smiled, somehow the expression didn’t come off as creepy. “When the green light comes on,” he pointed to a small bulb above the massive wall mirror next to the bed. “Feel free to start.” He moved to the door.

“Wait, erm,” you paused. “Can you hear as well?”

Jerry’s smile widened and he nodded. “Of course.” He closed the door behind him.

Okay, that smile was a little creepy.

You bite your lip nervously as you look at the door.

“We don’t have to do this, you know?” Llewyn made you jump lightly as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his chest into your back.

You lean against him, “I know,” and sigh. “$500 though...”

He chuckles as he kisses your neck, his beard scraping softly at your skin. “$500.” He echoes.

You nod and turn to face him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “$500.” You repeat again. “Let’s get it over with.”

“Never have more romantic words been said.” He teases and you swat at him playfully.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know... gotta woo me first.”

“I have to woo you?”

“Hmm.” He smiles broadly, running his hands down to your waist and swaying ever so slightly with you. His half hard cock brushes against your thigh.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I think you might be into this Llewyn Davis.”

“What?” He chuckles.

“Being watched,” you tease, your voice low. “I think part of you likes it.”

“And why is that?” He leans closer kissing along your jaw.

“Why do you think?”

“I always get like this around you.” He murmurs.

“Hmm.” You don’t sound very convinced.

“It’s true,” he continues kissing down your neck only to stop and suck on your pulse point. “You could say ‘get hard’ and I would.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as he bites lightly at your skin and walks you backwards to the bed. Gently pressing you down when the mattress hits the back of your thighs and moving his hips between your legs.

He kisses you languidly, almost soothingly sweet in the way he caresses your lips with his. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, shying away ever so slightly every time you try to as he grinds his rapidly hardening length against your centre.

“Llewyn,” you groan in frustration as his lips dance away from you again, grabbing hold of the back of his curls and forcing his mouth against yours.

He chuckles darkly but licks into your mouth. Finally indulging you.

His hands run down your ribs, stopping at your waist to just inch under your shirt. There’s a hunger in his movements, the force that he grinds against you, how his teeth lightly nip and bite at your bottom lip that’s different. Not unwelcome, just unusual. Slightly out of character for Llewyn’s normal style.

He kisses down to your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks a love bite into your neck and starts to hurriedly unbutton your shirt. His breathing quick and urgent.

The way he grinds against you, the outline of his hard cock rubbing against your core, sends sparks of pleasure up your spine.

He fumbles with the last two buttons on your top as he scrapes his teeth over your jaw and in annoyance he simply pulls the material, ripping the offending things off and sending them flying across the room.

“Llewyn,” you begin to chastise, but his lips are on yours again as he whines into your mouth.

“Sorry, sorry, just need you so bad.” He hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wider as he kisses the tops of your breasts.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice the green light has come on.

Yeah, okay. He was really into this.

“Need you so fucking bad, baby.” He mutters under his breath and you’re not sure if he even realises he’s talking anymore.

You squirm against him as he pinches your left nipple through the fabric of your bra and bites at the other, sucking and licking at it like he’s never seen them before. His salvia sinks into the lace, spreads across the material as he moans and ruts against you.

There’s a tight heat building in your belly, fire that is being stoked higher and higher with every grind of Llewyn’s hips and drag of his cock. The zip on his fly presses firmly against your clit and you gasp, sinking your fingers into soft curls as you press up against him.

He growls, momentarily rocking against you harder before he pulls you into sitting up by your arms.

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s all over you again, kissing your lips and neck and pulling you out of your top and unclasping your bra.

“Llewyn-”

“You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.” He snarls and bites hard at your neck, groaning when you cry out and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

As he sucks another messy love bite into your skin and his nimble fingers undo your trousers, pulling his mouth away from you for just a second so that he can pull them down.

You lean back, helping him to undress you as best you can. There’s an unfamiliar spark of excitement in your chest. Seeing him like this, so close to losing his usual calm control makes heat rise to your face and wetness soak into your panties.

He didn’t think he’d be quite so into this. Llewyn kisses you hard, sliding his tongue into your mouth for a moment before he pulls your underwear down and throws it to the side. In fact, just a few minutes ago he was pretty sure he was going to have a problem performing. But now, god, if he didn’t hear you moan his name in the next minute he was going to burst a blood vessel.

There was something about it, something about knowing that Jerry could see you but couldn’t touch you. That you were all his, his his. Just brought him close to insanity.

He grabs you around the back of your neck a little harshly as he kneels between your open legs and pulls you back towards him. He kisses you deeply again, hungrily swallowing down your every breath as if it was his only source of oxygen.

Without giving you any warning he plunges two fingers into your folds and presses against your walls.

You gasp, breaking the kiss and Llewyn pumps his hand quickly, using his thumb to circle your clit as you cry out and grasp at his shoulders. Pleasure burning along your veins.

His name falls from your lips in a high-pitched rush of breath and he moans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and using his other hand to press against your upper back to keep you as close as physically possible.

“Llewyn, shit,” you moan, your words catching in your throat as he adds a third finger and fucks you hard. Pumping in and out of you, the sound of your slick echoing obscenely as he groans.

All you can do is cling on for dear life as he plunges deeper, stroking your walls and clit in a perfect unison.

“Want you to cum so hard you gush all over the sheets baby,” he growls in your ear. “Want you to fucking soak my hand with it.”

You clenched down on him at his words, your eyes screwed shut as you gasped. He was never normally this vocal, never spoke to you like this and, god, if it didn’t make your head spin.

“Fuck, need to taste you.” He pushes you down flat on your back forcefully and dives between your legs, flicking his tongue over your clit and moaning against you.

You cry out, grabbing hold of the bedsheets and then whining as he pulls his fingers out, shoving them into his mouth. You look up quick enough to just see his eyes rolling back into his head, how he rocks his hips against the mattress.

Then his mouth is back on you, his hands pressing against the inner of both your thighs to stretch you impossibly wide as he curls his tongue between your folds.

You cry out his name in gasped pleasure. The burn of his beard scraps against your clit as he rolls his tongue and chin up through your folds to your bundle of nerves and then back down again, repeating the action twice before he firmly dives in and presses the bridge of his nose against you.

Heat coils tightly in your lower belly, beating out from your centre as he groans loudly with every lick and thrust of his tongue. His salvia and your slick mixing and coating his skin.

It’s too much, the onslaught of sensation suddenly overwhelming as he pushes your right to the edge in a rush.

“Gonna cum,” you manage to sob out, pulling at his curls to warn him, but he just growls against you and fucks you harder with his tongue.

Lights explode behind your eyes as your orgasm overtakes you, spills out of you in a wave as pleasure sings across every part of you.

LLewyn flicks his tongue against your clit, pressing hot and wet against it to stretch out your bliss for longer as you sob and writhe under him.

Your slick soaks into him, creamy and sweet as you cum.

He laps at you thrice before sitting up hurriedly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans just enough to pull out his aching cock. He pumps himself twice in a rush, his eyes glazed over and dark as he looks at you naked and blissed out under him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grabs hold of your thigh harshly and pulls you wider. “You made such a mess, fuck.” He pushes forward, notching the tip of his fat needy cock at your entrance and thrusting in without a second thought.

You gasp in surprise at the sudden intrusion, despite your orgasm and how thoroughly he fucked you with his fingers the stretch of him is still a shock.

You grab hold of his arms as he bottoms out, snapped out of your post-orgasmic haze. He kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue into your open mouth and demanding your submission as he bends his body over yours. He snaps his hips forward, drinking down your cry as he bottoms out. The burn of him is delicious, hitting so deep, deeper than he ever has before and your back arches up from the bed as you cling onto him.

You swear between kisses, sob out his name as he starts to thrust harshly into you, pulling pleasure from every nerve with each snap of his hips.

“That’s it, baby, fuck, that’s it.” He leans up, rutting so hard that he’s sliding you back with every buck.

“Llewyn, oh my god, please!” You can’t get any other words out, all thoughts dissolving into an incoherent mess as he keeps hitting so deep, as he fucks you into the mattress.

He bites his lip, his hips moving of their own accord as he chases his high, needing to cum so deeply within you that you’ll be feeling it for weeks. Quickly he sits further up, pressing firmly on your clit with his thumb as he pushes you closer to your second orgasm, demanding you cum and milk his cock for everything he’s going to give you.

His other hand snakes down to your chin, holding your jaw and neck possessively for a moment before he pushes his thumb against your lips.

Your eyes widen in surprise at first as his palm presses against your windpipe, not enough to cut off your air, just a dominating hold. But you moan as you open your mouth and flick your tongue against the pad of this thumb.

Llewyn growls and pushes it in deeper, groaning as you suck on it. Revelling in the way your eyebrows pinch together, how your eyes soften and gaze over as you give into him completely.

The control makes his head spin and dick swell. He swears under his breath and pinches lightly at your clit as his balls draw up. You squirm and cry out around his thumb, your legs shaking and tensing on either side of his. The thick denim of his jeans rubbing your inner thighs red.

You cum suddenly, the force of it creeping up on you as it blooms throughout your core, practically forces your back off the bed as you scream silently.

LLewyn pulls his thumb from your mouth and ruts into you harder, punching the air out of your lungs with the force of his hips as he groans and pumps thick, hot cum inside of you. His orgasm is so strong that he nearly blacks out for a second.

He catches himself, his hand by your head as he breathes and recovers. It’s only then he notices the tears in your eyes. And a sharp pang of guilt cuts through his chest.

“Baby-”

You grab hold of him and pull him down against you, kissing him hard and moaning softly as aftershocks of your orgasm flow across your veins.

“Fuck,” you nuzzle against him, whispering against his ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard.”

He leans up to look at you, a small smile on his lips. “You okay?” He keeps his voice low and you nod.

“More than okay.”

The smile grows.

“Can’t believe you kept your clothes on,” you grin, “you’re all sweaty.”

LLewyn snorts and kisses you softly. “I didn’t have time.”

He helps you get dressed, your legs feeling boneless in the aftermath of your orgasm. He uses your brief weakness to his advantage and pins you back against the bed, cleaning the mess he made between your legs with his tongue until you’re a shaking begging heap. Your third orgasm is weaker than the previous two, but sweet nonetheless.

Jerry meets you both outside the room, a flush to his face. He gives you an envelope containing the $500, plus a $50 tip for ‘such a good show’, as well as his card, ‘if ever you’d both be interested in a repeat performance.’

LLewyn’s face betrays nothing, but he squeezes your hip eagerly at the suggestion.

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Thank you for reading! I'm not doing my normal tag list for kinktober as to not overwhelm anyone, please let me know if you'd like to be added/taken off.

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moon

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feefymo · 4 months

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The Rorchach Effect - Part 2

Jimmy Darling x fem! reader - NSFW • MDNI word count: 3035 author's note: Smut Time? Friendly reminder: I'm very paranoid and very not english. As a first approach, I preferred to write in present tense(?) to make my work easier. I hope it still turns out to be effective and... engaging, cough cough. warnings: there's mainly masturbation and how do you say that? Tits-fuck? - What a bitch, look at this… ! - Jimmy sneers, bouncing on Elsa's mattress. Taking advantage of the party, we entered her tent and, if that wasn't enough, we are making use of her things. In this regard, Jimmy caresses the fabric of the dressing gown that he stole from her and which he shows off with a light-hearted air. Standing a few steps away from him, I giggle and perform a pirouette. Needless to say, I'm also wearing a designer dressing gown. We are not in a building, no armored door protects us but neither of us seems to care. Anyone could catch us red-handed, Elsa herself, and yet here we are, flirting as if we hadn't eaten each other's faces off just now. - That purple suits you… - I state halfway between a good-natured joke and absolute conviction. The piece of clothing on Jimmy makes me laugh and, at the same time, makes my brain go crazy. He barely fits in it but he still thought it made sense to tie the robe loosely at the waist. On the other hand, I swim in the celestial fabric, making Jimmy hungry and impatient. He wishes he could peek more - better - but I purposely wrap my arms around myself. He can see a small part of my cleavage as well as my legs, from the knees down. I can't stay still, so I move around Mommy Elsa's room because I'm nervous. I try to distract myself but the situation is electric and, deep down, I feel embarrassed for my skin. - Hey, miss? Stop for a while, you're making me seasick! - Jimmy addresses me. The tone of voice is loving and understanding: he knows that I do this when I'm upset and he probably imagines the reasons too. He himself is revved up, sitting with his back straight on the edge of the mattress. - Hey, miss - I mock him, raising an eyebrow - You've never shown off such a correct posture in your life. - I add, approaching him with bare steps. I pose as a high-class woman while I smoke the remains of Elsa's cigarette. I puff a cloud of silver onto Jimmy's perfect features, and he leans in to bite into it and catches me off guard. I fall into a seat on Elsa's boudoir stool and we both laugh until the laughter fades into the silence of a long stare. - Y/N, you're beaut… - - Don't say that. - - What? Why? - - I'm sorry, I'm… I'm not that good at encouraging when it comes to me… - I inhale deeply with a bitter smile. - Are you talking about your skin? - he ask in a murmur, tilting his curly head to the side. He leans his torso in my direction and it's natural for me to close my thighs. It's not the embarrassment I thought it was, but rather a bubble of warmth that suddenly forms in my belly that I try to trap. I see his hand, the one I treated for him, lingering in the act of touching me. He closes and reopens it, searching my face for answers. I just nod. - Do you know what your skin looks like? - he asks, creating a suspense that I am about to ruin. - The coat of a cow? - Jimmy twists into a grimace: he understands the irony but splashes on me the remnants of Elsa's favorite liquor, that he brazenly drank. - Do you know when the summer sun is at its zenith but you are sheltered by the foliage of the trees? Then many pieces of shadow and light are created and… and that's you. - I don't know if he realizes how poetic the concept he has just expressed is, gesturing and looking for the right words. I stare at him with adoring eyes and my mouth slightly ajar, so he coughs and takes a breath. He's going to add something.

Can you touch me? - I'll nip it in the bud. - Can you… touch me, please? Calmly, trace the outlines of the lights and shadows you mention. I want those hands on me. I want to… venerate them. - the moment I pronounce the verb "venerate", Jimmy just flinches. That single sentence has the power to give a shock to his cock, which gradually awakens beneath the silk and, I notice, it twitches slightly. Besides robes, we don't wear anything. - I can. - Jimmy confirms after what seems like an eternal silence. I think he wanted to give me some kind of speech but he prefers to look at me while he slides to his knees. - Do you know how many times I touched you "by mistake"? - he tease. I lose control of my breathing in response: the legs, still locked and contracted, are delicately stripped from the edges of the garment. - Yes. - no, I don't really know but I understand what he means. The same goes for me. As he looks at me, I'm afraid he's thinking: "if I put my hands there, I'll ruin everything". Then I grab the wrist of his good hand and lead him to my left knee. My thighs are shaking but now it's a dispassionate invitation to redesign myself. So he does it. He begins to touch my shins with his fingertips. He leans over to blindly caress the calves and then up. Higher up.

This is the geographical map of Heaven. - he whispers on my mouth, swallowing an excess of saliva. He tries not to look down, positioning himself between my knees for better access to my lips. Suck the lower one slowly; the lip bleached by the disease to which Jimmy gives pigment through his heat. Slowly, he bends through my tremors until I can only see the tangle of his chestnut honey-colored curls. His fingers, now hidden by the fabric hanging from my shoulders, circumnavigate the dark areas of my hips until they imprint themselves on my breasts. The contact electrifies him, so he lets out a moan similar to a shock. He's found in a particular position: he resembles the statue of someone about to prostrate themselves in prayer, with their arms outstretched in the act of pinching my nipples and his lips dangerously close to my mons Veneris. - I'm not a two-flavor ice cream. - I flounder, resorting to a form of reluctance opposed to my pounding desire. He knows these impulsive reactions of mine are often dictated by fear, so he spies on me from below with dilated pupils. It invites me to fall into it - It's not good. My taste. - - Yes it is. - - It's n- … - - Sssssh… - the onomatopoeia rustles against my clit, forcing me to moan in exasperation. As if that wasn't enough, Jimmy doesn't need a voice to urge me to let him do it. He shakes his head: "enough", "no", rubbing left and right his nose and mouth over my heat. I don't think I've ever loved a nod as much as I do right now. I could comfortably enjoy his ministrations, but instead, I stand on tiptoe and peer at him with wide eyes. I imagine my short, quick, sharp breaths hitting his relaxed eyelids. His thick eyelashes. I didn't realize that my hands had become guardians of his and clung to them without the slightest discomfort. - How much… how much would I owe you if I were at one of those Tupperware parties? - I feel him smile against my pussy as he goes back to drawing quirky little things to keep my skin spots company. I see his eyebrows raise eloquently, a sign that he is regaining confidence. - Oh, very much. - he replies after a century. - All. - but I don't have time to provoke him as his rascal tongue marks ring after ring around my clit before kissing it and going down. He spoils my slit as if he were looking for the key to penetrate my cunt and, once he finds it, he does. - Mmh, my God Y/N. Mmmy God, you are so good that I don't want to eat or drink anything else anymore. - I never had the certainty that we would end up like this but now I can admit that I hoped so. Much. I lean blindly against Elsa's boudoir and knock over a bottle of perfume. An eye pencil rolls to the floor. I don't know what to do, I feel like I'm going insane as I reach behind Jimmy's head and push him towards me. I move my hips a couple of times before pressing myself hard on his face. I remain still and his muffled groan precedes his now firm grip on the flesh of my wet thighs. I dodge it in dizziness because this isn't how I want to come and I'm already incredibly close. Confused, glittering with my own juices on his frown, he observes me: he shines like an obscene star, prostrate to my will and not satisfied, however I have another idea.

Give it to me. - it's an order wrapped in velvet. I am peremptory in asking him to give me his hand which, under the passage of my thumbs, I open and extend, staring at it intensely. I spy on him like a voyeur in the "V" space that is created between the two fused segments of his "claws" and I smile mischievously at him before licking the junction point. Slowly, so that he realizes my intention. I go up a wet trail and go over it again as if I were actually writing the twenty-second letter of the alphabet. Then I dedicate myself to the palm, lapping it with my flat tongue as if it were a blueberry popsicle, my favorite. He is astonished, his mouth half-open in an expression that is initially stunned, then reshaped into an erotic drama that I could stare at for hours. Incredulous, he partly follows my movements, partly glances at me: his chin jutting forward and his eyebrows going from desperate to frowning. His body performs in two small jerks that induce him to stand up straight but still kneeling. - Oh, fuck dollface… - he hisses at the exact moment I swallow two of his fingers. There is something that he doesn't understand and that makes him restless. I slide along the joined phalanges and there is not a shadow of disgust on me. On the contrary, I spread my legs wide so that Jimmy notices that I am increasingly wetter. - I feel that… it's as if you were doing it to my cock… - he admits destabilized, unable to hold back the phantom spasms in his lower abdomen. He doesn't notice but, at my pace, he seeks friction in the scented air of Elsa's quarters. In nothing. This only adds to my pleasure, causing me to moan and bite his knuckles. - Ah! But how do you do it?! - I have no idea, I'm just hungry for him and the salivation increases like in the jaws of the wolf. I completely drench his hand, then place it on the stool before sitting back down. Jimmy nods with an expression that doesn't bode well, so he comes closer. - Just do it. Rub into my hand, do it. - he grabs my shoulder and presses me down but he doesn't control the undulations of my pelvis. I spontaneously begin to fuck the aforementioned hand in its entire length, from the wrist to the nails. Back and forth, as if on a swing that has nothing pure or childish about it. I abandon myself to a dotted moan that I address to the ceiling and my body memorizes JD's flesh. The scars, the veins, the rough and atypical paths. - N-now… - I meow crypticly, in a voice too low for him to immediately understand. He looks at me ecstatically, he stopped himself from doing anything and wonders how he managed it but now he's eager to understand what I want. - Now? What "now", honey? - he attacks my neck, repeating itself and making it even more difficult for me to stay clear. - Stick… stick them. Stick your gorgeous fingers inside me. - I'm begging him breathlessly and I wrap him in a hug so heartfelt that it seems my salvation depends on it. A sigh of relief hits my ear as a feeling of fullness creeps up on me. I try to pronounce his name but a lump in my throat prevents me. He compensates, spelling mine. - You're a goddess. - he studies me, curling his fingers against the exact point that makes me squirm. The robe miraculously hung on my now practically naked body, offered to Jimmy. The Lobster Boy is clear about which buttons to touch and insists on looming over my figure, which completely melts onto the carpet. - Jimmy… Jimmy… slowly, don't… I don't want it to end right away! - a voiceless laugh escapes him, too enthusiastic to censor it. We've waited too long, so he moves me on the bed like I'm cotton candy and lies on top of me, piercing me relentlessly.

I can do it again. - stab - And again. - stab - And again. Let yourself go, love… - he invites me not to hold back, adding his thumb to the bittersweet torture that has transformed me into an anthropomorphic wave. Jimmy would drown in it and so he does, kissing me with the transport of when he sings. He basically does this skimpy dance with me that allows him to rub up against me. Against his own hand rummaging perfectly through the folds of my impending orgasm. - I don't know… I don't know what… AH! - something in me is torn. Even before Jimmy can address his concern to me, I am overcome by a tsunami of ecstasy I have never faced before. The discordant note of the cry with which I come copiously, squirting on my lover, is added to the music of the event. Jimmy has the urge to get run over and so, stunned, he relieves himself. He urges me through clenched teeth as my essence drips down his stomach, hiding in his pubic hair and sliding down his muscular thighs. I stare at him, face blushed violently, out of breath or words. JD, dazed, uses my wetness to masturbate himself. - Is that what you want? Look at them. - he breathy refers to his hands; one slides along his lenght and the other caresses my shiny belly in the tumult of the night. He can't believe it, he is driven by the arousal he no longer masters. I am. For this reason, he bends over to briefly follow his gestures but then returns to observe me with pleading eyes. Shocked, I climb up his ivy-like body to kiss him intensely, then squat on the mattress. - Give those hands a rest. - I invite him again, prey to my own breath. I welcome his erection between my breasts, guarding it jealously in a coming and going that in a few seconds makes the boy tremble. - Y/N, fuck, Y/N if you don't… if you don't want me to-… - - Shut up and come, idiot. Give me everything. - - Fuckfuckfuck… ! -

He doesn't need to be told twice. Exhaling a bestial groan in his passionate humanity, he rests his knees against the bed frame. His head falls back and Elsa's robe - that barely acts as a cloak - comes off the sweaty skin of his back. That purple and expensive detail that dresses his non-existent modesty makes the scene one of the most amazing I've ever witnessed. I gaze at him in total adoration as his boyish features twitch and pearly splashes sign my bliss. Face, collarbones, shoulders. Jim, in the grip of his latest convulsions, holds my hair in his fists. He has no voice to make himself heard but he steps back slightly and chuckles while cursing. He peels off Elsa's robe and uses it to clean up first me, then himself, grinning evilly as he wraps the fabric around his cock. - Uh, that's what "normal people" do. - I comment, excited by his bold choice. - Elsa will be happy to find out that the birthday boy had fun. - he pants, throwing the dirty garment on the bed. - Leave yours there too. - he invites me to imitate him and then take me by the hand pulling me up. Tight in a naked embrace, we follow the distant trail of a well-known song, staring at each other with soapy eyes. A few seconds of paradise finally found in four arms, until a creaking alarms us. - Come on, it's time to get to stepping. - Jimmy says, picking up our clothes around the tent. I help him, complaining: - Oh, no. Are we ready to leave forever? - he, for a moment, forgets the possibility of being caught and stares at me intensely. - We are. - immediately afterwards we threw ourselves out of the back exit, immersed in a clandestine darkness. I feel his warmth. His breathing. Our fingers intertwine. - We are - he repeats - but we are not finished here. - I remain silent while I get dressed, I let the buzz of the nocturnal insects speak for me. - Is that so? - I ask, finally. Jimmy re-fastens his trousers, while I scan the summery contours of his beauty. - No. I have to fuck you first in all the places that made us sad. Making love for real, anywhere, until the fucking circus collapses. Then… we'll leave. - I grab his injured hand and threaten the burnt skin without the real intention of hurting him. - Promise me. - - They'll cut off my hands if I lie. - - Happy Birthday, Lobster Boy. - Ladies and Gentlemen: I found Jimmy Darling.

taglist: @taintandviolent @silverzoomies @doll3tt33 @wh0re43van @fear-is-truth @lacucarachapisser + Please, If you want to be added or I forgot someone, let me know!

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters fanfic #jimmy darling #ahs freakshow #evan peters characters #jimmy darling smut #jimmy darling x reader #evan peters smut #bff to lovers #ficfymo

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months

Text

Saturday linkdump, part the sixth

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

On September 14, I'm hosting the EFF Awards in San Francisco.

I usually write this blog 5-6 days/week, but every now and again, I take a break, and when I do, I get massive link backlogs of stuff I want to write about, but lack the time to address in depth. When that happens, I turn my Saturday edition into a linkdump. Today, I present the sixth in the series – here's the other five:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Why was I offline and away from my blog? I went to the dirt rave. Yes, I was one of the 70,000+ people stuck in the mud at this year's Burning Man, and when I emailed my editor at the New York Times to say I might be late on the op-ed I was working on, she asked me to write about what this year's mud crisis meant:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/06/opinion/burning-man-flood-playa-climate-change.html

tl;dr:

Bad weather is normal at Burning Man (it's a feature, not a bug);

Mostly burners leapt to the occasion, which is what people almost always do in disaster situations;

This is the second Burning Man heavy weather year in a row;

The climate emergency is tipping the Black Rock Desert from "extremely challenging" to "impossible";

This isn't the last event, place and tradition that will have to be radically reconsidered in light of the climate emergency;

But now I'm home, in my hammock, with all the laundry done – just in time to leave again. I'm about to head back to my hometown of Toronto for a book launch. The Internet Con, my latest nonfiction (from Verso Books) came out last week, and I'll be appearing at Another Story Bookshop on Tuesday:

https://anotherstory.ca/events/29283

Internet Con is a "Big Tech disassembly manual." It explains how Big Tech got so big (lax anti-monopoly enforcement, which led to regulatory capture, which let Big Tech abuse our privacy, labor rights, and consumer rights), and how we can use interoperability so it's no longer Too Big to Fail, nor Too Big to Jail:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

You can read a long excerpt from the book in Wired, which lays out some of the shovel-ready legislative, regulatory and technical proposals that are the book's main purpose:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-internet-con-cory-doctorow-book-excerpt/

You can also hear me read the whole introduction and first chapter of the audiobook on my podcast:

https://craphound.com/internetcon/2023/08/01/the-internet-con-how-to-seize-the-means-of-computation-audiobook-outtake/

That comes from the audiobook, a DRM-free, independent edition that I financed, produced and narrated myself. You can get the audiobook everywhere except Audible, Apple Books, and Audiobooks.com, all of which have mandatory DRM policies. You can also get it direct from me:

https://transactions.sendowl.com/products/78992826/DEA0CE12/purchase

The DRM-free ebook is available everywhere ebooks are sold (Kobo, Kindle, Nook, etc), as well as in my own DRM-free ebook store:

https://transactions.sendowl.com/products/78992801/9C4FC2B8/purchase

Verso's books are sold in bookstores around the world; you can support your local bookseller by buying it through Bookshop:

https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-internet-con-how-to-seize-the-means-of-computation-cory-doctorow/18771891?ean=9781804291245

If you'd like a signed copy, there's stock at Book Soup:

https://www.booksoup.com/book/9781804291245

Now, it was inevitable that I would do a book event for Internet Con in Toronto – I've never had a bad event there, and I love my hometown – but the timing of this event was driven by a non-book-related factor. Talking Heads is appearing together at TIFF, to support the re-release of Stop Making Sense, the greatest concert film in human history:

https://pluralistic.net/StopMakingSense

People often ask me what my favorite book is, and I always tell them that you should never trust people who have one favorite book, as it inevitably turns out to be The Bible, The Fountainhead, or Mein Kampf. But while I don't have a favorite book, I have a clear and unambiguous favorite band.

If I was forced to listen to no music other than Talking Heads for the rest of my life, I would be perfectly happy. Ecstatic, even. Throw in David Byrne, Tom Tom Club and Casual Gods and I probably wouldn't even notice anything missing.

There's a running joke among my Burning Man campmates that whenever I'm in charge of the music, I'm just shuffling Talking Heads rarities, and whenever someone puts on anything else, I demand to know which Talking Heads album it came from. Which is all to say: I have tickets for the Talking Heads event at TIFF and I could *not be more excited.*

Continuing on the Canadian theme, one of the annual highlights of Canadian media is the Massey Lectures, a series of public lectures given around the country and rebroadcast on CBC. These are always great, but recent years have been superb – Ron Deibert's 2020 series was unmissable:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/10/dark-matter/#citizenlab

This year's Masseys are shaping up to be the GOAT. They're presented by Astra Taylor, an activist rock-and-roller turned documentary filmmaker who is one of the founders of the Debt Collective, fighting for student debt cancellation. Everything Astra does is amazing and her profile on CBC Ideas gives some background on the role that unschooling played in making her the powerful activist she is today:

https://www.cbc.ca/radio/ideas/astra-taylor-interview-2023-massey-lecturer-1.6959320

There's no question that things are messed up right now, but Astra and people like her shine out like beacons of hope. 17 years ago, self-described "democracy nut" Tom Stites gave one of the seminal lectures on the role news media play in democracy:

http://citmedia.org/blog/2006/07/03/guest-posting-is-media-performance-democracys-critical-issue/

17 years later – and from his perch as editor at the essential International Consortium of Investigative Journalists – Stites presents us a long-overdue, extremely pertinent followup: "Building Civic Energy is the Goal, Not Saving Old News Business Models":

https://banyanproject.coop/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Hope-College-speech-for-Banyan-website-1.pdf

Stites's intervention is extremely timely, because policymakers all over the world have made the mistake of thinking that Big Tech is stealing the news media's content, which is absolutely untrue. It is good, actually, to index news stories and let people discuss, quote from and link to news stories. News you're not allowed to talk about isn't news, it's a secret.

But Big Tech is stealing from news. They're not stealing content – they're stealing money. The Google/Apple duopoly rakes 30% off every subscription payment collected in an app. The Google/Meta duopoly rakes 51% out of every ad-dollar (and maintain that death-grip through creepy, privacy-invading surveillance ads). Meta and Twitter hold social media subscribers hostage, forcing publishers to pay to reach their own subscribers.

We don't want the news to be Big Tech's partners – we need them to be Big Tech's watchdogs. "Link taxes" and other profit-sharing arrangements between the media and tech cut against the civic energy Stites wants to build.

(You can read more about this – along with policy prescriptions for halting Big Tech's rent-extraction from the news – in "Saving the News From Big Tech," my EFF white-paper:)

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

If your spirits are lifted by stories of principled activists achieving important – and improbable – victories, you could do worse than to attend the EFF Awards on in San Francisco Sept 14 (I'm the emcee). This year, we're honoring Alexandra Elbakyan for her founding of Sci-Hub, the Library Freedom Project and the Signal Foundation:

https://www.eff.org/awards/effawards/2023

In more activist news: Mozilla produced a startling and astoundingly good – if demoralizing – report on the state of digital privacy and security in the automotive sector:

https://foundation.mozilla.org/en/privacynotincluded/articles/its-official-cars-are-the-worst-product-category-we-have-ever-reviewed-for-privacy/

Entitled, "It’s Official: Cars Are the Worst Product Category We Have Ever Reviewed for Privacy," the report reveals just how absolutely terrible the automotive sector is when it comes to privacy practices, collecting (and selling) (and giving away) information about your sex life, your geneology, your genetic characteristics, and your smell (no, seriously).

Their recommendations for which new car you should buy boil down to "don't buy a new car." I have been urging consumer research groups to release a report like this for a decade. There are whole categories of gadgets – like, say, "smart speakers" – that are unsafe at any speed. At a certain point, reviewers need to have the guts to say that every manufacturer in an entire sector is a dumpster fire and they should all be dragged in front of a firing squad – or at least a Congressional committee.

Cars, after all, are nightmares of privacy invasion and rent-extraction, the source of autoenshittification on a massive scale, a mobile form of technofeudalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

The fact that cars score so badly on privacy is especially ironic given the campaign Big Car waged against the 2020 Massachusetts Right to Repair ballot initiative, in which car manufacturers held themselves out as the defenders of driver privacy from unscrupulous third parties who couldn't be trusted to handle the vast troves of data your car collects with every hour that God sends:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

This is a familiar refrain: monopolists often claim that any check on their absolute authority over their users will expose those users to privacy risks. Apple has run a global ad-campaign claiming this, and while Apple does prevent Facebook from spying on iPhone owners, they also secretly spy on those customers in exactly the same way that Facebook used to, and lie about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

It turns out that giant companies just aren't good proxies for their customers' interests, and that the power they amass through monopolization shouldn't be counted on as a source of user safety. Monopolists won't reliably defend user privacy – that job belongs to democratically accountable regulators. That's an argument I developed in detail with Bennett Cyphers in our EFF white-paper "Privacy Without Monopoly":

https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy

That is, rather than getting privacy by "voting with your wallet," you need to get it by voting with your ballot. "The market" is an election that you vote in with dollars, which means that the people with the most dollars always win. When there are zero cars on the market that are safe to drive, you can't vote with your wallet by buying a good one.

On a related subject, the DOJ Antitrust Division has brought the most important tech anti-monopoly case of the century, charging Google with monopolizing search:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/06/technology/modern-internet-first-monopoly-trial-us-google-dominance.html

Part of the DOJ case turns on the fact that Google goes to extraordinary lengths to keep you from every trying another search engine, paying out more than $45 billion every year to be the default search on every device, program and service you might use. In other words, Google spends entire Twitter's worth of dollars every year, lighting it on fire to keep you from finding out about rivals.

Google argues that this is fine, actually, because these are only defaults, and users can dig through their settings to change their search engine. Sure, Google – and the first 20 search results you serve are only defaults, and it wouldn't matter if you were ordered to put them ten screens down, because users could always scroll to see them.

But search defaults aren't the only way that Google locks in searchers – and then harms us by invading our privacy. Google's ubiquitous Chrome browser ties Google's search to Google's invasive, nonconsensual, total surveillance. Chrome turned 15 this year and Google made a huge PR splash out of the anniversary:

https://blog.google/products/chrome/google-chrome-new-features-redesign-2023/

But all that puffery conspicuously failed to mention that Google had quietly rolled out its long-discredited, new surveillance technology, FLOC, which it pretended to kill in 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/22/ihor-kolomoisky/#not-that-competition

FLOC is back, rebranded as the Topics API: this is a system for spying on you so advertisers can target you. Google is spinning this as a privacy improvement because it might someday replace "third party cookies," one of the creepiest web surveillance systems.

But as Ron Amadeo writes for Ars Technica, Chrome is the last major browser to support third party cookies – both Safari and Firefox block them by default. So Google is basically saying, "We are going to improve your privacy by changing how we spy on you, even though all our competitors don't do this kind of spying at all":

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2023/09/googles-widely-opposed-ad-platform-the-privacy-sandbox-launches-in-chrome/

This kind of gaslighting, where Google pisses in all our mouths and tells us it's raining, is the hallmark of a decrepit, arrogant, crapulent monopolist that needs to be shattered in the courts. Kudos to the DoJ for doing the people's business here – and kudos to DoJ antitrust boss Jonathan Kanter for promising that he will not go into corporate law when he finishes his stint in government.

The DoJ isn't the only public agency that's serving the American people. The FCC just announced proceedings to force cybersecurity labels for "smart" devices:

https://www.fcc.gov/consumer-governmental-affairs/fcc-proposes-cybersecurity-labeling-program-smart-devices

This is long overdue, and it's a welcome action from the FCC, which was hamstrung for years because cowardly Democratic senators joined with homophobic, libelous Republicans in blocking confirmation hearings for the amazing Gigi Sohn:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/15/useful-idiotsuseful-idiots/#unrequited-love

After years of abuse, Sohn bowed out. Now, Anna Gomez has been confirmed to fill that fifth FCC chair, turning the FCC into a fully operational battle station:

https://www.fiercewireless.com/wireless/senate-votes-approve-anna-gomez-5th-fcc-commissioner

The fact that there's all this great stuff going on in the administrative branch is easy to lose sight of amidst the circus of federal electoral politics, in which Donald Trump has retained his role as ringmaster and chief distractor.

Thankfully, we have expert Pantsless Emperor skewerers like Ruben Bolling around – his latest Tom the Dancing Bug revives his brilliant Calvin and Hobbes-inspired Trump gag:

https://boingboing.net/2023/09/06/tom-the-dancing-bug-a-calvinesque-and-hobbesian-look-at-taking-a-mug-shot.html

Well, that's me signing off for the weekend – I've got to pack for my flight to Toronto. If you're looking for more weekend fun, check out the trailer for Fractured Veil, the video game my old pal Chris DiBona has been working on for seven years and which is heading for Steam early access next month:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NjNd3QQnENU

Just watch it. I mean. Wow.

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/2023/09/09/nein-nein/#everything-is-miscellaneous

Image: Roel Schroeven (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/roelschroeven/45413895

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

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oneterabyteofkilobyteage · 4 days

Photo

original url http://www.geocities.com/Pentagon/Bunker/3035/ last modified 2008-02-13 02:16:20

#Pentagon #2008 #Explorer6 #WindowsXP #800x600

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underforeversgrace · 1 year

Text

Instinct

DannyMay2023 Day 7: Weapon

Words: 3035

Complete

AO3

Excerpt: He really hated it when his parents surprised him with the ghost version of weapons of mass destruction, honestly. It was getting old. When they’d unveiled the weapon and showed it to him and Jazz with more enthusiasm than a toddler sticking something new in its mouth, Danny had wanted to blow the damn thing up the instant they finished explaining what it did.

~~~~~~~

Don’t get Danny wrong, he was more than thrilled that his parents current weapon had entirely failed, as he usually was. This time, even more so, once his parents had explained to him what the weapon did, deep in the woods on what he had thought was supposed to be a normal (er, Fenton normal?) camping trip.

He really hated it when his parents surprised him with the ghost version of weapons of mass destruction, honestly. It was getting old.

When they’d unveiled the weapon and showed it to him and Jazz with more enthusiasm than a toddler sticking something new in its mouth, Danny had wanted to blow the damn thing up the instant they finished explaining what it did. Frankly, he probably would’ve if they hadn’t immediately turned it on while his brain was still processing exactly how bad a weapon that vaporized all ectoplasm within twenty miles was - in general and for him specifically.

He decided it was a small miracle when he felt nothing more than an irritating tug on his core. There had been no hiding the relief on either kids’ faces when Danny didn’t explode/implode/horrifically die (again).

An hour later, though, Danny realized his parents’ invention had somehow managed to be almost worse (he was slightly biased, he still preferred this to perma-death) than it’s initial function had been.

“Danny!” Jazz shrieked as he jumped to the side, tucking and rolling back under the barrier of the ghost shield, firing one last shot from the ecto gun in his hands before he was in the protective green dome. The shot - of course - landed true, the ghost bear roaring in pain as it slammed its paws onto the shield, getting thrown away the second it did so as the shield shocked it.

He didn’t even bother pretending to be out of breath as he ran back to the GAV, he had too much else to focus on.

“This one’s out, too,” he said, tossing the now drained gun into the growing pile of other weapons that had met the same fate.

“Shit,” Mom swore, not even bothering to hide her language from her kids as she joined them in the back of the GAV. “Mine’s out, too.” She said, all but throwing the weapon in frustration.

Jack - who had been quickly relieved from and forbidden to touch any of the weapons when they realized they couldn’t risk missing shots - looked up in panic. “We’re out of weapons.” He said.

“How can you be out of weapons?!” Jazz shouted.

“They run off ectoplasm!” Dad said, wiping sweat from his brow, the summer heat suffocating in the metal van. “We didn’t want to risk bringing too many and frying them!”

Jazz looked to Danny in a panic. Oh, right. She expected him to have a plan by now, he was sure.

Danny, however, had been entirely too busy to think of anything beyond aiming, ducking, and trying not to be too ghostly. He ran a hand across his face, desperately trying to think of something, anything.

They’d been under an onslaught of animal ghosts for over an hour at this point. The invention, instead of vaporizing ghosts (which still made Danny’s skin crawl at the sheer idea), apparently summoned them instead, the tug Danny had felt on his core. And while he’d known there were a lot of animal ghosts in and around Amity Park, he had not realized it was this many. It had been Jazz’s idea to turn off the GAV’s weapons so it could focus on the ghost shield, a suggestion Danny was immensely grateful for. The weapons and the shield were a huge power drain, the shield wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if the guns had been blasting too.

“How’s your hand to hand?” Mom asked, thrusting a staff at him.

“Uh, acceptable?” Danny answered.

Mom and dad had both tried to question his abilities when they’d given him a gun and discovered he knew what he was doing when he’d instinctively triggered the two buttons to charge it up, even though they’d never explained to him how this particular model worked. His dead on aim that rivaled his mother’s hadn’t done anything to assuage the questions, even when Jazz’s proved almost as good.

The longer he’d fought - jumping through and from the shield with practiced ease, since the weapons’ ectoblasts couldn’t clear the shield any more than the ghosts could - the less they’d questioned, focusing on the fight. He knew he’d have an avalanche of questions waiting for him when he got home, when they weren’t fighting for their lives.

Jack and Jazz grabbed close combat weapons as well and the four filed out, the sounds of roars and growls and barks filling the air.

Danny, throughout this whole ordeal, had been confident he could keep his secret intact by the end of this, even as the humans beside him began to flag from exhaustion.

Exhaustion he could see in the way his father’s chest heaved for air, the way his mother had begun to slow, the way Jazz held her shoulder, no doubt aching from the repeated recoil of the weapons. Only Danny had the ghostly endurance to continue fighting without starting to fall behind.

When the shield flickered out of existence for a moment before returning, though, Danny’s slow heart skipped a beat.

“Danny!” Jazz yelled again as a ghost panther leapt onto her, knocking her to the ground as she struggled to keep the bar of the staff in the creature’s jaws.

“Jazz!” Danny shouted back, too far away to strike the beast with the weapon in his hand, his parents dealing with another animal who had managed to enter their safe zone when the shield had failed.

Some part of Danny knew he should think his next actions through, but instinct and his protective drive triggered and he no longer had the energy to care about his secret as green saliva dripped from the ghost’s jowls onto his sister’s face.

The staff clattered to the ground as he dropped it, throwing an ectoblast directly into the beast pinning Jazz down, sending it crashing a fair distance away, where it whined and struggled to get up before going still.

“Danny?” He heard his mother ask softly, a witness to the display he had just put on as they felled their target too.

It was then he heard the soft sound of the GAV entirely powering down, entirely out of energy after powering the shield for so long. Then the horde was running towards them.

“No!” He cried, giving into the cold in his chest as he thrust his hands to either side, his own green shield bursting into existence around them.

“Danny?” It was his dad this time who asked, with the same quiet horror as Mom prior, both frozen in place.

He knew his eyes were glowing green when he looked up at them, as they always did when he used his powers as Fenton.

“Danny.” Jazz said softly, the only one with concern in her voice, as she put herself firmly between him and their parents.

He had never been so sick of hearing his own name.

He didn’t answer, glancing at the GAV, just barely still within his much smaller shield. He couldn’t keep the shield up forever and he couldn’t fight while maintaining it, either.

“I’m sorry,” he said, closing his eyes and tugging again on his core. His mother’s scream when he formed a duplicate hurt his soul more than his ears. The (human) duplicate took over the shield, grimacing as he did so, nodding to Danny. They didn’t have to speak, the duplicate was intrinsically a part of him, knew his every thought and desire as soon as he had it. “I’m gonna get the shield back up.”

Danny hurried to the GAV, throwing open the power source and resisting the urge to flinch as he felt the way it sucked in the air around it even as he reached for it.

“Danny, no!” Jazz said, catching up to him and grabbing his wrist, jerking it away before he could touch the Ecto-Converter.

Danny was really, really sick of hearing his name. “Do you have another idea?” Danny snapped. “I need the shield up. I can’t keep it up and fight at the same time, not yet!”

“And how are you supposed to fight if you feed yourself to the Ecto-Converter?” Jazz shouted back, clutching his wrist harder in her hand, though worry was all he saw in her eyes.

Danny glanced behind him, where his parents kept rotating their heads between him and his duplicate, though mercifully they hadn’t attacked.

“I have energy and ectoplasm to spare, Jazz.” Danny said, trying to soften his voice. “It’s concentration I don’t have, not yet, you know that.”

“But, Danny…” she trailed off, knowing he was making sense, though she was probably thinking the same thing he was.

I know it’s working when I hear the screams. Was how Jack had described the Converter. Danny had touched it once, for just a second and had been shocked with pain.

“Be careful.” She yielded, releasing his arm.

“Aren’t I always?” He quipped, almost relieved at the glare Jazz sent back at him, because no he absolutely was not.

He hesitated a moment. His secret was only half shattered right now. He could still pass this off as ecto-contamination but as he felt his duplicate shudder when several ghosts launched into the shield at once, he knew his entire secret was going to be exposed. His powers as Fenton weren’t as strong as Phantom. And he would need to be as strong as possible to fend off all of these ghosts. “I love you.” He added, slamming his hand against the Converter.

He screamed as electric agony flooded his senses, quickly brought to his knees though he stubbornly managed to keep his hand against the Converter as flashbacks of his death tried to edge their way into his memory.

“Danny!” Mom called, apparently broken from her trance, running to him and dropping to her knees beside him, reaching for him.

“Don’t!” Jazz snapped, grabbing her hands as she had Danny’s, keeping their mother from electrocuting herself.

Danny heard them and saw them through his duplicate’s eyes, his true body's senses too overwhelmed.

Almost immediately, the GAV powered back up, the shield erupting back to life. As soon as it had, he faded the duplicate, reabsorbing it back into himself. He couldn’t say how long he stayed like that, charging the GAV like a battery. He didn’t stop until he felt the power source at max capacity, unable to take anymore from him.

He jerked his hand away from the vehicle, blasted back a few feet as he did so. His head felt like static as he heard various voices calling his name again, hands touching his shoulders and slightly shaking him. He groaned, forcing himself into a sitting position. Ow.

“Danny? Son? Are you okay?” His father asked, putting a hand behind his back to help him sit.

“‘m fine…” he muttered even as his muscles spasmed from the electrical shock. By the Ancients, he hated getting hit by electricity.

“Can you sit up on your own?” Mom asked and he nodded, only to grab his head as nausea and lightheadedness shot through him.

“That’s a no.” Jazz said dryly.

He forced his eyes open, shielding them when the bright light burned them. Okay. Maybe he had underestimated how bad this would hurt.

Maddie sucked in a deep breath and stilled as he opened his eyes and the past several minutes crashed back into him through the static, as he felt ectoplasm burn in his eyes.

“Uh. Ta-da?” He said, giving weak jazz hands as he did so.

If his parents had been about to say something, they were distracted when a large animal slammed against the shield, the sound nearly deafening as it reverberated in the space. Danny’s eyes snapped back to the problem and he forced himself to his feet. He could deal with his parents when they weren’t all under assault and he didn’t want to have to charge the GAV again if they tried to wait the ghosts out and it died again. Dad grabbed at his shoulder and Danny instinctively winced. He pushed through his father’s hands, intangibly escaping his grasp. Jack stared at his hands in amazement and horror.

He did his best to ignore his parents as he marched forward, slipping pass the shield with ease as Jack and Maddie screamed for him to come back, it was too dangerous.

Danny crouched as the animals turned to him and growled.

He couldn’t help it, he grinned as pre-fight adrenaline surged through him, as he let human worry fade into nothing. He triggered the transformation, feeling the familiar sensation of cold spreading through his entire body as blood turned to ectoplasm, the sudden lack of gravity’s demand freeing him.

“I’ve got this,” he called, his voice echoing in the trees, his parents’ protests silencing.

~~~~~~

Jack hadn’t known how to react when his very much human son had shot an ectoblast from his hands. When he erected a shield, when his eyes glowed green, when there were suddenly two of him. He’d simply… frozen.

It had been his son’s very human screams that had spurred him and his wife into action, running for him as he seemed to be electrocuted by the Ecto-Converter. He’d been about to touch him when Jazz had stopped Maddie, shooting a look at Jack to stop, too.

He didn’t understand why his son was hurting, the Converter was designed to hurt ghosts, not humans! He’d still been adamantly refusing to acknowledge the implication of what he’d just seen until the GAV roared back to life so quickly, the large shield returning and the second Danny disappearing.

“No.” Maddie had whispered, her mind refusing to think about it, too. Refusing to realize their son was dead.

Still, Jack couldn’t stand to see his son so low when he got thrown back several feet from the vehicle, twitching and slightly smoking. Jack was still a father and that was still his child in pain.

Now, though, everything Jack had ever known was spinning around him, suddenly nothing a fact anymore.

Danny phasing through his hand, so very much a ghost.

Danny passing through a ghost shield, so very much a human.

Phantom suddenly appearing, so very much not his son.

Or so he’d thought until today, as he watched Phantom easily lay waste to ghosts that had been ruthlessly trying to get to his family the past hour, dodging attacks just to follow up with a blast of his own before catching them with a Thermos.

“He’s still Danny.” Jazz said gently after several minutes of silence, the two adults transfixed by the ghost child - their ghost child - in front of them. “He always has been.”

“He…” Maddie started, gulping. “How is he Phantom? Phantom’s been around for two years.”

How has our son been dead for two years and we didn’t know? Was the unspoken implication of her words.

Jazz just shook her head. “It’s his story to tell. If he chooses to. But… he isn’t fully dead, at least.”

Jack wanted to ask why he hadn’t told them before, why he hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them they were shooting their own son.

“He’s afraid of us, isn’t he?” Maddie asked, though it wasn’t really a question, the same conclusion Jack reached.

Jazz just nodded sadly, though the confirmation was unnecessary.

Jack was remembering every time he’d essentially ranted about how much he wanted to torture his own son to death. Maddie turned to him and cried, burying her face into his chest and he wrapped her arms around her.

“He still loves you.” Jazz added, placing a comforting hand on her father’s shoulder.

“How can he?” Jack asked, the first thing he’d really said.

“How can he because he’s a ghost and they aren't capable of that?” Jazz said, a sudden edge to her voice.

Jack vehemently shook his head. “No. Because of what we’ve done to him. God, how many times have we hurt him, made him bleed?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” She answered cryptically. Maddie just sobbed harder.

Several minutes passed in silence, the only sounds their breathing, the trees rustling, and their son beating ghosts down like a professional. Because he was, wasn’t he? A professional.

Finally, Danny caught the last ghost, closing the cap on the smoking Thermos, but he didn’t approach, just looked at them cautiously, as though scared to come closer to them, scared of what they’d do.

Jack stood, releasing his hold on his wife and pressed the button to disable the shield.

Danny took it for the olive branch it was - a sign they were not afraid of him - and approached cautiously, clutching the Thermos to his chest like a lifeline. He stopped a few paces back and Jack’s heart twinged as he realized the only reason Danny was willing to get this close was the same reason he’d finally showed them what - who - he was. It was because he knew they were weaponless.

“Danno.” Jack said, opening his arms but choosing not to step closer, afraid of scaring his son.

“Dad?” Danny asked, his voice shaking even through the echo.

“Yeah, son?”

Relief flooded his son’s face at the term and he launched himself forward into his dad’s arms, blubbering out apologies and mumbled explanations.

“It’s okay, Danny. It’s okay,” Jack mumbled, running his hand through Danny’s white hair despite the chill that pierced his suit.

“Everything’s okay, Danny. We’re sorry,” Maddie added, giving Danny’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before tucking herself into the hug as well.

“Told him so,” Jack heard Jazz mutter before she inserted herself too.

Jack had no idea what was going on, what had happened, how this was possible, how this was about to change his entire life. But what he did know, a truth that had not left him, was that he loved his son - human or not.

#danny phantom #grace writes #dannymay2023 #Dannymay #Day 7 #Weapon #danny fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #jazz fenton

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