#Roof Condensation Control

[blogeternal]

Breathable Roof Felt – Protect Your Home and Save Energy

As the architectural landscape evolves, roofing technology has witnessed remarkable advancements, with breathable roof felt emerging as a key innovation. This material, once a revolutionary concept, is now an essential component of modern roofing systems. Its unique properties not only protect homes from external elements but also enhance energy efficiency and structural integrity. This guide delves into the science, benefits, selection process, and installation techniques of breathable roof felt, offering a thorough understanding for homeowners, builders, and roofing professionals.

[oldmannapping]

Mama - a Red Hood fanfic

Directly inspired by this post by @webshood

Excerpt:

You don’t jack a car in Crime Alley. And you definitely don’t jack a car in Crime Alley that almost certainly has a child in it.

The “Welcome To Gotham: 10 Things You Need To Know” pamphlets that Harley Quinn earnestly distributed to newcomers to the Gotham underworld were very clear about Red Hood’s list of Dos and Don’t.

Among the top Don’ts were:

Crime in Crime Alley

Crimes against women in Crime Alley

Crimes against children in Crime Alley

Mama

It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been so goddam cute.

Felicia Aidia, barely a year old. Couldn’t quite walk yet, but she could stand unassisted for five seconds of startled jubilance before her own shock at the situation would send her flopping back on her adorable diapered butt. Huge almond eyes that were nearly black, wispy black hair and full pink cheeks, she looked altogether too cherubic to be real.

Felicia had been strapped safely in a booster seat, poking at the condensation on the window of the rideshare car she was in with her babysitter, when they were carjacked by an idiot with either a death wish or less situational awareness than a stoned beetle.

There was no other excuse for why this man jacked a She-Share, one of the brightly-marked cars in a fleet that was famous for being Gotham’s first rideshare company to boast child seats in every one of their vehicles at no extra cost.

They were famously affordable and primarily utilised by single parents in low-income areas such as Crime Alley.

You don’t jack a car in Crime Alley. And you definitely don’t jack a car in Crime Alley that almost certainly has a child in it.

The “Welcome To Gotham: 10 Things You Need To Know” pamphlets that Harley Quinn earnestly distributed to newcomers to the Gotham underworld were very clear about Red Hood’s list of Dos and Don’t.

Among the top Don’ts were:

Crime in Crime Alley

Crimes against women in Crime Alley

Crimes against children in Crime Alley

The car thief had shoved the driver and Felicia’s babysitter out of the vehicle but utterly failed to notice the giant car seat and the appropriately-sized child occupying it.

A city-wide Amber Alert was out within minutes, which honestly was pretty good considering it happened in Crime Alley and Gotham police liked to pretend that area was just a mysterious Bermuda Triangle kinda place where people just mysteriously went missing, who can say why, oh well, what can you do.

The police were fast but Red Hood was faster.

The vigilante was leaping across rooftops with the speed of a panther. One police helicopter pilot completely forgot their assignment and started following him instead of the stolen car. People livestreamed blurry videos of the car careening around corners that hadn’t yet been blocked off, panning up to catch a glimpse of red metal and brown leather streaking across the sky in pursuit.

The end was anticlimactic. Hood crashed onto the roof of the car from the awning of a deli like a feral beast and punched straight through the driver’s side window. He knocked the driver out and wrested control of the vehicle until it skidded to a stop a few blocks away from the official police cordon.

Before any officers got there, Hood had hogtied the unconscious car thief and carefully extracted Felicia from her carseat.

She let out a small, uncertain wail at the sight and sound of cheering locals, crowding close to film and too boisterous with relief to realise they were scaring a baby.

Felicia pouted. It had been loud, and then fast, and then unfamiliar, and then loud again, and suddenly she was outside, and she was supposed to be napping, and she didn’t know any of these people.

Wait, yes she did. The man cradling her protectively with one arm and holding the other out to the crowd, telling them to, “Back off, back off, give her some space,”, she’d seen him before. She didn’t know how but he was familiar. His big red face (no eyes, very strange, no mouth too! How did he suck his thumb?) wasn’t scary. He was the man on the wall painting! The big wall near the playground had a picture of him painted on it. The playground was safe, and he reminded her of the playground. He was holding her protectively and he was all nice and warm.

Felicia didn’t know many words. But she did know the word she used for the person who felt safest.

“Mama!” she said loudly, clinging to the red man’s arm. “Mama!”

“It’s okay, kiddo,” he said in a very soothing voice for someone without a mouth, “We’ll get your mom.”

A police officer arrived and tried to take Felicia away. She did not appreciate it.

“Mama!” she cried louder, torn between frustration and fear. No one ever listened to her! She reached for the red man. “MAMA!”

Well. Like we said. She was so goddam cute. All eyes were on her fat little face, her adorable, freshly-rescued, chubby little hands reaching out to Red Hood. Everyone was filming her on their phones.

And she called the Red Hood “Mama”, in a perfectly clear, tiny, adorable little baby voice.

Of course it went viral.

For a while, it was a fun in-joke between Gothamites. People playing vigilante bingo to see who they’d spot each night would jokingly ask each other if they’d seen “Mama” down by the docks. Goons blustered amongst themselves that “Mama” didn’t scare them, as they kept their heads down and prayed he didn’t notice them. One bold news website captioned a picture as “Red Hood/Mama” in a story about Felicia’s rescue, while the commenters lost their minds either rofl skull skull skull dying laughing or warning the editors that they should be careful in case the trigger-happy vigilante didn’t have a sense of humour.

Closer to Hood’s home though, the reception was different. And, to him, wholly unexpected.

It started with Felix, the 16-year-old who’d been a sex worker until Hood cleaned up the under-18 scene in the Alley, and who now helped shuttle street kids to the lowkey safehouses Hood and his team had set up. Felix was a good middleman the kids trusted to take them somewhere with food, water, electricity, and no one called CPS. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a good compromise until Hood could clean the stink out of the city’s social services.

Felix was smoking on a stack of crates one night, chatting to a couple of his friends, when Hood strolled over.

“Hola, Mama,” Felix greeted casually, taking a drag of his cigarette as his friends choked.

Hood just sighed. “Not you too.” With a weary exhale, he got to business. “I got those extra blankets you needed for the safehouse on Cedar. They’re at the Warehouse B if you want to run them over tonight. Sheila knows you’re coming, she’ll sort you out.”

And so, with Felix not dead and two witnesses with big mouths to tell the tale, word spread. It was open season on Red Hood’s new nickname.

“Hey, mama!” called the girls on the corner as Hood checked to make sure none of the johns had gotten too rough.

“Mama’s here!” crowed the gays and theys across the block as he dropped off condoms and hot soup.

“It’s mama!” announced the receptionist at the shelter when Red Hood stopped by to do an inventory check.

Everywhere he went.

Whatever. It would pass. People’s attention spans were shot to shit, and the loudest viral jokes always burnt out the fastest. At least, Hood was pretty sure. He wasn’t really online much but it was impossible to exist in the world without hearing a few meme references, and they always seemed to die out fast. When was the last time anyone talked about Baby Shark? Or that kid who said “corn” weird? This would blow over.

Granted, it was taking a bit longer than Hood initially expected.

When Dick gleefully changed his name in the Family Chat, Jason ignored it. He never replied to that thing anyway.

When Red Robin said, “Mama, you’re clear,” in perfectly neutral tones during an otherwise routine surveillance operation, and several comm lines immediately muted themselves, Jason ignored it.

When Damian’s new black kitten, with huge blue eyes and a white streak on the forehead, was named Mama, Jason started to get annoyed. Even DAMIAN?

When Roy answered his call with, “Mama, I missed you!” followed by thirty seconds of unhinged cackling, Jason hung up the phone and didn’t speak to Roy for three days.

When Cass used the ASL sign for Mom to relay information to him during a mission brief, his shoulders dropped.

When Alfred gave him an exquisite pink cupcake on the second Sunday of May, Jason thanked him, left the room, walked into the nearest bathroom, carefully put the cupcake on the bench, and screamed into a towel for six minutes.

When Duke finished a story about growing up in the Narrows with, “Mama knows what I’m talking about, right?”, Jason was defeated.

Fine. They win. Everyone wins.

He worked so hard on a legacy. He dug out of his own GRAVE. He clawed himself back from insanity and anger and reclaimed himself, reclaimed Red Hood, reclaimed his home. He carved a new space for himself, not quite a vigilante, not quite a villain. He made his own rules. He built an empire.

And now, he’s FUCKING Mama.

Life isn’t fair. Sometimes the Joker kills you and you sever heads and butcher bad guys and build up a reputation and then one goddam adorable child says two goddam syllables and you’re fucking MAMA for the rest of your goddam life.

Fuck it. He’s going home. He’s too tired for this shit.

[sunsetmade]

Blank Face

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Ward’s words cut deep, deeper than normal. But she’s there to pick up all the broken pieces and remind him who he really is.

She didn’t mean to hear it.

She’d been walking through the side yard, sun catching on the condensation of the lemonade glass in her hand, headed toward the back door like she always did. Rafe had asked her to come by. Something about boredom. Or needing backup against Rose’s weird dinner party. She wasn’t sure. She just came.

That’s what they did, her and Rafe. Showed up. Even if they didn’t always say it out loud.

But as she rounded the back porch, she heard voices—sharp, hard, cutting through the thick Outer Banks heat like a blade. Ward’s voice.

“You’re lucky I let you stay under this roof. The amount of embarrassment you bring on this family—Jesus, Rafe.”

Her footsteps faltered.

“You think anyone on this island takes you seriously anymore?” Ward continued, tone curling with disdain. “They look at you and see a screw-up. Spoiled. Out of control. And you prove them right every time.”

Rafe’s voice came quieter, rougher. “I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“Yeah, well. You sure as hell need it if you want a future. Which—news flash—you’re flushing down the goddamn drain.”

She stood frozen, one foot still halfway on the porch step, fingers tight around the sweating glass. She shouldn’t be hearing this. But something kept her there. A weight in her chest she couldn’t ignore.

Ward went on for another minute. Rafe didn’t say much. Just silence, heavy and resigned.

And then the door slammed.

She barely got the lemonade onto the porch railing before it slipped from her hand entirely. The sound of glass clinking against wood startled her, but not enough to snap her out of it.

Ward’s voice had cut through her like ice, but Rafe’s silence—that hit harder.

⸻

She found him almost an hour later.

Not at the beach. Not with Topper or any of the others. No, he was alone, exactly where she’d figured he’d be—parked at the far end of the Tannyhill property, leaning on the hood of his truck in the shade. His arms were crossed. Head down. Shoulders hunched.

She approached quietly, slowly, the sound of gravel crunching under her sandals the only warning she gave.

“You look like the poster child for ‘leave me alone,’” she said softly.

Rafe glanced over, not startled. He’d heard her. Probably the second she walked up. His eyes were rimmed in red—not crying, but… something close.

“Didn’t expect you to still come,” he muttered.

“I always come.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “Yeah, well. You shouldn’t have.”

She crossed the distance, leaning her hip against the hood beside him, close but not too close. “You want me to leave?”

He didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The only sound was the wind through the trees, and a distant lawnmower. Rafe stared down at the ground like it had something to say.

“I heard him,” she said, finally. Quiet. Honest.

His shoulders stiffened.

“I didn’t mean to. I was just walking up. But I heard what he said.”

“Yeah?” Rafe said bitterly, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “Hope you enjoyed the show.”

“Rafe…”

He shook his head. “Look, you don’t have to give me the whole ‘you’re better than that’ speech, okay? I’ve heard it. Doesn’t change anything.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

He finally looked at her. Not guarded. Just… tired.

“I hate how he talks to you,” she said, her voice breaking around the edges. “Like you’re nothing.”

His mouth twitched, like a laugh was about to form, but it died before it could start. “He’s not wrong.”

“He’s completely wrong.”

Rafe let out a breath, one hand dragging over his buzzed hair. “You don’t know, alright? You don’t know the half of it.”

“I know you,” she said, with more force than she’d expected. “I know you better than anyone else. And I know you’re not the screw-up he says you are.”

Rafe let out a soft, almost amused scoff. “You really think that?”

“I do.”

He turned toward her, eyes tired, unreadable. “You think I’m a good guy or something?”

“I think you try. I think you carry more than anyone realizes. I think you get stuck in your head because people expect you to mess up, and it makes you feel like there’s no point in trying. But you still do. You still try.”

He looked at her like she’d just cracked something open he wasn’t ready to deal with.

“You’re the only one who says that,” he said, voice low.

She nodded. “I know.”

He blinked slowly, jaw working like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words.

“You’re not broken,” she said. “You’re just… hurt. And angry. And you’ve never really been given space to be anything else.”

His throat bobbed. He looked away again.

She didn’t reach for him. Not yet. But she let her hand rest next to his on the hood of the truck, fingers barely touching. The contact was featherlight, but he didn’t move.

“You can pretend like it doesn’t matter,” she added, softer now. “But I saw the way you looked after. When he left.”

He didn’t answer.

“You looked like someone who wanted to prove him wrong,” she said. “More than anything.”

That got him.

His eyes flickered back to hers—startled, almost, like she’d said something too close to the truth.

“You make it really hard to lie to myself when you talk like that,” he muttered.

“Good.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, but it didn’t become a smile. Just something softer. Something barely there but real.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he admitted, almost under his breath.

“Me neither,” she said. “But we don’t have to figure it out all at once.”

He went quiet again. Then, after a long pause: “You ever get tired of this?”

“What?”

“Trying to pull me back from the edge.”

She turned to him fully then, really meeting his eyes. “Never.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her.

But he also looked like maybe, maybe, he wanted to.

⸻

They didn’t move for a while. Just sat there, side by side on the truck’s hood, letting the silence fill in the cracks.

Eventually, he tilted his head toward her.

“You wanna go somewhere?” he asked.

She raised a brow. “Like where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

She considered it. Then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He jumped down first and held a hand out to her. She took it, warm and familiar, and for a moment longer than necessary, he didn’t let go.

⸻

They drove down the coast with the windows down and music low. Not talking, not needing to. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He looked more relaxed now, but there was still tension in his jaw. Like he was waiting for it all to crash down again.

She reached across the center console, brushing her hand over his. His pinky hooked around hers.

“Hey,” she said.

He glanced at her.

“You’re not alone, Rafe.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Then, finally: “Yeah. I know.”

And maybe he did.

Or maybe he didn’t.

But for the first time in a long time, he looked like someone who wanted to believe he could be more than what his father said. More than what everyone expected.

And with her beside him, hand still brushing his, maybe he finally would.

They drove until the sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft gold and lilac streaks. Neither of them had said much since leaving Tannyhill, but the silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was the kind that felt understood.

They ended up parked by the marina, where the world was quiet except for the water brushing against the dock and the distant cry of gulls. Rafe sat on the tailgate of his truck again, elbows on his knees, hands flexing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find his grip on the words.

She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing. She didn’t press—just stayed close. Steady. Like always.

After a long moment, his voice came low. “Most people look at me and see what they want. What they’ve decided I am. I don’t even think they hear me anymore.”

She looked over at him, expression soft.

“But you…” His voice faltered, then steadied. “You see me. And not just the parts I try to hide. You see the whole thing. Even the mess.”

She didn’t say anything, just slid her hand over his.

Rafe’s eyes dropped to where their fingers met. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he tugged her hand closer, turning it over so her palm rested against his and his thumb could trace soft, slow circles there.

“I don’t say stuff like this,” he said, not looking at her. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“But I need you to hear this anyway.”

He turned to her then, eyes dark but open—like the words he’d always kept locked up were slowly beginning to spill.

“Thank you,” he said, and it wasn’t casual. It was weighty, from somewhere deeper than she’d ever seen him let anyone reach. “For being there. For not giving up on me. For making me feel like I’m not… unfixable.”

Her throat tightened. She looked at him like she could see every cracked, hurting piece he was trying to hold together.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” she whispered. “I think you’re just hurt. And you’re healing. And that’s allowed.”

Rafe’s jaw flexed, but his gaze didn’t leave hers. Then, without saying anything, he lifted her joined hands and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said quietly. “Me and you. I just know when you’re around, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.”

Her chest ached in the best kind of way. She leaned her shoulder against his and tipped her head lightly onto it.

“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” she murmured. “Just let me stay.”

He leaned into her a little more, breathing out like her presence alone let him drop a weight he didn’t realize he’d been carrying.

“I want you to,” he said.

She looked up at him then, and for once, there wasn’t anything guarded in his face. Just something raw and open and real.

His hand let go of hers only so he could wrap an arm around her waist, drawing her closer, like he needed her there—needed her. And she let herself curl into him, resting her cheek against his chest, hearing the steadiness of his heart underneath it all.

“You’re not alone, Rafe,” she whispered again, even softer this time.

His hand splayed warm against her back, holding her like a lifeline.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair. “Because you’re here.”

And for now, in that quiet cocoon of shared breath and soft touches, that was more than enough.

It was everything

[dhampling]

ivory tower 18+ ASCENDED!ASTARION X AFAB!READER, 4.6K

Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city; but you want this.

woah boy! my first ascended astarion piece, so please be kind! dal is back babey! woooo! thank you to @bhaalism and @lipstickghoulie for dealing with me while writing this i love you both endlessly. wc: 4.6k cw: afab reader, female language used. breeding, mind-control, p in v, ascended astarion, public fingering, private banging, great times all round, as always if there are errors no there aren't, creampies, yippee

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep. Not really.

She sometimes slows just enough to find some purchase amongst the muddle, though - tiptoes lazy through highsun in soft linens, the burgeoning swell of soap suds and sunny rosemary through wide open wooden shutters. Lingering - sweat-soaking worn leathers, the sore of the flex in the arch of your foot splayed over cobble. As if to grasp at the memory, your fingers stretch out from your side and on to the dark oak of the armrest, in a moment of sheer jubilance. Summer. The sun. Wide bright mornings. Hopeful and hot as a bated breath. 

The city ambles onward this evening, no different despite the inclement weather and the din of an early darkness. Half-lidded through dark streets as rain smatters the roofs with wet, glistening something dozy under the tall oil street lamps and swirls of ever-present heavy fog. Gurgling whilst each drain fills with water and swallows deep into the sewers. 

Scatters the hay, bears the slip; sings a slow drunken stutter of thunder-wind whiling at the windows into the small hours. There’s a comfort to be found in it. 

The harbour bell will go on to toll for every sail weary ship coming in from the fog; the crescent caress of the Gate’s waiting arms lit low with oily dots of amber. That even this late into the night the bands of trawlers on the dock work crates and barrels into cargo holds with worn hands and ruddy cheeks. The gulls and their scattering squawks. The flapping of their fat feathered wings up into the clouds. 

From where you sit in the Ivory Tower you can hardly see anything at all. Fog obscures the streets to a point, other than the light patches under the oil lanterns out on the ramparts. The window runs dripping wet with condensation. Pools under the pane. 

A hideaway of sorts within the manor. Newly reclaimed by Astarion in some deal with the quivering council in order to keep him sweet. Not that he has any armies of undead in his retainer to command as yet, but they don’t need to know that. There’s time. You’re still blessedly mortal and able.

Astarion. 

He should be skulking the halls somewhere below with that unnerving silent step he’s taken to using. Your cheeks grow warm, the blanket over your shoulders pulled closer into your chest as you allow your mind to run wild; the scald of bliss to your brain like that of some ironmonger’s poker, split straight to the core. 

Your love. Your lover. 

Amongst his many newfound desires and passions seemingly includes the impetus to redesign a centuries-old palace from scratch, and while you doubt he has the want nor willpower to take the project anywhere near to completion you’re more than happy to indulge him during this burst of creativity. A designer’s eye. Lavish yet not ostentatious, he tells you. Your own private wing of the palace, and one you’ll share together. He has no need for his own private chambers. You’re the only one he wants to be beside. You understand that at its essence, it isn’t even necessarily a want to design for creativity’s sake, it’s important to you both to have every memory of the residence’s former owner gone. Every threadbare tread of carpet, every scuff on the wall; every painting being demounted by workers downstairs and shipped to the auction house first thing in the morning. You can hear them if you still enough, heart still beating in your chest and the low chunter of layman gossip.

The version of him you knew before his ascension was so very scared. Beautiful, but wavering. You loved him of course; and you always will  - it was that version of him, the one lost in the wilderness that you fell for, and gods; you fell hard - frenetic and whiny, fleeting as light snow never to settle on the forest floor. Wild-eyed. 

But this Astarion - the real Astarion, as far as he is concerned - has you completely and utterly enraptured each day you wake together, the same as ever, from the second your eyes open. Wrapped in those Daerlunian-import plush linens atop your gargantuan newly-installed four poster bed. Face of marble with those cattish dark lashes and eyes of carnelian crush. Enchants every room he walks into, as he always has. 

You don’t know he’s with you until a hand ghosts your shoulder, sinewy; with those deft pale fingers deep encroaching on your collarbone in his grasp. 

“I didn’t hear you, lover.”

“But I heard you.’

He circles round the velvet armchair, resplendent in his home finery. Not a crease to be seen. Voice soft, yet laced with a bristling concern.

‘Why do you insist on sitting up here?”

You err for a brief moment. 

“I can hear the rain on the roof, here. See some bustle when the fog clears. The city goes on.” You shake your head with a smile as he crouches beside you, nestling his head in the crook of your arm.

“But it’s cold. Dark. Come down - I can light the fire in our sitting room if you like?” 

“We have so many centuries yet to see together! What sense is there in not observing the world as it is now? Keeping record of the city as we saved it?”

His head lifts and his eyes meet yours, some churlish quirk of a brow in the low light.

“An archivist, now? Is that to be your profession alongside me? Whilst you raise our young?”

“If I wish it to be, yes.”

He laughs, a gentle low hum.

“Then an archivist you’ll be - the most renowned in all the lands. We’ll make it so.’ He stands once more and takes your hands from your lap, bringing them clasped to his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. 

‘I’ll begin planning on your archives - I presume you’ll want a library? Or something similar in your wing, maybe even an office. Who knows?”

Astarion looks to the room around you, the shapes covered with old canvas and the rickety floorboards underfoot. Cobwebs in the corner. There’s no grimace nor displeasure. He simply surveys as cool as still water. Objective.

“I’ll have some of the merchants relay their contacts come morning too. If you insist on expanding your territory up here then it must befit you.”

“Befit me?” You grin now. His hold on your hands remains secure.

“If you want me to say it, then I suppose I will. As many times as it takes to get it through that heavy skull of yours.’

His smile reaches his eyes as he circles back behind your chair, fingers splayed over your shoulders once more in a deep round kneading pattern.

‘There’s nothing you won’t have if you want for it. Nothing too good for you to covet, my solace; Saviour to the whole Sword Coast and every plain mite within its bounds.’

There’s a small pause as he bows to kiss the top of your head.

‘And I thank the stars every day that I can provide for you. That you saw the potential in me and lifted me higher, to such profane glory amongst the swill of common man. That my gold, my influence, and terror, and each lift of my blade is at your command and yours alone. That you stayed at my side.” 

He doesn’t like to mention the gods, hence the stars. Pointedly brings the grimace back into play, occasionally even furrows with the slightest twinge of anger brewing at his brow. The gods had no role to play in your shared victories. No divine intervention saved him from two hundred years of torment, from certain death after the crash of the nautiloid along that sun-soaked span of rocky beach;-

You did. You with your strange inclination toward the weak man he once was. The shell he lived in like a hermit crab on the shore, nothing more.

-

On bright days, you thank him for giving you time.

Time to live, time to breathe with full lungs. Time to allow you to burn your eyes in the beating sun with a silver pot of fresh coffee and whatever ridiculous spew the papers hold between the pages today. 

You know as you sit in comfortable silence that your time dwindles, and that your turning is inevitable. Your eternal wedded bliss is to be alongside him and will be as vivid in nature as all the colours of the astral plane, if he’s to be believed - and there’s no reason not to see his word as gospel. You can see each moment as crystalline as sea glass on sand. Forever with the man you love more than you’ve ever felt inclined to love anything. The bridal ceremony is but a drop in the vast ocean of your lives together. 

He thanks you too. Often alongside you with eyes closed in some dozy recline, forearm hanging lazily whilst he takes the sun on his skin like a blessing. A loose linen shirt akin to the one he wore back at camp at the start of your journey together, strings wide open, a blaze of blinding flesh at the corner of your eye each time he shifts.

The veranda on a clear day. Astarion has assured you he’ll never take this from you. He’ll never take anything that you don’t willingly give him with a clear heart - and why would you give him your ability to bask in the sun, like a street cat in days-warm dust? What purpose does that serve either of you, beyond making you a less useful weapon in his prized arsenal?

At one point, all you wanted was to talk to him - and it rings true even now. The want to be the bearer of all his tales. To learn about him, to be close to him; to hear him tear the world apart with that dulcet snarl, walking alongside each other on the barren dirt trails out in the wilderness. Hop-skipping to keep up with his quiet gait. Giving him back as good as you got. The glimmer of his hair in the sunlight, the way he’d sometimes just stop.

Close his eyes. Feel the heat. The gentle burn of highsun on tender flesh. A soft inhale.

That morning out in the clearing after your first night together. Arms outstretched in a welcome to the light. It had taken a few minutes for it to click as you’d silently watched on, why his sun salutation was so fond. So open.

It’s to be a long engagement with regard to your transformation whilst the manor undergoes renovations. Reason after reason as to why now isn’t the ideal time to commit you to eternity. You know why he wants to keep a hold on your precious mortality for the time being, of course; and that keeps you from the forever embrace of his Dark Kiss. It never changes. 

You’ll allow him to sire your children. You want him to. Crave it. Him.

Your very own lineage together, he whispers; frenzied by your ear as his fingers crawl the bare span of your thigh. He can breed you full like fate intended and you’ll have something - besides him - that’ll also last forever. Something of your own surpassing the death of all of your contemporaries. The Vampire Ascendant and The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, flesh-on-flesh, skin smacking skin; his debauched groans and lewd whimpers as he buries himself inside you, your cooing breaths;-

You’ll wed normally too, for the interested eyes of the city. Some dull ceremony with the elites adorning all tables as gilded pieces might some decorative chess board, deceptive vows. Legally it makes things easier should anything befall either of you but the hassle almost makes the whole thing undesirable - gods, especially because he already treats you as some smitten newlywed might. Adores you. Follows you around the manor, stalking; like some wolf cub after its mother. Carries you to bed each evening and ploughs you senseless, until spit gathers in the corners of your wet, wanting mouth and you can’t see straight through grey-blear eyes.

He likes the idea of you taking his name by law. Melds with your own like it were meant to be, from the starter threads of whatever cosmic tapestry pulled you together, the marriage of your first name to his last, interwoven by a scholar’s hand in gold-shining delicate point.  

Ancunín. The House of.

Tapestries. Large, spanning the halls. The Sarsantyr's over in Waterdeep - they’ll be able to create what you’re picturing. 

A familiar gaze meets yours. It’s then that you realise you aren’t alone in your mind once more

“If you want tapestries, you only have to ask.” 

“In fairness - you didn’t give me a chance to.”

He hums, tilting his head a little in the sun’s glare.

“I’ll send for them. The Sarsantyr's, yes? Have them pack up all their little-’

He pulls a face and lifts his hands in some kind of puzzled shake.

‘Sewing bits? Textiles? I’ll send carriages. They can come and stay in the lower rooms. Create the masterpiece you envision.” Astarion sniggers a little at the thought of putting them in the old dormitory while you remain lost in thought.

“Okay. Check them through first though, yes? 

The real event - the wedding - will give you total ecstasy beyond your wildest preconception, you know this. Unfettered and euphoric. Books and books on the topic stacked clumsily beside your bed, reds and greens; the turning of a vampire bride in leather bound prose. You know what to expect in florid detail. You know to trust your lover, that the rabid creature you’ll become is only a temporary mental state precursing an eternity alongside him. 

And yet, you wonder about the children. They’ll be here by then. However many he decides is enough, naturally; assumedly under the care of some hired help whilst you engage in your thoroughly bastardised pastiche of a wedding ceremony. You laugh now. He’s still in your head, mulling over your thoughts as soon as you can think them. 

Will you miss them? Will they be your last thought before you pass away; Astarion unable to complete this ritual alone as he was unable to before? Will your death lead to his, leaving your dhampir offspring to ravage Baldur’s Gate unsupported by the windfall of knowing parents? There’s still no hesitation, though. You will bear his young. You want to. The consequences either way are vast and long-lasting, and you’d rather be at his side than facing his ire- 

“Love, what are these thoughts? What on earth is going on in that very pretty head of yours today?” His voice is a low drawl, pitying yet laced with affection. He sits straight in his chair whilst a hand lazily searches for yours atop the sun-warmed table; beyond the scope of the ramparts wall the low meander of city life continues on.

“Mulling things over.”

“You don’t need to do that, pet. Come now.’ He beckons you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your middle, hand searching for the soft pillow of your chest as your ass backs up to his abdomen.

‘You want me to make it better?” 

You nod gently, the sun catching your eye in a particularly bright beam and making you squint. 

“Please.”

“Poor thing. It’s okay.” As he coos; one hand finds the curve of soft flesh at your chest, holding the weight of your breast firmly as he starts lightly thumbing at the nipple through your nightshirt.

“There, now. Good girl.” Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a deep sigh as he lulls you into a new state of calm astride him. Birds sing overhead whilst you nuzzle his neck.

“I will miss this warm flesh of yours, you know. Terribly so.’ His other hand moves to your nightskirt, gently hitching the material bit-by-bit up your thighs until you sit exposed to the air. Nobody can see you from here - the faceless crowd little but colourful dots below; Astarion giving a small tense laugh as he feels your pulse quicken against him. 

He toys with your skirt, edging ever nearer your exposed cunt; and your eyes flutter closed. 

‘But the greater purpose… I just can’t let it go. Us. Our lives together. I sincerely doubt you want to wither away to age; to lose your extraordinary beauty-’

A gentle groan as he feels your warmth.

‘Do you, my most precious flower?” 

“Of- Of course I don’t. I want to be with you, as we are; forever.”

“Then we’re going to need to make a concerted start on the only thing setting us back, are we not?” His fingers gently tap on the crux of your pubic bone, threateningly close to your clit. You feel the familiar seep of your slit leaking onto the bunched skirt fabric and you think of honey. Some kind of sweet glaze.

“Yes.”

As you sink further into him his fingers move down just a little to meet your clit; and in response to your delighted sighs he very lightly begins to stroke either side of the engorged flesh. There’s no urgency to his movement nor his demeanour; just a treacle-thick teasing grin as he turns his head to kiss your blazing cheek.

“Good.”

There’s something borderline celestial about the gentle way he touches you, coaxing more of your slick from you with every gentle jerk. He deftly motions ‘come hither’ with a soaking middle finger dipping lightly at your hole then brings your arousal up to wetten your clit once more.

“You want this, don’t you?” A finger slips down to your cunt, this time slipping and nestling deep inside as you feel yourself writhe on him. One arm scrambles around the back of his neck to support yourself while he begins to curl at your spongy spot, and the anchor of your arousal shifts free.

“I’ve been rifling through that glorious mind of yours these past few days and I see you now. You want comfort. To comfort. To seek shelter in those warm lights on the horizon, to know you aren’t alone in the late hours.”

You nod furiously, wincing, desperate to feel him deeper. Thicker. You need more, your fox-eyed paramour giving only the barest minimum he can do to watch you squirm.

“You, with my babe in arm;- oh the image alone does things to you, doesn’t it?”

It’s as if he’s creating the visions in your head as he speaks them, bringing them to the forefront of your mind in hushed coos and silent gasps. As if by magic, the only thing on your mind is a primal need for him to fuck you full. Nothing else, no mind for coffee nor completed manor renovations. 

You will be round. You will brim with life before he turns you, and you’ll take to his seed the minute he offers it to you. You’ll accommodate him like no other across Toril could hope to. You wonder if he has the power to decide how many, as he adds another finger to your unbridled torment. If he could choose to speed the process up with a celebration of twins, triplets. An heir and two spares. Maybe he’d wait instead until the first was born, just to ensure the viability of his bloodline. A test.

He’s doing this; you become starkly aware as he withdraws his fingers, spiderwebs of glistening drool clinging to your inner thigh as he brings them between his lips and suckles. He’s giving you these ideas of grandeur because he can. Because you are his. Because you wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else, to be tied to any other notion of whatever a fulfilling life is, if it weren’t one shared wholly by him. With him.

“Let me take you inside, sweet one. Let’s take care of you properly, shall we? Curb this fever, hm?”

Please, you think. Please take this burning hole in my womb and make it full with you. Extinguish the flame with your unholy spend and give me children. Give me oud and orchids and a life of warmth, however long we both may live.

“Use your words, my love. Tell me you want this.”

“I want this. Please.”

-

On the bed you now lie, the room cool and dark; balcony doors open wide with light-billowing curtains. Sweat consumes you as your thoughts run wild, the smell of your arousal, clammy hands and deep breaths in the low light. Astarion approaches like something from a dream, shirtless now; smirk plastered cheek-to-cheek as he leans over your trembling form with confidence - your lust-addled fingers reaching for his steady form like a ship to harbour. 

“You want to feel it, little dove? Feel how you set me alight?”

He pries your wrist from him with gentle urgency, taking your hand under his and skating both downwards; down the plane of his tight torso, slowing to a stop just above his pelvis.

“Tell me - do you want to feel it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of your lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice - watching the way your hand twitches under his.

“Hm?”

His groan is guttural. Thick. He doesn’t even try to mask it, eyes wide as his hand shifts yours just a little further down and over the blistering burn of his heavy cock through loose linen trousers. A hazy sigh as he moans a small whimper at your touch.

“Please, Astarion. I beg you.”

It’s like his fingers are enchanted, the way they reduce you to this sodden mess. Unable to think unless guided delicately by his superior whim. 

“I need to bury myself inside you fully for this to take. I need your full attention, submission; your devotion to our lives together. Do I make myself clear?”

He’s giving you one final chance to withdraw. Your head clears for one sweet moment and you can do little else but stare at his bulge with heavy lids and your mouth agape.

“Crystal. I ache for you. Please, give this to me.”

You lift to meet him in a soft kiss, jaw slackened and cunt ablaze. Nothing else matters, no complications, nor possibilities of horribly mangled spawn from your womb as a result of your copulation. This scalding stupor that sends you insane won’t go away until he quenches it with his seed. 

Your response has satisfied him, if the way he stands sharpish and unties his trouser laces is anything to go by. The glassy head of his cock stands purple at his stomach, leaking wild at the slit and red-hot as your hand reaches blindly for him in your hunger.

He gently taps you away and back down onto the sheets. 

“Magic?” You hear yourself mumble, still amazed at how surely swollen he must feel with how sore he looks. Has to be. 

“Just me.”

There’s a tenderness in his eyes as he crawls back over you, legs instinctively parting and lifting at the knee to accommodate him. Something that compels him to hold your face in the hand that isn’t supporting his weight and just look at you, fondly; for what feels like an age.

Then he shifts once more to angle himself, decidedly spending no more time on preparation. The heat of his cock against your slit is unlike anything you’ve ever known, dizzying yet pleasurable; hard and yet still yielding, and as he thrusts a shallow dip into your core you swear you see angels overhead. Yes, you’re ready. You’ve never been more ready for anything than you are for the sheer ecstasy you know he’s about to give you, and he’s going to give you it in droves. Seismic tremors as he shifts a little and you adjust to him once again.

He nods. He hears you. 

Then, he snaps once more; and he’s lost.

Each glub of his cock meeting your spill as he ruts into you; the way you feel it running downward in long dribbles, with each and every mindless hump of his hips eking more honey from your cunt in spades. 

You hear the sounds of your shared carnal pleasure and it makes you clench around him in some kind of self-perpetuating cycle. Groans and whimpers and moans and hisses and the frequent egregious slaps to your thighs whilst he chases his high. 

He’s perfect like this. Halo of curls above you, voice silken as he calls you every pet name under the sun, his, always. Your legs ache already from being wound so tightly, interlocked around him, and you think of the prespill inside you already. How each fangy showman’s smile means he’s twitching at your cervix and leaking molten gold inside you with every thrust. 

It’s not until he nuzzles down to your neck that you remember to offer it, potentially for the last time on this mortal coil. 

“Are you asking?”

“Well, you didn’t offer.”

The immediate pang is one of violent nausea, subsiding quickly into a wooze coating the bottom of your stomach in black tar as he fucks upward. Unease. There’s something in his spit, you assume. Something that makes the gaping wounds a little more bearable, a little less raw as he kitten-licks the flesh between swallows. Ice courses your veins with adrenaline as it always does.

Astarion chokes down his first sip with an eager cough. The burgeoning panic wracking your limbs turns into a numbed haze as your lover feasts, big neat gulps whilst he clutches at your ribcage with fingers splayed deep and cock buried to the hilt, like a man starved. His hair tickles  at your jaw, the smell of something herbal. Slightly lemony. 

He splutters that he’s close and you feel yourself nearing your peak too.

There’s a profane desecration in what he’s doing, painting your walls in an attempt to get you pregnant. Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city. No villages to raise them, no cards nor flowers from friends or family; but you want this. 

You want him to taint you in his particular shade of crimson, visibly; so the realms know who made The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate come to heel. The man who compelled her through sheer love alone and to whom she gave everything. The indomitable force for whom you’ll die, only to resurrect forever as his.

Visions of your turning don’t scare you - all lightning and thunder, the cries of your dhamplings in some nursery down the towering halls of your palatial wing; and yet you’ll be safe in his caress. He wouldn’t let a single thing happen to you. He won’t. 

And as he cums; he calls your name.

Some rhythmic prayer over and over again; and with each kick of his cock he loses some of his bedroom charm and hurtles back to earth, humbly enraptured. More candid. His weary muscles tighten as yours threaten your own release around him.

“Cum for me, now. Milk me.” in a heavy whisper whilst he strokes the soft flesh of your cheek; and you do. You cum harder than you can remember ever before. Each wave of sheer pleasure some blackout tidal wave as you writhe, staccato in his arms. 

If you die during the ceremony, you’ll die happy. Should the younglings bite their way through your womb, it won’t matter.

You’re loved. He loves you, in soft kisses and gentle arms carried all the way to the waiting washtub. In the way he sponges your aching shoulders and brings a washcloth to your dazed face.

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep, not really.

But tonight it will, in the patient, visceral bliss of calm before a summer storm.

[i-cant-sing]

Wait do you think that Miguel O’Hara is one of those Mexican mothers (he’s a soccer mom prove me wrong) that won’t let you turn on the ac no matter how hot it is during the summer. Or is it the opposite.

He sorta is, and not because he thinks the electricity bill will go through the roof, but because he thinks it'll make u sick. Maybe he thinks that the cold air will circulate too much bacteria and you'll catch a cold, or maybe that it'll ache your bones, maybe a headache.

He'll let u turn it on, but he'll turn it off when HE thinks its enough. I mean, he obv has controls in his office to turn it on and off. Miguel doesn't care how much u whine about it being too hot, at best, he'll let u turn the ac on a temperature that he thinks is okay but its still too hot for u, so he buys you frozen yogurt to cool off a bit. Maybe for dessert, he makes you shaved ice with condensed milk. And maybe lets u use his own pool. "Okay, mija, you dont need to raid the ice machine- HOBIE, DO NOT DRAG THAT ICE MACHINE TO HER ROOM! IS THAT A FUCKING ICE RINK-?!"

[nabi-unveiled]

Where on the "White Knight" spectrum is Sung-hyun?

Note: There's multiple spellings of these characters' names. I just chose the ones that would cause the least confusion for me and went with it.

I really am enjoying this show, but I had begun overthinking everything and questioning Sung-hyun. It was time to revisit the facts (of ep 1 - 3). The first version of this deep dive went scene by scene and got about three miles long. So here's the condensed version (which is still too long) organized by the questions I was asking myself while watching. I still haven't watched episode 4, and I'm avoiding the tags until then so other people have likely pointed out many of these things.

It's also important to note as we go through these - Da-on is no meek mouse character. He will and DOES stand up for himself. He comes across more gentle in some ways because he is the only one mostly respecting everybody's boundaries (so far).

Side note - My re-watch made my appreciation of Da-on go through the roof. I may be questioning everyone in this show’s motives for wanting Da-on on a meta level, but I probably shouldn’t. Honestly, I’d be down bad for him too. That's a different post though.

Question #1: What attracted Sung-hyun to Da-on?

This was probably the most important question to me in terms of Sung-hyun's characterization. Was it because Da-on was vulnerable?

The answer is no. It's physical attraction first. We're actually already swooning before Da-on's father ever shows up.

Sung-hyun first shows attraction when Da-on fixes his tie. It's before Dad shows up, before Su-hyeon shows up, and before he recognizes that Da-on has any problems at all. We go straight from this to him trying to please Da-on...which brings us to the next question.

Question #2: Does Sung-hyun derive pleasure from playing the "White Knight"?

We are introduced to Sung-hyun when he's "saved" Da-on and is a bit peeved that Da-on is upset at him for saving him. He initially sees Da-on as rude. Fair. We know why Da-on is so upset, but it makes sense that Sung-hyun doesn’t get why the watch was such a big deal. Especially if he doesn't deal with those kind of $$$ watches often.

He does change his tune about this when he realizes how expensive the watch is.

Sung-hyun does do A LOT of things to help Da-on. However, none of it is malicious (seemingly) or because he wants to be the savior of the weak and vulnerable. What does the man want? Praise.

He puts it in his rules, and he directly asks for it the next day.

This is followed by him undoing the tie when Da-on doesn't really praise him about it. My current thinking - man has something akin to a praise kink rather than true white knight syndrome.

Particularly telling is that he didn't step in initially when Su-hyeon grabs Da-on in the office. He was more concerned by what it meant that Da-on had spent the night at another man's house.

He doesn't ALWAYS feel the need to rescue Da-on. In re-watching, he actually seems to delay just a bit in stepping in most times before deciding he needs to do so. He always apologizes for interfering, and Da-on consistently tells him that it's ok if he does.

Question #3: How much does Sung-hyun actually know about Da-on's situation?

Not a lot. He's heard Jae-min's name and only knows that Da-on spent the night there. He knows Da-on has problems with his dad, but he has no idea what they are at this point. Sung-hyun does tell Da-on to cry it out. That means he HAS picked up on the fact that there’s more going on that just being sick. He is also VERY well aware that Su-hyeon is a problem and potentially dangerous. (Note: Using that info to get Da-on to stay at his house can be interpreted in multiple ways - one sweet & caring, one taking advantage).

However, he has only seen small glimpses of Su-hyeon's rage. The man really has no idea just HOW much of a shitstorm Da-on is in at this point. He has bare bones information.

Question #4: Is Sung-hyun controlling Da-on?

We're now getting into the scenes that initially sent me on my spiral of overthinking.

First up - the negotiation of working together

Da-on asks for him to please let them work together. AKA - please don’t fuck with my job. Sung-hyun lays out his rules which includes daily meals, getting to know each other outside of work, sharing private information, and praising each other. Way beyond normal coworker stuff. It could seem sweet. He just wants to get to know Da-on right? But it could also seem invasive.

Except, remember he’s just been doing everything he can to piss Da-on off. He knows Da-on won’t like this. Da-on lays out his own rules, but Sung-hyun says he’ll just tell the manager they won’t work together. There’s no attempt at compromise. My way or else. Sung-hyun is the one with the power here. Da-on wants the project. In the end, Da-on capitulates. Poor boy gives up.

That said - it’s not exactly controlling behavior. He didn’t expect Da-on to agree. Sung-hyun has no way of knowing just how important the project is to Da-on, and he doesn’t know the company culture yet. He’s actually pleasantly surprised when Da-on gives in. All signs point to the fact that he was trying to get out of working with Da-on (just like he had been when it was first announced).

Once Da-on agrees, he immediately changes his tone and behavior back to Friendly Joe. If Da-on is going to try and get along, then he’ll try too. That’s the generous interpretation of that tone switch-up. There ARE other interpretations. I'm still pondering to some extent.

Second questionable scene - the movie theater hand grab

I actually don't mind Sung-hyun proposing they go to the movie. Da-on was actually the one that made the horror movie conversation go deeper at the restaurant anyways. He knew Da-on needed a distraction. Da-on still could've said no. This is where Da-on not being a meek mouse is important. Da-on DOES tell people no. Sung-hyun was obviously on a fishing expedition to find out if Da-on was dating. Fair. You need to know if your crush is taken.

However, him going straight for asking to hold Da-on's hand after the scene with Su-hyeon bothered me. Especially since Da-on didn't say yes before he grabbed his hand.

However, upon re-watching, it bothered me less. Why?

Sung-hyun is a physical person in general. He cages. Which is definitely an invasion of physical space, but....some of us actually find it very hot. 😏 Kabedon exists for a reason. The important thing here is that Da-on is not bothered by it AT ALL.

Da-on has already told him to let go of his hand before, and he did. (Him letting go is supposed to contrast Su-hyeon who DOESN'T ever let go when Da-on asks.) Da-on feels comfortable telling Sung-hyun to back off or let go. Da-on doesn't push his hand away at the movie theater.

Plus, Da-on is JUST as physical with Sung-hyun. He's the one that got physical first (tying the tie), and he's physical at other moments too PRIOR to the movie theater.

So crossing physical boundaries? Yes. (But they both do it.) Maneuvering to get his crush to notice him and get time with his crush? Yes. Controlling his crush? No. Not really. He also doesn't ALWAYS push the boundary. He drops off the congee/meds and leaves for example. Many examples (like taking him to the doctor) are just care. The man is not playing a 4D chess game unlike someone else....

Question #5: Does the series KNOW that Sung-hyun is crossing (or at least pushing) boundaries?

Short answer - No. It doesn't. He gets to be adorable with his grandma. He gets the rom-com music. He's in the light. We're supposed to be charmed that he lets go when asked since the other two do not and overlook the fact that Da-on didn't say yes. In fact, the show is really characterizing Sung-hyun's behavior as energetic puppy. It even symbolizes that he's a puppy.

When he was ignored in episode 1, he caused chaos (the petty office shenanigans) but they were largely harmless shenanigans. It's brat behavior. Annoying, but not malicious. It should be noted once again that Da-on is our actual green flag. He didn't reciprocate in the office shenanigans.

Now that he's pursuing Da-on, that puppy energy has turned into trying to please (back to praise...lol) and care for Da-on.

What the show does know? Sung-hyun is supposed to parallel Jae-min.

They both meet Da-on in the street and offer to help him.

They both "help" him.

They are both very physical and frequently touch Da-on.

They have VERY similar dialogue on MULTIPLE occasions.

They have him sleep in their bed.

They both make him toast and eggs for breakfast. (However, they only eat together at one of these homes.)

There's a mirror after he spends the night at both of their houses. Not that it will matter to most, but the mirror at Sung-hyun's house shows his FEET. IYKYK.

There's several other parallels, but basically Sung-hyun and Jae-min parallel each other in how they approach Da-on. The difference is in how they respond to Da-on when he makes a move. Both men have different motivations and they want different things for/from Da-on. For example, we see it in that Sung-hyun WILL let Da-on treat him. Sung-hyun is supposed to show what the “good”/pure-hearted version of these actions actually looks like.

Sung-hyun's confession is also meant to contrast how Da-on didn’t confess (until recently) or that Su-hyeon never confessed at all. Just like the visuals convey in that scene, it’s about being open vs being in the shadows. They are framing him as a man who takes action in the open rather than in secret.

It’ll be interesting to see if some of the themes they are alluding to — being on the same level, when is help not actually help, etc. get addressed in future episodes.

Which brings us to the choice you have to make with Sung-hyun's character.

Do you let his boundary crossing (because he does cross them) and his general physicality bother you?

Or accept that this is a 2000s makjang throwback complete with nosebleeds? He’s not unlike most male leads in earlier kdramas.

Your choice is yours alone. Personally, I’ll frame this as a throwback makjang in my mind moving forward. I'll notice the boundary crossing I'm sure. I expect that WILL continue. But... Da-on is precious. Jae-min is delicious. The set-up is fun. I'm just going to enjoy the shenanigans.

It's time to find out how this confession turned out.

[meraki24601]

Power

Hero had seen Villain’s power. They had seen what came of the people they used them on. Some were left mutilated, and others had their minds twisted past the point of no return. It was such a horrible, dangerous power; Hero always did everything they could to keep their sidekicks from getting in Villain’s way. 

They knew all of this, but for some reason, Hero never believed Villain would use their power on them.

Because of this, when Villain offered Hero water after a short but violent battle, which ended in a draw, Hero accepted it—an honest mistake from someone who rarely faced the consequences of trusting the wrong person. A foolish, simple-minded, honest mistake.

“You fought well today, Hero.” Villain had chattered absently as Hero nearly drowned themselves, guzzling down the water. “There’s no chance I could convince you to work with me? To switch sides?”

Hero chuckled, “You’ve gotten stronger. Any chance you would switch to my side?”

“No. I’m afraid you won’t be seeing me again for a while. If you survive, you’re going to have a rather long recovery.”

“Ha! You’re stronger, but not that strong.” Hero stood and stretched, showing off their flexibility. 

Villain slid out of their chair to kneel in front of Hero. Hero was bent over, touching their toes, and Villain had come so close that their fingertips nearly brushed Villain’s knees. “How is your back, Hero? Feeling tense?”

The question rattled Hero. They knew what had happened, what they had done when they suddenly couldn’t stand upright. It only took one drop of Villain’s power for them to control a victim, and Hero drank their water without questioning why the bottle’s seal had already been broken. 

“Did you know my power manifests as a liquid?” Villain gestured for Hero to lie on the ground at their feet, and Hero’s body obeyed. “It is completely clear and has no scent. It does, however, have a uniquely sweet taste when undiluted. Or, so I’ve been told. Would you like to test if that is true?” 

Villain rubbed their thumb over Hero’s lips. Gentle but determined, the thumb forced it’s way into Hero’s mouth and pressed against their tongue. Several tiny drops of power condensed on Hero’s tongue, and Villain forced them to swallow. “Very good. So well behaved.”

Though no sound escaped, Hero was screaming. They trembled under Villain’s touch. If Villain had asked them to jump off the roof of the building they were on, Hero wouldn’t have been able to stop it from happening. The power had complete control over their body.

“I think we understand each other a little better now. Do you agree?” Villain moved Hero so they were leaning against the parapet. “I’ve learned a new trick recently. I’d like to show you if you have time.”

Hero regained control of their voice, “Don’t. Let me go.”

“Ah, good. I appreciate your willingness. I definitely need the practice.” Villain’s grip tightened on Hero’s vocal cords, strangling their protests. “I heard period cramps can be painful enough to compare to a heart attack. The question I wanted to test was a comparison. Would stripping the lining of another organ be worse? It took some experimentation, but I’ve improved my ability to isolate specific organs and order them or the muscles around them to expand or contract in such a way that the lining breaks apart. It goes something like this…”

Villain kept Hero quiet as they let their power work. They didn’t let Hero rest. It took some doing, but they soon had Hero on their feet, walking beside them as Hero’s stomach began to rip and tear. As they moved through the city, Villain leaned in close to whisper each thing they were going to do to Hero before following through. 

If Hero was honest, those quick warnings were the only thing that kept them sane. Each time their body was ready to give out, Villain commanded their cells to knit back together. Hero’s only hope was the large, dark building they seemed to be heading for. 

“This is it, my dear. We’re home.” Villain sighed into the empty entryway. “Welcome to your new home.”

Villain allowed Hero to scream. 

[amberlynnmurdock]

My Escape

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: The one time Matt is her escape in a loud situation, and she's his when he has a rough night as Daredevil.

From this lovely anon's request!

I hope I did your request justice, anon friend!

Warnings: anxiety symptoms described, gunshot sound

Words: Just under 2k

*not my gif, credit to owner*

Matt Murdock could take a beating—he could threaten a criminal over the edge of a roof without remorse and he could speak threats like they were prayers. One thing he couldn’t take? If she was feeling uncomfortable in any situation, in any way. 

Matt was sitting across from her at Josie’s—they hadn’t reached that point in their relationship where there was a label and for that matter, if one saved the other one a seat at the table at Josie’s—and he was waiting for a moment to ask her if everything was okay. Foggy and Karen were playfully arguing about who should play winner at the pool table. Marci was taking a work call. But her? 

She was anxiously drawing circles on the condensation of her beer bottle. She was looking around the bar, for nothing in particular, but for a sense of safety. She doesn’t need to worry about that, Matt thinks to himself. I’m here. Her knee was tapping at an incredible speed against her seat. No one else could feel it, but Matt could feel the vibrations through the floor up to his chair. Her heart was beating so fast it sounded like a loud thumping to Matt’s ears. She looked around again, biting her lip, flinching when she heard a group of men shout over at the TV. 

Having enough of the environment, she excused herself from the table. 

“I’ll be right back,” she said, barely at a volume anyone could hear her. Foggy and Karen didn’t acknowledge her exit and Marci stayed on the phone. Matt cocked his head to listen to where she was going—the bathroom. 

She’d have to walk past a large group of bikers, ignoring their ogling glances and pushing past their rough leather jackets. Excuse me, Matt heard her politely say. His grip on his beer bottle tightened as he heard what some of them said under their breath. Immediately, Matt got out of his seat to follow her to the bathroom to make sure she was safe.

She closed the door behind her and stood back against it, eyes closed. 

“Breathe,” she whispered to herself. She took a few deep breaths and felt her heart palpitating in her chest. Suddenly, she felt hot in her clothes and for moment thought she was going to pass out. Did I hydrate enough today? She placed a hand over her heart to calm herself down. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. Your friends are right outside. 

“I shouldn’t have come,” Matt heard her whisper to herself. He was standing a few feet from the door, holding his cane in his hands, waiting for her. 

After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and fixed her hair—the only thing she felt in control of. 

When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Matt waiting for her. 

“Matt,” she was startled. Relief washed over her like cold water, and suddenly she felt like she had come back down to reality. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly, offering a smile. “You want to step outside for a sec?” 

“I’d love that,” she breathed out. 

It was much cooler outside than the dingy inside of the bar. The loud noises that came from the biker gang and other drunkards were nothing but muffled sounds as the door closed. Only the sounds of the city at night filled the space between them. Matt let her take a moment to herself as she leaned against the brick wall of the building and closed her eyes. He stood right next to her so his left shoulder was touching her right. He played with his cane in his hands, wondering when the right moment to speak would come. The last time it was the two of them, his hands had gotten lost in the tangles of her hair as they shared their first kiss. She had been so relaxed and carefree. Now, she was anxious and quiet. He wanted to show her that he could be the one she stole kisses from and the one who would be there for her when she wasn’t feeling herself. 

Instead, Matt didn’t say anything. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed. He moved his cane to rest against the wall and gently trailed his fingers around her wrist until his hand was completely holding hers. She accepted it with gratitude, melting into his touch. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. Matt wanted to hide the smile on his face, but he couldn’t. Her head fit perfectly on his shoulder.

“I had a feeling something was wrong,” he mumbled. “Thought you could use a break from inside.”

“I just get overwhelmed,” she sighed. “Too much noise for my brain to comprehend all at once. And then I feel unsafe and like I’m going to pass out. Do you ever feel overwhelmed?”

Matt chuckled in irony—did he ever. She didn’t know about his heightened senses, but he could relate to her in so many ways. He’s learned to turn off certain sounds but sometimes, and especially at night, he could never have a completely quiet night. 

“Yes,” was all he said. “I do. All the time.”

“Well,” she picked up her head, the warmth immediately disappearing from Matt’s shoulder. “If you ever get overwhelmed, don’t be afraid to come to me to escape.”

Matt doesn’t reply with words—instead, he places a kiss on her forehead. As long as she was his escape, he’d gladly be hers.

****

Matt hated guns. 

He really hated guns. 

Once a shot rang, the sound bounced against the walls and reverberated in his ears, throwing his whole balance off. Normally, he could shake it off, but tonight, the sound stayed. It stayed longer than when he left the alley it went off in. It stayed longer than it took to apprehend the gang member and throw him on the steps of the 15th Precinct. Now, as Matt patrolled the streets of Hell’s Kitchen in his Daredevil gear, he couldn’t control how loud the noises were in his ears. 

Everything sounded sharp—high pitched in his ears, the kind that happened after attending a loud concert, the kind that stayed around for hours. Unfortunately for his case, it was ten times worse than the normal sound. Because his hearing was tuned up, it confused him when he smelt the different scents of the city—and believe him when he says they are the worst. Pungent garbage filled his nose, slick bitter pavement, rusting metal he can taste in the air. 

It was hard to find his way to her apartment. Now that she knew his secret, she told him her apartment was his for free reign if he ever needed her. He tried not to burden her with his problems as Daredevil—knowing his secret was enough of a burden—so he saved his tickets to go to her apartment when he was desperately in need of her touch. Like he was tonight. 

It was past midnight. He landed on her fire escape and tried his best to hear what she was doing through the windows of her apartment—dammit, the noises of the city were still too loud. He could barely hear anything coming from her apartment. Was she sleeping? Was she awake? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell. Suddenly, his cowl and mask felt too tight around his head, like it was squeezing him until he burst. Matt grunted in frustration as he placed his hands on his helmet. 

“Hey, hey,” the sound of a sliding window filled his ears. Matt flinched from the noise but immediately relaxed when he realized it was her, awake. “Come in.” 

She reached for him to grab her hands, and when she saw him struggle to find her touch, she knew it had been a rough night for him as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Her city’s protector. Her savior. She leaned out the window more and took hold of his strong hands, which now felt so delicate and weak in hers. She helped him step inside, careful not to knock her potted plants over. 

Matt let her guide him to her soft velvet couch. He was too weak and distraught from the gunshot to be able to guide himself. She gently lowered him to sit down, still holding his hands. She placed them in her lap and caressed his calloused, bruised knuckles. She winced at the sight of how purple and red they were, but continued to caress them. She had to be the stronger one now. 

“Rough night?” She whispered. 

“Yeah,” he breathed weakly. “Someone—had a gun,” he uttered, still hearing things all too loudly. She knew how much he hated guns—his sensitive hearing would be affected for hours. She couldn’t imagine the pain he was dealing with now, much worse than the bruises she saw on his hands. 

His face was still beneath the red mask, only his nose and mouth visible. It was probably even worse to be constricted in his suit like this. 

“Let’s get you out of this,” she hushed, knowing even the sound of her voice could make his sense feel worse. She slowly lifted his mask with her thumbs and popped it gently off his face. He looked dazed, now that his senseless eyes were visible. His hair was disheveled from the mask. She brushed her fingers through his chocolate brown locks and he closed his eyes. 

“Shh,” she whispered. “Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Listen to my heart.”

Matt closed his eyes, using all his might to focus his hearing on hers. His ears were still ringing, but soon, after much concentration on the sound of her voice and steady heartbeat, the ringing finally began to fade. His senses went from feeling like a circus to a calm, still river. It was so quiet, that he could even hear his own breathing. And the smells… the smells of the city faded as her scent of lilies and marshmallows filled his nose in the most pleasant way. Everything was now overwhelmingly her. 

She placed her forehead against his, the tips of their noses touching. She kept her hand on the back of his head and caressed his neck. 

“Breathe with me,” she whispered. “Breathe with me.”

“I am,” Matt was finally able to hear his own voice, the sound of the gunshot ringing completely gone. 

“You’re here with me,” she murmured, her lips brushing over his as she spoke. Matt nodded, foreheads still touching. Now that he was touching her, her entire being was encapsulating his senses. His world became her. His reality became her. An escape he never wanted to come back from. 

“What do you hear?” She asked gently, nudging her nose on his cheek. 

“You,” he breathed. “Just you.” 

“Feel better?” She asked when she noticed his breathing had slowed down. He nodded. 

“Yes,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

She kissed him in response, letting her lips linger on his. They tasted salty from his sweat, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care what state he was in—she’d always kiss him. Soon, she asked if he wanted to spend the night with her in her apartment. Matt never agreed to anything faster. After a few moments on the couch, trading touches and chasing kisses, they went to her bedroom, where Matt truly understood what it meant she said they could be each other’s escape. 

[moxfirefly]

Nnnn- how about-

Fem!reader, choke + behind with Donnie boy? If you're up for it 👀😩

*rubs hands together evilly*

Let’s do this anon.

Rated Explicit

The foggy spot that spread across the window glass was a tell tale sign. The way your breath puffed a new spot to maybe write a message, draw a little heart or tell Donnie that he was currently so far deep in your guts your soul was cracking.

In the best of ways, naturally so.

Donnie had arrived in a mood, a temperament that was palpable right down to the tips of his fingers. He hasn’t grabbed you with ill intent, if anything there was a neediness in his grasp. A longing when his lips had landed on your own, it was somewhere in the way his tongue found the roof of your mouth.

So when he’d not so gently pressed you up against the window of the fire escape, when he’d yanked down your pants and kicked your legs apart, you know he wanted to center himself.

And nothing had Donnie more centered than stuffing you full of his cock and watching your thoughts melt out of your ears.

His height made this angle deliciously ache, made standing on the tips of your toes agony but it would be far worse if he pulled out now, if he stopped pushing his frustrations in you, you always did like it when he took a rougher approach.

A hard slap echoes next to your sweaty cheek, the condensation of the mirror mixing with the sweat. Donnie’s large three fingered hand slides enough for the squeaky sound to mix with your own embarrassing squeak. His hips aren’t stuttering, he isn’t close, he just wants to consume and fill every little hole you have to offer.

So when that large hand finds your neck, caresses the flesh before applying pressure to key points, you can’t control the second embarrassing choke and squeak you emit. He pushes your head back, the tension in your neck burns, aches as much as the neglected spot between your legs.

Donnie likes watching.

He likes watching your skin turn red, the veins in your eyeballs become more prominent, he simply adores that somewhat far away blissful glaze that adorns your face as every wave of everything hits.

The tempo of his thrusting mixing with the blood pumping into your ears.

He grins, drunk off of your pussy and the vice it currently has.

And just when you feel lightheaded and unable to stand he lets go and pumps the first load of many for tonight.

[mosquito-queen]

the first thing she notices after pushing open the door to her apartment is a breeze. and with it, a fresh layer of annoyance is tacked onto the already simmering anger. yelena is going to drive the electricity bill through the roof - why can’t she just use the door? she has a key for christ’s sake. a key!

the thought of the key makes kate grind her teeth, leaves an ache in her chest, makes her confuse anger and hurt. yelena has a fucking key.

kate steps into the apartment, drops her bag and does a scan for the familiar blonde. she still hasn’t decided how she’s going to approach this conversation, still doesn’t know how to make sense of her own emotions and much less yelena’s, doesn’t know the right words to make sense for either of them. maybe she shouldn’t have it.

claws skittering on the hardwood interrupt her thoughts. lucky is beelining from the end of the hall towards kate, and on his heels comes yelena’s voice, strained, “kate bishop, where is the -“

but kate is stepping into the bathroom doorway, holding up a new bag of gauze. she almost forgets to be angry.

because yelena is in the middle of mediocre surgery: she’s standing barefoot on the bath mat, leaning against the sink counter with her shirt off, and pulling a surgical wire through her skin just above her hip. there are bloody handprints on the porcelain, bandage wrappers littering the floor, and she’s got a split eyebrow that would fare better with some of those stitches instead of butterfly bandages. kate’s frown deepens when she spies the bottles: an open whiskey on the closed toilet lid and the other a beer on the sink ledge with condensation forming a sheen of water speckled with blood. the beer is an ice pack and the other is nursed as tylenol. ridiculous woman.

“ah, yes,” yelena motions between the stitching and bag, “can you?”

“hello to you too,” kate mutters, opening the gauze pack.

kate hasn’t seen yelena in nearly a week. well, yelena hasn’t seen her in nearly a week. she’s shown up to the apartment in worse states, but this one is confusing. yelena had been perfectly fine last night. in a dress. no scratches. perfectly fine with jewelry and her hair up and her eyes had been glittering at someone that wasn’t kate. she had been fine last night.

the humiliation and anger rise with bile in the back of kate’s mouth. why is she so incredibly angry? it isn’t like they’re formally dating. she swallows hard and washes her hands quickly in the sink before taking over, shooing away yelena’s hands from the wounds after yelena finishes the last stitch.

kate starts dressing it. she has gotten remarkably better at playing doctor since noticing yelena does a shit job patching herself up - not because she can’t, but because she doesn’t care enough.

but kate is still mad at her.

yelena lounges her weight against the sink, completely gives up control to kate’s hands. trusts her without meaning to, or understanding why, or even being aware of it. she mistakes the reason for the quiet and the way kate still hasn’t made eye contact, “i will clean up.”

kate blurts: “you know, i saw you.” she swipes the antiseptic a little too harshly and yelena flinches, “last night,” she moves to inspect the rest of yelena’s wounds, planning on returning to the cut on her hip after it’s settled a bit longer, “with him.”

“what?” yelena frowns, and kate is roughly tilting her head to fix the poorly applied bandages along her jaw. yelena’s eyes dart, try to find kate’s, but there’s no luck.

instead, kate grinds out: “at the restaurant. i saw you kiss him.”

but yelena is only half listening. she’s too hung up on the way that everything feels wrong in this room, she’s too caught up in the intensity at which kate is refusing to look her in the eyes. she’s unable to understand why it bothers her so much that kate won’t look. why isn’t she looking? kate is always looking at her.

she’s always looking at her in a way that makes yelena’s heart rate pick up, in a way that makes her palms sweaty, in a way that makes it an easy choice to seek out kate’s bed after a mission. she’s done this a million times now, hasn’t she? where she’s come home - home? - in the dead of night, or lazy afternoons, or right before the birds start to sing (kate hates when it’s in the morning), and kate sits her on the sink or the toilet or the edge of the bath and tends her wounds. and she looks at yelena like she’s trying to make a wish.

and it feels like, fuck it feels like… it feels like more than just patching wounds. kate has gotten remarkably better. and that’s how it always goes. except right now. instead, kate’s fingers are tight under her jaw and she isn’t being careful or soft or even looking at her. god, why does it bother her so much?

“kate, look at me.” yelena is pulling her face away from the archer’s grip, leaning off the counter and standing on her own, and kate instinctually takes a step back. she obeys, looks yelena in the eye, looks at her in way that makes yelena’s mouth go dry. and she barely makes out: “why are you angry with me?”

and it’s the wrong thing to say.

and yelena wishes she never asked kate to look at her.

because the fury boring down on her makes yelena’s insides balk. because she never wants to be looked at like that - like she’s committed the most painful atrocity against the one person her mind always drifts towards. she doesn’t have too much time to reflect on why it hurts so much for kate to look at her like that.

because kate is spluttering, throwing her hands up, “of course i am angry! what did you think was going to happen? i saw you kiss him! and i thought -“

it suddenly becomes stupid, too vulnerable, too much. kate trails off, covering her face with her hands, groaning, “oh god.”

but it’s too late: “what? what did you think?”

“yelena. what in the - what? don’t you - aren’t we…?” she trails off, gesturing between the two of them. gesturing to the past months of yelena using kate’s apartment like her own home, of yelena waking up with nightmares until kate invites her into her bed, of yelena keeping the fridge stocked, of kate patching up yelena in the bathroom and being close enough that they share the same breath, of kate braiding yelena’s hair, of them spending until the break of dawn talking and talking and talking…

and yelena could resolve this. she could easily say: it was a job, and the fresh smattering of hurt was the end result, and that kate should see the other guy. or what was left of him.

but instead, yelena is growing cold and turns her back on kate so she can face the mirror and identify the next section of bodily pain to address. now it’s her turn not to look at kate. she feels something clench in her chest, wants to soothe the fear welling inside, a fear she does not want to address, “i do not know what you are insinuating, kate bishop. spit it out.”

it’s cruel and they both know it. they both know yelena is on the brink of running, and maybe that’s why kate is standing in the door frame with her eyes locked on yelena’s reflection in the mirror: “you treat me like you’re in love with me, but you’re out there kissing him.”

love?

yelena white knuckles the counter top, that frenzied panic tearing up through her heart and lungs and clawing its way up her throat. no. she just… no, kate’s just confused. yelena doesn’t… she can’t do that. right? only the version before the red room had capacity for that. she’s not formed any connection with anyone after the red room in the same way she felt so deeply as a child. a weapon cannot…

love?

she grew up in a way that controlled for that, that didn’t make space for that, that never intended for her to have access to human emotions. instead, everything became a transaction. what was love but another word for manipulate? and yet… what else was it when she felt compelled to be close to kate, and to protect her, and to memorize her overly complicated pizza order just in case she had a bad day? oh fuck. why did it hurt so much when kate wouldn’t look at her? why did she want her hands to be the ones to fix her?

love.

she’s focusing on the wrong thing again. because yelena’s idea of love was defined by whatever disney movies she had watched in ohio. it had never crossed her mind of what love actually looked like in the real world. she had no idea where to even go with this conversation that would be remotely helpful. so yelena leans into the only thing she does know and that she is remarkably good at: pushing people away.

so yelena says into the mirror, “n-no. why would you? that’s not anything i wanted you to think.”

a small part of kate wants desperately for yelena to mean she didn’t want kate to think she had been willingly kissing someone else. a small part of her wants to think that yelena is absolutely in love with her but too pigheaded to admit it. but, that part is small and the rest of kate knows that her face is red hot and her hands are clenched, and she wants to break that stupid fucking mirror, “then what do you want? why are you always here? in my bed, in my personal space, in my fucking clothes. why do you always come back here? just stay gone then, just go. we don’t have to play nice just because we’re hawkeye and black widow.”

for a moment, everything inside of yelena stops.

because for some reason, she had never factored into the equation the possibility of kate being the one wanting to leave. and it feels like an explosion. she whips around so she can face kate, sweat beading around her collarbone and hip aching, she’s steadying herself with a hand gripping the counter and bowl of the sink, and the change in position brings her back to the present. the sheer amount of emotion raging through her body is too overwhelming and she shouts, “i do not know what i want!”

how could she know? natasha was the only person that ever asked her and the only thing she got out of that revelation was fanny. and the way it connects back to natasha makes yelena angrier and she smashes the beer bottle on the floor, “i don’t know what i want! but i know it isn’t that,” it comes out broken at the end, with a hiccup, with a heartbreak, and the exertion from the day and the sudden burst of emotions has her sliding down the the sink, butting the back of head into the cabinet doors when she settles at the bottom in the stick of beer and glass, “it sure as fuck is not that.”

and kate is silent in the doorway, waving lucky off from where he’s standing worried at the mouth of the hallway. she turns her attention back to yelena, looking at this girl turned killer-weapon turned human and she knows there is no way the universes could ever make her walk away from yelena. she knows she would tear herself apart to bring yelena back every single time. she thinks she’s known it since the beginning.

kate hadn’t known what was different about yelena when they met the first night on the roof. she hadn't released the arrow because yelena was not actively striking her - not because she had an overwhelming sense to obey. certainly not because the sight of yelena’s face knocked the air out of her lungs.

it was still different when they fought after that. because kate knew she was good, she had plenty medals to prove it, but she wasn’t win-against-a-black-widow-good. yelena held back her punches. but it was just because eleanor was paying yelena. it was just because her mom said not to hurt her. right?

it was different when kate asked to get drinks and yelena said yes. yelena said yes and it made her heart flip, erupted butterflies and her head felt fuzzy. her head always felt fuzzy when yelena was around. but it was better not to think about it.

and then yelena kept coming around. of course with gaps and no contact and so much reactivity. but yelena kept coming around. and she had flowers waiting for kate the first time kate went to visit her mother in prison, and she took lucky on walks until kate stopped being so fucking scared that kingpin would be just around the corner, and she had her own drawer in the dresser and a toothbrush and brought fanny around (who was a much better guard dog than lucky), and yelena was just so fucking sweet.

so excuse kate for thinking yelena belova had feelings for her. excuse her for thinking yelena was fully aware of what messages were being sent, excuse her for thinking.

except kate was still thinking.

yelena can feel kate looking at her. looking at her in a way that seems like judgment will be weighed. yelena knows she’ll never get into heaven. but, kate exhales and is picking her way through the glass, unfazed, jaw set. like a righteous angel. she crouches down to yelena’s eye level, her hands gripping the sides of her bruised up face, and using the pressure to force yelena to look at her.

this time yelena says: “i killed that man.”

there is still a brilliant anger in kate’s eyes, and it cloaks the desire, so yelena is caught off guard when kate presses her mouth into hers. when kate destroys her with the softest kiss. maybe she would never get into heaven, but this was surely a heavenly way to die.

yelena never had any intent to fall in love. with anyone. ever. she certainly had no intent to fall in love with kate bishop. and yet it seems like her heart never got the memo. it’s hammering now in her chest like a freight train. and then kate pulls back for a moment.

“is this what you want?”

oh. a sharp inhale: “yes.”

and then kate kisses her harder.

[lastimeexteriors-nebraska]

What is the Best Insulation for Residential Metal Roofing?

Are you considering a metal roof for your home? Whether you’re attracted to its sleek look or durability, you might wonder about insulation options to ensure your home remains comfortable year-round. Insulating your residential metal roof significantly impacts energy efficiency, temperature regulation, and comfort. Let’s explore the best insulation choices for your metal roof to ensure you make the right decision for your home.

Understanding the Basics of Residential Metal Roofing

Before we explore insulation options, let’s understand why residential metal roofing is gaining popularity. Metal roofs are long-lasting and highly reflective, which helps deflect heat and keep homes cooler in the summer. However, they can still benefit from proper insulation to minimize heat transfer, prevent condensation, and improve energy efficiency.

Types of Insulation for Residential Metal Roofing

Several options can suit various needs and preferences when insulating your residential metal roofing. Here are some of the most popular insulation types:

1. Spray Foam Insulation

Spray foam insulation is a versatile and highly effective option for metal roofs. It expands after application, filling gaps and creating a seal that minimizes air leaks. This insulation type has great thermal resistance, helping to keep your home warm in the winter and cool in the summer. It can also act as a moisture barrier, reducing the risk of condensation beneath your roof.

Benefits of Spray Foam Insulation:

High R-value, which measures thermal resistance

Excellent air sealing capabilities

Moisture barrier to prevent mold growth

Reduces energy costs over time

2. Rigid Board Insulation

Rigid board insulation is another popular choice for insulating residential metal roofing. Made from polystyrene, polyisocyanurate, or fiberglass materials, rigid boards provide a high R-value and can be installed directly beneath the roofing material. They offer long-lasting thermal performance and are particularly useful for new construction projects or re-roofing.

Benefits of Rigid Board Insulation:

High insulation value

Easy to install and cut to size

Reduces heat transfer and improves energy efficiency

Provides moisture control when paired with a vapor barrier

3. Fiberglass Batt Insulation

Fiberglass batt insulation is a traditional, cost-effective option for insulating residential metal roofing. It’s typically installed between the roof's framing members and can help regulate indoor temperatures. While fiberglass batt insulation is effective, it requires careful installation to ensure no gaps, which could lead to air leaks and reduced efficiency.

Benefits of Fiberglass Batt Insulation:

Affordable and widely available

Good thermal performance when installed correctly

Non-combustible material

Easy to handle and install for DIY enthusiasts

4. Reflective Insulation

Reflective insulation works by reflecting radiant heat away from living spaces. It’s typically installed with other insulation types to enhance energy efficiency, particularly in warmer climates. Reflective insulation, often made from aluminum foil, can significantly reduce cooling costs.

Benefits of Reflective Insulation:

Reduces heat absorption in warmer weather

It can be combined with other insulation types for increased effectiveness

Lightweight and easy to install

Provides a barrier against moisture, which helps prevent mold growth

Factors to Consider When Choosing Insulation for Residential Metal Roofing

Selecting the right insulation for your residential metal roofing involves considering several factors, including:

Climate

Think about the climate in your area. If you live in a region with hot summers and cold winters, you’ll want insulation that provides excellent thermal resistance. In contrast, milder climates may require less insulation.

Installation Method

Consider whether you’re starting a new build or re-roofing an existing structure. Some insulation types are easier to install during construction, while others can be retrofitted into existing roofs.

Budget

Your budget will significantly influence your choice of insulation. While some options may be more expensive upfront, they can lead to energy savings over time. Evaluate your budget carefully to find the right balance between cost and performance.

Energy Efficiency Goals

If your primary goal is to maximize energy efficiency, consider insulation types with higher R-values and moisture control capabilities. This will help reduce your energy bills and improve the overall comfort of your home.

Installation Tips for Insulating Residential Metal Roofing

Proper installation is essential for ensuring your insulation performs as intended. Here are some tips to keep in mind:

Hire a Professional: While some insulation types can be installed by DIY enthusiasts, hiring a professional can ensure the job is done correctly and efficiently.

Use a Vapor Barrier: Installing a vapor barrier can help prevent moisture from accumulating in the insulation, which can lead to mold and reduced effectiveness.

Seal Gaps and Cracks: Before installing insulation, seal gaps and cracks in the roof structure to minimize air leaks and improve overall performance.

Follow Manufacturer Instructions: Always adhere to the manufacturer’s guidelines for installation guidelines to ensure the insulation performs as intended.

Choosing the right insulation for your residential metal roofing can significantly affect your roof's energy efficiency, comfort, and longevity. Various insulation types are available, from spray foam to rigid board options, and your climate, budget, and energy efficiency goals to find the perfect match for your home.

Ready to enhance your metal roof with the best insulation? Visit Lastime Exteriors today to explore our services and learn more about energy-efficient roofing solutions tailored to your needs. Your home deserves the best—don’t wait to improve your comfort and energy savings!

[voxofthevoid]

Welcome to Schrödinger's Noncon Wednesday #1 ✨

Shibuya swap is temporarily suspended while I finish the itagofushi fic that should have been condensed into a oneshot for the anniversary project but wasn't—because I'm, y'know, an insane clown. The fic is current three chapters and 15.5k words. I don't think it'll become obscenely long, but it sure as hell doesn't seem short.

It's a pornfest. It's also broken free of my outline. The intent was to start with dubcon and move to consensual sex, but the way it's coming out, we've got straight-up noncon, followed by extremely dubious consent and then milder dubcon, culminating in consensual sex—all involving different combinations of the three guys involved. Hence the name Schrödinger's noncon—full credit to @nearalways, whose brain I keep trying to make out with.

This week's scene is mostly consensual itafushi, with referenced gofushi noncon.

Megumi scowls at Gojou and pries his eyes away, running headfirst into Itadori’s blazing brown eyes a moment before teeth sink into the soft underside of his belly.

“Itadori!” Megumi forces his spine back flat, clenching and unclenching his fists in Gojou’s honest-to-god silk sheets in a desperate bid for control. “That’s not even a kiss.”

Itadori licks at the spot he bit, but if it’s meant to be apology, it’s not a very good one, not when his heavy-lidded eyes are dripping satisfaction.

“Just wanted your attention,” Itadori murmurs, lips moving against Megumi’s skin. “Don’t look away, Fushiguro.”

Megumi swallows an unholy noise, but some of it spills out, trembling in the air.

From beside him, there’s soft laughter.

It’s a smile that Itadori presses to Megumi’s skin this time; it’s a quiet, gentle thing, but it still cuts so deep, leaving Megumi gasping around the wet spill of his entrails. Itadori kisses him all over his stomach like he can’t see or taste the mess, and then that mouth is being dragged to Megumi’s chest, tracing the shape of his pec before closing wetly over a nipple.

Itadori sucks, and it’s getting struck by lightning.

There’s no strangling his reaction, his body arching up violently enough to dislodge Itadori’s mouth from his chest and his throat burning around a violently high noise that bounces off the wall.

Itadori smiles, wide-eyed with what looks like wonder. “You like that?”

Megumi just pants for breath, and then Itadori’s touching that nipple, a calloused thumb sliding over the wet bud, and something sharp and electric bolts down Megumi’s spine, making him shudder and arch into the touch—then away, the pleasure too sharp, except Itadori follows it with his hand and then his mouth. Megumi’s braced for it this time, only twitching when Itadori mouths on those overly sensitive nerves, but the pleasure is a simmering flood in his veins, heating him all over.

Then teeth scrape the nipple, and Megumi’s whole body sings some howling song.

He fists a hand in Itadori’s hair and yanks him up to his mouth.

There’s no resistance. Itadori falls on him like a wolf, his mouth eager and open, and it’s only the shock of the impact that makes Megumi part his lips, gasping wetly against Itadori’s lips, but there’s nothing accidental about the tongue that plunges into his mouth, Itadori licking deep like he owns everything he’s tasting, and Megumi lets him the way he’s been dreaming and aching to since he started wanting this boy, and the taste and the heat spread down his whole body.

Itadori’s hand cups his face, calluses branding Megumi’s skin, and tilts it a little, and then their mouths are at a different, better angle, and the groan Itadori buries in his mouth is followed by a fury that threatens to bruise, his mouth a hot seal against Megumi’s while his tongue sweeps deep, sliding over Megumi’s tongue and prodding at the roof of his mouth and digging into every soft space.

It’s hunger like nothing Megumi’s ever felt, ever tasted. And it is a taste, the tongue in his mouth flooding his palate with a warm, wet flavor that’s just skin and spit but feels like more, like Itadori’s essence distilled into something Megumi can swallow.

He swallows, and Itadori kisses him harder, deeper, wetter.

Megumi has to tear free of the kiss with a gasp, panting for air, and Itadori just makes a sound that’s too much like a whine, dragging wet lips along Megumi’s cheek before dipping his head, mouthing at his jaw and throat, a play of lips and teeth and tongue that’s as hungry as it’s clever—

It’s clever.

It’s several minutes delayed, the realization that Itadori knows what’s doing. That first chaste kiss proved nothing, but maybe the way Itadori stepped between Megumi’s open legs and touched him should have. Megumi definitely should have realized when Itadori kissed his way up his body at his own damn leisure—eager and hungry, yes, but also slow and tender.

Megumi allows the pressure that turns his face back toward Itadori, but he slaps a hand over that descending mouth.

“You’ve done this before,” he says, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out like an accusation, but it does, every sharp note of it slicing through the air.

There’s more soft laughter from beside him.

Itadori blinks, raising one hand to pry Megumi’s fingers off his mouth. “Yes? I mean—wait, you haven’t?”

Megumi just grits his teeth, trying and failing to swallow a sense of…not betrayal, not really. But it’s something acrid and ugly. It’s not like he was expecting Itadori to be a virgin or even inexperienced. It’s just that he didn’t think he wouldn’t be. Itadori doesn’t have a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or anyone like that. He doesn’t even keep in touch with people from his old life, and he goes out a lot, sure, but he likes company for it—Megumi, Kugisaki, their upperclassmen, Gojou, and even Nanami. And he’s not the kind of guy who’d keep these things a secret.

Except he has.

“Gojou-sensei,” Itadori says, yanking Megumi out of the new hell he’s stewing in, “you didn’t even kiss him?”

Megumi gags a bit. Itadori looks at him in concern.

“I wouldn’t be so cruel,” Gojou says, and even without looking at him, Megumi can see the maddening curve of his mouth. “After all, Megumi’s been saving himself for you.”

Itadori looks taken aback, and then he drags his eyes from Gojou to Megumi, expression shifting from incredulity to awe.

It makes Megumi want to crawl into a hole and die. All he can feel is the sore heat inside him, lining the path Gojou carved into him. That ache deep in his gut, like a bruise where nothing’s ever touched. His rim is still wet, and no matter how tightly Megumi clenches up, it feels so open.

“Fushiguro—”

“Don’t,” Megumi bites out, closing his eyes. “Shut up.”

“He’s shy,” Gojou says conspiratorially to Itadori. “I don’t want to kiss Megumi, but if you’re offering, I’d like to finish what I started.”

“Why’re you asking me?” Itadori says, sounding genuinely confused. “Oh, I guess I did interrupt. Still, it’s up to Fushiguro, isn’t it?”

“So it is,” Gojou murmurs. Fingers find Megumi’s elbow, gliding sickeningly gently up his arm and along his shoulder, nudging the edge of his jaw. “What do you say, Megumi?”

Die, is what Megumi would like to say, but it’s not like Gojou magically dropped dead the last few times he tried.

He doesn’t want to. Of course he doesn’t want to. He still hurts with what Gojou took, and worse than the pain is the lingering sense of violation. Itadori’s touch chased it away briefly; at least, it distracted Megumi enough that he felt nothing but Itadori’s mouth, his heat. But that brimming wonder in Itadori’s eyes brought it right back, and now it’s in him like a stain, oil mixing with blood.

A kinder hand cups his face, Itadori’s calloused thumb sliding sweetly over his cheek. “You good, Fushiguro?”

No. No, he’s not good at all.

“Whatever,” Megumi says, opening his eyes to the ceiling. “Do what you want.”

[myimaginedcorner]

A TUMBLR STORY: TORN PAGE (p.38)

NOTE FROM AUTHOR: Sorry for the brief hiatus, I had a rough two weeks of deadlines and I prioritised my health and my sleep! But I'm back now~ PREVIOUS RESULT: Reach out for Death's help (DON'T DO IT)

Ah, you had been warned, but you never listened. You were always broken.

***

You stepped between the entity and Ashna, and unexpectedly, you realised you were completely calm. Your eyes burned emerald; their intense stare pierced through the shard, tearing the threads of magic that weaved its body. It stopped, surprised, perhaps, even threatened by the challenge of your gaze.

A power that was still a mote of the divine… was scared?

Oh, but you just started.

You felt drunk. It was inebriating to see your opponent so confused. You raised your hand towards them, reaching out as if to caress their pale cheek. The emerald snake hissed, retrieving towards your neck, locking its rings around it and choking you in worry. Don’t do it, screamed its ghostly shiver. You dismissed it.

Your mind exploded into colours, going through all the possible scenarios that could play out. All strategies, all plans, all movements you could predict and those you couldn’t. It lasted an instant – then, it went blank and cold, paralysed by your gesture. Don’t do it, you heard your own voice, hollow. You dismissed it.

Your body stiffened; you every muscle tensed, ready to react to what was about to happen. Ready to survive in dungeons with falling roofs and unstable floors, it was prepared to jump at the scratch of dust. Don’t do it, you every cell warned you. You dismissed it.

You heard another hiss under your feet, running over your skin with goosebumps that froze the blood within your veins. That same fear you felt before, now, you let it drown within you, reaching for the darkness that thirsted for your warm flesh, fresh bones, and pulsating blood. You welcomed it, feeling your Life retreat into the farthest corners of your chest. Watching Death bear its fangs, you clenched your fist and grabbed it by the neck, veins shrinking and teeth gritting from its freezing caress. It felt like the absence of something needed and the presence of something wanted. It had no texture, but an emotion that reached your heart and ripped it into pieces, pulling your worries away from your dreams. For a brief moment, you felt sleepy, ready to embrace its intoxicating relief. However, you could not sleep, not yet; not while Ashna was still in danger.

Your hand touched the shard; you felt the power of condensed magic slice your fingers into myriads of shapeless bits. No material was able to withstand the sheer amount of energy that ran through it within that instant, the boundaries of what is mortal breaking from this pure strength. And yet, it was but an instant that you needed: once your hand was no longer able to hold its grip, the snake hissed and bit into the ugly, malformed green.

Hypnotised, you watched the shard tremble as its essence twisted and bended, trying to escape the quick, destructive spread of darkness. Death’s claws ripped into its emerald flesh and pinned it down, letting it get torn apart by little teeth that plucked out bits of it one by one. It lost colour; then, it turned dark. It grew like a wolf feasting on a fat pig, looking bigger the less emerald was left to eat.

Horror struck you again, an utter fear for the monster you’ve created. You did not know how to control such beast, whatever gave you the idea that you could? It was a creature naturally born to kill you, kill everything, kill and eat the world around you like it was a treat. It was too soon: you felt it in your bones, your mind, and in the whispers of a green snake that shivered within you, anxious of its sibling’s presence. You retrieved your hand, pulling it away; lucky you, what was left of it no longer had Death’s interest, and so, you succeeded.

You heard distant screams. The shard stumbled back, whining, howling, weeping, growling. You didn’t see the end of it; you dropped to your knees, feeling a sudden weakness to your body. Your sight was blurry; your head spun. Every inch of meat, bones, and blood hurt as if it had been burned, only ashes left with the phantom of emotion. You couldn’t cry out, your throat simultaneously dry and drowning in tears you couldn’t swallow. Your hand reached for the other as pain slowly creeped into your brain. There was nothing left – just an abrupt end at the wrist, dripping blood.

“No, no, bastards…!” Ashna fell onto their knees in front of you, grabbing their beautiful tunic and tearing a piece off it, quickly tying it around your arm to stop the bleeding.

“We have bandages…” Laefen mumbled somewhere close by, searching through your bigger bags.

“We don’t have time, we need to do something about it…! There’s nothing left, oh dear, oh dear…” Ashna’s voice broke. You heard it clearly; it felt like an arrow slicing the fog within your mind in two. Your hand reached for theirs, grabbing it. You wished to say you were okay, but you’d lie…

“It’s fine, you’re mages, right? You can fix it…” Laefen laughed nervously.

“No, no, that doesn’t work…!!”

You shook your head, trying to stay awake. A little to the side, M crouched near Hibiscus, gently shaking her by the shoulder. She didn’t answer, still deeply in her trance, looking somewhere else.

The shards were gone, as the world around you felt awfully quiet. You knew it because everyone around you was so loud, no longer busy with the world but you. You also knew it when you felt the edge of a long blade touch your neck. All chatter ceased.

“You… what did you do?” Amani asked, stood behind you. You didn’t have to see her eyes to know the glare she had in them.

Danger.

[shri-homes]

Energy-Efficient Building Techniques in Tarneit

In reaction to the global movement towards sustainability, the construction industry in Tarneit, an emerging suburb of Victoria, has been integrated. In particular, house builders Tarneit can incorporate sustainable and efficient methods, materials, and technologies in building construction. 

These methods benefit the environment and are also financially sustainable for homeowners as they help cut down costs incurred in the provision of energy. This blog evaluates the various high-quality, energy-efficient building methods defining future housing in Tarneit.

Solar Power Integration

Integrating solar power systems is one of the most significant steps towards energy-efficient building. House builders in Tarneit increasingly embed solar panels and thermal systems in new constructions. Solar panels capture solar energy and directly convert it into electricity. 

Solar thermal structures harness sun energy to warm water, which reduces the use of steam on non-renewable power assets. This cuts carbon emissions and hence supports the environment while lowering utility expenses. 

Additionally, promoting incentives for solar power in Australia attracts new homeowners to embrace this power source.

Advanced Thermal Insulation

Proper insulation, therefore, plays a significant role in energy conservation, whereby temperatures within homes are well regulated, lowering the chances of using heaters or air conditioners frequently. House builders in Tarneit employ advanced insulation techniques, including foam insulation and high-quality batten insulation.

These materials are installed in the walls, roofs and floors as insulation and resist heat flow in cold and hot seasons. Insulation is crucial for making homes more comfortable by significantly reducing noise levels.

High-Efficiency Windows

Another strategy house builders in Tarneit use is installing energy-efficient windows to enhance home energy performance. Multiple-glazed or triple-glazed windows are made up of several glass panes separated by a gas with very low thermal conductivity. 

These windows also play a part in controlling indoor temperatures, preventing the formation of condense and giving better soundproofing. 

The frames employed in making these conservatories include fibreglass or composite frames, which are more energy-efficient and long-lasting.

Water-Saving Fixtures

Water performance in buildings is now considered one of the predominant additives of sustainable construction. In today's Tarneit homes, newer and more innovative houses feature energy and water-saving amenities such as low-flow toilets, showerheads, and faucets. 

Experienced house builders in Tarneit prefer these fixtures to minimise water usage in daily life while maintaining functionality without achieving high levels of water usage. 

By using significantly less water per minute compared to traditional fixtures, they help conserve a critical natural resource and lead to substantial savings on water bills. 

The deliberate incorporation of water-efficient technology in homes demonstrates a commitment to environmental stewardship and economic efficiency.

Use of Sustainable Materials

The desire for building materials plays a vital function in the environmental effect of a construction undertaking. House builders in Tarneit use recycled building materials that are not obtained directly from the source and have been recycled first. Some sustainable materials used in construction include recycled steel, glass, re-use wood and bamboo. 

Also, paints and adhesives are non-toxic, and sealants are used to reduce the emissions of VOCs, which harm the inhabitants of homes by providing them with good air quality.

Implementation of Smart Home Technology

Smart home technology is crucial today and significantly affects home energy management. Some of the features in houses in Tarneit include intelligent thermostats that control heating and cooling equipment depending on the number of people using the house and the climate. 

For instance, LED lighting consumes less energy than traditional lighting; programmable appliances and water heaters also help save energy. These technologies allow owners to screen their power consumption behaviour in detail and, for this reason, be in a function to make rational selections.

Green Roofs and Living Walls

Some innovative house builders in Tarneit are incorporating green roofs and living walls into new constructions. These characteristics provide good thermal performance, minimise the speed and impact of water on buildings, contribute to air quality, and diversify the avian fauna within cities. 

A green roof is a vegetative layer covered with vegetation and a growing medium or partially or fully developed plant layer on a waterproofing layer. 

Similarly, living walls are part of the building's exterior or interior walls, covered with plants. They enhance a building’s insulation and add aesthetic value to the property.

Optimal Orientation and Layout

This is a fact because the position of a building and its architecture determine how much energy it will consume. Climatically responsive architecture is apparent, where house builders in Melton strategically place numerous windows and doors to maximise natural light and air circulation within the buildings. 

Additionally, the structures are oriented in alignment with the direction of the winds and the sun. This approach minimises using artificial lights and mechanical air conditioners, thus saving power. 

Such thoughtful placement enhances energy savings and ensures that living spaces maintain a natural comfort throughout the seasons, creating healthier and more sustainable living environments.

Final Takeaway

Thus, the residents of Melton who choose to live in a house constructed with the following features can have a relatively environmentally friendly way of life meeting the ecological requirements of the contemporary world. Various dedicated house builders in Melton are adopting these building practices, paving the way for a future where all newly constructed homes will be as energy-efficient as possible, reflecting a commitment to environmental responsibility and sustainability.

[lakesbian]

(Don't let this distract you from Pact)

Quick question:

"He stepped from the roof, and waited until the last second to use her power.  Her body exploded into a cloud of shadows.  As she pulled back together, he felt a strong discomfort.  Not quite pain.  In seconds, she had condensed back to her normal form.  The pain his hosts felt was something distant.  It didn’t bother him half as much. He couldn’t be sure if it was because he instinctually prevented it or if it was something else."

Which one do you think it is? Does his power shield him deliberately or is he just numb to it?

[sets blake thorburn back in the freezer next to the ice creams and slides it shut] using his power gives him the equivalent of an extremely involved spectator role w/ the people he's controlling--he feels all of their emotional and physical sensations, but it's with a level of detachment. it's a built-in protection enabling him to use his power for its intended purpose of Harm You without being disabled by the pain of whatever he's doing to the target. but the part where 1. even the discomfort that Is there doesn't bother him whatsoever and 2. he wonders if it's a result of something other than his power protecting him is in fact because he's numb (on top of the built-in protections) and picking it up enough to vaguely wonder if there's something going on w/ him. so it's not an "or" it's an "and." hope that helps [opens freezer back up and takes blake thorburn back out]

[moldremovalincoloradosprings]

Mold Removal Services: Protecting Your Property and Health

Mold is more than just an unsightly nuisance—it’s a serious issue that can affect your property’s structural integrity and your overall health. Whether you’re a homeowner, landlord, or business owner, understanding mold and knowing when to seek professional mold removal services is essential. In this blog post, we’ll explore what mold is, how it spreads, the risks it poses, and how expert mold remediation services can help restore safety and cleanliness to your indoor environment.

What is Mold?

Mold is a type of fungus that thrives in damp, humid environments. It reproduces by releasing microscopic spores into the air, which can land on surfaces and begin growing when the conditions are right—typically in areas with excess moisture and poor ventilation. Common types of indoor mold include Aspergillus, Penicillium, and the infamous Stachybotrys chartarum, also known as black mold.

Mold can appear in a range of colors, including green, black, white, or brown, and often emits a musty odor. You’ll often find it in areas like basements, bathrooms, crawl spaces, attics, around windows, and anywhere water damage has occurred.

How Does Mold Spread?

Mold growth begins when spores find moisture and an organic food source, such as wood, drywall, or carpeting. Once it starts growing, mold can spread rapidly, especially in environments with poor airflow. HVAC systems can even carry spores throughout a building, contaminating multiple areas.

Some common causes of mold infestations include:

Leaky pipes or roofs

Flooding or water damage

Poor ventilation in bathrooms or kitchens

High humidity levels

Condensation on windows or walls

Without timely intervention, mold can spread within 24 to 48 hours after a moisture event.

Health Risks of Mold Exposure

Mold exposure can lead to a wide range of health issues, particularly for individuals with asthma, allergies, or weakened immune systems. Symptoms can include:

Sneezing and coughing

Skin rashes and irritation

Nasal congestion and sinus issues

Headaches and fatigue

Eye irritation and watery eyes

Respiratory problems or shortness of breath

Prolonged exposure to mold, especially toxic black mold, can contribute to more serious conditions such as chronic bronchitis or fungal infections in immunocompromised individuals.

Why Professional Mold Removal is Essential

While DIY mold removal methods exist, they often only address the visible mold on the surface. Professional mold remediation services are crucial for thorough removal and long-term prevention. Here’s why hiring experts is the best choice:

1. Comprehensive Inspection

Trained technicians start by conducting a detailed mold inspection. They identify the source of moisture and assess the extent of the contamination, including mold hidden behind walls or under flooring.

2. Safe Containment Procedures

Professionals use containment barriers, negative air pressure, and protective equipment to prevent the spread of mold spores during the cleanup process. This ensures the contamination doesn’t reach unaffected areas.

3. Effective Mold Removal

Using specialized equipment and approved cleaning agents, remediation experts remove mold from surfaces like wood, drywall, and tiles. In some cases, porous materials that are heavily contaminated may need to be disposed of and replaced.

4. Air Filtration and Odor Removal

High-efficiency particulate air (HEPA) filters and air scrubbers are used to capture airborne mold spores and remove lingering odors, restoring indoor air quality.

5. Moisture Control and Prevention

Once mold is removed, professionals focus on eliminating the moisture source—be it a leak, high humidity, or poor ventilation. They may recommend dehumidifiers, waterproofing, or improved ventilation to prevent future outbreaks.

Types of Mold Removal Services

Mold removal companies typically offer a range of services depending on the severity and location of the mold:

Residential Mold Remediation: Ideal for homes with mold in bathrooms, kitchens, basements, or attics.

Commercial Mold Removal: Tailored for offices, warehouses, or public buildings where mold can impact employee health and customer safety.

Emergency Mold Cleanup: Rapid response teams available 24/7, especially useful after floods or major water damage.

Crawl Space and Attic Remediation: Specialized services for hard-to-reach, poorly ventilated areas.

Post-Water Damage Mold Control: Combines water extraction, drying, and mold prevention in one comprehensive service.

What to Expect During the Mold Removal Process

Here’s a step-by-step overview of what a typical professional mold removal process looks like:

Initial Inspection and Moisture Assessment Experts use moisture meters, infrared cameras, and visual inspections to detect mold and water damage.

Containment Setup Plastic sheeting, airlocks, and negative air pressure systems are installed to isolate affected areas.

Mold Removal and Surface Cleaning Contaminated materials are cleaned, HEPA vacuumed, or safely removed and discarded.

Air Filtration and Ventilation HEPA filters remove spores from the air, and dehumidifiers dry out the space.

Post-Remediation Testing (Optional) Some companies offer air or surface testing to ensure mold has been completely removed.

Prevention Recommendations You’ll receive advice on fixing leaks, improving airflow, and controlling humidity levels.

Preventing Mold in the Future

The best defense against mold is prevention. Here are some tips to help keep your property mold-free:

Fix plumbing leaks immediately

Use exhaust fans in bathrooms and kitchens

Keep indoor humidity below 50%

Ensure proper drainage around your home

Clean and dry areas affected by water within 24 hours

Use mold-resistant drywall and insulation in vulnerable areas

Regular inspections and maintenance go a long way in protecting your home or business.

When Should You Call a Mold Removal Professional?

You should consider calling in professionals if:

You see visible mold covering a large area (greater than 10 square feet)

Mold keeps returning after repeated cleaning

There's a musty odor, but no visible mold

You or your family experience unexplained health symptoms

There's been a recent flood, roof leak, or burst pipe

Trying to handle a large mold problem yourself can be risky and ineffective. A certified mold remediation expert will ensure the job is done safely and thoroughly.

Final Thoughts

Mold may be common, but it should never be ignored. Whether you’re dealing with a small patch in your bathroom or a widespread infestation after water damage, mold removal services play a critical role in maintaining a safe, healthy, and structurally sound property. By acting quickly and trusting qualified professionals, you can protect your investment and the well-being of those who live or work in your space.