#everyone needs parameters and to be checked

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ 24

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. -> all chapters

Twenty-four.

One day you happen to notice the parameters of your internet connection seem to have changed. You were able to access things like news sites and youtube before, but not your email or any kind of social media where you could reach out to someone.

You’re not sure when all that changed, but you find you’re actually able to log into your email.  

There is so much junk mail in your inbox your head hurts. 

Even more curious, you try Facebook. 

There are a handful of messages from your friends, wondering when you’ll be coming home. You’ve stayed past the limit of your visa now, and you just kind of assumed Donaka must have taken care of that for you. You don’t know what to say, and you’re certain Donaka will be able to check on your activity somehow, so you ignore them for now. It weighs like a stone in your belly, but there’s nothing for it. The last post you made was on your birthday, a picture of the Night Market and thanking everyone for their well wishes. 

It feels like a lifetime ago, now.  

You also notice that a certain ex-boyfriend has been blowing up your messages, asking to meet up since he sees you’re in Asia. Something else you don’t dare pursue, even to tell him off, though seeing his self-assured words makes you feel sick in a very different way. You’d think you would have noticed the signs of a true narcissist early on, considering your mother, but you’d stayed with him far longer than you should have because you’d been stupidly in love with the man he was when things were good.

You think back on his temper tantrums, fantastic rages that would come out of the blue, and the way he used to scream at you, even in public, for some imagined infraction. At first you’d worried he was ill, but eventually you realized there was nothing you could do. Suggesting he might seek help resulted in a terrifying fight. Notifying his family was only met with silence. 

Do you just have a high tolerance for pain–or terrible taste in men?

Who knew it could be considered a lucky stroke, when you’d walked in on him making out with another backpacker in the hostel in Kathmandu? You’d been crushed at the time, but it gave you the kick you needed to part from him. You flew home not long after, but the Asia bug had bitten. It wasn’t long before you were headed to Hong Kong to teach English. 

Interesting, how all that has turned out for you.  

You decide to scroll through your feed, at least seeing what everyone else has been up to. You’ve reached a point in your life where more than half your friends are posting baby pictures over artsy food snaps or travel albums. You’re happy for them, but…there’s a mean little part of you that not only finds it extremely tedious–you’re pretty sure they do too, and they are desperately trying to convince themselves that they’re not bored out of their minds. 

You scroll a little more, and find something that’s finally interesting. In fact…it makes you laugh out loud. 

You see a series of plaintive [self-righteous whining] posts detailing how someone hacked your ex-boyfriend’s bank account, draining it completely and leaving him stranded in New Delhi. Even funnier–to you, at least–after his Mommy Dearest who always enabled him wired him some money to tide him over, he was mugged outside his hotel, and his passport was stolen. It’s a traveler’s worst nightmare, but god, he fucking deserved it. You are cackling evilly in your chair in the library, practically kicking your feet, for a good ten minutes before the possibility dawns on you: did Donaka arrange that? 

Suddenly…you’re not sure if it’s funny, or frightening. 

Did Donaka adjust your internet access just so you could see this?

Was he telling you that no one is beyond his reach, no matter what country they’re in? 

Was it all a test, to see if you would email your family for help?

Are you reading into all of this way too much? 

In the end it all leaves you bitter, so in a small act of defiance you post one of your flower pictures from Victoria Park on the Peak. You’re smart enough not to upload the pic of you and Donaka. The one you choose is a pink oleander bloom. A poisonous plant, you happen to know. All of Hong Kong is spread out below it, her tall buildings and blue harbor. You caption it: On top of the world. 

You reckon Donaka will like that, and at least your friends will know you’re alive. Your family too, if they care to look. 

Somehow, you doubt they’ve even noticed you’re gone. 

Your cheeky pièce de résistance is changing your relationship status to ‘It’s complicated’. 

Later that evening, with Donaka’s lips on your neck and his cock stuffing you full he asks darkly, “What’s complicated about this, bunny? You’re mine, and you love it.”

On the cusp of your second orgasm of the night, your flesh delectably tender from his lips and teeth and greedy hands upon you, you’re not sure you can even argue. 

all chapters

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As someone who watched last night’s episode, you had the right idea to stop.

Why’s it so bad

Because Tim Minear is a power-drunk hack.

[phantomrose96]

The conversation around AI is going to get away from us quickly because people lack the language to distinguish types of AI--and it's not their fault. Companies love to slap "AI" on anything they believe can pass for something "intelligent" a computer program is doing. And this muddies the waters when people want to talk about AI when the exact same word covers a wide umbrella and they themselves don't know how to qualify the distinctions within.

I'm a software engineer and not a data scientist, so I'm not exactly at the level of domain expert. But I work with data scientists, and I have at least rudimentary college-level knowledge of machine learning and linear algebra from my CS degree. So I want to give some quick guidance.

What is AI? And what is not AI?

So what's the difference between just a computer program, and an "AI" program? Computers can do a lot of smart things, and companies love the idea of calling anything that seems smart enough "AI", but industry-wise the question of "how smart" a program is has nothing to do with whether it is AI.

A regular, non-AI computer program is procedural, and rigidly defined. I could "program" traffic light behavior that essentially goes { if(light === green) { go(); } else { stop();} }. I've told it in simple and rigid terms what condition to check, and how to behave based on that check. (A better program would have a lot more to check for, like signs and road conditions and pedestrians in the street, and those things will still need to be spelled out.)

An AI traffic light behavior is generated by machine-learning, which simplistically is a huge cranking machine of linear algebra which you feed training data into and it "learns" from. By "learning" I mean it's developing a complex and opaque model of parameters to fit the training data (but not over-fit). In this case the training data probably includes thousands of videos of car behavior at traffic intersections. Through parameter tweaking and model adjustment, data scientists will turn this crank over and over adjusting it to create something which, in very opaque terms, has developed a model that will guess the right behavioral output for any future scenario.

A well-trained model would be fed a green light and know to go, and a red light and know to stop, and 'green but there's a kid in the road' and know to stop. A very very well-trained model can probably do this better than my program above, because it has the capacity to be more adaptive than my rigidly-defined thing if the rigidly-defined program is missing some considerations. But if the AI model makes a wrong choice, it is significantly harder to trace down why exactly it did that.

Because again, the reason it's making this decision may be very opaque. It's like engineering a very specific plinko machine which gets tweaked to be very good at taking a road input and giving the right output. But like if that plinko machine contained millions of pegs and none of them necessarily correlated to anything to do with the road. There's possibly no "if green, go, else stop" to look for. (Maybe there is, for traffic light specifically as that is intentionally very simplistic. But a model trained to recognize written numbers for example likely contains no parameters at all that you could map to ideas a human has like "look for a rigid line in the number". The parameters may be all, to humans, meaningless.)

So, that's basics. Here are some categories of things which get called AI:

"AI" which is just genuinely not AI

There's plenty of software that follows a normal, procedural program defined rigidly, with no linear algebra model training, that companies would love to brand as "AI" because it sounds cool.

Something like motion detection/tracking might be sold as artificially intelligent. But under the covers that can be done as simply as "if some range of pixels changes color by a certain amount, flag as motion"

2. AI which IS genuinely AI, but is not the kind of AI everyone is talking about right now

"AI", by which I mean machine learning using linear algebra, is very good at being fed a lot of training data, and then coming up with an ability to go and categorize real information.

The AI technology that looks at cells and determines whether they're cancer or not, that is using this technology. OCR (Optical Character Recognition) is the technology that can take an image of hand-written text and transcribe it. Again, it's using linear algebra, so yes it's AI.

Many other such examples exist, and have been around for quite a good number of years. They share the genre of technology, which is machine learning models, but these are not the Large Language Model Generative AI that is all over the media. Criticizing these would be like criticizing airplanes when you're actually mad at military drones. It's the same "makes fly in the air" technology but their impact is very different.

3. The AI we ARE talking about. "Chat-gpt" type of Generative AI which uses LLMs ("Large Language Models")

If there was one word I wish people would know in all this, it's LLM (Large Language Model). This describes the KIND of machine learning model that Chat-GPT/midjourney/stablediffusion are fueled by. They're so extremely powerfully trained on human language that they can take an input of conversational language and create a predictive output that is human coherent. (I am less certain what additional technology fuels art-creation, specifically, but considering the AI art generation has risen hand-in-hand with the advent of powerful LLM, I'm at least confident in saying it is still corely LLM).

This technology isn't exactly brand new (predictive text has been using it, but more like the mostly innocent and much less successful older sibling of some celebrity, who no one really thinks about.) But the scale and power of LLM-based AI technology is what is new with Chat-GPT.

This is the generative AI, and even better, the large language model generative AI.

(Data scientists, feel free to add on or correct anything.)

[123ohwell]

LEVERAGE GRIFT TRACKER

I FINISHED SEASON 1! Shoutout to @grandma-waldo for the idea

Extra details in the parameters and the job list. I kept a list of all grifts in order they occur through season 1. If I thought about it before hand I would have draw a line between each episode but oh well hindsight and all that.

Any questions? Yes I welcome them and I'll try to answer them. Want to know why I split something? Just ask - there was definitely an overthought process to my madness. Any ideas on adjusting job titles? I want to hear it please. I invested too much in this lol but it's been fun.

Season 1 was tough in trying to decide what the jobs would be while trying to keep them broad and trying to think so I wouldn't need to add anymore come later seasons . Also me and excel nearly got into a fight.

I'm going to do the rest of the show but that will be slow coming. When I figure out how to make a master list with links, I'll make one. Since this is like my 4th post on the topic and there will be a bunch more to come

Surprises and Revelations

- Hardison grifts in intense spurts

- there was only 1 real royalty grift in season 1??? And it was hardison?? But there were 5 Southern Belle/Beau grifts

- Sophie was the first athelete?? Ik I already posted that but it still shocked me (Olympic luge)

- Parker interacts with people more than most of the team - she thieves in the shadows but she talks to people often as a misdirection

- FBI and just an ordinary person (Civilian) were the most common grifts of season 1 > not surprised since everyone played FBI in pilot part 2

- runner up was The Damsel. Plenty of times the team did the Damsel and Damsel's Knight grift together as a misdirection. But going "oh no I need help" to a stranger/mark was more popular

- Hardison and Parker were the most likely to play the Damsel card

(Sidenote: i thought about wanting to know all the scams the team calls out in the show. "Burn scam" "the cherry pie" etc. But I think someone has already made a list but I can't find it. Also my family might kill me if I restart the show - again. I was already getting side eyes for skipping back a few seconds to check out who was grifting when I wasn't paying attention)

If you've read this far! Thank you! Hope you have a great week!

[cece693]

Hothead

pairing: steve rogers x male reader tags: reader is an avenger, weird relationship dynamics, people think you're bad news, Steve sees the opposite, proving people wrong, hurt Steve, but reader tends to him and comforts him

You stride into the briefing room with a chip on your shoulder, ready to butt heads with whoever decides to question your methods today. Tony throws you a quick glance, eyebrows raised in contempt—or maybe curiosity. Clint, seated backward on a chair, eyes you warily. Natasha merely tightens her jaw and shifts in her seat. Bruce goes quiet, trying not to ruffle your feathers. And Thor, well, he’s half-amused but uncertain. After all, you’re not exactly known for your subtlety.

In truth, you don’t blame them for looking. By now, the Avengers had time to know you: you’re the hotheaded guy who’d rather slug first and ask questions later. The one who’ll bark at a helpless agent for misfiling paperwork or curse at an enemy mid-battle with no shame. No one can figure it out—why in the world did Steve Rogers, the ultimate golden boy, choose you of all people?

He’s not here yet, so you stand alone in your corner, arms crossed, lips set in a firm line. Fury’s voice drones on about mission updates and tactical readiness, but you hardly listen. You’ve already memorized the mission parameters on the flight here. You’re scanning the room for threats, evaluating every inch. To the untrained eye, you’re on edge, maybe just itching for a confrontation. The team sees the tension brimming beneath your stance.

It’s only when you feel a steady hand come to rest lightly on your arm that you uncross your arms. Steve appears beside you, the warmth of his palm pressing through the fabric of your uniform. He doesn’t say a word—doesn’t have to. Your glare softens. If anyone notices, they pretend not to. But you’ve learned how to be subtle for him.

You’re both exhausted when you touch down after the mission, battered and bruised. You had insisted on being the decoy, drawing enemy fire, because you handle force better than most. You’d never share this, but you did it so Steve wouldn’t have to. He’s strong—beyond strong—but you’ve never shaken your protective streak.

The rest of the team fans out. Everyone’s too drained to talk, but the confusion is still there. More than one pair of eyes lingers on you as you carefully loop Steve’s arm around your shoulder, guiding him to sit on a bench in the hangar. The second he’s down, your hands are on his face, tilting it up gently to assess the bruise blossoming along his cheekbone. “Stevie,” you murmur, the syllables so low that the others almost miss them, “Does it hurt too bad?”

He gives you a small smile. “I’m alright. Just need some ice.”

Your brow furrows. Gone is your scowl from earlier—no arrogance, no fists clenched, nothing of the raging storm you usually are. Instead, there’s only concern, your thumb brushing the bruise with trembling care. The hush that falls over the rest of the Avengers is deafening. “Stay put,” you say quietly, your voice gruff. “Don’t move.”

He nods, trusting you. You stalk away to grab an ice pack, ignoring everyone else. When you return, you kneel in front of Steve, pressing the cool compress to his cheek. Your free hand drifts to the back of his neck, softly coaxing him closer, checking for other injuries. “You’re such a brat,” Steve teases under his breath, but there’s unmissable fondness in his tone.

"You like that about me,” you quip. And the corners of his lips curve into a warmer smile.

Steve gently pats your hand where it’s wrapped around the ice pack. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

You don’t respond at first. You just nod, focusing on the cut above his eyebrow that’s starting to bleed. You rummage through a makeshift first-aid kit, dabbing at his wound with a gauze pad. The lines between your brows deepen every time he flinches. Finally, you speak, low enough that the words are almost lost: “I’m always here, Rogers.”

The rest of the team stands by, silent observers to your quiet exchange. Every so often, Tony exchanges looks with Clint or Bruce. No one expected you, the loudmouth with fists perpetually clenched, to be so gentle. The sweet murmur of “Stevie” just doesn’t match the image they have of you threatening an enemy on the battlefield mere hours ago.

When you finish, you wipe your hands on your pant leg and place a careful, feather-light kiss on Steve’s knuckles. You do it unthinkingly—he’s still trembling a bit, adrenaline coursing through his body. In that soft touch, the Avengers finally see it. They realize you may wear rough edges on the outside, but it’s purely the armor you put up to keep those you care about safe.

Steve, with a smile lighting his face, reaches up and cups your cheek. “Thanks,” he says again, and in that moment, the rest of the team witnesses a warmth in your eyes they never imagined was there.

“Take it easy, Cap,” you say. Your voice drops so no one else can hear, but your words catch the edges of Tony’s hearing regardless. “I love you, you know that?”

Steve’s eyes sparkle, and he presses his forehead gently against yours, relieved. “I know,” he murmurs back, “and I love you too.”

At a respectful distance, Natasha and Clint exchange glances. Bruce glances at Tony, who just offers a slight shrug. The legendary Captain America had fallen for a man with grit and fire, a man so different from him that it left them all baffled. Yet here you are, devoted and steady, unafraid to bare that tenderness when it counts.

Tony can’t help but grin a little. Leaning over to Clint, he mutters, “Well, guess there’s more to him than a bad attitude and a mean right hook.”

Clint only shrugs. “Steve sees it, and that’s enough.” And it is. Because in the end, for Steve Rogers, you’ll always be the one who keeps him safe, wipes his wounds clean, and whispers the gentlest words in the quiet aftermath of chaos—and no one can deny how right that looks on you.

[sschizoid]

Hello :3 may I pretty please request like, hcs of the tulpar crew traveling together?

I mean imagine this, they gather all their last paychecks from Pony Express and decide a place to go, how, what to see...etc

I just think I'd have some fun dynamics

omg hehe this ask has so much room for fun interpretation, like where are they going, how they're getting there, etc. but I think I'm gonna narrow this down tooooo badadadadadadadadum AIRPORT! where they're going is up to you!

-- curly

he's what you would call an Airport Dad™. wakes up EARLY to pack everything into the car and to pick everyone else up. keeps worrying that they're going to be late but they end up arriving 3 hours before boarding

overpacks. has a checked luggage just barely within weight parameters, as well as a carry-on AND a backpack. he packs for every scenario, every weather type, every activity

he's the one that bought everybody's ticket and holds onto them for safekeeping. he's also got one of those airline SkyMile credit cards, so he got everyone a pretty good deal regarding expenses!

brought one of those neck pillows since he gets stiff pretty easily when sitting down for too long. also brought one of those cooling eye masks and comfy socks. bro is the plane equivalent of a passenger princess

jimmy

he was still sleeping when curly got to his house. oh also he forgot to pack the night before, so he makes everyone wait in the car for 30 extra minutes while he takes his sweet ass time shoving random shit into a backpack

probably the least traveled of the group. his family never took vacations when he was growing up, so the furthest he's been from home is just a state or two, and even then it was just for work and not leisure

takes up as much space as humanly possible, stretching his legs, spreading his elbows wide, etc. if the person sitting next to him tries to ask for a bit more space, he puts on headphones after the fact then pretends he doesn't hear them

definitely the type to glare at the mother of a crying baby in hopes of making her feel embarrassed or ashamed

anya

super forgetful and cannot remember if she packed toiletries or not. oh god, what about socks? did she pack socks ??? ends up spending $50 on various airport-priced items just in case

lowkey really scared of flying. she's done it tons of times before but still white-knuckle clenches the armrests during takeoff

brings lots of books. this is a great time for her to catch up on the reading she's been putting off with all of her work and schooling

never gets to reading said books, and instead sleeps like a log the whole trip. she's tired !!

swansea

was the only person ready in time when curly came around to pick everyone up. like, standing outside on the porch, bags at his feet ready

waits 20 minutes in line for coffee, but when he gets to the front and sees that a 12oz black drip is $5 he turns around and walks away. complains about airport prices for the next few hours, talking about "highway robbery" until they're finally boarded

"remember to pop your ears, you'll get a headache if you don't"

aisle seat. NEEDS an aisle seat. if the ticket curly bought him isn't in the aisle, he'll shamelessly ask other passengers to switch with him. he likes the extra leg room and ease of access to the bathroom

daisuke

makes the metal detector go off multiple times. "oops, forgot my belt!" BEEP "oh, man, that's probably my keys, sorry." BEEP "oh shit, my phone!" BEEP "waitwaitwait hold on hold on—"

his goal is to be that one person you see in passing at the airport that is just the most beautiful stranger you've ever seen. his hair? styled. his skin? dewy. his fit? fun, colorful, and literally insane for the setting. he dresses to impress!

checking out all the shops and food options before boarding, just straight wandering off without saying anything. comes back 20 min later with a keychain that says "I LEFT MY ❤��� AT ______ INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT" because he thinks its funny as fuck

insists he take the window seat but keeps the curtain closed the entire flight because the sun is casting a glare on his handheld

--

THANK UUUU for your request, I hope this is sufficient! if anyone else has any requests; my asks are open !! ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊωˋ )ଓ⁾⁾

[fuck-customers]

I caught a coworker of mine, who has been causing everyone in the department (and also upper management) all sorts of problems for literal years, using managerial permissions to commit fraud.

I wouldn't have thought to pay attention if she wasn't a shifty jerk, and I probably wouldn't have cared if her pulling stuff like this didn't frequently and consistently cause problems for myself and my other coworkers. She's tried to throw all of us under the bus for her nonsense at least once.

The issue is, nobody has been able to prove she's doing it. She invents sale prices, voids things she shouldn't, steals and scalps merchandise, gives special discounts to her friends, etc. But "nothing" could be "proven" (aka our loss prevention department never bothered because they'd rather chase down innocent shoppers who look suitably shaggy or dirty or not white, which is a whole other story).

Well. I finally managed to get proof. Photos, a date and time to check the cameras, even a reprinted receipt of the transaction with her name on it, plus pictures of the indicated merchandise to prove she more than halved the price of high–ticket items in addition to what their actual sale was.

So explain to me why the loss prevention manager is telling me that what I submitted literally does not COUNT as proof? Spending two minutes on the camera to confirm will show that it happened, AND that the customers she rang up set off the door alarm. A door that was supposed to be locked to customers at the time, that she opened specifically for them, presumably so they wouldn't get receipt–checked at our open door. It would also show all the voids she rang up that should have demanded an override, but didn't, meaning she used her own override to authorize the changes.

I'm not sure what to do besides escalate, because that employee needs to go. Everyone agrees that she does. But I'm worried that doing so will just mark me as the problem employee between the two of us. Even the managers don't care, and are letting her still work the registers.

I should quit. This isn't the first time things have been swept under the rug that should have been dealt with, in favor of harassing employees who work hard and work beyond their position's pay or parameters. But anything that's available means either a big cut in pay, or just dealing with the same issues somewhere else.

I hate working somewhere that prefers keeping mean, dishonest people happy over respecting people who don't pose an active liability to the company (fuck capitalism and all that, but it's still annoying when I get punished for stupid stuff all the time while she gets managerial responsibilities and frames people and steals)

Posted by admin Rodney

[crystalas]

The Dad Alliance part 2

Eclipse was catching up on Parts and Service paper work and emails while keeping an eye on the boys’ readings, things seem to looking good with nothing outside of expected parameters.  He paused for a moment when he noticed that Andy’s stress levels were spiking and then he got a warning of mild abrasions on his legs and arms.

“Huh?” he muttered he better check on that, might just be some rough play.

Then he heard it.

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!”

Eclipse did not realise he was moving until he found himself vaulting over a fence to follow Andy’s voice. There he found Jake and Andrew huddled together and a Moon Model Halloween decoration walking away with Andy over their shoulder with the poor kid looking like he was about to have a panic attack.

“GET YOUR HALLOWEEN REJECTED LOOKING ASS AWAY FROM MY KIDS!” he roared. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Solar and Sun were standing nearby happily watching Dazzle as she ran around cooing over the castle before declaring that she will the princess of the forest and clambered inside to stake her birthright. Sun checked their cooler to make sure that they had everything for their picnic before pulling out two sodas and handing one to Solar.

“This is nice” Solar said. “I can see why you do this often with Dazzle”

“Heh, yeah Jack looked like he was having fun though we might need to tell him that he can’t climb up the trees with his dagger hands” Sun said.

“Or jump up on equipment, I’m going to have to check to see if the bridge’s brackets are ok after that…” Solar mused.

“None of that, we are having a family day out. You are not on the clock” Sun declared.

“Says the guy monitoring the children in the castle play area?”

“I help one kid find their mummy…” Sun began only to see Solar give him a look “Look being a responsible parent is different from being on the job. We can inform the park owners if it looks like Jack’s damaged anything ok?”

“Ok” they both took a sip of their soda and enjoyed the relaxed playful atmosphere of the park, for a grand total of two minutes.

“GET YOUR HALLOWEEN REJECTED LOOKING ASS AWAY FROM MY KIDS!” they heard someone roar and Solar sighed giving the soda back to Sun.

“That’ll be my son” he sighed wearily “Better get Dazzle in case we are going to be evicted from the premises” Sun smiled sadly and turned towards the castle. Solar followed Jack’s tracker to the big play structure to see a very strange sight, Eclipse holding a boy who was hugging him like he was a life preserver on open ocean, two boys huddled behind him and Jack standing there looking very confused. Even stranger was Eclipse seem to be comforting said clinging boy.

“I…I thought…he was gonna…gonna take me away…” the boy said between shaky breathes “I thought I was gonna…be…t…tra...trapped again…I don’t wanna…not again…please not again…”

“You’re safe, just breathe can you breathe for me? You need to let your systems cool down, ok?” Eclipse said softly one hand rubbing the boys back in a soothing pattern. “Now listen to me…” the boy looked up at him.

“I am NOT losing any of you again do you hear me? Did you really think after everything I haven’t put precautions in place in case you got taken? Let me tell you something I have twelve plans in place if anything happened to any of you, fourteen more for if you were taken off world. Each of you have an interdimensional tracker placed in your bodies, you could be on the other side of the multi-verse and I will still find you” he explained.

“I’m sorry” the boy blubbered.

“You’re okay, everyone is okay” he then glared at Jack. “Now what the hell is your problem? Why did you grab him?”

“I wanted to ask questions!” Jack exclaimed.

“By manhandling him?!”

“He kept running away!”

“Cos you were scaring him!”

“Not my fault!!!”

“Jack!” Solar called out and Jack turned to him,

“Hi DAD!” he declared happily.

“Can you please tell me what happened?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dazzle had clambered into the castle giggling with glee at all the pretty carvings on the wall showing fairies, flowers, and all sort of forest creatures. She looked around and saw a throne and beamed happily already imagining the fantastic adventures Princess Daring Deer and her Pumpkin Knight could do.

“Oooh this castle is so pretty!” she heard someone coo and saw a black and white puppet walk in and rub one of the carvings she then turned to Dazzle. “Heeeeeey!”

Dazzle waved shyly.

“My name is Charlie what’s yours?”

“My name is Dazzle; I like your hair it’s all sparkly”

“Why thank you” she beamed putting her hand through her hair “I like your ribbons”

“Wanna play?” Dazzle asked.

“Yeah!”

“Ok I was thinking princesses and knights my friend Jack was gonna be the knight but he went off somewhere…” Dazzle explained.

“My dad…well not my real dad he’s my adoptive dad said that Princesses don’t really have any power in royal courts they’re kinda just there to be married off and look pretty…” Charlie said “We could be queens! They can do all sort of important stuff!”

“Yeah, but we can’t both be queens!” Dazzle retorted.

“Then I won’t be a queen I’ll be…your court magician!” Charlie declared.

“Yeah, I like that! That sounds cool”

“But I can only do pretend cos Eclipse says I’m not allowed to do magic without an adult around” Charlie stated 

“Pretend is just as good!”  Dazzle exclaimed “Wait you can do magic too?”

“Yeah. Can you do magic?”

“No but my daddy can!”

Charlie perked up at that, she had not heard of anyone else capable with magic so maybe this was her chance to she could find a teacher! That would one less thing for Eclipse to worry about and that would make him less grumpy!

“GET YOUR HALLOWEEN REJECTED LOOKING ASS AWAY FROM MY KIDS!” she heard Eclipse roar, speaking of grumpy she thought I better go see what that was about.

“Dazzle!” a voice called and Sun crawled in “Hey sweetie can you come with me for a minute?”

“Sunshine what are you doing here?” Charlie asked.

“Sunshine?” the Sunny Model replied.

“Never mind I have to go cos I think Eclipse is mad at someone”

“Eclipse?!”

And with that Charlie teleported away, leaving a very confused Sun and an amazed Dazzle.

“She really could do magic!” Dazzle gasped.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, Dazzle mentioned that they were like her so you just decided to kidnap them?” Solar said trying to keep his composure after Jack just happily admitted in a public area that he wanted to take a child away for questioning.

“I was going to bring them to Sun and see if they were a relative” Jack stated, “They could be siblings or cousins to Dazzle, I needed to confirm with Sun”

Andy had calmed down at this point but was keeping a firm grip on Eclipse’s arm, the other boys were now just watching out of curiosity and to see if Eclipse was still going to rip this Jack o’ Moon a new one.

“There are better ways of going about that Jack you should have come to us first, now I think you need to do something don’t you?” Solar declared his arms crossed and giving him the dreaded dad look of disappointment.

“Okay…” he mumbled before walking over to Andy and Eclipse and knelt so he looked as non-threatening as possible. “I am sorry for scaring you, I was only going to ask you a question but then you started running and I thought we were playing tag… I did not mean to frighten you.”

“You’re not going to take me away?” Andy asked.

“What? No!” Jack cried out. “I mean it would depend on the circumstances, like if you were in danger or something!”

“Did you call that Eclipse guy your dad?” Jake asked.

“That guy is Solar” Eclipse exclaimed loudly. “And no, we are not related, he is a dimensional variant of me”

Sun and Dazzle then came running up and Jack skittered over to her.

“So, are we getting kicked out?” Sun asked.

“Aaaw Daddy, I want to stay here for a little while longer, we didn’t even get to have our picnic!” Dazzle cried out pulling at Sun’s jumper.

“Daddy?” Eclipse demanded looking at Jack and Dazzle and then at Sun and Solar. “Never thought you were the sort to want kids of your own, then again you did have a habit of never separating your home and work life” he chuckled, but before he could comment further Charlie suddenly appeared albeit on top of the swing set.

“Heeeeeey Eclipse, I heard you shouting everything okay?” she asked, Sun ran over gave a worried yelp before helping her down and Charlie smiled happily at him in thanks. She then saw Dazzle and the boys; Charlie tilted her head as she looked at Dazzle and then at her brothers giving each group a good stare.

“I thought so you’re a ghost kid too ain’t ya Dazzle?” she exclaimed happily.

“How did you…” Sun stuttered.

“I have super powers I can sense ghosts and stuff!” Charlie declared proudly.

“Wait a second…you said Dazzle is a ghost kid too. That would imply there are others” Solar said cautiously with Sun and Solar now staring at Eclipse with a silent demand for answers, Eclipse stared right back with no intention of giving the two anything.

“Okay you caught us; me, Andy and Jake are ghost kids happy?” Andrew declared in annoyance.

“Andrew!” Eclipse snapped.

“What? They have one of their own, they can’t give you any shit over it unless they want their own kid to be taken away” the boy stated calmly.

“He has a point dad” Jack admitted.

“Okay let’s start things over” Sun declared clapping his hands once to get everyone’s attention. “I’m Sun, this is Solar. The one that chased you and is very sorry about doing so is Jack and the faun and totally not a ghost kid is Dazzle”

“I’m Jake this one is Andrew and the one holding on to Eclipse is Andy, and Charlie is the black and white magic puppet we are also totally not ghost kids” Jake said pointing to each of them in turn.

“Are you guys like triplets? Which one is evil one?” Jack asked bluntly causing Solar to give a soft groan of embarrassment.

“Andrew” Jake and Andy said without hesitation to which Andrew just gave a shrug.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you all, how about in the way of an apology I treat everyone to ice cream, how does that sound?” Sun said which cause Dazzle and Charlie to bounce up and down with excitement.

“Hey if you’re paying” Eclipse muttered before looking down to Andy “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, I mean he didn’t mean to scare me so I guess I’m okay with it” Andy said softly.

“HORAY!” Jack shouted and with that they left the play area to the food court, it was not anything huge it was more aimed for people to bring picnics but there were a few food shacks one of which sold locally sourced ice-cream.

“So, what flavours does everyone want?” Sun asked cheerfully but paused and looked to Eclipse “Do they have any allergies I need to know about?”

“Not that I know about” he murmured.

“Can we even eat?” Jake asked.

“Let me check, hey Solar how is your stomach? Any issues?” Eclipse demanded, Solar who was reading out the options to Jack turned to look at him confused.

“Fine…why do you ask?”

“Then yeah you guys are able to eat, there shouldn’t be any problems” Eclipses said to Jake, he beamed happily at Eclipse before trotting off to go with Sun and the other to make their orders.

“Why did you ask me though?”

“I used you as a prototype for a working nano stomach in case I ever needed another source of energy.” He explained and Solar gave an angry growl.

“Why am I not surprised you used me as a guinea pig?” he growled.

“Consider it payment for bringing you back from the dead, given the circumstances you got a pretty good deal!”

There was an awkward silence between the two as the watch the others get their ice cream.

“So…Jack calls you dad and Dazzle calls Sun Daddy?” Eclipse asked.

“Yup”

“Never thought you were the sort to start a family, didn’t think Sun was your type either” he smirked.

“Oh, fuck off!” Solar snarled “it’s not like that!”

“Suuure” Eclipse chuckled.

“What about you? I can’t wait to hear the explanation as to why you have brought three boys and a child puppet to an adventure park!” Solar demanded, with that Eclipse just glared off into the distance.

“I did not adopt them; I did not take them they just…I don’t know came to me and before I knew it, I was looking after them. It all started when Andrew showed up and demanded I made him a body, I then found Andy and Jake stuck inside our dimension’s version of Stitch Wraith and well…Charlie is her own long story.” He grumbled watching each kid excitedly get their ice cream and Sun herding them back towards them. “Why did Sun ask if any of them had allergies? Their ghosts, not like they are going to die of an allergic reaction.”

“You’d be surprised” Solar said, “We found out that sometimes a soul will still react to those stimuli, Dazzle is like that with peanuts. Even though she does not have lungs she would still start wheezing and struggle to breathe if she eats anything with peanuts in it. God poor Sun was so freaked out that day”

“How does that work?” Eclipse asked his scientific mind and concerned father instincts both demanding more information.

“My guess, either she was constantly told that peanuts were bad for her or she might have had an extremely bad reaction when she was younger and it just stuck with her so much it imprinted not only on her mind but her soul as well. Which tracks when you think of how ghosts tend to cling to stuff from their previous lives.” Solar explained. “And as much as Moon and I would love to study that phenomena further Sun would kill us if we tried.”

“A pity”

“Look Eclipse I got a strawberry and cream cone!” Charlie declared showing him the said treat “It’s got bits of actual strawberry in it!”

“Nice” he said, he noted that Andy and Andrew both got chocolate mint and Jake got caramel, Dazzle was already tucking into her vanilla ice cream that was coated in rainbow sprinkles and Jack had something purple?

“Look Dad I got lavender ice cream!” Jack explained as Sun handed Solar his ice cream as well.

“Sounds…tasty?”

“Turns out the ice cream makers here like to experiment now and again” Sun stated before handing Eclipse a vanilla ice cream who took it tentatively. They all sat down watching the world go by eating their treats while all three solar models thinking about how weird their lives had turned out despite their completely different views on life and roads they have taken in said lives they had somehow all ended up adopting kids and finding themselves here, now united by their kids love to climb on stuff and eat frozen treats. If you had asked Sun if he could see himself sitting with Eclipse eating an ice cream two years ago, he would have probably slapped you.

But now…

“Andrew what’s wrong?” Dazzle asked quietly “Why are you crying?”

That got Eclipse’s attention and he turned to see Andrew hunched over trying to hide the fact that he had tears streaming down his face. He checked his monitoring programmes and there was no indications of pain or malfunction, he started to check all the readings to try and find the cause of the problem when Andrew spoke up quietly.

“I know it’s just ice cream…just average ice cream…but, it’s been so long since I’ve eaten anything, tasted anything…” he whispered. “I don’t know I just got really happy about it”

“That’s okay!” Dazzle chirped up and gently patted him on the back “I felt like that too after I had mac and cheese at Sun’s house”

“Yeah, I can’t believe I forgot how good food taste and feels” Jake added, this started a whole conversation about food and what their favourites were.

“My favourite is sponges!” Jack said.

“Yeah, Sponge cakes are nice, I like the chocolate fudge myself what’s your favourite flavour?” Andy asked.

“I like gristle” Jack said and no he did not elaborate.

The three dads watched this with interest, Sun and Solar happy that their kids had found like minded friends and Eclipse was now dreading the fact his kids were probably going to start asking him to cook stuff. This fear was further put in place when Charlie declared that she wanted to try Sun’s amazing Mac and Cheese to the agreement of the others.

“Well, we’ll discuss that later but right now why don’t you finish your ice creams and go play?” Solar said, Jack all but inhaled his and bounced up and down while waiting for the others to finish. Once they had they all ran off back into the play area Charlie and Dazzle planning on playing in castle and the boys playing Tag with Jack.

“Socialising is important for children’s development” Eclipse mused out-loud.

“Yup its why we came out here” Sun said.

“I would like to propose an exchange”

Solar and Sun looked at him confused as Eclipse turned to them.

“I propose that my children go to your house and try this Mac and Cheese and engage with activities with your two kids, in exchange you can bring them to my dimension and I will set up some activities for them and my children there. What time would best suit your schedules?” he said, there was a pause before Sun burst out laughing.

“What?” Eclipse demanded angrily he had tried his best to sound respectful and polite!

“You made a playdate sound like a business deal!” Sun chuckled.

“But what Sun is trying to say is that yes, we would love for Charlie and the boys to come over for a play date, and if things go well we could make it a regular thing. I can understand having four kids makes it hard to get stuff done?”

“You have no idea” Eclipse grumbled.

“So, we can make an arrangement of regular play dates so each parent gets some time to themselves, we can work out a rota later” Solar said. Eclipse thought out it, this deal would work out for him as it would give the kids times to explore stuff that he did not have the experience or knowledge in like cooked food and games and it would allow him time to work on projects that require strict concentration.

“Very well I believe this alliance can work”

“We can call it the Dad Alliance!” Sun chuckled.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Oooooh here we go. We have the cetacean “experts” joining in to justify the bad handling of Moo Deng and discrediting me/shooting the messenger because I support responsible cetacean management. Because everyone just made up their mind that you can’t give dolphins the habitat they need because “it’s not the ocean.”

But it’s apparently totally okay to give other species substandard habitats. I guess Moo Deng doesn’t really NEED to live in a jungle. Concrete is fine for her :)

Now we do know that dolphins can thrive in human care and “suffering all the time” isn’t actually the case (at least, not from this generalisation basis there can absolutely be poor welfare in bad facilities) and basically any time anyone mentions the word SeaWorld everyone loses the ability to critically think.

You know what we never do with cetaceans? Grab at and harass their babies for clout. The only time we ever interact with the calf in those early days is to check their health parameters. And it is always with active participation and consent.

It’s important that we make sure the calf is doing well, especially in those critical early days where the calf is so vulnerable. So, with positive reinforcement, we teach the mother to bring over her calf voluntarily and do a very gentle restraint to collect samples.

This is the only time we’re touching the calf. And not every facility does this either, some will stay completely hands off besides feeding the mother.

But this is how you do safe, respectful and stress free animal husbandry, actually using desensitisation and conditioning positive emotional responses to being handled:

When watching this video, keep in mind that restraining a dolphin physically with only a few people is almost impossible. This dolphin is staying with her carers because she trusts them and she has a relationship with them.

I know this dolphin and the people in this video. It’s an incredible thing to see cooperative care like this in action.

Commentary and tags like the one above goes to show how the “trust the keeper” argument is only for selective species that are being used for clout.

But trust the people who work with dolphins or orcas? Trust the people that work in dolphin welfare and who actively work to measure and improve it? No, because everyone and their dog are apparently cetacean welfare experts because they regurgitate Blackfish or the talking points of a handful of lobbyists parading as scientists.

And they’ll even use violent wording and thinly veiled death threats against keepers, justifying it with this idea that they want to “liberate” animals that they don’t have any idea about caring for.

Anyway here’s a bunch of research on dolphin welfare that supports positive welfare states in human care :)

• There are no scientific studies suggesting that dolphins in marine mammal facilities are more prone to disease than dolphins in the wild. In fact, peer-reviewed scientific studies have shown that the immune systems of wild dolphins are much more challenged than the immune systems of dolphins in human care (refs 1-2)

• Similarly, there are no scientific studies suggesting that dolphins in marine mammal facilities are any more stressed than dolphins in the wild. On the contrary, studies have shown that cortisol levels (i.e., the “stress hormone”) of dolphins in marine mammal facilities are either very similar to, or lower than, cortisol levels of wild dolphins, depending on the technique used to obtain the samples (See review in ref 3).

• Bottlenose dolphins in U.S facilities are living as long or longer than their wild counterparts (ref 4)

• Average life expectancy from 2001-2015 was 41.6 years in SeaWorld orcas, showing significant improvements in veterinary care and welfare (ref 5)

• Aggression and agonistic behaviour made up 1-2% of observed behaviours in orcas at Loro Parque, debunking claims of hyper aggression and chronic stress from supposed poor social structures. (ref 6)

(1) Ruiz, C. L., Nollens, H. H., Venn-Watson, S., Green, L. G., Wells, R. S., Walsh, M. T., ... & Jacobson, E. R. (2009). Baseline circulating immunoglobulin G levels in managed collection and free-ranging bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus). Developmental & Comparative Immunology, 33(4), 449-455.

(2) Fair, P. A., Schaefer, A. M., Houser, D. S., Bossart, G. D., Romano, T. A., Champagne, C. D., ... & Reif, J. S. (2017). The environment as a driver of immune and endocrine responses in dolphins (Tursiops truncatus). PLoS ONE, 12(5), e0176202.

(3) Proie, S. (2013). A systematic review of cortisol levels in wild and captive Atlantic bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops truncatus), killer whale, (Orcinus orca), and beluga whale (Delphinapterus leucas). MA Thesis, Evergreen State College.

(4) Jaakkola, K., & Willis, K. (2019). How long do dolphins live? Survival rates and life expectancies for bottlenose dolphins in zoological facilities vs. wild populations. Marine Mammal Science.

(5) Robeck, T. R., Willis, K., Scarpuzzi, M. R., & O’Brien, J. K. (2015). Comparisons of Life-History Parameters between Free-Ranging and Captive Killer Whale (Orcinus orca) Populations for Application Toward Species Management. Journal of Mammalogy, 96(5), 1055–1070. http://doi.org/ 10.1093/jmammal/gyv113

(6) Sánchez-Hernández, P., Krasheninnikova, A., Almunia, J., & Molina-Borja, M. (2019). Social interaction analysis in captive orcas ( Orcinus orca ) . Zoo Biology, (April), 1–11. http://doi.org/ 10.1002/zoo.21502

Positive behavioural states are demonstrated in cetaceans in human care: Peer-reviewed scientific studies show that:

• Dolphins show anticipatory behaviors before sessions of interacting with their trainers (with no food involvement). This shows they view the interactions themselves as positive. (ref 1)

• An increase in dolphin behavioral diversity and play behavior following interactive programs suggest that such programs are in fact enriching for the dolphins and add to their psychological well-being (refs 2-3).

• Dolphins observed swimming in sync with each other at zoological facilities displayed optimistic judgements in optimistic bias tests, indicating positive welfare. (ref 4)

• When given the choice, dolphins in one study showed a preference for being in a smaller pool, despite having access to larger pools, indicating that size of pool may not be influencing dolphin movement preferences. (ref 5)

(1) Clegg, I. L., Rödel, H. G., Boivin, X., & Delfour, F. (2018). Looking forward to interacting with their caretakers: dolphins’ anticipatory behaviour indicates motivation to participate in specific events. Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 202, 85-93.

(2) Miller, L. J., Mellen, J., Greer, T., & Kuczaj, S. A. (2011). The effects of education programmes on Atlantic bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) behaviour. Animal Welfare, 20, 159-172.

(3) Trone, M., Kuczaj, S., & Solangi, M. (2005). Does participation in Dolphin–Human Interaction Programs affect bottlenose dolphin behaviour? Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 93, 363-374.

(4) Clegg, I. L., Rödel, H. G., & Delfour, F. (2017). Bottlenose dolphins engaging in more social affiliative behaviour judge ambiguous cues more optimistically. Behavioural brain research, 322, 115-122.

(5) Melissa R. Shyan , David Merritt, N. M., & Kohlmeier, K. B. & J. T. (2010). Effects of Pool Size on Free- Choice Selections by Atlantic Bottlenosed Dolphins at One Zoo Facility. Journal of Applied Animal Welfare Science, 5(3), 203–213. http://doi.org/10.1207/S15327604JAWS0503

Note how this is a body of evidence from multiple sources that are being developed and complied over time. That is what science is all about.

Anyone who tells you that the science is finalised on something eg. Lori Marino and Naomi Rose insisting that the science is settled on cetacean welfare being inherently bad in human care - be very very skeptical of them. They are trying to sell you ideology over science (and they’d love for you to donate your money to their sanctuary that hasn’t passed any approval to build for 5 years)

The science is rarely “settled” on anything.

As for SeaWorld themselves, they have not published enough welfare data for us to discuss. But their animals do show signs of positive welfare states including active participation in health care and training, engagement with enrichment, ability to learn and adapt (stressed animals can’t learn complex behaviours and won’t participate in sessions), stable social structures with occasional conflict ect.

[sterekweek-2024]

Sterek Week 2024 FAQs

Event Information

About the page:

Sterek Week is a celebration of our beloved pairing Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale. It’s a week long event with daily themes meant to inspire fans to create and share their works!

The admins:

This year’s Sterek Week is brought to you by @boymeetswerewolf , @kcfriedchicken, and @halinski 

How it works:

Every day has a theme. Works must be inspired by or related to the theme. All kinds of works are accepted (fanart, fanfiction, edits, graphics, playlists, moodboards, headcanons/plotbunnies whatever you can think of!)

It just has to be Sterek 😊

All works should use the corresponding day tags so we can find them. Post on the day of theme, with the correct tag, and it will be reblogged to Sterek Week '24.

We accept late entries, so if you are running behind still post it! We continue to check the previous tags throughout the week.

Sterek Week Timeline

August 25th: The Sterek Week admins finalize this years themes

September 1st: We share the themes with you!

September 1st - October 17th: The Sterek Week admins are hard at work on the tags, art, and daily posts for Sterek Week '24

October 18th: We share the daily tags and Sterek Week '24 tag with all of you

October 25th - October 31st: STEREK WEEK TAKES PLACE

Frequently Asked Questions

Is there a word limit or format for written pieces?

Nope! We accept all lengths of works and all different kinds of works, be it drabbles, ficlets, poems, one-shots, whatever you’re comfortable with!

What about artworks, or other mediums/playlists/moodboards/edits? Are there any formats/limitations?

We just want you to be creative! As long as it’s sterek in some way and fits within parameters of the themes and guidelines, create away and tag us!

What about NSFW works?

NSFW works are accepted, we just require them to be tagged accordingly and of course, they need to be posted according to Tumblr’s guidelines, as well as any other hosting site’s.

Can I talk about my work(s)?

Yes! As long as you don’t share it before the corresponding day.

How many works can I submit?

As many as you want! We’re ecstatic about every piece!

I’m not sure my work really fits a theme./It’s not necessarily perfect/as good as others. Can I still post it?

Please do! It’s the variety that does the trick. The sheer quantity of works in the fandom is what has made and kept us so strong! Just create!

Are AI works accepted?

Based on comments and requests from last years Sterek Week, AI works will not be accepted this year. Now that being said, there are only three of us and we are only human, sometimes we don't realize something is AI. We ask that no AI works are submitted, but if we find out later that they are, we will be removing them from the blog.

We ask that if you think something is AI, you politely message us and we can look into it. Please no hounding the artists directly as we have seen a lot of false accusations in the past. We can only count on people being upfront and honest and the fandom coming together as one.

Got anymore questions/doubts/troubles?

Send us an ask! We’re all in this together 😊

We’re super excited to see what everyone creates!

-Kiley (kcfriedchicken)

[amethystarachnid]

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader. Exes Stuck Together. Tony and his controversially estranged ex (a superhero) are trapped in a small armored room while in the middle of a battle. They argue with each other at first, but eventually the atmosphere between them changes to something more gentle - Tony backs down because Reader was injured in the earlier battle. They both eventually admit that they can't escape each other. They escape the closet after arranging a coffee date. Their romance is later rekindled.

STUCK

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, some action

ᯓ★ Word count: 4k

ᯓ★ Part 2

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think?

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The moment you step into the SHIELD briefing room, you regret every single life choice that has led you here. Dim lighting, stale coffee stench, Fury standing at the head of the table like some one-eyed god of mischief—not the fun kind. And, of course, the cherry on this particular garbage sundae: Tony Stark, leaning back in his chair, boots kicked up on the table, twirling a pen between his fingers like he has all the time in the world.

You should have known. The universe is nothing if not a fan of sick jokes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the ghost of Christmas past,” Tony drawls, not even looking up. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Wait, don’t tell me—court-ordered restraining order check-in?”

Your teeth grind so hard your dentist probably feels it in his sleep. “Tony.”

He glances up then, eyes sparking with something that looks a hell of a lot like amusement. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out. Oh, wait—too late.”

Your fists clench, but before you can contemplate throwing a chair at his annoyingly perfect face, Fury clears his throat.

“Much as I’d love to watch this personal drama unfold like a bad soap opera, we’ve got work to do. So sit down, shut up, and listen.”

You drop into the seat as far from Tony as possible, though it doesn’t feel far enough. He smirks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You do your best to ignore it.

“Mission parameters,” Fury continues, tapping a tablet so the screen lights up with a dossier. “There’s a rogue arms dealer selling Stark-tech knockoffs to some very dangerous people. We need two agents who know the tech, the terrain, and, ideally, each other.”

You stiffen. You do know the tech—intimately. The terrain, sure. And Tony? Well.

Tony lets out a low whistle, crossing his arms. “So let me get this straight. You’re throwing me into a high-risk situation with my ex. The same ex who, might I remind you, has attempted to kill me at least twice—”

“Once,” you correct through gritted teeth. “And it was an accident.”

“Oh, of course. Just a little ‘whoopsie’ with a high-powered energy weapon. Happens to the best of us.”

Fury looks between you, unimpressed. “Am I gonna need to call in therapy dogs, or can you two act like professionals?”

Tony exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, boss. I’m getting some real ‘knife in my ribs while I sleep’ vibes here.”

You glare at him. “If I wanted you dead, Stark, you’d be dead.”

“Flattering.” He winks. “Almost romantic, in a ‘Fatal Attraction’ kind of way.”

Fury rubs his temples. “I already hate this.”

“Yeah?” You lean back. “Try living it.”

“Alright, enough. You two have history. You don’t like each other. Boo-hoo. But this mission is bigger than whatever unresolved sexual tension—”

“There is no—”

“—that is painfully obvious to everyone in this room.”

Tony shoots you a smug grin. You resist the urge to throw something at him.

Fury ignores both of you and taps the screen again, pulling up images of a heavily fortified compound. “The seller, Vasili Markov, operates out of this facility. We need to shut him down, recover the stolen Stark-tech, and leave no trace.”

Tony strokes his chin in mock contemplation. “Hmm. Sounds like a lot of work. And let’s be real, I do my best work solo.”

Fury levels him with a look. “You’re not solo. You’re a team.”

You and Tony exchange glances. Neither of you speaks, but the message is clear.

This is going to be a disaster.

Tony clicks his tongue. “Fine. But if she shoots me, I expect hazard pay.”

You smile sweetly. “Oh, I wouldn’t waste a bullet.”

Fury sighs. “Get out of my sight.”

Tony pushes back his chair with an exaggerated groan. “Great. Road trip with my ex. Just what I always wanted.”

You stand, arms crossed. “Try to keep up, Stark.”

He grins, sharp and easy. “Oh, sweetheart, I was born ahead of the curve.”

You turn on your heel and walk out, knowing full well he’s watching you go.

This mission already sucks, and it hasn’t even started yet.

You adjust your tactical gear in the back of the Quinjet, pretending Tony Stark isn't watching you with that infuriating smirk.

"Y'know, you never used to be this quiet," he muses, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed in a way that makes him look insufferably relaxed.

You double-check your weapons. "I learned the value of silence. Mostly from realizing you never shut up."

Tony clutches his chest dramatically. "Ouch. And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

You finally glance up at him. "Happy isn’t the word I’d use."

"Mm, well, something is the word, though," he says, tilting his head. "Because you haven’t looked at me properly since we got on this jet, and I have to say, that stings a little."

You huff, strapping your holster to your thigh. "Maybe I’m just trying to focus."

"Right. Focus. That's exactly what you said that time we got locked in my penthouse during a blackout."

Your hands still for half a second before you force yourself to keep working. "Are you seriously bringing that up now?"

Tony grins. "Well, it’s relevant. We were stuck together, a little bit of danger, a little bit of unresolved tension—remind you of anything?"

You glare at him. "If you think this mission is anything like that night, you're delusional."

"Eh, maybe." He shrugs. "But in my defense, that night ended pretty well for me."

You tighten your holster strap with a little more force than necessary. "And ended badly for me."

Tony sighs dramatically. "Yes, yes, the great escape. You fled my apartment at 4 AM like I was a one-night stand you regretted. Not my proudest moment."

You glare at him. "And yet, you keep bringing it up."

Tony leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That’s because I still don’t get it, sweetheart. One second, everything was fine, and the next, you were gone."

Before you can answer, the Quinjet's systems signal arrival. The autopilot activates stealth mode, and the mission briefing flashes across the display.

Saved by the mission.

You press a hand to your earpiece, switching into full focus mode. "We’re almost there. Keep it professional, Stark."

Tony watches you for a second longer, then nods. But there’s something in his eyes that says this conversation isn’t over.

And you’re not sure if you hate or want that.

It’s a disaster from the moment you enter the facility.

The alarms shouldn’t have gone off yet, but they do. The guards shouldn’t have been this prepared, but they are. Within minutes, the entire compound is in full lockdown.

"Well," Tony says, firing off a repulsor blast, "so much for a quiet mission."

You duck behind cover as bullets shred through the walls. "This was your plan!"

"Hey, statistically, at least 40% of my plans work out!"

"And the other 60%?"

"...are fun learning experiences."

You roll your eyes, taking out two guards in quick succession. But the numbers keep coming, and even with Tony's firepower, you're being backed into a corner.

"We need to get to the control room," you say. "If we can override the security, we can get out of here."

Tony scans the layout with his suit. "Way ahead of you. There’s a passage up ahead—"

Before he can finish, an explosion rocks the building. The floor crumbles beneath you.

You fall.

You hit the ground hard, dust and debris filling the air. Somewhere near you, Tony groans. The room is small, metal walls reinforced with no windows. One heavy door.

You’re trapped.

Again.

Tony’s voice filters through the dust. "You okay?"

You grit your teeth. "Peachy."

His suit whirs as he sits up. "Well, look at that. Trapped together in a tiny armored room. Just like old times."

You push yourself up, ignoring the sharp sting in your side. "This is nothing like old times."

Tony shrugs. "It’s got all the elements—tight space, unresolved sexual tension, the looming threat of death…"

You shoot him a glare and try to focus on the door. "Help me get this open."

Tony sighs, pressing a hand to his suit. "Bad news—systems are glitching from the blast. Can’t scan, can’t blast through yet."

You grit your teeth. "Of course."

"So," Tony says, crossing his arms. "Wanna fight or make out while we wait?"

You groan. "I hate you."

"See, that’s where you keep confusing me," he says, tilting his head. "Because if you really hated me, you wouldn’t look at me like that."

Your jaw clenches. "Like what?"

"Like you miss me."

Your breath catches for half a second before you shut it down. "You're delusional."

"Maybe," he says softly. "But I’m also right."

You shake your head, pressing a hand against the wall to steady yourself. The pain in your side flares up, and you bite back a wince.

Tony doesn't miss it.

His teasing fades instantly. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"Don’t lie to me."

You exhale through your nose, turning away. "It's nothing."

Tony's voice is quieter now, but insistent. "How bad?"

You don’t answer.

That’s all he needs.

He steps closer, and you try to ignore the warmth of him near you. "Let me see."

"Tony—"

"Now."

You sigh, knowing he's not going to let this go. Reluctantly, you pull back your vest just enough for him to see the blood seeping through your undershirt. The wound isn't deep, but it's enough to make moving painful.

Tony’s jaw tightens. "You should've said something."

"It wasn’t the priority."

His eyes flicker to yours. "You are the priority."

Something in your chest tightens.

Neither of you speak for a long moment.

Then Tony exhales, shaking his head. "You always do this."

You frown. "Do what?"

"Shut me out. Pretend you're fine when you’re not." He looks at you, frustration and something softer in his eyes. "Was that why you left?"

You swallow hard. "Tony—"

"Just tell me the truth," he says, quieter now. "Why did you leave?"

You close your eyes for a second. The words sit heavy on your tongue.

Because I was scared. Because you made me feel too much. Because I didn’t know if I could survive losing you.

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you whisper, "Because I thought it would be easier."

Tony watches you for a long time. Then, finally, he nods.

"Was it?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

You meet his eyes. "No."

His expression softens. And for the first time in a long time, there's no sarcasm, no teasing. Just Tony. The man you once loved. The man you maybe still do.

"You know you can’t escape me, right?" he says, a small, tired smile on his lips.

You let out a breath of laughter. "Believe me, I’ve tried."

Tony smirks. "And yet, here we are. Again."

You shake your head, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah. Again."

For once, there’s no arguing. No sharp edges. Just the two of you, trapped together, unable to run.

And maybe, for the first time, you don’t want to.

Tony leans against the wall, watching you like he’s seeing something he wasn’t expecting. You hate that he still looks at you like that—like he knows you better than you know yourself. Like you haven’t spent all this time trying to put distance between you.

And yet, here you are. Again.

You exhale, shifting slightly to take pressure off your injury. He notices but doesn’t comment. Instead, he tilts his head and gives you that familiar smirk.

“So,” he says, “since we’ve already checked ‘almost dying together’ off the list, how about something a little more fun? Say, coffee?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking me out right now?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, how often do you get life-threatening situations to reflect on past mistakes and make better choices?”

You roll your eyes. “A coffee date isn’t a better choice, Tony.”

He grins. “That sounds dangerously close to a ‘yes’.”

You sigh, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously overdue? Agreed.”

You glance at him, and despite yourself, you feel a smile trying to break through. You fight it, but Tony sees it anyway.

“Look,” he says, a little softer now, “just one coffee. No explosions, no fights, no life-or-death stakes. Just us.”

You shake your head but don’t say no.

Tony nods, satisfied. “Good. That’s settled.”

A few more beats pass in silence. Then, you frown. “We do still need to get out of here.”

Tony stretches, rolling his shoulders. “Right, yeah. Almost forgot.”

You watch as he steps toward the control panel on the door. He places his hand against it, and with an easy flick of his wrist, the lock beeps and disengages.

The door slides open.

You stare at it. Then at him. Then back at the door.

Realization hits like a truck.

“You had the override this whole time?”

Tony smirks, stepping into the hallway. “What, you thought I couldn’t open it? Please. It’s me.”

You gape at him. “You—you kept us in there—”

“For a good cause.” He winks. “And, y’know, for my entertainment.”

You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable.”

Tony gestures grandly. “And yet, so believable.”

You shake your head, muttering a curse under your breath as you follow him.

The mission isn’t over yet. There’s still security to deal with, hostiles to take out, and a very pissed-off arms dealer who is not happy that you’re taking back stolen Stark tech. But none of it really surprises you. It’s just another day, another mission, another ridiculous near-death experience.

You and Tony fight like you always have—seamless, despite everything. No matter how much time passes, you still know how to move around each other, still anticipate his next move before he makes it. It’s frustratingly natural, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

When the last threat is neutralized, the Quinjet arrives for extraction. As you step on board, Tony follows, settling into the seat beside you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You exhale, letting yourself relax for the first time in hours. The adrenaline fades, and exhaustion starts creeping in. But before you can fully unwind, Tony nudges you with his elbow.

“You’re not gonna hit me, are you?”

You turn your head slowly. He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Without hesitation, you punch him in the shoulder—hard.

“Ow—”

“You locked me in a room just to get me to agree to coffee.”

Tony rubs his arm, grinning. “And it worked.”

You groan, shaking your head. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You say that, but I still have a date.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. He’s impossible. Infuriating.

And yet, somehow, you’re still not canceling.

The following week, you find yourself standing outside a quiet little café tucked away in a part of the city Tony Stark usually has no business being in. It’s charming, warm lights glowing from inside, a few people sitting at outdoor tables chatting over coffee. The kind of place you would’ve chosen for yourself—not Tony. And yet, when you step inside, he’s already there, sitting at a table near the window, tapping his fingers against a ceramic cup. No suit, no press, no Stark Industries entourage. Just him.

When he sees you, he grins like he’s won something. “You showed.”

You slide into the seat across from him. “I said I would.”

“Yeah, but you hate me, remember?”

You roll your eyes as the waitress approaches. You order your usual, and when she walks away, you notice Tony watching you carefully.

“So,” you say, crossing your arms. “This is weird.”

“Weird? Nah. Unexpected, sure. Suspicious? Maybe. But weird?” He shrugs. “I think it’s a step in the right direction.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “I don’t know what direction that is, but okay.”

Tony leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. “C’mon. It’s just coffee. Two totally normal people, drinking totally normal drinks, having totally normal conversations.”

You tilt your head. “Except one of those people is Tony Stark.”

He smirks. “Details.”

The conversation flows easier than you expect. Tony is Tony—sarcastic, charming, occasionally insufferable—but there’s something different about him too. Something quieter, less performative. When he asks about your latest assignments, he actually listens. When he teases you about your coffee choice, he’s grinning like he’s enjoying himself. And despite yourself, you relax.

An hour passes before you even realize it. When the check comes, Tony reaches for it, but you snatch it first.

“Oh, no,” you say. “You don’t get to lock me in a room, trick me into a date, and then pay for it. That’s too much power in your hands.”

Tony grins. “I like when you say it’s a date.”

You glare at him but hand your card to the waitress anyway. As she walks away, Tony drums his fingers against the table. “So, since this wasn’t that bad…”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” he says, grinning. “How about another? No life-threatening situations this time, I promise.”

You pretend to consider. “Mm. I do enjoy not almost dying.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

You sigh, shaking your head with a small smile. “Fine. One more.”

One turns into two. Then three. Then you stop counting.

Each time, the excuses you give yourself get weaker. You tell yourself it’s just coffee, just catching up, just something casual between two people who used to know each other too well. But then coffee turns into lunch. Lunch turns into late-night drives when Tony shows up outside your place with two burgers and that damn smile.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he says.

“You don’t live in this neighborhood.”

“Well, I do now. Temporarily.”

You roll your eyes but open the door anyway.

And somewhere between all of it, things start to shift. The teasing never stops, but it gets softer. The conversations turn a little deeper. He stops deflecting every time you ask something real. And you stop pretending that being around him doesn’t feel… right.

It’s not dramatic, not some grand moment where everything clicks into place. It’s gradual, like slipping back into an old habit you forgot you loved.

And then, one night, you’re sitting next to him in his workshop, watching him tinker with something you don’t recognize. It’s quiet, comfortable. He tosses you a wrench without looking up.

“Hold this.”

You catch it. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. The quiet stretches, but it’s the good kind. The kind that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.

Then, without thinking, you say, “Are we dating again?”

Tony pauses mid-turn of his screwdriver. He looks up, blinking at you. “Huh.”

“Huh?” You frown. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, I thought we were,” he says, setting his tools down. “Unless you’ve just been using me for my riveting company and excellent taste in burgers.”

You snort. “Excellent taste? You eat the same three things.”

He grins. “And yet, you keep eating them with me.”

You hesitate, then sigh. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Tony watches you for a second longer, then nudges you lightly with his foot. “So? We making this official or what?”

You shake your head, but there’s no denying the warmth in your chest. “Guess we are.”

Tony smirks, victorious. “Knew it.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And you do.

One second, you’re bantering; the next, your lips are on his, his hands framing your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You don’t pull away. You don’t even hesitate. You just kiss him back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because maybe it is.

The wrench you were holding clatters onto the workbench, forgotten. Tony pulls you closer, backing you against the edge of the table, and you let him. His hands slip down to your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he’s relearning something he never meant to forget.

You break away just long enough to mutter, “This is a terrible idea.”

“Yep.” He kisses you again.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer as the heat between you builds. There’s a hum of energy in the air, electric and inevitable, like a storm rolling in. He lifts you onto the workbench, knocking over a few stray tools, but neither of you cares. His lips find your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and you let your head tilt back, exhaling sharply.

“You taste like engine grease,” he murmurs, grinning against your jaw.

You laugh, breathless. “And whose fault is that?”

He doesn’t answer—just kisses you again, deeper this time, like he’s making up for lost time. Like this was always meant to happen. And maybe it was.

—

A few days later, you’re standing in a briefing room, arms crossed as you watch Fury pace back and forth in front of the holo-display. It’s the same as always—another mission, another classified objective, another dangerous situation that requires your skill set.

But something is different. And Fury notices.

He stops mid-sentence, narrowing his one good eye at the two of you. You glance at Tony, who is standing next to you, looking too relaxed. Suspiciously relaxed. He smirks at Fury like he knows exactly what’s going through his head.

Fury folds his arms. “Something’s different.”

You feign innocence. “Different how?”

He squints. “You tell me. You two normally bicker like an old married couple, but today…” He gestures between you and Tony. “There’s a thing happening.”

Tony tilts his head. “A thing?”

Fury glares. “A thing. A change. A shift in the atmosphere. And I don’t like it.”

You sigh. “Can we focus on the mission?”

“Oh, I am,” Fury says. “I’m just trying to determine whether or not I need to separate you two like misbehaving teenagers.”

Tony leans in slightly. “Technically, we are misbehaving.”

You elbow him in the ribs.

Fury groans, rubbing his temples. “I don’t have time for whatever this is. Just don’t let whatever this is get in the way of the mission.”

“No distractions,” you assure him.

“No making out in the middle of a gunfight,” he warns.

Tony gasps. “You think so little of me.”

Fury raises a brow.

“…Okay, fair,” Tony concedes.

Fury sighs, already exhausted. “Get out of my sight.”

As you and Tony leave the room, he nudges you. “So… does this mean we’re official-official?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile. “I guess so.”

Tony grins. “Knew it.”

[secretsleuthexchange]

Secret Sleuth 2024: Sign up now! 🕵️‍♀️❄️

The Secret Sleuth Gift Exchange is an online, fanworks-only Secret Santa-style event for the CW Nancy Drew fandom!

What type of gifts can I make?

You will only need to make one gift, which should be a type of fanwork. Whatever type of gift you end up creating, please ensure it meets these parameters:

Fanfiction: 1500 word minimum, 10,000 words maximum. Completed works only.

Graphics/gifsets: 2 image minimum

Fanart: 1 panel minimum 

Playlist: 15 song minimum, 1 cover image, and a link to the playlist on Spotify or Apple Music

Fanvids/edits: A minimum of at least 1m30s of video content, across either 1 or 2 videos

What happens if I sign up?

To sign up, you will need to fill out this form confirming a) what gift types you can create, b) what gift types you would like to receive, and c) basic information about yourself, such as your social media handles and your likes/dislikes.

After sign-ups close, our mod team will create a match and send you all relevant information to help you create your gift. And don't worry: the mod team will only ever match you with someone who wants a gift type that you are capable of creating, so you don't need to worry about making something outside of your comfort zone.

You will then have ~7 weeks to create your gift, which should be posted on an assigned day over 1st-12th January 2025. If your giftee is on tumblr, we encourage you to send them anonymous messages to build excitement and ask them questions to help inspire you!

**Important: Please don't reveal who you are to your giftee until after your gift has been posted. It's called SECRET Sleuth for a reason!**

What's the timeline?

Sign-ups open: October 21st

Sign-ups close: November 4th

You'll receive your match by: November 11th

Check-in #1: December 2nd

Check-in #2: December 16th (for scheduling your posting slot!)

Gifts should be ready by: December 31st

Gifts will be posted over: January 1st-12th 2025

What's different from last year?

This year, we're extending the gift creation window and gifts will be posted later. Instead of posting over the holidays, gifts will be posted starting in January. We hope this will take the pressure off those people who have finals for school, who have to work over the holidays, or who are busy with travel and seeing family, etc. We've also tightened up the gift requirements to ensure everyone gets a gift of similar quality.

How do I sign up?

It's easy! Fill out the sign-up form here. The deadline to sign up is Monday November 4th 2024.

-- The Secret Sleuth Mods xoxo

Join the 'have a nace day' Discord server here / Follow us on Twitter/X here

[senditcolton]

Request: Mean Marty smut. Because “we’re a bad idea” is completed (loved the character progression in that last chapter, by the way), there’s a good chance Lamoriello isn’t re-signing him and Clutter, and this entire off-season has hurt my heart. Dealer’s choice on the content.

- 💛

I'm Not Sentimental, but...

some information's not for sharing. use different names at hotel check-ins. it's hard to stop is once it starts

summary: being Matt Martin's sugar daddy isn't for the weak song inspo: billie bossa nova by billie eilish word count: 5k warnings: smut! sugar daddy!Matt Martin, bondage, sensory deprivation, oral (m receiving), sex toys, overstimulation, dirty talk, and just general depravity... i'm going to hell, it's fine. Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone. Please don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but don’t attack me or others!

Aman. Premiere Suite. Ten o’clock. Sharp.

That was the four sentence text message Matt Martin had sent you earlier today. A text message that you had been repeating in your head almost religiously, as if being able to recite it from memory would make him forgive you for the fact that it was now 10:15 and you were still a block away.

Hell, being able to recite the message would most likely get you into even more trouble.

Instead of memorizing the now irrelevant text, you should’ve been practicing a rehearsed speech of excuses to tell him when you finally did arrive: your boss kept you at work for longer than expected, you had to stop at your house to get ready, dressing to the parameters that Matt had set in the text massage prior to the one rattling in your brain. Anything that would transfer the blame from you onto someone else. But you knew it would be pointless.

Matt loved reminding you that you were capable of anything. A reminder that was uplifting when brought up in conversations about the education he was helping pay for. A reminder that was shameful when he said it in that degrading tone that made you weak in the knees.

When the two of you had agreed to this dynamic all those months ago, you knew what you were signing up for. Being a sugar baby wasn’t for the meek. That statement was only amplified when you added Matt Martin to the equation.

After all, no sane person would willingly agree to trudge down New York City streets in a set of highly risqué lingerie, the only protection between you and indecent exposure being a long tan trench coat.

Yet… here you were.

A sigh of relief whooshes out of you when you see the neon sign of the hotel ahead, your pace quickening as if that would make up for lost time. You try to keep an air of confidence about you as you walk into the lobby, your heels clicking on the tile floor. The song-and-dance at the front desk is blissfully short – only the words ‘premiere suite’ needed to fall from your mouth before someone is escorting you to the private elevator. You step inside, the doors closing and you watch the LED numbers increase, your heartrate rising with it.

You were so late. You were in so much trouble. But, instead of the dread you should’ve felt at the thought of facing Matt’s disappointment, there was a thrum of excitement running through you.  

It wasn’t anything to lie about. In fact, Matt often liked to tease you, asking if you broke the rules on purpose because you liked the punishment. Whenever he asked, both you and he knew that there was no denying the truth.

It was a deliciously predictable game of cat-and-mouse. You knew exactly how far you could push and he knew exactly how much you could take. It was a transaction, like every other part of your arrangement. And while some might think that knowledge would dampen the mood, it actually just made it even more intoxicating.

The elevator finally stops, the doors opening directly into the suite – an elegantly decorated room decked in the blacks and beiges that screamed bougie. You step forward, out of the elevator, your heels sinking into the carpet as your eyes dart around the room, looking for Matt. You eventually spy the outline of his tall frame in front of the opened bay doors, the cool air streaming in from the balcony, fluttering the curtains. He has his back to you, his arms crossed and you see an empty whiskey glass dangling from his fingers.

He knew you were there. He had to have known that you were there, the elevator ding when you arrived being anything but subtle. Yet, he didn’t acknowledge you – just kept staring out at 5th Avenue.

Perhaps against your better judgement, you decide to break the silence with a gentle whisper of his name but before you could add another word to the single syllable sentence, his voice cuts you off.

“What time is it?”

It’s a somewhat rhetorical question but one that demands an answer nonetheless. He knew the time but more importantly, he knew that you knew the time. But he wanted you to acknowledge it – admit your failings – and that delectable shame causes the heat to rise in your cheeks.

“10:28,” you whisper out and your quiet admission has Matt turning to face you. He looks good, like always. The white button-down shirt is cut perfectly to his body, the black of his slacks and his tan tie making it seem like he belonged in this room. Everything about him screamed power and luxury, from the Windsor knot still snug below his throat, to the Rolex on his wrist, to his cufflinks glinting in the low lamplight.

“10:28,” he repeats. He moves forward, quickly abandoning his glass on a nearby table, his now empty hands coming to grip your chin and tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his. “It’s like you don’t want to see me,” he muses, the dangerous sparkle in his irises only hinting at what was to come.

“Of course, I do,” you rebut, the pleading edge to your voice sounding almost too sickly sweet to even your ears. “But –”

Whatever words you had poised to fall from your lips are silenced by Matt pulling your face towards him to crash his lips against yours. You should hate how much you melt under his touch, how willingly you open your mouth to allow his tongue to have access. But you don’t. It was nearly impossible to hate Matt Martin, even when his lips disappear from yours.

“No excuses, sweetheart. We both know any excuse you have could be resolved if you just let me take care of you entirely,” he whispers, his thumb brushing along your jawline.

The proposal isn’t new; it’s one that he had casually suggested almost every night since your arrangement started. It was also pointless to argue with him because he was telling the truth. He had enough money to make it so you could exist to only be on his arm and at his beck and call. But that wasn’t the life you had envisioned. He knew that. He respected that.

This was your boundary for him; one that he liked to toy at but you knew he would never cross.

“I know,” you whisper, having no other answer to give him. It seems to be enough, that lazy smug smile appearing on his face; the one that had Islander fans cheer and opponents sneer when he was playing. One that occasionally appeared in press conferences he attended as Assistant General Manager. It signals an end to the conversation and acts as a segue into the inevitable.

His hands fall from your face, moving to your coat as he deftly unties the long belt from its cinched position around your waist. The material slips from your frame with a surprising ease, leaving you clad in the lingerie he requested – the set he bought you a week ago. The undergarments are more for decoration than actual function, considering the only coverage on your chest was a pair of satin ribbons and the fabric around your hips disappeared when it came time to cover your core.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, his hands delicately tracing the lines of your body, toying with but not undoing the bows on your chest and hips. The sharp breath that he sucks in between his teeth at the sight of you makes the heat pool in your lower stomach.

“Wanted to make sure I looked perfect for you.”

“Think that will excuse you for being late?” he asks, that smirk reappearing as his head cocks to the side. You quickly shake your head in a negative (even though you hoped that flattery would get you out of whatever torture was to come), an action to which his only response is a deep chuckle.

He walks away from you for a moment, the space between Matt’s heat and your newly exposed body allowing the coolness of the night air to hit your skin. You watch him pick up the pale pink leather cuffs that you only now realized had been waiting for you on the table next to the whiskey glass he abandoned a few short minutes ago.

“Wrists.”

The single word is all it takes for you to present your hands to him, watching with baited breath as he wraps the material around your joints, buckling the hardware securely against your skin. You let him guide your arms behind your back, the click of the restraints locking together seemingly reverberating around your ribcage.

“Knees.”

It is somewhat ridiculous how single syllable words are all Matt needs to utter to have you obeying him perfectly. The descent to your knees is easy, the plush carpet forgiving, and your eyes glance up, tracking Matt’s movement as he walks back in front of you, towering over your body more than he usually did. His hands come to his neck, elegant fingers undoing his tie, allowing the material to now drape down either side of his collar. He continues to deconstruct the professional façade he was wearing like a mask, unbuttoning the top buttons of his dress shirt and removing the cufflinks to roll up his sleeves. His hands return to the silken material of his tie, pulling one side until it falls from his frame. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize his intentions with said material, a pout forming on your lips as he takes the fabric in both hands.

“Don’t give me that look, darling,” he coos as he moves the material towards your face, the stretch of fabric between his fists the perfect length to wrap around your head, the high-quality silk covering your eyes and plunging the room into darkness. You feel his adept fingers loop the material, careful not to get it tangled in your hair as he tugs a secure knot against the back of your skull.

“Felt like you didn’t want to see me tonight anyway,” he muses, his voice now becoming your only guide as he continues, “since you were almost a half-hour late.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine, knowing that the plea, no matter how pathetic, would fall onto deaf ears.

“I know, sweetheart.”

His reply is pitying but firm – a staple in the dynamic established between the two of you. Rules had been laid out and it was only befitting that when one was broken, a punishment followed.

Although, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone combined with the snap of the leather as it slipped from his belt loops didn’t sound like the beginnings of a punishment to you.

Your mouth opens with practiced ease, outstretching your tongue and submitting yourself to him in what you were sure looked like the most perfect bow-tied present. He chuckles and you feel his fingers grip your chin again before his thumb is pressing against the pink muscle of your tongue.

“That eager for me, aren’t you?”

You only response is to wrap your lips around the digit, gently suckling – just enough to tempt him into giving you the real thing. He laughs, his thumb slipping out of the wet cavern of your mouth before the sound of him unzipping of his dress pants causes your mouth to open again.

It is slight torture, waiting for him, not being able to see him and not being able to know what was coming and when it was coming. But that only heightened the excitement you felt when the delectable weight of his shaft came to rest on your outstretched tongue. You feel the appendage slide against you, the tip of it disappearing into your mouth – shallowly at first but slowly increasing its depth. You press your tongue against the bottom of his length, a silent indication that you were willing and ready to take all of him, one that Matt reads and responds to by holding the side of your head as his hips begin to move, thrusting into your mouth. You relax your throat, allowing him to slip deeper as he takes what he needs from your body, the filthy praise rolling from his lips while yours are otherwise occupied.

“Never get tired of this,” he groans from above you. “Never get tied of seeing your mouth wrapped around my cock. Of feeling your throat constrict around me. Such a good girl – such a pretty perfect slut for me.”

You can hear his words become stuttered, feel the steady rhythm of his thrusts turn staccato and it isn’t long until his climax comes, the feeling of his release filling your mouth almost as intoxicating as the taste of him. You suck, cleaning him with an eager deftness that has him groaning, a trill running through you. You wish you could see him – see the post-orgasm glow that alit his skin, see the way he pushes back the strands of hair that always fell over his forehead. For the first time since he took your sight away, it felt like a punishment.

He finally pushes back, the silky smoothness of his length removing itself from your mouth until a single string of silverly saliva is all that connects you. A laugh emanates from his chest as he takes you in, surely looking like a mess with the sheen of sweat on your skin, the spit on you lips, the track of tears escaping from underneath the makeshift blindfold.

“Y’look so beautiful. Gonna take a picture,” he mutters and you gently nod your head in consent.

You hear the click of a phone camera before Matt’s hands are back on your body, this time lifting you up off the ground before trailing down your arms to unclasp the restraints. He doesn’t remove the material from your eyes, leaving you still blind as he guides you further into the room. You allow him to manipulate your body, letting him push and turn you until he is gently pressing you back against the mattress of the king-sized bed, the sheets gliding against your skin. He guides your arms up over your head and your once again hear the click of the restraints although this time when you tug, the resistance you are met with is not your own wrists but a wooden bedframe.

Another whine escapes from you, the previous act of having him in your mouth only succeeding in making you even more desperate; something that Matt most likely knew, hence why he still prevented you from touching him or even seeing him. You are simply forced to wait in deprived silence, listening intently to every noise that hits your eardrums for indication on what was to come.

You hear the rustle of fabric, the zip of a zipper, and what you think is a small chuckle from Matt before you can feel his weight sink onto the mattress. Your thighs fall open of their own volition but Matt doesn’t tease you about it, instead happy to drink in the sight of your soaked core.

“Oh, that wet already, aren’t you sweetheart?” he asks and judging by the dampness you can feel on your skin, you can only imagine how lewd the display must appear. “Got this desperate from me fucking your face? Such a perfect slut, always ready for me.”

Another whimper falls from your lips, the rolling of your hips acting as both a confirmation that you wanted him and a silent plea for him to give you more than just his words. The sigh that escapes you when you feel him trace down your thigh is blissful, until you realize that it is not Matt’s rough calloused fingers slowly trailing towards your core, but instead a soft silicone.

“No, please,” you whimper out as Matt moves the toy closer to the apex of your thighs, the rounded head coming to glide against your slick folds. “Want you Matt. Want your cock.”

“You already got it tonight,” he whispers, the toy trailing up until the tip of it presses against your clit.

“Want your cock inside me.”

“You want me to fuck your perfect cunt? Want to feel me stretching that tight little pussy open?”

Your only response is a desperate whine as your hips buck, the action forcing the toy to bump against your bundle of nerves, causing your breathing to stutter. Matt holds the wand in place and you can feel him hovering over you, his breath fanning across your cheekbones.

“Then you should’ve been on time,” he whispers, his sentence punctuated by the click of the power button, the sudden vibrations forcing a downright pornographic moan to fall from your lips. He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against you, the buzz of it filling the room.

Your already desperate state accompanied by the low and steady hum of the vibrator means that your climax hits you faster than expected, the warmth of it washing over your body as you whine and writhe against the sheets. Matt waits until your body is no longer trembling to remove the toy from your core before turning it off, returning the room to its former silence.

That should have been the end of it, the deprivation of touch, of sight, and of him, seeming to you like punishment enough. But when the head of the vibrator is pressed against your sensitive core again, your mind is left reeling.

Your confusion allows Matt to roughly grab your leg, pulling it closer until the firm length of the wand is pressed against the supple flesh of your inner thigh. The sensation is quickly followed by another, the feeling of a different material wrapping around the toy and your leg. It takes a minute to recognize the light scratch of the fabric as the belt that used to be looped around your trench coat.

“Wh- ” you begin to ask, the simple question not even being completed before Matt shushes you, his hands still working to wrap the belt around your skin.

His hand tugs at your other thigh until you can feel them press together, the sensation of your skin fully sticking to each other impeded only by the wand firmly held into place by your limbs. But the intention behind those registered touches doesn’t fully hit you until you feel the cinch of the belt tightening around both of your legs.

“Matt, please, don’t,” you beg, the understanding of what he was about to do hitting you like a freight train. Your wrists tug at your restraints, a mantra repeating in your brain that says he couldn’t possibly be this mean.

“What are you whining about, darling? I’m about to give you more pleasure than you probably deserve.”

You whimper, knowing that he had a point. He could’ve switched the entire script, going with the torture of edging you but never allowing you a release instead of the painful bliss of overstimulation. But you needed him. Not a toy, not an orgasm – him.

“I know you can take it, like the perfect whore you are,” he mutters, his fingers tracing over the ridges of your face, that depredating praise making another zing of desire flow through you, the arousal gushing from your core even more noticeable to you because of the bindings on your legs. “But if you don’t think you can, all you have to do is tell me.”

He is giving you a choice to end it here, to have him untie you and let him take care of you. But as much as you wanted him to coddle you, you wanted to earn it. Matt knew that – you were always looking to prove yourself to anyone – hence his phrasing. Another trick in his arsenal.

So, instead of the safe-word, another plea escapes your lips, your begging consent for him to continue. You can’t see it, but that grin pulls across Matt’s features once again, a smirk of both power and admiration aimed directly at you. His hand falls from your face, trailing a torturous path down your body before dancing across your bound thighs.

The vibrations that hit you are expected and yet somehow manage catch you entirely off-guard, your core still sensitive from your previous orgasm. A high-pitched moan crawls its way up your throat as your muscles clench, your back arching.

“There she is. There’s my good girl,” Matt whispers, his praise the only thing strong enough to cut through the haze that you felt slowly enveloping you. “Feels good, yeah?”

A pathetic whimper is the only response that you can give, the sensations assaulting your body rendering you essentially speechless. Usually, that was sufficient but Matt’s mean streak seems to be never-ending, the click of his tongue sounding throughout the room.

“No, sweetheart, I need your words.”

There is a proper answer – one that you learned quickly after you once said yes and that agreement led to even more discipline. Now, the words were caught in your throat, not because you didn’t know what to say but because it was difficult to even form a string of syllables that was in any way coherent.

“Not as good as you,” you manage to choke out, your sentence rendered choppy by the hiccups of gasps that you couldn’t hold back.

You feel the mattress shift, Matt’s weight disappearing and you have no shame in letting your protest be heard, a pitiful mewl ripping its way out of your throat. You can barely hear Matt’s chuckle before you register the mattress dipping again, this time on either side of your head. It’s the press of Matt’s lips against yours that has your second orgasm crashing over you, unabashed moans falling from your mouth into his, all of which Matt greedily swallows. The orgasm fades only briefly before your body writhes again, the restraints around your wrists and your legs holding you and the vibrator tight.

Matt’s lips disappear from yours, another strangled groan falling from your lips, the sound now only hindered by your dwindling sense of self-control.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you hear Matt explain. His voice is cruelly casual; it was as if he was discussing the weather, as if he wasn’t leaving you bound with the wand still humming between your thighs, abusing your oversensitive core. “I can see you trying to quiet all those pretty little noises you want to make. Let them out, sweetheart. I want to hear you – want all of New York to hear what a good little slut you are.”

You aren’t sure whether it is his encouragement or your own desire that erases any lingering shame you have in your body, your moans now falling freely. The only praise that Matt gives you is a quiet ‘there she is’ before you can sense his presence disappearing from the room, the confirmation coming in the sound of the showerhead turning on.

When your third orgasm thrums through your body, you realize that your current predicament was more of a challenge than anything else. Not just to have Matt hear you over the crash of the water but to even stay coherent enough to do so, a test you were starting to fail as you feel the weight of your sub-space prick at the corner of your eyes. You try to ground yourself by listing every sensation: the way the sheets dampen with sweat underneath you, the way the supple leather digs into your wrists, the cool breeze coming from the window dancing over your skin. But everything is slowly drowned out by the incessant buzz of the vibrator between your legs, still pressed against your clit, that constant stimulation forcing your body to writhe, your thighs to slicken, your chest to heave.

The noises that do manage to fall from you are a jumble compilation of sighs, moans, and curses, each less coherent with every orgasm that passes through you. It is the most delicious torture, the relief of a climax followed swiftly by the borderline pain of the vibrations still going. There is no quantifying anything: how long you’ve been here, how many orgasms had been ripped from your body, how tears you’ve shed from the overstimulation. You’ve lost all sense of anything else but the hum between your legs and the torturous pleasure it brings.

Finally – finally – after yet another orgasm has crashed into you, the vibrations stop and you can’t help the absolute half-sob, half-sigh of relief that huffs from your chest. That sub-space that you had been fighting off, you now give into with a sigh, allowing the haze to sink into your body. It encompasses you, making you feel as if you were floating in the vastness of space, as if you were being smothered in velvet. The only thing that keeps you somewhat tied to earth is Matt’s gentle voice, the quiet praise falling from his lips. It takes Matt lifting you off the mattress and cradling you in his arms for you to fully come back to the present moment. Only then do you realize all the fabric that was previously tied along your body was gone, leaving you naked. You don’t care, choosing instead to nuzzle deeper into Matt’s chest as he whisks you away, your eyelids fluttering open and readjusting to the low candlelight of the bathroom.

Matt gently places you down into the tub already filled with warm water, the temperature feeling heavenly as it penetrates your muscles. A soft kiss on your temple is what Matt leaves you with before he exits the room, closing the door firmly behind him. You swear you hear hushed voices emanating from underneath the door but you are still too dazed to even bother worrying yourself over it. Eventually, Matt returns, this time with a small cart carrying a bottle of champagne and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries.

“Drink this first,” he quietly demands, handing you an ice-cold water bottle. “All of it.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, the chilled liquid never feeling more refreshing against your tongue, coating your sore throat. You give the empty bottle back to him, the plastic being replaced by smooth glass as he hands you a champagne flute, before leaning against the side of the tub with his own glass. You take in his appearance, hair still damp from his shower, only a pair of sweatpants on his frame. His own blue eyes appraise you similarly, the quiet concern mixing with a pure devotion in his irises. You finally decide to break the silence, your voice sounding terribly hoarse as you whisper.

“’M hungry.”

Matt just smiles before grabbing the plate of strawberries, setting them down on the small stool next to the bathtub, making it easy for you to reach them. You happily munch on the fruit, feeling a modicum of energy return to you as you lean back and let Matt take care of you. His hands move beneath the water, massaging your tight muscles before grabbing the soft cotton washcloth, dampening the material in order to wipe away the sweat still clinging to your skin. You only protest once with a small hiss when he brushes against your oversensitive core, the sound quieted with a hush. The praise that fell from his mouth might have just been repeated from earlier but this time you could register it and every word made your body warm.

Sounded so pretty for me. I knew you could handle it, my perfect girl. You did so well.

He eventually lets the bath drain, helping you out of the porcelain tub and drying off the water from your body. The plush complimentary robe is thrown over your frame and Matt takes your arm, gently guiding you back to the bedroom. You can’t stop the breathy laugh that falls from your lips when you spy the shopping bags, designer labels on all of them, now piled up by one side of the bed – a bed that had been stripped and remade with fresh sheets.

“For you,” Matt whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple. You reply by turning your head towards him to press your lips onto his. It is gentler than any other kiss you shared tonight and you melt into his embrace. He helps you slip underneath the sheets, his broad body not far behind as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back into his chest.

“I could make it so that you would never have to work again,” he whispers to you, reiterating the proposal that he postulated almost every time he saw you. You are about to retort, a sigh of his name falling from your lips before he silences your protest by continuing. “I know, you like to feel independent. And I admire that about you. I just like having you by my side.”

You rotate your body in the bed, turning to face him, the sharp angles of his face highlighted by the lights of the city that never sleeps.

“I like being by your side,” you whisper, your heart soaring at the sight of his smile.

“I don’t want you to give up your life – become some sort of trophy or anything. I respect you too much to ask you to do that. Just… promise me you’ll think about it.”

He doesn’t fully elaborate what it is: whether he meant allowing your dynamic to expand to every aspect of your life so you could do what you wanted without the pressure of making money or whether he meant becoming his completely, without any monetary value placed on the relationship you shared.

But, the silence of the hotel room, you come to realize that there is little difference between those two possibilities.

Matt wouldn’t just stop taking care of you if he wasn’t bound by a contract. He was more than that. What you shared was more than that; more than a number in your bank account, more than the amount of designer product in your closet, more than a simple transaction.

It was something real.

a/n: considering the way I managed to write all of this in a single night I feels just proves how much I kind of missed writing smut. why is it always this man to pull me back to smut writing? the world may never know. inspired this ask from a previous thirst night and this proposal from @comphy-and-cozy, (not sure if you'll get the full epic, but here's a little taste)

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[siberat]

Meals are Best Shared

part 1

Even after the successful raid of an ener.gon mine, the fighting came to an odd standstill. While Team Pri.me expected retaliation- even amped up parameter checks and surveillance- all that came was...nothing. Days grew dull and uneventful as patrols were accomplished at a more relaxed pace. No one shirked nor let their guard completely down, but the Auto.bots could kick back and relax with newfound extra time.

Each mech was different in their recreational activities. Bulk.head took to entertaining Mi.ko’s rather spontaneous ideas of fun, while Be.e used this opportunity to challenge Ra.ph to video games. Sadly, the scout still tended to lose, but he remained a good sport about it. Unlike Jack who begrudgingly had to buckle down with studies due to upcoming finals, but Arc.ee stepped in and gladly helped. Opti.mus, however, did not relent on his planning, which left Ratc.het on his own.

And plenty of energon to spare.

Everyone knew Rat.chet was a fully capable medic. When it came to space bridge repairs, sure, he was impressive. However, no mech on this base ever pegged the grumpy old mech to have a flair for cooking. Baking, specifically. In this newfound time, between fiddling with gadgets and devices long placed on the backburners, Rat.chet dusted off some old recipes stored deeply in his memory files. He soon bent over the newly acquired oven with a mit on (Ju.ne made it for him), happily licking his chops as a tray of freshly baked goods emerged.

Today, it was muffins—oversized ones with their caps puffing up and spilling over the sides perfectly. The trick was to only fill every other muffin cup so the batter could rise without bumping into a neighbor. That and to use more talcum powder and lower the temp after five minutes of cooking at 400 degrees in order for the leaving agents to react quicker, which resulted in the boomingly large top.

Not only should the treats taste good, but they should also look like works of art as well.

The pans were set on the counter. Waiting for the meager five minutes for them to cool was the hardest part! Pouring a tall glass of ice-cold ener-milk helped, but his belly growled in desperate anticipation. And his optics did him no favors—just looking at the mica-chip muffins foretold the sweetness and gooeyness of the melted chunks, just waiting to be enjoyed. He had added extra to his liking, after all.

Once his workstation was adorned with his drink, plate, and napkin, the medic helped himself to the muffins. Chubby digits freed the muffins from their tin and placed them on a tray to serve as the centerpiece—and what a masterpiece they were! Once properly admired, he sat down and happily dug in.

And that first bite tasted heavenly! Those melted chips zapped intense sweetness over his receptors with each bite, invigorating his frame with giddy enjoyment. Yes, the muffin was a tad on the warm side, but nothing that a cold drink couldn’t take care of. A hum accompanied each bite as the doctor closed his optics. This was the cherished moment to thoroughly enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Energon never tasted so good!

But this may be due to lack of indulgence- their time on Earth simply didn’t allow it. Slag, even before the need to flee Cyber.tron, really. The ener.gon shortage provided bland, watered-down rations for so long that all of Team Pri.me forgot how delicious refueling was meant to be!

This was made clear by the routine gatherings around the kitchenette. Whatever was left from the doctor’s binges was freely shared (And plenty was always made, mind you). Playful banter and smiles were thrown around carelessly as spirits lifted to an all-time high. Everyone enjoyed munching on slices of triple-decker cakes, decadent cream-filled donuts, or crisp amethyst tarts. Whatever the daily spread that littered the counters was never lasted long.

Admittedly, most disappeared into the older medic’s belly.

Speaking of bellies, his plating felt tighter as of late. After the last of the second muffin was pushed into his maw, Rat.chet glanced downward. He wasn’t full- his tanks could take a hell of a lot more, but he could tell his abdominal plating strained to contain his tummy despite two armor resizing’s already. The accumulation of squishy flab made its presence known. And the mere thought of requiring to resize a third time made him snort and shake his helm.

Slag, even his thighs widened in girth.

Not that he was complaining- he didn’t mind the weight gain. In fact, feeling the protomesh balloon against the plating was comforting. The sensation resembled an eternal hug encompassing his entire frame, making him feel warm and fuzzy. In fact, feeling this way brought back fond memories of his university days.

Yes, he always sported a plump frame. He was known for enjoying fine dining and a sweet tooth. It was so much so that mechs would say the way to his spark was through his stomach. But the days of dining on large meals shared with friends brightened his spark, like watching a fresh sunrise after a stormy night. The cherished memories always made him smile; he was so happy back then, so full of hope and optimism.

Soon, the weight melted off him like ice melting on a hot engine due to the energon shortage, and then made worse by the hardships of war. What once filled him with comfort was taken away, only to be replaced by borderline starvation. Now that war had ravaged his life for so long, happiness was stolen from him, leaving his legendary grumpy mood.

Perhaps he was perpetually hangry?

What a way to sour one’s mood. Rat.chet smacked his lips and gulped some liquid before helping himself to another muffin. Might as well enjoy this opportunity as it lasts.

He knew the others were. And not just the food.

master post

[suzukiblu]

Day twelve of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Tim waits until the next morning, after their latest Young Justice sleepover has both occurred and concluded, and catches Kon while Cissie is bullying Bart away from the pancake mix and taking over the kitchen for her and Cassie to make everyone breakfast. It’s their turn, which is for the best; last time was Kon and Suzie, and they’d absolutely wrecked the kitchen before finally confessing that Kon had never actually cooked before and Suzie didn’t know if she knew how to. 

Breakfast had been Pop-Tarts and it’d taken them two hours to clean up the kitchen. Tim had just decided not to ask questions, at that point. 

“I’ve got a summary of the intel you asked for,” Tim says, holding out his single-page “report” for Kon, tucked nice and neat into a manilla folder. Kon looks startled. 

“Huh?” he says, blinking down at the folder. 

“I looked into Tim Drake,” Tim clarifies. “Long story short, you’re in the clear. His grades are stable, his disciplinary record isn’t concerning, and his psychological profile falls within acceptable parameters. His mother passed away a couple years ago, but his father just got remarried and he and the stepmother aren’t involved in anything shady, there’s no other relatives or criminal associates on record, and the family business’s practices are only a little morally dubious, which in Gotham is practically sainthood, frankly. Maybe don’t accept any unsourced archeological finds from him if it comes up, but otherwise you should be good. Go ahead and make friends.” 

“Uh, right,” Kon says, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing his face as his ears redden. “Friends. Yeah. Uh–you seriously checked him out to Bat-standards that quick, though? Geez, man, you didn’t have to do that. I coulda waited a couple weeks.” 

“Just rearranged a little casework that wasn’t time-sensitive anyway,” Tim replies, repressing a wince. Maybe he should’ve padded the time a little more on this. He doesn’t want Kon to think he wasn’t taking his request seriously. “Also, he’s a civilian high school student with exactly two family members and a fairly small friend group. There weren’t a lot of rabbit holes to go down.” 

“I guess not,” Kon says, looking awkwardly at the folder for a moment before pushing it back towards him. “Uh. I don’t need to, like . . . read that or anything. If you say he’s good, I mean.” 

“You don’t?” Tim asks, a little mystified. Kon looks embarrassed again. 

“It’s weird enough asking for a background check on a dude who’s apparently just trying to be nice,” he says. “I’m not gonna read it if there’s nothing I actually need to know.” 

Tim blinks, still more mystified, though he’s not sure if it’s Kon turning down perfectly-presented intel on a stranger or Kon trusting his opinion enough to turn down that intel that’s doing it. 

“Okay,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

“Uh, yeah. You really didn’t have to rush it, though,” Kon says, still looking embarrassed; tucking a loose curl of hair behind his ear in incredibly distracting fashion that Tim has to struggle to not be distracted by with limited success. “Like–it’s cool of you, but I really could’ve waited a couple weeks. Like, he’s probably not gonna go full mask-off supervillain day one at the mall, you know?” 

“I had the time,” Tim says, still feeling a little odd. “And it’s better to know before you spend too much time around him anyway, isn’t it?” 

Also, better to know so Tim can progress on bribing Kon out of his shitty lab-life and into a cute little cul-de-sac somewhere. Or an apartment building. Or an apartment block. 

“I guess, yeah,” Kon says, his face inexplicably reddening. “Um. Yeah. Uh. Thanks, Rob.”

Then he zips off abruptly without another word, and Tim is left mildly bewlidered and looking at the empty space he was just standing in. 

“. . . you’re welcome,” he says after a moment, no less bewildered, and puts the report away. 

He doesn’t really get Kon as a person, sometimes, but at least this is another step forward on the plan. He still needs to talk it all out with him as Tim Drake and work him up to it, because even Kon’s very weird socialization clearly still thinks it’s kinda strange for somebody to just offer to rent an apartment for him out of the blue, but then again, maybe that’s just because he thought Tim might be a supervillain. Which Tim still isn’t, technically. He’s like, a proto-supervillain at best. And only when it comes to bank fraud and pre-planning, because if he’s learned anything from Bruce at all, it’s that being the most prepared person in a situation absolutely always pays off. 

Maybe he can get Kon to quit Cadmus completely, if he plays his cards right here. He’ll start with a place that Kon can commute from, or at least by pretending they’re looking for a place that Kon can commute from. Maybe Cadmus would actually fucking pay him more than a pittance and an expense account, then, and Kon could save up a little. Tim should look into what the other field agents get, actually, though chances are “free room and board” is probably on most of their paychecks too, since Cadmus more than likely made most of them too. 

Fucking shitty asshole cloning labs. 

Maybe Tim should actually bribe some lobbyists the next time clones’ rights come up in legislation. Or just as soon as he has Kon safe and settled and secure outside of Cadmus, whichever comes first. That would definitely be a good use of his trust fund. 

Or just all of Drake Industries’ profits for that quarter, depending on how effectively he can distract his dad for said quarter. 

Tim’s a reasonably resourceful person. He could work something out. 

Also, clones’ rights implies getting Cadmus potentially shut down or at least more closely monitored, and maybe conning Superman into paying back child support for being irresponsible with his DNA. An incredibly powerful alien specifically primed for the local environment absolutely should’ve known better than to not have something arranged in case of his death besides just letting someone bury him, of all things. Incredibly stupid idea on his part, frankly. Isn’t there an AI running the Fortress of Solitude, to say nothing of all the androids? He absolutely could’ve set up a failsafe to come collect his body and lock down the Fortress once it was inside. Not a perfect solution, obviously, but definitely a better one than “let Metropolis just do whatever they feel like”. 

Much better, in Tim’s opinion. 

Seriously. Kryptonians are basically invasive predators on Earth. Superman absolutely should’ve known better than to leave his own dead body lying around. Frankly, Tim’s disappointed in Bruce for that one. He really should’ve had a talk with Superman about that particular oversight before Kon even happened. Not that Tim’s complaining about Kon existing, but Kon is basically the best-case scenario they could’ve gotten out of that. What if somebody’d possessed Superman’s empty body? What if they’d stripped it for parts and made a whole army of Supermen? What if any fucking number of things had happened? 

There’d better be something in place now, is all Tim’s gonna say. 

. . . maybe he’ll set up a high-yield savings account for any potential future Kon 2.0’s, just in case Superman decides to be stupid again. Just make monthly deposits and let it all collect interest. Tim’s not ready to be a clone-dad, but he can get the groundwork going. 

Hell, maybe he’ll make a Kon 2.0 one day. 

. . . that is an insane person thought, Tim recognizes. And way farther down along the supervillain pipeline than he wants to be right now. 

Still, Kon’s a hybrid, so he’s probably infertile, right? Which means if he ever wants to have kids or anything, he’d need–

Oh god, Tim thinks, and immediately hides his bright red face behind his fake summary of his own life story. Okay. New thought processes. New thoughts. New . . . everything, at this point. New all-the-things. 

He’s sixteen, he reminds himself accusingly. There is absolutely nothing about the idea of Kon with a little Kryptonian-ish baby that should appeal to him at all at this stage in his life. 

Just, well, his inner future supervillain apparently has a thing for punk telekinetic DILFs, he guesses. 

Well, given the timeline he’s intending to go supervillain on–

If Tim ever meets a telepath, he thinks he should probably just quit, actually. Like, for good. There is no possible way it wouldn’t end in absolute mortification. 

Oh god, Dubbilex is a telepath, isn’t he. Tim is never going to be able to be in the same room with the man again without employing every possible meditation technique he knows, because otherwise his brain is just going to be screaming about what Kon looks like soaked in Kool-Aid with his hair slicked back. Or how he smirks when he’s flirting with a civilian stranger at a café. Or the mental image of him in a crop top and Daisy Dukes version of his superhero costume, ngh–

Tim can definitely just never be in the same room with Dubbilex again. Or Martian Manhunter. Or maybe just anyone. 

Dammit.

[kit-williams]

So as the resident astartes guru I'm hoping you can help me. They're pants crapingly terrifying really intimidating in a way that most people don't seem to be able parse. On the other hand they've been kicking around for the last century and they haven't taken over the world. Which if they wanted to they could probbably manage with like less than ten of those guys. I guess what I'm trying to say is they're a fact of life. Though if the whole being from the 30-41k Anno Domine rumor I saw on the internet is true? I'm worried about the far future of our species if we need that kinda firepower.

Sorry went on a bit of a squirrel hunt there. I inherited a cabin and a decent parcel in the back country, bordering on park land about 5 years back. I actually helped my uncle with some of the construction when I was in high-school. It's way off grid but I've got a safe well, a working septic tank, and enough solar cells on the roof to live prety comfortably unbothered by humans or space marines unless I make a trek into town in my pickup. Just a woman, her hunting guns, and her pack of four big dogs. (Two newfie cacusian shepard crosses, the black and tan hound my uncle brough home right before he passed, and a 100% mut whos great grandaddy was rumored to be a wolf or a traveling salesman.)

Well my unbotherd days I suspect are going to be coming to an end right quick. I was marking the inner parameter of my property with the dogs to deter predators. I don't disturb water sources or game trails but well... me, my dogs, and a gallon or so of Iced tea to, ah, scentmark territory close to the house to keep wolves and bears from wandering too close. There I am, free balling in a maxi dress and hiking boots, geting ready to squat when the dogs start barking and growling. And some uneartkly howling meets them. I look over to see bout a hundred yards off a space marine, I can only assume was a Space Wolf seeing as how he had a pack of about 3 Space Marines sized wolves. Swear to Christ and little baby Jesus he was doing the same thing I was. I my called dog stay which they did ready to defend and he certainly had control of his pack cause they stayed with him and settled down a bit. Don't know if it was a mistake or not but i just nodded politely squated at my tree and went on down my route with my dogs. He did the same and that was that.

Of course now I'm scouring the internet in the local diner, over thinking, and praying I didn't offend the space viking. Any advice on how to be good neighbors when you're not looking to bond or atract an astartes?

(Side note: thanks for the heads up in the other post about space wolves liking stills. I noticed driving into town that there was steam rising from about where my grandpa and uncles had their still. I was debating checking it out but after reading through your advice, I'll leave it to him. Specially since I never learned to use it. Dandelion wine on the otherhand? That's a specialty of mine.)

Offgrid Anon

SO you might actually be part of a small amount of people who don't feel a warm fuzzy feeling when interacting with Astartes and actually do feel dread and actually notice things about them. You've probably told people about your worries and nearly everyone has looked at you confused... took a hard look at them before its like they get reset before you pointed out something. I'm also not fully affected I don't feel the dread but I can see things that other people dont.

Yeah given where you live I honestly would be surprised how often you probably wont see them around, probably on some trail cams if you set them up. You might catch a chaos warband or two migrating around your property and/or some loyalist warbands. Not all of them like being around people ~Just as long as there's no reports of human killers in your area you should be fine by yourself.~

Uhhhh you should be fine you could always leave out rations packs or some minor supplies at like an edge of your property maybe even liking a lean too to allow them to sit.