#instead of sweeping everything under the rug

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

ah, remember the good old days when adora actually held catra responsible for her actions instead of letting her get away with whatever she did?

[the-kipsabian]

.

[bidaryl]

the thing about twd fic dying off around s6/s7 is that plot lines and characters beyond that are barely incorporated and included so now we're forever stuck reading about fucking negan being the biggest baddest killer to ever walk the earth and the whisperers and reapers and governors are left in the dust. for once i just wanna read about negan being the Alexandria Outcast: Hated By Most, Needed By Some, and let alpha or the fucking commonwealth be the monster at the end of the story. please

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc: A nice moment with a sleep demon.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main.

---

Danny accidentally absorbed some of Nocturn's powers (like in the Vortex episode), and now, with these new temporary abilities, why not take advantage of them? Like a kid with a new toy, Danny (or should I say Phantom: with a new design) has fun every night going from dream to dream.

The dream world is so strange! Without the constant threat of a dream entity trying to take over the world and all that. Now he has fun exploring the most unusual parts of his classmates' subconscious, or anyone's in general.

Even though he knows he shouldn't be doing this (after all, he's a responsible adult now), spying on other people's dreams isn't exactly something a mature person would do.

On the other hand, Danny is the responsible adult; Phantom is the one who uses his new powers recklessly. Plus, no one in Gotham knows who Phantom is, and at the end of the day, he's not hurting anyone. Point in his favor!

It was all fun and games… until he felt it: the unpleasant taste of a nightmare, distressing and desperate. Phantom knows he has to intervene, because, unlike Nocturn, he does not delight in the suffering of others.

So he goes. And what he sees shocks him.

Resonant laughter of a psychopath, the constant pain of flesh being beaten, and the devastating reminder that no one came to help. Phantom doesn't just see it, he feels it. Gross. What is this? Why would anyone be hurting a child? Then he understands: this is not just a nightmare, it's a memory, and someone is suffering from reliving it.

He absolutely will not allow this nightmare to continue.

...

Jason hasn't been having good days lately, mostly because instead of going to therapy, he's chosen to sweep his trauma under the rug and aggressively throw himself into crime-fighting. He's not good at dealing with his emotions, especially when he's been tormented by the same damn nightmare over and over again.

He knows the script by heart, he knows how it will end, but he still feels the same fear as the first time.

His head hurts.

"No, not again," he thinks in terror. Once again, he's tied up, unable to move or call for help. It's colder than he remembers. The walls have a grotesque tint, with laughter written in every corner. But the worst thing is the silence… until the sound of clashing metal begins to resonate.

Everything is a thousand times worse. He's sure the original scenario wasn't like this, but his terrified mind refuses to accept it.

The metallic sound resonates louder, each crash rumbling in Jason's chest. His breathing quickens, and then he hears it: that laugh.

A deep, distorted echo of laughter that seems to come from every direction. The laughter snakes around the grotesque walls, filled with the same letters that repeat his agony. “Ha… ha… ha…” fills the air, louder with each invisible step that approaches.

Then, he appears.

It’s not the Joker he remembers from that fateful night. This one is worse. Bigger, more deformed, with a smile that seems to tear at his own face. The colors of his suit are darker, more twisted. It’s as if his mind has amplified him, made him more monstrous.

“My, my, how little Robin has grown? But… something remains the same, doesn’t it? No matter how many times you live it, it always ends the same way. And to think that you were my greatest work of art!”

His voice is mocking, but behind the mockery is pure cruelty, a wicked amusement that lights up in those crazy eyes.

The Joker leans towards Jason, his face invading the small distance between them. The sound of metal continues to echo, and Jason knows what's coming next.

"Oh, I almost forgot…" he says, pulling out of nowhere an iron crowbar that gleams in the dim light of the nightmare. "It wouldn't be a good memory without this, would it?"

That's when the pain begins. Jason doesn't want to scream, and he won't. Even though that abominable creature is just a representation of his killer, he won't give him the luxury of listening to him suffer. The blows continue, and Jason bites his tongue. It's just a nightmare, it's not real… it's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not-

"Hey… Are you okay?" he hears him ask. His shocked gaze turns to where the clown should be and discovers that he's gone. In his place, there's a handsome young man: short, slightly messy black hair, expressive purple eyes, and a body almost completely shrouded in dark shadows.

The mysterious man had a cosmic air about him, surrounded by a mix of special effects of stars and galaxies. Something magical.

And new.

Jason honestly doesn't know what he's seeing, or why he's seeing it. "What?" he says, unable to find another word to describe his situation.

The entity laughs at his stunned state, a reassuring echo very different from the joker's laughter. Then he snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's no longer in that ugly room. He's now in a field of flowers, beautiful and vibrant, looking out at a starry sky.

Okay, this is the part where he asks his brain how he went from being in a nightmare to being with a handsome guy under the stars, hands free and untethered.

"Relax, you're not crazy," the being says as he lies back in the grass. “You were in pain, and I didn’t like it, so I got you out of there. Don’t worry, that abomination won’t bother you again.”

Jason blinks twice, bewildered, not understanding anything. “You… saved me?”

“You could say yes.”

“Why?” He shakes his head. “No, wait, that’s not the question. Who…?” Looking back at the being, he decides to change his question: “What are you?”

He seems to have taken the being by surprise.

It clasps its hands together as it looks up at the sky, trying to act normal. Jason narrows his eyes. “You can call me Void.”

“Did you just make up that name?”

The being looks away, seemingly embarrassed at being found out. “Yeah…” And suddenly exclaims, “Ah, ancients! I'm not supposed to be doing this, much less with one of the bats."

That last sentence had given away more than it should have.

"Hey, how about we admire the night view and then pretend this never happened?" Void suggested with a hopeful smile, turning to Jason.

Maybe it was the soft scent of the flowers, the calm atmosphere, or just the tiredness after so many nights of endless nightmares, but Jason, without thinking too much about it, walked over, lay down next to Void on the grass, and said, "No."

He needed a break.

...

And that's how Jason befriended a dream demon. And how Danny pretended to be a dream demon until Nocturn's powers wore off. He couldn't let the bats find out his identity.

After that, they spent more time together, fell in love, there was drama and there was closure. In the middle of all that, Danny started having tea with Alfred in the dream world, and at other times, he had fun bothering the other bats in their dreams.

But that's another story.

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Part 2

[soup-mother]

the endless hyperfixation on "x group has always been part of our community" "so and so have always been here" in queer circles instead of any fucking microgram of self reflection of "how has our community historically treated x group?" "does x group feel welcome in our community?" drives me fucking nuts.

you can't just fucking say "trans women have always been part of the lesbian community s" whev whether or not we're all secretly pervert rapist men has been one of the major fucking splitting points in the (frankly horrifyingly US centric) lesbian community.

it's just demonstrably not true, you have to actually fucking admit to that history you can't just sweep everything under the rug and reblog a pic of marsha p Johnson and go "see? there's never been any transmisogyny here". like hell, using trans women as a token minority within the queer community is such a classic bit of transmisogyny like fucking christ.

why are you so desperate to fabricate history and appeal to some mythical past instead of just actually fucking doing anything now? because so many fucking people just blatantly do not give a shit about us unless one of us has been killed, or there's another callout going around. we are so blatantly NOT welcome in SO many spaces INCLUDING trans spaces and people just fucking refuse to acknowledge that or bombard anyone talking about it with "wow I'm so sorry this happened to you as an isolated incident, dm me if you need to vent". (WOW transmisogyny looks like misogyny, SHOCKING!)

that instinctive run for cover of historical legitimacy is tiring and pathetic, noone's surprised of course but it feels like it needs to be branded into some people's grey matter that you actually need to do more to combat transmisogyny than just gaslight trannies with stonewall photos. fuck.

[rafecameroninterlude]

can you do like a spin off to the fic you did where rafe went to the strip club, and instead of them making up y/n stands on business and leaves 😭? thank you if you do i love your writing smmm

warnings: angst, cheating

a/n: i heard y’all loud and clear, i hope you guys like this version just as much, if not more <3 based off of this request

“fuck, they don’t make them like this on figure eight.” you watched with watery eyes as rafe’s hands roamed the body of a stranger, his friends hollering in the background. seeing rafe receive a lap dance should’ve been enough for you to click out of instagram and call it quits, but you couldn’t help yourself in watching the rest of kelce’s stories. after skimming through the rest of the photos and videos, you didn’t have any tears left in you to cry.

getting up on shaky legs, you took everything you could fit in a suitcase, ignoring the calls from rafe as you went around your shared bedroom, grabbing your things. just as you were taking your last bag downstairs, the front door opened, revealing the last person you wanted to face right now. “what’s all of this?” your head shot up at the voice, your lips swollen from biting on them so hard. “what’s wrong?” he moved close, making you back away.

“please don’t touch me.” your voice came out weak. rafe scoffed, blinking rapidly as you took a seat on the couch, holding your head in your hands. “what’s wrong with you? why do you have all your shit down here?” he kneeled in front of you, the smell of cheap perfume filling your senses. “you should probably remind your friends to hide me from their story ‘next time you want to let someone put their boobs in your face.” you sniffled, avoiding his gaze.

rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he reached for your arm. “baby, please, i can explain everything.” you smiled, shaking your head. “you don’t have to. i really don’t care anymore, i’m leaving.” he narrowed his eyes at you, stumbling over his next words. “w-what the fuck are you talking about?” he grabbed two of your bags, about to take them upstairs before you stopped him. “this isn’t the first time you’ve been unfaithful, rafe, and if i don’t leave right now, it won’t be the last.” your voice cracked.

he shook his head, jogging upstairs, only to see you had cleared everything that belonged to you. rafe’s heart dropped, it looked like you had never been here to begin with. panic settled in his gut. “you can’t leave, i won’t let you.” he came back down, his eyes filled with guilt. “i already have a car on the way.” rafe shouted, punching the air. “y/n, i’m begging you baby, please let’s just go to bed-” you watched him cry, and for the first time you felt nothing. “we’ll forget all about this in the morning, alright? i’ll take you somewhere nice for breakfast, we could spend the day on the druthers the way that you like.” by the way he was talking, it sounded like he was reassuring himself more than you.

“and sweep it under the rug just like the last few times? no.” you laughed bitterly. “you cheat and time and time again i don’t do anything about it. i’m so tired, rafe. ‘tired of hearing the women at the country club call me ‘dumb and clueless’, i’m tired of everyone giving me pitiful looks everytime we walk inside a room.. i’m tired of not being valued.” you looked down at your hand, removing the promise ring that clearly didn’t mean anything.

“hey, hey, come on,” he pulled you up, “i value you, you know i do. i get you everything you want, goddamit, i take care of you!” you flinched at the volume of his voice. “i could get myself whatever i want rafe. all i’ve ever wanted was for you to be faithful, and you can’t even do that.” he watched as you glanced outside. “my ride is here.” he blinked, everything hitting him all at once. “y/n, stop.” he held you in place, not allowing you to move until you shoved him.

“there’s someone out there who is going to love me, and care about my feelings in all situations, someone who isn’t selfish.” you started rolling your suitcase out of the house, rafe following closely behind. “please don’t leave!” he ran his fingers through his hair. he begged and begged until you held the very last bag in your hand. “i hope one day you meet someone like yourself, fall in love with them, and realize that no matter what you do, it will never be enough.” he watched you get into the black suv, feeling nothing but despair as the car drove away.

[pha55ed]

I'll Only Make You Cry || F1

type :: hurt no comfort tw/cw :: cheating, panic attacks, contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, summary :: you catch the drivers cheating on you, crushing everything you've ever known about him - "my heart just can't be faithful for long, i swear i'll only make you cry" - cry by cas

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

Carlos Sainz | 55

There's no way he could ever recover from this. You could tell that his PR team was working overtime in order to sweep this all under the rug. They came up with the lie that you and Carlos broke up a while ago, but you knew the truth all too well.

You never broke up with Carlos, God you even thought you guys were going perfect! Everything seemed to be great until all of those photos got leaked online of Carlos with a random model. She was beautiful, everything that you were insecure about, she lacked. Not a single pimple, spot of cellulite, smidge of fat, nothing. She was like a doll, it only made you more upset.

Did Carlos ever actually feel attracted to you? When you vented to him about your fears of not being enough for him and he comforted you so gently, saying you were a Goddess that could make Aphrodite jealous. And yet, as you kept scrolling through the photos of Carlos and the model, you felt as if you were the Hunchback of Notre dame.

Did Carlos ever actually love you? He was taking this model out to trip in Paris, Spain, and Japan and yet the biggest trip you've done with Carlos is visit your home town. He took her out to fancy dinners, on cruises, and private jet rides and yet you were never even aware he had his own private jet.

He's been spamming you with calls and texts, but you didn't reply to a single one. You were too busy packing up all of your stuff as you got ready to leave your shared apartment. Taking everything with you would be too big of task for now, since you owned most of the kitchen appliances, bedding, hell you even owned the couch. So you focussed on just the basics that you needed to live, shoving them into as many bags as you could. Your best friend said she'd come over and help you pack once she was done with work. She should be with you in about an hour or so, but you have the worst luck ever.

Because instead of Carlos coming home at around midnight, like usual, he came home earlier. It only made you wonder if he only stayed out till midnight to see his other lover, making you feel even sicker to your stomach. You didn't bother to look up at him as he entered the room.

"Cariño, please, no no no, stop" He said as he rushed up to you, trying to stop you from packing but you shoved his hands away. You gave him a disgusted look, as if you no longer knew him. Which was true, you didn't even recognize Carlos anymore.

"(Y/N), please it's just lies. The media is lying!" He tries desperately to convince you but his excuse sounded so stupid, beyond stupid. There's photographic evidence, everywhere that you looked online it was shoved into your face. Not a chance of editing or AI, it was just the raw photo.

"No," you said, trying to sound strict but your voice was still weak despite the loud volume of it, "We're done."

"No no no no, please, please no." He looked so weak, pathetic. You could see the tears form in his eyes. Although you felt hurt to watch him cry, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any empathy since you've been crying for hours on end.

With perfect timing, your best friend knocked on the door. You hastily shoved the final pieces of clothing that you needed as you slammed your suitcase shut. Your best friend ran in and quickly helped grab anything else you could need, like toiletries and electronics. Carlos knew he couldn't do anything, so he stood awkwardly to the side as he watched you leave his life instantly.

Charles Leclerc | 16

Your breathing became shaky as you read the lengthy text message your friend sent you. It was filled to the brim with apologies for what they were saying, but you couldn't even process most of what they wrote since you were so busy staring at the photos of Charles kissing his ex girlfriend.

It was if everything around you just shattered in front of you, that the past year you spent with him was for nothing. All of those dates, kisses, meeting his family, introducing him to your grandma, all for nothing. What hurt even more was the fact that Charles was your first boyfriend after about 2 years since your last ex did the same exact thing.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't even hear the door click as Charles entered your shared hotel room. He just finished having dinner with his team, enjoying a great night out, something he didn't deserve.

As he called your name in such a gentle and loving tone, it made you resent him. How could he possibly act so innocent when you have a literal stack of evidence of him cheating right in your hands. How could he keep acting as if everything was fine?

You turned, tears falling out of your eyes rapidly as your lips shivered, unable to stop yourself from showing how you truly felt. Instantly, he ran to you and held your hand, so gentle and soft, yet those hands were all over his ex last week. You shoved his hand away, simply tossing your phone at him. His eyes scanned the screen, his look of concern being replaced with a face that was mortified.

"Amor," He says gently, once again his hand reaches out to grab your face but you refuse to let him near you. "(Y/N), please, I... I know... I'm so sorry."

His lack of a defense made you even sicker, how could he not even explain himself??? Not even an excuse of being drunk, being stupid, of the photos being old. Not a single excuse, meaning he knew how wrong he was and yet he still did it to please himself, completely forgetting about you.

"We're done." You try to say in a firm tone, but your throat was so tight that it became a whisper. You stood up from the bed, as you hastily began to pack your bags as Charles paced the room with his hands hiding his face.

"Amor, please stop." He says as he tries to stop you. "I-I'll break it off with her."

But you could tell, from the slight stutter and the way his eyes were darting across your face to read you: he was lying yet again. So you shook your head, wiping your tears with your hands as you ran out of the room to order an Uber to somewhere else, anywhere else.

And he didn't stop you. He knew he fucked up, and he knew he didn't deserve you.

Lando Norris | 04

Doing Lando's laundry was boring, but you knew it needed to be done. It was one of the many tasks you did for him to help make his life just a bit easier, especially since he has little to no clue how to even use a washing machine. The last time he did his own laundry, the entire apartment was filled with soap suds because he overloaded it with detergent.

As you made sure to tie his hoodie strings together and empty his pockets, you grabbed something odd out of his trousers. A hotel key card. This wouldn't have been super odd, he's forced to sleep in hotels 24/7 due to his job except the fact that it wasn't a fancy hotel like usual. You knew McLaren would only put Lando in the best hotels possible, so it was suspicious to see a random hotel brand that's known for being cheap and easy to buy.

You could feel something wrong in your guts, something telling you that this wasn't just some random bad booking from McLaren but instead something deeper. It felt extremely stalker-ish but you needed to satisfy the voice in your head: so you looked through Lando's bank statements.

And that's when you saw that he booked this room three nights ago, when he told you he was staying at Oscar's place after a huge party. You could feel your heart sink, assuming the worse possible scenario. But you tried to push those thoughts aside and see the best in him.

But that attempt was cut short, as you scrolled up and saw multiple bookings at random hotels. So many random hotels that you eventually lost track. The only things that was also being charged on his card were drinks, which were always bought in extreme amounts before booking a room.

You weren't dumb, your brain connected the dots easily: he was cheating on you. But you still didn't have solid evidence beside bank statements. Besides, maybe he wasn't cheating on you? Maybe he just gets super wasted and then crashes at a hotel instead of his fancy one to sleep? Sounds stupid, but then again Lando is pretty stupid.

So you decided to dig deeper, going through his bank history to see if he has any other odd statements. That's when you saw money constantly being sent to random Zelles, Paypals, and Venmos. You thought it would just be him paying his friends back or giving them some money - but all of the names were female. Tiffany, Rebecca, Malibu, and many more. Oddly enough it was always on the nights he got a hotel. Almost as if he was paying a girl for a service. But there's no way he could be cheating? He's just your plain old stupid Lando, right?

Continuing your stalker behavior, you searched the girls names online. And you were right - all your worst fears coming true. They were all models, drop dead gorgeous models. Skinny, tall, blonde, and rich, his exact type. And as if couldn't get worse, all of those models followed him and he followed them back. And even more worse, the more you scrolled through the girls feed: you could connect the entire story. You knew you needed to leave.

As you cried whilst packing your bags, you heard the door click. He came home, much earlier than you expected him to. Normally you'd run to him, greeting him with kisses and hugs. He went searching for you, finding you on the floor as you folded your clothes into your second large suitcase.

"Love? What's going on???" He says, panicking and trying to keep his cool. He knew that you knew, there's no other reason for you to pack besides that. Instantly, he got onto his knees, being at your eye-level as his hand went on top of yours, trying to stop you from packing.

But you flinch your hand away, giving him a nasty glare as you stared at him coldly. You wanted to speak to him, curse him out, shove all of your evidence into his face, but you couldn't. Your throat was shut tight and your lungs were barely able to give you enough oxygen to breathe whilst crying.

"Just tell me, please, please just tell me what I did." He said, as he started unpacking your bag. He took out your folded clothes, unravelling them, ruining your hard work to pack neatly. "You don't need to leave, we can fix this!"

His words made it clear that he knew, he knew that he's ben caught. And he knew that there was no way to defend his actions. Sure he was drunk, but making that "mistake" 40 times is a habit. As if to make you even mad, you saw Lando begin to cry.

As if his tears switched a gear in you, you smacked his hand away from your luggage as you hastily shoved all the now-unfolded clothes into your suitcase. "I'll never forgive you." You said with venom in your words despite your grief.

Oscar Piastri | 81

You couldn't find your favorite lip liner, it always went missing for some reason. Although you had other lip liners, you NEEDED this one, you were loyal to it. It was the best shade and buttery smooth, you wanted to use only the best products for this award show you were attending with Oscar.

But as you continued to search helplessly, you started to search Oscar's desk. Sometimes you would place stuff on his desk on accident. As you searched through his desk, you found a small little velvet box. Your heart instantly dropped, was that a ring? Possibly for you?! You have been dating for almost 2 years now, about to reach 3 years within a month. A smile crept onto your face, unable to hide the joy of possibly being Oscar's forever.

You sneakily opened the box, only to be met with a beautiful rose-gold necklace... Odd, you're not a rose-gold girl. You've always been a silver person since you were born. But the material didn't even matter, as you looked at the rose-gold plated name, "Lily", his ex's name...

Oh haha,,, you awkwardly close the box. Must have been an old gift he was supposed to give her? Except, as you examined the box, there wasn't an ounce of dust on it. And even worse, you checked the bottom of the velvet box, with a message saying, "Happy 6 Years, my Lily." The exact amount of time they would have been dating, if you never came in the picture...

"(Y/N)! We have to go now! We're about to be late-" Oscar came into the room, looking at your holding onto the small box. Instantly, his eyes widened as he quickly grabbed the box out of your hands. "Why are you snooping around my desk??"

As if you snooping was the biggest issue, and not the fact the he has a gift for his ex - or actually, not his ex, but his other girlfriend. His defensiveness and blame was shocking to you, he's never been like this before. Usually he's calm and collected, able to talk any issue out, but now it's as if he's defending his life.

"Why do you have that...?" You question him, voice weak from worry that your reassurances to yourself were all false. "Why does it say Lily?"

"It's nothing, we need to go now." He says, dismissing you completely as he shoved the necklace into his pocket. His back turned as he walked out of his office, his shoulders were tense, hands pushing his hair back as he chewed the inside of his mouth - high from nerves.

But you couldn't care less for this stupid award show, you chased him and asked again as his hand was on the door knob. "Oscar, what's the necklace for? Why does it say Happy 6 years?" You voice shivered slightly.

He was unable to answer, not sure how to get out of this. Although he's been hiding Lily for ages, now it seemed as if he was unable to do it for any longer. "We'll talk about it when we get back home." He says, trying to stall for more time to come up with an excuse and plan.

But you stood your ground, standing in the house still while he was waiting outside of the door. As you both looked in each others eyes, your eyes welling up with tears while Oscar's were colder than usual: it was as if you could both tell it was the end.

"Can you at least act fine for 3 more hours." He says apathetically, making the tears finally fall from your eyes which answer his question. No, you could not act fine for 3 hours, how would that even be possible. You guess it is possible since Oscar has been acting "fine" for 3 fucking years with you.

Your tears didn't even make him flinch, instead it made him sigh. His hand pushed on the knob as he left you in the room, alone. You understood what his silence meant: it was over. You began to pack the essential before calling your best friend to get you. Within a span of 10 minutes, the man that you saw being your future husband was gone.

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

[xclowniex]

I can't believe this is a radical opinion in these current times.

If a part of your group is being violent towards jews, physically or emotionally or chanting for violence, and the group as a whole does not call those people out and prevent antisemitism and instead ignores them, tries to say they aren't really apart of the group or tries to sweep them under the rug, then the whole group has a problem with antisemitism.

Ignoring and sweeping antisemitism under the rug means that the group does not view it as a problem.

If you do not prevent or call out antisemitism, it means the group is fine with it existing in the same spaces you do.

If you truly do not want antisemitism in pro palestine movements, you will do everything to prevent and stop it from existing in those spaces, same for any groups. If you do not, you are fine with it existing in pro palestine spaces.

[puppetwoman17]

I wonder what the batfam's reactions would be if the joker escapes wherever they sent him to, finds Tim on patrol and was like "Long time no see JJ," and then going on about how he should come home with him back to arkham and he'll help him "recover" and are trying to get to Tim's location as fast as they can while listening in on comms?

This was actually a scenario I thought of the day I found out about JJ. I feel like after what happened, Tim would do the opposite of what Jason would and has done. Instead of going to find the Joker, he would stay as far away from him or even his goons as possible. It would be like the third Robin and the Joker had no history, nothing to tie them together(which probably made Jason angry at some point).

So when he breaks out of Arkham(AGAIN, jesus), Tim, Babs, and Bruce don’t waste a minute before bringing up that Tim has another case he has to work on that is of the “upmost importance”. It’s actually just a 12 year old homicide cold case that he solved a month ago but no one has to know that. Jim knows to sweep that under the rug when RR comes by with the same exact evidence he came with a month ago.

But Lady Luck has never been on Tim’s side. The rest of the bats quickly lose track of the Joker. Babs manages to find him, but by that point, it’s too late.

Joker finds him. And he recognizes him. Underneath the new name, costume, and styled hair, Joker finds his “son”.

As you can imagine, he’s over the moon. But he’s also just as angry.

“Junior! You don’t call, you don’t text, you don’t send out an email. What’s a pop got to do to get their son to notice them?”

“I’m not your son.”

“Not with that hair you’re not. Your skin’s not how I left it at all! And what happened to that beautiful smile of yours? Did the bat ruin that too?”

Tim doesn’t take jabs about his smile well. This is why. And it gets under his skin that even after using so much foundation and concealer, the Joker can still see the remnants of smile lines along his cheeks.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Junior. You know papa doesn’t like being ignored.“

“You’re not my dad.”

“Ha! Who is then? Certainly not the old bat. Anyhow, this isn’t about him. It’s been so long, kiddo. Why don’t we stop by the old warehouse and have a chat. Maybe even pick up Mama while we’re at it.”

“Harley would rather die than go with you, and I’m not following you anywhere. Batman already has your location.”

That brushes the smile off the freak’s face. The expression he has on now is sickly reminiscent of how he was when he, Tim, and Harley played family years ago. It’s not a look he gives to other people. No one else has seen it, so they might think Tim a liar. But he can’t deny the parental disappointment in the man’s eyes.

“I know they don’t know.”

Now that. That really gets to him.

“None of your business.”

“It it, but you’re welcome to deny it. I believe it’s just the old bat, the beat up cop, and Ms. Gordon, correct? Not even the first Robin! Ha! I wonder what the second bird would think. Not to mention the girls! Oh! And we can’t forget about little old Signal.”

Tim doesn’t need him to tell him. He’s gone over the scenario so many times it drives him mad. What each of them would say. What he could do to make them think differently. What he would have to do if they found out. Where he could run to. It never gets easier.

Joker is trying to scare him. That’s the only conclusion he definitively has. And aside from his general psychotic tendencies, he genuinely believes he and Tim are family.

By the time Batman arrives with the GCPD, the Joker is tied and ready for extraction. But the villain’s smile is no less fear-inducing.

“You know I’m right, my boy,” he says as he’s take into the back of a truck.

“They’ll never look at you the same way again.”

It’s only when everything is over that Tim takes the time to look over his gear that he finds his mistake. One that the Joker knew about. One that he exploited.

When he shut off the comms, he didn’t shut them off. In his delirium over his past, instead of closing them off, he muted them. While he couldn’t hear any of their chatter, they definitely heard his. And he didn’t send Babs his acceptance to shut his comms off, something she couldn’t do without express permission.

So when he unmuted the comms, you can only imagine what he heard.

[sharkboywrites]

Apparently a lot of you guys, especially people who suddenly decide they know everything about transmascs, don’t actually know what invisibility or erasure actually means. You guys phrase it like “the oppressor does not know you exist and ignores you while attacking others” but it’s actually the opposite. The oppressor is making sure YOU don’t see US. The oppressor is making sure that you don’t see the awful things done to transmascs. Transmascs are forced to leave their homes, denied medical care and gender affirming care, forced to detransition, forced into pregnancy, forced to be wives, etc. When transmascs die, many of us are buried with our deadnames, buried as women, and added to a woman statistic instead of being recognized as a transgender person. Terfs and transphobes ARE posting about trans men. Terfs are posting underage transmascs and encouraging harassing them for also being in sports, just like trans women, no matter which team they play on. Transmascs are being threatened and hurt, you’re just not seeing it, or choosing to ignore it. That’s what erasure is. If I’m forced to detransition, become a wife and have kids, that is not a privilege. That is a traumatizing and horrific outcome. If I’m denied medical care, that’s not a privilege. If I die, if I am killed for being trans, today, or tomorrow, or any point in the near future, I will be buried with my deadname and as a woman by my family, no doubt about it. Don’t tell me that that’s a privilege. That is not being ignored, that is having my identity erased, that is sweeping who I was under the rug, and that is in no way a privilege.

[vxnuslogy]

— love is (ir)rational. ft. veritas ratio

— warnings: angst and breakups

— author's note: incredibly self-indulgent and heavily influenced by tiktoks and mitski songs. the last statement is from this article so please give it a read since its very interesting !!

to say that your relationship with veritas ratio was hanging by a thread was an understatement.

you tried your hardest to sweep every argument at night when you enter his office under the rug and prayed to the aeons that he'd forget it when morning came; you never learned how to deal with confrontation, so you did what you do best: avoid the situation entirely at all cost.

playing as the fool who couldn't see the cracks in your already fragile situation with ratio but still clinged onto the tiniest of hopes that everything will be fixed. that no argument between you two would actually leave you to split paths. you always found a way to one another, a middle ground you had unspokenly created. you always made it work. you had to make it work.

“this is not going to work, [name]!” he shouts as you fight back tears.

“you don't know that! we always make it work don't we, veritas? you can't just decide stuff like this on your own!” you argue with him the best you could, but veritas ratio was a genius. 

you will never win an argument against him.

“this is hurting us. you.” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “we can't continue like this, and you know it.”

“then continue to hurt me.” you desperately try to claw into your lover's mind. trying to keep any piece of him because it was better to not have anything at all. “i don't care if it hurts, veritas! if it's you then it's fine, i can look past it.”

you look like a scared animal, desperate for love and the need to feel something, even if it was pain.

“we'll be fine, veritas.” you clutch onto your shirt as tears pricked your eyes. “we have to! you promised me!”

ratio was a logical man. he was a genius. someone who should've been acknowledged by nous themselves. but at this very moment, he realizes that no amount of academic knowledge will compare to the flurry of the unknown emotional wreckage that is you. someone who thinks too much of love. bewitched with the prospect of love instead of their actual partner - him.

“veritas, please… we can still make this work.”

the diplomas of his achievements were a farce; a big hoax to hide the hollowness that resides within where his heart should be.

“you and i both know that we were both too far gone to save.”

ratio closes his eyes. trying his best to rid the hurt and shrinking image of you from his mind. 

“you don't know how to love yourself.” you avoided the truth to protect yourself, he traversed the universe to make the truth known. “how can you expect me to give you the love you want when you don't even know what it is?”

what an ugly pair you two make.

“that's bullshit!” you were gasping for air. scavenging your mind to try and find a way to refute him like you always do. “i want you, veritas! do you not understand that?”

“no.” he answered with a shake of his head. “no, i do not, [name].”

you feel your already broken heart crack a little more.

“that stuff is all bullshit.” your whisper now was just above whisper. “so what if what you said is true? you loved me at least didn't you?”

veritas didn't like the way you looked at him. so full of loneliness and fear. that look didn't suit you, not in the slightest.

“that's all i needed, veritas. you loved me so much i forgot what it felt like to hate myself.”

to love means to surrender intellectual control; veritas ratio cannot rationalize love even if you told him otherwise. but there was one thing you didn't tell him - one thing you refused to tell veritas ratio.

‘if your partner has inherently good qualities, but your love for them is based on a projection of your fantasy onto them, your love does not fit the qualities of the beloved that fueled your love. your love fails to be epistemically justified.’

— [name], ????. the emotion that is love.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱ Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Fourteen ♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Fourteen Warnings: profanity, slight gore, violence Click on the first tag to see all the other chapters.

♱Where the purest soul in Heaven falls for the Devil♱

[Chapter Fourteen]

You frantically threw aside the cushions, sweeping your hand under the sofa, rug and table in search of the bracelet. After checking everything you slumped, your back to the sofa, heart thrumming wildly. It had been hours since you’d started searching for it, the sun dipping beneath the horizon. Your entire living room had been turned upside down, inside out in the desperate search. 

It was definitely gone. 

You stood up, fists clenched, and pressed your palm against the cool glass, searching for Lute’s silhouette against the sky. She wasn’t there. 

It was definitely her who had taken it.

But wait- you flinched away from the window as you made eye contact with a winner on the street. Maybe she hadn’t taken it. Maybe it was lying around somewhere in your house, waiting for you to find it. You racked your brains, trying to remember where you had last put it. 

Of course your memory would fail you now. Of-fucking-course. 

You flopped onto the sofa, staring at the light hanging above you. Maybe you could enlist someone’s help. But then what would you say?

Hey, I was wondering if you could help me find this illegal bracelet I lost. Yeah, I use it to illegally communicate with my illegal boyfriend, who also did illegal stuff and got kicked out of Heaven. I’m probably next, haha. Don’t worry about it!

No doubt someone would ask for an explanation. 

You sat up, pulled yourself together, and held your head high. If you went down, it would be with grace. Not a desperate, scrambling, pleading mess, groveling at Sera and Lute’s for the slightest scrap of mercy they could have spared you. 

You slunk to your room. You might as well just go to sleep.

♱♱♱

A knock sounded on the door.

Your heart jolted painfully, and you opened the door to see Saint Peter’s smile plastered across his face.

“Saint Peter,” you observed, flicking your eyes up and down his face. His smile strained a little, as if he knew what he thought you didn’t. But you did know. Unfortunately. 

The morning light that had filtered through your blinds, cutting the darkness in your house like butter, now blinded you full in the face as you stood outside on your porch. Peter smoothed his clothes down, and you noticed a shake in his hand despite the relatively warm sun, touched by the cool breeze. He was nervous. 

“I think you know what I’m here about,” Saint Peter said apologetically. You arched a brow, deciding to play it cruel with him. The more you could frazzle him, the better.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you said coldly, stepping forward, advancing towards him dangerously. He stumbled back a little, face colouring.

“[name],” he said, and his voice was as firm as he could muster. “Please. Sera wants to see you.”

Your chest clenched, airways closing. You froze, wings fluttering slightly in the breeze. You could feel Peter’s eyes trained on you. You smiled wryly. 

“Aren’t you meant to be at the gates?” You asked, hoarsely. “I’d go back if I were you.” Your wings instinctively spread out as you took a shaky step back, towards your front door. 

He sighed, and it was low and long. His eyes were weary. “You can’t run away.”

Two black figures shot out in front of you, and you let out a small scream, trying to wrench away as one of them gripped your arm before the other, tugging you back. You kicked out with your legs, then went limp, panting. “Get off of me,” you hissed. 

One of the exorcists dropped your hand, although the other didn’t, instead opting to point the spear at your neck as you remained in the crushing vice of her grip. The one who had released you took a couple of steps back, taking off her helmet. Brown locks tumbled down, swaying in the wind.

“[name],” Avery said, and her eyes were serious. “You better come with us.” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it. The melancholy in the girl’s eyes had always had an effect on you. “Fine,” you choked out. Peter made a pleased noise, face glowing with the relief and satisfaction that washed over him. It made your blood boil, but you cooled it again. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, before wrestling your arm out of the second exorcist’s grip. “Let go of me,” you muttered. You locked eyes with her glowing ones shining off of her helmet. “I’m not going to run away,” you spat, and after a reproachful glance towards Avery she dropped your arm, prodding you forward with the blunt end of her spear. 

Saint Peter took to the skies. Avery turned to you. “You try to fly away,” she began,

“We’ll shoot you down with no hesitation. Got it?”

“Got it,” you said flatly, and with a powerful beat of her wings she thrust herself into the air, donning her helmet again. The exterminator behind you didn’t move, so statuesque you had forgotten she was there. 

You threw yourself into the sky, and felt the whoosh of air from underneath you- another from behind you. Twisting your neck behind, you saw the exterminator in tow.

Heaven’s buildings and streets glided away beneath you in a pastel blur, Avery and Saint Peter in the distance ahead, the other exterminator on your heels. A large park came into view, soft green grass speckled with trees, which eventually gave way into a wood. 

An impulsive thought seized you, coursing through your blood like hot fire. 

You swerved left, shooting into the undergrowth. You could feel the exorcist’s enraged yell behind you, fading as you swerved beneath the canopy and crouched down into the leaves, peering at them through the branches. Avery jabbed a finger in one direction, then another, then lastly, yours, eyes not seeing you as she flew off and away. Saint Peter went another way, but the exterminator’s head turned, slowly. 

Her eyes locked onto yours.

You suppressed a small scream as she darted towards you, a black blur in the air as you launched back into the air again, weaving haphazardly through the trees. Thorns and branches cut at your skin, pain blooming sweet and fresh. 

The black blur collided with you like a thrown spear, shoving you onto the ground and straddling you as you wrestled to get out. Your hand twisted beneath you, pain shooting up your arm and rooting into your shoulder. She grabbed your hands, pinning you down, and your shoulder twisted and cracked. You screamed. 

“Stop moving,” she hissed, voice hard. You sent her off with one powerful kick, and her head slammed into the tree, lolling against the wood. You poised your wings for flight, then froze, your entire body going rigid. 

“Are you…” your throat was dry, voice coming out cracked and raspy. 

She didn’t move, but let out a light groan, head flopping down. You stumbled forward, hand outstretched, then pulled it back. There was a trickle of golden blood down her neck. You felt your own shoulder throb at the sight. You looked into the sky, and saw Avery suspended in the air, wings beating steadily.

Directly above you. 

♱♱♱ a/n: I wrote this cause ppl were asking me to write and blowing up my dms and inbox on here and other platforms so basically I was pressured into it but PLEASE after this leave me be because I have exams and they’re really tough but important. I’d rather write when I can and what I feel like writing than be pressured into updating a fic I started for fun. This isn’t the only thing I’m writing or wanna write, I have other ideas and interests I wanna explore. I have literally gotten texts saying “why did you update (fic name) but not FFM? While saying you have exams? You hypocrite…” Like girl what… I have free time and FFM isn’t some weird commitment I swore by? The more I get treated like this the less interested and demotivated I’m getting in this fic. I’m not your content machine. wtf

[noxturnalpascal]

Mutual

Steve Murphy x F!Reader (3.6k)

Summary: You and Steve spend some late nights in the office together, finding a new way to work off some of the frustrations of the never-ending hunt for the narcos.

Warnings: Basically all smut (and a big ole cock). Infidelity (only if your name is Connie).

A/N: A gift for one of my favorite - and long time - mutuals, @toxicanonymity. Thanks for everything you do for this community and for always being there whenever I need anything. Love you lots!!

You walk into the mostly-empty office holding two styrofoam cups of coffee and wearing a beleaguered expression. Immediately your eyes are drawn to Murphy’s hands, his elongated fingers, stained purple and red beneath the skin, cuts still oozing at his knuckles. You watch him stand up, take off his jacket and loosen his tie, then resume sitting behind his desk, completely ignoring your entrance. 

“You’re here late,” Peña offers.

“Yeah, well some of us can’t get away with doing whatever we want,” you quip back.

Peña’s hand flies to his chest and pouts his lower lip as if your words have wounded him. You roll your eyes. You look back towards Murphy and can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You wonder why. He still hasn’t looked up, busy flipping through paperwork, making notes in the margins.

“Seriously though, why are you here so late? I bet your boyfriend doesn’t like that,” Peña teases.

“I’ve told you several times that I don’t have a boyfriend, Peña.”

“And I’ve told you several times to call me Javi,” he coos. You resist the urge to roll your eyes again as he maintains eye contact. “Besides, if you’re single, why don’t I ever see you going on dates?”

“Because I’m here, working through dinner with you cowboys!” 

Steve huffs a laugh at that and when you look at him he’s finally looking your way, eyebrows raised and pointing to one of the steaming cups in your hand. You hand it over, his long, bruised fingers brushing over yours during the exchange, and then offer the other cup to his partner. He doesn’t reach for it.

“Actually ma’am,” Peña says in a mock accent as he tips an invisible cowboy hat to you, “this ole cowboy has a late dinner date.” He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, hastily shoves his arms into it, gives a wink to you, and heads out without another word.

“Don’t mind him,” Murphy says, “a ‘late dinner date’ is just code for hooker.”

Now it’s your turn to chuckle. Why isn’t he wearing his wedding ring tonight? Maybe he took it off earlier when he was washing the blood from his hands but… No, you don’t remember seeing it then either. You realize he’s looking at you, watching you stare at his fucking hands. He’s gotta know you like his hands, right? It’s not awkward. He’s gotta know.

“That looks painful,” you don’t look away from them. “Was it worth it?”

“I dunno yet,” he goes back to flipping through his papers. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Murphy’s little stunt earlier didn’t just mean his hands were a cut-up mess, it also meant he’d have pulled the short straw to finish the paperwork needed to try and sweep it under the rug. If all went well, and they’d put the right amount of money into the right people’s pockets, he could get away with having beat that snarky reporter’s face in and no one around here would be asking too many questions in the morning. It’s going to be a long night. 

You grab the papers off Peña’s desk, carry them to the far end of the office, not your normal desk, and begin typing up his notes into a formal report. Your normal desk was upstairs outside the Ambassador’s office, being one of his attachés meant you traveled with him in-country and helped during his posting at his discretion. You were one of his favorite attachés and that came with a lot of perks; always flying with him and his family in the private jet instead of slumming it in commercial, a plant-covered, sun-lit desk by the window, and always being trusted with the most confidential of orders. 

Unfortunately for you, lately, his orders had you spending long-nights with the feckless DEA agents trying to make orderly, lawful reports of their chaotic and illicit methods to catch the narcos. The ambassador trusted few else but you to spin their lawless nonsense into cohesive accounts with diplomatically-acceptable language. You knew your long hours were appreciated - by the Ambassador if by no one else - and you really didn’t have much of a life outside of work, so it wasn’t the worst problem to have. Besides, working late came with its own set of perks.

---

You’re not sure how much time has passed but as you wrap up typing Peña’s chicken-scratch, you look up to see if Murphy is anywhere close to being done only to find him not at his desk. You wait a few minutes and when he still hasn’t returned you get up and walk past it. His desk is more centrally located than the one you were using and from here you can see the whole office. The coffee cup sits empty, the ashtray overflowing, his coat hanging limply from his chair. But no Murphy. You walk towards the main entrance, pass the department secretary’s desk, call out his name, and receive no answer in return. 

Just as you’re about to turn and go back to your work, you see just a fraction of movement out of the corner of your eye. The blinds in Messina’s office just beyond the secretarial desk are all closed except the ones covering the window on the door, which are raised just a fraction. 

Is he? Again? He must like this more than you thought. 

You make your way to the DEA lead’s office door and test the knob - unlocked - just like you knew it would be. Pushing the door open slowly and flipping on the lights has you greeted with a groan. It’s Murphy, sitting on his boss’s leather office couch, cock in hand. 

“When we say you DEA boys do nothing but sit around all day with your dicks in your hands, this isn’t what we mean,” you tease. He doesn’t even try to cover himself, doesn’t make a move to hide what he’s doing. This is definitely part of it. He likes this. You’ll have to play your part. “What kind of a man has to jerk off at work? Things really that bad at home?” 

He groans again, and you watch his big right hand squeezing himself at the base of his thick cock. You’re not sure how long he’s been in here but he’s apparently just been edging himself, if the ruddy head and pearlescent beads leaking from his tip are any indication. Just based on the size of him you always thought he might have a respectable dick, but the fact that it still looks massive, even in his giant fucking hands, is even more impressive. 

“Sorry you had to catch me like this,” he grumbles, as if he didn’t orchestrate this entire scenario for that very reason. He hasn’t resumed touching himself, he just holds it - enormous and erect - like an obelisk of flesh. 

“I don’t think you are sorry, you filthy pervert.” You close the door behind you and walk to Messina’s desk, sitting on the edge of it facing him. “I think you fucking love getting caught with that big cock out, don’t you?”

He sucks air and squeezes even tighter as you watch the clear precum flowing out of his slit and running over his flushed head.

“C’mon, Murphy,” you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. “You’d better get it over with before more people walk in here and see that big, fat cock of yours.”

Almost like he was waiting for your permission, he begins pumping himself, using the viscous liquid running down his shaft to lubricate his strokes. You untuck your blouse and pull it off completely, folding it next to you on the desk while you watch him - completely dressed - jerking off. Aside from his loosened tie thrown over his shoulder, he’s still wearing the same outfit he came to work in, not even the blood-spattered sleeves of his rumpled white dress shirt have been rolled up. Just like last time, and each time before that, the only skin he’s showing you are his hands, wrapped around his dick and balls. 

You pull your eyes away from what his hands are doing and make eye contact with him, seeing him break away to watch you undo your bra, letting it fall slowly down your arms to reveal your breasts to him. You set it next to you on the desk and sit back on your hands, sticking your chest to the sky. He doesn’t take his eyes off you when he speaks.

“Gonna take more than that, honey. Do it like last time.” And there it is, the first time he’s acknowledged that this is a repeat occurrence.

Like last time. You’d thought last time might have gone too far, thought maybe you’d scared him off, especially since it was weeks ago that it’d happened. But apparently not. Apparently it wasn’t too much. Apparently it was just enough… and he’s been thinking about it happening again.

You stand up off the desk, slowly pulling down on the zipper at the back of your skirt, letting your breasts push forwards while your hands work behind you. You watch as he licks his lips, tugging slowly up and down his shaft, gently squeezing his balls with his left hand. You pull your skirt down your legs, folding it and placing it with your other clothes next to you. You stick your fingers in the waistband of your pantyhose and underwear - the only clothes you have left on - and watch him slowly nod his head, eyes glued to your center, ready and waiting.

You slowly pull down your remaining garments, feeling the relative chill of the office air hitting your bare cunt as you bend forward. Once the hose is at your ankles you turn around to brace yourself on the desk, giving him the view you were just denying him. He moans, lowly. You bend forward, a hand on the desk, and slip off each shoe one by one, pulling the hose and your underwear over each foot. You finally stand to place them on the desk with everything else and then turn back to face the couch.

He’s slowed down so much his hand is barely moving now, just brushing languidly over the head of his cock, smearing the steady flow leaking out. You sit back on the desk and slowly, so slowly, spread your legs open. You hear him growl a yeahhh in response. “This what you wanted, Murphy?” You tease.

“You know what I want,” he whines through clenched teeth, “so give it to me.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to give me orders, you fuckin’ creep,” you snap, knowing it goes straight to his cock by the way his left hand tightens on his balls.

You oblige him anyways, knowing you need this just as badly as he does at this point. You take the middle finger of your dominant hand and run it up and down your slit, lips parting easily since you’re already so wet. You’ve probably been wet since you noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring earlier. Maybe the rumors about Connie leaving the country were true, maybe his marriage is actually over. So if that’s his excuse for being a horny pervert, what was yours?

You tease your finger over your hole, spreading your legs wider so he can see every slick movement you make. You drag your wetness up to your clit and part your folds with your other hand, drawing smooth circles around your sensitive bud. 

“You’d better hurry up, you disgusting deviant, because I’m leaving the second I come,” you command.

You don’t bother to wait for him to look you in the eye to measure your sincerity, you just increase the pace and pressure of your finger and throw your head back, moaning in ecstasy. You can hear him speed up his movements, can hear the sound of skin on skin schlocking quicker as he chases his release. Last time didn’t take long. Last time you got a few circles over your clit and he was coming all over his pale-yellow dress shirt. Last time you had to finish yourself at home, reduced to fantasizing about his cock while you cried out alone in your bed.

The thought has you changing course. Maybe you can actually come this time, if not before him at least the sound of his grunting orgasm could push you over the edge. It won’t be too much, right? He’s gonna get off - again - so why shouldn't you? You drag your fingers back to your hole, leaking wetness down your thighs. He makes a sharp intake of breath. Your head is still thrown back but he’s clearly watching you. You slowly insert two fingers, coating them with your wetness and then pumping them faster in and out.

The sounds of your fingers squelching in and out of your wet hole fill the room now, drowning out his pistoning hand and huffing breaths. It’s probably why you don’t hear him get off the couch, don’t hear him walk to the desk, don't hear him panting right in front of you. You don’t even know he’s there until the heat of his left hand is spanning across the inside of your thigh, halfway between your knee and your core.

You lift your head quickly, a sharp intake of breath instead of a scream, and see his nearly-black eyes watching your faltering hand with rapt attention.

“Can you fit a third?” he rasped. “I bet you can.” Your pussy clenches around your fingers.

You know a snappy quip wouldn’t go amiss but for some reason - with the heat of his hand matching the heat of his gaze - you can’t seem to get one past your lips. You drag your fingers out slowly and line up a third with the other two, already soaked and dripping. Steadily, you insert them back in your greedy hole as he squeezes your thigh - his massive grip taking up an obscene amount of real estate on your leg - and brings himself so close that you can feel his moving knuckles wafting cool air over your wet lips.

His dick is so fucking close. It would be so easy for him to just fucking stick it inside you. But he’s married. That’s what he’d made sure to say the first time… and the second. I’m married, as if it meant anything to you. Just help me out, he’d begged, and you were more than willing. Just a married guy needing a pretty, eager girl to look at. You’d been dreaming about Steve Murphy’s dick since he wore a tight pair of jeans his second week here, and you got a glimpse of the massive bulge he had hidden in them. Well, it was hard to hide, and now you know why.

But then you remember - eyes darting to his left hand, still hot on your skin - he’s not wearing his wedding ring. 

“You ever fuck a woman with that cock, Murphy? Or just your hand?”

The sound that comes out of his mouth can only be described as a whimper. He moves his hand up your thigh, closer to where you want it, and squeezes your flesh again. His fist is making practiced moves over his length, starting mid-shaft where his girth widens and pushing up over his crown with fluttering fingers. He’s giving himself pressure on the underside where he’s most sensitive, then gathering the constant stream spilling down his cockhead and over his knuckles, and spreading it out on his downstroke. You feel him press in closer, so close, his eyes not wavering from your fingers plunging in and out of your sopping hole. 

Then, it happens.

He’s moved so close that his knuckles graze along your spread lips, hitting right at your clit - four in a row - like the brief kiss of a vibrator. You almost scream. And Murphy notices. Oh, does he notice. Your movements have come to a halt, as have his, and you both wait to see what the other does next. A sly grin settles across his face.

“I thought you were in a hurry?” He taunts.

He pushes his left hand down into your thigh - spreading you open to your limit - and takes his right hand off his dick. He grabs your hand by the wrist, pulling your fingers out of you with a wet, suctioning noise. You watch him put your hand onto his dick, covering it with his much larger hand, and spread your own shocking wetness down and back up his shaft. He lets your hand go but before it can resume its place inside you, he’s closed the gap, pushing his pelvis forward, bouncing his cock against your hooded clit, causing you to twitch at the sensation. 

“You’d better hurry up and come, honey, before Javi comes back to see you spread eagle like this.”

“Fuck you,” you manage to choke, hating how he thinks he has the upper hand now.

He stops tapping his rounded head on your sensitive bud and instead rubs himself left to right, the change in movement hitting you like a lightning bolt. 

“You’d better come before I do, naughty girl,” he continues to tease, echoing your earlier demand.

“So give it to me,” you answer, echoing his. 

He pushes forward, cock held tightly in his fist, and fits his wide head into your hole, making you gasp. You brace for the rest of it - the stretch, the sting - but it never comes. You wiggle your hips, even tilt your pelvis towards him the little bit you can from your position on the desk, and all you feel is his fist hitting your sticky lips.

“Murphy.”

His stupid fucking grin. Hmmmm? He’s watching you struggle.

“Quit playing around,” you whine.

“Quit playin’ around,” he repeats. He lifts his dick upwards, popping it out of its shallow entry, then slowly lines it back up, bumping around clumsily - on purpose - before putting just the tip back inside you.

“Fuck you, Murphy,” you hiss.

“Fuck me?” He repeats the motion of popping himself out, poking around, and then giving you just a fraction of what you know he could be giving you.

“Fuck me, Murphy, fuck me.” You throw your head back as he goes through the motions a third time. “Please, Murphy. Please fuck me.”

He lines himself up again at your weeping hole, but this time you feel both of his hands grabbing at the meat of your hips. He pulls you down onto him and pushes himself up into you in equal measure, slowly but steadily filling you up. You hear him groaning, hear yourself whining, high-pitched and strung-out. You feel the sting, you feel the stretch, you feel the weight of him pressing into you until his pelvis bumps yours. You’re both watching where he’s disappeared into you, the silence stretching on.

“You ready for this big fuckin’ cock, honey?”

“I’ve had bigger,” you lie.

He pulls back quickly and slams forward into you, rocking the desk you lie on, and knocking over a cup of pencils. You both ignore them clattering onto the floor as he pounds into you relentlessly. The wet smacking noise of your bodies clapping together, the huffing groans coming out of both your mouths, the smell of sweat and sex and coffee. He fills you up so perfectly, hitting every place deep inside you that you never even knew existed. It’s so much better than it was in your fantasies. You reach down to touch your clit and this time it’s you that comes after only a few circles around it.

You can’t fucking help yourself. His bloody knuckles turned white with their tight grip at your hips, his furrowed brow and utter concentration - pupils blown large - staring at himself fucking your cunt, his grunts of pleasure as he finally finally gives you his fat fucking cock. You cry out his name, feeling yourself clench around his length, flooding him with your release, hearing the sounds change from lewd to obscene. And you watch his face go from focused to downright pained. 

He pulls himself out of you with a snarl and pumps his cock overtop you - coming immediately - white ropes covering your belly. He groans through it, continuing to cover you with a surprising amount, then leans over you and with his cock in hand, rubbing it into your skin with his dick. He rubs his cock back and forth, pumping it lazily, rubbing his sensitive head against your sticky skin and continuing to shudder from the overstimulation. Once he’s squeezed the last of his climax out, he steps back and tucks his dick away into his pants.

---

“Sorry again,” he mumbles, running his hand through his hair as you redress on shaky legs. “I really oughta stop doin’ this shit at work. It’s inappropriate, like you said.”

“Uh huhhh,” you answer, unconvinced. 

You wish you had it in you to continue this little charade but you’ve just orgasmed all over someone’s desk and your cock-drunk little mind is having difficulty making sense of anything right now. You reach down to slip on a shoe and although you were bracing yourself on the desk, you still begin to tip over. Murphy catches you with a gentle but firm grip, his huge hand curling around your arm and settling you upright. His hand remains holding you, the heat of it burning you through your blouse.

“Maybe next time we can just go to my place,” he purrs, meeting your surprised look with a wink.

.

(other stories in the Mutual Universe if you're interested - the prequel to Mutual is The First Taste, & there's also Saturday Steve for some Solo Steve Murphy action)

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Boyd Tax: handsssss

[cyb3rtarot]

Pick a Pile: Message from the Moon Card

Disclaimer: tarot readings are not replacements for professional advice; your future’s in your own hands. Take what resonates, don’t force a reading to fit!

pile 1☾pile 2 pile 3☾pile 4

☽

Pile 1: 

Cards: The Moon, Escape (Mars in Pisces, 12th), 7 of Cups rx, 8 of Wands, Queen of Cups rx, 3 of cups, Politics (7 of Mind), Justice, 9 of Swords rx, 5 of wands, You Can’t Go Back to Yesterday, Keep Your Temper rx

The Message: hello pile one! The Moon can indicate both illusions and delusions, and this is the focus of your message today. This pile really gets caught up in their own fantasies or the mask they present to the world. There’s the sense that reality is hard to cope with, and you immediately run to what is safe and comforting—even if it is only providing false comfort. You guys really like to daydream to the point that some of you are maladaptive daydreamers—or you could have similar coping mechanisms that “remove” you from reality (some struggle with dissociation). You might be the kind of person to tell yourself a lie and start believing it (no offense, that’s not uncommon lol). Some of you use your friendships to distract yourself; your first response to a heavy feeling might be to go hang out. There’s an emphasis on really rushing to get away from one’s feelings or problems. Going back to the mask I mentioned, most of you like to put on a brave face and not reveal how you’re really doing. There’s a LOT of feelings flying around inside, but most people wouldn’t know by looking at you. Some of you do this because of social or family pressure; living with people who don’t understand emotional and mental health. You may have internalized the idea of sweeping everything under the rug and holding it in, or you may do this to keep the peace and avoid hurtful words. Most of the time when these kinds of issues come up in my readings I can feel a heavy, melancholic, or scattered energy, but actually this pile’s energy felt kind of light and refreshing all the way through. If this is your default, that explains why you use this as a mask or why people expect it of you. However, you guys have to give space to process your heavier emotions! It’s not easy at all and neither is giving up coping mechanisms. But to restore balance to your mindset, life approach, and discipline, you must confront that sometimes life feels like a battle. That’s not a bad thing even if it makes you feel bad; it’s necessary for true growth. A lot of you need to stand up for yourself, and this may manifest as tough conversations or arguments. I’m not suggesting you HAVE to go argue with someone—especially if you don’t feel safe, but do analyze the way you can show up for yourself. Look at the ways you have stomped or lessened yourself for the sake of someone else who doesn’t have your inner wellbeing in mind. This also includes standing up to yourself; when your mind tries to enable unhealthy habits you can say no! Even though it won’t necessarily be easy, this is what may help you escape feeling frazzled or tormented. But instead of escaping, you’ll be actually working through it. Your oracle cards are suggesting you may also cling onto past ideals. For example, you may hold onto people you’ve known for a long time even though you no longer have a healthy relationship. Instead of biting your tongue just to keep things the same, say what’s on your mind! If the relationship relies on you never being truthful or authentic, then it’s just a relationship between the other person and the persona you created, not you and them. If you do struggle with dissociation or mental health, I encourage you to see what mental health resources are accessible to you! Good luck pile one, I know you can do it :]

Extra Details: partying or outings as a coping mechanism, using humor to avoid looking hurt, addictive coping (I’m not really getting substances, just unhealthy habits), doesn’t vent to others (maybe you used to but stopped), laughing or smiling when you’re angry (also angry crying), hiding a big temper, always distracting yourself, very heavy nostalgia, not liking the person you’ve grown up to be. You might collect, want to collect, or make little trinkets, like charms? Some of you read tea leaves or charm cast. Ending relationships, trying to remain lighthearted, people changing beyond recognition, living near the woods or forest. A really fast moving relationship (or new business?). Some of you guys might feel like a token friend or partner. People pleasing (specifically by not defending yourself or showing your real personality). Holding on to a long gone past

☽

Pile 2: 

Cards: The Moon, the High Priestess, 4 of hearts rx, Maturity, Consciousness, Compromise, Past Lives (the Moon again!), Sharing (Queen of Action), 9 of cups, Choices

The Message: hi pile two!! I love you guys’ energy, it was so refreshing and sweet 🥰 You have recently gone through a major inner transformation! This feels like a spiritual awakening, but it might also be mental and emotional. Either way, you went into this period of turning internally to find answers in yourself, and this triggered something that feels like a breath of fresh air in you? You could’ve felt like you were living inauthentically before, and now it’s like you “remembered” who you are. There’s this new, inner spring of energy, joy, or creativity, I can even feel it energetically. You’re a breath of fresh air to those around you too. The Moon in your reading (you got it twice!) is speaking about your newfound knowledge. For the spiritual folks, this seems to represent an upgrade in intuition. If you’re not spiritual, you might just “know” yourself better. You’re looking at the world in a new way now that you’ve “found” yourself, but I feel there’s a decision making you feel stuck. You’ve been trying to compromise yourself or put off these choices, but your cards are clearly showing you know what must be done (with the high priestess and the four of hearts rx). For a lot of you, you’ve changed to the point you can no longer comfortably associate with the same people or environments, but you’ve been trying to hold on. You might be trying to not appear too different or strange. Some of you want to pursue spirituality more but have been unsure. Whatever your individual situation is, The Moon and the “compromise” card are asking you to be true to this version of yourself you’ve discovered. Like the High Priestess, this pile “sees through” the veil or illusions of The Moon now. A new external change is waiting to match your internal one; you’re called to act accordingly with the knowledge you’ve learned about yourself.

Extra Details (these have a lot of spiritual beliefs in them so if that is not for you or makes you confused, just skip!): lemonade (pink)?, really liking the color pink or having a pink room, or liking a soft aesthetic. Seeing 6, 266, or 18 a lot. Wanting to start a business or social media page, especially a spiritual one. Accepting your gender identity or yourself in general. New beliefs or belief system. There’s a lot of clairaudience, clairvoyance, and insightful dreams in this pile. You may have or be returning to a belief in reincarnation, or feel like you’ve discovered a past life memory. Some feel like you shared that life with one person in particular from your present? A few feel like you were royal in a past life, but you don’t really care about that as much as you see it in a wider perspective (which is good! This is a very specific message I picked up on). You might’ve noticed an upgrade to your spiritual gifts/intuition before you went through this transformation, which could’ve freaked you out. Meditating a lot (maybe not anymore but during the “awakening”). A positive nihilism—realizing petty things don’t matter as much. Lots of self love and love in general. Calm after the storm. Some of you may be into STEM; I’m getting marine biology, and someone specifically loves shellfish 😀?? (maybe eating them too…)

☽

Pile 3: 

Cards: The Moon, The Hanged Man rx, 4 of swords, Comparison (5 of mind), Fighting (Knight of Mind), King of Swords rx, the Emperor, 5 of wands, Courage (Strength), The Lovers, Enthusiasm (Sun in Sagittarius, 9th house), Who in the World Are You?, Follow the White Rabbit

The Message: hi pile three! If you already felt drawn to pile 1 I encourage you to take a look as there’s similar themes (though yall’s energy feels a bit “lighter”). Much like that pile, your Moon card message is about the illusions you indulge in. The environments or people around you feel very chaotic or competitive, like a space that pits people against each other or promotes conflicts. This could be a workplace or internship, for example. But I feel the tension is more elevated than you’d expect in that kind of environment; it takes its toll on you and jumbles your thoughts. This pile feels disenfranchised somehow, like others coerce you into a certain position, take power away from you, or backstab you. You may close your eyes to this behavior by making excuses as to why others do this, or pretend things are better than they are. A major lesson for this pile is standing up for yourself. People pleasing can help you get through unpleasant minor interactions but shouldn’t be a way of life at the expense of yourself. It’s very emphasized that you might not feel up to the task, and this is partly because the aspect of you that’s courageous and enduring is fragmented from the rest of your identity. It’s not nonexistent, it’s just not readily acknowledged and there’s a difference. All the bravery and strength you need to show up for yourself is already there, waiting to be tapped into. You may not be used to allowing this version of yourself to exist, and that’s partly what’s causing the inner turmoil and confusion. Overcoming this challenge can open up many paths; you may find yourself feeling curious about opportunities you would've never pursued as the “old” you (possibly traveling or moving for a job? It’ll lighten your mental burden at least). When you truly accept yourself and understand there’s internal things no one can take away, then sometimes no words are needed. Your energy and actions will speak for themselves, even if others refuse to understand.

Extra Details: likes cartoons and anime a lot, spent a lot of your life on the internet—especially preteen + teen years, and especially tumblr and vine (this is more directed at millennials and older gen-z where this doesn’t automatically apply to everybody lol). Tiktok or internet humor, glasses with thick frames, indecisiveness. Some of you could’ve worked at a haunted house or a Halloween fair/amusement park? Or gone to a fun Halloween party. Could’ve also worked at a water park. Your job could be very rigorous or leave you physically and mentally exhausted (some of you are baristas?); you might work with or near water. Some of you are in a very passionate relationship and taking back power over your life will positively benefit it. Funnily, when I was pulling my oracle words for you guys, “the moon” came out (again) and also the word “fruit.”—if you get too caught up in facades and masks, you become oblivious to potential blessings there for your “authentic” self only. Or literally some of you like to eat fruit outside during night time lol. May like to analyze dreams for messages. May have an “if I don’t pay attention it can’t hurt me” mindset

Pile 4: 

Cards: The Moon, Impossible Things, Law is not Justice rx, Nature Communication, Postponement (4 of mind), Adventure (page of rainbows), Intuition (Mercury in Cancer, 4th house), Loss (Saturn in Pisces, 12th house), 4 of hearts rx

The Message: hello pile four! Some of you may have felt drawn to pile 2 as there’s a few similar details. The message the Moon wants to give you today is more of a reminder than anything. I see a change in your approach to life. Some of you could have had very black and white thinking about the universe and spirituality before, or you might have felt like the universe was out to get you. Now, it seems you’ve shed this type of thinking, either by taking a more neutral/positive stance towards the universe or by trusting your intuition to navigate life’s challenges. I see many of you pray, ask for signs, or look for the answers to your questions in nature. Some of you meditate for clarity about questions. There’s a significance about working together with another force to get things done (whether this is your outer and inner self, higher vs regular self, conscious and subconscious, you + the universe or God, etc). Many of you are not used to approaching life in this way, and previous self-sabotaging or overly-hesitant tendencies are carrying over. You may feel stuck on what you’re leaving behind, but for most of you it seems these things already ended. For example, some of you are nostalgic about relationships, but it seems you already don’t talk to these people anymore or you’re not on good terms. Or, someone passed away and you’re torn between staying in the environment that included them versus moving to new things. You’re being reminded to both trust yourself and also not get caught in a web of your own thoughts. Have you nurtured the childlike curiosity and wonder that’s trying to work its way out of you, or have you only been focused on some kind of perfect planning? Overthinking the “destination” can become a procrastination technique. The journey is also important as that’s where your growth occurs. You don’t have to keep thinking or asking for a thousand signs until you arrive at a perfect answer [never]; know you can handle the imperfect, too. 

Extra Details: a long-term relationship that ended a while ago (a divorce for some), lots of manifestors, witches, and channelers in this pile, atheist or former atheist, not having any friends or close relationships right now (possibly because of new beliefs), feeling lonely or hesitant due to lack of support, LOTS of painters or visual artists here (this could be what you’re hesitant to pursue?), a very specific message I’m getting is someone could have lost the ability to make art for a while (because of health or loss of materials?), going on new medication or considering it, game design, meeting people in games/mmos/on twitch, leaving a job (especially because of the people or drama), temporary jobs, working with a crush or friend, remote work (some of you could be digital nomads or wanting that lifestyle?), very dark hair, makeup artist, beauty school, working at a hair salon, visiting your friends’ job, art or beauty as a coping mechanism

☽

[buckevantommy]

i've seen a lot of talk recently about the uncertainty of tommy returning for season 8 (including comparing him to buck's previous partners) and like. why are you doing that? how did you even come to that conclusion? it baffles me how little story and media comprehension some of you guys have.

everything they've done with the bucktommy storyline is setting them up to be longterm (or at the very least: together in season 8). to name a few:

tommy is the first partner buck can be himself with (not just the bi thing, but his personality and vulnerability too) and that's not something to be easily swept aside.

tommy has relationships with everyone in buck's life (the og!118 from his own history, and they made a conscious effort to give him a friendship of his own with eddie) which means he can be written into the plot independant from being buck's boyfriend.

gerrard. hen and chim have history with him but so does tommy (they brought them both back in the same season, it doesn't make sense to not include tommy in that storyline).

abc is not fox. abc made bi!buck happen whereas fox shut it down. (they wouldn't introduce such a significant relationship for a main character only to sweep him under the rug the following season; if they wanted to introduce bi!buck without a boyfriend they could have, but instead they chose to go with a meaningful relationship where the feelings are reciprocated).

the cast and crew love lou and he loves working on the 9-1-1 set and he cares about tommy and is committed to the bucktommy storyline (this is huge).

we might not get much of lou in season 8 (depending on plot and contract stuff) but we will get some of him because the narrative and the interviews from tim and the cast and the co-interview with lou and oliver tell us bucktommy is significant to buck and the show in general. even when tommy is not in an episode we'll still know buck is with him - like we know hen is with karen - and that's not nothing.

the pessimism spreading on tumblr and twitter and discord rn is unfounded imho. even when you take the shipper goggles off the evidence is clear that tommy will be back for season 8.

[chasing-posts]

Allison should have had a villain and redemption arc in the last season.

Now first of all let me say I do like Allison and think she's cool...but I also believe she had some negative character traits that were explored since season one and were really divulged in season 3, and could have/ should have been resolved by the forth season.

For one she did kill Harlan for stopping her child from existing, even though it was an accident and he was basically Victor's foster son. This showed the only children she tends to care for is her own.

Second, we never fully got an answer to one of her most famous Rumors, "I heard a rumor that you loved me." This one has always been speculated to be directed at either her husband, daughter or Luthor. And with how she sexually assaulted Luthor in season 3 before he got married and how he could never get over her, I think it was him.

Third, can we address that she assaulted Luthor?

Forth, she made a pack with Reginald and as such got to redesign the universe so Clair was back, and Ray was alive and possibly her father, which means she erased her last husband from existence and rearranged time and space to get what she wanted in her perfect life.

And all of this is bad stuff, add to the fact that Sloan is missing when Ben is here, and it does not paint a nice picture. In fact I always thought that the reason Sloan was missing, was because Allison could not handle Luthor moving past her, and being happy with another woman. Even if she didn't want him anymore. As such, she erased Sloan to keep her back up, even after getting married (twice) and having sexual/ romantic relationships of her own. She STILL could not handle not having a hold on Luthor.

So if I could change things, I would say let her have EVERYTHING she always wanted at the start of the season. Her daughter, the love of her life, her powers and even her carreer... and absolutely none of it bringing her joy due to the cost she had to pay to make it happen, and how BADLY it screwed over her siblings, especially Victor and Luthor, to make it happen.

Have her repent by actions. Actually have it so the siblings are a little slow to let her back into the group and only do so to protect their own (like when Victor got kidnapped and all 6 were needed to save him.). Have Luthor confront her about their AWEFUL relationship and most inportantly, what she knows about Sloan. What she did to her when she rebooted the universe, and why she's gone when cranky Ben is still here.

Finally, change the rest of her story make her face consequences for her actions. Maybe have both Ray AND Claire leave her after she went too far with her Rumors again only do it ON SCREEN so it's actually impactful and have her be all alone. Maybe have her reconnect with Klaus to help him get off the drugs the first time after her family leaves her (because honestly, I like their relationship a lot this season and her helping him stay on track was good) and that being her foot in the door with the rest of them through Klaus, before she rejoins them all against Reginald/ the Cleanse/ whatever is the true big boss this season. Finally, before she makes things as right with her siblings, try and help THEM get their powers back while she still has hers.

Because while I don't think Allison is a bad person, i think she has done bad things. And I think actually addressing it all instead of sweeping EVERYTHING under the rug like they did in season four, would be great.

FINALLY, PLEASE RESOLVE THAT WEIRD INCEST PLOTLINE WITH LUTHOR. IF IT WAS GOING TO BE SUCH A BIG PART OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND CHARACTER ARCS, I WOULD HAVE PREFERED TO SEE IT RESOLVED INSTEAD OF JUST... IGNORED. IF THERE'S NO RESOLUTION WHY EVEN HAVE IT IN THE FIRST THREE SEASONS! COME ON!