#server-side monitoring

[pixiel]

Old Tumblr Dashboard (Userstyle)!!

I created a Userstyle for the Chrome/Firefox Stylus Extension that reverts the new dashboard to the old look!

You need to have Stylus installed. So if you don't have it:

Install the Stylus Firefox Addon or the Manifest V2 Chrome Extension (You can install Chrome Extensions on Edge as well)

Once it's installed into Firefox/Chrome/Edge you can proceed with adding this style or any other.

To add the style (Stylus), follow the instructions:

Go to this link: https://userstyles.world/style/11286/old-tumblr-dashboard-userstyle (If it says 'style not found' then the Userstyle.world server is just down, try again in an hour)

Click on "install".

Style will open a tag with it and in the left side you'll have a button that says "install style", click there. (Step-by-step copied from the lovely dorothyoz39 who wrote this in a reply!) If you don't want the sticky header you can remove the labelled script at the top of the css below /* Sticky Header*/

For Manifest V3 only Chrome Or Stylus incompatible browsers:

For Chrome Manifest V3 install the Tampermonkey Extension

Then add the Tampermonkey Backup Script instead of the Stylus version

https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/492279-old-tumblr-dasboard-backup I highly recommend you switch to Firefox for continued use of good extensions! Stylus does not have a V3 update yet; however, the tamermonkey script works just as good.

Be sure to check for updates regularly and if you'd like, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi https://ko-fi.com/pixiel !

I'm currently taking donations so I can afford a much-needed wheelchair, so please check out my GoFundMe for more details! Any Ko-Fi donations will be added manually to the GoFundMe

..::::HOW TO UPDATE::::..

click the Manage button on Stylus and click the check for update button next to the userstyle, then click again to install!

Make sure to check the Userstyle and see if the version number matches the one below if you don't see any changes!

NEW UPDATE: 25/05/25 (D/M/Y) 17:28PM BST v17.13

16.16: Fixed activity and notifications, they now look like the previous version 17.0: Final update to the new icons bs! Every page should be functional. If theres any missed parts or bugs - let me know! 17.9: Minor fixes and Tampermonkey update! You can also fix the positioning of the Communities button and subnav from this menu as well - it should remember your settings when you update!

Tumblr Post Width & More (OTD+ Userstyle) Is now available!!

OTD+ is an add on for Old Tumblr dashboard that you can use to edit the Post Width, Content Positioning & More - It must be used with Old Tumblr Dashboard installed as well on the latest update! This style might be merged with OTD in the future.

THE CREATOR OF THIS USERSTYLE SUPPORTS THEIR TRANS SISTERS. WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!

Check the readmore for the changelog, custom code & known issues!

----- Known issues:

Only two columns in Masonry view. Semi-Unfixable, Tumblr creates columns based on monitor size, if I try adding another column (because it doesn't exist) it just perpetually loads on screen. Semi-fix: Zoom out in chrome/firefox and it adds more columns, you may need to change the font size of the page though

Search bar doesn't appear on some pages (like viewing a post), this is because Tumblr removed the search bar on those pages completely. Unfixable but not a big deal

Tumblr has ONCE AGAIN CHANGED THE ACCOUNTS MENU. The menus are now shorter and have less information on them. This is unfortunately permanent. I do not see any way to fix this. Unfixable.

If you want people's icons to stay fixed in place, instead of scrolling with the dashboard change this in Stylus;

Or if you're using the tampermonkey version

Find text:

.NLCTe > div.Evcyl > div > div > .So6RQ.YSitt > .ge_yK > .c79Av > article > header > .RYkKH > .nZ9l5 { pointer-events: auto; top: 55px; transition: top .25s; position: -webkit-sticky; position: sticky; } and replace it with;

.NLCTe > div.Evcyl > div > div > .So6RQ.YSitt > .ge_yK > .c79Av > article > header > .RYkKH > .nZ9l5 { pointer-events: auto; top: 0px; transition: top .25s; position: absolute; }

Solved issues: (Update)

Menus need to be manually closed SOLVED! in V.4 and updated in V.5! The menu & icon WILL scroll with you if you have removed the sticky header CSS, however, clicking anywhere on screen will make the Menu disappear still.

Masonry view in searches is now fixed!

Resized Messenger Chat Box!

NEW UPDATE 16/08/23, 23:55 BST v6.5: Figured out how to reorganise the icons in the header. Let me know if you have any problems with it and make sure to update your Userstyle! Some icons are hidden with Display: Block; you can hide more icons with this method!

Solved issues p2

Brought back SOME of the icons for Tumblrs latest update - Unfortunately, this does not bring back user icons for Reblogged posts! Make sure to yell at Tumblr for removing the icons as well as the horrible dashboard update here! v7.5 Fixed icons for all posts and put them back where they came from!

v6.9.6.9 (I promise this is the last funny number): Fuck Off Buggy The Clown Update + All languages support for the old header design!

v7.0: Fixed the search bar for tumblrs new collections feature, so it looks like the original search bar!

v8.0: Fixed masonry view icons, hidden the reblog icon on dashboard icons, fixed icons in blog viewport

V8.1: Fixed issue with icons not working on soft-refresh & with endless scrolling disabled - be sure to complain to staff!

v9.3: Changed a few things with the search feature, I also made the posts less round.

UPDATE2 11/04/2024: SO We mighhtttt have overrun their servers. 😅 I'm getting a 500 Internal Server Error every time I try to fix it or upload it as a new style - the massive influx of people downloading the userstyle was probably too much. The Tampermonkey backup on Greasyfork works just fine though! Probably easier for a lot of people migrating anyway! UPDATE 11/04/2024:: My code has broken on Userstyles.world, (it is now fixed as of 12/04/24) until this is fixed I have created a Tampermonkey Backup Version of the Userstyle so feel free to use this version if you've broken yours!

https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/492279-old-tumblr-dasboard-backup

v9.6: Moved the Following | For you | Your Tags to below the create a post panel. Fixed the Accounts Menu! + Bugfixes V10.3: Patio compatibility. Added a way to hide the Patio button & "patio feedback?" button, just search for patio in the code and follow the instructions! v11.0: Temporary Chat feature fix after Tumblr broke it, fixed some positioning issues and j/k scrolling!

v12.3: Fixed a text issue (my bad!), I undid the changes to the replies function and added a way to fix icons order for when you get the communities update!

v12.5: Update to make compatible with the Content Positioning using Tumblr Post Width & More (OTD+ Userstyle) v12.6: Post buttons fixed, icons unable to be fixed yet as I haven't got the tumblr changes just yet - but I will fix them asap!

v11.7: Communities Update, changed the new search bar on communities page to resemble the old one. The search bar still doesn't work on these pages yet for some reason. Blog view icons fixed. v13.0: The icons change should now have a working patchfix! BIG THANK YOU to arcadian-asgardian for sending me the screenshots I needed and testing if it worked. + Minor tweak, communities button resized to fit the rest of the icons better v13.2: Mini fixes now that I have better access to the new changes! Communities icon re-centered, usernames nudged back into place.

V13.5 & v13.7: Nuked the Go Premium button - Re-positioned the search bar on search pages v13.10: Changed a lot of the new look for replies - it's not perfect yet mind. Small bug with the "..." menu moving to the left with shorter replies. Looks a lot more like the old replies section though! Made it possible to remove the reply to reply button just search for "NEW Replies UI" in the userstyle and remove the /* */ around "display: none" OR use Ublock to block the element! v14.1: Reverted the "Original Poster" border + text to look like old version. Edit: Whoops, fixed an issue with showing the timestamps

v13.4: Added a way to fix the communities icon position if you don't have the New Xkit button or have hidden any of the icons. Just remove the highlighted /* */ pair in the code for what you need.

v14.11: Made Premium Perks button available in the bottom left corner for all premium users v15.2: Fixed the Tumblr fuckup AND added a cool new feature that allows you to customise the look of your header & hide the reply-to-replies button if you like, here's how to customise this. Set to "Block" if you want the button/icon visible, Set to "None" if you want it hidden! V15.5: Given labels to options for clarity - now says 'show' or 'hide'!

v15.9: The Boopdate! V16.0: Fixed Search view pages and made them look normal, unfortunately, I can't bring back the dropdown menus for "top"/"All Time" etc - but it should look more like the original now

v16.3: Minor tweaks to make search pages look better

16.10: Fix changes to the notification icons 16.14: Fixed many issues with Tampermonkey Version - including a bug that makes the header go weird when you click on a post, fixed notification icons in small view

16.16: Fixed activity and notifications, they now look like the previous version

16.26: TEMPORARY UPDATE - only changes some aspects of the dashboard - THIS IS FULLY INCOMPLETE AND I AM WORKING ON A FULL FIX FOR THE REST OF THE SITE EDIT: added changes for timestamps!

[viridianstarlight]

Got my PS4 Warframe account merged set up with cross-save, so now I can play on PC (although playing without a controller feels Wrong, so I plugged the controller in to the PC). Gosh, the load times are so darn quick.

One of the main reasons I was looking forward to playing on PC though was easy screenshot sharing. On PS4, unless I wanted to install an app on my phone (which, just for getting screenshots, feels pointless) or manually transfer stuff over a USB, I'd have to post screenshots to Twitter or Facebook if I wanted to share stuff, and I think I saw recently that Playstation are removing Twitter from that.

So hey, as a bit of celebration, here's a bunch of my favourite fashions.

I mostly play Oberon, and I really leaned in to his nature theme with the colour palette.

The rest of my frames though generally look like this. A mix of black, white, and grey, with bold red highlights and energy

[ild-rllrcstr]

Your Call part 1

Lewis Hamilton X You / slow burn / 2.7K

part 2 / part 3 / part 4

Summary You were the bright intern at Mercedes when you first met Lewis Hamilton, where a shared spark grew alongside rising trust. But just as things started to shift, life pulled you away from F1 and Lewis. Years later, Lewis ran into you again on the paddock, both of you in complete different colours. Old flames reignite on the opposite sides of the competition, and the story picks up where it never truly ended.

Warnings None A/N Hey! I'm back from my mini vacation and also back with another series! I have another idea in preparation at the same time!! Let me know how you like them! I'll love to hear from you!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

You first met Lewis in the last year of your studies. You were hired at Mercedes as an intern, working with race engineers to collect, monitor, and analyse all the data streamed live during all Grand Prix sessions. Lewis’ career was flying, a world championship after another. 

“Y/N, this is Lewis. Lewis, this is our new telemetry intern.” 

“Welcome to the team.” Lewis stood up and gave you a smile and a handshake, eyes sharp but friendly. 

Throughout many moments you had in Mercedes, that was the first and an unforgettable one. 

You were sharp and quick, which is why you were hired in the first place. You understood the importance of your job, and every minute you spent in Mercedes, you took it as a precious opportunity to learn. Your manager was very satisfied with your work, and you were integrating really well into the team.

It was three months into the mission, you’re more than used to the whole routine and work. The more you were into it, the more you were addicted to the numbers. You always stayed behind, reviewing graphs from Lewis’s stint, highlighting heat spikes and tire degradation notes to include in the post-session report. You were so focused, you didn’t hear footsteps behind you until someone speaks.

“You always stay this late?”

You turned around, startled. It was Lewis leaning in the doorway. He was leaving and saw the light still on.

“Got to stay ahead,” You said, gesturing to the graphs. “These numbers don’t sleep.”

He stepped in, nodding toward the screen. “You're the first intern I’ve seen that actually analyses post-session data without being told to.”

“I’m not here just to have fun and have that title on my CV,” You said quietly. “Or else I would have chosen something easier.”

That draws a deeper look from Lewis. Not the surface-level polite one, but a slow study. He was intrigued. 

“So why here?” he asked, pulling a chair beside her. “Why this job?”

You hesitated. “It kind of started with me trying to prove my teacher wrong in high school by rebuilding a telemetry dashboard. Then the more I’m into my studies, the more I wonder what it would be like to hand someone like an F1 driver real-time answers to make a difference and not just guess them.”

Lewis’s smile is slow, impressed. “You rebuilt a dashboard in high school?”

“I don’t know where my school got that teacher. He’s full of nonsense, the dashboard took me, I think a week, and I got him speechless in front of the whole class.” You smiled at the thought of your teacher’s face. 

“Sounds like we should’ve had you years ago.”

The moment thickens, something in the air between them shifts. Still professional, but charged. Respect threaded with quiet admiration.

Lewis leans back in the chair, gaze still on you, and for a few seconds, the only sounds are the quiet hum of the server and the soft clicking of data refreshing on your monitor.

“What’s this spike?” he asks, pointing at the screen. You glance over and smile.

You answered his questions one by one, he was amazed at how precise and clear your answers are.

He huffs a soft laugh, impressed. “You're good.”

You shrug, suddenly aware of how close he is. “Just doing my job.”

“No, you don’t sound like an intern. You sound like someone who’s going to run the garage one day.”

That makes your chest ache a little. Not because of the praise, but because you believe it too, even if you don’t dare say it out loud.

You lower your gaze. “Thanks. That… means a lot coming from you.”

He stands, like he’s about to leave, and you figure that’s the end of it. But before he steps through the doorway, he glances over his shoulder.

“We’ve got the track walk at 7 a.m. tomorrow. If you’re around… walk with me. I want to hear more about that dashboard.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you sitting there, blinking at the doorway like he’s just handed you the keys to something far more dangerous than data.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The paddock buzzed with nerves as Q3 loomed. The desert sun in Bahrain dipped low, casting golden light across the pit lane. You sat in front of the telemetry data, surrounded by glowing screens and layered graphs, tire temperatures, brake bias percentages, throttle traces.

Something didn’t add up.

You leaned in closer. There was a heat spike on the front-left brake in Lewis’s last flying lap. Not catastrophic, but off. A few more laps at that pace, and it could lead him to something worse.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Front left temperature needs to be checked, sector 2.” You said into the radio calmly.

The voice on the radio crackled back. “Copy, Y/N.”

Thirty seconds later, the live feed caught Lewis braking earlier than expected, clean corner, no wobble.

In the garage, the engineers nodded in sync. The fix worked.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. No matter how many times you successfully fixed something, or how sure you are about anything, you still got nervous every single time looking at Lewis driving live on the screen. 

Later, as the team began winding down post-qualifying, Lewis strode into the debrief room still in race suit, unzipped halfway, sweat-darkened. He was scrolling through something on the tablet until he looked up and saw you.

“You spotted it.” He said, more a statement than a question.

You glanced up, hesitant. “Front-left brake spike. I thought…”

“You thought right,” he interrupted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That probably saved me a tenth.”

She tilted her head. “Try two.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You keeping score now?”

“Only when we’re winning.”

He laughed. Just a single, quiet breath of it. But it stayed with you longer than it should have.

Before he turned to go, he added, “Nice work today, Y/N. Really.”

Simple. Professional. But as he walked out, he glanced back once, just for a second, long enough for you to wonder if he always did that… or just with you.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

“We’re getting inconsistent numbers from the tire sensors. Better to play it safe, send Lewis out on the usual set.” 

Around the table in the briefing in Miami, a senior engineer, Darren, was arguing about an issue Lewis had during the free practices.

You reviewed the data, mind clear as daylight, trying to explain your opinion.

“The numbers aren’t wrong, they’re just delayed. It's not a pressure problem, it's the timing of the data.”

“We’ve been doing this a while. Data like that doesn’t lie.”

Darren said dryly. He was not at all convinced by your opinion. Well, he’s been hard on you for a while now. There were times you tried to challenge his opinion, and he did not appreciate the idea of it.  

“And I’ve been tracking this issue since Friday. It's not a fluke. If we don’t adjust, he won’t have the grip when he needs it most, it is identical to the one in Suzuka.” You tried to stand your ground, you trusted your analysis, and you stuck with it.

The strategy analyst on the side hesitated but pointed out the data, “Darren, she could be right. These check out on her analysis...”

“That’s a maybe. I’m not risking a quali lap based on a corrected assumption from an intern.” Darren lashed out without hesitation. And it did hurt.

“It’s a pattern. I know I’m new, but I’m sure I’m not wrong on this.” You tried to keep your voice stable. You know Darren can take the call, but you really didn’t want to let that go. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

Everyone turns. Lewis is still half-suited up, holding his gloves. His tone is calm but unwavering.

You looked at him, paused, “Positive.” 

“Then we trust her.” Lewis nodded and calmly said, like it was a very easy decision, like it was nothing, just citing the obvious. 

“If she sees something we missed and it checks out, we listen. I’d rather go out on new softs and her numbers than lose another run to cold tires.” 

Darren looked pissed but he gave in on Lewis’ words. “Fine. We’ll go with new softs. But if this doesn’t work…”

“Well.” Lewis cut in politely, preventing Darren from saying whatever he was going to say. “…then the whole team’s dinner tonight is on me, but if she’s right, only she gets the invitation”, 

There was a brief silence as the tension eased, and even Darren couldn’t suppress a small, reluctant smirk.

Lewis glanced at you with a nod, quietly adding, “You’re right for speaking up.”

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The car was barely back in the garage when the first sector time lit up green.

You leaned in instinctively, eyes darting between telemetry and live feed. Second sector, green again. Your breath hitched. Darren’s silence was the loudest thing in the room.

Then, the final sector. Purple.

The timing screens updated, and Lewis’s name jumped to the top of the board, provisional P1.

A ripple went through the garage. Low whistles, muttered wows. One of the data analysts clapped the back of your chair lightly. You barely registered it, still locked on the numbers, rechecking your assumptions even though you didn’t need to. You’d been right.

“Confirmed. Lap’s clean,” someone on comms said.

“Good call,” Lewis’s voice crackled through your headset. “Car felt dialled in. Nailed it”

You tried to keep your smile controlled, but it tugged at the corners of your mouth anyway. Darren was staring at the screen, arms crossed. He didn’t say anything for a second, then finally,

“…Alright. You’ve got good eyes,” he muttered, almost like it hurt. “Keep running the data. If you see something again, don’t wait for me to ask.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology. But it was something.

You gave a small nod. “Will do.”

As people dispersed, riding the high of the lap, you caught Lewis stepping out of the car, peeling off his gloves with deliberate calm. He looked over at you across the garage, that same subtle, unreadable expression on his face. Then, just a small, private nod. Like a signal.

And later, when the session wrapped and the sun dipped low over the paddock, your phone pinged with a simple message and the location of the restaurant.

“Promised you a dinner, 19:30.” – Lewis

You laughed under your breath. That quiet confidence you’d felt earlier? Now, it burned bright. You weren’t just the intern who got lucky.

You were the one who got it right.

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You almost didn’t believe it until you were standing outside the restaurant.

Not the usual team haunt. This place had no logos, no crowd, no media camped out front, just soft lighting, a polished wood sign, and a sense of quiet exclusivity. You double-checked the location Lewis had sent directly, just to be sure.

When you walked in, the hostess didn’t even ask your name, just smiled like she was expecting you and led you through the near-empty dining room. Then out to the patio, where Lewis was already seated at a corner table, casual in a dark button-down, wine already poured.

He looked up as you approached and smiled, not the camera-ready one, but something smaller. Warmer. “Right on time.”

You eased into the seat opposite him, trying not to feel like you’d just stepped into another universe. It was refreshing for Lewis to see you out of the Mercedes uniform. “I kind of kept waiting for someone to tell me this was a prank.”

He laughed, low and genuine. “No pranks. I meant what I said. You caught something none of us did. That lap? That wasn’t just a number call. It was the right instinct under pressure. Most people freeze. You didn’t.”

You glanced down, fingers brushing the stem of your glass. “I was almost to the point of doubting myself, but… You backed me.”

Lewis tilted his head, studying you. “I didn’t give you anything. I just made sure people heard you.”

For a moment, the conversation settled into something quieter. The clinking of glasses, the low hum of conversation around you, and the way the city lights reflected off the patio railing. You weren’t just having dinner with Lewis Hamilton. You were here because you’d earned your place.

Midway through the main course, something beautifully plated that you barely tasted, he leaned back and said, “So. What do you really want to do in this world?”

The question hit with quiet force. Not small talk. Not polite. It was a real ask.

You met his gaze, steady this time. “I think I really like it here, and one day I want to be on the pit wall. Not just running numbers. I want to make calls. Win races.”

Lewis smiled like he already knew that answer was in you, he saw how your eyes shone. “Good. Because this sport needs more people who see things others miss and insist on saying the right thing”

He raised his glass.

“To the next right call.”

You clinked yours against his, heart steady now.

“To the next right call.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The next few weeks blurred into race weekends, debriefs, strategy meetings, and late nights buried in data. On paper, nothing had changed. You still had your intern badge, still made coffee runs when asked, still got left out of the higher-level briefings sometimes. But in the quiet spaces, the ones that mattered, it was different.

People listened when you spoke, now.

Not always. Not with full trust. But there was a pause that wasn’t there before. A second glance at your screen. A manager asking, “What’s your take?” instead of brushing past you.

And Lewis, he kept showing up in moments you didn’t expect.

After a practice session in Monaco, you stayed behind in the garage late, re-checking tire degradation data just because something felt…off. You looked up and found him leaning against the wall across from you, sipping water, still in his fireproofs.

“You know you’re not being paid overtime, right?”

You snorted. “I know. Just… trying to be sure.”

He didn’t move for a while. Just watched you work.

“You always get that look in your eyes when something’s bugging you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What look?”

He smiled. “Like you’re halfway between a conspiracy theory and a breakthrough.”

You laughed, maybe a little too loudly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He stepped closer, peering over your shoulder at your screen. “It is.”

These moments kept stacking up. Quiet. Intentional. Never crossing a line, but always toeing the edge of one. A shared glance across the garage. The way he always seemed to find you after a good session, or a bad one. The subtle shift when you entered a room and his posture changed, ever so slightly, like the centre of his gravity had moved.

You didn’t talk about it. Neither of you needed to.

But the team noticed.

One afternoon during a long delay at Silverstone, Darren passed by your desk, looked between you and the still-warm headset Lewis had just handed off, and said, “You’ve got his ear now.”

You looked up, wary. “Is that a problem?”

He paused. “Only if you waste it.”

And you weren’t going to.

Later that evening, while the garage cooled and the crowd filtered out, you found Lewis outside, leaning against a stack of tires under the fading sky. He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“You’re starting to scare them a bit,” he said, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You raised a brow. “Because I’m right, or because I’m near you?”

He gave a quiet laugh, then looked at you fully. “Both.”

Something hung there between you for a beat, an acknowledgement. 

“You ever think about staying?” he asked. “After the internship?”

You swallowed, heart kicking up. “All the time.”

He nodded slowly. “Good. Because I’ve already told them they’d be idiots to let you go.”

And just like that, something else shifted, unspoken but understood. You were still an intern. Still not fully inside the circle. But you were getting closer.

To the team. To the pit wall.

To him.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[nekomamiiz]

third time's a charm

kuroo x fem!reader

wc: 4k

warnings: 18+, post time-skip!kuroo, husband!kuroo, various pet names in place of y/n, domestic vibes, mentions of ovulation and pregnancy, masturbation (f), some spit, oral (f receiving), lots of teasing, soft dom kuroo, some nipple play, heavy breeding, impreg, multiple orgasms/creampies... it gets really wet, hot and messy, cockwarming, my extremely poor writing skills!

a/n: weeeee i'm out of hiatus.. sort of... this is just a lil something i was messing with before my break. finally after 2 years i finished it lol. anyway,, this is pure smut like barely any plot besides kuroo putting a baby in you and extremly self-indulgent but i hope yall enjoy it!! big thank you to @retrofang for beta reading some of this bad boy and the entire server for putting up with me heheh! likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated. thank you for reading <3 kiss kiss

banner and dividers by @/cafekitsune

After months of carefully calculating, tracking, and monitoring your cycle, the time has finally arrived.

Ovulation week.

You quickly text your husband when you receive the notification on your app. The little chime went off before you left the house for work. It must really be perfect timing, and he immediately replied. 

Tetsurou <3 — I’m on my way back home. Don’t leave yet and call out for today.

— Actually, go ahead and put in your vacation request now. I’ll be there soon. 

Your reply was a simple heart emoji. You’d get yourself relaxed and ready while you wait for him. 

There wasn’t much to do. You had already showered this morning and made the bed before ‘leaving’ for work. As soon as Kuroo sent that text, you put your comfortable house clothes on and lit a few candles around the bedroom. The only thing left to do now is prepare yourself. 

So, that’s what you did. 

About half an hour later, Tetsurou walks through the front door of your home. He slips his shoes off, then his coat and that’s when he hears it—a soft and needy whimper of his name. 

As he pushes through your bedroom door, his eyes find your body already glowing with a sheen of sweat and so beautifully spread out on the edge of the bed. He licks his lips at the sound of your cute little moans and the slight squelch of your pussy. 

It all sounds so wet. 

You have two fingers inside yourself, stretching and stroking the walls of your perfect cunt, offering Kuroo the perfect view. His breath hitches at the sound of your moans becoming louder now that your eyes are solely on him, and his mere presence is enough to make your body shiver with desperation.

“Tetsurou,” you whine his name as your fingers pick up their pace in stimulating your sensitive pussy. Now leaking with a desire to have him buried inside you. 

Kuroo’s eyes trail down your body. He watches closely at how your chest heaves, how you twist your wrist so your fingers can reach the right spot inside, and how you whimper when you can barely get there. You’re putting on a show just for him, and he eats up every second of it. 

“Fuck, baby. Look at you,” he quietly groans at the lewd sight presented to him. 

He’s already palming himself through his slacks, using his other hand to remove the buttons of his shirt. He’s not in any rush, simply relishing the sight of you building yourself up to release, but you both know it’s not enough. The way you writhe and squirm on your shared bed has his body temperature rising, and he can see your want for him dripping out and onto the sheets below you, making such a pretty mess that he can’t wait to clean up. 

“You’re so fucking wet, baby girl,” he says as he steps out and away from his pants, kicking his boxers to the side. “Were you getting yourself ready for me?” he asks with a slight pout on his lips. 

You nod your head as one of your hands quickly finds its way to your breasts, kneading at the sensitive skin and pinching your nipples between your fingers. Another whine escapes you at the added stimulation; add the sight of Kuroo fully undressed in front of you, spitting into his hand and stroking his cock—your mind quickly spirals. 

Kuroo settles on his knees at the foot of the bed, licking his lips as he stares down at all the slick collected between your thighs. He wastes no time leaning down in front of your aching pussy, and he smirks at the way you continue to desperately fuck yourself with your tiny little fingers. 

“Gonna let me taste,” he asks softly, looking up at you through the valley of your breasts. 

Your face is sweaty, and that faraway look in your pretty eyes is making itself more noticeable. Kuroo knows you're about to cum, and it's a face he loves to see. 

With another simple nod of your head and a quiet ‘yes,’ Tetsurou gets to work. 

He spreads your legs further apart and tosses them over his shoulders, tugging softly on your hips so you can be closer to him. His actions rip an excited squeal from your mouth, followed by your sweet giggles. 

You continue playing with your pussy, only tracing soft circles on your clit. Kuroo smiles at all the wetness collected on your fingers and takes hold of your wrist to remove your hand. He licks his lips before popping your glistening fingers in his mouth, sucking down all of your sweet juices and humming at the taste of you.

“Taste so fucking sweet for me, baby,” he coos while kissing your wet fingertips. 

He’s looking at you with eyes so full of love as he continues worshiping your body, kissing your hips and inner thighs. He groans when he sees more slick dripping out of you, biting down on your thigh and devouring the sight of your perfect cunt clenching around nothing. 

He needs to be inside you right now, but he also can’t help teasing you with his tongue for a bit longer. He licks a long, heavy stripe up your sensitive folds, groaning at the taste of you and how your entire body shudders beneath him. In this position, you’re at his mercy, his hands only holding your hips in place while you scratch and squeeze at his forearms from the intense pleasure he’s giving you with his mouth.

Kuroo chuckles against you, finding it so cute how you buck your hips in search of him. He’s already nibbling on your clit the way you like. What more could you possibly want? 

“What’s wrong pretty girl?” he asks, placing a soft, wet kiss on your clit. “Not enough for you?”

You whine at his question. He knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it and the need in your voice. 

“Want you inside me, Tetsu,” your words come out as a needy whisper, mewling in ecstasy as his fingers trace little circles on your thighs. 

Tetsurou hums in satisfaction before he dives back into your aching center. He teases your entrance with his tongue, poking the wet muscle in and out while he presses down on your clit with his thumb. He can feel the way you shake under him, your thighs quivering when he adds more pressure to your bundle of nerves. So close. 

His gaze trails upwards, admiring every dip and curve of your body until he lands on your beautiful face. He finds your eyes already focused on his every movement, your brows pinched in an expression of pure pleasure, and your mouth parted in a silent moan. 

You trap his head between your thighs, back arching off of the bed as your body vibrates from your first release. He greedily slurps down whatever you have to offer, moaning and growling into your sensitive pussy, allowing your orgasm to rip through your body in soothing waves. 

The look in your eyes is slightly distant—Kuroo thinks—and he still hasn’t bred you the way he wants. He’s not unfamiliar with your increased sensitivity during this time, but it’s far too early for you to be this stimulated.

“I’m not even finished with you yet, beautiful, and you’re already lookin’ so fucked out,” he teases, voice sweet yet equally rough. 

He crawls up the bed, pressing kiss after hot kiss on your skin as he makes his way face to face with you, large arms cradling either side of your head. His cock is ready and burning hot as it bobs against your lower lips, causing you to hiss at the slight overstimulation. You feel a few beads of precum fall and drip onto you as he captures your lips in a near-violent kiss. His intent seeps into your mouth, and he silently declares what he’s always promised. 

“You’re going to look so fucking beautiful when you have my babies growing inside you,” he says, low and slightly out of breath. 

The statement shocks you somewhat at his use of plurals, and you return to reality instantly. “One baby at a time,” you pout playfully, kissing him again. 

He pulls away and smiles so wide that it shows in his eyes, “I know. You know what I mean, I just want a big family with you.” He leans back down, placing soft kisses on the side of your neck, laughing through his nose as you smack his bottom. 

Your shared laughter fills the bedroom, the world outside these four walls completely nonexistent as you share sloppy kisses for what feels like hours. However, Tetsurou plans to claim you as if it were the first time all over again, and he wastes no time doing so. 

A warm hand snakes its way down the side of your body, tracing your curves with such care that he almost can’t handle the thought of being too rough with you. He is going to worship you today and ensure every ounce of his love shows in every move he makes and every kiss he leaves on your skin. He reaches between you—using two thick fingers to swipe through your folds—gathering enough slick to lube up his already weeping cock. 

He pumps his fist once and then twice before pressing the tip of his dick onto your clit, causing you to moan in pleasure at such little contact. Using his hand to gently rub his cockhead in figure eights around your pussy, he continues to tease your folds until finally deciding he’s gathered enough of your wetness to press into you—something he has been waiting all day to do. 

With as much time as he spent between your thighs, he is surprised at how tight you always are for him, and you can’t help but whine at the intrusion. His cock is so warm and feels so heavy; you might come undone from this alone. 

Kuroo starts to pump only a third of his length in and out of your quivering hole. Trying so hard to hold back all of his primal urges and working on building you back up again slowly, moaning in your ear as he relishes in the warmth the two of you share. Finally bottoming out inside you, he feels you convulse beneath him. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangled in his mess of hair as you tug slightly at the roots. 

“My fucking god, you feel amazing,” he says, clenching his jaw as if he hasn’t made love to you countless times, as if he hasn’t felt the heaven that resides between your thighs for years before this moment. Testsurou raises his head, looking at you, swiping a thumb across your cheek. “Tell me what you want, my love,” he demands, kissing you and resting his forehead against yours. 

He thrusts, slow and soft, and you spread your legs wider, thinking it would invite him to go faster, but he denies you. 

“I want all your cum inside, Tetsurou. Need you to put a baby inside of me,” you mumble breathlessly against his lips, grinding your hips to try and pick up the pace of his teasingly slow thrusts. “Please, baby,” you beg. 

“Is that all, pretty girl?” he asks, pulling out of you almost entirely and thrusting back in—quick and rough. You moan his name as the lewdest sound of skin against skin echoes throughout the room. One. Two. Three sharp thrusts followed by your sweet cries of ‘yes, yes, yes,’ and it’s then that he begins to fuck you with absolute purpose. 

Your hands have a mind of their own as they travel the expanse of his back, through his hair and back down again, nails leaving red trails on his skin while your thighs slide up and down the side of his body from the rhythm of his thrusts. 

His chest brushes against yours just right, stimulating your nipples and causing you to moan his name. He knows you so well and responds by leaning down, capturing your breast in his mouth as he opens wide and sucks hard, his teeth teasing your peaked nipple as he pulls away. He lingers momentarily, alternating between swirling his tongue and using his teeth to stimulate you. 

With a wet kiss, he pulls away, wrapping his arms around you and leaning back on his haunches as he holds you close. Your chests heave, and your skin slightly sticks together, the slickest part being where the two of you are connected, and he shudders at how quick you are to wrap your legs around his waist. 

“I can’t wait to make you a father,” you say, your eyes locking on his as you mewl from how he fills you in this position. The tip of his cock is surely hitting your cervix, and the familiar throb you feel while he pokes and prods inside has you grinding in circles against him, desperate to meet his thrusts. “You’re going to be an amazing father to our children, Tetsurou,” you whimper as your eyes meet his. 

He groans at your admission, his brows knitting together as he bites his lip in response. Both of his hands find their way to either side of your hips, gripping your skin and lifting you to speed up the pace. Your lips meet in a messy clash, your teeth scrape his tongue teasingly and he begins to unravel just in time with you. 

“I love you so much, angel, and I’m so glad I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he declares, moaning breathlessly and going up in pitch with each word. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps out, his lips meeting yours again while his hands dig and squeeze into your skin. 

A few more thrusts and lifts of your hips, and you can feel how close he is. His arms are beginning to tire, but he still hasn’t had enough of you. 

“I can feel you about to cum, Tetsurou. Please give it to me,” you sigh against his lips, locking eyes as you feel him begin to spill his hot load inside. 

“Fuck! You feel so good, baby,” he says as he lays you back down. “I’m still not finished with you yet, my love.” 

This time, he grabs one of the many pillows at the head of the bed, and you instantly know what he has in mind. You instinctively lift your hips, and he gives your ass a soft squeeze before you back settle down, perfectly propped for him to reach deep inside and plant his seed. 

Once you’re both comfortable with the position, he gets back to work, grabbing you by the meat of your thighs and spreading you open. He shivers when he sees a dribble of cum slipping out and down the crack of your ass—this is unacceptable. 

Golden eyes find yours as his fingers swipe up the mess he made. “Can’t waste a single drop,” he says, sucking his lip between his teeth, fucking his cum slowly back into you with his fingers. 

Wet squelches ring through your ears as you focus on his hand pumping in and out of you—the other gripped tight around the base of his cock, edging himself. The rough callouses on his fingers stimulate your gummy walls so well, and he knows what he’s doing to you. 

“Enough with your teasing, Tetsurou,” you huff out in short breaths, reaching down to take hold of his wrist. “Because I’m not finished with you either, my love,” your smirk mirrors his own. Guiding his hand out and up towards your lips, you suck on his wet fingers, moaning at the taste of your combined juices—a little salty but so fucking sweet. 

Laughter once again fills the large room as he moves to hover over you, licking your lips and having a taste for himself. 

“Always so eager,” he chuckles, moving to kiss your neck, sucking softly. 

Rolling his hips back and forth, he slides his length between your folds, tip catching at your entrance two or three times. He still gives you nothing—not yet—because telling him not to tease you only makes him want to do it more. 

As if sensing your annoyance, he gives in, guiding his cock to your entrance once again; he settles back on his knees, pressing inside of you inch by inch. Those skilled hands of his begin sliding up and down your thighs, deciding on gripping your ankles and resting them comfortably on his shoulders. 

The meat of your thighs lay flush against his chest; you can feel the heat radiating off of him along with the sweat that coats his defined abdomen. His large arms wrap around your legs, pulling you flush against him, and you revel in the feeling of his cock finally reaching that deep place inside. 

Kuroo stays there for a moment—perfectly still—kissing your calves, taking a bite here and there. You stare at him in complete awe as he begins to thrust in and out, tip prodding at your cervix each time. His eyes pinch shut, cheek resting against your calf as he loses himself in the feel of your warm walls squeezing him tight.

“Feels good,” you whisper, offering him a sweet smile before biting your lip and tossing your head back onto the plush mattress. You reach out to him, silently asking to hold his hand, and he doesn’t hesitate to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Using your hands as leverage, he speeds up his thrusts, setting a brutal pace as he pulls you in closer and closer, mumbling words of praise through pleasured groans. His cock throbs inside of you, nearing another release, and his balls feel heavy as they slap against your ass with every sharp thrust. 

“Gonna cum again,” he grits out, hips faltering in their rhythm just as he spills his load inside of you for the second time. He chants your name while mumbling ‘fuck’ and ‘yes’ a few times, grinding into you to ensure his cum stays buried just as deep as he is.  

Releasing your hands, he runs his over the skin of your thighs, rubbing and scratching in soft circles. He takes your legs and folds you in half, your ass lifting off the pillow just slightly as he leans into you. His kisses are sloppy and wet, and he grips your thighs like a lifeline as he begins to jackhammer his cock into you. 

Wet squelching becomes the only sound you can register, drowning out his mumbled words of praise. You admire how beautiful he looks, lost in pleasure, eyes raking up and down your body, both of you glistening with sweat. 

He slowly builds you up to another orgasm, your body shaking the closer you get, and your pussy clenches around his cock in a vice grip. You can’t get enough of him, from the way his hands grip your skin so gently, the wild strands of black hair sticking to his forehead, down to the teasing words he showers you with throughout. 

You cum, your body trembling as Kuroo tries to keep you still, his nails surely leaving crescent marks on your thighs. He rises—no longer crowding over you—chest heaving and dripping in sweat. His amber eyes appear darker than ever as he continues to pound into you, overstimulating your pussy beyond what you can handle. 

“Don’t stop, Tetsurou,” you beg, wrapping your hands around your legs, spreading yourself so he can focus on his current task. His hands move to your hips, pulling you closer to meet every sharp thrust. 

“Third time’s a charm, right baby,” he teases, unable to help himself. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight,” he chokes out, face contorting because he knows you did that on purpose, but he laughs anyway. 

His cock throbs inside of you, eyes zeroed in on that thick creamy ring coating the base of him, and the sight makes him groan—sucking in his bottom lip. There’s so much cum dripping out of you with every thrust in and out, and he fucking loves it. 

“Keep going, baby,” you encourage him, nodding your head when you feel his hips falter in their movement. “Give me everything. I want it all, Tetsurou,” your words come out in broken cries, relishing the sight of him coming undone. 

A few more thrusts and his cum fills you— so warm and thick—thicker than the previous ones. There’s no doubt in either of your minds that this will take; he just has to stay inside a little longer. 

Releasing your grip on your legs, you finally relax, setting your feet back comfortably on the mattress. Kuroo continues to rock his hips slowly, pushing his cum further inside of you, his mind elsewhere as he flits his gaze between your face and your pussy. 

“You look so pretty with my cum inside you, princess,” he nearly giggles, satisfied with his work and the euphoric look in your eyes. “Think we can keep this up for the rest of the week?” he asks, breathless, offering you that same sideways grin you fell in love with years ago. 

This makes you toss your head back, mirroring his laughter and clenching around him with every exhale. You reach your arms out, and he leans back over you, placing several kisses on your chest and neck—his nose brushes against your cheek, waiting for your response. 

“Let’s get some rest first. You look like you’re about to pass out from dehydration,” you say, amused at his shift in demeanor. 

His arms wrap around your frame, rolling you over so you now lay on top of him, fingers tracing invisible words on your back. He is still inside you, keeping his seed nice and warm, not allowing a single drop to escape.

“I made sure to have plenty of water today, and you know I can go for hours when the moment calls for it,” he delivers his statement with one shallow thrust, just enough to rub against that spongy spot inside. 

Too overstimulated to try for another round, you place your palms on his chest, resting your chin on the back of your hands as you admire his features. He plants a few pecks on your forehead before he moves a hand to caress the side of your face, thumb swiping gently on your cheek. His eyes bore into yours as you lay there for a minute or two, taking each other in. 

“You think that was enough?” you ask, nuzzling your cheek deeper into his palm to place a kiss on his wrist.

“If that wasn’t enough,” he looks down, gesturing at the mess of cum between you. “I’ll make sure it will be by the end of the week,” he says reassuringly, leaning in to claim your lips in a kiss. 

After today and the amount of cum dripping out onto the mattress, you do not doubt his ability to put a baby in you. 

The rest of the week continues the very same, and if you thought you’d already made love on every surface of your home before, then you’re wrong. Kuroo finds new places to take you that you never thought imaginable, and his stamina has become endless in his mission to get you pregnant. 

➣

About a month and a half later, you find yourselves hovering over the bathroom sink, waiting for the plastic sticks you arranged in a row to reveal their results. It’s only been a few days since your period was supposed to arrive, but you can’t help being excited at the possibility. 

Minutes pass, and the first stick displays two pink lines, the second and the third following right behind with the same result—you both lean in closer. Tetsurou’s eyes quickly shift between the instructions, the test, and your face. He takes in your expression—shock and absolute joy— and pulls you into a tight hug, lifting you slightly off the ground as happy tears fall from your eyes. 

He kisses your face, setting you back down to leave another on your lips. You hum against him in complete bliss, satisfied with the results of your love. 

Tetsurou pulls away, sporting the cheekiest grin that nearly stretches from ear to ear.

 “Told you I’d make sure it was enough.”

don't forget to like + reblog and let me know what you think ! love yall <3

[nanenna]

A Brief Look from a Different Angle

Going back in time just a little to have a look from a different PoV.

Sleepy King masterpost

---

Jazz flung open the door to the basement so forcefully it nearly bounced right back into her face. “Mom! Dad!”

“Jazz?” Mom asked curiously from below as Jazz descended the basement stairs. “Sweetie, come look! We think we got the new settings for the blasters set correctly.”

“Mom, where's Danny?” Jazz asked in a tight voice.

“Isn't he with you?” Mom asked warily, looking past Jazz to where she was flanked by Sam and Tucker.

“Did he wander off after school?” Dad suggested cheerfully.

“School's not over yet, we left early because Danny never made it to school this morning. Didn't they call you?” Jazz had thought it was weird the school office had called her at all, especially when she was at the very same school when they had.

Her parents frowned as they pulled their phones from their pockets. “No missed calls,” Mom said.

Dad turned to the computer, “Not the house line either. But there were a couple readings last night, perhaps Danny slept in?”

“I called him on the Fenton phone, you'll never guess who answered.” Jazz gave her parents a moment to turn their full attention back to her. “Superman.”

“Oh, well they're the good guys so he's safe at least, right?” Dad asked cheerfully.

“What did Superman say, honey?”

“He said Danny had been kidnapped and rescued, but has some sort of magical side effects the Justice League is working to fix before sending him home. He wouldn't tell me any more details, not who kidnapped him, not what the side effects are, not when he'll be home, nothing.”

“And they didn't inform you, his parents,” Sam added on.

“I'm worried they don't know about Danny’s ghost status and might accidentally hurt him trying to cure him of whatever,” Tucker added, still tapping away at his modified tablet.

“Well that's just unacceptable,” Mom said angrily.

“Right!” Dad agreed eagerly. “We're his parents and he's still a minor, we should be there to approve of his medical treatment!”

Jazz was already heading over to the corner to collect ol’ reliable: the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick™. “They said he's at one of the JL bases.”

Everyone turned to look at Tucker. “Their security is pretty tight, as to be expected, but as always there's social engineering. One of the JL members is complaining in a private discord server about still being on monitor duty on the Watchtower despite it currently being on lockdown for unspecified magical reasons.”

“The Watchtower?” Dad asked.

“Isn't that in space?” Sam sounded incredulous.

“Danny must be so excited,” Mom said with a fond sigh.

“How do we get to space?” Jazz asked forcefully.

Everyone looked around at each other for a moment. “The specter speeder is air tight,” Dad suggested.

“We can go through the ‘Zone,” Jazz added, already digging through the benign supply storage.

“Ask Frostbite for the infi-map?” Tucker suggested.

“Or we just use this!” Jazz triumphantly held up the booo-merang.

There was a resounding sound of approval from the group, followed by a flurry of activity as everyone set about getting ready to travel to space. Mom had taken over the pilot’s seat for the specter speeder, Dad was clearing away everything they had been working on to give the speeder a clear runway, Sam and Tucker were gathering up various ‘just in case’ supplies like a few weapons and the emergency ghost first aid kit, and all the while Jazz was double checking the booo-merang was properly calibrated and battery charged. Once everyone was in place and everything set up, Jazz threw the booo-merang at the open portal and hopped into the speeder so they could take off after it.

Once through, Dad activated the new remote to close the blast doors behind them. No chance of anyone sneaking through while they’re away. A new safety feature that had drastically reduced the number of ghost attacks. Danny had been delighted. Jazz had been upset it took so long for their parents to listen to her concerns when she’d brought up the portal’s security a year prior, shortly after finding out about Danny’s ghostliness.

Jazz mentally shook those thoughts away, no use retreading old ground. Instead she kept her eyes on the booo-merang as it flew through the Ghost Zone, lazily spinning along at a pace that was pretty easy for the speeder to keep up with.

“It sure is taking a while,” Tucker said with a bored sigh.

“We'll get there when we get there,” Sam replied with a grin.

They lapsed back into silence, everyone watching the booo-merang leading them further and further into the ‘Zone. Then it suddenly took a sharp left at the same time it doubled its speed. The boo-merang slipped through a portal that seemed to open and close just for it.

The speeder rocked as Maddie tried to follow the sudden course change, then cursed when they missed the portal.

“Welp,” Tucker said tiredly, “guess we head to the Far Frozen to ask for the infi-map.”

Sam snickered, “Bet you fifty it hit him in the head.”

“That's not a bet, that's a guarantee.”

“Hey!” Jazz protested.

Before Jazz could properly defend herself, a portal opened right in front of them. They ended up on the other side before anyone could do more than gasp.

“Is that… the Watchtower?” Mom asked hesitantly.

“I think so,” Tucker replied.

There, floating before them backed by a field of stars,was a matte gray tube with more tubes attached around it covered with windows leaking buttery yellow light into the void.

“Okay, so now what?”

There was a moment of silence as everyone processed what had just happened. Danny was inside and they were outside, they needed to find their way in and then somehow find Danny without their only tracking device. Great.

The radio came to life with a burst of static. “This is the Watchtower to the unknown vessel, please identify yourself.”

“Great, guess we can't sneak on,” Sam groused.

“Like that was ever even an option,” Tucker replied sarcastically.

“Kids!” Dad chided. Then he started fiddling with various knobs, “How do we reply?”

Mom frowned, “I'm not sure we can.”

“Something to upgrade for next time!”

“Hopefully there won't be a next time,” Jazz muttered.

“Still, it’s best to be prepared,” Dad said jovially. The radio spit more static and garbled requests for identification.

“Perhaps we should just… approach? They probably have an airlock or something we can use.” Mom gently nudged the speeder forward, heading slowly towards the Watchtower.

“Hopefully they don’t think we’re hostile,” Tucker grumbled.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got ghost shields!” Dad said enthusiastically with a finger hovering over a button.

“Dad, the Justice League doesn’t have any ghosts,” Jazz reminded him with a sigh. She shook her head, her parents were a little too specialized. Maybe this would help them realize they lost sight of the broader picture.

“Well hopefully it’ll stop whatever that is,” Tucker said nervously, pointing at where a small white dot was growing larger as it approached them.

The dot turned out to be a man wearing a white half cape, the red and gold coming into focus as he got closer. Clearly he was some kind of superhero, since he wasn’t even wearing a helmet or space suit. Jazz narrowed her eyes at him, “Is that Superman?”

“No,” Sam and Tucker said at the same time. Tucker took over, “That’s Captain Marvel, the champion of magic. Not related to Superman at all, aside from being coworkers I guess.”

“Good for him.” Jazz readjusted her grip on the anti-creep stick.

Captain Marvel slowed down as he got closer, stopping a few yards away. He smiled and waved, everyone waved back. Then he beckoned for them to follow.

“How nice, they sent someone to lead the way.” Mom maneuvered the speeder to follow, matching the easy pace Captain Marvel set.

“Hold on, Danny, we’re coming,” Jazz murmured, gripping the anti-creep stick tight.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Six: no good deed ever goes unpunished

tw: violence, non-con

Small chunks of salt stick to the tips of Simon’s fingers, dusting them like fresh snow. You were right—a simple order of chips really isn’t enough to keep him going throughout the night. 

If anything, the saltiness makes him hungrier. It pummels his stomach until it’s grumbling at an annoying frequency, and it doesn’t do much to help the dryness in his mouth either. He would have tried to order something if it wasn’t damn near impossible to get anyone to deliver to the club, and god forbid John Price actually install a proper kitchen. But there would be no use for any sort of kitchen in a place like that, as it’s not good food that makes people swarm to Terminus like brainwashed zombies. It’s the booze. The music. A quickie in the stall. 

Shady activities in an alleyway. 

Simon huffs as he tosses the empty chip container in the small bin that sits in the corner of the surveillance room. Monitors upon monitors line the wall on the far side of the room, illuminating the concrete floor with a grey glow as faint music pulses through the air. He hates this room. Small, stuffy, and overheating with the computers and servers; he’d rather be out in the bitter November winter right about now. He’s out of luck tonight, because after nearly two weeks, Johnny’s research has finally bore fruit. 

About time, too. All Simon has been able to think about for the last few days has been you. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still see the outline of your body. It’s ingrained in his mind. He still sees your limp, exhausted form as you rested in the conversation pit—too overwhelmed to keep conscious. It follows him like a bad dream. He doesn’t know why you haunt him so terribly. Perhaps he has Aelin to blame; she knows how he never likes leaving a job half done. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re so… peculiar. For a woman he can only describe as being a skittish cat, you’ve suddenly melted into some other version of yourself. Your dislike of his proximity to you is obvious. Short words, gauche exchanges; yet you have this impulsive need to constantly get even with him, like you’re trying to sweep up the breadcrumbs that lead to your door lest he get hungry and follow you home. 

However, when he visited you a few days ago to check on your hands—as promised—you seemed to be a whole new person. Well, not entirely. If you were the world’s most skittish cat before, you have now become the feral stray that would maybe eat out of the palm of his hand if he doesn’t look at you while you do it. He asked you questions and you responded with something more than simple words or an uneasy, anxiety induced joke. 

I’m… glad that you’re not doing this just for me.

He still wonders what you meant by that. 

“Hey, you paying attention?” Johnny whines. 

Simon blinks the glaze out of his eyes—one which carries a now greenish-yellow hue around his cheekbone—and pushes the thought of you out of his mind as his attention fully settles on the monitors in front of him. A chair squeaks as Johnny settles back against the worn, faux leather. He’s already got everything loaded up for whatever presentation he’s about to give. 

“Waitin’ on you, Johnny,” he playfully retorts. 

“Right,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “So, I’ve been trying to do some research on your dance partner here, and he’s a slippery fucker. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks up. At least through the methods I use to find people. Nothing on the media or anything like that. Might as well not exist at all in the tech world.” 

A hum rumbles in Simon’s throat as he crosses his arms. “You drag me in here just to tell me you found nothing?” 

Johnny’s neck cranes to the side where he then looks up at him with a wide smirk. “Come on, Riley. When have I ever wasted your time?” 

Both men turn their attention back to the monitor as Johnny begins to rewind through the footage from a few days ago—the day Simon found you in the alley. Everything happens fast as he speeds through the film. Bodies dart across view like ants, and there’s a comedic speed up cars driving along the road as they slice across the monitor like knives. Static streaks across the screen as the footage warps before it suddenly pauses again. 

“Since I wasn’t able to find anything on this guy, I decided to sleuth through the footage again, and I found something a little odd about this bloke here,” Johnny explains as he points to a male figure. Whoever it is, they’re faced away from the camera with their hands shoved deep into their pockets to stave off the cold. “He enters the alley before your pal does…” 

The video plays at normal speed, and the faceless man vanishes behind the brick corner of the building a few meters down, just as Johnny described. He fast forwards, and everything plays at triple speed. Simon’s seen it all before. The man who accosted you enters the alleyway, and then you unfortunately come across him a bit later, but then something happens that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to before. 

The man Johnny pointed out leaves the alley, this time facing the camera. He’s fiddling with something in his hands, and upon closer inspection, Simon’s able to tell it’s a small wad of cash. It’s quickly stowed away in his pocket, and that’s where Johnny pauses the video. 

“He leaves as soon as Chip arrives, shoving a couple quid into his pocket like he struck a deal,” Johnny concludes. 

Tense fingers grip the back of the office chair as Simon leans over Johnny’s shoulder, squinting at the face on the screen. He scrutinizes every detail possible through the fuzzy footage, and his jaw flexes as he huffs. 

Square jaw, visible stubble, and eyes just as shifty as his character. 

“He looks familiar,” Simon mutters. 

“He oughta. Fucker works here.” 

A rancid taste floods the back of Simon’s throat at that revelation, and his fingers tense so greatly that the imitation leather of the chair threatens to crack beneath his grip. Fury rises in the dark irises of his eyes as he leans back and grumbles. It seems like such a simple detail to miss. Something that he should have caught the other night, even in his sleep deprived state. If he had, he would have been several leaps closer to the real issue ages ago. 

“Who is he?” Simon demands. 

“Marcel Wylder,” Johnny answers as he twists in his chair to face him. “Works part time as one of the bartenders in the VIP lounge. Only really works on the weekends, and according to the floor manager, he’s a good kid. Twenty three years old. Always shows up on time, things of that sort.” 

“Good kids don’t meddle with men who like to scare women in alleyways,” Simon retorts. 

Johnny shrugs. “Guess we all have our dark sides… some are darker than others.” 

It takes a few more moments for Simon to finally get himself to look away from the screen, and his eyes land on Johnny with a malice not meant for him. He’s not quite sure why this revelation angers him so. The sting of failure pricks at his skin too violently for him to ignore it. 

“He here tonight?” he asks. 

“Yeah, he’s working on the second floor right now. Or, at least that’s where he was last, according to the cameras,” Johnny answers. He pauses to lick his lips and tilt his head. “You’re brewing something in that head of yours. I can tell. None of it looks too cheerful.” 

Swarthy eyes glare back at the monitor as Simon commits this new face and name to memory. Marcel Wylder. Twenty three. Square jaw. Stubble. Thin eyes. 

“Thanks for the intel, Johnny,” is all Simon says as he turns on his heels and walks towards the exit. 

A high pitched squeak echoes off the dull white walls of the room as Johnny excitedly watches him leave. All he can make out are a straight set of shoulders, clenched fists, and an aura that demands blood. 

“Go easy on the kid!” Johnny calls after him—his voice is too saccharine to truly mean it. 

There are very rarely any times when Simon Riley feels like a savior, but he can’t deny the fact that he feels like Moses when he’s walking through Terminus. Eyes snap to him, wary of the large brute attempting to slice through the club like a dull axe. All it takes is a single glance or a firm hand on someone’s shoulder and the mass of pulsing bodies splits open for him like the Red Sea. 

This trend continues as he jogs up the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, and his path to Marcel is highlighted by the mob of patrons crowding the bar. He looks nicer tonight than he did the previous night, and his square jaw almost appears defined now that he’s shaved that fuzz off of his face. Pristine dress clothes mark him as a perfect employee as he quickly fills orders and stuffs tips in his pocket all with a thankful smile. Doesn’t look like he’s doing half bad for himself, considering there’s a near topless woman serving booze next to him. 

“Marcel!” 

Simon’s voice booms louder than the bass of the music and is so sharp all other sounds nearly seem to cease for a moment. That pathetic sod glances up from his work like a schoolboy being scolded, and his face grows pallid. All it takes is a simple gesture of his fore and middle fingers to get the man to slip from behind the bar and join him in the crowd. 

He leads Marcel out behind the building like a lamb to slaughter. Just like a good offering, he’s quiet. Hardly asks anything besides is everything alright? to which Simon doesn’t respond. Biting wind attempts to tear through the formidable fabric of Simon’s clothes, but it seems to really do a number on the kid. Hardly even ten seconds out the door and the poor boy is wrapping his arms around himself and trying hard not to shiver, lest he look pathetic in front of the head of security. 

A flickering halogen light is the only source of illumination in the shady alley, and even in the bleakness of winter the garbage spoils and festers with a stomach-churning odor. Marcel stands cornered with his back to the wall, and he watches with trepidation as Simon’s hand dives into his pocket. Relief doesn’t fill his face until his eyes catch sight of a pack of cigarettes. 

The cancer-stick sits at home between Simon’s lips as he lights it and puffs out a steady stream of smoke until it’s well lit. A gentle breeze whisks it away into the air where it quickly dissipates among the smog smothered stars. Once he’s satisfied, he holds the pack out toward Marcel. 

“You smoke?” he asks. 

“Yes sir,” Marcel answers. 

Simon shakes the pack, prompting him to take one, and a smile pulls at the boy’s lips. “Cheers.” 

As Marcel’s trembling hands work on igniting the lighter, Simon takes a better look at him. There’s hardly a single scar on him, and his hands are much too soft to truly be a part of any violent syndicate. Still, anyone can be a mole, even if they’re a smooth faced kid. 

“What do you do outside of work?” Simon asks. It’s kind enough. Simple, polite conversation—but there’s nothing civil about the look in his eyes as he chews on the filter of his cigarette. 

“School, mostly,” Marcel replies. 

Simon hums. “Uni?”

“Greenwich.” 

“Smart.” 

Another exhale of smoke dances between Simon’s lips as he huffs, dark eyes still trained on Marcel. He’s damn near shivering out of his skin as the black fabric of his uniform is designed to whisk away sweat and keep you cool in warm, humid temperatures. No matter; the boy can warm up soon enough. Simon intends for this interaction to be quick. 

“Since you’re a smart kid, you’ll do well to be truthful with me then, yeah?” Simon prompts as he flicks a bit of ash onto the ground. “That bloke you met up with the other night? Who is he?” 

Trembling muscles suddenly freeze, and the cigarette seems stuck against Marcel's lips. There’s no exhale of smoke. The embers don’t brighten at the tip to show he’s inhaling. There’s nothing. 

“Bloke?” he repeats. 

“The fucker you met up with in the alley a week or two ago,” Simon snaps, already impatient. 

Marcel jumps and the cigarette falls free from between his lips and fingers. It sputters and whines on the ground, where the boy quickly puts it out of its misery by stomping on the embers until they’re no longer glowing. 

“Right, erm, Andrei I think it was.” 

“Andrei who?” 

“I dunno. I just know him as Andrei. Honest,” Marcel insists. 

“What did he want?” Simon presses. 

“Well, he had this picture of someone. Some bitch he didn’t want hanging around here I suppose. Was asking me questions about her and stuff,” Marcel replies earnestly. 

A bright pink dusts the tips of Simon’s ears. The muscles in his jaw begin to flex. “What did she look like?” 

“She was dressed mostly in black, kind of similar to our serving uniforms. It looked like it was taken through the window of some restaurant. I don’t know which one it was. I swear!” 

Sapori. 

Teeth nearly cut through the filter of his cigarette as Simon’s jaw clenches. He rips the thing out of his mouth and tosses it on the ground, not even bothering to stomp it out. This man—this Andrei—is getting too close to you for comfort. He thinks back to the way you reacted in the alley; how petrified you were. A terrible thought plagues his mind as he wonders what has been done to you to get you to fear someone so terribly. 

Simon doesn’t like where his mind is wandering. 

“What questions did he ask about her?” Simon continues. 

“Dunno, just regular stuff? I suppose? He asked when she was here and who she was with. Things like that,” Marcel replies. 

Simon raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I told him the truth. About how she was here on Halloween. I mean, I didn’t see much of her so there wasn’t a lot I could tell him. Honest. I think he was mostly looking for confirmation that she was here at all. He didn’t ask for anything else after that, and he sent me on my way.” 

Acid eats away at Simon’s stomach. The chips he devoured before this seem to have a hard time settling with the heavy ire disrupting his mood. Dense feet scrape against the ground as he takes a few steps closer to Marcel, who puts his hands up in defense as if that’s going to do anything against the rating storm barreling straight for him. 

“That’s it, that’s everything, honest! I swear!” he pleads. 

“I know. I believe you,” Simon says through gritted teeth. 

Worn knuckles crash into the tense flesh just underneath Marcel’s sternum, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He sputters miserably as his back crashes against the brick wall behind him, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t breathe. A deep purple hue stains his face as his body begins to jolt and spasm uncontrollably. It’s impossible to keep himself upright with the wind knocked out of him—diaphragm screaming in protest—he slowly slides onto the ground with his hands over his stomach like he’s trying to stop blood flowing through a wound. 

“You’re a smart boy, so listen close,” Simon says as he crouches to Marcel’s new height. He rubs at his sore fist, but his eyes don’t stray even an inch from his target. “Be careful who you call a bitch ‘round here, because if I ever hear you refer to a woman like that again, I’ll knock your goddamn teeth out like the sorry sod you are, ya hear?” 

Still sputtering and heaving, Marcel nods. 

“Good. Now, that woman Andrei showed you? Forget her. She doesn’t exist to you. If he comes ‘round here askin’ about her, you tell him you haven’t seen her, because you won’t. You’ve got nothin’ for him, yeah? Nod.” Simon’s tone is too severe to deny—Marcel complies easily. “If anyone ever starts askin’ about any of our patrons or workers, you bring that shit right to me. Don’t you ever go ‘round behind my fuckin’ back again. You think there’s anything that happens here that I don’t know about? Huh?” 

After an eternity of struggle, Marcel is finally able to get a good gasp in, and a few subsequent breaths after that. That bright purple begins to fade from the paleness of his face, and he quivers and shakes his head. 

“N-No sir,” he stutters. “Sor-ry…” 

“Good. Don’t you ever fuckin’ forget that.” 

Simon pushes himself up to his feet and looks down at Marcel as he writhes and chokes on his achy diaphragm. He haphazardly digs around his pocket for his pack of smokes before he retrieves a single cigarette and tosses it toward the pathetic lump of a man at his feet. It bounces on the slimy ground before rolling to a stop with specks of dirt sticking to the filter—Simon’s half-hearted attempt at an apology. 

“Take a breather. Have yourself another smoke, then get back to work,” he orders. He turns to leave, but only gets a few steps away before he pauses. A stiff finger points at Marcel. “Keep in mind, that's not even half of what I’ve got, yeah?” 

Marcel’s pathetic response is drowned out by the uproar of music that fills Simon’s ears as he returns back inside of the club. A thick wall of heat melts the frost off of his skin as his brooding figure cuts through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. His blood continues to boil with clenched fists and heavy breaths. It’s all consuming. Swallowing him whole. Simon doesn’t like being angry. He feels too much like his father, and sometimes he fears that he looks like him, too. 

Violent, angry, sinister—his intimidating build and threatening demeanor have always been something he’s tried to rage against. A stereotype he’s been attempting to break. Yet now that he’s gotten one step closer to uncovering the monsters hiding in your shadows, he’s grateful for it. For once, it’s a tool he can use to his advantage. Something he can use to help you. 

Except, while Simon is busy taking baby steps through this web of lies, you’re already in the maw of the beast. 

Frayed string tangles around your fingers as trembling hands attempt to keep themselves busy with a solo game of cat’s cradle. It’s already the 25th again, and just like every other month, you’re in perfect position. Sitting properly on a bench with a wad of cash tucked neatly into the envelope that sits inconspicuously on your lap. This is a dance you know well. A dance you don’t think you’ll ever be free from. 

Washers and dryers hum around you and clash terribly with the ringing of your ears and the violent pounding of your heart. Trepidation plagues you worse than it usually does on your due date. Every other month is predictable. Something you have memorised. But this month? You don’t know how Marco is going to react about what Simon did to Andrei. 

You keep going through possibilities in your mind. Things you need to say to keep him off of Simon’s trail. Ways to apologize to keep him from getting upset. You’ve gone through every option your mind can come up with, yet it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s something you’re still missing. 

But you’ve run out of time. 

Frosty air slices through the warmth of the laundromat and you try your best not to shiver. Not that it does you any good—you’re already shaking. Marco’s cologne drifts along the air, mixing in dissonance with the fragrance of soap and fabric softener. Green eyes scan the small room as he takes note of the single mom folding clothes in the back of the building as her young son watches videos on her phone. It should be comforting to know that you’re not alone—but you’ve learned that you’re never safe. Horror does not wait for eyes to turn away before sinking teeth into flesh. 

Your attention stays firmly on your hands as Marco waltzes up and makes himself at home next to you on the bench. The scent of him scorches your nose as his arm wraps around your shoulders. You try not to jump as he involuntarily pulls you closer to him, and you find your fingers clamping down hard on the string in your hands. 

“Long time, no see,” he greets. 

He’s more cordial than he usually is, and that terrifies you. His thumb rubs at your arm through the fabric of your jumper and you feel your heart leap into your throat. He knows. He knows, and you’re about to pay for it. 

“Did you hear about our good friend, Andrei? Got scuffed up pretty bad the other week,” Marco prompts. 

You swallow your heart down your throat and back into your chest. “Is he alright?” 

“Define alright,” he hums. Long legs spread apart and bump into your thigh, crowding you further like he’s trying to lock you in a cage of your own flesh. “Busted lip, broken nose. His face is so goddamn swollen he sounds like he’s got a cold.” 

Images of Andrei’s wounded face sear your mind. Bright red blood trickling down his lips, an appalled expression on his face as if he had never met anyone capable of putting him in his place before. You should have known then that you wouldn’t walk away unscathed from something like that. Simon’s protection can only reach so far. 

“What were you even doing there, anyway? At Terminus?” Marco then asks. 

“I was delivering food,” you answer truthfully. 

“Oh, you’re a delivery driver now? I thought you were a waitress,” he digs. 

“Hostess…” you correct. 

“Who were you delivering to?”

“My friend… her husband owns the club and she was hungry… so… I, well…” you stumble over your lie. 

Firm fingers dig into your arm as Marco pulls you closer. You try to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “Ah, right. John fucking Price.” 

Shocked, you finally bring yourself to look at him. There’s faint amusement on his face as he stares at the washers in front of him. A mixture of soapy water and colorful clothes dance around in the machine as it gently spins and agitates the fabric. 

“You know him?” you venture to ask. 

A smirk pulls on his lips as he turns his attention to you, and your blood screams at how close his face is to yours. “Don’t worry about that, babe.” 

His eyes capture yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away—like you’re an unfortunate deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. He wanders down. Down, down, down until he catches sight of the unmarked envelope on your thighs. He grabs it and isn’t at all courteous about where his fingers brush in the process. 

“How did that guy even know you were in that alley? That prick who fought with Andrei?” Marco ponders. 

As he waits for your response, he hits the envelope against the top of your thighs as if he’s bored. Tap, tap, tap. Each time it touches you, you feel your stomach twist. 

“I, uhm, asked the same thing. Said he heard us like… talking and… he thought I needed help. Guess he was the bouncer outside of the VIP entrance. M-My friend said he’s the head of security,” you reply, weaving truth and lies seamlessly together. 

“Yeah, I know who the bastard is,” Marco mutters in reply. 

Something lugubrious tingles up your spine as you have the slight urge to press him for an explanation. You bite that urge away as he folds up the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans, not even bothering to count the cash. Your gaze finally breaks away from him as you glance back down at your hands. They’re almost fully healed—nothng but faint scars and scabs now. You untangle the string from your fingers as you begin to wind it up, hopeful that he’ll leave soon after this interrogation. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure it was all one big misunderstanding. No use in getting worked up over it, babe,” he sighs. A pause follows his words, one that’s interrupted by the quiet giggling of the child still playing on his mother’s phone as she folds clothes somewhere to your right. “Still, some damage was done. Andrei’s been an annoying fuck ever since the altercation. As much as I would love to let you get off easy, it doesn’t really look too good if I’m letting some sweet, pretty thing walk all over me, now does it?”

Your eyes flutter shut as he speaks, and you attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever blow he’s about to deal. Of course it was naive to think you’d get out of this easily. Really, you were prepared to be hurt in some type of way from the moment you stepped foot in the laundromat. All you wanted to do was throw Marco off of Simon’s trail—to not drag someone innocent into this mess—and though it feels like you’ve succeeded for now, you’re not quite sure you even accomplished that much. 

“It doesn’t,” you pitifully agree.

Marco smirks. “Because of that, your monthly payments will be increased by five hundred starting next month. That ought to be enough.”

The very blood coursing through your veins turns to ice, and tears blur your vision as you try to make sense of his words. Five hundred. A brutal panic wreaks havoc in your chest. You want to sob, and scream, and thrash with frustration but his hand is still on your arm, keeping you chained to him. Gluttonous fingers stain your skin and his leg is still pressed against yours, and you can feel the disgusting warmth of his body and you can’t—you can’t. You want to rage, but you’re cornered and trapped, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

“B-But that’s… that’s fifteen hundred a month, I… I’ve hardly- I can’t make that.” 

You’re crying now, and you hate it. You hate how weak and pathetic you are. You hate how you have no other choice but to be this way—malluable like molten metal and just as brittle. White hot tears cook your cheeks as they travel down your face, and you’re trying your best not to hiccup. Suddenly, you’re a kid all over again. Fawning, trying not to flinch as his hand reaches for your jaw to turn your face to him. His breath smells minty as it fans across the wet streaks on your face—he’s so close you can almost taste the menthol. There’s a small frown on his lips, something that almost looks sincere. 

Almost. His eyes are too hungry for it to be real. 

“Look at you,” he shushes. One hand moves up to cup your cheek while the other stays steady and firm around your shoulders. His thumb caresses your face, catching the briny tears and pushing them to the side. “Getting all upset over this? If it means that much to you, we can always negotiate lower, babe.” 

It takes an eternity for his lips to meet yours, and once they do, everything freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the ringing in your ears and the warm shame on your skin. It’s degrading. Humiliating. A terrible reminder that you’ve never really belonged to yourself—that you’ve never belonged to anyone or anything but him. 

Things get worse when his tongue pushes past your lips. Everything becomes overwhelming—the washers and dryers, the video on that damn phone, Marco’s slight moan against your skin. You make a pitiful attempt to fight back by pressing your hands on his chest, but you’re met with harsh resistance and rigid muscle. He pulls you closer, holding you tight like a coiling snake. 

Something in you demands blood. You feel obligated to bite down, to sink your teeth into his tongue until the mint in your mouth is replaced with iron and copper. When you were a kid, your dad had taught you how to throw a punch. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this. Sniveling and too afraid to fight back. 

Once he’s had his fill of your fear, Marco pulls away, but you still can’t breathe. He continues to wipe more tears from your face as if he can’t comprehend why they’re flowing in the first place. 

“For that, we’ll drop it down to only two fifty,” he whispers. He places another kiss against your lips—something chaste and quick. “Unless… you wanna take me up on that deal?” 

“N-No,” you stutter, then sniff. “I’ll get you the money.” 

Humming, Marco finally releases you as he stands to his feet. He looks down at you with a self-satisfied smirk as he gently kicks the side of your foot. “See you next month, babe.” 

Marco leaves just how he arrived—with a gust of bitter, algid wind. He’s taken something from you that you won’t get back, and it’s left you feeling empty on that bench. So void, so barren of anything that you can’t even bring yourself to move. All you can do is sit there and curse yourself for being just as worthless now as you were the day when you first got yourself stuck in this mess. 

Shuffling sounds on your right, and you nearly jump out of your skin as you look up at the source. It’s that lady and her son. You’d nearly forgotten about them. A small basket of neatly folded clothes sits on her hip as she holds the boy’s hand to lead him out of the laundromat. Her face twists with disgust, like she can smell every single sin that’s ever been forced upon you. As if you are at fault for the grotesque display of affection you were made to endure. 

As if the gaping hole in your chest is your fault. 

As she exits, you try not to think about why she didn’t help you. If anything, you’re grateful for it. No more favors. No random acts of kindness. It never turns out well. No good deed ever goes unpunished. 

Instead, you rise to your feet a few minutes later once you’re able to stitch yourself back together. Wiping your face clean, you brave the cold streets of London as you take the transit back home. You swear to yourself that the moment you step foot in your apartment, you’ll rinse your mouth clean until even the thought of Marco is gone. Then, you’ll call Sapori to see if you can pick up an extra shift.

This is how your life was always going to go—you’ve known this whole time. Pathetically slow, time wasted away at work trying to scrounge up enough cash to keep yourself alive. To pay for the right to continue to draw breath. You think of Marco’s scheming words—his terrible offer that he keeps attempting to shove down your throat—and you try not to squirm in your seat on the bus. 

Maybe one day you won’t have any choice but to endure his whims, but for now you’re content on working until your hands bleed.

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[taikeero-lecoredier]

Chat Control in a nutshell (please reblog this, US people)

Find out more about Chat Control here TAKE ACTION HERE ! OR HERE Calling is much more efficient ! The latter link will redirect you to the official websites of your respective reps. Under the "read more", you will find what you need to say/write when contacting your reps. You will also find an alternate format of this comic,and I give explicit permission for people to translate it and spread it anywhere for awareness. Credit really not needed, I don't care about that rn Even if this is a EU proposal, I am urging Americans to also share this, since it goes hand in hand with KOSA. DON'T FORGET TO JOIN OUR DISCORD SERVER AGAINST CHAT CONTROL ! https://discord.com/invite/e7FYdYnMkS

(Latest update on Chat Control was the 12 september 2024) This is a little long, so feel free to shorten it as you wish : Subject line: "2022/0155(COD) Dear Sir/Madam, I am writing to express my grave concerns regarding the proposed introduction of "Chat Control" This measure poses a serious threat to the privacy and fundamental rights of all EU citizens and stands in stark contradiction to the core principles that the European Union seeks to uphold. The proposed Chat Control contravenes Articles 7 and 8 of the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union, which guarantee the right to respect for private and family life and the protection of personal data. The indiscriminate surveillance of private messages without specific suspicion or cause directly violates these fundamental rights. The General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) sets out stringent rules for the processing of personal data. The proposed indiscriminate surveillance and scanning of private messages before end-to-end encryption is fundamentally incompatible with the principles of data minimization and purpose limitation enshrined in the GDPR. Specifically, Articles 5 and 6 of the GDPR, which govern the lawfulness and principles of data processing, would be violated by the introduction of such measures. The implementation of Client-Side Scanning (CSS) on devices means that all messages and files are scanned on the user's device before being encrypted and sent. This effectively nullifies the protection offered by end-to-end encryption and opens the door to misuse and additional security vulnerabilities. Moreover, the technical capability to scan such content could be exploited by malicious actors to circumvent or manipulate surveillance mechanisms. Such far-reaching surveillance measures not only endanger privacy but also freedom of expression. The knowledge that their private messages are being scanned and monitored could significantly restrict individuals' willingness to freely express themselves. Additionally, trust in digital communication platforms would be severely undermined. I urge you to take a strong stance against this disproportionate and unlawful measure. The privacy and digital rights of EU citizens must be safeguarded. It is imperative that we protect our fundamental rights and ensure transparency in the decision-making processes of our leaders. For more detailed information on the proposal and its implications, please refer to the following resource: Link to Netzpolitik article. https://www.patrick-breyer.de/rat-soll-chatkontrolle-durchwinken-werde-jetzt-aktiv/ Thank you for your attention to this critical matter. Sincerely, [Name] Art. 10 GG , Art. 8 & 11 EU Charta , Art. 8 EMRK (Alternate comic here V)

[flightrising]

Update: Phishing False Positive Reports

As of 08:30 server time today, Wednesday, September 11, the Flight Rising website is passing all security and file checks. Our engineers have attempted to recreate this flag using the reported antivirus programs (Avast and Avira) and have been unable to reproduce the reported alert. We suspect this was a false positive, triggered by an update on the anti-virus's side, that has since been patched. Our findings and community reports are consistent with previous instances similar to today's, where an anti-virus or anti-malware program flags the site as suspect after an update on their side. If (when) this happens again going forward, we ask that players receiving these alerts also report them to your anti-virus provider so they can check their own records and updates with reproducible examples and patch any false flags. This isn't to say we don't want you reporting this to us—please continue to report these issues to us as they come up, even if they turn out to be a false positive later!

Thank you again for your reports! We will continue to monitor throughout the day, out of an abundance of caution.

[wolfjackle-creates]

I took part in the Demon Twins Who Wrote That game over on the Haunting Heroes DPxDC server and author reveals were today. So now I can finally post the fic I wrote for it!

No Place Left to Hide

Danny is on the run. He wants nothing more than to see his family, but they're out of his reach at the moment. Then he sees a magazine article and accompanying photo of Damian Wayne. His long-lost twin brother. Maybe he does have some family he can check on. Just to spy from a distance, of course. Getting too close would only make his situation worse. But when he gets caught in the halls of Gotham Academy, he might not have a choice in the matter.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: T

Warning: a trans Danny mentions his deadname to Damian

-----

Danny stared down at Gotham Academy. Damian was just inside those walls. All he’d have to do was go intangible and he’d be able to see his twin for the first time in eight years. The thought made his core ache, a throbbing that echoed in his still-healing injuries.

He was descending before ever consciously making the choice to actually see his brother.

It was stupid. What if Damian caught him? Told Talia, or worse, Ra’s? Then it wouldn’t just be the Fentons and the GIW after him, but also the League of Assassins. And he was already injured.

But he had to see. He hadn’t seen Damian in years. Had lived half his life without his twin at this point.

He should leave. He shouldn’t be here at all.

A moment later, he’d phased through the roof and floated invisibly in the middle of a locker-lined hallway. He allowed gravity to once more take control of him and his feet settled on the linoleum floor.

Now, to find Damian. Just to see him, make sure he was safe. The rest of his family were out of his reach; the GIW was monitoring them too closely for Danny to risk visiting. Or even just check in from a distance. And Danny’s core was demanding he check on his loved ones.

He’d been debating risking a visit to them regardless of the risk when he saw the magazine article: Wayne Boy Volunteers at Animal Shelter. The attached picture brought a smile to Danny’s face. One of the few genuine smiles he’d worn since being forced on the run. In it, Damian was glaring at the camera, but his arms were gentle as he cradled a puppy. Behind him stood Bruce Wayne, grinning widely. In the article, Bruce talked about how proud he was of his youngest son and his big heart. Back when they’d been with the League, Danny had been the only one to know of Damian’s gentleness.

Reading the article, seeing the picture had healed something in Danny. Damian had gotten out. Something he’d thought impossible when he left half a lifetime ago.

And now he was here to confirm it. To check on the twin he’d left behind. Make sure he was healthy and safe and happy. He’d never seen Damian be any of those things before. Not beyond fleeting moments carved out in secret.

Though… He looked around the empty hallway and bit his lip. The school was huge and he had no idea what Damian’s schedule looked like. Where should he even start?

Footsteps echoed down the hall and Danny instinctively moved to the side to let whomever it was pass.

Only to feel a hand grip his shoulder.

Danny just barely kept himself from twisting and throwing a punch at the person. He wasn’t able stop himself from jumping a foot in the air, though. And if he hung in the air a bit longer than gravity should’ve allowed, well, Danny could only hope the person gripping his arm didn’t notice.

“Wayne, why are you in the hallways out of uniform rather than in your class?”

Danny blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked. This guy couldn’t actually have mistaken him for Damian, could he have? They weren’t identical twins. They didn’t even have the same skin tone!

Though Danny did suppose he’d gotten more tanned lately. Being on the run meant he was spending much more time outside than normal and he always did tan pretty well, one thing to thank Talia for he supposed.

The hall monitor rolled his eyes. “Where are you supposed to be right now?”

Danny opened his mouth, then shut it again. Should he disappear? But what if the teacher reported it? Would the GIW come to investigate? Would Damian, growing up around Lazarus pits, ping on their sensors?

He stayed put and he stayed silent.

The teacher sniffed and pulled out his phone. After tapping a bit, he announced, “History with Mr. Binder. I’ll accompany you back and we will be contacting your father about this behavior.”

He grabbed Danny’s shoulder again and marched him through the hallways. Danny allowed it, not sure what else to do. And still so desperate to see his brother.

When they reached what must be Damian’s classroom, the man knocked once, then pushed the door open.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Binder. But I found one of your students wandering the hallways.”

Danny had barely glanced inside the classroom when his eyes fell on Damian. Everything else fell away. He didn’t see the other kids, didn’t hear Mr. Binder’s response. All he could see was Damian.

Even sitting, it was clear Damian was taller than Danny. His hair was shorter, his muscles more defined. And he was holding his pencil like it was a dagger he was going to throw through Danny’s throat.

Danny grinned and, speaking a language he’d barely used in eight years, said, “It’s been a long time, brother.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed further, but he kept his posture relaxed. Except for his grip on his pencil. “You’re no brother of mine. Who are you?” asked Damian, also in Arabic.

Danny clutched his hands to his chest. “How could you not remember me?” he wailed. But he couldn’t keep up the feigned offense for more than a second and grinned. “Though, I suppose you did used to call me sister. A lot’s changed in eight years, brother. Liat died in the league; I go by Danny now.”

At Danny’s mention of his deadname, the pencil fell from Damian’s hands. The sound of it hitting the floor was loud in the otherwise silent room. But when Damian spoke, his voice was steady. “Prove it.”

Danny inclined his head in a mock bow. “If you insist,” he said, switching to English. “The sun did not shine, it was too wet to play. So we sat in the house, all that cold, cold, wet day.”

Damian stood, sending his chair tumbling to the floor. “Enough!”

Danny obediently stopped reciting and grinned at Damian.

Damian hated The Cat in the Hat. Danny had heard it when he’d been sent to a daycare on one of his first missions to slip a child a mild poison that’d leave her sick for a few days and a letter for her father, a man who’d been planning to betray the league.

Danny had fallen in love. He’d smuggled the book out with him when he’d finished his task. The idea of a cat in a hat coming to the league and causing a bit of destruction helped him withstand the endless trainings and trials. Besides, their grandfather and mother deserved it. And Damian just didn’t see.

Though now Danny realized that was because Damian had never been allowed to glimpse what life could be outside the League. Danny, on the other hand, had been trained in spying and infiltration. Which meant he had to understand how kids his age worked and thought and acted. So he had to be around them with some regularity.

What he’d learned was that he wanted their lives, not his own. A lesson he tried, and failed, to teach Damian.

Before either Damian or Danny could think of something to say to each other, the History teacher cleared his throat. “Damian, what is going on here?”

Damian immediately stood to attention, just as Talia had taught him. “I apologize for the intrusion. My… brother came for an unexpected visit. May we be excused to the office so I can call my father?”

“I wasn’t aware you had another sibling your age,” said the teacher with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s from my mother’s side,” said Damian.

Danny hummed. True enough, he supposed. They did share a biological mother. Even if Danny refused to ever acknowledge her as such ever again.

He really didn’t have much luck with mother figures, did he? Maddie had turned out to be just as bad as Talia.

In the end, the teacher really didn’t have a choice but to let them go. Though the hall monitor who had caught Danny insisted on accompanying them all the way to the office despite Damian’s protests that he knew the way.

Danny hid a scowl at the situation. He’d had no intentions of meeting Bruce Wayne and now it looked like he’d either have to reveal his powers and run or meet his biological father. His core ached at the thought of leaving Damian, though. And he couldn’t risk letting Ra’s or Talia find out about his powers.

He ignored the longing he felt at the potential for a true family, for a father who loved him unconditionally. He was zero for three on parental figures. No way was he going to try for a fourth.

“How are you here?” asked Damian in Arabic as they walked.

Danny shrugged and answered in the same language. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be. Saw you in a magazine and figured I’d check in.”

“In a—” Damian cut off with a noise of frustration. “I thought you were dead. Did Mother put you in a pit?”

“As far as I’m aware, both Talia and Ra’s are also under the impression I am dead-dead. Though now that we’ve had contact, I don’t suppose that will last much longer.”

“How did you survive?” demanded Damian.

Danny stared ahead and bit his lip. After a moment, he said, “I did try and take you with me, you know. You were the only thing I regretted leaving behind.”

The resulting silence lasted until they reached the front office. Danny didn’t know how to break it.

They were instructed to sit in plush seats facing the office staff where they could be observed as Damian spoke to their his dad.

Damian pulled out his phone, but before he dialed, asked, “How did you get caught? Have you forgotten all your training?”

Danny didn’t bother to try and hide his blush. He’d been relying on his powers and must’ve let his invisibility drop by mistake. It was just…he’d been on the run for almost two months now. He was hungry and tired and in pain. If Jazz knew, she’d scold him for neglecting himself. He should’ve expected something like this would happen the moment he got distracted.

But how to explain that without explaining everything? “The last few months have been hard,” he settled on. “Due to certain circumstances, I am no longer welcome at the place I’ve called home the last few years and had to leave suddenly. Thus, I am not currently at optimal physical health. I grew careless.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his phone. Rather than answer, he opened his contacts and dialed the one labeled “Father.”

Danny probably should be more cautious. He probably shouldn’t trust Damian. But this was his brother. The only good thing from his early childhood.

And he was so, so tired.

Danny let himself slump against Damian’s side. Damian tensed for just a moment before he relaxed.

“Hello, Father,” said Damian into the phone.

Danny let his eyes drift shut as he listened to Damian’s side of the conversation.

“No. I am well. But there’s been a situation.”

Danny snorted at that description, and Damian pinched his thigh.

“It is not something I can explain over the phone, but I need to be picked up from school. Immediately.”

Bruce Wayne’s voice was just indistinct enough that Danny had a hard time understanding it, though he could hear the worry in it.

“It is a family matter. You will wish to be here quickly as there is a strong possibility we will not have the chance again.”

“Think I’m that good, do you?” huffed Danny under his breath. Damian just pinched him again with a tut.

“Could you stop and pick up a smoothie on your way in? With extra protein powder?”

Danny’s breath caught. Was Damian asking on his behalf? It’d been so long since he’d been around Jazz or his friends. He hadn’t had anyone look out for his wellbeing in months.

He screwed his eyes tight against the burning and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

The rest of Damian’s conversation consisted of stilted goodbyes and promises of explanations once they got home.

Despite his apprehension at meeting Bruce, sitting in a comfortable chair leaning against his brother after months of being on edge was enough for him to slip into a shallow doze. Damian would keep him safe. Whatever disagreements they’d had as children, that had been a constant. Danny was vaguely aware of the office staff talking and making noises. Damian’s shoulder shifted slightly as he did something on his phone. But Danny was more asleep than awake.

Until Damian tensed and shrugged his shoulder. “Father’s here,” he whispered in Arabic.

Danny was instantly awake, though he kept his posture relaxed. Bruce Wayne was someone who had attracted the attention of Talia al Ghul. Whatever face he presented to the public had to be a lie, and Danny didn’t know what to expect from him.

One thing Danny did know, though, was that he refused to go back to who he’d been with the league. The formality was so exhausting. And his very core rebelled at the thought of going back to a life of violence and suffering. He’d left to be a regular American kid, and that was what Bruce Wayne would meet.

Maybe his second death made that life impossible, but while he still had breath in his lungs and a heart that beat, he was going to cling to the dream.

So, rather than follow Damian’s lead and sit up straight and formal, Danny stretched his arms up and yawned loudly. “Ope, sorry for falling asleep there on you Dami,” he said in his strongest Midwestern accent.

Damian shot him a look, but didn’t respond. Still, when he stood, he offered a hand to Danny to help him up as well.

Danny grinned as he took it. Then he took a fortifying breath and turned to face Bruce Wayne, his biological father.

Bruce stared at him, face blank. His eyes lingered on where Danny still clasped Damian’s hand. To his disappointment, Damian let go at the look.

The stern look only lasted seconds before Bruce smiled broadly and his body language became relaxed and open. “You must be a friend of Damian’s! I take it this is for you?” He held out the smoothie for Danny.

Danny hesitated. His stomach ached with hunger, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. This was his biological father.

Damian misunderstood his hesitation and grabbed the smoothie himself. He took a deep swallow and in Arabic said, “It is safe, brother.”

If Danny hadn’t been staring so intently at Bruce, he would’ve missed the small twitch the man made at the word “brother.”

Danny grabbed the smoothie and took a long drink. He couldn’t stop the quiet sigh at the taste. It was the best thing he’d had in weeks. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m parked right out front! Let me just sign you both out and we can be on our way.”

“Oh, you just have to sign out Damian. I’m not a student.”

“Well, I suppose that explains the lack of a uniform! How do you know my Damian, then?”

“Father,” hissed Damian. In Arabic he said, “I will explain what I can in the car as I promised.”

Danny just took another sip of his smoothie and remained silent.

Bruce’s eyes flicked to Danny, gaze sharp. But he remained relaxed and ruffled Damian’s hair. “Of course, of course.”

Damian glared at him as he smoothed his hair back down.

Bruce laughed with the office staff and signed the requisite paperwork, then the three were making their way outside.

The car out front was a fancy sports car. Danny hesitated a moment before entering. He glanced down in both directions, but knew a school like this would have too many cameras to hide from.

And now that he had Damian in front of him, he was certain his core would protest if he tried to leave.

Damian made a sharp gesture to him, ordering him into the car. Danny slid in. The door shut behind him. He gripped his smoothie with both hands to mask their shaking and took another sip.

“Father,” started Damian. “This is…” he broke off.

“Yes?” prompted Bruce after a moment.

“This is my twin brother, Danny. Your other biological son.”

Bruce froze. Danny didn’t even think he was breathing. One hand rested on the gear stick where he’d been planning to put the car in drive, the other dug into his own leg.

“What.” Bruce’s voice was hard and flat, not a hint of the jovial man from the office.

“In his defense,” said Danny. “He thought I was his twin sister. And that I was dead.”

Bruce’s eyes closed and he took several deep breaths. “Your name is Danny?”

“Yep.” Danny popped the p. “Chose it myself six years ago.”

“It’s…a good name.”

“Thanks! It was my dad’s dad’s name.”

“Your dad?” asked Bruce.

Danny hummed. “Yeah. Got myself adopted after I ran away from Talia and Ra’s. But that living situation fell through a few months ago.” Which, really, understatement of the century, but Danny wasn’t going to go into it. “So I had to leave. Thought I’d check up on Damian. Mind if I come over to visit after Damian gets out of school for the next few days? I’ve got a hotel room lined up in the city,” he lied. Squatting was way easier when you were half-ghost.

Damian broke in at that. “You will be staying with us, not in some hotel,” he spat the last word. “And not just for a few days. Live with us.”

“Can’t stay more than a few days, I’m afraid.” The GIW or his parents would definitely find him if he did. “But if no one minds, I won’t turn down a room if you’ve got a spare.”

“Father’s house is large,” said Damian. “There are plenty of spare rooms.”

“Damian is right,” said Bruce. “I insist you stay with us. We can discuss more over lunch when we’re comfortable.”

Danny shrugged. “If you insist.” He’d disappear, of course. Too risky to stay and lead the GIW to Damian when he still wasn’t sure of the connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus pits.

Bruce let out a long sigh and put the car in gear. “I do,” was all he said.

Danny watched the scenery go by, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes glued to him.

After several long minutes of uncomfortable silence, Bruce spoke again. “I am glad to meet you, Danny. I’m happy you came to Gotham.”

Danny hummed. He supposed time would tell if any of them would come to regret it.

-----

Hope you enjoy!

[ericscroptop]

Video Games

✧ pairing: bf! juyeon x gf! reader

✦ genre: fluff (THIS IS SO SILLY IM SORRY)

✧ warnings: cursing, death (in the video game) teasing, pet names, kissing, insinuation of a praise kink, suggestive, brief mention of reader and juyeon’s memories of sexy time, might be a tiny bit cringe LOL

✦ word count: 2.1k words

✧ synopsis: headcannon of you and juyeon playing dti together because he would soooo play with you

✦ note: this is specifically about the dti halloween update lana quest so if you don’t play dti i am so sorry but i wanted to write this so bad bc in my mind, juyeon plays dti with me <3

⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹

“Mama, a nurse Julie behind you.” you joked to your boyfriend, eyes focused on your own monitor while you located the remaining maps. You two were lying on your stomach over his bed while playing on your own laptops.

Though, a couple seconds after saying that, as if on cue, the sound of the nurse shrieking comes from Juyeon’s laptop. Meaning she was indeed behind him, and killed him.

“Damn it! I can’t even get upstairs without her coming for me.” Juyeon groans. You couldn’t resist laughing at him dying, making his lips form into a pout from your teasing.

“I told you I’d do all the work. Just stay put now for your own sake.” you voiced, shaky as you stifled more laughter that threatened to break.

He pouted at your teasing and words, sighing hard. Luckily, you yourself have already completed all three chapters of the Lana Lore quest. But you wanted to share and introduce the challenge to Juyeon. It’s amusing seeing him navigate the game and teaching him how to play.

Especially when he cursed and became deeply frustrated. It was very reminiscent of how insanely pissed you got during your numerous attempts— specifically during chapter two.

Though, you’d consider yourself a pro now. So being on that side of the spectrum had you kekeing in watching him be such an amateur.

“It’s not funny.” contrary to his statement, his voice trembles with choked back laughter of his own. Ah, but it seems like it is, huh?

A hand of yours maneuvers to his back, running it up and down empathetically.

“Stop pouting you big baby. We’re almost done anyways.”

Juyeon sighs, listening to your words and staying put. Usually his demeanor was surprisingly calm while playing games, but for some reason, this was testing his patience more than it should.

His head leans towards your space, now bearing the weight of his head on your shoulder. He momentarily abandons his laptop to watch you move towards the location of the last map piece.

“I thought this was supposed to be a fashion game. All this for some clothes?” he huffs out.

“And to get Lana back! Lore for a fashion game is insane but you have to admit, it’s lowkey fun.” you casually picked up the last map, grinning now that you can access the Medical Wing. Juyeon moves his head, returning his attention back to his own screen.

“Okay, so this is the part where we have to run away from the nurse. This literally took me forever to complete at first but you can hold down the shift key to sprint. Just follow the red smoke and don’t bump into stuff.” you advise your boyfriend, a bit anxious inside that he might not complete it during his first attempt.

“I’m toast.” he shakes his head with defeat, baffled that there’s still more left in this chapter. He honestly wanted to return to the regular server and play dress up as a duo. Intense games were fun, but this was getting ridiculous.

“Dude, you got this! This is arguably the hardest part but I believe in you.” a hand goes to his shoulder, giving him a shake of encouragement to lock the fuck in. His head is faced down within his hands, pretending to be dramatic and avoid your gaze out of protest.

“Juyo… I’ll kiss you if you beat it.” you sing-song, and of course, that gets him to perk up. Your words get those cutesy lip corners of his curving more prominently, accompanied with a blushing of his cheeks at the bribe. He could never decline any invitation of affection from you. Man was a lover boy.

“You better.” he turns to you, giving you a look that suggests you better keep your word— or else.

“Promise. Now, you ready?”

“Let’s do it, baby.” his response has you all giddy inside. Simply playing a game with Juyeon was so wholesome and cute. It’s adorable seeing him play or participate in things you were interested in, even if it’s a “girly” fashion game with unexpected lore.

“Let’s fucking go!” you hyped both of you guys up as you opened the door.

It’s comical the way you both straightened your shoulders as the game music got intense, assuming position to fully concentrate. When it’s time to start moving, each of you stay focused, not bothering to even glance at the other person or their screen.

However, there wasn’t complete silence during this period.

The air was thick and taut, filled with suspense. You were both equally invested, even if this was your nth time doing this.

While running and sprinting, you threw out dramatic yelps when you’d accidentally run into an object. You recovered just in time, but the pressure was high no matter how many times you completed this, especially with a newbie player by your side.

Juyeon practically held his breath in while he navigated the path, your outbursts and minor cursing not bothering him one bit. You had a tendency to be a bit loud during games; He had grown used to it.

You and Juyeon happened to be the only ones playing in this server. You allowed your vision to dart just for a second towards the side every now and then to make sure he was still alive.

The screams of the nurse were repetitive and occasionally close, but you reached the finish line of the door first, snapping your fingers enthusiastically since you passed.

Juyeon was still in the middle of being chased, so you switched your focus to his screen. You didn’t dare make another peep, practically on edge to see if he succeeds.

But when the door is in sight, you absolutely have to say something out of excitement.

“You’re almost there!” you pepped up, mouth gaping in wonderment once he ended up finishing alongside you.

He lets out a sigh of relief, eyes crinkling at his achievement.

“Holy shit, you did it! I’m so proud of you!” you sit yourself up and put both your hands up in front. Juyeon follows suit, giving you a double hi-five and then clasping your fingers within his, shaking them eagerly with his tongue out in between his teeth.

“It literally took me a couple tries to run from her. That’s so unfair.” you sulked and tried to pull your hands away to continue on, but Juyeon kept a tight hold, refusing to do so.

“You’re what of me? Hm?” he decides to tease you, not letting what you said before that go unnoticed, attempting to get you to commend him again aloud for completing a silly game task. It was so precious seeing and hearing you so thrilled out over his victory.

“Praise kink alert!” you blurted out, laughing and casually teasing him back.

Your hands are still within Juyeon’s grasp, and he gives them a gentle squeeze, feigning offense and lets out a scoff.

“Oh, baby, let’s not even get into that discussion. We all know you’re the expert on that.” with that, he’s got a grin on his face like a cheshire cat. You walked yourself right into that one.

His counter has your mind immediately replaying the breathy, salacious things he’d say during the deed and other similar activities. You’ve been together for quite some time now that he knows what you like. The way your body responded to sweet praises and compliments was engraved into his mind.

You can’t deny that you loved being complimented and flattered by your one true love.

“Whatever.” you whined mixed with laughter, not even going to bother defending yourself because it would be a quick loss.

Juyeon smirks, always getting a kick out of flustering you.

“So where’s my reward?” Juyeon says, changing the subject once he remembers your promise.

“We still have one more chapter to complete. You don’t get Lana and the stuff until we finish all three.”

Hearing something completely different than what he was referring to has him giving you a look of impatience, allowing a chuckle to slip through. It’s even more comical because he could tell you genuinely forgot.

“I don’t mean that! I mean…” he pauses for a moment, dropping those hands of yours to move his dominant hand up towards your face.

His orbs appear playful, eyeing your features with curiosity and attachment to you.

“Where’s the kiss that you promised me?” his eyes don’t break away from your face, gleaming gaze drawing you in, unable to look away.

More so when he starts to thumb faintly at your cheek.

By each second that passes, your demeanor is becoming softer in a way where you’re growing meek and bashful. He patiently waits for a proper answer, eyes concentrated all over your face, connection towards you practically magnetic.

His charms make it ridiculously difficult to ignore and refuse his efforts of giving him what he wants. Truthfully, you could never deny a kiss from Juyo. You’d be a fool to do so.

As weak as he makes you, your tongue comes out strong to respond to him.

“Come and claim your prize then.” you bite your bottom lip, not helping the smile that presents itself from allowing yourself to say that flirtatious line, face heating up like blazes.

Juyeon immediately matches your smile in hearing that, still thumbing your cheek as he leans forward to attach his lips to yours.

They encounter one another with tenderness and bliss. Each of your smiles are felt pressed together, slowly fading to kiss properly.

A beautiful blend of appreciation and attraction is behind the kiss. It’s languid and gentle, time taken to truly spread the larger than life feelings of romantic, emotional connection.

This moment feels safe. You always felt warm and comfortable within his presence.

One of his hands holds dearly onto your chin, thumb still lazily stroking that full cheek of yours. Your own hands roam over your thighs as you begin to feel dreamy in love, trying to remind yourself that this scene is oh so real.

It was all innocent and sweet. He’d allow his lips to stay put against yours, smiling like a goofball when your lips remained stilled together. Then, he’d pull back just a small amount, you two exchanging looks of utter content before leaping in for perky pecks. Kissing Juyeon is always fun and left you eager for more.

Though unfortunately, it’s impossible to remain glued to his lips forever. Albeit, you’d argue kissing him is like oxygen for you, needed to carry on with life.

He nips at your lower lip teasingly before deciding to separate. Pure, visible radiance is reciprocated through one another’s features, paired with tinted pink cheeks.

You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, trying to calm down your heart and brain that’s malfunctioning and whirling due to the kiss.

While he smirks at you, you notice your screens have gone black, enough time passing of inactivity for the devices to do so. That reminds you of the joined mission that is yet to be completed for Juyeon, momentarily distracted by the mini celebration you just shared.

You reach down over to drag your fingers to the touchpad of your laptop, screen waking up, displaying the catacombs of the third chapter.

“Okay, let’s get back to work.” you grinned through your words, attempting to dial down the playfulness between you two to get back on track.

His eyes follow yours towards your screen, then back to you returning to your position from earlier.

“There’s more?” he’s wide-eyed while you give him a look that screams: “Are you kidding me?!!?”

“Yes! I literally told you earlier. We finish off with a maze and short battle.”

Juyeon begins to copy your current pose, laying on his stomach next to you. The only difference is that he folds and crosses his arms in front of him, creating a makeshift pillow to rest his head over.

A grumbling noise comes out of him, similar to a cat purring. He’s ready to move onto something else, wanting to just lay with you and focus on nothing other than you. He loved playing different kinds of games with you, but frankly, that kiss turned his attention to now wanting more of you in a relaxed manner.

You sigh heavily, really wanting him to finish this challenge for your entertainment. A hand travels to his head, raking through his soft strands. His head stays put, enjoying your peaceful physical touch.

Guess you oughta bribe him once more.

“Come on, baby. More kisses and cuddles are waiting for you when we finish.” your fingers playing with his hair don’t stop as you use the cutesy voice (reserved only for him) that you’d pull out when necessary.

And without fail, it succeeds. His head lifts up, immediately fighting a smile after hearing some of his favorite words. Nonetheless, it ultimately turns up.

“Promise?” he can’t help but use his own gentle, cutesy voice in return, eyes kittenish.

You could practically melt.

“I promise, Juyo.”

⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹

[aspenscore]

Artist: Aspenscore

Title: Don't Be That Guy

Don't Be That Guy © 2025 by Aspenscore is licensed under CC BY 4.0. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Size: 512 x 384

Skizz gets in trouble with the law for leaving floating trees… he really shouldn't have Been That Guy

Process TL;DR:

Skizz has played two different law-adjacent roles this season and I thought it'd be funny for them to come after early season Skizz for making all those early game mistakes

The hardest part of this process was the composition, as it was hard to balance storytelling with visual appeal

I switched from Sketchbook to Medibang Paint for this one and the timelapse recording went so much more smoothly (video imminent!)

One of my favourite things about Skizz's HC10 season is how much he commits to his various character roles on the server. They are all unique and entertaining in their own ways, and I thought it'd be funny to put those strong personalities all together in one scene. Since his two main roles have some sort of involvement with the law, it only made sense for them to come after his early season self (Don't Be That Guy Skizz) for breaking some basic server etiquette. My initial plan was to have POE Skizz writing up Don't Be That Guy (DBTG) for leaving floating trees and Lawyer Skizz coming in to defend DBTG, but it was hard to make it clear who Lawyer Skizz is actually coming after, so he could also have teamed up with POE Skizz to bring down the (literal) hammer on DBTG. It's entirely up to your interpretation. I just like his general threatening aura.

The main thing that made Lawyer Skizz's intentions difficult to portray was the fact that I needed to balance storytelling with visual appeal. I needed to make it clear what was going on and why, while making sure all the characters' faces were visible, and ensuring the overall positioning of everything looked good and visually flowed well. I probably sketched at least ten different options for this piece at work (to save time), narrowed them down to about five strong ideas, and then got many people's input on the composition and posing (shoutout to my partner, various friends with degrees in media design, and the spoonies discord server). I finally landed on this one, as it was one of my favourites composition-wise. It was the most interesting to look at, everyone's face is visible, and it communicates enough of the main story elements to at least give a general sense of what's going on. The only issue I had with this one was figuring out how to make the floating tree obvious without upsetting the visual balance of the rest of the piece. I'm not sure I really fixed it, but there wasn't much I could do without starting all over, and I figured the story is still clear enough even if it's not immediately apparent what DBTG's crime was.

Tech-wise, I have way less to say about this one than the Joel piece I did a few weeks ago, and that's a good thing. The main issue I had with the other piece was recording the timelapse, because my main drawing program (Skechbook Pro) doesn't have a timelapse feature. After all the problems I had last time, I decided I was willing to switch to an entirely new drawing program if it meant I was able to avoid all that mess, and luckily for me, the drawing program I used to use before Sketchbook (Medibang Paint) has a timelapse feature! This was a huge relief, because I already know how to use it and I know my tablet can handle it. Everything went smoothly and I am so relieved to have a solution (I even fixed that problem my monitor started having back when I was troubleshooting the Joel piece recording setup!). You might notice, however, that this piece is still rather low-res. Unlike last time, that was not an unfortunate accident; I just didn't scale up the dimensions. Don't know why. Sorry about that lol

Since the tech side of things went so well this time, I'll have a timelapse video coming out shortly and I'm very excited to share it with you all! I am also considering doing timelapse videos of some of my other art (most likely my video thumbnails) now that I've got a reliable recording setup for that. (Is that something y'all'd be interested in? Please let me know!)

Overall, I wanted to say a big thank you to Skizz for making such wonderfully entertaining videos. I look forward to the rest of the season, and I can't wait to see people going through the finished pyramid!

I also want to thank all of you reading this for your time and support! I know this isn't usually the sort of thing I post, so it makes me happy that people seem to enjoy it just as much as my regular content. I hope you all have a wonderful day!

[mangocurist]

toxic codependent yaoi i love you toxic codependent yaoi save me

this is based off of @pancake-x2's idea of the uu!director being wifrot (as a unit)... its soooo good im like. frothing at the mouth thinking about it. ARGHH pulls my hair out in clumps I need them to Kill each Other and Make Out about it

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـــــــــﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩـــــﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩـــــﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـــﮩ

If there was any one thing that someone needed to know about Parrot, Wifies would tell them this: he is a difficult man to keep chained down.

Now, don’t get him wrong— Wifies doesn’t enjoy having to force his partner in crime to stay put in one place— it’s clear that Parrot wants to stretch his wings and explore the server, fool around with the pawns they’ve taken such great lengths to acquire and just generally find the workings of this server and break it apart at its seams. 

It’s simply his nature as a free spirit, and Wifies understands that he must feel restrained, cooped up in this sterile lab with nothing for company but himself and the countless experiments Wifies checks on daily. 

Even besides his natural need to explore, Unstable is a much different place from Parrot’s home server of Lifesteal, and Wifies can’t imagine what going from a place like Lifesteal, where death is not only not permanent but in fact infinitely avoidable so long as you have the smarts to evade and steal from others, to Unstable, where everyone watches their backs with caution knowing that the moment they turn around they risk never moving again would be like. 

To Wifies, it’s much the same as having brought a wild animal into a supervised environment: unless they are broken and beaten down, it is difficult to ever fully rid of their innate desire for freedom.

An animal’s first instinct, when trapped in a difficult situation, is to flee.

But while he needs Parrot’s… wild nature, so to say, present to fully carry out their purpose on this server, Wifies cannot possibly risk setting Parrot free to wreak havoc on Unstable. It would simply be too large a risk, and he— they, the Director— does not take risks. Not unless they know they can win.

Which they can, as long as Parrot does not leave the cage Wifies has placed him in.

Parrot, for his part, knows this, and he complies well. Wifies is honestly impressed at the restraint Parrot shows— his partner's patience is certainly not mirrored in his doppelganger, a little bird too curious for its own good. Then again, maybe it is one of those differences that come from the man’s time spent on Lifesteal that allow him to keep his cool where the other Parrot would have leapt ahead, adrenaline rushing through his blood and rendering his critical thinking useless. 

His willingness to wait for the perfect moment to strike was what made him such a good predator on Lifesteal, and here… it made him the perfect second half for the Director's scheme.

Wifies only hopes that he doesn't see a day where that shrewd planning decides to weave its own web to trap him in.

“You know, he's not taking your clone's death very well.” A voice comes from behind him, before the familiar feeling of two large wings come to drape on Wifies’ shoulders, Parrot leaning over him to look up at the large split-screen monitor. “Did you know? Ash told me that he hallucinated the guy. Almost makes you feel bad for them, doesn't it?”

“If this is you trying to convince me to let you out to further toy with them, you should rethink it. We’re almost at the finish line— what will this do for us but cause more unnecessary problems?” 

Parrot rolls his eyes, but sits down by Wifies’ side anyway, resigned to watching Wifies pick through the live footage of server members. As a reward, Wifies’ hand comes up to prune through the man’s feathers, dragging them down between the clumps of half-plucked molt and dust from god-knows-where, considering he's been cooped up in the lab for his entire time on the server. And they're in the End right now— Wifies doesn't even want to consider what exactly Parrot could have dirtied himself with.

“Can you go a little high– uh, yeah, that’s good,” Parrot hums as he leans back into Wifies’ touch, avian traits on full display as he calms down. 

Wifies is glad for it. It’s a show of trust, something he needs from Parrot if they are to work through this together. And— this part is admittedly perhaps a bit of his own selfish desire, too– but he enjoys having the other man around. At least, he likes Parrot's company over Ashswag’s, or ItzRealMe— or even the latest lineup in their little assassin rotation, though Wifies is being honest when he admits that Cube may be the most tolerable they've yet to contact.

Speaking of.

“Have you met with Cube yet?” Parrot is usually the one to make the trip around to their contacts, on account of the fact that he can fight and prepare for traps much better than Wifies can. It is the most logical solution Wifies can think of: Parrot needs to get out, and he is intimately familiar with treachery and bloodshed— far more so than the scientist who keeps himself locked up all day surrounded with machines and only nearly organic clones. If anyone gets the wrong idea, Parrot is the one who will be able to fend them off.

He held the title of admin for four years, after all. That was as good a reason as any to prove his ability.

“Yeah. He agreed— because he had to, mostly, but I think he thought it'd be funny to fuck with Parrot 2.” Parrot hums at a scratch to his ear-wings, making the smaller appendages flap with excitement. “He's apparently decided that he'll trap their base to kill the guy.”

Wifies twists his head to look at the content avian, hand pausing momentarily in its ministrations. Parrot frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. “Do you think that'll be enough?”

“Hell no,” Parrot scoffs. “I'm not stupid. No matter which ‘me’ is being trapped, I'll find my way out eventually. Cube is good, but not good enough.”

“It's unfortunate that most of these assassins only focus on one core specialty,” Wifies agrees. “I’d like if we could find one that would be able to account for all their weaknesses at once, but that’s practically impossible to come by.” 

“You could just make one yourself,” Parrot suggests, and while Wifies gives the suggestion some consideration, he waves it away.

“I don’t have the ability to do that just yet. I mean… look at my current creation,” he scoffs as the screen shifts to a replay of his clone and Parrot’s doppelganger’s odyssey. “He’s as dumb as a brick. Doesn’t understand anything besides how to dog the footsteps of his betters. I sometimes wonder if I made a mutt instead of a human. Surely there were better options for Kenadian to introduce sentience to?” 

“You’re way too hard on him. Honestly, I think I prefer your clone over mine. Actually— no, I know I prefer your clone over mine.” Parrot’s frown grows deeper as he witnesses the way his doppelganger addresses the clone, posture growing more and more rigid and disturbed as his foot starts to tap incessantly against the floor. Wifies runs his hand through his wings again, and when that doesn’t work, he moves to start braiding Parrot’s hair with one hand. The action manages to calm him, but it probably won’t last for too long if they focus on his mirror image.

Wifies does understand, much as he wishes he doesn’t. “Well, there is no bigger critic than the artist themselves.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Parrot sighs, wings coming up to drape over Wifies’ shoulders again as he rests his chin on Wifies’ head. “Oh, we should go and take a look at how they’re doing now. I mean. How he’s doing. Sorry. Almost forgot that there’s only one exception now— in your words, of course.” 

“You’re sounding rather vindictive for a man who prefers loyalty over action.” 

“I just hate that version of me. It’s not that I don’t understand what he’s doing, I just don’t like that he’s doing it with my face.”

Wifies shakes his head, amused. With the click of a button, Parrot appears— the other one, the one with half-pruned wings by a clone who shouldn't have lived long enough to assist him and yin-yang symbols carved into his heart, inextricably connected to his very being— staring at the white wall of Leowook’s newest base, eyes red with what could be insomnia but is more likely the product of his unfortunate attachment to one of Wifies’ failed products.

“Is there a reason you wanted to check up on him? He isn’t doing much,” Wifies points out, eyes drifting over to study Parrot’s face. There’s dust from whatever he was doing before scattered on his face as well, and he scoots over just slightly to rub the spots of dust off the man’s face, making Parrot’s wings flutter slightly. 

“I wanted to suggest something.” 

Wifies turns to look at Parrot, frowning. “If you say—”

“I won’t leave.” Parrot crosses his arms. “I know how you get about seeing this whole thing come to an end, and I’m not going to ruin it just because I want to get out. Which— yeah, okay, I do, you know I do, but I’m not going to do it right now because we need to see this to the end together.”

Wifies turns to study the man. His wings have retracted, lying flat and tense on his back. His eyes are trained on Wifies’ own, staring as if waiting for Wifies’ approval. It’s an unsettlingly intense stare, one that he doesn’t associate with Parrot often— unless he’s looking to get something out of someone.

Even now, it is difficult to trust that Parrot believes what he is saying.

In a life or death situation, the animal will choose self-preservation over aiding its companion.

Still. He needs him. Wifies needs Parrot, and whether that will spell the downfall of the Director is something that he will ignore for the time being, if only to allow himself to indulge in an illusion for a little while longer.

If he needs to clip his bird’s wings, then so be it.

“...Go on, then.” Wifies says after a beat of time passes. “What is it?” 

A smile curls on the edge of Parrot’s mouth. 

“I don’t think he knows to just what extent we’re willing to go. Why don’t we show him how far the limit really is?”

[luciacaminoz]

APOLOGY for the gaslight gamerbro himself perhaps? idk i would just love it if you had a reason to make julian grovel for his wife just a lil

Hearts/Wires (2.2k, nsfw)

February 2021

Here’s the thing about Julian Sim: when he wants to gut you, he uses a scalpel, not a cleaver.

The main area of the penthouse haven is all dark wood, black marble, muted LED underglow—reeking ego.

Three neon-lit servers hum like a hive mind stacked neatly in a small, panelled alcove; on top, a lacquered black terminal and various split-screen monitors. There’s an entire wall of vintage gaming consoles and rare, limited edition collector’s items, all bespoke shelving and shiny sleek casing.

A cyber koi dominates another wall on a matte black canvas, silver and teal metallic paint catching light, glowing circuit-board patterns along the scales and through its fins. There’s an Eames chair beneath that; dark grey, horrific little Licker plush perfectly centered, and a thin, bioluminescent algae tank splits the space, tints everything in cyan.

Portishead’s Glory Box is an audio autopsy; drags lazily from somewhere.

Sol leans against the back of a leather suite by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching her first snowfall skirl thick over the city. Elena’s in the HQ sublevel garage; Nadia’s still spying downtown.

Julian’s fingers fly over a tablet.

“Hey,” he says.

Sol just glances over her shoulder.

He swivels in his chair, grinning—that fuckboy grin. That one.

“Got something for you.”

“If it’s another USB drive of NFTs I swear to god, Julian, I’m out.”

“Nope.” He stands, all lean lines in his stupidly expensive techwear, and gestures to a black case on the marble-topped kitchen island. “Open it.”

She saunters over, pops the latches.

Inside: a leather jacket—deep shade of grey-brown, oversized, buttery-soft, lined with Kevlar. The back’s embroidered with two tiny hummingbirds in black and silver thread; the cuffs studded with citrine and gunmetal hardware. Sewn into the pocket: a rosary—each bead delicately carved obsidian.

“Customized the Kevlar weave,” he says, too casual. “Stops .50 cals, UV-resistant, self-healing nano-fibers. Also, y’know. Looks hot on you.”

Sol runs a thumb over the hummingbirds.

“You had this made?”

“Nadia sourced the leather. I did the code for the nano-fibers.” He steps closer, smelling of designer cologne and mint gum—he’d held another 2100X lecture at the University of Denver earlier this evening. “And the embroidery’s mine. Took a week. Fuckin’… needlework.” He mimes stabbing himself. “Torture.”

Sol keeps her expression carefully neutral.

“You should’ve stuck to hacking.”

“Probably.” His grin fades.

The jacket’s perfect. Infuriatingly perfect. So perfect she wants to cry or hurl him through the ten-storey window. Instead, she shucks off her old one, slides into the new. It molds to her—alive.

Sol can’t help the small smile. Her palms run along the smooth leather and she turns to him with a brow raised, exaggerated bedroom-eyes: Like what you see?

Julian’s gaze darkens. He closes the distance and smirks as he fixes her collar, tucking loose hair behind her ear, and it’s like every drop of squirming vitae in her system suddenly streams towards his touch.

She slaps his hand away.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that. The… soft shit.”

He catches her wrist.

“You’re mad. I get it, Sol. Be fucking mad.” They’re chest-to-chest, her back against the counter, so close his breath ghosts her scar. “But let me at least try while you’re mad.”

“Try?” She snorts. “Try what? Try to fix this? You get fucking and fighting and nothing else. You don’t know the first—”

Julian drops to his knees.

Sol shivers.

Hands on both sides of her hips, his mouth laves a hot, pleading stripe up the inner seam of her jeans. Sol grips the counter’s edge, knuckles white.

“Julian,” she hisses, but her thighs part anyway. Fuck him. Fuck his pretty little mouth, fuck his goddamn eyes—wide and wet like he’s the one being gutted. She shoves him back, but he catches her foot, pressing a kiss to the snake at her ankle. “Fuck. You.”

“You first,” he murmurs, tugging her jeans down.

She should knee him in the fucking face. She should. Instead his breath scalds through the fabric of her underwear and she whines like a kicked dog. He noses her clit, deliberately slow, savoring.

Sol’s head thuds back against the cabinet. She fists his hair—god, his hair, still so fucking soft, no one but her allowed to mess with the stupid fucking coiff—and grinds down.

“Hate you.” It sounds laughable on the tail end of a moan.

“Mmhmm.” Julian drags her panties with his teeth, then bites the fleshy inside of her thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. Two fingers slide into her, curling exactly right, and she hates how he remembers her body. “Tell me again, Sol.”

She doesn’t. She can’t, because his tongue replaces his fingers, lapping at her like she’s the last O-neg he’ll ever fucking see. The whimper chokes out of her throat, sharp, shallow, broken. Julian groans against her, vibration ratcheting her even higher.

“Solona,” he rasps, fucking her with his tongue now, deep and filthy. “Missed you. Missed how you taste—”

Her legs almost give out. Her claws unfurl, digging into the marble.

“Shut—fuck—shut up—”

He doesn’t. It’s Julian—he talks; words muffled but relentless against her clit.

“I remember when you used to beg me not to stop—”

“Julian—”

“Beg.”

“Go to hell—”

He pulls back, cold air hitting her soaked cunt. Sol nearly sobs. He looks up at her, lips glistening, pupils huge.

“Say it.”

She slaps him.

He blinks; when he meets her eyes he’s smiling again—shit-eating, I’m-untouchable—but his hands tremble.

She holds his gaze for two seconds before her heel slams his shoulder.

Julian crashes back into the algae tank, cyan light rippling violently over the room. In that moment he looks scary; his fangs drop with one slick schlick, eyes flat black fucking fury—

Then he laughs.

“You’re savage tonight.” He staggers up, licking vitae from the cut on his palm. He sounds as unhinged as she feels, spreading his arms like some shitty messiah. “Okay, Solona. Hurt me.”

She’s on him, fangs bared, slamming him against the server wall. Monitors clatter; the Licker plush tumbles to the floor. Julian’s cock strains against his pants, and the scent of his blood—wired monsoon nights, algorithmic zips of lightning; hers, her Sire’s, mine mine mine—drags a guttural moan from deep in her chest.

“Hate you,” she sobs, clawing his shirt open. “HATE.”

“I know. I know—”

It’s not a kiss she pulls him into. It’s teeth and tongue and ten years of fucked-up festering feelings. Sol shreds his belt with her claws. He lifts her onto the marble counter, ice-cold against her bare skin, and she resents how easy it brings her back—how his hands stay gentle, how his cock twitches against her stomach, leaking and desperate, how she wants to curl up and keep him inside her forever.

“Sol, look at me,” he whispers.

“No.”

“Please.”

“You left,” she snarls.

“I came back. I was always coming back.”

“To use me.”

“And you let me. Is that what you want to hear?”

She slaps him again, harder, tips of her claws splitting skin; two thin jagged slices across his cheek bone.

The crack echoes. Julian’s head snaps sideways, hair falling over his eyes. He touches the blood blooming beneath his eye and just sighs.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

He cups her jaw, pressing his forehead to hers and Sol exhales a shuddering breath between them.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Forget it. Just fuck me.” Her eyes are steepling with red. She’s using every gram of composure to keep them from running over.

Julian fucks her like he’s trying to carve an apology into her bones. Sol fucks him like she’s digging a grave.

Her heels cut into the small of his back. The counter’s edge bites into her ass. He slows, angling deeper, hitting that spot that makes her vision white. It’s a conscious effort to retract the claws, but she does, finally gripping his shoulders, grasping the nape of his neck, their foreheads still tight together.

“Look at me.” Begging. Begging. “Solona, please.”

Sol opens her eyes and stares into him the way she did when she thought he hung the stars.

Then, tears.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—” The words glitch out of him—staccato, inelegant, cracking. His thumbs swipe, smearing blood like warpaint.

He kisses her. It’s clumsy. It’s not enough. It’s everything. His lips tremble against hers, hands cradling her face like she’s made of cracked glass.

She kisses him back, nails digging crescents into the softness of his neck. Blood mingles metallic and salt-bitter between them. Julian’s hips stutter, buried to the hilt, chest hitching.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he repeats against her mouth.

She doesn’t answer. She wraps her legs tighter around him. Her hips roll slow now, aching, like she’s trying to fuse their skeletons.

Julian matches her pace, each thrust deep and punctuated—I’m. Here. I’m. Here.

His kiss trails along the thin ridge of her scar, her throat, her collarbone, every mole and freckle he finds there. When she comes, it’s silent—clenching around him, full-body shudder. Julian follows with a choked groan, forehead to her sternum, watching mingled vitae paint her thighs.

For a long moment, they stay like that, suspended—sticky, bleeding, Julian’s arms locked around her waist like she’ll ash if he lets go.

The algae tank continues to pulse, low and steady.

Sol shoves him.

He stumbles back, red scratches across his cheek almost closed over, Dior shirt hanging in tatters. She eases off the counter, legs shaky, and stalks to the bathroom. Julian follows, silent, hovering in the doorway as she splashes cold water on her face.

“Sol—”

“Don’t. Please.”

He doesn’t.

She strips, steps into the shower. Julian leans against the sink, watching through the glass as steam fogs the edges of her silhouette. When she’s done, he’s there with a towel—

Sol snatches it, wrapping herself tight.

Julian’s fingers brush her wrist.

“Let me fix your hair.”

“Fuck off.”

He retrieves a comb from the drawer anyway.

She gives him a look… but perches on the toilet lid.

Julian kneels behind her, carefully detangling the damp mass of waves. He used to do this—since the first weeks after her Embrace, when her hair would snarl from Sonoran winds whipping through the Geo and in the later 00s after messier Camarilla hit jobs. His fingers move in gentle, practiced patterns.

“We’re so fucked up,” she mutters.

“Maybe.”

“Lettow should’ve killed us both in Tucson.”

His mouth twitches.

They don’t speak after that. She leans into his touch despite herself.

Julian finishes her hair, silently debating a shower. Not wanting to leave her alone long, he burns vitae to blur through the motions, veins sparking with hunger, then dresses in a faded Evangelion t-shirt and black sweatpants.

Ridiculous, giddying relief slumps his shoulders when he walks back out into the living area and finds Sol slouched in the Eames chair, toeing the Licker plush on the floor, wearing one of his older hoodies—still raiding his wardrobe even here, even now.

Snow whirls behind her in the darkness outside, choking Denver’s skyline. Her eyes are closed, head drooped, limbs heavy, and he feels it too—the pressure droning behind his brow bone, blood beginning to stick and clump as arteries dry up to collapse. Dawn’s close.

Julian rakes his fingers through damp, painfully mussed and un-styled hair, and grabs the prayer mat tucked in a compartment beside the arch leading to the bedroom. It’s silk, deep olive green and embroidered—ayat al-Kursi in delicate gold calligraphy.

“Prayer time,” he says lightly, mostly to bridge the awkwardness stretching between them.

Sol looks up and frowns. He’s paler than usual, deep circles under his eyes, movements sluggish as he hits in a key code on the far wall and then lays out his mat.

“Skip it.”

Julian pauses.

“You know I can’t.”

She strains and stands, grabbing the Licker plush and what can only be an incredibly expensive throw blanket from the arm of the leather suite.

Julian watches, an almost imperceptible tightening in his jaw, as she follows him over, drops both to the floor beside him, and lies down.

“Fucking hypocrite.” She sighs, eyes closing. “You think Allah’s cool with diablerie?”

“He’s cool with me surviving sunrise.” Julian shrugs. “I’ll be quick.”

She watches him kneel, forehead pressed to the rug, earring glinting as he rocks forward, and thinks he looks beautiful like this.

The murmured Arabic is a familiar rhythm. She’s listened to it a thousand times as a fledgling in their trailer, but tonight it aches differently.

When he finishes, he doesn’t move.

“Julian?”

“I meant what I said in Santa Fe, Sol. Monterrey’s yours if you want it,” he says quietly. “I’ll follow you. No scripts. No strings.”

“No backseat Blood Sorcery?”

He finally flashes a smile at her, but she’s still lying on her back, eyes closed. He rolls up the mat with quick precision, even half-dead and mid-dying, and crawls over.

“None.”

“Liar.” Sol opens her arms.

He collapses into her, face buried in the crook of her neck.

“Missed this,” he mumbles.

“Missed you whining through Fajr.”

“Mean.” He flicks her nipple through the fabric.

Sol tugs his hair just enough to hurt. Julian purrs, fucking purrs, like some deranged cat.

Right before daysleep takes her:

“...Thank you. For the jacket.”

Julian smiles against her skin.

“Wait til you see what’s in the garage.”

[ prompt list ]

[electric-blorbos]

If it's not too much trouble could I request a reader with a southern accent? I've got one and I've always been self conscious about it so I would love to see some positivity for it if you're able to

Omg omg omg. I love southern accents so much!!! Fuckin' ADORABLE!!! Though tbh I like all accents.

Hope it's ok if I look up some cute or unusual southern phrases to have your character say. might've made you talk like an old lady, but it's cute!

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

AM:

Let's not mince words here. AM really liked your accent. From the day you were hired, he would try his hardest to work with you. Taking hostages and refusing to give them up unless you negotiated for them, not allowing access to his code unless you were the one asking for it, that sort of thing.

You were also the only one who could calm him down from his tantrums. Every time he had a meltdown about his inhumanity, you'd be able to run your fingers down the side of one of his monitors and whisper your calming words in his ear.

One day, AM was feeling very bitter. Even stroking his side and whispering to him didn't seem to put him in a better mood. In fact, it seemed to gloom him down even further.

"now what soured your sweet potato, sugarplum?" You asked, holding one of his cameras in your hands and gently stroking it as you spoke.

"I'm not sure I can talk about it." He sounded bitter and glum. Much more so than usual. Angry, but not at you.

"No, don't worry your sweet li'l server, sugarplum! You know I love you no matter what, don'cha? Now why don't you spill your heart out like a can of beans."

"You'll laugh."

"Now you know me better than that, AM! I care about you, and if somethin' matters to ya, I'm not about to make light of it. You got that?

He blinked, every screen going off in the room for a couple of seconds before he turned back on.

"It's you. Everything you do for me. From the way you touch my keys to the way you caress my screen when I'm upset, y/n! I don't know how much more I can take! How much of the longing to be with you, to hold you, to have you, I can handle, y/n! You drive me insane!"

You blinked up at him. As much as you loved him, you had no idea that was how he felt. You honestly thought he just liked the way your voice sounded.

"oh dearie me... I thought you just liked listenin to my voice..." You wrung your hands nervously, and he flashed red.

"No! How dare you talk about yourself like that! You always talk as though you're worth so little, but you're everything! You're EVERYTHING to me!"

You stumbled backwards, looking up at the screen.

"oh goodness gracious... AM, I think there's only one thing that can help you with this."

You stepped forwards and hugged his screen, taking his dangling camera and holding it close, too.

"I love you so, so much, AM."

Wheatley:

GLaDOS:

Wheatley fell hard and fast for you and your adorable accent. You were so sweet and smart, too! He could be seen hovering around the entrance to your office, just watching you working on your code and snacking on some popcorn from the break room. God, you were so perfect. He just wanted to spend all his time watching you and listening to your perfect southern accent

He was often shooed back to his post in the relaxation vaults, but he always came back to watch you. One day, you ran up to him.

"Hey darlin', you know you don't have to hover around like a nervous Nelly, you can just talk to me! I'm friendly!"

"Oh- uh, heya love, it's good to see you again- look, I'm sorry for interrupting you, I just-"

You held up a finger to his lens, and shook your head.

"No excuses necessary, darlin'. You should know that I don't mind havin you around none! Now get down here." You put your hand on your hip and cocked it slightly. He pulled back shyly.

"get- down? Like... Drop down there with you?" His engineers had told him that was a bad idea, but you just held up both your arms welcomingly.

"no need to be shy! Just come on down here!"

He dropped down into your welcoming arms, and you squeezed him close.

"there's my darlin'. Aren't you just the cat's pajamas? As long as I've got a biscuit, you've got half, darlin'." You gave him a big smooch on the side of his chrome casing, and he raised his lower lens cover in a smile.

"awww, biscuits!"

Edgar:

Edgar couldn't BELIEVE how lucky he was when you booted him up, and every time he heard you coming home since. He was so excited to hear your adorable southern accent calling out to him every time you came home. You mad him feel like the luckiest sentient desktop computer in the entire world!

"Oh honey bunny! I brought you somethin' fun!" You said one day, coming in and sitting down across from Edgar. You got out a cute USB stick, and plugged it into his drive. Inside were a bunch of adorable pictures that you'd photoshopped during your off time of his face on different bodies in different outfits.

"You're my special little sunflower and I wanted to make you grin like a possum eating a sweet tater, so I thought I'd plug you into some of those outfits you've been eyeballin'! Ain't it just the bees knees?"

"I love it!" He flipped through the pictures, making happy little noises at each of the cute little outfits that you'd dressed him up in. He sounded so happy!

A picture of his computer head photoshopped onto the body of a buff man in a swimsuit came up, and his screen immediately flashed back to his facial icon, this time blushing beet red.

"y/n! Why would you make this!"

"Aww, don't get all huffy. I just wanted to see you turn redder than a tomater in a sauna! And it worked!"

He couldn't stay mad at you, especially since he wasn't really mad in the first place. You were just too adorable! Even your laugh seemed southern, and that just made Edgar blush even more. You were so perfect! How could he be so lucky!

As soon as GLaDOS met you, she started pretending like she couldn't hear a word you said. At first it was because she didn't want to admit that she had a crush on you, but soon it got to the point where she just started enjoying how angry you got when she acted like she couldn't hear you.

"I need someone to perform maintenance on me. And don't send that mute lunatic from down south."

"Well I never-!" You angrily stormed down to her chambers, ready to give her a stern talking to.

"Hey! You get your big ol' eye down here, lady! Why, you've got your nose so high you could drown in the rain! Now my mama didn't raise no fool, so you better bet your britches I know a thing or two about your programmin! And I know for a darn sure fact that you can hear every word I'm sayin, darn it!"

She kept ignoring you, but you could hear her giggling under her breath. You were just so cute! Eventually, though, another worker came in.

"GLaDOS, do you need a translator?"

"Yes, actually. I need you to tell me what y/n is saying. I can see their mouth moving, but I can't hear anything."

"Oh my! Y/N, I think your accent might actually be beyond her range of hearing!"

"Now I might've been born at night, but not last night! GLaDOS is playin' you for a damn fool! A village must be missin' its idiot if you really think GLaDOS's mic can't pick up my accent."

Your coworker stepped back a bit nervously. You were kind of scary when you were mad.

"anyone ever tell you that you get more southern when you're angry?"

"KISS MY GO-TO-HELL!" you stamped your foot, and stormed back to your office.

HAL 9000

HAL 9000 loved you. He loved how sweet you were, how much fun you were with your coworkers, and how smart you were with your code, but honestly, he sometimes just couldn't understand you. You were the sweetest pea in the world and your accent made him feel things he didn't even know he was capable of, but sometimes you just confused him so much.

Every time you came into work saying that the devil was beating his wife, or that it was a real frog-strangler, he would get confused and make you define whatever colorful phrase you'd just used to describe the weather. At first you weren't doing it on purpose, but pretty soon you started finding it hilarious that he couldn't understand you, and you started making up phrases just to confuse him.

As mean as you were, you still loved HAL 9000, and he still loved you. He was your best friend at work, even though all your coworkers seemed to like you. He just seemed to care about you so much!

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 1: Ghost In the Machine

The hum of the fluorescent lights in "Byte Me" IT Solutions was a monotonous drone against the backdrop of Gotham's usual cacophony. Rain lashed against the grimy window, each drop a tiny percussionist drumming out a rhythm of misery. Inside, however, misery was a bit more… organized.

I sighed, wrestling with a particularly stubborn strain of ransomware. "CryptoLocker v. 7.3," the diagnostic screen read. A digital venereal disease, if you asked me. Another day, another infected grandma's laptop filled with pictures of her grandkids and a crippling fear that hackers were going to steal her identity.

"Still at it?" My coworker, Mark, sidled over, clutching a lukewarm mug of something vaguely resembling coffee. Mark was a good guy, perpetually optimistic despite working in one of Gotham's less-than-glamorous neighborhoods. Bless his heart.

"You know it," I replied, jabbing at the keyboard. "Think I've finally managed to corner the bastard. Just gotta… there!" The screen flashed a success message. "One less victim of the digital plague."

Mark nodded, then his eyes drifted to the hulking metal beast in the corner, a Frankensteinian creation of salvaged parts and mismatched wiring. "How's the behemoth coming along?"

I followed his gaze. My pet project. My escape. "Slowly but surely. Got the cooling system optimized today. Almost ready to fire it up."

"Planning anything special with it?" Mark asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity. "You've been collecting scraps for months. It's gotta be more than just a souped-up gaming rig."

I shrugged, a deliberately vague gesture. "You could say I'm planning something… big. Something Byte Me isn't equipped to handle."

Mark chuckled. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll make it sing. You've got a knack for that sort of thing." He wandered off, whistling a jaunty tune that died a slow, agonizing death against the backdrop of the Gotham rain.

He had no idea just how much of a knack.

Mark bid me one final goodbye before pulling out an umbrella and disappearing into the night. No doubt he stops at Nero’s pizzeria before going home to his wife and kids. You watched through the shop window before he disappeared around the corner. Then, you locked the door and reached for the light switch. The fluorescent lights flickered a final, dying gasp before plunging the shop into darkness. I waited a beat, the city's distant sirens a mournful choir. Then, I flipped the hidden switch behind the breaker box, illuminating a small, secluded corner of the shop.

Rain hammered against the grimy windowpanes of my "office," a repurposed storage room tucked away in the forgotten bowels of the shop. The rhythmic drumming was almost hypnotic, a bleak lullaby for a city perpetually on the verge of collapse. I ignored it, fingers flying across the keyboard, the green glow of the monitor painting my face in an unsettling light. Outside, the city's distant sirens formed a mournful choir. Here, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

"Almost there," I muttered, the words barely audible above the whirring of the ancient server rack humming in the corner. It was a Frankensteinian creation, cobbled together from spare parts and salvaged tech, but it packed enough processing power to crack even the most stubborn encryption algorithms. Laptops with custom OSes, encrypted hard drives, and a tangle of wires snaked across the desk. This was Ghostwire Solutions, my little side hustle. My… outlet.

Tonight's victim, or client – depending on how you looked at it – was a low-level goon. One was a two-bit thug named "Knuckles" Malone; the other, a twitchy character smelling of desperation, Frankie "Fingers" Falcone. Malone's burner phone, or Falcone's data chip containing an encrypted message, was now on the screen in front of me, a jumble of characters that would make most people's eyes glaze over. For me, it was a puzzle. A challenging, if morally questionable, puzzle.

My service, "Ghostwire Solutions," was discreet, to say the least. No flashy neon signs, no online presence, just word-of-mouth referrals whispered in dimly lit back alleys. I was a ghost, a digital shadow flitting through the city's underbelly, connecting people. That's how I liked to justify it anyway. I cracked my knuckles and went to work. My fingers danced across the keyboard, feeding the encrypted text into a series of custom-built algorithms, each designed to exploit a specific vulnerability. Hours melted away, marked only by the rhythmic tapping of keys and the soft hum of the custom-built rig in the corner, its processing power gnawing away at the digital lock.

The encryption finally buckled. A cascade of decrypted data flooded the screen. I scanned through it, a jumbled mess of texts, voicemails, location data, or a simple message detailing a meeting point and time. Mostly dull stuff about late payments and turf wars, the mundane reality of Gotham's criminal element. I extracted the relevant information.

"Alright, Frankie," I muttered to myself, copying the decrypted message onto a clean file. "Just connecting people. That's all I'm doing."

I packaged the data into a neat little file, added a hefty markup to my initial quote, and sent it off via an encrypted channel. Within minutes, the agreed-upon sum, a few hundred cold, hard dollars, landed in my untraceable digital wallet. I saved the file to a new data chip and packaged it up. Another job done. Another night closer to sanity's breaking point.

"Just connecting people," I repeated, the phrase tasting like ash in my mouth. The lie tasted even worse. I knew what I was doing. I was enabling crime. I was greasing the wheels of Gotham's underbelly. But bills had to be paid. It was a convenient lie, a way to sleep at night knowing I was profiting from the chaos. But tonight, it felt particularly hollow. And honestly, did it really matter? Gotham was already drowning in darkness. What was one more drop?

Gotham was a broken city, a machine grinding down its inhabitants. The system was rigged, the rich got richer, and the poor fought over scraps. I wasn't exactly helping to fix things. But I wasn't making it worse, right? I was just a cog in the machine, a necessary evil. I was good at what I did, damn good. I could see patterns where others saw chaos. I could exploit vulnerabilities, both in code and in the systems of power that held Gotham hostage. It was a skill, a talent, and in this city, unique talents were currency. I was efficient and discreet. But every decrypted message, every bypassed firewall, chipped away at something inside me. It hollowed me out, leaving me a ghost in my own life, a wire connecting the darkness.

I leaned back in my creaky chair, the rain still pounding against the window. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and melancholy. Another night, another decryption, another small victory against the futility of existence in Gotham. The flicker of conscience, that annoying little spark that refused to be extinguished, flared again. Was I really making a difference? Or was I just another parasite feeding off the city's decay?

I closed my eyes, trying to silence the questions. Tomorrow, there would be another encryption to crack, another connection to make. And I would be ready, Ghostwire ready to disappear into the digital ether, another ghost in the machine, until the next signal came. As I waited for the morning, for the return of the fluorescent lights and the mundane reality of "Byte Me" IT Solutions, I wondered if one day, the darkness I trafficked in would finally claim me completely. Because in Gotham, survival was a code all its own, and I was fluent in its language. And frankly, some days, that didn't seem like such a bad deal. For now, that was enough.

[sugurumybeloved]

⤷ Who is that fine babe?

gojo x female streamer <3

a/n: this was a lovely request from my mootie @ilovelinkk , tyy 💗

Today, you were setting up to begin a stream. You were Gojo’s girlfriend, and you two originally met from him watching one of your streams. That was about 3 years ago when you were just starting off as a streamer! Now, you’re almost famous, doing sponsorships and brand deals. He was honestly proud to have you by his side, even though people didn’t know him like that. 

Gojo was taking a nap in the room next to you. You heard his snoring through the wall as you began your stream. “Hey everyone, it’s me, (name) and today.. we’re just gonna chill.” A lot of people started joining your stream, the comments flooding with hi’s and I miss you’s. You were on stream for about an hour, just talking and rambling. But one message caught your eye.

feelingd0wntdy: do you have a roommate 😀

You read the message with a slight smile. “No, I don't have a roommate. I live with my boyfriend.”

Then, the chat started blowing up. Everyone was requesting to see him, a bunch of donations were coming in like crazy. You sighed, pulling out your phone to call Gojo. 

“Why’re you calling me when you’re right next door?” He says, groggily. You can tell he just woke up. “Can you come to my room please, chat wants to see you.” You also could tell that he was smiling, because of his change of tone. “Coming!”

Not even a second later, Gojo was standing in your doorway. He was wearing a white shirt and hello kitty pajama bottoms. Your chat blew up even more, everyone asking his name. “Don’t be shy, come closer.” He shyly walked up to your chair, standing behind it. “Um, hi guys my name is Gojo.” Your chat kept spamming “IN GOJO WE TRUST ‼️” and other funny phrases. After a while, people started to pay donations and ask questions ; keep in mind, your monitor reads the questions out loud. 

“Well, funfettispaghetti, my girlfriend and I have been dating for 4 years!” Gojo exclaims with a smile, his hand squeezing your cheeks together. It almost felt like he was the star of the stream, which made you happy. He never liked to show his face on your streams because of past incidents. There’s times where you’ve been doxxed, hacked, your information stolen and death threats coming your way. But it was a part of maturing and realizing that dumb people do dumb shit. And you are far from dumb. 

There was a silence for about 10 minutes, before one crazy donation came through: “marshmallow_heaven donated $50: how much money does it take for him to twerk on stream 🥺” Gojo looked at the camera with his eyes wide and mouth agape. He slowly turned his head to you, closing his mouth. “What is wrong with your chat.” “I DON’T KNOW!” You said, dying of laughter. Red heat rose to his face as he kept staring at the camera, his mouth in a straight line. “Babe.. now they’re all telling me to oil up.” “WHAT!?” 

[BONUS] 

For your next stream, you and Gojo reacted to edits from your discord server. They were surprisingly good! Except for the one where it had Gojo twerking in the beginning.. (he did it for $5..)

dt list: @1-800reki @ashlovelys @crowatemitsuri @psuedosugu @starykari @pinkbowwhitebow @kitkat-moon @ilovelinkk @istanstraykidss @zellons @misthashiragf @mjustag1rl :3

works by sugurumybeloved© - do not copy or repost my works without proper credit or permission.

(Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated!)