#and if they pull head out ass and support modding

[fereldanwench]

I didn't want to completely sit out a year-in-review, but for reasons I'll explain at the end of this post and under a cut, doing the traditional pick-one-pic-from-each-month approach just wasn't going to work for me. So instead, here are 20 of my favorite shots (in no particular order) of Valerie from 2023!

(I'll share solo Goro shots and shippy/story shots in two other posts before the year ends.)

Some thoughts about this year (cw for anxiety and depression mentions):

So yeah. I actually hadn't planned on joining in on the virtual photography year-in-review fun in part because... Well, frankly, I wasn't sure if it would actually be fun for me.

Although I do have pictures for every month, the first third, maybe even half, of the year was a struggle on almost every conceivable level. A lot of it was shit that carried over from the end of 2022, which was also an incredibly difficult year for me. I don't really want to delve too deeply into why--Some of it was personal, some of it was professional, some of it was fandom, and if you know, you know.

The main obstacle I had here is that looking at a lot of the shots I took from about January to May (give or take a few weeks on either end) honestly reminded me of Bad Times™️. I've worked really hard to pull myself out of that depression/anxiety cycle and return to a healthier approach to fandom and online socialization in general, but I just didn't want to spend a lot of time in that mental space. There are a few shots from those months that made it to my favorites, and I hope one day I can look back on that stuff and just feel the good from it again. Alas, that day is still not here.

But I am happy to report that the other reason I wanted to approach the review differently is a lot more positive! It's also two-fold: 1) I spent the earlier part of this year exploring more of a technical side of virtual photography and 2) I was really prolific the last third or so of this year so trying to narrow faves from about August until now was just not possible.

One of the few good things about the end of 2022 was being able to upgrade my graphics card, which meant I then had a rig that could support ray-tracing and hot sampling. As a result, I started putting a lot more focus on lighting and getting acquainted with new tools. I also was trying to work with the new AMM posing system, which is very convenient in some ways (100s of poses without reloading the game!) and a complete pain in the ass in others (can't move characters without their poses breaking!). Custom photomode poses + Nibbles Replacer has been the game changer I've been waiting for.

Or to put it more succinctly, December 2022 through about April 2023 felt like a relearning/return to basics kind of creative period, which is essential, but also means I just don't really like a lot of what I did, lmao.

Then, shockingly (I'm not shocked at all), starting treatment for my anxiety and depression in the second half of this year suddenly made creating a lot easier and fun again! Crazy how that works.

Even bumping this little review up to 20 shots instead of 12, there are still pictures from the past few months that I had to cut as favorites. There was just no way I could condense the amount of fave shots I took from August to now in just 5 options.

I also owe quite a bit of this revival to modders for asking me if I wanted to take shots for them--Exploring more of a fashion photography approach to my shots I think did a lot to build on what I had learned earlier in the year and encouraged me to try something new. I don't want to tag anyone in this long-ass glorified diary entry, but if you invited me to take mod shots for you, just know that it really meant a lot. ♡

And that's where my head has been with a yearly review! Is filling out a little template with 12 pictures this serious? No, it definitely is not, lmao. But hey, overthinking shit is still something I'm working on. ✌️

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - seventy-eight | sharing screens and secrets

“Hello?” Quack asked as you clicked the ‘Answer’ button on the screen.

“Can you hear me?”

“I can.”

You didn’t talk to Quack much via voice, but every time you did you thought she sounded so youthful. You were pretty sure you were around the same age, considering when she started modding for you, but she always sounded so much more cute than her business-like demeanor in texts would have you think.

“Okay, so I’ll share my screen now.”

You clicked over to what she was showing you.

“So, my friend did a bunch of digging, a little hacking, a little asking favors, and this is what she found. Well, the stuff we can legally use in court, anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess we can’t use hacked content as evidence, since hacking is illegal.”

“Mhm.” Quack pulled up a Twitch vod channel that seemed devoted to you.

“What the fuck?”

“This guy is… forget head over heels, he might just be spinning ass over tea kettle down a rabbit hole of love for you.”

There were videos with titles like ‘JGG is the best!’ ‘I’d lick JGGs boots clean if I could AND say thank you!’ ‘JGG loves me?’. 

You noticed the dates of the videos. “--Wait, is this the bottom of the page?”

“Yeah, this is all his old shit. If we scroll up, you can see here…” Quack scrolled up and stopped, her mouse hovering over the upload date of a video. “This is the day you had Morn guest the first time.”

The title was ‘JGG CHEATING ON ME???’ 

Quack clicked on it and clicked to about the halfway point of the video. The background of the video was the stream where you and Morn played together for the first time and he made you play Minecraft with him after everyone left, accompanied by a voice over by the channel owner.

“I just don’t understand-- I’ve been supporting her all this time and then she has this guy on to stream?” His voice broke as he sobbed. “I have spent so much money in her chat, she owes it to me to not invite another man on! I was lenient with Keeho, because they knew each other since they were in high school, but who the fuck is this-- this-- MorningStar? She could invite me-- or anyone else in the chat to play and she invites this man she just met! Whoring herself out for him while he simps after her like a beta cuck with no balls! She’s a--”

Quack stopped it. “I already listened to it once and it doesn’t get better.”

Your hand had been over your mouth in shock as you listened to his rant. You pulled it away. “No, uh… yeah-- I…” You trailed off.

“Are you okay?”

“...What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And he’s the one who’s been leaving all the comments?”

“Yeah, he’s been using a bot farm to do it. My friend shut it down.”

“Tell her I said thank you.”

“I will.”

You were quiet for a few moments as the words you just heard rang in your head like the tinnitus from hearing loss. “Wait… he said he’s been supporting me all this time...”

“If you’re about to ask if I know who he is, I do. Are you ready to see?”

“No, but, yeah.”

Quack clicked a link in the description of his About Me which led to some kind of affiliate link farm page you didn’t understand, then a link on that page, and another, and another, until she opened two in new tabs.

“Okay… I think I need you to take a deep breath before I show you this.”

“Is it that bad? It’s not Morn, is it?”

Quack chuckled. “No, it’s not Morn. But you’ve met the guy before.”

“What?” You whispered.

“Please take a breath.”

You did as she asked, exaggerating it so the microphone would pick it up and she could hear.

“Okay… this is who he is online.” She opened the first tab.

‘TheNicestGuy’ was the channel username that stared you in the face.

“What?” You whispered again. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“But… he’s been in my chat for forever and never said anything shitty before… has he?”

“Mmm…”

“Has he done something and you didn’t tell me?”

“Normally he engages about as much as most people. Maybe not excited as other chatters like Yuta or Tree, but now I’m thinking that he might have been doing that to mask how he really felt.”

“Wearing sheep’s clothing.”

“Basically. Ever since Morn showed up he’s been doing a lot of ‘dot dot dot’-ing, and I thought it was weird but I don’t talk to him so I wasn’t sure what it meant.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

You thought for a few moments. He never seemed weird or out of sorts at all to you. He seemed about as normal as any of your other chat members, like Namhae. 

“Are you ready for the next one?”

“Now I really am scared.”

“It’s…” Quack trailed off.

You sat in silence for a few moments.

“I’m not going to lie. It’s going to be scary.”

“Great...” you said, voice shaking.

“But I have to show you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Are you ready?”

“Just do it.”

“This is who he is offline.” She clicked the second link. It was a LinkedIn page. His profile was him smiling brightly in front of a mottled light blue background, the kind of picture a professional takes so they can use it on their social media.

You knew the face.

You knew you knew it.

It was the face of the man who had been showing up to the café for the past few months, and who chased you and San through the downtown area.

Of course you knew his face.

The stalker.

Tears pricked at your eyes as your brain spat out every time he had shown up in the café like a search engine finding every instance of a search term across the internet, and a torrent of anxiety and dread followed behind it all like a dam breaking old concrete and drowning everything in the valley below it. 

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Are you okay?”

“No… is that it?”

“No. This is his old account.”

She opened another tab and navigated to it: it was the page of the guy who took the picture outside of the café you used to work at.

“...Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god!”

“I know.”

“How are you so calm right now?! That’s my stalker! He followed me to Seoul!”

“Because when my friend sent me the CCTV footage I got a good look at him, and when she sent me this last night, I recognized him immediately. …I spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to tell you.”

You stood up from your chair and went to pace, but your head was yanked back by the headset wire. 

“Are you okay?”

“I-- I-- I just--”

“I know.”

Tears rolled hot over your cheeks. “What the fuck, Quack? What the fuck?”

“I know.”

“I just… I… I’m sorry for crying.” You fell back into your chair, your legs weak from how the information shook you. You sobbed loudly and inhaled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for crying.”

“Don’t apologize. Please don't apologize.”

“I just… I can’t believe a person who’s been following me for forever in my chat has been following me in real life! I--”

“Please, Cat, breathe.”

“I-- I can’t! I’m freaking out!”

“Can you call someone? Morn, maybe?”

“No, I can’t…”

“Why not…”

“I just can’t!”

Quack was silent as you cried.

You shoved your headset off and screamed until your lungs exhausted, and you slumped over your desk. Pulling your arms over your head, you laid like that, cheekbone pressed into the desk's hard surface and held yourself, knees pulled up as high as they could go under you. Even if Quack said something to you, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

This was the worst possible thing that could be happening: he was the weird donor, the cafe picture, the influx of comments calling you a whore, the watching you in person, the chasing you in the dark-- he was all of it. He thought you were his, was that it? He thought he could own you - should own you - just because he donated sometimes? Streaming was a tip-based job; that's like saying that the waiter owes you sex because you tipped 30%. The dates on his page showed that he'd been fixated on you for a long time, but why the sudden ramping up? Was it because you refused his donation months ago? You could never take that much money from someone, it was the kind of amount that made you owe people... was that what he wanted? Did he want  you to owe him so... so what? So he could try to convince you to do something for him? Or...to him? You felt sick all over again.

You cried until the panic subsided and you could finally breathe normally, and when the feelings of terror and horror had finally finished washing over you, it was replaced with something else.

You sat up and grabbed the tissue box nearby and blew your nose. You grabbed another one and dried your eyes. You inhaled deeply and put your headset back on.

“You still there?” You asked.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“No.” Your voice was level now. You looked at his face on your screen. “I’m so mad.”

“Mad?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were freaking out.”

“I’m done freaking out… I’m mad now.” 

You looked at the picture for a few moments, Quack not saying anything. You weren’t sure what this feeling was, anger? Vengeance? Something in you congealed into a feeling that burned through your tired bones until they were ash, and what grew back in their place was so much more disconnected to the situation and the feelings of sorrow and hurt.

You knew what it was now.

Rage.

“This guy has been disrupting my life for what? Months now? At both of my jobs?” You asked.

“Mhm.”

“He followed me through a move and chased me and my friend around downtown.”

“Yeah.”

“I just feel so mad. I’m so angry, dude.”

“Yeah… that makes sense.”

“I’m just so fucking angry.”

“...What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know… I want him to suffer, because he’s been making me suffer this whole time.”

“Understandable.”

“And like… I want to know why, you know?”

“Yeah.”

You sat in silence.

“You’ve known me for a long time, right Quack?”

“I feel like this is going somewhere... yes.”

You chuckled. “You know I’m not a bitch, right?”

“You’re one of the nicest people I know. Definitely the best boss I’ve had so far.”

“Well thank you: You’re my best employee.”

“I’m your only employee.”

“There’s other mods now.”

“Yeah, but I’m basically their manager and you’re my boss.”

“Have they been working out well?”

“They’re great.”

“Have you heard from Namhae at all?”

“No. I should probably ping him and see what’s up.”

“I hope he’s okay.”

“Yeah, same.”

You nodded, looping your fingers in your headphone cord. “But like… this guy ‘NicestGuy’-- fucking ironic name; why do men who act like shit think they’re god’s gift to the world?”

“A-men.”

“But this guy… he makes me want to be a bitch, you know? All that unhinged, surprising rage that men act like women have but really it’s only surprising to them because they weren’t listening to us the first forty times we told them to leave us alone.”

“Relatable.”

“I… I want to talk to him.”

A beat of silence as she processed what you said. “Cat, are you sure about that?”

You thought, your eyes boring into the pixels that made up his picture on your screen. He looked like a perfectly normal guy, the kind of shmo you’d walk past down the street and never have a second thought about. And yet, all that surface-level normalcy was hiding something so terrible.

“Yeah. I need to ask why. And I want a confession out of him that he did it. I want something the police can’t ignore.”

“You want him to confess?”

“Yeah. I want him to fucking say he did all this and I want to record him and I want him to go to prison.”

She was silent for a moment. 

“Quack?”

“Yeah-- sorry. I was wondering if it would even be possible.”

“Do you think it is?”

“Yeah, I think it might be.”

You nodded, not that she could see.

“I'll tell you what: I’ll talk to my White Hat friend about it, and I’ll see if she has any advice, like, legally.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Oh and, don’t tell Morn about this at all.”

“Why not?”

“He might freak out.”

“Shouldn’t he? The guy was stalking you. What if he wants to help?”

“I have some other friends that can help.”

She sighed. “If you say so.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you know what she says.”

“Thanks. And Quack?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad we met all those years ago. You’re not just an invaluable employee, you're a really great friend as well.”

Quack chuckled. “You better stop that or I’ll ask for a raise.”

You laughed. “You’re actually overdue for a raise, I think.”

She laughed again. “We can talk about it when all this is over.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

She ended the call.

You stared at the picture of your stalker. ‘Seo Byungchul,’ his page said. You looked at the smile on his face and wondered when he took the picture. Was it before he was stalking you? It had to be after he started watching your stream, by the age he appeared to be and how long you could remember him being in your chat. You wondered what he was thinking about when he took the picture. You wondered if he thought he was a good person. You wondered if he went to work every day, safe in the knowledge that none of his coworkers knew he was stalking a streamer both on the internet and in real life. You wondered if he stalked anyone else.

Hey Nero,

(I’m not sure if I should call you Nero or not anymore lol)

I’m just letting you know that I’ll be sort of unavailable outside of streaming for a bit. I have some irl shit I need to take care of and it might get a little rocky for everything outside of streaming. 

I’ll definitely let you know when I’m available to edit again though.

See ya round,

Cat

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Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🧋

@rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @dinossaurz​​ • @conwunder​ • @tinyelfperson​ • 

[batbigbang]

Bat Big Bang: What Would You Trade The Pain For? (I’m Not Sure)

Author: @disniq Artist(s): @chipmunkery

Rating: Explicit Ao3 Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne Key Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members, Background Canon Characters Summary: Jason has been doing an outstanding job of not thinking about Bruce in the four months since Roy pulled his ass out of Gotham. When Jason gets hit by an unidentified beam and starts reliving his worst Bruce-related memories in his dreams, though, there’s not a whole lot he can do about it except maybe vent some frustrations. Or; the universe conspires to put Jason and Bruce in a get-along shirt. It only deteriorates from there. Word Count: 65,560

Author’s Notes: I’m so excited to finally share this beast after 10 months for work! It was, at the time of writing, my first time writing BruJay, my first attempt at writing Bruce’s POV, and my first alternating POV fic! It’s also my longest finished fic ever, and my first time writing a complete multichapter story before posting, and I absolutely couldn’t have done it without incredible support and enthusiastic encouragement from BenBamboozled and MarsupialMenace! Love you guys!! Thanks for listening to me lose my mind to this fic for the past few months xD A huge thank you, too, to my wonderful artist Chipmunkery! They did such a fantastic job of pulling these scenes from my head, and I am still a little in awe of their work. And thank you to the mods for running this inclusive event, and pushing me wayyyy out of my comfort zone! It’s been a ride, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Artist’s Notes: Disniq's imagery is so vivid and beautiful! I was so excited to take all of the details they weaved into their writing and translate them visually. I decided to focus on two emotionally charged scenes that were at very different points in Bruce and Jason’s relationship and emphasize the changes by pushing the juxtaposition in any way I could (lighting, mood, orientation, etc.) It was a fun challenge to create two pieces that are so different thematically, but still work together cohesively. This is my first big bang and I had so much fun that I definitely plan on doing more in the future. There are so many incredibly skilled writers and artists who worked on this project and everyone involved has been so nice and really supportive of each other. Big and special thanks to Disniq for being such a great partner to work with, and to the mod team for all of the hard work that went into making this happen. You’re all amazing! <3

READ ON AO3

[textingtroublesanswers]

*Their eyes shoot back up around midnight, pulled from their slumber as they hear..talking? Rousing out of the sleeping bag, they take a peek at Alexei. Ah, their roomie was a sleep talker.*

*As much as they'd love to stick around and be entertained, there is a grumble in their stomach and the pain finally settles in. The milk, it had betrayed them once more!*

*Unfortunately, kibble wasn't going to quench the need for something warm to soothe the ache, so they get up and haul ass to the kitchen. Navigating the dark was much easier when one becomes more familiar with their layout, who needs nightvision?*

*Thankfully, the moonlight from the window aided them as they enter the kitchen, going to a cabinet to sift through the pans and find the smallest one whilst making a bit of noise in the process. They wanna have a crack at that cinnamon tea again!*

-🐈anon

(HELP, my dad's a sleep-mover. one time when I was a kid, I woke up bc he accidently smacked my head while dreaming he was swatting a fly. thus i am so nervous about sleepovers in case theres some sorta sleeping habit I am unaware of!!)

Mod B: oh no 🤣 I sometimes sleep talk but usually I just look like a corpse, so I flip flop between two extremes of being the worst sleepover roomie

Your midnight machinations are interrupted by a flutter of wings, as Aphrodite, essentially Fritz's emotional support bird, lands on your shoulder.

[vivalasthedas]

having finished outer worlds i can now say

real glad i didn’t pay for it

[wonderhoyimagines]

Listen here EMU since ur getting out the dr fandom I am request for the last time soooooo

Oooooo umm togami with a constantly sleep and creepy s/o smut and fluff please

-a last message mod kotoko 😭💕😔

evil - togami

includes: reader does that thing where you squeeze the shirt while you sleep aaa, togami bottoms but not sub, reader is described as creepy, reader sleeps alot, mean!togami, reader is a bit of a bimbo in the seggs, master kink, togami doesn't let you cum whatsoever

listening: japan crime desu - spotify podcast

i apologize if anything comes off as ooc (out of character) or not understandable, i am a diagnosed autistic and can't understand social things so speech might come off as strange.

your eyes were pretty much pasted shut, you'd also been forced to wear a beddress as it was "better to look at compared to what you wear" . it was black with white lace at the bottom, and it ended at your kneecaps. there was a little bow on it, right at the top, only measuring about half an inch. your soft hand was gripped onto byakuya's shirt, your lips parted slightly as you slept.

“s/o?”

“s/o, wake up. it's three o'clock in the afternoon.”

no reply. you were already awake, but didn't want to open your eyes.

“s/o!”

you finally opened your eyes. they open in a grotesque way, one opening at a different time than the other. your eyes were rolled back into your head, sliding back into place after a two seconds.

“m' sorry.” you grumble, sitting up not so quickly. you stand up, opening the door to the bedroom. feeling a wave of cold hit your face, you quickly close the door. “that was disgusting.” byakuya comments on your way of waking up. you just turn to him, squinting your eyes towards him. you blankly stare at him for about five minutes, making him shudder before standing up, sitting ontop of him. you start unconsciously grinding against him and he's quick to notice. he holds your hips steady, making sure you don't stop. you have a blank expression, although lips parted and eyes shut in pleasure. “please..” you mumble. “please what?” you throw your head back, getting frustrated. “please let me ride you..” he grabs your chin. “to whom?” all you can do is groan. “p-lease let me ride you, m-master..” he puts his hand under your ass, lifting you up so he can pull his breifs down. he sits you back down again as you look at him, lifting yourself up to position yourself. you sit down, your plush walls squeezing him tightly. you moan, not too loudly, not too quickly. you bounce up and down, burying your head into his neck as he holds your hips with one hand, holding your back with the other to give you a bit of emotional support. you could cum already, your walls feel so stretched. he kisses your cheek, giving a smack on your ass, the sting being a bit painful. you go silent for a bit, closing your eyes to admire the wet noises that your pussy makes against him. right before you can cum, he grabs your ass again, lifting you up and away from him cock. he's met with a pathetic groan. he smiles.

evil.

he hugs you, putting a hand on your head. “i'll get a maid to get you dressed again, and maybe i'll let you cum tonight. if you're good.”

-

i'm sorry i can barely do fluff with him 😃

it's been so fun with you all. i could've never imagined that i would've met so many kind people online, people who support me, people who help me.

thank you all so much.

- emu

[djarinsidebitch]

Guns, Ghosts, and Run away Birds

a/n: this is kinda in the same universe as 'irresistible force paradox' but you don't need to read it to get this- its just a similar character. this was also supposed to be a short drabble....

word count: 2.6k like i said 'supposed to be short'

Warnings: Swearing, kinda graphic violence its the punisher so. Mentions of the Accords and other avenger stuff

Summary: rewrite of punisher season 1 eps 4 heist with frank and David but now with you- bad ass avenger reader.

paring: Frank Castle x Avenger!Reader

“How many guns do you go through”

“I didn’t get to take them to my next life”

You stood looking between Frank and his new ‘accomplice’ David Lieberman, he looked like a wet rat but you didn’t judge- out loud…

“So you need help stealing guns from the feds- you do know I am seen as a global terrorist I am on every red notice list out there”

“And we are both dead” Lieberman speaks up “they wouldn’t expect us to steal from them

“Because it’s stupid” You snap back then shifting to focus on frank and he sighs

“Are you going to help or not”

You look around at the shambles of their base, it’s not much better than where the rest of the team was hiding out in Europe. This was a stupid idea but at least you could make sure the two ghosts in front of you don’t actually get killed

“Fine- what do you need me to do” You cross your arms over your chest leaning the weight onto one leg jutting your hip out. Frank almost cracks a smile pushing himself to stand up straight from leaning against the table

“There's my birdy,” he says gruffly while explaining the plan, it was a smart plan, for them it was stupid but it would work. Lieberman would jam the feds signal then frank would take control of the truck with all of the guns on them and You would deal with the snipers.

“One thing,” Frank says as you crouch down to the dark duffel bag of supplies causing you to look up “If we are gonna work together again you gotta ditch the suit” he looks down at the black and red suit- that one was new for him to see, he was used to seeing the Black and yellow one.

“What’s wrong with my suit” you responded shifting your weight once more to drop a knee onto the ground looking down at the old widow suit, after the accords you had to ditch your nicer avenger’s suit because of the built in trackers tony had put in for emergency’s. You had pulled this one from one of your hidden caches.

“It’s just as bad as red’s, obnoxious” he grumbles looking down at you as one eyebrow quirks up

“It’s protection- it’s nothing worse than your old vest”

“It’s an almost skin-tight black suit”

“It’s a Kevlar blend that is made for the best assassins in the world”

Frank goes to open his mouth but shuts it once again knowing if there is anyone as stubborn as him it is You

“We need a car.” Frank grabs his jacket walking away saying “Leave the suit”

“You're not gonna leave the suit are you” Lieberman looks over to you, who is already taking off your jacket and boots

“Of course not” you motion with your hand to shoo so you can change. He quickly turns around to follow frank.

It only takes a couple of minutes for you to change put your clothes back over the suit and stash the bag. Walking out with the holsters over your jeans you slide the gun into place.

“What took you so long” Frank mods towards you

“I had to stash my bag- I may trust you but him” you throw a glance at Lieberman “not so much”

Lieberman goes to say something but Frank looks at him like “do you really want to get this started” he just shakes his head as the three of you head off.

The warehouse was the target Lieberman stayed behind mostly because You and Frank didn’t want him getting in the way. You both split up, scaling the side of the building you pull yourself up and through a broken part of the roof holding onto one of the steel, beam supports watching there were about 8 men one was already dead another was tied up, the other 6 visible targets looked like your average street rat wanting to be the next Fisk. It was clear they were trying to get some sort of information out of the two

“Rookies” you muttered under your breath, they were using a car battery to try and shock the information out of them but clearly by the dead man they sucked at it. The poor kid that was still breathing looked like he was about to piss Himself he was so scared.

Waiting for the perfect time you watched as one man walked right underneath where you are hanging. Letting go pulling a hand comes down grabbing one of your many knives from its sheath. The knife expertly went into the man’s carotid artery, he would be dead in seconds. The only noise was a thud as the two of you hit the ground and a slight squelch of blood but it was enough to intrigue two other men to investigate.

This is where the fun begins, You smirk one hand holding the now bloody knife you slide into the shadows waiting like a cat about to strike. They walked right into your trap; You jump wrapping your thighs around one of the men's necks, snapping it then as you start to fall with the now dead body you grab onto the other man who was able to let out one shot alerting everyone else before you slit his throat open both falling dead.

The man in charge calls out to his two, scratch that, three dead lackeys. By the sounds of the guns cocking they had semi-automatic or an assault rifle or two, you sneak through the shadows until you want them to hear your boots tap against the ground.

“They won’t be coming back,” you say slowly coming from behind, they all whip around to look at you and the main man pulls out his own pistol

“Lady you are in the wrong place- run along before you get hurt” that was his last mistake- underestimating you and you were counting on him making it. Throwing the knife in your hand towards the one lackey that was holding the assault rifle the blade landed right above the clavicle severing the aortic artery. Bullets start flying as you run back to the shadows behind some crates. They are all too nervous to make a good shot to save their life.

Two shots ring out as you feel a large presence behind you

“Glad you could join me, Frankie”

“Could have waited like the plan”

“Like you would have followed the plan”

He grumbles something and you jsut sigh twisting to face him. Placing a quick kiss on his nose then pulling out your gun you vault back over the crate, landing softly. You aim and shoot one shot to the left then drop to your right knee, twisting your shoulders and upper body to pull the trigger again; another shot to the right with two bodies dropping to the ground. Spinning on your knee your left leg moves to the side giving you momentum to turn around and stand up taking out one more person.

It took a couple of seconds for frank to process what happened but then gets around the crate to the last standing person, other than the one person tied up, as they aimed at your back but when he pulls the trigger the gun clicks- Frank grabs the gun from his hand and smashes it into his face knocking him onto a pinball machine and punches him one more time to knock the lackey out. Frank lets out a whistle for Lieberman that it is clear to come in; then walks behind you as you move to muffle the pleading man who did in fact pee himself.

“Gross” you murmur stepping back into Frank's chest, he puts one hand on your hip to steady you even though he knows you don’t need it.

Lieberman walks in one hand covering his mouth slightly with a disgusted look on his face.

“There- there was a dead man in a wheelbarrow”

“I didn’t do that” Frank responded looking over at Lieberman then to the cars

“And this you did-“

“I did most of the work” You snark walking over to look at the different cars

“Could have saved some” Frank murmured looking at Lieberman’s sick face

“What are you gonna puke-“ “I’m not gonna-“ “Hey do not leave your DNA here for the police- Hey!” “Give me a second” Lieberman tipped his head back to try and not hurl at the scent of blood and guts.

“You said you wanted to be the guidance system right- this is what happens when the missile goes off, didn’t think about that part now did you” “it smells more than I thought”

“You get used to it” “I’d rather not”

“I guess life is a little easier through a computer screen huh- now get in the van and let's go” “what about that guy”

“Not our problem” You finally rejoin the conversation leaning against the red mustang as frank opens the driver side door

“After all of this, you're taking the mustang” “Always buy American”

“I wanted the Ferrari” You reply getting in the passenger seat next to frank.

The second they got back to the warehouse you were out of the car before Frank could even turn the car off.

“What did you do to Edward scissor hands,” David says looking at how fast you moved to pull out the burner phone that started vibrating in your hand and walk away from frank and himself.

“None of your business”

“How do you even know her. She was an Avenger”

“Not important just go get ready” Frank wasn’t stupid it was probably the rest of the defunct avengers looking for her, but it seems like you weren’t supposed to be here because you disappeared, Frank cursed under his breath going back to the car making sure everything was working.

About an hour later David is sitting looking at a pistol resting on a small table in front of him, he looked shaken his hands trembled as his breath was in even. “I can’t do this” he mumbled as frank was a few feet away shutting the hood of the red mustang

“Jesus Christ-“ he mumbled to himself walking closer to Lieberman

“This is a team job- as much as I hate it you don’t got a choice”

“I sit behind the screen- I don’t do this, this is you and the avenger's world not mine”

“Your done” Frank exasperates “pick up your shit let’s move”

Lieberman just sighs not moving Frank starts talking again

“So this is what your wife meant huh”

“Excuse me”

“Your wife- she said that you never got your hands dirty and if there was a tough job you would just call someone when you needed something done” that seemed to strike a chord in David he grabs the gun and walks over to the car. Like the Baba Yaga, you appeared leaning against the back wheel of the car, you had taken off the clothes over your tactical suit, and your hair was pulled back out of your face.

“Are we ready?” you say looking at the duo

David was in charge of jamming the feds signal as you dealt with the snipers and frank took control of the truck with the guns in it. Frank jumped onto the side of the truck yanking the door open and shoving the previous driver out onto the street. He glances up as he passes the second sniper position to see you wrapping your grappling hook wire around the sniper's neck and jumping off the side of the building and landing with a soft thud on the top of the truck

“Atta girl” he mumbles to himself as you swing around and slide in the passenger window

“Couldn’t do that in a pair of jeans” you quip at him, Frank couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile, no matter how much you can frustrate him, he cares deeply for you for the things that you have done as a Black Widow, or an Avenger one of earth mighty hero’s (you are the only one he cares about- all the others seem like pricks) “That you couldn’t Birdy” he glances over at you then back to the road focusing on losing the car behind them long enough to get back to David.

Parking the white truck frank jumped in the back while you stayed in the cab making sure there weren’t any other cars or agents heading your way. You heard the following car pull up and the two agents get out of the car. You slid down in the seat as one set of footsteps neared the cab of the truck. the back of the truck open- then a flame thrower…….. A flame thrower? I mean it worked the two agents were very keen on listening to Frank’s demands

“Drop the guns- you see that water over there, you are gonna jump in that water or else it is gonna get really hot really fast” They were smart and ran jumping into the water.

You get David and escort him into the van. Frank was taking the Mustang while you stayed in the back of the truck while David drove it away from the drop site.

“I am going to drag their attention while you get to the highway and get back to base,” Frank tells David what to do then looks back to where you would be

“And keep her safe, if she gets hurt- you are gonna wish you never came after me” Frank threatens lowly and Lieberman nods quickly. Frank then walks to the back of the truck to you.

“You gonna tell me what that phone call was about,” Frank asks looking up at where you stood in the middle of the guns and ammo

“That is what you are worried about?” you look over at him with a confused face

“Well you did run away as soon as that phone went off”

“I missed a check-in, that's all, after the accords we split up but we all check-in, I missed it helping you so I had my ear chewed off” “You didn't tell them what you were doing” Frank responds, it kinda hurts your feelings thinking that frank thinks you would sell him out so easily

“No- they think I am in a hideout in Kyiv, you know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know Birdy, it's just been a long week” Frank admits stepping up into the back with you

“I probably will be gone tonight, they are gonna get suspicious if I stay away any longer.”

“Why don’t you just stay, we can keep underground just as well as they can out there” “They are my team frank I can’t just leave them, you know that” You two have had this conversation before, as much as you love and care for frank it wasn’t safe for you to stay in one place long let alone stateside, and you couldn’t leave them high and dry, they were like family to you.

“I know I know birdy; I don’t want you getting hurt” “You know I won’t; I promise, after some more time it will be easier, hell maybe in a few years I can come back home” you point to his heart “But for now I have to stay in the wind”

Frank reaches up to cup the side of your face returning the nose kiss from earlier.

“I’ll see you soon then sweet girl” he murmurs against your face before stepping back out of the truck and sliding the door closed on you. He hits the side signaling David to go as he walks back to the red mustang.

Tags: @parzival3 @galaxysgal

[after-witch]

Corsets and Blackmail [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

Title: Corsets and Blackmail [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

Synopsis: Dabi wants you in a corset. What Dabi wants, lately, Dabi gets.

Word Count: 1630

Notes: Yandere, implied noncon, mentions of body mods, improper use of a corset, very uncreative title

You inhale, eager to catch your breath, and you instantly regret it. The relief of a full breath is instantly replaced with an uncomfortable pressure, as he uses the moment to further tighten the corset he’d tossed at you earlier that afternoon. It took bribery, then outright threats, but you eventually agreed to let him put it on you.

Another decision you’re regretting.

“It’s not--” you try to exhale, to catch more breath. “It’s not supposed to be this tight.”

In response, he merely gives the bottom laces another firm tug, and you can feel the flesh of your hips underneath the leather squishing out, pushing in vain against the firm material that he’s tightened to a ridiculous degree.

You grunt, and squirm, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Your hands are pressed up against the wall, and you occasionally lean your forehead against n the cool material for support. But it’s not like you could fight Dabi off (you never could, even when you were actually dating and your fights were playful) and even if you could manage to get away from his grip, you’d never make it out of the room without a bruising grip and heated warning.

“Don’t be so dramatic, babe. Just think about all the women in history or whatever who wore these all the time.”

You bite back a smart-ass response about the myths of corsets and how movie scenes depicting women being laced into them like torture devices were based on misconceptions and myths. A corset should be supportive, not so tight that it makes you feel faint. But he’s not in the best of moods based on your initial refusal to play dress up, and so you keep your knowledge to yourself.

When he’s done--you hope he’s done, your entire midsection feels compressed and uncomfortable and your breath comes in shallow intervals--he spins you around. A few months ago, this would have been cute. It would have made you feel good. The way he’s looking at you appraisingly, approvingly, pinning you with his gaze would have made your stomach flip into butterflies.

But that was before you broke up with him. Or tried to, anyway. Before he threatened you--and your family, and your friends, and any neighbors you were particularly fond of--and eventually forced you to move in with him. To keep an eye on you, he’d said. To spoil you.

If dressing you up like some kind of fetish doll in an exaggerated shiny black leather corset counted as being spoiled.

He hums in approval and grabs your now-compressed waist, pulling you closer. You can smell his cologne and body odor and smoke, mingled together in a way that used to get you excited. Now it triggers an instinct to run.

His lips brush against your ear, kissing and teasing, and you can’t help the way your skin prickles in goosebumps, the way your stomach flips. You hate him. You wish your body would get the message more often.

“You look so fucking good. I could just eat you up.” He pulls back and tips your chin up with a finger, tilting your face to the side like he’s inspecting a prize pet at a county fair. You suppose he is, in a way.

“You want me to do that? Make you feel good?”

You shake your head, softly. It’s a stupid move, you know. You know you’re on thin ice. You know you should nod and let out a breathy sigh and let him lead you to the bed, where you’ll lay in an uncomfortable position as he slides off your underwear and makes your body respond in ways that your mind hates. But you don’t.

The instant you decline he’s gripping your chin, hard. The thin ice is definitely cracked--and you’re falling into ice-cold water.

“Why are you being so damn difficult?”

The oxygen must be getting to your brain, you think, because instead of placating him by backtracking and begging him to take you on the bed, you want to explain yourself. As if rational thought has anything to do with your current situation.

“You know why I’m so--so--” you inhale, sharp and short, hating the way your chest feels for a myriad of reasons. “--difficult, Dabi. Why can’t you try to understand how this makes me feel?” 

You feel tears pricking at your eyes and you wipe them away, not wanting to deal with the drama, the fighting, the back-and-forth guilt tripping that crying usually brought on. 

“Fine,” he says, practically spitting on your cheek.

He drops the subject--and drops your chin-- as his eyes stray to the side, where there’s a dust-streaked mirror propped up on top of the dresser. He stares at his own reflection for a moment before looking back at you, his expression far less pissed and far more thoughtful. Thoughtful scares you more than pissed, and you can feel your nerves begin to tingle in anxiety.

“Hey, you know what would go perfect with this corset?” His voice is softer now, all the harsh edges from earlier gone. It worries you just as much as his thoughtful expression.

You shake your head. You don’t know. You don’t want to know. But he’ll tell you anyway.

“How about some piercings, huh? We can match.”

Your stomach feels like it’s dropped out of your body. Your gaze flits from his grin to his own modifications. He wouldn’t--would he? Before all this, before you tried to break up with him, he’d casually suggested them once--but never again once you made your stance clear. No piercings, no tattoos, no body mods. And now…?

“I--” You swallow down your stronger objections, very aware of the dangers lurking if you chose the wrong words. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. But thanks.”

“No, no,” he argues, voice so jovial and light that it’s making you want to throw up. “It’ll be fun! Like a bonding exercise. Couple’s therapy. You’d be surprised how quickly tongue piercings heal, too, so don’t worry about missing out on takeout.”

You want to cry. Could you even breathe right if you started crying right now? The more emotions you feel, the tighter the corset feels against your waist. You swallow and dip your head back, fighting against the tears.

“Dabi… you… know--you know I don’t want piercings.” You keep your voice level, even as your stilted breathing. Avoid a fight, avoid a fight, avoid a fight.

“Oh?”

He shrugs. A casual, fuck-you gesture that stings. 

“And I want to throw you on the bed and eat you out. But if you won’t give me what I want, why should I care what you want?”

You don’t have an answer. The thick, blubbery tears you’ve been fighting are practically screaming to be let out. But you dip your head back again, determined not to cry. Crying reminds him that you don’t want to be here, and it never ends particularly well. 

So instead you force yourself to be casual. As if you’re not a captive begging your captor to not forcibly modify your body. As if you’re his… partner, having an argument about what to eat for dinner that night. As if he couldn’t just push you onto the bed and have his way with you, if he really wanted to do so.

“Dabi, c’mon…” 

The thought occurs to you--to throw in some of the snarky bite you two used to share for good measure. It’s a risk. It’s a big risk. But the idea of Dabi shoving needles through your tongue, into your skin, wherever he pleases to remake and modify you, makes you take a leap.

You grin. And oh, is it forced. But it’s all you can manage.

“Don’t be such an asshole.”

His breath is hot on your cheek as he suddenly leans grabs your arm and pulls himself in, his nose pressing against your cheek in a way that would have been endearingly mocking before; now it’s only another invasion of your space, another way to make you uncomfortable. Or maybe he’s trying to pretend that it’s the old days, too.

“Hey, that’s up to you, doll. You know that. So you gonna be my sweet girl? Let me spoil you?” He trails the back of his hand down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone; down, down, until he’s gripping the waist he laced so tight just a few minutes before. “Or do you want me to run out and get a pack of needles?”

You have a choice. 

You can’t hesitate to jump into the opening he’s given you, so you don’t. You lean up and kiss him, a soft little chaste kiss, part of the routine you used to share; you start with sweetness, with pecks and whisper-light touches, and he grips your hair and doesn’t let you go until you’re breathless from his kiss. Then he’ll take you to the bed and you’ll hate yourself afterwards.

Your thoughts are bitter as your mouth responds automatically to his own lips, to his tongue that finds its way into your unwillingly inviting mouth. 

At least the corset will make you breathless faster.

[sexycowpoke]

[Masterlist]

[Overwatch Masterlist]

Mccree Fluff Alphabet

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Well, this cowboy thinks everything of you is attractive... But if he needs to say what he’ll say your eyes. Those eyes are hyonotic and have attracted him since the first day he saw you. He says those are full of adrenaline and perfection. And the way you look at him. Damn. If he could. He’ll stay looking at those beautiful and playful eyes full of passion and love ‘til his last days.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Sometimes it comes to his mind. And he would love to have a family of his own. Especialy with you. He would love having little cowboys or cowgirls all over the house is his only dream. He wants to call his children with cowboys/cowgirls names. Lke Bonny or Cody. He’ll teach them ho to use a gun and he’ll buy them a nerf and a pony. But this doesn’t mean that your future child won’t be a pet. If it’s a dog. He’ll call him Jack Daniels and nobody will change his mind over it. Ever.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Ohh~. He loves cuddle as much as he loves his lovely serape (the red “scarf” he wears). Even more. You'll be cuddle in bed. On the sofa. On the chicken table. And when it’s cold you’ll share his serape and when it’s hot you’ll cuddle even in the pool. Everywere and everytime. He’s very romantic and very soft. And if you return after a long day he’ll go stright over you. Take you on bridal stile and take you in your shared bedroom for some confort cuddles. And he’ll never leave you so easly. Only for going to the bathroom. But that’s the only time. Btw he doesn’t mind if your the big spoon when you cuddle and snuggles. And touch hi hair while doing that. He’ll love you even more.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

They’re very romantic. And for the big flirt he is. He’ll take you to a walk on a beach or in a park. Even watching a movie and then both of you sleeping and spooning each other on the sofa or everywhere you were waching the movie. But. At the same time. Your dates will even be when your on mission together. Like. Your fighting some omnics or spying someone. For him they’re all dates. And when you spy and follow someone. For not getting caught. You two end up making out. Like. When the person looks at his back. Mccree will litteraly just pin you on a wall near you two and immediately starts kissing you... And you know what it happens if you weren't on mission👀. Ok I’m out *vaporizes*

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

You are my sunshine. You’re like the sun of his earth. The sugar of his sea. The yee on his haw.  You know what I mean. Everything. If he didn’t meet you he would never know what really love is. He can be himself when he’s around you. And he can fell loved after a very long time.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

As I said before. When you tow made eyes contact for the first time. You where the new supporter. And you already did show some ass while talking to Gabriel when he said you couldn’t help them. While you and Gabriel arguing. Jesse was practing with Genji. And when he hear you two fighting. He turns around. And BOOM. Love at first sight. He also stoped practing and come over you training defending you. Even if you were capable of that. When Gabriel knew that he lost the fight. He tells Mccre to show you the place. He didn’t even had the time to finish that Jesse said already yes and taking you by your hand while showing the place. And you two introduced yourself while he shows you around :)

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

O’course he is. He’s second name indead is gentle. Well. Actualy. His second name is deadeye but... Yeah... You know what I mean partner 👀 

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

He loves holdind your hand. It gives him protection. And he’ll find every excuse to stay close to you. Everyone. Like one time he said “Darling, it’s freezing... Can I hold your hand?”. He doesn’t even care that much about other people opinions. Cause the only things he thinks in this beautiful moment is you. Your beauty. Your future together.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

When he saw you the fisrt he was like “Shit, I’m in love” thing. He was very curios about you at first but when he started to know you well he was always more in love than before.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Sometimes. Mostly is when other people watch you from up and down. Others are when people are flirting with you. And when it happens he'll wrap hi arm around your waist and pull you closer.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

He has two mods:

This:

And this:

He's very passionate in both ways.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You said it at the same time. I know right? It happened the same day you two kissed forthe firt time. After you kissed both of you said those three beautiful words full of love and passion.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

His favourite memory is when he was on a mission. And you where at home. Since you missed him. A lot. You take his hat. That he forgets that morning. And one of his shirts. When he returns he see you on the sofa with one of his shirts and especially with his hat covering your beautiful sleeping face. He immediately takes a lot of photos and then takes you to your shared bedroom on bridal stile.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Yellow. You reminds him happiness an love. In fact. Sometimes he gifts you sunflowers :)

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Yes, and a lot. You want something? You already have it in less than a second. He treats you like a queen.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

His favourite non-modern thing to do with you is reading books before going to bed.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

He use mostly "Darling", "My love" ,"babe" and "Sunshine/Sunflower". But he calls you "Baby doll" or "Doll" too 👀

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Remember when I told you he loves cuddles? Yep. You'll cuddle on the sofa or in bed while cuddling and spooning each other. Talking about what happened the other day.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

When your sad he doesn't know much well what to do. But the first thing he'll do is hugging you and tell you your beautiful and noone will hurt you. If his sad he'll going to hug you from behind. Hiding his head on your shoulder. With one hand your going to though his hair. With the other one your taking one of his hand that are hugging you by your wrist. Telling him that it's fine and that you love him. While sometime kissing his forehead.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Everything. He just wants to be with you. Indeed he'll talk about what happened this days and other stuff. Obviously. Trying to make you smile.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

He always relax when you play with his hair. Most of the times he relax so much. That after five or ten seconds he's already sleeping on your shoulder or on your nap.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

He's proud of finding you and he loves to show everyone how you belong to. And you know what I mean 👀

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He proposes while on a mission. You were blessing everywhere. "Darling, please don't leave me now" "O'course I won't love" "If we can get out of this... Together...." "Would you like to be Ms. Mccree?" "*Couches*...I would really like that Jesse"

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

His song will be "Put your head on my shoulder" by Paul Anka slowed ver.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

O'course. He would love this. Especially after he encountered you. Cause before he didn't even think that he'll fall in love with someone. But then he meets you. And his plans changes.

Z Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

It'll be a dog. Like I said before. A boxer named Jack Daniels. And he'll be like a son. Especially to Jesse.

[This Fluff Alphabet is from here]

[caught-in-the-filter]

My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body. 

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

——

Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

[kirnet]

Alone Made of Ice (i)

Revan/Canderous. 2.8k words. Part 1 of a Revan novel rewrite

Underneath the deafening bustle of Coruscant’s Galactic Market, the frantic haggling in all of the languages of the Galactic Republic and the swelling sounds of speeders of all makes and models, nobody noticed a cloaked figure and their astromech droid passing through the sea of bodies. Plenty of people brought their droids to the market, and plenty more wore hoods that shadowed their face, some ornate, some tattered, and some, like the figure, perfectly ordinary. But not a single other individual in the market, or perhaps on the whole planet, commanded the same presence. Even as they remained silent, the crowd absentmindedly parted, giving them and their droid an open path to their destination. It was only after a few moments of bumping shoulders with strangers did the people in the crowd realize that they had even bunched up together. They would blink in confusion, or maybe yell at the people around them for invading their space, before rushing back in to fill the void.

Revan couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy the Market. She would go with Mission or Bastila whenever they wanted to peruse, and she was somewhat fond of people-watching, but the proximity of this magnitude left an uncomfortable itch under her skin. She may have once been a conqueror, surrounded by sycophants and vehement supporters, but in the two years since defeating Malak she had hardly left her apartment. Solitude couldn’t stab you in the back.

More often than not, Revan itched for a mask that she could barely remember.

But her business was essential, and her contact mostly insisted on meeting out in public, if only to get her out of the house. Despite her discomfort, she appreciated the thought. She could be borderline paranoid at times, though her past gave her every justification for that, but strolling through the cramped marketplace reminded her of the true state of her anonymity. Revan may be both nemesis and savior of the Republic, but the average citizen was only familiar with the tales of her scarred mask and carmine lightsaber. If anyone could recognize her through the bags under her eyes, they made no move to show it. 

T3 whistled happily behind her as they passed a stall overflowing with droid mods. 

“I’ll get you some on the way back,” she responded as she pulled her hood down lower. Even the droid was having a better time than her.

The Jedi had lectured her constantly about the Code, about the value of trust since her rocky redemption. Some days she could even be assed to nod along, but her instincts for survival were too sharp to take it all to heart. She trusted her crew and her droids, and that was all. Even her own mind was suspect. The Force swirled around her, watchful for any ill-intent or sudden actions from the crowd. 

Still, even with the borderline overstimulation of smell and sound and mentality, she paused at a small stall. An ornate red cloth was draped over the front, though Revan could barely see the pattern through the piles of fragrant burlap bags. An older Devaronian man with stunted horns tended to the shop, dutifully counting the credits a customer gave him before handing them two of the bags. Revan stepped up to the front, a sweet smell enveloping her senses as T3 bumped against her heel.

“What are these?” she asked in Devaronese. She picked up a bag as the vendor turned to her. It was a little larger than her hand, but it had a surprising heft.

“Candied fruit from the jungles of Devaron, mixed in a collection of native spices. It is best paired with-'' His friendly chattering trailed off as Revan lifted her head, his eyes widening to an almost comical degree. 

Maybe he recognized her, or maybe it was just the faint red around her pupils that never faded, or the myriad of scar tissue that set her face into a permanent scowl. Maybe she just looked like shit, the almost full week without solid sleep giving her a crazed look. Either way, she didn’t particularly care to hear his assessment. “Pairs well with what?”

He lifted a trembling finger to point at some bags to the side. “Tea. It’s loose leaf. Very earthy,” the vendor answered in Basic. He swallowed thickly. “I’ll give you fifteen percent off if you want both.”

Revan slowly brought her hand under her cloak. The vendor flinched slightly. She retrieved a handful of credits from the belt in her pouch, the full amount that the customer before her had paid, and set them down smoothly on the fabric before grabbing a bag of tea. “Thank you. Have a nice day.” T3 added his own farewell as they rejoined the crowd.

Maybe that is why so many Jedi avoided her during her rare visits to the Temple: her appearance. Mission had frequently allerted her to the fact that she didn’t blink often enough, and that she held eye contact too intensely, and the fact that she had a tendency of squaring her shoulders as she towered over people. All habits she had picked up during the wars, she supposed, though she couldn’t be sure. Mission had certainly thought it was more funny than anything, and the man she was about to meet had many of the same mannerisms. 

The jovial liveliness died down as the pair approached the outskirts of the Market. There were plenty of fine establishments that catered to tourists closer to the market square, but her contact always insisted on meeting at a grimy bar that served Coruscant’s ruffians and scugholes.

A fitting place, then, to meet Canderous Ordo.

The bell never chimed when the front door opened, as no one ever bothered to clean out the coagulated grease and cigarra smoke from its insides. Revan pulled off her cloak, and the patrons that had noticed her entrance immediately turned back to their drinks and pazaak games. Her visits may be infrequent, but the regulars knew to avoid her.

Canderous nursed a drink in a torn-up booth tucked into the corner, pretending that he hadn’t immediately clocked her presence as he swirled the amber liquid around. Revan slid into the opposite seat, dragging herself over the couple layers of tape holding it together as T3 situated himself underneath the table. Canderous raised a finger to signal to a waitress, and Revan dropped her new cargo onto the table. “You bringing me gifts now?”

“Candied fruit and earthy tea,” she answered flatly, already rooting into the bag of sweets. She plopped one into her mouth, her eyes rolling back slightly as she savored the new flavor. Delectable, she concluded after a second one. She would have to go back for more. “I have a kettle in my apartment, you know. The tea pairs nicely with the sweets.”

“I won’t let you be more of a recluse than you already are, Revan.” Canderous watched the display with open amusement, putting up no fight as she licked her fingers clean and snatched the drink from his hands. She downed it easily, but the waitress was already standing next to Canderous and setting a new one on the table. “And since when do you drink tea?”

Revan delicately set the empty glass on the waitresses’ tray and dismissed her with a polite nod. “I don’t, really, but-” Her brows furrowed as that spark of familiarity suddenly vanished. She hadn’t even realized that it was new information. “Somebody liked it. I drank it with somebody.” It was a struggle to keep the confusion out of her voice.

Of course Canderous heard it. He leaned forward on his meaty forearms, his pinky barely nudging Revan’s hand. “Malak, do you think?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” It would make the most sense, given their previous proximity, though she had no way of actually confirming that. Even after all this time, most of her memories were a blank void. There were bits and pieces, dangling Padawan braids and late nights spent studying ancient texts, but full scenes were lost to her. An affection that she couldn’t place haunted her whenever she thought of Malak, even after everything that conspired at the Star Forge. It was similar to the affection she felt when she thought of Mission, or Juhani, or any other member of her inner circle, though it was decidedly different for the man in front of her. 

Or maybe her Jedi reprogramming had betrayed her, creating figments of idealized companionship where there were none. A Sith Lord like Malak didn’t seem like someone who would drink tea, but Revan couldn’t judge. She certainly had a penchant for exotic desserts.

Revan pushed the bag of fruit across the table in a not-so-subtle command. With a shrug, Canderous ate one whole, chewing slowly to give her time to compose herself. “This is more than a social visit, is it? What’s up?”

It took Revan a few moments to realize that her hand was wrapped around one of her sabers, the one she had taken from Malak’s body and claimed for herself . She forced her hand to slide off of it, but the dread had already set in. Darkness, and then sudden light, pelting rain that bore down on her like shrapnel. A putrid green explosion. A smile. A steaming cup of tea. “Nightmares,” Revan finally managed. “I can’t make heads or tails of them. They might be premonitions, or memories.” Red-rimmed eyes, from past allegiances and exhaustion, flicked up to stare at Canderous. “I was hoping you could help rule out one of those possibilities.”

It was regrettable that this wasn’t one of their precursors to a penthouse rendezvous at her place, but Revan was desperate for any answers she could get. She hadn’t slept in blasted days. Every time she closed her eyes, even if it was just to blink, the same grim visuals would appear. Canderous leaned back, his drink forgotten as he regarded her. “Out with it.”

“Did the Mandalorians ever inhabit a planet with intense thunderstorms? Or perhaps it was the stage of a battle during the war?” She could feel the droplets of rain burning through her skin like acid. “It’s dark-” she paused to scoff at the unintended joke. “Both in light and in the Force. It feels so familiar, so vivid.”

Canderous mulled over the question, his brows dropping heavily over his eyes. “Not that I know of.” He ran his calloused finger around the rim of his glass. “You don’t think it has something to do with your Sith days?”

If Revan was forced to pick one thing that drew her to Canderous, it would be the absolutely callous way that he referred to her known past. Nothing infuriated her more than people dancing around the truth, or claiming that she was something she was not. She had been Jedi, and then she was Sith, and now she was some broken amalgamation of the two. The facts that she had about herself were too precious to throw away for something as trivial as feelings or remorse. Canderous understood that, and he had enough respect for her and her achievements to speak freely. 

“I don’t know.” It was always the same kriffing answer, the only one she could ever give. “Perhaps. It’s not the Rakata homeworld, that’s for sure.” She was under the impression that the Star Forge had amplified what the war had already corrupted, and that that was the reason that she and Malak turned their ire onto the Republic. Even after seeing the effects of their conquest firsthand, Revan was never satisfied with the answer that they had simply decided to attack simply for war’s sake. Maybe this netherworld contained answers. 

She pushed ahead, her long middle finger tapping absentmindedly on the chipped table. “There’s more. A planet, an explosion of green. But that must be-”

“Malachor,” she and Canderous concluded in unison. Revan may not remember the actual battle, but she had spent the last two years scouring the Archives for any information about her past. The Battle of Malachor, the Council had decided, marked the moment that she had fully descended to the dark side. Even after reading the accounts, she couldn’t bring herself to be too remorseful. She had eliminated the Mandalorian threat, just as she had set out to do.

Canderous grabbed his drink and knocked it back, grimacing slightly as his eyes trailed around the collection of thugs seated around the bar. “Of all the things you could forget, Malachor shouldn’t have been one of them. It just doesn’t seem possible.” He gestured to the other patrons with his head. Many were dressed similarly to Revan, concealed in the darkness, but a few had their arms exposed, different clan tattoos boldly branded on their skin. “Plenty of people would kill to forget the horror that you and your general wrought. Not to say that we should. We’ll need to remember the last Mand’alor’s failures if we are ever going to rebuild.”

Revan agreed, but something about the statement made her pause. “What general?”

“The General. General Cavira. The one who fired the Mass Shadow Generator.” Canderous tilted his head to the side. “Everyone who was there knows of her.”

A smile. A cup of tea. Revan leaned forward, her unkempt hair falling into her eyes. “There’s no mention of a General Cavira in the Jedi reports.” She punctuated every word with a tap of her finger. “Someone scrubbed her name out,” she realized with dawning dread. “Someone doesn’t want me to find her.”

Why would she want to find her in the first place?

Cavira. There was… a feeling of friendliness. A flash of white. Malak’s too-loud laugh. But there was nothing she could place, not even a shadowy silhouette at the edge of her memory. Revan jumped, the tiniest degree, of course, as Canderous grabbed her hand, but the furrow of his brow told her that he noticed. She entangled her fingers in his and forced herself to focus on the feeling as her mind tried to wander. There was a low whistle from under the table, and T3 bumped against her toe. “Maybe the Jedi are worried that she’ll spark your memories,” he mumbled after a few moments. “If she’s still alive, that is.”

Her mind was moving faster than a ship in hyperspace, concocting theories and discarding them within the same instance. “I need a favor,” she piped up suddenly after a short eternity of silence.

“Just name it.” Always dependable.

“I need you to talk to some other Mandalorians.” They both turned to look at the scattered tattoos at the bar. “Maybe some off-world Mandalorians. Anyone who might know something about the storm planet, or about General Cavira’s whereabouts.” She retracted her hand and grabbed another candied fruit. “She might have even been killed at Malachor. If anyone claims that they did it, I want to know.” 

Canderous sighed, but he pulled himself out of the booth, awkwardly maneuvering his legs around T3. “You certainly remember how to boss people around. I want something in return.” Revan hummed, her brows raising slightly. The taste of the candy washed away any anxious bile that had settled in her throat. He made his way over to her and cupped her face, his grisled fingers trailing along her cheekbone. Normally she would shy away from such a public display of affection, but she leaned into his hand. It was the least she could do after giving him that tall order. “Does the offer still stand?” He nodded with his chin towards the bag of tea.

“Of course it does.” She gently grabbed his wrist, holding it still as she pressed a chaste kiss to his palm. “After you get me my information.”

“So demanding.” Canderous bowed down, his wide frame engulfing her vision as he bumped his forehead against hers. Revan allowed her eyelids to flutter close, flashes of lightning fighting to break into her vision. They stayed there for a few seconds, scarred and wrinkled skin pressed together, before Canderous slowly pulled away, electricity crackling through the air. 

She let his hand slip out of hers. “Don’t keep me waiting,” she whispered. 

There was nothing else to be said. Canderous gave her one last look, a certain twinkle in his eye, before turning and striding purposefully out of the bar. The blast door closed behind him, trapping Revan in the stale air. With a sigh, she flopped back against the ratty booth, too drained to glare at any of the patrons who glanced her way.

Revan could still feel the heat radiating from the seat across from her. She wanted to sink into it, sink into him, but an overactive nervous system wouldn’t entertain the idea. First, she needed rest, and for that, she needed answers. Maybe she would go home and learn to like tea. She should have asked if it was caffeinated.

But first, she needed another drink.

[yamithediaperdork]

Rewarded as a bully deserves (HunterXhunter)

Killua was in a rotten mode as he headed for the closet park in town, huffing and growling over him and Gon having a fight.

It was just so stupid! Here he was, a deadly assassin and for the 6th time this month they'd woken up in a bed drenched with pee. Lord knows Gon was trying to be kind and supportive but really, who could blame him for getting tired of waking up soaked?

Gon wanted Killua to start wearing 'protection' at night to bed, but the deadliest bed wetter alive refused to go that far, he had already comprised and let Gon put rubber sheets on the bed so hotel staffs stopped giving them a hard time hadn't he?

In any case they had taken a shower and gotten dressed, and Gon asked Killua to go for a walk by himself and think about what he had said.

'Screw that nonsense.. I'm go and cheer myself up the best way I know how!' Killua thought as he came to the playground area of the park. Nothing lifted his spirits like a little bit of harmless bullying.

Scanning the play area Killua spotted a good first target. a 5-6 year old with dark tanned skin and a black brush cut was digging away in the sandbox, making a moat around a sad looking sand castle he'd made with one hand, while licking away on a mint chocolate ice cream cone with the other.

spotting a plastic bucket with some water in it for the moat, Killua smirked and strolled over.

"Nice fort little guy." He said sarcastically, getting the boys attention and the kid gave him a smile.

"thanks! I was working on it for like ever!" The little guy said, apparently not recognizing the tone.

"Heh, Would be a shame if something happened to it though." Killua chuckled. "you did get house insurance against giants right?"

"Uhhh what?"

"well what if some big mean old giant.." Killua started, stepping into the sand box now. "Just came up..and did THIS!" Killua asked and stomped his foot down on top of the fort, snickering as the little guys eyes went wide.

"HEY! WHY'D YA DO THAT?!?" the little guy yelled, starting to stand up and with tears welling in his eyes.

"Because i'm better, stronger and therefore better then you. Little dorks have to get put in their place." Killua sneer and then grabbed the arm holding the ice cream cone and make the kid smuch it onto his hair. "Geez you little dorks are SUCH messy eaters!"

The boy squealed as the sudden cold on his head and how icky it felt.

"S-Stop this! I-I" the boy tried to make his threat clear but he was also trying not to full on bawl.

"heyyy don't worry about it, I'll help you clear up!" Killua laughed, then snatched up the bucket with the water in it and dumped it on the boys head, then tugged it down over the kids eyes.

"Hey, that's a good look for you, but it's missing something." Killua said and sneered, then turned the boy around and tugged back the kid's short then tanked up on the poor little guys briefs.

"Awww, a fan of sailor moon I see!" Killua teased and hooked the back of the briefs on the back of the bucket, then booted the kid in the ass, sending him sprawling out of the sand pit.

"Alright, I had my fun, get the fuck out of here before I decide to be mean." Killua said cheerfully.

the thought that all of this had been Killua being nice light a fire under the boy's butt, and he ran/crawled off, not even trying to remove the helmet or pick the wedgie out of his butt.

"well, I feel better already." Killua commented to himself, though he noticed a few other kids and adults glaring at him.

"Oh by all means, anyone who wants to try and punish me.. " Killua said, going from a happy goofy look to his slash smile. "Step up."

no one did.

After scaring two more little guys into give him all their ice cream money Killua was in the middle of getting a cone (Double chocolate mint just like the dork had had, it had looked good after all) when he heard a familiar voice.

"That's him Carlo! that's the bully!" cried the dork from before.

Turning around slowly Killua smirked, Carlo was clearly the dork's big brother, and while he was a little bit taller then Killua he had a slim build and the same tanned skin, though his hair was a bit longer while still being short.

"Ok mister, I'm going to give you ONE chance to say sorry to my little brother, and get him a replacement cone. If you don't.." Carlo said, crossing his eyes and glaring at Killua with a death glare.

Killua, who gave those out with ease froze for a tiny fraction of a second, and his bladder twitched, but he shook it off and took a long lick of his ice cream to show he wasn't scared, and to give him time to regain his composure.

"What? If i don't you'll do -what?-" Killua asked. "Try and fight me and end up hanging from the teeth ball pole by your undies? I mean, I'm mostly in a good mood now but if it's a ass kicking you want." Killua sneered.

Carlo rolled his eyes, then smirked.

"You know..I've been in a bit of a funk lately, and beating up bullies always makes me free better.. so thanks." He said.

Killua raised a eyebrow to thank but before he could react, Carlo was right next to him, and much like Killua had done before, taken a gripe on the arm with the ice cream cone.

On small difference though, Carlo wasn't going to make him put it in his hair and had tugged open the front of Killua's shorts and undies.

"W-Wait d-don't!" Killua shrieked, his plea fell on deaf ears though and he was somehow powerless to over come the taller boy power.

As such, a high pitch wail was heard as Killua's twig and berries got a double mint chocolate coating.

Killua's eyes crossed and a cartoonish image flashed in his mind as it felt like his private had just been transformed into two ice cubes and a Icicle, then there was sudden relief and warmth, making him stick his tongue out the side of his mouth in blessed relief.. at least until he noticed the warmth was traveling down his legs.

"heh, Carlo the bully wet himself!" The little guy pointed out, snickering and getting out his phone to take pictures.

"I can see that buddy, Aww, did the cold cold ice cream make da big bad bully go wee wee?" Carlo asked, folding his arms over his chest and baby talking to Killua.

"i..I uh.." Killua stammered, Sure, he was no stranger to soaking his pants at NIGHT while he was asleep, but this was a new one for him! "I..didn't go tinkle?" He finished lamely.

"Rightt then whats that making a puddle on the ground right now and staining your shorts." Carlo asked.

"..I don't have to answer that! In fact, I've had enough of false accusation's and I'm leaveing!" Killua huffed and turned around to do just that, but also exposed his back to his new found enemy.

Carlo, knowing that Killua had wedgie his little brother Hector, moved in and with on hand tugging Killua's shorts back the other grabbed the waist brand of Killua's Barney briefs and lifted up before the poor hunter even had a chance to fight back.

Killua's mouth opened as if he was screaming, and while dogs howled in pain no one with human ears could of heard the noise coming from his mouth, it was that high pitched.

Carlo smirked at the response and said "Awww, Barney briefs? that's just soo..fitting! But I wonder how strong they are?" then adding his other hand to the back of the waist band even as Killua looked over his shoulder and shook his head no, bringing his hands together pleading, Yanked the soon to be ex-hunter off the ground by a good 2 inches if now more and dangled him there as Killua turned pale and went blank eyed.

"Oh wow, those must be reinforced Carlo!" Hector marveled, recording this all for YouTube.

"I know, kinda a shame, if they weren't they'd of snapped by now and he'd know SOME relief." Carlo chuckled then turned him and Killua better into frame for the camera.

"hi I'm Carlo and this is a big bully who tried to pick on my little brother..Huh, never caught his name.. Hey wedgie boy, whats your name?" Carlo asked and holding Killua up with just one arm delivered a hard swat to Killua's buns, which also ended up making his shorts slide down around his ankles showing off his pee stained undies.

"A-AH! M-Mah name is Killua Zoldyck and I'm super super sowwy! Pwease stop!" Killua begged and pleaded, in a voice that sounded like he'd sucked on some helium.

"I dunno Hector, what do YOU think? Has Killua had enough?" Carlo asked, and Killua shot the boy he'd bullied a pleading look, bottom lip trembling and tears welling up.

"Hmmm you know I really think..that you should use him like a yo-yo till his undies snap. THEN I'll forgive him!" Hector giggled.

With both hands on the waist band Carlo went to work even as Killua started to blubber and cry for his mommy.

It ended up taking a record breaking 55 bounces before Killua's undies snapped, and by that time Killua had gone to la-la. with his undies snapped and ripped off off he was too out of it to notice that he was currently face down butt up with nothing covering his der rear and his bubble butt and little package showing.

"oh man.. that explains why he was in such a bad mood.." Hector giggled, having turned off the camera for now but uploading the video. (after all, even with a member as small of Killua's the mods on YouTube would of removed the video)

"man, makes me feel like I picked on a over sized toddler. feeling a little guilty." Carlo said, though in truth he wasn't really.

Killua's shorts were gone by this point as the boys who's ice cream money he had stolen had retrieved them, and after finding some of the cash and taking Killua's wallet, had tossed them in a bin meant for dog waste.

"Well, nothing we can do now, we don't have any spare pants for him." Hector pointed out.

"Well not quite..remember that weird vendor we passed on the way in?" Carlo said, digging into his pocket and pulling out some bill's.

"Heh.. you don't mean.." Hector asked.

"A yup. be a good boy and run and get widdle Killua something to wear." Carlo said, handing the money over and keeping a eye on 'sleeping beauty' while Hector ran off.

Killua was having a wonderful dream about having a endless buffet of candy and chocolates and it was so nice after what must of been a nightmare where he was tormented and bullied beyond belief.

He was slowly waking up and rolling over to sit up and rubbing his eyes. "Nggggh Heyyy Gon, you wouldn't believe the night..mare..I.." Killua started to say then opened his eyes, seeing Carlo and a semi crowd all around.

"Welcome back to the land of the living tiny!" Carlo said.

Killua huffed at that and stood up, about to tell Carlo off, he wasn't THAT much shorter when a breeze blew and he noticed how much he felt it on his on buns.

Looking down his face went crimson and Killua grabbed at his shirt and tugged it down, trying to cover up his privates.

"W-WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY UNDIES? MY SHORTS?!" Killua yelled, getting roars of laughter from the crowd.

"Well your undies were totally wreaked so we tossed them." Carlo said, nodding over to a waste bin for normal trash. "As for your shorts, there was a couple of boys you really seemed to annoy earlier and after getting back they're ice cream money with interest, they tossed them in the dogie waste bin..I doubt you'll want them back."

"but..but.. I can't go around with my ding dong on display!" Killua whined and whimpered.

"That's true. don't worry, I already thought of that shrimp." Carlo said and nodded behind Killua.

Killua turned to look and there was Hector, the brat he wished he'd never of picked on, running back with a pack of...DIAPERS!?

Killua whimpered loudly, a spurt of pee coming out and soaking the bottom of his shirt as he turned back to Carlo with pleading eyes.

"Please no! anything but diapers!" Killua whimpered. "I'm not a baby!"

"heh, Are you SURE about that?" Carlo asked, looking down and making Killua's gaze follow to the damp spot on Killua's t-shirt.

"i..but..that was because.." Killua mewed then shrieked and jumped, grabbing at his bun's as Hector came in range and walloped Killua's baby butt.

Ironically when he came down he landed in Carlo's waiting arms, like a blushing bride.

"Awww how cute, but you really think I'm gonna save you?" Carlo asked, then dropped Killua onto the hard ground and onto his tender buns.

"S-Stop being s-so mean to me!" Killua whined, on the verge of anther crying fit.

"Sheesh, I should of gotten him a paci." Hector said, handing the pack of diapers over to Carlo then tugging the shirt up and off of Killua, using it as a tear rag then tossing it out.

"Oh wow, Lookie here Killua~" Carlo said, reading the pack then holding it in front of Killua's face then read from the back. " 'New little poopers punishment diapers are perfect for your so called big kid who refuses to use the potty! extra thick to ensure they waddle, it comes with a embarrassingly babyish nursery print we promise to have your little stinker blushing bright red. with a special stink guard you and the big baby won't have to deal with their stink!' Heh wow, Oh look, they offer alt versions, that's something to keep in mind if you need more lessons."

Killua meanwhile was looking at the front of the package, showing sobbing pre teens in the bulky diapers and smirking parents.

"I-I changed my mind! I'll go home naked!" Killua whined.

"Nonsense! what kind of person would I be if I let you go without the diaper you CLEARLY need!" Carlo said, as if he was doing Killua a favor. "This is gonna go down one of two ways loser. You can either lay back and suck your thumb while I put as many of these as I can on you, or I can kick your ass, knock you senseless..then put as many of these as I can on you. Either way, you're going back to diapers. YOUR choice."

Killua pouted, started to ball a fist up.. then sighed and laid back, popping his thumb in his mouth and turning away from the crowd as laughter and taunts rang out.

"Loser!"

"Big baby!"

"Wuss!"

Carlo was a little disappointed that Killua decided not to fight back, but he had to admit seeing the wanna be bully accepting his big baby fate was kinda cute.

ripping the back open open Carlo smirked, dispute being the size of a pack that should be able to hold 16 diapers, there was only 6 of them in the pack and he pulled on of the massive things out, making sure everyone could see all the rattles and paci's and teddy bears and the like all over the diaper then unfolded it.

"Ok Shrimp, Butt up! If i have to lift you up I'm giving your buns a swat!" He said and wasn't shocked when Killua's butt almost levitated up in a instant to avoid any more punishment. "good boy!"

getting the almost pillow like diaper under the loser's butt, he gently pushed Killua's butt back down and smirked as Killua loudly sucked on his thumb, getting drool going down his chin as Carlo pulled the front up nice and snug and then taped it up.

"Welcome back to babyhood Shrimp." Hector said, leaning down and snickering, and making Carlo beam with pride.

In the end they only manged to double diaper Killua, the diapers were just too massive and they ripped a third one trying to get it on the babfied brat.

After he was all nice and snug in his diapers Carlo told Killua to try and get up and to Killua's massive shame, not only could he NOT get up on his own, but he couldn't even get close to bringing his knees together.

The fourth time he just plopped down on his butt trying to get up, Carlo rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"-sigh- Ok Shrimp, let me help you." Carlo said as if he was doing Killua a favor.

Holding out his hands Killua took them and got yanked up to his feet, legs wobbling as he tried to center his balance.

"heh, you might need a bit to get used to waddling in there. Try waddling over to that tree over there." Carlo said, pointing to a tree that would of only been 10 seconds away normally, but with this massive bulk taped around his hips it might as well been a mile away.

Still, Killua knew better then to argue at this point and took a wobbly step, then anther, and smirked, thinking he was getting the hand of it.

'I got this! I can-' He was thinking when his fourth step went wrong and with a loud yelp Killua plopped on his butt, a shocked look on his face but not hurt considering the thick padding under his butt.

"Awww, widdle baby Killua doesn't know how to walk!" Hector giggled, getting more laughter from the crowd.

"yeah, guess you better stick to crawling shrimp..you CAN at least do THAT can't you?" Carlo asked, tilting his head and smirking.

Killua huffed, he wanted to try and walk again but knew he wasn't getting any help and there just wasn't anything to help him get up to his feet with around. He toyed with getting in the crawling position and pushing himself up THAT way but had a feeling while he'd be in the middle of it Carlo would just smack his butt and send him face first into the dirt.

getting on all fours and trying to drown out the snickers and flashes of camera phones going off, Killua rolled around and got on all fours and then slowly crawled over towards the tree, glad that he had been right that he could crawl at least.

'at least i didn't have to do a diaper scoot across the ground, knowing my luck it would of ripped apart the diaper and I'd of gotten a spanking.' Killua thought with a sulk as he reached the tree.

"Well well, at least you can crawl, I was worried I was gonna have to carry you over." Carlo snickered. "Now use the true shrimp and get to your feet, and shake that diapered ass and sing us a song about what a big dumb baby you are and how happy you are to be back in diapers."

"..Your joking right?" Killua asked, jaw dropping. "There is NO WAY in hell I'm gonna d-" he started started to say but Carlo cracked the knuckles on his right fist and and light tapped his fist into his open left hand.

"You SURE about that?" Carlo asked.

"..W-what If I can't think of any lyrics because I'm a big dumb baby?" Killua squeaked out, flooding his pampers.

"I'm sure you'll think of something. It's ok if your dumb is lame though, your just a diaper baby shrimp." Carlo said.

Grunting with effort, Killua pulled himself to his feet, hands braced on the three and looked over his shoulder, the crowd was watching with delight and he trying to think of something, anything to sing.

"I...I'm big baby Killua and I'm so happy.." he started, wiggling his diaper, shutting his eyes.

"Because a big strong boy put me in a nappy!

Diapers are totally wear I belong!

so I hope all of you love my big dumb baby song!

I thought I was a bully but I'm just a dweeb

filling my diapers up with pee pee

If i ask for undies look at me like I'm a nut

then make baby poop with a punch to the gut!"

The act of singing the song and keep his eyes closed so he didn't have to see the crowd (though he could hear them laughing and cheering him on) had Killua's body getting into it and he was shaking his diaper booty like there was no tomorrow.

"Stupid babies like me we don't need to think!

we just sit in our diaper and super stink!

Watch me prove that as a baby I'm the best

I'm gonna fill my diapers with a super big mess!"

Killua's eyes shot open at that, had he really just promised that!? worse, his body was again moving on it's own accord and he was squatting down now, grunting and pushing, puffing out his cheeks.

'no no no no! why can't I stop myself! GOOOON! HELP!' Killua thought.

"Killua? whats going on?" Came Gon's voice.

Killua almost didn't believe it at first, it was just he wanted Gon to save him that he heard the voice of his boyfriend! But no, a look over his shoulder showed Gon standing there, eyebrow raised.

"G-Gon you have to s-save me! I-I-I.." Killua tried to tell Gon about what had happened, how he'd been victimized but before he could get the story out, something else came out in the back of his diaper. "I'M POOPING!" Killua cried out.

if the muffled farts hadn't of been hint enough, the back of the THICK diapers bloating out and getting even bigger would of given it away, and despite the diaper's boast of super stink guard, Killua's backed up stinky load (he hadn't gone in 5 days) was filling the area with a rotten smell, driving part of the crowd away.

Gon for his part just held his nose and then shook his head.

"Really Killua? You won't wear diapers to bed despite being a bed wetter, but you'll load them in public..Your coming with me mister man." Gon scolded and walked over.

"Um.. Should we tell him-" hector started to ask Carlo, holding his own nose.

"Nah, it's better this way. you can get out of the area of effect though, I'm gonna go say by by to baby Killua."

Walking over Gon was scolding Killua and swatting his boyfriends mushy butt as Killua whined and whimpered, sucking his thumb and still going.

"Hi, I'm Carlo...I was watching your little guy today." Carlo said, holding out a hand.

"Oh, well, thanks. I'm sure he was a handful." Gon said, giving Killua a look then shaking Carlo's hand.

"well he wasn't that bad. it was a lot of fun actually. anyways, here's the rest of the diapers Killua got and asked me to put on him, and if you even need a babysitter, give me a call." Carlo said.

"Heh, i just might, give me your number." Gon said, taking out his phone and handing it to Carlo, one hand still mushing Killua's tush.

"there we go. anyways, you two have fun! Byeeee baby Killua! you were LOTS of fun to play with." Carlo said and waved bye to the stinky big baby.

"Killua, don't be rude!" Gon scolded.

Killua whimpered, knowing there was no way he was living this down, he was gonna be in diapers for at LEAST a month..and knew it was pointless to try and tell the truth now.

Sliding his thumb out of his mouth as he finished loading his diaper, he gave a weak wave to Carlo and in a small voice said

"Bye bye."

The end

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 19/?)

Chapter 19: The Missing Android

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

The Detroit Police Department had yet to make any substantial progress on the murder that occurred at AlphaBio a few weeks back, before another murder case hit their desks.

Connor stepped past the holographic caution tape into the building where their crime scene was located, immediately noticing the smell of blood was heavy in the air. In response, he turned his scent receptors down from standard to low. A body was sprawled out on the floor, cheek pressed into the pool of blood puddled beneath them.

"Nolin Greene," Officer Wilson stated when he saw Connor walk in. "M.E. estimated dead less than six hours."

Connor nodded at him before scanning Greene's body with his optical unit. He was 52 years old, had never been married, and was previously employed at Cyberlife as one of their esteemed programmers.

Even without scanning the man's corpse, it was obvious he had died from multiple gunshot wounds. One prominent bullet hole left a gaping wound in the back of his head, likely just to ensure he was dead, considering he had a few on his torso in addition.

Hank rounded the corner with a sigh. "All the security cameras were offline. Haven't been since pre-rev," he explained, approaching Connor.

He waited until Officer Wilson stepped away to lean into Connor with his arms crossed. "What did they make here?" Hank asked quietly.

"They used to generate code for androids operating systems and protocols," Connor explained smoothly, matching Hank's hushed tone. "All android manufacturing has been put to a halt. He had no reason to be here."

"Good point," Hank said lowly. "Would they have kept anything here?"

"Considering the audits Cyberlife financers are going through, I would imagine this place was-... scrubbed clean, so to speak," Connor replied, briefly glancing around the office space. Judging by the dust pileup and the damage to one of the windows, this place had likely sat abandoned for months.

"You think it's related to AlphaBio?" Hank asked the android. "Chips were stolen from that plant. This facility creates code. That's a dangerous combination," he observed.

Connor gave Hank an agreeing look before eyeing the room again. Officers had brought in crime scene lights to cast out the darkness, and a flashlight was on the floor, labeled as evidence. It was next to Greene's body and had his fingerprints on it, powered off likely due to dead batteries. It didn't require any detective skills to see the power was cut off completely to the building.

"Greene was likely here to meet someone," Connor observed. "Who made the 911 call?"

Officer Wilson walked back in, careful not to step in any of the evidence. "An android apparently," he answered. "The call is saved in the case file."

"I'll pull it up now," Connor stated, using his HUD to pull up the case files remotely. "Would you like to listen, Hank?" he offered, eyes staring blindly ahead as his focus was elsewhere.

"Go for it," Hank said gruffly.

Connor's lips didn't move, but the sounds came from his mouth. Hank had seen him use his vocal processor like a speaker before; but, he never quite got used to it, and still found it very bizarre to see Connor look dead in the face while making noises that weren't his voice.

"911. What's your emergency?" the dispatcher asked.

Officer Wilson, who had never seen Connor do that before, stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the android in shock.

"My friend has been shot. I'm at-" a feminine voice followed. Seeing as she was an android, making the call with her internal processor, no outside noises could be heard, and there was no way to identify what made her suddenly stop talking.

The recorded 911 call continued in silence for a few more seconds before the android disconnected, giving dispatchers just enough time to locate the GPS coordinates from the call.

Connor stopped the recording and turned to Hank, his expressionless face returning to normal. He ignored Officer Wilson's concerned look.

"The android didn't block her GPS coordinates; so, she definitely wanted to be found," he explained to the lieutenant.

"She could have been the killer? Guy used to work at Cyberlife," Hank suggested thoughtfully. "Pissed off android?"

"Possibility," Connor acknowledged, nodding at the older detective. "However, she did identify him as her friend..."

The android trailed off, using his HUD to run a background check on Nolin Greene. "He belongs to no clubs, publicly, anyway, and has been unemployed since Cyberlife closed down. His former boss still has a primary residence in Detroit."

"Think he's worth a visit?" Hank offered more so than asked. "Let's go."

"I can drive," Connor offered, following the older detective as he headed for the exit.

"Fuck no," Hank immediately declared.

"Are you sure you can afford another speeding ticket?" the android challenged, some tease in his tone.

"I'm not gonna get another speeding ticket," Hank retorted fiercely, climbing into the driver's seat. He eyed Connor as the android shimmied into the passenger seat.

"Keep it up and your ass is walking," he threatened in a tone that Connor had grown rather accustomed to. It sounded sincere, but the android could tell the difference.

"Whatever you say, detective," Connor uttered, knowing full well his relaxed tone and stoic expression would irritate the older detective further.

Hank only grumbled in response.

...

...

...

Arthur Torres lived in a nice house in the posh, suburban side of town. He didn't seem at all surprised to find detectives at his door; however, he couldn't seem to bring himself to stop staring at Connor with blatant distrust and fear.

"You were a head programmer at Cyberlife for years," Hank stated, reciting information Connor had filled him in during their ride over. They had decided to let Hank lead with the likelihood that the man would be untrusting of Connor.

That seemed to be a very accurate assumption.

"Yes," Torres acknowledged Hank's statement.

"One of your former subordinates, Colin Greene, was murdered last night."

Torres was a skittish looking individual, and completely failed to maintain composure at the news. His hands were digging into his lap and he was struggling to keep still, fidgeting in his seat. Both the detectives doubted it was concern over Greene's livelihood, or lack of.

"Was it an android?" he asked, confirming their suspicions of his intentions.

Hank decided to ignore that question. "Greene's body was found at one of Cyberlife's office spaces, where programmers worked on their operating systems," the older detective explained. "We were hoping you could tell us why he would be there."

Connor decided to wear a cold look while he stood there, next to the couch where Hank had parked himself. The android was standing with perfect posture, arms crossed elegantly behind his back. It was clear that Torres was afraid of him. If he was being honest, he was taking advantage of that.

"Must have been the office where we worked," Torres offered quietly, trying to avoid Connor's piercing gaze. "I can't imagine why. The place was cleared out months ago. Did you ask Maria?"

Hank's brow lowered slightly. "Who?"

"Maria. She was a KL900 placed at our office. Nolin had reconfigured her so that she could test our codes. After the-" Torres' eyes flickered to Connor with uncertainty. "-revolution, he took her in - let her live with him."

Before Hank could utter another word, Torres continued, suddenly eager to run his mouth. "She had a lot of our incomplete code saved. I warned him it was dangerous to keep her."

The older detective looked down at his cellphone, that had vibrated quietly while Torres yapped. It was a text from Connor, reading, "the voice on the 911 call matches that model."

Hank tucked his phone back into his coat pocket. "What was their relationship like?"

"Well-" Torres began. "I suppose-... She was unique. He had modded her greatly - well beyond her manufactured purpose. I think he saw her as his own creation, in a way."

Again, before Hank could inquire further, Torres started up again. "She's missing, isn't she?"

Connor spoke up this time. "Are you suggesting she is somehow responsible?" His tone was calm, collected, almost polite, even; however, that was likely even more frightening than if he spoke with anger.

"I-" Torres stammered, eyes briefly flickering up to meet Connor's before immediately shifting back to the older detective. It was bizarre to think that this spineless man was once a lead programmer for Cyberlife.

"You can't think of any reason Greene would turn up dead in your old office?" Hank asked, maintaining the good cop persona he had taken up during this discussion.

"I can't think of why he would be there at all," Torres insisted.

"I would advise you offer something substantial," Connor warned, his tone cold and unyielding. "As of right now, you are our number one suspect."

"W-what?" Torres stammered, his panicked eyes falling on the android. "I haven't spoken to him since we were shut down. What motive could I possibly have?"

Connor's brown eyes remained unreadable, cold and robotic. That seemed to make Torres more uncomfortable than expressing valid emotion. "You said it yourself: he had access to incomplete code. Perhaps he knew something you didn't want getting out. So, you shut him up."

Torres' eyes landed on Hank, his gaze silently pleading, as if he expected Hank to stop Connor. Instead, the older detective wore a faint smirk. "He's got a point."

"No! I would never!" Torres defended himself loudly. "Y-you need to leave. I'm calling my lawyer."

...

...

...

"God, I love when those rich assholes lawyer up," Hank groaned as he climbed into his car. "It's like crying to mommy and daddy."

Connor slid into the passenger seat, a sour look on his face. "I pushed too hard. We probably could have gotten more out of him," he said apologetically.

"Nah," Hank retorted gruffly, silencing Connor's regrets. "We got the only useful thing out of him."

Hank pulled out of the street with a little more force than was necessary, mainly because he wanted to cause a fuss in the posh neighborhood. He could see the neighbors poking their heads out, rich and bored with nothing better to do than gossip. Hank's vintage car screamed detective or organized crime, and no in between.

"Let's check Greene's place. Maybe you can find something to help you locate this android," Hank suggested.

Greene's neighborhood wasn't as posh as Torres'; but, it was still nice, a little noisier with families out and about enjoying the weather. The warrant request had already been received and an electronic key had been sent over to Connor. He used the interface on his hand to let them inside.

The detectives walked around carefully, taking turns examining rooms for clues. The place was nicely furnished and impeccably clean. An android definitely lived here. If there was anything Connor could stereotype androids for, it was cleanliness.

There were a few photos hung up on the wall in the living room. The KL900 in the photos was likely Maria. She was an ordinary looking KL900, everything factory issued. Most of the photos were likely her at the Cyberlife programming facility.

There was one photo of just her and Nolin Greene together. She was wearing civilian clothes and her LED was removed. Their smiles suggested the relationship was a good one.

One of the bedrooms could easily be identified as Maria's room. There was no bed, but a desk with a charging station and a computer with an android interfacing tool in place of a mouse and keyboard. A quick scan of the room showed almost no fingerprints, except for a few on the door handle and door frame, which Connor immediately scanned as Nolin Greene's.

Hank was looking over a study that was likely Nolin's. The dark, stained wood desk was enough of a giveaway without all the golf memorabilia decorating the wall behind it. There was a laptop plugged into the charger. He figured CSI would pick it up later.

"Still waiting on that warrant for phone records!?" Hank called out.

Connor called back, "affirmative!"

"Damn," he grumbled to himself. "What's the holdup?"

The two detectives rendezvoused in the kitchen, exchanging disgruntled looks.

"No signs of a struggle," Hank observed.

"It wasn't a robbery. There aren't any fingerprints in the house not belonging to Greene," Connor explained. "The perpetrator left Greene's wallet and keys on his body... It's almost as if Greene was just... in the way."

The android looked away for a moment, staring off blindly as he searched Greene's employee folder again from Cyberlife's records. There was nothing in there about Maria, unsurprisingly. There were thousands of KL900's in circulation; so, there was no point in searching registered android records.

"Ya' thinking Greene wasn't the target?" Hank suggested.

"Assuming Torres wasn't giving us the runaround," Connor added on, setting a pondering gaze on the lieutenant, "Maria could have been the target; but... who would know that an ordinary looking KL900 has Cyberlife codes?"

"Someone who used to work for Cyberlife," Hank answered.

"It leads us back to Torres," Connor said sourly.

"He wasn't the only one that got bit in the ass," the older detective corrected him. "Lot's'a people out'a work. Lot's'a people facing lawsuits... and lot's'a people losing money. Oldest reason in the book."

"We need those phone records," Connor stated fiercely.

"I'm gonna call CSI. Get them on these damn computers," Hank stated, pulling out his cell phone.

"I could-"

"No."

...

...

...

After a long day of field work, Hank, Officer Wilson, Officer Miller, and Detective Collins gathered around a food truck a few blocks from the police station. It was already dark out and the street lights were illuminating the cityscape.

Connor decided to join them.

"You wouldn't fucking believe-" Officer Miller explained, an excited look in his eyes. "I thought this son of a bitch was gonna clock me. Connor came jumping over the roadblock and slam-dunked that motherfucker to the ground like this was WWE."

Detective Collins nearly chocked on his drink, doubling over with laughter. Hank was grinning, having witnessed that, and plenty of other amazing feats from the android, firsthand.

Officer Wilson nudged the android's shoulder. "Damn. Where the fuck were you when that crackhead tried to hit me with a baseball bat?" he teased, shoulders trembling with laughter and a wild, bright smile on his face.

Connor looked bashful, a crooked smile forming on his face.

"That's how you fucked up your hand," Hank added on.

"Small price to pay," Connor replied sincerely.

"Wait - was that how you met your lady friend? That nurse?" Officer Wilson asked, eyeing Connor suspiciously. He shifted his eyes to Miller with a grin. "Maybe I should save your dumbass next time and land me a hot nurse."

"You just need to get hurt," Miller replied with a grin, popping his knuckles dramatically. "I can help."

"I'd like to see you try," Wilson retorted. "You get knocked out by little old grandmas."

"That was Lewis," Detective Collins corrected. "But, it was pretty fucking funny."

"She put up quite a fight," Hank jumped in. "Earned that 'resisting arrest' with honors."

The conversation continued for a while, the men talking in-between eating their meals. Connor was mostly quiet, observing, occasionally jumping in when the moment seemed right. He worked with these guys almost every day and had grown to know them well; still, he found himself struggling to adjust to this - to fitting in.

When it was nearing eight o'clock, the android decided to dismiss himself.

"I'm gonna call it a night," he proclaimed, removing his elbows from the table. He had taken to using more common phrases around his coworkers, and this in particular was one of his favorites.

"Already? You don't sleep," Miller protested casually.

"He needs to get home so he can rearrange his girlfriend's guts," Wilson teased.

Miller and Collins broke out in laughter and Hank rolled his eyes, despite his faint smirk.

Connor stood there staring at them blankly, sincerely confused for a moment. Surely, that sort of thing would kill you. At the very least, it would cause severe damage that would require a surgeon. Why would he want to do such a thing?

A quick internet search, however, showed him that it was slang for rough sex.

He couldn't quite tell, but Connor was certain a faint blush had appeared on his cheeks. He spent 1.61 seconds internally debating if he should deny it or tease back.

At one point in the past, he might have taken this behavior as negative; however, he had grown to recognize banter as common between humans. The impersonality of it was how bonds were formed. Besides, he could easily recognize their teasing was unharmful. If anything, they were treating him like just another human, and that was more preferable.

"Maybe," he said lowly, the corner of his lip curling up slightly.

Connor's eyes reflected a mischievous glance at them briefly before he retreated. As he walked away, he heard the officers hollering obnoxiously at him, an echoing "ooohhh" as if he had declared something profound.

Before he was out of earshot, he could hear Hank grumpily, albeit fondly, telling them to "shut the fuck up".

[pyroclaststan]

The Reveal

CW: cursing—younger Kingsley used to curse up a storm outside the stutter, soft shit

Your left hand busies itself with your coffee, an almost-burn from the heat seeping through the cardboard holder, scalding in a way you can handle and appreciate.

Your free hand clenches. Unclenches. Clenches. An old song and dance that will never leave you; a reflex you can’t shake. You would start another internal diatribe about how that’s going to get you killed or found out one day, but your mind is too busy to start a fight: even with you.

Your shields are up, held close and tight to keep out the majority of the hive that moves through the city. Small stretches of the mind now and then assure you that you’re not being watched, but you always retreat quickly before you accidentally latch onto some feeling or thought that might drain you before your day has even begun. So far the coast has been clear, but that means nothing when it comes to the kind of people you’re hiding from.

The woman on the opposite end of the patio having coffee with her friends is glancing at you again over the lip of her mug. You sense no deception, no recognition… why does she keep looking at you? Small smiles your way you’re not used to receiving. Hunching down a little, you politely push her focus back to her friends, leaving behind the feeling that she’d mistaken you for someone else: you’re simply a kind old lady enjoying some tea. Keeping a mental watch on her, she is quietly fed small bits of supporting emotions until her group leaves.

An unbidden shudder climbs up your spine, so you tighten your grip into a tight fist as if you could physically wring it out if not mentally. Again and again, as always: the stress, anxiety, every bit of nerves—all compiling and in overdrive. Today is the day. The light pain of nails into palm takes the edge off before you sink into a spiral of thoughts about this decision. You take a drink to ease your mood.

“You’re late, Chrysantamum!” a voice calls out from behind you, startling you mid-sip of said scalding hot coffee.

“Fucking fuck!” you spew, your customary curse half garbled by liquid.

Luckily, your hands are fast enough to pull the cup away and mitigate most of the damage: just a burnt tongue and throat for you. Some light coffee spots for your clothes. A bundle of napkins takes care of those and the spill on the table.

That ridiculous name alone tells you who got the jump on you, let alone the fact that someone got the jump on you at all with your vigilance.

Ricardo Ortega.

At least you can say he learned not to jump out and surprise you from the front—you can proudly say he knows better after that kick he took to the chest… and the various incidents after. And he’s been apparently been experimenting with your name now that he’s learned that, too.

Delightful.

You suppress the collection of biting words and spicy curses you come up with in response to him, once again quietly regretting you ever gave him a name at all. More so, regretting that once you turn around, he will finally see your face.

Why, for the love of any and every deity you could pull from your repertoire, did you agree to this? Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile—you know this, but here you are: ever forward ever deathward towards his orbit. Your sigh comes from a depth you didn’t realise you had in you. There might have been a little Steel channeled into it, if you’re honest.

You can’t say you’re surprised Ricardo knew it was you. This is specifically the address you were supposed to meet at, he’s noticed a few curls poke out from under your mask when your hair wasn’t braided, and even with you sitting he’s learned your signature slouch by now. ‘Fucking fuck’ probably isn’t an everyday curse either, but who’s to say?

Looking down, the clothes on your back are also a dead giveaway. A decently okay grey button down that was liberated from Ortega’s locker at Ranger’s HQ, the skinsuit that anyone else would mistake for a turtleneck peeking out from the sleeves and collar, an ages old hoodie hole-filled and sun bleached on the back of your chair, your secondhand high-water dress pants not quite long enough for your lanky legs, and your ratty old stompers bear laces in a telltale Ranger blue—courtesy of Anathema.

Of the few things you paid attention to today you made sure you didn’t give Ortega the ego boost of wearing the Charge laces they’d also gotten you, though you hope he doesn’t notice the earring out of the many lining your ears. They’re stacked with studs instead of rings today, in case you need to slip your mask on and make an escape. You should’ve have by now.

You are a particular brand of patchworked charity both subtle and recognisable to the favoured few who get to know you. Today is the day they’ll get to know you. Again, you remind yourself how much you already regret it. You hope you’re a decent enough ‘you’ for them to get to know.

Right hand into your thick curls you pull silently at a coil, reminding yourself that this is you here, and eventually that’s got to be enough for someone. Even if it’s never going to be for enough you. You idly ponder what colour your new braids should be as a self-distraction tactic before slipping your hand out and deciding to crumple up a napkin instead, fiddling with the texture of it. One stim for another as you wait out your impending doom.

Ortega’s steps grow louder as he gets closer, telltale modded weight in each step, and your cheeks begin to heat up at the approach, the buzz of his mind coming into staticky focus. Ha! There’s a new nervousness building now, and a little panic? Or rather, a touch of anxiety over your looks—he’s rubbing off on you in the worst ways. But you can’t hide the thought: if he doesn’t like what he sees? He’s only ever known you—and kissed you—with your mask on. You never care to care how you look; you’ve never tried to dress in any way that wasn’t covert and unassuming.

Damn it. You remember you forgot your cap.

Yours, not the Rangers one Anathema also got you (always buying you merch in a heavy-handed gesture) that you pointedly only wear when Chen is around, always over your mask.

He hates it, you love that he hates it. You wish he’d like—

The Steel-related thoughts you have on that note are mashed down before they can even bubble up. No time for that molotov cocktail of clusterfuck.

This meet-up has been planned for nearly a month, allowing you time to stake out a place, begin preparations, and come up with ample excuses to back out. You didn’t.

Idiot.

You made Ortega swear on his life that he would keep your face out of the papers, off the net, and completely unaffiliated with anything having to do with him. The front of his shirt was in dire need of dry cleaning by the time you finally let go of it, losing your nervous edge once the deal had been done. This is a risk beyond any you’ve ever taken and you’re doing it because you like him enough to try and make your fake life a little more real. Because you like having friends. Fucking fuck.

You make a mental note to have ‘World’s Greatest Idiot’ put into any possible epitaph you may get after this.

A weighted pause. You just realised what he said. How are you late? He’s here an hour after the agreed upon time in classic Ortega fashion. He’d almost be exasperating if he wasn’t so calming at the same time. Stupid static mind, resisting your every touch but giving out just enough feedback to settle you.

Wrapping your annoyance, frustration, and nerves around you like a brittle shield, you gather any venom you have left as a defence mechanism. A hard look very softened by the blush on your freckled bronze cheeks as you hear his steps stop just on the other side of the cafe railing to your left. The white noise of his mind quiets so many of your errant thoughts, and while the impenetrability would usually annoy you, right now it is a soothing reminder than this is, in fact, your best friend beside you.

You pointedly ignore the growing heat in your ears. And cheeks. And throat. And stomach.

“I’m uh, not an expert on interpersonal bullshit, but aren’t nicknames supposed to be sh-shorter than your actual name?” you huff, trying to put as much edge into your voice as you can in your current state.

Finally you turn your head, an annoyed glare in Ricardo’s direction before he can get out his smart ass response. Refusing to be soft, refusing to make this an easy reveal and hopefully showing how completely uncomfortable with all of this you are. How far out on a limb you’re going.

He won’t get it anyway.

And if you did show it, he sure doesn’t respond to it: instead, his face is lit up like a Christmas tree. His eyes dart around so fast, taking in every inch of yours so quick that you fear they may come loose and fly right out of his head. His grin is blinding—amazed and beautiful—and it takes every ounce of self-control for you not to turn away from him or vault the fence and make a run for it. You avoid the temptation to look closer at what you briefly noticed was a very nice, very new suit… as a preventative measure, of course. Can’t let him see you sweat, or, y’know.

The two of you finally make real eye contact but after even a few beats it’s too much for you, so you pointedly look away from his gaze, sipping your coffee and allowing him the privacy to study you while he can. As if being looked at wasn’t already distasteful enough for you, having your features memorised and scrutinised gives you even less pleasure, but at least now he’ll stop pestering you about it. Not at all happy that you wish you could read his mind to find out what he thinks.

No sooner than you have that thought does the soft little ‘mierda’ come from under his breath, making you want to die on the spot—you sincerely hope you’re not becoming a tomato.

“Kingsley Chrysanta,” he half announces, half inquires. Testing the reigns of his newfound knowledge most likely. Placing the name alongside the face in his head, and connecting a string between them like the many on his whiteboard. At his blooming smile your heart speeds up and your stomach does a flip. Id-i-ot!

“Yeah yeah,” you mutter against the rim of your now empty coffee cup, “we get it: you know my whole name now.” You look back at him, holding his line of sight with a half-hearted sneer. “I can do it too, Ricardo Felipe José García Sparkles Ortega. See? We b-both know words.”

He’s got a look of triumph and an even brighter grin on that note, your teasing bouncing right off of his impenetrable shield of sunshine, like he’s happy you memorised his name. Ricardo’s airy laugh is almost mystified, and the exhalation that he lets out is suspiciously soft before he confirms, “It really is you.”

“Got it in one,” you can’t stop your answering smile, suddenly aware of how crooked yours is compared to his. And that halts you. How disheveled and awkward and unreal you are compared to him.

Don’t go there. Not now.

“Your speech is getting better,” he comments softly, carefully. “Looks like me annoying you into talking really is good for you.” His sly smile aimed down at his shoes.

Your speech has been getting better, though that is also a product of your own efforts, not just his: he always thought you said so little for no reason. Taking it slow, smaller sentences, and keeping calm have helped you manage your impediment—you get less frustrated trying to speak. You think less about the fists that gave you the problem in the first place. You ultimately refuse to acknowledge his statement, correct as it may be.

“My point still stands: that’s long for a nickname,” your deflection hopefully going unnoticed. “Don’t you, uh, usually just call me King? What happened to that one?”

He’s much closer now, leaning forward over the barrier in that way that puts him right inside everyone’s bubble: personal, personable. In his defence, however, he’s keeping his hands firmly on the railing, as if to stop the rest of himself from going right over. The twitch on his lips and the white-knuckled grip of his hands are the only clues to how much he’s feigning composure right now—well, that and the static to his mods. But still being patient, still keeping your direct space open, and keeping quiet about whatever is on his mind. Always so kind to you when you need it, and even when you don’t.

“Anyone can call you King: mine’s more personal,” he smiles even wider, nodding like his words are sagely.

“And long,” you frown, complaining just to complain. Being contrarian has been a trusted weapon in the face of Ricardo’s… everything.

“I think it works,” he answers your complaint with a smug look back at you. “Chrysanta, Chrysantamum. Get it?” A bright laugh. “It’s a good pun, with how your hair kind of reminds me of the flower in a way. ‘Cause of all the layers and petals, but instead they’re curls—plus we met in November! That’s that month’s flower, or the flower of that month, and…”

You’re stunned by the rationale he’s giving as he continues to list things off: insight and perception you’ve often accused him of not having. His hands are moving about, his head tilting to and fro, his expressions and gestures and movements all clockwork to you by now. But more importantly: he’s rambling, downright nervous, more focused on counting off on his fingers than looking at you. Suspicious. New. Cute. You focus back onto his words.

“…and it’s when I’ve decided your birthday will be, since you refuse to give me a date,” he finishes while you’re mulling over thoughts, a look in your direction for a reaction.

“Are you calling me a flower?” A frown, not taking any birthday bait.

The faces he makes go on a journey for a few moments before he collects himself with a small exhalation, rubbing at his forehead before dropping his hands into his pockets. He seems a little flushed. Probably not best to stand around in the Los Diablos heat.

A small smile perks up inevitably. “Would it be better if I answer that with the idea that I’m calling you my flower?”

You can’t even hide your groan on that one, responding to his repeatedly lifting brows with a furrow of your own. Half disgust, half embarrassment, all stomach flip.

“Stop! I’ll vomit. Or worse, get a migraine.” You make a face at him and rub your temple, but it only seems to delight him further. Shades of you he’s never seen before being revealed now.

“Right right, not in public.” He gives a conspiratorial wink, rotating left and right on his heels, as bad at staying still as you are—your leg’s been bouncing up a storm and your napkin can’t get much more crumpled. “Anathema should be showing up soon, anyway. We can save our personal stuff for later.”

You absolutely do not colour slightly at the innuendo in that statement, and you assuredly do not glance down at his lips. At this point your skin colour may as well be burgundy.

“Oh, so you gave them the wrong time so you wouldn’t be the last to arrive, huh? Should’ve known something was off when I got to actually enjoy a moment of quiet in this city.”

Aiming quickly, you bullseye him in the forehead with the balled-up napkin.

“Oooh, sassy when your shell’s off: now I get why ‘Thema voted for King Crab instead of the flowers.”

You make a very sour face. He cackles, his whole upper body bending back almost losing balance as he holds his stomach. You immediately reach out and force away the attention of everyone who’s looking to see what’s going on, making them all register the sound further away and from the opposite end of the street.

“Fucking fuck—f-for a nickname? That’s it. I’m moving to San Francisco and getting better friends.”

“That implies anyone else in the world would want to befriend you.” He states gleefully as he jumps out of your reach, dodging your swipe at him as you lunge from your chair.

“I’m sure some single, lonely Ranger up there might also have a th-thing for tall, angry vigilantes.” Your turn for a sly look. “Maybe there’ll be an uh, autumnal wedding—I’d still let you be my best man.”

“Just don’t get mad at me if I object: someone has to act in the groom’s best interest.” He shrugs exaggeratedly, matching your smile and banter.

Reflexive, telepathic pushes make the others on the patio and in the cafe ignore the two of you and your shenanigans. It’s draining, but you can pick up on how quickly your distractions melt away and Ricardo gets recognised again in his public face. You’d almost forgotten about that with the warm buzz of Ortega on your shields and occupying your mind. Dangerous to be so inside your own head that you forget about the ones around you.

Time to get moving then. A quick glance about as you step aside to throw away your empty cup—training telling you to check for exits, hats, and thoughts pointed at you.

“I suppose it would also be too cruel of me to subject, uh, anyone else to your friendship.” You straighten your shirt and pick up your mottled jacket and small bag, adding drama to your sigh as you slip them on to head out.

“Perish the thought: who’d last a day by my side with the trouble we get into?”

“Being your friend will be the death of me, I’m sure.” Funny in a dark way, considering how close you two have come to death together, so many times.

“And yet…” he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and looks at you thoughtfully, walking down the street with a light pace, “…you still choose to do all this. With me.”

Falling into step, your tongue stills in your mouth. You question yourself and your intentions but ultimately: you decide to slip him a piece of truth. Walking the dangerous lines like he does but in quieter ways.

“I’ve uh, never really known wh-what to do with choice: I’ve always just done what I’m supposed to do. Everything that’s happened since I came here… it’s liberating and it’s terrifying, but it’s mine, right?”

You want to kick yourself for the little lilt to your voice at the end, but your eyes are too busy silently pleading for some kind of understanding and validation.

These little choices, these silent confessions, these quiet surrenders… these are everything you have to give to a man with the whole world before him. You have nothing else, and no one will never understand how much weight and truth is behind that. You’ve wanted nothing but to help people since the day you were decanted: you have always felt so deeply, all too easily touched by other minds, and once you picked from enough thoughts to develop the words and concepts for it, you knew you wanted to be a hero. A not-so-gentle reminder that it was them who taught you to fight the bad and save the good, but pleasing in that you know they’d disapprove of how you do that now.

From one government operation to the next, you stupid, silly fool.

In that, Ricardo has always been symbolic to you: heroics and freedom made flesh. You’ve known since the day he saved your life—in your early days, homeless and squatting with your first ‘friends’—that you would follow this man into hell. But now, you know him. You know you would do whatever it takes to protect him, because he’s not a symbol, he’s all too real, too human—and that has made him even greater to you. No longer content with being a shadow, but wanting to be a shield. He is an inspiration, yes, but he is foremost your friend and partner. Maybe something more.

He responds to your question with a fond, sincere smile and a nod, and you start to think maybe it might be the same for him.

“It always will be,” he says quietly, pausing mid-step to look at you like he’s really seeing you. Not like earlier, but like he does when you’re in your suit: searching, trying to reach out, but only as far as you’ll let him.

It’s a deep look between the two of you, holding too much meaning but from sides of understanding the other will never get. The white noise of his mind hinders any opportunity to glimpse what he’s thinking or feeling, leaving your telepathic fingers missing any chance to understand what that look of his means. The soft moment is interrupted by a cheerful, “Hey!” sung out in the distance.

A familiar mind practically screaming in elation and pointedly directed at you, impossible to ignore and so easy to pinpoint.

Anathema is in the middle of the street, wildly waving and doing a little jump as if there were any way that you could miss those red curls and freckled arms out there in the open, even if there was a crowd. With a laugh, they come running over to you and Ortega once you two wave back, enthusiasm filling the air with an almost heady energy.

Someone is happy to see you… you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to that outside of a fight.

“Look at you! It’s YOU!” Anathema declares with a flailing of arms pointed at you, looking between you, who looks rather uncomfortable with the attention, and Ortega, who is beaming and loving this.

He immediately hops to their side, arm around their bare shoulders pulling at their cut-off tank top’s strap to pull them in, the other also flailing in your direction.

“It’s them! They’re real!” he exclaims in response, partially mocking but another part still hyped up from the revelation. “Sidestep, in the flesh!”

The two of them are jumping up and down, holding onto each other and chanting your name repeatedly, either in an attempt to welcome you excitedly or to embarrass you completely. While their intent may be the former, you are feeling entirely the latter. More minds you focus on pushing away light up: these two draw so much attention.

“Please, stop,” you mumble looking around at all the owners to the minds you feel trained on you. “You’re making a scene… and my s-secret identity is supposed to be, y’know, a secret.”

They both stop their hopping, attempting to look sorry but their grins are just the opposite. Their frozen pose looks like circus act waiting to begin.

“You can’t blame us for getting excited—the big secret has been revealed! I mean, look at you!” Another manic gesture from Anathema. “You’re so! Wow! Real!”

“Thank you for your o-observation: scientists may now rest knowing the universe’s grandest mystery has been laid to rest,” you snark.

“Wow,” they sigh almost dreamily, “it really is you, dude.”

“I feel like we’ve established that ten, maybe, maybe fifteen times now,” you sigh exasperatedly. You’re absolutely not embarrassed or flattered, you’re just scratching your ear because you’re checking for all your piercings, not because of any heat.

“Well, you gotta forgive me, y’know? Like, you haven’t been exactly the most accessible person in our day-to-day lives given the ratio to how often you’re around and in the shit with us. And then here you are: unmasked, named, walking down the street with ‘Tega like you live here or something.” It’s a grand smile they aim at you, one that you can’t resist answering.

“Yeah, I’ve been known to wander to and fro in the city now and then. Usually uh, when a group of blue unitard wearing assholes get into trouble they can’t get out of themselves. Heroes, y’know? Can’t even match the same shade m-much less clean up their own mess.”

After about a full minute of laughter at that joke you fear Anathema might keel over right in front of you: they’ve got a death grip on their ribs and their face is as red as a tomato.

Ortega claps you on your shoulder causing you to flinch: you didn’t pick up his intentions to do that of course, or even notice him slipping in by your side, so you shoot him a dirty look that he doesn’t notice while he looks at Anathema.

“Vigilantes and their egos over here… can’t live with ‘em—“ he trails off.

“—Can’t live without ‘em,” they finish.

You suddenly understand Steel’s complete and absolute refusal to ever hang out with the three of you. In fact, you let out another one of his customary groans in respect for his sacrifice: having the three of you as allies.

“Did you chucklefucks rehearse this skit or have you been i-improv comedians the whole time? At least I know that if you’re hero careers fall through you’ll uh, have a back-up option.”

You’re getting nervous out here unmasked and in the open with two of the Los Diablos Rangers, and the effort to actively track and distract any minds coming your way is burning you out fast. It shows in the harsh tone you’re starting to adopt and the jokes you use to deflect: always the type to swing instead of run.

“I forget you have such a filthy tongue sometimes,” Anathema pouts, only partially serious. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, and I got it from my babysitter, thank you very much.”

Your flinch goes unnoticed but it’s still time to stop talking and get moving. Your smile is caustic, easily mistaken for an annoyed look with your joke, but you too easily told the truth.

You technically had a sitter, and you did pick up her incessant cursing as a defence mechanism: it makes for a good character trait and convinces people to leave you the hell alone when you don’t use your telepathy to do the trick. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a bit good, too.

Ortega is frowning at you, but as you turn to look at him it disappears before you even see it. Instead, you get a grin.

“Truly, this asshole is where I hath lain my affections,” he bemoans, genuflecting along with his performance before carrying on to walk ahead.

“We never said you had taste.” Anathema’s elbow catches his ribs as he passes them, falling into step after you.

You roll your eyes. “Clowns.”

“Welcome to the circus, Saltstep,” they shoot back.

“Alright, I’ll concede to that one,” you rub your neck and cast a guilty look towards your friends.

Sometimes you find the heat all too easily and throw back harder than you mean to, never quite sure of how hard you hit. She taught you more severity than restraint, but the point of being under your own control is to be better than that. “I can show that I am capable of, uh, not being a dick head for at least an evening.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?!” Ortega yells, throwing his hands into the air dramatically, getting a good laugh from Anathema behind you.

“Please, don’t hurt yourself on our behalf, ‘Step,” they follow up, still laughing.

“Kingsley,” you supply, casting a look back and down at them over your shoulder. “You can call me Kingsley… that’s kind of the point today, right?”

A soft smile in your direction, followed by a hushed tone, “I hope you didn’t mind the song and dance back there, I just know that if we didn’t show you how happy we are to see you, you wouldn’t believe it.”

As good at reading you as you are them.

You rub your neck and flex your hand. Reality catching up to reassert it’s weight on your shoulders. You suddenly feel watched—seen. Anyone anywhere could be looking at you and you haven’t even been paying attention. You scan yours surroundings, peeking into minds and shuffling through emotions, guiding any and everyone to forget any glimpse of you. Your ‘don’t look’ aura is as hard as the expression on your face.

“…I believe it.” A truth that won’t kill you.

“So soft, Chrysantamum,” Ortega says sweetly from up ahead, making sure not to look at you or make a big deal of it. He knows you’ll run if put under any more pressure. Especially with where he’s leading you.

“Cállate, Rico,” a playful smack to the back of his head like you’ve seen his mother pantomime doing.

Oh no. She’s going see your face one day, too. Your regrets are playing Tetris at this point.

“Aww! I want a personalised nickname for ‘em too! Hmm…” they fall into silence for a while, making plenty of exaggerated sounds. “Yeah, I’m stuck on King Crab.”

“What?! Why?” you whine.

“‘Cause you’re so tough and snappy but you’re so soft underneath the shell,” they supply, far too pleased with themself.

“I like it,” Ortega laughs.

“You’re killing me today guys.”

You all stop walking. Or rather Ortega stops, and you crash into him—that damned blank spot of a man—and Anathema crashes into you, always speed walking trying to keep up with your legs.

Three Stooges, just like Owl said. You bristle at the thought of her and wrinkle your nose.

“You’re not dead just yet. One more stop to go,” Ortega says, rubbing his neck as he turns and looks at you sheepishly.

“Huh?”

You turn your head and see exactly what he means: Rangers HQ.

“…No. Absolutely not.”

Before you can even side step either of them, they’ve both got you by an arm, planting themselves.

“King! It’s just the rest of the team: you know them.” Anathema’s looking up at you, trying to give you a half-assed puppy dog face you blatantly ignore by looking over their short head.

“Oh, yeah. It’s only Sentinel and Sunstream and the entire staff and whoever w-watches your security and visitors and Steel! Nothing big.” You stress the last name heavily, as if that should say all it needs to.

“It’s just Steel, Chrysantamum. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You can’t resist the modded strength pulling you towards the building, and stepping back onto Anathema’s toes will do nothing: even if they weren’t wearing boots. Their cut off shorts stop right above the knee, but a kick like that won’t work either. Damned invulnerability.

“Let’s see: he could say he hates m-me to my actual face, he could see my actual face, he could exist within the same r-room with me outside of my suit, I could exist in the same room with him—also outside of my suit…”

The moment they let go to throw their hands up in defeat you reach up, grabbing your hood and tearing it down over your face harshly, just as you all get into the lobby. You turn on the spot and step into Ortega’s space aggressively, fists balled.

“No one gets my name who’s not core team. No one gets my f-face who’s not core team. You erase, or let me erase, all traces of me from the, from the cameras and security checks, and any room we end up in I get to disable any electronics. I’m not taking another step until you agree.”

At this close a proximity, Ricardo has to look up at you. His face is soft and understanding, as Anathema walks away to handle the front desk clerk. “Hey,” his voice equally soft but serious, “I promised. No cameras, no press, no net. Nothing you don’t feel comfortable doing.”

“I don’t feel comfortable w-with any of this, but I can’t exactly wipe your minds and go about my merry way, now can I? You know that’s a lot of work, even for me.”

You both wince at that low blow, instantly regretting it slipping past but refusing to back down. Neither of you need to mention the name Riley to know the implications of your comment.

“Got it, you feel cornered,” he sighs. “At any point: any time—doesn’t matter when—you decide you wanna leave? Just tell me, and I’ll walk you out; we’ll take the back way out, the works.” His face softens a bit to an apologetic smile. “Buuut I definitely can’t let you into our security system without clearance: you’ll have to settle for tearing apart accessible wires. We’ll call it a security test.”

“Deal.” You stomp away, headed over to the elevator where Anathema is waiting, trying to gather your nerves into adrenaline.

Just think of this like a fight.

The doors chime and open and your stomach pools to the floor as those two step right past you and go in, one leaning on the left, one leaning on the right. Both smug.

Bastards. Trapping you in a small space, easily pacified, easily taken out. Right in the belly of the beast itself. Not like before: a new threat.

You step in and turn around, looking out the doors like they’re your last chance at salvation. Your hands clench and unclench, your breathing is getting a little rough, you start to sweat and thoughts—too many to sift through—start to bubble.

Please no, not a panic attack in an elevator with two people you see regularly.

A hand quietly slips into yours and gives it a squeeze. The doors are closing but you look to your left, at Ortega who is looking up at the floor display, not at all paying close attention to you. You get another squeeze and catch a small lift in the corner of his lips. A squeeze back and they lift a little higher.

You turn back to the closed doors, swallowing hard as the movement kicks in, and take in a deep breath to kick out the images of an older, crueler place.

You’re only about to expose yourself to the entirety of a government-owned and monitored team of superheroes. You’ve done worse. Like escape another government-owned and independently ran black site. This is a piece of cake by comparison—it only completely puts your life in danger. Your teeth grind as the beep of arrival sounds.

Chen is at the doors, just as they open, looking up from the papers in hand. He looks wide-eyed at you, trying to figure out who you are before his eyes go down to your hand in Ortega’s. He frowns and narrows his eyes at you.

Idiot, idiot, idiot!

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Wednesday

So, switching gears for Caleb this week - here's a snippet from his first post-war story. Actually, this is me taking the original prompt that @swaps55 sent to me that created Caleb and reworking it to fit better into his world. (ie: Coats now makes an appearance...)

Setting: Normandy SR2, over London and Earth

[Just as a quick note: Caleb's ending in game has always been and will always be a variant of the MEHEM mod ending. The Normandy will not go missing.]

(tw: for injury and blood mention)

A clatter across the room catches their attention, and Kaidan watches Bellamy pull out the portable privacy screens, setting them up around the examination table. Kaidan slides to the floor, but Coats reaches out to stop him. “No, mate,” he insists, his voice far graver than Kaidan’s ever heard it before. “Trust me, you should wait.”

It’s then, even in the dim lighting, Kaidan notices just how pale Coats' face is, and how he avoids looking at Kaidan. “I’m a medic,” Kaidan reminds him as he pushes the hand out of the way. Corporal Aguilera is bright and has the makings of an excellent field medic, given time and experience, but Kaidan is better, and his years working with Chakwas will serve her better right now.

He pushes around Coats and hobbles towards the front of the Medbay. Coats follows right behind him, surprisingly close. When Kaidan frowns over his shoulder at him, the grim expression on his face darkens. Dread builds in Kaidan's belly. Swallowing tightly, he reaches the privacy screens and calls out, “Doc? Can I -?”

“Not now, Major!” the doctor barks, effectively ending the conversation. Her voice is sharp as she orders Aguilera to fetch more plasma. The corporal doesn’t hesitate.

The ship shudders violently beneath their feet; Coats grabs Kaidan before he can fall, but goes down hard on his knee in the process. Aguilera isn’t so lucky, falling gracelessly on his ass with an embarrassed yelp, the plasma bags scattering across the floor. Dr. Chakwas curses a blue streak, as unexpected as it is vehement. Kaidan knows if she is losing her cool, the situation is bad; all the more reason for him to assist. Pushing himself upright, he pulls free of Coats and limps towards the screens. Aguilera collects the plasma and sets them within reach of Chakwas. Kaidan moves around the screen, his offer of assistance on the tip of his tongue… until his gaze settles on the patient. It's all he can do to simply catch himself against the end of the table. Aguilera rushes over to offer support.

Chakwas throws a sharp look in his direction. “Major, get back to your -!”

Kaidan shakes his head, half in defiance of her command and half to clear it. He pulls his eyes from the body and meets her gaze; a battle of wills ensues. It ends when he digs deep, finds his resolve, and manages in a strong, firm voice, “No.”

“Suit yourself,” she snaps, “but I need you focused if you insist on helping.”

Her words have the bite of command behind them, but Kaidan doesn’t mind. Between that and the relief that she’s allowing him to stay, he transitions to autopilot. He inhales deeply, takes stock of the situation, and focuses on procedure. He knows what needs to be done, in what order, and how to do it. Biting back a wince, he takes up position on the opposite side of the table from the doctor.

Shepard lies on the table before him, bruised and battered. To call him a ‘bloody mess,’ is inadequate; his armor is all but destroyed, parts of it completely gone, others fused to his flesh. Burns, blood, gore, and god knows what else cover him from head to toe. He spares a quick glance over at Coats, now standing off to the side by Chakwas’ desk. He’s tall enough to see over the privacy screens, and his face is even paler now than before.

Kaidan struggles for breath, fights despair as it claws its way up his throat. For one moment, it catches hold, squeezes his lungs, and surrounds his heart. Can anyone recover from wounds this bad?

[goldenmist]

𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝚘 𝚈𝚘𝚞 – 𝙺𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚒 𝙾𝚖𝚊/𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

A/N: My previous Kokichi based writing received a lot of support, so I decided to make something with him again, but Valentine related. This time it won't be long and boring like my preceding one-shot:)

–Mod Junko

...

Valentine's day.

The one and only day for lovers to reciprocate each other's affection. You have been looking forward to this event, getting ready with your beloved. But fate has decided to take another route, as your significant other found themselves in another's embrace. How funny. All of your plans and ideas, were ruined by one single affair. On the day, they were supposed to be fulfilled. The irony is almost unbearable. You have been left all alone. Or so at least you thought.

"Hey, peasant!" The urchin haired male leaned into your face. Which was hidden from sight by strands of hanging hair. You didn't even wonder how the boy entered your apartment. Questioning Kokichi Oma's actions would only lead to a throbbing headache.

"I'm bored. Play with me!" His grin was the last thing you wanted to see today. So you firmly pushed the small figure to the side, shaking your head. The defying action made the gremlin smile to himself. Widening his eyes as If in pure surprise.

"Wow! Daring to refuse your Supreme Leader! That's pretty hot." As If eating a lemon, your face scrunched in the bitter cower. Definitely, not wanted presence. Your gaze averted to the liar, who sat himself down on the wooden floor. It wasn't in your plan but apparently now, the little guy saw your puffy face. Still wet from the streaming tears. Oma's expression didn't seem to change, however a small glisten in his eyes indicated the amend of emotion.

"Let me guess. That dumbass left you?" How did he reach that conclusion? But on the second thought, It was kind of obvious. This day is the couple's day, and instead of some cheesy date night, you are stuck in here. Pathetically sobbing.

"Bingo! Proves my genius. " The purple-haired took your stunned silence for an answer. On the other hand, you were quickly getting irritated with the uninvited guest. So you managed to breath out,

"Why are you here?" The hoarse notes in your voice were pretty miserable. So you just hoped it would go unnoticed by the tease-loving male.

"Well you see" Kokichi's bored eyes met yours,

"I was expecting you to leave with that asshole, so I could borrow some candy from the top shelf. I know you have a lot." Before you could object, he continued.

"But, your ass is stuck in here. So now there is a change of plans!" Oma leaped up, dragging you with him. Sometimes you wondered, how could such a fragile looking boy have such strength.

"Which is?" Pulling your wrist out of the male's tight grip, you exhaustedly sighed. The thought of doing anything at all made you quite frustrated. Nonetheless, you knew that Kokichi would annoy you, until he eventually got what he wanted. So It was easier to just go along with whatever crap he thought of.

"I'll do you an immense favor, by taking your ugly self out on a date!" He kept the dumb smile painted on his features, as If what he said wasn't completely out of nowhere.

"I'm not really in the mood." The sarcasm and steel in your timbre could cut through the air. But surely, the leader was not afraid of it. In fact, resistance excited him even more.

"Aww c'mon Y/N! What else do you have to do?" The urchin haired approached your figure, getting a hold of your shoulders.

"Don't be such a drag. As I said It's a big favor! A lot of girls wanna go out with me." You just couldn't get his motive. Was he trying to make you feel worse? Laugh at your weakness? What a piece of shit.

"Then leave. For all I care." And there goes one of his little acts. You didn't mind his fake crying most of the time, but right now was clearly not the moment.

"Just leave me alone. Wanna see me breakdown? Desperately cling to your proposal? Ruin my dignity? As If, you bastard." Turning on your heels to storm out of the room, you never have expected to look back. But you did. And the reason to that was the sudden apology.

"I'm sorry." The words slipping out of the small boy's mouth were almost inaudible.

"I just wanted to make you laugh a little." It was rare for the male to show his true demeanor. In fact, so rare that It softened your exasperation. Hesitating, you eventually turned around and walked over back to the timid figure.

"Well, you've done a shitty job buddy." Ruffling his messy hair, you couldn't help but appreciate It's softness. Almost like a spiky cloud It was. Of course the state of Kokichi's hair, doesn't change the fact that he is an utter idiot.

"Gotta try harder next time." The boy lightened up again, placing his tiny hands around your waist.

"Does that mean you'll go out with me, peasant?" Not holding back to pinch his cheek, you chuckled.

"Nope." Without letting Kokichi continue, you rubbed your chin in thought.

"But, I might reconsider. If you give me some of that Panta." Of course you weren't that serious. And the statement made the male burst out in laughter. Waving his hand he excused himself, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the dimmed room. You would lie If you said you weren't the tiniest bit disappointed. Your own feelings surprised you. Weren't you supposed to be crying about your no-good of an ex?

However a few minutes later, a loud metal clang rang through the space. Some object was thrown onto the floor through the door gap of your room. It was a bright, purple coated bottle of soda.