#and she's a FORCE and all her actions are so purposeful so to suggest that she “gave up” feels just alien to me

[backjustforberena]

I reject any and all assumptions that, at any point, Rhaenys lost the will to live. That's something I won't entertain. She didn't. That's just wrong.

[krirebr]

All Things Go 1

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.9k

Summary: It's been a few months since Steve was pulled out of the ice and immediately had to fight aliens with the newly formed Avengers. He is doing fine with all that, all things considered. Which is why he's so upset when he's suddenly benched from missions and forced to welcome a support omega into his home. He's fine!

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), panic attack, disassociation flashback, Steve actually having to deal with the PTSD and depression and anxiety he would so clearly have if he'd been through everything in the MCU, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, possible slow burn - we'll see All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Oh boy. Here I am. Back on my angsty bullshit. This story was kickstarted by this ask. It's an inverse of the program at the center of Still Life, but not in the same universe.

This idea was helped along a ton by @stellar-solar-flare who helped me overcome my fear of writing a mostly canon compliant Steve and dipping my toes into an Avengers AU.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Steve checked his watch for a third time as he paced around his apartment. It was bad enough that he had to indulge this ridiculous idea, but she was late on top of it. Four minutes, now. He’d been pacing for the last fifteen. He’d tried to sit down while he waited, but the buzz of the adrenaline just under his skin had been too strong. 

It was the disrespect, that’s what it was, that really bothered him in her tardiness. That was going around lately. A whole team that refused to listen to him. And then had the gall to go to Fury behind his back after what happened during the last mission. And yes, of course, it was all couched in concern. But he saw it for what it was: a mutiny. And he’d been benched because of it. From all missions for the foreseeable future. So what was he supposed to do now? Thawed out 70 years in the future just to be stranded without a purpose.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the worst part was now six minutes late. A support omega. He’d scoffed right in Fury’s face when he’d “suggested” it. Of all the stupid, 21st-century things he’d encountered, this took the cake. Like there could possibly be some base alpha part of him that was so broken it could only be soothed by an omega with a degree in psychology. Ridiculous. He was fine!

But it’d been the kind of suggestion that didn’t come with the option to say no. Not if he ever wanted to get back on the team. So fine. He’d play nice, show her there was nothing wrong, and get her to sign off on him going back into the field. He’d be back in action in just a few days. And then he might be able to breathe again.

As he was about to start another lap of his living room, the doorbell finally chimed. He took a moment, so as not to seem like he’d been standing right next to it. Then he took a deep breath, pasted on that Captain America smile, and opened the door. “Hi,” he said, immediately stepping aside to give you room. “Come on in.”

“Captain Rogers,” you said with your own big smile as you introduced yourself, then picked up your valise from the ground beside you and stepped into his apartment. You were sharply dressed, professional. In how you held yourself, too. But your eyes were warm. And you were beautiful. It reminded him of some of the nicer omegas Buck used to go out with. There was a sharp pang in his chest. Like always, he ignored it. 

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” you continued. As if he’d had any sort of choice. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The security checks took longer than I’d expected.”

“No problem at all,” he said. Ten whole minutes. “I hadn’t even noticed. Here, let me put your bag in the room I set aside for you.”

“Oh, a guest room?” you asked. He stopped at your question, a little confused. Where else would you sleep? “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’ll definitely appreciate having my own space. But, sleeping arrangements are something we can discuss and customize to fit our goals. Sharing a bed can be really helpful if sleep is something you’re struggling with.”

Absolutely not. No. Definitely not. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” he demurred. “With the serum, I really don’t require much sleep,” he called down to you as he quickly took your bag to the small guest room he’d finally furnished because he had to have somewhere to put you. It’d never occurred to him you’d want to share his bed. Did people really do that?

When he came back into the living room, you were still hovering by the door, your messenger bag slung over your shoulder and your hands clasped in front of you. You were looking around, taking in the blank walls, spartan furniture. Judging him probably. Well, it’s not like he’d had much time to decorate in between saving the world. What did any of that matter? “Can I get you anything to drink? Eat?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” you said, with a benign smile that seemed aggressively professional. “If you don’t mind, I’d love if we could sit and chat for a few minutes before we move on to anything else.” 

“Of course,” he said, with his own benign smile, as he gestured to the two couches that had come with the apartment. He waited for you to sit in one and then took a seat in the other, a mass-produced coffee table covering the chasm between you.

“First,” you said, your hands resting neatly in your lap, “I just wanted to make sure that my scent is one you’re comfortable having in your home on a long-term basis. I know that the real thing can sometimes be a little different than the sample you based your choice off of.”

Steve had just randomly grabbed one from the box he’d been presented with. He’d thrown it at Fury with a grumbled, “That one’s fine,” as he left the small room they’d given him to make his choice. He’d never even opened it.

He only got a vague hint of it now, sitting across the room from you. Floral maybe. He didn’t bother to take a deep breath, to catalogue it. You’d only be here for a few days max. Not enough time for your scent to permeate. So, it didn’t really matter what he thought about it.

“Yes, it’s fine,” he nodded at you.

“Good,” you said, your smile becoming slightly more genuine. “Well, first I can take a few minutes to talk through what it is we’re going to be doing here. I'm sure you've already gotten the whole spiel, but it might be helpful to hear it from my perspective. Get a feel for how I do things.”

You paused like you were waiting for a response so he nodded along. “Sure, sounds great.” He already knew what the program was. He already knew he didn’t need it. This was a waste of time.

“Mostly, I’m just here to help you as an alpha get back to feeling like your most grounded, best self. Stability and comfort are mainly what I’m here to provide. Listening and guidance too, if that’s what you want. This is fully customizable, very collaborative. I’m not a therapist, but I do have my masters in behavioral psychology. And I’ve been doing this for a while now. So whatever you throw at me, I can handle it. Basically, this arrangement can look like whatever the two of us want it to look like. The biggest requirement, on both sides, is honesty.”

He leaned forward. This was the in he’d been waiting for. “I really appreciate that. And I do want to be completely honest with you. I don’t want to waste your time. The truth is, this is unnecessary. I think people expect me not to adjust well, so they’re treating me like I’m not. But really, I’m fine. I’m doing fine. And I just don’t think I’m going to get much from this.” 

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at him curiously with your lips pursed. At one point, your eyes flicked down to where his hand was resting on his knee. Could you see the way it shook? His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d come out of the ice. He straightened it out so it laid flat on the denim of his jeans, willing it to be still. That didn’t mean anything.

Finally, your eyes left him as you turned to your messenger bag, pulling out a thin file. “Do you mind,” you asked, “if we talk about some of the concerns your team has for you?”

Steve’s jaw ticked. Not for. About. Fury had already done this. “I know their concerns. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

You shrugged casually, like it didn’t much matter to you either way. “I think it could be instructive to what we’re trying to do here.”

“Fine,” he ground out, but you didn’t react to his tone. You just opened the file. Before you had a chance to say anything, he leaned forward and spat out, “Listen, I know what’s in there. They think I don’t listen to anyone. That I’m a bad leader. That my plans are too risky. That I can’t keep anyone safe. Did I get everything?”

You bobbed your head a little, your expression impassive, your voice soft. “Not exactly. They did say that you refuse to listen to people. But they never said anything about you being a bad leader. Or not keeping them safe. They said the thing you’re most likely to risk on these missions is yourself. They’re worried about you.” He couldn’t hold in his scoff and you paused to look him in the eye. “Do you really jump out of planes without a parachute?”

He felt his eyes go a little wide like he’d been caught, doing what exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. He shook his head. “No, that’s not– You know what’s in my veins. If I were a normal man, sure, that’d be suicidal. But I have more strength, better reflexes, I heal faster. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”

Your brow furrowed as you leaned forward too. “But, you still get injured, don’t you? Even if it doesn’t last as long. You still feel all that pain. Steve,” and the way you said his name, for the first time, different somehow than the way any omega had ever said it before, he felt it like a knife to the heart, “why would you want to put yourself through feeling all that if you didn’t have to?”

He was up off the couch before he even realized it. The room was suddenly smaller than it’d been a minute ago. His mind was racing and he didn’t know why or how to make it stop.

“Captain Rogers.” You were standing right in front of him, holding your hands up at your chest, your palms out. “I’m sorry Captain, I didn’t mean to push. Are you alright?” All he could do for the moment was blink at you. “Hey, how ‘bout you take a deep breath with me, ok? A slow breath in through your nose.” 

He followed your lead and took a deep breath in. And, oh. He was struck by the scent of you. Lilacs and oranges. You smelled like spring.

“And out through your mouth,” you said quietly and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly and you smiled. “Do you want to take a break?” you asked softly. “I have a few more questions, but I don’t need to ask them right now.”

He shook himself out of whatever daze he’d been in. “No,” he said, standing up straighter. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” 

He sat back down on the couch, but you hadn’t moved yet. “Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yes. I’m fine. Let’s go.” It was only at the look on your face, that he realized how short he’d been. He took a breath. “Sorry,” he said, forcing some calm into his tone. “I’d like to keep going.”

“Okay,” you nodded and finally sat back down across from him. You opened your folder again. “You were a little… vague in your intake questionnaire. So, if you're able, I’d appreciate it if you could just tell me a little about what you’ve been going through, how you’ve been feeling.”

He fidgeted a little in his seat and he saw you clock it. He stilled himself, then said, with as casual an air as he could muster, “If I was vague, it’s only because there really isn’t much to report. I’ve been fine.” He was using that word too much. He knew it. But he didn’t know how else to say it.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “It’s just, on paper? You’ve been through a lot in what must feel like a very short amount of time. And that’s just the widely reported stuff. What’s in the history books and on the news. It would be understandable if you were struggling. Anyone would be.”

“Well, I’m not anyone, am I?” he snapped. 

“No, you’re not,” you said slowly, calmly, and he hated how unflappable you were. “You’re a hero.” He just barely stopped his lip from curling up into a snarl at that. He’d had enough. “But–”

“Listen, I just need to get back in the field, okay? I just need another mission. That’s all I need. We don’t have to– None of this will be necessary if I can just get back out there. I understand that you’re a professional and you’ll want to seem thorough, so we can wait a few days. But I’m fine and that’s what I need you to tell Fury. If the team doesn’t want to work with me right now, that’s– that’s okay. I’ll do solo missions. Whatever they want. I just need to get back out there.” He was pleading by the end of it. He could hear it in his voice. But this was important. He needed you to understand.

You just sat there for a moment, staring at him, your brow furrowed. “I–” you started. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding, Captain Rogers.”

“Steve,” he corrected, “please.”

“Steve, I–” you paused, your lips pursed. “I’m sorry, whether or not you eventually get back on the team, that doesn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t work for SHIELD. I can’t make that decision.”

“What? No. Yes, you do. You can tell Fury that I’m fit for duty.”

“Steve. I work for a support omega agency. I’ve helped a few agents before, but I don’t know Commander Fury. I’m not here to report back to anyone. I’m just here to help you.”

All he could do was shake his head. No, this wasn’t right. There had to be a way to get back to work. You had to be the key.

“I’ve been contracted for a three month period, with the option to extend as needed. I thought this had all been explained to you. I–” You looked at him, pained, like you were willing him to understand 

  ‘Three months to start’ had been said to him at some point in this whole process, but he hadn’t thought that’d been serious. He’d been sure there was a way around it. Sure that you were the way.

He wouldn’t be able to survive three months. That he was sure of. Not without something to do. Not without a purpose. Not without something to fight. The room was getting smaller again. Closing in on him. All of that time stretching out ahead of him, without any purpose, without any point to him. It was all closing in on him.

He tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t do any good. It didn’t do anything. Didn’t get him any air. There wasn’t any air. He was pinned down. Under all the water. Under all that ice. He was so cold and he couldn’t breathe.

“Steve!”

He was distantly aware of someone calling his name, but no one would be able to get to him. He was too far under. There was too much ice. He’d done too much.

“Steve. Hey, Steve! I’m here with you. I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.”

No, that couldn’t be right. He was alone. All alone and–

Lilacs. How was he smelling lilacs? And oranges. Fresh and bright. Spring.

He blinked his eyes open. He didn’t know when he’d shut them. He was huddled on the floor in front of the couch. In the living room. You were kneeling in front of him, your hands held out in front of you, not making contact, but one of your wrists was extended. Right under his nose. 

When he made eye contact with you, you exhaled, like maybe you’d been holding your breath. “Hi,” you said, relieved. “You back with me?”

All he could do was blink at you, at first. Then he looked around. The blank walls. The prefab furniture. The apartment. He hated this place. He looked back at you. “Yeah.” It came out in a croak. “I– Yeah.”

“Is it alright if I touch you?” you asked, inching closer. “You can say no.”

He shook his head without even thinking. “Please.”

As you reached out to touch him, hug him, maybe, he collapsed into you. You let out a little “oof” but didn’t pull away. You just wrapped your arms around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched, really touched, like this. Not just in passing. Not in battle. Before the ice. Decades. Everything had been decades. 

His eyes were wet and he was so so tired. He felt wrenched open. Emptied out like there was nothing left. He exhaled in your arms and with it came a whisper, completely out of his control. “I just want to go home.”

You didn't say anything, but your grip on him tightened.

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23 @thiquefunlover63 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stellar-solar-flare @alexakeyloveloki @kmc1989 @awkwardgiraffe726 @watermelontidewater

[devnmon]

by the lantern light.

Summary: Pining for your bounty partner is manageable most times, but it becomes extremely difficult when the hotel screws up your room choice and you're forced to share a bed.

sadie adler x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fingering, some oral (r!receiving), a cutesy love confession too & a tiny bit of angst, one bed trope x

wc: 4.4k

Another long day of riding from West Elizabeth to Annesburg and back had come to pass. An Era of outlaws and gunslingers had come to a close, while Sadie Adler found herself a successfully skilled bounty hunter.

Everything ached; your legs, your back, your heart for the woman you called the other half of your bounty hunting duo.

Sadie Adler continued to be the one constant in a world that showed you anything similar to it. A sickening love for her had grown with it, overtaking you to no end.

In turn, the day was finished with more than enough pay to last you both a while. To treat yourselves, Sadie suggested a night of hearty meals and the nicest rooms in the local town.

Add a bath to your expenses for the sole purpose of relaxation and hot water, your night was simply made.

Your boots were giving you countless blisters, and your thighs ached just standing upright.

Remind me never to suggest this many jobs in one day again...

Her low chuckle at the words you murmured while entering the hotel was almost enough to let her have a chance at the bath before you. But she took one look at you and basically ordered you to get in immediately.

Something about how she bossed you around, enjoying the way it made you feel wanted—no, needed, by her.

In her defense, you looked like shit.

For the meantime, you were to clean yourself while she ran a couple errands in town after booking the room. Most times, you had to pay extra for a specific room with two beds, lest society began to wonder if you were sharing the same bed.

Each muscle ached a bit more trudging up the hotel's steps, spurs clinking with each slow movement.

Shoving the bath's door closed was your next action, followed by peeling each and every item of clothing off of you for the time being.

While the tub filled, your mind floated back to the way Sadie had praised you earlier that day. Her drawl made your knees weak without fail, the thickest you've ever heard but no one else's you would listen to every day.

There you go, you got it... Nice job, honey.

Sunflower colored strands of her hair always remained neatly pulled back in that familiar loose braid of hers, wondering what you lengths you would go to for just a chance at running your fingers through it.

Your palms sweat around her just thinking about it. Other times about how you might look in one of her shirts, aroma of orchids and vanilla intertwined in the fabric.

With the first dip of your body into the steaming water, the outside world ceased to exist in that moment. Goosebumps flooded your skin and pricked up those little hairs along your body.

Upon the lack of sleep you'd received the night before, the warm water had you ready to nod off and rest your eyes. All you wanted to do was stay submerged in the clean water and dream of a certain blonde woman.

Your whole body ached for her; the warmth in her presence, the way she called your name, joked around with you, put every part of her trust in you on jobs. Your heart had held a special place for her ever since the day you two met.

Dreams of yours mainly consisted of her figure, putting you in not-so-safe-for-work positions that arose many confusing feelings in you.

Once the word love crossed your mind regarding her, there was no other way for you to see her. But in that golden light right before dusk and how she smiled when you genuinely made her laugh.

If there was a future for you out there, Sadie was painted in along with all the images you envisioned.

No matter how much being in her presence sparked a flame inside you, there wasn't enough evidence in the world to speak how you felt.

Just the deep thrum of heat flowing from the true center of your body, suffocating you in desire. Your skin under the water managed to be more sensitive, reminding you of the gentle but calloused hands of your partner.

Ease in her touches that had patched you up multiple times had been ingrained into your memory.

Ignoring the heat between your legs to clean your body, you tightened your thighs together in attempt to suppress it.

Sooner than later, a knock at the door pulled you from your daydream and alerted you of how cool the bath water had become. That familiar feminine drawl called out from the other side.

"Y'done in there yet? Our room's 'bout ready an' my feet're killin' me."

Shit.

Having to face the woman you were just daydreaming about— there were more things you'd rather do. She won't notice the blush on your cheeks because the room was hot from the steam. Right?

"Oh- yeah! Just gimme a minute."

Clothes returned to your back, clutching your gun belt and satchel in hand while your boots clicked on the floor once again. Upon opening the door, Sadie stood against the nearby wall, sighing when she noted your refreshed state.

"Well don't you look purdy." She smirked, dragging her eyes up and down your figure, impressed you actually listened to her.

Her comment was met with a roll of your eyes, walking past her and further down the hallway. Because of course you listened to her, you would walk into hell itself if it was what she wanted.

"Hey, it's room 2A, should be unlocked already." she called out to you, giving her a thumbs up wordlessly without turning back to face her.

Your eyes coasted along the wooden walls, finding the door unlocked like Sadie had said.

What she wasn't aware of was the lack of two beds and presence of one. Only one bed possessed this godforsaken room, and somehow that was seeming to be the last straw for you today.

There had to be some mistake, you were sure the hotel's clerk took bribes for preferred rooms. It had worked in the past, why was now the time for that to get thrown out the window?

You couldn't sleep in the same bed as her. You were sure you wouldn’t survive.

You always knew she wouldn't see you as anything more than her best friend and bounty partner. Which should've been enough. It should've been enough to satisfy you in this life. Lucky enough to even be graced with her presence on a day to day basis.

Not many men in this world could say this woman would even look twice in their direction.

But the sickening feeling when she pulled you close in the cold or when she gave you the last of her food. Those moments were when you wanted to break the silence and pull her lips to yours.

Organizing your things around the room was how you passed the time before Sadie eventually came knocking at the door.

One creak of the door opening was enough for her to realize exactly how she'd fucked up.

"What the hell? I could've sworn I paid that jackass at the front desk enough to get us the exact room I specifically requested! I should kick his ass—"

As much as you'd pay to see her cuss out the clerk at the front desk, the two of you couldn't handle all the attention it would bring. When Sadie doesn't get what she asked for, it was never long before hands were thrown.

"No—" you sighed, "we can't afford gettin' kicked out, Sadie. My back cannot take another night on the ground."

"Well, yer right," she drawled, "You ain't gon' make it five feet out them doors before needin' a lie down. Plus, we're both beat."

She took a quick look around the room, then placed her things down on the opposite wall.

"I think we can tough it just one night. Whatchu think?"

Truth be told, you were much too drained to argue or find another reason to protest the situation any longer.

When your figure hit the mattress, feet free of the cowboy boot leather, the comfort of soft sheets was enough to lull you off into a deep sleep.

Though your subconscious dug deep into the layers of your mind, unearthing the most filthy words in Sadie's beckoning voice.

You have no idea how much I want you right now... as her hands pin your wrists to a wall.

God, you look amazing like this, while you're perched kneeling between her thighs.

You're a needy girl, aren't you? Tell me what you want... the minute she gets you undressed.

Her closeness has you sweating and your body is on fire. She reaches for your waist, hands eager and steady; that is, before the vision fades and your eyes jolt open to the low lit room.

Gasping slightly, you're frozen in place upon waking from sleep. Stuck sleeping in a bed with the woman that embodied your dreams just a moment ago.

Quiet breaths filled the room, another reminder you were in such a situation that there was nothing you could do. About these overwhelming sensations, the feelings you bared, an urge to take care of how turned on those dreams had made you.

This situation was beyond impossible to weasel your way out of. Sleeping on the ground was terrible, but at least you could sneak away silently; any slight move or sound could wake her on this mattress.

Though you attempted to drift back off into sleep, your overactive thoughts of Sadie intensified.

How long would it take to kiss every inch of her body?

Which spots would be more sensitive to your touch?

Your eyes shot open again, void of any fatigue you felt a couple hours earlier. Only thing inhabiting you now was the heat radiating from under the covers. Sadie's body heat next to you on the bed contributed to the raised temperature, but you could tell that wasn't the only heat you felt.

Not only were you drenched in sweat, but the overwhelming heat painting your body radiated from between your legs. Aching something awful the second you squeezed your thighs together.

Having to share a bed with her was anxiety inducing enough— add the effect of seeing her laid out for you perfectly behind your eyelids, and you felt helpless to do anything.

Attempting to fall back asleep was out of the question as well, seeing as those thoughts of her positioned so nicely for you lingered distastefully. It just had to be the night you couldn't keep your mind off her that she lay the closest she's ever been to you.

The more you attempted to avoid what was keeping you awake, the more your cunt throbbed and begged to be touched.

At this point you'd become desperate, wanting to be relaxed so bad that the idea was more appealing now than it was five minutes ago.

Anything for you to rest again.

Very delicately, one of your hands moved to slide down the front of your underwear. You were betting on the fact that Sadie was exhausted that night and wouldn't be woken by the slightest movements.

Just as your fingers snuck past the waistband, the woman beside you shuffled slightly. Your movements halted until you were sure she didn't wake easier than you thought. Upon the lack of evidence afterwards, you decided to continue and reach down between your legs.

It was almost surprising how soaked you were upon running your finger over your cunt, holding back a whimper when just the pad ran over your clit. You were clenching around nothing just from it, tempted to go further but knowing someone could hear you.

God— fuck it, right?

Damn Sadie Adler with her hickory colored eyes and sweet southern drawl, with those nimble hands and steady thighs and proportions that could make a grown woman cry—

Pushing two fingers between your folds tests you more than anything in the moment, with filthy sounds threatening to break loose.

Why oh why couldn't you two just have gotten separate rooms like you wanted? What possessed her to make you share a room with her all the time?

A pad of your finger swiped up to your clit, circling ever so slowly and with feather light touches.

What would she think if she caught me? Would she punish me? Or make me worship her to no end?

Either way, you were fucked in the head for thinking any of it.

That cunt of yours throbbed to no end, worsening by the second you begun touching yourself again. Light circles turned to adding more pressure and steadying your breath with each pass of your fingers.

Your body ached for her touch, picturing the image of her above you with those hands of hers outreached for you. It was erotic enough to make you whimper in the silent dark of the hotel room.

"Fuck..." you muttered under your breath.

Wet sounds began to fill the room once your fingers pushed inside your entrance.

Now you were really moving slow, pressing both digits inside just to curl them at the perfect spot that sent your thighs tightening again.

Her sweet saccharine southern drawl was the closest thing to euphoria you'd imagined. Putting the words in your mind to her voice- you were exploding on the inside from imagining it.

To sit at the mountain peak of her thighs and give her everything you had... to have her call out your name out of any others in the world. It was enough to make you—

Oh, Sadie...

Too focused on keeping her image clear in your head, you’d missed the additional shuffling next to you. Eyes squeezed so tight, your blood pumping in your ears was all you could hear.

Any time she filled your mind, the images were always of her splayed out any way your brain could fathom...

One of her completely naked on a couch, another where she's towering over your body, thrusting her hips against yours; one more of her face shoved between your thighs while your fingers ran through her blonde strands, her tongue slowly inching through--

"Havin' trouble over there?"

A raspy voice called out through the dark, belonging to none other than the woman you were fantasizing about to no end.

In a fraction of a second, you were frozen in place... as if you would be any less caught than you were in that moment. Your hand shot out from between your legs faster than light on impulse.

As if doing cartwheels, your stomach dropped over and over again, while you were in the midst of surveying what to do.

Take it on the chin? Face her? Tell her everything you'd been thinking about? Absolutely all of it? None of it?

Before you could even get a chance to realize how fucked you were, she'd switched on her lantern light and sat up on the bed.

"If you needed some stress relief, all you had to do was ask'." Her low drawl rings out in the warm light, blonde hair covering her back as you peek over at her.

Sitting up nervously, you turned to face her, eyes overwhelmed with regret and uncertainty. Guilt had overridden you on another level, not knowing how she'd react to— wait, did she just say...?

"When they told me I could change our room, I decided against it... to see what would happen. To see if my suspicions were right all along."

"You did this...? Why--" you started, meeting her brown eyes for the first time all night.

"Cause I... could tell how you felt. For a while now. Just... didn't know how I felt. Took me some time to. But now I do." she drawled, a look of understanding meeting yours.

"And now?"

Surprisingly, the heat level in your cheeks settled some when she scooched closer to you on the mattress.

"Just... let me try somethin'."

Not only does one of her hands land on top of yours, but cups your cheek with the other and began to lean in to you.

Every atom in your body screamed out for her, similar to the way a firework sparked a bit before its shot into the sky.

Once her lips finally pressed to yours, every moment you shared together flashed through your head. Almost like a vision aligning, where you could see every day she kept you around wasn't just for convenience. Each time she had your back in life, through fights and drunken nights, was because she cared only for you.

Instantly you forgot how to breathe, only wanting to savor the burn of her pillow-esque lips against yours for the rest of eternity.

But when she pulled away, the breath you were holding became overwhelming and caused you to gasp for air.

"Sadie... I-"

"No, I know. I know, honey. But it's the middle of the night, we can't afford to lose any more sleep talkin' about this. We already ain't had enough of that." she chuckled, intertwining her fingers with yours.

"Kiss me again, please..."

Of course she would indulged you over and over, spending minutes frozen in time and trapped in the loving embrace her lips were giving yours. Somehow it was even more perfect than in your dreams.

Wordlessly, she laid you down on the bed, your hair scattering across the pillow while you continued to share the most perfect sounds she'd ever heard. Heartbeat quickening, sighs and small moans of pleasure escaping the both of you until she pulls away for a moment.

"Y'were thinkin' about me, weren't you?" One of her fingers swiped at the excess saliva on her lip from your overeager state.

Reminded of how exactly you'd gotten yourself in this situation, you nodded in confirmation and felt your cheeks pink up.

"You're the only person I would, Sade."

One of the corners of her mouth points upwards, painting a smirk on her face.

"Now what are we gon' do about that, hm?"

"Whatever you want."

Your response tumbles out a split second after her question hits the air, the apples of her cheeks brightening with a bit of a blush.

Instantly, her lips are on yours again as she's pushing you down onto the pillow's soft cover. Sadie's loose strands of hair tickle the sides of your face slightly, but the contact isn't unwelcome.

With her in an image you'd been daydreaming of for god knows how long, you thought this moment might actually be the paradise in her you were searching for.

Another gasp leaves you as her lips separate from yours to leave a trail down your jawline to your neck. Her hands resting on the mattress at your sides were gripping the comforter.

"Can I... touch you here?" Her fingers ghost over your waist, the lightest touches hovering over your skin.

"Yes... god, yes. Please touch me. All over, Sade."

Your voice is barely a whisper, plainly begging for her to run those hands down your body until she was satisfied.

Only after you'd given her the go ahead does she connect her hand to your waist, slipping her fingers under your sleep shirt ever so slightly. That overbearing heat still lingered, only burning hotter with her hands on you.

You can feel her mouth sucking a mark into your collarbone, swallowing your whimpers before she releases with a popping sound.

"Now then, let's make sure you sleep t'night. I ain't doin' this all night with your damn tossin' and turnin'."

You scoffed, because how could you be so careless? Sadie was one to know when gunfire was about to break out-- of course she knew you weren't really sleeping.

Her hands delicately lift your shirt up, fingertips painting goosebumps along your skin. When your chest came into view, you caught her licking her lips before bending down to place a kiss between the valley of your breasts.

"You're prettier than a flower in bloom. Know that?" Her lips ghost up your chest and collarbones with feather light kisses.

"Stop sweet talkin' me..." you replied breathlessly.

Without warning, she takes one of your hardened nipples into her mouth, circling her tongue around it before nipping ever so lightly.

"Shit-- don't tease me... it's been long enough," you whined, pulling a chuckle from her.

"Alright, alright." Her other hand grasped your other breast, playing with your nipple between two of her fingers.

You inhaled sharply when her other hand slipped right past the band of your bottoms and down between your legs, slapping your palm over your mouth in surprise.

"Shh, shh... gotta be quiet for me, m'kay?"

Nodding in reply, she licked her lips and pulled down your bottoms.

"Ah, there she is... my sweet girl." Her drawl had your head spinning, not even realizing her hand was traveling further down your body to push your legs open for her.

"Sadie..." you whispered, perplexed by the entire situation. You pinched your arm to make sure this wasn't a dream while you sensed her palms cupping the soft plush of your thighs.

Sadie's fingers stroke over your heat, unbeknownst to her how badly it burned and pleaded for her touch. As if she could read your mind, two of her fingers opened you up for her, vulnerability washing over you in that moment.

"Y'don't even know how whipped you got me, honey. I'd have walked into hell itself if you were the one askin'..."

God... you were lovesick.

You whimper behind your palm, practically vibrating with how much you were riled up beforehand.

Once her fingers sliver through how soaked you were, the pad of her middle finger traces circles on your most sensitive part. Sadie's eyes catch your flustered state as she continues the slow movements, moving down to your entrance while collecting your slick.

It's cruel how she barely touches your entrance before removing her fingers to taste you for herself. Your hazy eyes catch her licking your arousal off her digits before reaching down to touch you again.

"Sweetest thing I ever did taste, baby."

Please... you whisper, gripping the bed sheets tighter than you can imagine. Sadie only chuckles, before two of her fingers prod at her entrance, pushing in slowly at first. When she realizes you welcome her in with no resistance, she bites her lip and smirks.

Though your overwhelming arousal allowed for her fingers to slip in easily, it felt as if it was your first time. Thin and nimble, they were even more fulfilling than your own. It made a world of a difference not having to pleasure yourself for the first time in ages.

Men tried their best, but you knew Sadie Adler's skills would outperform all of their past attempts.

As if a reflex, your walls clench around her fingers, covering them in your arousal again, and she smiles. Her dirty blonde strands tickle your thighs as she presses a kiss to one of them, feeling you throb while pushing them back inside.

Her unused hand parts your folds for her and her thumb gently rubs your little bundle of nerves, taking pride and joy in being the one to do so.

She adores the way your eyebrows scrunch together while you attempt to remain quiet, the way your breasts sit prettily on your chest and the way your body reacts when she angles her fingers just right.

"Y're so... lucky I'm too tired to scream your name right now..." you pant, taking each tantalizing drag of her fingers with pride. Her fingers curl inside you upon hearing your words, watching you swallow another sound she feels envious to not hear in the moment.

"Sounds like heaven. Maybe when we got a little place of our own someday." Sadie leans down to press a kiss onto your heat, catching more of your slick on her lips and humming with content.

"Shut up... oh-!" You bite your hand to combat the filthy sound you want to emit, just so she can hear how intoxicated by her you've become.

"There ya go, takin' me so well..." the movements of her fingers set a steady pace inside you, observing you breathe heavily above her.

Her tongue against your heat was the closest thing to euphoria you could imagine, saturated in her lust and devotion like a god. In a split second, she hums against you and you can feel the wave of pleasure begin to build like no other type of adrenaline.

"I'm close, Sade... don't stop..." you spoke breathlessly, your entire being feeling connected to hers in that moment. Your toes curled, fingers grasped the cotton sheets until your knuckles turned white.

"Let go for me, sweetheart. Just let it all out, there ya go..." she beckoned, pressing her tongue to your clit as her fingers continued to pump inside you.

The quiet of the room was now filled with your heavy breathing, as though the entire world paused its turning for a moment, high coursing through your body.

Some of the slightest moans you'd been withholding for the sake of people in the hotel slipped past your lips like music to Sadie's ears.

As your high washed over you, she could feel you clenching rhythmically around her fingers and chuckled to herself before pulling away and crawling back up your body.

Her lips trailed kisses up your stomach and neck while your breathing steadied, the contact with your skin warm from your overwhelming orgasm.

"You're so pretty..." she breathed, "when you come for me."

Sadie kissed your cheek and dragged her hands up your body, goosebumps in your afterglow spreading like wildfire. Your hands loosened their grip on the bed sheets and wrapped around Sadie's neck loosely, welcoming each kiss she placed upon your face.

"Feel better now?" she mumbled against your ear, cupping the side of your face with her palm.

"Mhm... thank you, Sade. Feel s'much better now, love you... so much."

The lack of sleep had you delusional, barely registering anything you admitted to her now that you'd finally gotten the one thing you wanted.

"Love you too, honey. More'n you know."

Sadie lay beside you, her arms wrapped around your body to pull you in close while the both of you finally let your mutual tiredness drift you off to sleep.

[neeeooon]

Hii how are you? Hope everything is well! I saw that you wrote for wind breaker, and I loved you even more! If it wouldn't be much trouble, can you do suo x reader who is Sakura's twin like that recent post? Where at first he was flirting with the reader to mess w her and Sakura but found himself falling in love? Please and thank you!

suo 🥰 cute okay YES i’m on it TYSM

not a good idea

suo hayato x fem!reader who is sakura’s twin sister. veryy suggestive at the end

suo hummed too suspiciously, too sweetly, as he tapped his chin and stared at you. “y/n looks a little cold. doesn’t she, sakura?”

your brother’s eyebrow twitched as suo removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. your face flared on its own account, causing you to look away from them both.

you knew that suo was only flirting with you to tease you and your brother, especially since he openly admitted to getting some sick kick out of your matching flustered expressions, but that didn’t make it easier for you. anytime he was around, your face would instantly heat up at the thought of his “innocent” smiles and flirts. he had you conditioned like a dog.

you worked part-time at an old books and music store near sakura and suo’s high school, and they’d always stop by to see you since your classes ended before theirs. when the bell rang above the door at the normal time, though, you were surprised to see only suo there.

he flashed his signature smile, as suspicious and sweet as always, and waved his fingers at you. “good afternoon, y/n.”

tilting your attention to the bottom shelf, you hummed a reply and pretended to count records. you knew suo was approaching by the length of his shadow against your desk, and did your best to will all the extra blood out of your face.

suo leaned forward, and you froze when you looked up to find him mere inches away from you. you swallowed. “can i help you?”

his head tipped ever so slightly to the side, earrings shifting against his neck. “do you have any books on chinese poetry?”

you met his eyes then and saw a flicker of curiosity in them. his smile remained calm and calculating, but you felt a sliver of hesitation as you stared at it.

“we do. this way.”

there was no one else in the shop, as expected. you typically spent those hours organizing shelves and dusting until your usuals came in. it felt strange breaking away from your unofficial schedule, especially since suo and your brother never asked about books or music while visiting you.

“here,” you said as you waved a hand down one of the smaller sections in the store. it was located near the back, away from the door and any prying eyes with other not-so-popular genres. “if you need any more help—“

“sorry,” he smiled sweetly as he tapped a delicate finger against his covered eye. “i’m struggling to make out the titles. can you pull some for me?”

you shot a nervous glance toward the front of the store, worried your manager might walk in and accuse you of slacking off, but the feeling of suo’s intense gaze forced your attention back onto him. you blushed deeply, and he hummed.

wordlessly, you filtered through the poets, searching for authors with chinese surnames, and pulled those for your brother’s classmate. “here. look through them and bring the ones you like to the front. you can put the others back when you’re done.”

suo made sure to run his fingers along your hand as he took the books from you, and though you knew the action was purposeful, his closed-eyed expression betrayed nothing.

your expression, on the other hand, gave away every single thought running rampant through your mind. that was definitely on purpose; you could tell by the sweetness in his smile.

his hands are so soft… you blushed when you caught yourself thinking about his hands and fought the urge to slap the sides of your face.

“thank you for the book,” he said in a soft, almost cheerful voice, and you shook your head. suo still hadn’t moved, though, and neither had you.

you were going to be the first, leg twitching to step back, when he suddenly looked at you. you realized only then that suo had had his eye closed since taking the books from you and burned until his ruby-colored stare.

when you finally managed to take a step back, he took one forward. your heart fluttered, pulse hammering wildly in your ears at the proximity. the way his eye lowered and dragged to where your name badge rose and fell with your quickening breath sent an unfamiliar shock down your spine.

“this isn’t a good idea, suo.”

“logical? perhaps not. but good?” he leaned closer, hands clasped behind his back as his nose nearly blushed against your red cheek. “does this not feel good, y/n?”

you shivered. without permission, your hands flew up to clench the fabric of his jacket, fingers trembling as you held him in place. you tugged a little, not enough to move him, as you hesitated over whether you should pull him against you or push him away.

suo looked over you patiently, lips softly curled in their normal fashion, sending mixed waves of anger and heat through your chest. how could he not be affected by this? while your face felt like it would explode if it got any hotter.

“my brother’s not here,” you stammered pathetically. “you don’t have to keep teasing me.”

suo’s smile grew. “you’re the one holding me in place, y/n.”

your fingers released his jacket as if the contact burned you. hands unsure of what to do, you shoved them behind your back and leaned against the bookshelves to keep them pressed in place. “that’s… sorry.”

“don’t be,” he blew off casually, drawing your eyes back to his. “i liked it.”

oh god. this guy was going to be the death of you.

“i like you, too. but you aren’t ready for that at the moment.”

for the first time, you balked. any color in your face drained as his words slammed into you and repeated themselves in your head like a mantra.

you stammered pathetically for a reply until suo swept a strand of hair behind your ear with careful fingers. the tips of two brushed against your cheek, leaving thin trails of fire in their wake.

as quickly as his touch had been there, it left with him as he clasped his hands behind his back and sauntered to the front of the store. “i’ll take this one, please.”

it took you a moment to remember what he was talking about. you slapped the sides of your face and hurried to the front of the store to check his book out and hand it to him. “c-come again, soon,” you stammered out your professional line like it pained you to say.

suo only smiled. “i will.”

[lovelytsunoda]

nation of two // oscar piastri

summary: a camping trip in perth, and a set of missing sleeping bags brings together a pair of childhood friends in a way neither of them had quite anticipated

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

warnings: lando being a little shit, wee lil' age gap (reader is a year and a half older than oscar is), general outdoorsy activities, forced teambuilding. for all intents and purposes, this is in the very beginning of lando and oscar's time as teammates and they don't know each other well yet.

authors note: I was so tempted to make this a fic for a different fandom but knew y’all would hate me if I started dropping top gun fics out of nowhere instead of the f1 goodness you’ve come to expect, and then this prompt was just so perfect for oscar and now here we are

the australian sun beat down as she trekked up the rocky hiking trail, rugged outdoor shoes digging into the dirt and mud beneath her feet. sweat soaked through the back of her concert shirt, her black bucket hat concentrating all of the sun's rays on her scalp.

"jesus, piastri! how much further?" she whined, taking oscar's outstretched hand and allowing him to pull her up the trail.

oscar laughed, looking over and grinning at how ridiculous she looked with her massive backpack and sweat stained shirt, the hot pink of her sports bra showing through the white fabric underneath the words 'duran duran'.

"don't be such a baby!"

"i'm older than you!" she shreiked, feeling the burn in her legs as she rested her weight on the younger boy. "carry me the rest of the way?"

"no! you have to get to the lookout yourself."

she groaned, rolling her eyes. "then where are lando and will? i'll sit in the damn wagon if i have to. how are you not winded?"

she hadnt planned to even be here. oscar had phoned her late the night before, asking if she would be up for a hike. she'd agreed, searching for a reason to get out of the house. it wasnt like she had anything better to do.

she'd known oscar all her life. in elementray school, they waited for the big yellow bus at the same stop, and were in the same homeroom for most of secondary school with oscar taking advanced classes for his age and y/n sinking down a level in maths, despite oscar's many absences. their mothers were in the same knitting club, and many a night teenage oscar would apologetically come to her house and collect his wine-drunk mother from the knitting circle. (despite it all, she loved nicole. how could she not, the woman was an icon)

"because i'm an athlete and you're out of shape?" oscar guessed jokingly, prodding at the cute pudge of her stomach.

the action gave her butterflies, a feeling in her stomach that wasn't welcome when thinking about the younger man she was leaning against.

they'd always been friendly. too friendly, some may say, eyebrows raising when people heard about the age gap. what did a sophisticated older woman want with oscar piastri?

it was simple: she liked stupid men with hearts of gold. and so far, nobody had compared to the 21-year-old. she was 22, so the gap wasn't even that bad.

and oscar didn't really think she was out of shape. he might joke, but that small bit of pudge on her stomach was so adorable, like a kangaroo pouch in his head, and he dreamed about the day he could cuddle up behind her and wrap his arms around it, skin to skin between cotton sheets.

"shut up." she whined, relieved that the group had finally stopped. she flung down her badly-packed and underprepared rucksack and slumped against it, pulling her hat over her eyes. it was getting cooler, though still humid, as the sun began to sink below the horizon.

"i think it's time we think about making camp." mark webber suggested, stretching out his old man limbs, tapping the giant stick he held as a walking aid against a rock. "this is as good a spot as any. lando, do you have the sleeping bags?"

"do i have the sleeping bags?" lando repeated jokingly. "what kind of muppet do you think that i am? of course will and i have the sleeping bags!"

the mclaren driver sidestepped towards the wooden wagon, dramatically ripping back the tarp on top to reveal the cardboard tent box (which had been duct taped back together so many times that it was more tape than cardboard) and the clusters of rolled up sleeping bags.

one by one, lando and will started tossing the bags at the hikers. in almost no time at all, everybody had a sleeping bag.

well, everybody except y/n.

"oi, orlando, what the fuck!" she shouted, deliberately getting his name wrong. "where's my stuff?"

not looking sorry at all, lando shrugged his shoulders, eyes hidden underneath the brim of his bucket hat. "i guess i miscounted."

"you didn't miscount shit." she glared at him, using both of her hands to flash the man her middle fingers.

lando stifled a laugh, looking over at oscar. "are you sure she's the older one?"

"lando, shove off." oscar defended before turning to her. "my sleeping bag is a double, we'll be just fine. as long as lando hasn't lost the second tent."

y/n chuckled darkly, using the rock behind her to push herself to her feet. "the tent is in my rucksack. there's no way in hell that i'm sleeping on the dirt floor."

"princess." lando coughed into his fist, hoping that neither oscar or y/n noticed.

see, lando norris had a plan. a plan that was formed out of one too many rom com nights with his girlfriend, and an impatience born from watching y/n and oscar run circles around each other like horny dogs too nervous to get to humping.

the way lando saw it, hiding the sleeping bag was just going to help that along.

"anyways, im heading out." y/n sighed, getting to her feet and brushing the leaves and twigs off her thighs. "you freaks better not follow me into the woods and watch me piss."

oscar watched her leave with a dreamy expression as she pushed branches out of the way, stumbling over tree roots and branches. he saw her loose her footing in the mud , scraping the side of her knee on the tree bark.

"you okay?" oscar shouted, ready to jump into the woods after her.

"i'm fine!"

when she came back from the woods, legs slightly scratched up from the way she stumbled, hat dangling from the chinstrap around her neck and her sweat-matted hair falling down her shoulders. oscar was setting up the tent, shirtless as he hammered the tent stakes in place. all in all, the tent was fairly well constructed considering that oscar had done it all himself.

"so, your new teammate is a jackass." she laughed. "who suggested this trip?"

"i did. against my better judgment." oscar rolled his eyes, straightening up at dusting off his hands before peeling back the zipper door to the orange tent. "welcome to my humble abode. ladies first, your highness."

"oh, shut up." she laughed, her face turning pink as she ducked into the tent.

it was a large space, backlit by the battery powered lantern from oscar's rucksack. the soft yellow lighting made their shadows dance as she sat down on the double sized sleeping bag, unsure of what to do next.

they hadn't shared a bed since they were sixteen years old on a joint family trip to fiji and they had been so drunk that they fell asleep together on a sun lounger.

it's okay. you can do this.

"can i have the right side?" she asked timidly as oscar followed her in, zipping up the door behind him.

"knock yourself out." oscar said, avoiding eye contact as he reached into his backpack and passing her a bag of cheetos.

the proximity and the rising heat in the tent was starting to make him uncomfortable. no doubt he was also thinking about the sun lounger.

"i'm glad that you came. i missed spending time with you, y/n."

she laughed, popping the bag open and cursing when she spilled orange cheese dust on her leg. "me too. i've been at a loss lately. a crossroads, if you will. this is exactly what i needed to get out of my head."

"remember what mark said? leave your problems at the bottom of the mountain!" oscar laughed. "just put one foot in front of you and keep moving.''

she grinned, popping a crispy cheeto into her mouth. "easier said than done when thinking about the future paralyzes you."

oscar moved his body along the sleeping bag so that he was sitting directly next to her, his thigh touching hers. the sleeping bag took up most of the floor space, neither of them wanting to lean back, lest they cause the whole tent to topple over.

the feeling of his skin against hers made the hair on her arms stand up, goosebumps following in its wake.

"you'll figure it out. i know you will. have some faith in yourself."

the way the led lantern highlighted every pore, every contour of his skin should have been reserved for the film crew on fifty shades of grey. he looked so breathtaking in the dark that it had just that effect: taking all of her breath away. she felt like she'd been hit in the lungs, unable to think about anything except the greek god in front of her.

and she was going to have cheeto breath when she kissed him.

outside the tent, their silhouettes danced in the half light as she leaned towards him, lips moving to whisper something inaudible but that the aussie seemed to understand instantly, wrapping his hands around her waist to pull her closer.

and when oscar kissed her? she forgot all her worries, this airy feeling spreading throughout her body. the skin around their lips would be stained from the cheetos, as would the sleeping bag where the bag toppled over, but neither of them could find it in them to care, too lost in the others touch as oscar's calloused fingers ran up her t-shirt, gently squeezing the part of her stomach that made her the most self-conscious,

"you're beautiful. and smart. and brilliant. and i'm sorry that nobody has ever told you that." he whispered in his kiss, his tongue licking into her mouth. he growled at the taste of cheetos, something that was suddenly so much sexier than he had ever believed it could be.

"shut up." she blushed, kissing him again.

outside the tent, lando and will sat by a crackling fire, watching the embers rise in the air and wondering if the pair knew that the lantern allowed them to see everything through the tent walls.

"i knew he had it in him." lando laughed. "look at the little guy go."

"should we tell him about the lantern?" will chuckled, popping a marshmallow into his mouth.

"nah. they'll figure it out in a minute when we all start wolf whistling."

TAGS

@magnummagnussen @httpiastri @sidcrosbyspuck @twinkodium @thatsdemko @userlando @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @lorarri

[yeahihyperfixtate]

♡ — luke and kieran x assassin!reader

content : fluff, suggestive (like you have to squint), nonmc!reader, reader contexted to have killed ppl, idk luke and kieran being adorable, more or less the twins x reader

authors note : i havent written stuff in a year hope we're somewhat back in the game. idk I love luke and kieran and this idea has been buzzing about since I met them in game, and ik it says assassin but assistant felt too icky to call reader so yeah, enjoy pls <3

♡ — assassin!reader who, in her vulnerable youth, was taken under the wing of onychinus's mysterious leader, revealing a hidden purpose and destiny within her.

♡ — assassin!reader who quickly fell in line when an opportunity arose, casting aside her former recklessness as a besieged street rat, employing such developed cunning senses to eliminate anyone who dared interfere with the hailed leader of onychinus.

♡ — assassin!reader who was treated no differently than the others, used as a strategic asset in those dull meetings the sylus ordered her to attend, some remarking on the irony that no one in that overly cologned room took a woman seriously, even if she stood beside onychinus's revered leader.

♡ — assassin!readerwho only sighed at the memory of the last meeting as her boss spoke humorously. those who dared to push their limits with him, feeling a boost of superiority against one man in his lonesome and some unseen woman, lay with their throats slit as she returned to stand beside her seated superior, her actions displayed as a brief warning to those who tried to think the same.

♡ — assassin!reader who had to refrain her walls of stoicism from falling when she was handed her very own crow mask, briefed that she would be under his direct commands, no other.

♡ — assassin!reader who after a few months of securing a spot directly under sylus’s hand, was introduced to her previously unknown, equally skilled comrades, luke and kieran—the infamous twins of onychinus—immediately affirming such with her new uniform, smaller but just as tactile copy of theirs.

♡ — assassin!reader who quickly learned the personalities she was forced to interact and work with daily, distinguishing between the vigorous, unpredictable nature of the older brother, Luke, and the calmer, more soothing demeanour of Kieran.

♡ — assassin!reader who while navigating these complex dynamics, found herself constantly adjusting herself, carefully tailoring her walls to stay upright as she interacted with the pair careful to not stitch herself into their lives, wanting no more than to rely only on herself, all while maintaining her unwavering loyalty to sylus.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds it increasingly hard to hold up these walls as she works with the pair, finding herself alongside the two during their free time, relaxing in one of sylus’s penthouses, awaiting his next command to fill the boredom that overshadows the three.

♡ — assassin!reader who isn’t respected by a selection of lower-ranked members due to her status of being a highly-ranked woman in onychinus, her name slandered continuously among the workplace.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds herself watching the twins with a mix of admiration and surprise as the two yank a man out of his chair, their aura cold and menacing. their victim, refusing to acknowledge her high rank, accompanied by a moment of foolishness calling her a bitch during a meeting the three were conducting. all triggered by her blunt criticism of his team’s failure to deliver the required number of protocores on time, fuelling the brothers' anger, actively threatening his life with a gun to his head unless he supplied an apology on his knees within the next five seconds.

♡ — assassin!reader who gradually comes to the profound realization of the deep significance the twins hold in her life, a startling epiphany triggered by a harrowing near-death experience on what should have been an ordinary mission gone south.

♡ — assassin!reader who often perches on a high-rise rooftop after successful missions, gazing over the mist-shrouded N109 zone. only recently finding herself joined by the twins, a result of their collaboration over the past few weeks.

♡ — assassin!reader who suddenly finds herself looking for the pair during her scarce free time, looking for the mix of comforting personalities to fill her boredom.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds herself swept up in their mischievous antics, reluctantly pressed against a wall corner alongside them, watching as an unsuspecting newcomer to onychinus gets a face full of pie upon opening the shared base fridge.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds her cheeks reddening as her two companions casually speculate about her appearance, pulling guesses on the colour and texture of her hair, her supposed eye colour and its shape, all while she attempts to avoid their curious eyes on her.

♡ — assassin!reader who silently prayed to whatever deity was watching, begging for an open grave to swallow her whole as luke reached out to hold her, thankfully, masked face, forcing it still in an attempt to peer past the red slits that lay over her eyes.

♡ — assassin!reader horrifyingly wishes she could jump off this very rooftop they resided on as kirean casually chimes into the conversation some more, audibly wondering about her form in outfits that weren't the current uniforms displayed. he shrugs it off, only adding fuel to the fire as he stretches on how he knows that 'you’re a beauty either way behind that mask', luke places the foreseen cherry on top as he agrees with his younger brother so casually, finally letting go of her burning face.

♡ — assassin!reader can only stare at the back of their heads as they both turn away from her, looking down at the streets below as if this was the most normal thing in the world

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

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A03 Link

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 5.3K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

To the dismay of all those affected, RK800 had been selected to choose their movie. Not that Anderson’s taste would have served them better—high-octane, low-budget action features with impressively bad acting. 

Nines simply could not understand why the human and android did not rotate. Their biweekly film nights were infrequent enough that it would have been easy to balance control. Despite this, both parties insisted on an archaic coin-flip system.

Initially, this had been a coin issued to RK800 for calibration purposes. Following an inordinate number of failed attempts, Anderson insisted it must be weighted. A digital replacement was employed to appease him, until he had hotly repeated the claim.  

Rather than debate the feasibility of a computing algorithm being ‘weighted’, RK800 had complied with the ongoing request that Anderson’s preferred currency be used.

The weathered nickel was pinched deftly between calloused fingers, brandished like a priceless artifact. His so-called lucky penny. He vouched for its reliance proudly, claiming it always landed on heads—and that he would gladly drain the contents of Sumo’s dog bowl should he lose the wager.

The coin was placed on the flat of his knuckle and flicked with a snapped ding. As the human watched on, it gained impressive height and momentum, clipping the side of a lamp shade. His chest was puffed, and a preemptive smirk of victory tugged at his lips.

The metal fell back to earth, hitting the coffee table with a clink. It spun on its side for several rotations before finally tipping over. The embossed lines of the union shield gleamed, catching against the suspended bulb rocking above.

The smirk fell from Anderson's face. He gawked at the cent with an inexplicable degree of accusation, as though it had personally betrayed him.

Defying all laws of statistical improbability, it seemed the universe was working against him. At least, this had been the dramatic proclamation made before he left for the kitchen. His feet dragged laboriously, as he muttered incoherently—something about fetching a drink. 

Whether or not this would comprise the liquid in Sumo's dish was yet to be seen.

In his absence, the androids were left alone. RK800 secured a nearby remote, prepared to choose whatever dire cinematic offering they’d be forced to endure. The television flickered to life, tuned to an evening news segment. One that was infamous for its sensationalism—riddled with lurid headlines, ominous sound bites and manufactured urgency. 

It lived up to expectations. Following a bizarre montage of inverted mugshots intercut to the tune of waterphones, the camera focused on a presenter. She was brandishing a stack of papers, tapping them lightly against her desk and frowning morosely. 

Nines recognised her as Teagan Rodgers—one of the field reporters who had been sculking outside the barricades of the HR400 murder scene.

She was discussing local crime statistics, spoken with such dramatic inflexion it bordered on self-parody. Her artificial seriousness only heightened as she started reading a series of audience prompts.

As Nines tuned in to the presented topic, a flicker of tension locked his jaw, which he deftly smoothed over. However, as a visual accompaniment appeared on the screen behind Rodgers, it became much more challenging to conceal.

"I was recently on-site at one of these gruesome android-targeted scenes, and when asked for comment, this is what the DPD’s finest had to say."

The screen transitioned to a candid shot of Detective Reed outside the Hartwell Apartment complex. Capturing the precise moment he’d lost his temper with the badgering reporter, forcing her microphone away from his face.

The feed then cut back to the studio. Rodgers sat with her arms folded, pressing up the swell of her chest, as her rouged lips pouted disapprovingly.

"And, well, I think that says it all, doesn't it?

The public agrees, with 85% of our viewers suggesting that local law enforcement aren't doing enough to protect this new, vulnerable group. 

With another body having been discovered mere days ago, and police no closer to catching the culprit, we must ask ourselves a serious question: 

Is this post-revolution Detroit truly a safe place for—" 

Rodgers was interrupted mid-sentence as RK800 changed the channel. The segment went undiscussed, but as a streaming service was loaded, Nines could sense the wary glances directed at him. He monitored his reaction, working to project a stoic indifference. His fists clenched in his lap, balled against his jeans, while his face remained expressionless.

RK800 moved on shortly after, navigating to the ‘Romance’ subsection of the platform. He began flicking through a catalogue of nearly identical posters. Attractive men smirked playfully, engaging women who ranged from equally mischievous to endearingly flustered. Occasionally, the suitor was shown giving his potential sweetheart some generic gift—a vibrant floral arrangement or box of chocolates.

All the titles blurred together in their formulaic blandness, making them even harder to differentiate. One broke through the haze, leading Nines to wince at the extent of its saccharine absurdity:

Love, Lattes, and Pumpkin Spice Wishes. 

"Does anything look good to you, Nines?" 

> An impossible choice, RK800, when all options demonstrate such stellar quality.

"I have no preference," he replied flatly, suppressing the more biting musings that bubbled in his throat. He perched stiffly on the couch's edge, leaning towards the roster as he scanned it cursorily. It was a half-hearted attempt to engage in the discussion, albeit with a reluctance to seal his fate.  

RK800 seemed unhappy, deconstructing the manufactured focus with a terse frown on his lips.

"You're the guest; it's only fair you have a say."

Nines considered informing him this would undermine the purpose of the coin flip. If the android wished to include an outside party in the decision-making, he could have spared his housemate the disappointment of defeat.

Not wanting to spark a debate, he instead waved towards the screen. His wrist flopped in limp, disinterested circles. A listing was selected, whichever one RK800 determined the vague motion had directed to. Then came an intermission, marked by a loading wheel spinning on a black screen. 

This was a troubling indication of what was to come—that the agonising 132-minute run time would stretch even longer due to the home’s spotty internet connection.

Eventually, the wheel vanished, and the first title cards began to appear, of which there would be an undoubtedly egregious amount. The screen froze again, this time at the request of RK800. 

He was waiting for Anderson to return, a task the man showed no great urgency in completing. Nines anticipated there might be some form of vocal protest. An insistence that the android should not exercise such ‘thoughtful’ consideration. 

Then, he noted the crisp breeze creeping in from the kitchen. Anderson had slipped outside, and while he understood the reason, Nines amusedly contemplated a more absurd scenario: one in which the burly man nimbly leapt the garden fence, fleeing into the night, never to be seen again.

A faint click of a lighter broke the reverie, bringing him back to reality. He wondered whether RK800 knew that his partner had traded liquor for another—equally contentious—vice.

Surely, he must have, his olfactory receptors more than attuned to detect the scent: potent ash and tobacco molecules that would cling persistently to the fibres of Anderson's worn clothing.

It was a fragrance that was becoming increasingly ubiquitous in Nines’ own life.

As he constructed an image of Anderson—standing on his porch, silently inhaling from his cigarette—the features in his mind began to transform. The imposing bulk diminished as time ticked back by roughly two decades; his silver hair shifted to brown, and his face twisted into a sneer. This expression softened as he took another drag, tilting his head back to allow smoke to drift in lingering coils past the scarred bridge of his nose…

Nines shook his head, rejecting the intrusive projection that had booted onto his HUD. The vision faded, and he found stiff artificial limbs locked into an even more rigid, defensive position.

RK800 also seemed uneasy, though it was unclear why at first. He subtly mirrored the other android's posture as he shifted to the end of the couch, staring blankly at the static screen. His gaze was deeply embedded in the neat cursive of a production logo, trailed with dithering idleness that matched the stuttering yellow pulses on his temple.

It soon occurred to Nines that he wasn't looking at the screen. Instead, his attention had shifted beyond the text, studying the younger android through the reflections cast in the dark backdrop.

Thin lips twitched and finally parted as RK800 prepared to speak to him:

"...So, Nines…" 

The younger android felt an immediate sense of foreboding, further heightening his tension—a resigned acknowledgement of the inevitable conversation ahead.

RK800 intended to initiate small talk.

"How has your week been? Have you made any progress?"

It was a not-so-covert pivot back to the news report. While probing, it was not accusatory, assuring Nines his predecessor knew how misleading or sensationalised such stories could be. 

He found additional solace in the fact that this topic was at least more intellectually engaging than their previous exchanges—ones which had revolved primarily around domestic mundanities. The comparative merits of different cleaning supplies or the frequency of bowel movements observed in an ageing Saint Bernard.

"Our attempts to track the killer's movements have not produced satisfactory results thus far," Nines remarked, aiming to address his companion’s curiosity as succinctly as possible. "The leads we've followed have been either unhelpful or unresponsive, offering little in the way of valuable information. However, we did stumble upon something yesterday that could be significant. We need to analyse it further to determine its credibility."

RK800 shifted in his seat. His previously stiff posture eased in place of curiosity, shoulders settling against the backrest of the couch. Despite this, a hint of disappointment clouded his warm gaze, indicating that Nines might have missed a layer to his question. 

The wish for a more intimate connection: dismissed by a reply that, while informative, rang as impersonal.

Silence resumed between them, a comfort which Nines welcomed graciously. It was only interrupted by a sporadic rustling as Anderson returned to the kitchen. His jittery hands fumbled to close the screen door before pushing it gradually closed in an attempt to stay quiet. This was undermined by Sumo, who lumbered over on heavy paws and barked in greeting. 

RK800 fiddled with the remote, adjusting volume and brightness settings as he pretended not to hear. While the stolen glances at his successor persisted, they decreased in frequency before stopping completely. 

Nines, in turn, settled into emerging security, allowing his racing thoughts to slow in the onset of cognitive rest. By flushing out lingering nuisances clogging his mental channels, he prepared for more in-depth investigative analytics. 

Although he wished he could claim the news report hadn’t affected him, concerns were beginning to blossom. Truthfully, he had not been working as efficiently—or urgently—as he could have been regarding the investigation.

The week had been filled with constant distractions resulting from unwanted supervisory duties. Diverting his focus from primary objectives to less relevant occurrences…

Unexpected emotional and behavioural anomalies observed in his assigned associate, leading to a growing state of contemplation.

He struggled to push past these thoughts, attempting to contain them within a hastily built mental stronghold.

"—and how are things going with Detective Reed?"

The question felt like a nuclear warhead launched directly into the barricade, and Nines almost groaned at the predictability of the assault. Naturally, his predecessor couldn’t leave well enough alone, eager to observe what lay beyond the bounds of his privacy.

Though the younger android understood the concerns which drove such actions, he still found them incredibly frustrating. His brow twitched, and he tried to deflect the intrusive inquiry before any more hits could land:

"As well as you might expect," he said dryly before turning his attention to the television. He scanned the film’s title, feigning interest in the production details presented on his HUD. "Is this not the film we watched last time? About the amnesiac florist who falls in love with her long-lost twin’s brother's former boyfriend?"

"This is the sequel," RK800 responded, undermining the attempted diversion as he continued. "What I mean is, how are you two getting along? Have there been any changes, or just… anything you might want to talk about?"

Another missile hit, further eroding the already crumbling barricade. The hidden reservoir of thoughts stirred with the jolt. A wave surged, spilling over, causing Nines’ brow to bunch tighter.

Anderson's absence became more keenly felt. Nines reflected resentfully on the numerous excuses he might have had to escape his current predicament had he also been human. Be it seeking food, needing the bathroom, or a strategically timed cigarette break. Each small evasion could have added up, increasing the likelihood that his interrogator might lose interest and drop the subject.

As it stood, Nines had no discernible means to escape. Internal pressure mounted, pleading for cathartic release as he grew more susceptible to bow to its influence. 

"I know you’ve been trying to make the most of the situation, and for what it's worth, you’re doing great. I'm so proud of what you’ve achieved, and you should be as well, so please don’t let anyone change that. It is not an easy case, and Gavin is not an easy partner to—" 

RK800’s words trailed off into a growing rumble of noise. Floodwaters raced as his partner exerted himself to the forefront of the compromised dam, pressing against it vigorously. Of the many preoccupations that rushed Nines in the wake of his approach, the most prominent was the events that had recently transpired during their enquiries in Ravendale. 

They had left Nines with enduring questions. Ones that had seared through fraught synapses, leaking out from the mental alcoves he had attempted to tuck them in. A series of damning activity logs, taunting him with their presence—and all implications they carried:

>SYSTEM PROMPT: UPDATE CHARACTER FILE ‘DETECTIVE GAVIN REED ’

> STATUS: CHANGES ACCEPTED. 

"...I hope you don't mind, but I talked with Tina, and she mentioned that you two went out to lunch the other day. I'm glad he’s being reasonable in giving you a chance; with any luck, maybe you two will find some…"

> COMMON GROUND ESTABLISHED. 

The waves charged again, relentless now, having gained an unstoppable momentum. Reed continued to wade at the front, casting reflections in the choppy waves. They were remarkably, inexplicably, clear despite the surrounding turbulence. 

"...He…is not entirely what I expected." 

This admission came too late to avert any repercussions, spilling forth as Nines found himself unable to contain it. 

"Well—that's not entirely accurate. He is exactly what I anticipated…but in a uniquely frustrating way. Much of his behaviour appears exaggerated or falsified, so much that I am not sure even he comprehends the full extent of it."

RK800 hummed thoughtfully, contributing little else but nodding in solidarity. 

"He is not significantly more complex than any other human I've met. The core reasons for his behaviour are clear. Insecurity, resentment, vice. It is simple enough to predict when he might refuse to cooperate or lose his temper. My understanding of that is becoming quite robust. It can be forecasted…but..." 

RK800 remained silent, listening on in attentive sympathy, smiling softly. An open, undemanding gesture. Inviting the other android to proceed at his own pace. Somehow, this proved enough. The cracks spidered through his safeguard erupted into scattered chunks as his deluge of consciousness rushed freely from his mouth:

"He is so much less transparent, honest, than he wishes to suggest. The man is a walking contradiction. Whether or not he chooses to abide by his own convoluted belief system seems entirely random. It is becoming increasingly difficult to predict, or determine, his motivations—" 

Nines’ thoughts were rushing once more. 

The disclosure of familial trauma. The revealing of hidden kindness. His smile, the richness of laughter as he fussed fondly over his cat. The android's swarming internal panic, which ended with Reed's hand buried firmly into a bony torso. 

Then, there was the warmth that this action had inspired in the RK900. Heat which returned now, as his internal body temperature climbed staggeringly.

"—particularly now, after what occurred yesterday."

Finely tuned diplomacy disintegrated as RK800’s logical processes gave way to emotionally driven instincts. He tensed, the rhythmic cycles of his performance indicator broken, as he grew concerned: 

"What happened yesterday?"

As quickly as the thoughts had begun to spiral, they stopped dead—grounded to an abrupt halt. In their waning discordance, Nines grappled to re-establish control. Incentivised by a mixture of frustration towards his predecessor but also a niggling wish to avoid troubling him. 

"Nothing of significance."

"I find that hard to believe…"  Connor gives him an all-too-familiar look of doubt. As always, however, this was the point when he stepped back, understanding that prying further would only be met with resistance. Lips pursed contemplatively before he spoke again. "You know we can talk about anything , right? I’m always there if you need it."

"There is nothing further I wish to discuss."

RK800 sighed, the dejected sound masked as a synthetic breath, before he pulled up his shoulders and responded brightly. 

"Well, if you ever want to—if you change your mind—I'm happy to listen." He paused, holding up his palm, skin unsheathed in a tentative offering. "...We could always—if it would make things easier—"

"That would also be unnecessary." Nines denied the interface, his own hands remaining firmly stationary in his lap. "I assure you that your concern is unwarranted. I am fine. Thank you, RK800." 

Following the uncomfortable encounter, the RK900 considered departing early—fabricating some excuse, albeit with his limited options. Perhaps under the guise of feeding the neighbourhood strays, although he knew, with confidence, he had left sufficient provisions in the dishes outside.

By the time more genuine contemplation was underway, however, Anderson had returned—and any hopes for escape were thwarted. 

Sumo trailed after him, tail swinging in slow, sluggish strokes before his large eyes met Nines. The bushy appendage wagged faster, with increased enthusiasm, as his tongue lopped out in excited pants—as though he'd somehow forgotten the RK was visiting. 

He plodded over to the couch, lumbering his ample weight onto it, sandwiching himself contently between the two androids. He partially overlapped each, with his head plopped affably on the RK800’s lap, while Nines was subjected to a less agreeable hold of thumping tail and hindlegs. He supposed, at the very least, there was less chance of being saturated by drool.

With his pet having laid claim on his spot, Anderson instead relegated himself to a nearby armchair. Flopping into it with a laboured grunt, he cracked open the soda that he had eventually retrieved from his fridge and took a liberal swig. 

The movie commenced shortly after, and it didn't take long to transpire that it would be impressively dull—even by usual standards. An inordinate amount of the opening sequence seemed dedicated to showcasing what the main character intended to wear for the day. After the third or fourth rotation of skirts, and the encouragement of a full-figured roommate who Nines assumed would play as comic relief, the leading lady dashed from her impressively large apartment, ready to head into work.

Several mishaps ensued, including one of her heels being lost to a wad of chewing gum and almost toppling headfirst into a hot dog cart. It surpassed the realm of charming clumsiness, as it became clear the woman posed a serious threat to both herself and others.

Nines could feel his attention wane fast. His optical units lost focus, his eyelids stooped, cognition breaking into waves of static. Fortunately, whilst he struggled in numerous interpersonal aspects, he had somewhat mastered the art of feigning engagement in the abysmal films—with such proficiency that even the advanced deductive protocols of his counterpart failed to detect it.

Anderson was not so mannerly. By the time the poorly coordinated heroine had wrangled her way into a cab, previously meticulously styled hair full of leaves and twigs, he had fallen asleep. Head lolled back, mouth agape as he snored thunderously.

After a few more minutes enduring the endless cycle of empty dialogue and contrived plot beats masquerading as storytelling, Nines determined he had allowed himself sufficient rest. With the other android placated, suitably engrossed, he invested the replenished energy into examining his case files. Specifically, reviewing the most recently inputted item of evidence: Mr Scott's phone.

It had been evident from the store owner's sketchy behaviour that he had been concealing some well of greater knowledge. A link undoubtedly existed between him and their suspect. There was obstinance, petty defiance, and then the arduous lengths Scott had attempted to protect his affiliate. He had seemed worried—almost fearful. As though dreading some unspoken ramifications should he fail to uphold his lies.

However, there was only so far his primitive mental capacity could take him. While their killer was unlikely to be so careless, Scott had demonstrated himself as a man unable, or otherwise unwilling, to uphold satisfactory standards of data protection and security.

Nines hoped it would not take long to uncover the scuffed footprints he had left behind, trails that may lead them to their culprit.

And so, the android submerged himself—plunging deep into yet another odious pit. Except, unlike with the movie, the offense of this one was far less benign. This time, he exchanged dull vacancy for something far more insidious: hateful abhorrence and vile obscenity.

Chat logs ran thick with bilious sewage that proved deeply unpleasant to wade through. The majority hinged on uncouth anecdotes pertaining to minority groups. There would be the occasional tasteless image—grotesque caricatures, captioned with vicious and demeaning phrases.

Despite the unpleasantness, there was nothing especially incriminating. Nothing to suggest explicit involvement in illegal activity. His online activity, however, proved significantly more damning.

Scott's browser was riddled with searches for illegitimate stock providers. These distributors dealt in counterfeit electronics—devices billed as indistinguishable from their branded counterparts. Legal mandates for returns policies, and how little flexibility could be applied, also featured heavily.

Then, activity veered into more immediately relevant offences. The man had a penchant for harassing public figures—primarily those involved in the android liberation movement.

He was not alone in this endeavour. Nines soon identified the same names, appearing repeatedly, spread like a disease through the digital space. Scott seemed to have aligned himself with a particularly vitriolic subsect, seen in his consistent approval of their comments.

In the profile summaries, the RK identified several patterns. Hidden in bios, birthdays, taglines—innocuous to those who did not know what they were looking at, but immediately identifiable to those who did.

Dog whistles—phrases like ‘people first' or 'organic supremacy', hastily buried under codes and acronyms—aligning Scott with a more extremist, radicalised movement. One that sought to violently eradicate the newly acquired rights of androids, restoring human dominance by any means necessary.

Tucked into one of these user bios was a condensed URL. Upon clicking, he was directed to an unmarked landing page, protected by a password encryption system. The address comprised a series of random numerations, with no information to identify its purpose—just a vacant text bar, suspended forebodingly on a blank screen.

Not wishing to risk compromise from an unforeseen security protocol, Nines utilised the code from Scott's phone to simulate a replica within his own system. With a spoofed IP, along with the man's browsing data and saved passwords, the android soon confirmed that the man had been here before—on numerous occasions.

Following input of the authorisation now previewed in the login screen, Nines was permitted access to the site. A header flashed onto his HUD, alongside a manifesto, forecasting in disquieting detail what he was about to unveil:

> ‘The Fleshbound Brotherhood’

> DUST FROM EARTH, BREATH IN LUNGS.

> PBMA ATFFXK BG ATGW, PX UKXTD MH IBXVXL MABL ZHWEXLL GTMBHG.

It was a forum, with hundreds of discussion threads materialising concurrently. Titles ranged from the benignly malicious to the criminally obscene. Within them, he found detailed recounts of imagined, intended, and perpetrated violence.

As Nines searched deeper, he was dismayed to discover that many discussions did not stop at text. There was visual accompaniment, images depicting abuse and mutilation of grotesquely brutal proportions. It splintered his focus, accosting his optics in a shattered mosaic of white and blue.

Then his attention was divided further. There was a shift on the couch, and he glanced at RK800, assessing whether or not he had detected the signs of his heightened distress. The older android remained none the wiser, and had simply been readjusting, fully engrossed in the television as he stroked the top of Sumo’s head.

With the security to continue, Nines did so, plunging deeper into the wells of depravity. He sank, inked in black, until he found something that twisted his stomach unbearably.

A snapshot of a scene that rang hauntingly familiar. One that should not have been accessible, having never been released to the broader public.

> ANALYSING SUBJECT…

> SUBJECT IDENTIFIED.

> MODEL: MJ100 #1105 180 903 — DESIGNATION: ‘JENNY’

He realised that this offered no tangible proof. The forensics team had not submitted their report. There was a chance that the department had succumbed to a data leak, with the photograph scalped by a sadistic admirer of the killer's work.

Yet, there remained the possibility that it wasn’t—that it had been captured in real time, from the viewpoint of the perpetrator.

They had already seen in the case on the HR400 that he was not opposed to documenting his work in this way. The RK speculated it accounted for little more than another keepsake—a cruel trophy overshadowed by the more boast-worthy accolades of harvested biocomponents.

Nines felt anger. A potent, all-consuming frustration. He had located the killer, appearing in his visual scope like a vengeful spectre. He could almost reach out, feeling the remnants of his movements with his fingertips, while the man cowardly concealed himself behind a veil of digital anonymity.

Indeed, all posting on the site was anonymous. Identifiers were procedurally generated, with no consistency of username. Despite this, there was no difficulty in identifying Scott. The same unique typing errors had carried over from private messages and his public terrorising.

A specific instance grabbed his attention while he was browsing the page. A notification in the corner indicated it was a new comment. The RK900 examined it closely, zoning in on the letters, picking them apart with meticulous scrutiny:

> bacon at cedars + me. organic and synth

It was a code—though not a particularly complex one. Upon deciphering, it seemed clear that the subjects being discussed were ones with which Nines had intimate acquaintance.

A reply followed, in rapid succession to the initial message:

> > what did they want?

This was preceded by a second comment—another searing blow to the face, the sting of its mockery lingering.

> > > Tlla ha JSOX. ZS J—

—She doesn't want to see you, Davis! Get out of here before I make you.

Nines paused, perplexed by this additional detail, as he attempted to interpret its meaning. Setting the code aside for the moment, his deductive systems searched autonomously for a ‘Davis’—assessing whether the name had appeared earlier in their investigation, and what significance it might hold.

"You broke my fucking nose, you asshole!"

He then dawned that this specific thread had come from the television.

The dual clash of flesh and bone was identified, a theory validated by the terse yelp of pain that followed. His focus was shattered, and the forum receded into the digital obscurity from which it had emerged. Nines was back in the living room. Awake, alert, and left to ponder if RK800 had conceded his victory, allowing Anderson to switch the movie.

He had not. Upon examining the scene more closely, the android recognised the same key players. The leading lady was on the sidewalk outside her apartment complex, eyes wide with shock and hands clasped firmly to her mouth. Behind her, a group of people—led by her roommate—gathered closely. They reacted with much more joyful enthusiasm, cheering loudly and pumping fists excitedly into the air, to a fight happening in the street.

Nines identified one of the fighters as the lead's romantic partner from the last film. Davis, an ambitious CEO with whom she had shared a fulfilling romance. Clearly, something had shifted since then, but he was at a loss to discern what.

He lunged at his opponent again, incited by a chorus of cheers. Davis staggered back, stunned, following another blow. Turning to the lead for aid, he extended his lightly blood-spattered palm, which she gazed at—visibly horrified.

"Come on, Stacey. I know I messed up, but she didn't mean anything to me. Let’s go upstairs, and I'll make it up to you. What do you say?"

Her horrified expression then shifted into muted melancholy, as if she were suddenly lost in thought. The camera cut rapidly between Stacey and the men brawling for her affections. Artificial tension was heightened by a melodramatic orchestral sweep that began to swell in the background.

Then, it faded, and she turned away. Her eyes closed, she shook her head with quiet resolve.

"I'm sorry, Davis, but I don’t think that’s enough for me anymore."

The friends erupted into scandalised gasps, along with RK800, who leaned so far forward that he risked toppling off the couch. Even Anderson appeared engaged, having woken up at some undisclosed point, tuned in keenly to the telenovela-grade escapades.

"...Oh, I see. Too scared to finish things, so you'll have your new boyfriend do it for you?"

David advanced towards his ex-partner. The sting of rejection had transformed him into a distorted caricature of his already ill-defined character, the framing and score presenting an absurd, cartoonish antagonist.

His romantic rival responded quickly. Forming a protective blockade in front of Stacey, his eyes narrowed menacingly. A hand was then planted into the other man's sternum, and he shoved him back.

"Kick his ass, Jerry!"

"Yeah, Jerry..." Anderson muttered, chuckling softly to himself. "Show this kid who he's fucking with."

Nines was also strangely captivated, although not due to any infatuation with the rising violence. Instead, his curiosity stemmed from more… elusive reasons.

He couldn't pinpoint the cause, but he found himself leaning closer to the flickering screen—seeing past the poorly scripted characters and dialogue, as his mind constructed a more compelling narrative.

Whilst the scenario didn’t precisely mirror his personal experiences, his internal imaging adapted to the available details. As Jerry pushed again, his features changed—not as classically handsome, but with an indisputable, rugged appeal. The shrinking woman behind him vanished, supplanted by a more formidable presence.

Davis’ transformation was the most striking. His defined features sagged, melting like wax from his face, mirroring the decay of his body. His disdainful comments shifted from the trivial grievances of a rejected lover to something far more sinister:

"Seems like your own kind doesn't even want you."

"Do us—favour—go back—came from—"

"That's enough."

It was at this point, when the scene had fully transformed, that realisation struck him. A rock propelled through a fragile windowpane. Nines reeled in embarrassment, forcefully dismissing the projection, and blocking the intrusive neural pathways that had inspired it.

He silently cursed RK800 for contributing to this lapse. Undoubtedly, the result of fatigue that had amassed over the week, exacerbated by the prying.

Mental strongholds would prove challenging to re-establish, now that Reed had fully breached their containment, meandering freely around his mind. For now, all Nines could do was ponder the injustice.

He was used to his mind betraying him—thrusting relocations onto him unwillingly, formed as weapons—but it had never occurred in such a profoundly degrading way.

He despaired to think what psychosomatic implications a human might draw from the event, before reminding himself he could not afford to become blindsided by such preoccupations.

The advent of Reed had already derailed enough of his professional undertakings. Nines, swiftly and resolutely, decided that he would not allow this oddity to impact his duties further.

Nines would set aside considerations of unanticipated kindness and compassion—as well as the strange endearment they inspired.

He would not, under any circumstances, dwell on this topic again.

[leonawriter]

Thinking about Carmen again, and how for the duration of Lobotomy Corporation's loops, she has no agency at all. So very little power.

Like, no wonder she turns out the way she does! No matter if she planned it and put it in her "when I die, do this" instructions to Ayin, there's no way she could stay sane through it all.

She can't stand up for herself anymore, with everything going on around her completely out of her control. Not only that, but as the beautiful voice, she might sound convincing... but the moment someone talks back to her? She may not exactly back down, but she doesn't argue back, either. She'll just go "okay, let's agree to disagree, then." This isn't her being able to accept the other person's point of view, it's that she doesn't stand her ground. She does not have Malkuth.

She is forced to watch on as countless people's happiness and their lives are sacrificed for her dream, which she doesn't even fully believe in anymore. She lets her despair overwhelm her. She does not have the rationality to maintain discretion, and lacks Yesod.

When she first had the idea to kill herself for the sake of her plan, she thought that it was a sacrifice to save others - but now, and even as she was dying, she lost the ability to believe that people could become better. She lacks Hod.

From the moment Lisa told her that she should have been the one to die, she began to lose the will to live, knowing that she and her bigger picture plan had killed a child under her care. She lacked the fearlessness to carry on living, and even at the end, her desire to live was out of fear of death, not the desire to live. She lacks Netzach.

When she was alive, she had grand plans, but over the course of her being in the loops she grew to see people as only being able to love themselves. She lost her sense of purpose, and lacks a true meaning for existence, especially beyond distorting others. There is no nuance or balance to her actions, as she cannot see from anyone else's perspective any longer. She lacks Tiphereth.

In bringing everyone together and saving Lisa and Enoch from the Outskirts, she was trying to save individuals and also humanity in general - but as she lost her way, so too did she lose the ability to protect others. As the Bucket and Brain of Lobotomy Corporation, she lacked any ability to save anyone at all, powerless to even try. Now, instead of saving anyone, she endangers them out of her own selfish wishes. She lacks Gebura.

Where once she was surrounded by people who trusted her, although she would only share small parts of herself she still wished to fulfil the hopes and wishes that they had placed in her. Now, however, although her voice is a beautiful one that everyone listens to, it is also not one that anyone should trust - and in the Light, she has only herself, with it being highly implied that Ayin is opposing her much like Angela would have if she had stayed. She does not have Chesed.

Carmen is the one who would have had them all stay as they were. The situation between her and Angela in the Religion and Keter Realisations in Ruina heavily suggests this, with Angela herself placing the "blame" of her keeping the others around on what Carmen wanted, and later her reflection (which says some very Carmen things before revealing herself to be Carmen) says "I must keep this throne forever, so that no one can covet this place that is mine and mine alone" and Angela, in turn, says "Repeating this cycle will eventually result in it crushing me." Carmen is unable to see past her past, and the one plan she had put in place; she also has trapped herself in a way of cyclical thinking that doesn't allow her to move forward beyond it. Unable to look at her own past actions and grow from them, she lacks Hokma.

Carmen says outright in Ayin's flashbacks that she has a "weak heart." But we don't just have to take her word for it - Project Moon shows that she has a weak heart. Not just in that she crumbles in front of Lisa's lashing out, no, but there's evidence in how she is now that she still hasn't become stronger. Because the thing is, she'll give people nice-sounding suggestions... but she doesn't think about the consequences. She'll close her eyes to the pain and suffering that her message of "love yourself, and only yourself" causes. She is unable to face her own fears and her own discomfort. She lacks Binah.

Much like Erlking Heathcliff in Canto VI, Carmen is someone who can't be said to truly know herself. She looks away from herself, closes her eyes, and ignores what she really wants and feels. She sought to effectively make Angela into someone "like her" without accepting who she even is. She does not show compassion for others, and she doesn't show forgiveness, either - two things that are vital for Keter - "Moses ben Jacob Cordovero describes Keter as the source of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy, derived from a verse in the Book of Micah. These attributes emphasize compassion, forgiveness, and humility." [from the Keter Wikipedia page].

The funny thing is, Carmen is kind of a complete antithesis of the Tree of Life, and... we do actually see what the culmination of this is, even outside of the Distortion phenomenon.

This is what you get if you have the Manager unable to answer Adam's questions - and Adam is Ayin's Keter who is, out of all three of them, completely dedicated to Carmen.

The Tree of Death is upside down, and has stayed the same shape and in the same order as it was completed in. You'll notice that each of the spheres there accounts for the Sephirot - but there's no Keter, because Ayin, in this ending, was unable to complete Keter.

And like - even in some of my earliest posts, I covered how well before she became the Bucket there were hints that this would happen.

The way she didn't return everyone's trust, the way she'd let let people do things without thinking of the consequences, the way she didn't take responsibility for her own actions - and when she did, she took on everything, making it unbearable. The way she'd subtly (and not-so-subtly) influence and manipulate others, and talk over them.

To be honest - doesn't that make her a beautifully tragic character?

She wanted, so badly, to make the world a better place. It's made so clear that you don't have to be a perfect person to do that! Ayin was so very flawed and he was able to do what he could, succeeding where she failed. She set herself such high standards and took on such an idealistic view of the way the world could be that she broke when reminded again and again of how it is, in the here and now.

I don't think that if the Carmen that Ayin first met saw what she'd later become, that she'd be happy. Why would she be? She's become the antithesis of what she wanted, after all.

[zeebee3]

Queen, I read almost all your recs and wanted to thank you.💙😍 I liked that most of them featured the breeding kink (I didn't want children before but now I might be reconsidering hehehehe).

If you could suggest more, I wouldn't be mad.😳🙏

Woohoo, so happy you read and enjoyed so many of them!! Your wish is my command--always happy to rec fics 😍

Again, in no particular order...

Dramione

She Will by Undertheglow. Draco/Hermione, written in future tense and poetic as HELL while still being scorching hot. I adore this one.

Dépaysement by Setissma. If you haven't read this OH MY GOD you're in for a treat. I can't be eloquent about how much I love it. It has it all (fake marriage, forced domesticity, tension and smut and feeelingggsssssss) and I can't be chill about it.

One Whole by SaffronGin. Don't be intimidated by the chapter count, they are delicious little bites. This fic is a JOURNEY in every sense and I had the best time following it as a WIP. In fact, I need to do reread now that it's complete--keeping the tab open!

The Unintended Consequences of Purposive Action by ellieauthor. When an accidental bit of roleplay has unintended consequences 🤭 Everything Ellie writes is whip-smart and banter-rich, and this is a peak example of it.

The Delivery Clause by ThornedHuntress. You've heard of arranged marriages, well the hot new thing is an arranged pregnancy. Enjoyyyy!

A Tentacular Spectacular by Sugarquilling. Hermione fucks the giant squid while Draco watches. I mean...idk what else to say about it (except read it, it's glorious)

We Fell In Love In October by ohthedrarry. This is a socmed AU (textfic) and dkfjsldfjskdfjl I just love it

CHESS CLUB by Ivy_and_right. Another textfic. Draco has a virginity kink, and Hermione is a virgin. Again, idk what else to say about it except that you will stay up all night reading it

icebreaker by ninepiecesofcrait. Nine really outdid herself with this one guys. PHEW BOY. Ginny gives Hermione a sex toy as a not-so-joking joke, but oops it's wrapped identically to Draco's gift. Guess which one he takes home. Guess what he decides to set to rights 🤗

For I Have Sinned by spicyxpisces and Stars_in_motion. Priest!Draco, devout!Hermione. We're not going to talk about how many times I've read this one. Join me in the soft-and-gentle edging depravity 🙏

atonement by takenbytheview. You know that scene in Atonement, when he writes That Letter then gives her the wrong one? Yeah. That. That but Dramione; That but somehow BETTER than it's ever been 🫠🫠🫠

Not Dramione

I Did Something Bad by charingfae. Tom Riddle/Hermione, with time travel and tension and the most toxic flirting you've ever seen. I think about this one all the time.

Voussoir by setissma. Look, I'm just gonna out myself as a die-hard Setissma fangirl. Just go through their backlog and read everything--do it do it! This is a Draco/Harry/Hermione triad fic, and reading it makes me both yearny and calm (as with basically everything else Setissma writes does).

Hydra by setissma. Omg weird, another Setissma? How'd that get in here? Pansy/Harry. READ IT READ IT READ IT. These are the characterizations I would die to be able to write.

Hopefully you find more fics to enjoy from here! And don't forget to kudos and, even more meaningful, comment so the writers know you enjoyed them too. It really does make all the difference 🥰🫶

[popfizzles]

In your personal opinion, how old would you say the kids are from oldest to youngest? I recently got the warped beyond recognition pdf and been reading it on and off the past few days. They all seem to be in the same general range, but imo Sonia feels like the oldest based on stuff in the module and just, general vibes. The other kids feel more vague though and I'm curious on your opinion :)

-🎇

The vagueness is likely on purpose, to allow Wardens to put their own spin on things and choose how they'd like the test subjects to act and feel. If Sonia reads to you as the eldest of the six, then that's what you should go with!

Admittedly by this point in our campaign, we've been with them for about 2-3 years now, so they've grown quite a bit. :) But, strictly speaking by the information given by the module, I'll give my input.

Yu reads to me as one of the eldest, but that's likely a result of the circumstances she's been under. She strikes me as someone who was forced to grow up and mature much faster than she should have. Most of the fear and panic she invokes comes from the sheer physical state she's found in (her body completely turning inside out over and over again), and the damage she does to others is accidental. She isn't lashing out like the others, she just doesn't know what's happening and she can't control it. In our campaign, she's grown to be very independent and quiet. She has no desire to come with us on spacing trips or jobs, she'd much rather stay on station and dedicate herself to her religious worship. We're letting her do that, of course. Recovery looks different for everyone, and what's important is that she has the choice to do what she wants.

Jonesy is described matter-of-factly to be "the smallest and youngest" by Paradiso (developer of WBR) in [this Making Of video they've posted here.] In the book, Jonesy's described to be wearing an "ill-fitting jumpsuit" which suggests something to the effect of "the smallest size jumpsuit is still baggy on him". I however chose to read this line as "Jonesy might be very tall for his age, but he is very thin and fragile. Therefore any clothes that fit his length end up being very wide on him." Cray (our Warden) liked the second option a lot :) I also think a bit of his younger, child-like qualities comes through with his abilities. His entire thing is about imagining things that aren't really there. Imaginary friends, maladaptive daydreaming, finding comfort in escapism. That all strikes me as someone who is still depending on their creativity and imagination to help them through any hardships they face.

The other four are a bit more up in the air. Cray said that the whole lot of them were anywhere between 16 to 18 when we first encountered them, but exact ages were never settled on.

They all admittedly have qualities that can be described as immature; Evander basing his whole persona on action movies he's watched, Miriam lashing out simply because she's scared, Billy searching for praise and affirmations from the scientists during his testing, Sonia's playfully dark sense of humor... But you could also lean more into other qualities to make them seem more mature. Both Evander and Sonia have years of military training; Miriam has proved to be very strong, very dangerous and capable of horrible violence; and Billy (despite his ego) is extremely well-read and intelligent!!

It's really up to the Warden and the players to help figure out their personalities, and how far you'd like to lean into their different qualities to help get that across.

[softantlers]

okay so travnatlot meta that is seriously so long & probably will be read by no one. love you guys bad!!

so i have been absolutely obsessed with the scene in the s3 finale where travis is crashing out over his berry wine and talking to shauna about how he feels javi's thoughts and jackie's thoughts. specifically, i can't stop thinking about the way taishauna lurch at him and lottie physically shields travis from them, saying "it's not him."

first of all, to focus on lottie here: her behavior is absolutely fascinating in this scene and courtney fucking killed the acting. it's hard to articulate, but there is something visceral and powerful in the way lottie redirects tai and shauna and orders them to "go hunt." if you rewatch and focus on her voice, you'll notice lottie is having a very hard time speaking here (is this a prelude to becoming nonverbal?). in fact, she is almost unable to say the words "go hunt," and they are delivered in this stilted manner, like she is working overtime to force them out.

lottie's trouble speaking becomes especially eerie when you consider the fact that she didn't seem to struggle as much counting for mari's hunt moments earlier. this could absolutely NOT be the case, but over the course of the season, i've had an interesting time wondering if these stilted-voice moments are an insight into the lucid lottie that's drowning beneath the delusions. when she speaks in this clipped manner--especially toward the end of the season--are we getting intentions that are separate from her service to the wilderness?

for me, there's something compelling in reading lottie's protection of travis here (because man's drunk and tbh taishauna could really fuck him up if they wanted to) as a parallel to her earlier protection of natalie after nat kills ben.

there's similar behavior here. the group is converging on natalie and there's a threat of physical violence. lottie intervenes, ostensibly in a manner that's still serving the wilderness (ie: "shauna will lead us" is a parallel to "go hunt"), but the offshoot is that she successfully protects trav and nat from further harm in the process. in both scenes, lottie says very little at all but she still manages to deescalate and redirect.

how does this relate back to travlot?

"It's not him."

this language is so interesting to me because we could certainly read the statement as saying travis is literally not himself in this scene--that he's being yuri-beamed by jackie or some shit, but i don't think that's the case lmfao. i personally suspect what lottie is suggesting here is that this version of travis, this version of him that's so supremely fucked up and drunk in this moment, is not a reflection of who travis is as a person.

to carry that thread back to the intervention over nat killing ben, i've always said that the biggest indication that this is in fact an intervention (beyond kevin alves's bombass interview where he agrees) is that lottie--out of everyone--should be furious at nat for defying the wilderness and killing ben as the bridge. i mean, lottie jumped in front of a loaded rifle in order to protect ben for that purpose. but she's not mad. she doesn't exhibit any anger or ill feelings toward nat, despite the fact that nat's committed a huge transgression against the wilderness.

what am i trying to say?

Lottie sees people

in specific, lottie sees travis and natalie. she has a profound empathy for these two people that brings her back to them over and over, even when they betray the wishes of the wilderness & even when her actions invariably end up harming them or they simply don't want her. to bring that back to the nat killing ben thing, i think lottie is not upset because she fundamentally understands how it happened, how much nat had suffered beforehand, and she doesn't have it in her to hold it against her. instead of dogpiling, she reorients the team to a different path.

why do i think lottie can see that? well, she's incredibly perceptive. the scene where lottie addresses natalie when the team is trying to leave demonstrates the dynamic really well:

this is not the kind of statement someone who isn't an empath makes. this statement reveals a perception of natalie's home life that someone with a fuckload of insight (and perhaps an ability to relate) would make. it's also terribly delivered and horribly damaging thing to say in the moment, and of course, it pushes nat away. but i'd still argue that this is a reflection of lottie seeing something in nat that perhaps isn't as apparent to the rest of their teammates.

Likewise, Lottie sees Travis

travis's trauma is quite a bit more up front than natalie's since lottie literally watched him lose both his father and his brother to the wilderness, but in the same light, she has massive empathy toward him. the way she talks to him in particular across timelines (therapy speak tbh) indicates to me that lottie has probably had similar crashouts and panic attacks, which allows her to notice & respond effectively in kind--she sees herself in what's happening when travis loses it.

in the teen timeline, when travis has a sexual reaction to lottie comforting him, her response is fairly mature for a high schooler. lottie doesn't seem put off by it--"it's not him" is coming to mind here--and she continues interacting with travis throughout the season at the same time as it's obvious imo she's not romantically interested (and neither is he). it's not altogether clear how much lottie might remember from doomcoming but you could even argue that she might have some thoughts (even if she can't articulate them herself) about her role in travis's assault that leads to more tolerance for what i tend to read as a trauma response in this scene. (will admit: could be reaching)

but in essence, i think she might see what's happening (and what's not) between them here and that's why she moves along and doesn't mention it again.

Lottie also sees Natalie

across timelines, s2 was a veritable feast for their interactions, but the one i'll always go back to is the coronation. throughout the season, lottie and nat have insane tension--ben goes so far as to ask natalie whether she's jealous of lottie & nat's response is that she doesn't understand how lottie can exert so much control over the other girls. why is she so bothered? well, the offshoot of lottie's growing authority over the yellowjackets is, of course, the team's casual dismissal of the role that nat is playing in hunting and keeping them fed throughout the winter. for her part, natalie grows so frustrated with being overlooked (especially when the others jibe her) that she eventually caves to the hunting game during episode 4.

meanwhile, lottie is not particularly trying to get one over on natalie imo. it doesn't seem that she wants to be a higher authority or to lead at all--she's simply following her instincts. but as the episodes stretch on, i think she begins to understand the effect that she's having on nat and to have possibly regretful feelings over it.

now, lottie's coronation is complicated and i wouldn't reduce her choice of nat as leader to this one thing, but a dimension that's fun to play around with is considering the coronation as an act of generosity. essentially, lottie is telling natalie that she sees her, sees her capacity to lead, sees what she's fucking done for them over the course of the winter. i also think it's so telling that the crowning scene becomes this pathway to all of the yellowjackets showing their appreciation for natalie--lottie set that up. and it's so meaningful for nat, who in the grand scheme of her trauma, has rarely ever been affirmed as being good and worthy and loved. maybe lottie realizes that she needs this.

Why does this fucking matter?

well, i think lottie's empathy and pursuit of travis and natalie is a huge factor in the travnatlot dynamic. i also think her ability to see their trauma and hold that alongside their actions is why, for lack of a better way of phrasing it, she lets them get away with a ton of shit.

natalie not only killed ben as their bridge, effectively destroying the hope lottie had placed in him as a symbol for the wilderness, she also has a few moments where she loses patience with lottie altogether following the murder of the frogger.

despite these rejections (and whatever else lays ahead), lottie still pursues nat in the adult timeline. keeps track of her and cares enough about her to send her heliotrope goons after her and keep her from killing herself. "it's not him" is just as much "it's not her" here -- in a way (more on this later) lottie uses her understanding of travnat's respective traumas as a way to sidestep their rejection of her and keep pursuing them--because fundamentally i think she loves them both, and she's willing to love them both despite them pushing her away.

"It's not him." - Part 2

jesus fucking christ, the pit. absolute batshit insanity to consider that this scene is only an episode before the scene where lottie guards travis against tai and shauna. while i maintain that i don't think lottie knows how horrific the pit is (she literally can't see the spikes), i have to assume that she suspects that it's terrible. there's some suicidality that we could talk about in the way that she walks across it (way too much to go into for this meta), but all the same the scene still has this profound empathy to it.

lottie seems to understand how travis got to this point--the fact that she speaks about javi, completely unprompted after he calls her "bullshit" is an indication i think--and i don't think she blames him for it, even as she has her own views on the wilderness & thinks this is the right path.

so if we ride with the idea that lottie is aware travis was trying to kill her, i think "it's not him" takes on so much more meaning, as a sort of protective mantra for lottie. when travis says something (pretty clearly antagonizing to shauna) about jackie in his fit of drunkenness, lottie's primal instinct is to say "it's not him" -- i imagine she's had to sort of overlay that concept for herself, as the truth that travis really tried to kill her sets in: "it's not him." i mean, this protective mantra is the only way possible to keep this relationship going, and lottie is committing to believing it for that purpose.

going back to natalie and all of her own rejections toward lottie, there's also an unspoken "it's not her" imo. to lottie, it's trauma. it's a reaction to trauma. it's lottie's inextricable place webbed within all that trauma. and she will overlook the violence and anger directed at her because she loves these people.

What's my point?

well, i guess my point is that i think the central tragedy of the travnatlot dynamic is that lottie sees travis and natalie. she sees them for what they've gone through, she seems to empathize with their behaviors, even when they basically fuck her over. and she doesn't let up. she keeps going after them and trying to show them care (to be clear, in SUPREMELY MALADJUSTED and not always helpful ways).

but the thing that really fucking sucks is that i'm not sure that travis or natalie ever really see lottie in return (or anyone sees lottie for that matter). they see her for the harm she causes in the teen timeline and then they see her for her mental illness in the adult timeline and they see her for the possible "truth" she was preaching at the end of their respective lives.

lottie effectively becomes her illness/her own trauma: "it is her." and the real lottie underneath that all... where is she? is she ever seen?

of course, there are moments that cut through the haze where you might say that travis and natalie discern a lottie that isn't just her own trauma (the coronation for nat; many soft scenes between travlot throughout s2; lottienat's death scene on the plane; nat turning back when lottie says she's staying), but they are incredibly fleeting. and it's really fucking sad because the tumult of trauma, delusions, and escalating stakes mean that those moments can never, ever last. the shittiest part about thinking about their respective relationships is considering the possibilities--what would have happened if travnat ever saw lottie, ever related their own traumas back to her and were able to see the human that she sees in them?

it fucking hurtttssss, your honor.

[finelythreadedsky]

hello! sorry if this is a strange question, but i've been trying to write my own retelling of the hymn of demeter, as a play set in modern-ish times of a countryside mother who is trying to get her daughter back from a corrupt legal system that's forcibly bound her to marriage to a powerful city man. i've always been more drawn to demeter and persephone's relationship more than hades and persephone, though this may due to me being aroace and having a good relationship with my mom lol.

anyways, a part in the play i've been struggling with is how to translate the famine demeter makes to force zeus and hades to listen to her. i was originally going for her grabbing a gun and going on a rampage in hades' luxury apartment complex to find her daughter, told through outside reports, but i'm not completely sure of that. the point here is that my version of demeter has no power in comparison to the judges and lawyers and ceos who rule the city, and therefore no power to reclaim the daughter that was taken from her in a 'legal' manner, so she needs to subvert these restrictions placed on her by doing something zeus and hades would have believed she would never dare to do

anyways ramble aside, i always appreciated your thoughts on the hymn of demeter, so i was hoping to hear what you think if possible :D

sounds interesting!!! I think the main things I would consider when thinking about how to 'translate' the famine Demeter causes to another setting would be 1) that it directly harms innocent parties who had nothing to do with the abduction and harms Zeus and Hades only indirectly through harming others, and 2) that's it's an inversion of her usual function as an agricultural goddess. she doesn't go attack Hades for kidnapping her daughter, or Zeus for permitting it, instead she does something that kills the people who honor them and all the gods through worship and sacrifice. might be interesting to imagine a contemporary Demeter who kills or otherwise destroys someone/something that Zeus loves or depends on?

but it's also very much a self-destructive action, maybe even more than it is targeted at Zeus or Hades, because she's killing the people on whom all the gods, including herself, rely for honors and sacrifices. and in the Homeric hymn it comes right after the Demophon episode, which suggests Demeter may be closer to/more entangled with humans than other gods... it's perhaps more harmful to her than it is to Zeus, which is why it's such an astonishing action to take-- her purpose is agriculture, and now she's destroying the very thing that makes up the essence of her being. but she doesn't care anymore. so there should be some element of irony somewhere in there as well. it's like a human destroying something wonderful and life-sustaining that they'd dedicated their life to building, partly to keep Zeus from deriving any benefit from it but maybe more just because none of it matters to her anymore, and causing tons of collateral damage.

[nickel156]

New theory incoming:

What if Rhysand is actually Valg? Okay, not a new new theory, but I come with new receipts!!

Bear with me, because once you start connecting the dots, it starts to look real suspicious. Let’s talk about how the Inner Circle seems to mirror the Cadre in Throne of Glass—because let’s be real, they’re all miserable.

Look at how Rhysand doles out responsibilities: Azriel, the shadowsinger with a traumatic past, is tasked with torturing people as a spymaster. And guess what? He hates it. It’s literally the last thing he wants to do. Then we have Cassian, who’s put in charge of keeping the Illyrians in line—an entire group of people who don’t respect him, who he’s constantly battling, and a job that leaves him emotionally drained. And then there’s Mor, who’s forced to keep the Hewn City in check—the place that brings her so much pain and trauma, the place she despises. And let’s not forget that Rhysand gave her the “opportunity” to kill her parents, knowing full well that Mor would never be able to go through with it, leaving her trapped in this endless cycle of pretending and unresolved pain.

And let’s not forget about Amren. Rhysand touts her as this second-in-command powerhouse who has all this freedom, yet he binds her to Velaris and to his Inner Circle. She’s trapped in a body she hates, pretending to be something she’s not. Remember, Amren is ancient, powerful, and she longs for a sense of freedom and the ability to return to her true form. But what does Rhysand do? He ties her to Velaris, makes her part of his court, and essentially uses her powers as a failsafe whenever things get dire. And when Amren finally has the chance to become her true self again, to escape, she’s roped back in. It’s almost like he needs to keep her close, keep her feeling indebted to him, so she never truly finds her own way out. Another parallel to the Cadre, who were always indebted and beholden to Maeve.

So why would Rhysand, who supposedly loves his family, give them jobs that do nothing but torment them? It feels a lot like the Valg in Throne of Glass and how the Cadre was bound to Maeve—stuck in miserable positions, tied to a leader who claimed to be doing everything for the “greater good” but really just kept them all under control. It’s almost like Rhysand is purposely keeping his Inner Circle in roles they despise to maintain a sense of power over them. He creates this narrative of being the savior and protector, while they’re the “necessary” pawns who have to suffer for the “greater good.”

It’s a consistent theme: Rhysand presents himself as the caring, understanding leader, but his actions suggest he has no problem keeping his closest friends in tormenting roles for the sake of his control over the Night Court. They’re constantly doing things they hate, locked into positions that make them miserable, all while Rhysand stands above it all with this narrative of being the “most powerful High Lord” with the “perfect court.”

Sounds a lot like how Maeve ruled over her Cadre, doesn’t it? And if you squint, you start seeing the parallels between how the Valg control their pawns and how Rhysand manipulates his Inner Circle. Just a theory, but the more you think about it, the more the pieces start to fall into place…

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Fungus Queen

CR 9

Chaotic Evil Medium Plant

Bestiary 6, pg. 130-131

These seductive heralds of rot and decay are the end result of a cabal of succubi assassins that attempted to infiltrate the rotting layer of Cyth-V'sug, Demon Lord of Fungi, to dispatch one of his blighted followers. As you can plainly tell, this did not go as planned; not only was every assassin slain, but their corpses were mulched and used as fertilizer... from which the first of these beauties grew. Since then, innumerable Fungus Queens have budded from demonic remains and spread throughout the cosmos to act as the mouthpieces for Cyth-V'sug and, on rarer occasions, his wretched son Treerazer. Mouthpieces and uh... other pieces.

Any further jokes are purposely withheld.

Fungus Queens are boss-level threats on their own, easily serving as the Big Bads of lower-level adventures where themes of corruption and decay are overt and literal instead of figurative (though metaphors still work). They thrive in just about any environment but work best where they can set up shop and be thorough in their actions, because much like the succubi they descend from, they enjoy working slowly to assure the damnation and destruction of as many souls as possible. This typically means they hole up somewhere sheltered from the outside world, such as a lonely glade in a forest or swamp, an abandoned building, an unwelcoming cave, or a stretch of sewer line. Anywhere they can disappear to... and make their victims disappear.

Regardless of environment or species, Fungus Queens have tools of corruption at the ready, their Plant Empathy letting them use words alone to sway the opinions of other Plant creatures, even nonsapient ones. When a more stern touch is needed, Compel Plants allows all of their mind-affecting spells and abilities to affect Plants just as easily as anything else, letting them wrap the guardians of nature around their fingers with Charm Monster or order them around with Suggestion, both of which they have at 3/day. This also allows them the ability to turn away non-Plant authorities investigating their activities, disguising themselves as harmless townsfolk, druids, or hermits with their at-will Veil to complete the illusion, Veil having the amusing clause that the affected smells different as well, likely a godsend for these mold maids. When people begin investigating a little too closely, Fungus Queens can abandon mere trickery and simply take complete control of them with Dominate Person, which they have at 1/day.

One a Queen is established, she's hard to dislodge. While not AS subtle as a Succubus due to the fact they bring infestations of mold wherever they go, it goes without saying that by the time anyone realizes how bad the problem is, it's already too late; that wall's gotta be torn out completely. With numerous patsies guarding her, a Fungus Queen can set up shop and shield herself from any actual scrutiny until her infestation is ready to enter its terminal stage. Any creature the Queen does so much as kisses is subjected to her Energy Drain, automatically slapped with a single negative level and forced to succeed a DC 23 Will save or be bound to accept another kiss via an automatic Suggestion effect and thus get slapped with another negative level. Any creature that would normally die from these negative levels instead becomes infused with Abyssal spores and transformed into a Fungoid Creature (though Vermin instead become Spore Zombies). A DM wishing to do some additional work can instead use the Fungal Creature Template as the Fungoid Creature Template itself suggests, which has the added benefit of allowing the infected creatures to spread their infection and thus the Fungus Queen's influence entirely on their own!

Fungus Queens can communicate with their spawn from across any range, and Fungoid/Fungal creatures can communicate telepathically with one another while within 100ft, giving the horror at the center a pseudo-hivemind and preventing her from ever being surprised by the party's shenanigans unless they can avoid being spotted by any of her minions. Fungus-infested creatures retain all the abilities they had in life (though whether they keep their memories and personality largely depends on the DM, as Fungoid creatures DO, but Fungal creatures DO NOT) and can be directed by the Queen to disguise their infected condition, letting them spread their master's infection and influence even further than she could on their own, up to and including collecting victims to bring her for further direct corruption.

Though Fungus Queens can only control a limited number of spawn directly (24 HD worth, for a normal Queen), infested minions count as Plants and thus can still be commanded and directed with Plant Empathy and magic enhanced by Compel Plants, so their makers will not be short on servants when the player party finally comes knocking. Since Fungus Queens more or less always know when a party is coming without some extreme stealth on their part, this allows them to set up their most annoying ability ahead of time: Sporepod. A Fungus Queen can use a standard action to raise a pillar of fungal matter anywhere within 60ft, and once raised, this pillar stays in place until she either moves more than 120ft away or the pillar is destroyed (15 AC, 20 HP), and these pods act as dangerous impediments for the party.

Not only can they block movement, but Fungus Queens can use a move action to instantly appear in a square adjacent to any of her pods, giving her incredible mobility if she's set up beforehand. Since creating a pod is a standard action and teleporting to it is a move action, AND the Queen does not have to have line of sight to the point she's podding, Spore Queens can do a discount Dimension Door by repeatedly creating and transporting to the pods, but this isn't their actual purpose; their actual purpose is to act as vectors for her natural attacks. Spore Queens can attack with two claws for 1d6+5 damage each and can also lash out with four fungal tendrils for 1d6+2 damage each, but a Queen can also force her pods to sprout tentacles and attack with those in place of her own, letting her make melee attacks across the battlefield if she so wishes.

1d6+2 isn't an especially frightening amount of damage, but the sticky tentacles Grab onto whatever they hit, Constricting for an additional 1d6+5 damage a round... which is STILL not scary, but the REAL purpose of these attacks is to pin enemies in place for the Queen's infested minions to dispatch or to keep them in her 1/day Mind Fog so it can make them vulnerable to her mind-affecting effects, and to waste the party's time getting free or attacking the Sporepods. Destroying the pods is simple (again, 15 AC and 20 HP), but the Queen can make them at-will and takes no damage if any of them are slain, so they're literally just distractions and swift escape routes to keep the party from engaging the demonic fungi in melee, making for a potentially harrowing game of keep-away. A single Mind Fog into Dominate Person may just turn her from annoyance to an enemy that's impossible to defeat.

Fungus Queens have quite a few defenses; even if one DOES get caught in melee or shot at from afar, the attack had better be cold iron or Good aligned, or it will barely scratch her through her DR 10. With Slow available 1/day and impressive mobility thanks to her pods, actually harming a prepared Queen with weapon attacks is unlikely, forcing the party's melee tanks to deal with the threats directly coming to them instead of the other way around. Magic-wise, casters must contend with SR 20 and even more defenses on top of that: Acid and Cold damage is reduced by 10, and the advanced grounding the Queens have going on means that Electricity damage is entirely nullified, while the defensive bonuses gifted by the Plant trait means most reliable forms of crowd control (mind-affecting effects, paralysis, sleep effects) simply will not work on either the Queen or her minions.

Fungus Queens work best as subtle threats that are built up over time, slowly infesting larger and larger areas with their wicked servants before their machinations become too overt to keep hidden, though they CAN work as drop-in hazards the party stumbles into. In the latter case, they're significantly easier to beat due to likely not having as many minions or nearly as many Sporepods already set up. In my opinion, however, this isn't an especially satisfying way to portray these creatures; they're highly intelligent, wise, AND charismatic, so their ability to Veil themselves and puppet their controlled minions across any distance should be used to much better potential. If her plans are interrupted far too early, some contingencies may be sprung: perhaps the most outwardly hideous infested minions keep a 'fair maiden' to be sacrificed to their foul god locked in a rotting cage and surrounded by giant mounds of fungus that lash out with sticky tendrils, all for the purpose of this maiden being 'rescued' by a band of intrepid heroes and brought back to civilization where the real campaign begins...

You can read more about them here.

[princeescaluswords]

THE LEGACY OF LA BÊTE

Written for @teenwolf-meta Meta May Monday's May 19th topic: Beast.

As Coach might, say let's do a pop quiz! What's the connection between the scene pictured above the scene pictured directly below?

The simple answer is that the people involved are all part of the Argent family, but there is more to it than that. The sacredness of family ties is important to Chris Argent, and that can be traced all the way back to 18th century France. Let's look at Chris Argent's speech to Derek Hale in that scene in Pack Mentality (1x03).

Chris: Nice ride. Black cars, though. Very hard to keep clean. I would definitely suggest a little more maintenance. If you have something this nice, you want to take care of it, right? Personally, I'm very protective of the things I love. But that's something I learned from my family. And you don't have much of that these days. Do you? There we go. You can actually look through your windshield now. See how that makes everything so much clearer?

It would be easy to think of this scene as Chris Argent displaying another example of his weird intimidation techniques, threatening Derek to keep him in line. In fact, that's what we are meant to believe when we first watch it. As threats go, however, it seems to be based on cruelty and doesn't pain Chris in a very flattering light.

However, as the show progresses, we see more and more how important family is to Chris until we get to the story in The Maid of Gévaudan (5x18). We watch La Bête's rampage found the Argent clan of hunters. They took the mantle upon themselves not only because Sebastian Valet was a serial-killing demonic werewolf, but also because he was family. Sebastian would have been a monster wherever he went, but he purposefully came back to Gévaudan, to the community where he and his sister lived. He wasn't going to stop killing, so this betrayed his family's history there, destroyed the roots that the Valets had. He went so far as when Marie-Jeanne vowed to stop him, he stated his intention to kill her as well.

Thus we learn the reason that Marie-Jeanne established a code in which if a hunter is bitten that they have to take their own life. Lycanthropy, embodied by the Beast, corrupts and destroys that sacred bonds that we see were extremely important to Marie-Jeanne and to her descendants.

Sebastian: You won't catch me. And you won't kill me. We're family, Marie-Jeanne. We're family.

Chris, for his part, will turn on his father and start working with werewolves when he realizes that family, in the end, means nothing but a source of power for Gerard, to be tossed away or replaced if it is not serving its purpose. After Chris realizes that Victoria, Allison, and Kate are all, in their own ways, victims of Gerard's actions, he discards the idea that lycanthropy is a requirement for betrayal. This revelation, at first, makes him try to protect his family by giving up hunting in Frayed (3x05):

Chris: There's a saying for these kinds of situations, the kind you have to navigate carefully. It's called, "threading the needle." It's finding a safe path between two opposing forces. Allison: Sounds like saving your own ass. Chris: They're not your family.

But Chris, as much as he wants to protect what is important to him, never forgot why the Code exists in the first place. He can't help but follow it, even after it push him to help his beloved wife commit suicide. He learn slowly that there's nothing wrong with valuing family, even to the point of trying to get Kate and Gerard to renounce their behavior simply because they should be horrified that it requires a betrayal of their family. He even goes so far as to take the blame for his own betrayals, such as when he suggestion he didn't "take care" enough to stop Kate in becoming what she did.

So what's the ultimate connection between these scenes? At this point in Pack Mentality , Chris must think that Derek is the one who killed his sister, Laura. I'm sure if Chris had proof, that conversation would have taken a more violent turn, but when the confrontation begins, Chris has no reason to believe that Derek isn't the only werewolf in town. After all, Chris or Victoria never mention Peter in the hospital, and Kate doesn't check the place out. (It seems Laura made sure he was safe from them in the facility.) It's not until the next episode when Kate reveals to the family that there's more than one werewolf.

When the hunters box in Derek's car in that episode, what is happening is that an Argent hunter looks at a werewolf and sees not a victim, but a monster whom the hunter believes has betrayed their own family as well as the community in which they lived. An Argent hunter who is very protective of the things they love. On the surface, Chris is warning a werewolf to tow the line, but on another, more emotional level, Chris is remembering the story of how his family came to hunt werewolves. He looks at Derek then and he sees "nothing but a Beast."

[sebsbarnes]

jealousy || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: he knew you were fuming about his actions and he loved it. the two of you loved making the other jealous. it was a sick cycle.

warnings: mildly toxic dynamic, semi-suggestive (no descriptions)

word count: 900+

tangerine masterlist

your eyes followed the two figures amongst the crowd as if losing them was a sin. your fingers drummed against the now wet glass of your drink as the heat inside the club combatted with the ice. you were infuriated, to say the least. truth be told you were jealous, hungry for the attention not being provided to you, but to someone else. you wish you could blame the way your body was pulsating on the ear-ringing music but you knew it was because you were watching tangerine dance behind a girl, his eyes now piercing into your own.

tangerine and you were...messy.

there was really no solidified relationship between the two of you, however, it was evident that the late-night rendezvous indicated you two weren’t just friends. there were many nights spent staying up until the sun rose and many days spent tucked under sheets. he was still staring at you, whispering things into the woman's ear causing her to giggle and all you could do was suck your teeth, seething in anger.

"well don't ya look fuckin' jolly," lemon chuckled bumping into your shoulder, taking the seat next to you. you broke the staring contest to glare at lemon.

"i get we're on a fuckin' mission but jesus could it look like he wants to fuck her anymore?!" you spit.

"relax champ. let him work his magic and we will be outta here soon enough," lemon said patting your shoulder.

tangerine's back was now facing you and lemon and all you could see was the woman throwing her head back in laughter, her fingers tracing up and down tan's back. you could vomit right there or you could kill her, she was the enemy anyway what's the difference? you felt your throat constricting watching his arm move to grab her face, planting a kiss below her ear. with force you swiveled in your chair to face the bartender.

"three shots of tequila please," you almost begged.

"any of those for me?" lemon joked trying to suppress his amusement at the situation.

the first shot slid down your throat burning the entire way down to your stomach, "over my dead body."

the other two shots went down with ease and the fuzzy sensation was coursing through your body. it helped the jealousy subside even though you knew they were still dancing behind you. just as you were about to close your tab, a large hand situated itself where your neck and shoulder meet and a black credit card was thrown on the counter. you rolled your eyes so hard that it hurt.

"gettin' drunk on the job hm?" tangerine quipped bending dangerously close to the right side of your face. you could feel his breath on your ear.

"at least i wasn't trying to fuck on the dance floor," you retorted looking at tangerine through your eyelashes.

he let out a short fake laugh running his hand down his chest to smooth out his vest, "you know i only save that for you, love."

you ignored him and the warmth throughout your body and stood up wobbling a bit. from the other side lemon balanced you and nodded his head for the three of you to leave. you sauntered behind lemon, tangerine behind you which he liked quite a great deal. you could feel his eyes burning into every inch of your body and you purposely swayed your hips a bit more. he knew you were fuming about his actions and he loved it. the two of you loved making the other jealous. it was a sick cycle.

the three of you were now outside heading towards the car when you heard a pair of heels behind you and then two voices. turning around you saw the woman from earlier, the lady the three of you were here to steal information from, now talking to tangerine with a hand on his chest. their voices were quiet and tangerine's eyes quickly glanced over at you as he shot the woman a feigned smile. at this moment you didn't even care. you stalked over to the two pushing the woman to the side gripping tangerine's tie with such force it nearly ripped from the collar. the woman had stumbled to the side but she was now an afterthought as you shoved tangerine against the brick wall nearby.

you grabbed his face resting your palms on his cheeks and kissed him roughly. your fingernails scraped across his scalp, his hair knotting in between your fingers. his hands found themselves on your waist pulling you in closer. tangerine's tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you gladly let him in. he could taste the tequila and he couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the kiss making his head fuzzy. but he loved it and he wanted more. he wanted every inch of your body on him. he wanted you underneath him, your nails marking his back as he kissed the special spot on your neck.

"we gotta get the fuck outta here love," tangerine grumbled against your lips swinging your body into his arms and trekking to the car.

as you retreated to the car in tangerine's arms you glanced over his shoulder. the woman had stayed where she was in shock and all you could do was wiggle your fingers at her in goodbye knowing she was staying here while you left with tangerine knowing soon enough he'd find home between your legs.