#drawing little hearts on the grenade before lobbing it back at you

[daisychainsandbowties]

Amber Run - Amen

oh, is there a heaven?/ you’d know now you’ve been 

you know this show makes me crazy but one of the most interesting things it does is, simply, giving us Mary

this character who is bereaved from the very start, and we cannot possibly understand her grief. can’t even grasp at the edges of it.

& it’s so powerful because Shannon is a gaping wound ripped through the narrative, but we can’t see it. we can feel the blood dripping onto our backs, in our periphery. but we're stuck with this outline of her, a body ripped open not once, but twice. plundered for its treasure. only Mary goes and searches it for answers.

maybe out of habit, because it's where her answers have always been

and, with no body to keep her contained, Shannon is scattered everywhere.

in Beatrice, flinging herself at armed men in a kind of strained imitation of Shannon, because we learn bad habits too.

people sometimes say that Bea's whole 'trust your team' speech is ironic, coming from her, but i think she trusts her sisters. her issue in s1 is that she knows what she can trust them to do. she knows that Shannon would have wrapped her body around their bodies; that she would have carried any of them through fire.

she hates that and she resents it but, again, we learn bad habits most especially from the ones we love.

Lilith, who must at least be motivated somewhat by the thought of Shannon, perforated, brimming with blue light and telling her, with that sudden set of her jaw. that elusive steeliness to her voice, ‘you’re ready.’

Mary. i always think of her standing in Vincent’s office that night, and how incredibly kind she is to Ava. what we’ve seen her do before that - shoot a man in cold blood on a cliff, hold a knife against the tangle of veins in a wrist, telling a man how quickly it is possible to bleed out.

& then we see her in standing in the sunset at Cat's Cradle & she's something else. she's a container for all the grief we aren't ready to see.

Ava, who spends so much time running but can’t escape. 

something about how you can’t run from a ghost when the ghost is inside you. 

I can't help blaming you/ for leaving me here, what am I supposed to do?

thinking about how episode 1 takes its title from the Book of Psalms. episode 1, and the first thing we hear Mary say which is

'i need somewhere to put her down'

it always makes me think, oh Mary, you never will

this passage from psalms 23 & what it says about her,

Mary and the places we see her most often: on the docks, on the plateau where Ronda perches, on a bridge with Ava when Beatrice picks her up.

liminal spaces. between land and sea. between the earth and the sky. a bridge (between). what i think that says about where Mary is standing the whole time and where she ends up.

where she ends. 

standing between her sisters and the world that wants to eat them. 

[johobi]

Satan, Baby

Word count: 2.6k

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Warnings: If you’re sensitive to religious topics and imagery I would skip this one, some rather major if brief angst, alcohol as a crutch, slightly scary in places, especially if you don’t like goats, fingering, tentacles (yep, however brief), archaic dialogue.

Prompt: “Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?” -The VVitch (2015)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946889

When the devil knocks, you’re only too happy to answer.

Gin-gle bells, gin-gle bells, gin-gle all the way!

The greetings card sits, sardonic, opposite you. It has become a tragic premonition of this year’s festive agenda.  And the friend who’d gifted it you, gleeful grin and all, likely has no inkling of the accuracy with which it speaks. But how would she, when, blithe flake that she is, no longer favours you for her company this holiday. And not because you demanded it of her; of course not. You’re not the type to presuppose anything of anyone. It had been she who proposed your cosy Christmas twosome. A three-day extravaganza of turkey, gift-exchange and, yes, gin. Indeed, she’d been emphatic in her suggestion. It’s only been two weeks, after all, since you unearthed your ex-girlfriend’s year-long, adulterous deception. And you shouldn’t be alone after that, she’d insisted. But, no. The day before its Eve, your apparent best friend fucked off with her degenerate, drug-peddling boyfriend to a romantic retreat.

Christ.

So much for friendship.

So much for love.

Every unenthused effort you’d exerted in giving that other bitch - the cheating one - the Christmas she’d pouted for was wasted. The lurid lights, the offensively cheery decoration of your living room; it distresses your eyes and heart both. Reminds you how hideous a charade the whole ordeal has been. It’s relentlessly fake. A blanket of spray-on snow over nine layers of flaming lies.

It wasn’t just the pantomime of Christmas, though. Everything had been for Lily.

Your family’s desertion of you, for one. To say that they were disapproving of your relationship was underselling the strength of their abhorrence. Backwards, backwoods, and back-to-back harassment was their mentality and method in a nutshell. But you braved their repudiation for a love so true that it gave you the wings they purported God would tear from you.

If He feels so vehemently that a woman shouldn’t tongue another, though, he can fucking keep them.

And so you sit alone, gin in one hand and your dog snoring under the other, pensive. Numbly so, by this point. One can only weather so much before seeking shelter inside somewhere warm and safe. For you, it’s your mind and in the dregs of a bottle. Can’t drink too much, though. You have work tomorrow. The world doesn’t stop for Jesus these days.

Your drink becomes too cloying to endure. Its bottle, while only half-imbibed, sits suddenly heavy and offensive in your palm, because even alcohol has betrayed you. The stunts your stomach is showcasing deters you from persisting, so you relieve yourself of the bottle’s burden in an extraordinary way. Like an active grenade you lob it into the fireplace opposite and revel, exhilarated, how it enrages the flames for an alluring moment. The crack of splintering glass stirs your dog from repose to alarm in a split second, but you soon have him settled. He peers up at you with a question, but you only need smile before his placidity returns.

Maybe I could skip town? the scenario is heady to conceive. It grips you as you speculate within, everything outside your mind’s four walls forgotten. All but the flames afront of you. As they snap and writhe like the souls of those damned, the fire mesmerises you into a deeper state of introspection. You feel free of the compulsion to blink. Sink further into stupor.

I would sell my soul for another life.

The blaze speaks back. It knows you as well as you do. It is you.

Is that so?

Yes, I would, and there’s no hesitance to your thinking so. In your trance you feel easy, open.

That is quite the sacrifice, your mind supposes, though why you’ve taken on a different, more masculine voice to debate yourself is something you won’t allow yourself to examine.

Your eyeballs prickle in protest for being denied moisture. Nevertheless, it’s impossible to blink. My soul is rotten, if I even have one, and you truly believe that. I’ve been through too much.

The second voice inhabiting your body deepens. Deepens, and mutates, until there’s a trio of them speaking in perfect tandem; a whisper, a growl, and a voice of silver silk. Contrarily, it is luminous. Wouldst thou grant it to me?

“W-What?” you splutter it outside the confines of your internal monologue. Because that is not you conversing back. As soon as the exclamation stumbles over your tongue, your reverie disintegrates. You regain your ability to blink, but within one or two you feel yourself shift into an eerier reality. The fire is no longer quite so bright nor dazzling. The embers gasp their final, fiery breaths as they fade. The room is dark but for the paltry twinkle of your looming Christmas tree. Pluto barrels from the room, tail tucked to his stomach, a piercing yelp in his wake. “P-Pluto?”

Silence.

The rapid in-and-out of your breath is all that meets the muted air. Until the slightest shiver of movement catches in your periphery, and then you’re panting like a dying dog. You shrink into the sofa’s security, legs folding to your chest to screen your defenceless body. It must be a trick of the lowlight, but your eyes insist that there is a figure some eight foot tall occupying the corner. But it can’t be, because the tree’s illumination, however scant, catches nothing tangible. And yet, as your eyes squint through disbelief and murk, you swear, solemnly, that two, twisted horns sit atop this silhouette’s head. “Who’s there?” you don’t so much as threaten as squeak, catching your teeth on the tops of your knees. “Show yourself. How did you get in?!”

One blink and the demonic shadow vanishes, like your dry eyes were the instigator of this nightmarish hallucination. But something still remains there, you’re sure of it. It doesn’t breathe, it doesn’t speak, and it doesn’t disturb this plane of existence in any capacity, but you know it’s there. “Who are you? Have I finally gone insane?”

Your heart-rate is in the cosmos. And it only continues to ascend when the shadow responds, in that same, flanged voice. It’s otherworldly and melodic, bordering on soothing, were it not for the growl underrunning every spoken word. “Thou art of clear mind and clearer eyes. Thou hast summoned me.”

The dark form offers nothing to the truth of its identity, and yet you already know what stands there. There is no doubt in your mind. Strange, when up until this point you’ve been atheistic to the point of obnoxiousness. None of that is of any importance now, though, when faced by a being exuding the formidable truth. “Th-The Devil? I summoned you?”

It’s unnatural how your heartrate quietens when it - he - steps forward from indistinction. With him he brings an aura of utter tranquility, and even on its boundaries you feel like you’ve consumed a healthy dose of some benzo or another. Empty of anxiety, you’re able to appreciate the godless beauty of this man. Yes, a man, or perhaps that is how he’s choosing to present himself to you today. Quite against expectations he’s donned head to toe in white; a suit perfectly tailored to cling, and hair like platinum thread. Wide shoulders and narrow hips draw your eyes first, but then they land on, and refuse to waver from, his divinely-featured face. Everything you see there is sculpted by a deity’s master hand. The man possesses voids for eyes; they neither let light in nor out, and as he observes you without relent, you fear for what might happen if you fall into them. “Thou didst,” he murmurs past ripe, apple red lips, and this distraction is almost more damning. God, you want his mouth. More than all those who came before him.

“I didn’t think you were real. I didn’t think any of this kind of thing was real. What else is real? Do you have a name?” you’re not really the type to babble nonsensically, but you just feel so serene. Weightless. Words are but feathers on the wind, and to release them is to be free. There being an ancient, malevolent entity in your vicinity is of little worry.

“Seokjin is one of mine names,” he smirks; a mere twitch of his generous mouth, and cherubs are in chorus in your heart. The rest of your stumbling enquiries go unanswered. “Address me thus, if thou pleases.”

“You look more like an angel,” you breathe into the space between you.

The Devil smiles wider. It’s tenuous, but perhaps you spy two rows of vaguely pointed teeth. “There is nary a difference. They live to serve their Creator, as doth mine conscripts. I, however, am transparent in mine subjugation. He is not. One might consider that,” he tongues a tapered tooth. “Devilish.”

There’s little time to form an opinion on the matter because he takes two more steps to you, and every incremental increase in his proximity robs you of the wherewithal to function. He’s absolutely breathtaking, fatally so. It’s only when you heave in an urgent breath that you realise how even your most autonomic of impulses are impaired by him. You lower your legs to both see him better and signal your receptiveness to his advance. There’s no suggestion of what he may do when he comes near, but his eyes graze your exposed thighs without apology, only that sultry smirk pulling at his mouth. “Say to me,” he whispers low and slow, savouring each syllable like an indulgent meal. “Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

You don’t react verbally, not just yet. Your body, however, gives an immediate answer. There is a diabolical stirring between your spreading legs, intensifying for every second his gaze lingers there. It must be some dark magic hitching up your shift and soddening your cunt, but you sense it comes solely from you. You’re inebriate on his exotic musk, so dense that it fills not only your nostrils but your mouth; an irresistible tang compelling your asphyxiation. Rather than draw breath, however, you release a wanton whine. Each moment you go untouched by him your pussy strengthens its revolt. You’re so, unbearably tender, so shamefully wet, that little more than the heat of his breath on your skin will undo you. That much you’re sure of, as you squirm, open-legged and leaking for his pleasure, beseeching him for his mercy.

“Grant me thy answer, sweet girl,” the demon persists at range. He studies how unreservedly you present yourself to him, leaking so copiously that it moistens the sofa beneath. “I must hear it by thy own lips.”

It takes everything remaining of your modesty to prevent yourself from masturbating. “Y-Yes. I want to live a delicious life. Please.”

The one hand obscured in his pocket, he withdraws, raising it to the air. Adorning it is a ring, inset with a peculiarly flickering jewel. You rise, too, but whether it be by sorcery or out of your own, debauched necessity, you don’t know. The sofa dips under the soles of your feet as you straighten awkwardly to attention. The arousal streaming your legs in depraved amounts demands you keep them apart. An undignified stance, to be sure, but something you care little about in your condition. Fuck, you twinge like a metronome at your centre, mouthing around nothing but a desperate wish.

That wish, Seokjin grants. It’s only one more step before he’s level with your bosom, peering up at you completely soulless. Completely endless. His aroma is spicy and thicker than ever, and more potent an influence on you than the strongest of spirits. “Delightful,” he hums with a resonance that tickles your insides. And there’s no time before he actually is. With just the one, bold hand, he bypasses the lacy hem of your shift and embeds two fingers straight into your pliant cunt. Immediately you are boneless and require his shoulders for support, flagging over him like a damsel courting unconsciousness. You’re very much awake, however, because you feel it all. The quivering of your cunt as he stretches you in slow, circular motions. The press of his fingertips as he palpates your g-spot with enough power to weaken your knees. And then, most peculiarly, how he advances into you even at his knuckles’ limits. What felt like fingers before are now far too thick and flexible to be considered as such. The tendrils that penetrate you lash and writhe along the limits of your pussy, caressing the puckered opening in your cervix. The girth of him transformed is almost too much to bear, but you’d rather be torn asunder than risk his withdrawal. You don’t even think to question the unearthly occurrence. It’s far more gratifying than any appendage a mortal can offer.

But despite your best to keep him, The Devil withdraws. Slowly, painfully, he dislodges his digits from your sticky cunt, until there’s nothing there but an intolerable ache. You tremor as you raise yourself from his shoulders, poised to beg his return. “I need more,” you’re starved; raspy. “Please.”

He doesn’t capitulate to your pitiful plea. Instead, he removes his hand from beneath your skirt, fingers demonstrably fingers. They shine with slick so thick it barely runs. And vacant from his index finger is the ring you swear embellished him once. Confusion can’t establish itself before he ensnares you in his sordid eyes once more. “Sign mine book. Kiss these lips. Thy soul is the price,” he’s guttural but hushed all at once, and before you can fathom his proposition he produces a book in his unsoiled hand. Inlaid with bone and scale, the tome looks primeval. The spoiled, aged pages flip to one without entries, and Seokjin smears your essence in its margins. You require no further explanation.

The quill lies immaculate and waiting. “I can have anything I want?”

“All that thou wishest,” his tongue moves more than his lips do; a serpent behind sharp teeth.

It hurts to behold him much longer. The eyes that bore, unabating, into you; you feel him already taking stock of your soul. He’s in you, somewhere, too hot and too intense. And yet you want more. “Can I have you?”

His self-satisfaction suggests that your request isn’t a revelation to him. Just another of his ploys bearing fruit. “Thou desirest me desecrate your unworthy cunt, girl?” Seokjin waits a beat for your manic head-bobbing. “Very well. Sign thy name.”

You do. There’s no reluctance between your scribbles despite the agony that accompanies it. Each stroke scores itself raw into some unplaceable part of your body; your receipt for this cursed transaction. As your signature dries on the page, it’s with crazed anticipation you meet his waiting gaze. “I’m ready.”

The book slams and disapparates with an ear-shattering snap, but not even that can deter you from your trajectory. Delicately but determinedly, you bend until your lips are a whisper upon his. The kiss doesn’t remain chaste for long, however. Seokjin’s tongue pours like molten lava into your mouth, scalding all it touches. Your eyes drift closed while twined by tongue, and it’s then that he seizes you into a steely embrace. Rough, ravenous hands drag you from the sofa and plant you to the floor beneath him. His heat and weight are suffocating, wonderfully so, and each lap of his tongue is a lick of flame purifying you of misery.

God, you think, staring through the ceiling as Seokjin sinks his whetted fangs into your breast. Let me burn.

[ivedonestranger]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Teen Titans (Animated Series) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Robin/Jinx Characters: Robin (DCU), Jinx (DCU), Raven (DCU), Koriand'r (DCU), Garfield Logan, Victor Stone, Gizmo (DCU), Mammoth Additional Tags: Angst, Mistakes, Language, Jinx swears a lot, Unplanned Pregnancy, Cheating Summary:

Robin made a simple mistake in the moment of grief. Now what?

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

The rain was nonstop as Robin ran from rooftop to rooftop. Beast boy, in Eagle form, soared ahead while Starfire and Raven flanked him on each side. Cyborg took up rearguard, making sure they weren't flanked. The call came screaming over the criminal alert when Jump City PD reported meta conflict in the southern part of the city. Robin landed on edge and crouched, keeping a low profile while the others gathered around him.

Down in the street, Robin quickly picked out the forms in the center. A massive behemoth in black and yellow, the dark caped teleporter, a pink-haired girl, and the rest of her team.

"Of course it's gotta be the HIVE 5," Beast Boy growled.

"Been a while since we rumbled with them. Looking forward to kicking Gizmo a few times," Cyborg laughed.

It was Raven who alighted beside Robin that saw what he did.

"Something's wrong."

"Yeah," The boy wonder said, drawing his bow staff. "They're surrounded."

From the corners of the streets and moving slowly on them were armored soldiers in black and gold firing on the HIVE 5's perilous positions. An open black van waited in the far reaches.

"It's a grab team," Robin said, his heart spiking as he saw the pink-haired girl flinch as a chunk of hot metal from a round struck her in the face.

"What do we do?" Starfire asked.

"Those aren't police issued uniforms," he said. "Defend the HIVE."

"What?" Beast Boy said, surprised, but they were already gone.

Firing his grapple gun and creating a rappel line, the boy wonder slid down, over the head of the HIVE, and right into the lead soldier that was preparing a grenade. The sonic weapon detonated among his companions behind him.

"Titans! Defensive positions. Talon maneuver."

Immediately Starfire and Raven took to the air. Koriandr's starbolts were ripping into the surprised troops while Raven through up a half-circle of dark magic protecting the battered HIVE members. Robin slid in beside them, quickly accessing. Gizmo had raised his weapon at Robin, but Jinx smacked him down.

"He's helping us, you idiot," her voice cracked in admonishment. Their eyes made contact, and he could see the sincere relief. "Thank god, it's you, pajama heroes."

"What's going on?"

"HIVE retrieval team," Kid Wykkyd muttered in his quiet voice. "We kinda….revolted."

"A story for later," Jinx said quickly. "We thought we had enough of a head start, but Private HIVE turned on us. Gave away our location."

"Make for the Titan's tower," Robin said, grabbing Jinx's hand and placing his ID card in it. "Pin is 10-9-14-24. We'll cover your retreat."

"We're not walking right into prison, ya scrum sucker-" Gizmo started to complain, but Jinx shot him a dark look that made Robin uncomfortable.

"Retreat Pattern Theta on Robin's mark," Jinx said cooley as the team turned away, she grabbed Robin and planted a kiss on his mouth. "Thank you."

"Now!" Robin said, trying not to get lost in the intoxicating touch of those forbidden lips. He had a mission to focus on and his team.

Charging out and lobbing a handful of mini-bombs, the loud explosion shook the gathering advance of the HIVE attack teams. With bo-staff extended, Robin began to fight the way he was trained. At a glance, he could see the HIVE splitting into 2s and vanishing in different directions.

"Where are they going?" Cyborg demanded.

"Don't worry about them," Robin said, pointing to the three black vans. "Cyborg, can you take out their vehicles? If we make this battle not worth it, they should back off."

Cyborg did not question why he thought that but had changed to his sonic cannon and was making his way towards the vans to get the best shot.

A green velociraptor shot by him and the following screams of the terrified soldiers running away was as expected. Black bolts mixed with green bolts descended until the two of the vans erupted in flames. That was when they decided it was over. Fleeing in different directions, the HIVE agents took off in the remaining vans, in the air with powered boots but everywhere.

Raven was about to grab one when Robin yelled to her. "let's go."

She stared at him with an intense curiosity for a second before returning. They turned and made their way to the tower.

It took 2 hours to clear up everything with the police. The police and SWAT teams descended to seize and arrest the injured HIVE agents that had not escaped. They each took their reports, but Robin made sure that it was known that the HIVE 5 had left the scene and did not appear to be involved, but they had no other information.

They trudged back to the tower with Raven and Starfire being considerate and staying with their team. Robin's feet hurt, but he knew his day wasn't over yet.

"Why did we not do battle with Jinx and her ilk?" Starfire asked, still trying to process a different direction.

"Cause your boyfriend decided we should protect them," Cyborg said with a laugh. "I think you've been keeping him too distracted, Star."

"I have not!" Starfire said indignantly. "There has been moderation when it comes to the nightly-"

"Star," Raven interrupted amused. "This is one of those boundaries things."

"Oh, yes," she said, surprised but understanding. "I forgot that some relationship activities are not usually discussed in public, even among friends."

Robin grimaced. Back at the tower, when Jinx was gone for a few weeks on her missions, the boy wonder felt like the world was back the way it was supposed to be. Afternoons talking with Starfire about her day, curled up watching movies in the evening, but he knew it was all an act. An act Bruce had taught him, to pretend everything was fine when you were a monster inside.

They arrived at the tower, and Cyborg typed in his passcode. The doors rumbled open, and he walked in.

"Well, I'm hungry, and I want pizza," he said. "So, if we're not going to discuss how we're going to catch the HIVE, then I'm going to-"

It was at that point that they realized that the tower was filled with a delicious smell of baked goods and cheesy goodness.

"What the-"

"Everyone calm yourself, I-," Robin started as they entered the common room. See-more and Mammoth sat on the couch watching the evening's baseball game while Gizmo was tapping away on one of the computers in the corner. Kid Wykyyd was at the bar sipping on a bright drink while Jinx was laying out the fourth hot, luscious pizza.

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET IN HERE!" Cyborg roared activating his weapons, and the entire Hive team froze. "AND…...is that pizza?"

"Yeah," Jinx said sheepishly. "Didn't know when you all were coming back, so I thought to make some pizza and blueberry muffins might keep you from murdering us."

"Until after dinner, of course," Kid Wykyyd remarked wryly from his corner.

"There's….there's even a tofu-vegetarian blend," Jinx coaxed, pushing one towards Beast Boy.

"That's nice and all," Raven said coldly. "but that doesn't give me a reason why I shouldn't stick your asses in an alternate dimension until I'm good and ready to hand you over to the cops."

"Cause I let them in," Robin said, trying to get ahead of the conversation before it turned bad.

"What?"

He scooped up the passcard that was on the table and pocketed it. "I made a snap decision. The Hive 5 was under attack, which made them the victims at this moment, and there is nowhere else they could stay away from the grab teams."

"Snap decision….is that what you're calling it?" Beast Boy said, and Robin gave him a puzzled look, but the changeling stuffed a slice of pizza into his mouth.

"Why are you being chased by your people?" Starfire asked, standing beside Jinx. Robin could see her trying to remain calm, having the Tamaranian that he ha been cheating on standing so close. If she knew, Jinx wouldn't last a second that close.

"I….I was running," Jinx started, but Gizmo came over with arms folded across his chest.

"All because one of you stupid hero types knocked her up."

The room was silent, and Robin could barely breathe. He tried to force himself to show not a single bit of emotion, and nobody was looking in his direction, except for those beautiful, imploring, pink feline, eyes. Raven and Starfire looked at each other with surprised while Beast Boy about choked on his pizza. Cyborg was mid-bite at the words.

"Congratulations," Raven asked, coming over and removing the mitts from Jinx's hands and escorting her to a seat. "But that's a pretty bold claim."

"Hey," Gizmo said. "She told us the father was one of those Justice League shits and if the Hive found out, they'd use this to their advantage."

"Who is the father of the little bumgorf?" Starfire asked excitedly, alighting beside Jinx brimming with joy. Jinx flinched again. "This is such a glorious occasion!"

"She isn't saying," Mammoth growled as the baseball team he appeared to be rooting for was declared out on the television. He shoved a muffin into his mouth.

"I'm not comfortable saying anything until I speak with him," Jinx said quietly. Robin had moved to the kitchen near the pizza, where it was the farthest from her. He grabbed a slice to appear normal desperately.

"So, you all defected for...Jinx?" Raven asked incredulously.

"Our team sticks together, just like yours," Gizmo growled. "And I don't appreciate the insinuation that we don't."

"Well, it looks like we're going to have new roommates for a little while," Cyborg said. "And I don't think a prison cell is not gonna cut it for a pregnant gal."

"You're not sticking any of us in there either," See-More said, his southern twang escaping. "We came here voluntarily cause your boss told us too. You aren't sticking me into any cell."

"Everyone gets rooms, " Robin said for the first time trying not to sound like his mouth was dry. "but you'll understand if we are taking some security steps while you're here."

"Not like we got much of choice, " Gizmo muttered. "I'm just hoping they keep this in house and don't hire outside talent. Then we're really screwed."

"I'd like to discuss our arrangements with your leader," Jinx said officially. "I think if he and I come to some terms, we can keep our respective friends in line. I'd like for this to all stay as civil as it has been so far."

"Sure...um…," Robin said, trying not to look so confused. Everyone was no looking at him, and Raven had a quizzical look on her face.

"My office?"

"Sure."

He motioned for Jinx to follow.

"Everybody relax," Robin said to Cyborg, and Jinx added for her team. "And all you do is eat pizza until I get back."

Down the hall, they went, and the lights turned on low to light the way. The sensors kept the lights off when not in use, part of Cyborg's green initiative. He tapped his passcode into the wall computer, and they both strode in.

Papers were strewn everywhere, and the multiple cases lay open on his desk — a large light burning down on it.

"Computer. Medium lights." Robin said.

The room brightness raised a bit more, and all it did was show the mess more. As soon as the doors closed, Jinx launched herself into his arms and deeply kissed him, her tongue exploring his mouth. Oh, god, did she taste so good? He pulled her beautiful gray face back, and she looked quizzically at him.

"What? You don't like my kisses anymore?"

"Raven and I have a bond from one of our missions along time ago, " Robin said, trying to catch his breath. "She can sense my emotions very well at short range."

"Ooooo. So I get to fuck you physically, and she gets to mind fuck you?" Jinx cooed teasingly. "I didn't know you were into threesomes."

"Jinx," Robin said, trying to keep the silly grin off his face. "The pregnancy thing. Why did you choose that tactic to get access?"

"Um…," Jinx said, raising her eyebrow and wrinkling up her lips in irritation. "It's not a joke, buddy. I've been throwing up every morning for the past three weeks. The test came back positive. I'm pregnant, and it's yours, Richard."

Robin groped around for a seat but wound up sitting on the floor. He looked up at her, stunned.

"I'm keeping it, sweetie," Jinx said, pushing around a few papers on his desk.

"I have a girlfriend, Jinx," Robin started, but Jinx turned on him hard, her fiery eyes locking on to his.

"Don't start with that shit, Richard. You've been going through the motions with her while you've been coming to my place and sticking it in every hole you wanted. I've seen you at your vulnerable, and you're an honest guy. God, you're such a hero that it makes me sick, but I can't live a second without thinking about you."

"And I can't stop thinking about you either, Jinx, but we agreed this was a mistake."

"And then we agreed that it was good to have some friends with benefits. We kick each other's asses in the daytime, and then we do it again in the sheets. It's great stress relief."

Jinx sat down on the floor in front of him and took his hands. "I know what I said. I know I said that I just wanted to screw and have a good time, but...this baby made me realize that this is my chance for a different trajectory, and I want the baby to have a father."

"If I come out and say the baby is mine, the JLA will strip the Titans of their certification and I will be removed from the register," Robin said slowly. "Starfire will be devastated and will more than likely kill me."

"Not me?"

"You have a little bumgorf," Robin said with a dark chuckle. "She'll kill me twice. Raven will probably shred me with her powers the Beast Boy, and Cyborg would never speak to me again. In short, it'll shatter the Titans to the core."

Jinx sat there quietly.

"So...the choice appears to be me or your entire life and identity."

"Yeah...I'm a horrible person, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you're a real ass," Jinx said, pulling in her knees and laying her chin on it with a pout. "I know I was living in a fantasy world and hoping that maybe you'd choose me over them. I'm a stupid girl, aren't I?"

Robin reached out and stroked her head, but she pulled back.

"You can't treat me like your love, Robin if you're just going to toss me aside in the end."

Robin's hand froze there for a second before he returned it to his lap. They remained silently for a few minutes before Jinx spoke up again.

"You do know this conversation is moot?" Jinx finally said with a sigh.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to remain silent and not admit to Starfire that you've cheated on her and that the baby inside a villainess is yours?" Jinx said, playfully punching his leg.

"You're the white knight, the truth, and justice deep in your soul. You're going to tell everyone, and you're going to take the beating you're going to get a cause that's who you are. You made a mistake, and you're going to pay the piper."

Robin hung his head in shame. Since the first night he spent on the roof with Jinx, he knew that his days were numbered. He desperately wished he could lie, cheat, do something to keep things from changing, but the pinkette in front of him was correct. He was too much of a good guy.

"Yeah, I'll tell them, but not tonight," Robin said. "Let them have one more night of happiness before I destroy everything."

With the heavy burden on his shoulders, Robin went back into the main room. For tonight, was the last night of acting.

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

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AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/49752254

FF.NET: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13378869/2/Such-a-Simple-Mistake

[regularbeans]

After a week of playing Overwatch:

absolutely can’t play Genji, if I get him on mystery hero I usually find the nearest cliff and jump off of it I’m not even kidding

I’m a little better at McCree but I usually just play him to hear Matt Mercer’s voice :’D High Noon only charged for me ONCE and I got so excited that I blew all my load on one dude. Worst porno ever.

Pharah is like, my second main, if there’s a tank already and we need an offense hero I’ll go straight for her. It’s ideal that she does so much splash damage cause her rockets are slöw

Reaper. Miss me with that edgelord.

I know Soldier is supposed to help in transitioning from classic fps to the more complicated and strategy-based OW but listen, I play Gaige on Borderlands 2 and camp out with Deathtrap whenever I can, Soldier isn’t gonna be a good fit for me. I hate his ult also.

I also wish I was better at Sombra but unfortunately she’s too squishy

same with Tracer. I love being annoying and drawing people’s attentions away from my team mates but it’s hard to play her without a mouse so I’ll get back to her when I have one.

Bastion’s cool for defence but very limited unless in sentry mode which I guess is why he’s defence but still.

I’m a bad Hanzo but I enjoy him quite a lot. Not worth it to go up against a Widow with him though.

I hate those asshole Junks that just keep lobbing in grenades from the window and get play of the game. I know the game allows this so it’s not cheating or anything but it’s a bit of a spineless move if you ask me heh.

Mei is great and I love her and I love being a Mei even though it’s a lot of responsibility. I usually train with her against AI but I’m also happy when I get her on MH. People get really angry at her in Quick Play though :[

Torbjörn is cool but I’m very map-specific with him, he’s best on King’s Row ngl, he’s fun, he’s a tiny man.

Because I’m a sniper at heart I feel partial towards Widowmaker and I love playing her but I’m often discouraged because of how mad people get at bad Widows (or bad anyone’s but like, we were on attack the other day and I got yelled at because WIDOW’S SHIT ON ATTACK like chill, I just wanna shoot some fools)

I can’t do shit with D.Va. I played against a great D.Va this morning and I have no idea how they stay alive. Everybody’s shooting me all the time, my matrix lasts only for so long, and I have a damn box of peas I keep throwing at people, I’m very bad at her.

Orisa is my main girl, I gushed about her before and I just have to say she’s the perfect hero for me. I don’t know who I’d be if she wasn’t in the game yet when I joined.

Reinhardt is usually my go-to tank with tight choke point maps but I’m only good with pushing through, I can’t kill for shit with his hammer so I usually swap him out once we got in. I love his HONOR! JUSTICE! REINHARDT-REINHARDT-REINHARDT! voice line though x) Also Sweethardt x)

I thought I was gonna be so good at Roadhog, and I’m not bad but I don’t think he’s a very good tank tbh. If you have to step out to take a breather every ten seconds then you’re not a tank, sorry.

Winston’s crap. Or I’m a crap Winston. His gun don’t do shit and you’d think I’d be good at it since you don’t even have to aim, and I don’t get how his shield works or what it’s even good for when you still get shot through it O-o

Zarya’s nice, I’m getting used to her tbh. I love going up to people in the spawn room and spam the “I will BREAK YOU” voice line x)

Ana is the one healer I’m decent with, tbh, I put three people to sleep at once a few hours ago, it was hilarious.

Lúcio, my love....... I’m so bad at you.

Same with Mercy but I’ll go out of my way to protect Mercy’s and always apologise when I get her or both of us killed.

I’ll master Symmetra one day....... one day......

Zenyatta’s my favourite chill boy but nopppppe, too much to pay attention to, I can’t aim, nope.

Also:

I’ve had exactly ONE conversation with one of my 1v1 partners, everybody else is just fucking quiet AND boring

also I haven’t won a 1v1 before but I’m not even talking while playing, I talk while setting up soooooo what could be the reason? Oh, I’m just bad? Okay........

people who kill you while you’re dancing in skirmish are the worst

I straight up LEAVE whenever someone starts acting like they’re the damn boss while you’re in the spawn room. I get it if you want to discuss strategies but don’t talk to me like I’m a damn idiot.

I like funny people who don’t take it seriously. I like a bit of joking and humour in the chat. Whenever someone’s throwing a tantrum and cursing team mates out I just roll my eyes so hard. Go play comp if you’re so damn serious about it.

gotta break all the pinatas in Dorado, bre-... bREAK THE FUCKING PINATAS, REAPER

nobody cares who you main. If someone else snatched your main and doesn’t want to switch then tough luck, pick another character you dillweed.

some people are Very mean and will yell at me

accidentally coordinating some dumb shenanigans in the spawn room or in skirmish is my favourite :’D

no, I will not put down a shield ten seconds before attack commences cause it will despawn two seconds after attack commences, you just let me handle tanking and you handle hammering your turret

I’m busy killing the sentry Bastion when he’s not looking at me, no I don’t know what you mean when you write “ORISA SHIELD HERE”

watch my damn halt ball maybe? maybe? it makes a noise, it’s really bright, there’s a .second delay when it blows up, that’s where you have to shoot, that’s... that’s the point......

I denied three ults within five seconds, why is Mei’s two headshots the POTG and not my stroke of brilliance?

going against an enemy Orisa is hardcore af but I win always. unless the enemy has two Orisa’s cause then I win never

:[

[yahtzee voice] Overwatch is a good game

[coruscantexpat]

Bonds Unbroken - Chapter 8: Dorm Invasion

“Kreia?!" Meetra reached for the old woman's mind, grasping wildly with her thoughts."Who's coming? Kreia? Kreia!" Silence echoed back at her. Panic clawed its way up into her chest, shortening her breath. The Harbinger hovered ahead of her, still and imposing against the black backdrop of space. There was nothing outwardly terrifying about the ship; under other circumstances, its formidable bulk would have been of little consequence, perhaps even comforting, but now she felt the same anxiety-inducing wrongness she'd felt in the aftermath of Malachor V. Her connection to the Force was still too tenuous to confirm her unease, but Kreia and HK-50 had labeled her as the only other survivor from the Harbinger. As fond of half-truths as they were, there was little chance both of them were lying. And if that were the case, it meant that someone, or something, else had control of the Republic ship... and out of all possible points in the galaxy, had ended up exactly where she was. Calling it a coincidence would be more than generous; it would be more akin to suicidal.

"Meetra!" Atton's voice pulled her back to reality. From the volume, it seemed it wasn't the first time he'd called her name. She turned back to the communications blister, glad he couldn't see her fear through the space suit's tinted faceplate. He was watching her intently, concern flickering briefly across his features before the self-assured mask slid back into place. "You need to get back inside. Depot or dormitories, I don't care. You're not gonna save anyone if you run out of air." He paused and chuckled grimly. "Or if whoever docked that tub isn't looking to leave witnesses. Get moving, Jedi."

The jibe, more than anything, broke through her paralysis, and she let out a strangled laugh. "You're testing my patience on purpose, Rand."

He flashed a tense grin. "If it gets you to listen, I'll do it every chance I get." He turned his attention back to the terminal, calling up more information. "Looks like there's a turbolift that leads back to the administration level on that side of the facility, too. If you can unlock it, you can get back up here to me." He glanced back out at her. "Fair warning: I'll probably lose you once you get through the airlock. That explosion is still throwing up a lot of interference. So, I guess I'll just say 'good luck' now."

Meetra nodded, raising a hand in response. "Be careful, Atton." He mimicked the gesture and she turned away, shuffling forward toward the dormitory airlock. The Harbinger still loomed large ahead of her, but Atton's prodding had given her the resolve to push the fear to the back of her mind. Finding survivors had to be her first priority. If her search was fruitless, if there was no one but Atton and Kreia to save, then getting off the station was the next course of action. Neither plan had to involve the ominous vessel. At least, she hoped they didn't.

Halfway between the communications blister and the airlock, she ran into the vents Atton had warned her about. There were two, side by side, both spewing a violet gas at steady intervals. Perhaps a safety function, in the unlikely, under normal circumstances at least, event that anyone was trapped outside the facility if an emergency required the fuel to be vented. Meetra waited, timing her reaction. She wouldn't be able to cover the entire distance before the far vent expelled another burst of gas, but there was a small gap between the two that would hopefully provide some safety. As the first vent went quiet, she shuffled past it, reaching the thin safe zone before gas burst out on either side of her, so close at this distance that she could feel the heat through the space suit. She flinched, but held her ground, moving past the second vent as soon as its expulsion slowed.

Reaching the airlock, she cycled the door and stepped in, stumbling a bit as her balance reoriented to accommodate for the lack of magnetic pull from the suit's boots. She staggered forward to the inner airlock and hit the release. Behind her, the outer door slid shut and her ears popped as the pressure in the room equalized rapidly. The inner door opened and Meetra stepped forward into another long chrome and ceramic hallway. She fumbled with the seal on her helmet and it released with a rush of recycled air, and she pulled it off, popped the commlink back out, and set the helmet on the floor. Silence, sharp and biting, rushed in to fill the void, no longer held at bay by the helmet's dampening effect. She stripped out of the suit and folded it up into a small square, boots hanging off either side, and then hooked both the suit and the helmet to one of the harness' loops. Clunky if she got into a fight, but the suit could always serve a purpose later on. She unhooked the vibrosword, gripping it tightly, and made her way down the corridor.

Further in, she could faintly hear the clatter of droid appendages, but she found it hard to feel any concern. After dealing with HK-50 and seeing the Harbinger, the slow, almost bumbling mining droids seemed trivial. When she stumbled upon one, she barely paused, skirting around it as it continued skittering about without a purpose. Eventually, Meetra came upon the first corpse since the fuel depot: another female miner, her body scorched and pockmarked. A datapad lay near her outstretched hand. Meetra scooped it up and scrolled through the message, learning that the droids were not the only malfunction in the dormitories: the fire suppression system, fueled, in all the wisdom of an insane engineer, by carbonite, had activated, killing at least one of the miners and leaving the author of the datapad trapped in the corridor with the droids. She also revealed that the nearby storage room contained ion grenades, which she had been unable to retrieve due to the lockdown. Meeta replaced the pad and murmured a short apology over the woman's body before turning to the storage room. She fished another sonic mine from the pocket of her harness, attached it to the door, armed it, and retreated down the hall.

The door blew open with a sharp crack, drawing the attention of the droid Meetra had passed earlier. It clicked back down the hall, pausing briefly when it reached her, and then continued on to the door. It turned from left to right, confused, and then returned the way it came. She waited for it to pass and then slipped into the room, rifling through the lockers and plasteel canisters, turning up a few droid repair kits and a handful of ion grenades. She pocketed all of it and went back out into the hallway.

She heard the fire suppression turrets before she spotted them, the whirring of their servos as they turned from side to side cutting through the silence. They snapped toward her as she turned the corner and fired, but their blasts didn't carry past the threshold of the room they were placed in. Meetra reached for one of the mining blasters, calculating the distance between the edge of the room and the nearest droid, but she released the weapon after a moment. The Jedi had viewed most weapons besides lightsabers as beneath them, none more so than blasters, and, like most Jedi, she'd never had training in using one. Even the feel of the weapon in her palm was off, as if either it or her hand was the wrong shape. Instead, she fished a couple of ion grenades out of her harness, thumbed the safeties, and lobbed one at each turret. Her coordination was true and both grenades skidded to a stop against the casing of the turrets. Meetra ducked back around the corner, turning her face away as the grenades exploded. She waited a moment and then peeked back in. Scorch marks pocked two corners of the room and pieces of metal were scattered all across the floor; all that remained of either turret. She crossed the room and continued down the corridor, eventually arriving at a three-way intersection with a terminal against one wall.

Meetra switched the console on and selected the camera feeds from the main commands. She brought up the mess hall first, wincing when it presented her with a grisly tableau of dead miners and demolished droids. The views of the dormitories were no better. Poisonous fumes were still being pumped into both room, but she could make out the shapes of bodies beneath the deadly clouds. Her heart sank and she leaned heavily against the console, tears of frustration threatening to spill over. She couldn't shake the sense of responsibility she felt, a holdover from her lessons so many years ago. She'd always been told people depended on her for safety and security, and even though she knew now that it wasn't true, it was still a hard thing to fight. Meetra took a deep breath, centering herself as much as possible, and began to flick through screens, eventually stumbling upon the ventilation controls. Though locked, the password wasn't hard to crack, even with her mediocre skill, and she cut off the vents in both dorms. With the danger taken care off, she canceled the lockdown and the dormitory door cycled open behind her.

Full chapter available on AO3 and FFN.