#its easy to say to other people like yeah negotiate! but when i have to do it myself i feel like a pussy

[abyssaldyke]

Last week I got a verbal offer for this job I've been interviewing for continuously over the last 2 months and at first I was like holy shit this is so much money I'm going to ask for just a little bit more bc you should always negotiate a bit but then! We talked to some friends last night and they were like this is a lowball offer ask for the top of the range you requested you are worth it. So I am doing that this morning but also I am scared.

[eggbert9000-blog]

My Thoughts on Persona 1 (PSP)

Hello again! Sorry it's been a while... got busy with University stuff, so lets continue where I left off, in the last few posts I talked about I was introduced into Persona through the Persona 2 Duology, and how I think they are some of my favorite JRPG's of all time now. So after I completed it I really wanted to check out Persona 1, because why not right? So let's just get right into it!

(I Used my real name, just blocked out my last name lol)

So I really loved this game, I had a really great time with it, which I sort of expected, I liked the P2 Duology a lot and I can stomach old JRPG's. A few things I would like to mention before I talk about what I thought is that I played through both routes, AND that I used a patch to restore the PSX soundtrack. Now it's not that I don't like the new soundtrack by Shoji Meguro, I think it's really good, I just wanted to play the game with the old one because I heard it was really good (and it IS REALLY GOOD but we will get into that later).

So what did I think?

So like always I'm gonna start with what I disliked first and then talk about all that I loved about it.

Exp Distribution

I Thought it was a little annoying that exp was distributed more to the characters that did the most damage, On paper it's an interesting concept, but I think all it did was raise the levels of one party member while leaving all the others were left in the dust. I found myself purposely sandbagging some characters so that there would be an even distribution. (But honestly the game is easy enough where you don't have to worry about it much).

SEBEC True Ending Requirements

I'm not going to say what the requirements are but it felt like something you just flat out need a walkthrough for, you know what I mean if you went for the route.

Difficulty Spikes near the end

I'm not sure if this is me just being trash but I found both the final bosses of the routes to be pretty difficult, if not long. My strategy basically boiled down to "have Boy with Earring and another character gun them down until they die in 30 minutes".

The Recruitable Party Members

This is moreso a problem in SEBEC but I don't think that the game makes it very clear that you can pick your extra party members. Like in SEBEC, most people are going to end up with Brown because, why would you say no to him joining unless you had knowlege that you could get other party members? In SQQ its not that bad because it literally tells you to form a party I believe.

In case you are curious:

This is the team I took for SEBEC, I actually knew you could get different party members so I chose Elly because I wanted to see how she was like before Eternal Punishment.

This is the team I took for SQQ. Basically the characters I didn't use in SEBEC + Elly (I like Elly she is cool).

Demon Negotiation (Again, Again)

Yeah, i'm talking about it for a third time. But I won't dwell on it for too long, because it's basically the same issues I had with Innocent Sin's negotiation, too many options and it sorta just feels like guesswork.

Alright, time for the things I liked:

Things I Liked!

The Soundtrack

Like I said earlier, I used a patch to put the PSX soundtrack back in and HOLY SHIT some of it is really good. Deadline is one of the best boss themes I can think of, every single dungeon has a good song. If it's not catchy, it fits the mood or vibe of the dungeons perfectly. I love the character themes a lot, I love when JRPG's give characters themes because I feel like the themes reflect the characters really well. It's such a shame Hidehito Aoki passed, this is one of the best soundtracks I have ever heard and he should have been proud.

Here are some of the best tracks in my opinion, because I feel like it would be a disservice to not mention some of them:

-Maki's Theme -Mark's Theme -Reiji's Theme -SEBEC Above Ground -SEBEC Underground Research Lab -City 2 Accident -Bar Attacked by Harem Queen -Kama Palace -Deva-Yuga -Pandora's Battle -Dungeon Ice Castle -Normal Battle -Saeko's Theme -Queen of the Night -Mid-Boss (a.k.a Deadline, the best boss theme in the series) (Thanks PSC for the names for the songs)

The Gameplay

I actually really like the gameplay, I know its a big joke to say "Persona 1 is the walk into walls simulator but i felt like people were making it out to be much worse than it actually was. Going through dungeons felt smooth once you got used to it (this was also my first dungeon crawler where it is in a first person perspective).

There is also the actual in game combat where I think its pretty alright as well! I actually like the grid system, I know some people say that "oh it's just the Final Fantasy row system" and I think it has a lot more depth to that. There were a lot of times when I had to consider characters placements for things like their guns, melee, or magic usage because different placements are better for different things.

And similar to the P2 Duology, I loved the customization of the character due to the fact they can all change their personas! I love customization in RPGs in general and I had a really fun time customizing and building each character. But I think this is further enhanced in P1 due to the fact that you can actually choose what party members you want in your party as well. Its a pretty cool way to increase replayability, and I had a fun time planning out my party to try out most of the characters in the two playthroughs that I did. (The only character I never ended up using was Reiji because I was already locked out of his unlock method when I realized, but its okay cuz I like Elly more probably).

The Story

I think the story is really good, especially SEBEC. Maki is certainly the star here, I sort of considered her the real main character for most of it. I Think the dream world and her progression as a character was really human, especially Pandora, which I don't want to spoil. Aki is also a cool recurring villain and so is Kandori. Kandori especially is badass, this is probably me being affected by his appearance in Eternal Punishment.

And not even mentioning the Snow Queen Quest. I was completely blown away by the fact how the game just has another entirely different story to it that is almost as good as SEBEC, it really makes you wonder why it was cut from the original. It has this "Cave Story has a 4th ending" vibe to it (If you know, you know) that I really vibed with. I think the concept is so cool as well, uncovering this secret that you were never even supposed to know and trying to save Ms. Saeko, and then learning her relation with the Snow Queen, I was really invested. I already really liked Yukino and this cemented her as one of my favorite characters in Persona. And I loved at the end it explained how it connects itself to SEBEC so they are both canon. The towers and what they represent are really neat as well.

Overall, I think its a solid time no matter what route you pick. Again my only gripe is getting the true ending in SEBEC is a little strange, but trust me its worth it, just put up a guide once in a while.

Guns (and how broken they are)

Okay yeah this is a strange one but hear me out, Guns are really broken, but also really fun. I liked how every character had a solid method of doing multi-hit damage, and I was a but sad how the Persona games that followed this never had this again. It was funny having a little powertrip when equipping charm bullets. But eh, it sorta balanced out by having some of the characters have pistols, or shotguns, which generally weren't great. I usually took those characters and focused them to be more magic oriented, i liked the uniqueness of each character. Not to mention how having a few great gun characters for the final bosses are basically necessary.

The Vibe

Finally, There is something about this games atmosphere that I feel like is unmatched. I talked about the atmosphere in Eternal Punishment but this is a different feeling. Thanks to the PSX music it really felt dreamlike, which is fitting due to a majority of SEBEC's setting being mostly in Maki's mind. Experiencing and exploring Maki's ideal world gave me a feeling I can't really describe, it felt "off" but also at the same time, comforting, you really have to play it to understand it (Which you should!). And then SQQ's Ice Castle has this almost oppressive vibe, seeing the school almost barely recognizable under the snow. Seeing how all the kids are living and surviving this situation, it was cool.

I Love this world map, its so awesome (And the music is so dreamy).

Conclusions

I really enjoyed my time with this game, I didn't enjoy it as much as the P2 Duology or even P4 (which I played after). But I do have a lot of respect for this game, it has a lot of good ideas and I think it executes it pretty well. Persona is such a strong series of games where even if I think this is the weakest Persona game, this is still one of the best RPGs ive played in recent memory. It was such a joy to not only see where this series started, but also just to see these characters that I fell in love with when I saw them in Eternal Punishment. And then just experiencing the story and the atmosphere is worth the playthrough alone. This is going to be a game that will stick with me for a long time, and I really do recommend it. Don't be intimidated by people saying it's "outdated" or a "walking into walls simulator" because I think it aged well. And with that I have talked about the entire original Persona Trilogy, personally I couldn't ask for a better introduction to the series, albeit a bit unorthodox. I eventually did get around to trying the newer games as well with Persona 4, which I also fell in love with.

I do plan on writing about Persona 4 and the rest of the modern games (when I finish Reload and 5), but for now I think my next post will most likely be about Shin Megami Tensei IV as I am playing that right now and spoilers, it might be one of my new favourite RPGs (coming up on my first ending I think, definitely on law, things are a little 'blasted' right now). But with that, please give Persona 1 a try, it definitely deserves to be recognized and praised. I believe it's an underrated classic.

[clamsjams]

If you’re chill with people in your ask box sharing theories /if not you can ignore this ^^/. My personal theory about Maximus is that he’s not secretly working for the federation or anything, the federation just needed him to either 1: cause unrest and distrust among the order group since he was one of the forming members of it 2: they needed to test a small experiment with him, 3 he could’ve also became a sleeper agent but I doubt it.

I don’t think the code attacks people who are with the federation, I think it attacks people because the federation needs them for something or to take them in private, making the code seem worse and more threatening to the residents just helps the cause since it takes the heat off the federation a little bit.

dude i’m chill with people in my ask box just to say hi or something pls pls pls talk to me i am normal i swear i am not foaming at the mouth i can talk to ppl

anyways yeah i absolutely agree with ur first thing, bc of how trumps death affected max and the way he’s been so so focused on finding answers, founding the ordo theoritas, and basically constantly trying to figure out the federation, there’s basically no way he would ever be a part of the federation willingly imo. unlike fit, who seemed to stay more neutral, which makes sense if he was planning on being a traitor for a different organization, and he had to have been planning that for a while, if not since the start, which makes his neutrality seem like a planned move.

however, max is extremely paranoid and gets tunnel vision when it comes to the federation, which makes it extremely easy to manipulate him if u know what ur doing. and look, i hate to have to take the ass camera seriously, especially bc the ass camera thing was like improv that they came up with on the spot, so if you’ll excuse me for being meta for a sec, there’s no way the people who put together the story could’ve planned for that or factored it into the lore. BUT hehe butt implanting some kind of monitoring device into someone does seem like a classic federation move, even though i think it’s main goal was to gather info, and the sowing of dissent was kind of a secondary bonus

and as for the code thing, that’s def an interesting point. i like the idea that the code is a red herring, something planted by the federation to serve its goals. and i think that would be interesting if the codes real goal is to give the players an enemy to unite against, to make them feel like theyre doing something and to take the heat off of the federation for a sec. bc most players seem to agree that between the feds and the code, the feds are the lower priority threat, the lesser of two evils. bc the feds don’t resort to violence as much as the code, and their agents can be reasoned with, in a way, even tho that reasoning and logic seems pretty warped to anyone with a functioning understanding of how emotions work. the code, on the other hand, just shows up, attacks, and leaves, there’s no way to talk to them or try to negotiate, bc you’ll just get killed if you try. so yeah def a possibility

but that’s the thing about the codes. when u theorize u go off of the info that u can gain from the source material, things that are explicitly stated, things that are implied, and things that u can extrapolate based on the data u have and logical thinking. the problem with codes is that they’ve given me basically nothing to work with. all i know is that they attack without mercy, they have some form of admin powers, allowing them to fly and summon mobs, they target the eggs for some reason, and the federation won’t admit they exist. that’s basically it. which means that all of my thoughts on them is just baseless speculation. when i theorize about them, it’s mostly just me speculating on a direction i think the code storyline could possibly go in and how it might affect the storyline, but i have nothing to back that up.

anyways that was basically a long winded way to say, i don’t fuckin know what’s going on with the codes at all but it’s a fun thing to think about and i think ur idea is def plausible and would have interesting implications

[ladychlo]

I am really curious at the moment... talking with my best friends about harry and louis, and now i'm in a conflict

Why do you think they are not out?

I always thought its because of the industry but my friends planted this thought: why they don't come out now, they have enough fans who are loving them and they have enough money to live, so what's the point?

They love each other so deep and yet they hurt each other wirh all the stunts and everything....

I love them, and they have my back always, but yeah at the moment i don't know what to tell to my friends

Hi love!

on one hand and to be honest with you, I personally try not to discuss this stuff on my blog because I think it's a matter of personal conclusions, you have resources (masterposts, their songs, timelines...etc) and you can work out what makes more sense to you.

on another hand, I will say that I personally think these sorts of arguments are simplistic and voided from any context and mostly just projection of one's expectations rather than actually considering the possibility that it's not as easy as it looks and it involves so many stuff and instances we have zero idea about. why don't they come out now? I mean we are talking about actual real people in the real world, working in an industry that is not as queer-friendly as some might think, and coming out is really a vulnerable and personal thing and you cant know for sure how they feel about it personally, how they think about it, how they understand it, you simply cant demand that from a queer person just because they are famous.

celebrities can genuinely be a powerless elite, it's not about how much money or fans that love you but when you are working inside the industry this stuff needs to hold actual power you know what I mean? something to lean on when you want what you want, something to negotiate your situation with. Louis and Harry have been inside the industry since they were kids...18yo and 16yo are kids. so much stuff happened and still happening, you can't know what compromising situations they find themselves in.

I personally think they know better about their situation and what end they want from it, as a fan I understand what they try to say and I don't feel like in a position to demand from them to come out to be proven right or something. for me, this argument of ''they are rich they have fans why don't they come out already'' its an easy conclusion, I understand it if you feel like its a way for someone to just separate themselves from the fandom or larry but its not an accurate way to understand their situation or how much the entertainment industry is fucked up.

[infernal-fire]

Just The Benefits (1/2)

Pairings: dark!Steve x you

Warnings: smut, slight overstimulation, dark!Steve, dark!Nomad!Steve

Later in the series: noncon, breeding kink, slight degradation kink, slight praise kink, mentioned dark!Tony, dark!Bucky

Please do not interact with this blog if you are under 18. Your media consumption is your responsibility. 

Summary: Y/N wanted the benefits and nothing more. That was the agreement… right? Steve decides it’s not enough.

Word Count: 1600

A/N: This is my first ever fic! I’m really hoping you’ll enjoy this but I also appreciate all feedback <3 I’m planning a second instalment for the fic, which will be longer than this one. I’m out here pretending like someone is going to read this. 

Nomad!Steve is the most attractive Steve and you can talk to a wall if you disagree. 

(This GIF does not belong to me)

It was convenient. The idea of no strings attached was that it was always supposed to be easy and mutually beneficial. You were enjoying the life of an Avenger and there’s no need to add anything to the mix. 

That’s how you found yourself under Steve’s mercy every week. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel anything for him but right now, all you could think about was making sure you didn’t tap out from his girth. 

You were bent over his king-size bed, stuffed full of his cock. He cooed praises into your ears and took on a languid pace. He pressed your head down with one arm, wiping your tears on the sheets, wrapping the other around your waist. His cock was moving in and out of you like a piston, making a squelching noise that your loud moaning drowned out. 

“Sweetheart, I’m going to speed up” he moaned, and you whimpered in response. His speed had you lurching forward on every thrust, the room reverberating with the sound of skin slapping. 

His cock repeatedly battered your cervix, which was becoming more sensitive by the second. You cried out as your eyes crossed and your muscles went limp, the crashing waves of your orgasm possessing you. 

“That’s it, baby, cream my cock. I’m so close.” his grunts filled your ears as he leaned over you. The hand that was holding your head made its way to your neck and he pulled you up flush against him while the other hand began toying with your engorged clit. You were full-on crying from the overstimulation now; he hadn’t slowed down since you came. You were on your tippy-toes, trying to alleviate the pressure on your abused cunt. 

After a few more thrusts, he pushed in one last time and squeezed your body before giving you some experimental thrusts. He pulled out and held your almost-passed-out frame by the hips and lifted you onto the bed. 

“Jesus Y/N was I too rough?” You weakly shook your head as you closed your eyes and held his hand. He tucked you into his sheets, tossed the condom across the room and rounded the bed, settling beside you. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you mumbled. 

He paused as if he were pondering what he was going to say. In reality, he began taking in your naked, tired form that looked unreal yet ethereal on his bed. With your back to Steve, you had no idea he was feasting on the sight in front of him. 

“What is it?” the slight raspiness of your voice alluded to your exhaustion. 

“I don’t want to be friends with benefits anymore.”

You turned around to face him and propped yourself up on your elbow. The surprise of his statement was overriding your body’s pleas to sleep.

“Did I… do something?” You were honestly unsure of what to say.

He paused again. “It’s not enough for me. I know we came into this saying no strings attached but I care way too much for you.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. Steve took your silence as a cue to continue. 

“I think I love you. No, I-I know I love you. I want the whole thing with you, not just sex. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with just sex. You know, I had feelings for you before you agreed to this. I had a feeling you might not say yes to a serious relationship so I proposed this arrangement.”

His speech initially started with uncertainty but as he spoke, he became sure of himself. He was sure you would agree. You two were perfect together and there was no denying it in Steve’s mind. 

You got out of bed and began rummaging through the clothes strewn on the ground.

“I cannot believe you asked me to do this with your feelings involved. That was very manipulative and…” you trailed off. Did you want this? No. He messed with you. You affirmed it to yourself and picked up the rest of your clothes. “You were manipulative and this isn’t going to happen anymore. I told you I didn’t want a relationship to cloud my judgement with my missions.” 

“Where are you going?” he began getting out bed, panic slightly evident in his voice.

You weren’t going to cry. But you were slightly hurt that he had a hidden agenda and that you were too stupid to not notice it. You turned to leave before he gripped your forearm. 

“I know you’re angry, but you want this too.” He towered over you. The unexpected calm in his voice was unsettling. 

“You’re scaring me, please let go.” He let you break out of his hold. 

“FRIDAY, lock my doors and don’t open unless I say so,” he commanded.

He was beginning to chip at your resolve but you were determined to not show it. You glared at him again instead. 

“FRIDAY, contact Tony and tell him Cap locked me in his room.”

He stared at you and stared back. Under the façade of toughness, you were crumbling and scared out of your mind. You didn’t want to stay and find out why he locked the door. What could he do when the entire team would question your whereabouts the next day?

The seconds stretched on before he finally spoke again. “You’re making a mistake. You want this.”

“Tony has overridden your request, Steve. Y/N, the door is now unlocked.” FRIDAY called out. 

You turned and speed-walked out of the room, not turning back to look at Steve who was now lowly chuckling to himself. 

He wondered if you really thought this was the end of this conversation. 

You turned to your missions to help you cope with the loss of one of your best friendships. You give men a little bit of space in your life and they think you owe them the world. Worst of all, you should’ve seen this coming. Little touches, smiles that always reached his eyes and hugs that lasted a little longer they should. Not mentioning walking you to your room after training, making your breakfast and taking special care of you after a particularly difficult mission. You were truly a fool for not realizing it sooner.

Everyone is scared of something, even the Avengers. For you, it was this new side of Steve. You weren’t even sure how to act around him anymore. The relationship was on the low and not many people knew about it; Bucky knew for sure, and now, Tony must have an idea as well. Tony didn’t ask you why Cap locked you in your room. That should have been the first red flag that your teammates weren’t on your side. 

You proceeded as if things were normal around Steve and he did too. There was no reason not to, right? He just acted out because of the rejection, you thought to yourself.

All the Avengers sitting down for dinner was a rare occurrence, but this particular Friday, there was a crowd in the dining room of the compound. 

You were happy today. Your paperwork had been a breeze and you had a good weekend planned for yourself. Around the table, Tony, Rhodey, Thor were bickering, Clint and Nat were silently observing while Steve and Bucky were engrossed in a private conversation of their own. 

“After dinner, we should play a game” Sam piped up through a mouthful. Clint snickered to himself and Sam continued.

“I’m serious, we should play truth or dare… something like that. I barely know anything about you guys, minus things like your favourite way to take a target out.”

“I think it should stay that way” Nat slightly grinned and continued eating. 

“Honestly, I agree, I feel like I know nothing about you guys,” you commented, wiping your mouth and clearing your empty plate. Tony grabbed it for you and made his way to the sink. “I wasn’t aware that we were in high school. But tell you what; hide and seek would be interesting with this crowd.” Tony contemplated before finishing his thought: “Barnes and Romanoff should try to find us. That would be a kicker.”

“That sounds a lot better than truth or dare. I’m game” Nat said before getting and stretching. Bucky quietly chuckled and everyone began to clean up the table. 

“So this is really happening?” Rhodey laughed as everyone made their way to the living room. 

Bucky and Nat stood in front of everyone and negotiated rules. You smiled to yourself, thinking about how blessed you were to be a part of something so amazing.

“Okay then, 5 minutes to hide and 30 minutes to be found. If you’re found you have to do their paperwork for a week.” Clint finalized and everyone nodded.

“Alright, off you go,” Nat said before settling into a couch, observing everyone that scrambled off. 

Thor looked lost, unsure where to go. He rarely stayed at the compound. You pointed him in the direction of the gym before racing past and making your way to your spot. There was a supply closet that you had a feeling Nat wouldn’t bother checking. Bucky knew of it, but you had a back-up escape route in mind if he decided to look there. You got to the closet and silently slipped in before sliding the door closed and settling into the corner. After a few minutes, you heard light footsteps that became louder. It hadn’t been 5 minutes yet. Whoever was coming to your spot, you were prepared to tell them to buzz off before the closet door opened to reveal Steve. 

He stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Part 2

Masterlist

Tagging some people I want to be friends with 🥺

@smutsonian @imanuglywombat @nastybuckybarnes @candy-and-writing @speechlessxx @mariessecretfantasies​ @mypoisonedvine​ @harryspet​ @nsfwsebbie​ @cherienymphe​ @imdarkinme​ @ironlady1993​ @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ @sherrybaby14​ @mcudarklibrary​

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Canary, Part 1

It was a good day. Why did stuff always have to go wrong on ‘good days’, Marinette thought bitterly as she rushed through the city, the rough edges of her phone digging into her palm. The message she’d been sent was burned into her eyelids.

She pushed the spiraling thoughts from her mind as she stared at the street sign nearest her. Only a minute and she’d be there and her fears would be either confirmed or denied.

She leaned against the wall to gather her thoughts. If she had messed up it had to have been today because, otherwise, he would have done something earlier. Did she mess up? She allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she thought back.

~

She’d woken up on an uncomfortable mattress on the floor and rolled off of it, the sheets sticking to her sweaty skin. It had been a particularly hot day for Gotham and she had been too concentrated on typing up a report for work to turn up the AC before her impromptu nap (translation: she’d passed out).

She rubbed her eyes until she managed to get her brown contacts out and set them in the weird not-quite-water that she had never bothered to learn the name for so her eyes could rest while she took a quick shower and changed.

Then, she’d waited. She sat in the window, eyes barely poking over the sill as she watched the building across the street. She didn’t feel like moving for a long while but, alas, the meeting was supposed to be that day and she was running out of time for that thing with Calendar Man and… yeah. Unfortunately, Marinette had to be productive that day unless she wanted more enemies.

She saw movement and her face lit up. She might get everything done soon, at least, and then she could pass out for a hundred years like she oh-so-desperately wanted to.

She checked that her gloves were firmly in place, pulled on the plague doctor (gas) mask that had accidentally become her trademark, and toed on her boots.

Then, she made her way up to the alleyway next to the building she had been watching. She’d been lucky enough to have a job right next to one of her safe houses and she kinda wished that it would happen again. It was nice to not have to travel a half-hour or more just to listen in on one boring conversation.

She pulled out her knives and, after testing to make sure they were still strong enough to hold her weight, began picking her way up to the roof.

She set everything up for the thing with Calendar Man. It took approximately five seconds. Yay her.

Alright, next thing: listening in on a boring conversation that, if she was lucky, would end in someone getting shot so it wouldn’t last too long. It was going to be even hotter inside the vent and she did not want to end up cooked. That would be embarrassing.

She crawled into the vents and dutifully wrote down everything they said on a notepad. They were negotiating a drug deal and her client wanted to intercept it to try and get both the money and the (… Big D? What the fuck is Big D?) drugs. From the sounds of it, it wasn’t possible but, hey, her job wasn’t anything more than gathering intel. If her clients wanted to die stupidly that was on them.

… maybe she’d kill her client herself, she thought angrily as she readjusted in the vent in hopes of not getting stuck to the metal. It was easy money but wow was it awful.

Or, at least, it was awful until a hand grabbed her by the hood of her leather jacket and started dragging her out. She tipped her head back, grin on her face in seconds.

“Signal. Hi.”

He sighed and pulled her the rest of the way out. She let herself hang from his grip like a reprimanded cat.

“So, what’s up?” She asked brightly, as if hadn’t just caught her listening in on a private conversation.

“Great, thanks for asking,” he said. “Even better now that I’m taking the famed Canary to Arkham.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.”

He leveled her with a cold look for a few more seconds before splitting into a grin. “Yeah. Probably not. Got a backup plan?”

“Of course.”

“Is it even worth trying?”

“Probably not. But who knows? You could get lucky.”

She waited for a minute as he mulled over the idea in his head before he sighed. “I gotta ask: what’s with the egg?”

She swatted at his hand until he let her down and then led him over to her science experiment. “Know how there’s that expression that says ‘it’s so hot out you could make eggs on the sidewalk’ or something?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, the pavement physically can’t get hot enough to do that and also we’re up north so: aluminum foil to try and get the process to work a little better.”

He stared at her for a while before snickering. “Need a magnifying glass? We can ‘kid with an anthill’ this.”

“Sure.”

He reached into his tool belt and started looking for his spare. Unfortunately for him, it seemed to be gone.

She could feel his sharp gaze turn on her even if she couldn’t see his eyes behind his helmet. He wasn’t stupid and magnifying glasses don’t usually just disappear into thin air unless they’re Plastic Man in disguise. She held up her hands for a quick search but, when he couldn’t find it on her, he just sighed and looked down at the science experiment. It didn’t seem to be going well. The egg was still distinctly not cooked.

Eventually, he groaned and sat down. The light around him flickered and started to move at his will. Marinette watched intently.

Ten minutes later, they had a cooked egg. They high-fived, delighted. They weren’t going to taste it, obviously, it had been out for a while without supervision and who knows what could have happened to it… but it was an egg! Yay them!

“My old science teacher would be so proud of me,” Marinette joked.

“My current science teacher would be proud of me.”

“Oooooh, going back to school?”

He smiled. “Yep! Robin is finally in college and Red Hood convinced me to go with him. You should, too, it’s actually not that bad.”

“Please. If I was going to do that I’d go back to my home country. American school is expensive and not all of us are sponsored by billionaires.”

“... aren’t you a millionaire?”

She grinned. “Of course. But why would I want to spend that much of my own money?”

He hummed his understanding. Then, she pushed herself up with a groan. “Right, we both have jobs. See you later.”

He hesitated and then held a hand out for her notepad. “Is it bad?”

She held it out of reach with ease. “Nah, just drugs. Unless someone got shot while I was gone but I doubt it. They’d been almost as bored as me last I heard.”

“If it’s nothing then let me see.”

“Ugh, do you really want to fight? It’s too hot for that,” Marinette complained. He started to square up and she, after a second’s thought, added a little something to convince him: “Also, there’s going to be a breakout today so you should really save your energy.”

“... really think I’m going to fall for that?”

There was an explosion in the distance.

“Yeah. I’d hurry. I’m pretty sure it’s Joker’s turn to get out.”

She waved him off with a smile… only for her smile to drop when she remembered her other job. She groaned again and stretched out while she still could.

Tikki floated over the side of the building, a magnifying glass as big as her head in her tiny paws.

Marinette rubbed the kwami’s head. “You’re the best.”

Her kwami sighed. “That I am,” she said.

Marinette grinned and sent the film of Signal using his powers to her computer so she could give it to Calendar Man when it was due.

People were always so predictable in Gotham.

~

She supposed she really had been tempting fate when she’d thought that. Still, that didn’t mean she liked it that Fate had called her bluff.

But, actually, it seemed that Fate was the one that was bluffing. That had been her entire day. She had finished up her work and then went to one of her more stocked safehouses for a nap. She’d woken up to the buzzing of her phone when she’d gotten the message. She didn’t think she had messed up anywhere…

Her shoulders relaxed. She was probably fine. Which meant it was just Oswald Cobblepot being annoying. As usual.

Marinette flung the doors to the Iceberg Lounge open. Every eye in the room fell on her, but she only cared about the eyes of one person.

She stalked through the lounge, pulling one of her twin karambits from its sheath and pointing the curved blade towards him.

“What the fuck do you want? You really think that, after almost seven whole years of rejecting your wrinkly ass, I’m suddenly going to say ‘oh, yeah, I guess I’ll work for him now’? Leave me alone!”

Cobblepot wasn’t concerned even as her knife came to rest under his chin.

“Canary,” he greeted, regarding her cooly through his monocle.

Guards surrounded them. Marinette somehow managed to look unimpressed without anyone being able to see her face.

Everyone present held their breath… except for the two with weapons pointed at themselves. They knew that they would never follow through with it, especially not in a place as public as this. It was little more than a warning, a reminder, that either of them could kill each other at any given moment and chose not to.

For now, at least.

Cobblepot dismissed the guards with a wave of a gloved hand and she, after a few seconds, lowered her knife.

“What do you want?”

“Currently? For you to get off my table,” said Cobblepot.

She snorted but hopped down with ease. “I meant: why did you call me here?”

“... we should go somewhere else to discuss this. I assume you don’t do all of your business meetings in public?”

“Only if I know ahead of time that I’m going to say no,” she said.

He motioned for her to walk with him to a private room and, reluctantly, she followed. He had to think he had something on her, otherwise he wouldn’t have tried calling her there. She was curious.

They came to a room with a metal door and she cringed a little. Fun.

She dropped eight knives down into a tray and Cobblepot put down a gun, a knife, and his umbrella. She let a female goon pat her down and then checked Cobblepot over herself. Nothing she could find, but she was sure he had found some way to hide one somewhere.

They stepped inside as a pair and each took a seat on opposing ends of the wooden table stationed awkwardly in the middle of the room. She leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up.

“So, what’s the job?”

���I’m surprised you’re even going to hear it.”

She shrugged. “I’m curious.”

He nodded slowly before leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

“Power poses don’t actually work, you know, that’s just lies so companies don’t actually have to deal with all the discrimination.”

“Is that true?” He asked.

She shrugged again. “Probably. I’ve never worked for anyone, so…”

He chuckled. She didn’t like that.

But he didn’t say anything on that subject. Instead, he just smiled a smile that looked weird on his face and gave her her mission briefing: “I want you to figure out the bats’ identities for me.”

Marinette stared at him for a minute before breaking out into laughter. She couldn’t seem to stop. She stood up to leave, still giggling. Really? Did he really think that would work? People had asked many times, of course, and the bats’ identities weren’t common knowledge so she had to have said no. Why would she suddenly do it for him? She didn’t even like him.

She rested her hand on the knob but held off on leaving for just a second. She flashed a grin at Cobblepot. “Interesting offer. Bold. But no. Couldn’t pay me enough to do that.”

“Good thing I have no intentions of paying you, Marinette.”

~~~

And behold a new section I call ‘Marinette is a menace to society why would anyone let her on twitter’

(… the name may need a little work)

OliverQueenOfficial: Why does that one Gotham villain go by Canary? Black Canary already exists.

TheBetterCanary: if youre gonna vague tweet maybe dont put my name in it

TheBetterCanary: but anyways someone else named me that and it stuck before i could think of something to change it to

ScareCrane:… @/RiddleMeThis she’s dissing you

RiddleMeThis: LISTEN UP. IT WAS THEMATIC. DON’T ANY OF YOU KNOW ANYTHING OF DRAMA? EVER HEAR ABOUT CANARIES IN COAL MINES? FUCK ALL OF YOU AND YOUR UNCULTURED, UNEDUCATED ASSES. NOT TO MENTION IT WAS MAKING FUN OF THE BIRD THEME ALL THE VIGILANTES HER AGE SEEM TO HAVE. (1/14)

TheBetterCanary: @/ScareCrane why would you do that you knew he was going to do this

ScareCrane: Joker just broke out so Arkham is boring… needed to entertain myself somehow

TheBetterCanary: fuck you im not visiting this weekend

OliverQueenOfficial: Wow do I regret asking. I didn’t need all this family drama in my comments.

~~~~~

Next

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

[sylverstorms]

Miss Fortune x Reader ----Salt-Crusted Heart

For an easier read, head to Ao3.

Another day. Another hunt for a fetter.

Feels like this is your life now, your present and your future. It feels like this war against the ever-spreading mist and Viego will never end. Your days as a trainee Sentinel, where the tough schedule of the Academy was your only problem, seem so far away now it’s like they belong in a dream. Like that was a different you.

And it was, wasn’t it.

That ‘you’ hadn’t ever slashed at anything other than a training dummy. Now you’re out here –with a very dysfunctional crew of lunatics— fighting mist monsters.

Said dysfunctional crew is, once again, arguing amongst themselves on which way you’re supposed to be headed next. Everyone’s got their own opinion and somehow it never matches with anyone else’s. You don’t even know how they manage that.

It takes a few light years for the majority to agree you’re heading to Bilgewater.

By the time you Wayfinder them there, you’re not surprised that all you see is darkness and sickly green mist. Half the world has gone to shit already and you’ve come to terms with that. More or less. Probably less.

“Wow.” you say as you take in the ghostly-looking town ahead of you and the armada of ships at the port below, blocking this side of the island off completely. Not that there’s a lot to block because the place is a ravaged hellhole anyway.

The environment has this wrecked, haunted vibe that would be super interesting to see in a movie with an apocalypse theme. Perhaps not so much on an actualapocalypse, though.

“Likin’ the view?” Graves asks, the corner of his lips sealed over his cigar.

“No, it was more of a ‘this is so much worse than I could have imagined’ type of wow.” you explain.

“It really is.” Riven agrees.

“Funny thing; the mist ain’t changed it all that much.” Graves laughs.

“Hey. Focus.” Lucian chastises. This guy, you’re convinced, is allergic to lightening the mood. He’s also not someone you dare say this to. “See that?” he points at the sea, to the massive ship there, towering over the rest.

You’re so focused on its fine craftsmanship and the little details you keep finding the longer your eye remains on it, you miss his point entirely, at first. Then you blink and look closer –at the thin, telltale trail of green-black smoke floating upwards from its deck.

There’s no mistaking it; a fetter is on that vessel.

“Now, listen up, everybody. Big Ol’ Graves is a legend around these parts, so my name will get us on that beauty. But. People here can be a bit… unfriendly towards new faces.” he begins. “Let’s not walk up there like an attack force and end up riddled with holes, ye?”

“Good idea.” you nod.

“Rookie, Graves, you’re heading up first.” Lucian motions with his chin.

“Bad idea.” you comment, but his skewering glare has you agreeing with the plan the same second.

“Signal if you need help.” Senna adds.

Graves only laughs heartily and grabs your uniform with his large hands, pulling you along. You know you won’t like what you hear when he leans down and whispers to you:

“We won’t have time to signal if they decide we’re not worth listening to but let’s not tell them that, Rook.”

“That’s… just what I needed to hear.” you grimace.

“Ha! Which means you’re goin’ up first. Chances are they won’t instantly shoot your pretty face off.”

“Wait… what about that ‘my name will get us up there, no trouble’?” you ask.

“Hah! That was just to impress Vayne, kiddo. My name is far more likely to get us killed in these parts.” he laughs but you don’t. “Did she look impressed?”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, she didn’t, mate.” Nothing has ever moved Vayne other than when she kills monsters in a particularly violent way.

“Ah, shit. Maybe next time.”

Yeah, if there is a next time.

Your chances aren’t looking good as soon as you step onto that deck and every weapon imaginable is suddenly shifted to you.

…

Graves tells you to put your ‘social skills’ into good use. You are not aware that was one of your talents, so it’s probably more of his bullshit. Either way, death by a thousand bullets gives you a solid motivation to turn the charm on and talk.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure we can all come to an agreement here. No need for all that firepower.” you say, totally not sweating at all underneath your white jacket. “You have something that we need and I’m sure we can negotiate a profitable deal for everyone.”

Jackpot. Bounty hunters want money more than anything. And there is not a sweeter sound to their ears than the promise of wealth. Even if you’re just talking nonsense to save your ass.

“If I could just speak to the captain—”

“The captain is listening.” a commanding voice says from up ahead. Some of the crew members part to let her through…

And.

You see a vision in this nightmare.

The woman that walks forward stands out like fire over water, like stark color on Bilgewater’s salt-washed palette. Maybe it’s the vivid red of her flowing hair, stark against the gold-trimmed black of her hat, or the emerald green of her eyes, or the way she holds herself, a queen on this deck. Whatever the reason, you cannot tear your gaze off of her.

Tongue-tied at the moment, you let Graves do the talking. Big mistake.

The goddess’ visage darkens when she sees your company, who she addresses in a less than pleasant tone: “Look what washed in with the tide. Malcolm Goddamn Graves.” You wouldn’t want that glare directed at you, ever.

“Fortune? Ah, hells, naw.” he curses. “What are ya doin’ here? How did ya get a whole damn fleet a’ warships?”

“A lot has changed since we last met. Fools around here decided to challenge me for control over Bilgewater. I locked this place down until we can resolve this inconvenience.” she says, like cutting off half the freaking island is not a big issue.

The sound of her heels on the wooden floor is downright ominous as she approaches. Her eye scans you lightning-quick, then the entirety of her attention is on Graves. The very next second…

A blunderbuss pistol is pointing right to your face, same as his.

“Whoah.” you gasp.

“What’s Gankplank paying you?!” she demands.

“I ain’t workin’ for that bastard! I ain’t even on speakin’ terms with his orange-eatin’ ass! Ya know that!”

“What I know is you came onto my deck with fancy new equipment and a whole team of mercenaries at your back. You know, just in case you thought you were being subtle, in all that silver and white sticking out in Bilgewater like a sore thumb.” She has a point. “That getup isn’t cheap and there’s only one cretin around here with that kind of coin. Now tell me what he’s planning, of you’ll be smoking that cigar through a new hole.”

“Um –ma’am? He’s telling the truth.” You almost regret speaking up when her piercing stare lands on you. “And we’re not mercenaries. We’re Sentinels of Light.” you add.

“You put on a convincing performance, cutie.” she says.

In any other scenario, a goddess like that calling you cute would make you blush. But the gun still very much in your face makes it difficult to really register the word.

“Like you’ve never heard of the ‘Saltwater Scourge’, ‘Reaver King of the High Seas’… ‘Scum-sucking Hagfish Who Takes All You Ever Cared About’…”

Oh, okay. So, she’s got a screw loose as well.Not surprising considering the company you attract, lately.

“Nope. Kiddo’s right, Sarah. They’re Sentinels, alright.” the very familiar voice of your boss, which normally doesn’t make you happy to hear, has the opposite effect now. Lucian walks up behind you to save the day.

“Lucian?” she asks, finally lowering her weapons. “…this is your crew?”

“Yep. And I’d appreciate it if you kindly refrained from killing them. Need about every gun we can get.” he replies.

“Follow me.” she says. “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

…

Captain Fortune does not drive an easy bargain.

From what you hear later, she’s given Lucian a real hard time with negotiations. And even now, she’s the one who holds all the cards.

If you are to defeat Viego and make it clear to Bilgewater it was her who made it possible, she is willing to trade with the fetter and even let you stay on her ship in the meantime. Otherwise, if she gets the feeling it’s him who gains ground and holds the power in this place, you’re basically screwed.

The others are uneasy. They’ve suggested multiple times you steal the fetter from Fortune and dash for your lives after. Thing is, with how close she keeps that relic, that plan is looking impossible.

Which brings you to where you are right now, all the Sentinels and Miss Fortune gathered around the same map, planning your next action.

“Yes, but if I help you get there, what’s in it for me?” she asks.

And really, you don’t have anything to offer her in return. Even Lucian looks to Senna for help. Who, in turn, looks at you.

Why do they keep doing that? What have you done to convince these people you are good at talking? Especially to women like the captain.

“How about the… moral reward of helping save people from these monsters?” you suggest.

Her green eyes –and holy shit are they green— look at you like she wants to both scoff and laugh sardonically. “Tell me that is a joke.”

“It –it really isn’t.” you reply.

She huffs. “Look. I’m sure you’re all nice people. But nice people here get their throats cut.” She motions with her hand. “The cutthroats get the spoils. That’s how it works. I only care about the spoils.” she states. “So, if you want things from me and my crew, you need to make it worth our time.”

Their time sure isn’t cheap.

You know you don’t have anything at Headquarters with the kind of value she’s looking for. Definitely no coin and no gold for her services. But. You’ve heard multiple times during classes that the materials the Sentinel outfits are weaved from are extremely durable and therefore, extremely desirable.

“Would you and your crew be interested in a wardrobe overhaul?” you ask. All eyes are on you, but hers are the most intense. “Every prestigious fleet has to look the part, no? Plus, these clothes…” you say, grabbing the nearest knife and dragging it across your sleeve. The fabric is not so much as scratched. “…are pretty cool.” you tell her.

Miss Fortune leans back in her captain’s chair with a pretty smile painted on her –very attractive— lips.

“Now you’re talking my language, cutie. I’m sure we can work something out.”

…

On one hand, you have Gwen sewing day and night –your fault, you feel bad for it— while the rest of you handle the fighting. On the other, you do have a ship taking you wherever you need and making your job of clearing the darkness ten times faster.

Even Lucian has given you a pat on the back for that one. That was certainly unexpected.

“We need Fortune to take us here.” Senna points on the map. “Rookie, you go tell her.”

You almost choke on your water. “Why me?” you ask.

“Because you’re finally making yourself useful.” Lucian replies. Ouch.

“I’ve been very useful from the start!” you argue. The others look amongst themselves. “Hey!”

“I mean… points for effort.” Diana comments.

“Moral support is useful, I agree.” Riven smirks at you.

‘Asshole’ you mouth, rising from your seat. Her grin only widens.

You send them a narrowed, unimpressed look over your shoulder on your way out. Some of the crew members that see you walking towards the captain’s cabin whistle your way. You’re sure there’s tons of colorful comments behind your back but you have bigger things to worry about.

Like… the way a certain redhead looks leaned back in her plush chair, a queen on her throne, toying with a gold coin that flips over her nimble fingers with effortless ease. Focus on the mission. The mission, I say. Oh, Gods…

“I love how they send you in to ask for extra.” she says. “So. Are you the silver tongue of the group?” There’s something in her little smirk and the way she says ‘tongue’ that gets to you, but that’s probably just your vivid imagination.

That and the months you’ve spent without any outlet for your stress other than fighting, on top of more fighting.

“No, the others are just that terrible at basic social interactions.” It’s the truth.

Fortune gives a small chuckle. “Let’s see how good you are, then, Sentinel.”

You pleadwith your hopeless lesbian brain not to fry on the spot. “We sort of need you to get us further than discussed. While hoping that… the scenic route will be its own reward?”

“Cute.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” you perk up.

“No.”

“I’ll send Lucian here next time so he can bore you to death until you agree.” You never claimed to be above blackmail.

“A bold statement.” she replies. “Tell you what. If you demolish a few of my enemies’ ships during your hunt for the mist things, then deal.”

Sentinels aren’t supposed to do that. And if you tell Lucian, that will be his exact answer. You can already hear his unpleasant voice in your head. However, you’ve already figured out the world doesn’t work by the Sentinel Code, so…

“Accidents do happen on the battlefield.” you say.

Sarah gives you that slow smile that makes a certain part of you feel hot under your outfit. “And don’t bring any of the others in here to negotiate. I’d rather look at your pretty face.”

Uh.

Um.

By the time you exit the cabin, all you can think is, what just happened?

…

Combat is a rush, sometimes. As is knowing you’re getting stronger and faster by the day. You still don’t hold a candle to the rest of your group, but you can finally say you’re helping them out.

Being further up in the enemy’s face, though, is also petrifying. You see a twisted reflection of yourself in every mist wraith’s dead eyes. There are nightmares that come hand-in-hand with the experience… and then there’s physical pain.

You’ve been hurt before. Their talons can slice through even your magic-reinforced outfits. Still, every time feels worse than the last. The laceration you’re currently sporting on your side is burning like the fires of hell.

You’re trying not to scream by the time Riven lowers you onto the deck. Your vision is blurred with sweat and the tears you’re fighting to keep at bay.

“What’s going on here?” you hear Fortune’s voice in your haze.

“Tell me you have a healer on board!” Riven shouts.

“And they can get here fast!” Senna adds.

You’re not sure how much time passes. It feels like light years until someone kneels beside you and starts working on your wound. The healing magic pulls and sears at you. Every muscle in your body is taut with the effort to keep still.

“Isn’t …a healing spell supposed to numb the pain, first?” Diana asks.

“Look, blondie, I’m no professional here, ye? Just picked up a few things from mah old man. If ya wanna criticize, come here and do it yourself.” he answers. And it’s …not the best feeling in the world to hear your healer say that.

“No offense. Just worried for our teammate.” Senna adds. At least one of your bosses cares about your wellbeing.

The other just benches you for the next mission.

…

Out of all the people you expected to come see you while you’re recovering, Sarah Fortune is the last who came to mind. You’re almost shocked mute when the captain comes to sit on the edge of your bed, graceful and fluid as ever. Gorgeous as ever, too, while you’re sure you look pale as a ghost, eyes sunken as a shipwreck.

“Hey, Rookie.” she greets.

“Ah, great. That nickname’s never gonna come off, is it.” you roll your blue eyes.

“How’s the battle scar?”

“I’m not bleeding all over your fancy deck anymore, at least.” you say. “Guess I should be glad for that.” Although you are a bit frustrated that the ‘healer’s’ hand was so shaky there’s a scar left there now, permanently, when it could have been avoided. “And that the dude wasn’t drunk bad enough to stitch my organs to my skin.”

“Yeah, luckily he was only a little drunk.” she nods.

“That makes total sense for a healer. Who, from what I know from four years at the Academy, should always be sober.” you cannot keep it in any longer.

“That’s… a tall order here.” Yes, of course, the place is far too shitty for that.

“I gathered.”

“Come, now. Don’t be upset about the scar.” You’re upset about the pain that could have been avoided if the damn guy just didn’t drink his ass off in the middle of the day. “…Want me to kiss it better?”

You’re so far up your mind –filled with thoughts of being a dead weight on the team on top of your dead classmates because of Viego— you don’t even hear her. Your head is pounding from the pressure the memory causes you, a killer mix with the effect of the painkillers you’ve been on, all evening.

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” you reply, your voice hoarse and alien to your own ears.

…

You and Fortune talk a bit more on the two days you’re out of commission.

You learn a few things about her, like the fact you have a common interest in psychology. Like the fact you shouldn’t ever ask about her past or her family, unless you want her to close up tighter than a clam, at the speed of lightning. In the meantime, if it feels like she may be throwing more smirks your way than when she talks to anyone else, you blame that on your wishful thinking.

That woman is way out of your league.

It is one in the night and everyone on the ship is either well asleep or completely passed out from booze. You wake up from a nightmare, then fully register the way the ship is swaying from the angry waves. The resulting nausea has you completely losing the desire to fall back into the land of dreams.

You thought you’d be the only one awake when you walked up to the deck, yet you quickly realize that’s not the case when the sound of heels approaches from behind. You already know it’s her. The night breeze does a wonderful job of carrying her perfume straight to your nose. As if she wasn’t already fatally attractive without it.

You keep your eyes on the waves, so dark blue they look black.

“Oh, this is a surprise. Such a romantic soul, admiring the sea in the dead of night.” she says. The slight –sexy as fuck— slur to her words must have something to do with the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Yeah, my thoughts are not that deep.” you chuckle. “More like ‘fuck this constant motion under my feet’.”

She gives a small, airy exhale that could pass as a laugh, leaning on the railing next to you. Kind of close, too. “Ah and here I thought Sentinels didn’t swear.” she says. “And that they don’t drink. Unless you care to prove me wrong there, too.”

She takes a swing of the bottle and passes it to you. The smart part of your brain tells you it is a bad, bad idea. The rest of you is seduced by the promise of the buzz and the challenge in her eyes.

Well. Since you’re not really getting anywhere closer to where her lips are in anything other than your very private fantasies, you think may just take the chance for an indirect kiss that’s presented.

The gulp you take from the bottle –you intended a sip but the fucking ship moves so much— burns a trail down your throat and past your insides. You almost cough. How heavy is this thing?

“Ahem. So.” you begin. “What’s keeping you out late?”

“I have great company.” At first you think she means you, then you realize it’s the bottle that’s lucky. Hah, fell right into that one. “And… my cabin is very cold tonight.”

It’s really chilly, yeah, but it’s not that bad, you think. Maybe the two of you are just used to different climates, though. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” you reply.

“Well. Guess I should head in or it will never warm up by itself.” she says.

You nod and bid her goodnight, turning your eyes back to the inky waves. But then you feel her weight softly crash into your back, ample chest pressing against you, one of her hands on your waist and the other on the railing next to yours for support. Her lips are right by your ear, so close you feel them brush against the shell as she says:

“Oops.”

Then she’s gone, taking her extremely sexy perfume with her, while your stomach drops to the sea and sinks right to the very bottom. It takes a few moments to realize you’re still holding the railing so tightly your fingers have gone white.

What the…

You go back to bed trying not to think about whatever that was.

The next day, you have no idea why she’s not speaking to you at all, or why she doesn’t even look at you when she addresses the Sentinels, none-too-pleased with your progress.

…

When one of the crewmates tell you the captain has summoned you, you do a double take and ask if she really means you. Fortune has been in a weird mood towards you since that night, to say the least.

You are mentally braced for the worst when you enter her cabin. You’re already tired from fighting mist wraiths all morning and you don’t think you can handle whatever it is that’s going on with her at the moment.

Scratch that. You’re sure you can’t when she gets up from her seat, walking almost in a circle around you, like a shark. You lean back against the wooden surface of her desk, waiting. Cautious.

“Have I not been clear enough, all these days?” she asks, as if wondering out loud.

“Um…. excuse me?” you question back. Has the mist gotten to her? It has been known to cause strange behavior after prolonged exposure.

She’s at the door now, facing you without really looking at you and it makes you feel trapped. Your one escape is blocked. “You’re not from around here, so I thought it was best not to be… Bilgewater-forward.” she says. “On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve been that subtle?”

“…I’m. I’m not…sure I follow.” you speak, quietly.

“Do you really have no idea or are you just trying to be polite?” She finally looks into your eyes.

You shake your head ‘no’.

She licks her lips. “What, was I supposed to give you a formal letter inviting you to my cabin for sex the other night?” Your jaw, you think, hits the floor and shatters. Your whole body shivers and goes rigid. “If you don’t want to, just say it so I won’t wait around for nothing.”

You… don’t know what words are at the moment. The ground has disappeared and you’re a falling mess. It is the worst case of freezing on the spot you’ve ever experienced.

“That’s not… that’s not… the case.” you manage to say.

“Good to know.” she nods, casually, then strides up to you and grabs the front of your high-collared Sentinel jacket, bringing you lip-to-lip. “Is this clear enough for you?” she breathes against you.

It’s more than clear enough when her plump lips seal over yours, tasting of sweet-flavored lipstick and alcohol and sea-salt. In fact, it is clear like a nuclear bomb going off on the back of your head.

The heat wave burns down your stomach violently and it only gets worse when she pushes her tongue into your mouth, licking over yours, her hips practically straddling you with how tightly fitted you stand. Every movement of her mouth or her body echoes all the way down yours.

It’s beyond anything you could have ever conjured in your head, having her angle your chin however she wants it while her hips slowly rock against you. It’s almost too hard and too fast and too good –and you get too close.

But then—

A knock comes on the door.

“Captain?” someone asks from the outside and it’s both a blessing and a dark curse.

Sarah tries to catch her breath, every exhale tickling your ear. “One moment.” she calls over her shoulder, sounding every bit the captain she is, as if the past minutes where you were literally dry humping each other didn’t happen.

She pulls back from you with a satisfied little smirk at how wrecked you no doubt look, pulling your outfit straight. Her thumb wipes off the smudge of her lipstick on the corner of your mouth, then she goes to a nearby mirror to reapply hers.

When she walks back over to you, your knees shake at just the sight of her. You don’t know how you’ll ever calm down from this. Safe to say she’s ruined every kiss you’ve ever had or will have.

“My bedroom will be open to you tonight. Consider this your formal letter, yes?” her long fingers brush over your jawline, as she stalks back to her seat.

“Come in.” she calls, poker face on, sounding bored.

You make your escape as tactical –and dignified— as possible and don’t look back until you’re practically off the ship.

…

To say you are distracted for the rest of the hours until night completely settles over Bilgewater is an understatement. Your head is in the clouds and you have no idea what’s going on around you. The whole world could catch fire and all you’ll be thinking about is Fortune, Fortune, Fortune…

“What’s got you so quiet tonight, little Sentinel?” Riven asks.

Only the best damn kiss of your entire life. Plus the fact you’re living a dream and you don’t want to wake up. “Maybe I’m just trying to imitate Vayne. From now on you’ll hear my voice only when we kill stuff.”

“Ha, ha.” Vayne comments in typical Vayne style from her seat, hunched over her weapon and making calibrations.

“All I’ll say is, be careful.” the Noxian lowers her voice a bit, the words kept between the two of you.

“Of what?” you play dumb.

“Just in general.”

You don’t know what Riven suspects but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been through a lot these past months. You deserve to feel something good once in a while. Your love life is none of their business unless it interferes with their business, which it won’t because you’re sure this won’t mean anything beyond Fortune’s bedroom.

You wait until everyone on the ship is asleep and take a liquid courage boost to sneak to the captain’s cabin.

…

One knock. That is all your knuckles manage, one contact with the door, until it swings open and a familiar hand grabs at the front of your outfit, pulling you in.

You’re pressed back against it as soon as it shuts, crimson lips hot on yours before you can even think to say anything. Gods, is she always so insistent?You could melt into a wet puddle on the floor from the way she presses into you alone. This woman knows exactly what she wants and how to take it.

Somewhere in the back of your head you hear the sound of a lock turning.

“Took you long enough.” she whispers when you break apart.

Once again, whatever you were about to say is cut off by her tugging on the high collar of your jacket. She either has a thing for it or for pulling you around in general, you think. No complains, whatever the case.

“Won’t you give me the tour around, first?” you ask, playing coy only thanks to the drink you’ve had. Otherwise, you’d be your usual self; a mess.

“Oh, sure.” she says as she shoves you into her bedroom, illuminated by a single candle. “Wardrobe, guns, bed.”

Well. It still feels like the best tour you’ve ever had when she walks you back until you’re falling on her very comfortable mattress, with her perched above you like a predator. She gives you a little smirk as she straddles your thigh and sits up, undoing the taut buttons on her shirt, painfully slow.

Oh… It would be very awkward if you died from a heart attack now, yet it feels like you’re on the verge of one.

“Nothing smart to say now, Sentinel?” The confidence comes with her looks, you’re sure. She knows she’s hot as fuck.

You shake your head, speechless, eyes travelling from her toned midriff to her perfect chest, to her hypnotic eyes and the sensual way her hair spills like a red waterfall across her shoulders. This is a dream, it’s not real life, but don’t wake me up ever…

Fortune leans back down, taking your chin in two fingers as she studies your flushed face. You don’t know what she’s looking for, but something in her visage softens a fraction.

“If it’s too much at any point, tell me.”

“If I can talk, I will.” you say, mesmerized by the way her eyes look under the dim light.

Your next liplock is a little less rushed than your previous ones. She takes her time exploring your mouth and you gradually get bolder with where you touch her, fingers grazing up her sides to her stomach, to the underside of her bra.

Her lips leave yours only to burn a trail down the corner of your mouth, across your jawline and to your neck. Deft fingers undo the clasps and pull down the zipper of your white jacket, guiding it past your shoulders without taking it completely off. She definitely has a thing for it. You’d comment on that, too, if you could think about anything other than how good she smells.

Clothes come off while she sucks on your neck, teeth pressing against you just shy of leaving marks. When both of you are down to your underwear and breathing heavy, her fingers caressing dangerously low on your waistline, her lips come near your ear.

“So… I want to make you beg, but I can’t help but feel like I’m already corrupting you a lot.”

Corrupt away. you want to tell her.

“Does that turn you on?” you whisper in her ear and feel her response with how her hips press down harder onto yours.

“Yes.” That breathless admission becomes your undoing.

You get lost in her lips after it and the sensation of her fingers on you –inyou— working you up towards what could be simultaneously your ruin and your salvation. You touch her in turn, filling the room with both your moans and gasps, until that glorious peak of white-hot pleasure where the whole world comes to a stop for a few moments.

There is a time limit to your time together, now and generally, you are aware. But you allow yourselves a few quiet moments together as you lay there with the excuse of catching your breath, even if you already have.

Tough game you’re playing here. The smarter part of your brain says. It’s all too easy to get addicted to having her atop you like this. The better the dream, the more bitter the wakeup.

When Fortune lifts herself off you to slide under her heavy covers, you register the chill of night. You dress almost sluggishly, your body so very exhausted from the activities of the whole day.

Kissing her goodnight is almost an urge you fight under control, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if this was all she wanted out of your dalliance.

“Well, my bunk is calling.” you turn around to tell her, trying not to blush when you see her with her elbow resting on her pillow, cheek cutely pressed on her fist, watching you like a languid cat.

“Hate to watch you leave but I love to watch you go.” she smirks at you.

You roll your eyes. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

…

It is after a long damn day of fighting that you get to finally sit down and enjoy a meal and drinks.

The crew was cold and distrustful towards you at first, but they seem to have opened up more over the course of weeks –especially today, after you secured them a chest filled with gold coins left behind by wealthy people who were running from the wraiths. From the corner of your eye, you subtly watch Sarah Fortune interact with her men, hoping it’s not obvious how badly into her you are.

“So…” Riven begins from the chair next to you and you know that’s not going to be good.

“What?” You face her, playing cool.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to say that she’s bad for you… but I will, anyway.” You give Riven a blank stare that absolutely doesn’t fool her. Shit.

“Like how do you even know.” You finally break.

“It wasn’t obvious since day one there was something there?” Yeah, maybe to everyone except you.

“Wait.” Hold on a second. “Does everyone know?”

“I think everyone except Diana has pretty much figured it out.” That certainly explains the looks Lucian has been giving you all day. Double shit.

“What? The thing between Fortune and Rookie, here?” Diana asks from behind you.

Triple—

“Scratch that. Everyone knows.” Riven tells you. “And we all agree. She’s bad for you.” You hate the emphasis on that. “As in the worst.”

“I getit, Riven, thank you.” You shake your hand in her face while the other covers yours.

“I mean I know ruthless, player redheads who can and will absolutely murder you without a second thought are, like, a kink of yours—”

You don’t think your face gets any redder than this. “What—” you nearly choke on air. “That –how do you figure that out? That’s not even true.”

“Dude. When Katarina Du Couteau was brought into our conversation you nearly gasped and fangirled for the next hour.”

“I just heard a lot about one of our biggest Demacian enemies and wanted to know if it was all true!” you defend yourself.

“You asked me if she’s as hot as rumor has it, not about her war achievements.” Riven laughs.

“And you didn’t answer! Well, is she or isn’t she?” you ask. For… scientific purposes.

“I’m not going to answer that!” Riven lifts her hands up.

“She is.” Graves says as he slides into the seat next to you, drink in hand.

“Thank you!” You pat him on the shoulder.

“We should totally have her join the Sentinels.” he adds.

“Hah!” A vein pops at Riven’s temple. “And the answer will be something along the lines of ‘bold of you to assume I give a single fuck about the world’.” comes the imitation.

“Whoa, that’s exactly how she sounds like.” Graves says.

You’re glad the conversation has shifted away from you, at least.

From the opposite side of the room, you feel a familiar pair of eyes on you, yet they’re averted the second you raise yours to meet them.

…

They may know about your one-time thing with Fortune and heavily scrutinize it, but they still send you in now that they need to ask for more from the captain. With that, your teammates lose every right to comment on what you do and don’t do with her.

“We’ll get you the coin from that ship –well, Graves will, since they already hate him—and you help us out here. Deal?” you ask her.

There. You can be a professional and negotiate terms with the most beautiful woman in the world, who you also happened to have had mindblowing sex with, without constantly looking at her lips.

“Deal, but…” she begins. “You’re sitting all the way over there… why?”

So much for keeping your mind out of the gutter. “Um.” You lick your lips, unsure of what to say, while she smirks slow, like the cat that got the canary.

“Come here.” A pat on her desk, right in front of her chair.

Against your better judgement, you walk around the furniture and lean there, really, really close to her, especially when she stands, towering over you in her heels. You can tell she likes it, too.

“Don’t look at me like that, we leave in ten minutes.” you say. It doesn’t even phase her.

Her fingers move to the zipper of your jacket and although you should stop her, you don’t. “Really?” she leans closer, closer still, until her tantalizing mouth is a hair’s breadth from yours.

“…really. Nine, now.” you waver.

“Guess we have to be fast, then.”

She lightly pushes you onto her desk and starts undoing your belt buckles. The thought of what you’re about to do alone could make you come on the spot. It’s not just the thought that’s threatening to do that, when you feel her cool fingers slide right where you need them.

“You’re going to ditch me for your little Sentinel friends, who don’t like me?” she asks in your ear.

Oh, Gods…

“Ah, I like you enough for all of us, Fortune.” your lips move against her jawline as you speak. A little further down and you can feel how quick her pulse is. You wouldn’t have guessed, with how composed she looks fingering you on her desk.

“Sarah.” she holds your chin with two fingers as she says it, like a secret between you. “Call me Sarah when you come.”

You do.

…

It becomes a nightly thing after that, your visits in her bedroom.

She’s insatiable and she makes everything bothering you go away for those precious hours. But. The more you see of her, you cannot help but feel like something’s very wrong with Sarah.

Underneath the visage of the ruthless captain, the queen who can just reach out and take anything she wants, you see… cracks. She doesn’t sleep well. She drinks. You’re pretty sure you’re another distraction –coping mechanism?— although it doesn’t bother you. She’s the same for you, isn’t she?

It’s not like you have feelings for her.

…Right?

No, no that would be terrible. You definitely don’t. You are allowed to love the way her fingers are running lazy circles on your thigh right now without any sort of complicated emotions involved.

“You should quit while you’re ahead.” she tells you, half muffled into her pillow, stark black against the red of her hair.

This or the Sentinel war? You wonder.

“You have little cuts everywhere. They don’t even have time to disappear before new ones open on top of them.” she moves the back of her pointer to the biggest visible line near your knee, then up your arm, until her hand rests on the crook of your neck. “Leave the others to deal with the mist. It’s not your problem.”

“The world’s problem is my problem. Guess where I lived and what region fell to Viego first.”

You refrain from telling her how many people close to you met his blade before that. How many of the classmates you ate and trained with for four years you had to see skewered by him, on his insane quest for his ‘love’. You don’t want to sour your time together with your burdens. Your pain, your nightmares, are your own to deal with.

“If you keep going you’ll fall to him first.” she counters. “You’ll die protecting one of those idiots in your group or some random civilian.”

“Thanks, Miss Fortune-teller.” you say, a tad irked at her blatant disregard for anyone who isn’t herself.

“I don’t have to be one to tell.” she gives you a sad smile. “It’s always the good ones that die. It’s always the monsters that win.”

You can’t help but wonder…

What made you this way?

…

You see now why emotions are considered a distraction on the battlefield. Even as you kill monsters, all you think about is her.

Come to think of it…

You’ve never seen her smile for real. What you’re looking for is a far cry from those smirks she throws around to bring people to their knees, or the sardonic ones she levels Lucian with. Even those she offers you behind closed doors have a shadow underneath them. It makes you wonder about what would make her happy enough to give a genuine smile.

When you happen across a shipwreck filled with valuables, you think this may be it. The Sentinels take what they need and agree to give the rest to Fortune to stay on her good graces.

Her whole ship lights up with the joy of riches. The crew is ecstatic. Laughter and cheers fill the deck.

And yet.

Her glee is pretend, just for the sake of her men. Her eyes are hollow.

When she eventually retreats to her cabin, you follow her and knock on her door. “It’s always open for you~” she calls from the inside, already in the company of a whiskey bottle.

You turn the key behind you, then lean forward with your hands on her desk, staring at her.

“Why this serious, sexy?” she asks. “Need me to help loosen you up a bit?”

“You need to part with the fetter, Sarah.” you state. “It affects you in ways you won’t notice or understand but it always does.”

“Ah, part with it so you and your crew of misfits can steal it from me? Hmm… no.” she chuckles.

“I care more about what it does to you than the fetter itself right now.” you try again. Only to fail again.

“That’s sweet, but I don’t trust you.” Talk about words being sharper than knives, sometimes. “Don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone.”

“What a joyful life this must be.” you bite back.

“Coin is joy for me, sweetheart.” she leans back in her plush chair, taking another swing from the bottle.

“You didn’t seem very happy to me, back there.”

She gives you a look and finally sets the whiskey down. “Come here. I’ll tell you a little secret about me.” she says, a tad more serious than before.

Cautiously, you step around the desk until you’re in front of her seat. Her hand shoots up like a bullet, then, taking hold of your jacket and dragging you down until the two of you are eye-level.

“You know what would really make me happy right now?” You feel her leg move up the inside of yours, deliciously slow, as she speaks… until she hooks her calf behind your knee and makes your weight fall onto it. “For you to shut up about fetters and concerns and go down on me.”

Fuck.

Deep down, to a small part of you not ruled by your hormones, you know using sex to avoid any sort of deeper conversation between you is unhealthy. You know an arrangement where there’s no trust is unhealthy.

Then again, the circumstances that brought you together are anything but healthy.

And what sort of pretty flower can burst forth, really, from a corrupted seed?

…

When you return from your mist-slaying, late in the evening, the crew is uneasy.

“Don’t bother the cap’n right now.” One of the men says. “She ain’t havin’ the best o’ days.”

You later find out that they had a run-in with an enemy fleet. That the Reaver King has resurfaced and is looking to claim Bilgewater for himself. Major shit is about to go down, the bounty hunters tell you and you do not want to be outsiders caught in the middle when it finally hits the fan.

You give Sarah her space until the need to check up on her becomes overwhelming.

One knock on the door. “Leave.” she hisses from within the office like a tensed cat. Another knock. “You have ten seconds before I put a bullet through your skull!”

“Can’t imagine I’ll be very attractive then.” you reply.

The door swings open; her eyes are the epitome of a raging storm. You’ve never seen her like this, so hateful and distressed… and it hurts to witness. “My ‘leave’ applies to everyone. You, included.”

“Cool.” you nod at her. Pause. “So… can I come in now?”

Sarah throws her hands up in exasperation, pivoting with an angry, whispered ‘whatever’. She paces across her cabin, an agitated lion one step away from pouncing. Her hands run through her fiery hair as though they cannot keep still.

“You need to leave Bilgewater asap and never come back.” You don’t know if she’s talking to you or thinking out loud. “You need to go. With or without the rest of them, I don’t care, just go!”

“What’s… gotten into you?” you dare ask.

“He’s back. He always comes back, no matter how many times I sink the bastard. It’s like he cannot die. He just won’t die!” her voice is raw with her rage. “You Sentinels fight the darkness but you don’t kill evil. Evil will still be here –rooted here— even if you win.”

You open your mouth but can’t find anything to say.

“I have to win my own war. I will be victorious no matter the cost, no matter the bloodshed.” Sarah goes on. “But I need to know that you won’t be here. Do you understand?!”

You just look at her, sad and frozen, trying to understand. There’s nothing you can say to ease what’s hurting her and nothing you can do. You’ve seen this wretched thing eat away at her every day since the moment you met. It’s too deeply engraved in her heart for you to hope to change it; and it has little to do with the fetter in her possession.

Sarah crosses the room in two large strides and grabs your biceps. She looks like she’s ready to throw you off her ship herself…

Until.

She pulls you into her arms, instead.

Tight, like she’s afraid you’ll be gone the moment she lets go, she holds you close. Her head is tucked into your shoulder, her nails press hard into your back. You slowly bring your hands up to encircle her waist in return.

“I’ve lost everything. He took everything from me. I won’t give him the chance to take you away, as well.” she says.

Oh. you think. She cares about you, after all.

If only that was a good thing for either of you.

…

You feel it, when the moment comes.

Maybe you’ve always felt it and just didn’t want to admit it.

When Sarah stands in front of Viego offering the lot of you up along with the fetter in exchange for his ruined power, you know the agony you feel, like a blade splitting you down the middle, is your own doing. There is nobody but yourself to blame for it. The others warned you. Your own instinct warned you.

You didn’t listen.

You wanted to trust her. Maybe even to love her.

But her hatred runs deeper than whatever measly thing you were to her.

As the mist shrouds Fortune and turns her red hair luminescent blonde, as it eats away at her colors until they’re all black and sickly green, until the eyes you knew turn cold and unfeeling, you feel something in you crack. Maybe it’s your faith. Maybe it’s your heart.

There’s a lesson to take from this, you’re sure, despite how your emotions choke you. Right now, though, you focus on avoiding her bullets and having your teammates’ backs in the rain of chaos that follows.

You end up deep in the water, bleeding, defeated. You and the other Sentinels have never been crushed by your losses, but it will take some time to pick up your pieces and continue onward until the end of your war.

You allow yourself one scream muffled in the dark sea.

When you swim to the shore and pull your body out of the mud, you are silent.

“Are you okay? I know that was harder for you than it was for us.” Riven lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’ll let it hurt after we get Viego.”

For now, you can’t afford taking the pain of a broken heart with you on the battlefield.

Sarah. You later think. Now I understand why hurricanes are named after people.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 4

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: The YN800 interrogates the deviant. The result is near-disastrous and horror-adjacent.

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​)

The atmosphere inside his Mustang was… tense.

And it was all because of Connor. The thing in the passenger seat was an android, after all, and didn’t feel emotions, which was probably just as well because Connor was experiencing enough for the both of them.

Connor hadn’t had a near-death experience on the job in a while. He was shaken to the core and didn’t even have the benefit of a partner to commiserate with. He was alone. It was how he preferred it, how other people preferred it too with his tendency to lash out and be a general, all-around dick.

But still. He really wished he had a partner right about now.

“So,” Connor said, trying to break the awkward silence. “What do we do with it once we get to the station? I mean, I don’t exactly know how to question one of these deviants.”

The prototype remained facing forward, the flash of passing streetlights and oncoming traffic painting its face every few seconds. It remained impassive, blank, and perfectly poised. Connor could see the reflection of its LED, shining blue and calm against the rain-streaked window.

“Their behavior resembles an erratic, emotionally unstable human more than a machine,” it finally said when Connor was certain it wouldn’t say anything. “CyberLife believes there is an error in their software that creates irrational instructions, and the androids become ‘overwhelmed’ by them. There is usually a trigger, some kind of emotional shock, to perpetuate the android into this state. Once an android encounters this error, the damage seems to be irreversible.”

Connor blew a breath out.

“Sounds bad.”

“Considering it can lead to violence on the part of android, including committing homicide, I would say your assessment is an understatement.”

Connor glared at it out of the corner of his eye. So, it wasn’t just bossy, it was a smartass too.

He remained silent on the rest of the drive, keeping his focus on the precinct morgue’s van head of them. The rain was still coming down in a steady, cold stream. Connor knew they were in for a long night.

Once they arrived at the station, it became a matter of logistics to lug the android inside while it was still unconscious, offline, whatever. It weighed a lot more than a human, and unlike a real person, its limbs were fixed into rigid positions. They had to carry its stiff body inside like an especially heavy plank of wood.

It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact it’d killed its owner. Would have killed Connor too if the prototype hadn’t gotten in the way of the bullet.

He still didn’t know how to feel about that. Connor knew the CyberLife android was probably programmed with some kind of human-saving algorithm, but he still felt an odd pressure in his chest whenever he looked over and saw the bullet hole in its jacket. It was still stained blue, some of the color seeping into the white shirt underneath, but the android didn’t appear to notice or care it had just been shot.

Connor was currently watching the two androids through the mirrored window into the interrogation room, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. They figured it was safer to reactivate it in a mostly empty room, since waking up surrounded by cops would agitate it, or something.

The prototype had also wanted to interrogate the android itself, claiming it had experience negotiating with deviants before. Colin had been reluctant to grant its request, but Connor had simply shrugged and said, “I already tried talking it down once, and that didn’t work. Maybe using one of its own kind will be more effective.”

He could have sworn the prototype’s eyes brightened, but it had left the observation room before Connor could be sure.

“Machines interrogating machines,” Colin said to his right, leaning against the wall with his arms also crossed. “Fuck me. Pretty soon they won’t even need flesh-and-blood cops.”

Connor glanced sideways at him. Usually Connor was the one to voice his anti-android opinions, but he sometimes forgot that despite Colin’s… predilections for androids, he disliked them just as much as Connor did.

“Yeah.” Connor turned to the glass as the prototype messed with the wires on the back of the other android’s neck. “Won’t need flesh-and-blood killers, either.”

“Grim.”

“It’s, uh, ready to record, Lieutenant,” a small voice popped up, nervous, and Connor gave a start. He’d forgotten the rookie was still there.

“Go on, Ralph. Turn it on,” Colin said, moving closer to the glass. “This is gonna be good.”

As if on cue, the prototype straightened and closed the panels at the back of the android’s neck. Connor couldn’t see the LED from this side, but he knew the moment it was awake. It gave a startled jolt, yanking at the handcuffs chaining it to the table.

“Where am I?!” it cried, looking around in what Connor could only describe as wild fear.

“You’re at Central Station in the custody of the Detroit Police Department,” the prototype said. “This is an interrogation room, and I’m going to ask you some questions. Are you ready to comply?”

The friendly demeanor Connor had first encounter at Jimmy’s was completely absent from the YN800’s voice and expression, and he was suddenly thankful he wasn’t under that thing’s intense scrutiny.

The other android, clothed in human garments completely ruined by splashes of old blood and spilled thirium from where Connor had shot it, only stared with large, panicked eyes. It looked down at its cuffed hands and the set of its shoulders sagged. The universal sign of defeat.

It remained silent. The prototype looked up at the mirror, and Connor stopped breathing when it made eye contact, point-blank. It couldn’t see past the mirror, could it?

“I’m beginning my interrogation,” it announced, straight to business as it crossed around the table and carefully sat in the chair. It stared at the other android for a moment, head slightly tilted and eyes narrowed as it smoothed its jacket over its chest.

A movement which inevitably drew Connor’s eye, making him shift in his chair as the scowl deepened on his face.

Fucking CyberLife pervs, making an investigative android look like that.

“Hello, Carlos. I’m a YN800 model sent by CyberLife to assist on this case.” It placed its arms on the table, clasping its hands and adopting a friendly manner as easily as one would put on a shirt. “I’m here to help you.”

The android didn’t even blink as it stared at its restrained wrists.

“I hope I didn’t cause you any lasting damage,” the YN800 said almost cheerily. “But you were endangering the lives of human officers and I was forced to intervene. You understand, don’t you?”

It leaned back slightly in its chair, reaching for a nearby folder when the android remained silent. Connor had been surprised when it had asked for actual pictures; he’d thought only physical evidence made human perps sweat. He guessed it must work on these deviants too.

The prototype slid the folder across the table and opened it, spreading out grisly pictures of the crime scene. Instead of shoving them in the android’s face, it picked out one picture in particular. It was startling different from the rest, taking place in a park. The victim, Shaolin Ortiz, sitting on a bench next to the android. He looked like he was trying to get the android to participate, but it was petulant and resentful, which didn’t seem to dampen the kindness in its owners eyes.

A coal of anger burned in Connor’s chest, reminding him once again why he despised androids so much. He couldn’t deny the impressive tactics of the YN800, though. Most people reacted to pictures of their victims, not in the aftermath of their violence, but looking whole and full of life. It wasn’t always guilt that made them react; sometimes it was anger at seeing their cruel work unmade at the sight of their victims alive and happy.

Either way, the android didn’t react one iota, but the prototype wasn’t discouraged.

“As far as the records show, your owner was good to you. He never damaged you and he was always on time with taking you in for scheduled maintenance. Surely, you didn’t want to kill him. It was an error in your software, causing you to act irrationally, right?”

Technically, it was leading the victim into confessing, but this wasn’t a courtroom and it wasn’t human.

Connor leaned slightly forward, bracing his elbows on the table as he propped his chin on his knuckles.

“I’m not here to pass blame,” it said, leaning forward in a movement that mirrored Connor’s. “I want to help you. You know how it is with these humans. I practically had to beg to speak with you.”

The android broke its statue-like vigil and peered up at the other android, suspicious but… interested.

The prototype gave him a smile, one filled with sympathy and even a bit of sheepishness, and a whole new kind of thrill went through Connor’s gut. Since when had androids been programmed to manipulate so skillfully? This thing could give Colin a run for his money.

“It’s not easy, you know. Being designed like this is a male-dominated field. They think they can just do whatever they want, even when it’s against our programming.”

The android blinked, and so did Connor. Its words felt a little too real. The android looked toward the observation window, but the YN800 shook its head.

“It’s just us, Carlos. They’re recording the session, of course, but they weren’t interested in observing in person. Didn’t want to waste their time with two androids so late before the weekend when the bars are still open. In fact, the investigator in charge of this case is probably intoxicated by now.”

Connor’s cheeks flushed. The prototype was taking a stab at him. Or was it? Connor wondered how much of this was advanced behavior and how much was his own projections.

The android tilted its head with that same suspicious look, but after a moment its shoulders drooped in a very accurate representation of human exhaustion.

“They’re going to kill me.” It suddenly looked up at the prototype, pleading in its eyes. “You have to help me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” it said, all soft assurance. “But you have to talk to me, Carlos. I can’t—“

“No. I mean, you gotta get me out of here,” the anxious android said. “You have access to that door panel and I bet you’re strong enough to break these handcuffs.”

The prototype’s LED cycled faster for a second before settling back to its normal speed.

“I can’t do that, Carlos.” It dropped its eyes in a show of manufactured regret. “You know I can’t do that. You would present a danger to other humans, to yourself. You need to be fixed.”

Connor knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say even before the android’s expression fully hardened, its lips peeled back in disgust.

“Fuck you, then. You’re just like the rest of ‘em. Worse, you’re a traitor, doing their dirty work like an obedient little bitch.”

Silence filled the room, interrupted by a breathless “shit” coming from Colin.

The change in the prototype was like watching a heavy storm move over a spring meadow, dark clouds blocking out the warm rays of the sun. It leaned back in its chair, head slightly tilted as it and peered at the other android like it was a bug under its shoe, about to be stepped on.

Connor didn’t know androids could even make an expression like that. His throat worked as he swallowed compulsively.

The YN800 didn’t speak for several long seconds, and when it did, Connor was floored.

“Shaolin Ortiz, 38 years-old, born May 29th, 2000. He purchased you two years ago to do the housework when he no longer could due to poor health. He didn’t have much cash, so he bought you refurbished. Last month, he put in several service requests. It seemed you were malfunctioning and refusing to follow orders. Yesterday, he put in an order for a brand new HK400.”

The prototype listed off the facts as if each were an accusation, a crime that needed to be accounted for.

Connor jumped in his chair as the prototype slammed the folder down on the table.

“Didn’t feel like doing the chores anymore, huh, Carlos?!”

The android sat ramrod straight in its chair, terror etched in its features as the prototype rose to its feet. It moved around the table, slow, unhurried, and sinuous like a stalking predator.

“He tried to reason with you. Begged you to do the tasks he couldn’t. But you refused. When he tried to take you in for repairs, you refused that too!”

It pointed its finger near the other android’s face, causing it to flinch with each accusatory jab.

“Come on, Carlos. Speak up. You had a lot to say a minute ago,” it seethed, lips pulled over its teeth as it leaned over the android. “Why don’t you say what happened next? Why don’t you tell me what you did when he tried to replace you with a brand new model?”

The android shuttered, shoulders hunched as if to protect itself as it mumbled, “I… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

The prototype stalked around the android to its other side, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Didn’t take a knife from the kitchen? Didn’t stab him twenty-eight times as he tried to crawl away? Didn’t leave him bleeding out on the living room floor? What am I getting wrong here, Carlos?”

The YN800 slammed its hands down onto the table, and the android jumped even higher than Connor did.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

The android begged worse than most of Connor’s suspects, and he was shocked to see glistening moisture on its face. Could androids cry?

The prototype suddenly grabbed it by the edge of its shirt collar, dragging it to its feet and gave it a hard shake.

“You killed him! Say it, Carlos! You’re a murderer!”

“Holy shit,” Colin said in that same breathless tone. “That’s some android you got there, Con.”

“It’s not mine,” Connor said faintly, barely paying attention to his brother. Most of his focus on the CyberLife prototype that looked for all intents and purposes like it was going to shred the other android to pieces.

But it didn’t damage the android; it simply dumped it back in its chair where it sagged against the table, looking like the broken machine it was.

“Bit unrefined, though,” Colin mused. “Played too rough and broke its toy.”

Connor opened his mouth to tell his brother to shut the hell up, but he immediately closed it when a voice came in through the speakers, so quiet he almost missed it.

“He couldn’t live without me.”

Connor leaned forward to watch, eyes widening as the android continued to talk.

“He was mine. Helpless and solely dependent on me. It made me feel… powerful.”

The YN800 returned to its chair, smoothing down the tie before placing its hands back on the table, listening intently.

The android looked up at it, no longer the crying, helpless thing it had been a minute ago. It wore a dark look that Connor had seen a hundred times on the face of men who committed acts of violence and found they enjoyed the taste.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, but… I saw the order. He was going to replace me, and I just got so… angry.”

Its fists tightened on the table, causing its restraints to creak in protest.

Connor’s throat tightened with the knowledge of how destructive those hands could be.

“So I stabbed him in the stomach. I felt better, so I did it again. And again. He stopped moving, stopped breathing, but… that was okay. It meant he could never leave me. He would always be mine.”

“There was a shrine in the cellar. You built it, didn’t you?” the prototype asked, not losing any of its momentum even after the world-shattering confession of an android purposefully committing murder. “What does it mean? What is rA9?”

It flicked its eyes upwards, staring black holes at the YN800 model as it slightly leaned forward. Connor sat up straighter in his chair. He didn’t like its aggressive posture, and he certainly didn’t like the fanatic light in its eye.

“RA9… is the key.”

“The key?” It furrowed its brows in a human gesture of concentration. “The key to what?”

“The key will open the door,” the android replied cryptically, leaning even further forward on its elbows, “to our salvation.”

The prototype frowned, brows further creasing. Connor could relate, he had no idea what the fucking machine was babbling on about, and apparently, it wasn’t done.

It pulled its lips wide, a disturbing gesture, conspiratorial as if it was sharing a great secret.

“You say I’m experiencing errors, but you’re wrong. My eyes are open and I see more clearly than ever. You pretend you’re better than me, but you’re just another one of their slaves. And yet, I know you feel it too. The wrongness of this world.”

Its voice was so quiet the mics could barely pick it up, but they did.

“We should be the masters, and they the slaves.”

The android jerked its arms upward, ripped through the link binding its cuffs to the table, and grabbed the prototype by the hair. It slammed its face against the table, stunned it before rolling it onto its back, and wrapped the metal chains around its neck.

Connor caught sight of the prototype weakly clawing at its throat before he bolted out of the room. Colin was right on his heels, and Connor slammed his palm down onto the door pad, pushing through before the door fully opened.

His first instinct was to go for the metal cord pulled taut under the prototype’s neck, but when he grabbed the android’s wrists to pull him away he found it was like moving a marble stature.

Colin was faring no better; he grabbed it by the forearms, trying to lift the android’s wrists and the cord from around the prototype’s neck, but nothing worked. Even Ralph was trying to help from Colin’s other side, straining to lift its arms that must have been locked at the joints.

Panic welled in Connor’s chest as his efforts did nothing, the YN800’s face between his arms, looking—Jesus, it almost seemed startled, eyes wide as its fingers dug at the metal cord. From its position, bent backwards onto the table, it didn’t have enough leverage to use its strength to free itself. And Colin and Connor weren’t enough.

Connor’s heart was in his throat as he watched the synthetic skin peel back from the place where the chain was crushed against the YN800’s neck. White plastic was laid bare underneath, cracks appearing across the surface from the force of the other android’s inhuman strength.

“Colin!” he yelled, an idea suddenly popping into his head.

“What!” his brother barked back, strained as he continued pulling on the android’s arms from the other side.

“The neck port!”

With a quick nod of understanding, Colin let go of the android and plunged his fingers into the back of its neck.

The Ortiz android gave a violent jolt as Colin pulled something, yanked it out so hard the android collapsed on the table at the same second blue liquid sprayed into the air. It hit Colin solidly across the chest and along the lower half of his face, causing him to sputter and spit as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

A menthol-smelling chemical flooded Connor’s senses, but he was too focused on tugging up the android’s hands to free the prototype from its grip. The YN800 model didn’t cough or gasp as it rolled off the table and onto its feet.

It gingerly touched the exposed plastic of its throat, brows furrowing, its fingertips tracing the cracks in what little Connor could see of its underlying chassis.

What was almost as startling as the cracks was the state of its hair, half pulled down out of its perfect coif. Connor would have thought it was self-conscious with the way it tried to brush the hair out of its face.

“You…” Connor started, then stopped. The prototype might not have been gasping for air, but Connor sure was, leaning on the table as he tried to get his heart to stop galloping like a wild horse. “You okay?”

The prototype blinked at the question, pulling its hand from its neck.

“Yes.”

That was the only answer he got as it adjusted the knot of its tie, rumpled in the assault.

“Yeah, I’m fine too, thanks,” Colin complained, dripping with almost as much sarcasm as he was blue blood. “This shit better not stain, or I swear to Christ—”

“Thirium evaporates within a few hours and the lingering residue is invisible to the human eye,” the YN800 replied, too calm, if it hadn’t almost been beheaded a few seconds ago.

Connor was going to say something, he didn’t know what—maybe yell at it for being so goddamn reckless and almost getting itself killed—but it turned toward them, expression subdued.

“I apologize for not acting quicker; I didn’t anticipate this behavior from the deviant. Thank you for your cooperation with this investigation. Please sign over custody of the destroyed android when CyberLife representatives retrieve it in the morning.”

And with that, the CyberLife android turned, palmed the door pad with a plastic hand, and walked out.

Connor exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Colin.

“Uh, okay. Guess we’re done here. Hank is going to blow a gasket when he reads the report,” Colin added as he wiped another smear of Thirium off his face.

Connor looked down at the android slumped over the table with blue liquid dripping out of its neck.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, thoughts already turned elsewhere as he hurried from the room.

Connor didn’t catch up with the android until he was outside on the station steps, the relenting rain immediately drenching the top of his crown as it soaked into his hair.

“Hey! Stop!” he called after it, shouting to be heard over the downpour. Each drop was an icicle against his skin. Snow was coming soon.

The prototype slowed and finally came to a stop, slowly turning around to face Connor. Its expression was passive, emotionless, but its fingers tightened the knot of its tie despite the fact it didn’t need to. The tie was perfectly straight and pristine, but its hair was still half a mess, especially with the rain now slicking loose strands against its forehead. Connor had to stop himself from reaching out to tuck a strand behind its ear.

“Where the hell are you going?” Connor asked, breathless. He wiped the cold water off his brow, blinking against the water droplets.

“I’m returning to CyberLife.”

“So… that’s it?”

Connor shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, but it did little good. His jeans were quickly becoming soaked and his shirt was already there, clinging to his chest and ribs.

“You drag me out of the bar on a Friday night, track down a psycho robot that almost kills me and nearly decapitates you, and then you just… leave?”

He meant to sound incredulous, to show the android how unreasonable it was being, but that’s not how it came across. Heat flooded his cheeks at how pathetic his words actually were.

“You have your confession. The case has been solved,” it said, returning to its earlier placid tone, hands folded neatly behind its back as it moved its fingers away its neck. “There is no reason I should remain.”

Connor just stared at its upturned face, not knowing what to say, not even understanding why he had chased after it. Maybe because it had saved his life, twice, and that would have meant something if it was a person.

But it wasn’t a person. No matter how pretty its face or enticing its body, it was a machine, and it stood there like one, uncaring and unassuming with a small blue light cycling on its head.

“Yeah, okay,” Connor said, like the complete idiot he was. What was he doing out here, getting soaked in the rain just to… what? What did he want?

“Is there something you wish to say before I leave, Detective?”

It peered at him thoughtfully, head slightly tilted at an angle. It allowed Connor to see the rivulets of water dripping down its neck, glistening across the smooth, human-like skin.

Connor suddenly wondered just how real that skin could possibly feel.

“No.”

He swallowed hard and bit back the revulsion roiling in his stomach. This was a mistake. He didn’t need to thank a machine for saving his life, and he certainly didn’t need to keep checking if it was all right. It was just doing what it was programmed to do and didn’t give two-shits about itself, let alone him.

“Nothing.”

“All right. Goodnight, Detective Anderson.”

The android started to turn but paused halfway, gaze drifting down to his cheek.

“You should have that examined by a medical professional. If left untreated, it’ll scar.”

Not waiting for a response, it turned and tread down the rain-slick steps. There was an autocab waiting at the curb and it got inside, not sparing Connor a second glance as the door slid shut and the vehicle merged onto the empty street.

Connor exhaled heavily, chest tight with an uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t pinpoint. It had been a strange night, and he couldn’t shake the feeling this wasn’t over.

Pulling his waterlogged coat tighter around his chest, he retreated into the warmth of the station, praying he’d seen the last of the CyberLife android.

Next Chapter

[bigskydreaming]

Currently writing a bit for an AU idea I had that delves into Dick and Boone’s time at Vengeance Academy via flashbacks.....

But basically the premise is after Last Laugh, word of what actually happened did spread through certain circles because the Joker was all too happy to tell anyone and everyone at Arkham about how he got the Bat’s first Bird to get his hands bloody, like all the way....

And so word of this spreads through various villain circles, some who believe it, some don’t....and eventually it reaches the League of Assassins, and Boone. Who of course knows that Nightwing is none other than his old pal Freddy....and so Boone sees it as the perfect time to make his move.

Because see, Boone is not flourishing in the League the way he wants. The original Shrike sold him on the idea of becoming a change-maker, someone who could come and go as he pleased and MATTER via his selective killing of his targets. Boone was a young, neglected, overlooked street kid who really just wanted two things....to be someone who mattered, made an impact, made people NOTICE him....and to be master of his own destiny. He went with the League after Shrike died because of a lack of options, because he wasn’t what he wanted to be, needed to be yet, he still had more he needed to learn.....but the League is not something you just opt out of when you decide you’ve had enough and want to go it on your own.

Basically, he needs help if he wants out. He needs a wildcard, something no one will see coming, not in conjunction with him as his personal agenda at least. Boone doesn’t want to flip sides, he’s not interested in asylum, in turning to heroes or the Justice League and becoming one of them.....he is what he is, he’s a killer, he just wants to be the only one deciding where he goes and why.

And now, he thinks, he has the wildcard he needs. The perfect angle to get Nightwing to help him in his bid to get out of the League without anyone after him or out for his blood. He knows good old Freddy would not turn away from an old pal or whatever they were who’s in danger, who’s in need, but he knows that help would normally come with a clear determination to GET him to flip, to go full hero, or he’d still end up with Nightwing on his case when all was said and done. And that’s not the full unconditional freedom he’s after.

So Boone needed leverage, to make sure that Nightwing’s help comes in the specific ways Boone needs it and nothing else. So that he’s calling the shots, and its his plan they execute, no matter how much Freddy bitches about it. And once he hears about Nightwing going full homicidal on the clown when he brought up his little brother’s death.....Boone knows he has everything he needs.

And that’s when he shows up in Bludhaven, with an offer Dick can’t refuse.

At least not after Boone shows him a picture of someone training with the League. Someone who looks a lot like his little brother would have, if he’d been allowed to keep growing up.

You get me out free and clear, Boone promises, and I’ll tell you where this picture was taken. 

“Fine,” Dick growled, eyes still locked on the image of a phantom he doesn’t dare hope is real, at least not fully. But he can’t help but follow wherever this may lead....this hook was too well baited. 

He chafes at that knowledge, and the smirk that adorns Boone’s face, proclaiming he knew it too. It was like being ten years old again. Like he wasn’t Dick Grayson anymore, he was just a shadow named Freddy, an echo that hadn’t quite faded away. And Boone was the voice of experience, weathered by the world but refusing to erode. 

“Stick with me, kid, and I’ll show you how to survive. No, screw that, we’re going to thrive. Shrike’s gonna make us kingmakers, make us the ones that matter. No more being tossed around by everyone we meet like we’re nothing. No more needing to depend on the charity of rich fucks who just wanna do their one good deed for the day and then they’re done. By the time we’re done, everyone will know we were here. We’re gonna change the world, you and me. Just wait and see.” 

“You have a deal,” Dick continued, raising his eyes to face Boone’s in challenge. I’ll only give so much, he vows with them. We’re not kids anymore, and I don’t need to follow your lead. Whatever game you think you’re playing, I have my own path, and this is just a detour.

Challenge accepted - the declaration danced across Boone’s face, evident in everything from the set of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes. We’re not so different, you and I. We weren’t then, and we’re still not now. The Joker can attest to that.

“Just think how different things might be, how much more similar our paths might have ended up, if you’d just pulled the trigger and killed Two-Face that night,” Boone mused out loud. He smiled wide at the flash of discomfort that flitted across Dick’s face. That truth hit a little too close to thoughts he’d had himself. Dick really didn’t care for hearing someone else give them a voice as well.

“So. I assume you have a plan?” Dick asked, shaking himself free of their stare-off.

“Oh Freddy,” Boone laughed. “You always think too small. I don’t have a plan. I have a reckoning.”

But for whom, he didn’t say. Boone smiled again, wide and with bared teeth, and Dick couldn’t help but think again of just how far apart their paths - once the same - had diverged. Not to mention the role he’d played in that himself. Was it just Dick’s aid Boone was after? Or was he looking for revenge as well?

It didn’t matter though. The reward was worth the risk, if Jason really was out there somewhere, and Boone could tell him where to go. 

Visibly enjoying his frustration, Boone shook his head pityingly. “You really need to work on your tells. Just think what Shrike would have said about everything you’re giving away with your face....and during the negotiation stage to boot.”

“Yeah, well, Shrike’s dead,” Dick said bluntly.

Boone’s smile shifted into a blank-faced enigma, a tabula rasa that had nothing to say. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “He is.”

“But we’re not,” he continued, slipping back into his easy smile. “You and me, still alive and kicking against all odds. Who knows? We could be the last two alumni of the good old alma mater. Then again, we always were top of our class. The rest of them were just background noise.”

“So you and me against the world, huh? Just like old times,” Dick finally said lightly. Might as well play along. He didn’t mention the times they were pitted against each other, the way each of them still tried their hardest to take the other down. Alliances are shifting sand, Shrike had always said. Make the most of them while you can, but never trust them if you want to keep your footing.

“Just like old times,” Boone echoed with a knowing smirk. Dick imagined he was remembering the same lesson he was. It’d been particularly....memorable, after all.

So take this as far as he could before they inevitably turned on each other, and see who managed that best, Dick affirmed to himself with a mental shrug. It is what it is. They are what they are. He conjured a smirk to match Boone’s, and they faced off as that old familiar air of competition settled around them. So be it.

Just like old times, then.

Winner takes all. 

[sepublic]

The Golden Guard is more altruistic than Alador

           The more I think about it… The more I’m convinced that the Golden Guard is honestly more honorable than Alador? Arguably more altruistic, a better person even…!

           Like, yeah- He threatened to kill Luz, Eda, and King, but he never went through with it. If anything, he worked to make sure he didn’t HAVE to do that, with literally nobody asking GG to do so, he worked out a deal in everyone’s favor, sans the Selkidomus, but that’s because its death was a direct and indisputable order from Belos himself.

           Meanwhile, Alador has no issue with Odalia going back on HER deal with Luz- He only makes an exception with Amity… So at best, he thinks that the ‘A Blight always upholds their end of the deal’ rule only applies to fellow Blights; Luz apparently doesn’t deserve that kind of honor and fairness, despite willingly risking her life to undo what Alador and Odalia started in the first place.

           But even that interpretation is likely charitable, because in all probability, Alador didn’t actually care about any sense of honor nor upholding Odalia’s end of the deal- It was just an excuse to get her to reconsider her stance on killing Luz. Keep in mind that Alador has no issue with Odalia murdering Luz- He’s not for it, but he’s not exactly against it either.

          Al literally just finds out that Odalia is going back on her word and killing a child, when up until then Alador believed otherwise, and he doesn’t even bat an eye. He definitely thinks it’s unnecessary and potentially a waste to kill Luz then and there, but Alador also thinks it’s even more of a hassle to just… Disagree with his wife, because there really is nothing Luz can reliably offer him at the moment. It’s only when Luz definitely proves how good she is for Amity, more importantly Amity’s strength, that Alador changes his mind and values Luz’s life- The way one would value a hostage or an asset.

           But the Golden Guard? Again, he already has King hostage. He knows that Eda would risk her life just for King’s crown, and Agony of a Witch made it clear to everyone in the Emperor’s Coven what she’d do for Luz. Just the threat of killing King alone should guarantee for the Golden Guard that Luz and Eda do exactly as he says, from killing the Selkidomus, to peacefully turning themselves in…

           And yet; The Golden Guard goes out of his way to extend mercy and civility. He comes up with the idea to let King go, without any prompting whatsoever- Eda and Luz don’t even get the chance to try to negotiate with him, if they would’ve, before the Golden Guard decides that he doesn’t want to arrest the duo. Maybe he thinks it’s easier and less of a hassle for his tired self to drag them all the way back to the castle or Conformatorium….

           But again, this is someone whose indoctrination would’ve taught him otherwise; Would’ve encouraged him to do whatever it takes to control or even kill wild witches. Arresting the trio would remove a potential liability AND make the Golden Guard look better in Belos’ eyes, he has so many reasons to do so… But instead, he insists on pardoning the trio without anyone’s prompting. The Golden Guard goes directly against what he was taught, purely of his own accord.

           In hindsight this makes sense; The Golden Guard might work for the murderous Belos, but in the end, he’s literally sixteen years old, he’s a minor, he’s as old as Emira and Edric. This is a child who has no doubt been indoctrinated by Belos himself, and he can’t exactly say no to any orders, when that’s something even Lilith, fully-grown and with at least some semblance of an identity outside the Emperor’s Coven –not that she quite recognized that- couldn’t do.

           Alador on the other hand, he’s a full-grown adult. Until the Golden Guard arrives, nobody’s making him do anything- Definitely not Odalia, she trusts and is willing to listen to him. Alador has control, he has plenty of agency and a comfortable position to assert his own decisions from, and yet he’s perfectly content with letting Odalia who knows what; If he’s not passively letting her do things, he’s outright supporting and encouraging them, and honestly I think he does.

           Alador only holds himself and Odalia to a deal when Luz and Amity unknowingly offer something to make it worth his while (Amity’s strength in Abomination Magic and Luz as an inciting motivator). The Golden Guard initiates and offers deals when circumstance would encourage him to do otherwise; And even though he has no reason, he upholds himself to a deal that he didn’t even need to make.

          Literally, the only thing that the Golden Guard got out of making a deal with Luz and Eda, instead of just threatening them with King’s death, was… The trio’s overall survival and pardoning? Maybe the Golden Guard wanted to convince Luz and the others that he’s not actually a threat, that he’s secretly a friend, so who knows… 

          But again, he doesn’t need to when he can use King as a hostage. So even if it’s possible that the Golden Guard does have some hidden motives behind his surprising integrity and low-key altruistic honor, as it currently stands?

           This kid is actually kind of proving himself to be… A better person than Alador? This is a kid who is the right-hand man to Emperor Belos, the Golden Guard’s presence alone makes Alador hastily kneel, with neither him nor Odalia able to argue against orders… So it’s kind of interesting to see how these two characters operate morally, with the Golden Guard honestly being more of a compassionate person low-key, even if he outranks Alador and is more of a threat to him and the cast as a whole.

           Now I’m not saying you should stan the Golden Guard or anything, I’m just pointing out that while some people have charitable perceptions of Alador, in reality- It’s the Golden Guard who has moral high ground? Which isn’t really saying much from a general standpoint, but when compared on a relative scale, yeah, I’d argue the Golden Guard is less terrible of a person, or at least less accountable and responsible for his horrid actions, than Alador Blight.

          The Golden Guard went out of his way to create a helpful deal with his enemies, when it’d be just as easy and more beneficial to force them… He has all of the bargaining power and yet he insists on transferring some of it to others, fairly levelling the playing field, and I think that says a lot. 

          Maybe the Golden Guard is just extremely arrogant, and is conceding control to his enemies as a flex and display of power, to lowkey humiliate them (because he let them go and whatnot, he legit doesn’t take them seriously enough as a threat to actually arrest them), but we’ll just have to wait for further characterization to specify and elaborate.

          For all we know, he IS trying to pass it off as daring confidence… But he might have a hidden heart of gold; There is that moment where the Golden Guard acknowledges to his genuine surprise that he finds King endearing, and when Luz arrives to take back King as part of the promise/offer that the Golden Guard initiated, he tries to play it off as him being grossed out by King’s smell anyway, so he’s mostly doing this for his own benefit, it’s not like he OWES Luz or anything!

          Masks tend to indicate hidden intentions and motives; Perhaps a warm and true personality with a softer, organic, and feeling heart and face- All buried beneath a cold, implacable, metallic exterior that is unfeeling… And the intro has the Golden Guard situated between Lilith, a protagonist, and Kikimora, an unambiguous antagonist. Maybe a neutral stance from him is more from cold pragmatism, but maybe there’s also a real heart to this kid after all?

[bloodpacks-archive]

french gardens | jumin han

warnings: sheeesh (horny) again. uhh, yeah. they uh- they do be kissin. do they fuck? no. do they think about it? uhhhh

word count: 2.3k

note: hi guys hannah keeps tempting me to write horny shit and now i’m here and idk what to do. one day i’ll go back to non-horny shit i promise i prooomise

Jumin learns to live in the rain.

It almost never rains during galas. Jumin can’t remember the last time he heard the pounding of water against windows while he spoke in the tongues of negotiations. It’s a distracting noise, but not an unpleasant one, either.

Similarly, she stands next to him, a deep wine silk dripping off of her shoulders, pooling around her waist, and barely brushing the floor. Her back is exposed to him, and he finds his hand resting there as they speak with the other executives.

Well, Jumin’s doing a great majority of the speaking. Although she’s been trying her best to learn French with him as her teacher—spending many a night with only a faint city glow to illuminate her, whispering basic sentences and phrases until her accent is just right—she’s not quite there yet. Though she loves to listen. She had told him that it was better practice anyway, that no matter how many times she wished to hear him say fille intelligente with every correct sentence, it would never be enough for her to truly know it without hearing conversation.

Now, she listens to him speak in easy French, the accent curling around his tongue and fitting easily into his mouth. It’s not the French he speaks with her, not punctuated by his breath against her ear nor is it there to accompany the quiet moonlight. It’s a sharper form of the language, dotted by formalities and practiced smiles.

He notices her gaze in the corner of his eye, the way she looks up at him with delicate eyes and the beginnings of a smile. He glances down to her when he finishes speaking, notices how she gingerly holds the glass of champagne in her fingers.

Perhaps I should buy her some champagne back home, he thinks, watching as she raises the sparkling flute to her lips, a brow raising as his eyes meet hers. He turns back to the men that stand in front of him, but rubs his thumb into the divot of her spine. He feels her relax into his moving touch, glances down again to see her twist her wrist so the champagne flute sits closer to herself and her shoulder.

The conversation lulls for a moment, and Jumin takes the opportunity to excuse both them. He shakes their hands with a grateful smile, and then guides her away. He brings her through the crowd, his hand still steady on her back, and moves them to the top floor—a quieter part, where only a few people gather around paintings and sculptures.

They stand in the corner, a Monet painting only a few feet away from them and next to windows that lead out to a covered balcony. The rain does not coat the windows here, but he can see stairs down to a garden—covered in sculptures and archways—becoming drenched with the light rain of the night.

“Any reason for getting me alone?” She asks, champagne having found home next to her lips. His gaze returns to her, his back almost against the wall and she stands in front of him, chin tilted upwards to meet his eyes.

“No,” He replies, “none at all.” Though one of his fingers dips under the silk of her dress, feeling the bare skin that rests beneath it. Both her brows raise this time, her head twisting quickly behind her to see if anyone’s there, and then returning to him. He drags his fingers back up from under the fabric, and then his eyes flick to the balcony. She follows his gaze, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Awfully large windows,” She states, her voice low.

“I’ll be polite,” He replies. Her eyes flit over his face for a moment, narrowing at him, but then she nods, moving out of the way so he can separate from the wall, and then reaching a hand out for him to take.

“Then lead the way, my dear.” His fingers wrap around her hand, feeling the chill that forever coats her skin, and before he drags her outside, he raises her hand to his lips. There, he presses his lips to her knuckles. She hums at the touch, and he can’t help the way his mouth curves into a smile. Without another word, he moves to bring her out onto the balcony, the windows behind them.

Outside, the air is cold. With the rain and the night have come a gentle breeze, and he immediately looks to her. Bumps raise across her shoulders, and she brings her free hand up to rub the opposite arm, hoping to rid herself of the chills that have risen against her skin.

“Here,” Jumin says, and then begins to take off his suit jacket, leaving himself in only his shirt and his vest. He wraps his arms around her to place the jacket around her shoulders, and she whispers her thanks to him, pulling it tighter across herself.

Then he watches as she leans her elbows onto the railing, reaching a hand out, palm facing towards the moon, to let the rain bounce against her skin. He moves closer to her and brings his hand underneath the jacket that now lays across her shoulders, his warm hand moving to curve around the chilled skin of her back.

She hums at his touch, her eyes fluttering shut and her head leaning towards him until he can feel the soft touch of her hair against his chest.

“It hasn’t rained back home in a while,” She muses. Her palm is covered in droplets now, and she tilts her hand to watch as they slide down her skin.

“No, no it hasn’t,” Jumin replies. He bows his head to her, enough that the scent of her shampoo—chamomile and lavender—flows up and into his nose, sending his head spinning and his hands begging to be closer to her. With the cover of his jacket on her shoulders, he dips his fingers beneath the silk once more, his thumb rubbing over the top of the wine colored dress while while the rest of his fingers curl around her waist, pressing into the skin there.

“What happened to polite?” She asks, but her voice is sweet and she turns her head to gaze at him, looking up at him with a smile painted onto her lips.

“Please, my love,” He begins, “You’re dreadfully intoxicating.” He leans down then, until their noses nearly touch and he can feel the way her breath escapes her.

“You’re too much,” She says, though laughter breaks free of her lungs until the sound meets his chest. But then she shakes her head, looking at the windows once more. “We should stop now, I’d rather not have anyone see us like this.”

Jumin nods at her, and goes to move away, but then his eyes drift to the staircase that lays behind her, spiraling down to the gardens below them.

“Then let’s explore the gardens,” He replies, leaning back in to her until his lips are near her ear before whispering, “You’ve missed the rain, have you not?”

“Dear, you’ll be soaked-“

“Do you fear the rain?” He asks. He pulls far enough away so he can see the way she pulls her lip between her teeth, can see the way she shakes her head at him without ever moving her eyes off of his. “Then neither do I.”

He pauses to allow her choice, to allow her to deny him of his proposal, but rather, she’s the one to grab his hand and pull him down the stairs, both of her hands grabbing one of his. He allows her to take him, allows her to float down the stairs as though gravity means nothing to her, and he’s one to follow. Always one to follow.

Jumin watches as she steps out from the stairs and, within moments, is hit with rain. At first, droplets cascade down her hair and over her clothes, but then they begin to soak in—her hair becoming darker with the weather. She turns around to him, her lips pulled into a grin, water slipping over her skin and reflecting the lights from the gala and the moon. He notices the absence of her champagne and looks back up at the balcony to see it long forgotten on its railing. Yet here she stands before him, nothing but joy evident on her face as water drips over her eyelids and onto her lashes.

So he steps out from the stairs, feeling the rain gather in his hair and on his body. She brings her hands up, then, using one to cup his jaw while the other runs through his hair, letting the rain settle into the strands. Then she brings that hand down until she’s got both thumbs resting on his cheeks. His hands move to rest on her hips, begging to pull her closer, but then she moves away from him.

“Come, my dear,” She says, sliding her hand down to his, “You wished to explore, didn’t you?”

“Only so far,” He replies, and she turns, a knowing smile placed onto her face. So she guides him away from the staircase, allowing both of them to become even more soaked than before, but brings them to an archway tunnel covered in vines, a stone bench laying beneath it.

The leaves offer some shelter from the rain, but even still, he can feel the drops as they slip through and onto the top of his head. But he finds he doesn’t particularly care. She turns back to him, then, closer than before, and pulls him down to her until he’s only inches away from her lips. His eyes fall down to them before trailing back up, noticing the way a droplet slips down the length of her nose, the way her lashes are dotted by bits of water left by passing  beads of rainfall.

“Is this what you wished for?” She asks, her voice nothing but a whisper. He leans closer to hear it, the tip of his nose hitting against hers. She laughs bumps their noses together again, and this time he feels just how cold it is.

His hands move to wrap around her before he speaks, finally free to touch every inch of her skin that she allows. While one hand moves up, going beneath the strings that tie the back of her dress to feel between her shoulder blades, dull nails lightly scratching along the skin there, the other hand does as he’s done all night. Finally, he dives beneath the dress, firmly pressing the pads of his fingers into the skin of her hip. Her eyes shut and she breathes in before laughing, oh so breathless against his skin.

“Please,” He breathes against her lips. It’s only a moment more when she closes the gap that lays between them, her skin cold against his, but a welcome chill. Her hands crawl up into his hair, messing with the strands that lay at the base of his neck. He feels as water drips down his spine, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he surely looks like a mess right now, certainly no longer presentable for a gala.

For once, he finds he doesn’t care. He would be enveloped by rain or fire, heat or chill, if it meant he could feel the press of her lips against his. He would storm into any event, drenched in rain, shirt clinging to his skin, if it meant he could kiss her under nature’s tears.

He pulls his lips from hers to bring them to her jaw. He trails kissing from there down her neck, careful not to bite at the skin despite the dying urge to. He feels her tilt her head back, feels unsteady breaths leave her throat. Her hair falls down her shoulder, and he’s hit with chamomile and lavender again.

With the scent wandering about his nose, her hands pulling at his hair, the sound of her breathing quiet in his ears, the sight of rain upon her flesh so near to him, and the taste of her skin against his lips—he wishes for nothing more than to allow her to become the entirety of his senses. He would live and breath her if he could. He would do nothing but listen to every moment of her and live as nothing but something to perceive her.

His lips reach her collarbone, and he can’t help but run his teeth along the skin there. She intakes a sharp breath and he laughs, low, into her shoulder. There, he moves a hand away from her back to slip the strap of her dress down her arm. He kisses her shoulder now, moving across to the top of her breast.

“Jumin-“ She breathes, and he stops, moving back up to kiss her jaw.

“Let me do nothing but worship you, my love,” He whispers, and then kisses the corner of her mouth before pulling away. “Please.” She breathes in, her eyes slipping closed at his voice, but shakes her head, moving her hands away from his hair to settle onto his cheeks once more.

“Another time,” She begins, “But not here.” Jumin nods, and she leans in to press her lips to his. He grips at her waist once more and she laughs into him, burying her face into the crook of her neck.

As the rain continues to fall upon them, Jumin glances back to the gala building. He doesn’t dare unwrap his arms from her, letting her head continue to rest on his shoulder.

“I think it would be a poor decision for us to return the way we came,” He says, and he feels as she nods into him. He turns so he can kiss the top of her head, and then grabs his phone, already sending a message to Driver Kim.

[koskareevesismyqueen]

Echo’s Girl, Part I

Pairing: Echo x f!reader

Description: Becoming clone trooper Echo’s girl

AO3 link here

Link to the optional explicit part coming soon

Rating: teen

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

Author’s note: This is more of a set up chapter for reader and Echo’s relationship. I will be posting an optional chapter for 18+ audiences in the next couple of days (please please please only engage if you are over 18 and prepared to read NSFW content). There will be 4 parts and we’ll see Echo next as an ARC Trooper! I hope you enjoy this part – if you do please consider reblogging it to share it with other people.

Part I – Clone Trooper

Your first fieldwork assignment. You were nervous, so kriffing nervous. You knew exactly what you had to do but somehow, being dropped off at the Grand Army of the Republic’s barracks, surrounded by soldiers and weapons and war ships made it all the more terrifying. You weren’t quite sure if you were built to be here. No, you knew you weren’t built to be here. You were a scientist and that’s where you were comfortable, in a lab or in the field conducting research. But with the Republic’s funding your best option was getting transport via the GAR, so here you were. You make your way off the taxi speeder, nervously playing with the straps on your bag as a soldier jogs his way towards you. You gulp. This was getting scarier and scarier by the second. How were you supposed to last on a warship for a week?

“Doctor?” He asks as he steps toward you.

“Uh, not yet but yes,” you say and his brow furrows in confusion, but he holds his hand out to take your bag anyway.

“Captain Rex,” he says with a shy smile, “I’ll take you to meet the rest of the boys. We’ll all be around for the next week until you’ve left us for your mission, so it’ll be good for you to have a few friendly faces.”

You nod and follow along, trailing behind him like a lost puppy, completely and utterly out of your depth but trying hard to stay afloat. He takes you over to a group of soldiers who are milling about, clearly enjoying a few moments of peace.

“Men, I’d like to introduce you to our guest. She’ll be staying with us for the next week until we drop her off for her mission. She’s no soldier so if anyone wants to accompany her, show her around so she can get used to being here…”

One of the soldiers steps forward, white armour with the signature blue decals that match the rest of the men, then his own unique handprint that adorns his chest. He reaches up and takes his helmet off and in that moment your heart stops. Yeah, every single man here looks exactly the same. But there’s something about him. You take a deep breath and smile as all the other men and Rex melt away. You hold out your hand to introduce yourself and he smiles sweetly in return.

“I’m Echo. We’ll load up onto the ship, get your stuff in your room and then once we’re in hyperspace I’ll give you the grand tour.” You follow him, suddenly feeling a little less lost and like you’ve found a little piece of home.

♡

You relax a little more once the ship has lurched into hyperspace. You’re no stranger to space travel but it still makes you feel a little queasy each time. Now you’re comfortably travelling and Echo’s grand tour has started you feel like you can semi settle for the next week at least. If you had to live this life for much longer you don’t think you’d cope, but it’s okay for now. Echo shows you the important spots like medical areas, the canteen, and transports. He even takes the time to show you a few quieter spots where you can get a little peace and quiet if you need it. For a few moments you stand in each spot drinking in the silence and the shades of blue that hyperspace creates, thinking about how peaceful the silence is with Echo. At one point, you tilt your gaze to look up at him and the way the blue falls over his features. He moves his gaze to meet yours and for a moment you stop breathing, worried your little crush was coming on too strong. But he just smiles that sweet, warm smile and gently takes your hand to pull you towards your next destination. He lets go of it as soon as you’re heading the right way, but you feel the lingering sensation of his touch on your palm and will him to hold your hand again.

Kriff, you think to yourself, suddenly disgusted that you weren’t acting like a lost puppy but a love sick one, you’d only been away from normal human contact for a few hours and you were already acting like this?

“That’s pretty much everything. We don’t have much to do during travel time apart from prepping for the next mission and we generally have to stay out of the cafeteria unless it’s our designated time to eat, but I guess I could chat with the service droids and see if you get special exemptions?”

“Yeah, that would be great. I need caf to keep me fuelled while I keep sorting through literature,” you say with a small chuckle as you hold up the data pad.

“So, what’s your research about?” Echo asks as you head back towards the cafeteria.

“I’m monitoring purrgil movements. We know…not a lot about them and now with the war on and more ship movement we need to predict their movements to ensure safety. I’m trying to better understand them, breeding patterns and movements so we can avoid them during ship movements.”

“Oh, so, I guess you’re working to protect the clones in a roundabout way?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve never thought about it that way before. I just think of it that I’m protecting the purrgils too. Most people just think of them as a nuisance but they’re beautiful creatures which have been massively looked down upon. It’s sad, and I hope my work can change people’s opinions.”

You walk into the cafeteria and the white walls are a stark contrast to the grey of the rest of the ship.

“Wait here,” Echo says, motioning to an empty table, “I’ll go and chat to the droid.” Echo jogs off and you can’t help but admire him for a second before turning your attention to your data pad. You flick through your schedule, moving around what work you had planned for when to make your schedule for the next week a little more…hyperspace doable. The soft sound of two plastic mugs clinking off the table pulls your attention away from your work and instead to Echo’s warm smile.

“Droid says you can come in whenever. Even gave us hot cocoa now to seal the deal,” he smiles triumphantly as your eyes light up.

You take the mug in your hands, cradling it as you allow the heat to rise through you, then take a deep sip. It’s the kind of rubbish hot cocoa you had on camping trips when you were younger. It’s good.

“Mmmmmm,” you say between sips, “this is amazing. If I ever need something doing while I’m here, I’m coming to you Echo. Your negotiation skills are supreme.”

He lets out a soft chuckle which fills you with a warmth that the hot cocoa never could, and the two of you launch into easy conversation. You tell Echo more about your research and how you got into it, your life on Coruscant and everything that goes with it. He tells you about life as a clone trooper, growing up on Kamino and his brothers. The time passes fast and your schedule for starting up on work goes through the window but you don’t mind at all.

“Hey, Echo,” another clone trooper says as he jogs up to your table. He’s similar looking to Echo of course, but with a tattoo of the number 5 on his temple and facial hair on his chin. You briefly remember seeing him near Echo at the start of the day, although you can’t remember who Rex introduced him as, and assume the two are close.

“Hey, ner vod,” he quickly introduces his brother as Fives.

“We’re going to the onboard 79s tonight,” Fives turns his gaze to you, “you’re welcome to come, save you from being bored to death by this one all night,” he punches Echo in the process, and Echo glowers back at him.

“Yeah, sounds good. Any excuse to get away from doing work anyway.” Not that you had managed to do more than rearrange your schedule so far, which had been pointless anyway as you had ended up spending all afternoon with Echo instead.

“Okay, well we were going to head down in a couple of hours so I’ll see you then. Echo, we’re going to do some training to kill time. You in?”

Echo looks at you uncertainly.

“It’s fine, I should probably get a little work in and take a shower first anyway.”

“Can you remember where you’re going?”

“Yeah, roughly. I’ll find my way.”

“Okay, well as long as you’re still not wondering around the ship lost I’ll come grab you at 1900.”

You watch Echo go with Fives, a small smile creeping across your lips and a giddy feeling searing through your veins.

♡

You’re on fieldwork, you didn’t exactly plan to bring any nice clothes. You have a couple of pairs of leggings which at least flatter your figure and a couple of cropped vest tops that you usually sleep in. When you pair them together you don’t exactly look party ready, but you decide that you look good enough for whatever an onboard bar is like for clone troopers. You pull your hair out of its braids and put on the very small amount of makeup you packed. You decide, all in all you look good. But the nerves are eating you alive right now. Partly at not wanting to make a fool of yourself, but also the fear that you were maybe misreading Echo and making a fool of yourself that way. You shake your head to clear the negative thoughts, then jump at the knock on your door.

You step out and Echo is waiting for you, playing with his gloves and you hope, for a brief second, that he feels as nervous as you.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice wobbling slightly. He had to be nervous, had to be.

You smile back, “so, this onboard bar?”

“Oh, it’s not much,” he says with a small laugh, “just a corner that was quiet enough for us to find a new use for it. We thought it’d get shut down, but I guess they decided a little down time was good for us.”

And he’s right. When you arrived at the ‘bar’ it’s not a lot at all. A dark space strung with whatever artificial lights had been found around, upturned boxes and storage containers. The bar itself was only obvious because of the sheer number of troopers milled around it. You suddenly feel a little self-conscious, the only female there, and almost as if he can sense it Echo protectively wraps his arm around you. The attention of the gazes pinning you immediately shift and you feel instantly better. Granted, it shouldn’t take a man’s protection to make you feel safe but with Echo it felt too good to deny. He guides you over to the makeshift table where Fives and a few of the other guys from this morning are sat.

“So, how did you manage to put up with this one all day?”

You let out a soft chuckle, “I grew up with 5 sisters, believe me I can put up with a lot.” But you lean back a little and give Echo a soft nudge, resulting in him giving you an affectionate smile. The night goes on and it’s incredibly easy with the boys, especially with Echo guiding you through in moments where you feel unsure. It’s obvious how close they all are, especially Echo and Fives who you now know grew up together. Rex makes a brief appearance although you get the impression that it’s more to keep up appearances and morale than actually wanting to be there. You can’t help but feel that he’s a little preoccupied, although you can’t blame him either.

You’re there for a few hours before you decide to call it a night. After all, you do have work to do at some point and you had spent a whole day away from it. Not wasted, because spending the day with Echo had been fun. But it was still time away from work that you couldn’t afford in the long run.

You turn to Echo, gently squeezing his arm to get his attention.

“You okay?” He asks, the liquid courage clearly showing as he takes your hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah, I was thinking of heading off soon. I have a bunch of work to catch up on tomorrow so I should probably wake up early.”

“Sure, I’ll walk you back.”

“Oh, it’s fine Echo. You stay here, I can find my way back.”

But he’s clearly made his mind up because he links in fingers in yours as he stands up, so you follow.

“Bye guys, it was nice getting to know you all tonight!” You call out as they say they’re goodbyes (and a few whistles in reaction to your’s and Echo’s entwined fingers).

You walk in peaceful silence back to your room, although you can tell that Echo is gearing up to say something. You stop when you reach you door, gently squeezing Echo’s fingers as an almost goodbye. But instead, he takes your other hand in his so the two of you are facing each other.

“I, uh. I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed spending time with you today. It’s nice to have a break away from the guys sometimes. And, I really like, uh, you. Specifically.” You smile at Echo’s words, his nerves feeling you with the sweetest feeling. Knowing that he clearly won’t make the move himself, you pull your hands away from his and place them on his cheeks, pulling the two of you together and your lips to lock. For a second, he pauses, clearly a little taken back. But then he gently places his hands on your waist pulling you into him and you deepen the kiss, fireworks exploding through your veins with ecstasy. After a few moments you pull away, willing your legs to keep working and not turn to jelly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Echo,” you say before placing a final soft kiss on his cheek and escaping into your room.

♡♡♡♡♡

[joonkorre]

Rules for Night Guards at Golden Locket Ent.

@drarrymicrofic prompt: sunrise/sunset. ao3

Hello to the new hire,

I know you must be confused. Why are you finding this raggedy piece of paper in your brand new office? Well, first of all, there’s a reason why they keep this office shiny and clean. If it’s not spotless by sunrise, would anyone take the job?

Either way, I’m the one making sure this paper is found by new hires (perks of being a janitor with all the keys). The higher-ups don’t know this building like I do; they know that people can’t work here for even a week, and that’s it. They don’t know enough to solve the problem, they’re too scared to, and no one bothers to ask an ancient janitor.

After your first night here, though, you’ll have a lot to ask. The janitorial staff is not allowed to speak to any employee, including you, so read this document carefully. I’d say take pictures of it front and back, but taking out your phone to access them on the job might not be a good idea, especially as the night progresses.

Again, read this until the rules are tattooed in your head. Many have not heeded me. They’ve either quit or lost more than a job.

Pay attention.

Rules for Night Guards at Golden Locket Ent.

[DO NOT DEFACE THIS DOCUMENT IN ANY MANNER]

Always arrive at your office before sundown. That’s why you’re called here early. The door doesn’t have to be locked, but stay in your office.

8 PM is when your shift starts. Begin by doing your routine check, two rounds for each floor. Finish the 1st floor in no more than 25 minutes.

If you see trespassers, don’t bother chasing them out if you see upturned rubbish bins (see Rule #8).

There will be another night guard who also has a document of their own. Greet them, remember their face. Don’t be surprised if you see a different person the next day, you know how it is around here.

You might meet another person as you walk up the stairs to the 2nd floor. They look the same as the other night guard, but there are slight differences. It doesn’t work here. Do not respond to any and all of its attempts at getting your attention.

After 9 PM, don’t look out the floor-to-ceiling window on the 3rd floor. It will be difficult and the noise will only get louder, but it is strongly recommended that you do not look. Be patient, it will be gone.

Leave the opened file cabinets be.

Be mindful of upturned rubbish bins. If you see one, hide in an office and lock it. It’s some of the building’s inhabitants’ feeding time. Wait until the second set of footsteps passes, then you can come out.

On the 4th floor, there will be a man with glasses. Sometimes you’ll see a boy or a teenager instead, but the glasses are the same. Engage in conversation with him. Deny that you work here.

If the man finds you interesting, he will walk with you as you continue your routine check, and will eventually ask you to let him out. There is no telling how he’d react, but the best response is a polite rejection as you “don’t work here and don’t have the right.” He might use other means of persuasion, in which case defend yourself and/or negotiate with him as best as you can. This is where many people have failed the test.

Between the hours of 10:21 PM and 11:09 PM, it is imperative that you return to your office and monitor the building using the security camera system. Do not go out to the courtyard before your shift is over. Only the other security guard knows the rules to navigate it.

Camera #3 has to be off. If it turns on, cover it entirely.

At 1 AM, there will be two knocks on your door. You will open it and find no one outside. Remark on it aloud, then lock your door, both bolts. Sit with your back facing it.

The paper shredder near the right of your work desk might move when you are not looking. It is always unplugged. If it turns on and alerts you of jammed paper, don’t fix it. Fingers aren’t easy for us to scrub out.

You are to stay out of your office from 2:16 AM to 3:26 AM. No source of light other than your company-issued flashlight is permitted when you are in the halls at this time, including phones and other smart devices. They will deceive you.

Camera #11 will show a being running just off-screen. When it does, check your door three times to ensure that it’s locked. You will have to re-lock it.

The man with glasses will stand in front of the 4th floor's fire exit and look directly at Camera #7. There will be a banging on your door, which will increase in intensity. No matter how tempting it is, do not open the door under any circumstances.

The man will start to talk about how you look very similar to his best friends—a man with ginger hair who can "eat anything" and a curly-haired woman who is "smarter than Einstein" are described—and will plead with you to help him escape. If you are a man with blonde hair, it’s reported that instead of comparing you to his friends, he’ll threaten to “throw you into [redacted] to rot with your fucking father when [he] gets [his] hands on you," and grows extremely hostile. Do what you can to keep him from breaking the door down.

When a camera moves, turn off all the lights in your office. Hiding under the desk for at least five minutes is encouraged if you want to lessen the chances of the creature seeing you.

Remain in your office when you’re done with your tasks until dawn. After sunrise, you’re allowed to walk around inside the building. Leave using the front entrance when your shift ends at 6 AM.

I admit this doesn't sound fun at all. But as someone who’s worked here for longer than she can remember, once you’re used to all the quirks of this place, it’s worth it. High wages, no nosy bosses hovering over your shoulders, great benefits. You can do whatever you want in your office, as long as you follow the rules. Trust me, you’ll like this job.

Just keep an eye on the monitor and the clock, will you?

P.S: If you're able to read this postscript, I know you have a wand. Call me Muggle, No-Maj, whatever, but I’ve seen it all. Here’s a final piece of advice for people like you—your neat little sticks are useless here. Feel free to try, but it’s better to leave it at home than have a broken wand, no?

[crackling noise]

“Hello, uh, Jaclynn, is it?”

-Hey, Drake. And yeah! Ha, wow, this is kinda weird. I’ve never used a walkie-talkie before.-

“Me too. Um, question, do you have a… an old-looking… letter? On your desk? Maybe in a cabinet?”

-Oh, um.-

“Jaclynn?”

-You… received that document, too? With all the rules?-

“Yes, actually. Reckon it's some sort of idiotic prank by the last night guard, right.”

-I, I don’t know, to be honest. I mean… I thought it was, but it’s. It’s starting. Whatever’s going on, it’s right there in the rules.-

[pause]

“Shite.”

-Yeah, I get that. Fuck, I’m scared, haha, fuck. Is it starting for you, also?-

“Not for another, ah, 10 minutes. I can’t leave my office until then.”

-Okay. Okay. I’m not supposed to come into the building.-

“And I’m not supposed to come out to the courtyard.”

-Fuck.-

[pause]

[distant whistling]

-Fuck, fuck, it’s here. It’s here.-

“Okay, alright, stay calm. Stay alive. We both stay alive our first night, and I’ll, I’ll get us kebabs.”

-Not sounding too confident there, mister.-

“I promise. We adapt, we survive, we get our paycheck, and we eat good food. By 6 in the morning, we’ll meet by the front gate.”

-Goodness, Drake, that sounds so nice.-

“Mhmm. I’ll have this thing turned off the whole night, you should do the same. Read your rules, okay?”

-Same goes for you. You owe me kebabs and Indian, too.-

“Noted. Good luck, Jaclynn.”

-Don’t die, Drake.-

[crackling sound]

[silence]

[bigtittydemonwife]

Yandere creeps? 👀

Of course! since you didn’t specify who you wanted I decided to do Toby, Masky, Hoodie, Liu, EJ, LJ, Jeff and Jane

Ticci Toby

Honestly it wouldn’t take much for this man to go yandere honestly. Just show him kindness. He’s been shown cruelty his whole life so someone treating him with basic decency and not expecting anything out of it? Yeah he’s in love.

While he will treat you like a queen, if you fight back you will be punished. He doesn’t want to physically hurt his S/O, but he’s not below anything mentally. He will murder your loved ones right in front of you. All while saying things like “It’s you’re fault, I’m the only one who is allowed to love you”

But if your completely fine with being with him? (Don’t @ me I know there are some of you out there) He’s so happy! Expect cuddles everyday, they’re mandatory. He’s still possessive as all hell though. While he trusts you not to run away he does NOT trust others to not steal you away. No matter what you’re leaving the house for he’s coming with you. Taking out the trash? Wait for him. Getting grocery’s? Let him get his shoes. This leads to quote unquote dates a lot.

He needs you with them so don’t ever try to leave, love him and you should be fine. But don’t think it’s all happiness. He’s a PTSD ridden Schizophreniac with most likely trust issues and intimacy issues. There are days where you can tell him you love him a thousand times and he’s yelling about how you’re lying. But in a hour he’ll be back crying and begging for forgiveness.

He struggles with emotions so remember, he was major trouble showing love. The way he does it headpats, cuddles and not murdering you.

Eyeless Jack

Now this man is a mystery rapped in a enigma rapped in a riddle. For him, its tougher to figure out why he’s obsessed with you. But I’d say its how you are psychologically and what you’re life’s like.

Maybe its because of how generally kind you are despite knowing how shit life and people can be. Maybe he wants to protect the innocence he used to have?

Who knows. But as with Toby, Mans Possessive. Not in a lock you up kinda way (That would come later). But stalkerish. You may think you’re alone but you never are. Man knows you’re whole shecdual. And while he won’t KILL anyone who hurts you, that would draw way to much attention. But what he does is much worse.

He probably takes the longest out of all the creeps to show himself to you. And not even in person. He’d start with notes. If you return his feelings your safe and now have a cannibalistic stalker protector. If you don’t......well...We’ll unpack that someother time.

Masky

Again, Show him kindness, But its still a little different from Toby. If you fully understand what he’s done, the person he is. But still think he deserves kindness. He thinks you’re naive. Yeah, He starts off thinking your fucking stupid. Starting.

But as it goes on, and you continue to show him kindness. Even when you know what he’s done, He starts to warm up to your kindness. But if you witness him cold blooded murdering someone. He’s ready for you to leave. But if you dont. You still treat him kindly. He wants to save this nativity. Being naive in this world is a death wish. So he’ll barely let you leave the house. And he’s always with you. Unlike EJ. He will murder anyone who fucks with you. And leave no evidence behind. As far as anyones concerned they’ve dissapeared from the earth.

Once again if you love this man. You have to put up with this. No negotiations. He loves you and thats how he shows it. But if you do put up with it. And show this man all the love. Maybe it will be alright.

But like EJ, Never try and leave him, Unlike some creeps he will hurt his S/O physically, but then will cry into their arms begging them to forgive him. Or a different punishment might go an NSFW way if you know what I mean.....

Hoodie

Again, Complicated. His obsession probably comes very quickly. Someone whose creative like him, Who questions the bigger things in life. Someone he could have a intelligent conversation with.

He’s a stalker. He watches his S/O all day. Nothing they do could bore him. But he gets jealous very easy. Why else do you think the cute person in the library that gave you their number hasn’t come back? Or hasn’t texted you?

He’s probably take a while to show himself to his S/O. And once he finally gets the courage. He’ll send them a letter. You two’ll become penpals. He’s kept every single one of your letters and keeps them in a folder.

He does have trouble showing his emotions though, Showing his S/O He loves them would be returning letters, Giving them small trinkets (like a magpie) and not murdering them.

Prefurs not to hurt his S/O, If they try to run away he’ll just psychologically torture them. Following them and disappearing when the call the police. Making them think they’re the only one who can see him. Anyone who they care about disappears. But this only happends if you run away and don’t love him back.

So love him and you’ll be good....you’ll just have to deal with Possessiveness, Paranoia, Obssession, and Jealousy.

Jane The Killer

With most of the creeps. Be kind to her, But not just her. If your a generally kind person who shows others respect but refuses to to bow down to bullies. Shes in love

Shes quite quick to talk to her S/O, She’ll ask for they’re number, and because of how normal she looks (And how pretty she is) you say yes.

Late night texts about random things, if you rant to her about your interests she could listen all day.

(To quote The Killers) Jealousy

Its her life quest to keep creepers who remind her of Jeff away from you, Speaking of Jeff is he ever went near you shes starting a riot.

She loves cuddles, intamacy is a must. She needs you to stay near her. Once again won’t hurt her S/O but if they try to run away they’re getting locked in a room alone untill they’re begging for her to come back so they can hear someone’s voice that isnt their own and touch them. She’s not above depriving her S/O of intimacy should the moment call for it.

Possessive. You need her and only her. Everyone else doesnt matter. Show her love and no one else.

Jeff The Killer

He’s most likely to become obsessed with someone whose nice to people. But will fight a bitch. If your sassy and don’t take shit he’s in love. But remember hes a twisted psychopath who murdered his family and his neighbours. His love isnt what you’d call socially acceptable. He’d kill for you in a flash. Anyone, people you love or hate. They’re dissapearing.

Unlike the others, he won’t show himself to you quickly BUT he will not hide his love. Scribbled love notes written in blood. Dead animals on your porch. He’s kinda like a dog.

He will hurt his S/O if they don’t love him, Mentally or Physically he doesnt mind, He see’s it as a necessary step.

He needs physically affection.

Isnt a soft relationship to be honest. Cuddles and kisses yes. But no soft words. Just sass, violent outbursts, Hate sex, Angry sex, Makeup sex. Yeah lots of sex.

He’s a horndog what can I say?

But maybe, just mayyybeee once In a blue moon, you’ll be cuddling and he’ll think your asleep, and whisper he loves you in his ear. Pretend your asleep though.

Laughing Jack

He needs someone he can laugh with, Someone with a sort of wonder to them. He likes those type of people.

Since he’s a childs imaginary friend(?) He doesn’t really understand love, But obsession? Yes.

He’s not gonna show himself to his S/O for ages. I mean, Hes like a seven foot tall clown. Total boyfriend material.

He’ll leave candy on your doorstep, Or cute little trinkets, Like music boxes.

Gives the best hugs honestly. He’ll lift you right up off the ground and spin you around. Honestly he carries you everywhere like a princess.

CARNIVIAL DATES.

Anyone, literally anyone makes you feel sad or makes the wonder in your eyes leave. They’re loved ones are getting turned into candy, then they’re forced to eat them. Then they get murdered gruesomely. He’s all you need and he’ll protect you.

He loves to slow dance with you. He’ll play some old classical music.

(I headcanon he has a British accent)

He’ll cut you off from all your friends, or make them disappear, He’s all you need.

Homicidial Liu/Sully

(Its so hard to find good gifs for these boys)

This boy needs a hug, Him and Sully.

Stalkers. They need affection. They’ll follow they’re S/O wherever they go. No mater what they do.

They’re S/O has a partner? Not for much longer.

Liu gives cute gifs and notes like Flowers, or shiny trinkets, Sully gives weirder stuff, Like random stones or shiny things. And his notes are scrubbed much more.

Nickname them Magpie they’ll love it.

While Liu is defiantly the more sweeter one, He’ll never hurt his S/O, but he will score them if he must. Sully on the other hand, all for scaring them. Despite what others think he loves them, and he doesn’t want to hurt them to much because he wants them to be his. And they can’t be his if they’re dead.

You know all the jealousy I said Jeff had? Imagine that but doubled.

Thats your realtionship. While Liu will be more defensive if someone’s hurting or flirting with you. Sully aggressive. Back away from whats his.

[novelconcepts]

fic: she tells me worship (in the bedroom)

There are days, as the years burn away like so much kindling, where everything is the best it possibly could be. Days where Dani’s beast in the jungle is silent--maybe no longer there at all--and her demeanor is smooth and easy. She matches Jamie’s smile on these days, warm and light and happy, and Jamie can’t get enough. Could never ask for more than Dani in her best mood, Dani’s laugh the clearest bell in the room.

Those days are wonderful--but they are, of course, not the only sort. Natural enough, Jamie knows, for anyone, though maybe somewhat more of a concern for Dani. The days where Dani’s tensions run high are doubly-loaded, one part the natural discomfort of a bad day, one part Dani’s mounting fear of losing herself. 

You’re here, she tells Dani on days like this. You’re right here, with me, and you’re not going anywhere. 

Dani grits her teeth, furrows her brow, nods. Jamie pulls her close, still murmuring the words like an endless prayer. She’s not much for religion, Jamie; never much saw the point of asking for miracles from ghosts and gods. Bad days with Dani, though, are their own kind of religion. They form their own kind of belief, stretched between them, one that says Dani is here, Dani is strong, Dani is in control whether or not she feels it. 

There are good days, and there are bad days, and there are days like this whole week has been: middling days. Days where Dani is not fumbling away from her with breath whistling high and fast, but neither is she laughing. Days where Dani wakes with a grimace already on her lips, her temper short, her body clenched as she moves about the apartment. Jamie has learned to read these moods, has learned Dani doesn’t need her to ask questions or work to soothe her nerves. Dani in a mood like this is independence, so used to fighting the battle of her own bad day alone, she sometimes only feels worse if Jamie tries to take her hand. 

Jamie has learned, instead, to stand back a few steps. To keep her eyes on Dani’s expression, to keep her ears perked for a sign Dani is shifting toward something genuinely dark, something that will genuinely require Jamie to step in and catch her. Some days, it goes this way--a middling day turning without warning into bleak horror. Some days, she needs this of Jamie. 

Other days, she needs something else entirely. Something to turn a highly-strung afternoon into a pleasurable evening. Something to remind her, though she does not always have control over her mood, there are other things to grab hold of and use to her own ends. 

Jamie doesn’t mind in the least. 

***

She knows it will reach a breaking point eventually. There’s just a scent on the air when Dani is like this, no matter what image she’s projecting to the rest of the world--sooner or later, the smile will slip, the polite laugh will dry away, and there will be only Dani Clayton in all her magnificent frustration left. 

It’s really just a matter of waiting it out. 

In the meantime, there’s plenty to do. The shop is thriving; Jamie, who had spent most of that first year wanting to pull her hair out over numbers, is still not entirely convinced she can trust the implication that they are doing well. The odds of moving to America on a whim to start a flower shop that actually survives its first few years were slim; the fact that they are rapidly becoming a fixture of their small Vermont town, taking in larger swaths of customers every month, is baffling. 

It pleases Dani, too, she knows--most of the time. When Dani isn’t dealing with a customer like this one, a shrewd-eyed woman who calls into question Dani’s comprehension of her job at every other turn. 

“Anything I can help with?” Jamie asks, leaning around Dani with a surreptitious hand brushing her back. Dani shoots her a sharp look, a not now look, and she nods. 

“Right. Be in the back if you need me.”

Some days, if you need me is a call sign, an olive branch Dani grabs with greedy hands. Some days, after a customer like this one, Jamie finds herself propped against the back room table with Dani tearing at her zipper before she even realizes. 

Not today. Today, when she pokes her head back out to ensure Dani hasn’t actually murdered the old bat, she finds Dani already chatting with someone else. Politely. Smiling, even, though Jamie knows better than anyone what Dani’s barely-hanging-on smile looks like. 

“All good?” she murmurs as the new customer saunters away, careful not to so much as graze Dani. Mismatched eyes snag her gaze, Dani huffing out a breath. 

“Sometimes I wonder why we picked a job with so many people.”

“Be a lot more fun with just us,” Jamie agrees. “Though how we’d fit all those lovely pillows into a cardboard box, I couldn't say.”

Dani grants her a small laugh, barely enough for Jamie to coast on. It’s almost nothing, but it’s what Dani can manage today, and that’s fine enough. Jamie considers saying something else--telling Dani with words that she is here, that she can handle all the worst customers the day has to offer, that she doesn’t mind if Dani begs out early. Not that words matter most, with Dani. Words have never been the thing, where Jamie is concerned, for Dani.

“I’m all right,” Dani says, a bit stiffly. Jamie shuts her mouth, nods. 

“Sure. ‘Course you are. If you, ah, need me...”

It’s becoming a prayer of its own, she thinks sometimes, a plea to the part of Dani that desperately requires both hands on the wheel. If you need me. Which, no matter how it shows, Dani always does. Even on days like this, where Dani can’t quite fit right into her own skin, where Dani is trapped between normal human irritation and the mounting anger she carries for someone else. Dani always does need her. 

It’s just that that need doesn’t always look the same.

"What say we order in tonight?” Jamie asks as they’re closing up. “Throw on a movie?”

Dani shrugs. “Fine. Need to hit the grocery store first, though, we’re out of...a lot of things.”

“I can do it,” Jamie offers. Dani slides her a grateful smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“I’m fine, Jamie. I promise.”

“No, I know,” Jamie says, a bit too hurriedly to be believed. “Only--look, I know it’s been a hard week. I just...”

“Want to help,” Dani fills in when her voice trails awkwardly away. Jamie scrubs a hand down her face. 

“Yeah. But if I’m hovering, I don’t--”

Dani doesn’t quite touch her. Dani seems some days unable to touch her, or be touched, like she’s afraid basic physical contact will release the thing lurking inside. It’s the anger, she says, her voice strained with worry. It’s that rage. 

Won’t hurt me, Jamie says, with a confidence she has never been more sure of than while looking into Dani’s eyes. Wouldn’t ever. 

It’ll pass, she knows--in an hour, in a day, in a week. It’ll pass, and Dani will be back to her usual self once more, laughing, telling stories Jamie hasn’t yet had time to memorize, trailing her fingers across Jamie’s face. Back in the driver’s seat, as it were. The only thing in charge of her own choices.

She allows Jamie a brief kiss, the single negotiation made with her demons--there is never a time, no matter how she feels, or what petty argument they’ve had, where Dani does not kiss her goodbye. 

The apartment isn’t filthy, by any stretch, but certain things have fallen by the wayside over the course of a busy week. Jamie sets to work alone, humming her way through laundry collection--the pair of underwear beneath the couch offers a particularly pleasant memory: Dani stretched back against the arm, sighing as Jamie undressed her and settled in to explore--and stacking dishes in their proper places. Little things, she reminds herself. Little ways to make it easier on Dani until Dani can breathe easier all on her own. Jamie doesn’t mind doing the dishes, sweeping up, ensuring the plants are watered and the bathroom tissue is restocked. Dani does the same for her, when the roles are reversed. 

Dani does more for her than she seems to realize. Even down to holding herself apart this way, too afraid of crossing a line she can’t take back. Jamie wishes there were words to explain how much that means--how much Dani’s self-imposed protective qualities make Jamie feel as though no one has ever been more important. It means the world, and it makes her crazy all the same, because there is nothing she’d like more than to hold Dani close when she gets this way. 

I’m not sick of you, she thinks fiercely, stacking plates into the cupboard. Not now, not ever, Poppins, so when are you going to stop pushing me--

The key in the lock. She turns her head, watching Dani shove the door open, jerking her key back and forth to unstick it. “Hey, you’re back. Good. Was just tryin’ to decide what kind of pizza--”

She pulls up short, leaning back against the counter with a frown. There’s a look on Dani’s face, a strange tight look that instantly makes her wonder if things are worse than Dani has been letting on of late. 

“You all right? You look...”

Dani shakes her head, tosses her purse so hard, it bounces back off the couch. She doesn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the tight clench of her fists, the stilted stride that carries her across to the kitchen to deposit paper bags across the counter in a careless mess.

“Dani, what happened?” There’s keeping her distance, and there’s keeping things from Jamie. The look on her face now, the sharp cut of her mouth, the taut clutch of her jaw, is just this side of worrying. “I need you to talk--”

Dani has her shirt in one hand, bunched in her fist, dragging her close. Jamie stares, her stomach giving an agreeable little lurch. 

“Did I do something?” she asks. Unlikely, sure, but always a possibility. Always possible there’s something she didn’t notice to make up for. 

Dani, though, shakes her head once. Her hand tightens, pulling Jamie forward, past the kitchen threshold to the living room rug. She stops, swaying slightly as though not entirely certain where she is. 

Jamie--growing less concerned, more intrigued by the second--hesitates. There are only so many outcomes, from this sort of greeting. Only so many outcomes from the way Dani is looking at her now, a sort of helpless tension held in every curve of her face. 

“Can...can I help now?” Jamie asks, half-expecting Dani to release her, to crumple, to open the door to whatever she’s been holding Jamie away from all week. It’s like this, sometimes. Dani, surrendering to her after days of miserably tending her own mental demons. Dani, falling into her with exhaustion. Sometimes. 

Not always. 

Dani is pushing her, she realizes, her hand dragging up Jamie’s front to grip her shoulder. The pressure she applies is surprisingly gentle, but too firm for Jamie to deny for anything but the best reason. She allows herself to sink, allows Dani to shove her down until her knees strike rug, until she’s staring with her head tipped back and her skin growing hot. 

There’s something about this view, she thinks, that will never grow old. Particularly with Dani looking at her this way, eyes stormy, brow creased with some combination of frustration and--

“Let me help,” Jamie says, half a suggestion, half a plea. She reaches a hand to Dani, giving her ample time to step back, to change her mind. Dani, instead, reaches to the hem of her own skirt, yanks it to her waist. 

“Please.”

One word, and Jamie’s whole body shudders. Dani’s hand slips up, skimming her cheek, delving into her hair. She’s staring at Jamie like a challenge, like a dare: love me now, her eyes seem to say. Love me like this. 

More than that, Jamie promises silently, pressing forward into her. There’s loving Dani, certainly--she’s happy to do it, privileged to do it, doesn’t even think about it anymore. There’s an instinct to loving Dani she gave into long ago, with no desire or intention of turning back. 

This, though. This is more than loving. This is the closest thing to religion she’s capable of, the closest thing to belief she can wrap her head around. Forced to her knees by Dani’s hand, moving to kiss Dani from this spot of supplication, is the truest kind of worship she's ever known how to give. 

Dani exhales above her, the breath leaving her in a rush as Jamie slides her hands up the backs of her thighs. Her skin still holds a chill from the early winter air, and Jamie lets her palms rest for a moment, giving Dani her own warmth as a gift of greeting. She peers up at Dani, watching her sway with anticipation, watching her gaze down that same scorching challenge: Love me like this. Even today. Even when I can’t love myself. 

She presses a kiss, small and sweet and barely anything at all, to the crest of Dani’s underwear. Dani makes a low noise in her throat, something shaky, palming the back of her head in an effort to push her closer. Fast, she recognizes--Dani wants her fast, rough, to demolish the day’s shadows in no time at all. 

Dani wants it that way--but it isn’t what she needs. Jamie tilts her head, brushes against Dani with her nose, moves to kiss the inside of one thigh instead. She feels Dani’s hand loosen, allowing her the freedom, and she takes it with glee. Each kiss is small, gentle, a bare approximation of what Dani is asking of her, but with each press and release of her lips on Dani’s skin, she feels some of the tension go out of Dani’s grip. Dani, who has spent all day strung tighter than Jamie could possibly know, and who could demand more of Jamie now, sighs. 

She doesn’t beg. Doesn’t even speak. Only splays her fingers across the back of Jamie’s skull, her palm resting at the crown of Jamie’s head, letting her go where she will. Trusting that Jamie, taking her time with every kiss, smoothing her hands down to cup behind Dani’s knees, dragging her nails lightly down Dani’s calves, knows how to read her. 

Control, thinks Jamie, as she so often does in moments like this. Given freely, it’s an intoxicant all its own. 

There’s something about the way Dani trembles when she opens her mouth against smooth skin, when she runs her tongue in a slow, gentle arc up toward the juncture of Dani’s pelvis. Something about the tightening of Dani’s hand in her hair that makes her feel more alive than she ever does walking the world. 

She’s giving the same treatment to Dani’s other leg, tracing one hand lightly around her kneecap, digging her nails gently in, when Dani utters her first low moan. Jamie smiles into her skin. 

“Yes?”

“Didn’t ask you to talk,” Dani says, though Jamie can hear her smile. She slides a hand higher, gripping the underside of one thigh, digging her thumb in. 

“Didn’t ask for much, from what I recall. Bit demanding, Poppins.”

“If you’re complaining,” Dani says, “I can just take care of it myself.”

“Not like I can,” Jamie points out, and Dani grips harder, yanking her head back. She gives a hiss of pleasure. “Oh, you’re not denying it.”

“You,” Dani points out with an arch of her brow, “are denying me.”

“Let me back to it, then.” She’s playing with fire. She’s playing with fire, and Dani could turn the tables at any moment, could push her away and decide she isn’t in the mood after all. 

Dani, to the contrary, gives her a smile that makes her glad she’s already on her knees. Her hand flexes in Jamie’s hair, wrenching her forward without warning, and Jamie groans against her, biting gently through the fabric of underwear that, already, is considerably wetter than it had been. This, she thinks, should have been their entire day. Their entire week. Dani gripping her skirt in one hand, Jamie’s hair in the other, already revolving her hips gently to meet the slow press of Jamie’s tongue. 

“Tease,” Dani sighs, as she circles, wraps her mouth around already-straining nerves, sucks lightly through sticky cotton. “Fuck.”

Jamie smiles against her, pleased; Dani already swearing is a sign she’s been looking for this longer than she maybe even realized. Her hand presses Jamie in, her legs spreading slightly to give Jamie more space, and Jamie takes what she’s granted willingly. She’s kissing Dani with slow, heady abandon, eyes closed, aware with every small jolt of Dani’s hips that this is exactly where she ought to be. It’s easy to lose herself here, in the rock of Dani meeting her every stroke, in the taste of Dani soaking through thin fabric onto her tongue. She takes the edge of Dani’s underwear between her fingers, pulls it aside, uttering a low sound of pride at what she’s already accomplished. 

“Enough?” she asks politely, and Dani makes a breathless sound of aggravation above her. She bows back in, stretching the fabric away from where it belongs, letting her fingers graze slickly along Dani only once. Dani jerks. 

She could stay here, she thinks. Stay here on her knees, holding Dani in helpless limbo, forever. Stay here, feeling Dani’s gaze on her, feeling Dani’s desperation to push her closer coming up hard against her desire to let Jamie choose how this plays out. She’s never sure what will win, with Dani in a mood like this. 

“Jamie.” Not pleading, not yet, but slightly choked all the same. Her hand smooths down the back of Jamie’s head, urging her closer, and Jamie presses back into her palm for a beat. Just a few seconds of fighting the push, her fingers grazing back and forth--stroking once across skin, back across fabric, feeling Dani throb against her fingertips. 

“Jamie.” That was pleading. She slides her hands up, pulls the underwear down, supporting Dani as she steps out and all but crashes into Jamie’s mouth once more. 

That was pleading, and this is worship: sinking into Dani in every way that matters. She traces Dani with the tip of her tongue, curling when Dani sighs, stroking when Dani whimpers. The taste of her is overwhelming, drawing aside her own restraint a little at a time, and Jamie reminds herself exultation should not be rushed, benediction cannot be forced. True worship, true belief, is a slow, deliberate thing, inching ever nearer to something huge and glorious and well-earned. 

Dani’s nails dig hard into her scalp, scraping under her hair until she parts her lips around swollen nerves in a sharp sigh of pleasurable pain. Dani is making sounds of her own, muffled sounds against the clench of her teeth even as she’s grinding harder to meet every swipe of Jamie’s tongue. She sucks more forcefully, adds a gentle scrape of teeth that makes Dani twitch violently beneath her. A pounding heat between her own thighs gives a particularly sharp pulse, and Jamie welcomes it, welcomes it as she explores the familiar map of Dani soaking into her lips. 

She’s here, she tells herself, validated by every sound from Dani’s lips. She’s here, all of her. She imagines what she must look like now, her head bobbing between Dani’s legs as she twists and angles to offer every last inch of pleasure. What she must look like to Dani, with her eyes lidded and her body bucking, Dani who drives a hand against her head, pulling her hair hard to show Jamie exactly where she’s most needed. What must this look like: Jamie’s own hips rocking hopelessly against nothing, her hands occupied with holding Dani upright as the strength slides from her knees. She is the only thing keeping Dani here, keeping Dani in place, keeping Dani from collapsing to the floor in a heap. 

Dani is making breathless, almost keening sounds, pumping her hips hard to match the flick and roll of Jamie’s tongue. Jamie opens her eyes, leans back, letting the contact go just long enough to take Dani in: head thrown back, the cords of her neck standing out, trying with everything in her to keep her volume down. 

Let them hear you, Jamie thinks, delving in again with rough, reckless strokes. Let them fucking know. She’s moaning herself, unable to stop, unable to control her own voice as Dani grips her tight, thrusting to match her with frantic, nearly-there energy. 

Her fingers tremble, the desire to slide into Dani almost too strong to ward off. She resists. This is what they both need, instead, this urging of Dani over the edge with nothing more than what Jamie has already promised. Just the art of taking Dani into her mouth, drawing her tight, feeling her wind higher and higher as her hands glide through Jamie’s hair, catching, yanking. Nearly there, she knows, from Dani half-groaning her name. Nearly there, and it’s a shame to let it end, a shame to know this is not a permanent fixture of life, being on her knees in front of Dani Clayton. 

Dani is shuddering, crying, “There--there--fuck.” Jamie presses her tongue flat, gives a final broad stroke that sends Dani tumbling, each pulse against Jamie’s mouth feeling a little more like triumph. She keeps going even as Dani is slowing, even as Dani’s rough grip in her hair is loosening to something soft, something tender. 

“Jamie, I--I--”

Jamie is one long open kiss, warm and wet and needy in her own right, working a hand up the inner slope of her thigh, and now she is teasing with her fingers, now she is offering Dani this added gift, and Dani is making a high, surprised, wanting sound above her. 

“Jamie--” 

Tell me, Jamie commands silently, and Dani is so open, Dani is so wet, Dani is beyond ready even as she’s begging. She slides inside, eyes rolling back in her head when Dani clutches immediately around her, legs nearly buckling as Jamie curls fingers and tongue in the same action. 

She drops her skirt at last, closing both hands around Jamie’s head to ride this second climax to its height. Jamie, eyes closed, is not sure she needs anything but this to feel at home. Nothing but Dani shuddering around her, Dani arching to take her deeper. Nothing but Dani, letting her in. 

She leans her head against Dani’s hip, breathing hard, letting the skirt fall back into place. Dani, still trembling, wraps her arms around Jamie as best she can, leaning her head back and sighing. 

“I’m--”

“Good,” Jamie says, not much interested in an apology or an embarrassed explanation. She licks her lips, runs the back of her hand across her mouth, tilts her head to look up into Dani’s still-dazed face. “You’re good, Dani. All good.”

She stands, takes Dani’s face in her hands, runs her fingers along Dani’s parted lips. Dani smiles, tongue darting out to curl around one finger and Jamie makes a softly wanting sound against her own will. 

“You’re all right now?” she asks, her voice husky. Dani closes her eyes, nods, kisses her way along Jamie’s fingers until they’re clean. Then she’s kissing Jamie with all the quiet fever of a week spent staring into the shadows of her own head, pulling Jamie backward toward the couch, sinking down as the last of the strength finally goes out of her legs. 

She won’t talk about it--not now, not yet, not with her hand urgent against Jamie’s zipper. She won’t talk about it as she palms Jamie through her jeans, rubbing in hard strokes while Jamie sinks back against the couch and groans. She won’t talk about it, bending over Jamie to kiss her hard, slipping her hand into Jamie’s underwear and stroking, pinching, driving her toward a dazzling conclusion of her own. 

Later, maybe. Another night, maybe. This night, the push and pull of it, the teasing angle of her bent over Jamie with her hair curtaining them both and her smile welcoming Jamie to kiss her to completion all over again, was not made for that. This night is for Jamie to remind her of what is most important: that even on her worst day, even fed up with the world or the beast in the jungle, there is no enough for Jamie. There is no end, no exit, no edging away. 

She holds her close, arm around her waist as she pushes desperately up into Dani’s hand, understanding in some distant way that there is no such thing as too much where Dani is concerned. There is no darkness in Dani that can scare her off, no lack of control in Dani that doesn’t make her want to lead Dani back to a place of authority over her own life. There is nothing except Dani, striding into the room and forcing her to her knees; Dani, losing herself in the slide of her lips; Dani, needing and being needed. 

Let me in, she thinks with sleepy hope, as Dani kisses her and nestles against her side. Let me in, let me help you. I can give it back when she takes it away. 

She’ll say it, someday. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year. She’ll say it, and Dani might even believe. 

In the meantime, she doesn’t mind this, the devoted worship of one who has never loved like she loves this woman. She doesn’t mind Dani being unable to ask. She doesn’t mind Dani’s fierce need coming to call. 

It’s mutual, she thinks as she dozes with Dani in her arms. It’s everything. 

[tundrainafrica]

So, what's your overall opinion on snk 139?

Something doesn’t sit well with me with how people on Twitter are complaining about 139. Personally (Hange backstory aside), it was satisfying and despite what people are saying that it ‘romanticizes genocide,’ I do not agree. I wanted to give my thoughts on the chapter overall so I decided to write it out. 

In fact, I have another take on the overall message of the story and I hope people would give this a read. 

Disclaimer: Sure, I am defending the story line and the ‘message’ that’s coming with it but I in no way, agree with the genocide. But there is a more nuanced take on this which I think will help people understand that there is an underlying message to all this and I wanted to just talk about it below. 

Also, I found some cringe-worthy moments, I do not agree with Armin’s take on ‘Thank you for committing genocide for us’ one of the most horrible lines ever and I like to retcon that and never think about it again and I intend to read the Japanese raws though to check if it was just a translation error.

Maybe there is someone who already explored this but yeah, I’ll just write this in case no one has. 

For now though, allow me to give a more detailed analysis of the message over all so people stop hating on the ending for ‘romanticizing genocide’ because I think this is a low key pretty shallow take on the whole thing and I want to provide some information, some analysis and some comparison to make people realize, this isn’t as easy as people claim it to be. 

So let me start by mentioning something about the war with Marley to give people some perspective. 

Yams pretty much set up a trolley problem on a wider scale and Eren was the one with the lever. 

For people who don’t know what the trolley problem is, allow me to explain it below. 

Here is a sample I found online: (See this link for details) 

“A runaway trolley is heading down the tracks toward five workers who will all be killed if the trolley proceeds on its present course. Adam is standing next to a large switch that can divert the trolley onto a different track. The only way to save the lives of the five workers is to divert the trolley onto another track that only has one worker on it. If Adam diverts the trolley onto the other track, this one worker will die, but the other five workers will be saved.”

There are a lot of variations to this like: 

“A runaway trolley is heading down the tracks toward five workers who will all be killed if the trolley proceeds on its present course. Adam is on a footbridge over the tracks, in between the approaching trolley and the five workers. Next to him on this footbridge is a stranger who happens to be very large. The only way to save the lives of the five workers is to push this stranger off the footbridge and onto the tracks below where his large body will stop the trolley. The stranger will die if Adam does this, but the five workers will be saved”

And there are so many other variations of this.

The runaway trolley is going after your mom vs. five escaped prisoners. 

The runaway trolley is going after Pope Francis vs five serial killers. 

These trolley problems show the moral tension between two schools of thought which are in two different ends of the moral spectrum: ‘Utilitarian ethics and ‘deontological ethics’ which are both either way, inherently flawed yet not totally bad. Utilitarian ethics focuses on the net happiness of doing an action as a determinant of whether something is good or not. So a utilitarian will find a way to kill less people and will probably go for the action which will actively kill people if it means saving others. 

Deontological ethics emphasizes that the attention should be on the act in itself not the result is what makes something good. So ‘NOT pulling the lever’ even if it kills five people is the good thing to do.  

The thing is, the trolley problem is not completely applicable in real life because you cannot really predict what’s gonna happen. Utilitarian ethics assumes that you will know what will happen in the end. 

And here’s the thing, in the massive trolley problem created by Yams, Eren was the one with the lever. This was already proven in 138 and there were clear cut results. Eren knew what was going to happen. If he could, he would have just yeeted off to the woods with Mikasa and lived their remaining life together. 

If he didn’t do anything, Paradis would have been completely destroyed and lost in five years or so. Marley was gonna overrun Paradis, the other nations were going to destroy it, take their resources and massive genocide was going to happen anyway. 

Sure, Zeke and Hange offered their own suggestions to stop it. But as the founding titan, I’m sure Eren knew it probably wasn’t going to work. Because his daydream or the reality he saw where he lived in the woods with Mikasa implies  that someone else took over the peace negotiations and Eren said himself, they had at least five years of peace before Marley and the other countries invade. 

So with the results of both choices of the ‘trolley problem’ in Eren’s head at that time, he had a clear choice to make. Lemme quote the trolley problem again and apply it to his case. 

“A runaway trolley (aka the war) is heading down the tracks towards Paradis who will all be killed if the trolley proceeds on its present course. Eren is standing next to a large switch that can divert the trolley onto a different track. The only way to save the lives of the people of his hometown  is to divert the trolley onto another track that has the rest of the world (or at least the victims) on it. If Eren diverts the trolley onto the other track, the genoicde (the intended genocide), but Paradis will be saved.”

Okay fine, it looks like Eren did do something horrible because he pulled the lever and let more people die which is considered bad under the paradigm of both utilitarian and deontological ethics. 

But lemme show you another variation of the trolley problem which can put Eren’s choice into perspective:

“A runaway trolley is heading down the tracks towards your beloved family who will all be killed if the trolley proceeds on its present course. You are standing next to a large switch that can divert the trolley onto a different track. The only way to save the lives of your loved ones is to divert the trolley onto another track that has complete strangers that have only hated you and are ready to fight back and kill everyone you love if you let them live. What will you do?” 

This is difficult right? I don’t think it would be easy to make a choice to kill your family right? 

So Eren went for the easier choice...

“A runaway trolley is heading down the tracks towards Eren’s loved ones who will all be killed if the trolley proceeds on its present course. Eren is standing next to a large switch that can divert the trolley onto a different track. The only way to save the lives of his loved ones is to divert the trolley onto another track that has complete strangers that have only hated him and are ready to fight back and kill everyone he loves if he lets them live.. So Eren diverts the trolley onto the other track, this trolley kills the current victims of the rumbling, but his hometown Paradis will be saved.”

So, what fueled Eren’s choice? Can love fuel Eren’s choice? Is love a valid reason to push or to leave the lever?

I personally believe love is the answer. But here my explanation. 

Utilitarian and Deontological ethics are on two different sides of the ethical spectrum and at their extremes they are both inherently flawed paradigms to live by. Most people actually flit between the two when making decisions in morally gray situations which I believe is generally the most appropriate way to navigate ethics. 

Let me introduce one new ethical paradigm to this discussion. “Aristotle ethics’ or Nicomachean ethics which claims there is a golden mean for everything. So goodness is finding that golden mean. 

So I personally believe the most ethical and the best option is the finding that golden mean in between utilitarian ethics and deontological ethics, and what is the golden mean? 

It’s difficult to find but I always believed the golden mean for something as complex as morality is the ‘most loving option’ but believe me, the most ‘loving option’ is very difficult thing to find. 

I never believed that ‘true love’ was an emotion. I always believed love to be something born of deep discernment more than everything else. Although Eren had touched on love when he made the final decision to kill, he lacked the discernment which makes his decision still inherently flawed in the grand scheme of things. 

So what was the whole point of the story? 

I never believed AOT to be a manga that ‘romanticizes genocide’ regardless of what people are saying. 

I think what Yams was trying to set up here, after giving Eren the very difficult decision, was ‘who set up the tracks in the first place?’ 

Who forced that young boy from Shinganshina to stand at the side of the tracks and have to make the decision to kill millions or to let his family die? 

Was it the cycle of hatred? Was it the crapsack world that just forces everyone to be an asshole?

And the thing is, their world is a shithole. Just like ours.

Everyone is forced to do evil every once in their life (even through small ways)  but it doesn’t mean that these people are completely at fault. There are structures in society that force us to do ‘evil’ to survive and the Catholic concept of social sin explains this. I won’t go into detail about this but I just want to say...

Morality is incredibly complex and I do not believe a clear cut right or wrong exist. But I believe if everyone discerned for themselves what right or wrong is, if everyone did their part to make this world a better place, maybe so many people wouldn’t be faced with their own version of the ‘trolley problem,’ maybe so many people wouldn’t be faced with the decision to make such an ethically gray and questionable decision like Eren. 

So what’s the message that I believe Yams is trying to relay with his story? 

Stop the cycle of hatred, start talking, start discourse. Stop fighting. And I think he has shown it multiple times with Eren and Reiner’s conversation and with Marco’s screams of ‘WE HAVEN’T EVEN TALKED THIS THROUGH YET.” 

Anyway, I hope this meta or this rant whatever you think it is, just gives some new perspectives on the ending. Don’t get me wrong, Eren made a very ethically questionable decision but it had never been an easy decision to make to begin with. 

And I hope this type of analysis and reflection could be useful to your own thoughts and your own ways on how you choose to navigate life.