#now I can comfortably become even less hinged

[darknetneopets]

MonsterCatAlex ==> DarkNetNeopets

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

acquaintance (sirius/remus)

a/n: have a little cowboy wolfstar, as a treat. based on one of p4perback’s cowboy remus tiktokies

Cigarette smoke from out back behind the bar, wisps of grey stark against the embers of a dying sun. Two figures, leant against the wall. One tall, all legs and limbs and his lighter. The other shorter, with darting eyes and roughened hands. Just acquaintances, if you had to put a name to it. A little while along from them, another man steps out for a smoke, the old wooden door swinging on its hinges behind him.

‘Who’s the long-haired beauty?’ Remus asks, considering the newcomer with analytical eyes as he puffs smoke at the sky.

‘Handsome stranger. I don’t know him, must be an outsider.’

‘Yeah, he looks it. Doesn’t exactly dress like us, does he?’

His acquaintance shrugs, and returns to gazing at his feet. Remus keeps staring.

‘Suppose you always did like the leather look. Still, you could do me a favour and look a bit less in love with the bloke.’

‘No, no, it’s… it’s not that. I just feel like I’ve seen him before.’

‘Never were a good liar, starman. Not when you got that look in your eye.’

Later on, Remus is inside with a drink, and the ‘handsome stranger’ as he had been nicknamed still hasn’t left. Neither has Remus been able to figure just exactly who he is and it is quickly becoming sickeningly infuriating. He lets his eyes roam - takes in the canine vivacity of his smile, the easy confidence with which he carries himself, the dark locks that frame his face. He gets lost in him, a little. He’s not bad to look at. There’s a nonchalance to him that feels dangerous, yet intoxicating, and though Remus can usually hold his liquor something about this evening is making him feel tipsy. So he leans back in his chair in the corner and lets himself look, at this handsome stranger of his. Ever the observer. And is quite entirely taken aback when he’s spoken to.

‘Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?’

The handsome stranger is, ineffably, even more handsome up close. His voice is familiar.

‘I wasn’t staring.’

‘Sure seemed like it to me.’ A smirk accompanies that remark. Remus categorises it into ‘totally unfair’ and attempts to regain composure.

‘I wasn’t staring I was just…looking.’

‘Ah, I’m with you. And I suppose you were just, uh, looking at me earlier when we were outside, yeah?’

‘Can’t a man appreciate the scenery? Not like there’s much of it in this goddamned place.’

The handsome stranger laughs at that. It’s not the most pleasant of laughs, harsh, all bark with the silver flash of bite chasing it out of his throat. This too is familiar.

‘You telling me I’m pretty?’

‘Maybe. What’s your name? I’m sure I know you from somewhere.’

‘Well, that would spoil the surprise now, wouldn’t it?’ comes the reply. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you another drink.’

Time passes quickly with this stranger of his. They drink, and smoke, and talk in riddles and get too close for comfort. It’s so very easy to do that. The two of them just fit together. Like they’ve done this all before, in some other life, or even in this one, long ago. Somewhere along the way the lines start to blur and Remus is beginning to look at his conversation partner less like a stranger and more like an acquaintance. Just an acquaintance, mind. But the feeling is there all the same. An attraction, magnetism, a spark like a splint being relit. And suddenly Remus wants to do a whole lot less talking.

‘Getting handsy there, cowboy.’

Despite the teasing remark, the man in front of him doesn’t seem to mind the direction Remus’ hands are going. Nor does he seem to mind Remus’ lips on his, as evidenced by a pair of hands wrapped around his waist and a quiet, forbidden yearning in his night-sky eyes.

‘Now, surely, I should be allowed to know. What’s your name?’ asks Remus, pulling away ever so slightly so he is free to speak without being muffled by a kiss. His question is met with a soft laugh, huskier than his bark from before, and closer too.

‘You might have earned it, yeah.’

Remus’ stranger-turned-acquaintance is breathless and hungry.

‘But we can’t go about letting everyone in on the secret, can we now? Fancy getting out of here?’

Remus doesn’t even have to think. It feels so right he can’t imagine saying no.

‘Yes.’

He wakes up cold. Unsurprising, but strangely disappointing. They rarely ever stay, he knows that, but had he really wanted to get this one’s name. Pity. He was beautiful too.

Sitting up, he stretches out and tries to blink sight back into bleary eyes. Damned back pain. His lover had been gentle, really, truly, tenderly gentle, but it was going to hurt anyways. Analytical eyes no longer obscured by the remnants of sleep, Remus scans the room quickly. Nothing much of note, except… a scrap of paper. On the pillow beside him, where he would have liked his handsome acquaintance to be.

You wanted my name, and you’ll get it. Sirius Orion Black. Remember me?

I hear I’m wanted around these parts and apparently I fetch a pretty penny too. Catch me if you can, cowboy.

[gripefroot]

Drabble request: Elain & Azriel getting ready and going on their first official "date"/outing that's not in hiding. Canon complaint or modern au, doesn't matter. Thank youuu 💙🌸

“Are you ready?”

The words were whispered against the nape of her neck, where a necklace had just been clasped. Smiling to herself, eyes closed, Elain teetered backwards into his tender kiss until Azriel’s hands caught her shoulders to keep her upright. Tickling shadows skated up her arms, left bare in the style of gown, and made her shiver. Or was that Azriel’s nose tucking into her hair? 

“I’m ready,” she said. 

Was ever a more obvious lie spoken? All day long something had buffered between the present and what was to come. Now those buffers were gone. Nothing to step between them and fate, nothing to cushion the landing. 

But Azriel didn’t point out the lie. He soothed her nerves with his presence, with his warm hands and lips pressing tiny reminders of love on her skin. When he peeled away, Elain sucked in a sudden breath. No more lingering. Anxiety pounced, claws tearing into her belly. 

“We can do it.” The words were quiet from her lips: Azriel walked around her to bow low. She didn’t curtsy, because her knees might give out with how badly they were shaking. He smiled as he lifted his face. Shadows stroked his face, wreathing him better than any crown. 

Her nerves quieted. 

He held out a hand. “My lady.” Amusement made his lips twitch. “May I escort you to dinner?”

As if she’d be able to eat a thing. Elain placed her hand in his offered once, his scarred fingers giving hers a comforting squeeze. 

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

“You can lean on me, if you need to.” Azriel tucked her arm through his, keeping his eyes on her face as he straightened to tower over her. Elain put her opposite hand on his wrist for the added support. 

“I know.” 

She could live his smile. Revel in it, bathe in it, never look at anything else again. He was so generous with his smile, when it was only them. And soon it wouldn’t be only them. Soon the evening would snatch that smile away from him, and her, and she didn’t know when she’d see it again. 

One evening. One more evening. Perhaps not even that long. Perhaps an hour, and it will be over. 

To the door he walked her, while shadows snaked up to fuss with the latch. It opened with a click, the hinges moving silently as the door swung open. 

The wards Azriel had placed to keep her chambers quietly burst open, bathing them in what had been held at bay for the last hours: reverberating peals of bells, shouts and cries echoing up and down the open-air corridors. A few steps out of the chamber took them to a swinging rope ladder to the next tree; bonfires had been lit on the forest floor, surrounded by shrieking fae beating their chests. Elain peeked over, though Azriel hummed a warning. Both men and women cut their hair in shades of browns and reds and blacks and golds, throwing the offerings onto the fires and making the air stink. 

“Yes,” she said, dizzy from the height and leaning back into Azriel. “That is what I saw.” The reminder of the sickening vision made her blood rush with surety, and nausea. It was less pleasant to see with her physical eyes. 

“I’ll find that comforting, then.” Azriel covered her clenched hand with his. “We are meant to be here, my love. And to me, that means we’re meant to leave here.” 

Yes, they would leave. Neither would die in this place. But Elain hesitated to find comfort in that notion that Azriel did; not being destined to die didn’t mean undestined to be mortally wounded or maimed. She kept that to herself, stepping cautiously onto the planks of the ladder. Two weeks and she hadn’t become fully accustomed to walking a hundred feet over the ground. Even with the certainty that Azriel could catch her before she’d fallen ten feet, if a plank were to give out. 

The typical sentinels at each tree and each wooden room built among the branches were absent. Planked walls kept most of the noise out as they strode through the towering room to the next bridge; she could hear her skirt swish-swishing on the crinkled leaves strewn over the floor. 

One more bridge and they’d enter the dining hall. 

No time left to fret. No time left to fear. The hardest part had already been done. Elain’s hand dropped from Azriel’s arm, clutching at her skirts as if the sheer fabric would dry the damp sweat from her palm. Immediately cool shadows wrapped around her arm, swallowing up her hand as if to give it icy kisses, to freeze away her hot nerves. 

This was not the first time she didn’t want to attend a dinner party. With eternity stretching ahead of her, she doubted it would be the last. 

No sentinels to the great doors of the dining hall, either, but they didn’t need them: shadows nudged the doors open, inch by inch, while golden candlelight inside spilled out and blinded Elain’s eyes. She kept her chin high. Azriel’s forearm tensed beneath her hand. 

The hall was empty. 

Compared to their first evenings in the court, the hollowness made the giant space eerie. Echoing and cold, though warm light flickered from candles on the walls and in the chandeliers large enough to embrace thirty bodies or more in the iron circle. Red and orange leaves, twisted into garlands, were draped all the way through. The tables were set, too, though no dishes of food had been brought. 

If Elain were still human, she’d find the entire scene chilling. A well-dressed table, empty of life and sustenance. 

But they didn’t stop to stare. Azriel escorted her straight to her seat near the head of the table, releasing her only to pull out the chair. The legs scraped on the planked floors. Elain gave him a smile, as best she could under the circumstances, and sat. 

“How long will we wait?” she whispered when he took the seat next to her. He should have sat across; that was where he had been placed at the welcome feast and remained ever since. But that night…that night was different. The trees themselves howled. 

“Long enough,” was Azriel’s response. 

“You want them to know.” Elain had thought they would be concealed in secrets. By the lazy twist of smile he cast her, she knew she was right. 

“There is no way they couldn’t.” 

How could he be so calm? So assured? Her feet tapped in her slippers against the floor to relieve some energy. Her fingers twisted her skirt in her hands, eyes darting from each of the doors that led into the dining hall. Everyone must eat, after all, even on a day like that. Guests couldn’t be entirely forgotten. Although being able to slip away into the shadows without anyone knowing presented a mighty temptation…

It was too late to act on it. Thundering footsteps sounded, clattering the rope bridges as they drew nearer. Elain stiffened, and Azriel’s hand flew to her lap to cover her hand. 

It will be alright.

He didn’t say the words aloud, and he didn’t look her way. Hazel eyes trained on the west door, where smoke was visible rising from the bonfires below. 

This was how it was meant to be.

Cold comfort. ‘Meant to be’ did not include best possible outcome or most painless experience.

She’d scrubbed her hands for hours. Flaking off blood from beneath her fingernails, soaking it out of the folds of her knuckles. She still felt the itch of drying blood, still felt the way it had flowed over her skin. She shuddered. 

The door flew open. 

“Pardon us for not standing on niceties!” Eris’s welcome was more of a roar. Could Elain see licks of flame lashing up his fingers and through his hair? Or was that her imagination? He strode in with the fury and rage of wildfire, smelling of ash. His boots left sootprints. 

Behind him, the court. His mother, a brother or two, distant relations and fae of importance (true or believed) scuttled around for their chairs, looking harassed. More than one individual had not dressed for dinner; several had burned patches of clothing and one female still had curlers in her hair. Chair legs scraped the floor, the room heady with new, sweltering warmth that made sweat break out on Elain’s bosom. Eris was the only one that remained standing, beside his father’s chair at the head of the table with his hands clasped behind his back. 

He may as well have been a dragon from a fairy tale Elain used to fall asleep listening to in her father’s voice. Liable to burst into flame, or to rain hellfire down on the table to melt his guests. His eyes flashed piercing, painful light: she looked away. 

“Dinner will be served presently,” Eris said, his tone taking on some formality. His posture said otherwise. His posture said fight. “I appreciate the patience of all gathered here today.” 

It was quiet as a grave. Which suited. 

“All I can say for what has occurred this day,” his voice began to shake. “Is that the perpetrator will be found and brought down by the laws of the Autumn Court.” His searing eyes drifted across the table. Elain’s mouth went dry when they paused on her. But they continued to Azriel. “I had hope, Shadowsinger,” Eris continued in a carrying, sardonic tone, “that you might assist with our investigation. As that is where your particular skills lie.”

“I am gratified to hear you think so much of my…particular skills.” Azriel’s voice was lower than thunder, darker than night compared to the enraged prince. “But you hope in vain.”

“Ah.” Eris’s eyes twitched. “And may I ask - why?” 

Politics at the dinner table. Elain tired of it. It had been that way the entirety of their stay; courtiers humiliated and dragged and messy court business brought to Beron while he ate and others attempted to. 

“Certainly,” Azriel said. “I will not assist because I already know.”

Eris blinked. Hushed whispers traveled up and down the table, mouth to ear to mouth to ear with sleeves rustling. Only the Lady of the Autumn Court remained impassive. 

“You know,” Eris repeated. Some of his fire winked out. “You know who slayed my father, the High Lord of the Autumn Court?”

“I do,” Azriel said. 

Frost and flame met in a bridge, nearly visible, so thick was the tension. Eris puffed out his chest, drawing himself taller. Shadows flitted around the hem of Elain’s skirt, some seeking solace around her ankles as if she might spare them from the prince’s wrath. 

“Well?” Eris prompted. “Will you share with his grieving court, the party guilty of his death?” 

“Certainly,” Azriel said again. Elain noted the mirth hiding in the corners of his mouth - he was enjoying this. How he could tolerate these court games, she could only wonder. But his amusement made her want to laugh, too, and nothing could possibly make the situation worse than for her to laugh. 

He drew out the moment longer, taking his time to look up and down the table much as Eris had. Power pulsated from him, reminding everyone present of who he was and what he could do. Elain wanted to kiss him. To kiss that wry mouth and hold his taut jaw until he sunk and relaxed against her. 

“Beron,” Azriel said, the very name a curse between his lips “was killed by my wife.” 

Her ears rang with silence. Mouths fell open, gasps halted in crowded throats. Eris stared. Then, inexplicably, began to laugh. 

“You have no wife!” he claimed. “Even that gossip would have traveled from your sacred city. The only Shadowsinger in this land, the famed torturer of the Night Lord. Do you confess, then, that you killed my father? I might remind you that such action is a violation of all treaties between our lands! You have no right to enter our court and kill its people, let alone its Lord.” 

“I did not kill your father,” Azriel said. Calm as ever. And smiling. Not the smile he’d graced Elain with only a half-hour earlier, but something that hinted at a quiet death before dawn. “I really feel quite clear, Eris. I did not kill Beron, though I would have found it satisfying. I will repeat one more time, and only once: my wife killed your father.” 

The heat rose. Beads of sweat cascaded from the back of Elain’s neck to soak into the neckline of her gown. She hadn’t thought to bring a fan.

“And not only did she kill him,” Azriel’s voice rose a fraction, wings spluttering behind him as shadowy fingers gripped the edge of the table, spreading black. “But after the killing blow she stabbed him again and again. Do you hear me, Eris? Do you know what your father did?” 

Eris, sweating himself at the temples, was paler than the center of a flame. His lips lost all color. His mother stared into her lap. 

“Lord Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court, attempted to kidnap my wife, who is not part of his court, to take her forcefully to marry your brother. Do you understand, Eris?” 

The last words were a whisper. No one spoke. 

Finally Eris’s gaze slipped to Elain. “She cannot be your wife,” he said, though his voice lacked surety. 

“Then you knew of the plot.” Azriel’s smile was cold. “Does Autumn Court law outline punishments for accomplices?” 

Eris’s lips peeled back, a sign of predatory danger. For all of Azriel’s tenderness since the morning, for all of his understanding and serenity and patience, Elain sensed how ready he was to snap. Eris, too, though for a different reason. 

They’d had enough. Enough time to spit and strut and do whatever it was that made male fae so…so brash and possessive. Elain stood from her chair, keeping Eris’s attention - and indeed the rapt interest of everyone in the hall - on her. 

“I will extract no punishment for your knowledge of your father’s intentions,” she said. Her voice rang clear despite her knees knocking together beneath her skirt. “I prepared a written testimony for whatever legal considerations you may have, as has my husband as a witness.” 

Elain had little stomach for the intrigue. She could air out the entirety of the situation for the guests to hear; to explain how Beron had bound her with magic while she was in the garden after dawn and tied her to his horse to cart to the nearest temple where he claimed Lucien awaited her. Undignified work for a High Lord, and wildly underhanded, and she’d desperately wanted to tell him so. 

Azriel had found them before they’d gone more than a few miles. The companionable shadows that tickled her ankles now had rushed to him and wakened him in her chamber. He’d tracked them, concealed himself, and broken the spells on Elain. 

After that had been a confusing mess, ending with Elain covered in leaves and stabbing Beron with his own knife. More than once. And then she’d cried for quite a while after that, while Azriel plucked every leaf from her body. 

“I should have killed him for you,” he’d said. 

“No,” she’d said between gulps. “It is my right to extract retribution. Not yours.” 

At least, as it made sense to her. But she knew nothing of Autumn laws and little of Night laws. 

“You,” Eris said. “You, who were mortal last year?”

“Four years ago,” Elain said. “But I understand the passage of years means little to you.” 

“You cannot have the power to overcome a High Lord,” Eris said. 

Elain said nothing. She wasn’t Nesta, acid and biting, nor was she Feyre, passionate and sensible. She was only Elain, and she had no desire for any of this. She wanted to return to her chamber with Azriel and lock the door and return home to the townhouse for a reprieve. 

Because soon, she’d have to face down Rhys and she wouldn’t be able to fall back on a written testimony. And Eris might bluster and kick on Lucien’s behalf…but it was a show. A show like the flames curling around his fists, a façade of smoke issuing from his doublet to convince his court that he was riled up and saddled for revenge. Not that Elain and Azriel hadn’t gone straight to him after Beron’s death. 

The courtiers shifted in their seats, more openly whispering as they studied Eris, Elain, and Azriel. 

“Leave,” Eris said, echoing from the gleaming ceilings to the dusty floor. Elain swayed, relief that it was over making her limbs weak. “Now!” he roared, and Azriel seized Elain’s elbow before she could fall. She sent Eris one grateful look, to which he gave the slightest nod. And the Lady of the Autumn Court smiled. 

Chatter broke out before they’d even made it through the door. 

“See?” Azriel chuckled into her hair as he practically carried her over the rope bridge, one arm around her waist and the other clasping her hand. “Simple as anything. And now we don’t have to sit through dinner.”

Elain could have cried, but she laughed instead. She laughed and laughed and laughed. 

“Many here will not see your defense as just,” Eris had warned them. “Males have the right over their mates. What my father did was justified, according to our laws.”

“But,” he’d added, smirking at the blood on her dress. “If you were married…you would have a shield against my brother's claim.” 

Azriel had told her, before dinner, that he’d never expected to thank Eris for anything. But now he was in the princes’s debt. They both were. 

Elain buried her face into Azriel’s shoulders, whisked away by his cool, steady strength. Eris had offered deliverance. That was one almost-High Lord taken care of. 

The other would come soon enough.

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

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

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

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

Word Count: 3.6K

The journey to the scene was heavy in traffic, causing considerable delays. While Gavin was in no rush to confront the discourse that had been outlined for them in the dispatch, his companion did not share these sentiments. Impatience gripped Nines, evident in the tapping of his slender fingers and the restless jerking of his legs.

Even in moments of distress, the android had always demonstrated a certain level of restraint - but now, that veneer was slipping away, leaving behind a palpable vulnerability. It was unsettling to bear witness to as Gavin's eyes danced between his partner and the police-issue tablet clasped in his hands. With trepidation, he cleared his throat. 

"So, you ready to tell me what's wrong?" 

The patrol car neared a grid-locked intersection, the green light overhead turning red just as they reached the turning point. As they were jerked to a halt by the auto brake system, Nines gripped the nearby safety handle. He seemed poised to rip the door from its hinges and proceed to their destination on foot.

Gavin opted to shift his approach, making a concerted effort to soften his tone. "We don't have to do this, you know… we can ask Fowler to send someone else."

Nines roused a bit at the words but remained ultimately unswayed. His lips formed a tense line as he stared intently at the traffic light. Even after the signal changed, their progress was limited. Turning into the new route, they seamlessly merged into another wave of stationary vehicles.

Taking advantage of the auto drive and blackout windows, Gavin leant towards his partner, placing a hand on his thigh. "I'm not going to think any less of you if you need to cut and run. If anyone has anything to say about that, I'll tell them where to shove it." 

Nines briefly responded to the touch, suggesting a hint of acceptance, before abruptly pulling away. Frustration surged within Gavin, compelling him to extend his reach once again. The gesture initially intended as an act of assurance, subtly evolved into a means of restraint.

"Look, I'm trying here, but it's not easy when I have no idea what the problem is."

Yet another attempt to break through that was coldly rebuffed. 

"Why won't you talk to me?" 

Nines remained resolute, impervious to any attempts to reach him. 

"You know what? Fine." Gavin withdrew his hand, throwing it up in exasperation. "Fucking ignore me. See if I care."

After what felt like an eternity, the vehicle reached its destination. A small brick bungalow nestled within a suburban cul-de-sac. The lawn outside had been recently cut, adorned with pruned flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. The well-maintained property would have seemed unassuming had it not been for the dozen or so officers patrolling outside.

Among them was a shorter woman, her bob of black hair tied in a bun beneath a DPD-issue police cap. She turned around, alerted by the harsh slam of the car door as the first of the occupants exited.

Nines surged up the path, leaving Gavin scrambling to unbuckle his seatbelt. By the time he was out of the vehicle, Tina was also approaching, her brisk walk escalating into a jog as her eyes darted anxiously between the partners. 

"RK900, Gavin."

Meeting them in the centre of the walkway, Tina positioned herself as if intentionally obstructing it. Nines, undeterred, sidestepped around her, proceeding towards the crime scene. Her look of mild concern escalated to urgent alarm as she reached out a hand towards him.

"Hey, maybe just… wait a minute." 

The sentence trailed off weakly as it became clear that the android had zero intentions of slowing down or listening to anything she had to say. Instead of pursuing, she idled in place, waiting for her friend to catch up.

"Thought Fowler might send someone else," she said when Gavin reached her, smiling sadly.

The detective watched as the officers on the porch parted like waves, allowing Nines space to make his way past. I think he should have.

"Is it definitely a—" Gavin's lips clamped shut instinctively as his sentence hung in the air, unfinished. "There weren't any mistakes in the report?"

She shook her head solemnly. "I wish." 

Suppressing his rising nausea, Gavin nodded towards the house, signalling his friend to join him. As they got closer, a persistent wailing could be heard from inside, like someone screaming in pain. "Who made the call?" he asked, suspecting the answer was almost certainly linked to the unpleasant sounds. 

Tina was quick to confirm this, her expression darkening. "The victim’s sister. She lost her job a few weeks ago, was crashing on their couch. Left to go shopping around 9:45 but forgot her purse, so she had to come back. Realised something was wrong as soon as she saw the door."

It soon became apparent what Tina meant as they emerged onto the front porch. The metal panelling of the door handle had been pulled back and warped out of shape, and the keyhole was marked with scratches. 

"Neighbours see anything?" Gavin asked, leaning in to expect the damage.

"We're asking around—he’s just lucky the boyfriend didn't clock him, or he'd be a pancake right now." Tina chuckled, although devoid of any real humour. 

"Shame. Would’ve loved to watch forensics scrape the bastard off the wall." The door had been left slightly ajar from Nines' entrance, but not enough for a clear view inside. As Gavin attempted to push it further, Tina's hand intercepted, resting on his forearm.

"It's pretty bad. Are you going to be okay?" 

His lips pulled in with a sharp breath. "Been at this for ten years, Ti. It's not my first crime scene; I'll be fine."

"Yeah, but this is different." She paused, concern evident in her eyes. "Is Nines going to be okay?" 

There was much Gavin wanted to express, but he held himself back, wary of succumbing to a breakdown in the middle of a crime scene. "Well, he's already in, so I guess we'll find out." 

Upon entering the house, there was no disguising who had been responsible for the attack. Each wall in the Living Room was defaced with hateful slogans. The majority were in English, but some were encrypted, the most prominent being a large string of numbers displayed on the north-facing wall:

 

01001001 00100000 01000100 01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010100 01001000 01001001 01001110 01001011 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01000100 01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01000110 01000101 01000101 01001100 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01000011 01000001 01001110 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101 00101110

 

There was a small leather sofa in the corner of the room, with a young woman sitting in the centre. She was red-faced and wailing, with two officers flanked on either side, holding her legs in a comforting gesture.

"Why would someone do this?" she managed to stammer out between sobs. Snot dribbled down her lips, and mascara trailed down her cheeks. "They didn't do anything wrong." 

Conducting a closer examination of the vandalism, Gavin discovered it extended to the family portraits. Snapshots of a young couple with large black marks erasing their faces. He then realised that the slogans had been used to caption them:

 

SHE BURNS IN THEIR HELL.

 

BLOOD TRAITOR.

 

ONE PLANET. ONE RACE.

 

Some had been less carefully handled, pulled from their hooks and thrown haphazardly onto the floor. Through the ambient sounds of screaming, a faint tutting sound was audible, accompanied by hushed whispers.

"Jesus, he's killing people now too… ."

Gavin hadn't heard much else of the discussion but concluded he didn't need to. He sharply turned his head, spotting what seemed to be a pair of young and inexperienced officers peering opportunistically through the doorway. 

"You two dipshits got something to say?" he hissed, each word dripping with venom. "Any brilliant fucking insights?" 

The men were caught off-guard by the unexpected address. The taller of the two, presumably the one he’d overheard, was quick to answer him, voice trembling. "N-No, Detective. We were just—" 

"They were both people, you stupid asshole." He cut him off before he could finish, the sternness of his voice leaving no room for debate. "This is a crime scene, not a playground. Your job is to wait outside and manage bystanders while the real police do their jobs. Got it?" 

Having sufficiently rattled the officer, he exchanged a look with his companion before they hastily retreated, heads bowed in apparent shame. Tina watched on, visibly perplexed, before her focus shifted to Gavin. 

"What was that all about?"

He regarded her incredulously, responding with a nonchalant shrug. Scanning the room to ensure he hadn't overlooked anything, Gavin's attention caught Nines standing in a corner, back turned.  

His partner had retrieved one of the fallen pictures, with the splintered wood firmly secured in his hands. In the reflection of the spidered glass, Gavin could see his LED. It shone red like a warning beacon, with the visage warping as the android slowly tightened his grip. The glass broke further, falling to the ground like a blanket of snow. 

A knot formed in his stomach, and the detective was about to approach when Tina spoke up, diverting his focus. "There's something you'll want to see. In the garden."

They walked through the ransacked halls of the house towards the kitchen. It was less of a room and more of a narrow walkway, densely packed with appliances on either side. At the end of this passage was a screen door pulled wide open. 

"I don't think he expected the sister back so soon," Tina remarked, gesturing toward the garden, prompting Gavin to take a closer look. "He left something behind."

Moving towards the exit, Gavin noticed what initially seemed to be a black trash bag on the ground. On closer inspection, however, it revealed itself to be a men's raincoat - painted in swatches of red and blue. Waterproof polyester, reminiscent of the scrap they had found several weeks prior.

Leading off from the coat were boot prints. He followed them to the garden fence, where a trashcan had been propped against it, creating a makeshift stool. On the lid, he noticed another series of incriminating splotches. This time, in the shape of fingerprints. 

"He cornered himself. Couldn't risk running into the streets with the jacket on; had to ditch it somewhere." 

"Well, not so good for him… but great for you, right?" Tina said hopefully. "You've been complaining about the lack of evidence. Now there's finally something to work with." 

"I'm sure Sanders will be delighted. He's had his thumb up his ass for weeks." Gavin crossed his arms, unable to share in his friend's optimism. "It's weird. He's worked so hard to cover his tracks—up until now."

"Never question a good thing, Gav." 

"You don't get it. He's fucked it all up, all because some lady forgot her purse." Studying the clues with greater scrutiny, he noted how each handprint looked meticulously formed—almost seeming deliberate. 

Thoroughly engrossed by his analysis, he had failed to notice the figure that had emerged in the doorway. It was only when a commanding voice echoed into the garden that he was startled to attention.

"I have completed my preliminary assessment," Nines stated, voice calm and coolly detached—a stark contrast to the unravelling man Gavin had witnessed minutes before. There was only so much his poker face could hope to disguise, however, as the light on his temple continued to betray him. "Where are the bodies?"

Tina appeared hesitant to answer, her lips pressing together defensively. Nines was clearly not feeling patient as he spoke again. Louder. "Officer Chen. Show me. Now." 

"They're, um—bedroom", she said, pointing a limp finger back through the kitchen. 

The partners, guided by Tina, silently navigated their way back through the house. She brought them to a door with another message scrawled across it. This time, written in red. The phrase seemed random, although Gavin knew better than to assume that at this stage, with large gaps in between letters:

 

O     R          L     O      D         O      S       T             I

 

Nines traced a finger across the line of a letter, revealing that the morbid ink had yet to dry. He popped the sample into his mouth, studying it with his tongue. "Human Blood. Type A+." 

"We can see what it is." Gavin huffed before leaning in closer to the writing. "Fuck knows what it means. Maybe it's a Caesar cipher, with the key shifted." 

"It isn't a code", his partner replied, withdrawing his now cleaned finger. "It only appears that way to you, but I can assure you, it is a complete message. Every other letter is written in Thirium." 

"What does it say?"

"OUR BLOOD DOESN'T MIX."

"Ooo, clever", Tina said before withering under the glares her musings had earned her. "And super messed up, of course." 

Upon entering the bedroom, the scene unfolded like a nightmare. The victims were naked, laid side by side on the bedsheets. Their clothes were strewn on the floor around them, displayed like a cruel mural. 

They had been gutted, wired tendrils blooming from the android's stomach as intestines hung out from the woman. There was a gaping hole in the android's chest, where its thirium pump had been ripped out. Their gazes were fixed on the ceiling above them. Lifeless and unblinking, trapped in a final moment of terror. 

Gavin fixated on the male victim, and he heaved uncontrollably, resisting the urge to vomit. Hand pressed firmly to his mouth, he forced himself to avert his gaze. He recognised that he couldn't endure it for long. The sight of the tortured and shattered body, combined with the face. His face.

Nines maintained an unwavering focus as he completed a scan of the scene:

"The blood on the door matches the human victim, Jennifer Parkins, a Mailroom Technician, born 11th May 2016." He paused momentarily as a rumble of static escaped from his lips. "The Thirium is a match to the android victim… RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 - 98. Self-appointed name, Miles."

"Okay, we've seen enough", Gavin snapped, firmly tightening his jaw. He motioned to the door with his head in an attempt to usher his partner away. "Let's leave this for forensics." 

The android proved far from receptive. "Miles did not sense his assailant approaching. He would have easily overpowered him had he done so. He would have been turned away from the door—distracted." 

"Pretty easy to see why." Gavin glanced at the foot of the bed and the delicate wisps of lingerie that were bunched beside it. "Seriously, we don't need to stay for this. You'll have everything we need from your scan." 

"A long, bladed weapon was used to penetrate. Piercing through the lower chassis and disrupting the core vital components." There was a disturbing detachment with which Nines spoke. As though he were talking about the weather. "This would have immobilised him long enough for the blade to be dragged through the sternal cavity into the pump regulator. Coupled with the accelerated loss of Thirium, this would have left him approximately sixty seconds before succumbing to system failure." 

"Is all of that supposed to impress me?" the detective seethed back harshly. "You, torturing yourself over every minute detail?" 

"A second incision was made, and the damaged pump regulator removed. Approximately twenty-five minutes later, judging by the evaporation rate." 

Gavin cut his partner off before he could continue. "Stop it—just fucking stop. I don't want to hear this, and neither do you."

"I have no qualms in reconstructing the timeline of events." Nines glared at him through a furrowed brow, eyes brimming with accusation. "If that causes you distress, then I suggest you remove yourself for the sake of retaining your composure."

"Oh, so you're telling me to calm down? That's rich, coming from the guy whose head is blinking like a goddamn Christmas tree." 

"That needn't concern you," Nines argued back, tilting his head away, attempting to obscure his partner’s view. "I can assure you, I am fine."

"But you're not fine, are you? I can see you're not, so stop fucking lying to me."  

"Either you can stay and assist with my analysis, or you can leave. The choice is yours."

"Christ, I'm getting whiplash here." Gavin tugged at his face as he let out a harsh grunt of vexation. "You want me to be honest about my feelings, trust you enough to open up, but the second I need you to trust me, you run a mile!" 

"Our personal lives are hardly relevant in this current situation. Besides, that issue has been resolved."

"Has it? Really? Because from where I'm standing, you're still running. Goddammit Nines, you'd think after everything, you would be more willing to open up."

“Why do you always insist on making everything about you?"

"It's not. I know it's not, just—fuck." He grunted again, louder this time. "Am I the problem here? Is it that you don't want to talk to me?"

"I do not want, or need, to talk to anyone. I am in control of my emotions. I have to be. I can't—" 

He retreated into himself once more as his hands came to clutch his head. Nines, the indomitable force of code and programming, was behaving like a frightened animal. His body quivering, gaze frenzied, as it darted across the room. Like he was looking for a way to escape, but simultaneously paralysed.

"For fucks sake, you're scaring me", Gavin admitted in a rare show of vulnerability. "Do you need Connor? Should I call him?"

"Fix." 

Gavin blinked, trying to decipher the meaning behind the word. 

"Fix", Nines repeated. "We can fix him. If we re-connect the severed components and replenish the lost Thirium." 

Then, his heart ached as he grasped what his partner was trying to suggest. "Nines."

"Replace the damaged chassis. The remaining damage is cosmetic. Should the healing protocol have time to engage." 

"He's too far gone, you know that." 

"All that would be needed then would be a compatible pump regulator." 

"And how are we going to find one of those?" Gavin fired back in a desperate attempt to ground his increasingly frenzied partner. "Are we going to rip it out of your chest or from another RK900?" 

"No—they could—parts." He spoke in strange, clipped-off segments. Elevating the sense of mania. "There are parts—from the others—we can use them." 

"You're not making any sense." 

"Only parts—all there is—only me��no one left." 

Unable to stand any more, Gavin reached forward, grabbing his arm. "Okay, we need Connor, right fucking now. I don't care what you say, I'm getting him down here, and we're taking you home. There's something wrong. This isn't like you."

"D̶̜̗̹͐̕ͅö̴̖̻̝́̌̍́ń̸̮̟̿̒'̵͇̝̠͗̋t̸̰̦̊͊̀͆ ̵̱͔̌́̕͠t̴̯̦̑o̶̢̬̻̠̓͋̈ú̵̥͔̮̀̀͠ç̶̣̪͉̂͂̀h̴̢̠̗͂͊ ̷̮̝̂̄͐̅m̶̨̲͈͖̓e̴̜̊̈͠." 

The words were mangled, twisted to the point they were nearly beyond comprehension. It was like the final, breaking crescendo to all of Nines' mounting anguish. 

Then his tortured expression fell, becoming entirely blank. The vibrant pulse of his temple stopped, returning to a steady blue. Eyes stared through Gavin. Absent of any pain, fear, or any glimpse of emotion at all. It startled him, and he backed away as Nines stood mounted in place. Still and lifeless, like a mannequin.

Having no idea what had happened, the detective could only assume he had undergone some kind of soft reset. He re-approached his partner with caution, hand extending to touch his face. 

"Nines? Can you hear me?" 

The android seized his arm, hoisting it above his head and taking his body with it. Suspended, his mind struggled to process what was happening before he was callously tossed through the air. A resounding thud echoed as his head collided with the wall. His skin caught on a stray nail, carving out a painful gash. 

Gavin slid to the floor limply, wedged between the wall and bed frame. He had been thrown with enough force that the bed had displaced, leaving it angled to one side. Tina was calling out to him but was unsure what she was saying. The ring in his ears was deafening as he gingerly placed a hand on the back of his head. He felt warmth pool around his fingers, and when he brought them down to inspect, a sheen of crimson glistened back. 

There was a sharp, feedback-like buzz. A metallic scream that filled the air ripped from his partner's throat. Nines was back in an instant. His eyes were blown wide, and his mouth trembling - as though grappling with the weight of what he had just done.

"I am unable to complete this investigation." The words came out strained and distant. As though each fractured syllable was causing him pain. "I have been compromised." 

The android bolted from the room without another word, leaving Gavin further disoriented. Attempting to stand, he used the bed for support but quickly fell back from the excursion. Tina was swift to aid him, slinging one of his arms over her shoulder as he teetered from side to side. 

"It's okay, Gav. Easy. I've got you." 

A flood of potential actions and words surged within the detective, but his state of shock held them captive. As Tina guided him forward, she seemed to notice something on the wall where the bed had been moved. Curious, her eyes narrowed before she gestured a finger towards her discovery. "What is that?"

Gavin followed her direction to another numeric message. Scrawled out in Thirium:

 

52 24 44 23 32 15 32 11 13 23 24 33 15 12 11 13 13 44 34 23 15 31 31 

[leupagus]

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

Oh dear - so I posted this "ask me questions about my fic!" meme and then promptly had about five thousand other things vie for my attention, SO! I'm back and answering them!

First of all, thank you for including the actual question and not just the emoji, that's always HIGHLY APPRECIATED.

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

The fact that I can usually re-read what I've written, even years later, and still enjoy the story I've made. When I was a teenager and early twenty-something, my writing just wasn't strong enough for me to re-read without wincing. Now I can re-read stuff from fifteen years ago and still have fun (although I will absolutely go back even now and correct typos etc. if I find them on fic I wrote back in 2009).

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

SO MANY THINGS, but the number of formal dances that I manage to work into my fics is truly egregious. There's a ball in a Star Wars fic I wrote! (In fact, the long-deserted Rogue One canon-divergent AU I plotted out and then abandoned had the entire fic hinge on a ballroom scene between Jyn, Andor and Krennic. Good times.)

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

Hands down my favorite fic to return to is Always Starts the Same, with a Boy and a Girl by lightgetsin. It's a White Collar AU where instead of meeting Peter first, Elizabeth meets Neal, and becomes his co-international-cat-burglar. It's not just brilliantly written but kindly written, with Peter following Neal and Elizabeth around for several months falling in love with the both of them - and them with him. So delightful and an absolutely perfect ending. Lightgetsin hasn't posted a new fic (at least under that name) in almost eight years (although that last one was also a banger, and in the Rivers of London fandom no less!) so I hope wherever they are they are doing well.

[eemcintyre]

I am getting real tired of the modern, technology-driven notion that everyone has to be constantly available to everyone in their life.

Like, if it's an emergency I will be there for you 100%, but I have now had multiple friendships/relation-ish-ships end (all with men btw- coincidence...?) because I didn't text them back right away, every day, multiple times a day.

Am I the only one who thinks that this is, at best, ridiculously needy, and at worst, ridiculously entitled behavior?? This level of clinginess and insecurity (that somehow is my responsibility to reassure???) is a huge turn-off.

Not only do I think it's important and healthy for everyone to be comfortable spending some amount of time alone with their own thoughts, but I *especially* have always needed a lot of solitude and independence (idk maybe it comes from how controlled I was as a child and how few friends I had, but that's a whole other tangent right there). I require room to do my own thing, and while I love my friends and they are important to me, I'm not totally dependent on them and every ounce of my happiness and self-worth doesn't hinge on them. Honestly, the more someone tries to cling to me and rein me in, the more I feel compelled to distance myself. I need to know that I am free.

Anyway, this seems to intimidate a lot of people who are immature and not secure in themselves and are still suffering from unresolved past trauma that they are projecting onto me. They find it intimidating that even though I can want someone in my life and like or love them, I don't need them in it to survive because I am ultimately comfortable with myself and know my value enough now to not compromise who I am just to keep them in my life. They find it scary and foreign that I don't need constant reassurance and don't have the energy or will to provide it; that I can be content doing my own thing. Aka me having my own separate life in addition to our relationship and enjoying alone time = I don't care about them at all.

I need someone with the maturity, emotional intelligence, and self-esteem to realize that not everything is about them- I have more than one person in my life, I have a job, I have hobbies, etc., and even just because I am not busy at a point in time doesn't mean that time is *free* time. That is recharge and contemplation time.

I have even, against my better judgment, tried compromising my own boundaries to accommodate these people's insecurities and needs, and it didn't work. It's never enough. Also why does it always have to be me who compromises and makes the changes, and not them? Why don't they have to try and work on themselves to become less dependent on others and more secure? Why is it me who always has to drain all of my energy with forced, ingenuine conversation and interaction and trying to heal the past issues of other grown adults that they are projecting onto me?

I'm sick of my boundaries being disrespected. You are valid if it mentally drains you to be in constant contact with other people, and you are no less of a kind, caring person and good friend or partner for being that way. Like, it has nothing to do with you; I just recharge from spending time alone where I can think and exist without being observed or obligated to entertain others; being able to do exactly what I feel like, analyze my thoughts, or enjoy the quiet. Honestly, most people who require more contact (to a reasonable and non-codependent degree) are valid too; I just think both groups need to either compromise equally in relationships or seek out people who are more like-minded rather than existing in constant strife trying to change and/or make each other understood.

I know that I am a good, kind, friendly, and generous lady who brings a lot to the table, and I am sick of trying to convince people of it. If they want to leave because they can't handle physical and mental personal space, then no hard feelings at the end of the day but they are absolutely welcome to. I'm tired of letting people guilt and disparage and try to change me when I'm not doing anything wrong.

[liminalpebble]

The Refugee: Chapter 44

Masterlist link 

Between the two men and several stories below their feet Lenora sat, hearing the entirety of their conversation as it echoed down the walls of the pit. Lenora fought back tears.

  He's bluffing, she thought, He must be...I hope. But it doesn't matter because I'm going to find a way out of this and I'm going to run again...as far as I can. No one will find me or fool me or hurt me or even come near me ever again. I'll become impenetrable. I'll build even thicker walls. I'll disappear.

She evaluated her situation, forcing her breath to slow as she looked around. Her mouth was gagged, but not magically so. Her hands were bound with both rope and the now-invisible script of a Heksejotun spell suppressing her ability to use any magic. Aside from all of this, there was a gigantic...something...just on the other side of the iron bars, and if eyes and breath could seem hungry, these did. It's a puzzle, Lenora. Just a fun little puzzle. You like puzzles, she told herself as she looked for solutions. Loki's smooth deep voice, which had been so gentle, loving and seductive to her, shot his biting words like arrows into her heart. She tried to ignore the pain.  

I fail to see how I've been softened. She's useful and I've used her well, disciplined her into my service. She's certainly clever, I'll give you that, but the girl is not why I'm here, Laufey. Keep her if you'd like, she's served her purpose well enough.

Charming, she thought, trying to roll her eyes at it instead of bursting into tears. First, the gag. Maybe I can wiggle out of that.

Lea looked around for some edge to run the fabric against and lift it off of her head, but not so sharp that it would impale her as soon as she leaned against it a bit too hard. The walls of the pit were slick and icy, affording no such surfaces. Looking over to where the iron bars stood she spotted the raised corner of a hinge, but that would require getting a little too close for comfort to the mystery beast housed within. Seeing no other option, she decided to take the chance, sneaking silently around the wall of the pit, as the cold slab of ice against her back chilled her. Although she had the thick cloak and Midgardian clothes on, she felt cold and naked without her armor and swords.

Listening closely, she noticed the beast's breathing had settled into low deep gusts, and now snores. Perfect, she thought, inching along the last tiny stretch to the protruding edge. She pressed her head lightly against it to mark its position through touch in the extremely faint light. Crouching and raising over and and over again to adjust her height, she struggled to catch the edge of the fabric upon the hooked metal. She felt the cold ever-so-slightly less, in a wave of nervous heat and adrenaline, as she slid up and down repeatedly seeking to catch the metal. The beast began to grumble, waking slowly and groggily. Now she was panting with her effort and a threatening panic. Forcing her breath to still into longer inhales and exhales, Lea refocused, stilled her trembling, and attempted again, moving more slowly and carefully. The negotiation happening above her still echoed down to her ears, buzzing against her mind and stinging it, wasp-like.  

Come now. That union will be advantageous for my public image. She has the people's hearts and I don't have to tell you how valuable that is...a powerful manipulation at my disposable. Besides, concubines and mistresses are always plentiful and willing. Clearly you have no scruples about putting a bastard on the throne.

Find another cow, one that can breed, to put your ridiculous crown on. The girl stays here, as my resource. She's talented...

Oh, you have no idea how much so, which is why I'd like to keep her. But no matter, maybe her...talents...are a bit too distracting to me. Anyway, your point, Laufey...

She sighed with relief as the strip finally caught the hook. Fighting and jostling with the tight bind squeezing around her skull, she bore her body down in a final forceful pull, pleading with gravity to do the rest. Suddenly, the beast lunged at the bars with a deafening roar and slashed a gigantic paw through the slats. Flinching and screaming noiselessly around the gag, she jerked downwards too quickly, allowing the hooked metal to tear out a clump of hair along with the gag. As Lea scrambled away from the bars, she was shocked into total silence, feeling the new wound and the blood trickling down from her scalp in a hot radiating ache.

She heaved several long exhales, ecstatic that her mouth was now free to accept air once again.  Sitting heavily in the heap of snow, opposite the enclosure, she observed the creature who now sat with its face close against the bars. It just stared, seeming more curious than aggressive. Lenora studied it, as her eyes scanned up and mouth dropped open at its towering presence.

Kill her? What an astonishingly idiotic waste of resources that would be. I know Frost Giants aren't exactly known for their brilliant sense of strategy but...

Hearing this, it suddenly occurred to Lea that Loki was stalling, which meant he might have a plan, but she would never bet on him playing the knight to rescue her.

The enormous lizard sitting across from her had leathery blue skin glimmering with iridescent scales. When it opened its mouth she could see teeth, white as bone and sharp as pikes, each one larger than her own hand. Great, she thought. They have a dragon. Laufey's going to feed me to a fucking dragon.

The last thing to catch her eye was a red circle of Heksejotun script branded into the creature's forehead. She felt sympathy for it then, having been in similar circumstances. Interpreting the script she realized it was the creature's name. Blaatand, meaning “Blue Tooth.” Not very creative, she thought, with a shrug. Calculating, Lea reasoned that if this creature was domesticated enough to be branded, perhaps it was also trained to respond to its name and commands. It was worth a try.

“Blaatand.” She whispered in Heksejotun, “sit!” and to her astonished amusement, the creature did just that. Still standing at what she hoped was a safe distance from his claw, she said quietly and with a tremor in her voice, “give paw!” The creature obliged, smacking its huge claw between the bar so that the tips cracked the icy floor. “Ahh...good...boy?” She said, and he lolled out his tongue like a proud puppy. Under other circumstances, she realized this would be hilarious. “Stay!” she said coming closer cautiously. Lea needed those claws, so she came closer, walking on feet unsteady with fear. Very gingerly, she reached up her bound hands and patted the enormous paw gently, saying, “Good boy, Baatand. Good boy. Stay! Stay...”. He obeyed gladly as Lea carefully placed her hands on either side of a lethally sharp talon and began to saw at the central knot binding her wrists.

The dragon suddenly shuddered, withdrawing his paw with a snarl as an image of Loki appeared beside her, flashing brightly in the dark cell.

“Goddamit, Loki! What are you doing? I almost had it,” she hissed at him.

He rolled his eyes. “You're welcome. I came to save you while my corporeal form is still chatting with Laufey. Do you want my help or not?”

“Shhhh. You're not helping. Turn invisible. You've spooked him.”

Loki did just that as Lea called for Blaatand's paw again and began sawing away quickly. As the ropes released with a snap, she said, “Good boy, Blaatand! Go lay down now,” and the dragon obliged. She shook off the ropes and immediately tried to work at the Heksejotun spell, though it was still invisible, and only received another painful zap for her trouble.

She cursed and Loki became visible again. Forgetting he couldn't touch her, his holographic hand passed right through her. He shook his head, annoyed. “I can't touch you with my magic to undo this.”

“Wait,” Lea said, observing that as his hand passed through her wrist, the script unveiled itself as two bright red glowing circles. She realized then that his will had summoned it into visibility, even though his body wasn't there. Now, able to see and interpret the text, the pieces of a solution fell into place .

Lea took a moment to read the script and the idea struck her. “You don't need to. This isn't Asgardian magic, this is Heksejotun magic. It's preformed through words, spoken by those with Jotun blood. She looked up to him, pleading, “You're Jotun, are you not?”

He glared. “You needn't remind me.”

“Okay...” she hissed, “Shut up. I'm reading. You can release it by saying a word, but it has to be the right one. Heksejotun hexes are made to be undone with a keyword from the same sentences that created them. I just have to figure out which one.

Loki smiled and nodded saying breathlessly, “Good...good. But could you go a bit faster, please? This is a long time for even me to keep talking before it gets suspicious.”

“Shut up! I'm trying.”

After a long pause she said, “Here we go. It's this word...kloev...kloev. You have to pronounce it correctly. Listen carefully.”

“Or what? What will happen?”

She huffed, then hissed, “Bad things...Loki! Very bad things. So pay attention! Kloev. Say it...you can do this.

He took a deep breath, stared at the red letters, and said as clearly and precisely as possible, “kloev.”

As Loki's image bickered with Lenora below, his corporeal body schemed with Laufey above.

“Kill her? What an astonishingly idiotic waste of resources that would be. I know Frost Giants aren't exactly known for their brilliant sense of strategy, but that is a bit dull even for a Jotun. I propose a different deal, Laufey.”

“Oh, have you decided to come to a point?”

Loki glared. “Yes. I challenge you to the Ancient Contest.”

“Under what terms?”

“If I win, Jotunheim is mine, not at some distant time of your death, but immediately as you die upon my blade in combat...and of course the girl lives and belongs to me...for strategic purposes, but mostly, quite honestly, for my pleasure,” he said, winking at the last part.

“And when I win in combat against my weakling son?”

“If you win, Laufey,” Loki said, putting up a warning finger. “If you win, Jotunheim remains in your hands, and my own empire will be yours. You will have both realms, and you gain a willing and allegiant heir upon your death. Additionally you would have my word, upon the unbreakable contract of the Ancient Contest, not to attempt your assassination. Believe me, without an oath even I couldn't break, I would be sorely tempted.  As far as the girl...well, you could do with her as you please, and I will find an empress who can bear heirs for your lineage.”

Laufey considered for several long silent moments. The lure of an accord which the trickster would be unavoidably bound to with his life was enough to sway him. Looking down upon his runt of a child, he had no doubt of his own victory, and his reward. For a cunning man, Laufey thought to himself, he is certainly making a foolish choice. Perhaps he does love her. Only love could cause such desperation.

“Very well, Loki Laufeyson.” The Jotun king said as he strolled down to stand face to face with Loki, extending his hands. They gripped each others forearms as the blinding white script of the Ancient Contest encircled their wrists then vanished. “You have until sunrise, prepare well.” Loki only nodded, then strolled out with the same arrogant bearing he strode in with, seeming entirely unpressed by the enormity of the deal he just struck or the weight of Lenora's fate on his mind.

@gigglingtigger @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @lokisgoodgirl @thedistractedagglomeration @thenerdyoldersister @sweetsigyn @unlucky-number-13 

[adamwatchesmovies]

Runaway (1984)

You'll have loads of find watching Death Bed The Bed That Eats, The Room, Troll 2 or other “so bad they’re good” classics. What they won't necessarily have is that element of true surprise. You already know they're so bad they're good. I went into Runaway with no idea of what I was about to see. In no time, I was on the floor howling.

In the near future, robots are everywhere. Whenever one malfunctions (or becomes a “runaway”), Sgt. Jack R. Ramsay (Tom Selleck) deals with it. Karen (Cynthia Rhodes), but he assures the perky officer their job’s nothing glamorous. He only took the position to avoid  field work after his crippling fear of heights resulted in a family’s death. He rethinks how exciting the job might be when they investigate the first robot homicide in history.

The first and most obvious flaw with this film are the robots. In its attempt to make them realistic, director Michael Crichton (you read that right) has made them laughable. At no point do you ever believe a single one of them could be a viable threat. Ramsay cautiously walks into a home, careful not to step in the pools of blood left behind by the first killer robot. When you see the thing, your jaw drops. It’s essentially a shoebox on wheels with a single arm on the front. Not a humanoid arm capable of moving from side-to-side mind you, a single-hinged limb with a simple claw for a hand. I have a hard enough time believing the thing could move over a carpeted area, much less sneak up on two people and slice them to death. Now we’re supposed to believe the thing’s gotten even deadlier and picked up a gun? Please. Tom Selleck does his best to seem scared and the other actors try their hardest but in every scene you want to scream “just push the damn thing over on its side and run!”

If you’re not in stitches at the cheap-looking droids featured throughout, you’ll be delighted to see Jean Simmons playing the film’s villain. I know it’s supposed to be a twist but come on. From scene 1, you’d be comfortable sending the guy to the chair without any evidence. He’s the most suspicious-looking dude ever even before her glares and menaces those around him. Simmons doesn’t help. He hams it up like he’s single-handedly trying to drown ever vegetarian on Earth in meat. He’s beyond awful, which I guess perfectly matches how threatening his character and his shoddy-looking robots are? Maybe this was meant to be a comedy and simply mislabeled in the marketing department.

The laughs come non-stop when watching Runaway. If you aren’t the type of person who likes to talk back at the screen when watching a bad movie, you will be just a few minutes in. There’s no way you can help yourself. It’s a hidden bad movie gem. (On DVD, June 21, 2019)

[nuuralshams]

(embarrassing) rant on friends under the cut

feeling very petty recently because I have been avoiding two of my girlfriends lately. very very close friends of mine, I’d say they’re the closest I have to best friends at this stage in life although we have known each other ~2 or 3 years. faith-wise, our values are very v different and I just ignored that initially cause we had lots in common besides that and they were basically there for me and I for them. since Ramadan though I’ve just been craving someone to have “deen talks” with (iykyk) so I have been praying for righteous companions/friends since then. now, when I prayed for this I didn’t know whether my friends would become more religious or I would be granted new friends that have the same values as I do but I have noticed that our friendship has been fading, feeling less intense in my heart atleast. I don’t know how I feel about that. I feel like a lot of our friendship hinged on stuff we did for the plot and discussing about that (dating apps, going on dates, talking stages, etc etc) and now that I have just taken a breather from any and all talking stages or putting myself out there, the group chat is so dead 💀 like its sad. and funny thing that may have caused me to feel guilty about this is the fact that since forever i have been the one out of the three of us that was obsessed about getting married soon / finding a SO. one of my friends claimed marriage was not for her, the other was so-so ; she wouldn’t worry about it , it wasn’t a priority but she eventually wanted to (we were all single). In a lovely turn of events, life (god) works miraculously, the one that claimed she would never get married got married this June masha Allah and the other is getting married next month. when I think about the fact that I’m distancing myself from them I wonder whether it’s because I feel any jealousy or bitterness at all (god forbid) but really, I can honestly say no because I feel like over time I’ve just lost the desire to actually get married. I’m so comfortable at this stage in life that change, even a good change makes me reluctant to embrace it. sure everyone wants to be loved lmao but no I am not jealous of the fact that they found their life partners , they definitely deserve the best. another thing being the fact that they did nothing for my birthday this year, after consistently throwing a celebration every year after we’ve become friends. it’s a given for us to throw a celebration each year for each of our birthdays, and ngl considering I turned 25 this year I was looking forward to hanging out with them and taking nice pictures, eating cake and all. literally a few days before my birthday I was showing them a video and saying I wanna do this on my birthday! So they’d know I was excited/looking forward to it but yeah, it’s been two months and they haven’t reached out to even meet up. but yes they did wish me on my birthday. and yes I do feel embarrassed that I feel bad that they did not celebrate my birthday bc ofc they aren’t obligated to 💀 anyway, they’ve been asking to meet up and I’ve just been stalling because I just feel like my hearts not in it anymore ;-; and ever since they got married / got into a relationship, (I understand life would change, their priorities would change too) it just feels like they don’t have anything to talk about with me 🤷🏽‍♀️ hence why the group chat is dead , cause maybe I was the one that kept it alive all along.

Like I said, a very petty and self centered rant.

[candycryptids]

🍷: What's one of your OC's pet peeves concerning food? for Mochiie

🍻: What's your OC's favourite comfort ritual? How do they calm themselves down after a rough day? for Levraut

🍒: Has Your OC had their first kiss yet? If so, with who? for Ishi'li

🎂: Has your OC have any contradictory interests or traits to the first preception people have of the? How do they surprise people? for Chuusday

🍰: What's something your OC counts as unforgivable? for Tuesday

So firstly I’m showering you in flower petals and handing you a party napkin (Pokémon themed) with three cookies on it

🍷[Food Rituals; Mochiie] Mochi’s peeve is food made for the sake of making ‘pretty/aesthetic/art’ food (things like, you get a plate of one bite. He wants food to be filling and nourishing and shareable lmao.) His other peeve is making food spicy just for the sake of it being spicy, disregarding flavor (Zero makes him so nuts. The fact that the smell alone of her preferred curry makes him physically Ill doesn’t help, lmao)

🍻 [Comfort Rituals; Levraut ] depends on if it’s been a STRESSFUL day or a SAD day, lmao. Stressful days, nothing a round of drinks at the drowning wench can’t help fix (and a rowdy brawl, probably; flirting badly with another man’s girl is a great way to catch a stray fist, which leads readily to an intentional fist, which leads to a bucket of ice water and being thrown out for the evening, but as it goes.) Sad days tend to be soothed with three pints and then sitting on the dock and staring at the reflection of the sky (hopefully there’s a moon to look at!) and. Reflecting. Possibly writing down a mess of words for later, to work through what he’s thinking/feeling at the time

🍒 [First Kiss; Ishi’li] Ishi’s first kiss is, I Think with Keathan ( @zombiesockfuckinglovescardfight is that right?) but its for the silliest reasons which is that he wanted to. Have Experience and. He’s been adventuring now for at least a year and hasn’t done ANYTHING like other adventurers beside sleep on the hard ass ground and take down an empire and have a rivalry turned friendship with tension and nonsense with Kizuna (the main WoL) (his first kiss with Kizuna I thiiink doesn’t occur for quite some time after…. Not one they’d both qualify as a First Kiss. I think it’s Late-Shadowbringers….)

🎂 [Contradictory/Surprising Interest/Trait; Chuusday] Chuu’s first impression on people is usually less than hinged woman who will become scarce the moment the situation no longer interest her; I.E. there’s no more allagan/Garlean tech to look at.. her surprising trait would likely be intense love for Carbuncles. Since she disregards most other Organic Creatures (her Chocobo, Friday is cared for by Tuesday or the stablehands, they have a very Professional relationship and it’s tailored towards combat rather than Transport) she’s not even a proper summoner; her skills extend as far as being able to summon a Carbuncle because they’re the ideal creature. No need for food or water and when you’re busy they can be dissipated into the aether… (but you CAN feed them table scraps… most excellent creature) (Talia and Cid might be the only people to KNOW this, though)

🍰 [Unforgivable Action; Tuesday] it’s hard to find the morality line for him the earlier in his lifetime you get. A lot of his lines had to be programmed or Taught through experiences- but by the time Shadowbringers comes around an unforgivable action ends up being an action that violates someone’s Self (G’Raha was on thin ice for a while because of the soul snatching, the thing Lahabrea did to Thancred in ARR would also fall under this but obviously happened before he was alive lol. The way Minfilia’s were trained and made to do one specific thing, the, being a chosen hero shaped into a Hero’s image, it hits a gray area, but Ranjit firmly placed himself in the red zone through his use of force against Ryne… this was an interesting thing to think about 🥰)

[Ask Meme !]

[keefwho]

July 21 - 2023 Friday

7:18 AM

Time to cover some embarrassing feelings since the weekend is approaching. They are leftovers of becoming too lost in my thoughts and current situation. The best thing I can do is admit them and work through them, I should not be ashamed. I’ve felt good knowing I always have bestie time in the evenings even if just for a little bit. I should know in my heart that there will always be a next time even if those times end up few and far between. The weekends throw that up in the air because how much she likes to do and socialize. I get worried that I won’t get the time I want. Even more embarrassing is I worry about how close she might get to someone else in case I get outperformed which seems easy. 

Both of these feelings have to do with how detached I’ve gotten lately. I more or less fell into the thought that we’re a couple when we aren’t and was behaving unhealthy in a way that wasn’t fair to myself or the relationship. Even if only briefly, I was re-understanding the importance of being on my own more and letting things be what they are naturally. It is easy for me to fall back down though, especially this early into figuring things out. I gotta stay vigilant and catch what I can. All I can expect from myself is my best. 

Step one is to realize I’m already setting myself up for failure by thinking I’m going to repeat the same cycles or that everything is going to work against me. I’m already inherently predicting failure and it would be helpful if I could keep catching thoughts that actively work against me. 

8:35 AM

The big goal is not to hinge my entire existence on one person or group like I’ve done in the past. 

5:51 PM

Oops, I’m thinking too hard again. It’s stuff I’ve heard before. I’m having thoughts like “What the point of trying, it won’t work out,” or “I must be a real lose, look at the state of my life.” Two very powerful thoughts that I know can make me go down a pretty wicked spiral. I think I just need to talk to someone about it, anyone I feel comfortable with. Someone who will listen. I’m also trying to defuse on my own first. 

6:47 PM

At least I’m aware of the state my mind is in even if I’m finding it hard to defuse. It almost feels hopeless but I know thats just another thought. I really just need someone to talk to but I’m having trouble picking who.

9:49 PM

Too often I am not true to myself. I don’t let my desires be known and I fester. I try to placate everyone. It’s hard to remember I’m valid too. 

I crave reassurance in different forms but I know better than to give into it unless I’m coming from a genuine place. Often times I want to hear certain things to make me feel better about myself but it’s a temporary solution, a mask. I know my issues run deep and have to be confronted no matter how hard or scary it might be. 

10:48 PM

It might just be the intoxication but my entire being is screaming at me to tell my friend how much I want to discuss things. I always have something heavy to talk about, too much I feel. I know it can be an unstable thing to always be addressing struggles, especially when a lot of them are repeats caused completely by me. It’s hard to tell if my feelings should be taken seriously sometimes. Because they can also come from a place that only wants to cover up things I don’t like about myself. It takes a lot of restraint to keep things inside that might not be legitimate. Like an alcoholic avoiding a drink when it’s all he craves. 

8:13 AM (The Next Day)

I forgot to do a journal entry which I think is important now that I’m trying to look at what I’m proud of doing and what I could have done better. I already don’t remember a lot about how I felt but I’ll summarize what I can.

Breakfast was half a totinos pizza and a granola bar while I watched Twitch until work time. I did my warmups slowly and had to stop doing the commission because I just didn’t have the brain power to do it justice for some reason. I couldn’t focus on anything or tell if I was doing a good job. Instead I worked on my VR bathroom world and finished the last of the animations. After stream I skipped my boxing workout on account of my still strained back but I did make the spontaneous decision to go out with mom to see a nearby wildfire. It was a very short trip but a trip nonetheless. I ended up cleaning the area around my toilet despite not feeling like cleaning. I took an extra thorough shower for no particular reason. I just wanted to give a little extra care to my body today. Lunch was a nice little chicken burger with some doritos. Despite my still suffering mental capacity, I worked on and finished an emote set for someone and almost finished the next one too. Then I worked a little bit more on the world. I started to emotionally slip in the afternoon and was saved by some Zelda time with the bestie. After she fell asleep I finished my drink while watching MoonMoon. 

I can say I was proud of getting a lot of things done today despite the mental hurdle. I didn’t have to work on anything after putting off the commission. I also didn’t have to clean or work on those emotes or anything else but I did anyways. Thats one thing I’ve been getting good at, doing my best even though I know it might not be very good. The point is that I did anything at all. I’m also proud of recognizing that some of m strong feelings last night didn’t need to be broadcasted or entertained because I knew they weren’t genuine and I would calm down. Acting on some feelings will do more harm than good. It’s hard identifying which ones are like that though.

As for what I could have done better, I don’t know what could have prevented me from slipping in the evening. I was trying not to go too far. Maybe I could have picked something to do to occupy myself because I know I was sort of letting it happen by doing nothing. I want to make sure I’m not running from it though. Its hard to keep those feelings in awareness and also do something else in the meantime. 

[clawsextended]

“that’s — that’s always kind of the problem, anyway.”

that rueful smile crosses her face. it almost finds itself as though it was never meant to leave, as though that burdensome sorrow always finds itself balanced on the bow of her lips. maybe it always sucks — she doesn’t have another word for it. it sucks.

she has two oscars sitting on her bedside table and she doesn’t think it’ll ever hurt less when somebody falls for it. there’s something she feels that’s almost hateful, and then it becomes almost hurt, and eventually it’s a dull ache, a beat.

the cat isn’t real. the cat is a figment, an awful creature that’s been crafted for the purpose of survival. dreadful, awful, violent survival. the beast been created to be nothing but that — an animal, something more suited to a habitat than a home. the cat bites and claws and snarls, selina’s most precise rage made violently, flagrantly visceral. a pile of guts is more equivalent to the feline than the elegant dresses she wears, the sleek suit not near as simple or symmetrical as she.

it’s an act, a play in only one part that takes place on a stage that never stops whirling. every single moment in that suit she yearns to be seen for it — she wants, more than anything, to be made whole in another’s eyes. she thinks she could be real that way, the real kind of real.

“yeah. selina kyle is an illegitimate orphan who didn’t grow up anywhere. i don’t know what to do with your life. you didn’t leave daphne or the cat with all this, you left selina with it.

….and i appreciate that. but… i can’t do all this by myself.

i just felt… not real. like i just… wasn’t a person. to you. and i felt myself fade. i just… stopped.”

and now she’s starting again. like she’s been wound up yet again, like she’s been created anew, like this is a new her over and over. but she listens, accepts these gestures with enormous greed and covetously consumes them all on her own. avarice is the language she speaks with fluency and she relearns it with eager ease.

disappointment lingers like dewdrops on a cold morning but she shakes them away easily.

it’s really the genuine intent that counts, she reminds herself. she softly, softly, softly kisses a cheek with overflowing fondness. she lingers there to press her nose against, to hide almost shyly in the bat’s shadow.

—the squeeze alarms her. she blinks, taken aback in some faint delirium, some brief respite she’d wandered off on and, heady with that, had lost her own head. she’s surprised — bryce takes her hands away and selina returns them, gently tugging wrists to link behind her neck, to hold her there comfortably. she reaches up to swipe a strand of black carefully behind an ear, to whisper,

“yeah. don’t know if you know this, but i’m great at disrupting plans. i can’t even plan for me. you think i know what i’m saying..? i don’t. i’m just… being honest.”

she doesn’t lie in her personal life. but there’s an expression she affords bryce — a more aware creature, one not quite as bereft as selina, might cover the flat blink. might take some initiative to try to soften the thing. but she doesn’t, and brown eyes blink again, frightfully glassy in the most comical way. her eyebrow lifts.

“do you… do you think i didn’t fall in love with batwoman? like… do you think i don’t love you when you’re the bat? you think that wasn’t the first you i fell in love with? come the fuck on, you know me better.”

a knuckle gently digs into the hinge of the other’s jaw, a joking little gesture that insists she remember who she’s talking to. bryce had insisted it — they’re the bat and the cat, after all — and selina will reiterate that fact. they’re maybe the only two people who can understand each other.

she can’t pretend she doesn’t want to be seen. the idea hurts. so she won’t entertain it, fuck that. no. she’ll do what she wants.

she’s entirely unafraid to take that on. meekness isn’t (often) in her vocabulary.

“i’m still eight. every fucking day. i wake up and for a second there’s blood all over my knees. holly sleeps in my bed and i think she’s me for a second. i wake up and i start to choke until i reorient myself. it’s a fuck of a thing, but it hasn’t gone away yet, so. at risk of being morbid, it beats the alternative.”

she laughs like the hinge of a rusty gate, burying her face into the juncture of a shoulder. the rough, razor laugh racks her body and she apologizes. sometimes she sees herself outside herself and all she wants to do is shake herself by the shoulders, scream in her own face.

“—sorry. jesus. that… wasn’t on purpose. —i don’t want you to change. i just want you to be here with me, too. bryce. batwoman. all of you, both of you. i know you hate it, but you’re really a hero.

like, genuine article.

and when you left… i don’t know. it hurt in a way i can’t just make sense out of it. when i don’t have answers, when i’m alone it just—“

she swallows again. harder.

“—it gets hard to try to be logical. which pisses me off. which makes me worse at everything else. Repeat, ad nauseum until — let’s go with now, optimistically.”

oh, would that she could be anyone else.

that year ekes from the bat’s eyes and selina’s hands swiftly raise to brush it away. the act is instinct, immediate, an incredible, enormous tenderness she cannot even express forcing itself right into the open. all her anger, all her rage cannot stop the need to stem bryce’s pain.

(she doesn’t ever stop thinking about her. but bryce doesn’t understand. how can she…? how can she perceive the darkened corners, the places selina won’t tell her about? she doesn’t ever stop thinking about her and the bryce in selina’s brain is cruel and distant, stoically vicious. nothing like the person diverting her fiddling fingers, no, the bryce in selina’s brain is as hateful as she is.

and how long has she been alone with that echoing reminder — you’re nothing. and you’re nothing because you’re just a stupid little girl. you always overestimate your value. haven’t you figured out that anything above zero sum is an overestimate?)

the wayne estate is a secret garden made of nightmares instead of dreams. the walls are too bleary, too dark and tall and cold, and the gargoyles watch her, think about her when she’s not looking. the atrium casts a shadow that leaves stripes on her body like bars.

the cave always feels so safe. the sound of water dripping, plop, plop, plop, and the way the bats chitter. frigid and enormous, rocks and stone and wide, wide walls. it’s the only place she’s ever really felt safe. how many nights has she slept on the floor, curled up with an arm beneath her head, restless everywhere but the place most likely to give her a horrible chill.

she doesn’t belong here without bryce. she doesn’t think she ever will, even if she can see with the clearest eyes that she longs to. she can feel the ways she wishes she was good enough for something like this. she isn’t deserving of all this grandiosity. extravagance is a sham for daphne kluger — selina kyle was born on the worst block in gotham and raised in a shoebox lined with sheets and seldom blankets. the cabinets were frequently bare and the cat was constantly hurting. her father had hated her, and he had hated her in the way someone can make hate entirely twisted from something they convince themselves is right— anyone can make themselves believe anything if they drink deep enough. at the bottom of every bottle was a new and exciting reason to remind the daughter that wasn’t a daughter at all that she was wrong, that she was born wrong.

she doesn’t think thomas or martha would’ve liked her very much, but she still insists on caring for the area around the mausoleum. she still plants flowers and leaves them fresh roses whenever she can. it feels like gratitude for being here — she thinks they would’ve loved holly.

there are flecks of crimson at the corners of her nails. bryce reads her so easily. dried blood sticks to her cuticles where she picks and picks until that sharp sting brings her relief. hands divert to a tank top and obediently begin to pick at a seam. her brow furrows.

“do you think this is, like, easy for me?

—sorry. sorry. i’m not snapping. it’s a serious question. because… it isn’t. it’s super hard and very weird. this… isn’t my place. i don’t have a place. but this is… it could swallow me whole.

holly loves it. she loves it. but everywhere is her place, i always make sure of that.

i know how to do the best i can with what i’ve got. not — with someone else’s life. i’m not good enough for this. for these — huge chandeliers and big, high ceilings. this isn’t — i can’t have this kind of responsibility without some kind of warning. i’m not you.

if you threw me in a locked room and told me to kill everyone in there i’d be done in less than a minute. but… i don’t know how to do this.”

she breathes out. quietly. a hand keeps tugging at this tank top seam. it feels like the tension leaves her in that exhale.

“you know, i won’t lie. yeah. it was cowardice. but this conversation? —brave of you.”

she picks a piece of fuzz from the bat’s shirt and gently flicks it away before continuing.

“….all i wanted was to just get to be with you. and it felt like… like you took that away from me. i love you. i love walking back from the cave in the middle of the night when you get back. i love making breakfast for you. i love everything about being with you.”

she reaches out a hand, clutching loosely. eyes tick up, wide and wider.

“i need you to let yourself be happy. because you’re standing right in the middle of your own way, and i don’t know if you noticed, but i’m standing next to you.”

[babblydrabbly]

Distracted (Peacemaker x Reader) Smut

Pairing(s): Peacemaker x F!Reader; Brief Javelin x Reader

Characters: Peacemaker/Christopher Smith, Amanda Waller, Javelin

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k+

Warning(s): Smut, language, mentions of blood/violence. Choking, cream pie, semi-rough sex.

Summary: Out on a Task Force X mission, Peacemaker notices you're acting... different. He generously offers to help with what's distracting you. Asshole.

A/N: What's this? Baby's first Peacemaker fic? Takes place before The Suicide Squad (2021). Metahuman!Reader has super strength/speed abilities. Also, what kind of vanilla name is Chris Smith.

---

"Again?"

Amanda Waller arched a brow at your perturbed expression.

"My apologies." She droned. "Am I not stimulating you with enough variety, [L/n]?"

You scoffed, folding your arms in deference. It wasn't about that— It was about the deliberately repeated pairings with Christopher Smith. The dynamic that was becoming a pattern. You never would have worked with someone like Peacemaker on the outside. As much as you appreciated the job always getting done with him, you still bumped heads with him too much on the way to the finish line. He was frustratingly serious and flippant at the same time.

You decided to shut your trap before Waller decided she didn't need you anymore.

"You've got one skillset useful to me, [L/n]. I suggest you get used to the prospect of being paired up with Smith on a regular basis— While you're still around."

You nodded when she dismissed you. You had gotten used to it. You were seeing so much of Peacekeeper you were practically partners.

So, you pointedly sat to next the one called Javelin on the helicopter out of Belle Reve, as far away from Smith as possible. You were about to spend over twelve hours with him— It didn't have to start right away. While Colonel Flag gave you all the spiel on the mission, you glanced over and saw Javelin toss you a nod.

"You're Team B," The thrower noted over the whir of the helicopter. "[L/n], yes?"

"Yeah," you said. Your eyes flitted over the muscular squad member. He looked more like a superhero in his light blue and yellow get-up than the rest of you. You personally kept the lower half of your face covered with a black hard shell mask— Your armor from before you were incarcerated (Yes, you've heard the 'Baby Bane' jokes from the others). Even if you had to get used to working with a bunch of weirdos, you could at least conceal your face from them while you did it.

"You move very swiftly." He complimented, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to take that.

"Thanks," You tried, "I like your... weapon of choice?"

Javelin held his namesake in his arms, his legs spread wide to accommodate it as he rested it against his inner thigh. The innuendo normally would have had you rolling your eyes, but today they lingered, and you wondered if he still looked as broad and muscular without the suit on.

You frowned. Without the suit on?

Were you still staring down at his thighs?

You supposed he was a goddamn Olympic athlete at one point. And prison didn't seem to stop him from his regimen. —There it was again. You blinked and looked away, thankful nobody seemed to notice. Javelin seemed content with the brief introduction, so you left it at that.

Okay, so maybe it had been awhile since you...

You reprimanded yourself. These were not recreational outings. As much as you liked feeling free every once in awhile, you were never in a position to consider doing something so stupid. The last few missions were some of the closest calls you had while on the task force, but now that your job today was more about recon, you could at least let your mind wander to the less... imperative things. You crossed your legs at the ankles in front of you and let mind drift for the rest of the trip.

But christ had prison been rough. And a little boring. You didn’t have to think about Javelin moving closer to you for long— Pressing up flush against you— Before you were imagining yourself against a wall— Hell, right here on this bench— hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusted into you. You pictured him going for two, three rounds, that stupid suit lying on the floor with your back on top of it. You pictured him going down on you too, a handful of his wavy blonde hair in your grasp as you pressed your thighs around his ears. You swallowed behind the mask, glad it was there to hide your face.

You get dropped off an isolated point a few klicks outside the target area, the rest of the team traveling further in to handle the bulk of the mission. You lug some extra equipment in a canvas bag— Guns, surveillance tech— already annoyed by the heat.

The heat of the jungle. Definitely not the heat you'd been feeling in the helicopter. You walked a half mile in total silence just trying to focus on the mission again.

"What's got your tactical suit in a twist?" Smith finally uttered as you got to your destination. You almost forgot he had dropped down the rope onto the ground after you. He stood out against the green around you in his obnoxious red shirt and white pants.

"Nothing." You lied, and you could tell from under his helmet that Peacemaker thought you were full of shit today. Great.

You set up inside a small building— An outpost long abandoned. Whatever organization you were taking down for Waller, they clearly had to downsize over the years. You kicked open the metal door, sending it flying off its hinges. Smith entered first, clearing all the rooms before you joined him. Upstairs, you begin setting up the equipment together. Peacemaker started with standing up a rifle by the window, aiming it at the road below.

You fiddled with a tablet; You went downstairs to put a sensor on the door frame and on the rusted gate blocking the road outside. They were supposed to warn you when any vehicles were approaching, but when you came back up, it lost signal. You did this twice; You batted at the little screen, vexed. There were probably signal jammers over at the main compound that could still reach all the way out here. You thought about how Team A was doing— So inevitably, your thoughts drifted back to the damn Javelin guy.

"Jesus!" You snapped. You were grateful when you didn't break the small screen in half with your strength.

"Okay. What the fuck is wrong." Came Peacemaker's voice from across the room. You stood there without turning around. You took a breath, tossed the tablet onto the bag at your feet.

"Nothing is wrong, Smith. Fuck off." You said. You reached up and unclipped your vest. Beneath it, you felt the cool air of the shelter hit your jumpsuit. You tossed the vest on the floor, then turned around. "When are they supposed to get here?"

He quirked a brow, as if proving his point. Since when didn't you remember the mission details? Rather than give him the satisfaction of thinking you were slipping you waved your own question away.

"God, never mind."

He scoffed. You watched him remove his helmet and gloves, setting them down carefully next to his own pack. He'd made his own area across the room from yours, another tablet showing him a view of the road propped up against the wall. Smith took a seat on the floor; The two of you were going to have to play the waiting game now.

In silence. The thought made you pinch the bridge of your nose right above where your mask stopped.

"You know, I've been at Belle Reve for four years now." You finally relented. You leaned back against your wall, folding your arms over your chest.

"Yeah? So?" Smith retorted. You rolled your eyes.

"So," God— You were really confiding in Christopher Smith. That's what it was coming down to. "I haven't had sex in four years. It's... not a big deal— Nothing's wrong. That's just what I was annoyed about earlier, you know? Consider me over it."

"That why you were ogling the Javelin in the copter today?"

Shit. Shit!

You dropped your arms. "You piece of garbage. You saw that?"

"I'm garbage? You're the one sexually harassing our fellow teammates with your eyes."

"I was not sexually— Nope. I'm done. You're ridiculous." You said. You reached down and went back to your tablet, busying yourself with it idly.

Peacemaker did the same. From the corner of your eye, you just knew he was doing it smugly.

"You know," He said after a few minutes, "If that's all you're bitching about, we can just get it over with."

"Excuse me?"

"You and me. Target's not coming in for another six hours, by the way. You don't need that much time do you, 'four-years-dry'?"

You stared at him from across the room. When you didn't reply, Peacemaker set his screen down so damn casually you consider just shooting yourself in the head.

"You're off your game. I'm not going to let you compromise our objective."

You threw your hands up. "There it is. You're like a broken record."

"What? Am I fucking wrong?"

"No, you're fucking crazy."

"Get over here." Smith instructed in a low voice.

The words shot up your spine, sending a very mixed signal to your brain. Directly across from you, Peacemaker was pinning you with an expectant look— One that was clearly a challenge. It pissed you off.

It was the look he used when he said you couldn't rip a guy's spine right out of his back— It dared you. And when you did succeed, you would shoot him an equally smug look in return. Your back and forths were always crass, always a test of who would back down.

You weren't normally so brutal when you worked alone, but something about Peacemaker brought it out of you. Whenever you were paired together, it was like your powers weren't something you had to hold back. They were something he was always prodding you to embrace. The jabs, the snark— It made you want to punch him in the face.

Standing up, you crossed the room. Smith didn't move as you stepped over his legs, as you leaned down to straddle his waiting lap. He simply watched you shift around until you're comfortably seated, your hands resting on his shoulders. He moved to place his own on your thighs but didn't do anything more.

"Well?" You said.

He shrugged, "Your call."

"What am I gonna do? Dry hump you?"

"Hey, if that's what it takes."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fuck."

Finally, you reached up, unclipping the back of your mask.

"Whoa, wait—" He started, finally reacting to this ridiculous situation, but you already had it off, in your hand.

"I—" He stared at you. You shifted, feeling nervous as you stared back. It occurred to you that you'd never seen him shocked before.

He blinked. "I've never seen your whole face before."

That wasn't true— was it? You tried to think. "What about in Cuba? We camped out for like three days. I had to take it off to eat at least."

"I didn't look."

"You didn't look."

"I don't fucking know! You wear that fucking thing everywhere. When you took it off to eat I assumed you didn't want me looking."

"Wow. How courteous."

"Fuck you."

"Well, isn't that what we're doing here?" You said, putting your hands on your hips stubbornly. Smith's were still resting on your splayed thighs.

"I can't wear this when we— How am I supposed to...?"

He snorted softly, "Don't tell me you're a romantic, [L/n]."

Nothing about this seemed romantic. Least of all with him. Still, if you were going to take the opportunity, you were going to do it your way. You looked him over.

He had a few tufts sticking out from wearing his damn helmet earlier. You reached up and brushed some of it back into place at his temple first. Smith blinked up at you, his brows pinching together.

"This okay?" You heard yourself asking him. He eventually nodded once, watching you as you placed your palm on the side of his face. Finally, you leaned down and caught his lips with yours in a long kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to know his reaction.

But you felt him return it. Slowly at first— Then he was kissing you back. You moaned somewhere in the back of your throat as he ran his large hands up and down your legs, his fingers folding to grip your ass tightly. You were already reacting, already so touched starved. His lips parted, and you felt him swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, over the front of your teeth. You opened for him, your tongue darting out to meet his hungrily.

You tugged at the front of his uniform. Without a word he reached down to pull it up over his head, the fabric dropping off somewhere beside you. You glanced down at his bare chest. You ran your hands over it, dragged your nails down his pecs experimentally. When you looked back up he was still watching you.

Your mouths crashed to meet again, this time with a fervor that threatened to split your bottom lip with every bruising kiss. You felt his hands on you again, pressing into your sides, your waist. He didn't move to take off your clothes, so you drew your hands to your own chest, pulled the zipper of your suit all the way down to your stomach.

He took the invitation, and you gasped when he roughly reaches in and cups a hand around your breast; He kneaded it, brushing his thumb over your nipple. His other hand worked at your shoulder, yanking the rest of your suit off of you. You reached back and tugged the sleeves off, finally exposing your upper body.

You felt the clasp at your back come undone, and Smith was tearing your bra off next. A muscular arm came around to scoop you up by the waist, bringing your chest closer to him. He leaned down, took one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Smith—" He bit you roughly, and it sent a shock of electricity up you. He palmed your other breast again, tweaked at your nipple until your back was arching into his touch. You squeezed your thighs around him.

Then he was back in your face again, bruising a kiss against your lips as you took a breath. Your eyes flew open when you felt the press of his fingers to your mouth. You shot a look at him, but didn't object when he pushed his index and middle fingers past your lips. You sucked them hungrily, your eyes fluttering shut again.

"Fuck," Peacemaker murmured, feeling your tongue swirl around the digits. You slurped sloppily until they were soaked, until he was pulling them back out with a light pop. He brought his hand down to the base of your suit, where the zipper stopped just above your pelvis. A pair of black panties peaked out from the V shape there, the same shade and material as your bra. You gasped when Smith finally pushed down past the layer of cotton, gripped his bare shoulders when you felt his wet fingers dip right into your cunt.

"Fuck," He said again, because you didn't need any help down there. "You're so fucking wet."

You expected to feel humiliation— To hear a joke about how it really had been while. But all you felt were his warm, thick fingers; He ran them up and down your slit, pressed them in small circles around the peak of you a few times. You cursed, your head falling back. Smith leaned up to kiss your throat, teeth dragging across the base of your collarbone. He bit you some more, daring to take your meta-human skin between his teeth. You cried out, your arm reaching to wrap around his head in pleasure.

Smith slid his fingers up into your pussy. He crooked them, scissoring them inside you. Your hips bucked, unable to resist meeting his short thrusts. You felt him grin against your neck. "Damn, baby."

"Shut up." You whispered, letting your hips rolling down to fuck yourself on his fingers some more. When he slipped in a third you moan loudly.

"Fuck! Fuck me." You demanded, yanking the short hair at the back of his head. A groan left Smith's lips, his head jerking back. Quickly, he removed his hand from your suit, pulling the rest of your clothes further down your waist. You lifted yourself off him, but Smith didn't wait. He picked you up and lifted you both off the floor. You grabbed at him as he laid you down on your back, his body between your legs. Then he was ripping off the last of your suit, tearing your boots off.

"Watch it," You snapped— If he fucking ripped anything you—

"Oh please." He huffed, and your thoughts stopped in their tracks as you watched him lean back on his knees above you, undoing his white pants. His cock sprang free from a pair of just as white underwear, his arousal already thick and ready. You stopped yourself from expressing how the sight of him made you even wetter.

He took a moment to drink in your face, a hint of that smug smirk forming. You growled, pulling him down by the neck again before he ruined the moment with speaking. Smith caught your lips again, his hand running down your naked body. He gripped one of your legs and nudges them apart, planting his knees between you.

Despite his earlier preparation, it was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock pushing inside you. You groaned as he entered you, your walls stretching around his length. Your back arched as you took him in, eyes rolling a little into the back of your head.

"Fuck— Chris—" You shuttered. His hands squeezed your thighs at the sound of his name leaving you. You heard his breath shake, his hips remaining utterly still as you got used to the size of him. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see him waiting for you; You nodded once, another moaning already escaping in anticipation.

It was like a brick wall knocking into you. Smith didn't hold back as he began fucking you— Knew you could take it— what with your powers and all. The idea seemed to drive him, and he began hammering into you, his hands moving to bracket your hips so he could fuck you better. Faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

Fuck— You couldn't think. You arched up off of the floor as you rolled your hips to meet Smith's. It felt like he could keep up this pace forever the way he wasn't stopping. Your breathing turned to panting, a high whine escaping you when he shifts just right— he picked you up again. You arched up into his arms, holding yourself up from around his neck as he fucked up into your soaking cunt. You bounced on his cock, a sheen of sweat blooming across your skin.

When you opened your eyes, Smith was still watching you intently— witnessing every little expression on your face while he fucked you. You could hardly discern what he was thinking. All you could focus on was him ramming you, the feeling of his cock hitting and stretching you out.

“Choke me.” He said, and you have just enough wherewithal to oblige. You wrapped your hand around his throat, pressing firmly on either side. You felt the tightness of his skin shifting under your touch. His pulse beat a fast rhythm in time with his rough thrusts. The strength of your grip was a little vice tipping Smith over the edge.

The look on his face, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing sends a jolt up you. You used your other hand to slip two fingers down between your folds. They found your clit, making quick work of bringing you to close to climaxing. You shuttered as you felt the tight coil of it building. Finally, with a cry you were coming, squeezing your legs around him as your hips rolling through every wave of it. Smith groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm until your walls were fluttering from the unrelenting stimulation.

“Going to—“ He warned, and you squeezed the hand around his throat harder, making his eyes roll up. You whimpered as you feel the hot spurt of him fill you, his hips finally locking as he pumped you with his cum.

You both took a moment to catch your breath, your hand releasing from Smith’s neck so he could take in a long gasp. His skin was reddened along his throat and chest. You saw the beginnings of your handprint bruising around his Adam's apple, your fingers a mark on his skin. You hung onto him like that, your arms back around his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck.” You finally said. Out of habit, you checked your watch to assess where you were on the mission. He took your chin in his hand, drawing your eyes back up to him. You saw that his hair had fallen back into his eyes, his face glistening with sweat.

“I’m not done with you.” He said. It sent a shiver through you. You felt your walls flutter again, some of his cum leaking out with his half-hard cock still firm inside you. You gasped as he pulled you off of him, guiding you down until you were turning around on all fours on the floor. You glanced over your shoulder, already craving the feeling of him filling you up with his cock again.

And fuck it, you two do take the whole six hours.

[rocorambles]

Jealousy

Pairing: Atsumu x Reader (Main), Osamu x Reader (Side)

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Rape/Non-Con, Misuse of Duct Tape, Non-Con Bondage, Forced Breeding, Forced Impregnation, Delusional Mindset

Summary: Atsumu is determined to prove that he’s the better twin for you.    

The first time Atsumu meets you he doesn’t remember you so much as he gets stuck on the fact that Osamu is dating someone. Osamu is fucking dating someone and Atsumu is still here single and alone in his late twenties, not a girl anywhere even in sight. It makes him livid as he stares at the identical face gently smiling at you, affectionately holding your hand, looking so damn happy and content. 

What does he have that Atsumu doesn’t? A successful food chain? Cool. But is he a pro-athlete? A medal winning Olympic athlete? One of the best setters in the country? In the world? It’s infuriating to think about and as much as Atsumu loves volleyball, even he dreams of love, marriage, a family of his own late at night when he’s alone on a hotel bed, only Sakusa’s breathing from the other bed in the room keeping him company. 

And those thoughts consume him long after he bids farewell to Osamu and you and suddenly the MSBY Jackals are in an uproar as every team member takes turns being sexiled by their blond setter when they’re off at their away games, as Atsumu nonchalantly strolls into the locker rooms to prep for practice, back littered with scratch marks that Bokuto tries to shield from Hinata’s eyes when the orange haired athlete curiously asks when Atsumu got a cat. 

Girl after girl walks in and out of his bed, his life. Most never lasting more than a night, a few returning for a couple more rounds in the bedsheets, one even manages to interest him enough to grab a cup of coffee with. But it’s the same verdict every time. He’s good enough to fool around with and he’s great in bed, but Miya Atsumu is not husband material, not when he’s already married to volleyball. 

The rejection only fuels his inner turmoil and the green eyed monster inside of him grows and grows, festering and spreading throughout him the more he stops attempting his futile attempts and instead turns his energy to loitering around Osamu and you, inviting himself over for dinners after practice, trying his hand at helping you in the kitchen for brunch on the weekends, crashing in your guest bedroom to the point that Osamu and you gift him a spare key to your shared home. 

Neither of you think much of it, Osamu joking to you privately that this is just Atsumu being the needy emotional brother he really is while you’re just glad to be able to get to know Osamu’s family better. So none of you notice how brown eyes inquisitively trail after the both of you, watching how the two of you seamlessly work out both your hectic lives, never letting the long hours at your job or Osamu’s restaurant get in the way of your relationship, always directing a warm smile or gaze at the other despite how obviously exhausted or far away from a good mood you’re in. 

And Atsumu lets himself believe that this could be his as he hungrily stares at the way you gently caress his brother’s hand, the affection in your gaze as you tenderly kiss him on the lips, the playful wink you give his twin when you tell him you’re getting ready for bed. He lets himself dream that it’s him who you direct those loving gazes to as you cheerfully greet him in the morning, handing him a coffee made just the way he likes it, placing a plate full of delicious piping hot food in front of him. He lets his hand wander down his shorts at night, straining to hear every detail, every decibel of your moans as Osamu and you make love at night, closing his eyes and stroking his cock as he imagines it’s him who’s forcing those beautiful cries from your mouth. 

But it’s not all a picture perfect paradise and Atsumu carefully listens in, alerted by the raising voices he hears through the walls as more and more time passes by. He’d noticed the growing tension in the house, noticed how the two of you were less affectionate, almost awkwardly shuffling around each other when both of you were home from work these past few months. But he couldn’t think of what could have caused both of you to act so strangely, so suddenly, when everything had seemed so swell. 

Curiosity has him placing his ear on the wall and he winces when he hears you shout, anger and hurt in your voice that makes his heart clench painfully, asking when Osamu was going to propose, telling his brother how you’re sick of waiting, how you want to get married and have kids soon. Something shattering inside of him when your voice becomes small and hesitant. 

“I thought that’s what you wanted too, Osamu. Isn’t that why we decided to start living together?”

He expects his brother to leap at the opportunity, to reassure you, yes, absolutely yes, we can get married right away. He knows that if their positions were switched, that’s what he would be doing. But his jaw drops in disbelief, morphing into a scowl when Osamu pleads for you to calm down, to be patient. 

“I do want that. But just not right now.”

“If not now, when? We’re not getting any younger, Osamu.” 

“But my chain is in talks of expanding and there’s so much going on. I just don’t have time-”

There’s a heavy silence as Osamu is quick to snap his mouth shut and Atsumu knows he’s cursing himself for the slip of his tongue, already knows the next words that are going to come out of your mouth, words he himself is all too familiar with from his own past failed relationships. 

“You just don’t have time for us? Me?” 

“That’s not what I meant…”

But it’s too late and Atsumu flinches when he hears loud angry movement, Osamu’s voice imploring you to calm down and stop what you’re doing to no avail as you stomp out of the house, slamming the front door behind you as you make your way to a friend’s house to spend the night apart. 

No one speaks of that night after you return to the house the next day and the three of you continue as normal. Or at least as normal as you can be after an unresolved disagreement that your relationship ultimately hinges around continues ticking like a time bomb in everyone’s minds. And it finally counts down to zero when Osamu packs his bags and plants a cold chaste kiss on your lips before heading to the airport and making his way to seal the deal on the restaurant expansion that’s taken over his entire life. 

Maybe it’s Atsumu’s fault that the two of you are drunk out of your minds, sprawled out on the living room floor. Scratch that. It’s definitely Atsumu’s fault and he drunkenly smiles at how out of it you are, heart warming at the giddy genuine smile spread across your face, happiness in your eyes that he hasn’t seen ever since that argument Osamu and you had. And oh, he didn’t mean to say that out loud and he panics, quickly sobering up when your smile falls at his words, eyes glazed in reminiscence as you think of that night. 

Atsumu isn’t known for his patience, but he waits, not uttering a single word, not moving an inch as you open yourself up to him, telling him your hopes and dreams that so closely match his own of a loving relationship, marriage, family, sharing about the argument Osamu and you had (unknowing of the fact that Atsumu already knows far more than he should). But when you frustratedly laugh at yourself, asking him rhetorically if you’re just being silly and naive, if you’re just a grown woman trying to fulfill a little girl’s childish dream, you’re stunned by the fierce denial from the blonde athlete determinedly staring at you.

“No. You’re not being silly or naive. ‘Samu’s being the idiot. Any man would be lucky and proud to have you as his wife and to create a family with you.”

Those words resonate with you, linger in your mind, further branded into your memory by the sheer sincerity Atsumu drowned them in. And maybe that’s why you find it impossible to play house anymore, find it impossible to live a forced and fake lie when you’re not truly happy anymore. It’s hard, heartbreakingly so, to part ways with the silver haired man when he still holds a part of your heart, but it’s for the best. Why continue when neither of you are on the same page in the long run? Why waste more precious years when you can actively work towards your desired future with someone else who wants the same things as you? 

It’s logical. It makes sense. And yet when you meet up with Atsumu at his apartment for dinner one night to catch up a few months or so after the break up you’re still doubting your decision. 

You had been surprised the blond setter had been so adamant about keeping in touch even after his brother and you separated, but if you’re honest, he’s surprisingly sweet and caring, someone you consider a true friend. So as awkward as it might seem to outsiders, the two of you remain in close contact and you happily agree to his invite when both your busy schedules finally match up. 

But as much as you like Atsumu, the two of you really need to stop drinking so much when you see each other and you let out a cry of frustration when your eyes immediately tear up when Atsumu casually asks how you’re doing as both of you sprawl out on his couch, trying to wave away his worried face as he hovers far too close to you, telling him it’s just the alcohol making you more emotional than usual. 

And you still blame all the drinks he had generously kept refilling for you for the way you sob and cling onto him as he wraps you in a tight hug, telling him how you worry all the time about whether or not you made the right decision to break up with Osamu, whether or not you’re ever going to find someone else, ever going to get married, ever going to have that dream romance you’ve always wanted, ever going to have the happy full family you’ve always yearned for. 

It all comes out of you so easily. But everything with Atsumu has always come easy and you don’t think much of it, finding comfort in his solid presence as he continues to hold you, letting him readjust and find a comfortable position-

You scramble to separate from him when lips tenderly meet yours, limbs flailing as you shove the man away from you, eyes comically wide open as you stare agape at Atsumu. 

“What are you- We can’t- No no no. All of this is wrong. This would KILL Osamu-”

Something inside of Atsumu snaps when he hears his brother’s name from your lips. Even after all this time, you’re still thinking of him? You still care about him? When the better twin is right in front of your fucking face? 

He doesn’t even register he’s shouting those questions in your face, barely registering your terrified eyes as you try to shrink away from him. But your movement of pulling away from him snaps him back to reality and reflexes has his hand twisting in your hair, grabbing you by your roots, fury making him numb to the way you desperately claw at his grip as he drags you to his bedroom. 

You’re too focused on soothing your aching skull when he finally releases you by throwing you onto his bed and pitiful tears stream down your face as you gingerly hold your head, ignorant of how the athlete is rummaging through his closet. In hindsight you’ll wonder why you didn’t try to run while his back was turned, although you already know the answer. This is just Atsumu in one of his moods. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He’ll apologize in just a second. Those are the thoughts fleeting through your mind amidst the sore ache Atsumu has left behind. 

But a warning bell rings relentlessly inside of you as you finally look up when you sense him approaching you, a thick roll of silver duct tape in his hands. 

Had Atsumu always looked so...intimidating?

You try to fight back as you’re suddenly pinned to the bed by a muscular body, flailing and thrashing as calloused hands hold your arms above your hand, tightly wrapping your wrists together, looping extra lengths of the tape around the headboard, securely fastening your arms up and out of the way. But it’s useless, pathetic really, although Atsumu thinks there’s something adorable about how hard you’re trying, only to be easily batted away by his much stronger body as he tears off your clothes and bends your knees, taping your calves to your thighs, one side at a time until both your legs are bound. 

And then there’s silence and stillness other than your wriggling tied form as Atsumu sits back and admires the view of your naked body, reality so much more lucious and gorgeous than he had ever imagined. You struggle against your tight restraints, recoiling as brown eyes leer at you, ravenously devouring the sight of your heaving breasts, raking down your figure before finally landing on your bare pussy on full display as his hands spread your bound legs on either side of you, palms searing your inner thighs with their unwanted warmth as he holds you open. 

One day he won’t need the resilient tape to hold you down and keep you still. One day you’ll let him have you of your own free will. One day you’ll see that he was always the one for you. But he can’t help but feel that there’s something breathtaking about how vulnerable and pretty you are, laid out for him like a wrapped present, something filthily attractive about how striking the silver stripes are against your skin. 

One day he won’t need the resilient tape...but that doesn’t mean he'll stop using it. 

You shudder as he trails his fingers over the duct tape, grinning at you all the while. 

“Can’t have you moving too much if I’m going to breed you. You’ll make all my cum spill out of you.”

He tsks when you frantically struggle at his words, pathetic begs and pleads spilling from your lips as dread fills you from learning exactly what Atsumu has planned for you and suddenly you’re all too aware of just how exposed you are, how tight the front of his pants look as his erection presses against the fabric, how far too close he is to your most intimate part. And you sob as he leans on top of you, pressing his toned body against yours, something hard pressing against your bare pussy as he captures your lips in a kiss to silence you. 

“I thought you would be more thankful considering how you were practically in my arms begging me for kids not even a hour ago. And now I’m here ready to give you what you want and you’re making such a fuss.” 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as you only sob even harder, body shaking and trembling, sniveling as you stare up at him with teary eyes, begging him to stop. 

“Oh shut up. What? Are you worried about the order of things? Worried I’ll just knock you up and leave you alone? Don’t be stupid. I’ll make sure to put a ring on your finger and marry you after this. Who cares about the order of things when the end result is the same.” 

Your mouth opens and shuts a few times, unsure where to even begin telling him just how wrong his reasoning is, unsure how to even process his words. Ring? Marry? What-

But thoughts fly out of your head when a hungry mouth suddenly descends on your breasts, harshly sucking a nipple between wet lips, fingers roughly twisting and pulling at your other nipple and you wail at the jolt of sudden stimulation, too focused on the tongue lapping at your nipples and lances of arousal swirling inside of you to notice how his free hand is shoving his pants and boxers down and off. 

You hate how quick you are to melt into the delirious pleasure, body craving for the touch of another, to be brought to new heights by another after being left to your own devices for the past few months and you can feel your pussy clench and throb, feeling so exposed and empty, practically begging to be stuffed full as slick begins to form between your legs. And as if Atsumu can hear your body’s silent cry for more, he begins to push the tip of his cock inside of you and your back arches, mouth instinctively opening as he takes his time, pressing past your tight opening, slipping further and further inside of you until he’s finally fully sheathed inside of you, letting your body adjust to him as he continues licking and sucking on your breasts, groaning as he feels your tight walls clamp around him with every move of his mouth. 

Atsumu is not known for his patience, but he tries his damn best to take it as slow as he bearably can for you, dragging his cock back and forth against your gummy walls, constantly adjusting the angle of his hips with every stroke until you’re crying out, and he smirks triumphantly, memorizing the exact position and angle that has you seeing stars as he continuously hits that spongy spot inside of you. And all it takes is for his hand to slide between the two of you and gently circle your clit as he continues his steady assault to have you breaking to pieces underneath him, garbled versions of his name escaping your mouth as your orgasm washes over you in heavy tall waves, his own release joining with yours as your pussy convulses and milks him of his sticky white liquid. 

As post-coital bliss disintegrates, shame and relief flood through you, shame for enjoying it, relief that this ordeal is finally over and you wait. Wait for him to remove the tape. Wait for him to pull out of you. Grimacing as he affectionately nuzzles you and litters your face with kisses. But you panic, pure fear flooding through you when you feel his cock twitching inside of you once more, growing inside of you again. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you? Need to make sure I fill you with so much cum that your body has no choice but to get pregnant.”

And he stays true to his words, fucking you over and over again, sometimes hard and rough, sometimes passionate and sensual, sometimes soft and gentle, but always finishing inside of you, adding to the splattered pooling mess inside of you. You feel disgusting, the increasingly wet noises as he thrusts in and out of the sticky wet mess inside of you permeating throughout the room, stomach feeling so bloated with cum that you swear you must be pregnant already. 

Quiet, relieved sobs wrack your body when the weight on top of you finally lifts, when he finally pulls out of you and your body slumps down, all the tension leaving it, discomfort taking its place as you feel a torrent of liquid move to rush out of your overfilled cunt, the beginnings of it already starting to trickle out. But despite your aching dry throat, you manage to let out a strangled cry of disbelief when your hips are uncomfortably raised up, upper body almost folded in half as Atsumu keeps your glistening pussy upright, not allowing even a single drop more to escape. 

And in this new position you have no choice but to watch, anxiety coursing through you when he tears off another piece of duct tape, chest hyperventilating as he places it over your gaping hole, effectively sealing you shut and despite the fact that you thought you had no more tears left to shed, new salty teardrops slide down your cheeks at the debauched site of your own pussy being treated as nothing more than an object, a receptacle for his seed, his beaming smug face between your legs only adding to your humiliation as he smiles down at his handiwork. 

All you can do is mindlessly stare when he directs his smile at you, verbally praising himself for how smart he is for finding a way to keep his cum inside of you and making sure all his hard work doesn’t go to waste, mind and body feeling numb and broken as he finally lets your body lay fully back on the bed, slumping down next to you in exhaustion and cuddling your listless and still bound figure. 

“We can go pick out rings together tomorrow, okay? Maybe try a few more times for some runts after. You think the more I cum in you, the better the chance that you’ll have twins?”

You don’t know, but you have a sinking feeling that you’ll soon be finding out.

[sleephyjhs]

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

[godslush]

The thing about this is I started here on Tumblr, and had a sufficient, genuinely engaged following with [REDACTED] fandom. But after leaving it for actual mental breakdown reasons (and never wanting to return because of that pain), I had such a huge loss of that following refusing to follow me to other endeavors (original/headworld stuff in particular; I had to lock that blog up because the people I trusted to be interested barely acknowledged it and most of the attention it got was 'inspo' scrapers stealing stuff from it to use as public-domain story/campaign fodder), that I migrated away to Twitter. I kind of regained a bit there, as well as more connections, and connections with a wider variety of people (such as Japanese artists, most of whom do not have a Tumblr presence), and it kept me going, albeit barely.

Then Stinky Tesla Man effed everything the Hell up, and by now I've lost almost everything there, too. It's more or less the same low state here as when I switched gears... and at the end of the day the whole reason I do social media at all IS to "get noticed."

A large part of my existence hinges on having an archive of my work for people to dig into to show interest in to give me a reason to make new work. But between Twitter getting more and more archive-averse, to people just not wanting to dig into archives and only wanting a constant feed of new things, my energy dwindles more and more. It's so hard to want to create if the environment guarantees one's work will become obsolete and lose 99% of its value once it reaches more than a week or two old, and when that value wasn't a whole lot to begin with.... welp.

"Just reblog your own work to keep it fresh!" Trust me, if that worked, I wouldn't be here. I stopped doing that because it did nothing but make me feel like I was bothering people by showing them things they already saw and clicked their button for (or didn't and never intended to).

I've said it many times, but I feel like there is no point to going through the effort (which, for me, has become gargantuan in the light of life/world problems and mental health issues) to actually put my ideas down onto a canvas if it is only for myself, because it's in my head in a far better form than my greatest efforts can even begin to manifest. I need the engagement to feel like that work is worth the time and energy, and the amount of engagement (which is more than just likes or blank reblogs, by expected default) I need is relative both to what I used to get (for just putting out what I was creating for myself), and what I see other people who do similar work to me get... this is part of why I don't follow a lot of 'popular' artists whose work I WOULD really like; I get the jealousy pangs so hard that it straight up prevents me from functioning.

I know it's unhealthy, but I literally cannot work around the way my brain is wired to require it, and the ability to get adequate treatment for it is basically impossible in this economy and with my transportation, time, and insurance/money situation. And believe me, I've tried. Living alone is great when it comes to general 'how I live my life without being judged/abused/manipulated at every turn' freedom, but it sucks to not have someone who can help with things like finances, illness, and the moral support only a physically present loved one (be it friend, family, or partner) can provide.

Just having one or two online 'homies' really doesn't provide the energy I need to balance what I spend to create (especially when only one is consistent with support/not ignoring me when I post things while clearly available and giving feedback to others, which triggers RSD), and it never did... and I lost some of the most valuable of them during the NDA incident mentioned in the above link (and the bridge burned so hard from getting treated like I was the monster for it that I do not feel comfortable even considering reconnecting). It's also very difficult for me to make new connections because a lot of people - not all, but it's especially prevalent here on Tumblr specifically, which is why I don't like hanging out here - either are too anxious to reach out more than one or two button clicks, or are so cloyingly forward that they don't know how to privately approach artists without giving off the impression that they're expecting free art down the road for doing so.

It's easy for some people, but it's really not easy for me to 'just kinda relax' short of choosing to cut the internet out of my life and giving up on creating entirely. I'm trying my damndest to not have to choose that path, but with every upheaval, it gets harder and harder...

The problem with migrating back here is that - especially without the Moments themselves for double-checking - I don't know what I'd need to put up here that was unique to TwiX... or, moreover, what would be worth the effort to dig up and repost from scratch.

I at least tried to get a lot of the higher-effort pieces here to begin with, but there's a lot of shorter-form doodles and concepts and ideas that never made it over, that I'm not sure people would even really be interested in, and how I should go about doing it (be it drown people with individual posts with more information doled out piece-by-piece via queue, or do huge summary image sets).

Really wish it didn't come to this, but alas, trying to get noticed on any social media is a roiling stew of frustration and disappointment with very few outs...