#the answer to this has already occurred in the background

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

If some human cought*ash*cought ate a energon shard what would happen ?

Likely choke? I do not think eating a shard/rock would be pleasant... at least in that form.

Am I purposely being obtuse? Yes. Is there a reason for that? Also yes.

Read to find out, but, considering energon is simply energy in a physical form, there are going to be other ways to consume it.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: daddy kink

His phone rings twice before he manages to pick it up.

It’s buried beneath a stack of file folders, their manilla sleeves full of papers that say practically nothing, just big black strikethroughs all across the pages.

A waste of time.

You’re still at work too, at least you were the last time he checked, the little blue icon on the map showing your location at the bakery.

It’s well past seventeen hundred, and you should already be at home but when these last minute things come in, you have a hard time saying no.

For now.

He has a plan to rectify that.

The phone vibrates once, twice before he pulls it free, glancing at your name across the top of the screen and putting it to his ear. “Hi sweetheart-”

“D-daddy,” it’s jagged, covered by a reedy rasp, shortened breaths puffing into the microphone. The razored edge of his Captain mindset falls away to something else, and he softens his voice, coos at you over the echoing sandpapered gasps.

“Hey baby, what is it?” Cut to the chase. Identify the problem. Keep her calm. The answer to his question is a muffled sob, and someone’s high pitched, panicked voice in the background. His mind runs in a million different directions, paths splitting and multiplying, but they all lead to the same place. Eliminate.

“We were r-robbed, we were… they broke the door and m-made me open the safe.” Every vein, every blood cell, every single piece of his body turns to ice, and the door to his office nearly comes off its hinges as he rips it open. The hallway is a million miles as he charges through it, corner of the phone pressed so tight to his skin he thinks it might bruise, and when he spots Kyle at the end of the hall, he jerks his head, muting his end of the conversation for a second.

“Need you with me.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Someone held up the bakery. Don’t know more than that yet.” Kyle doesn’t press, he just falls in at his side, stride by stride, overtaking the distance to his truck until they’re screaming out of the lot towards the gate. The police scanner mounted on the dash is squawking.

String of burgs. Multiple businesses hit. Caller reporting burg just occurred two nine pine Pratt street.

“D-daddy,” you whimper, so small and so fucking terrified, his vision goes red with rage.

He’ll tear them limb from limb.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know- they… they grabbed me but I don’t th-think so.” He’ll kill them.

“Are they still there?”

“No, they… they left,” you hiccup and gasp, “Mara called… she called the police.”

“You’re sure they’re gone?” You choke on a sob. “It’s okay, deep breath. Just listen to me. Take a big breath, you can do it.” An inhale strangles its way through your lips, and then whistles back the way it came. “Good girl, that’s it. Are you sure they’re gone?”

“Yeah, they… they left when I called you, I called you- I didn’t know what to do I didn’t… I- I-”

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay. ‘m almost there.” A squad car goes flying by them full lights and sirens, Kyle’s fist tightens on the wheel.

“You’re coming?” Your voice bleeds with hope.

“I’m coming baby.”

The police beat them there. Not by much, but with enough time that they’ve already made entry and contacted you and Mara, bringing you outside to where an ambulance waits.

You’re terrified. The medic is trying to urge you over but you’re immobile, shaking like a leaf with your fingers clutching one another, eyes wide and wet.

When you catch a glimpse of him striding towards you, your body loses its battle, limp muscles failing to hold you up and sending you careening to the ground. He makes it just in time to catch you by the waist.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he cups the back of your head, curling his shoulders to shield you, “I’m here, I’m right here. Daddy’s here.” You don’t respond. He knows your words are failing you, and he has no desire to force them forward. Instead, he looks over at the medic. “Did you get to look at her yet?” She shakes her head.

“She wouldn’t let me get close enough.” He cups your cheek and chin to pull your face away.

“The medic is going to look you over.” He’s very firm. There’s no room for negotiation, and your uncertainty from earlier rings between his ears. You shuffle as he leads you to a spot where you can sit, still clinging to him, too afraid to let go. When he stands, a terrified nose echoes in your throat. “I’m not goin’ anywhere sweet girl, I’ll be right here with you, alright?”

You nod.

He holds you the entire time, keeping you calm as they check your pupils, asking about pain, dizziness, anything abnormal. It doesn’t take long, and once you’ve passed the exam, he carefully loads you into the passenger seat of the truck before finding Gaz.

He’s sitting on the curb next to Mara, her face blank except for the wrinkle between her brow.

“I’m gonna take her home in a minute, drive her car.” He motions to the sedan in the back of the parking lot, and Mara shivers.

“Alright,” There’s a small gleam in Kyle’s eye, barely there but lurking in the depths of his pupils, and if he wasn’t so grim, he’d smirk. “Take care of her.” His nod is solemn.

“I will.”

You don’t speak.

He gets you in and out of the shower, into clean clothes and settled at the kitchen table with some light dinner in front of you, all without a single word. You’re responsive at least, following commands, listening, open your mouth when he holds a spoon of soup up to it. When you swallow, he praises.

“Good job baby.” You don’t ask for more, you just sit there, a hand on his thigh, fingers gripped tight like you’re trying to hang on. “Are you getting full?” The entire bowl is nearly gone, but you still don’t answer.

He won’t push. Everyone deals with traumatic experiences differently, violent experiences, and he doesn’t care how long it will take you to process it all. He’ll be right here through it.

You sniffle and sag against the chair. Your energy is completely depleted as he expected, and the soup will have to be enough for now.

“Alright sweetheart, c’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”

Instinct tells him to leave the hall light on and crack the door, carefully extracting himself long enough to get changed and refill your water bottle, talking to your silent form the whole time, telling you where he’s going, what he’s doing. Your eyes don’t leave his for a second, though the light seems to soothe some of the anxiety marring your face.

When he finally gets back in bed and pulls you close, you break apart, burying your face in his chest to sob.

All he can do is hold you.

[gloomwitchwrites]

secret baby trope with tf141? 😌😌

Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much. I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst

Word Count: 2.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.

He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and that’s exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.

Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.

It’s bloody fucking brilliant.

Kyle isn’t attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why he’s splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. It’s mostly for background noise. Kyle isn’t really paying attention to it.

With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people he’s had it off with but never took anything further.

He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.

They just happen upon him. Kyle doesn’t drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.

You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex he’s ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw you—over a year now—that Kyle has thought about what could have been.

You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didn’t follow through. He would regret it, but things can’t be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.

Kyle’s thumb hovers above the screen.

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t.

But he does. Because why not?

Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesn’t usually give a shit about what’s happening in people’s lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If you’re not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.

You don’t have him blocked on anything—thank fuck—and Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.

Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.

Just three—no—four months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.

Your…son.

Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.

He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyle’s heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

“Fucking hell,” groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.

Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you contact him?

The very thought of you not reaching out doesn’t sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.

“Fuck,” says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.

He finds Simon’s number and taps the call button.

It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesn’t think that he’ll answer. But he does.

“Kyle,” comes Simon’s gruff voice.

Kyle sighs. “I need you to track someone down for me.”

John Price

John doesn’t like cutting off contact with people.

He likes to keep in touch, even if it’s just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people he’s able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.

Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.

Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. He’s prone to it since he’s never in one place. Always moving around.

John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesn’t seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when he’s constantly called away.

He chews it over while sitting in his office. It’s late, and there isn’t anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to him—a time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isn’t certain, and it’s hardly enough to go on.

Sighing, deciding he’d rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.

John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.

If this doesn’t work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.

He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,

“There you are,” he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.

Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isn’t an issue. He has enough.

John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. He’ll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.

“You have the wrong number, bud.”

The man’s southern drawl irks John. “You sure?”

“Yeah I’m fucking sure. Quit calling.”

John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isn’t recent.

“Fuck,” mutters John, running his hand through his hair.

This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he can’t do that unless he’s on scheduled leave. That’s months away.

And each month is fucking agony.

When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someone’s door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.

But fuck it. He’s here.

Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore.

John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears it—the turn of a deadbolt.

The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.

“John,” you breathe.

He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. You’re—oh shit.

“Is that—”

“Yours?”

Fuck.

John glances up into your eyes and swallows.

You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.

“It is,” you confirm.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shouldn’t. Really—it’s fucked up. Wrong.

But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way he’s letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.

He’s done a lot of things he isn’t proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.

Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldn’t make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.

But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.

Sure, you’re not truly his now, but you’ll come back to him. He’ll make sure of it.

In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.

It’s where he first learned you were pregnant.

You know, and haven’t told him. Haven’t reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.

You are fucking pregnant. With his child.

It’s growing in your belly.

Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.

It’s fucking painful watching you like this.

He’s stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.

But you’ve broken it off before, and came back eventually.

Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.

Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.

He has to play this right.

He has to.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Do you think you’ll ever find your woman again?”

Johnny grins behind his pint glass. “If she’s here,” he replies.

The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. It’s refreshing since it’s so bloody hot outside.

Johnny didn’t think he’d ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missions—a way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didn’t expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.

He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnny’s eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charm—melting like butter over fresh toast.

That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnny’s hotel room. But the two of you didn’t have sex. It wasn’t until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.

Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasn’t a moment after that Johnny didn’t have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.

But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.

Eventually, you didn’t talk to Johnny at all.

He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didn’t hear a thing—and he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesn’t exactly like it.

It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you left—and if he’s being entirely honest with himself—he still fucking likes you.

Maybe you’ll be here. Maybe you won’t.

Kyle is with him this time. A guy’s trip. Price isn’t one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.

“We could try that pub again,” suggests Kyle. “See if she’s there.”

Johnny shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Did she live here?” asks Kyle.

Johnny nods. “Aye. Sure did.”

Kyle bobs his head. “We’ll find her.”

The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. It’s hot, but it’s a beautiful fucking day.

Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.

Is that?

No. Can’t be.

His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. It’s you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You haven’t changed all that much. Not really.

There is another woman with you—a friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.

But that isn’t what has Johnny’s attention.

You’ve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.

“What is it?” asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.

“That’s her,” murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.

You don’t see him. You’re chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.

“Oh fuck,” says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.

“Is that?”

“It fucking is.”

“She’s fucking pregnant.”

Johnny swallows. “Aye.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.

But that doesn’t sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you sooner—not finding out like this.

You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friend’s arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.

You’re staring right at Johnny.

And he’s staring back.

[cuntygojo]

everything is romantic ft. armin arlert.

synopsis: a game of cat and mouse gets to be a little too much for armin.

content warning: nerdmin, sub!armin, dom!reader, armin has a tongue piercing, armin is a PERVERT, the glasses stay ON during sex, coming inside, not proofread, prob more but i’m a freakaleak and can’t keep track. wc: 943.

notes: not apologizing for anything that occurs in this fic, i need armin badly!!!!!

poor armin, you’ve been making him play this little game of cat and mouse far too long, and he doesn’t know how much more of it he can take.

a day goes by, and you’re purposely leaving your panties on the floor of the bathroom, but you swear up and down it was on accident!

“sorry ‘min, guess i forgot to grab them after my shower.” you’d say, eyelashes batting at him slowly.

“it’s okay, just please— be more careful.”

“i can’t make any promises.”

he sighs, walking back to his room to play overwatch.

no promises kept, the boy catches you changing with your bedroom door open a week later. he didn’t mean to look, he promises, his eyes moved on their own. he can’t help the fact that late at night, he imagines your body, and how soft it would feel— your hands teasing his cock oh so slowly.

by the time he’d start to lose track of it all, he heard something. at first, maybe it could’ve been confused as background noise people use for sleep, but the moans that followed after? definitely couldn’t. it was coming from your room.

fuck.

he tries to ignore it, but god, the way you sound is making him lose his mind. he can’t control the strain of his cock against his plaid sleep pants either. armin tries to think of something— anything to help him right now, but he’s far too distracted by your loud moans. he can’t help the way you sound when you whimper his name is driving him crazy.

he either needed to ignore it until you inevitably decide to torture him again, or finally put an end to your sick teasing.

he hesitates at your door, adjusting his glasses, and a hand hovering over the doorknob. should he knock? should he barge in? he decides on an answer in the middle, opening your door slowly and meticulously, just enough so he can see what you’re doing.

the poor boy nearly lets out an audible gasp at the sight. there you were, in the flesh, vibrator between legs. he’s frozen in shock— but his hard on is saying otherwise. fuck it, he thinks, it’s not like you’ll notice anyways, he speaks to himself as he slides down his boxers just enough to start touching his cock.

“o— oh god armin! you’re s’good, my good boy!”

armins cock twitches, keep calling me that please. his tip is red and sensitive, he’s waited too long to finally make himself feel good like this; thinking— no, seeing you like this is driving him wild. the blonde starts with a slow stroke, his cold hand wrapping around his warm cock, he can’t help but moan. armins eyes widen.

you turn your head to your door, finally noticing him. you let out an airy laugh before speaking,

“armin! took you long enough, come in!”

he gulps and tucks in his painful hard on, walking slowly into your room of the shared apartment.

“uhm, look— i’m really sorry that i—“

before he could finish, you’re standing up to kiss him, tongue slotting perfectly into his mouth. you feel the cold metal that adorns his mouth, giving yourself a second to admire it with your tongue. he lets out a little whine in response, your hand coming up to grasp the back of his neck as you deepen the kiss.

breaking the kiss, you lean him down onto your bed before whispering, “it’s okay, don’t worry.” he’s confused, and moreover aroused, so he lets you take the lead. “since we’re both already eager,” you start, rubbing your hand over his bulge, “why don’t we just skip to the good part?”

armin nods frantically, hands already moving towards your chest— which he’s obsessed with. you waste no time removing his pants, boxers following suit. body moving on its own, you begin to straddle armin, cupping his face in the process. so cute, you think.

“do you want me to fuck you, ‘min?”

eagerness taking over him, he guides his tip near your entrance, shuddering at your wetness. you ease down gently onto his cock with a moan, letting your hands roam as you pull up his shirt. you fingers tweak with his nipple, which is seemingly sensitive, because you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

letting out a giggle, you start to move up and down on him, making him let out a whimper. his hands grasp your hips tightly, almost as if to stop you from moving. he was strong sure, but your dedication to make him cum was stronger.

“listen baby,” you let out a moan, his cock pressing gentle kisses against your walls, “want you to cum inside, ‘kay?” he looks at you with the cutest puppy eyes, all you can do is smile down at him as you continue, “be my good boy ‘n do that for me, please?” it’s almost as if you’re begging for it, but you know he wants it just as you.

he’s thrusting into you as your bouncing gets sloppy, his grip never faltering, and his glasses sliding down his nose. you’re both a moaning mess, armin’s mouth open agape, he just can’t handle the pleasure anymore. for most it would be embarrassing how quick he came, but to you, it was the hottest thing ever.

you felt his cock twitching inside as he came with a whimper, and you quickly follow suit by clenching down onto him, gripping his chest. he starts laughing— laughing, and you were so confused.

“y’know,” he fixes his glasses, “if you wanted to do this from the start, you could’ve said so.”

[sheeezu]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Non-dualism , it's significance in shifting.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

A little background, I am into non-dualism (hindu traditional) and in an ask I answered, I left in a small mention of non-dualism. A (singular) gatekeeper brought in their harassment train over to my inbox, I handled their first ask, but this morning they shared their valuable and corrupted braincells with me, mind you, with full hatred. They did attach a post, probably from another non-dualism gatekeeper, which I couldn't get to since I blocked the anon to preserve my energy.

It made me think.... someone supposedly following a philosophy full of love could be so.. lowly, tense, and triggered. That's not at all what non dualism is. What concerned me more, was the level of gatekeeping, I do not gatekeep. I will never gate-keep, something my whole life is devoted to (my spiritual belief) I would never deprive anyone else of them. ...if these people exist, does the shifting community really have a good, comprehensive exposure to non-dualism? . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

⊹ ࣪ ˖Firstly, ◇what is non-dualism ◇ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

What it is, is a quick google search away. In short words, it teaches that you're not a separate entity. You're not separate from nature, universe, any form of existence and the divine. Its the technique which involves erasing the lines of distinction, to flow energy through all. You emerge from something, it emerges from you. If you look up non-dualism it'll tell you, you're living in one reality, which wouldn't make sense because you'll ask, "wait, then where's the concept of the multiverse?" And my response is.... that reality is your consciousness. Everything is a projection of your consciousness. There has always been one, the provider of sacred energy which keeps the wheels running, that provider directly aligns with your beliefs, god, or you. (Okay don't laugh at me for this) some examples, so non-dualism can register in your brain before we move forward.

- You are the ocean, similarly the ocean, the waves, the life within, the presence of a balanced ecosystem beneath the water is you.

- you personify both change and stillness.

- this environment is a reflection of your inner self.

- the void state is a proof of your non-dual state.

- you are an eternal being but at time you represent mortality.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Therefore your identity is not defined.⋆⭒˚.⋆

(Next, something quite eye-opening if you're able to understand it; from Mandukya Upanishad)

Turīya is not that which is conscious of the internal (subjective) world, nor that which is conscious of the external (objective) world, nor that which is conscious of both, nor that which is a mass all sentiency, nor that which is simple consciousness, nor that which is insentient. (It is) unseen (by any sense organ), not related to anything, incomprehensible (by the mind), un-infer-able, unthinkable, indescribable, essentially of the nature of Consciousness constituting the Self alone, negation of all phenomena, the Peaceful, all Bliss and the Non-dual. This is what is known as the fourth (Turīya). This is the Ātman and it has to be realized.

₊⊹A gatekeeper's worst nightmare - can you uneducated, possessing a lowly caste, "stupid" (❗sarcasm intended, in response to the anon, I love you all so much please do not kill me ❗) people implement non-dualism into shifting; why yes of course. It is simply a belief. Like you believe manifestation occurs, like you believe the sun rises each morning, like you believe seasons change, nobody can steal your powers from you, and you're free to do whatever, you're limitless, and let's be real, we don't have any old monks or gurus to please here, we all want to shift.₊⊹

^᪲᪲᪲Non-dualism in shifting - the concept. ^᪲᪲᪲

When you lay down to shift; you constantly try to achieve some state, a state of being in your dr. According to non-dualism, the state has already been achieved, since you are not separate from it. Similarly, you're not separate from the version of you who has shifted; you're not distinct from your dr self, you're already well blended into the environment and atmosphere of your dr. So basically, we circle back to our pillars of shifting belief:

- "you're already in your dr, right now"

- "you shift every second"

- "shifting doesn't require effort"

- "shifting is instant"ּ

٠ ࣪⭑Non-dualism in shifting - the application ٠ ࣪⭑

(I'm going to do points since it looks cleaner)

- if non dualism resonates with you- adapt it into your day to day life, your stream of thoughts. Look at the sky, "That's me", look at the soil, "That's me", look at the liveliness of nature, "That's me", imagine a visual of you living your best life, "That's me."

- related to void or trance state, remember, the blackness behind your eyes, is you, and that blackness is the void state. And you are the void state.

- You are the knowledge; you are the wisdom you require to shift and manifest.

- You are the state of being in your dr, and you are the state of not being in your dr ... I don't know... choose what's convenient? :)

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes it. I hope all of you all sleep enlightened and in full bliss tonight. Secondly, next time you send in an ask to challenge me, I- I will write essays to prove you wrong.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

[cuzxai]

static - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: 😲😲😲😲 phone sex with reid (inbox open, please request)

You’re just about to fall asleep when your phone buzzes softly against the pillow. The screen lights up with a contact photo you didn’t realize you’d memorized—Spencer, blurry and smiling, probably mid-laugh from the day you took it. You answer without hesitation. “Hey,” you murmur, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a pause, like maybe he didn’t expect you to pick up so quickly. When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse but gentle in the way only he can manage.

“Did I wake you?”

You turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a sleepy smile. “Kind of. But it’s okay.” He exhales into the line and something about the sound makes your stomach flutter. It’s not relief, exactly. More like… release. Like hearing your voice made something inside him loosen.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally. “Too much noise in my head. I didn’t want to be alone with it.”

You tug the blanket up to your chest. “Rough case?”

“Yeah,” he says. And that one word carries so much: long hours, too many victims, the weight of responsibility he always takes on alone. “We’re just in the waiting phase now. Interviews are done. Morgan and Hotch are going over timelines. It’s a lot of hurry-up-and-wait.”

“And you’re in a motel?” you ask, already picturing it: a dimly lit room, stiff sheets, the hum of a bad AC unit in the background.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Small town. Two-star situation. The mattress feels like cardboard.”

You smile softly. “Poor baby.”

“I’m not fishing for sympathy,” he says, a little defensively.

“No,” you tease, “but you’re definitely hoping I’ll say something to make you forget it.” He’s quiet again.

Then a little rougher, “Maybe.” There’s a shift in his breathing. Something you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well but you do. It’s subtle, barely there but it makes your heart thump. You recognize that sound. That shallow inhale like he’s trying not to let it show.

Your voice drops. “Spence. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he answers too quickly. Then, quieter, “Just… thinking.”

You smirk against the phone. “Thinking about me?” You swear you can hear him swallow.

“Yes.” Another pause. This one longer. And when he speaks again, his voice is soft but not shy. Not embarrassed. Just real. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I didn’t call to— I wasn’t trying to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” you say, sitting up slightly, your pulse starting to pick up. “It’s not weird. I like knowing you think about me like that.” He doesn’t say anything at first. But the sound of him breathing shifts again, deeper now. More purposeful. “Tell me what you’re doing,” you murmur.

A beat. Then slowly, carefully: “I’m just… lying on the bed. Still dressed. But I—” he pauses like he’s deciding how much to give away. “I have my hand over myself.”

Your breath catches. “Are you hard?”

“Yes.” You press your thighs together under the sheets, already warm from just imagining it. Spencer in some creaky motel bed, trying not to get too into it because his team is down the hall.

“Touch yourself,” you whisper. “I want to hear what it sounds like when you do.” There’s a hitch in the line—movement, maybe fabric shifting or his hand adjusting.

“I—okay,” he says breathlessly. “I’m… pressing against the shaft. Through my pants right now. Applying slight pressure—uh—engorgement of the corpora cavernosa has already occurred, so stimulation is…” He trails off, like he just realized what he’s doing.

You laugh softly. “You’re giving me a lecture, Doctor Reid.”

“I know,” he groans, embarrassed. “I can’t help it. I—It’s just how I process. When I get nervous or—aroused—my brain defaults to clinical terminology. I—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you breathe. “It’s hot.”

He lets out a choked laugh. “You’re the only person on Earth who would say that.”

“Maybe,” you tease, “but I’m the only one who gets to hear it, so I’d say that works out.”

He’s breathing harder now, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m unzipping my pants. It’s… a little awkward lying like this. But I can feel the friction through my boxers. It’s—god, it’s warm. I’m leaking already.”

Your stomach flips. “I haven’t even touched myself tonight,” you whisper, running a hand slowly down your body beneath the sheets. “I was waiting for you to call.” You hear a low sound from him—almost like a whimper but he catches it before it escapes fully.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” he says, voice thick. “But now I can’t stop picturing your hands. Your mouth.”

“Mmm. You like when I use my mouth, don’t you?” You ask and his breath stutters.

“I think about it too much. Sometimes during briefings. During flights. I’ll remember the way you looked up at me from between my legs and I— I can’t focus.”

You moan quietly. “Tell me more.”

“I—I can’t get enough of the way you hum when you’re doing it. Or how your fingers dig into my thighs. You’re so soft and warm and—fuck���I’m touching myself now.”

You squeeze your legs together, slick already pooling in your panties as his voice drips into your ear like molasses. “How?” you ask breathlessly.

“My fingers,” he pants. “Wrapped around the base. I’m stroking slow, not too tight yet. The pressure is increasing blood flow but—fuck—there’s already too much. It’s… overstimulating.”

“Do you want me to slow you down?”

“No,” he whispers. “Don’t stop. Don’t let me stop.” There’s a tension in your chest now, rising with every breath he takes.

You slide your own hand lower, easing the ache that’s been building since the second he said your name.“Spencer…”

“I keep picturing you with your hand between your thighs,” he gasps.

“It is,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself, Spence. I’m so wet just listening to you.”

He groans, a low sound that rips through the speaker. “I’m close,” he chokes out. “Already. But I don’t want to come yet. I want to listen to you. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m pulsing,” you murmur. “My fingers are soaked. I wish it were yours. I wish I could slide you inside me right now, slow and deep.”

“Fuck.” You hear the bed creak beneath him, hear his sharp inhale as he tries to keep control. He’s falling apart but he’s not there yet—not quite. And neither are you. So you both breathe into the silence. Desperate. Flushed. Teetering on the edge. Spencer’s breath is heavy in your ear. It’s the kind of sound that tightens your stomach and makes you ache, like he’s caught between wanting to speak and not wanting to break the fragile control he’s still holding onto. You can’t help the rush of heat that spreads through you at his small curses. He’s fighting his body, fighting the need to come, all while trying to be considerate of you. It’s so damn Spencer.

You whisper, running your hand over your body, mimicking the movements you know he’s making. “You need to let go a little, don’t you?” He gasps, the sound cutting off abruptly. You hear the shift of his body as his hand speeds up, the friction becoming more intense.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. You wonder if he’s going to try to hold back, but when he finally speaks, his voice is raw, needy. “I—I don’t want to come yet,” he confesses, so quietly that you almost miss it. “I don’t want to rush it.”

“Then slow down,” you tell him, your hand slowly moving beneath your sheets in tandem with the rhythm of his voice.

He breathes a shaky laugh escaping him. “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”

“I know, baby,” you murmur, the word slipping out without thought. “It’s hard for me too.” There’s a slight catch in his breath, a slight trembling and you know he’s fighting with everything he has to keep himself in check.

“I… I can’t explain it. It’s not just the physical… it’s the mental stimulation. The proprioceptive feedback is off the charts. I’m—fuck, I’m getting lightheaded just talking about it.”

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to keep things academic, even now. “You’re so hot when you do that,” you tell him, voice thick with desire. “I think I might get off just listening to you try to sound all scientific while you’re on the edge of losing it.”

He groans at that, and you can almost see his face, flushed with embarrassment, as he shifts around in his bed. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to—”

You cut him off gently. “You don’t have to apologize, Spence. I love hearing you like this. You can let go. You can talk to me, tell me exactly what you need.” He takes a shaky breath and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue or retreat back into his overly-analytical shell but then he says your name, low and desperate. The desperation in his voice makes your heart race. You’ve never heard him like this—raw and open, breaking away from his usual restraint. You’re so close to pushing him past that edge. You don’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, you keep him on the brink. “Tell me what you need, Spencer,” you whisper, your voice thick with anticipation. “You’ve got me right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I need you to…” he starts, but his words get stuck in his throat. “I need you to make me feel good. I don’t want to—fuck, I need to feel you.” Your pulse quickens as you hear the vulnerability in his voice.

“You can feel me, Spence. I’m right here. You just have to focus. Focus on how good you feel right now.”

“I’m trying,” he whispers and there’s that catch in his voice again. “I just—fuck, I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”

Your body aches at his words as you whisper back, “Let go for me. Let me hear you.” Spencer’s breath hitches again, faster. Like he’s teetering on the edge. You’re both so close. So close. But he’s still holding back, still refusing to let go completely. You feel the tension, the urgency in his voice. You’re both quiet for a moment now. Just breathing. And even through the static of the phone, you can hear every soft puff of air he exhales. Every subtle shift of movement on that scratchy motel bedsheet. He’s being so good. He speaks up through the groans. Just your name. It’s broken but like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary. You press the phone tighter to your ear and close your eyes, your free hand sliding between your legs as your voice softens. “Still with me, baby?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, hoarse. “I’m just—my hand’s shaking.”

“How long have you been like this?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

There’s a beat before he says, “Since before I called you.”

Your heart flutters. You shift in bed, biting back a moan. “That long?”

He hums a pitiful little yes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to, but everything felt… empty. Like my skin was too tight. I—I kept getting hard every time I thought about your voice. About your hands. About the last time we—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. You know he’s fighting, hard. Harder than he should be.

“Spencer,” you murmur, “you’ve been so good for me. So patient. But I don’t want you to hold back anymore.” He exhales like he’s just been told he can finally breathe. “Come,” you whisper. The word is barely out of your mouth before you hear him fall apart on the other end of the line. The soft, slick sounds of his hand meeting skin. The choked gasp that gets caught in his throat. The deep, trembling groan like it’s been trapped in his chest for hours.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, his voice breaking. “It’s—it’s too much, God.” You can hear the rhythm. He’s fast. Desperate. Probably fucking into his own hand with nowhere near the control he had earlier. You let your fingers glide through your own slick heat and sigh into the phone.

“Does it feel good, baby?” His breath hitches again.

“Yes, it’s—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” you coo, “Feels so good, hmm?” A strained whine escapes him.

“It’s—it’s throbbing. It’s pre-cum. My whole body feels like—like I’m on fire. My hand is wet, I don’t—I don’t even know how much came out, it’s so fucking sensitive and I’m—I’m gonna lose it.”

“You’re doing so well,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself too, Spence. You’ve got me so wet.”

He whimpers. “Please,” You feel your own orgasm building, slow and steady like a wave about to crash. You want to finish with him. You want to feel it in his voice when it finally hits him. You don’t even get another word out before he gasps so loud it cuts through the speaker, his breath catching in his throat as he falls over the edge. It’s not even a groan—it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. Desperate, stunned, overwhelmed. You hear the wet slap of his hand faltering, the breathless moans as he rides it out.

“ah— please.” he keeps saying your name like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. And that’s what sends you over. You press the phone harder to your ear, hips stuttering against your hand as your orgasm hits you like a tremor. Your whole body arches as you cry out, biting your lip to keep quiet but knowing he hears it—feels it—because you can hear him panting through his own aftershocks. It’s messy. Loud. Intimate in a way that phone sex usually isn’t. Neither of you talk for a while. Just the sounds of two people on opposite sides of a phone line, breathing like they’ve just been pulled from underwater.

Eventually, Spencer breaks the silence with a soft laugh. “That was… wow.” You smile, sinking back into your bed.

“Yeah. Wow.” He’s still breathless but there’s a note of wonder in his voice, like he’s not entirely sure that just happened. “I’ve never… I mean— that was…”

“Good?” you offer. He laughs again, quieter this time.

“Yeah. Very.” You imagine him lying there, hand limp on his chest, flushed and dazed and probably trying to mentally calculate how many calories he just burned. It makes you ache with affection.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

“More than okay,” he says and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I just… wish I could hold you right now.”

You let out a breath, soft and sincere. “Me too.”There’s a pause before you sheepishly ask, “Think you can sleep now?”

He hums. “Eventually. I’ll probably fall asleep picturing you.”

You laugh softly. “Pervert.”

“Your fault,” he says, voice already thick with sleep. And it is. And you’re okay with that.

[orellazalonia]

The Hard Truth

Summary: An investigation occurs that uncovers the woman they trusted for years was never officially cleared and may have manipulated her way into their ranks by gaining their trust and blending in.

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter, I wanted something in between the next part for a better transition. (Granted, I’ve had shorter sections in previous parts lol.) Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The alarms had stopped, but the tension hadn’t.

The command room felt smaller than usual. Dimmer, even with the lights on. The feed from the lower level played silently in the background. Doors swinging open, timestamp blinking, empty cells.

Sam stood near the window, arms crossed so tight it looked like he was holding himself together. Clint paced. Wanda sat with her elbows on her knees, hands pressed together under her chin. Bucky hadn’t said anything since coming back upstairs. He stood in the corner like a shadow. His mind racing with the woman who he had let into his life so easily, who has now confirmed his recent suspicions.

Tony leaned forward over the table. “This isn’t just a leak. It’s an inside job.”

“She’s still here,” Bruce said quietly. “Never left compound range. She was in the kitchen, admin wing, at one point she was in the library.”

“Because she’s not running,” Natasha finally spoke. “She doesn’t have to.”

Steve frowned. “We don’t have proof it was her.”

Sam let out a sharp breath. “We don’t have proof it wasn’t.”

“She’s helped us for years,” Wanda said softly. “You know that. She’s not… she’s not some enemy plant.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked. Not cruel. Not angry. Just… tired. “Because I’ve been in those roles. Done what she might’ve done. And nothing hides guilt better than familiarity.”

“She saved my life during the Jakarta op,” Clint said. “Broke protocol to do it. That wasn’t for show.”

“Or it was the perfect show,” Tony muttered, rubbing his temples. “God, we always give the benefit of the doubt to the ones who smile the most.”

“She didn’t just smile,” Bruce added. “She was kind.”

“Kind doesn’t mean clean,” Natasha said.

Steve held up a hand. “Okay. Enough. We investigate properly. No assumptions. Full audit.”

“She was cleared when she came in,” Sam said.

Tony looked up. “Yeah, but who cleared her?”

No one answered.

Natasha already had her tablet out. “I’ll pull her recruitment files.”

“And I’ll start backtracking movement logs,” Bruce added. “She might’ve used ghost codes. Might’ve had help.”

“And the other problem?” Clint asked. “The one still sitting in our holding room?”

They all went quiet.

You hadn’t moved since the alarm. Hadn’t reacted when the red lights flashed in the vents. Just sat there, the same way you had the day they brought you in.

Like none of it mattered anymore.

You knew something was wrong the second the air changed.

It wasn’t loud. There were no blasts, no running footsteps, no smoke. Just a shift. A stillness. And then the red lights began to blink in the hallway, casting slow pulsing shadows against the cold walls of your cell.

An alarm. An evacuation, maybe. A breach.

You didn’t move. Didn’t stand. Didn’t press against the glass to see who was coming. You already knew no one was.

Eventually, you heard voices that were muffled through layers of concrete and soundproofing. Rushed, angry, and familiar. The Avengers. Probably cursing at security feeds and trying to figure out what happened.

But the door to your cell stayed shut.

You remained on the cot, knees drawn up to your chest, fingers curled tight into the fabric of your sleeves. Your heart didn’t race. Your breathing didn’t spike.

Because this?

This was expected. Not the break-in. Not the escape.

Being forgotten.

That part wasn’t new.

You weren’t surprised when the people who called themselves your allies had left you behind weeks ago. And you weren’t surprised now that the ones who’d promised you freedom and recognition had done the same.

You were useful until you weren’t. Valuable until the real pieces needed moving.

They took the scientists. The tacticians. The charismatic ex-leaders and the secret-keepers. But not you. Never you.

Still, something small and pathetic inside you had hoped, in that flicker between silence and sirens, that someone would open the door. Even if it wasn’t to let you go. Even if it was just to say we didn’t forget you.

But no. It seemed both sides were incapable of such a thing.

You leaned your head against the wall, cheek pressed to the cool cement. The red light blinked across your face again. Then again. Like a metronome marking time you didn’t ask to sit through.

How ironic, you thought.

You’d been the one person caught between both worlds. The ghost in the hallway. The one who never quite fit in at the tower. And supposedly never quite belonged at the organization either.

You weren’t trusted enough to be freed. You weren’t important enough to be taken. You were just… there.

Something to clean up later. A problem for another day.

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry. You’d wasted those tears before. Back when you still thought loyalty meant something. When you still believed if you worked hard enough, if you were good enough, someone might look at you the way they looked at her. With warmth. With ease. With interest.

But they never did.

Not Bucky. Not Steve. Not Natasha. Not anyone.

And now?

Now, they had to decide what to do with you. Not help you. Not understand you. Just… assess you. Like a threat.

You curled tighter into yourself, resting your forehead on your knees. At some point, the alarm went silent.

But it didn’t matter. Because you weren’t escaping. You weren’t going anywhere. You were just one more locked door no one bothered to open.

The table was scattered with files from the breach. Footage frozen mid-frame. Timelines drafted and crossed out. A whiteboard bore questions no one had been able to answer hours earlier.

Until now.

Natasha entered first, tablet in hand, with her movements clipped and deliberate. Bruce followed, paler than usual, carrying the weight of what he’d helped uncover.

Steve looked up immediately. “Tell me you have something.”

Natasha didn’t sit. “We do. But you’re not going to like it.”

That made the room go quiet. Wanda leaned forward. Clint folded his arms. Sam stilled his bouncing knee, Tony turned away from the monitor, gaze narrowing.

Natasha tapped her tablet, and a profile hovered into the air.

Her profile. The one you had always envied. The one who could make Bucky smile in the way you couldn’t. There she was, her picture smiling and official.

“This isn’t her original clearance file.”

Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bruce stepped in. “What we’ve all been looking at, the file we’ve used for years, it’s patched. Rewritten. Spliced with data from at least three separate sources. Her full psych eval? Missing. Background check? Incomplete. And the worst part? The approval logs are gone.”

“Gone?” Sam repeated.

“Wiped,” Natasha confirmed. “Not sloppy, either. Whoever did it knew exactly how to make it look like standard intake.”

Clint’s brows drew together. “But she’s been here for years. No red flags?”

“She never accessed anything she wasn’t given access to,” Bruce said. “No poking around in classified servers, no bypassing clearance. Everything she knew, we gave her.”

“She earned it,” Wanda said softly, but the words sounded uncertain now.

“Or we thought she did,” Natasha corrected.

Steve stared at the screen. “So… she walked in the front door with someone’s permission. But no one knows whose.”

“Someone scrubbed the trail,” Bruce said. “And unless we dig deep into archived logs, we’re not finding it anytime soon.”

The silence settled heavy after his last words.

The woman’s profile still hovered midair. Bright, clean, professional like it had nothing to hide. Like she belonged.

Wanda was the first to speak, barely above a whisper. “I used to tell her things. Not missions or codes, just… things… about my past. My fears. I thought she understood.”

“She did,” Tony said, voice flat. “That was the point.”

Wanda flinched, just slightly.

Bruce looked down at the terminal. “She remembered names, asked about our families, brought coffee when someone was exhausted. She wasn’t invisible, she blended in.”

Steve exhaled slowly, like the weight of it was finally hitting. “We let someone embed herself this deep… and we ignored the signs.”

“There were no signs,” Tony snapped, suddenly frustrated. “That’s the damn problem. She played it safe–played us safe. No hacking, no sneaking around, just friendship.”

“Manufactured friendship,” Bruce added quietly.

Wanda swallowed hard. “I thought she was my friend.”

Sam leaned forward, looking across the table at Steve. “So what now? We keep watching her and pretend none of this happened?”

“No,” Steve said. “We find out who she really is and what she wants.”

“And if she already got what she came for?” Bucky asked, finally pushing off the wall. His voice was low, tight, raw at the edges. “What if we’re just… leftovers?”

“She was close with you,” Natasha said carefully.

“I thought so,” Bucky answered, but his voice was distant now. “But I think I was just another door to walk through.”

No one knew what to say to that. The woman hadn’t stolen secrets or set off bombs.

But she’d done something worse, she’d made them trust her.

Meanwhile, time passed.

You didn’t ask how much. You didn’t care. No one had spoken to you. No one had come anyways.

The lights had returned to normal, the sirens cut off, and what remained was silence. Not even a damn explanation. You were just… here. As always. Present, but invisible.

You laid back on the cot eventually, staring at the ceiling. You found cracks in the cement. Water damage in the corner. A flickering bulb that buzzed faintly, like a whisper in the back of your skull.

Your limbs ached from how still you’d been, but you didn’t move. You didn’t see the point.

What would it change?

What was left to be gained by trying?

You’d done everything right once. Quietly filled in where others fumbled. Took notes no one asked for. Cleaned up messes without credit. Stayed late. Showed up early. Bit your tongue when they overlooked you. Smiled politely when you were excluded.

You’d never been chosen in any room or in any war. But you’d stayed anyway. Waited, hoping one day they might turn and see you standing there and realize what they had. What you could be.

But they hadn’t. Not until it was all too late.

And when the world fell sideways and you were dragged into something darker, you’d believed for one stupid moment, that maybe they would want you. The people in the shadows. The ones who said you were smarter than the rest. That you were necessary, sharper, wanted.

And you were, for a while. But that was the thing about being useful. It didn’t mean you were valued. It just meant you were used.

You rolled onto your side.

They had left you behind. Not by mistake. Not by oversight. Deliberately.

And maybe that was worse than being hated. At least hatred meant you mattered enough to be a problem.

This?

This was nothing.

You heard footsteps echoing down the hall at some point. Someone doing a sweep. A brief glance through the glass, but there wasn’t a pause or comment. The steps continued on as your throat tightened.

But you didn’t cry. You still wouldn’t give them that. Instead, you laid still with your back to the door.

You weren’t sure who you were anymore. You weren’t their administrator or analyst. Not anyone’s asset. Not even the villain they were trying to convince themselves you might be.

You were… what? A loose end? Maybe.

Or maybe you were just the reminder of everything they didn’t want to see: How easy it is to lose someone who was never really seen to begin with.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @avivarougestan @saoirses-things @itsmejen @saucysasha2035 @smokescreen1000

[whosdinkleyhenderson]

Beauty and the Void

Readers guide

lil cast list

camilla luddington as Sandra

calam lynch as jessie

Her smile gleamed at the little girl sitting on the counter and hid the cookie behind her back. “Well, well, what do we have here? A little princess?” Y/N gasped, tiptoeing toward her niece.

The little girl giggled, kicking her feet with glee. “Yes, Aunty N/N.”

“Why am I honored to have such a beautiful princess in my coffee shop? May I know your name Miss Princess?” Y/N curtsied.

“I’m princess Belle, Aunty N/N…the one you like.” Her giggles filled the air once again and gained the attention of onlookers. Y/N raised a brow and with her other hand began tapping her chin. “Princess Belle? Hmm, I’m sorry miss Belle, but I’m looking for my niece Eleanora. Have you seen her around, I have a special gift for her.” The little girl’s brows furrowed at the woman in front of her, desperately wanting her cookie. Her little big e/c eyes welled up in tears. In a fit of panic Y/N whipped the cookie out from behind her back and placed it in little Eleanora’s hands.

“You know you’ll make a good actress one day, buttercup.” Her laughter brought a smile to the little girl's face. Either that or the cookie that was now in her grasp.

“You keep on feeding my daughter cookies, and you can start taking her to the dentist.”

“Oh, cool it, Sandra. She’ll be fine! This little tiger has my genes, remember.” Y/N laughed pinching Eleanora’s cheek. The woman’s sister-in-law rolled her eyes as she turned the store sign rendering it closed. The local news played in the background catching the attention of the two women. Their eyes glued to the tv screen as they continued to wipe down tables.

All well suited soldiers standing firm and strong in a row behind a podium. Y/N thoughts instantly went to her brother Rick, wondering if Sandra had heard from him at all.

“Hey Sandra?” The older woman’s eyes were on her in a second and took notice of how her eyes held that look.

“Yeah?”

“Have you heard from Rick? Is he okay?”

Sandra knew this was coming, she just hoped not any time soon. How could she answer them when she didn't have an answer herself? the stress of not knowing where her husband was, had been eating her up inside. The constant feeling of something bad happening sat in the pit of her stomach, her baby even knew. Every time she would think of him, a kick would submerge from within. Letting her know, they knew and felt the same emotion as her. But for now they were all left in the dark, a dark that would sooner or later be answered.

“...No, I haven’t.”

Nodding her head Y/N went back to wiping the table, not before taking one last look at the television. “Where could you be Rick?”

The two women had finally closed the coffee shop, with the help of Eleanora. Who insisted on cleaning the counter where her cookie crumbs sat.

“Okay you little monster, I’ll see you tomorrow night for our little sleep over.” Y/N smiled, kissing the little girl's head, before bidding Sandra goodbye.

“Give John my warmest remarks, and tell him for God shakes to ask Danica out already.”

“I can only try. Remember next week I’m having you all for dinner okay?”

“Yes, I remember. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Have fun with Jessie and the girls.”

“You bet I will.” Y/N laughed and waved goodbye, before setting off on foot to John’s place. Allowing her mind to wander to the day Rick and Sandra got married.

She could still recall the day she watched her brother get married to the love of his life, smiling bright. His eyes held the light of purity in them as if he saw nothing but his one and only, his other half. 

Rick and Sandra's Wedding 

Y/N felt a hand gently grasp her fingers as she watched her brothers every move.

“One day that’ll be you, my sweet angel.” Her fathers gently tone always washed away her worries. Especially after the events that occurred with her mother when she was 6 years old.

“Thank you, dad. But I think it might be John next, not me.” She giggled as she watched her brother’s best friend eye the woman on the other side of the altar.

“I suppose you’re right there, angel. Those two make a perfect couple as well.”

Present Day

Smiling at the memory Y/N skipped up the steps to John’s front door and anxiously waited. She promised to bring him a batch of baked pastries the next time the shop had some left over. His front door opened, and in an instant, she jumped at the sight of him. Engulfing the man in a gigantic bear hug, oblivious to the group of people watching from the couch.

“Oh John, how I’ve missed you.” Her whisper tickled the side of his cheek before she gave it a big kiss.

“I know, kid, I know. I’ve missed you too.” He smiled and pulled away, surprised they didn’t squish the baked pastries. Y/N melted into his touch, it felt good to have a warm set of loving arms wrapped around her. The feeling reminded her so much of him, she missed her brother, Rick. And to see John brought light back into her world.

“How’s Rick? Have you heard from him?”

“Nah, it’s been a good two weeks. Sandra is starting to get a little worried. With Eleanora constantly asking where he is and the baby being almost due. But you know, working for the government and all that crap.” She laughed as she made her way into his living room. Surprised by the sight in front of her. All eyes on her, expect one.

“Oh umm…Hello…pastries?”

Bob had been anxious about John’s invite. As he hadn't hung out with friends in ages since he volunteered to be a part of Valentina's experiments. Not believing he forgot the one thing he used to be so good at. Socialising, and with this new power brought the fear out of everyone even when he was himself and sentry. A beast created by a monster. The modern day Jekel and Hyde. But when he heard her sweet voice, all his worries and thoughts disappeared and for once he felt at peace.

“Hey bud, you better close your mouth. You might catch flies.” A gruff voice whispered in his ear. The realisation hit him like a truck. He was staring at the girl in denim overalls, who placed a container of pastries out in front of everyone. When did I look up? How long was I staring? Oh God I hope I didn’t make her uncomfortable…Shit she’s looking at me, avert your eyes Bob, avert!

“And by the look John is giving you, I would hurry it up.” He took one quick glance at John and averted his intimidating gaze.

“So, are you going to introduce us to this light of beauty? Are we gonna have to guess?”

If looks could kill Alexei would surely be shot, twice. One by John and the next by Yelena.

“Oh, for God sakes, Alexei please stop.”

Drifting his glare from the older man. John locked eyes with Y/N silently asking for her permission, which earned him a nod from the girl.

“Guys this is Y/N, my best mate's little sister. Y/N meet…” John named each person, giving the girl a slight wave and thank you for the treats. Her eyes landed on the quiet one of the bunch, she noticed he didn’t have one of her pastries in his grasp. Quick to her feet she made her way to him.

“Hey.” in a heartbeat he locked eyes with her, and noticed in an instant the warmth that swam inside them. Bob could only muster up a small smile, as she gestured to the small spot beside him. “May I?”

Without hesitation he scooted across, allowing room for her and averted his gaze from her.

“Would it be considered prying if I ask, why you haven’t grabbed a pastry? They’re fresh and handmade, none of that factory made stuff.”

Bucky watched the two, silently scolding Bob for not speaking. Within a split-second Bob was up and uttered something about needing to go to the bathroom. How were they supposed to tell her that they were hiding the most dangerous man on this earth from a crazy psycho? Who the public saw as a saint.

“Sorry Doll, he’s a little shy…don’t worry give him time.”

“Oh okay…nah that’s understandable.” She smiled as she pulled out a napkin and placed a sweet on it. “Well, when he comes back tell him to try this Orange creme filled Pasticciotto. It was my grandfather’s favourite.”

Bucky nodded at her introduction and smiled. “Of course, Doll.”

Standing up she bid her goodbye to everyone and allowed John to walk her out.

“Off to see Jessie, I take it?”

“Yes I am, hence the second box.” She gestured to her arms.

“I swear you spoil him and his nieces. When are you two going to get together already?”

“Well excuse me for being a nice neighbour, and besides I could say the same thing about you and Danica.” His eyes widened at her remark, knowing damn well she was right, he had been planning to ask but was just scared. Ironic right?

“I will, I will. Gee I got you, your father and Sandra on my back about it.”

“You better, coz she’s also coming next week for dinner. To which I hope you’ll still be coming…hopefully, Rick will be back by then.” John noticed how Y/N’s demeanor changed at the mention of her brother, but as quick as it came it left. Smiling, she kissed his cheek and bid him goodbye. John closed the door and went back to the group, wondering where Rick could be.

Y/N turned in the direction she intended to proceed down, she was stopped by a figure in a trench coat.

“May I help you?”

The figure stepped closer, heels clicking against the pavement.

“Whatever you do, don’t trust that man.” Man? What man? Who could they be talking about. As Y/N went to question the strange figure, they disappeared right before her eyes. Blinking, Y/N froze, shocked by the scene that just occurred. Snapping out her shocked state, she began her journey to Jessie’s place. Spearing one last glance behind her. “Weird.”

[casscainmainly]

Cass, Names, and the Black Bat Era

With a Black Bat mention in 2025 (read Batgirl (2024) #4!!), it seems as good a time as any to look back on one of Cass' most fleeting identities. We all know why Cass took up Batgirl and Orphan, but we don't get to see the thought process behind Black Bat. I'm going to consider why Cass might have chosen Black Bat as her name, and what it means for her relationship to Bruce and the Bat symbol.

This analysis will purely consider events from the characters' perspectives, ignoring authorial intent. There is like a negative percent chance any of the connections I make here were intended, and Black Bat probably was just a name they randomly picked. This is essentially me trying to make sense of the little Cass bits we get during the Batman Reborn era.

Background: Batgirl and Orphan

Growing up nameless, Cass associates names with personhood and autonomy. Batgirl was the first (and the most important), and a large part of Batgirl (2000) showed how Cass only thinks of herself as Batgirl.

Batgirl (2000) #7

"You need to relax, Cass--sorry--Batgirl." Barbara's 'sorry' indicates that Cass' identity is purely Batgirl, disliking any other name. (For a more in-depth exploration of this moment, see renaroo's meta!). This shows how it's not just the mantle, but the name - the actual word - that matters to Cass.

A very similar thing happens in Batman & Robin Eternal #26:

Once again, Cass is extremely particular about what people call her. And once again she rejects one identity in favour of another - she struggles with being more than one thing. Whatever identity she adopts, it contains her whole self.

Which is why when she loses herself, she becomes nameless:

Batgirl (2000) #73 / Red Robin #17

In the first panel, Cass has just 'killed' Shiva and forsaken Batgirl. "She thought she was a bat. But she came to find she wasn't that either." Without the bat, she becomes a girl "named Cain." While not technically nameless, Cain is just her father's last name - she has no first name of her own. This namelessness occurs again in Red Robin. After Bruce tells Cass to give Steph Batgirl, Cass is left without the bat again - and, again, she becomes nameless. Tim gives her a bat costume, asks her what she needs, and she says "to... just... be...".

If she takes up another name, she will become something - a name is not only identification, but transformation. When she has no idea who she is or who she wants to be (as seen in the end of Batgirl (2000) and Red Robin), she chooses namelessness.

The Gift

Cass remaining nameless not only shows her lack of identity, but her rejection of Bruce and the Batfamily.

Red Robin #17

Here, Tim says it doesn't matter what Cass calls herself, they'll always be family. Cass' answer is cryptic: "But family is not always home..." If we look at Cass' history, the only times she leaves her family is when their relationship becomes unbearable. She runs from David Cain because he makes her kill; she leaves Babs because she calls her stupid; she leaves Gotham the first time because of Steph's death; she goes to Hong Kong because Bruce makes her give away Batgirl. Family isn't home for Cass only when something awful happens.

For Cass, family and names have always been linked. In my gift post, I talked about how Batgirl was presented as a gift, and how Babs says gifts are things that make you "feel[...] not alone" (Azrael: Agent of the Bat #61). Batgirl, a gift, makes Cass feel "not alone." The mantle represents her connection to the Batfamily.

In fact, Red Robin parallels the original gifting of the Batgirl suit:

Legends of the Dark Knight #120 / Red Robin #17

Tim explicitly links the gift of the Bat symbol to family: "the...family... has settled down. I thought maybe... it was time to make it all official." (This also somewhat parallels Bruce's adoption of Cass, which Tim was also there for). But Cass doesn't accept the gift this time, telling Tim that Steph is already Batgirl, and that 'family isn't always home'. She keeps the suit, but the ambivalence in her response shows her ambivalence to her family.

Batgirl and Orphan are both familial names, one linked to the Bats, one linked to David Cain. Names to Cass represent both her own identity and her relationship to other people. When Batman took Batgirl away, he was essentially revoking her place in the family (Batman R.I.P happens right after her adoption too). Though we never explicitly get Cass' feelings, her hesitance at Tim's gift says a lot.

What Was Tim's Gift Anyway?

When Tim first sees Cass, he thinks to himself:

Red Robin #17

This is a great insight into what Tim was actually offering. The first thought reveals that Tim wasn't suggesting Cass be Batgirl again, which Cass assumed. He knows Cass doesn't want to be "who she was" - he thinks she's being true to what "she wanted to become."

What does he think Cass wants to become?

Batgirl (2000) #59

In Robin/Batgirl: Fresh Blood, Cass tells Tim the "the only thing" she's ever wanted was to be Batman. This is the only thing she wants - when Tim says she's being 'true to what she wanted to become', it's likely he's thinking of this conversation. So when Tim offers the batsuit, he's offering the bat mantle. He's offering what she always wanted to be: Batman.

But Cass' conception of Batman is clearly tied to Bruce ("take over for him when he's... done"), which in turn ties the concept of Batman to Gotham. Cass does become the Bat of Hong Kong, but she doesn't take the Batman name (which she totally could, since Bruce and Dick are sharing the name; or she could be 'the bat' or whatever).

Instead, she chooses Black Bat. Both Batgirl and Orphan are taken from other people, so this is strikingly the only name Cass invented (even Kasumi was probably not her invention? It was a disguise anyway). But was Black Bat actually Cass' invention?

Tai'Darshan All Along

Batgirl (2000) #40

Black Bat is also taken from someone - from Cass' first canon love interest, the one and only Tai'Darshan. I seriously don't think DC knew they were taking the name from him, but they did and that means Tai is extremely important to understanding Cass' Black Bat era.

Because Tai doesn't just represent teenage hormones. Like Lady Shiva, Tai'Darshan was a foil to Batman, someone who opposed him in almost every aspect. He is Cass' first proper rebellion, kickstarting the downfall of Cass and Bruce's relationship in Horrocks' run; he also died because of Bruce's interference, something that Bruce himself thinks is the reason Cass doesn't trust him anymore.

Batgirl (2000) #47

Though Bruce and Cass make up in #50, there is something permanently secretive about Black Wind and Cass' relationship. Bruce says "she won't tell me what" happened, and Tai's last conversation with Cass is about secrets:

Batgirl (2000) #44

Tai'Darshan represents Cass' secret side, a side "buried" from everyone (particularly Bruce). Tai's reference to Cass' "real name" is poignant - in a way, he was the first person who liked Cass for Cass, who asked her to take off her mask and admired her face underneath. He never knew who she really was, but he loved her anyway. The 'bat' in Black Bat doesn't refer to Bruce, but to Cass. It makes sense that at a time of complete identity loss - after giving up Batgirl at Bruce's orders - Cass would turn to a nickname from someone who caused her falling out with Bruce, who represents secrets, rebellion, and a self defined outside of Batman.

Black Bat

Gates of Gotham #4

I wrote elsewhere about how Gates of Gotham, and this conversation with Dick in particular, is Cass rebelling against Bruce's (and DC's) decision to boot her from Gotham. In GoG #5, she tells Tim she's staying. Black Bat as a mantle is not really Cass becoming 'the Bat' of any place - it's something different, something new. It's a reconfiguration of the Bat symbol as something that's hers.

I think Tim bookending this Black Bat experience is important, too. He gives her the Bat symbol in Hong Kong - she comes back to Gotham to tell him she's returning permanently. Black Bat and Red Robin are syntactically similar, and Black Bat is very similar to one of Tim's name suggestions ("Black Robin"). For Tim, Red Robin was punishment made into redemption; he took the name from Jason and made it his own. Black Bat, in its own way, is Cass doing the same. By taking a nickname from Tai'Darshan, she is using the bat name/symbol without attaching it to Bruce; in fact, the memory of Tai is against Bruce. She's taking back the symbol that means so much to her and making it her own.

Conclusion

This was honestly a big excuse to remind people that Black Bat comes from Tai'Darshan. As one of 4 Tai fans on this website, I just think his role in Cass' life is really interesting and underappreciated! His storyline may be awful in every way, but I'll always have a soft spot for him as a character.

Also I was writing this before Batgirl (2024) #4 came out and it does somewhat complicate this reading. Shiva is implying that Black Bat, like Orphan (and Kasumi) are identities that Cass affects, that she's "aspiring to be somebody else". I don't think Shiva is being quite fair - Orphan, for instance, is as much in defiance of David Cain as it is an homage to him. But it's interesting that even when Cass is constructing her own identity, she consistently defaults to using other people's names. In that way Shiva is right - for Cass, names are gifts, so she never tries to name herself. She also, even in this reading, clings to the image of the bat. I'm highly interested where Brombal's investigation into Cass' identity will take her, especially in regards to superhero and legacy mantles.

[omniphilic]

hiya soileil!!!! i wanted to ask if you have personal hcs (headcanons) for mark and how you generally like to imagine him when you write him!

thanks for the ask! ���🏾 next time if you're not sure how to spell my name, copy and paste it from my intro post or let autocorrect do its thang (fun fact: my name is sun in french :3), but to answer your question because i think about this A LOT.

I like to combine Comic Mark and Show Mark personality wise. Not to say the show version of him is the greatest person alive, but I choose to keep of his poorer traits or qualities from the comics rendition of him to give him more dimension. Overall, I follow the order of events as they occur in the show.

In my opinion, Mark is extremely Golden Retriever. I think he’s very personable, gentle and affectionate with those he loves, but I also see him as someone who can be stubborn, reluctant to change, impulsive, and self-centered. He isn't met with a lot pushback ever. In the comics this is more prevalent, as the only characters to openly disagree with Mark are portrayed as villains or become evil (Cecil, Robot) over the course of the run.

In the show, Debbie has the balls or the sense to actually nip Mark's nonsense in the bud. When Mark tells her to "Make me" after she tells him to come inside and stop flying. When she says "Is this what you need?" she's forcing him to confront that sense of self-righteousness. Amber is another character that does this, when she gets mad at him for 'ditching them' and leaving them to fight the Re-Animen.

I think Amber was justified in her irritation because he is essentially playing in her face, choosing to maintain the lie of him just disappearing instead of coming clean then and there or at any other point before. He lies to her throughout the majority of the relationship when the rest of his close companions already (William and Eve), choosing to leave Amber in the dark. As she goes on to reveal she knew his secret, I can understand her frustration. How are they supposed to be going steady when he's withholding a quite vital part of himself for.... literally no reason. She would've been safer had she have known, she would have never been mad at him if she had known. There were more benefits to telling her than not telling her.

Eve pushes back the hardest before they get together, like right before Omni-man fucks Mark's shit up and she tells him to stop moping about quitting hero work. He's presumptuous about her life, assuming he knows why she quit as opposed to asking directly, looking to follow in her footsteps because he's overwhelmed by a situation he himself created.

Overall, I don't think Mark is a very nice person. Going back to his conversation with Debbie on the back porch, I find it utterly insane he doesn't apologize to Debbie for essentially threatening her, and there are other instances of him not having others best interests at heart so he can maintain a sense of security—a big one being when he ditches Earth to go coddle her over a broken leg while the whole Invincible War is going on the background.

I think his self-centeredness doesn't allow him to deeply engage with the feelings of others, but his persistent, almost pervasive sense of conscientiousness is what keeps him on the straight and narrow for a large part of his time as Invincible. I feel like his sense of obligation is derived from guilt as opposed to love for humanity.

When Mark is around people he loves, or connects with emotionally, he is more comfortable divulging his true feelings. I find him to be both self-deterministic and rejection sensitive, averse to truly absorbing the opinions of others unless he feels that way himself, as well as being afraid of being told he's doing something wrong.

All of that to say... I don't think he's consciously being a bad person, he's just limited by those he's surrounded by, they don't tell him about himself regularly enough to get him used to that kind of push back.

For the most part I think he's on the level, tries his best to be a good person where he can. He has some capacity for pettiness, but it isn't often his first resort. Some of his biggest moments of growth occur when he's learning of the realities of the world, like during the first Flaxan invasion, where he realizes how brutal the life of a superhero can be, but he rarely ever has moments of self-discovery, understanding and reconciliation. TLDR; this boy needs a therapist.

He has nobody to relate to because nobody is exactly on his level, and the people who should be concerned with his emotional wellbeing (Eve or Debbie) and they don't encourage him to open up.

Often what happens to him in sensitive moments, when he does genuinely try to open up (to Eve, when he is trying to communicate what happened with future Eve) he is very strongly shut down, which would further reinforce his insistence on not communicating his true feelings.

This happens a lot. I think the reason is because of bad writing, honestly— Some people (primarily female characters, like Eve and Amber) act as is needed to move along the plot, I believe, but despite this shortcoming in the narrative I chose to just... bake it into his character.

Mark's upbringing (as a white dude who is written by a white dude) means he not only navigates the world differently but is socialized differently than most likely me or you, so he has a different sense of entitlement, a different understanding of right and wrong, and a lack of curiosity.

i think he would be more knowledgeable in his like. mid-later twenties (wait until I make that Dilf! piece with @wingfleur) but he's bumbling for a fair bit of his late teens early twenties.

He's just a loser trying his best!!! anyway this turned into a ramble imma dip out—

[kryptznnn]

♡/♛- It's Been A While

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➸ INTERESTS; -mha!shouta aizawa x quirk-using!freader

➸ BACKGROUND; - after an attack at the high school you studied in, you were requested by your work firm and the firm of that school to work as a teacher there for extra security, incase an attack were to occur again to protect the students (and teachers). Unfortunately, it won't be as easy as you expected when you rekindle with old friends, and a specific someone.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc. 2.1k uu slow burn, second chance, ex-lovers, medication/pill usage, dissociation, anxiety mentions.

➸a.i; - omg new category!! im working a lot guys brace w me!! ill be working on other masterlists and stories and such trustttt, also this is going to be a fanfic!! no more one-shots sorry for the torture

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♡/♛- It's Been A While Masterlist

"Please, there has to be some other way. I'm already busy enough here, this is way out of my league." You complained, tossing your hands up in the air.

"There is no other way" your supervisor responded, you sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"There's no one else available to take on this job?" You asked your boss, who only nodded as he sat at his table with crossed arms.

This was unbelievable, you of all people in this city and they choose you. You're one of the busiest women out there, especially outside of your so called 'once in a blue moon hero duty'. You're part of a government organization for fuck's sake, your entire job is to stay under wraps. You had people who depended on you, a firm to carry on your shoulders as second in command to your chief, just to give it all up to become a teacher back at your high school.

"As of now the school could use all the extended help they can get. You have connections to the school and have learned there before, plus all other heroes with solid quirks that would work in their favor are either already working there or are too busy to be there for hours on end, but you can." He said in a cool tone, handing you all of the paperwork and pointing to the amount of damage and casualties that happened during the accident, you only closed your eyes and shook your head.

"Okay" you said softly, picking up the papers and stacking them in order, placing them in your folder and shoving the folder in your work bag, not wanting to argue. He thanked you for your cooperation and told you you'd start the beginning of next week, Monday. Today was Thursday, giving you a little time to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come.

Of course, as any normal person you were curious, thousands of questions running through your mind which you were sure you'd get answers to during the tour and explanation that was awaiting you over the weekend.

You weren't too concerned about working or teaching students, you'd already knew all about them and had also known you'd cover a chemistry class, you were concerned about using your quirk.

The last time you had used it in the face of danger, things didn't end well for you. It's a great quirk yes, but the aftermath and side effects of it always left a heavy toll on you.

It truly was an accident, well not really. It was ruled out as a case of self-defense and your firm was to cover the damages. You were out with a friend from work until a large commotion was heard outside, where you two had stepped out, ready to leap into action and help whoever was in need.

Apparently, it was a hijack situation on a train in the city, that was now approaching downtown at an insane amount of speed. Your friend had already agreed she'd help escort people out of the way and into safer zones, in case the bus had crashed in the area you and hundreds of other people were in.

You nodded in response, quickly thinking what around you could've been useful to possibly slow it down or bring it to a stop in time to call for reinforcements.

Unfortunately, a child had wandered off into the middle of the road ahead of you without realizing it, and without thinking you ran up, covering her with your body and you held out your hand to shield her, shutting your eyes tightly and using your quirk.

Unintentionally, you had now turned the train into water, wetting you and all other people downtown that were trying to avoid the train crash. Thankfully for you the train was a rather medium sized one, so the water produced from the train by your quirk hadn't caused any damage downtown.

You quickly stood up with the little girl by your side, who quickly ran to accompany her mother once she spotted her in the crowd. You stood there in awe, looking at everyone else and turning back around, seeing the hijackers now sitting on the floor, dripping from head to toe in water.

You were slightly relieved, thankful you hadn't turned them into water. Soon after your friend accompanied you to, tying up the three troublemakers and leaving them off to the side and awaiting law-enforcement to arrive.

Having the powers of matter transmutation meant the world was your canvas, all you had to do was touch it. Creating any matter, you had into something you wanted to, but the only downside being that you weren't able to convert things to people or animals, whether living or not.

You didn't necessarily see it as a bad side, it honestly could be a blessing in disguise, especially since you had such a wild imagination when you were younger.

As you grabbed your belongings from your office and made your way back to your car you began to think about your first day working at the high school.

You loved children, well... most of them. Teenagers now were such pains in the ass, and you've had your fair share with a few, either being rude, weird, or just freaky horn-dogs that obviously weren't loved enough by their parents.

Hopefully things wouldn't go back when you start, and you didn't have to use your quirk as often as all other teachers in the school do.

Unlocking the door to your car you opened it and placed your bag inside as you sat in the driver's seat, starting your car and driving off back to your apartment.

After around 5 to 10 minutes of driving you stop at a red light, resting your head back onto your seat with a sigh, mentally drained for the day. As you waited for the light to change color you felt as if a pair of eyes were on you, before you were able to turn around and see who it was the light had turned green, you only shrugged it off and drove off, keeping your mind on how Monday would be.

Maybe it was the students or the teachers, but an uneasy feeling rested in your stomach, making you feel wheezy. It definitely was the thought of the teachers, more or so your new colleagues.

Well not new colleagues, more like old friends and companions. You knew them all well enough, being classmates and close friends back in high school and distancing after graduation and everyone else focusing on going professional in the hero department.

You had always envisioned yourself as a hero there, waiting to fight side by side with everyone, but towards the end you realized that without having proper control of your quirk you were probably safe enough to not do so. Protecting yourself and everyone else in case of an accident or any immediate dangers.

Guilt slowly began to eat you alive as you arrived in the parking lot of your apartment complex, parking and shutting your car off before taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply.

This was not going to go your way, and you know it.

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It was now Monday morning and honestly, that 3-day weekend wasn't enough to prepare yourself for what was to come. You hadn't gotten any sleep from the night before out of overthinking, and honestly you weren't even tired.

Your brain's constant buildup of stress has been keeping you up for a while and was the right amount of motivation you needed to get this day over with. You had gone to the small training practices and tours of the school over the weekend, seeing new buildings and practice rooms that were extended from when you previously attended.

You had decided to get ready 2 hours in advance, showering and now doing a small amount of skincare before doing your makeup. Even with your quirk and all of the stuff you'd bought for your skin, even the thought of stress makes you begin to breakout, you sighed as a pimple appeared on the upper left corner of your forehead. You only shook your head and began to apply your makeup, finishing a little later than you expected because you couldn't decide if you wanted lashes on or not.

You made the decision to wear them, first impressions are everything. You fixed your hair in a style you liked, deciding to keep it down instead of a ponytail with a side part and gathered your things and looked in the mirror one last time before exiting out the door.

The closer and closer you were getting to the school the more your stomach churned out of anxiety. It could've been anxiety, or maybe the fact you skipped out on breakfast just to be here early, as all teachers must arrive before the students. Whatever it was you didn't like it at all, and you felt your head begin to spin.

"Not again" you whispered to yourself, now opening your glove department looking around for your prescribed medications, pushing past the other 3 you didn't need now until you found one that read 'Valium', opening the capsule and taking a pill, realizing you had nothing to take or drink it down with.

You sighed heavily as you took the bottle with you, grabbing your coat from the back of your driver seat along with your bag and shoving the pills in your coat pocket. Soon locking your car and placing your keys in the bag as well, beginning to walk your way over to the building.

You needed to find something to drink so you could take this pill, before your anxiety gets the best of you and your quirk gets out of hand. You reached for your phone in your pocket and checked the time, barely 7:30, perfect. It's too early for classes to start when everyone gets situated at 8:00-8:10, where could you kill time with a cup of water or anyth-

The teachers' lounge, oh yeah, it's shocking how quickly you forgot about it when you were here not even 48 hours ago. You walked inside taking a left, praying your memory wasn't playing tricks on you as you walked over to the supposed teachers' lounge, hearing small chatter and commotion.

The last thing you wanted to do was draw attention onto yourself, you quickly entered and made your way to the back, walking slowly praying your heeled boots didn't make too loud of a noise.

You quickly spotted a large fancy water dispenser, clasping your hands together as you looked up and mouthing the words 'amen' before grabbing a small white silicon cup and pouring some for yourself.

In one swift movement you dug into your pocket, pulling out your pill bottle and opening it, taking one and placing it on your tongue as you closed the capsule, putting it back in your pocket. Your cup that was now filled with water you chugged down and refilled it to take another to attempt to flood out the aftertaste, until you were stopped.

Before you could lift the cup up to your lips you were immediately lifted into the air from behind, listening to a familiar voice cheer your name. You immediately went into a panic, turning your previous cup of water, now into nothing but sand, pouring over you and the arms around your lower waist.

"Hizashi!!" You shouted, now trying to pry yourself out of his grasp, your feet swinging in the air as he laughed, quickly putting you down. You immediately scoffed and dusted yourself off, rolling your eyes at his comments and horrible jokes, bending down to the small sand pile you created, forming it back into a silicone cup before throwing it away.

"It's good to see you again seriously, I'm surprised you agreed to come here seeing why you left, with your new fancy job and all." He said, placing his hand on your shoulder and pretending to wipe a fake tear, you only shook your head and smiled at him.

He hasn't changed at all since you last saw him nearly a decade ago, it warmed your heart honestly. You only responded in agreement to his saying, hugging him as he did back to you.

He wasted no time in bringing you to the other side of the teachers' lounge, where you reunited with old friends and shared a few laughs and nice memories before you were all abruptly stopped by hearing a loud slam of the door opening.

As luck would have it, you had another cup in your hand that had coffee in it as the incident occurred, but thankfully your medication had kicked in. You panicked as you nearly spilled the coffee onto yourself, taking a sigh of relief as you moved in time, spilling partial of it onto the floor. Smiling to yourself slightly as you felt the dosage of your medication now starting to affect your mind, making you disassociate.

As everyone paid their attention to the door and expressed words with one another you had bent over, using your quirk and making your coffee spill on the floor a small tissue.

You picked it up and turned to throw it away, completely blocking out the sounds of everyone's voices and small laughter as you made your way to the same trashcan as before, bumping into someone.

"I'm sorry" you said, snapping out of your small trance and zoning back into reality, turning your head to the side to see whose shoulder's you had hit, only to lock eyes with them instantly.

"Shota" you said, nearly breathless as if at a loss for words, he looked at you in shock,

No this wasn't shock,

It seemed to be sadness

maybe sorrow?

"Y/n" he replied, quickly looking away from you and walking away, your eyes trailed his figure as he left.

Out of everything that had happened this morning, and the effects of your medication, you completely forgot that your past lover worked here, and you'd be working alongside him.

He only went over to the coffee table, grabbing a cup and exiting the room, you only looked over to Hizashi and Nemuri, nibbling on your bottom lip. They glanced over to one another, then looked back at you, each placing their hand on each of your shoulders as the bell rang for everyone to get to class.

You were right, this wasn't going to go your way, at all.

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn 🌸my main navigation

[agent-troi]

mulder and scully’s season 6 dynamic is interesting because in some ways they’re more joined at the hip than ever before. this season has the highest concentration of shippy episodes, including an explicit love confession, getting mistaken for a married couple three times (not including the time they pretended to be married on purpose for a case), a baseball date, scully going feral when mulder gets lost in the bermuda triangle, mulder begging scully to investigate x-files with him even when it’s not their job anymore, mulder tagging along in the background the whole time scully gets sent on an x-file without him, their secret handshake in the hospital afterwards. “agent scully is already in love.”

the only times they really don’t get along are when diana actually appears in the episode (side note: diana only gets mentioned once in the episodes in which she doesn’t appear, a fact which intrigues me to no end. it’s like when she’s not there she doesn’t even exist, and in fact i have actually forgotten she existed while watching some of these episodes lol).

i think their schism in the beginning is partly due to mulder being petulant because scully couldn’t/wouldn’t back him up at the opr hearing after he put himself way out there earnestly insisting with his whole chest she was about to present proof of alien life. it’s not that he suddenly doesn’t trust her anymore, he just feels (somewhat irrationally) like he was let down, and this occurring simultaneously with the reappearance of someone else who not only listens to him but appears more inclined to believe him (which almost never happens) naturally led him to act out, but in the very next episode (drive) they’re a team again, using his intuition combined with her science to figure out what’s going on with crump. the fact that they couldn’t save him wasn’t their fault, and is almost incidental to what this episode really illustrates, which is not only how well they work together, but that they still can work together, and the past five years between them haven’t been erased just because diana’s back in town.

another thing: every time scully gets injured/goes to the hospital, mulder goes absolutely apeshit and starts accosting doctors and demanding answers. when diana got shot, his reaction was to hang out with scully and wait for secondhand info on her condition. we don’t even know if he ever went to visit her. when he finds out she’s taking over the x-files, he’s hurt and accuses her of stabbing him in the back. also in terms of endearment, we find out he’s going through spender’s trash to find x-files that he shredded so he (and scully) can investigate them, but if he really wanted to he could just talk to diana and ask her to slide him some cases when no one’s looking. the fact that he doesn’t shows that he doesn’t necessarily trust her blindly (or at least that he doesn’t want to get involved with her again).

i’m kind of rambling and not really sure where i was going with this, except i think people sometimes overestimate the impact diana had on their relationship. i think she was definitely a catalyst for them to examine some of their feelings more closely, but she was never gonna drive a permanent wedge between them. the closest she came was in one son, and even then they manage to pull back from the brink of destruction. scully asks for mulder’s trust, and he gives it by going to look for proof that diana really has betrayed him. if it had been the other way around, if diana had accused scully of working for the syndicate, he would have dismissed the idea immediately and never even bothered to consider it (actually hold on that’s a great fic idea, maybe diana overplays her hand and mulder catches on a lot sooner to what she’s doing).

[rockspider556]

Instruction Pamphlet: Special Containment Protocol – Lecter & Graham

Welcome, Orderly. If you’re reading this, you were either very unlucky or deeply hated by whoever scheduled this shift. If you value your safety, your sanity, and your internal organs, read this carefully. Welcome to the worst job you’ll ever have.

SUBJECTS:

Hannibal Lecter (Subject A) – Former psychiatrist, part-time cannibal, full-time smug bastard. Will make you feel stupid in at least three languages.

Will Graham (Subject B) – Former FBI profiler, dangerously unpredictable and arguably worse than Subject A. Less likely to eat you, but not by much.

GENERAL RULES:

Never separate them: We tried separating them. Once. The hospital was a bloodbath for three days. Keeping them together is not for their benefit—it’s for ours. If they are too busy being obsessed with each other, they are too busy to turn their full attention to escaping or, worse, you. They are now kept in separate cells, facing each other.

Respect their marriage: They are married. Do not call them “friends,” “associates,” or “accomplices.” If you do, they will correct you, at length. Address Subject B as Mr. Graham-Lecter if you value your peace. Subject A will be smug about it. Accept this.

No eye contact for more than three seconds: If Subject A smiles at you, start praying. If Subject B smiles at you, you’re already dead.

Do not discuss murder, cannibalism, or therapy: You may think you’re having a normal conversation. You are not. You are being analyzed, dissected, and possibly recruited without realizing it.

Avoid metaphors: Subject A weaponizes them. Subject B drowns in them. You will get lost in a conversation and emerge three days later, having unknowingly confessed your deepest sins.

MEALTIME PROCEDURES:

Subject A receives a standard, pre-packaged, nutritionally balanced meal: No exceptions. If he makes a comment about the seasoning, ignore it.

Feed Subject B first: Not “at the same time.” Not “shortly after.” First. If Subject B does not eat first, Subject A becomes… difficult

CONVERSATIONAL RED FLAGS:

If you hear any of the following, report immediately and request backup.

"You’re not as rude as the others." (You are in danger.)

“You know, we’re not so different, you and I.” (Yes, you are. Leave.)

“Would you rather be eaten or psychologically dismantled?” (Why are you answering? Stop answering.)

“He belongs to me.” (Oh, fantastic. They’re being weird about it again.)

EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS:

If they are sitting completely still, eyes unfocused, breathing slow, DO NOT INTERFERE: They are not sedated. They are not dissociating. They are having sex. This occurs inside their memory palaces, which they have merged. Do not ask what that means. If Subject B shudders and exhales deeply, congratulations. You just witnessed the most repressed orgasm in recorded history. Give them five minutes before interacting again. DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE WHAT JUST HAPPENED.

If Subject B starts laughing, seemingly at nothing, evacuate the area: Subject A has said something only he understands, and it is never something you want to hear.

If Subject A is humming a classical tune, especially Bach, request additional security: This is a precursor to something deeply unpleasant.

CONJUGAL VISITS:

Yes, they’re legally married. No, we don’t know how. Yes, we have to allow this. No, we don’t like it either.

Visits are allowed once a month: Any less, and Subject A starts reciting poetry in a way that makes staff cry. Any more, and Subject B becomes insufferably smug.

Surveillance technically required, but no one watches: The last person who did requested a transfer and won’t talk about it.

Post-visit: Subject A is smug, Subject B is suspiciously content, and staff report generalized dread for 24 hours.

FINAL NOTES:

You are not special.

You are not their friend.

You are not an equal participant in this narrative.

You are background noise in their endless psycho-sexual mind games.

For the love of God—if either of them ever tells you to “think about it,” DON’T.

[raynewolferune]

Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist Pt 2.1

Note: The writing bug bit me while wading through the comments and replies so you guys get more! 😁 Special thanks to @the-scarecrow-of-aus & @starlightcat04 for helping spark this continuation!

Also, so you're not confused, this part is from Kon's POV and backtracks to before the Bane incident to explain how Kon started going undercover in Arkham. Pt 2.2 has the Bane incident from Kon's POV.

~*~*~

When Kon got the call from Tim asking if he'd be willing to do a favor for him, he hadn't expected it to be an undercover assignment in the infamous Arkham Asylum itself.

"You want me to do what?" He asked staring at Tim in disbelief once he reached the Nest to debrief.

"Go undercover as a new guard in Arkham." Tim repeated with a deadpan expression looking over his shoulder at Kon from his computer chair. Holy fuck, his eyebags were bad. 

"Have you slept in the past week, Tim?" Kon asked, taking in his best friend's appearance.

Tim frowned at the question. 

"I don't see how that's relevant but yes." He answered, heartbeat unchanging. Which didn't really mean anything since it was Tim but Kon decided he'd believe him. 

For now. 

Kon sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, I'll do it." He said. "Can you tell me why we need someone undercover at least?" 

Tim eyes widened, startled by the question like he was surprised Kon didn't know yet even though Tim hadn't told him yet. Okay, deep breaths, calm down, Tim clearly hasn't slept in at least two days. Kon coached himself as his temper flared up at the evidence that Tim wasn't taking care of himself again. All the Supers agreed: sometimes you just wish you could beat some sense into the Bats and make them take care of themselves like normal human beings.

"Ah. Right." Tim said, turning back to the computer and pulling up some files as he explained. "Two thing have occured within roughly fifteen days of each other that together are rather suspicious. First, Dr. Thomas Rylie, Jonathan Crane's undergraduate roommate and classmate throughout undergrad and grad school, was hired to work as one of the new in house psychiatrists at Arkham Asylum. They also got their doctorates from the same school during the same time frame and both focused on the impact fear has on the brain. Dr. Rylie's focus was on fear conditioning and Dr. Crane's focus was on fear responses." Well, that sounds suspicious. 

"Second, Gotham University lost their minds and began an undergraduate and graduate internship program partnering with Arkham Asylum." 

Kon went cold. They did what?

Pictures of the Asylum, University, and three people -presumably Scarecrow, Dr. Rylie, and a young woman- filled the computer screen now. 

"The internship program has only one applicant so far and she'd already started working at the Arkham. Her name is Jasmine Fenton and her background is...sparse, to say the least." Tim turned in his chair to face Kon.

"I'm too recognizable in Gotham and among the rogues to successfully go undercover in Arkham so I've set you up with an apartment and ID as 'Kyle Jennings.' You're scheduled to start work at Arkham as a new guard tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Kon said with a nod. "What do you need confirmed? What are the primary objectives?" He prodded Tim again since his friend's sleep deprived brain seemed to think that was enough information for debriefing. It wasn't. Definitely not. A lot was implied but it wouldn't be the first time Tim had completely different intentions than what Kon had understood from his briefing. Sleep deprived Tim frequently assumed others could read his mind or something. Sleep deprived Tim was wrong.

"We need to determine if Dr. Rylie is here working for Scarecrow as part of some new scheme. We need to determine if Jasmine Fenton is complicit. We need to know if Gotham U is also in on it. And we need to find out what exactly Scarecrow is the planning." Tim stated automatically as he ticked each one off on his fingers.

"Got it. Guess I'll head over to my new apartment then and start prepping for tomorrow." Kon said, heading towards the exit. Tim hummed in agreement waving a hand in his direction as he left. That dumbass was probably already absorbed in the next case. Kon sighed, hopefully Tim would at least pass out sometime later tonight.

~*~*~

Kon's first day at Arkham wasn't anything special. He didn't see Jasmine, Dr. Rylie, or Scarecrow. He didn't see any rogues or doctors at all. It was just a really Gotham kind of orientation. 

"This is where we keep a cache of stun grenades, long-range scope rifles, tranquilizer rounds, and rubber bullets." His new supervisor and guide through orientation, Alex Fhizer, said as he showed Kon how to access, inventory, lock, and re-conceal the cache. "Everytime you pass by a cache on patrol, you will check the inventory again and sign off on it with the date and time. If anything is different from the previous inventory entry, you will immediately radio the tower and the island will be put on lockdown." Greyish Hazel eyes peered out of a weathered face staring Kon down. "You will never neglect to inventory a cache while on patrol. You will never neglect to report an inventory discrepancy. The first time you do you will be fired immediately and you can count yourself damn lucky if that's all that happens to you." 

Fhizer was intense, man.

"Yes, Sir." Kon answered. Fhizer's hard look lasted another long moment before the older man gave a firm nod and continued showing Kon the ropes.

~*~*~

The second day was no where near as chill as the first. Hell, his brain was already starting to warp, there hadn't been anything chill about that orientation.

Kon started his second day by boarding the Arkham transport bus with the rest of the staff and early morning visitors to the island. That was where he saw Jasmine Fenton in the flesh for the first time. 

She has got to be part Amazonian, was his first thought upon seeing her. She was around 6ft tall with a thick mane of red hair tightly braided reaching all the way down to her waist. Jasmine was wearing teal stud earrings, a silver bangle type bracelet on her left wrist, a white blouse, black slacks, and black flats. She carried a small, clear purse that only held a small notepad, pen, house key, chapstick, and a thin teal wallet that presumably contained her IDs, debit cards, and a small amount of cash. Damn, she was tall.

Kon's concentration was broken by the quiet sound of metal crunching slightly beneath his fingers. He immediately loosened his grip on the hand rail, checking for damage with a wince. He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he saw the damage was almost entirely unnoticeable to the naked eye. He'd have to mind his strength more closely. Kon was too used to the farm and facilities that were all reinforced to handle casual use from people with super strength. 

Tim's notes indicated Arkham wasn't reinforced for super strength anywhere. Not even along the outer walls. The facility had opted to use suppression collars on their meta inmates instead since they were cheaper and easier to repair and replace according to the official reports. However, Tim's notes had also mentioned that Arkham had reinforced the outer walls to account for super strength at one point. They'd poured nearly every dime the facility could spare into the project for months until the Joker himself had taken it personally. The madman had absolutely obliterated the reinforced outer walls until no part of them remained standing. Given Joker had destroyed the walls without having any meta powers at all and his history of viciously attacking -damn near mauling- anyone that tried to put him in a straight jacket, Kon didn't really blame Arkham for stopping while they were ahead.

Kon looked up as the bus jolted to a stop. The other passengers filing off around him. He watched as Jasmine Fenton was met by Dr. Rylie in front of the bus as he waited to disembark. 

"Ms. Jasmine!" Dr. Rylie greeted her enthusiastically with a broad open grin and beaming eyes. He reached towards her with both arms, hands open and she reached back. Their right hands clasped as their left hands landed on the other's upper arms as the two greeted one another openly. Kon wasn't very familiar with intern-mentor relationships nor what would be considered normal or professional for them, but it looked like a rather affectionate greeting for them having been strangers two weeks ago. That was strange, wasn't it? Was Tim right to be worried about them?

"Ms. Jasmine is the first and only applicant for Dr. Rylie, Director Keener, and Dean Byle's hairbrained idea to hire more doctors for this place." One of the older guards that had been standing just behind him on the bus explained having apparently noticed Kon watching the pair.

"They just seemed rather affectionate for Gotham." Kon shrugged dismissively as he turned to look over his shoulder at his new colleague. The shorter man laughed.

"A bit, yeah." He agreed. "I think Dr. Rylie is just desperate for this program to work out." He continued as they finally managed to get off the bus. Dr. Rylie and Ms. Fenton were gone now. "Pretty much everyone's been treating her like a princess." 

"That doesn't seem fair to everyone else." Kon commented, dropping back a bit to let the older man lead the way to the guards room for morning debriefing and to get their assignments. He'd already memorized the layouts but 'Kyle Jennings' shouldn't have yet.

"Who cares about fair as long as it works?" The guard answered. "If treating her like a princess scores more interns for the program in the long run, and if one intern every year ends up interested in sticking around, I'll be happy to cater to every single one of them." He confessed, stopping in the middle of the hall to turn and face Kon directly. Kon glimpsed the name Ryans as the silver name badge flashed the briefly reflecting the overhead lights. "You non-gothamites just don't get it. We're desperate for whatever help we can get." 

"That's why I applied here." Kon lied. "Going to school across the bay, I heard a lot about what went down over here while I was in college. I want to help." 

Ryans gave a short solemn nod then turned and led the rest of the way to the break room. 

~*~*~

Day four undercover was when Kon officially met Jasmine Fenton. 

Everything had been going well so far with his undercover assignment. He'd settled in to the role of Kyle Jennings, been getting along well with his new coworkers including Ryans and Fhizer, and hadn't yet managed to screw up inventorying the caches during the outer patrol loops. That being said, Kon was having other issues.

The worst part of being an unstable Kryptonian clone was that his strength tended to fluctuate. It normally wasn't much of an issue when he was surrounded by reinforced everything in his daily life but here at Arkham it was becoming a problem. Case in point, Kon thought to himself with an exhausted groan as his freshly made coffee mug shattered in his hand.

"Oh come on." He sighed snatching a handful of paper towels from the counter and bending to wipe up the coffee and ceramic shards on the floor. At least he was the only one in the room when it shattered. The door clicked softly behind him and Kon jumped twisting to look. 

Jasmine Fenton stood behind him having just closed the door to the break room after entering.

"What happened here?" She asked, sounding bewildered with slightly wide eyes as she took in the mess on the floor. Thank God. She didn't see it.

"Guess I was a bit more tired than I thought." He said with a forced laugh in order to hide his nerves. "Slipped right through my fingers."

She nodded, accepting his words at face value. 

"I've done that more than a few times close to finals." She admitted. "You guys have 10 hour shifts, right? You must be exhausted. When's your next day off?"

"The day after tomorrow." Kon said. "This is day 3 for me since orientation doesn't count."

"You get 2 days off followed by an on-call day, right?" She asked.

"Right," Kon agreed. "AKA 2 days of freedom and a day chained to the Bowery." He joked.

"Absolutely terrible, they may as well put an ankle monitor on you." She cracked back grinning. Kon snickered. The door opened again.

"I see you found another non-gothamite here." Dr. Rylie said striding into the break room with a wide grin.

"Sounds like that makes three of us." Kon agreed. Outside of Joker, he had never seen a gothamite grin that wide in his life.

"Dr. Thomas Rylie, a pleasure to meet you." Dr. Rylie introduced himself holding out his hand to shake. Kon shook his hand as gently as possible, mindful his strength was on the fritz.

"Kyle Jennings, nice to meet you. I just started as a guard earlier this week." He said then held his hand out to shake Jasmine's.

"Jasmine Fenton, I'm an intern therapist. This is my second week here." She greeted with a warm smile shaking Kon's hand. She didn't say anything about being glad to meet him, Kon noted. It wasn't exactly strange behavior but something made him take note of it anyway. Like by not saying it she was saying she hadn't decided whether meeting him was a good or bad thing yet. Dr. Rylie didn't seem to notice anything off with the interaction though as he went about making his own coffee. The three of them made idle small talk as they made their own coffees. Once his new cup was ready, Kon bid them both goodbye and went on his way. While they were his main objective, lingering too long this early into their aquantiantship would probably be strange.

He had several other small friendly interactions with both of them over the next few days. Taking the time for greetings, small talk, and sharing small bits of casual background info from Kyle Jennings's past to encourage them both to open up to him. He also broke a clipboard, two more coffee cups, several pens, and a doorknob during that time as his strength continued to fluctuate. The doorknob had been particularly embarrassing. He had gone to open the door for Jasmine when he saw her with her arms full of files and somehow managed to twist it in such a way that the screws holding it in place sheered off and the knob came off in his hand. Collins, his partner for building patrol that day, burst out laughing hysterically as Kon stared at the doorknob in horror.

"No worries, man." Collins said, clapping Kon on the shoulder still snickering. "Someone else probably broke it and put it back so they wouldn't get scolded or something."

"Yeah," Kon said with a nervous laugh. "That must be what happened."

Jasmine's eyes flicked between the two of them then she grinned.

"And here I thought you just really hated that door." She teased Kon. He felt his face heat up as Collins laughed at him again.

"It is an ugly door." Collins agreed enthusiastically smirking.

"Terribly ugly. Hideous even," Jasmine said with a smile.

"Possibly even traumatizing to behold," Collins continued to smirk.

"You've got me. I have a deep rooted traumatic fear of metal taupe doors." Kon deadpanned ears burning. Jasmine snickered as Kon got the door open for her and they went their separate ways.

~*~*~

"What have you found so far?" Tim asked. Kon did not have the words to express how much he didn't want to be at the Nest at 3am on his first day off from undercover work. If it was anyone other than Tim he wouldn't have even answered the phone.

"Literally nothing," Kon said dryly. "I am still the newest of newbies at Arkham. I practically spent the whole week being babysat by senior guardsmen." He sighed, reminding himself that it wasn't Tim's fault that he was a little insomniac goblin and that Kon really did love his friend and would be sad if he hurt Tim's feelings. Eventually. When he woke up again in the morning. "I did start befriending them both though. It's slow going since we're in different areas but nearly being the only non-gothamites there seems to be helping me make some headway at least." 

There was one other non-gothamite on staff, a medical nurse named Sharon Earley. She was in her mid-thirties and the most sour and unpleasant person Kon had had the displeasure of meeting so far on Arkham's staff. Not that Kon could blame her for that. Not when she had several large ragged scars spanning from her chin and down both of her arms from when Zsazz had gotten hold of her alone after dark her second year at Arkham. It was a damn miracle she'd survived him. Kon didn't know how she managed it but he wouldn't try to find out either. Ryans had taken him aside right before he first met Nurse Earley and warned him not to stare or ask about any of it and then explained the bare basics of what happened to her after they'd left. 

Tim probably had a file with every detail of that night as well as information about Sharon Earley's life both before and after that night somewhere on his computer. The thought made Kon nauseous. 

"Good, good," Tim said absently as he updated the mission file on his computer. The keys clicked so rapidly that Kon again reconsidered whether or not his best friend had super speed. "Better to keep them from suspecting than to rush in anyway." 

"Exactly." 

Tim continued asking questions about every little detail he could think of concerning Dr. Rylie, Jasmine Fenton, and the rogues currently in Arkham.

"They don't let me near those guys yet. I'm too new." Kon said when Tim asked if Scarecrow looked to be plotting more than usual.

"They don't?" Tim sounded surprised, going so far as to stop typing so he could turn and stare at Kon. The clone was amused to note something about his statement had managed to wake Tim up enough to be visibly shocked instead blank-faced with exhaustion.

"Of course not," Kon answered trying to keep the amusement from his voice as much as possible. "As many times as your rogues have broken out they're leary of letting new hires near them in case they're goons in disguise." 

Tim sank back into his chair looking like Kon had uprooted his whole world by proving the Earth really was flat via actual science.

"That's impossible." Tim said sounding faint. "Everytime there's a mass breakout, we always hear that some of the guards helped them escape. How?..." He trailed off, eyes darting rapidly like he was tracking lines of an invisible conspiracy board in the air in front of him. Kon shrugged, uncomfortable with this new information.

"Scuttlebutt is that the people helping them escape are visitors. The guards get blamed because the goons visit wearing clothes similar to the guard uniform from a distance. All blue polo shirts and black pants look similar at a distance." Kon explained. "It also doesn't help that the guards can't really do much to stop the escape attempts since they only have stun grenades, tranquilizer darts, batons, low voltage tazers, and rubber bullets to fight back with. So as long as enough people are involved in the escape attempt at least some of them will make it out even if the guards manage to to tranquilize several of them." 

Tim still looked like Kon was blowing his mind. It was such a rare experience that Kon had to continue.

"Plus the tranquilizer darts and the rubber bullets have to be fired from different hardware." Kon told him. "Which sucks because you have to carry twice the amount of weight while chasing after the escapees which slows you down and it takes longer to swap between them."

There was something similar to mystified horror spreading across his friend's face now.

"Speaking if swapping between them, they have different ranges too." Kon continued gleefully. Half because it was fun wrecking Tim's worldview and half to actually impart the information. "Batons are short-range. Tranquilializer darts and stun grenades are mid-range. Rubber bullet riffles are long-range."

"If that's all it is, WE can fund then better gear to control the inmates." Tim interrupted turning back to the computer and swiftly typing out a list of things to send Arkham. Kon shook his head.

"That won't work." He disagreed gently. "They aren't failing because of the gear itself."

Tim turned back around to face him, confused. This was not going to be a fun conversation, Kon swallowed hard and forced himself to continue.

"The problem is that if you fire the rubber bullet riffles from mid or short range you could seriously injury or even kill the patient. If they get past mid-range, you'll miss them completely using tranquilizer darts or stun grenades. If you try to use either of those at short-range it'll be bad for you whether it's because they'll get hold of you before the tranquilizer knocks them out or because you'll stun yourself too."

Comprehension and trepidation began to dawn on Tim's face. He deflated in his chair, sinking lower and lower as he stared off into nowhere.

"You also can't hit them with more than one tranquilizer dart in a four hour window because you could accidently kill them that way. That also means even though you have a baton, you typically can't do enough damage to them to keept them from escaping because that might potentially kill them." Kon said completely solemn now as he relayed the information. "Because regardless of the reputation Arkham has or what the patients have done, it is still a hospital and they are still patients." 

Tim was staring directly at Kon now. Mouth open, face slack, eyes wide with a kind of numbed shock. Kon held his gaze.

"Yeah," Kon said after a moment. "Yeah, that's how I reacted too." He looked down, picking at his nails for a moment before forcing himself to stop and meet Tim's gaze again. "Phizer, my new 'boss', made sure to drill that into my head during orientation. 'Arkham's guards exist first and foremost to protect the patients. Arkham isn't supposed to be a prison. It's a medical facility. The patients are confined to the premises because their affliction has made them dangerous and they have to stay so that we can keep them and others safe from further harm. We are here to keep the patients and staff from hurting each other, themselves, or being hurt by people outside of Arkham's walls.' Not gonna lie, man." Kon said quirking a bitter grin as his did. "Hearing that kind of fucked me up a bit."

Tim sucked in a huge heaving breath then slowly let it out before he responded.

"I can't say I ever thought about it like that." He admitted in a soft strained voice. "Can't say I ever wanted to either." There was a bitter tinge to his words.

"Yeah, neither did I." Kon answered, shoulders slumping a bit. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask me? I kind of want to head back and sleep a bit."

Tim shook his head slowly.

"No, I think we're good at the moment." He said looking twice as exhausted and drained now as he did when Kon first got there. Kon nodded.

"Good night then. I'll see you later, man." He said, pushing off the wall he'd been leaning against and heading for the door.

"Be safe, Kon." Tim answered softly turning back to his computer.

[sturns-angel]

bsf!matt finds out bsf!reader has been feeling the same way he has... ❗️SMUT - MDNI❗️ ❕WRITER'S NOTE: this is my first smut that i'm actually posting, PLEASE tell me if this is ass.❕

"get off of me, you freak!" nick shouts, shoving chris with an exaggerated amount of force. chris stumbles back towards the counter and i can't contain my laughter. they've been 'arguing' for the past 10 minutes while matt and i simply sit back and enjoy the entertainment.

i had agreed to filming a video with the triplets before finding out the topic; 'say it or eat it'. the challenge of eating something disgusting doesn't scare me, it's the questions. they've been ruthless thus far and i can only assume they're gonna get worse. i've already been asked 2 questions as of now and i just know that the rest will be harsh.

'describe your first love.' nick read from his phone with an almost evil smirk. i stare at the spoonful of sauerkraut that's set out on the table in front of me and gulp. 'in what way?' i ask, eyeing the brothers standing beside me.

i had reluctantly answered the question in order to avoid the punishment.

'matt! describe the last dream you can remember, including embarrassing details.' chris announced as he pushed a small bowl of blue cheese stuffed olives towards him. matt groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. he looked to the bowl, then slowly lifted his head as he found my eyes. i raised my eyebrows as i waited to see how he'd handle the situation. before chris can continue with his peer pressure, matt grabbed 2 olives and popped them into his mouth.

chris takes a swig of hot sauce to avoid his question and immediately runs to the sink to rinse his mouth out.

"y/n!" nick grins, holding his phone close to him as if he's trying to hide a secret. "who's your current crush?" chris squeals and jumps around while i stare at the poorly cooked shrimp (thanks to chris).

"that's not fair!" i exclaim as i wince away from the dish. "the only way i can answer that is with a full-on name drop!"

matt chuckles and quickly joins chris in the background of the initial set up, leaning against the counter. despite my gaze being set on nick, i know matt is staring at me. i can practically feel his gaze burning into my skin.

"okay, okay. i know you hate shrimp so i'll make it a little easier." nick explains while he locks his phone and sets it on the table. "describe your current crush; physical or however you choose."

i can feel the heat rushing to my face as i think of my crush. about 5'9, brown hair, blue eyes, full lips, standing within arms reach of me. my mind wanders while chris rushes over to me and throws an arm around my shoulder.

"c'mon y/n! shrimp or most-likely-shrimp-dick?" chris laughs and i nudge his side. when i turn my head to give chris a disgusted look, my eyes meet matts. his gaze is hard, yet somewhat playful. he's always been a bit more protective over me than the other triplets. his judgements of any guy that i showed the slightest bit of interest in were harsh.

i look back to chris who is impatiently waiting for my response. "this is ridiculous." i scoff and brush my hair out of my face. "he's funny, nice, and attractive. done." i throw my hands up. chris and nick groan in annoyance at my answer.

"y/n, that's so lame! we need more than that, like the color of his eyes or..." nick trails off, but chris is quick to continue. "what's the first initial of his first name?" chris asks.

i quickly pick up a piece of the shrimp and take a bite, silently gagging as soon as it hits my tongue.

the last round of questions go by fast, the usual chaos occurring as we finish out the video. matt makes his way over to the camera to do his regular outro and i feel an arm wrap around my shoulders once more.

"thanks for doing the video with us. i'm sure it wasn't easy with your crush here." nick says with a wide grin on his face. i roll my eyes with a soft laugh. of course nick knows about my feelings for matt, but that's as far as i’ve been willing to take it. matt and i have grown super close over the past few weeks and it's made me realize i want more than what we currently have, i just can't bring myself to risk our friendship.

"nick, i'm sleeping in your room tonight and i'm going up there immediately. i'm exhausted." chris explains as he makes his way over to the stairs. nick nods and adds in that he'll be joining him while following close behind.

"are you staying the night?" i hear matt ask while i clean off the table, quickly joining to help me.

"yeah, i'll probably just crash on the couch again." i explain, wiping the table off once matt clears out the last bit of food. he lets out a soft hum in response. we spend a few minutes in silence as we finish cleaning the kitchen before matt finally speaks.

"do you wanna watch a movie? i'm not really tired and movies are a bit boring alone." he asks, wiping his hands off on some paper towels. "unless you're tired - i mean - don't want to-"

"yeah, we can watch a movie." i cut him off with a soft smile. we settle in on the couch in the living room and quickly decide on a thriller. luckily, i came over in a some sweatpants and a t-shirt so i was already pretty comfortable. the same can't be said for matt. about 10 minutes into the movie, i notice matt fidgeting and tugging at his jeans. "you alright?" i ask once matt stands up from his spot on the couch.

"yeah, i'll be right back." he quickly mumbles and rushes off to his bedroom. i turn my attention back to the movie, barely picking up on the plot. matt soon returns in a pair of sweatpants that sit low on his hips and the infamous cropped pink t-shirt.

as he makes his way over to the couch, i can't help but notice the lack of a waistband from his boxers. my eyes slowly travel down and it becomes very obvious why the waistband is missing; no underwear.

i quickly shift my gaze back to the tv, watching the main character move around aimlessly through her house. my mind melts away from the movie when i feel a dip in the couch, much closer than earlier.

"alright, babe. don't hog the blanket." matt jokes, pulling the small throw blanket closer and tossing it over his legs. the 'innocent' pet name is nothing new and neither is the effect it has on me. i subtly smush my thighs together and give some slack to the blanket.

15 minutes. 15 absolute agonizing minutes go by before i shift in my seat, somewhat forgetting the arousal between my thighs. matt slings an arm over my shoulders and i feel my breath hitch in my throat.

sitting close on the couch, sharing a bed (but keeping our distance), locking arms in a crowded place; all of this is normal for us. normal for best friends. as innocent as it seems, this is uncharted territory. i'm not even sure where to go from here so i slowly lower my head onto him, resting on his collarbone.

"y/n." matt whispers and i hum in response. i wait for a moment, only silence following his initial speech. right as i'm about to speak, he clears his throat, obviously contemplating his next words. "now that the camera's off, can i know who your crush is?"

i laugh softly and bring a hand up to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose as i think. not much thought needs to be put into who my crush is. i just need to tread lightly. i want to have matt in my life in whatever way he'll allow. telling him the truth about my feelings could easily ruin that.

"c'mon, i thought friends were supposed to tell each other everything." he jokes, reaching his hand down and lightly tickling my side.

"it's not really - it's not a big deal." i respond, hoping that will satisfy him. of course, it doesn't.

"is he your age?" matt presses. i purse my lips and keep my eyes trained on the tv.

"he's like a year older." i answer with a shrug, doing my best to keep my response as nonchalant as possible. matt lets out a low chuckle, shifting slightly.

"okay... do we know him?" he asks. i know who 'we' is. he wants to know if i've mentioned this crush to his brothers, possibly brought him around without matt knowing.

"yeah." i respond softly. he clears his throat once again, but this one sounds more forced.

he knows. he knows and he's uncomfortable. why didn't i just lie? why didn't i just avoid the question completely in the video? of course, he's uncomfortable. i'm supposed to be his best friend, but i've secretly been thinking of something more. why did i-

"is he - um - like, in the house?" matt's question pulls me out of my thoughts then immediately throws me back into them. i start to lift my head off of him, trying to create some distance between us, but his arms tighten around me. they squeeze around my waist and hold me close to him.

i try to answer his question, but i feel like all the moisture has left my mouth, making it impossible for any words to form. i settle on a soft nod.

my heart feels like it's about to beat straight up my chest and out of my throat. "y/n." matt says, his voice slightly more serious than before.

i don't move. i'm practically paralyzed in the realization that he definitely knows. my breathing is sharp, shallow.

"y/n/n." the nickname gives a slight ease to the conversation. i slowly lift my head to look up at him. before i can fully move, i feel his slender fingers rest under my chin to pull my face closer to his.

his face is so close to mine, our noses brush together slightly. my eyes lift to meet his and we're frozen like this for moment. a moment trapped in time. it's intense, yet comfortable. my brain turns to mush and the words fall out of my mouth before i can even register what i'm saying.

"he's right in front of me."

his soft lips are a stark contrast to the harshness he pushes them against mine. this is all i've wanted for the past month. this is all i've dreamt of and it's even better than i imagined.

his lips mold perfectly to mine as if they were made for this, made for this moment. his hand moves down from my chin, wrapping around the back of my neck. i quickly bring my hands up, letting one rest comfortably on his chest while the other reaches up to caress his cheek.

he deepens the kiss, pulling me impossibly close and swiping his tongue over my bottom lip. i shift once again in my seat, pulling my knees up and leaning on them. his tongue explores my mouth as he quickly pulls me into his lap. i swing one leg over to straddle his lap.

"i need you." he murmurs against my mouth before moving his attention to my neck. his soft lips quickly find the sweet spot just under my ear and nip at it gently. "i've needed you for so long." he whispers.

"matt..." i whimper, gripping his shoulders tightly. he hums against my neck, hand traveling down and sliding under my shirt. his fingertips brush over my sensitive nipple and i can feel a smirk growing his face. he cups my breast, slowly and gently massaging it.

"did you expect this to happen or am i just that lucky?" matt chuckles and moves his mouth back to mine, swallowing the soft moans i let slip out.

i groan softly when his hand suddenly leaves my skin. he grips the hem of my shirt and gives it a soft tug, silently asking for permission. i quickly pull the shirt off of me and watch as his eyes travel over my torso, growing darker. the sudden realization hits me that my best friend is staring at my bare chest and i move closer to him, attempting to cover myself. his hands hold firm on my waist.

"you're perfect..." he mumbles, looking into my eyes with an expression i've never seen from him. i scoff, rolling my eyes and shifting my gaze away from him. "y/n." one hand reaches up to gently grab my chin, turning my attention back to his face.

just as he's about to speak, we hear the sound of a door opening upstairs, followed by heavy footsteps. our eyes widen and i throw myself off of him. he quickly moves the blanket over my body and i curl up into a ball, snuggling into his side.

just as chris rounds the corner, my eyes land on my shirt that was carelessly thrown to the floor. shit. "y/n, if you drank the last pepsi 'm gonna-" he freezes, staring at us for a moment. i quickly move my eyes to the tv, pretending to be interested in the movie. after sitting in silence for what feels like an eternity, chris squeals and runs back to the stairs. "nick!" he shrieks and i feel like my face is on fire.

"fuck, here we go." matt groans, running his fingers through his hair. chris makes it about halfway up the stairs before he turns around and peeks over the ledge of the wall.

"also, on the couch? you have a bed, matt!" chris exclaims, grinning widely despite him trying to act disgusted.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

my head is thrown back against the arm of the couch as i bite my lip, trying my best to conceal my moans. matt's fingers pump in and out of me quickly, curling to hit just the right spot. while his fingers work to bring me closer to climax, his mouth is moving back and forth between each of my nipples, softly nipping at the sensitive buds.

he was so quick with his movements once chris disappeared upstairs that i was barely able to register what was happening. now here i am, completely bare in front of matt as he pushes his fingers into me.

"fuck, matt!" i exclaim quietly, rushing my fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. he moans against my skin and i feel myself clinching around his fingers tighter.

the burning in my core is building, growing stronger and stronger. my walls flutter around his digits and i can feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head. i feel like i'm floating, preparing to release what's been building in my stomach. i'm fully prepared to let go when i suddenly feel empty, his fingers pulling out of me and dripping my arousal onto the couch.

before i can protest, matt shifts, pulling me into him with his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. he quickly lifts me off the couch and i instinctively wrap my legs around him, tucking my head down and leaving hungry kisses up and down his neck.

he rushes us over to his room, closing the door with a swift kick and tossing me onto the bed. he quickly removes his shirt and throws it across the room, groaning as he stares down at my leaking cunt. he reaches for the waistline of his sweatpants, but i quickly sit up and swat his hands away.

he stands at the foot of the bed while i reposition myself, sitting on my knees and leaning back on my heels. i swiftly pull his pants down and his thick cock is released, springing up towards my lips. before his pants can hit the floor, i lunge forward, wrapping a hand around the base and sucking his tip into my mouth.

"fuck, y/n..." he moans, staring down at me as i sink my mouth further down. i'm intimidated by his size, but the urge to please him and feel him as much as i can overpowers the intimidation.

i hold him in my mouth for moment, looking up at him and meeting his gaze. i maintain eye contact as i slowly pull his length out of my mouth, sticking my tongue out farther to tease the underside of his cock. quickly, i push him back into my mouth, bobbing my head quickly and using my hand to pump what i can't fit.

my free hand reaches up and grips onto his thigh to keep myself stable. matts grunts and moans fill the room, causing my wetness to grow. i can feel my arousal dripping down my thighs as matts hands move to my shoulders and he lightly shoves me off of his throbbing dick.

"i need to fuck you. right now." he admits, kicking off the sweats that were just pooled around his feet. "lay back, sweetheart." he instructs and i immediately obey, laying back on the bed and letting my head rest against the pile of pillows.

he climbs on top of me and uses a knee to gently nudge my thighs. i spread my legs, allowing him to slot his body between them. the tip of his cock brushes against my neglected clit and i can't contain the moan that escapes me.

"you have to be quiet, babe." matt chuckles, reaching between us to position himself at my entrance, dragging his tip around it. i giggle softly and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to mine.

"matt, i think they already know what's happen - fuck!" i interrupt myself with a shriek as he roughly pushes his thick cock into me. before i can make another sound, his hand travels up my body and clasps over my mouth. he stays still for a moment before slowly pulling out and slamming back into me.

he lowers his head and grazes his teeth over my earlobe. "i don't want anyone else hearing these pretty sounds. this is only for me." he whispers as pistons in and out of me.

my moans are muffled by his hand and he quickly moves it, shoving his ring and middle finger into my mouth. without a second thought, i wrap my lips around his slender fingers, tasting the residue of myself on them from earlier.

"fuck - feel s'good." he grunts lowly, lifting his head to rest against mine, our sweaty foreheads connected as he stares into my eyes. his eyelids are low and i can feel mine slowly closing, succumbing to the pleasure. "keep 'em open. i need - shit - need to see you."

i lazily open my eyes and stare into his, drowning in the feeling of his cock pushing into me with a rapid pace. his tip brushes my gummy, sweet spot and my lips fall away from his fingers, letting a moan fall past my lips.

reluctantly, he pulls his fingers out of my mouth and loosely wraps them around my neck. "m-matt..." i whimper, feeling my pussy pulse around him.

"give it to me, pretty girl. fuck - make a mess all over me." he grunts, his thrusts losing rhythm and stuttering. "gonna stay quiet f' me?" he asks breathlessly.

i shake my head rapidly, knowing the pleasure is too much for me to be quiet. a smirk slowly creeps up his face, a sinister look appearing in his eyes. he pulls out quickly and i subconsciously push my hips down, searching for the feeling that was just ripped away from me.

he roughly grips the back of my thigh, pushing it up and leaning over me once again. my leg dangles over his shoulder as he quickly pushes back into me. he instantly resumes his pace, hitting a new, deeper spot inside of me.

"fuck!" i exclaim, throwing my head further into his pillows. he props himself up on his forearm, his other arm snaking between us. i feel his hand pressing against my abdomen, creating a brand new sensation for me. i'm a blabbering, whimpering mess beneath him as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge. that familiar burning sensation makes another appearance and i can't hold back anymore.

he leans in closer, whispering obscene things to me, but i can’t concentrate on his words. the only thing i’m able to focus on is the knot in my stomach completely unraveling.

“matt, oh-“ his lips connect to mine, cutting me off. he grunts against my lips and i can feel his cock twitching inside of me. he chases his high as he pushes me further and further. i’m slightly overstimulated, but i don’t care.

“fuck, fuck.” he mutters against my lips before stilling inside of me. i can feel him filling me up, soft grunts leaving his mouth as he softly drops my leg.

we lay there in a comfortable silence for a minute, his head resting in my neck and my fingers raking softly through his hair. once we’ve both caught our breath, he shifts slightly, the movement of his now soft cock inside me causes me to wince.

“‘m sorry, i couldn’t even think straight. i should’ve pulled out.” he huffs, slowly pulling out. he sits up and i can see something flash in his eyes as he sees his cum slowly leaking out of me.

“it’s okay, matt.” i giggle. “i’m on the pill.”

“okay, good because i definitely need to see this again.” he says calmly, reaching down and pushing his release back into my pussy. i whine at the feeling, my face scrunching in discomfort.

“shit, sorry.” he whispers before quickly moving off the bed and putting his sweatpants back on. he quickly shuffles out of the room and i lay there staring at the ceiling. i can’t believe what just happened. obviously, i’m happy about what happened, but now we have to figure out what the hell this is. are we just friends who occasionally fuck? does he want to actually date me? will this never happen again? pushed to the back of our minds, pretending it never even happened.

i’m pulled from my thoughts when i feel matt softly brushing a towel against my core, cleaning me up. when he’s done he tosses the towel in his laundry basket and climbs on the bed.

“you can wear this if you want. just thought it’d be comfortable. it’s my favorite sleep shirt so…” matt says, holding a black t shirt out to me. i sit up and take it from him, giving a quiet ‘thanks’ with a soft smile. i slip the shirt on and sit back against the headboard.

when i turn to look at matt i see that he’s already looking at me, eyes soft and a small smile on his face. “what?” i ask shyly.

“you’re so beautiful.” he responds, voice barely above a whisper. i can feel myself blush and i look away, staring at nothing in particular. “stop doing that.” he says as he grabs my hand.

“i’m not doing anything!” i defend with a giggle. he pulls me closer and reaches down to grab his blanket, pulling it over us. he shuffles a bit, laying down comfortably. he drops my hand and holds his arm out, sending a silent invitation for me to join him.

after settling next to him and laying my head on his shoulder, he speaks up. “i’m not a liar.” he says. i give him a confused look and he turns his head towards me. “when i compliment you, it’s always the truth. you really are beautiful.”

i can���t stop myself from smiling and i move a hand up to rest on his cheek. i pull him in and kiss him softly. this kiss is probably the softest one that we’ve shared at this point and i can feel every emotion, every unspoken secret between us.

just as i pull away, ready to say something, the door opens quickly. matt and i snap our heads to the doorway and see nick and chris with smug smiles.

“awww! what a cute couple!” chris squeals, clinging onto nicks shoulders. nick shrugs him off and i feel matt snatch a pillow from behind us, throwing it at the boys.

“get the fuck out!” matt yells while i hide my face in his chest, trying my best to conceal my laughter.

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (10)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to her that for days she had lingered in a deep, restless sleep, once seeing her past before her eyes, and once seeing something that seemed to her to be the future, dark and frightening.

When she awoke the first thing she smelled was his scent, smoke and ash; she felt his hands stroking her body, his soft lips on her neck. She sighed then with relief, thinking that all she had seen, all that had happened to her, was just a bad dream.

It occurred to her that they had escaped from the library together and were still lying in each other's embrace in the chamber to which he had taken her, that perhaps she would soon bear his child, that she would become his wife. Her fingers intertwined with his then, and despite the discomfort she was feeling within her wrists, she felt safe.

She finally opened her eyes and found to her surprise that it was morning, but she was in her chamber, his body pressed against her from behind, his arms embracing her tightly, his calm, warm breath enveloping her neck.

She smiled to herself and attempted to lift herself up to sit, but she hissed loudly, surprised at how much pain she felt in her wrists when she shifted the weight of her body into her hands. She looked at them and froze, seeing the bandages on them, feeling the cold sweat on her back, her heart began to pound like mad.

"− my love? −" She heard his voice, startled and uncertain. She looked at him and already knew; her lower lip trembled, tears of anger, regret and disappointment gathered under her eyelids.

It was all true.

His betrayal and what happened next.

Moon tea.

She pressed her lips together so that no sound came out of them and lay down again, turning her back to him, trembling all over. She drew in the air loudly when she felt him embrace her immediately, his warm, accelerated breath enveloping her neck.

"− I didn't know − I swear I didn't know about moon tea −" He muttered with a pain and regret from which she felt her heart squeeze, his face pressed into her hair seeking comfort, but nothing came out of her mouth.

She looked towards the window behind which the sun was shining, and although a new day had dawned, night had fallen in her heart and mind, for despite still being alive, she felt dead.

She stayed for him, she gave him what she held most precious, she believed him.

None of his tears or grief could change the fact that all she felt for him was compassion.

She thought he was a pathetic, weak man running at his mother's every beck and call, thinking he was entitled to everything.

She decided that she would punish him the way he had punished her all these years.

With her silence.

It turned out that persevering with her decision came easily to her, as she had no desire to look at him; she would not answer his questions, she would not let him feed her or stay in the chamber when she took a bath with the help of his servants.

She didn't use words, so she couldn't tell him that she didn't wish for his presence, however, she later decided that she did not feel the need to do so − she derived satisfaction from him returning to her like a moth to a flame, night after night falling asleep in his tentative embrace, feeling the closeness and warmth of his body, his fingers stroking her hands and arms.

He didn't try to take her, he knew she wouldn't let him, and there was something about it that, to her despair, aroused her.

The fact that she could feel his swollen, throbbing manhood on her buttocks, that she could feel his anxious, shuddering breath on her neck, his body writhing restlessly behind her making her insides clench wonderfully.

She fought with herself, trying to keep a sober mind from guiding his hand between her thighs, to keep him from satisfying her with his long, warm fingers.

She decided that she would not give him that satisfaction and pleased herself alone, in brief moments of solitude during her baths, involuntarily thinking of him and what they had done then, in that cramped, cool chamber.

Once she had fallen from her elation all that was left in her was emptiness, regret and bitterness.

She thanked the gods then that she had been able to restrain herself and not let him take her again, that after what he had done he deserved nothing she could and wanted so much to give him.

Her thoughts wandered to her family, to how she could be of service to them.

She decided that she would wait patiently until her uncle's wedding to one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, remaining calm until then, not causing any trouble, wanting to lull their vigilance.

She knew that such an event would focus the attention of most of the keep and she would be able to try to use this to escape.

One of the servants whispered during her bath as she poured oils into her tub that there were people in this stronghold who still supported her mother, that they would help her flee when the time was right.

She accepted these words with relief, finally having the feeling that she was not alone.

No one besides her uncle and his sister visited her, questioned her or demanded anything of her. She was surprised when, in her presence, a servant girl conveyed to him that the Queen wished to speak with her, and he replied that she was to convey to her that he forbade it.

Neither the Queen, Otto, Aegon nor Criston Cole crossed the threshold of her chamber after what had happened at his clear command.

Her uncle had decided that Helaena would stay with her in his absence, and although she craved nothing more than solitude, her presence did not bother her.

She was their hostage, just like she was.

Helaena was an affectionate caregiver to her – when she was still weak she helped her to eat, get up and dress. They did not speak to each other, however, she felt that there was a kind of warmth between them, a kind of understanding, a sense that they both suffered just as much and supported each other in their agony.

All day long they would sit and read books or embroider, listening to the birds sing; all around them a strange stillness, the calm before the storm, a tension that could be felt in the air.

War was coming, they all felt it in their bones.

"– from the mingled blood will emerge a dragon's crown –" She whispered under her breath, cocking her head, looking dreamily at the spider figure she had embroidered on the light fabric.

She lifted her gaze to her, surprised, wondering if the very thing her uncle had once told her about had happened.

He had said to her that Helaena had seen things in her dreams.

"What does it mean?" She asked softly, piercing the needle with thread across to the other side, pulling it so that it formed another knot folding into one of the wings of a bird.

The Arryn family crest, her expression of who she identified with, who she supported.

Helaena hummed under her breath, mending one of the threads that had entangled, piercing the material from underneath with a needle, pulling it out on the other side.

"He really tried. I was there. He tried, but they cornered him and forced him to succumb." She said calmly; she felt a tightening in her throat, understanding perfectly well that she was referring to her brother. She lowered her gaze, clenching her hands into fists, feeling discomfort in her stomach.

"I trusted him. I gave myself to him." She said in a trembling voice, regret, resentment and disappointment flowing out of her like a black stream, feeling that she could no longer hold it in, that it was poisoning her from the inside.

She shuddered when Helaena finally looked at her, in her bright eyes understanding and compassion, but also something else, some kind of deep, bottomless sadness.

"He wanted to keep his vows. He said he wanted to marry you, but the only person who supported him in that decision fell asleep forever. When you…" She fell silent for a moment and lowered her gaze, swallowing quietly, both of them didn't say a word for a moment, knowing what she meant.

"…I've never seen him like this. I didn't think he was capable of such despair, of such affection." She said, sighing quietly, looking up at her again, her white hair tied into a braid that shone wonderfully in the sunlight.

"After you moved to Dragonstone, he wouldn't let anyone mention you. When I spoke of you, he would burst into a rage and leave. He never came to terms with what had happened. My grandfather, disturbed by information from the servants that they had seen your letters, told me to go to his chamber to look for them and then bring them to him. He stated that he would not suspect me of anything. I found them in his drawer. There were so many that they barely fit in there. Each year tied separately with a black ribbon, sorted, arranged in the right order."

Helaena spoke, looking absently out of the window; she felt her heart begin to pound like mad, her throat and stomach clenched with pain. She played with her fingers in a nervous gesture listening to her intently, wanting so badly to know what had happened to him over the years, what he thought of her.

"Some of them looked much more worn than others, as if he returned to them particularly often. It shocked me but also gave me hope because I had stopped recognising him over the years. He had turned into a cold rock who rammed everything in his path. I told my grandfather I hadn't found anything, that he had apparently burned your letters after he read them to leave no evidence." She said and sighed, massaging her temple, looking tired and discouraged as she clearly could not get the peace she so desperately wanted.

Their conversation made her feel even worse.

Some part of her sympathised with him, while another part resented him for simply not kidnapping her to Essos, for intending to take this girl as his wife and beget his children with her, for hoping that she would understand and forgive him.

That evening he came to her chamber as he did every day – she pressed her lips together lowering her gaze to her embroidery, feeling his burning gaze, her heart began to pound like mad.

She heard him sit in the same place he always did, in a chair facing her right next to the fireplace, watching her for a moment; she heard him sigh heavily as he turned his head, simply looking into the flames, thoughtful.

She swallowed quietly, trying to focus on the pattern she was sewing and not think about what Helaena had said to her.

About her letters that he had kept in his drawer for years, that he had returned to and cherished, that he had tried to fulfil his promise in spite of everything.

She felt resentful towards herself that she had begun to feel some kind of sympathy for him again, to justify him in her mind wanting to believe that he actually cared for her as much as she cared for him, that what had happened was the result of his grandfather's cold calculation and not his will, that he, like her, was standing between a hammer and an anvil.

She felt a discomfort in her stomach and a squeeze in her throat at the thought that they were both in fact prisoners of the situation, unable to express or do what they really wanted.

She shuddered when he stood up suddenly with a loud creak of wood and walked over to his secretary's desk, opening it, pulling out parchment, quill and inkwell. She blinked in confusion, watching as he sat down and mused, sinking the tip of the quill into the ink, then began to write.

She wondered what had happened, who had been the recipient of his words, and thought with regret that it had surely been Lord Baratheon or one of his daughters, that his mother had commanded him to take action and try to win their hearts.

She lowered her gaze at this thought, sad and discouraged, returning to her work, piercing the needle from underneath the fabric, pulling it out on the other side with a light, soft flick of her hand.

She looked at him surprised when, many minutes later, he put down the quill, rolled up the parchment and walked over to her, placing it next to her on the table and simply left the chamber, closing the door behind him.

She looked at the scroll in disbelief feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck, her heart pounding like mad, her fingers clenched tightly on the material she had just embroidered on.

For the first time it was he who had written her a letter.

His words to her, his act of desperation.

She felt some kind of emotion at the thought, felt tears under her eyelids because although she didn't know what was written there, she felt it would break her heart.

She reached for the parchment with a trembling hand and unrolled it slowly placing it on her lap, beginning to read in breathless amazement what her uncle had to say.

My Rhaenys,

I set out on my journey to Storm's End to quench my grandfather and mother's thirst with a sense of injustice. It occurs to me that only now am I able to understand what you have been going through all these years, experiencing from me only the silence I deeply believed you deserved at the time.

I'm sure you think the same of me now, and you're not wrong, because I myself am unable to comment or justify what happened through my hesitation, which cost me everything.

I thought it is easy to see what is right and what is wrong, to choose the proper path, but after my father's death it became apparent that none of this was the case, and my mother's and my grandfather's decision set it out for me, against my will, and although I tried to stand up to it, it seems to me that the consequences of their actions have sunk me like a wave that carries me onward, away from the safe harbour that you are.

I want you to realise, my niece, that one word from you is enough for us to slit our lips and hands upon my return and drink our warm, mingled blood, sealing at last our destiny once and for all.

I, unlike Aegon the Conqueror, want you in my bed every night.

I don't think Lord Baratheon's mind can contain what we read about as children and that he would accept that his daughter would be merely a second, and moreover, unwanted wife in my life. Union with him may give us an army to wage war on, but my union with you may in my mind end it with the birth of our child, a descendant of the Greens and Blacks.

I am not, and will not be able to accept, either as your uncle or as your husband, Jacerys, Lucerys or Joffrey as heirs to the throne for reasons that are well known to you, and which neither the marriage nor the threats of your stepfather and your mother can change − we both know full well that they do not and cannot have rights to the crown.

However, Aegon's and Viserys's rights to it are strong, unassailable even by me, and although as your uncle I have no personal interest in your mother or her offspring sitting on the Iron Throne, as your husband I would be willing, as part of a truce, to agree that it should not be Helaena and Aegon's children who inherit the throne, but my half-sister's and my uncle's or, if both sides in the conflict were to be at least partially satisfied, ours.

I have spent the last few days reflecting on what has happened and on what I think would be a solution that would satisfy me, but it has turned out that there is none. Unlike my brother, I don't delude myself that your mother will bend the knee, any more than any person with any dignity or pride would.

We all have to sacrifice something.

She looked at what she had read with a kind of disbelief, and covered her mouth with her hand, clenching her eyelids, warm tears of simultaneous relief and pain flowed from the corners of her eyes, for here was her uncle, a man she no longer recognised suddenly seemed closer to her than ever.

He had shared with her musings that would have been considered a betrayal by his brother and grandfather.

She read his letter quickly a few more times, trying to calm her breathing, noticing with surprise that her hands were trembling.

I want you to realise, my niece, that one word from you is enough for us to slit our lips and hands upon my return and drink our warm, mingled blood, sealing at last our destiny once and for all.

I, unlike Aegon the Conqueror, want you in my bed every night.

My Rhaenys.

She covered her face with her hand, letting out a loud breath, no longer knowing for herself what she thought of it all, distraught and torn, at the same time wanting to stay with him and run away, to support him and her mother, wanting to be in two places at once.

To be a good wife and to be a good daughter.

Though she tried, she could not choose.

She thought with pain, lying in her bed at night, covered in furs, that he had just chosen his future wife, that he would marry this woman if she did not agree to his terms, that she would lose him forever, that his hands, his lips would caress another woman.

She clenched her eyelids and wept quietly, feeling a sting in her heart at the thought, furious with herself that despite all she had been through she had not been able to stop loving him, she had not been able to tear him from her heart.

It would be better if you ripped your heart out, she remembered Daemon's words and thought with a sneer that she only now truly understood them.

She looked at her wrists, her still red, healed wounds, and considered trying again, but decided it made no sense, that if the gods wanted her dead, Ser Criston would not have stepped into her chamber then.

The gods wanted her to live, but why?

She screamed and pulled herself up, sitting up, turning towards the door when she heard someone enter her chamber, within seconds her uncle was beside her, pulling her by her arm and dragging her forcibly from the bed, grabbing her grey cloak on the way.

"− uncle? − what are you − stop −" She cried out horrified as he surrounded her with it and put the hood over her head, pulling her towards the door despite her standing up to him, not understanding what was happening, what he was up to.

She thought he would want to marry her by force, that he had no intention of waiting for her decision.

"− no − I don't want to − you won't make me − I'm going to scream −" She mumbled as she followed him barefoot down the torch-lit corridor, trying to break away from him but fruitlessly; she heard him snort, he looked at her over his shoulder with annoyance and impatience.

"Be fucking quiet. Don't you want to see your little brother? Hm? I thought so." He growled and tugged her towards the narrow staircase leading underground; she squealed loudly but didn't say a word, breathing heavily through her mouth, her heart starting to pound like crazy.

Don't you want to see your little brother?

She wondered if he was mocking her, if this was some kind of trap, some kind of trial.

She was afraid of him.

She wept silently quivering with cold and terror, walking with him in complete darkness.

And then she spotted a light, a silhouette standing by the open door and she recognised him, his black curly hair, his terrified face expressing disbelief.

Her uncle let go of her and she stopped, breathing hard, his name bursting from her throat like a desperate cry.

Luke.

_____

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