#this fic author is dead as goddamn hell

[booz-lose]

Eternal Resonance

Author's Note: This is somewhat a tickle fic, if you're not into that, please scroll. Thank you! =) || I didn't realize there were a few spelling mistakes, sorry!! I fixed them though.

Summary: Vox has always been obsessed with Alastor. One day, Alastor came to fight him, and did something Vox would never forget.

Part 2

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

"GODDAMN IT!" The TV yelled while hitting his desk, "Why can't he just be dead already!?" Vox was watching over Alastor who was helping with the hotel.

Vox turned off his TVs and walked out of his office, "I'll just go to bed." During the night, the only thing he could dream of is Alastor. He tossed and turned in his bed, waking up Valentino.

"Vox... Vox!.. VOX!" Val yelled. Vox quickly sat up, his breathing was heavy.

"What!" He looked at Val who had a not-so-impressed look. "You woke me up again with your damn movements!" It was obvious Val had to deal with this every night.

"Sorry, sorry- uh, just keep having the same dream over and over. Val rolled his eyes and went back to bed. The next morning, Vox immediately went into his office and turned on his TVs. He watched Alastor once again, just to see he was... heading his way!?

Shit.

Vox freaked out, "Oh my god, oh my god... Is he wanting to fight again?! What could he want??" Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. He turned around to see Alastor who was only a couple inches away.

"H-heyyy, Buddy... Uh-" Vox was cut off by Al's tendrils wraping around him, holding him in place. "Al! What are you doing!?"

"I'm giving you another unforgettable experience!" Alastor teased. Vox's eyes grew wide, he could feel the bright pink on his face.

"How'd you even get in here??" Alastor's smile grew bigger, "I have my ways, Dear." Vox's blush spread across his face. He tried his best to escape Al's grasp. As he wiggles around, he doesn't realize Alastor getting closer to him until he sees his feet stop infront of him.

Alastor whispered in Vox's ear, "Lets make a deal..." Vox laughed, "You really think I'm that stupid? Nice try, Smiles." Al's grin grew wider than ever, "Very well then." He shrugged his shoulders and snapped his fingers. His tendrils started to attack Vox... but not in the way Vox thought. He started to giggle as the black tendrils attack his sides.

"T-the hell?!" Vox said between giggles, "whahat are you dohohoing!"

"Like I said, I'm giving you another unforgettable experience!" Al paused for a second, "You didn't want to listen to me, so this is your consequence!" His tendrils moved to Vox's underarms, causing him to laugh even harder.

"By tihihickling meheheh!?" He tried his best to get away. The tendrils moved to his neck. "Well, I didn't really feel like killing, so I made you laugh instead." Vox couldn't help it. This whole scene would just make his fantasies worse.

"Don't think I don't notice when you spy on me." Alastor's sudden words made Vox tense up.. He knew all along?!

"I-I don't knohohow what y-you're tahahahlking abOUT!" Al shook his head, "Don't play dumb, lying will just make things worse." He attacked Vox with more tendrils, now attacking his underarms, sides, neck, AND legs! He was glitching a buffering from the overwhelming sensation.

"STOHOHOHP!!! LEHEHEHT ME GOO!!"

"Aww, has someone had enough?" Al teased once more. Vox tried his best to nod his head. "Well, all you have to do is make one simple deal with me... then I'll let you go!" Alastor smiles wider than before, stopping his tendrils, giving Vox a chance to breathe. His breathing was loud and heavy while still laughing, trying to recover.

After a minute, Vox finally responds...

"Fine."

To Be Continued...

[mockerycrow]

Heyo! Can I request a Russell Adler x fem!reader w/“You son of a bitch, you promised me we’d grow old together. You promised me!” Angst where reader is a traitor working for Perseus who faked her death in Vietnam when Adler got his scars? 🐦‍⬛💙

GLIMPSE OF YOU (Adler x Fem!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note; you are not bell in this fic!! bell is a separate character from you. thank you!!

[WARNING; angst, implied flashbacks.]

ADLER RUBS THE sleep from one of his eyes as he shuts his car door, keys in his other hand. It’s quite late; not too uncommon for him to be called to the safehouse at this hour, but it’s unusual to be called by Lawrence of all people. Park, yeah. Lazar? No doubt. Hudson? He’s always up Adler’s ass, no question. Lawrence, though? Must be personal. Adler pockets his keys before walking to the garage door and he bangs his fist on it a couple of times in a specific pattern, his eyes glancing around and landing on the bugs harassing the overhead light. Adler ignores the way the light burns his retinas. A minute or two later, the garage door screeches open to reveal the inside of the safehouse—all of their evidence and what-not.

His eyes land on Lazar who stands by the garage door, motioning for Adler to walk in. The air is oddly still and thick, kind of like it’s clogging Adler’s lungs as his shoes thump against the ground with every step he takes into the garage. Everyone is here; Hudson, Park, Lazar, Lawrence— Bell. Lawrence and Adler lock eyes; and boy, does Sims look nervous. It makes Adler’s jaw tense, a quiet click coming from his jaw screaming from the internal pressure. “What is it?” Adler gruffs, his tone still thick with sleep.

Lawrence is holding a file and a photograph, raised just high enough so Adler can’t see the contents just yet. “Y’gotta promise to not freak out too bad.” Lawrence’s tries to negotiate, but that only makes Adler’s eyes narrow underneath his sunglasses. He puts his hand out and does a tiny gimme motion towards Lawrence who sighs. He glances between the file, the photo, and Adler reluctantly before he slips the photo back underneath the paper clip that is attached to the file, slipping it into Adler’s waiting hand.

Adler’s heart drops when he sees a photo of the beautiful girl he knows—no, once knew. His chest tightens as his eyes lay on a photo of you, only older and more rugged. Dead and angry eyes. A version of you he’s never seen before; he’s never known. “What the fuck?” Adler spits through his teeth before he glances down at the file, reading your information, with the fucking affiliation of PERSEUS instead of MACV-SOG or even fucking CIA. “What the fuck!” He shouts louder, his heart pounding in his ears. He’s supposed to be reading your file from Vietnam, you died in Vietnam, you died there so why the hell are you on this goddamn worthless piece of paper, saying you’re aligned with Perseus?

Adler blindly walks with the file into the developing room, brushing Bell’s shoulder, who was barely able to get out of the way in time. He slams the door closed as he inhales shakily, the memories flooding back into his mind. The terrified and angry feelings during Vietnam overtake his senses; he can nearly hear the shouting and the gunfire, the fucking explosions—Adler’s eyes squeeze closed as he can feel his face being torn apart again.

An image of you pops up in his head, you wearing your uniform, an M16 lazily laying in your arms as you smile at him. Your eyes exhausted yet shimmering, somehow not being dampened from the horrors around you two. It makes present day Adler wonder if Perseus is the reason why your eyes are no longer shining in this photo. “You son of a bitch..” Adler grits lowly, his eyes opening with a new found fury as he looks back down at your picture in the low red lighting. “You promised me we’d grow old together.” He pushes out harshly, avoiding the break in his tone that threatened to spill out. “yOu FUCKING PROMISED!”

No one mentions the way Adler is more snappy, somehow more serious than before—not even Bell, who is ultimately confused on who you are. They remember a bit about you, but it’s blurry—like you weren’t meant for their eyes. Odd.

[whoseyscientist]

BEST BATMAN FICS I’VE READ 3 BRUCE WAYNE FOCUSED

Hihoo Here’s some more crazy good batman fics with a particular focus on the sad angsty man in the bat suit because I love him so! Mix of gen/batfam and shipping stuff cause I just wish him well in life c:

As I was making this list I realised alot of them were one-shots huh the more you know- mix of mainly one-shots and the occasional epic lengths lol

= General/ Batfam =

Nominal

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613352

Don't ask why Batman is sad unless you're willing to give him the time to consult his spreadsheet.

(legitimately?? funniest batman fic I’ve ever read, one-shot) 

The Jason Project

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899613

Jason had just wanted to see his autopsy report, he had only wanted to know what information Bruce had about his death. And when Bruce hadn't given it to him, he had stolen it. He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the bucket list of a dead child and the footage of a grieving father crossing one item after another off the list.

(^ short, sweet and very emotional)

More Precious Than Gold

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13273611/chapters/30371190

Most dragons sleep on their hoards.

Bruce's hoard sleeps on him.

Or: Bruce is a dragon. Predictably, he hoards orphans.

(so, so goddamn cute, two shot)

Manor-Dad lets me drive the Batmobile

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002637/chapters/45125308

Bruce had two options when Dick found the Cave. 1) Tell him the truth. 2) Go along with Dick’s excited “You’re dating Batman!” until he figured out the truth.

Several children later Bruce wished he’d gone with option 1) or he wouldn’t have to deal with all his kids believing he and Batman were separate people. Yes, even Damian.

(Unfinished but still so very funny, crazy good fic)

dad time

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434550

five times the justice league misinterpreted batman's actions + one time they absolutely did not

(Bruce just proudly showing off his kids in League business is so canon lmao, one shot, also this author in general has some quality batfam content legit)

Cingulomania (Sometimes, Dad Needs a Hug)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29690424#main

‘Right,’ Tim said, in the voice he used on missions, ‘we’re going to have to call in an expert.’ * ‘Hey guys!’ Dick said, voice slightly crackly over Tim’s phone speakers. ‘What’s up? I’m not supposed to visit until tomorrow - is something wrong?’ - Something is seriously not right with Bruce. They’re a family of detectives and no one can figure it out. It’s kind of embarrassing.

They’re all starting to get worried. - (Sometimes, Bruce needs a hug.)

(^ Feeding my bruce is touch starved agenda quite nicely, one shot)

A Hero Lost

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40358904/chapters/101096682#workskin

When Jason Todd died on that fateful April day, Bruce was tempted to just... stop. To let the world know he was Batman, and that it'd just lost a hero in Jason Todd.

And so he did.

It didn't keep him from mourning the death of his son.

Or: Bruce quits being Batman in the wake of Jason's death, tells the world who he is, then retires to Montana and slowly finds healing. And when Jason comes back to life six months later, and Talia tells him 'you remain unavenged,' he can't find any evidence to support that, so he goes home.

(^ Truly, truly beautiful, it’s a short read but very much worth it)

In For a Pound Series

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558375/chapters/41378861

25 is too young to be a Dad. That's what Bruce thought when Talia dropped off this baby she claimed was his. Add to that a jealous 11-year-old Dick, and Bruce has his hands full. What does one even do with a baby? Why does this baby scowl so much? And when on earth is Talia coming back?

(^ Very good series with some very fun batfam shenanigans)

Matches

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8074405

What in the hell kind of name for an alias is Matches?

(one-shot, silly, very funny dialogue- bruce is so awkwardly charming I love it)

= Shipping =

Whoever Falls First

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679041

"There's more kryptonite out there. When the Superman returns, there's going to be an all-star battle royale in the criminal underworld. Every megalomaniacal freak will want a piece of it so they can get a piece of you. And some of them will manage. They'll weaponize it and won't hesitate to use it against you, and when that happens I will not have you flailing around like an idiot."

aka: Bruce teaches Clark how to fight.

(have I recommended this before? I can’t remember, either way it’s immaculately written, superbat one-shot)

pull out the pin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42361755

Revulsion curled in Clark’s gut, instinctual and sudden. He knew, without knowing how, that the creature wearing Bruce’s face was not Bruce.

“Oh boy,” Not-Bruce cracked its neck, turning its grin on the rest of the group, “You do not want to be in this head, let me tell you.”

(superbat and sooo good, also do yourself a favour and just read all of this authors stuff, its always a banger)

Dilectus Meus Mihi...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/301669/chapters/482974

Clark Kent has lost all his memories of being Superman, and Bruce Wayne must retrain him in the use of his powers. But his super-powered identity isn't all he's forgotten...

(two shot, fun and sweet, just superbat falling in love again <3)

my body is an orphanage (we take everyone in)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683415

He can stand in a room with the League members and receive surreptitious glances from each one of them individually, each one of them trying to communicate with the intensity of their eyes some sort of camaraderie with Bruce, us against the world, which would be funny, would be far less bitter and ironic, if he wasn’t so desperate to affirm with each of them in turn, yes, you are my friend, for better or for worse.

So he lets them have sex with him because it seems like that means a lot to them.

(^ ace bruce!- incredibly bittersweet with a very sweet ending, poor bruce man :c)

ship-to-ship combat

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39666915/chapters/99302841

"Clark. What the hell is this," Lois asks, staring at Clark's Bruceman WIP folder. Clark's first instinct is to fly away, but that would still leave his fic on display for her to see. His second instinct is to blast a hole straight through his laptop screen with his heat vision, which isn't much better.

Clark, in an attempt to make some spare cash, unintentionally stumbles into the world of superhero fanfiction, becomes a prolific writer for Gotham's OTP, and tries his best to fend off rival fans who want him to convert to superbat instead.

(^ i really just assume everyones already heard of this one cause it’s just- really well written but its superbat and bruceman(LOL) it’s un-finished but hilarious and surprisingly real and emotional)

as to which may be the true

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880368/chapters/17998981#main

It isn't difficult to go on in the wake of Superman's death. His resurrection, though, poses a problem—especially when it turns out there's no such thing as the right moment to explain that Martha Kent's obnoxious billionaire friend? Is also the man who tried really hard to shove a kryptonite spear through Clark's face.

(I love post resurrection content it’s so good, superbat)

Nine Tenths

https://archiveofourown.org/works/426785

In which the man who's faster than a speeding bullet is pretty slow on the uptake. Bruce corrects this problem the only way he knows how: by being smarter than the average bat. Stark is more than willing to lend a hand.

(this is so cute, gotta love some jealous superbat, also Clark being the one that hates a random hero for literally no reason is fucking hilarious I love it everytime lol)

Remembering Normal

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494842/chapters/25786338

Hal Jordan is a totally normal alpha, and definitely NOT gay. At all. Like, even a little. Except there was this once. . .

(steamyy, this author has such an insane grasp on bruce and hal as characters its actually insane, their lvl of dialogue is something I aspire for, batlantern)

Late Night Talks

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34941634

Two-face's new partner looks a lot like Bruce Wayne. Surely that doesn't mean anything...

(Twobat, oneshot and the first introduction I’ve ever had to two face/matches malone)

[tlouconfidential]

I actually love to write and honestly have so many ideas for long af tropey entertaining angsty reads but I am so hesitant to post anything because it feels like in this fandom that everything is critiqued to hell and back from a very puritanical POV. i’m not talking about stuff that should def be frowned upon like gross fics that write reader like an actual child etc (although i feel like that’s beating a dead horse at this point like i’ve seen far more callouts than examples bc ppl know it’s an easy way to get likes). I’m talking about long af fics that feature the classic toxic bullshit eg the shit that launched twilight, but i feel like even if people loved it it’d get torn to shreds by the fucking fun police who seem to think that every single goddamn character and scenario needs to be morally pure and boring as fuck. like sorry but i love to read fics where one character is toxic AF the whole time and practically abusive bc guess what? it’s SAFE to explore that through fiction and it’s entertaining!! who the hell wants to read about happy boring relationships? how is that interesting if there is no other plot driving things forward? which lbr in fanfic there is a dearth of non romantic plots bc most of this shit is self serving self interest entertainment. and look at the source material! come ON. it’s beyond fucked up already. but everyone takes things way too seriously here and it’s killing creativity. an incredible author in another fandom im in deleted all her works that were just tropey yet well written fun bc of the hate comments she got - bc she was apparently ‘destroying the characters and making them toxic’ or some nonsense. it’s just sad and it feels like fandom as a whole is dying because people are so damn mean and critical. can we all just lighten up? and stop strangling this fandom to death?

.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 44 – HORROR

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: Diomedes

No other fandom author that I know of has such a gift for invoking existential dread and the sort of quiet despair that follows you even after you finish reading. Diomedes' writing style is nothing short of incredible, and I adore every single fic of theirs that I've read. If you like horror, then their AO3 catalogue is a giant, tasty treat just waiting for you to gobble it up.

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

The Cure and the Disease

Pairing: Gen Rating: M Words: 6,952 Tags: Team Whump, Temporary Character Death, Hurt No Comfort

Summary: They break Stark first. One by one the rest of them follow.

Reasons why I love it: Holy. Shit. I doubt that if asked, anyone could've come up with a more perfect torture for each of these characters, it's so beyond brutal. And not in a violent kind of way, just – the psychological horror, it's unimaginable. And the explanation for what was going on at the end just makes it even more awful. It's brilliant, and if you're down for some gruesome angst, definitely check this one out!

This Crowded Place

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 8,705 Tags: Psychological Horror, Obsessive Behavior, Religious Imagery

Summary: “Do you remember?” Steve croaked as the last of the inferno bled out of him leaving only ashes and ice behind.  Tony hesitated at the familiar refrain. “Yes.” Steve stared up at the grey ceiling and remembered a hell of their own making. He loaded the single word with contempt as he pushed it through his teeth, aimed like a weapon:  “Good.”

Reasons why I love it: I've recced the fic that this one is a sequel to before, but I'm still going to rec this one, because it's one of my favorite things ever. I love this version of Steve so much, how he's confronted with the realization that his dark side is a lot closer to the surface that he wants it to be, and maybe always was. It's dark and gruesome, and I really hope you check it out, because it's incredible!

Blooms in Frost

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 3,490 Tags: Body Horror, Hanahaki Disease, Not A Fix-It

Summary: Tony coughs up his first petal on the sixth of July. He has been married to the love of his life for two years. -- Bury a Hanahaki corpse in earth and it will beget the most beautiful garden.  All that love, it is said, must go somewhere.

Reasons why I love it: Jesus Christ, this fic hits you right where it hurts. It's so goddamn sad but wrapped in Diomedes' beautiful words, it's the most wonderful, awful dichotomy. I'm a huge fan of dark Hanahaki fics, and the body horror elements in this story are just perfect. I love it, and I bet you will too, so I hope you check it out!

Sleep Sisyphus (Guard your Star)

Pairing: Gen Rating: T Words: 3,426 Tags: Character Study, Howard's A+ Parenting, Introspection

Summary: Howard says Stark men are made of iron and this is not one of his lies. Iron is useful: it can be forged into weapons and bridges and keys alike. Iron is blood and magnets and the spinning core of the Earth. It is fool’s gold, it is armour. It is the heaviest element found in the heart of stars but much too heavy for a boy’s heart to carry. Tony will never forgive his father this inheritance.

Reasons why I love it: Oooffff, this one hurts. It's one of the darkest takes I've ever seen on Tony's self-image, and yet it slots so seamlessly into canon that it feels like it must be true. I love how the horror in this fic stems from something so human – the fear of never being good enough and your life amounting to nothing. It's amazingly written, as all of Diomedes' fics are, and I really hope you go and experience it for yourself!

Conversations at Yorick's Graveside

Pairing: Gen Rating: M Words: 10,886 Tags: Grief/Mourning, Delusions, Not A Fix-It

Summary: Two days after the funeral Stephen starts hallucinating a dead man. -- A ghost story for atheists.

Reasons why I love it: This fic is like a finger in the wound, a perfect representation of that feeling of 'it never gets better'. But at the same time, there are so many moments of Stephen working through his grief that are cathartic and bittersweet. I love this fic so much, and I really hope you check it out, because it's incredible!

[newpotatomash]

It's so fucking ironic when little shits start pelting the comment section in fics that are clearly tagged with "pedophilia" and "dead dove do not eat" and similar words.

Long fucking rant under the cut-

What is it with these people and being unable to just fucking click the back button? It isn't even my fanfiction, but these people just scream everything between "Go to therapy" and "kill yourself" as if they actually wish for people to deal with whatever might cause an issue in their life??? They fucking don't. They just want to scream at strangers to die while they write "UwU dead dove do not eat" fanfics themselves that include murder and violent fantasies of a fictional character.

But it's fine when they do it because nobody involved is underage as if that makes their stupid fucking rules about thought-crimes any less violent.

Why is it always the same people who insist they love dark media?? Either you're fine with MADE UP ACTS or you're not. You can't just fucking pick and choose and decide that you're the authority of "acceptable" violence that someone thought up in their heads.

I am extremely fickle when it comes to media that involves vaginal sex, and that is my responsibility to curate, which is why I fucking??? Don't??? Walk right into a fanfic that's been tagged with those exact tags and blame the author.

I saw someone going something like, "No sane person would read this. I can only imagine a very impressionable child stumbled upon it and saw it, which breaks my heart ngl"

IF AN IMPRESSIONABLE CHILD STARTS TICKING BOXES FOR A VERY SPECIFIC TYPE OF FANFIC, AND THEY THEN PROCEED TO READ IT, HOW THE HELL IS THAT THE AUTHORS FAULT. we're one goddamn step away from blaming murder on video games here.

These fucking people think that wishing death upon others for writing a piece of fiction is any better than a 14 year old reading said piece of fiction and going, "Whoa. Weird." And then leaving the website because they realized that pretending to be 18+ was a bad idea.

I am in awe over the internet.

The amount of times I see the word "degenerate" on a day is completely bonkers and I wish sites weren't so fucking scared of porn. We're just competing in some fucked up moral olympics and nobody is winning except the advertisers who cry snot at a site allowing 18+ content. I love ao3 so much.

I hate that if I wish to post smutty drawings I have to use twitter? I won't suddenly start using a site like furaffinity when I don't draw anything that would count as furry.

I hate the internet for taking away the immeasurable joy it is to bond with people who just want to play dolls (write fanfics or draw fanart, make oc stuff, all that) with me. I've met some of my best friends online that I've sent and received gifts from over the span of 5, 10, 15 years.

I remember writing an abundance of shotacon fics, and knowing it was an acquired taste, but never seeing the kind of moral-policing we have now. (I know it existed. Of course) Hell, I remember people just saying that Enzai was an amazing anime because to them, it was a given that a yaoi anime would include kids and rape and false imprisonment?? It was the fucking wild west and it's like people saw this and went "Hey... We should start tagging things."

But instead of continuing to have fun with their fictional writings and tagging topics in the stories, we just escalated into "We have a pedophilia tag but people will wish death upon you."

How do these people survive in day-to-day life in actual conversation? Do they start arguing and calling a 15 year old who has a crush on their 14 year old friend a pedophile? Do they start berating young women because they named their boyfriend "daddy" in their phonebook? Why are they like this???

I miss fanfiction.net and livejournal so much when the biggest concern was figuring out what topic I'd discuss while I pretended to speak to characters from Yugioh and yelling "I don't own any of these characters". I miss it so much. It made my life better. I found community, I made friends. I wonder what kind of friends people nowadays will make 15 years from now.

Shout out to my buddies from ffnet who are still following me because you know exactly who you are

[unbindingkerberos]

WIP

Tags: @poisonedtruth @shegetsburned @children-of-epiales @unpetitoiseau @infinitewhore @chadillacboseman @linoleum-ice

Author's Note: Still debating whether or not the fic will pick off Henry's last fic or be seperate standalone to Amarice's.

Amarice has many bad days after everything. From having a pain in the ass hangover to her home being visited by an annoying car salesman. Despite every single one of those bad days, she still hasn't fully decided which of them was the worst.

She had just finished buying some groceries when she sees a man on her doorstep. Amarice frowns. That better not be another goddamned salesman. She bites her lowerlip. She could just beat the crap out of him with her grocery bags if he won't budge, she thought. Forcing a smile that turned into a quick sour frown, she approaches him. "Do you need anything?"

The man turns and his blue eyes meet her dark browns. "Are you Miss Locke?" Amarice quirks a brow at the man's accent. Oh God. Is this man some sort of... German car salesman?! "So what if I am?" She hopes that the man can take the hint, as she grows annoyed each passing second. She just wants to go inside and do whatever the hell she wants in her room. "Ah!" The man extends his hand, making her groan and frown. "Nice to meet you Miss Locke. My name is Marius Streicher."

Her eyes light up at the name and any trace of lingering annoyance has been diminished.

"You're Henry's boyfriend, right?" The man or rather Marius seems surprised and she notices how he flinched slightly at Henry's name. "Oh-- oh, he told you?" Amarice narrows her eyes and she looks around for any signs of Henry. She gives him a stern look after she jumps to a conclusion: "Did you two have a big fight?" Marius jumps and starts fiddling with his hands. Amarice sighs. "I know Henry can be a bit.... problematic and--" "Its not about that, he--"

"He broke up with you?" Amarice tightens her grip on both of her grocery bags. Goddamn it. What did that little shit do this time?! "Nein, its not that.." Amarice grits her teeth staring at the German with visible annoyance. "If you guys didn't fight or break up, then what happened?" Marius stays silent. Finally he says, "Ma'am, Miss Locke, there's something--"

Amarice drops her grocery bags.

She knows instantly where that phrase would lead to; she has heard that once in the form of a telephone call. Amarice feels her heart sink to the endless bottom. She sighs deeply. If there was one thing she regretted in her life other than him, it would be her raising Henry. As much as she knows she can't change the past, Amarice wishes she can. Finally, she musters enough strength to look Marius dead straight in the eye.

"Get in, now."

[chaos-and-recover]

1, 7, 25, 43, 50, 84, 92, 121, and 135 for the book asks!

Oooh some of these are gonna be hard!

a book that is close to your heart

The Angel Riots by Ibi Kaslik

This book came into my life by accident when I stumbled across it in the library and was intrigued by the plot summary. I love it so much. This is not the last time it's gonna appear here lol.

7. a book you did not finish

I started Infinite Jest once a long time ago and just... drifted away from it. I don't even think I know where my copy is anymore. Oops.

25. a book by your favourite author

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

Another one of my favourite books in the world. I also absolutely adore his Familiar series but cannot in good conscious recommend that since he got 5 volumes in (of a planned 27) and is now on hiatus because those books were expensive as hell to publish and just weren't selling enough.

43. a book that you have read more than three times

The Angel Riots. I revisit it at least every year or two? It's just so good. On the surface it's about the life of a band on tour but it's actually about a group of deeply dysfunctional people running from various things and has some incredibly beautiful prose. It'll also make you fall in love with Montreal even if you've never been there.

50. a book that made you cry a LOT

The Winners by Fredrik Backman.

It's the third book in a trilogy so it's the culmination of a lot of things that are set up in the first two and I bawled like a baby for the last like... 100 pages.

84. your favourite dystopian read

Y'know, I don't really read that much dystopian fiction tbh but the other day I was thinking about The Crystal Drop by Monica Hughes, which I loved as a kid. It's not so dystopian as it is... sci-fi/spec fic? But in a terrible future (in the distant, distant year of... 2011) during an apocalyptic drought and there is one part involving their dog that haunts me to this day, a solid 25 years later.

92. a book about a redeemable villain

Gonna go a little out of left field here and go with the Walking Dead comics, because Negan is truly one of the greatest villains but is so goddamn likeable by the end.

121. a book that makes you nostalgic

Naomi & Ely's No-Kiss List by Rachel Cohn & David Levithan

It's YA and seems quite young but it also makes me nostalgic for a very specific period of teenagehood. I think it's because I was already well into my 20s when I read it and I was like "Ah yes I remember when I thought these were real problems :)" I don't know, I just really like this book and it deserved a WAY better movie than it got.

135. recommend any book you like!

I am TELLING you if you can find a copy of The Angel Riots, find it and read it. I need to read it again too. It's not even that long!

Thank you!

[dontcallmeeds]

I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting both my tumblrs (and the dms on both 😭) and my fics I am on my last day of a 6 day stretch in retail fulfillment and while it is fully the only job I’ve ever liked due to my boss being a retired punk and having a super cool work bestie as well as this being the only job that’s accommodated my autism, my goddamn fibro is sooo flared I can hardly walk 😭 TIS THE SEASON RIGHT????

[kechiwrites]

| kinktober week two | ♱ final girl ♱ | slasher!steve rogers x reader |

synopsis: “for steve, you are a very special victim.”

wc: 1k

cw: dark content, fem reader, noncon, creampies, unprotected sex, biting, bruising, violence, minor character death, stalking, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart), dacryphilia. I am not responsible for your consumption babes. NO MINORS.

author’s note: first dark fic i’ve ever shared, and for my day one fixation, captain america. there’s something wrong with him. i just know it.

♱ find the rest of my kinktober masterlist here ♱

Your head is spinning, the light from your neighbour’s halloween decorations cast your room in sickly orange and yellow light. Everything about it is making you ill, and you screw your eyes closed to keep your stomach from expelling its contents everywhere.

“Open your eyes, pretty girl. Please.” You can feel him shift over you, and when he pats your face, you open your eyes, glassy with tears, to stare at him. There’s sticky, drying blood covering the lower half of his face, and the dirty penny smell of it threatens to make you sick all over again. He smiles at you, perfect white teeth and pink lips, blonde hair and blue, blue eyes. 

“Go on, you can cry.” 

How magnanimous.

You’re covered in bite marks, some are shallow, some lightly bleed out of tender and broken skin. Where you aren’t bitten, there are hickeys, pockmarking his journey exploring your body, staking his claim on your throat and chest and hips and thighs. The bruises aren’t so bad, in the grand scheme of things, you can almost forget they exist when he isn’t pushing his thumb into them to watch you squirm.

Hell, they’re practically bug bites compared to the state of your boyfriend’s dead body downstairs.

He looms above you and he is so goddamn big, blocking out the hazy stream of your bedroom lights while he fucks you desperately. Hands roaming mindlessly, without purpose but with so much pleasure over the rise and curve of your stomach, your tits, your face.

You choke out, "Please don't hurt me." and his hips stutter, balls slapping against your ass and staying there, like he's trying not to come. You bear down on him, and a fresh wave of tears spills over your cheeks as you’re pushed over the edge, mind swimming in pain and sorrow and hot, hot heat. 

“Steve, please. I don’t want to d-”

"Shut up. Shut up. Please, shut the fuck up.” He groans, closing his hand around your tit and squeezing hard. He’s getting off on it, you realize. You want to live through this so badly, and that turns him on. “Can't -, I don't want to" he trails off when he starts pounding you again, the squelching, wet sounds of you taking him, letting him burrow deep within you filling the cramped, cluttered room, bouncing off your childhood toys and boy band posters. Your pink princess sheets are soaked with slick and sweat and two of his loads soaking your back that'd been displaced by the brutal thickness of his cock carving into you.

You grip at his arms as they hold you down, your nails digging into his skin, and he stops again, anchoring up and off you to peer at your face. 

"Be good, like I know you can be and it'll all be over soon. I promise."

Impossible.

You choke on your own sob, and bite down on your tongue to stop yourself from lashing out. He’s clearly sick in the head, and when this is all over, when he lets you go like he promised he would, you swear to god in heaven and the devil below that you’d wipe this all from your mind. You’d burn the sheets and maybe even your bed too. And a little voice in your head whispers over the sound of him messily, greedily fucking you open, that you’d need evidence, some way of proving that it was local hero, universally adored firefighter, Steven Grant Rogers that’d been killing people for the past year and a half. Steven Grant Rogers who had been stalking you for weeks in an unfamiliar brown sedan before he’d made his move. Steven Grant Rogers who’d taken his sweet time cutting your boyfriend to ribbons before he’d chased you up the stairs, two steps at a time and locked the bedroom door behind him, as if he was worried someone would interrupt. 

You didn’t need evidence. Because no one would believe you. If you even got the chance to tell them. 

Your body shudders, fear and pleasure tangling together and burrowing deep in the pit of your stomach, snagging on your insides like hooked burrs, only tearing free when he rips another orgasm from your overstimulated, woefully overworked body. 

“Good, so good sweetheart. There you are.” You can tell he loves it, the involuntary show of ecstasy, the way you’re too far gone to resist anymore, the way your legs wrap around his middle and push you ever closer without your permission.

But your permission doesn’t matter much, apparently.

His hands sink into your flesh so deeply you cry out, but what’s more bruises on top of the ones he’s already given you? What’s one more round of his seed fucked into you, soaking the walls of your cunt? What’s one more scream into the apathetic, inky black night?

Steve’s teeth dig into the flesh of your chest, then he laves the stinging spots with his tongue. A particularly rough thrust pushes you up the bed, and without missing a beat he follows your aching body, forcing your pussy to part around him, to welcome yet another rush of his cum within you. He tugs at your nipples with roughened fingers, calloused by the fireman’s axe he used to obliterate your front door. His lips cover your pulse, sucking hard at the skin, like he was trying to taste your heartbeat, erratic and sugar sweet. Your clit thrums, untouched and begging for attention, but Steve pulls out, rubbing the slick skin of his cock over the insides of your thighs. 

“You know, I was so sure I was going to have to slit your throat after this. And I didn’t want to, not when I knew you’d be tight, so sweet.” His voice is broken glass and black velvet, it cuts and soothes, wrings everything out of you before it forces you to swallow it all down, only restart the process all over again. 

“But now,” He sighs dreamily, whispering like he’s sharing a inside joke between two friends, “I have to keep you.”

when my husband proofread this he said i was sick. :)

[ameba-from-space]

I hope you don't mind me asking but i just went through all of your batfam/batman recommended fics and wondered if you had more? I'm super new to the dc fandom and finding good family/friend focused fics has felt like a challenge

Bestie it's not a problem, doing these lists has been loads of fun, I'm re-reading all my favorite fanfics and rediscovering all over again why I loved them in the first place

Let us begin

Of Bats and Robins (and Families) - is it too obvious that I fucking love fanfics where the league meets bruce's kids?

dying dream - Jason finds out what changed in the cave since he was gone

Trending - Tim is a sleepy baby

hit 'em up style - Bruce Wayne vs tampons: battle of the century

falling in love (is hard on the knees) - I know this sounds like smut but I promise it's not

Anything Like Me - Louis and bruce bonding

Reservations - The kids try to set bruce up for a date. Clark mopes.

I Measure Every Grief I Meet - What if Jason was not the one who died in Ethiopia?

We Alley Kids - Jason gets recognized and returned to where he belongs

Billionaire Down - Bruce and Oliver are asshole best friends

and it comes back around - Sometimes Brucie is a hero too

Bundle of Joy - Damian is a baby. Literally

sneaking into the Batcave seemed like a good idea until a bunch of bats glare at you - Guess what bitch, it's another fanfic where the JL meets the kids

Waynes? More like Wayne-kers - The Waynes are assholes and I love them so much

A Children's Story - No better words to describe it other than what the author said "Four batkids walk into a bank"

Hearth - Angst in my rooftop tag? It's more likely than you'd think

A Touch of Concern - Cuddle piles and overprotectiveness

The Bedtime Chronicles - Bruce figures a way to make Jason go to bed

Perils of a Job - Dick gets hurt, bruce worries

what a privilege to love you (to teach you all that I know) - A fucking masterpiece, beautiful and perfect, a story about the word "dad" and what it means to the batfamily. FUCKING BEAUTIFUL GO FUCKING READ IT

Their Five (Unexpected) Dates - The kids try to get bruce set up, fucking guess how well that goes

Clark Kent Reports - Brucie Wayne my beloved

Photos - Damian's baby pictures are found, feelings happen

The Arrangement - Bruce Wayne supports sex workers

Put My Money Where Your Mouth Is - Batman hears the league talking about bruce Wayne, pranks happen

A Day in the Life: Gotham's King - Lois lane writes about bruce Wayne

children of dust and ashes - Bruce avenges Jason

...And To All, A Good Night - Happy Chrismis, merry crysler

That the Ripest Might Fall - reverse robins short story about dick and his tendency to climb chandeliers

bad people don't live in our house - Baby dick is adorable

things kept hidden - Meta!dick Grayson is a ray of sunshine

The Superman Onesie - Dick Grayson owns my heart

What would you do, if it all came back to you? - Bruce makes video diaries after Jason's death, Jason finds them

The Jason Project - Bruce finds the bucket list of a dead child and finishes it

No Matter What - Queerness? In my Dick Grayson? It's more likely than you'd think

Hi Bi, I'm Dad - Bisexuality? In my Tim Drake? Its more likely than you'd think

Dad...I’m Bilingual - Bisexuality? In my Dic... Okay you guys already got the idea

Thinking back to the Season Before - Alfred is a fantastic grandpa

Proof - The boys meet each other before ever meeting bruce

Running Headlong into My Arms - In another universe with no superheroes, bruce Wayne still finds his family

In For a Pound - What if Damian entered Bruce's life much earlier. A GODDAMN MASTERPIECE BY @cdelphiki

I walk the streets at night (with monsters in my mind) - Bruce Wayne is a dragon, his hoard? Children

The Dark Knight Strikes Back - Bruce finishes Minecraft and the boy figure out how much he changed

Bat Out Of Hell - The batfam are a bunch of weirdoes

the lost sidekick society - The obligatory group chat fic

Slumber - sleepy robin

one shot, two shots in the night - Bruce writes a memoir, it makes me cry so hard, fuck, best shit ever

a hat fashioned from tin foil - conspiracy theories straight from Gotham

Anti-Social - Social media is a blessing

Not All Kidnappings are Bad - Bruce Wayne kidnaps a kid, no biggie

I'll Make the World Safe and Sound for You - Robins and band-aids

Built Together - Pillow forts! Pillow forts!

Oh god this list is way longer than I thought it would be, anyway enjoy my rec, just so you guys know I still have 4 more pages of bookmarks

Here are the links to the other ones I made: first part second part

[babygirlharrington]

Steddie Fic Rec #3

One Last Class - DragonsFlight

Summary: Dustin enlists Steve to help tutor Eddie so he can graduate.

Explicit, WIP. No triggers, as far as I know. Dustin has a scheme and Steve is, as in canon, a shitty tutor.

standing up the dead - heartofwinterfell @nancywheeeler

Summary: Max and Eddie in the astral plane.

Teen, WIP. Eddie and Max trauma-bond while they try to get back to REAL Hawkins. Max misses (real) Lucas and Eddie doesn’t realise he misses (real) Steve so much? right where i belong - Macellarius

Summary: “You’re a fucking virgin?” Steve blurts out excitedly. Or, a weekend of firsts with Steve and Eddie, who are navigating life and love in the aftermath. (Or, the Varsity Sweater fic.) 

Explicit, Complete. This is part of the author’s series, slowly learning that life is okay, which part I is also very worth reading.  You Just Keep Me Hanging On - DiscoSuperFly

Summary: Hobbies have taken over Fireman Steve's life, he's taking a slow path to find his joy, selling his honey and beeswax products at a local Farmers Market he runs into someone from his past and they're pulled into each other's orbit.

Explicit, Complete. Just two farmer’s market boys living out their little farmer’s market dreams. Very fucking cute. If you want to walk out of hell - RedCytosine @redcytosine

Summary: Eddie makes a miraculous escape from the Upside Down, only to find that while he may have returned to the Shire, Mordor is not finished with him yet. Or, Eddie, found family, a slow romance, and how to save the world.

Mature, WIP. This fic has lots of chapters (and hopefully will have lots more!) and is a very interesting twist on the Kas theory. luckiest man in the world - ghosttotheparty @ghosttotheparty

“Jesus. Imagine that. I’m twenty-one, wanted for murder, thought to be dead, never graduated high school. And I still get to be the luckiest man in the world.”

Mature, Complete. TW for PTSD. Healthy communication between two horny and traumatized lads. Skindeep- HolographicBunny

Summary: Steve just wanted to help Robin sit through her first tattoo. He didn't plan for a certain metal head to come stumbling into his life. Not that he is complaining. Okay, maybe he is complaining a little bit because that’s what he does.

Explicit, WIP. Steve is supposed to be Robin’s hand to hold while she gets her first tattoo. Steve ends up being the one needing his hand held by the end of the appointment. cuddles and cat naps - murdertrashbabyrat @murdertrashbabyrat

Summary: Steve is so relieved that he's getting a few hours of nightmare-free rest for once, that he doesn't notice he's neck deep in a sexuality crisis and that it's all Eddie Munson's fault. Thank god Steve has people like Robin to pull his head out of his ass.

Explicit, WIP. Eddie and his adopted kitten tag-team to make sure Steve gets some goddamn sleep. Lifes For The Living - Cherrycolatree @raspberrycolapop

Summary: Eddie Munson survives but ends up in a coma. Steve Harrington visits him everyday and slowly falls in love with someone who’s barely part of the living world anymore.

Explicit, Complete. Steve realizes he’d been in love with Eddie before, during, and now after his coma.  Mallrat - ozwrites @babygirlharrington

Summary: Eddie takes Mike, Dustin, and Lucas to the nerd store. On the way back to the lot, they pass The Gap, Zales, Jazzercise, and-

“Jesus Christ, dude is that Steve?!”

Explicit, Complete. Steve in his lil’ Scoops outfit. Yes, another act of shameless self-advocacy for this one before I drop a new fic.

[mamashima]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒

CONTENT | vigilante!katsuki, sidekick!reader, f!reader, hella tsundere!katsuki, age gap, aphrodisiacs, car sex in katsuki's fancy black car, degradation, spanking ("ass tapping"), squirting. MINORS DNI!

WORD COUNT | 2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE | so…kiri’s birthday fic is gonna be a lil late :))

Katsuki's life never goes how he wants. How he plans.

The rumble of his black car with 5% tint under his equally dark combat boots is fucking addicting, especially with adrenaline pumping through his veins like an IV. A vigilante’s job is never easy, but it’s exhilarating as hell and build for adrenaline junkies—perfect for a guy like him.

“Heya!”

“Fuck!”

The car swerves, screeches before it's driving on solid road again. Luckily, there’s barely a soul on the road at three in the morning. Your little head pops out of the backseat like the fucking weasel you are, body snaking into the passenger seat with a hmph. He knows why you're salty, but you know why he is, too. The leather from the steering wheel swells between his fingertips.

“I told you to fuckin’ stay home,” Katsuki's growl is full of objection even though his eyes never leave the road. He hears rustling, click after click—the telltale sign you’re gearing up and getting ready to go in with him. “Uh, uh. You ain’t goin’ nowhere with that fuckin’ gun.”

You click your teeth and sigh, placing the black thing on the floor in between your legs.

“You’re no fun.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Katsuki sighs, running a hand through his ash-blond hair. “This—This shit ain’t safe for you or me, fuckin’ dumbass.”

You giggle and roll your eyes, saying, “I get this speech every time, Mista. You ain’t gon’ change shit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki grunts without giving it too much thought. “Just shut the hell up and do what I say.”

But, he knows as well as you do—you do what you fucking want.

Naturally, everything goes to shit. You and you’re idiotic, reckless self.

“Just fuckin’ hold on, dumbass.”

This time, instead of annoyance, Katsuki’s voice is chock-full of dread and what the fuck. Katsuki operates alone—always operates alone—but you’ve inserted yourself into his life despite his best efforts to shoo you away, and now you’re writhing in pain from a mission gone wrong in his backseat.

“It hurts.”

“I know it fuckin’ hurts,” Katsuki says, speeding down the freeway to the point where the back of his vehicle jumps at every pebble its tires come across. “That’s what you get for leapin’ in my way like a fuckin’ dumbass.”

You whimper and dig your head into the backseat. Katsuki glances through the rear-view mirror to see your tactical belt discarded on the car floor, cheeks and face flushed and sweaty. You throw a hand over your face and Katsuki has to redirect his attention to the road.

You start moaning. Shit.

Katsuki's training did not prepare him for this. Because he works. Alone.

"Get'cha damn paws out ya fuckin' pants," Katsuki hisses, white-knuckling the steering wheel. You don't listen, and Katsuki's carmine eyes come drifting towards the rear-view mirror one more time because...well. Maybe it's hard to look away.

"I...I can't," you gasp, and Katsuki imagines what it feels to be knuckle deep, having you leak all over his palm and back seat. "F-Feels good."

Katsuki cracks his neck with a painful sigh. He hates that you don't know what you do to him—and it's fucking terrifying.

Eyes on the road, Bakugou. Eyes on the goddamn road. Katsuki can't realize he's swerving when he's ogling through the rearview mirror. Isn't even facing the back window anymore but instead the backseat, where you sit with two legs spread, pants MIA and the entirety of your wetness glistening for all of him to see. Katsuki lets out a hefty sigh, one that radiates finality along with an air of temptation. *Fuck it. Tipping the steering wheel to the left, Katsuki signals to park on the side of the dead highway and stills so quickly the car lurches forwards. Finally, you open your fucking eyes.

"I—wai—what are we—"

"Don't say a fuckin' word."

Katsuki yanks his gloves off before clambering into the backseat and in between your thighs. You're dripping all over his leather seats, but Katsuki figures he'll get pissed about it later.

He eyes you for permission and you don't hesitate to give him some, nodding vehemently until your head aches.

"Y-Yeah, please Mista', I nee—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Katsuki bites his bottom lip as he runs a thumb through your wetness, muffling a curse when you shiver and try to buck him in even though you knew the attempt would be shitty. The ash-blond figures he'll give you what you want, and slides his index finger in.

"Oh," your chest balloons with a shudder. Your hands scramble for his shoulders and sink your nails in until they leave crescent prints. It induces a shiver that Katsuki's spine that he prays he can ignore, but jolts regardless.

"Y'been runnin' that mouth all goddamn day," Katsuki growls, leaving butterfly kisses on the insides of your thighs. They move towards your center without a second thought, but don't go farther than the edge—which has you muttering fuckin' tease under your breath.

"'S nice when you finally shut the hell up for once."

He's quick to stuff another finger next to the first one. Your hips find a mind of their own, bucking into his palm like a slut while Katsuki finds entertainment in it all. The way you quiver and cuss for him and only him drives him to the brink of insanity, forcing Katsuki to add a third finger without putting you through sheer torture like he planned.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” he grunts, and it’s gunned towards himself. You're dripping down his arm and it’s tempting enough for him to lick it off. Instead, he laps at your clit instead.

Your eyes flutter so prettily. Katsuki’s neck aches to look up at you but it’s worth watching you writhe with a casual flick of his fingers. Your thighs, dripping in sweat and slick, quiver as you put in your best effort to hold them up. Needy.

“Fuck me,” you gasp, your hands grapple for his hair in a panic, “Just fuckin—fuck me already, dammit!”

Even the car quivers with the pressure you put on him—you're ripping Katsuki's fingers out by his swollen wrists and make a poor attempt in your lust filled haze trying to pick him up by the underarms and onto the seat. You don't get very far.

"Did you just...try to manhandle me?"

"Doesn't matter," you say, but in defense your brain's melted melted from the heat; fogged-up with the windows until condensation drips down Katsuki's shoulders. He finally moves from the car floor and, lifting you by the waist, finds it easy to slide underneath and rearrange you so your noses are touching.

"Better?" He pries. You nod until your head spins.

"I nee—"

"Yeah I know, jus' lemme—" Katsuki lifts you to shimmy his black cargo pants down to his knees. His cock lays fat against your back, and he slides a palm under your panties as if to ask, can I?

As if you haven't told him already.

He stretches the waistband out before letting go—it snaps against your skin with a sting and a mark for later. Katsuki's grin still shows, but suppresses a sadistic howl.

Lifting a palm, he cracks it against your ass absentmindedly—like a kid on Christmas, hypnotized with his new toy. You two share a look—one that burns you from the inside out. And it burns so nice.

Finally—fucking finally—Katsuki lifts you just enough to sit you on his cock without giving much time to adjust. You yelp, groping the seat behind his head for purchase or stability, which, you aren't quite sure, while he finds solace in gripping your hips like you'll float away without an anchor. By the time he bottoms out, he's spitting curses and your heads lolling, and there's no other way to describe it other than fucking perfect.

For some reason, Katsuki's head is clear enough to let you sit and adjust. Yours isn't though, mind stuffed to the brim with one thought only—a thought which becomes the catalyst for your movements.

"Fuckin' wait," Katsuki growls, hands rushing to your hips to make them stop, but you aren't listening. You pick up the pace until you form a steady, hypnotic rhythm...up, down, up, down...and the ash-blond can't do much but watch and enjoy the ride.

"Y'want me that bad, huh?" Katsuki rasps, licks his lips as he rests his head on the seat. His hands guide you enough to quicken your movements, but it's just enough to turn his solid muscles into a gooey, fleshy mess. You're hot to the touch—burning, even—and it has Katsuki wondering if you could be um...hot in other ways. He kills that thought before it even starts, though.

This is strictly business. He doesn't even tolerate you, let alone like.

Yeah. Definitely.

"Shut—shut up," you hiss, not that it holds much weight. The ash-blond gropes under your thigh for a better angle, lifting it enough to sting but not enough to be uncomfortable. You sing louder.

"Bouncin' on my cock 'n you got the fuckin' guts to tell me to shut up," he chuckles, shaking his head. Unbelieveable.

Your hand slams onto the fogged window for balance. Usually, Katsuki doesn't let your grimy fingers ever touch his windows, but he supposes there have to be exceptions. He knows for a fact your palm print can be seen from the outside and any passerby would immediately know what's going on in the car, but somehow, he can't bring himself to care.

Not when you sound like this.

"C'mon, I know you can move faster than that," he says with a tap of encouragement against your ass. Your eyes narrow, lighting up with a challenge. You make the mistake of taking a pause to readjust and Katsuki takes advantage of the break. His hips buck so your back hits the front seat. Holding both hands, he angles you so you're stuck and starts to fuck the air out of your lungs. Naturally.

"Shit," you curse under your breath. It doesn't take much for your voice to crescendo, and your fingers scramble for the back of his neck—so his move to your back. Katsuki can't lie, the angle's heavenly. And so are you.

Shit. Shit fuck.

Sweat drips down Katsuki's shoulders and dyes his hair dirty blond. Two cop cars race past, sirens loud and glowing blue and red—he doesn't doubt they're looking for you both. His hand slides from your sweat-slicked waist and down to give your clit some attention, and he knows he’s found the right spot when you squeeze tight around him, eliciting a gasp from both of you. The ash-blond knows you’re not fated to last much longer—but neither is he.

A few more thrusts and you let out a strained moan. Katsuki really isn't sure what it means until he feels you squirt in his lap, thighs quivering as you dig your nails into his spine. He forgets about his leather seats, let alone the mess you're leaving behind. If anything, all it makes him want is more.

When he's asks for a round two, not a thought runs through your head but absolutely. Katsuki picks you up, lays you against the soaked seats, hikes your knees above your head.

Now it's time to take what he wants.

[avintagekiss24]

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smidge of angst, smut, sex, breeding kink, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

→ request: chris beck + breeding kink + "babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that" + "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that"

→ author note: dr. space daddy is finally here! this is also the first of my 5k celebration fics! all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. thanks so much for the request @thedarkplume​! title from linkin park leave out all the rest (i loveeee this song); line divider by @firefly-graphics​; flashbacks are in italics. i also formatted this with the beta text post editor on desktop... so hopefully nothing looks weird and the italics/bold actually work... it is tumblr after all.

oh, hey, there’s a bit of a marvel crossover in this too!

Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel in this moment. Your stomach hasn’t been settled since you got the call two days ago. It’s been flipping and twisting ever since. Sleep hasn’t come easy either, but you’re used to that. Ever since Chris left, you haven’t slept well. It’s been almost seven hundred and thirty days— well, just three days short.

You follow the two tall military men, decked out in their dress blues, through the secure facility, your black leather combat boots thudding against the tile floors. Everything is white— the walls, the floors, the coats of all the scientists and doctors milling about— except for you and your flowery, thigh length sundress. Dark eyes wide, teeth nibbling on a sore, often bloody bottom lip from all the nibbling, small purse bouncing off one hip as a duffel bag bounces off the other.

Winding through corridor after corridor, pausing as the men lift their badges to keypads to get door after door to click open. An eerie quiet looms throughout the entire building, nothing but random beeps, your breathing, and footsteps.

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

The walk gives you too much time to think about the last seven hundred and twenty seven days. All of the crying. All of the anger— the screaming. Chris trying to calm you down, assure you that they were okay— that he had to do this.

"It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?" You sobbed into the phone, staring up into the stars, knowing that he couldn’t but secretly hoping that he could see you.

"This is not easy for me," he choked back tears, his tongue heavy, "Leaving you is never easy but I have to do this, baby. We have to go back for Mark. We have to."

You didn’t answer his calls for over a week. And when you did, your words were quick and harsh.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving in with my sister."

Chris was silent on the other end of the phone— too silent. He sighed after a while and just said, "Ok. I understand."

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

So you moved in with your sister. Got a job at the local bar, picked up every shift you could, sometimes working sixty, seventy hours a week— just so you didn’t have to think about him. It didn’t work. You’d still stare out the window at night, up into the big black sky and through the twinkling little stars, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about you.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris continued to call your sister. Just to check on you.

Day seven hundred was when two Air Force officers walked into the bar as you were cutting up lemons and oranges. Your stomach, in a perpetual state of tight and sour, dropped to your feet. It’s never good when the military comes knocking on your door.

“He’s dead,” you spit out, eyes watering, chest starting to heave, “He’s dead, isn’t he? They’re all dead.”

When they removed their hats, your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth to muffle the sobs. You just knew they were all dead. Humans can’t stay in space for this long. It’s not natural.

“No ma’am,” the taller, brown skinned man answered, a small smile breaking onto his face, showing off the distinctive gap between his two front teeth, “They’re back in our orbit. They’ll be landing within the next seventy two hours.”

It was a flurry after that. Phone calls, you moving back onto the base, protocol gatherings, interviews with local and national media. None of it mattered. You just wanted to see him— you needed to see him.

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

Day seven hundred and twenty five is when they called to let you know that he was ready to move onto the second phase of his integration back on earth. Two weeks cohabitating with another person of his choice, just to make sure that his body and cells can still tolerate, you know, earth— and that he doesn’t give off anything that could make earthlings sick.

They called to let you know that Chris chose you— if you wanted to, of course. If not, he could call his sister.

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

After two days of getting tested for everything known to man, it’s now day seven hundred and twenty seven and here you are, passing through the last set of doors and stepping into a large observatory room. One of the General’s starts talking, but you don’t hear a word. You just blink slow, lips falling open as you stare back at Chris as he stands at the little square window of his living quarters. He smiles soft, running his hand through his short, dark hair before waving and placing his palm on the window.

Tears cloud your vision. Your chin trembles as a sad smile spreads on your face. A sob chokes in your throat and a warm tear streaks down your cheeks. Despite the talking man, you step up to the window and press your much smaller hand on the glass, spreading your fingers to match his. Chris rests his forehead to it and you do the same as you really start to bawl— shoulders shaking, face breaking, breath rushing fast and hard.

"Baby, don’t cry. Come on pretty, don’t— don’t cry."

Chris’ voice is muffled by the thick glass, but just hearing it— so close, so familiar— after so longs it’s just… it’s almost too much. It is too much.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you in there like this. We need you to calm down.”

Dense thuds shake the glass as Chris pounds on it, "Open the door, Sam!"

Sam grabs your bicep, gently, guiding you towards the door— Chris following you both, still talking to you through the glass.

"It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m right here."

“We need you to calm down,” Sam starts again, “He hasn’t been around—”

"Sam! Goddamn it, leave her alone! Open the door!"

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

"Don’t be an asshole! Open the door! She’s scared!"

You hear a scoff, “Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.”

"I swear to God—"

“Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.” Sam is stern now, pointing his finger towards Chris. 

Sam pauses for a few long seconds, blinking slow but keeping his hand around your bicep— and thank God, because you honestly need it, “I’m going to badge you into the hallway, okay? You take this keycard,” he presses it into your palm, “And put it up to the keypad at the second door after I close this door behind you. It’s only good for one passthrough— once you’re in, you’re in until the medical staff clears you both. Understand?”

The second half of his speech is softer, his thumb rubbing the back of your arm. You like Chief Master Sergeant Sam Wilson. You nod quick, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand, sniffling hard and focusing a shaky breath out through your teeth as you step in front of the door. There’s a loud click and the metal pops, Sam reaching past you to push it open.

Your body, on autopilot, takes three steps to the second door, eyes staring at the keypad on the wall beside it. Chris is still talking to you through the windows, one hand pressed to the glass, the other on the door handle.

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

-

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth.  Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt—  touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.

[tteokdoroki]

oblivious | k.takami

♡ pairing: keigo takami x gn!reader.

♡ word count: 1.8K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, assistant!au, fluff.

♡ summary: usually, when it comes down to smooth talking and flirting, pro hero hawks has all the boxes checked right off. except for when it comes to his assistant, who doesn’t quite seem to get it. or the one in which miruko meddles with hawks’ love life on valentines day.

♡ warning(s): please read ! tooth-rotting fluff, cheesy pick-up lines, just keigo being a dorky boi! :D

♡ author’s note(s): goood evening my loves! here’s a little fluff fic for you on valentines ! it was requested a while ago by @mocha-focha​ but i figured today would be the perfect day!  i hope youu enjoy, sorry this is so last min! happy valentines day <3

♡ masterlist | requests

keigo couldn’t tell if he found it more adorable or more annoying.

your obliviousness that is.

on one had, your cluelessness to the number two’s attraction towards you was most certainly adorable. the way you grew flustered when he walked by or leaned down to your height to tease and compliment you. the way your gaze dropped shyly to your desk when he’d ask something minuscule of you. keigo knew he intimidated you; after all, who wouldn’t be in the shoes of japan’s second most beloved hero.

the winged hero had wanted you ever since he first laid his avian eyes on you, after he’d stumbled back into his agency to complete paper work for that day’s patrol. you had been unpacking boxes at the desk outside of keigo’s office, hired to be a temporary assistant while the last had quit due to said blonde ‘being too much to handle.’

keigo still remembers the way your eyes had flittered to the floor as soon as he came into view and the timid way your name had slipped from between your pretty lips when he’d asked for your name.

the blonde swears he could never get tired of the sweet taste of ‘yn’ on his tongue.

you were nice company and worked well with keigo, since you were resilient unlike his last assistant. he couldn’t fault you anywhere, not in your kind smile and precious gestures ( you always brought him a chicken sandwich when you came back from your lunch break ). you were a gem. the only ‘annoying’ thing was that you never quite understood his flirting.

sure; some of keigo’s methods like bringing you little gifts of shiny things and rocks were a little unconventional... but he couldn’t help it! he was a goddamned bird after all and it wasn’t his fault you mistook the dead rabbit on your desk as a cruel practical joke instead of a proclamation of love. and okay, maybe keigo giving you extra work so you could spend more time with him after office hours was a little over the top; but at least his pickup lines got through to you.

they were cringeworthy of course but at the very least; they made you grin even if you were a bit confused. one time you thought he had been practicing on you to test on endeavour on their patrol later that day. another story for another time.

so maybe the most annoying thing wasn’t your obliviousness to keigo’s advances but instead the reactions and teasing from his friends. just like now.

“so what’s it gonna be today keigo?” rumi asks from the winged hero’s left, her rabbit ears twitch and pick up on his light scoff— while he mentally prepares for the incoming barrage of teasing. “’are you the alphabet because i can c u and i together?’”

“no rumi, i’ve got better than that.” keigo barks out with a shift of his crimson wings, the number five smirks from beside him and keigo rolls his eyes with defeat, hating the way his wings often conveyed his underlying emotions.  the elevator they both travel in comes to a slow stop on the thirteenth floor of the hawks agency where the man himself hosts meetings in his office. the whole reason rumi was even here was to attend some dumb mission briefing the commission wanted to set them on but more than likely the bunny like hero would be here to tease keigo about his failed attempts at flirting with you. “just you wait!”

she enjoyed making his life a living hell. “i don’t know, nothing can quite beat that ‘i’m not a photographer but i can picture you and i together’ line you used last week!” rumi winks, swiftly exciting the elevator as the doors chime and open up, just narrowly avoiding the flurry of cursing and chirps from the bird-like hero.

said  blonde follows with a huff,  making a b-line for his sacred office as he sets his mind on getting the meeting done. the sooner it ends, the sooner rumi can get the hell out of his hair and stop bullying him for having a crush on his personal assistant. only, keigo is stopped in his tracks when he notices you innocently perched at your desk, tapping away at some document on your computer—  one that he probably could’ve and should’ve done himself. hawks almost hates how he catches himself blushing over how you complete such a mundane task,  the squint to your  eyes and the slight pinch to your brows in concentration ( which is adorable to him quite frankly ) make his heart flutter.

he finds himself coming to a stop just in front of your desk, causing rumi to slow up ahead and turn around to watch the chaos unfold.

your typing ceases quickly when you notice the shadow on your boss looming over you— his gold and piercing avian eyes staring right back down at you as soon as you look up. “oh! mr hawks, you’re back—!”

“yn, i seem to have lost my number, can i borrow yours?” hawks blurts out the cheesy line, almost instantly regretting it right after.

there’s a beat of silence between you both while your face morphs into one of confusion. why would he need to borrow your number when you could just locate it in the personal records you had access to? in the meantime, miruko has taken it upon herself to fill the awkward air with pockets of wheezy laughter. you blink up at your boss, once, twice, three times before reaching for your notebook with all of his important details written inside. “mr hawks, if you wanted me to read your number out loud for you again , you could have asked! i'm more than happy to!” you say your words slowly, just to make sure he understands— your boss can be a bit of an air head sometimes and it is your job to help him out.

“no—yn, no i—” keigo instantly shakes his head, the red tint of shame blaring across his cheeks in a shade that almost rivals the red of his wings. said appendages puff up and flutter with embarrassment and it doesn’t help that his fellow hero is laughing at him so hard that she’s bent over and struggling to breathe. “baby—i meant i was asking for your numb—“

you smile up at him with sweet innocent eyes that have his words dying in his throat. “i didn’t know you had a baby! congratulations mr hawks!” and then you return to typing.

keigo wants to die, physically deflating right in front of your desk where he stands.

rumi, who now seems to have recovered from her laughing fit passes by keigo with a pat to his back, he only pouts while she wipes the remainders of amused tears from her eyes before perching herself on your desk, practically leaning over you. you look up once again, feeling shy under the gaze of yet another esteemed pro hero but greet her politely with a bob of your head.

“yn, hun, can i ask you a question?” the number five asks you, warm grin helping you relax just a little.

“yes miss miruko?”

you find the woman shaking with laughter above you before she pets your hair endearingly, the gesture almost makes you pout and you have to remind yourself of where you are and who you work for. “firstly, love, you can call me rumi, i know you’re shy but i don’t bite…” you paw gently at your cheeks in oder to fight the growing heat that burns brightly under your skin, growing ever so flustered under miruko’s silky voice and knowing gaze. “secondly, hawks isn’t a father nor does he have a baby— he was addressing you, sweetheart. and finally,” rumi pauses, patting your head again as her bunny ears twitch with amusement and mischief. “how do you feel about the bird brains over there, do you like him?”

takami jolts up in his place, impossibly redder than he was before while he makes an attempt to shut rumi up with his ruffled feathers. the bunny simply catches the red feather between her hands, giving them a little tickle to distract her fellow hero , tilting her head down at you as if to ask ‘well?’ you gulp, feeling yourself become nervous as the two wait for your answer expectantly. of course you had nothing but positive feelings towards your boss; he was kind and made the time out of his busy day to talk to you— but why did they care so much as to ask you for your opinion? you were only his assistant and saying anything bad about the number two hero would surely get you fired.

hesitantly, your gaze flickers between the clearly entertained miruko and the highly embarrassed hawks— forcing you to take a deep breath before delivering your anticipated answer. “well—! he’s a great boss, i— i couldn’t ask for better, why wouldn’t i like a boss who gives me an hour and a half’s lunch break?” you sigh in relief at your answer, assuring yourself that it won’t have offended anyone but your heart rate is quick to spike when miruko squishes your cheeks and tilts your head to face your flustered boss.

“no sweetheart,” she corrects herself, pointing over at keigo who cowers into his wings. “i mean, do you like him as in... would you date him?”

you swear on all might’s life that you almost pass out from her words, mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. why would she ask that of you? sparing a glance at your boss once move, you realise what all of this is about. his hot blush, the way he avoids your stare, his flustered state to match your own. he likes you, just as you like him. rumi was only being a good wing woman, one that you were grateful for— as you’d never make a move on hawks on your own, no matter how many feelings you’d harboured for him in the time that you’d worked for him. You had been oblivious to his romantic gestures this whole time and now; the situation for you to confess had presented itself to you.

to hell with it.

“yes,” you breathe as best you can through squished cheeks, staring at keigo with eyes dreamy enough to make his heart soar. “why wouldn’t anyone? i-i mean, mr hawks is so sweet and kind to everyone he meets, fans or not! and…and he’s really pretty— i mean handsome… and his eyes—“ you cut yourself off upon realising the tangent you’ve gone on just to prove your attraction to your boss, looking away shyly and rumi let’s you go with a sweet chuckle.

but just as quickly as you look away, the softness of a little red feather tilts your focus back to him. “glad to know you think so yn,” he winks, making you giggle shyly. “i’ll pick you up tonight at seven for valentines, then.”

and who were you to say no to him.

[theggning]

I Hate the Alternate Ending of Blind Betrayal, and Here's Why!

DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: Massive spoilers for Fallout 4 abound. This post discusses Blind Betrayal, a quest with suicide as a heavy theme. Content warning applies.

DISCLAIMER THE SECOND: This post discusses cut OFFICIAL content from Fallout 4 that has since been repurposed into multiple mods. I am not criticizing any modders or their implementations of this content. Mods are fun and people can enjoy whatever the hell kind of game experience they want with whatever mods they want.

I am ONLY interested in discussing the original cut content as Bethesda had written it, and how it would have impacted the story and lore of Fallout 4.

So, yeah, it seems there was originally going to be another way to conclude Blind Betrayal (BB).

As described in this Kotaku article (citing this post by Tumblr user tentacle-explosion,) there are unused audio files of Danse’s dialogue that show an alternate ending to his pivotal quest. These lines are the only evidence we have of this ending (suggesting that it was cut fairly early on, as no other actors/characters seem to have recorded for it.)

From what we can tell, in this alternate ending of BB, Danse comes up with a possible way out of the sticky situation re: his identity as a synth. According to the Brotherhood Litany, he is able to challenge Maxson’s authority as Elder via combat. If you agree to this idea, you go with Danse to challenge Maxson. The Paladin and the Elder duel one another, Danse wins, and Maxson dies. Then Danse names the Sole Survivor the new Elder-- or with a hard charisma check, you’re able to convince Danse to take the job himself. It is unknown how the main plot would have progressed beyond this point, as there is no other evidence of what being (or influencing) the Elder would have been like or what choices it would have given you.

There is understandable disappointment in learning that this ending was cut. Choices in games are great, and it could have been fun to have multiple different options for how to resolve the quest. In many gaming circles, people complain that this theoretical ending is superior to the one we got and shouldn’t have been axed. The Kotaku article calls it a “way better” ending, and you’ll see many players lamenting that it wasn’t implemented, saying Bethesda was bad at writing for cutting it, etc.

So why did Bethesda get rid of the Elder ending of BB?

In December 2020, after the Fallout 4 Cast Reunion, Danse’s voice actor Peter Jessop answered questions in a private signing session on his Instagram. Peter Jessop is an extremely kind and gracious man, an avid gamer, and a huge fan of Fallout. During the stream, he reflected on the alternate ending and remembered recording the lines, but stated the content was ultimately cut because Bethesda decided it was lore-breaking.

Peter Jessop is right. Bethesda was right. The Elder ending of BB is a bunch of dumb nonsense. It sucks, I hate it, and I’m glad they got rid of it. And now I’m going to tell you why!

SIDENOTE: King Shit of Fuck Mountain

There is no wrong way to play a single-player video game. If you are having fun, then you are accomplishing the task for which the game was made. Good for you! Play it on easy. Play it on hard. Mod it. Speedrun it. Make up an intricate roleplaying scenario. Perform “challenge” runs. Kill everybody you see. Ignore the story and run around collecting wheels of cheese. Games are meant to be fun and there is nothing wrong with enjoying a game however you damn well please. This is especially true for RPGs like Fallout, which are designed with player freedom in mind.

There is an RPG playstyle I like to call King Shit of Fuck Mountain: a naked power fantasy in which your protagonist is the most powerful person ever, even beyond normal RPG plot significance. Through brute strength, incredible charisma, or having completed tons of quests for world-breaking artifacts and weapons, your character wields godlike influence, able to control people, factions, and the fabric of the world itself. A game enables KSoFM gameplay when it allows the player limitless freedom to gain as much power as they like with zero consequences to plot or storytelling.

A great example of this is the Dragonborn in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. If the player chooses to pursue every questline in the game, one single person can become Harbinger of the Companions, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Nightingale and Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, hero of the Imperial/Stormcloak army, the chosen one of like, 11 different Daedric princes, a bard, a Blade, and otherwise just, absurdly goddamn powerful in completely unrealistic ways. And that’s not counting DLCs. A fully-kitted-out Dragonborn is King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with playing KSoFM if you like to. But I’m not a big fan of this style, personally. Sure, my first Skyrim character became KSoFM while I was figuring out the game, but after my first playthrough I preferred my characters become coherent figures in the story of the world. I pick one or two character traits and things that my Dragonborn is good at, focus on them, and make them part of some overall story. My honorable Imperial paladin werewolf is in the Companions, and hunts vampires on principle. My Argonian sneaky archer is a gleeful thief, but would never jive with the College or the Dark Brotherhood. I like creating protagonists who fit into these settings immersively. I don’t care about power fantasies or being in charge. I don’t WANT my character to be all-powerful, because that ruins my immersion and my little story.

Additionally, in a plot-driven story-focused game like Fallout, KSoFM tears the narrative apart. Skyrim is fairly light on story, so the Dragonborn can be the leader of the Companions and the Dark Brotherhood and whatever other factions without any of them noticing or caring. But FO4’s themes, faction drama, and the main thrust of the plot don’t work at all if the Sole Survivor is able to become too powerful or too influential. The Sole Survivor cannot become the leader of every faction, solve every problem, or eliminate every inconvenient bend of the conflict because it makes the lore of the entire setting implode. Thus, the game forces you to choose between factions. You cannot be with the Minutemen and the Nuka-World Raiders. You cannot be with the Railroad and the Institute. And you cannot become Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.

So if you’re the kind of person who loves playing KSoFM, if you like plots that your character can “solve” with relative ease, or if you just think it would be super cool for your Sole to become Elder regardless of surrounding storytelling, then you might think the Elder ending sounds super cool. You are absolutely allowed to disagree with me here. Install all the mods and write all the fic and have all the headcanons you like. I respect that. There is no wrong way to enjoy a single-player video game. Have fun!

But if you’re a big nitpicky pedantic lore nerd like me, a fan of cohesive storytelling, or if you just want to hear how the Elder ending of BB absolutely fucking ruins Maxson, Danse, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the entire plot of FO4 from a narrative perspective, read on!

1. The Synth Thing

The Elder ending requires the stupid plot contrivance of the BoS forgetting about Danse’s synthhood.

One of the biggest problems with the BoS as an institution is their strict and dogmatic beliefs, which include a widespread dislike of non-human species. Perhaps more than any other non-humans, the BoS hates synths. Synths are, in their eyes, machines given free will, a violation of the sanctity of human life and the ultimate example of technology run amok. To them, synths are not sympathetic, they are not slaves, and they are not victims of circumstance. They are weapons that left unchecked will destroy all of humanity for a second time. Synths are anathema to everything the BoS stands for, and finding out that one of their most beloved and trusted Paladins is one is an earth-shattering blow to their integrity and sense of security.

It is completely absurd that the BoS would allow a synth within their ranks, particularly as they are waging war against the Institute, who created synths in the first place. It is even MORE absurd that they’d allow one to influence their Elder, or even worse, to become Elder. It completely undermines their mission in the Commonwealth, and the core tenets of their extremely rigid beliefs. No matter the Elder, no matter the Litany or obscure BoS law, no matter how valuable the Sole Survivor is as a soldier or how much influence they wield. Danse is a synth. He’s the enemy. He is physically the embodiment of everything they hate.

Not only wouldn’t they trust a synth in general, but the BoS specifically believes that Danse is an infiltrator for the Institute. Even Danse believes that he is a danger, that the Institute may be able to take control of him and use him as a weapon. Sure, we know none of this is actually true, or possible, but the BoS don’t know that. And given how quick they are to order Danse dead without even the possibility of surrender, I don’t think there’s any charisma in the world that’s going to convince them otherwise.

According to Peter Jessop, this, ultimately, is the reason why the Elder ending was cut. He talks about it around the 11:30 timestamp in his Instagram stream, linked above:

“We recorded an ending where you keep Danse alive and you take over the Brotherhood. But there was a question of content… there’s no way the Brotherhood, once they knew he was a synth, would let him be even the right hand of the person in charge.”

Bethesda correctly recognized the incredible narrative contrivance for the BoS to shrug off the reason they’re trying to execute Danse in the first place. Whatever other beefs I have with this ending conceptually, they all come in second to just what a big dumb leap it is to get beyond this first and most important problem.

2. The Complete Death of Conflict

The Elder ending of BB destroys the conflict of the quest, and potentially the conflict of the entire game.

Greed is a poison. There is no such thing as a perfect ideal or a perfect organization. Power corrupts. Humanity has the choice to build back better. War never changes. The Fallout games are full of themes, depicted by the characters and quests and factions we play out.

Blind Betrayal is rightfully praised as one of the most powerful quests in FO4. Not only is it well-acted, but it puts the player in a very difficult position. The BoS has given you clout and glory and free power armor and lots of firepower, but now you see the price: unquestioning obedience. You are ordered to execute your friend and mentor Danse for the mere fact he is a synth. Are you going to follow that unjust order? Are you willing to give up your principles on command? Or is this where you can no longer stay quiet and stay in line?

To be honest, I’ve always thought the fact you can talk Maxson out of killing Danse but still remain with the BoS in good standing was a cop-out. BB goes 90% of the way to forcing you to choose between a companion and a faction, and then chickens out at the last second to let you have both, if your charisma is high enough.

(I believe this has the fingerprints of Skyrim’s development on it-- Bethesda’s writers got nervous about doing another Paarthurnax choice involving the fan favorite Brotherhood of Steel. That’s right. Danse is the Paarthurnax of Fallout. Frankly, I understand why they chose not to go there, but damn, wouldn’t it have been wild? You want to run with the BoS? Then kill your friend and feel the burn. THIS is what it means to follow orders without question.

As for me, I’d pick Danse every time and sleep soundly without the company of shitty bootlicking dieselpunk LARPers- but I digress.)

Anyway, you know what would have REALLY been a copout? If the game asked you to make a difficult thematic storyline choice, and you solved the problem by just not choosing at all.

You are supposed to feel uncomfortable when Maxson orders you to kill Danse, because the game is telling a story about how it is maybe a bad thing to thoughtlessly follow orders without question. It is asking you to think about what the BoS is, what they are doing, and how they are going to run things, if you choose to let them “win” the Commonwealth. It is pointing out that there is no room for gray in the BoS’ black and white. That a good, loyal man may die because of the way he was made, through no action of his own. That soon, you’ll be killing other people on command. The Railroad. Fleeing Institute synths and scientists. Others, down the line. It all depends on who’s giving the orders. Are you going to follow those orders?

Eesh, that sounds thought-provoking and unpleasant and difficult! Let’s just skip it by killing Maxson and making ourselves the boss. Now we get to tell everybody else what to do!

It’s unknown what powers the Elder ending would have granted the player, or how it would have interacted with the other factions. There is speculation that you’d have been able to ease back on the BoS’ dogmatism, or change some of the later events of the game. For instance, perhaps you could talk the BoS down from attacking the Railroad, sparing popular characters like Glory and Deacon who must die in the normal BoS storyline. Perhaps you could have made the BoS a kinder, gentler faction and directed them to run the way you want them to.

If this was indeed the case, then the Elder ending would not only suck the gravitas out of BB, but torpedo the entire main plot.

If you can get rid of any and all downsides to siding with the BoS, why in the hell would players side with anybody else? With the player given total power, the BoS becomes a perfect faction with no drawbacks, no weaknesses, no tough decisions to be made. Screw slumming it with the Railroad or the Minutemen, let’s take over the BoS. Free power armor and a giant robot! Forget the whole intolerance thing, I hereby proclaim the BoS No Longer Problematic! Now to force all the factions to get along, completely removing all conflict and nuance from the plot!

That’s some real anticlimactic “tell Legate Lanius to go home and then he does it” bullshit right there. King Shit of Fuck Mountain!

Look, it might be nice if there was a perfect path like that to take through the game. It would be cool if our characters could be that powerful and the game was that tailored to our individual choices. On the other hand, “I change all the factions to suit my exact liking” might be a fun idea for a fanfic, but it’s an incredibly boring plot for a video game. “I get to make everything in the world exactly how I want it” is Minecraft, not a story-driven RPG with a complex and intricate plot.

It would be great if complex conflicts could really be solved that easily and effortlessly, but hey, you know what? War never changes.

3. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Literal)

Arthur Maxson’s death is too significant and fundamentally disastrous for the Elder ending to make any sense at all.

Hero, villain, leader, monster, tortured soul, brutal dictator, immature twerp, bearded sex hunk. However you personally interpret Arthur Maxson, there is no denying that he is a venerated, popular, beloved figure in the BoS. He is the blood heir of the organization’s founder, a powerful warrior, a brilliant tactician, and a charismatic negotiator. He is responsible for reuniting the East Coast BoS with the Outcasts, leading the new, stronger BoS with a sense of shared purpose. There is a damn good reason his name is Arthur and he named his ship The Prydwen, echoes of King Arthur and the legends of his glorious kingdom of Camelot. Arthur Maxson is so beloved that many view him as a demigod, a messiah sent to lead the BoS into a mighty and prosperous future.

So I’m sure nobody’s going to be upset when some wasteland jackass recruited a month ago stumbles in with a synth, kills him, and takes over his job. Right?

It doesn’t matter that it’s “honorable.” It doesn’t matter that it’s done “by the book” via obscure BoS rules. There is no codex or litany or rule so binding that it’s going to overcome the cult of personality around Maxson. There is no way that the BoS is going to accept the death of Arthur Maxson, a man whose reverence borders on worship, especially not when he is immediately replaced by a wastelander, or a synth.

The death of Arthur Maxson removes the unifying glue that’s been holding the BoS together since mending the rift with the Outcasts. Maxson’s death eliminates the one person that both sides of that conflict agreed could steer the organization in the right direction. Some level heads may try to keep the focus on the mission and the Brotherhood tenets, but Maxson loyalists will never forgive the new Elder for his death, and that amount of passionate righteous anger will not be quelled by appeals to the rules. The new Elder’s war on the Institute is basically over before it begins, when the forces splinter and start infighting over the change in leadership.

And this is if the new Elder lives long enough to actually give any orders. I give them around 24 hours after the duel before some angry Maxson loyalist “accidentally” pulls the trigger and “tragically” empties a clip into their back.

24 seconds, if it’s Elder Danse, the dirty synth abomination.

4. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Figurative)

The Elder ending of BB falsely pretends that Arthur Maxson is the biggest and only problem with the BoS.

In the Elder ending, as written, the conflict of BB is considered completely and totally solved by the death of Arthur Maxson. The core problem, that Danse is a synth and considered an enemy by the BoS, has not gone away. But by getting rid of Maxson, this apparently no longer matters. Nobody else is going to take offense to Danse’s nature or protest his presence. Nobody else is going to attack him or try to follow through with Maxson’s prior orders. Nope, that meanybutt guy who gave the order is gone, and everybody else is going to welcome Danse back into the fold like nothing ever happened.

I touched on this a little bit on an ask about Maxson a few weeks back, but a lot of people seem to believe that the FO4 Brotherhood of Steel is the way they are purely because of him. That he is the one making them treat non-humans as second class citizens at best, and enemies to be slaughtered at worst. That it’s his fault the BoS is so vehemently against synths and the Institute. That he is the one influencing their imperialistic tendencies, and treating the Commonwealth like territory to be conquered and people to be ruled over by their betters.

He’s not. That’s the Brotherhood of Steel, guys.

The charitable, altruistic, virtuous BoS that many of us met for the first time in FO3 were outliers. Lyons’ group was literally disowned by the rest of the faction because their kindness to wastelanders had gone so far astray from the “core” tenets. The BoS as a whole has always been exclusive, isolated, and seen themselves as “superior” to the average wastelander. They have long disliked or outright hated non-humans (and even Lyons’ BoS in FO3 use ghouls, feral or not, for “target practice” if they get too close!) The rigid dogmatism of the BoS is not something that Arthur Maxson started, but has always been part of their fabric.

Now, it’s true that Maxson is absolutely going hard on the BoS tenets, and extremely dedicated to upholding them. His BoS are the way they are and act the way they act because he believes that this is the way it should be. Is it possible that a different leader may be a little more flexible? Absolutely. Could a skilled Elder eventually show them the benefits of a softer approach and a more generous worldview? Totally. Is getting rid of Maxson and replacing him going to make that happen overnight, or going to make the rest of the BoS who supported him shrug and follow suit?

Nope.

Blaming Arthur Maxson for everything unsavory about the Brotherhood is unfair to him and also foolishly ignoring the deep, massive problems that are far older than he is-- problems that plenty of its members wholeheartedly believe are not problems at all. Getting rid of Maxson does not make the BoS kinder or gentler. Even pretending Maxson isn’t as personally beloved as he is, any new Elder who steps in and starts trying to fundamentally alter the way the BoS operates and what they believe in is going to face some major, immediate pushback.

Like, a full clip of bullets in the back type of pushback.

In the face if it’s Elder Danse, the godless freak of nature.

5. The Un-Redemption of Paladin Danse

Last, and my personal least favorite!

At first glance, Paladin Danse is a steely jackboot, a die-hard Brotherhood loyalist who fully and firmly believes in their cause. Many immediately dismiss him as a humorless brute, or completely ignore him because they think that’s all there is. But if you spend any time with Danse at all, you’ll notice a sort of weariness in him. He is tired, overworked, and his years of service are starting to weigh on him. He has watched friends, comrades, and mentors die in horrible and gruesome ways, and he suffers from PTSD. Though he has always been told that his own sacrifices, the sacrifices of his brothers and sisters have been” worth it,” he’s starting to question if that’s true.

After telling of the incident where he personally executed his best friend Cutler, who’d been turned into a super mutant, the Sole Survivor is able to console him:

Player Default: You did the right thing. Danse: {Somber} It's what I was taught. I don't know if it was right.

This line is an excellent summary of Danse’s entire character arc. He learns to question whether to believe what the Brotherhood has taught him, or to believe in himself. His gut feelings. His sense of justice and his own ideas of what’s right and wrong.

(In the interest of not turning this into an essay about Danse’s character, I won’t even get into how this also applies to his beliefs about his worth as a person. But keep in mind, that dimension is there, Danse just covers it up by making everything about the Brotherhood.)

During Blind Betrayal, after getting the orders to execute him and hearing Haylen’s plea for mercy, we may expect Danse to be ready to fight back or flee. But when you confront him in the bunker at Listening Post Bravo, he’s compliant and suicidal. Danse is so deeply poisoned by the BoS’ rhetoric that his own feelings or will to live don’t factor into the conversation. He demands that you follow your orders and execute him, because he believes, as the BoS does, that all synths are dangerous and must be destroyed.

Danse: {Stern} Synths can't be trusted. Machines were never meant to make their own decisions, they need to be controlled. Technology that's run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees and humanity to the brink of extinction.

{Confident} I need to be the example, not the exception.

Through various dialogue options, if your charisma is high enough, you are able to talk Danse off the ledge. He is able to consider, at least, that the BoS’ merciless judgment of him is wrong and that what he was taught isn’t right. He is a thinking, feeling, self-aware synth, and that makes him as much a person as any human. Danse is no danger to humanity-- and maybe, most synths aren’t either.

Danse is an example, not an exception.

Later on, if you manage to get him out of BB alive, Danse shows further acceptance of his nature. His approvals about synths begin to soften slightly (or many of them do, at least… it’s not perfect.) He is still struggling with his identity and reconciling it with his former hatred, but his dialogue suggests that he’s on the road to being more open-minded and understanding. Along with this, Danse learns that he has value as a person beyond the Brotherhood. He no longer needs to define himself with BoS beliefs or judge himself by how useful he is to them. He learns that he is worth caring about, worth being friends with or being loved because of who he is-- not what he is, in any regard.

[SIDENOTE: Many players, myself included, are frustrated that Danse’s arc leaves off sort of midstream there. Due to the open-ended nature of the game, we don’t get a real conclusion to his arc-- even though much of his idle dialogue doesn’t change and he still espouses pro-BoS sentiments ( an unfortunate by-product of writing for a video game) there is every indication that he’s started down the right path, but understandably has a ways to go.

Also, Peter Jessop agrees with us.]

Meanwhile, in the Elder ending, Danse doesn’t get a redemption. His entire character arc, actually, hits the skids and does a total 180.

He never leaves the BoS. So scratch the need for Danse to ever think about himself as separate from them. He never needs to question what they’ve taught him or whether they’re right or wrong. He never needs to find any worth in himself beyond his use to the BoS. Why would he? He might be the Elder. The BoS is all he needs to care about anymore. The BoS is all he ever needs to be, ever again.

And I think, most horrifying of all, this Danse never needs to change his mind about synths. On the contrary, one of the surviving dialogue files includes Danse’s speech to reassure the rest of the BoS of his stance:

Danse: I want to make one thing clear to everyone. This body might be synth, but my heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood. The Institute is still a tremendous threat to the Commonwealth. They possess technologies that need to be confiscated or destroyed. And even if that means I have to pull the trigger on my own kind, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

Elder ending Danse doesn’t grow more understanding on the nature of synths. He doesn’t accept that synths are people, or anything more than technology run amok. He won’t even accept that for himself. Elder Maxson wasn’t wrong about synths-- they’re the enemy and they need to be destroyed.

But, see, he was wrong about Danse. It’s okay for Danse to exist in spite of his nature. It’s okay for him to never fully accept his own personhood, and to outright deny it to his kind. Because his body is a machine, but he’s different from the rest because his heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood.

He’s the exception, not the example.

CONCLUSION:

The Elder ending of Blind Betrayal is dumb, contrived, stakeless, character-derailing powergaming crap at its finest and I’ll happily dance on its grave.

People give Bethesda a lot a shit for their writing-- whether it be stuff they left out, stuff they left in, or stuff that they never, ever could have made work due to the limitations of writing for a video game. Plenty of it is well-deserved, or at least worth a discussion. But from the minute I found out about its existence, I have always wanted to extend a congratulations to Bethesda for cutting the alternate Elder ending of Blind Betrayal. It was a good choice. A very good choice to cut a very dumb plot that would have fundamentally altered the story they were telling, and characters that I’ve grown to love. I think the writers deserve some credit and a hearty handshake for the wisdom of this decision.

Now as for why Nick Valentine isn’t romanceable--