#ind of hard to bite properly

[mythtiide]

Speaking of Vampire Falke, where would she be biting Adler the most?

aah i imagine that she probably keeps it classy with just going for his neck for the most part .. ez + efficient

[analisegrey]

Originally, I’d hoped to have something finished to post for my birthday as I’ve done in some years past. However, the nightclub AU has just gotten insane, and so while it’s not done, I do have a larger snippet to share from the chapter I’m currently working on. Enjoy!

Vegas’s lips pull up into a smile as he hums in thought.

“If I hadn’t just beaten your ass multicolor, I’d be tempted to make you wear a plug on the way home- but I know how bruises excite you, and we wouldn’t want anything happening prematurely if we hit a bumpy stretch of road, hm?”

Pete’s face flashes hot. “Oh my god-”

Face splitting into a grin, Vegas kisses him on the nose before taking a few steps back. “Adorable.” He moves off to the side, giving Pete more space. “Come on, then, get dressed. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get going.”

Pete speeds through the process, sucking in a breath when he pulls his jeans on, biting his lip to hold the noises in as rough denim scrapes up and over his thighs and ass. Glancing up he finds Vegas just watching, an amused expression on his face.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account; it’s very entertaining.”

He wants to say something, but also doesn’t want to slow down the process of leaving, so instead Pete opts for muttering under his breath as he gets his jeans on the rest of the way, shoving his feet into his boots. He doesn’t bother to tie them properly, pulling his shirt on as he’s moving, crossing the room to reach Vegas.

When Vegas had mentioned the potential of making him wear a plug, Pete had been intrigued at the thought; the concept was undeniably sexy- potentially having to endure some sort of arousing torment on the way to Vegas’s condo was just their sort of foreplay. However, once they’re in the car and moving, he can begrudgingly admit it would have been problematic. Any time they hit a bump or section of rough road Pete can feel it, despite knowing how comfortable the seats of this car are, and how smooth a ride it typically offers.

He spends the whole ride not-quite hard, but turned on enough that it’s an effort not to squirm, not to press the heel of his hand against himself to get some sort of relief-

Wait.

Vegas never said one way or another-

He slowly slides the hand closest to the door across his lap and has only barely grazed the front of his jeans before Vegas’s voice sounds over the road noise.

“I haven’t said you could do that, Pet.”

He instinctively freezes at the tone, but then quickly resumes, pressing in before he can stop himself, his hips hitching up against his better judgement.

“You also didn’t say I couldn’t-”

He can feel the look Vegas shoots at him, electric in the confined space of the car, and can sense the subtle shift in demeanor.

“Feeling awfully bold tonight, aren’t you, Pet?” Vegas says mildly, reaching forward to tap something on the dash, and after a few moments Pete realizes the seat under him is heating up.

It doesn’t hurt, or at least not more than he was hurting already, but it definitely makes the existing pain more thoroughly-felt, which only turns him on more. His hand starts moving again, and Vegas’s voice is relatively quiet, yet exceedingly clear.

“Do that again, and you’ll regret it.”

On the one hand, he wants to get fucked again- very badly- in the ridiculous bed. The smoothest course to this outcome is to do what Vegas says.

However-

As has been previously stated, this has never been about blind obedience. Vegas doesn’t expect it, and Pete certainly has no intention of giving it. He’s already come once tonight, and he’s intensely curious, in a way that probably isn’t good for his wellbeing. While he knows what will happen if he obeys, he also very much wants to know what will happen if he doesn’t.

The rush as he looks over to briefly meet Vegas’s eye and deliberately disobeys is almost euphoric, and the adrenaline sparking from the dangerous look Vegas gives him before looking back at the road ignites something in him.

“Alright, then,” Vegas says, tone clipped, indicating that Pete is in trouble, and not just a little bit.

[docholligay]

Angst Prompt Day: Pharah / Mercy, "N I G H T M A R E"

2361 Words. I hope you enjoy! 

For most of her life, Pharah had avoided most mental scars related to her service. The human mind is a strange thing, and while seeing comrades killed in combat saddened her, and losing her arm had been painful in more ways than one, she had gone through the rocky periods of her life and come out quite unscarred. She held Mercy, when she cried, the high wind reminding her too much of that night, and she did Dva the favor of speaking softly when some too loud boom took her far away, and she was even known to grip Tracer’s shoulder tightly when a sharp cold got in between her ribs, and she trembled. 

But Pharah could not imagine what any of these things felt like on a personal level, because her mind had seemed to reject that precise method of injury. Tracer had grumbled that of course she didn’t, because Pharah was bloody fucking perfect all the time, and Pharah had shaken her head, and simply said there was no accounting for the way a mind reacted. But, in truth, she approached it with a mix of pride and fear, in ways she could not have potentially articulated to anyone but herself. There was, of course, a pride there, that she was strong, and she was resolute, and while any other normal person would have faced these consequences, Pharah was untouched. But there was the argument, of course, in the back of her mind. You are untouched because you are untouchable. You don’t feel things like other people do. You’re just like your mother. Cold. 

But Pharah was, above all things, a logical sort, and she could not change what did and didn’t affect her, and she did try very hard to show kindness and empathy, and so she put the worry to the side. She would be better than her mother, because she would try, and so she simply allowed that her brain was good at protecting her. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Moira broke Tracer, and it was a well known fact. That she had managed to claw her way back to a fully functioning human being was the sort of miracle that could only be explained by the very nature of Lena Oxton, a woman who would not be beat, who would only die when she was good and ready. Pharah loved that about her, that she was a tiny Jack Russell Terrier in human form. Seeing her bound back into the office a few months after being put in an induced coma, once again dirtying three different spoons because she couldn’t remember where she’d put the last one, yelling about how she was going to shoot Moira through the temple and see if she didn’t, gave Pharah a sense of stability in the world. 

But Moira broke Tracer, and everyone knew it. Pharah was very lucky not to be too seriously hurt. Tracer had been cobbled back together, but Pharah had only been deeply scratched. She was perfectly functional. 

And then she dreamed. 

During the day, it was very easy to distract herself from the sense of panic that rose up at the strangest times. A gate would clang shut at just the right tone, there would be the sound of a boot on a concrete floor, and all of a sudden she could feel the restraint at her wrist, the buzz through her body, the sound of Tracer screaming….but there was the warmth of a brick beneath her hand. There was the conversation fo the two old ladies behind her, complaining about Marks and Spencer’s, there was Tracer, putting an ice cube in her hand, and gently telling her, ‘you aren’t there, love.’ 

The night held none of this. The soft darkness was a canvas that her mind could work its will upon, and she traveled there, and she felt angry and betrayed by her own mind, how richly it painted the picture, how she could feel Moira’s breath against her cheek. She woke in a cold sweat, her chest tight, and often rushed herself down to the kitchen to panic quietly, to not bother Mercy, to click the spoon against the edge of her mug as she stirred and let it be the bell that chimed her home. 

Pharah was not generally unkind to herself, but she had a tendency to take all responsibility as hers and hers alone, and so it was her who would figure out the mess Moira had made of her, and wasn’t it self-pitying to even note the pain in her shoulder and the panic in her mind, against what had happened to Tracer? She didn’t complain, and so Pharah would put her head down and work this out. 

 What she had not counted on was the intense and deep love of her wife, and how little escaped her notice, even if she allowed things to pass without comment. It was foolish, Pharah would later chuckle, in the way that as her hair greyed, she laughed at herself more and more, to think she could hide her symptoms from an actual doctor, to not have known that Mercy was simply giving her time, but she could be very arrogant in that way from time to time. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, Mercy’s touch in the night, but it was all the same. 

It came one night, a handful of months after the incident itself. Pharah would often object to the absolute lack of creativity on the part of her mind, in the darkness. It never came up with anything novel, never played new parts or reminded her of different hurts, but came back to that same grey place. 

“You take so much for such a little thing.” 

Pharah heard that line, over and over, the villain of the picture entering stage right. She bucked against the restraints holding her, just as she always did, ignoring the searing, shooting, hammering pain running down through that shoulder that came to a stop. The movie progressed as always, with no response from the unfeeling leather around her. 

She wanted to yell, wanted to make some clever quip and science or Ireland or a football team or anything that would pull Moira away from her work. Tracer had come up with so many, her mind was so quick and agile, and Pharah could not remember if she had hated herself so much int he moment or if her ind had gently supplied her the hindsight, but she burned with rage that she was so logical and straightforward and had no real mind for sass. She had never considered it a military gift of Tracer’s, because she was a fool, and could not see things as expansively as her small teammate. 

“Oh fuck off, Moira, couldn’t even properly be doing this, ‘ad you not stolen Win’s work.”

Tracer’s voice was reedy, always, but filled with that biting contempt, too. Shut up, Pharah wanted to say, stop talking, stop making her want to hurt you. Don’t you dare say that next line--

“Win’s work, Ang’s...you’re not a scientist, just a bloody fucking thief, and you won’t learn nothing from doing this love, you’re a--” 

She screamed. She always screamed, when Moira hit the switch, when she dangled Tracer in between time and timelessness, seeing how long one could sustain in that space. Tracer only ever blinked for a second, maybe a second and a half if she was pushing her limits, but Moira just kept her there, letting it eat at her, but not releasing her into it either, playing tug of war with her body. 

Had Pharah yelled? Had she even tried? She felt like she must have, but she never did, here and so maybe she had been--

She sat up straight, gasping, cold sweat pouring down her back. There wasn’t any air in the room, she was still in that grey cold laboratory and it was running out of air, and she felt it begin to crush her. Then, there was a strong pull around her shoulders. A lamp clicked on. 

“Fareeha.” There was a voice in her ear, and it wasn’t quiet. “Fareeha, come here.” 

It was a command and it was her wife, and she felt the edge soften on the thought, because Mercy hadn’t been there, and if Mercy hadn;t been there than maybe. There was a pinch on the back of her hand, and the world started to come back into view, and for the first time she took a breath with air in it, and the tightness began to cease, slowly ebbing like the tide. 

“Fareeha look at me.” 

She turned around and there was Mercy, her face in opposition to all the command and ferocity of her demands that Pharah be released from the thought. 

“You are not there. Tell me what time it is.” 

Pharah turned her head and looked at the clock. “1:02.” 

“Yes, it is 1:02. Do you know what day it is? Tell me.” 

Pharah turned it over and over in her mind, the memory receding into the background as she imagined the calendar. “It has to be the 23rd, I think.” 

“What is four times six?” 

It was then that Pharah came back to herself enough, got enough air in her lungs, to realize what Mercy was doing, to love her so intensely that it cast out all other feelings and fears. She smiled. Moira faded in the background, having lost the battle in record time. How could a devil stand against this angel? 

“Twenty-four.” 

Mercy cupped her cheek gently. “Yes. How are you?”

She was still shaking, a bit, and the pour of sweat down her back was making her cold, but Pharah was back home, now, with her wife, and she was safe, and though her shoulder still hurt from what had been done to it, she was free now, and on the mend, and Tracer had lived, and she was mending. She remembered all these things, in a beautiful instant, like coming up from the deep water to see the sun. 

Pharah nodded, and then flushed. “I---I apologize.” 

It sounded silly even to her. She would never begrudge Mercy any of the love she had given her, when she had been struggling with fear, with the memories of what had happened to her, but she had been a child, and Mercy was very tender, and so it was much more natural that she would need help. Pharah was the anchor in a storm. She was iron. 

She looked at Mercy, who had taken her hand away. Her brows were furrowed and she was angry, maybe even hurt, as she assessed Pharah. 

“Why should you do this yourself? Why are you thinking you are stronger than all of us?” It came sharp, in that rare way Mercy used to call someone to account. “Do you not--do you not trust me with your feelings?”

Pharah had not taken it as the arrogance it was. She had not taken it as a mark of her attempts at invulnerability. She never would have taken it as an act of mistrust. She was helping, she had assured herself. She was not piling things on to people struggling with their own lives. She loved Mercy more than anything on this earth, and she was meant to help her, and she had already done so much with Pharah’s injury not one, but twice. She wanted to protect her, and not be the protected. 

She closed her eyes. It was frustrating, how she fell back into these traps. How she worked and worked at being more open, more soft, and yet, the moment there was trouble, she shut herself up again like an oyster, and she would be that alone, if she didn’t fight to keep herself open. And she had done it again, pledging that she would honor Mercy and then refusing to do her the love of trusting her with her most fragile things. 

But Mercy was good, and sensed her frustration, and touched her with great love, her voice soft and warm again. 

“Fareeha, I am here to be your partner, in life.” She ran her hand through Pharah’s scattered hair, “Your help. You have always helped with my burden.  Do not be thinking I want you to carry this yourself. Why, when we have four hands?” 

“Three.” Fareeha chuckled. ‘At night.” 

Mercy scooted close to her. “You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need.” 

Pharah felt tears sting at her eyes, surprised by the rapier of tenderness that stuck between her ribs. Be strong, had been the ethos of her childhood. Be hard, be the rock that evil breaks itself upon. An Amari is an army in herself, she was told. Command requires firmness. 

“I love you, Angela.” Whatever she said, it was never enough, never the depth of what she truly felt, but as she laid her head on Mercy’s shoulder, she trusted that Mercy would know the all the meanings behind it. 

Mercy kissed her temple. “Let us help you. There is no shame in having to need it.” 

The Pharah that life had built argued inside her. No, it said, I am not the one who needs help. This is the weakness of a moment, and I will be fine in the morning. I am the helper. I am the one who brings order from chaos. I do not require the things that other people do. I am a wall. I am a rock. I am the sword that brings justice to this world. 

But there was another Pharah, too, one that she was growing, row by row, leaf by leaf. One that she was trying to nurture, and water, no matter the difficulty. And it was this Pharah who spoke now, two carefully chosen words.

“I’m struggling.”

[raymondklhi340-blog]

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[mockymyths]

AL-07 - Subject: Food

Angrily AL-07 stuffed the packets of candy into the small metallic box. She pushed aside a small bag of chips before pulling it out completely to make room for the sugary treat. With a huff she shoved the box as far in the back as she could and practically jumped into her bed with the bag of chips in hand.

She forced herself to regulate her breath and mentally let go of the irritation that coursed through her veins.

“The monkey doesn’t know what they’re doing.” She made her voice low and growly, pitching up at specific moments in the speech. She shook her head slightly as if to mimic the creature she was imitating. “Monkey doesn’t know what a Vetron Impact Regulator is.” The bag popped as she pulled it open and crinkled when she reached in for a chip. “Monkey’s so stupid. I’m so much better because I can’t be bothered to do my fucking job and explain what anything is and teach them.” AL-07 dropped the voice and rifled through the bag, trying to grab a handful.

She veraciously engulfed the first handful of chips. The second handful was chewed at a more casual pace, AL-07 took time to ensure that they were enjoying them.

“Jackass.” AL-07 continued to nibble at the chips in silence for a while before they felt something.

Tal was curious and worried. They felt AL-07’s anger and are coming to investigate.

“Fuck.” AL-07 scrambled off the bed and dragged the box of treats back out. They folded the opening of the bag closed and stuffed it into the little space left inside before closing it and shoving it back under. Once more they scrambled onto the bed and lounged. AL-07 slowed down their breathing and waited.

“AL,” Tal called from the other side of the door. “Am I permitted to enter?”

“Sure,” AL folded their hands behind their head and stared up at the ceiling. One leg bent so that their foot laid flat on the bed. The metallic door silently opened and Tal slinked into the room, ignoring the door as it closed behind them.

They sat crouched on the floor, resting their lengthy arms between their legs. AL-07 still had a hard time understanding how a long lanky cat-like alien could find sitting like that comfortable when their entire back arched away like that. Tal tilted their head forward towards AL, despite their sitting position they were still much taller than the bed.

“AL,”

“Tal,” Al-07 interrupted the alien.

“AL,” they gave her what she could only describe as a reproachful look with their large teal eyes.

Despite the flatness of their pale grey-blue face, the brightness of its eyes made it seem as though they stuck far out. Almost like they could see into anything.

“AL, are you listening?” AL nodded even though they never looked at Tal. Tallian’s eyes were shit, as were their ability to smell usually. Their ability to connect via minds was were it was at for them so Tal should already know AL was listening. “It freaks me out when you don’t look when we’re talking.”

“Why?” Al begrudgingly looked at Tal.

“Because that’s what you used to do. You don’t do it anymore. Are you mad at me?” Al furrowed their eyes at Tal then looked away once more with a sigh.

“I wasn’t used to you talking to me in my head, and for some humans it can be considered rude to not look when someone’s talking to you. But you’re not human, this isn’t earth, and it doesn’t bother me anymore to hear you like this.” AL watched Tal out of the corner of their eyes nod.

“Ok. So then why are you mad?” AL tried hard to not roll their eyes and finally sat up, leaning their back against the wall and facing Tal.

“Kallic was being a dick again. That’s all.”

“Dick means genitalia.” Tal stated more than asked.

“It can also mean he was being a jerk, rude, stupid.” Tal nodded once more.

“Ok. But then you started to panic.” AL’s eye twitched. “You knew I was coming and started panicking. Was it because of what Kallic said to you?” AL thought carefully.

“No.” she licked her lips. “I just wasn’t prepared for you to come in.” Tal’s ears quirked up and their short snout twitched.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t have to let me in! Was I interrupting something? I can leave!” The alien began to stand up properly.

“No No No!” AL scooted towards the edge of their bed and waved Tal down. “You’re ok! It’s ok! You weren’t interrupting anything!” Tal quieted and settled back down with a tilted head and twitching ears.

“Then why were you panicking? Do I scare you? I thought we were past that.” Poor thing sounded hurt. AL-07 bit their lip and finally crouched on the floor next to their bed.

“Just don’t tell anyone ok?” Tal nodded and curiously crouched down further as AL pulled the box forward and opened it. “I was just pigging out on chips and I didn’t really wanna share them with you.” Tal jerked back. Once more their node twitched and their ears stood straight up.

“You’re hungry? Are we not feeding you enough? I am so sorry! Come we will go get you food now!” AL, exasperated now, grabbed onto Tal’s armored wrist and yanked back with all their might.

“No it’s not that! Calm down already damn it!” Tal paused in their hurried motions and watched as AL collapsed back onto the bed with a “oumph”

“Then why were you eating if you did not need the sustenance?”

“I was annoyed! I was angry eating.” Tal tilted their head and AL rubbed their face before settling themselves down more comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Some humans like to eat. Like a lot. They may not need to, they might not even be hungry, but sometimes they’ll eat just cause. They could be sad, angry, bored, whatever. Sometimes they just want a certain taste of something and will eat just enough to get that.” Tal nodded.

“You were angry so you were eating even though you didn’t need to.” AL nodded back at them. They grabbed the bag of chips and showed them to Tal.

“These are crispy. They’re salty and they’re not very filling. Perfect for when I wan’t something like that, great for bored eating and angry eating.” She grabbed one of the bags of gummy candy she put in earlier. “And these are sweet and gummy. Great for when I want something like that, or just want something a little chewy.” Tal nodded.

“Human’s are so much more complex than I thought. So then why did you hide them from me? You didn’t want to share with me? Is that another weird human thing?” AL rolled their eyes.

“The last few times I left stuff like this sitting in the kitchen someone else ate it and threw it out. Nothing is more heartbreaking then telling yourself you’re going to treat yourself to something only to find it gone.”

“It is upsetting to find the food you worked hard to get gone missing.” Tal nodded. “Got it.” AL nodded although deep down they wanted to roll their eyes extra hard.

“Right.”

“So what else to humans do with their food? I would like to know. I know the Glorans will get angry and violent if anyone tries to interrupt their meal time. Do humans bite if someone reaches for their food?”

“Um, maybe? It depends on the human. Especially when they’re starving. If a human is starving it can alter their mood or energy. They can get tired, groggy, quiet, maybe even angry in general. I usually refer to that as being “hangry”.”

“Hangry?” AL nodded.

“If a human announces that they are Hangry then they are warning you that they are in a bad mood because they are too hungry. It's almost like a warning. If you don’t want to deal with them in a bad mood then get them food.” Tal nodded.

“I think I myself was… Hangry… just the other day.” AL began to nod but stopped themselves. God, with the number of conversations they had over human and alien conventions, AL was beginning to feel like a dancing parrot with all the head bobbing.

“Right! You were getting all twitchy when we were trying to fix the Galactic Tic Speculator for all of the ship’s main Tic Recorders! And then once we got to the cafeteria you refused to engage in conversation until we got some food in you!” Tal clasped their hands together and bounced slightly on their ind legs.

“Oh this is so exciting!” They finally uncurled themselves fully from their position and circled around behind AL onto the bed, leaving a large circle for AL to relax in whilst being surrounded by Tal. “Now you said Kallic made you mad. Let us “talk shit” about him until you feel better.” AL cackled and settled back against Tal’s soft armored stomach.

“Oh my god he’s such an idiot!” Tal nodded.

“He does think highly of himself much in the way that a insufferable Belswax would!”