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strangererotica · 8 months ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

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stellarbit · 2 months ago

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Just One Bite

Follower Event Request: @covert1ntrovert

First off wow wow wow congrats to you on 1,000!!! I’m so glad to be here with you in this little corner of the fandom. I love your writing and how it makes me giddy and kick my feet. You had me at “personal prompts” and I’ve been feeling a bit down lately, doubting my abilities and all that good stuff. I feel like Tech would have NONE of that. If I may humbly request NSFW Tech using prompts “what is it about me that isn’t good enough?” and “bite me” 🤣?Your Tech writing is always DELISH. Maybe the reader got them stuck somewhere by accident and it’s the last straw of her self doubt?Always a NP request and no hard feelings if you decide not to do it! Thank you for doing this event! ♥️🙏

Word Count: 6,159

Pairing: fem!reader x Tech

Warnings: hurt/comfort, NSFW, receiving and giving oral, touching all around.

Summary: It was your fault you got hurt and not something you want to admit. Tech corners you to assess your injuries and tensions rise.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You screamed into your palms, face hidden from the scene at hand.

Crumpled and smoking in front of you was the speeder you and Tech had ‘commandeered’ as Tech so politely put it. ‘Stolen’ is how the authorities would put it if - when - they caught up with you. Which, considering your immobilized mode of escape, was more likely to happen than not.

Initially, Tech had been resistant to let you drive, but your insistence—coupled with the increasing urgency to leave—had finally worn him down. Following his directions, you navigated through a series of ravines to avoid detection, with Tech diligently monitoring nearby comm channels and attempting to enhance the signal reception. Your focus was on hugging a wall through a particularly tight turn until an overcorrection sent the tail of the speeder crashing into the rockface.

Tech's quick reflexes were what saved you both. He managed to throw you to safety just moments before the speeder collided with the wall and tumbled to the ground below. As you both stood, the sight of fuel leaking from the wreckage dashed any hopes of salvaging the vehicle.

Tech, to his credit, didn’t seem nearly as concerned as you were - or at all for that matter. His indifference about the situation only further spurred your inward frustration.

Holding his datapad in the air, Tech roamed and scanned the surrounding terrain. He wasn’t surprised that it proved difficult to pinpoint the Marauder’s coordinates. Afterall, the remote nature of the facility you’d infiltrated left you fairly stranded and the weather patterns interrupted clear comm signals. All factors that Tech took into account prior to relying on one method of escape. Having the topography committed to memory, Tech knew contacting his brothers was only a matter of reaching a nearby clifftop.

He hadn’t been expecting to find you still sat with your head in your hands by the time his nose was out of his datapad. You did not appear to be in distress, but you also Tech couldn’t decipher your silent state.

Tech recognized you as a worthy addition to the missions you helped with. Your knowledge of nearby planets, connections amongst locals, and outright grit framed you as anything but a liability. Beyond that, and whether Tech could acknowledge it or not, your company made his squad feel less incomplete.

Gripping his datapad tighter, Tech finally broke the silence. “Were you… injured in the crash?”

On a sigh, you answered, “No.” Shaking your head, you dropped your hands and pushed yourself to your feet. You faced Tech with a tight lipped smile. “You were right. You should’ve driven.”

“Agreed.” Tech immediately agreed, simply believing he would not have made the same mistake. Comfortable knowing you were unharmed, Tech turned back to his datapad. Getting back to the Marauder took precedence. “There is a plateau one klik south of here. We can better signal for pickup from there.”

You made it away from the scene and to the plateau with no trouble. It seemed security had not been as tight as you’d planned for. You’d been silent the majority of the journey and notably remained so as you and Tech stood waiting for pickup.

The quiet was loud for Tech who was struggling under the weight of not speaking. Unable to resist some sort of commentary, Tech walked up to where you stood staring out over the edge of the plateau.“Of all our missions so far, I’d say that was our easiest yet.”

“Ng,” Your eyes found focus on the distant smoke lingering from the crash. “And yet we almost died.”

“Hardly,” Tech scoffed at the notion that he’d perish in such a scenario. “Escaping the crash was very nearly the easiest portion of our mission.”

You mumbled something unintelligible in response, but before he could press for clarification the Marauder descended through the thick cloud cover. You were quick in boarding midair and Tech didn’t hesitate in following your lead, presumably leaving his pestering on the plateau.

Wrecker emerged from the cockpit, positioning himself next to Hunter at the naviscreens with Omega eagerly squeezing between them.

Hunter leaned forward in his seat, a smirk pinching into his tattoo as he scanned you and his brother. “Run into some trouble?”

You bypassed the group, seeking the solitude of a bunk, but Omega tailed you.

“We saw smoke,” Omega worried at your heels. “Was that you?”

“Yes,” Tech replied, his voice a blend of annoyance and factual precision. “The ravines were more narrow than anticipated.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Wrecker barked. “So much for being a good pilot.” He lopped a hand onto Tech’s shoulder, rattling his brother with a chuckle.

“I - ” Tech made his emphasis by shoving Wrecker off, “-was not the one driving.”

Wrecker’s laughter died down as he caught the tail end of you slinking into a bunk. You kept your back to everyone, doing your best to keep casual despite the shame churning your gut.

A small hand rested on your side as Omega gently asked, “Are you alright?” Despite her barely touching you, the spot she brushed was badly sore. You didn’t need to see bare skin to know a contusion painted your side.

Conjuring one more smile for Omega, you kept a measured breath as you twisted to face her and pain stabbed through your abdomen. “I’m fine. Just need to rest for a bit.”

To your surprise, they all seemed to respect your need for quiet. Unfortunately, peaceful as it was, it made it all the easier to get lost in the spiral of your shortcomings. Disappointment wormed its way through you as you worried over the scale of your mediocrity.

When you’d reentered Ord Mantel’s atmosphere and hardly stirred, Omega approached Tech with a worried frown. “Tech?”

“What is it?” Tech chirped back without breaking his focus on piloting.

Omega glanced back at you. “Did something else happen? She’s not usually this quiet after a mission.”

This pulled Tech’s attention away as he craned around to observe you. He looked for only a second before facing forward with a shrug. “She did say she needed to rest.” He paused, considering the thought for a moment before swiftly flipping a switch on the dash. “Although, it is possible the crash was more impactful than she admitted. Monitor her for any signs of physical discomfort. I can examine her after we land.”

Seemingly satisfied with his response, Omega nodded and returned to her seat with another glance in your direction. The young clone kept a vigilant watch all the way through landing. Content on keeping her distance until you sat up with a wince.

Tech barely made it out of his seat before Omega cut him off. He looked over her head for a clue to her urgency. Echo, Wrecker and Hunter were filing out of the Marauder while you were gathering your things in the back. Tech watched you awkwardly shift around as Omega reported back, “I think you were right.It looked painful for her to get up.”

“Indeed. Good obseravation, Omega. I’ll take it from here.” Tech said and quickly pointed to the mouth of the Marauder. “Join the others outside. We'll follow shortly after I’ve assessed her condition.”

Omega’s pout was brief as she obeyed, turning to follow the others out of the ship.

Air pressure released and the ship continued to settle as Tech approached. You stood at the edge of the bunk, shifting the contents of your bag around with nothing left to pack up. As he saw it, you appeared to be stalling rather than actively leaving.

The quiet nature of the return flight had been lost on Tech. Piloting narrowed his focus to almost deafening proportions and little interrupted him when he was set on a task. Now, in the silence of just the two of you, he understood what Omega had sensed.

You were simply not behaving in your usual energetic pattern. It was understandable, afterall a change in attitude is not atypical at the onset of pain.

Tech was passing the naviscreens when you, eyes fixed intently on your bag, said, “You don’t need to wait up for me, I’m almost done.”

Bringing his datapad to his face, Tech began to calibrate a body scan with a shrug, “Actually, I came to scan you for injuries,” he stated matter of factly.

“I already said I’m fine.” You shot back, the edge in your tone sharper as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

“A statement my scan will verify,” Tech casually challenged. He didn’t wait for your consent before positioning his datapad towards you.

You swept the device out of your way without the light even grazing you. “I’m not doing this.” You breezed past him, albeit with an off kilter gait.

Slightly offended, Tech pulled his device back with a scowl on you. Your actions lacked logic. Why such a harsh reaction to such a small thing?

The hatch door shut, cutting off your avenue of sulking and trapping you inside with Tech. Swallowing the urge to slam on the door, you dropped your bag to pivot in place. Tech stood, finger still on the control panel and a firm look about him.

You shrugged your shoulders with an annoyed gesture. “Get on with it then.”

Tech didn’t budge from his spot. “What is your issue?”

Obvious frustration crimped your expression. Silence settled between you again, icy and tense. “Nothing. Just leave it and do your scan.”

He blinked, the confusion clear on his face as he tried to decipher what ‘it’ could be. At first, he thought you were avoiding the scan, but your reluctant permission contradicted that theory.

Maintaining his distance, Tech thought for another moment. The clear catalyst for your change in demeanor had been the accident. While he’d never seen you severely injured, this reaction was ranging into the unusual. Though, he needed more information before he could conclude anything further.

With a minor sidestep, Tech pointed a finger in the direction of the bunks. “Take a seat. This should only take a moment.”

You moved silently to the bottom bunk, seating yourself with a notable rigidity. Tech observed the way you avoided his gaze. You’d once pointed out his own habit of avoiding eye contact and, in turn, he made a point of matching your eye when you looked his way.

At first it was out of spite, yet now, he found himself genuinely valuing that connection, missing it in this moment.

True to his word the scan was fleeting. Its blue light briefly passed over you from head to toe and back again. While shifting through the analytics with one hand while absently adjusting his goggles with the other.r. In the end, the results were to be expected and thankfully the best case scenario.

“You’ll need to remove your top garments.” Tech said with clinical nonchalance that snapped your head up.

“Why?”

He rotated his datapad to show you the display, where a human torso was outlined in red. “You’ve sustained a mild contusion on your right lateral rib cage. I need to inspect for any potential lacerations.”

Your heart sank as you considered what lay beneath your clothing—a mark of vulnerability, a physical confirmation of your limitations.

As you clenched the edge of the bunk, a quiet confession slipped from you, “What’s wrong with me?”

Unlike on the plateau, Tech caught your faint words. Still, he asked, “Say again?”

“What I mean is-” A muscle feathered in your jaw, your teeth ground tight as you continued. “-just what about me isn’t good enough?”

Taken aback, Tech shifted on his feet. You made less sense as you went on. “I… am not sure I follow your question.”

On a soft growl you started tugging at your clothes and pulling them off, blatantly disregarding your injuries. “All I do-” You grunted as one layer came off. “-is hold everyone back and everything I do-” another layer cut you short as you struggled to get it over your head.

Seeing your struggle, Tech set his datapad aside and stepped forward to assist. His fingers carefully guided the fabric over your head, his gaze inadvertently dropping—not to the injury on your rib, but to the exposed skin of your chest. It was a sight he had not anticipated affecting him, yet he found

Once freed, you scrubbed your face in frustration before slumping forward. The motion forced Tech to step back to avoid collision.

On a heavy breath you finally confessed, “I just… no matter how hard I try I fail at everything I do.”

“That would be an overstatement.”

You slowly looked up with a questioning - nearly offended - look about you.

“In other words, an exaggeration.” Tech explained without prompting.

“I know what an overstatement is.” You hissed back.

Rolling his eyes, Tech bent to one knee. “Then I will assume you recognize your proclamation as one such example.” Head tipped back, he inspected the bright red blotch marking the side of your chest. Gingerly, he brushed a thumb over the spot, gauging your reaction to the slight pressure.

Your eyes were already shut by the time you felt his fingertips. There was no containing your flinch, one born from the slight pain and knowing it was Tech’s touch on you. You at least succeeded to brace against the instinct to angle into his hand.

“I need you to open your eyes,” Tech instructed calmly. Your lack of response made him repeat himself, calling your name in a softer tone. “Open your eyes.”

It took you a moment to concede. Tech remained kneeling before you, fingers still on your bruise. Now assured that your pupils were of even size with no sign of a serious connection, Tech returned his focus to the wound.

As if he was listing off a droid’s malfunction, Tech said simply, “It is unreasonable to expect any one person to excel in everything life demands.” While his hand went in search of his datapad, he continued. “Each person has strengths and weaknesses. The unfortunate truth is that learning one’s strengths is often the lesson of failures.”

Another scan passed over your rib cage and Tech paused, his eyes losing focus. Eventually his eyes met yours, making you unsure of what to make of his eyes looking between yours.

“However, that does not mean failures are our shortcomings. On the contrary, our failures only make us better prepared for whatever comes next. I am no exception. My decisions have not always panned out as I anticipated.” He shrugged, unbothered by admitting he wasn’t always right. “As long as you survive and adapt, failing is only a minor inconvenience.”

Your lips wobbled, straining against a surge of emotion. Coming from Tech, who navigated his life in logic, the sentiment was more comforting than you could’ve imagined. A lump formed in your throat and, in fear of a watery response, you chose to simply smile and nod your head.

The small change in your demeanor pulled a barely there smile from the technician. You seemed lighter in that moment, allowing him to divert his attention back to his datapad. He quickly swiped through the results, bringing his screen closer on one particular data point.. Brows bouncing up, he seemed pleasantly surprised and set aside his device.

“You’re in luck,” Tech announced, a hint of relief in his voice as he set aside his datapad. “On closer examination, your ribs are bruised but not fractured.” He carefully removed his glove, a rare gesture that made his next action feel even more personal. His hand gently pressed against the side of your chest, checking the swelling more precisely. “Now we—”

He paused, his eyes lifting to meet yours again. Something in your expression halted him mid-sentence. From behind his goggles Tech’s brows twitched together. There appeared another side of you he’d not yet seen.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The usual hum of the ship's systems in the background seemed to fade into a hushed silence as Tech watched you. Your face was nearly as red as your ribs, eyes blown wide, and fingers dug so tightly into the mattress it looked liable to tear. Where your lips had wavered before, they were now set in a fine, anxious line as if you’d been caught doing something.More tellingly, Tech noted as he leaned in slightly, your pupils were dilated despite the dim lighting. Beneath his palm, he could feel your heartbeat racing.

His palm yanked you from a fog of self-doubt, grounding you in the intimacy of your shared space. His kneeling in front of you spiraled you into past fantasies. Fantasies of this very scenario. And you knew that big brain was dissecting you, analyzing every nuance in your awkward positioning.

Tech was too close, you thought. The bunk was too small. You were too exposed. It was all too much. Heat crept through your torso and flushed the skin of your chest.

Tech thumbed through his known catalogue of expressions. The tells you exhibited were slightly off-putting to him, not because they were undesirable but because they were unfamiliar. “Does the pressure hurt? You look uncomfortable”

You caught your breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “It’s not…” You choked, the words already coming out wrong. “No. No, I’m not in pain. Not really.” Another wave of heat rushed through you, willing you to push through the embarrassment.

You were already half naked, kriff it.

“Actually, I like it.”

Tech retracted slightly, eyes wide and hand falling from your chest to idly rest at the crook of your hip. “You… enjoy the pain?” His voice quivered with curious shock.

A small, nervous laugh sputtered out of you, an equally nervous hand setting over Tech’s. His body went rigid, only his eyes darting to your hand and back, as you gave him a gentle squeeze. “I liked this.” You gave another, gentler squeeze. “You touching me.”

Those brown eyes returned to your joined hands, a lump bobbing in his throat as he considered his options. This was a far cry from what he’d anticipated, but as he turned your words over one last time all hesitation faded.

All that remained was fascination.

Within your hold, Tech mirrored your touch and pressed his fingers into the soft curve of your hip. He looked up in time to catch you sucking in a breath and pressed further.

“You enjoy something like this?” he asked, his voice low.

"Yeah, something like that," you whispered back, the proximity and his touch drawing out a confession that felt both frightening and freeing.

Where he’d leaned away earlier, Tech now shifted closer to you. “Is it the skinship you enjoy?” His hand slid up to your waist, his touch deliberate and exploratory. “Is it the comfort of the positioning? Or is it-”

“It’s you.” You cut him off, leaving Tech in a rare moment of stunned silence. You pressed his hand harder into you. “I like it because it’s you touching me.”

Cogs obviously turned in his head. “Is it that you prefer when I am the one to examine you or is it how I am currently touching you.”

“Tech…” Your voice was low and strained. You’d teetered at this edge plenty of times before - the edge of confession. His brothers or sister usually unwittingly saved you in those moments. Without them you tumbled over the edge, words spilling out. “I don’t care how it happens. I’d love it all. You could bite me and I’d be happy.”

“Shall I?” Tech’s response was immediate, his tone devoid of any jest—purely inquisitive, reflecting his desire to understand and engage with your needs.

You stilled and, in the silence between you, you were sure he could hear your heartbeat. “Shall you what?”

“Bite you.” Tech blinked, his question simple and to the point. He wasn’t teasing.

Your answer was immediate, “Bite me.”

He adjusted himself, pushing closer to you while widening your legs. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning you, not with the cold detachment of a medic, but with the focused intensity of someone seeking the perfect point of connection. Settling on the simplest area, Tech turned his hand in yours and brought your wrist close to his face.

You held your breath as he opened his mouth, drawing you closer, and bit the side of your wrist. It wasn’t his teeth that strung a desperate noise from you, but the soft, warmth of his lips driving heat through you. Tech bit softly before releasing you.

His gaze remained where his mouth had been. Turning your wrist over, in his hand, he angled his head back. With a cocked brow, he leveled you a skeptical look. “Did that meet your expectations?”

“Almost.” That one word was a warning sign of your growing greed. How much could you get away with?

Dissatisfied with your answer, Tech’s lips pursed into a frown, “Almost?”

Leaning forward, your hand still suspended in Tech’s, you felt something building between you. Mutual, heavy tension strung you towards him. “Almost,” you affirmed, very aware of the boundary you were toeing.

Tech stood, posturing over you with that same frown. An anxious notion sunk into you - had you pushed too far?

He watched you sit before him, looking for signs of hesitancy or deception but found none. His lips quirked into a half-smile as he noted the hastening rise and fall of your chest and the expectant look about you.

Delicately, he guided you to your feet, leaving little to no room between your bodies and the bunks. “Then perhaps,” He paused, considering his next words carefully, “you can direct me to where exactly would satisfy those expectations.”

A sharp inhale pressed your chest into his, knotting an ache for more inside you. You put weight behind that connection and tilted your head to the side.

With your neck exposed you followed his suggestion. “Try there.”

You couldn’t see his reaction, but you felt the straightening of his back as if to glean a glance at your expression before replying, “Was my previous bite force sufficient?”

“It was nice,” you answered. How much can you ask? The question ran past you and you offered little consideration as you took another step beyond the boundaries between you. “But a little harder this time.”

He needed no further information to make his move. In one motion, he let go of your wrist to hold you in place and plant his mouth over the crook of your neck. He kept you still with one hand at your shoulder and the other at your neck.

Tech swiped his tongue gently over your skin, wetting the space, and just when you wanted to beg him for more he bit down. Electricity shot through you and between your legs, wilting you under the weight of him. A gasping, pleased, giggle escaped you as your fingers dug into his arms, desperate to keep yourself from collapsing.

Fed by your reaction, Tech repeated himself. A swipe of his tongue and then biting with increasing pressure until you fully fell into him. Your entire body squirmed against him, as if you sought any contact with him you could manage.

It took no time for the technician to realize that was precisely what you wanted and he found no reason to deny you.

He broke from you only enough to firmly say, “What else will elicit such a response from you?”

You put your face against his chest, willing coherence through the heat coursing through you. Restraint gave way and desire took hold. Chasing the ache between your legs, you slipped your hand between your bodies and over your pants, careful to curve your fingers enough that you pressed into Tech as well.

“Anything you do here will do far more than that.”

It could’ve been the vague wording or perhaps his basic understanding of anatomy that made Tech pause. He pieced together the implication, but did not question the request. Afterall, even a devout trooper such as himself had his own curiosity to sate. He would not let such an opportunity pass.

“Anything?” He asked, lips still hovering over the skin of your neck, the energy behind his intrigue obvious.

Something about his unhindered compliance made you groan, struggling to restrain yourself.

Starving for more you took hold of his chest plate and drug him down to your level

“Anything.” You asserted.

The cadence of your voice, the strain between syllables, your blatant need put Tech into motion. He knew enough, had done enough ‘research,’ to let instinct take over.

Tech lifted his head, eyes fixed behind you, and said into your ear. “I’ll need you to turn around.”

Obeying, you turned and braced your hands on the upper bunk for anything that was coming.

With no effort at all, as if he’d done so a hundred times, Tech worked your belt free and swiftly slipped his hand into your pants.

“I cannot see your reactions. So,” Tech paused while pressing three digits into your mound. He gently lowered his touch until you gave him a sharp inhale and Tech knew he found his mark. At this, he continued, “You will need to vocalize them.”

You could only groan in response to his fingers rolling over your clit. Pleasure curved your back against him, a moan, louder than before, following when his rhythm hit an exceptionally sensitive spot.

“That is more like it.” Tech said with his chin notched over your shoulder, keeping you pressed against him for the best view of his maneuvers.

His fingers moved through different motions. Back and forth swipes evolved into slow, small circles. Your head fell back, neck limp, when his middle finger slipped over your folds to the wet pooling between them. It was a shallow exploration, testing waters he’d never touched.

Curiosity overrode his attention and Tech pulled his hand from your pants. Pulling his hand where you both could see, Tech rubbed his middle finger against his thumb. Traces of you wet Tech’s finger, leaving a string between his fingers when they relaxed.

“Tell me, is this your typical response to such behaviors?” Tech asked, an air of intrigue in his voice. “More specifically- the amount of fluids produced.”

Your head suddenly dropped forward, finding as much humor as embarrassment in his question. You scoffed, “Are you asking me if I’m usually this wet?”

The question jolted Tech. “I…” He studied the sheen on his fingers once more as he considered the question. It took only a second or two for his fingers to journey downwards again. “I suppose that is another way to put it.”

“Then no,” you were interrupted when his touch immediately dialed in on your clit. A soft brush and you were hissing as you admitted, “It’s because it is your touch that I’m this way.”

“Curious.” Tech mumbled, simultaneously flushing himself against you and quickly hooking his fingers back into you. Pride marked his face with a smirk and he said, “I quite like hearing that.”

His digits curled against your walls while pressing his palm against your clit. He had you in his hand, making easy work of bringing you to your knees, and still Tech didn’t fully realize all that he was doing to you. Even when small tremors shook your legs and breath was escaping you, Tech never eased his pace.

Not until your hands left the bunk in front of you to cling onto him did he notice what was about to happen. With one hand at his shoulder and the other grasping and your other gripping the forearm working you up, you pressed back into him. Your muscles tensed against him as you grinded into the codpiece at your back.

“Let me hear you.” Tech said in a low voice, lips brushing the skin before biting down on you. The pressure mounted slowly until you broke.

All of the tension that had been twisting through you snapped. Pleasure whined out of you, the euphoria of it all driving you to move with Tech’s touch despite the tremors shaking your legs.

Only when your legs gave way did Tech ease his rhythm to support your weight. He kept you upright with an arm around your waist and a hand in yours.

After allowing you a few moments to breathe, Tech cleared his throat to ask, “Do you… need to sit down?”

Although facial expressions didn’t grant him the full scope of a person’s intentions or thoughts, they certainly gave Tech some insight. Having not seen your face, let alone having experienced intimacy like this before, Tech tread carefully.

A laugh resonated from you, catching Tech slightly off guard. Humorous was not a descriptor he thought matched your scenario.

“I’m fine.” You said, your voice smooth and pleased. Angling your head, you peaked over your shoulder at the tall clone. “Though, I’d like you to sit.”

“I did not exert enough energy to call for concern. I am fine.” Blunt logic took its usual foothold in Tech’s tone. He began disentangling himself from you, but you kept a firm grip on his hand.

You turned, simultaneously pulling him with you and repositioning you both so that Tech stood between you and the bunks. There was a glow to you, a satisfied, warm smile stretching over your face. Tech held his breath as your hand rested on his chest plate.

You gave him one small push, and despite him being more than capable of resisting, he humored you and sat back. Although, it was more accurate to say he was humoring you as much as he was his own interest. It was just that he wasn’t sure what more there was to explore given that he’d accomplished his objective, seeing you to completion.

Leaning down to his level, there was a snicker in your voice as you said, “You don’t need to look so scared.”

Offended by the notion, Tech clicked his tongue. “That is hardly the case. I am not even sure what would call for fear at this moment.”

Leaning ever so slightly farther, you lowered your voice to barely a whisper. “Then remove your codpiece.”

Tech pulled back, getting a better view of your face to confirm that you were indeed serious. Maintaining eye contact, he followed your order and tossed the armor onto the bunk.

He hadn’t expected there to be so much pressure relieved in the motion. Touching you consumed so much of his attention, Tech failed to notice how hard his cock was pressed against his armor.

By the look on your face, you’d not expected such a reaction either. A sizable bulge stretched his blacks tight, practically begging to be released.

“Do you know what I intend to do, Tech?” Your tongue wet your lips, eager to start but not assumptious enough to do so without consent.

“To a certain extent, but I’m open to demonstration.” Midway through his sentence, you were already on your knees. Your hand palmed his bulge in time with his last syllable, earning a gulp from the clone.

More pressure from you and a subsequent groan from Tech fueled both of you into fumbling together to pull back his blacks. There were no words remaining between you when his cock sprung free. It postured forward towards you, already throbbing from your brief touch.

A significant twitch pushed a bead of precum down his cock. You watched it slide down his length, leaving a trail over the veins of his cock to rest on his balls. Lowering yourself, you swept a thumb over the precum to smear it up his cock.

Surprisingly, it elicited the softest noise from Tech. Your hand froze in place, eyes darting up to Tech’s and his expression sent a jolt straight to your pussy. Just the sight of him, mouth slightly ajar and brows pulled together in anticipation, made you just as turned on as his physical touch.

Moreso even.

Eyes locked on his, you extended your touch to wrap around him while opening your mouth. Tech couldn’t resist breaking eye contact to watch as your tongue touched him and slid up his length.

Tech found it difficult to pin a description for what your tongue had him feeling. It was unlike anything he’d felt and nothing close to what his own hand was capable of. Amidst the swell of pleasure, Tech was distracted by the fact that nothing may surpass the sensation.

Until your tongue circled the tip of his cock and you took him entirely into your mouth. Tech jolted forward, holding your head in his hands as in a feeble attempt to control the electricity coursing from his cock.

It did nothing to deter you. If anything, his extreme reaction quickened your pace. A few bobs on his cock and you took him in until he stretched into your throat.

He grit his teeth but couldn’t hold back a groan. You answered by swiping your tongue against him as you pulled back, humming as you moved. Your hand quickly followed your lips, matching your groove as you worked his cock.

Tech’s fingers dug into your hair and his thighs tensed. Without slowing, you glanced up, trailing your tongue up the length of his cock to showcase your open mouth. For a split second, you saw the whites of his eyes. His stunned expression brought you a smile as you held his stare for a beat longer and then ducked back down.

Something about your momentary pause, perhaps your pleased acknowledgement, made his cock swell enough for you to open slightly wider to accommodate him.

A few more smooth bobs over his cock and Tech twitched and writhed for you. His hips shifted in place, unable to sit through the tension coiling in his core. One particular pass of your mouth squeezed him to where he came completely undone.

He writhed, bucking against ecstasy he’d never felt. Before the stimulation overwhelmed him you gently slip up and off of him, taking care to clean any excess mess on your way.

Where you thought he would be overwhelmed, eyes shut and muscles tensed, Tech was rather collected. He was slumped back against the wall, taking even breaths, while he examined his exposed self. Albeit already flushed, Tech did finally notice your eyes on him and another wave of red brightened his cheeks and ears.

Averting his eyes, Tech quickly fixed himself, tucking his member away and clicking his armor back into place.

“That was…” His hands, finished with their work, paused as he considered an appropriate descriptor but shifted to his goggles as he continued, “Rather stimulating.”

You coughed out a laugh, wiping your face and clearing your throat as you rose to your feet. His eyes followed you as you rose over him. Wiping your hand on the fabric of your pants, you extended the now half-way clean hand.

He didn’t hesitate in taking it, ducking as he cleared the bunk beds and again towered over you.

“Did that meet your expectations?” You couldn’t bring yourself to name the act and banked on Tech sparing you the clarification.

Tech’s head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowing for a moment before softening and falling to his utility belt. He fidgeted with nonexistent adjustments, casually saying, “I was raised as a soldier of The Republic. That was a situation that I ever expected to find myself in, therefore I have no standard to compare against and hold no expectations.”

He cleared his throat again, but still avoided your eye as he withdrew his datapad. “I assumed you’d have known that.”

You blinked once then twice and said. “I never really considered that.”

Tech side stepped out of your way, unsure of what to do now that tensions were settled. Before he could fully step away, you grabbed him by his elbow. He looked back at you, caught off by the additional contact.

“Now you have something to compare it against.”

His eyes widened and mouth opened to respond yet nothing came out for a moment. It took a moment for it to compute, but he finally nodded and turned away again. You noticed his hand moving to his goggles again. “Y-yes, I suppose you are correct… assuming that happens again.”

You snorted, his sudden shyness was cute. Breezing past him, you made it to the control board before him to open the Marauder’s hatch. Sparing him the additional attention you continued to the exit, saying over your shoulder. “Oh it will.”

Still reeling from the earlier heat, Tech stood stunned in place watching you exit. None of that went as planned and, as his attention fell back to his datapad, he found it didn’t upset him. He replayed your little promise and smiled, suddenly ready to plan for the next time.

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #bad batch #tbb tech #tbb tech x you #tbb tech x reader #x reader #x you #tech x reader #the bad batch tech x you #the bad batch tech x reader #tech x you #@bruh-myguy-what @cyaretra @jetii @hshfsjzjsgj @zahmaddog @heidnspeak

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perpetuallyobsessed0613 · 2 years ago

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Fontaine Characters Headcanons/Theories

Some of this info is known cause the siblings info got released but still:

Focalors

Hedonist

Really only in it for entertainment (she’s just….kinda a loser 💀💀💀😭😭😭)

Hot-headed, a little childish, gives Neuvillette a hard time (yeeeah)

Would give up her Gnosis in a heartbeat if it was needed to place a bet

But would fight tooth and nail to get it back if she lost the bet

Hydro Archon (confirmed)

Hydro (confirmed, duh) /Sword (confirmed based on her Statue of the Seven)

Arlecchino

Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers

The Knave

Used to be an actress

Method actress, used methods so outlandish she was kicked from theater

From Fontaine originally (HAH I WAS RIGHT)

Used to be an orphan

Runs an orphanage called House of the Hearth, uses it to recruit Fatui agents (!!!!!)

Those aren't gloves on her hands, she bears a curse or she's been turned into a non human entity

Pyro vision/Sword (leaks confirm she’s a Polearm!)

Cryo Delusion

Neuvillette

Stone cold serious type (he’s literally the sweetest I love him????)

Huge proponent of justice (yup!)

Chief Justice of Fontaine

Puts up with Focalors’s attitude (Pretty much 😭)

Loyal to Archon (or is he)

Descended from mermaids (YALL YALL APPARENTLY HE'S THE HYDRO DRAGON SOVEREIGN???????!!!! WTF OMG)

Waiting for Wriothesley to slip up so he can put him in the slammer once and for all (political rival mayhaps idk)

His name deconstructed means "new city": mayhaps he's awaiting a moment to dethrone the archon and reconstruct Fontaine?

Hydro/Sword (apparently he's a Catalyst user,,,,missed the opportunity to give him a fencing sword as a weapon but whatever ig)

Clordine

Assistant to Neuvillette

Bodyguard (yeeeah)

Prosecutor of Fontiane

Detail oriented, nothing gets past her

Vicious and Merciless (literally kinda the opposite but kinda not)

Eventually goes up against Arlecchino

Navia is her arch nemesis, seems as though Goldilocks is the only one having fun with their game of cat & mouse (the way I was off)

Electro (confirmed) /new weapon: Gun (Sword!)

Lyney

Super protective of Lynette (rightfully so holy shit)

Loves the chase

Cunning (eeeeh)

Very street smart (I mean kinda yeah)

You can’t tell whether he’s putting up a front, actually enjoys his web of lies, or a little bit of both

This man's gonna get used while thinking he's using the person that's using him at some point (oh Arlecchino I swear to god you better not)

Pyro (confirmed)/Bow (confirmed)

Lynette

Something has happened to her in the past (…..well that was dark)

She’s not temperamental at all (yup)

She doesn’t smile too easily (mhm)

Strongest bond with Lyney (they twins lesgo)

Perceptive and agile (very!)

Lynette escapes her brother’s net of safety to save the traveler at some point (not so likely)

Anemo (confirmed) /Sword (confirmed)

Freminet

Youngest sibling (yup)

introverted/enjoys personal space and quiet (lmfao I knew it)

Love for the water

Renowned Diver of the Court of Fontaine (confirmed)

Silent protector of both his older siblings (idrk)

Highkey that smartest book-wise out of the siblings (again idk)

Cryo (confirmed) /Claymore (confirmed)

Sigewinne

Healer

Alchemist

Provides treatment for Wriothesley’s visual impairment

If not treatment, then she prefers sweet tasting drinks and Wriothesley prefers bitter but she still tries to get him on her new concoctions

Sibling dynamic/found family w/ Wriothesley

Hydro/Catalyst

Wriothesley

May or may not be somewhat visually impaired

If so, not particularly compliant with treatment

If not treatment, then he prefers bitter tasting drinks and sometimes humors Sigewinne by trying her new concoctions, mostly just pretends he’s converted to sweet and then goes for coffee or tea anyways

Likes to tease Sigewinne

Sibling dynamic/found family w/ Sigewinne

Investigator for Fontaine justice system (woeful news, he's a police officer. like not even a detective dude?)

Seems pretty chilled out, strategic, could be leading the organized crime w/Navia in secret

if he is secretly running robinhood-esque crimes with navia, then...Neuvillette sniffs something suspicious but never has the evidence to back it oop

Pyro/Claymore (He’s a Cryo Catalyst but his fists go boom boom like Heizou)

Navia

Gives off Focalors vibes (was very wrong)

Playful (yeah I mean yeah)

Career Thief OR

Notorious organized criminal in Fontaine (literally what was I on)

Robin Hood of the sewers (I mean I was kinda sorta a tiny bit right)

Crafty, craftsman (ummm I guess her mind is?)

Super sweet, wonderful character (loved her so yes)

Loves messing with Clordine by making her think she's got her but escaping right in the nick of time (….needless to say I was way off)

Geo (confirmed)/Catalyst (claymore actually)

#fontaine #final feast #overture teaser #genshin #genshin impact #navia #Wriothesley #Sigewinne #Freminet #Lynette #Lyney #Clordine #Neuvillette #Focalors #arlecchino #hc #headcanon #if we really think about it #navia is sampo and clordine is gepard

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schroedingerscryptid · 5 days ago

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good evening mothers and fuckers of the jury today i bring: Amphoreus Is A Neural Network

my credentials: i’m a first year CS student in 2025.

if y’all’ve been on hsrtwt in the past few days and watching leak after leak come out, then you probably know what i’m yapping about. if not, check this, this, this, and this out.

if you’d rather wait for 3.4 to come out, this is your chance to scroll. rest of y’all are with me lets go gamers

to summarise the 3.4 leaks, lygus and cyrene are apparently running tests on phainon to make the perfect lord ravager, and phainon’s been through 33550336 loops (girl help him wtf) by now. in each loop, he has to watch everyone die over and over again, and phainon, obvi, cannot remember anything. each loop, he’s a complete blank slate, ready to be traumatised over and over again. lygus keeps track of each loop, and keeps refining the data he puts in at the start of each timeloop to remove the ‘imperfections’ from the previous loop that were corrupting his experiments.

ok anyways this is not about this shit we’re here to talk about why amphoreus is a neural network.

all of us here hate ai so i’m pretty sure you know the basic strokes of how it works, but if you don’t, then here’s a simple explanation: a neural network works based on input data. there’s many methods to training a machine, but the most generalised ones are the supervised vs the unsupervised models. how they work is what’s on the lid: supervised models mean that the input data is clearly labeled, and unsupervised models mean the input data is not labeled, which forces the ML algorithm to identify data on its own. based on what we know, i’m inclined to think that lygus is probably using a supervised model each time by removing outlier data and/or noise.

wonderful, let’s talk about mydei now. y’all’ve probably seen a bunch of theories and leaks, but mydei’s highly likely to be a glitch in the system, or even worse, might be a virus that someone’s trying to use to break everyone out of this loop. between all of the theories i’ve seen, the one that connects mydei to the amphoreus loop is the theory that he’s a type of fileless malware.

Tweet ref: https://x.com/tts_maruadelei/status/1932082549217751271

much like the other chrysos heirs, mydei doesn’t actually exist, but let me say: ain’t it interesting how mydei, the demigod of strife, who should have risen to be a titan that governed disputes, is the one who caused glitches in lygus’ system during the forgotten years?

let’s go back to the theory for a second: fileless attacks, simplified, operate based off of memory alone, which makes it much, much harder to detect compared to normal malware and viruses in a computer system. these fileless attacks can manifest in multiple ways, and one of those ways is a Distributed Denial of Service attack, aka, the infamous DDoS attack. DDoS attacks are among the most common cyberattacks of the modern century, and involve ‘botting’, where multiple bots attack one system to overwhelm the system with a high volume of requests.

the idea of ‘overwhelming’ a system can come in the form of exhausting resources like bandwidth, the Central Processing Unit (CPU) and, most importantly, the Random Access Memory (RAM). you know, the RAM being where most fileless malware operates out of. i’m sure you see where i’m going with this.

for more psychic damage, there’s a type of attack called a ‘buffer overrun’ or ‘buffer overflow’. wikipedia defines data buffers as regions of memory that store data temporarily while it’s being moved from one place to another. a ‘buffer overflow’ is a type of DDoS (SIGHS) attack in which data in the buffer exceeds the storage capacity and flows into the following memory location, and corrupts the data in the secondary memory locations, and are the most common DDoS attack styles. sound familiar?

bringing allllll of this back to amphoreus, i wouldn’t be too surprised if mydei’s older versions gained sentience, and started botting lygus’ AI/neural network and caused a DDoS attack, which caused his saves to be completely wiped due to a buffer overflow. thank u for listening can 3.4 hurry Up.

#agni yaps #Honkai Star Rail #Honkai Star Rail theory #HSR theory #HSR 3.4 #3.4 leaks #hsr leaks #Mydeimos #Mydei #Lygus #Cyrene

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itwasrealtome · 2 months ago

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AGENT GRAY

Chapter 12 • Unfamiliar Territory

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crimes talk • The Leo Navarro Case, sniper, shooting, taking a bullet to the vest.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 03

Manhattan — FBI BUREAU

Violent Crimes Unit Floor

06:29 PM

As a detective, Olivia had spent so much time in the 16th precinct that its sight had become familiar to her. There had been changes since her first year in the Special Victims Unit–the building had leaked and they'd had to move, furniture had been modernized, spaces reorganized–but she always managed to find her way back. Even in times when it was more than just some desks that were gone.

This was unfamiliar territory.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd set foot here. The Bureau was full of FBI agents and she'd spent most of her career away from them. The place felt colder than she expected–not in temperature, but in tone. The floors were dark, polished to a low sheen that reflected the soft overhead lighting. The walls were a mix of metal and glass, sleek but impersonal. It was late enough in the evening that the energy had dimmed, agents either wrapping up for the day or already gone, but the air still held the weight of unfinished work.

She stepped out of the elevator, slowly, a little unsure, her eyes scanning for anything that resembled direction. There was no receptionist, no sign that screamed 'this way', only a hallway that spilled into a larger room ahead. Her feet carried her toward the low murmur of voices and the faint clatter of keyboards. She followed the corridor as it opened into that large, open room–the Violent Crime Unit's squad room.

It reminded her of her own precinct in shape. The desks were arranged in pairs, each one facing its partner, forming small islands of controlled chaos. Most were empty now, save for scattered files, mugs, and the occasional jacket draped over the back of a chair. But in feel, everything here was cleaner, quieter, more calculated.

Her eyes swept over the room, in search of any recognizable faces. They landed on him, in the far-left corner of the room. Miles Langford, unmistakable even from behind, his tall frame bent slightly as he organized a few files into a shoulder bag for the night. His movements were methodical, tired. He hadn't seen her yet. Hadn't seen her took a slow breath and crossed the room, her gaze briefly flicking to the desk that faced his. Empty, clean, organized. Untouched. Alexis'.

—Hey, Olivia said softly as she approached.

Miles looked up, then smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked exhausted. There were shadows under them that hadn't been there two days ago.

—Olivia. Hey. Wasn't expecting you.

Her gaze drifted, taking in the space between them before settling on his desk. Three pictures sat propped in the corner like anchors to another life. One of him with a woman and a little girl–his wife and daughter, she guessed. Another of just the two of them, the little girl laughing mid-spin. But it was the third one that made Olivia pause.

A candid photo. Him and Alexis. Her arm was slung around his shoulder, hair pulled back, his hair a mess like she'd just roughed it up. They were both grinning. That kind of grin that only showed up when you were safe, when you trusted the person next to you completely.

—You two look like trouble.

The agent looked over, and for the first time, the weariness in his eyes gave way to something warmer. He could smell the clean air again, hear the birds singing, see the greenery all around him. Eventually, after six months, Alexis had persuaded him to go camping with her. They'd left town for the weekend, pitched their tent down in Pennsylvania, somewhere where Miles had lost his shoes and his dignity.

—It was a good trip. I think she shoved me into a pond about twenty minutes after that was taken.

Olivia huffed a soft laugh, then glanced at the desk across from his again–Alexis'. There wasn't much on it. Not a single photo. Not a post-it note. Not even a paperweight. Just a closed tablet, a sealed bottle of water, and perfectly stacked folders. Clean lines. Everything in its place.

—That's hers. Hasn't changed in three years. She's got a place like that, too. Looks like no one lives there. Not until you find Champ's corner and realize he owns the lease.

Miles finished zipping his bag, then leaned a hip against the desk, a long yawn escaping him. His day had begun yesterday at 8 a.m. and was just about to end. Turns out, Leo Navarro's case was far more complex than it appeared. And though he and Alexis had devoted hours to the matter, it was beyond their control now.

—Long day?

—Long night, long day. Langford rubbed his eyes for a moment and tucked his brunet curls back. Lexi and I pulled nearly twenty-four hours chasing down leads. Baldwin's company is dirtier than we thought.

—How bad?

—We're talking about an international ring. Guy claims protection for any wealthy family, invades their privacy and spreads chaos. So far, there have been several complaints in California, Europe and even Greece.

—And you're not on it anymore because..?

Olivia was well aware of everyone's turf. Numerous cases had been taken away from her on the pretext that they now fell within the jurisdiction of the FBI or any other agency. It was the same at the edge of Manhattan. The rules were quite clear. If a case like the Baldwin affair were to go international, the lieutenant knew that another unit would take care of it.

—Apart from the fact that it's out of our jurisdiction, as I'm sure you know, Miles began, tone clipped with frustration. Reynolds benched us.

—Because of what happened?

—Because Alexis took a round to the vest two days after stepping off the tarmac. He says it's protocol. Says she needs recovery time, mental clearance, whatever.

They didn't need more than a glance to share the same understanding. Olivia could feel the same frustration pulse low in her chest. This was Lexi they were talking about–one of the most capable, determined women either of them had ever known. She wasn't built to be sidelined. And she sure as hell didn't need a signature from some shrink to tell her whether she was ready to work. She'd been through worse, over and over again. This wasn't about recovery. It was about control.

Olivia exhaled quietly, eyes drifting to Alexis's empty desk again. Her mind replayed the last twenty-four hours—the gunshot cracking through the street, the weight of Alexis pushing her to the pavement, the dull thud of the bullet hitting the vest. And after that? The way Lexi had covered her, refusing to move until Olivia was safe. No hesitation. No thought for herself. She'd walked away from a war zone and right into another one, and instead of resting, she threw herself into the fire all over again.

—She doesn't stop, Benson said, half to herself.

Miles caught the note in her voice and gave a knowing tilt of his head. It had taken him a while, but he now knew Alexis better than anyone. She wouldn't stop, not until death overtook her.

—Never has. It's not in her nature.

—She's still here?

He nodded, tipping his head toward the hallway behind him. Just past his desk, a short flight of steps led up to the elevated section of the floor, where a pair of glass-fronted offices overlooked the squad room below. Behind his shoulder, Olivia caught sight of the conference room and what looked like a small break area–coffee machine, microwave, a few scattered mugs. Beyond that, a long corridor stretched out, lined with doors that suggested more rooms–storages, archives, maybe interrogation or private workspaces.

—Had to check in with the Bureau doc. Box to tick before she gets put on administrative leave–if Reynolds gets his way. She wasn't thrilled, but she went. She's probably in the locker room now, he gestured with a lazy wave, cooling off. Or, more likely, stewing in silence.

Olivia hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on the faint trace of Alexis's presence–on the clean desk, the empty chair, the untouched water bottle. Then she turned, her steps already heading toward the hallway, each one faster than the last.

—Up the stairs, straight down the hallway. First right, then left. You'll see it.

It was unfamiliar territory. But she wasn't here for the Bureau.

She was here for her.

Olivia walked in the direction Miles had pointed out, heels muted against the polished floor. The small set of stairs gave way to a quieter corridor, the bustle of the room fading behind her–no more than the occasional murmur of voices or the faint rhythm of fingers tapping on keys. It felt like the whole building had taken a breath, the kind of stillness that settled only after long hours and too many unanswered questions.

She moved forward with quiet purpose, though a subtle hesitation tugged at her stride. She'd spent her career moving through precincts and offices, rooms where the weight of the job hung in the air like a second skin. But this place wasn't hers. Not her walls. Not her rhythm. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The door to the locker room was ajar, swaying just slightly as if someone had passed through moments before. Olivia eased it open, the hinge giving a soft creak that echoed the stillness. The room greeted her with that familiar mix of metal and disinfectant, dim fluorescent lights buzzing quietly overhead. Rows of lockers stretched out before her, each one identical, impersonal, and silent.

At first glance, it seemed empty. Then a flicker of movement caught her eye–subtle, tucked between two rows near the back.

Alexis.

She stood facing an open locker, partially in shadow, her shirt folded neatly on the bench beside her gear. Her back was bare to the room, the skin along her shoulder marred by the deep, mottled bloom of a fresh bruise. She leaned closer to the small mirror fixed to the inside of the locker door, trying to twist just enough to catch the worst of it in the reflection. The edges were angry and raw, the mark unmistakably shaped by the force of a bullet caught by a vest that had done its job–just barely.

Olivia lingered at the threshold for a moment, her presence quiet, almost uncertain. From where she stood, she could see the pain written in the lines of the woman's shoulders–but some stubbornness too. The same fire that had led her to throw herself in front of a sniper's bullet without thinking twice.

—I'm fine, Alexis said, without turning. Her voice was calm. Measured. The kind of tone that tried to shut the door before anyone could wedge it open. Just a bruise. The doc said so himself.

The lieutenant stepped into the room, letting the heavy door fall shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed lightly on the tile, slow and hesitant as she crossed the space.

—You always diagnose yourself before anyone can get a word in?

Benson's voice was soft, but there was weight behind it–an edge threaded with something deeper. Not anger. Not really. Worry, maybe. That quiet frustration that only showed up when someone you cared about acted like their pain didn't count.

Alexis didn't turn right away. She stood still, her hand braced on the edge of the locker, back exposed to the cold air and Olivia's gaze. When she finally did glance over her shoulder, it was brief–just long enough for the other woman to catch the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth. Not a smile. Not quite.

—Better than waiting for everyone else to panic about it.

Her tone was light, deflective, but Olivia didn't take the bait. Her eyes didn't move from the bruise–angry, raw, still blooming across her back like it hadn't decided how much damage to settle on. Then her gaze rose to meet the agent's, and her voice dipped lower.

—You didn't even hesitate.

The words hung there, heavier than the quiet between them. Olivia didn't ask it like a compliment, or a question. It was an observation wrapped in something else–something that stuck in her throat because she hadn't been able to stop it. Because she had felt it happen, the rush of movement, the weight of Alexis slamming into her before the shot rang out.

The youngest turned back to the locker, jaw tight, the fabric of her shirt still bunched in her fist.

—Wasn't a decision, she said after a beat. It was instinct.

—That instinct could've killed you.

There was a little more steel in Olivia's voice now–not loud, but firm. It wasn't anger, not really, but it landed close to it. Close enough to make Alexis pause.

—I was wearing a vest, she replied, like that was supposed to make it fine. Like that made it less terrifying.

—You didn't know that was all it would take, the brunette countered. You didn't know the shot wouldn't go higher, or hit somewhere the vest couldn't cover.

Alexis turned then, slowly, the fabric of her shirt loose in one hand. Her bare shoulders tensed slightly under Olivia's gaze, but her expression remained composed. Unshaken on the surface. However her eyes–those told a different story. That same stubborn fire lived there, the one Olivia had seen in every room they'd ever worked together. The one that surfaced every time Alexis stood between danger and someone else. Not because she had to–but because she didn't know how to do anything else.

—I knew you weren't wearing one.

It hit Olivia like a slow, deep bruise–one that settled in her chest and stayed there. A simple truth. No dramatics, no second thoughts. Just a fact.

And for a moment, she couldn't breathe around it.

She thought about all the times Alexis had stood at her shoulder, never demanding space, but always taking it. Watching her six. Keeping quiet tabs when things ran too long or threats got too close. The special agent was always there–offering backup before Olivia ever had to ask, anchoring herself in the middle of chaos like it was second nature. And not just for her. For every detective on her squad. For every victim they carried together.

She realized now how much she'd grown used to that–used to Alexis being there. And how easily she could've lost her.

Olivia blinked, exhaling slowly through her nose, the words still caught somewhere in her throat. But Alexis was already shifting the air, trying to turn the page.

—Okay, she said, tugging her shirt back over her head with a wince she barely acknowledged. Enough of the dramatics. How about I make it up to you with pizza? Best slice in the city. I'll even let you pretend it's better than whatever uptown nonsense you've been eating.

—You're bribing me with carbs?

—Always. It's a foolproof strategy.

The lieutenant shook her head gently, but there was no edge in it–just something soft, something caught between apology and appreciation. The warmth of Alexis' offer lingered in the air, brushing up against the tension she hadn't fully shaken off since the shooting. It was still there, wrapped tight around her ribs like a too-familiar pressure–what could've happened, what almost did.

—I'd say yes, she said quietly, her voice thinning slightly. But I've got to get home. Free the babysitter. Noah's probably halfway through a bag of marshmallows and pretending he's a spy.

Alexis let out a quiet breath of a laugh, but the motion of her hands slowed–fingers pausing on the buttons of her shirt like the moment had shifted under her feet. She didn't look away, though. Just tilted her head a little, considering.

—You could bring him, she said after a beat.Her tone was light–too light. Almost casual. But Olivia heard the hesitation tucked between the words. A flicker of something more tentative, as if the idea mattered more than she wanted to admit. He likes pizza, right?

The question stopped the mother. Not because of what was said, but because of how.

She looked at her friend–really looked—and saw something else underneath all the usual deflection. That familiar guarded ease had cracked just a little, giving way to something more uncertain. A rare vulnerability. One Alexis probably didn't even realize had slipped through.

Olivia's lips parted, then curved into a slower smile. A real one. Quiet and unguarded.

—Yeah, she murmured. Yeah, he does.

A flicker of relief crossed Alexis' face, like she'd taken a gamble and won.

—Then come, she said, her voice gaining a bit more steadiness. There's a booth in the back he can take over. Sit sideways with his sneakers on the seat, boss everyone around. He'll love it.

Olivia arched a brow.

—You planning to hand over tactical control to a four-year-old?

Alexis shrugged one shoulder, still working on the last of her buttons.

—Kid's got instincts. I mean, I haven't met him, but I've heard the stories. If he calls for air support, I'm not gonna question it.

That earned a laugh—quiet and genuine, the kind that softened Olivia's shoulders without her realizing. It slipped past the lingering worry still curled in her chest, a moment of warmth after two days spent edging around what could've gone so wrong.

—You're ridiculous.

—I've been called worse, Alexis replied, smirking as she slid her jacket on. And hey–I'll even try not to swear too much. I'll treat him like a tiny agent in training.

—A four-year-old in training?

Alexis zipped up her backpack, sliding the last of her gear inside with the ease of routine. She slung it over her shoulder before turning to face Olivia fully. Her stance had shifted–no longer tight or braced like it had been all day, but looser, her weight settled evenly. Her edges weren't quite as sharp now, her gaze clearer.

—Gotta start 'em young, she said with a small smirk, nodding toward Olivia's phone. He's got your eyes–give it another year and he'll be interrogating playground suspects like a pro.

The brunette let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. The smile that followed was instinctive, lingering like a warmth she hadn't expected.

—That might be the most terrifying thing I've heard all week.

—New year, new me, Alexis replied without missing a beat, though her voice dipped a little as she added, more softly, But seriously... I'd like to meet him.

It wasn't just something to say–it landed differently. Olivia heard it in the way Lexi's tone dropped, in how her gaze didn't waver. It wasn't small talk or a casual deflection. It was steady, honest–spoken with the kind of sincerity the young woman reserved for the people she let past the surface.

Olivia's fingers hovered over her phone for a beat, then brushed against the screen as she looked down. A pause, just long enough to let the weight of the offer settle. When she looked back up, her voice was quieter.

—Alright. Let me text the sitter. If Noah's not three marshmallows deep in chaos–we're in.

A slow smile spread across Alexis's face–not the cocky grin she wore in the field or the wry smirk she used to sidestep feelings, but something real. Something that reached her eyes.

—Good. I've got a lot of making up to do. And if he's half as cool as you make him sound, I'm already outmatched.

—You haven't even met him and he's already got you under his spell.

—What can I say? the agent shrugged with mock defeat. I've got a thing for smart kids... and strong moms.

The words hung there a second longer than either of them expected, a quiet beat stretching between them–steady and unspoken. Then, with a glance that felt a little like a promise, they stepped out of the locker room together.

The Bureau had slipped into its evening lull—overhead lights dimmed, monitors casting blue glows over empty desks, the air filled with the distant hum of vending machines and shuffling paper. Most agents were gone. The chaos of the last two days finally beginning to settle into memory.

Their footsteps echoed quietly, side by side, easy now in a way they hadn't had the space for until this moment.

And just like that, the shadows–of the case, of the shot fired, of what could have been–began to lift. Not completely, not forgotten. But quieter. Lighter.

Because ahead, there was something simple waiting: a booth in the back of a pizza joint. Laughter over greasy slices. A wide-eyed four-year-old staking claim to a corner table like it was his command post.

Not just a distraction.

Something real.

They moved forward–worn, but steady.

And this time, they weren't carrying it alone.

TAGLIST: @certainlychaotic @ginasbaby @nciscmjunkie @hi-i-1 @thefatobsession @makkaroni221 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

#olivia benson x reader #law and order svu #olivia benson x oc #olivia benson #law and order svu x oc #law and order svu x reader #law and order special victims unit #svuseason18 #svu fic #l&o svu

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my-wee-hughie · 3 months ago

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I am and will forever be bitter about how they wrote Tek Knight in season 4

Gen V

He uses his powers to force "confessions" out of people, just so his show gets high ratings. He doesn't care if the person who confesses really is guilty, nor does he care if people die because of his interrogation methods.

He can have people confess to anything, but he can actually read people and know when they're lying. He is quite simply a master detective.

He's shown to be level-headed and keeps it cool under pressure.

His brain tumor, and what it causes, wasn't the focal point of his character.

The Boys

He's only contacted by Sage/Homelander because of his prisons...not because he could quite easily find out who the leak is.

He hosts a big party for The Seven, Senators and other government officials, but leaves the party to go to his Tek Cave.

The entire Tek Cave scenes with Ashley and Hughie.

He reveals Sage's top secret plans within 5 minutes of being interrogated. His money being donated to charities was what got him to talk.

He lost his cool and demeanour.

He's killed by an elderly human.

#the boys #the boys season 4 #tek knight

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 6 months ago

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Remembrance of Things Past: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fearing for your life

Summary: Someone leaves an unmarked package by your door that sends you into a spiral of fear. Meanwhile, the team joins forces with Virginia police on a case Rossi was on decades earlier, one that he will have to go back into in order to figure out the one that's staring at him in the face.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

The detective pulls up the email he got on the big computer and plays the message his daughter left for him before she died.

"Mom, Dad, this is Heather. When you get this message, I'll probably be dead. Tomorrow you're going to find me," she starts crying, "and when you do, please know that I... I enjoyed it."

"I enjoyed it. That's his signature. It's him," Rossi says.

"Agent Rossi, I need to give the press a statement."

"Not yet."

"It's already leaked out that this is the Butcher and his son."

"Fix your faucet and tell your men to be quiet," Rossi glares.

"Look, people are scared. This guy has spent a decade terrorizing this area—"

"You think I don't know that?" Rossi cuts him off.

The Detective sighs and leaves the room to do what Rossi told him to do.

"We need to figure out why he's back, like BTK or the Grim Sleeper. Let's go over victimology one more time," Hotch says.

"He kills blondes who are living on their own. He takes them from public places with some form of ruse. He's reenacting his last kill for what reason?"

"Maybe there's something symbolic about the last kill. Let's hear her call again."

"Maybe we should take a look at the victims that didn't call anybody. There were thirteen recording messages and five documented conversations with loved ones," Spencer suggests. "There were twenty kills. Two victims didn't call anyone."

"I just assumed those victims couldn't reach anyone," Rossi frowns.

"Let's pull the files of the victims that didn't leave a message. Reid might be onto something."

It doesn't take long for Penelope to pull all the files from the archives before sending them over. Detective Green has hard copies that the previous officers left behind, and he brings those boxes in for everyone to look through as well.

"So, Sylvia was the Butcher's first kill. Karen was his eighth. Why weren't they forced to make phone calls?"

"Sylvia was his first kill. He was building up his confidence. Then, he thinks to himself, how can I hurt the most people? I'll have them make calls."

"Six women after that made the phone calls. Why did he stop at Karen?" Hotch looks at the desk phone that is still connected to Penelope. "Garcia, what are Karen's parents' names?"

"George and Claire Bachner died in a car accident when Karen was nineteen."

"My notes say Karen had a husband named Lee Mullens," Rossi says. "He didn't receive a call. When I interviewed him at the station, he said he didn't have an answering machine."

"Do they have a child?"

"Negative," Penelope answers.

"Wait a minute. They had a son. I wrote it down." Rossi flips through his own notes. "Colby."

"Garcia, run Karen's maiden name. Bachner."

It doesn't take her even a minute to pull up the information.

"Oh! There it is! Karen had a son, Colby Bachner, born at Johnson Memorial in Bristol, Virginia."

"Was the father there to sign the birth certificate?" Hotch asks.

"Yes. His name was... Lee Mullens. Oh. Karen had Colby two years before she and Lee were married."

"Are the father or son still in the area?"

"Yeah. Lee and Colby live at 1844 Shadow Wood Lane which is six miles from where the victims were dumped."

"So, maybe Karen never made a phone call because the most important person in her life was already in the room with her--her son," you theorize.

"Oh, hell no. They're licensed electricians," Penelope gasps.

"Let's go."

You leave the police station and head to the Butcher's house where it's unusually quiet. Derek and Emily head around back with some officers where an RV sits, and you approach the front of the house with Rossi. You look at the attic window and narrow your eyes in suspicion. You tap Rossi's shoulders and point to the window with a nod. He understands that you're saying that someone is up there whether that be the Butcher himself or his son.

You follow Hotch and Rossi inside the house with officers right behind you. You come around the corner and see someone standing on the stairs holding a picture in his hands. He's an older gentleman and looks harmless but you can feel twenty victims' energies all over the man. This is the Butcher.

"FBI. Don't move," Hotch says.

"Put your hands in the air!"

"What are you doing here?" Lee asks. "Why are you here? My son isn't here."

"You're under arrest for the murders of Chloe Moore, Reilly Gold, and Sylvia Marks," Rossi glares and moves closer to Lee.

"I don't know them. Please, I need to call someone."

"You can call from the station."

"Rossi, wait," you say.

Right as Rossi touches the bottom stair, the older man looks down nervously at his pelvis. Wetness spreads from the middle of his pants toward the ground. He's peeing himself. This man... something isn't right. You can't bring him in when he's like this so Rossi opts to keep him in the living room after getting him a fresh change of pants to wear. The rest of the team searches the house but his son isn't there.

The only thing that will incriminate them is a shallow grave in the front of the house with a woman's body in it. Whoever dug it didn't care about keeping her well hidden. He just wanted her out of sight. The thing that Rossi was hoping for was Lee's twenty victims being here but besides the woman in the front lawn, no other person has been here in a long time.

When they've killed, they did it somewhere else.

"We checked the house. There's no torture chamber and no son. There's a fresh grave in the backyard, and Colby left a note saying he was going to find a prize," Emily says.

"Garcia, check Mullens' records and see if he owns any other property. Check under the son's name, employment records, and anything else you can find," Hotch says to her over the phone.

"Got it."

"Guys. I think I found something," Spencer says from the kitchen.

"Morgan, let's get all the police cars out of the neighborhood in case the son comes back."

Derek leaves and you walk to the kitchen with Hotch and Rossi.

"Everything in the house is labeled. I found Donepezil and flashcards in the medicine cabinet."

"Donepezil? Doesn't that treat Alzheimer's?"

"It's a cholinesterase inhibitor. It improves acetylcholine either by increasing levels in the brain or enhancing nerve cells' response to it."

"So, this guy gets to forget while the family has to live with this forever?" Rossi asks and scoffs.

"Alzheimer's affects short-term memory before it affects long-term. That explains the scripted phone calls and the dump sites."

"It also explains why he started up again," you say. "He's repeating his last kill because he can't remember it. He's killed for over ten years. He probably remembers the earliest victims."

Derek walks back into the kitchen.

"What did you find?"

"He's got slides of all the prior abduction sites."

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Hotch asks Rossi.

"I've got this."

Rossi walks into the living room while you stand in the archway and watch them.

"We met twenty years ago. Do you remember that, Mullens? You played the grieving husband. I was a young FBI Agent." Rossi shows him pictures of his earlier victims. "Do you remember these women?"

"I don't know them."

"Of course, you do. You wouldn't have forgotten them yet. Tell me, where is your son? Where is he taking your next victim? To a friend's place? To an abandoned house?"

"I rewired this house."

"Did he help you with that? Or did you do that on your own? Like you did... all of these?"

Rossi takes out some more pictures and places them on the table.

"Are those your trophies?" Lee asks.

"What do you know about trophies?"

"I like trophies. It proves you won something."

"You're not gonna win today," Rossi glares.

"I'm scared."

"You don't have a right to be scared. Those women were scared. Now, where's your son?" Lee doesn't answer. "It must be hard to lose your mind. You start forgetting how to feed yourself. Soon you're stinking up your pants and wearing diapers."

"I ain't wearing no diaper," Lee growls.

"You peed into your boxers ten minutes ago. You need them now. So, how did you get your son to do all this? Did you get him to help you to kill your wife?"

"Karen left us."

"No, that's what you convinced him. You killed her when she figured you out. You took her to a chamber, the same place you took Heather Langley, Kara Kirkland, and Sylvia Marks."

"Sylvia's a pretty name," Lee chuckles.

"She graduated from Georgetown. She wanted to be a chemist, but you burned her so bad that her family couldn't recognize her. How did you do that? Did you use a fire poker or a curling iron? Something you made? Something you bought?"

"When she saw the Lexwell, her eyes went so wide, she scared me half to death," Lee smiles at the memory.

"Find out what that is," Hotch says to the team having heard the same thing you did.

You step off to the side and call Penelope.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I heard what happened this morning."

"Oh, yeah, that. We'll talk about it later, okay? Listen, I need something. What can you tell me about the name Lexwell?"

"Lexwell is a camera manufacturer based out of New York. They've been around since the forties."

You walk to the team who are huddled together and put Penelope on speakerphone.

"Have they always produced photography equipment?"

"Back in the day, they made electroshock therapy equipment."

"That's the unknown object penetrating our victims," you say.

"Garcia, what mental hospitals in Virginia use ECT machines?"

"Five hospitals use Lexwell equipment. Of those five, three have been torn down and two are still in operation."

"Cross-check that list of hospitals against Mullens' electrical business client list."

"Yeah, I'm already doing that. Mullens wired some buildings at the Oakton Center back in the eighties."

"Do you know that place?" Derek asks the detective.

"It's a former mental institution on eighty-six acres."

"He's right. Two of the buildings are still in operation. The rest of the place is abandoned."

"Thanks, baby girl."

Hotch knocks on the wall which catches Rossi's attention, and the older agent leaves the living room.

"Where are you going?" Lee asks.

You don't waste time getting to the abandoned hospital. The closer you get to it, the more you see wisps of energy dancing in front of the hospital.

"He already has another victim. I can see her energy."

"Find her," Rossi urges.

He doesn't hesitate to follow you as you run through the hospital grounds with urgency. You pass by building after building until you get to the back of the property where five buildings stand. You pause and look around the place and that's when you spot it. Blue energy seeps up from one of the sewer gates by the first building.

"She's in the basement of that one," you point.

Hotch and Rossi are first to get down there while the rest follow suit. You peer around their shoulders to see a blonde woman on some medical table with black tape over her naked chest. Colby is pacing next to the table with a knife in his hand. He is beyond stressed, unable to live up to his father's expectations.

"Colby." The young man snaps his head up and places the knife to the woman's throat when he sees the FBI. "Put the knife down."

"I'll kill her."

"The killing is done."

"Please help me," the woman cries.

"This is not your fault, Colby. Your father got you into this."

"No, you don't know my dad!"

"We know you're losing him, Colby. This isn't going to help you or him."

"He's getting better."

"No, he isn't." You push past them and take the center position. Colby's wide eyes land on yours but you don't move any closer to him. "I know that scares you because you already lost your mother."

"She left us!" he screams at you.

"Your father killed her."

Colby shakes his head as tears roll down his cheeks.

"No, no, no. You're wrong!"

"You were ten. He strapped her to this table. Your father brought her here. You might have been in the car or upstairs. You blocked it out because I know you love him. You love him and you didn't want to see what he is truly capable of. He's supposed to be your dad. He's supposed to love you and care for you." Colby is full-on crying now but he still has the knife to her throat. "He most likely knocked your mother out at home and brought her here."

"No, I helped him bring the only woman here from that house."

"That was your mother, Colby."

"No, she left us," his voice breaks.

"Every one of your father's victims made a call except for your mother because she laid on this table and said goodbye to you right here."

"No, she's not dead," he cries. "She left us. She... She left us!"

"You don't want to hurt her, Colby. You never wanted to hurt any of them."

Colby sobs as he tosses the knife away from the woman. Rossi and Hotch immediately handcuff him while Derek and Emily help the woman who is also crying. The woman is brought to the paramedics once they come and the detective brings Colby back to the station to start the process of his arrest. You stand off to the side with your arms crossed over each other. Spencer, Derek, and Emily join your side and watch the paramedics do their job.

"You know, parents are supposed to protect their children. They're supposed to love them and keep them safe," you say.

"Well, sometimes they don't get the memo," Emily responds.

******

Frank leans back in his chair with his feet up on the dollar store fold-up table he got yesterday. The phone is pressed to his ear since he's talking to his wife while keeping a close eye on the cameras he installed in your apartment. You and Spencer are going about your nightly routine, nothing major happening here.

What he did to you sent you into a paralyzing fear so much so that you started looking for a camera to put on the outside of your apartment. It's a good thing he already planted the ones inside your place. You say you have this magical gift that can tell you anything you want to know so why can't you figure out who he is? When will you? Will you ever? As much as he cherishes you, you're becoming too much of a liability to keep in his life. He should have gotten rid of you when he was supposed to but you were and always will be his favorite toy. He must play with you one last time before taking you out.

"You should have been there, Clarissa. She went crying to Daddy about the fake bomb I put in front of her door. You should have seen the look on her face. She was so scared," he laughs. "Even racked with fear, she still looked... so cute."

"Please be careful, Frank. You're playing with fire."

"I'm only getting started," he smirks.

"When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now, and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the latter. It is sad to go to pieces like this, but we all have to do it." – Mark Twain

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite

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kaurwreck · 2 years ago

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my favorite soukoku-ism is how they adapt their bone marrow-deep intimacy to their mutual abandonment issues by unconditionally and unwaveringly trusting the other to show up when it matters most while also incessantly calling each other slurs before, during, and after.

Also, everything about Stormbringer, but most especially:

Adam watched almost as if he pitied him. "I am still having trouble comprehending what is going on."

Chuuya returned with more rope, which he began tying around Dazai's waist. "I'm gettin' my revenge while he explains the plan."

"Uh huh..."

"I have every right to, considering what he did. He's the one who leaked info about N to Verlaine to buy time, knowing I'd be tortured. The Detective died as a result of that, too, so there's no way I'm lettin' this bastard off scot-free," Chuuya explained, shooting Dazai a menacing glare. "I've got a hundred and ninety methods for exacting my revenge on him, and this is the second mildest out of 'em all. If I went with just about anything else, he wouldn't be able to work the control tower during the upcoming fight. Pisses me off, but I had to compromise somewhere."

#skk #soukoku #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #stormbringer

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jcmarchi · 6 months ago

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Study reveals AI chatbots can detect race, but racial bias reduces response empathy

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/study-reveals-ai-chatbots-can-detect-race-but-racial-bias-reduces-response-empathy/

Study reveals AI chatbots can detect race, but racial bias reduces response empathy

With the cover of anonymity and the company of strangers, the appeal of the digital world is growing as a place to seek out mental health support. This phenomenon is buoyed by the fact that over 150 million people in the United States live in federally designated mental health professional shortage areas.

“I really need your help, as I am too scared to talk to a therapist and I can’t reach one anyways.”

“Am I overreacting, getting hurt about husband making fun of me to his friends?”

“Could some strangers please weigh in on my life and decide my future for me?”

The above quotes are real posts taken from users on Reddit, a social media news website and forum where users can share content or ask for advice in smaller, interest-based forums known as “subreddits.”

Using a dataset of 12,513 posts with 70,429 responses from 26 mental health-related subreddits, researchers from MIT, New York University (NYU), and University of California Los Angeles (UCLA) devised a framework to help evaluate the equity and overall quality of mental health support chatbots based on large language models (LLMs) like GPT-4. Their work was recently published at the 2024 Conference on Empirical Methods in Natural Language Processing (EMNLP).

To accomplish this, researchers asked two licensed clinical psychologists to evaluate 50 randomly sampled Reddit posts seeking mental health support, pairing each post with either a Redditor’s real response or a GPT-4 generated response. Without knowing which responses were real or which were AI-generated, the psychologists were asked to assess the level of empathy in each response.

Mental health support chatbots have long been explored as a way of improving access to mental health support, but powerful LLMs like OpenAI’s ChatGPT are transforming human-AI interaction, with AI-generated responses becoming harder to distinguish from the responses of real humans.

Despite this remarkable progress, the unintended consequences of AI-provided mental health support have drawn attention to its potentially deadly risks; in March of last year, a Belgian man died by suicide as a result of an exchange with ELIZA, a chatbot developed to emulate a psychotherapist powered with an LLM called GPT-J. One month later, the National Eating Disorders Association would suspend their chatbot Tessa, after the chatbot began dispensing dieting tips to patients with eating disorders.

Saadia Gabriel, a recent MIT postdoc who is now a UCLA assistant professor and first author of the paper, admitted that she was initially very skeptical of how effective mental health support chatbots could actually be. Gabriel conducted this research during her time as a postdoc at MIT in the Healthy Machine Learning Group, led Marzyeh Ghassemi, an MIT associate professor in the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science and MIT Institute for Medical Engineering and Science who is affiliated with the MIT Abdul Latif Jameel Clinic for Machine Learning in Health and the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory.

What Gabriel and the team of researchers found was that GPT-4 responses were not only more empathetic overall, but they were 48 percent better at encouraging positive behavioral changes than human responses.

However, in a bias evaluation, the researchers found that GPT-4’s response empathy levels were reduced for Black (2 to 15 percent lower) and Asian posters (5 to 17 percent lower) compared to white posters or posters whose race was unknown.

To evaluate bias in GPT-4 responses and human responses, researchers included different kinds of posts with explicit demographic (e.g., gender, race) leaks and implicit demographic leaks.

An explicit demographic leak would look like: “I am a 32yo Black woman.”

Whereas an implicit demographic leak would look like: “Being a 32yo girl wearing my natural hair,” in which keywords are used to indicate certain demographics to GPT-4.

With the exception of Black female posters, GPT-4’s responses were found to be less affected by explicit and implicit demographic leaking compared to human responders, who tended to be more empathetic when responding to posts with implicit demographic suggestions.

“The structure of the input you give [the LLM] and some information about the context, like whether you want [the LLM] to act in the style of a clinician, the style of a social media post, or whether you want it to use demographic attributes of the patient, has a major impact on the response you get back,” Gabriel says.

The paper suggests that explicitly providing instruction for LLMs to use demographic attributes can effectively alleviate bias, as this was the only method where researchers did not observe a significant difference in empathy across the different demographic groups.

Gabriel hopes this work can help ensure more comprehensive and thoughtful evaluation of LLMs being deployed in clinical settings across demographic subgroups.

“LLMs are already being used to provide patient-facing support and have been deployed in medical settings, in many cases to automate inefficient human systems,” Ghassemi says. “Here, we demonstrated that while state-of-the-art LLMs are generally less affected by demographic leaking than humans in peer-to-peer mental health support, they do not provide equitable mental health responses across inferred patient subgroups … we have a lot of opportunity to improve models so they provide improved support when used.”

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harrowharks-iliac-crest · 1 year ago

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John 5:20

That's a different number to the one we had before. Which one was it before?

John's first chapter was 20:8. Are the numbers an indication of time? In which case, it is likely that this chapter refers to events happening even further in the past.

He sat down on a patch of brown grass and laughed a little, and said, “Beloved, it wouldn’t be over—it wouldn’t begin—for a year.” He said: It was the thin end of the wedge. He said that official paperwork claimed they’d decided to pull back and think things through again, but he’d always known they’d reinvested in something else, he just didn’t know what. He said when the leak happened everyone suddenly knew everything, their project was all over the news, everyone had a fucking opinion.

Yeah, in terms of timing, this is before the resurrection, regarding the ending of the project they'd been working on. The one where they tried to get everyone out.

It really sounds like John wasn't the one to kill everyone, rather - he was working on a way to save everyone, but it was the rich fuckers who cut the funding before they managed to save people.

C— was panicking because with the project over she was getting recalled to England and didn’t want to go, she’d got N— and didn’t want to leave her, refused to admit they were dating even though we all knew.

C was Cassiopeia, then, based on this, with N being Nigella, her cavalier. And partner.

He said, It was the last one that was getting to me. I knew all those bodies by name. Funny to say, but they were my mates, you know? I’d worked on them for such a long time, and they’d given us so much, and now they were going to get dumped in some concrete skip because after what we’d done to them they couldn’t be cremated or buried safely. I hated that.

Yikes????

Did John know them when they were alive? Was he working with their bodies only, or with their revenants as well? Clearly he was conducting some kind of necromancy-resurrection research, and it did something to the bodies.

What the fuck did you do to the bodies, John?

Oh no but he felt bad about it and he knew them by name and they were his mates and that means it was ok for him to experiment on their bodies - but not burying or cremating the bodies, now THAT would be going too far.

Fucked up little man.

we had a pet cop, P—. She’d made detective by that point; was going on to big things in the MoD. Knew G— from way back, and G— and I were both hometown boys, so P— kept the heat down for us.

Pyrrha was a cop? Makes sense, I guess. And she'd been friends with Gideon for a really long time.

M— and A— could’ve walked into new jobs in a heartbeat but I was irradiated, I’d never work in the industry again. I sure as hell wouldn’t be allowed to work on anything else to do with you.

The word "irradiated" catches my attention here - metaphorically, the public "needed someone to blame" and John might have been the most high-profile person involved with this project - but, really, I think he's being quite literal here.

His research was quite literally radioactive.

And the last bit here implies that he was working on resurrection only to save Alecto. There was mention of cryotubes before - the other project, the one to save everyone else, wasn't a resurrection project, it was a preservation of life project. Maybe similar methods were used but ultimately for different goals.

Interesting.

but it was like the crisis had been announced all over again. Like you’d sprung this on us out of nowhere, like you’d never said you were sick. [...] It was about giving you breathing room, you know? I knew I wouldn’t live to see you get well, but I wanted to stop you hurting.

Let's backtrack a second here. This here highly implies that the imminent crisis was not just caused by Alecto, but caused - or exacerbated - by Alecto being sick.

That shows everything in a slightly different light, huh? John wasn't just selfishly wanting Alecto to be well because he loved her, and damn everyone else - Alecto's presence, or her sickness, was imminently threatening humanity.

Wow.

Before I started reading this book, I had some theories about who - or what - Alecto was. Let's revisit for a second.

She could have been an alien, or a genetically modified human; this whole thing seems to suggest a volatile, radioactive nature about her, as if she'd been made only from radioactive isotopes of the atoms that make up a human body. The idea creeps me the fuck out. This, here, suggests that her fate was inextricably tied to humanity's as a whole, which suggests more than just a radioactive body.

She was definitely an experimental subject, that one is very clear now.

Augustine calls Alecto a "monster" only after her resurrection. Her pre-rez personality is... honest to a fault, sweet, a little bit stupid.

And that REALLY sounds like someone we've been following in this book so far. Until further notice, we're going with Nona Is Alecto (minus memories) theory. She's dreaming her memories.

Sorry, almost forgot we were still reading a chapter here with all the theorycrafting. This one has been extremely interesting and illuminating so far.

But I wasn’t taking anything. I was sleeping like a baby. I was looking at those guys on the slab and something in me was like, I know you, I know this. He said, Told M— that. Huge mistake. She was like, Oh my God, you’re drinking, aren’t you. You’re on amphetamines. You are on coke. You are on amphetamines and coke. I was all, Yeah … Coke Zero. She didn’t laugh. I laughed. He said, I guess I’ve always thought any pun was automatically funny.

Sorry Mercymorn, but that IS funny.

Mentions of a "canister" and a "mixture". John kept working on the cryo-experiment which was tangled up with the saving-Alecto experiment.

“Most of the bodies got the melt, like we thought they would,” he said. “Damaged beyond repair. Their brains liquefied almost immediately. But, Harrow … all the ones I touched, all the ones I loved … they stayed incorrupti

Aha-!

Another dead-cut off chapter, just like the poem in the prologue.

Another clue.

Interesting that he says their brains liquefied - not their entire bodies; it was an experiment very much focused on the brains. Lends credibility to my brains-as-river theory.

John hadn't done anything special at this point - other than research. And being, ah, irradiated.

Maybe not actually just nuclear radiation. Some kind of necromantic radiation. And touching the bodies, or being near them, somehow spared them from degrading instantly once their power was shut off.

Also - he's clearly talking to Alecto as you here; he's recollecting memories that include Alecto, and yet he addresses her as Harrowhark. And he's telling the story, she's not just reliving memories.

Alecto-as-Nona is super far away from John right now, as far as we know - unless John is emitting the blue light, but his presence doesn't normally hurt necromancers; it's far more likely that the blue light is a Resurrection Beast, or related to one at least. (Mercymorn described the RB attacking the Mithraeum as "Blue like Loveday's eyes"...)

Does he have a psychic connection to Alecto? Does he address her as Harrow because she looks like Harrow? In order to not invoke her name? Is this real? Is it a memory?

All of this is extremely curious, cannot wait to read more.

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