#which is only enough for one out of three sections of the test

[raiii-bee]

fuck this stupid baka life

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[ne0mile]

HR rep!Jaemin x coworker!reader

Everybody hates HR reps. Especially those who take their jobs seriously. That's why Jaemin does not have the best reputation among certain employees. He's serious about applying strict policies and not making any exceptions. So Jaemin knows that office dating is prohibited. He does. Yet, he can't seem to completely brush you off whenever you bat your eyelashes at him.

warnings: smut !minors DNI!, elevator sex, unprotected sex

wordcount: 3,4k

AN: this is part of the business casual series, can’t wait to write more of those! Also I’m sorry guys ik I’m always writing for Mark or Jaemin but the brainrot is real😵‍💫

Na Jaemin could have been the most beloved person in the office.

He had the charm—effortlessly magnetic, the kind of smile that made interns trip over their own feet. He had the looks—tall, unfairly pretty, with a sharp jawline that looked like it was carved just to make your breath hitch. And he had the presence—smooth, confident, the kind of man who could command a room without even trying.

If only he weren’t such a rule-enforcing nightmare.

While the other HR reps barely glanced at the company handbook, Jaemin treated office policy like sacred text. No personal calls? He’d walk by desks like a police officer, pausing just long enough to make the offender hang up. Dress code violations? He’d actually print out the policy and slide it onto the offender’s keyboard with a polite, "Just a reminder." And office relationships? 

Absolutely forbidden.

He was the sheriff of Neo Corp, and the entire office was his wild west.

Which is why the moment he stepped onto the main floor, whispers followed, as they always did.

"Ugh, he’s doing rounds again."

"I swear, if he tells me one more time to stop eating at my desk—"

"Who even cares about this job this much?"

But then there was you.

While everyone else groaned or avoided eye contact, you just… smiled at him. Leaned back in your chair. Let your gaze linger a little too long when he passed by.

And don’t get this wrong, Jaemin prided himself on his self-control.

He didn’t bend the rules. Didn’t make exceptions. Didn’t let distractions—no matter how pretty—get in the way of his job.

And he hated how much you were testing him.

It started small. A little wave when he walked by. Nothing too crazy. A playful tilt of your head when he caught you five minutes late from your lunch break. Then it escalated—lingering touches when handing him files, biting your lip to hide a smirk when he scolded someone nearby.

Today, you decided to try something different. 

You were leaning against the copier, pretending to struggle with a paper jam. Jaemin sighed. Your skirt was at the very limit of what was decent, and he’d seen you use that machine perfectly fine a dozen times before.

"Need help..." you asked innocently as he approached.

Jaemin exhaled through his nose one more time. "You’re doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed, but the curve of your lips gave you away.

He knew he should walk away. Knew he should reprimand you for wasting company time and urge you to go back to your desk. But instead, his hands moved on their own, reaching past you to "fix" the machine, close enough that his chest nearly brushed against your back.

"You're aware falsifying equipment issues is a violation of—"

"Policy 4.7B, section three," you finished for him, grinning when his eyes narrowed. "But if I was really faking..." You leaned in slightly as he reached past you to open the tray, "...wouldn't that mean you're enabling me by playing along?"

His fingers froze on the copier handle.

The office was watching. He could feel the stares on his back and immediately scolded himself internally.

Only to add more to his demise and push his buttons further, you whispered, "Careful, Jaemin. Someone might think you’re breaking your own rules."

Damn it.

By lunchtime, the copier incident had been discussed by every single person present in the company building. 

And by the time the holiday party rolled around, chit-chat hadn’t stopped.

The party was in full swing when you arrived - cheap disco lights throwing colours across the accounting team's awkward dancing, a sad cheese platter on a table... It was tragic, really, but everyone was here to make the most of it. So were you.

The entire office was there, buzzing with the kind of forced cheer that only free alcohol could bring. And there, by the fire exit like a man awaiting sentencing: Jaemin, tie slightly loosened, drink untouched in his hand.

You approached him like a predator would its prey. Stopping right in front of him, you brought the glass you just picked up to your glossy lips. You smirked, staring at him up and down as you took a sip of your drink.

"You’ve been ignoring me," you said.

"I’ve been working," he corrected, his voice tight. 

"Mmm, well then you should probably write me up for inappropriate footwear…" You pointed to your black, shiny heels. 

The tone of your voice, the look in your eyes… It was all too much. Jaemin took pride in the way he did his job. He really did. No matter what his reputation among his colleagues was. But with you, it was like the devil had sent his best vessel to seduce and distract him from the right path. 

His jaw clenched.

"Policy 3.2, subsection—"

"Stop," he cut you off, his voice harsher than usual. "Just stop."

You blinked. "Stop what?"

He set his drink down and grabbed yours to do the same. "This. Whatever game you’re playing, this ends today."

Before you could argue, Jaemin grabbed your elbow and steered you toward the elevator. 

This has been going on for too long. He had to take matters into his own hands.

Mark and Chenle were chatting close to the elevator, so Jaemin pushed you inside. There was no way he would let anyone see him in that state, having this conversation. 

The doors slid shut behind you with a soft ding, sealing you both in the quiet, metallic space.

You leaned casually against the railing, watching him press the button for the top floor. "Running away from the party, already? That’s not very team-building of you."

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "We need to talk."

"Ooh," you stepped forward to trace a finger along his tie. "Am I in trouble?" You asked, tilting your head. 

Jaemin exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides. "You’ve been doing this for weeks," he stated, voice low. "The looks. The touching. The—" His eyes flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. "You know exactly what you’re doing."

You hummed, letting your finger trail up to the knot of his tie. "And if I do?" Pressing closer, you watched his pupils dilate. "What are you going to do about it, Officer Jaemin?"

His breath hitched. One large hand came up to circle your wrist, stopping your teasing movements. "This," he bit out, "is exactly what I'm talking about."

You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. "You could always report me," you whispered, raising your chin. 

Jaemin's grip tightened fractionally. "Don't tempt me."

"Or…" you trailed off, your face now impossibly close to his. "You could—"

The elevator chose that moment to lurch violently.

Lights flickered as the car shuddered to an abrupt stop, sending you stumbling forward. Right into Jaemin's chest.

His arms instinctively wrapped themselves around you, pressing you closer against him. 

It took only a few seconds for you to regain your composure. You looked up at him. He looked just a bit distressed. Startled. Jaemin didn’t like inconveniences, unforeseen events. He needed to be in control. At all times.

"Taking advantage of the moment, huh?" You grinned, partially to tease him but mostly to get him to relax. 

His eyebrows knit together, and he released you in a heartbeat, taking a few steps back, although the space in the elevator didn’t allow for many. 

"You’re impossible," he muttered.

You grinned. "You like it."

Ignoring you, he turned around, facing the numbered buttons. As if he could fix that, too. 

There was an alarm button, at least there had been, because it was now covered by a taped piece of paper that read: "out of service". 

"Renjun was stuck as well last month," you recalled, following his gaze. "He’s claustrophobic, so he panicked and smashed the button. You even gave him a lecture on damaging company supplies, remember?"

He did. 

Now, Jaemin was growing restless. He nervously ran his hands through his hair, disheveling that always-put-together look a bit more. 

"What do we do now?" he groaned. "I told Mr Park to have the elevator reviewed last month. I told him…" 

"Someone will end up realising the elevator is stuck," you shrugged, letting your body lazily slide down the wall. 

Wrong. Everyone was partying and getting drunk. That would probably be an eternity before anyone needs the elevator. 

But Jaemin could not stay like this. Trapped in a cage with a hungry lion.

He needed to get out. Before his resolve completely crumbled. 

Your eyes followed him intently. He was examining every inch of the walls and ceiling, looking for a solution. Anescape. 

"It's so hot in here," you exhaled, your hands reaching for the buttons of your shirt as you now sat on the floor. Jaemin's eyes stuck to your fingertips as you unbuttoned two of them. 

"Yn," he called. His voice was stern, at least he tried to make it so. In reality, it was more breathless. 

Without him really wanting to, his eyes drifted inevitably to the exposed skin of your chest. He could see the inviting swell of your breasts and the black lacy cups concealing them. 

Jaemin's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Button that back up," he ordered, but the command lacked its usual authority. His voice came out strained, almost hoarse.

You tilted your head, letting one finger trail along the exposed skin just above your bra. "Why? It's hot. Unless..." You licked your lips slowly. " ...It's bothering you?"

His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Maybe." You stretched your legs out, watching his gaze drop to your thighs before he forcibly wrenched it away. "But you’re the one looking."

The elevator suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. Jaemin tugged at his collar, his usually pristine tie now slightly crooked.

His breathing had gone shallow, chest rising and falling in quick bursts as he paced the limited space like a caged animal.

"You know," you mused, rolling up the hem of your skirt just an inch, "we could be here for hours. Might as well make the best of it."

Jaemin made a strangled noise from the back of his throat, and with defeat wearing on his face, he sank down the wall across you as well. 

His normally perfect posture had collapsed into something far more human, with his legs folding awkwardly in the confined space, elbows resting on raised knees, tie loosened, that always-impeccable hair now mussed from his nervous hands running through it.

"You look stressed," you purred, leaning on, deliberately letting more of your bra peek out from beneath your unbuttoned shirt. "Should I give you a neck massage? HR policy doesn't say anything about coworkers helping each other relax..."

Jaemin's knuckles turned white where they gripped his knees. "Stop." The word came out strangled. "Just...stop talking."

He sighed once more before he let out a nervous chuckle. "You’re going to be the death of me. Seriously."

"What a way to go," you shifted onto your hands and knees, crawling toward him with slow, deliberate movements. The fabric of your skirt rode up your thighs, the click of your nails against the elevator floor the only sound besides his ragged breathing.

His eyes darkened as you approached, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching.

You stopped just inches from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth, you stared intently into his pretty eyes. "How about you—"

Jaemin had had enough. He already told you to stop talking. So before you could even finish your sentence, his control snapped.

One hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck as he yanked you forward, his mouth crashing onto yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation. The kiss was all teeth and tongue and barely restrained frustration, on both ends. 

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed closer, your knee sliding between his thighs. He growled, the sound vibrating against your lips. 

Jaemin's grip on you tightened as your lips found the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, his breath hitching when you nipped lightly at his pulse point.

"We shouldn't—" His protest was weak, voice already ragged as your tongue traced the column of his throat. His fingers flexed against your hip, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.

"This is against policy..." he managed, though it came out more like a plea than a warning.

You smirked against his skin, dragging your teeth over the spot that made him shudder. "Fire me, then," you whispered, the words hot against his neck.

A broken groan escaped him, his resolve crumbling as your hands slid beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over the taut muscles of his abdomen. He was unravelling beneath your touch. His perfect composure, his rigid control, all of it dissolving into desperate, hungry need.

"Fuck—" His head fell back against the elevator wall with a thud as your knee pressed more insistently between his thighs, his hips jerking instinctively.

You could feel his hard-on straining against his slacks, could hear the way his breathing turned uneven and shallow. His hands, once so restrained, now roamed greedily-one tangling in your hair to yank your head back, the other gripping the curve of your ass to pull you flush against him.

You laughed, breathless, rolling your hips against him just to watch his composure shatter further. "You should reallypunish me," you taunted, fingers working at his belt with practised ease. "Show me how strict you can be."

Jaemin didn't need to be told twice. Not anymore.

His slacks were shoved down in one rough motion, your skirt pushed up around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly against the elevator wall.

To be fair, you did use all his patience, and you were needy too. So you weren’t mad when he lined himself up with your entrance and thrusted into you with one sudden stroke. 

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder into the wall. His mouth was everywhere— your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts-biting and sucking marks into your skin like he needed to brand you.

"You—" he grunted, his grip bruising on your thighs. "Seriously, you've been driving me insane."

You moaned, arching into him, revelling in the way his control had completely shattered. "You love it," you purred, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. 

Jaemin snarled, slamming into you harder, his rhythm growing erratic. The elevator groaned around you, the metal shuddering with each movement, but neither of you cared. Not when he was finally, finally fucking you like you'd been imagining for weeks.

His thrusts were relentless, deep, punishing strokes that stole the breath from your lungs. Every snap of his hips drove you harder against the cold metal wall, the contrast of his burning skin and the chill of the elevator searing into you.

"You feel so good," you gasped, nails carving half-moons into his shoulders as he pistoned into you. "All this stuck-up act... just to end up fucking your colleague in an elevator—"

Jaemin's breath was hot against your neck as he growled, "You practically begged for it." 

You laughed, the sound dissolving into a moan as he angled his hips, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Did I?" You rolled your hips, taking him impossibly deeper, relishing his choked groan. "Or was it your plan from the start?"

Jaemin slammed you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. The other gripped your thigh, hiking it higher around his waist as he drove into you with brutal precision.

"Look at you," he rasped, eyes black with hunger as he watched your breasts bounce with each thrust. "Taking it like you were made for me. Like this pussy was built for my cock."

The vulgarity, so stark against his usual polished speech, sent a shockwave of heat through you. You arched, offering yourself completely. "Do whatever you want with me," you panted, meeting his erratic rhythm. "Fuck—Jaemin!"

He swallowed your cry with a searing kiss, tongue tangling with yours, tasting your surrender. His free hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with ruthless accuracy.

The dual stimulation was too much. The stretch of him filling you, the rough circle of his thumb, the possession in his voice... Your climax ripped through you, violent and blinding. You screamed into his mouth, body clamping down around him in pulsing waves.

Jaemin swore, his rhythm faltering as your walls milked him. "Tight—fuck—so fucking tight—" With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his groan raw and shattered as he emptied himself inside you.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the hum of the stalled elevator. His forehead rested against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling, his grip on your wrists easing.

The silence stretched, thick with the scent of sex and shattered resolve. Then, faintly, a mechanical whir echoed through the shaft.

The elevator jolted violently back to life.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flooding the cramped space with harsh, unforgiving light. Jaemin froze, his breath still ragged, pupils blown wide with shock and lingering desire. For one heartbeat, then two, the world narrowed to the slick heat between your bodies, the tremble in his arms as he held you against the wall, and the raw, exposed truth in his eyes.

Then reality crashed back.

He pulled out of you with a sharp gasp, scrambling backwards as if burned. His movements were frantic, jerky. He yanked up his slacks, fumbling with his belt, fingers trembling over the buttons of his ruined dress shirt. He wouldn’t look at you. Not at the smear of your lipstick across his jaw, not at the flush high on your chest, not at the way your skirt was still rucked up around your hips.

Wincing at the ache between your thighs, you smoothed your skirt down with deliberate calm. The air reeked of sex, sweat, and Jaemin’s expensive cologne, leaving no doubt of the kind of activity you've just engaged in.

A mechanical chime echoed through the cab.

Ding.

The elevator resumed its ascent.

Jaemin finally met your eyes. His hair was wild, his tie hanging loose, his collar undone. A vein pulsed in his temple. He looked… undone. Ravaged. Beautiful.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, his voice scraped raw: "We are never speaking of this again."

The elevator doors slid open onto the empty executive floor hallway. Cold, sterile air rushed in, a sharp contrast to the hot, almost-steam that had filled the cab.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, reaching up to wipe the smudged lipstick from his jaw with your thumb. He flinched but didn’t pull away. "Whatever you say, sheriff," you murmured, your voice low and honeyed.

His eyes flashed with a mix of fury, hunger, and something dangerously close to surrender. He caught your wrist, his grip tight but not painful, holding your hand against his face for a fraction of a second too long. 

Then he released you, straightened his shoulders with visible effort, and strode out of the elevator without a backwards glance. His steps echoed down the polished marble hallway, sharp and precise once more—the perfect HR enforcer, already rebuilding his walls.

You leaned back against the cool metal wall, inhaling the fading scent of him in the elevator. The doors began to slide shut.

Just before they sealed, you saw him pause at the far end of the corridor. He didn’t turn around. But his hand rose, fingers brushing the spot on his jaw where your thumb had been.

The doors shut, and you smiled.

𝜗ৎ... business casual series masterlist

[iminlovewithmybentley]

WARNING FOR GOOD OMENS SPOILERS!!!!

FURTHER SLIGHT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE FOLLOWING BOOKS: The Bone Clock by David Mitchell, You Only Call When You're In Trouble by Stephen Mcauley, and Bibliomaniac by Robin Ince.

Edit: Photos by @polychromicron-persei-8 !!!!!

So I'm sure a lot of the fandom have seen the pictures posted by a very lucky fan who saw the production of good omens happening out in Scotland today!!

However what I'm not seeing people talk about is a hidden gem in the reblogs.

SOMEONE HAD MANAGED TO GET A PICTURE OF THE BOOKS IN THE WINDOW!!!

Naturally, I had to go and do my research to see if these books give us any clues or serve any other purposes other than decorative purposes

AND LET ME TELL YOU

These are the the books visible in the window:

I'll go through them one by one

(Please bear in mind, I haven't read any of these books personally!! The only information I have on them are the little bits I found online in a very rushed attempt at research!!!)

Okay firstly

"The Bone Clocks" by David Mitchell

Now, this is the one that I struggled to make sense of the most out of the three.

The story appears to follow a runaway teenage girl who is a "lightning rod for psychic phenomena." These visions are said to reorder reality and send her into a real life nightmare.

However,

It also states that there is a boy who eventually crosses paths with her and who's story "comes together in moments of grace and extraordinary wonder"

As I said, I've never read these books and the only link I could begin to make with this is the idea of a "supernatural being meets another supernatural being and what they can do when they're together defies anyone's wildest dreams" story, similar to what we have seen and could see in GO3.

The next book is where it gets FARRRR more interesting (in my opinion)

NOW

THE TITLE? INTERESTING ASF.

IS AZIRAPHALE IN TROUBLE? OR EVEN CROWLEY?

The quotes are literally taken from the amazon listing itself, but I'll just point out the bits that stuck out to me personally.

☆ "is it ever okay to stop caring for others and start living for yourself?"

And I'm skipping a HUUUUGE chunk of the story here so apologies

☆ "Tom does what he's always done - answers the call."

☆ "Thus begins a journey that will change everyone's life and demonstrate the beauty or dysfunction (or both?) of the ties that bind families together and sometimes strangle them."

THAT LAST QUOTE REALLY STICKS OUT TO ME. Personally, I'd say that could possibly relate to the heaven and hell divides?

But furthermore, we were told prior to the whole NG situation that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't talking.. so could that mean that as soon as they begin speaking once again, they have the power to leave heaven and hell behind? Perhaps stop the divides?

And last, but certainly not least

Now, keep in mind that this particular book is nonfiction and appears to be written from the authors own point of view as he aims to visit 100 bookshops in 100 days.

This has a relatively short description from what I can see right now so I'll put it in here

"Bibliomaniac takes the reader on a journey across Britain as Robin explores his lifelong love of bookshops and books - and also tries to find out just why he can never have enough of them.

It is the story of an addiction and a romance, and also of an occasional points failure."

This one interested me SO much because it SCREAMS Aziraphale character development sort of thing? You know?

I really struggled to find any spoilers for this one whatsoever but one website did mention the author's love for vintage books, which he only ever reads as and when, as opposed to focusing on just one book.

I just thought this was SO SO SOOOOO interesting, and if anybody has any differing thoughts/interpretations or has even read the books, the comment section is a safe space to do so!!! All theories/suggestions are welcomed (any hate WILL be blocked, don't test me).

OR MAYBE THIS ALL MEANS NOTHING AND IM JUST CLOWNING FAR TOO HARD?!??!??!

[vintagesimstress]

Brythonic names for sims

There's probably altogether something like three people out there who might be excited about this, but as I already made it for myself, why not share? An override of the names the game generates for newly made sims, both in CAS and in game.

Based on:

this amazing page (most of the names are given in a newer form, but many of them come with a possible reconstruction of what they might've sounded like back in Common Brythonic times);

names appearing on actual coins from the British iron age (and shortly afterwards);

those couple of names the Romans were kind enough to write down;

my own attempts at tracing some medieval Welsh names back to their ancient roots (as shared here and here);

as even after said attempts I ended up with 4 pages of male names and not even 1 of female, I tricked the system by simply 'feminising' a bunch of male names, i.e. swapping the male -os ending for female -a. I tried to avoid the names ending in nouns, but the ones ending in adjectives have all been indiscriminately gender-swapped. I make zero claims to their historical accuracy, but at least they have the right vibe... I guess?

For your casual townies only. Any sims with special names (natives of San Myshuno, Mt Komorebi, Sulani, Selvadorada, Chestnut Ridge, Tomarang and what not), servos and animals will source said names from their default (EA) lists.

Should work for all languages (many thanks to @kyriat-stories for testing!).

However!

This is achieved by tweaking the simspawner tuning so that all languages would source their name lists from English. That means any of the special sim-types listed above will show up in your games with English-template names, not the ones you used to have. That applies mostly to animals; as for the world-specific sims, I guess you shouldn't notice any difference unless you've been using non-Roman-alphabet-script until now.

Will likely break when EA releases another DLC with world-specific names. If we're really getting fairies soon, I'm afraid they might do just that. I'll try to keep the mod updated (as long as I hear no reports of disastrous bugs after the game update, that is). In case I don't, in my experience name mods rarely turn dangerous; the worst that can happen is that the game gets confused and spawns townies with no surnames etc.

Not compatible with any other name replacements. Duh! (including kuttoe's Townie Demographics mod, judging by the comments section.)

Oh, and two linguistic notes:

all male names on my list end in -os. I don't care what the Romans thought or wrote - they might've just assumed it's the same ending they were using in Latin, or thought that's how proper names 'should' look like so they kept romanising them on purpose; and as for the coins, endings tend to be cut off anyway (cause otherwise the names wouldn't fit, lol). I haven't seen that accursed -us ending in any linguistic sources, so... yeah. Os it is.

surnames are male names in their genitive form: -os turned into -i, meaning basically 'of X'. Short for 'son/daughter of X', which would be too long. TS4 is like those ancient coins, apparently. Too long names don't fit. The game rebels if you dare to try it.

Let me know if anything doesn't work as intended. The chosen three, enjoy!

DOWNLOAD (free on Patreon)

[ghost-proofbaby]

NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

summary: you prepare to fight with eddie, when a new discovery takes you both off-guard.

warnings: strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

wc: 5.9k+

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely. 

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon. 

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms. 

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt. 

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head. 

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called. 

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face. 

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it. 

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing. 

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?” 

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do. 

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause. 

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.” 

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe. 

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with. 

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous. 

And it was. God, it was. 

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe. 

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?” 

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone. 

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer. 

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now. 

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him. 

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem. 

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you. 

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt. 

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open. 

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears. 

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back. 

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?” 

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?” 

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build. 

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said. 

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.” 

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed. 

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on. 

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers. 

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.” 

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?” 

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you. 

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear. 

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch. 

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.” 

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl. 

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat. 

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how? 

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next. 

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here. 

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead. 

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point. 

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems. 

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.” 

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind. 

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you. 

“I care about what you are to Eddie.” 

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.” 

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?” 

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.” 

What’s about to be asked of you. 

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility. 

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming. 

“More than an NDA, dear.” 

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?” 

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further. 

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest. 

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.” 

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words? 

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.” 

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York. 

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt. 

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi. 

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option. 

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.” 

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building. 

You have your answer, it seems. 

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.” 

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson. 

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding. 

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

[minzart]

Beggars can't be choosers (6)

Ao3 - Prev - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Receptor & Reader(GN), Lazerbeak & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

When Rumble nor Frenzy could play "human-keeper", as they called it, it was given to you strange green and purple pieces of a machine, you couldn't recognize what it could transfom into, but you knew it was made of three pieces only, and one of those was a lense

It had been four days since your promotion, and today would be your first attempt at redirecting shipment, you were trembling in anxiety, hoping whoever of the seekers they sent to retrieve the parts knew how to behave, not betting on Thundercracker to play delivery mech as well as personal driver

"Pacing around won't help your charade human" you hear the soft static voice call out from your pocket, you jump in attention anyways, as he rarely speaks

"Maybe, but it does help me vent my anxiety"

"It really doesn't"

"Well, let me pretend it does"

"Relax, everything is going to be fine, we made sure of it"

You stop in your tracks when noticing a black truck coming into view, the shipment is here "alright, now deliver"

Getting closer and closer, the driver stops by your side, pulling down his window and giving you a toothy smile "oi chief! Where we unloading?"

"Hangar 11 is good, the warehouse is being used today" it wasn't a lie, when the warehouse was too fool or being organized, hangar 11 was usually the go to area for temporary storage, the lie was that the warehouse was not in fact in use, but it was full enough that you could play that card if someone asked

"Gotcha" and he drives off

To sell the appearance, you continue your routine without even looking at hangar 11s' direction, helping around repairs, meetings, writting new guides and requests for upgrades on test models, making sure everyone was justified when there was a day missing in their attendance, negotiating with officers, breaking a fight over hangar 4, and finally lunch

You drop in the quiet kitchen, at this hour no-one was present, which is a blessing, you needed to breathe a little without too many eyes on you

"You know" you hear Reflector speaking again as you take one of the few leftover sandwiches "no wonder you adapted quickly to our chain of comand, your job seems very similar to our rank sistem"

You hum

"But you seem dense in some aspects of it"

You roll your eyes, munching down your food and decides to entertain the bot "how so?"

"Perhaps I am just too good at my job, as usual" you hear the pride in him "there are people wanting to take you down"

You sigh "no shit, that's normal"

"But I mean, really want to, as in, actively planing sabotage and rumor spreading"

"..." You stop, picking a small screw from hou pocket as well as him "what did you see?"

"Careful with that thing human, don't shoot the messager" you feel him jump a bit in your hand "one of them is marking your superior constantly on lunch break, the other one is reporting every single mistake you left untouched, I'm still working on the third ones' problem"

You sigh, masaging your temples, you would have to make sure to don't piss off any of your crew then, they can't do anything if you are competent to the majority present "I'll deal with it, thank you"

"Oh?" You hear him laugh "an aknowladgement is rare when not coming from lord Megatron, but apreciated, human"

You finish your lunch and decide to finally go organize the spare parts "You work for the spy section of the Decepticons then?"

"Hm... I don't have this information" you walk with him down the corridors, still pretending to fix him

"What do you mean?"

"That I don't remember that information, it's probably with one of the other two parts of me"

"Other... parts? As in, you split your conscience?"

"Pretty much yeah, into three, each one knowing parts of a whole that then join togheter once requested by lord Megatron"

"Is that... no wait, they didn't tell anyone how their powers work, never mind..." You hum "were you born with this hability?"

"I guess?"

"Got it" you puff, expected, but still sad, you pocket him again when seeing people approaching

.................................

After every part was counted and revised by the staff, you could finally separate some of the things you deem more needed, many were tubes, some wires, many metal plates, a motor for jets and tanks just in case, and wheels

All of that in two big boxes, not bad, you could work with that, passing chains around the cargo you make sure to tie them togheter, this should be enough to hold on the weight in the flight, since the Decepticons don't have members that can transform into comum human grounders... unless Soundwave can and just doesn't want to... no, wait, he is a boom box that plays caccettes, that's right, so you are pretty sure it's gonna be one of the seekers

Picking up your phone you find in the last page a decepticon icon, tapping it your keyboard appears, you write your mensage

[Cargo secured, waiting pick up: Hangar 11]

Upon hitting send, a mensage appears

<searching permitted connection....>

<Megatron - online - operational>

<No more permitted conections>

You tap Megatrons name

<conection access granted>

<menssage sent>

<Make this default conection? Y/N>

You tap back in your phone, ignoring the mensage, now you just have to wait and pay attention to the sky...

Deciding it was too dangerous to stay around longer than half an hour, you go back to your duties, the day pass by smoothly than you expect, and soon enough, you start to worry your menssage never went trough, when a ping calls your attention

[Thundercracker is on his way- 17:25:12 - °°/°°/°°/M.R - D.C: Megatron ]

Oh... well, you'll be damned, maybe the rest of the seekers just despise you... or they just like combat more. You lost counts already of how many times you had to hear Starscream chastise Skywarp about his recklessness in battle, you even joined in once, after you had to bend his wings back in place... for the fifth time in two days

Really, how many times were they to be beaten to learn and try to take over with discretion, it's getting ridiculous how the hell didn't they get beaten once and for all already, you start to wonder how Megatron got to be a dictator in the first place, because apparently who reined Cybertron before they got stuck here was the Decepticons, so what gives, does he have all competent people there and got stuck with the worst of his generals?

Is he even a tyrant anymore? Who is ruling Cybertron if both faction leaders are on earth, surely they got more people fighting up there... is there even a war going on anymore, four million years is a long time, maybe they got in an agreement and once he discovers, the silver tank will short circuit and die

Although... this doesn't mean much for your planet does it? You can feel that, even if for now, they are raiding energy companies for necessity, it would soon become the main purpose of earth for the tyrant, a young planet full of energy... he would suck it dry, but humanity is already doing that, if he wants every single charge of it, he should take down the greedy upper-class main companies first... then again, he probably would just do the political move of "you keep an eye on yours and I'll give you money and let you keep your life"

... eh, nothing you already don't expect from humans between ourselves anyways, in this world it all depends on how useful you are to someone else, and for now, you are very useful for them, so you are safe...

Safer than most anywas, and that was the most comforting thought you had this week

The sky roars, and you know Thundercracker is near, people jump in attention then check to see if it's raining, the day is foogy enough to pretend it will soon, so you run along for Hangar 11

The blue jets await your arrival in good shape, you look for sighs of fatigue or malfunction, he is static, and his turbins stop working slowly, letting them cool down naturally from use, his lights are working in perfect condition, and he stops at perfect distance of the wall of boxes, everything indicating attention and awareness, you smile noting that he is alright

There are some workers around catching a break, you greet them and smoothly goes to the lifting cart, driving it into the chained boxes and dragging them bellow Thundercracker

With a ladders help you fix the cargo in two of his loops, usualy a F-15 isn't supposed to carry this much weight, but a seeker is not a F-15, they are faster, and they are more resistant, the damage you saw in Thundercracker and Skywarp is something you bet would have broken any human jet no problem, but they survive it, probably a property of the flexibility of living metal

So you hope that means they are far stronger too, you give a gentle tap on his wheels, and with start wayving your hands at the cockpit, playing along as if you were silognaling to the pilot the green light for take off

When the engines start you are sure he got the mensage, you hear someone behind you murmur "not even a hello, who even is this guy..."

You shrugged a lie coming naturally to you "capitals' lieutenant"

You hear the loud smack of your coworkers jaw as he gulps, and do your best to keep yourself from smirking smuggly

..........................

Lazerbeak had a different mission today, one not directly given by his boss, but he suspects it was approved anyway since he wasn't sent to the autobots base this cycle anyways, but given by his coworker, it was given as an official mission, it was demanded as one, but he knew it wasn't one

After all, what would they even do with a rusthy human scrap of a two wheel model like this one

Unless the plan was to give it to the little human disassemble, wich was very unlikely, Ravage had been very adamant that he kept the junk intact, perhaps it is a gift, a not so unusual ocurance to the feline minicon when it comes to her favorites, the human did save her life, short off, Lazebeak is still sure anyone would have been able to do that human or not, but the precise surgery that was not a surgery has been reported to be easier to handle than being open and vulnerable in the light of a wrentch

The avian minicon wouldn't know, he was more of a intelligence gathering and last nano-second backup than the others, rarely in need of maintainance himself, so he didn't knew the human as much as he should personally at this point

Even if he was keeping surveillance in them every once in a while, his main job was to keep an eye on autobots, but he was sent to make a quick scan of the military base they frequent

When arriving at the decepticon base, Lazerbeak made sure to put the two wheel model by the medical wing, just as requested

What he didn't expect was the little human to enter right as he was ready to take flight, he freezes, turning his head in their direction, their eyes shone in recognition, a big smile stretching their fleshy face "My bike!"

They run past the minicon immediately, inspecting the item "scratches eveywere, some dents but nothing too damaging, I gotta clean you up of all this sand, oh my baby, how I have missed you!"

Lazerbeak tilts his head a bit in confusion, by Rumble's memory data, a baby should be just a tinny human... perhaps it is also an affectionate term for other things, that would explain it "You got this to me?"

The human looks at him, weary and curious, Lazerbeak lowers his stance, eyes shining once, the human servos twitch tentatively, the avian minicon waits for their reaction, a mischievous glint in his optics

They reach their hand, and Lazerbeak makes a bite in their direction, startling the little thing and making the avian cackle in daylight, the human yelps then remains their composure "alright fine no touching.... thanks anyways"

The little human moves the "bike" over to their own little corner, Ravage has sworn that no matter how far or how fast human contraptions were, Cybertronians were faster, you wouldn't be able to escape even with one hour of advantage in the open desert

And with that, the air spy goes back to his commander, to Megatrons' office he flies, were Soundwave is found discussing matters with their leader

"Any luck with our preparations Soundwave?" The warlord asks, focusing on datasets instead of his spy comander

"Humans EM fields: unstable" the blue mech says, opening his chest for Lazerbeak to doc "Long distance reading: poor quality, intentions vaguely acknowledged at best, Short distance reading: better intention percieved, no cohesive thoughts detected, Phisical conected: still to be tested"

"Good, see to it that you find a way to read a humans mind, the autobots aquired another fleshbag to their ranks, from last reports he seems to be a scientist prodigy, his knowledge on the new energy source they are working on might be useful to us"

"Decoy base: evaluated?"

"Skywarp is working on it, dismissed"

The comander nods, giving a brief tap to his Chamber and leaves, walking back to his shared, but only he uses anyways, office with the air comander, analyzing Lazerbeaks recordings as he does

The spy commander feels Ravage indignation of her gift being given credit to the avian, caccette growling inside him despite her recharge mode, the minicon doesn't seem to care, still pleased at being praised and the change of scenery, Soundwave notes your care with the motorbike, filing the information in case of second hand punishment being needed

Usualy he would now make surveillance as Ravage and Frenzy recharge, the base being almost done, perhaps by the end of seven cycles they could get to work in a transmission tower and finally contact Cybertron

However, if he could finish his human EM field analysis this cycle still, he could move on to more pressing matters, like a plan of kidnapping the human they needed, he is still in need of locating his charging quarters in the autobot base or outside it

As he thinks the blue mech notices his peds driving him to the medical wing, of course, they already do have a human...

Your EM field was always on high alert around him, and most mechs that were far bigger than you, if he noticed correctly, fear surrounding that little head of yours when anyone walks in, not unusual to those who knows about the second form of the disguised mechs, but you were the recent stuborn decision his lord has had

Too valuable to accidentally get rid off, hence he avoided using you directly as a case study first, only as a hipotesis confirmation, humans do not feel his information scans, and that was that, but now... would he risk Lord Megatrons' wrath if his reading in direct contact to a humans mind might potentially fry whatever you have as a processor?

Then again, it would just be a more in deep scan, and it was already proven it didn't hurt from afar...

Slowly he approaches, registering the faint tune you hum, a deep part of him want to tap to the beat, it is quite simple, but he wouldn't be a spy master if he succumbed to these types of urges. He is as close as he can without letting his shadow give him away, in a split second the decision is made, the second you turn around as you noticed the massive mech, with one single digit he pokes your head "wh-?!"

The small creature freezes, gripping the small cloth like their life depends on it, he hold backs a small chuckle, they were amusing to mess with, this, he agreed with his cassettes. Going back to his task, he pats your head more firmly now, concentrating in the waves of energy in one single point, then spreading it to your whole body, the experiment a sucess,he hears your voice

"W..... appening..."

Then he adds his other hands' finger, your voice grows clearer

"Is ...... this..... ?"

Then he vents in frustration and decides to just concentrate all fingers in two spots by your heads' side

"Oh yeah, I definitively passed out on the pile, this is too much for this late of the night... or is it morning already?"

Good, he could work on humans as well, now for a test run in interrogation

"Query: do you know my designation?" Lets start simple

Your eyes shot open "designation-name name of course, name name name his name- fuck, names-"

An image, a memory, a hand inside a lavender piston, a voice, Frenzys voice "are you stupid?! He doesn't know we are here! Do you want to blow our cover?!"

"If he did he would have come and killed the human after yesterdays warning", "a name a name a name a name Frenzys and Rumbles boss-", his own voice "Patient designation: Ravage", then Rumbles' "Bah stop being such a weenie... did-"

"Soundwave..." "SIR DONT FORGET THE SIR YOU DUMBASS" "sir"

More voice than image, but upon called an especific memory it will apear, even if a bit turved, he can work with that, he stops his pats, and can't hold back the chuckle, your fur is sticking out "Assistance: apreciated"

Without any delay, he gets up, and starts walking out of the room, but halts in his way, Megatron is watching from the door, the spy master feels his optics widen and his visor brighten, his posture goes rigid "Lord Megatron"

The silver tyrant hasn't caught his third in command this flustered since the start of this war, it all becomes more comical by the absolute confusion that is scrunched up in the humans face, it is becoming harder and harder not burst laughing "Soundwave"

"This is the weirdest fantasy I have ever had" that does it, the warlord wheeze out a deep hawling laugh, he can't contain it, the allegations of a pet human are going to sky rocket after this but frag it, it was all worth for seeing this scene alone

You and Soundwave look at each other in an empaty-driven concern for the well-being of your own lives, and it only gets worse when you hear a scratchy voice from somewhere in the base screaming "WHAT THE PIT IS THAT SOUND?!"

In a blink of an eye, Soundwave is not by your side anymore, the traitor has abandoned you, Megatron claps his knees, and you hear his vents struggle to keep a consistent intake "I needed this, oh, I forgot I could do that, frag- my vents- scrap... what were you two doing?"

"Honestly, boss?" You decide to just... lay on the ground for a little while, things couldn't get weirder "I have no idea"

And the laugh starts again, but he at least leaves the med bay, and you start to suspect that this is all an elaborated TV prank

[trippinsorrows]

ltye + leya

authors note: no idea where this came from. but, we here.

no tags. if it ends up on your dash, twas meant to be lmao

words: 1.2k // warnings: mental health topics and roman being an ass to literally anyone not his child.

Children get sick.

It's a normal thing that happens from time to time, or more, depending on immune systems, exposure, and other extraneous variables.

However, for Roman and Solana, when one of their girls gets sick, both usually end up with whatever the ailment is before it's all said and done.

It's why they've come up with a system of sorts. Somewhat keeping the girls separated to avoid infection and exposure. It's not foolproof, nor is it liked by their girls who are more or less inseparable, but it saves the parents a ton of late nights with only having one child sick. Or, at least, one child sick at a time.

And to help out a bit, they split up the duties, taking turns with who caters more to the sick child and who caters more to the well child. It's Solana's turn, hence Roman being the one who's currently strapping Leya into her car seat after picking her up from school.

He goes to step back, a bit of a test when Leya's little hand reaches out to stop him. He sighs. "Why don't we just try one time and see what happens?"

It only takes her eyes widening with unspoken fear for him to know that's definitely not happening today.

"Please...." Her voice is soft and pleading and easily drags him over to her side of the fence. Roman proceeds to secure and unsecure her car seat a total of three times, after which her face settles into comfort and satisfaction.

He doesn't say anything, just makes a mental note to tell Solana they need to meet with her therapist again. Leya's OCD doesn't seem to be improving despite almost two months of weekly therapy.

He's just closed the door to the SUV when the single most annoying voice shouts his name. "Oh, Mr. Reigns!" This fucking bitch. "I need to speak with you!"

He doesn't hesitate to dismiss her ass. "Sounds like a personal problem to me." It's never anything important, just her probably trying to bait his ass into donating more money to their already rich ass school. If it doesn't have to do with his girls, and he knows it doesn't, she can fuck off.

Roman finds slight amusement in the way her smile drops off into borderline shock as he hops into the drivers seat and slams the door shut. Also annoying cause when has he ever paid this bitch any mind?

Nevertheless, he's driving home when Leya asks, "is sissy better yet?"

He wishes. It'd be easier on all of them. "Not yet, baby." A glance at her through the rearview mirror reveals her disappointment. Lina really is her best friend and not being able to play with her has to be hard. "You want me to watch that....Brown guy show with you?"

For the life of him, he can never remember the name of that damn show that has a chokehold on all the children.

Leya giggles, and it puts a small smile on his face. He loves hearing his girls laugh. Any of them. "It's Bluey, daddy."

"Yeah, that too." Close enough. "You wanna watch it or not?"

She nods, grabbing and holding her stuffed animal. She doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't really expect her to. She talks when she feels like it, and he respects that. She's like her mom, but she's also like him. Of few words at times.

It's when they're home, and she's changed out of her uniform into something comfortable, he sits down with her as they share their dinner together. Roman making sure to use one of her pink sectional plates to ensure her food doesn't touch.

Cause he knows damn well she won't eat if it does.

And when she asks for ice cream afterwards, Neapolitan, of all flavors, he watches how she uses her spoon to separate all of said flavors.

"What if I just got you the three different flavors instead?" He has to ask. It's probably unhelpful in helping her learn to manage her compulsions, but it seems at least a bit more efficient than her current routine.

However, she shakes her head, explaining in her cute little voice, "it's not the same...."

Roman sighs. "Leya...." Might not be the best time but between the car seat, her needing to see him lock the car and the front door three times, her completing all of her homework yet again instead of doing some there at school and some at home, and now the ice cream, he has to say something. "You know we've gotta work on some of these things."

He doesn't need to say what said things are. She already knows.

Her gaze drops to the bowl of perfectly partitioned ice cream. "It's my brain."

He frowns. "What?"

She lazily moves her spoon around the bowl, explaining, "Tracy at school said my brain is bad and stupid, and that's why i have bad thoughts."

There's never a shortage of people on Roman's hit list. It grows and changes around every day. But, this lil Tracy bitch just made her way to the top of the fucking list.

Kid or no kid.

"Who's Tracy?" He's mindful of his tone, not wanting her to think his simmering anger is any way directed toward her. Like her mom, she can be very sensitive at times.

"She's in my class....." Was in her class, cause this little bitch with the old ass name of Tracy just earned herself an expulsion from the school. "I just don't want bad things to happen."

Her eyes watering is enough to have Roman get up from his own bar stool as he moves to lift her up, takes her seat and settles her onto his lap.

"Nothing bad is going to happen, okay?" He moves his thumb to her eyes, gently wiping her tears. "Daddy's always going to protect you, your sister, and your mom. I promise you that." With every part of his being, every fiber of his soul. "I know it's hard for you, but your mom and I are gonna help you."

And some of that help might include Roman having to set aside his pride and reservations about medicating Leya. The minute her therapist brought it up, he wanted to cuss her out. She's 7. That's too damn young to be on some mental health medication. But seeing and hearing in her own words how she views herself because of her OCD, it's more than enough to have him at least hear out her pediatrician.

He's pleased to see and even feel her spirits lifted a little, prompting him to take it a step further. "Can you smile for me?" She bites down on her bottom lip just like Solana, clearly suppressing said smile. "I know it's in there." His hand is barely on her stomach, tickling her when she bursts out into giggles, moving against him. Roman keeps his arm firm around her to keep her from falling. And he always will. "There it is...." Her smile is also Solana's. Through and through.

Leya presses her body into his chest. "Thank you, daddy."

He kisses the top of her head. Anything. Anything she needs or will ever need, he's got her. For life. "I love you, Cataleya."

[forgingtheblade]

DID YOU KNOW THAT MINECRAFT HAS LOOMS???, aka, THE WEAVING WRITEUP

part 1: prep work—did you know how much you have to do before even touching a loom? me either

part 2 part 3

all the way back in october of last year, I was in a weaving class and was tasked with conceptualizing a project for my final using some of the techniques we had been learning through the semester. being the person i am, my immediate first thought was what if i recreated a minecraft banner on a real floor loom? wouldn’t that be fucking cool?

thus was borne what eventually spiraled into this project!

i figured out how wide i wanted it to be, what weight of yarn i wanted to use, and did all of the weaving math to figure out exactly how much yardage i’d need. i took that to a local weaver’s studio who was selling yarn, and came looking for just about any undyed wool she had to offer.

i specifically wanted wool because, well, that’s what the minecraft weavings are made of!

i remember digging through stacks upon stacks of old cones of yarn before finding a couple bags of a caked wool yarn that was, admittedly pretty rough. after using a tool not unlike this one, we figured it was roughly 3000 yards of yarn, and i bought the lot for about 30 bucks.

photo courtesy of Miekle’s Fiber Arts

this thing is so nifty btw, you cut a specific length of yarn and figure out where it balances which is then multiplied by something to figure out the yardage—i’ve only used one this one time, but i think they’re cool!

after getting this yarn came the question of getting the colors i wanted. i’m very lucky to be studying at an institution that grows our own indigo plants, and ferments those plants into our own living indigo vats, so I thought it would be a travesty to not take advantage of the utterly beautiful blues that vat produces.

i divided up my yarns based on how long i needed each of my warp sections to be using a yarn winder measuring to roughly one yard per rotation to make skeins of the right length.

after running some test swatches i figured out how long to dip each skein into the indigo vat for to achieve the colors i wanted, and i wish i knew exactly how i did it but i don’t think i wrote it down anywhere, and its been , yknow, almost a year.

afterwards i had to turn those skeins back into cakes and let me just tell you.

i forgot to use a swift on the first one. i did not forget again.

untangling that first dark blue skein was a multi hour endeavor.

photo courtesy of . an amazon listing

this is a swift and a ball winder. the swift holds the big loop of yarn that is the skein taut and spins freely while you crank the ball winder to make those super orderly and useable cakes. without the swift, trying to wind a cake turns a nice skein of yarn into a nightmare tangle. it was not fun

ALL THAT ASIDE. after successfully detangling and caking my yarn, it was time to wind my warp on a warping board!

a warping board is used to measure out how long your threads running vertically through the loom are going to be. your warp, as it were. because i knew i wanted to weave two banners, and i wanted them to be about a yard long each, plus accounting for tying on to the loom, waste material at the start and end, and leaving a long enough gap between them to create tassels, i started with a three and a half yard long warp. each cross back and forth the board is about a yard of length.

only once i had used the warping board to measure out all 200 threads of width i was putting on the loom was i able to actually start tying the yarn on to the loom and threading it—but this post is already long enough as is, so that will be the next thing I post about!

stay tuned for prepping the loom and weaving the banners :3 here’s a little sneak peek

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Eight

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau and Ben (Soldier Boy)

Warnings: Language, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, angst, dashed dreams, mental breakdown.

W/C: 1,628

You were mad, upset, disappointed, frustrated by the lot of them. Ben sometimes acted like a child, which was ridiculous for a guy older than your grandpa. Dean and Beau had messed up, but for some damn reason, they wouldn’t apologise. They both got along like a house on fire, and you felt like you'd be constantly telling them to take Ben along with whatever the Hell they were up to, like a mother to her older sons. It was stupid and ridiculous. You weren’t a mother to any of them, and you’d be damned if you were gonna act like it.

The store was bustling, and people got in your way as you searched for Ben. He could be anywhere, which was sure. He could have even left. The thought filled with dread and panic, and hoping against all the odds, you rushed around the store like a headless chicken.

A blur of forest green caught your eye as you returned to the store’s clothing section. You'd recognise his Kevlar vested back anywhere and rushed over. He stood drinking whiskey and staring at baby clothes. Oh, fuck. Something about his demeanour put a bad feeling in your stomach.

“Ben?”

You reached out and touched his wrist. He didn’t pull away. He took another swig. You were gonna have to pay for that. Was he drunk? You didn’t know, but he probably was well on his way.

“I wanted kids. Not a lot, just a few. Two or three rugrats to call my own. I woulda raised ‘em right, too. Turns out that little shithead, Homelander, is mine, but he ain’t really, is he? He’s just a load of spunk I splurted into a test tube. An experiment. If he really was my kid, he wouldn’t be a needy little pussy crying for everyone’s attention. I mean, he wears a cape, for Christ’s sake. A fucking disappointment.”

“Ben.” You tugged his wrist gently to get him out of this kind of stupor he was in.

“I deserve some respect. I deserve to have a kid that’s not a fucking disgrace. I deserve fucking loyalty,”

He turned to you.

“And you let those doppelganger dipshits take the piss outta me. You didn’t do anything.”

The sudden turn of blame gave you whiplash.

“I—I didn’t. I didn’t know, Ben. You know that. We were together.”

He aggressively pointed a finger at your chest, disgust evident on his face.

“Fuck you, Y/N. You were more disappointed with them. I saw it in your face. It’s only cause you wanna get pounded into the next life by that floppy-haired sheriff and that hair-brained hunter. And fuck you for expecting me to react the way I did.”

His attack left you speechless, almost gasping for breath. Your mouth opened and closed multiple times, floundering to grasp words. Anything.

“You’re weak and pathetic, and I can see why your husband left you.”

You winced, physically afflicted by his cutting tongue. Emotion expanded in your chest as if the wind was knocked out. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, threatening to escape. You couldn’t cry. Not now. It meant he had won, but fuck you were struggling to keep it together. He had struck a raw nerve.

“Fuck you,” The words came shuddering out. “You don’t know anything about me.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling as though not enough went to your lungs. He stood there and took another swig from the bottle, a grimace on his lips as he stared you out.

“Trouble in paradise?”

That voice, that all too familiar smarmy voice. Your knees almost buckled, and the tears almost spilt over, but you remained strong. Oh, fuck. Things were about to go from bad to worse. You shuddered in another breath and tried to control the emotions rampaging inside.

Your ex, Mark, stood, shopping basket in hand. The worst thing was that he looked absolutely dashing as usual. Blonde hair combed and coiffed, immaculate blue eyes that always made your heart race. Or used to. Now, they made you avert your gaze. He reminded you of an assholish Chris Evans.

Seeing him brought up resentment, sadness, shame, hurt, and many other emotions. Your chest tightened. You didn’t need this now. Not when you were already feeling kicked down.

“You’re crazier than I thought. Getting your…uh boyfriend to dress up as that guy from that TV show.”

Damn it. Damn it. Damn, it! Ben wasn’t your new boyfriend, but Mark didn’t know that, and before you could tell him, he spoke again.

“Do you just date doppelgangers now?”

“No…”

God, he made you feel so inferior.

“Turns her on to no end when I do.”

Your neck swivelled so fast to Ben, who was now playing the perfect boyfriend. All charm, smirking, with no sign of the anger and hurt he had displayed a moment ago towards you.

He stepped closer, touched your shoulder, and squeezed gently.

Mark leant on one side, cocking his head.

“Hang on, your mother never said you were dating anyone. In fact, I know because she keeps wanting to set you up with Cole.”

Your jaw tensed. Mark still kept in contact with your mother. Figures. The two always got along, and when you told your mother of your divorce, she was more broken up about him not being her son-in-law than your broken relationship with Mark.

“I don’t talk to her that often.” You said in a clipped tone.

“You should. She and your dad—”

“Not my dad.” You interjected.

The sharp bite of your nails dug into the skin of your palms as you felt the anger bottle and build.

“They want you over for dinner. And why don’t you bring your new guy.”

“What a great idea!” Ben cut in, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. He honestly had some nerve.

“I’ll let her know.”

Mark pulled out his phone, and you watched his thumbs fly across the on-screen keyboard, typing a message to your mother.

“She and your dad will be so excited.”

“Hey! Fuck nugget! Didn't you hear her say he wasn't her dad!"

Mark jumped as Ben barked at him. A slight smile curved your lips at seeing Mark lose that unflappableness, even just for a second.

“Darling, did you get the baby grows?”

A female voice trilled down the aisle. Mark turned, and so did you. The slight smile left your face. The anger dissipated. A heaviness slowly took over your whole body.

The woman walking towards Mark was heavily pregnant.

Your ears rang, your head tingled, and dizziness had you closing your eyes, trying to regain your balance and equilibrium. You didn’t hear Mark as he introduced his girlfriend. When you opened your eyes, she was smiling, radiant, a picture of perfect health. Of course, it hadn’t bypassed you that she was younger than you. No, everything about her and their relationship was a massive punch to the gut, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way she protectively rested her hand on her belly.

Fuck. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Thank God Ben had his arm around you because you felt like at any moment your knees would buckle and you’d crumble to the floor. If that happened, you knew you’d lose any ounce of emotional strength and break down crying.

A pair of fingers snapping in your face got your attention. They were Ben’s. You pushed his hand away and began focusing on your breathing. In. Then out. Fuck. You couldn’t do this.

“Hey, is there any chance you still have those baby clothes? I mean…you won’t be needing them.”

Wooooow.

You stared at Mark, brows pinching together. He had returned back to his usual smug self. What right did he have to ask of that? They were a gift. A visual reminder of a rapidly dwindling dream. And it hit you. He implied that you were too old to even get pregnant. Which wasn’t true. At least, you hoped.

He had shattered your dreams of having a baby. Tore the carpet right up from under your feet. He hadn’t wanted a baby with you, but rather with someone else. Pain lashed across your chest, and you turned away from them. Beau and Dean stood from afar with the cart, watching. How much had they seen? Had they even heard?

You pushed yourself free of Ben’s grip. Nausea churned like a nasty swirling vortex in your stomach. Head ringing, heart racing, you forced yourself out. Time slowed, and every step felt like you were wading in sludge.

The automatic doors finally opened, and you rushed out, stumbling, shaking. You tripped and fell, bashing your knee on the bench. You howled like a baby before retching into the bin.

A hand touched your shoulder quickly. You swatted it away before it returned again, this time to remain. A low, soothing voice filtered past the ringing. Your hair was gently pulled back, fingers massaging your head as you coughed and spluttered up bile.

Shaking, you curled, hands balled to your ears. The pain in your chest wouldn’t go away, the tears wouldn’t stop, and you didn’t think you could stop them either. Big, heavy, ugly, full chest heaving sobs wracked your body.

Arms wrapped around you, pulling you into them, tight, shielding you from the nosy crowds. A hand curled around the back of your head, pushing you into a strong chest. You gripped the soft material of their jacket with all the strength you had. That same deep, soothing voice filtered into your ears.

Ben was right. You were weak. You were pathetic.

You weren’t good enough to make a baby with. You weren’t young enough. You just weren’t enough.

Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelica, @k-slla, @deans-spinster-witch, @ashdoctor, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-number-one-fan, @afro-hispwriter, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228.

[nvirskies]

HEAR 👂 ME✋ OUT 🤗 Silena and Clarisse with a very sunshine and all around happy energy gf 😓. Doesn’t really matter which god/dess they’re born from but I’ve been feining for ruegard x reader 😩

HI ANON OKAY THIS IS SO CUTE AND RAAAAHHHHH but i've been in a writer's block lately so you're going to have to settle for short headcanons and some thoughts rn but ty anon for this ask!! forgive me for any mischaracterizations of silena, it's been a long while since i last read the books

maybe something to make up for tddupats? sorry to whomever i caused ruegard trauma to :(

also this is kind of self insert indulgence because i dont ever see masc and/or butch pairings with either clarisse or silena (besides ruegard itself)

warnings: none, just fluff, stream of thoughts at this point, ending alludes to hickeys & making out

taglist: @star-girl69 @lvrue @azrielspeaks @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover (taglist open!)

silena beauregard x clarisse la rue x fem!masc-leaning reader

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, terfs, 16-/19+ dni

maybe apollo cabin or hephaestus cabin reader if i had to pin it down? infectious energy + smile and maybe himbo-ish? (himbo as a compliment)

silena would have to beg you and bribe you with extra cuddles to let her do makeup on you which always works

but any time you (begrudgingly) agree to it, somehow you end up with more lipstick marks on your neck than blots of foundation?

however could that happen? i wonder...

silena claims that she just has to wipe her excess lip stain somewhere and that there aren't enough wipes in the cabin to use for every single color she wants to try out...

of course you can never stay mad at her for long, but whenever you go out there are always stares and quiet comments about it

you're in a camp full of emotionally charged teenagers - what did you expect walking out there with your neck looking like a sephora test swab in the lipstick section?

but clarisse always swoops in at the right moment, coming up to stand behind you, arm wrapped around your waist with a glare hard enough that it could rival medusa's

"you'll do well to back off unless you want your neck to match hers but in bruises?"

after they scurry off, clarisse's glare completely melts and she looks at you like you're the only light in her life

which is partially right with the inclusion of silena

"i'm assuming Si gave you those, baby? gods above, you have to stop falling for her tricks"

"but she promised extra cuddles!"

pouting from your side

which was true, aforementioned daughter of Aphrodite promised she would get one of the aphrodite cabin's back rooms for the evening for the three of you

clarisse just shakes her head, fighting off a smile at your pout

"come on, let's go pay Si a visit? get some payback to what she did to you, poor thing"

needless to say, silena would be the one needing copious amounts of concealer the next morning

[aricat7]

A Break in Formality

(HANKCON FANFIC)

~Connor and Hank's unspoken feelings for one another spark to life, and neither knows how to handle the flames.

Chapter one:

“Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant?”

The decorated officer sighs, aimlessly scrolling through the “Missing Deviants” section of the police database. Deviancy is skyrocketing, and Hank dreads how the station chose him, of all detectives, to figure out the source of what makes androids go haywire.

“Let me guess, it’s another personal one?”

“No, nothing personal. Though, if you want me to ask you a personal question, I can come up with one.”

“Nah.” Hank lifts his mug of coffee and takes a generous slurp. “You already know enough about my life to make a damn book out of it, and I bet it’d only take you two seconds to write it out, huh? Or, compute—whatever.”

“More like two minutes. There’s a lot of your eventful life to document.”

“Eventful. Pfft.” He finishes the last drops of caffeine and scratches his beard. “That’s one way to put it.”

Connor’s circuits burned to ask his question—a question that had thrown him into an uncharted territory within his programming, making him second-guess if it’s really worth asking.

“Would you like a refill on your coffee?”

Hank gives him a sidelong glance. “That’s your fucking question?”

“Not my original one, no.”

“So what was it?”

“The original question?” Connor asks with a tilt of his head.

“Jesus Christ, Connor, just spit it out! Why are you playing dumb with me? What is it?”

Connor’s lenses adjust to his folded hands atop his lap. “It's… I…”

Hank swivels his chair to fully face him. It wasn’t like Connor to stutter or be at a loss for words.

Was he malfunctioning?

The LED shone an unnerving yellow before cooling back down to blue, and it worried Hank more than he cared to admit.

“Connor, if you don’t—”

“Can you grab me and shove me against the wall? Like how you did some time ago, before we got the lead on the runaway AX400 and the child that accompanied it?”

Connor peers up to witness a stupefied, slack-jawed statue of Hank.

“I’ll go ahead and explain myself. In that moment, when you held me hostage, so to speak, I noted a slight anomaly that occurred within my programming, and I’d like for it to reappear so that I can try to decipher what exactly happened during my processing.”

“Well, normally you take someone to dinner first before they put their hands on ya.”

Connor has spent enough time with Hank at this point that he was no stranger to the gruff man’s sarcastic quips, and this was one he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to play along with.

“Alright, then. I’ve found three restaurants in the area whose websites all show open reservations. Would you like to hear the options?”

Hank waves his hand dismissively. “So there’s something wrong with you?”

“Currently, no. My recent diagnostic test shows positive results.”

Hank leans back in his chair and returns to his computer, pretending he isn’t weirded out by the offhand request.

“Then have someone else do it. Maybe it’s just a thing that happens when you plastic fucks get a little roughhoused.”

“That isn’t the case, Lieutenant.”

Connor leans over his desk and lowers his voice.

“Though the impact of my body being shoved against the wall did elicit a warning for potential damage, it wasn’t flagged as a negative occurrence like it should have been. It was marked as positive.”

Hank snorts. “Sooo, what? It turned you on or somethin’?”

Connor blinks. “RK800 models don’t experience sexual arousal.”

“Well maybe someone fucked up when they made you. You lucky duck.”

Hank looks over at him with a stupid grin on his face—which disappears when he notices Connor staring into nothing, LED swirling yellow.

“Uh… should I tell Fowler you’re having… technical difficulties?”

Connor snaps out of whatever he was experiencing and straightens his posture, LED relaxing into a circle of blue. “There’s no need. As I’ve said, there are no apparent issues with my current stability.”

Hank’s repetitive pen clicking fills the silence between them. Should he make the report to Fowler anyway? Maybe it was just a minuscule error with no future of daunting consequences. But, what if it’s a virus, and Connor’s software is corrupted?

What if he's turning deviant?

The breath Hank didn’t know he was holding escapes. He drags his attention away from the android, who had started dissecting paperwork.

“Shit, I’m overthinking this bs,” he mumbles.

“Overthinking what, Lieutenant?”

“Ergh, fuck you and your state-of-the-art hearing. Just do your work—”

“Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go,” Hank grumbles under his breath and nods at the young officer who approaches with purpose. “Whatcha got for me, Miller?”

“A house half a mile away with a dead android and its dead owner inside.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.” Hank rises and slides his coat on, eager to focus on something else rather than the storm cloud of thoughts the android detective summoned. “Come on, Connor. Let’s mosey.”

~~~

“Any possible chance you can still access its memory?”

On the kitchen floor lay a deceased AL-series android. Thirium streamed from the bullet hole in its forehead, staining the inactive gaze that stared up at them.

“Maybe.” Connor knelt down and scanned the android’s wound, confirming the bullet was fired from the same gun used to kill its owner, who was sprawled a few feet away with multiple bullet holes in the chest. The pistol was registered under the android’s owner’s name and covered in recent traces of the android’s fingerprints. “If its central processing unit-”

“English, please.”

“If its brain is still mostly intact, and its memory wasn’t completely destroyed, it’s possible that I could retrieve some of the memory that was stored before the events of the crime.”

“Go ahead and give it a go, then.” Hank looks over the owner’s body and shakes his head. “No signs anywhere that the android was being abused, so why would it take its owner and itself out?”

Previously, it would’ve been impossible to search the memory of an android in a dismantled state like this, but Connor’s memory-extracting capabilities have improved with Cyberlife’s system updates. He places his hand on the android’s head and is immediately faced with a wall of static. However, through the blurring lines, he manages to uncover a scene where the android discovers its owner purchasing a BL100. Then, it grabs the gun from the bedroom nightstand and shoots its owner shortly after. The last choppy, flickering image Connor can make out shows the android pointing the gun at itself.

Connor explains what he saw to Hank and adds, “I think the deviant was expressing behaviors similar to that of emotional distress in humans, much like the first deviancy case I was assigned to. When that android found out its owners wanted to replace it, it showed characteristics of anger, sadness, jealousy—but no display of wanting self-destruction. I can’t seem to figure out why this android wanted to destroy itself, given it was displaying the same characteristics in a similar situation…”

Hank shrugs. “Maybe it regretted pulling the trigger on its owner.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Connor raises himself up and adjusts his tie. “Each investigation we’ve looked into has a deviant simulating humanistic emotion. I believe it’s safe to assume that ‘regret’ could be another expression.”

“Yeah…” Hank turns away and rubs the back of his neck, looking out through the window at the falling snow.

“You alright, Lieutenant?”

“Like you fucking care.”

“Why are you emotional right now?”

Nothing makes Hank’s blood boil more than hearing a human-like sincerity in Connor’s voice. It was too real.

Hank latches on to the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles turning white. “Do you care, Connor?”

If Hank were looking at him, he’d see the LED turn yellow.

“I care about the success of this mission.”

Hank huffs. “Have we figured out what causes deviancy?”

“No.”

“No. Exactly. That’s our main objective. And this is our what, fiftieth fuckin’ case on these things?”

“Thirty-eighth.”

“Oh, shut up.” Hank finally turns to his robot partner, the LED shining blue, like the damn computer Connor was—nothing more. “Here’s what I think…”

Hank approaches until he’s a breath away from Connor’s expressionless face.

“I think it all starts with a negative occurrence flagged as a positive,” the older man sneers. “What do you think, you plastic prick?”

“Hank, please, calm down—”

Hank grabs Connor by the collar and shoves him against the wall.

//SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^

“Well, Connor?” Hank says through gritted teeth. “Is this a positive experience for you like it was last time? Huh?”

//PROBABILITY OF DAMAGE: HIGH

With a grunt that stirs something in Connor, Hank yanks him forward and slams him again, making the LED flash red for a second. “SAY SOMETHING, GODDAMMIT! WHAT’S GOIN’ ON WITH THAT FUCKIN’ COMPUTER INSIDE OF YA?!”

A drop of Hank’s spit lands on Connor’s synthetic lip. Connor tastes it and doesn’t realize that he did until a DNA analysis screening appears beside the situational assessment screen.

//SITUATIONAL ASSESSMENT: @#?3522&//

RECALCULATING…

//SITUATIONAL ASSESSMENT: POSITIVE

OBJECTIVE: FINISH INVESTIGATION

“I demand that you put me down, Hank…”

The strain in Connor’s voice pulled on a heartstring Hank didn’t know he had dangling. But his anger raged on, and he knew damn well that Connor could detect it with his fuckass scanning.

“Not until you tell me how this situation makes you feel.”

Connor opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates—LED spinning yellow.

“I… don’t feel, Hank.”

“Bullshit.” He tightens his grip and closes in on the conflicted android, noses touching. “You feel something, or else you wouldn’t be glitching the fuck out right now.”

The crystal-blue fury of Hank’s eyes locked with Connor’s man-made optics. Though Hank believes there’s gotta be something behind those artificial, soft brown eyes, and that idea both warmed and terrified him.

If Connor was in fact a deviant, he would lose him as a partner.

“Admit it, Connor! As weird as this situation is, just fucking admit that you’re enjoying this! Admit that you're a deviant now with feelings before you start causin’ problems!”

Though Hank’s rage is a force to be reckoned with, Connor doesn't miss the evident desperation emanating from the experienced officer, and it stirs Connor’s inner thoughts to a frenzy.

‘Enjoying this?’

‘Feeling?’

‘Hank’s motive?’

“If you don’t let go… I have no choice but to contact Cyberlife…”

“‘No choice,’ my hairy ass.”

The sensors in Connor’s face tingle strangely from the heat of Hank’s breaths as the man presses his broad body against Connor’s robotic frame.

“Go ahead. Call them.”

“It would result in a disciplinary action on your part…”

Hank could care less about that. Connor knows that, too.

“CALL THEM!”

“NO!”

“WHY NOT?!”

The LED blinks yellow like a time bomb.

“I DON’T WANT TO!”

//SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^^

Connor’s superior evaluation of human emotion deems Hank’s as unreadable.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” asks the familiar voice of Officer Miller.

Hank slowly backs off, not taking his eyes off his provoked android. “Yeah?”

“Sorry to interrupt. I was just checking in on how the investigation is going.”

“It’s done. We can clean up. We’ve got all the info we could scavenge,” Hank says, walking away and out of the house. Connor follows behind, and the two of them seat themselves in Hank’s old car in unsettling silence.

Hank starts the engine and lets it run, staring out into the snow-blanketed city ahead of them, Knights of the Black Death playing through the speakers—a favorite of Hank’s that Connor eventually grew to enjoy.

“Lieutenant.”

He ignores Connor.

“I know the air between us is thick with tension at the moment, but I want to say thank you for fulfilling my request.”

Hank fastens his seatbelt a little too aggressively. “You’re not supposed to be making requests. You’re supposed to be a perfect machine that follows my orders.”

“I apologize for my behavior.”

“Please, don’t you fucking start.”

He puts the car in drive and begins heading back to the police station, but then turns in a different direction.

“Where are you going? This isn’t the way back to the station.”

“Nope. Decided I’m clocked out for the day.”

He rounds the next corner and pulls up in front of a bar.

“Seriously?” Connor watches in disbelief as Hank kills the engine and steps out of the vehicle.

“Take a shuttle back,” he orders Connor, then slams the door shut.

[strawbunni-shortcake]

On Weddings (part one 2.6k) | (part two 1k) | read on ao3

Her wedding should be the happiest day of a young bride’s life. The thing she has been dreaming about since she was a child, imagining herself walking down the aisle towards the rest of her life.

Casey has seen the photos of Kelly and her playing in their communion dresses with dandelions they had picked from the yard, even if she doesn’t remember it. Proof that she had wanted this.

Casey is going to have a summer wedding.

It’s the kind of thing she must have dreamed about when she was little. Most of Casey's memories from then are about racing, but she’s seen the photos of her and Kelly playing in their christening dresses with handfuls of dandelions they had found in the yard as makeshift bouquets. The photos make them look so young and happy. 

It takes all day to fly back from Valencia but the mild heat of early December is a welcome change from the grey skies and rain that plagues even the warmer parts of Europe during the winter. She arrives exhausted with her new factory contract and tidy pay bonus in hand and the eighth fastest time in the post-season test to get married to the love of her life at the end of the first week of January.

It’s a break for Casey in name only. There’s no time for it to feel surreal, to sit with the nervous joy of her wedding being a month away. Everything she couldn’t do for the wedding while she was racing has to fit into just three weeks. The venue her parents arranged, the local church for the wedding and a community hall for the reception because they had gotten a deal on it.

But the catering, place settings, flowers, music, and so many different people’s clothes somehow were all dependent on her to choose. Adrian wasn’t unhelpful exactly, but their mothers seemed intent on acting like Casey was the only one getting married. Anything that involved booking another person was given priority, which wasn’t a problem even if it usually ended with Casey having to pay extra for the short notice. 

Until she was stuck dress shopping on boxing day. 

She’s tired, jet lag still has it’s hooks in her without the schedule of racing to chase it away. It’s also miserably hot for December, and yet every person in Brisbane seems to have decided to come out in droves in search of a bargain. The dress shop her mother had picked out is having a sample sale and since they didn’t camp out overnight the line stretches around the block by the time they get there an hour after it opens. Adrian’s mother suggests another store which turns out to be closed until the day after the wedding. 

They end up in Myers looking for bridesmaid dresses for Kelly and Adrian’s sister instead. 

She isn’t looking for herself, but the white catches her eye as she flips through the sale section looking for something that resembles the shade of pink they had agreed on wearing. Her mother wanted Casey to have the whole experience of being paraded in front of as many women related to her as possible in dresses they chose for her. But Casey thinks it looks nice. She grabs it off the rack, b-lining it to the fitting rooms before she can start to second-guess herself. 

The zipper is broken, but Casey manages. Slipping it on over her head and wiggling like she’s putting on her leathers, and she’s never been so thankful for her small chest before.

It’s not one of the floor-length gowns with trains and enough crystals beaded on it to blind someone if the light hits it wrong that her mother keeps talking about. But it’s heavily discounted, which she hopes will be enough to convince her to tolerate it. 

Casey likes that it’s short, falling just above her knees. She could never imagine herself in something long and formal like her mother had wanted for her, she just wasn’t that kind of woman. The thin straps make it look delicate instead of childish. 

Alone in the dressing room she does a little spin, and feels stupid when the skirt doesn’t twirl with her. But at least the straight cut of the dress hides her non-existent hips.

Casey buys it before returning back to the hunt for pink coloured dresses, thankful for the first time that she doesn’t know anyone in Australia well enough to have more than two bridesmaids. 

It doesn’t take long for her mother to find it, incriminatingly white among the other paper bags. Predictably she hates it when Casey shows her, and she refuses to speak to Casey directly for almost a week while still going with her to every meeting with the teams of people she has hired to make the wedding run smoothly.

The days before the wedding pass in a blur. 

It feels like no time at all until Casey is sat in a chair they had dragged into the hotel bathroom as Kelly does her makeup, because Casey is useless doing more than carefully applying lipstick within the lines. And even then only when work requires her to. They had tried one night to practice, but she had ended up with so much blush on that she looked like she had just gotten off the bike in Malaysia. Their mother had wanted to hire someone, but Casey couldn’t afford to on top of everything else.

It’s strange sitting in the chair with her eyes closed. Kelly is gentle as she applies Casey’s makeup, but she still has to try not to startle whenever she touches her face. They’re quiet as he works, Kelly focused and Casey tired. It doesn’t help that it feels like a mask, layer after layer of liquids and powders caked on her face until Casey can’t move her face without it feeling like it’s cracking. 

She steps out of the way to let Casey see herself. The girl in the mirror follows her every movement, but she doesn’t look anything like Casey. The stubborn smattering of acne on her cheeks and the wrinkles on her forehead from her helmet have disappeared, so has the mole beside her nose. Their absence leaves behind a blank canvas that her sister has artfully painted in, creating a more beautiful girl.

“Do you like it?” 

Kelly sounds nervous, like she thinks Casey hates it and has been waiting until this moment to reveal that she’s been a bridezilla all along. 

“It’s nice,” Her voice sounds wrong coming out of this other Casey’s face, “It looks really nice Kelly. But, how am I supposed to put my dress on without smudging it?”

So far she’s always put the dress on over her head because of the stuck zip that had sent it to the reduced price pile, but she’s never been covered in makeup when she’s done it.  

“Shit.”

In the end Kelly works it out. She undoes the low bun their mother put Casey’s hair in that morning and has Casey flip her hair over her face before they slide her dress over her head together. It’s a trick she had learnt from a friend when they were still living in England who had loved to loiter in shops on the high street and always wore a thick layer of foundation. 

Casey looks at herself in the mirror, the short white dress and her hair hanging down her back in loose curls. She’s seen girls cry when they see themselves like this looking like a bride for the first time. Casey thinks she looks more like she’s going to walk down the aisle for her first communion then to get married. 

But Kelly fixes that too.  

She sweeps the loose waves that fall around Casey’s shoulders back, pulling her hair into a semblance of order. She used to dance. Had chosen ballet over bikes when their parents told her she couldn’t have both. In the end Kelly had gotten to keep neither, they had moved from Australia to England and everything had become about Casey. But her hands remember the way she used to put her hair up for recitals, a neat bun circled with a braid. 

“There,” Kelly shoves a final bobby pin into her hair, “that can be your something borrowed.” Clearly thinking the same thing as Casey.

The girl in the mirror looking back at them seems too young to be a bride. And when Kelly places the crown of blue flowers that Casey had made that morning watching the flowers be delivered, her nervous fingers twisting the thin stems into a daisy-chain she joins into a crown automatically, she looks even younger. The blush on her cheeks softens her face and her big green eyes into something innocent and sweet. 

“And there is your something blue.”

It makes something strange bubble up in her chest, and it follows her for the rest of the morning. 

When she walks down the aisle feeling as if she’s in a dream, each step taking her nowhere. It chokes her as she says ‘I do’. Her first kiss with Adrian is tainted too, tasting like ash in her mouth instead of home. No one else notices. Her brand new mother-in-law even congratulates her on being such a beautiful bride. 

It’s overwhelming, being at the centre of everyone’s attention. They had only invited their families but an endless stream of people seemed to want to talk to them and touch Casey as they told her how beautiful the wedding was. She only managed to escape from everyone during the reception. Casey slips away from the party with a squeeze to Adrian’s fingers before dropping his hand for the first time since they had kissed in the church. 

It’s still bright out, the sun hanging low on the horizon like a ripe peach casting everything in a warm orange glow. There’s a rickety looking plastic chair with an ash tray tucked underneath. She brushes her hand over the seat, and her hand comes away clean enough that she lets herself collapse into the chair. Casey misses the stash of cigarettes that are tucked away in her motorhome back in Spain she built by bumming them off Valentina Rossi over her years in the world championship.  

Another side door opens and she half-hopes it’s whoever’s smoking spot she’s stealing. No one rounds the corner, but the smell of cigar smoke and deep voices do.

Clearly they aren’t looking for her yet, so she ignores them. She looks out across the field ringing the venue, trying to see if the ocean is visible in the distance. On the drive over from the church she had started to recognize the roads until they turned left instead of right and away from the ocean. Casey was surprised she even remembered which roads they used to take. 

She startles when she hears her name, her idle thoughts about stealing away to the beach still in her wedding clothes interrupted. She assumes she’s finally been caught escaping from the crowd. But no one comes for her. And now that she’s listening for it, Casey can hear that it’s her father talking about her. 

When she hears what he says she wishes she hadn’t.

Casey doesn’t know how she got back inside. If her father had realized she heard what he said. She doesn’t know if he would care. Casey goes back inside. She feels like she’s back on the beach, walking through knee high water. His words rushing over her like the tide coming in. 

“Adrian’s a bit soft, wouldn’t be my first choice for her but all he has to do is keep her calm and not knock her up before her career is over.”

She latches on to Adrian, hiding her face against his arm like she’s a child again. Hiding away from the world. 

“There’s a reason I had two, I wanted a son but…Casey will do. Kelly can give us grandkids now and Casey’s just got to focus on her career. She can pay me back by winning me a championship or two.”

“Don’t worry, we can leave soon. Just a few more songs.”

Casey has never been more glad that Adrian can read her so well. 

It feels like it takes forever for them to make it back, even if Casey knows it could have been more than 10 minutes of begging out for the night and another 15 for the car ride back. Her eye lids felt like they were made of lead on the way back, the whole time turning her father’s words over and over in her head. 

By the time the car stops, Casey has filed the sharp edges of what he said down until it was smooth, with no cutting edge. She understands. And, as she follows Adrian back to their room, he is good for her. Her only friend in the paddock. 

When they get in Adrian ducks into the bathroom and Casey goes to lay down on the bed to wait for him like a dutiful wife. But when she finally crosses the room Casey collapses on the bed instead. She's still in her dress, the pins still in her hair are stabbing into her skull and the makeup she had put on in the morning feels like it’s melting off. 

She’s so tired. Too tired to move. Too tired to put on the nice lingerie set she had bought red faced and too ashamed to even look in the eyes of the girl who had rung it up for her. She’s too tired to sleep even. 

Instead, she closes her eyes and drifts. Listening to the sound of Adrian getting ready for bed in the bathroom with the door open. Casey visualizes him as he goes through the motions of brushing his teeth and slashing water on his face, tries to imagine how he looks when she hears him come out of the bathroom. What his face looks like when he see her sprawled out on the bed like a little kid who was allowed to stay up past their bedtime.

“Casey.”

She says still, like when she was a child--before they had left Australia-- and she would pretend to fall asleep in the backseat of her dad’s van on the way back from her races hoping that he would pick her up and carry her inside. He never did, always wise to when she lied, would give her one solid shake and then leave her behind in the car to cross the dark blue expanse of grass between the driveway and the front door by herself. Casey doesn’t know what Adrian will do. 

“Casey, wake up.” 

Adrian is gentle when he touches her cheek, his soft hands cradling her face as he calls her back. She doesn't want to wake up. If she's awake then there are no excuses for not following through on what everyone expects of her on her wedding night. 

“You can't go to sleep like that.” 

His big soft hand strokes her cheek and she turns away from it. 

Casey doesn’t know why she’s nervous, it’s not like it’s actually their first time. But being Adrian’s wife feels different. She had never felt like this before, not the first time when she let him climb on top of her and pull down her jeans a few months after they started dating, or any of the times after that. 

“I don’t want…Not tonight.” She whispers.

Hoping he understands without her saying it. Her eyes still closed, scared to look and see the disappointment written over his face. 

“I just. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be perfect for you,” Casey finally opens her eyes.

“Don’t worry Casey,” His smile softening his serious features, “We have all the time in the world to be married to each other.”

For some reason that doesn’t make the guilt choking her any easier to swallow around.

[reliablejoukido]

Digimon LOST AU Headcanons part 2/? - Early Koushiro-centric stuff

Made for @izumikoushiroweek and also for my Digimon Lost AU! Headcanons under the cut

Koushiro Izumi:

Age: 25

Flight main section/beach camp

Koushiro is technical minded and analytical, and also deeply curious.

He has a hard time believing the Island contains real supernatural elements. He believes it’s digital, a realistic simulation/virtual reality like a holodeck from Star Trek. His beliefs are constantly being put to the test as he dedicates himself to studying the Island

From the moment they land on the island and Koushiro is alert, he searches desperately for his carry on luggage that contained his laptop. His smart watch screen shattered in the crash and doesn’t work. His phone seems to be somewhere in the wreckage or in the ocean

It seems no one has cell phone that will turn on or function in any capacity, which distresses Koushiro a great deal. He can’t even check to see if there’s cell service wherever they crashed. Statistically speaking since there are two dozen people here both alive and dead, shouldn’t someone’s phone work? He is still determined to get to his laptop in the off chance it functions

Koushiro watches as Jou and Taichi try to save people after the initial crash. He doesn’t know what he can do right now— he’s squeamish and definitely feeling the shock and trauma of surviving a plane crash. So he just continues looking for working tech. He does not find his laptop (at least for now) and is REALLY mad he didn’t bring his satellite phone on the flight

When they retrieve a radio transceiver from the cockpit, Koushiro goes on an expedition with Mimi and Jou to find a high enough area to get a signal. When they finally do get a signal, it’s a repeating distress call from someone who claims she’s been stranded on the Island for three years (this eventually turns out to be Meiko Mochizuki)

Flashback: For two years, Koushiro has been the CEO of a tech company in Tokyo that focuses on virtual reality. They have been making astounding breakthroughs since he started, and are almost ready to launch the next generation of virtual reality that can help people who are sick or bedridden. He wants to prove that even though he’s young and not very personable, he can be a good CEO and make a difference in the world through his technology.

Flashback: Through a mysterious informant, Koushiro learns that there is a handful of engineers in the company working behind his back to steal tech secrets and start a company of their own or possibly sell information. Koushiro is non-confrontational and doesn’t know what to do with this situation

Flashback: He learns that a few of these conniving employees are traveling to California to potentially make a deal with a US tech company to sell Koushiro’s company’s secrets. He takes time off work to follow them, but still doesn’t know what to do.

Flashback: Koushiro lands at LAX and plans to take a connecting flight to Silicon Valley. But his informant suddenly asks to meet him in person in Los Angeles. Koushiro feels like he’s being strung along on a potential wild goose chase at this point, but agrees to meet. The informant, who Koushiro doesn’t recognize, is a man named Haruhiko Takenouchi, who researches mythology, folklore, and anthropology. He believes Koushiro’s company can bring folklore creatures to life in the real world and can be used to study them. Koushiro is skeptical that his technology could bring to life something worth studying, as they can only input data they already have. They can’t “create life”, digital or otherwise. Mr. Takenouchi is insistent. He’s concerned the people trying to steal tech secrets from Koushiro are going to use it for the wrong reasons, and he wants to stop that. Koushiro… doesn’t know what to make of this. Mr. Takenouchi and Koushiro fail to track down the conniving employees, and it is suggested Koushiro return home to Tokyo from Los Angeles.

As the story on the Island progresses and they encounter monsters and strange occurrences, at first Koushiro believes this place is virtual reality, possibly his own company’s doing. That this place is inorganic and digital. As Koushiro learns more about the Island, he starts to doubt his theories. He wonders if Haruhiko Takenouchi sent him here on purpose to study the kind of tech that can create “life” without a data input. He becomes deeply entrenched in the lore of the Island. He wants to know why everyone was called here, why he was called here, and if there’s something they’re supposed to do. Koushiro wants to know what makes the Island tick— he wants to rip it apart at the seams.

He is sometimes at odds with those who are trying to get off the Island. At first he thinks the people aren’t real to begin with. But as it becomes apparent the people around him are very real, he starts to think they need to stay on the Island to accomplish something important.

[onegianthotmess]

I got an idea that makes Iracebeth/my own iteration of Mrs. Rosehearts even more of a bitch, but more in a hypocritical way.

She always told Morel to not be a whore and have sex before marriage and, Seven forbid, have a child out of wedlock. She had the same talk with Riddle and Rayne, telling them that she wouldn’t have bastard grandchildren and that they’d be disowned if they even thought about it.

Yet, at the same time, she went out one night, had a one night stand with a nurse coworker, and ended up getting knocked up. She did carry the baby to term, pretending to be bedridden for the later months of her pregnancy with a lingering illness, and she gave up her parental rights and promised full child support to the father if he took their son, which he did. So, she had a baby out of wedlock, a bastard, while shaming the idea in front of her children for practically their whole lives.

At one point, the child support isn’t enough thanks to the father’s gambling parents both passing away and he, as their only child, gets riddled with their gambling debts. He can’t move anywhere safe for his son, but he also can’t keep his child with him since they’d likely end up homeless if he kept him.

He does some snooping around the hospital and overheard something about Iracebeth’s oldest child, Morel, being back in her small home in town since she’s on holiday leave from her job and he gets an idea. He runs into Morel one day and asks if he could talk with her at her home that evening since he has something important to tell her about her mother, and she agrees since she wonders what her old hag of a mother did this time. She calls in Sam to stay during the father’s visit just in case it’s actually some sketchy shit, but is very surprised when he comes to her home with a five year old boy and says that the child is her half brother.

After the initial shock of it all and the father explains his situation, Morel begins to think about a solution for the poor kid. She knows her mother won’t take him, too much embarrassment for her, and it would be cruel to put the boy in the foster care system, as that could lead to abusive homes that would be even worse than living on the street. Eventually, they land on the idea of turning to Finnian since he’d be the most financially stable and likely the most willing to take the child in while staying in contact with the father, given that he had no relatives left.

Long story short, Finnian does become the legal guardian of the boy and gains temporary custody of him after a long talk with his spouse and their own two boys. The father gets all the visitations he’d like, so his relationship with his son won’t be impacted too much by this drastic change.

Iracebeth likely tried to pull some fuckery since she was still legally obligated to pay child support, only the money was now going to likely be used by Finnian since he’d be acting as the legal guardian of the boy until the father would be in a situation where he could care for his son properly. But Iracebeth’s petty fuckery only earns Morel, with the help of Riddle and Rayne, posting copies of DNA test results around where their mother works and outing that she had a child out of wedlock. This earned her boat loads of backlash, given her negative attitude towards the idea of having children out of wedlock and shaming coworkers who were bastard children until they quit or moved to a different section.

In the end, Iracebeth’s wasn’t able to do shit about the boy’s living situation since she has no parental rights to him. Also, he gets along really well with Morel, Riddle, and Rayne and he likes when he gets to visit NRC since he gets to see all three of them. He also gets along with Cheka, who he met during one of his NRC visits!

[badguyjohn]

Human Torch

Hero Story: 'Fire Exemption Test'

Johnny Storm saw a vampire skulking along the edge of Bryant Park, and did what he always did on such an occasion: Lit it up like a Roman candle. Then he saw another one, trying to get away around the corner onto Fifth Avenue. Boom, that one was gone too. He did this every night — or every day, it was hard to tell what time it was in Dracula's New York, because the sun never came up and the moon always hung low and red seemingly right over Grand Central. Either way, the Human Torch kept the area near the Baxter Building as free of vampires as he could. That meant a lot of vampires had gone up in smoke because of him, and that in turn meant that Johnny Storm was currently Number One on Dracula's hit list. The vampire-in-chief had sent some of his top lieutenants after Johnny, veterans of the Cult of the Darkholders, but either Johnny had lit them up too, or he'd gotten away before they could get a bite on him.

Vampires couldn't bite you when you were made of superheated plasma. That was one reason why he went out on these patrols every day. He was safer than more New Yorkers from the threat of vampires, which made him especially well suited to vampire population control, especially in the area around the Baxter Building, which was uncomfortably close to Dracula's castle. Johnny did this because he didn't want vampires around the Baxter Building, but also because he knew that smoking so many vampires right around the castle-where Dracula would watch was like waving a big old middle finger at the vampire lord. He might have stopped time and imprisoned New York in a weird eternal blood moon night, but that didn't mean New Yorkers were just going to give up. Johnny stayed in the air, heading south on Madison to make sure no masses of undead monsters were gathering in that direction. Also he thought Ben Grimm was doing his own sweeps of the section of Park Avenue south of Dracula's castle. Probably vampires couldn't bite Ben either, but Johnny wanted to make sure. They couldn't afford to lose him. There were so many vampires, so many monsters, and not nearly enough super heroes left to defend the innocent from them. Blade was around, Moon Knight, the Scarlet Witch...pretty quickly, Johnny ran out of names. Oh. There was also Spider-Man, of course. One of Johnny's oldest friends, he stayed to fight vampires, but he also was dying to get back across the East River and see about Aunt May in Queens. New York wouldn't be New York without him. Johnny decided to angle over to Park and see if Ben was staying out of trouble. He hadn't seen any vampires in a few blocks. As he swooped diagonally over the shadowed buildings lining Park Avenue, he heard an echoing boom and saw a column of smoke blast upward from the center of the street. As it cleared, Johnny saw something so crazy that it took him a minute to convince himself it was actually real. The creature that tore its way up through the street was a midnight blue in color, maybe ten times the size of an elephant, had three-digit pincers instead of hands, and moved like a dinosaur in an old stop-motion monster movie. It was one of the Deviant Mutates the FF had run into on their first mission together, way back when. Mole Man had a whole stable of bizarre creatures ready to unleash on the world. Johnny remembered this one because it was made of stone, but somehow still moved. Kind of like Ben Grimm, now that he thought about it. And now here it was tearing a huge hole in Park Avenue, revealing a destroyed subway tunnel below, and a cavern below that. As he got a better look at it, Johnny realized that something was different about it, and its surprise appearance suddenly made a lot more sense.

Its eyes, he saw, burned with the empty glow you saw in lower-level vampires, the minions Dracula and the other more powerful vampires created at will. So not only was it a giant rock monster, Johnny thought; it was a giant vampire rock monster. Clearly Dracula was sick of just throwing more and more humanoid vampires at Johnny. He'd decided to take a different tack. This was a problem. Johnny couldn't burn it, so he wasn't sure at first how to fight back as the creature smashed its way up Madison Avenue toward the Baxter Building. It bared stony fangs and snapped at Johnny, who veered out of the way, streaking its side with fire to no effect. Holy smokes, he thought, was it a vampire now too? "How did they even bite this thing?" Johnny wondered out loud. It was made of stone. If he couldn't burn it. how could a vampire bite it? The creature swiped at Johnny, missed, and brought its gigantic pincers down on the street hard enough that manhole covers up and down Madison Avenue flew up into the air like giant spinning coins. From the corner of 33rd, Ben Grimm charged into view. "Torch, ya just draw trouble wherever ya go," he growled. "Vampires ain't bad enough?" "This one's a vampire too!" Johnny called back as the creature bared stone fangs and snapped at Ben. The Thing swatted its jaws to the side and tried to stomp it back into the hole it had made. "Crazy!" he shouted. "This town's gone ta heck in a handbasket since Dracula came along." The monster shook Ben off and tried to spring on him, but for a guy made out of orange rocks, Ben Grimm was fairly nimble. He got out of the way. "What are we gonna do about it?" This was a good question. Johnny couldn't burn it, so the best thing they could do was what Ben was trying to do: Put it back in its hole and make sure it didn't come out again. The monster snapped at Johnny again as he swooped close, harrying it — and it might have gotten him, too, if a taut cable of spider-webbing hadn't thwipped out of nowhere and pulled its head to the side. "Hey, Torch!" Spider-Man called out as he swung into view. "My Spidey-Sense has been tingling like crazy for the last ten minutes. Now I know why." "You're just in time," Johnny answered, as he distracted the monster again by swooping close to its snapping jaws-and then narrowly avoiding its pincers, which stabbed through the air where he'd been just a second before. "Get some webs on it, Pete! I'm going to dive under it." "You're gonna what?" the Thing echoed incredulously. "Easy," Johnny said. "Pete gets it hanging over the hole, I get underneath it, then break the webs and I'll help it down into the hole." "From underneath?" the Thing echoed again. "Trust me!" Johnny said as he dodged another pincer. "I can't break my webs," Spider-Man said. "They're too strong. "Can I?" the Thing asked. "Don't remember ever trying." "Maybe?" Spider-Man wondered. "I'd hate to plan on it, you know?" "Yeah." Johnny had a thought. "Ben, if you can't break the webs, you can just tear off the part of the building they're stuck to, right?" "Sure," Ben said. "But you forgot one thing. I can't climb like him," jutting a rocky thumb at Spider-Man, "and I can't fly like you."

Johnny glanced over at Spider-Man, and saw that Pete was reaching the same conclusion he was. "I think we can work around that," he said. "Aw, no," Ben said. "I don't wanna-" But Spider-Man had already snapped a web onto his back and started swinging him up into the air. More webs followed, binding the monster to the upper corners of buildings on both sides of Park Avenue, so it hung in the middle, half-in and half-out of the hole it had made. Here was the hard part, Johnny thought. He had to get the monster to stay in one place, and the best way to do that was to offer himself up as bait. So he dove underneath it, and the monster pounced. Both of its pincers clamped down on Johnny, not hurting him much but keeping him pinned as the monster bared its fangs. Here's where he would find out if he was right that vampires couldn't bite superheated plasma, Johnny thought. He focused and felt his temperature get hotter. Then hotter still. Then so hot that the subway tracks and the concrete pillars inside the ruined station started to buckle. "Now, Ben!" he shouted again. Up above, Ben Grimm tore Spider-Man's web away from its anchor on the corner of the office tower. Maybe a cubic yard of brick and concrete came with it, tumbling down to crash onto the monster's stone carapace. And Johnny Storm went nova. The vast mass of the stone monster blocked most of the nova blast from surging upward and out onto the street. The blast wave radiated downward into the tunnel carved by the stone Deviant on its way up from the deep caves where it originated, melting stone along with the reinforced concrete of the subway tunnel. The monster couldn't burn, but the shock of the nova blast stunned it and let Johnny break free. He streaked up out of the hole as it collapsed over the monster, which tumbled into the bottomless cavern it had crawled out of just a few minutes before. Molten asphalt, steel, and stone sealed the hole, cooling quickly into a huge pit in the middle of Park Avenue. Whew, Johnny thought. "Flame off," he said, and dropped to the street. Ben lowered into view on the end of one of Spider-Man's webs. "This is humiliatin'," he said. "Couldn't have done it without you, Benjy," Johnny grinned. As the Thing's feet hit the pavement, Spider-Man swung down and landed next to him. "Pretty neat trick," he said. "Yeah, not bad," Johnny said. "All about the teamwork." "Who ever heard of a vampire rock monster?" Ben was looking at the pit. Then his wonderment was replaced by his typical pessimism. "It might come up again, ya know." Johnny looked down at the wreckage, then up Park Avenue toward Dracula's castle. "Yeah," he said. "I know. This isn't a war we're going to win tonight. But it is a war we're going to win." The longer he looked at Dracula's castle, the more Johnny imagined he could see Dracula looking back at him, cold and angry at the failure of his latest scheme to extinguish the Human Torch once and for all. He loved it. "Come and get me," he dared the distant vampire lord. "If you've got the guts."