#its taken so long to be secure in them. i had to realize that maybe everyone's smiles are a little crooked and odd

[mithomite]

something ive noticed is that in a lot of old pictures, i smile without my teeth. i had crooked, very yellow teeth until i got braces in my freshman year of high school. had em for two years. every single photo of me from that time, im smiling with my teeth, brackets shining for the world to see. after i got them off, nothing. kissy face. sticking out my tongue. frowning. mock surprise. i didnt smile anymore. but recently ive been spending more time with my mother. she likes to smile with her teeth in pictures. and now i do it too. every other selfie in my camera roll is us together, grinning away. i may be becoming my father in spirit and mind, but ill always have my mothers smile i think.

[gogogodzilla]

Leave the Light On

mike schmidt x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, continuation of this post, panty sniffing, semi-public masturbation, sex tape, consensual somnophilia part 1 ✩ part 3 ✩ main masterlist ✩ read on ao3 ✩

As soon as he awoke, he knew something had happened. His thighs and groin were covered in the sticky remnants of cum and his briefs were skewed. You’d made good on your promise, and excitement hummed under his skin at the thought. 

He was more confident that you’d taken him up on the offer when he looked in the mirror and saw the hickies coating his neck and chest. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed as he took in the marks. 

He slid on the jeans you had set neatly on the edge of his bed and opted for a hoodie that would cover most of the marks you’d left. He definitely didn’t need Abby asking how he got them. 

His ears perked up at the sound of you coming in through the front door accompanied by hurried footsteps. Abby was talking excitedly about something and you commented here or there. 

He’d entered the kitchen, and your eyes lit up at his appearance. You gave him a devilish grin as you sat at the kitchen table, listening to Abby as she talked. 

The rest of the evening was spent with lingering glances and fleeting touches. He wanted to ruin you as soon as the two of you were alone, but you kept him at arm's length. You led him into the kitchen and retrieved something off the counter.

You handed him a paper bag, “I made you lunch. Dinner, maybe?” He nodded and went to open the bag to inspect its contents. You grabbed his wrist. “Just wait until you get to work, okay?” 

“You’re asking me to be very patient tonight,” he pointed out, sliding a hand around your waist. 

You pecked his lips and pulled him closer, “It’s worth it. Promise.” 

Once it was time for him to leave, you held the door for him and walked him to his car. You had that grin that told him you were up to no good. 

“I hope you enjoy your lunch,” you mentioned as he reached the driver’s side door. 

His eyes flicked to the paper bag clutched in his hand and back to the grin that danced across your lips. Slowly, he started to put the pieces together, and excitement mixed with something else stirred in his belly. He gave you a quick peck on your cheek and yanked open the door to his car, suddenly eager to get to work. 

He kept an iron grip on the wheel for the entirety of his drive. The paper bag sat in the passenger seat, taunting him. He was glad he was the only one in the parking lot as he haphazardly whipped his car into a spot. 

His legs moved almost as quickly as his thoughts as he entered the pizzeria. His footsteps echoed throughout the hallway as he walked toward his office. A small part of him felt embarrassed that he was so excited to see whatever was in the bag.

He forced his breathing to steady as he entered his office. Mike didn’t pride himself on being a patient man, but he figured whatever was in that bag would definitely be worth the wait. He leisurely went through the motions of his nighttime routine, checking the security cameras and making sure all the animatronics were in their correct spots. He’d hoped they would leave him alone just long enough for him to open his gift. 

Finally, he settled into his rolling chair with the paper bag in his lap. He prayed he wasn’t getting his hopes up for a sandwich.  He gingerly opened it and peeked inside. Nestled neatly among the contents of the bag was a VHS tape. His heart rate quickened as he pulled it out and read the label on the front. ‘For Mike’ was scribbled in your neat scrawl and hearts were scattered along the label. 

His hands shook slightly as he ejected the training tape from the player and slid yours in. The TV came to life and it took him a moment to figure out what he was looking at. His eyes widened when he realized he was watching himself sleep. Midday light was shining through his window, and you were grinning as you stepped into the frame. 

You were wearing a pair of sweatpants and one of his hoodies; his cock jumped in his jeans from just that alone. Such a simple sign of ownership had his breath catching in his throat as he continued to watch. You made a show of stripping for him. You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your sweatpants and slowly tugged them down your legs. You’d taken your underwear off at the same time as your sweatpants, wasting no time in baring yourself to him. 

You had that same grin that he loved as you bent down to pick up something off the floor, giving the camera the perfect view of your ass. He felt like he was about to burst as you lifted his pants and, with a flourish, tucked your underwear into the front pocket. 

He frantically patted the front of his pants and reached inside each pocket. He released a sigh as his fingers wrapped around the lacy fabric of your panties. He pulled them out of his pocket and brought them to his nose, breathing in your scent. 

His cock pressed uncomfortably against his jeans as he watched you take your hoodie off, revealing that you wore nothing underneath it. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as your fingers danced across your chest. He leaned back in his chair, your panties clutched in one hand while the other worked to free his cock from his jeans. 

His fingers were clumsy as he unbuttoned his jeans and yanked down his zipper. He slipped his hand past the waistband of his briefs and gasped as he finally slid a hand over his length. He watched as you caressed his thighs before moving to finally touch him. 

He tugged his briefs down and under his balls, just like you did on the tape. Your actions were gentle but precise as you stroked him. He matched your pace perfectly. Your eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you slid your hand over his aching cock. 

You pulled away, and Mike halted his own movements, a low whine escaping him. His cock jumped in his hand when you wrapped your plush lips around his cock. He swiped his thumb over the tip of his cock, matching the seductive way your tongue swirled around it.  Your position in front of the camera allowed him to see every minute detail of you bobbing your head around him, and he could already feel the familiar coil tightening in his abdomen. 

A strangled sigh escaped his lips as you drew back with a wet pop. You darted your tongue out to taste him across your lips. A shiver went up his spine at your actions. You were careful as you straddled him and drug your core against him. 

He moaned along with you as you lowered yourself onto his cock. He was slightly surprised he didn’t wake up with you above him whining like that. A part of him wished he did wake up, so he could’ve fucked you properly. 

He planted his feet and rutted his hips into his fist as he watched you create the marks he now donned. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled his small office, and every inch of his skin burned with desire. 

He took your panties and slid them across his cock, moaning as the lacy fabric drug against his flushed skin. The feeling mixed deliciously with the smoothness of his palm, and his back arched against the chair. His jaw went slack, each breath punctuated with a needy moan and a thrust of his hips. 

With a strangled cry, he was cumming, eyes glued to your form as you fell apart on his cock. The pretty little whines you were making were going to be seared into his mind for as long as he lived. The white strings of his release covered your panties with some dripping down his fist and across his knuckles. 

He used your panties to clean up the mess he made. His cheeks flushed as the lace smeared his release over his cock. He prayed you’d leave the light on for him.  

[pin-k-ink]

trespass // sakusa kiyoomi

tw ⇢ non-con, somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampie, grinding, public sex, implied voyeurism, getting caught, minor manga spoilers, sakusa is lowkey delulu

wc ⇢ 2.5k

a/n: this was heavily inspired by a mista fic i read

Sakusa's skin crawled as he stared at the bus, a sense of dread rising in his throat. The vehicle loomed before him, its doors open like the maw of some great beast waiting to swallow him whole. Inside, two full teams from Itachiyama awaited, their bodies packed together in a claustrophobic nightmare due to a last-minute transportation issue.

As he stepped onto the bus, Sakusa's mind reeled at the thought of being trapped in such close quarters with so many people, each one a potential vector for illness. He had always prized his personal space, a carefully maintained barrier against the chaos of the outside world. Now, that barrier was about to be breached.

He should've just taken the train to their away games without batting an eye. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to be crammed into another vehicle with strangers, which seemed slightly worse than getting on a bus with people he actually knew. Or maybe a tiny part of him felt uneasy about leaving you, his precious little manager, in a bus full of hormonal and sweaty teenage boys.

Sakusa had sucked it up and gotten up extra early to secure a spot in the back of the bus, already claiming the corner seat as his own. By sunrise, the bus was filled to capacity, the vehicle swaying precariously from side to side. He was sure that the tires were probably inflated to their limits, ready to burst at any moment.

As the rest of the team filed in, Sakusa curled into himself, but you were nowhere to be seen. Were you not coming? Or were you sensible enough to find another way there instead of willingly entering this lion's den?

No, apparently not. You were just as reckless as always. Sakusa jolted slightly in his seat as you suddenly emerged from between two burly basketball players, yelping softly as the imbalance in your overloaded duffel bag caused you to stumble and fall.

Iizuna, ever the attentive captain, quickly helped you to your feet. He dusted you off and checked for any injuries, keeping you close by his side, practically nestled between his legs as everyone finally settled into their seats. It was going to be a long six-hour ride, and there was no way anyone would be left standing, no matter how cramped it got.

Iizuna glanced apologetically at Sakusa as he asked you to sit next to him, closer to the window. But upon realizing there was no space, Iizuna suggested you sit on his lap instead. In a flash, Sakusa reached out and pulled you in, his hands almost aggressively wrapping around your waist as he tugged you onto his own lap, leaving a dumbfounded Iizuna and the other third years staring in shock.

Beside him, Komori snickered, watching in amusement as you awkwardly adjusted yourself on Sakusa's lap, apologizing profusely as if you had committed some grave offense. Sakusa offered no verbal reassurance, instead silently guiding you to sit more comfortably between his legs as he spread them slightly to accommodate you.

Just as Sakusa was about to ask if you were comfortable, the bus lurched forward and began moving. At that moment, he heard the familiar chime of an incoming text message.

Pulling out his phone, Sakusa saw that Komori had sent him a single line: "Make a move on her."

Rolling his eyes, Sakusa shot his cousin a pointed glare before pocketing his phone again. Of course Komori would be aware of his not-so-subtle crush on their manager. After all, you were the only person aside from Komori that Sakusa allowed to touch him freely. He had even permitted you to feed him once, using the very same chopsticks you had just eaten with yourself.

Sakusa's mind wandered to the time he had gotten injured during practice. The team nurse had already gone home for the day, but luckily, you had the knowledge to tend to his type of injury. He vividly remembered how you looked kneeling between his legs, gently hiking up his shorts to press your fingers against the taut, sinewy muscles of his inner thigh.

He had felt his breath catch as you unknowingly leaned in closer, your exhales ghosting over his sensitive skin. Sakusa had to forcibly banish the less-than-pure thoughts from his mind, knowing that any physical reaction would be glaringly obvious given your proximity.

All the moments he had spent alone with you were precious to him. He treasured each and every one, locking them safely away in his heart. So of course he wanted to make a move, to let you know how much you meant to him.

But as he looked down at your peaceful, sleeping face, Sakusa had to stifle a sigh. Somehow, you had already dozed off, a cute habit of yours whenever you were in a moving vehicle with hours to go before reaching your destination. It was adorable, but at this particular moment, rather frustrating.

Gently tugging his mask down to rest below his nose, Sakusa leaned closer and protectively wrapped his arms around your middle. He held you securely against his chest, ensuring you wouldn't slip off as the bus jostled along the highway. Burying his nose in your hair, he breathed in deeply, the soft scent of lavender from your shampoo flooding his senses and awakening a primal urge deep within him.

Almost unconsciously, Sakusa's hands tightened their grip on you as he nuzzled further into your silky locks. His fingertips skimmed teasingly along the hem of your shirt, dancing just underneath the edge of your jacket. He knew that with the slightest movement, he could brush against the bare skin of your stomach.

The thought alone sent a thrill down his spine. Sakusa couldn't help but wonder if your skin was as soft and smooth as it looked. It had to be. Throwing caution to the wind, he finally slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, grazing them ever so lightly over the warm, supple flesh of your belly.

You shivered slightly in your sleep, your stomach dipping at the barest touch. So you were ticklish. That knowledge made Sakusa's heart swell with adoration. Fuck, could you be any cuter?

Emboldened, Sakusa continued to gently rub your lower abdomen, reveling in the velvety softness. As you relaxed further into his embrace, a hum of contentment rumbled deep in his chest.

Tightening his thighs on either side of you, Sakusa held you firmly in place, determined to savor this fleeting moment of intimacy. His fingers ceased their exploration, now simply brushing lazy circles over the enticing curves of your hips.

As the bus rolled on, Sakusa let himself get lost in the feeling of you in his arms. He knew he should probably feel guilty for indulging in this intimate touch without your knowledge, but the temptation was too great to resist. He had waited so long for a chance like this, to feel your softness under his hands, to breathe in your scent until it filled his lungs.

He promised himself that this stolen moment would be the catalyst he needed to finally confess his feelings for you. He would do it right, court you properly until you understood the depth of his affection. But for now, he would allow himself this one transgression, this fleeting glimpse of what could be.

As he held you close, your gentle exhales tickling his collarbone, Sakusa let himself dream of a future where you were his. His to hold, his to cherish, his to love. And with that sweet fantasy playing behind his closed eyelids, he drifted off to sleep, your name a whispered prayer on his lips.

The glaring sun pierced through the window beside him, rousing Sakusa from his slumber. Sweat drenched his body, causing his shirt to cling uncomfortably to his skin. A soft groan of annoyance escaped his lips as he registered the weight on his lap, only for his eyes to flutter open and realize it was you. With a gentle sigh, Sakusa attempted to adjust your position, but a sudden, muffled moan slipped out as he became acutely aware that something was terribly amiss.

Sakusa froze, his heart pounding frantically against his ribcage as the realization dawned on him - the incessant vibrations of the bus, combined with your warm, pliant body pressed intimately against his lap, had coaxed his treacherous body to stir in a most inconvenient manner.

Sakusa's breath caught in his throat, a heated flush creeping up his neck as he desperately willed his body to behave. The last thing he needed was for you to wake up and feel his shameful arousal pressing insistently against your ass.

Clenching his jaw, Sakusa tried to focus on anything else - the passing scenery, the low hum of the engine, the quiet chatter of his teammates. But every subtle shift of your weight, every gentle exhale that tickled his skin, only served to further stoke the embers of his desire.

He cursed silently, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought to maintain control. It was torture of the sweetest kind, having you so close, yet being unable to act on his longing. Sakusa knew he should wake you, put some distance between your bodies before the situation escalated, but a selfish part of him wanted to bask in your warmth just a little longer.

As if sensing his internal struggle, you stirred slightly, your head lolling to the side to rest in the crook of his neck. Your lips brushed against his heated skin, eliciting a shuddering gasp from Sakusa. He bit back a groan, his resolve crumbling with each passing second.

Sakusa swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing against the shell of your ear. He couldn't take it anymore, his cock throbbing painfully in the confines of his pants. If he didn't do something soon, he was going to lose his mind.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sakusa reluctantly untangled his fingers from your hips. He hesitated for a moment, steeling himself before carefully sliding his hand over your clothed pussy.

Sakusa's breath hitched as his fingers brushed over the damp material, his eyes widening in shock. Was this... for him?

Heat coursed through his veins, his head swimming with lust as he dared to apply a little more pressure. The lewd sound of his fingers dragging against your slick panties elicited a choked whimper from him, his cock twitching impatiently beneath you.

Sakusa couldn't believe what he was doing.

Touching you like this, even if you were asleep, was completely unacceptable. He should stop while he still could.

But when his fingers found your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with agonizing precision, you arched into him, your ass grinding down on his cock and sending sparks of pleasure coursing through his veins.

With a low growl, Sakusa tightened his hold on you, his other hand fumbling to reach his zipper. The metal teeth gave way easily, allowing him to tug the stiff material down, his leaking cock finally springing free.

A shuddering sigh of relief escaped his lips, the cool air of the bus doing little to quell the heat raging within him. He was painfully hard, the head of his cock already leaking precum.

With one final glance at your blissful, sleeping face, Sakusa lifted his hips, nudging his cock against your panty-clad core. His pulse was racing, his breaths coming in short, ragged pants as he teased the soaked fabric.

Unable to resist any longer, Sakusa pushed the soaked panties aside, the swollen head of his cock rubbing tortuously against your aching clit. You moaned softly, arching into him, your body instinctively seeking the pleasure he was so willing to give.

His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Sakusa's cock throbbed insistently, his hips rocking slowly against your dripping cunt. The need to bury himself inside you, to feel your velvety walls clenching around him, was almost overwhelming.

He was so close, the tip of his cock poised at your entrance, ready to claim you as his. Just one push and he would be sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt. All he had to do was thrust his hips and you would finally be his.

The bus jerked, throwing you back against him, his cock sliding into your soaked cunt, and Sakusa groaned, his eyes rolling back as he felt your warm walls flutter around him. Fuck, you felt better than he had ever imagined.

With a shaky exhale, he sank deeper into your heat, his cock throbbing as you stretched to accommodate him. You felt like heaven, and Sakusa couldn't stop himself from thrusting his hips, his cock sliding in and out of your tight pussy.

Sakusa knew he should be gentle, take his time and savor every delicious inch of you. But the overwhelming desire to claim you, to mark you as his, overpowered any sense of restraint he may have had.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he rutted into you, his cock massaging your aching cunt.

The air was thick with the heady scent of your arousal, the soft, subtle sound of your slick pussy being stretched by his cock filling the space between your bodies.

Sakusa's head fell back against the seat, his jaw clenched as he fucked into you, the coil of pleasure tightening in his gut. He was close, his balls tightening as he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Just as he was about to pull out, his cock twitching with the promise of release, you came with a soft moan, your walls clamping down on him. With a strangled cry, Sakusa buried his face in your neck, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself inside you, painting your walls with his cum.

As the last waves of his orgasm washed over him, Sakusa let out a satisfied sigh, his body slumping against yours. You were still asleep, your soft breaths tickling his skin, and Sakusa couldn't help but smile, his heart swelling with affection.

He knew it was wrong, taking advantage of you like this. But the feeling of euphoria that came from being inside you, knowing that he had claimed you as his own, was worth any guilt that may come later.

As he basked in the afterglow of his release, Sakusa vowed to confess his feelings once he returned home. No matter what, he would make sure you were his, and his alone.

Sakusa's phone chimed again, abruptly pulling him from his reverie. Glancing down, he saw a new message from Komori: "That is not what I meant by making a move." Confused, Sakusa quirked an eyebrow and turned to his side, only to be met with Komori's appalled expression, though that did nothing to deter him from noticing the very prominent hard-on his cousin was sporting.

[frownyalfred]

But how would Bruce sweep in to help the Kents without raising suspicion on himself? Even if he did it anonymously, theres few people in Gotham that could have the power to so quickly get them out of the public eye. And if he does it publicly, I'm assuming he claims he was doing it to protect the JL as Bruce publicly funds them? Or would he essentially release a statement saying that as a close friend of Clark Kent, he wishes to protect him from the media as he of all people knows how vicious they can be? Idk, I completely agree that Bruce would be the one to get them out, the question is just how?

My heart also breaks for Clark because this is obviously one of the last things he ever wanted to occur. Superman's love for humanity is obvious to everyone and the loss of his civilian identity destroys any chance of him being able to interact with them outside of his superhero identity. Its one thing having to wait for something in the media to 'blow over' but this isn't your everyday politic scandal or other media story, this is the reveal of the man behind one of the Trinity itself, the reveal of Superman. It could easily take months before it stops being the front page cover of every newspaper and after that, what then? How do they move forward?

And all of this doesn't even begin to consider the guilt Clark would feel for ruining Lois and the kids' lives. Everyone would reassure him it wasn't his fault but Clark would obviously take responsibility for this, telling himself he should have been more careful, more secretive, more vigilant. That as a result of his lack of caution, he'd ruined any chance his kids and Lois had at a (somewhat) normal life. I feel like I could even see him being embarrassed to accept Bruce's help, chastising himself for not planning for contingencies like Bruce had.

Sorry to dump all this on you, I'm just so intrigued by the aftermath of the reveal itself.

No it’s a very valid question! In that media/public world, getting them out of the public eye as quickly as possible is the number one priority. That doesn’t need to be attributed to Bruce right away, or even at all — the Kents (all of them) disappear as quickly as possible. They fly to an agreed-upon rendezvous or they are taken there by private security hired by Bruce.

Once there, that’s when the PR shitstorm hits. Superman and his family are found out, maybe there were a few brief videos of them leaving or being escorted out of their workplace (Lois) or flying away from their school (Jon) but nothing long, nothing conclusive.

The media cycle begins. Interviews with the Kent’s’ friends, colleagues, neighbors, etc proliferate the news. Everyone is cashing in on what they can. Bruce, if he’s smart, has Clark and his family locked down somewhere they can’t watch television and is handling the response on his own.

But the reality is, there is not much Bruce CAN do, for the reasons you mentioned. Publicly tying himself to Superman and his family puts WE under greater scrutiny. Coming out in defense of Clark’s lies suggests he 1) knew about them and 2) approves of Superman’s decision to hide from the public.

I’m not sure that conversation between friends will go well. Bruce telling Clark there’s no way to return to their previous lives, not without significant security risks (not to mention the social strain) and Clark spiraling as he realizes he’s inadvertently taken away his Ma’s knitting circle, Lois’ job, Jon’s school.

It’s all different now. If he’s lucky, Bruce has plans to funnel them into a sort of witness protection, maybe in a few years when things settle down. But that would mean splitting them up — and that’s non negotiable. Even keeping Ma and Pa together is a stretch. They’re too easily recognizable.

I imagine maybe Bruce can give them a sort of asylum in the Watchtower, operating outside of any Earth’s jurisdiction. But that puts scrutiny on the Justice League instead. And Bruce is the kind of person to keep the JL autonomous and take the heat on WE if needed — even if he never mentions it.

There are things that Bruce would need to step in on: connections starting to be made between himself and Clark, accusations of Clark not being a US citizen (and Jon too, but because he’s an alien) and Lois for lying to the US government. Accusations that the Justice League was culpable in any way for Superman’s civilian actions. Scrutiny on WE and how much Bruce Wayne knows or should know, or how his funding is connected to a JL that is now under investigation etc.

But yes: I think Bruce could get them out and hidden without tipping his hand. But everything else, yeah, he would need to step into the spotlight at least a little. And he would do that for Clark, because that’s his friend. He’s had this complex series of contingencies ready since…maybe Clark and Lois’ engagement?

Having been in some PR crises, you need a Bruce. Someone not affected directly and cool/calm enough to speak to media, move people around, and make judgement calls. Clark is lucky he has such a friend, even if he’s beating himself up over his own actions and missteps.

I have more (probably more coherent) thoughts about this, but that’s my initial reaction — Bruce gets them out fine, but next steps are very, very complicated. And things won’t ever be normal again.

[nightfall-1409]

like its ok to wish that hunter did more to get crosshair out but i will say PLEASE stop saying that rescuing the literal helpless child from the child murdering fascists was somehow wrong of Hunter.

also like. can we stop undermining the very clear and obvious way that crosshair liked the power that he was given in the empire, especially over others, he was radicalized. he convinced himself that the war crimes were justified in the name of power. that is a far bigger problem and something that is going to haunt him far longer and requires a lot more to undo and forgive (and some people will never and should never do that, and others can't bc they are Dead)

to say it was all the effects of the chips, at this point in the series, its just not true. the events of aftermath specifically are 100% the chip. Everything after that is up for debate. We don't know when it was taken out, but at some point it was, and crosshair's pov is that it doesn't matter when, bc he likes where he's at. Had he not been abandoned by the empire on Kamino for so long, I doubt he would have ever changed, had Cody not deserted after confronting him about what it was the clones were doing, I doubt he would have ever changed. Had he not been forced to see Mayday's struggle and fight to bring him home and still after everything they both gave after everything suffered mayday died not in battle but because someone couldn't be bothered to even try to help him, I don't think he would have changed. I don't think Hunter could talk him out of it, and maybe he didn't try hard enough, or really, at all. Crosshair's version of loyalty, though, is blind, unquestioning, a soldiers loyalty. Obeying what they were doing, things that Hunter couldn't obey, and would have made him a monster to do.

But I can't imagine the disgust I would be forced to contend with if like, my family member came forward like "oh yes we're built to be soldiers, that doesn't mean preserving or protecting innocents, It means power and killing those who get in my way. its my purpose in life and i think you're stupid for not getting over the moral objections" like what do you even say to that. Hunter at that point had SEEN what the empire was doing. They both had, their home planet, (and head canons aside, all clones did in fact, in canon, see it as their home.) orbitally bombarded to secure power. How do you talk someone out of that, if fundamentally what your disagreement is on the value of life. You don't. Hence Hunter's demands in S3E5 to know what changed. What finally made Crosshair realize what he believed, about power and his purpose, was wrong.

Crosshair didn't want out. Crosshair was upset they didn't stay. He saw their purpose as being with the Empire. They escaped and ran and deserted. If they weren't with him, in the Empire, then they should die, like the Jedi, and Crosshair did absolutely believe that.

So this is all to say that. they are not equally responsible for what happened to their squad. Crosshair didn't have a choice at first— but once he did keep running right over that line. And a lot of us hoped that he was lying about the chip, that he wasn't entirely responsible for all that he did. But he was. That's clear at this point.

Even the whole chip matter— it's prolly really hard for Hunter to separate it. logically, he knows it was partially the chip at this point. But at that point in the story he watched someone he was incredibly close to nearly kill them all and at the time he had no idea why. If Hunter'd not grabbed Omega by the leg and tripped her she would be shot dead. If omega hadn't surprised Crosshair by shooting his gun out of his hand he would have killed Hunter. He shot wrecker, to use him as bait against the rest of them? Like, again, we all knew about the chip, but I can understand the emotional toll of such a thing bc he DIDNT at the time. The betrayal in that moment? How do you let it go?

But thats all fine! its interesting its character development and its the story they were determined to tell. But like. we can be honest.

Now if someone thinks that im wrong i'd love to know what exactly hunter needs to be sorry about, and why he's equally responsible that doesn't like either downplay the war crimes and murder and doesn't throw Omega like directly into harms way and under the bus.

[heartfullofleeches]

Ok but what if the reader instead of being a security guard for the museum they were actually its new owner? The haunted pieces already knew about you, your grandfather bringing you there to show you how to take care of the museum once they were gone, and all of this while you were just a young adult! Now you are...older, and that makes them worry. The white strands on your hair become more noticeable, the way your eyes sink into your skull sends them into a panic and so much more. (1/2)

Just give up on your mortal life and live with them forever in your new body, you can even choose which one you want!! Do you prefer marble? Or maybe even roses!? Or even paint!!!! Just PLEASE, PLEASE don't die on them. They already wanted to hold you close before, but now?? They don't want to. They NEED to.(2/2)

(A.N - Tw: light gore, injury)

-

The gallery was a place of wonder when you were young.

Even before you knew the truth, every piece breathed with life; the history behind each one like stories ripped from a fairytale. It wasn’t long before you were whisked you way to the Night Gallery. Where those figures would step from their pages, and walk about in the realm of your reality. From your first visit, your grandfather made it known what your future duties would be, but you wouldn't realize the weight of their burden until many years later.

It was towards the later stage of your adolescents. By now you knew the first floor residents as well as the friends you had back home. They welcomed you with as much curiosity as you did them; happy to have a new human to make themselves acquainted with, and one with so much energy unlike most. You weren't allowed on the upper floors unless it was daytime, but you imagined them to be as friendly as those below.

You had taken up a summer job at the gallery, and would go about your days in peace. There was the occasional rude visitor or someone who tried to sneak a picture in no photography zones, but it was decent pay and gave you time to spend at your home away from home.

Sweeping up on the third floor, you heard snickering from around the corner. There was an end of the year field trip happening that day, but you had already seen all the classes moving on to the next floor. Taking a peek, you spot two teenagers close to your age; spray painting the face of one of the statues by the bathrooms.

"Hey! What are you doing?!'

They bolt as soon as they hear your voice. Probably not the best choice of action, but the most logical that came to mind. You contact security as you walk over to the statue. The figure depicted a person in robes; their face now obscured by a heavy layer of black paint. You could vaguely make out the outline of their closed eyes and tight lips, but aside from that their face looked like a small void. Completely hollow.

"I'm so sorry this happened.. Don't worry, we'll get you cleaned up in no time.

You grab a rag and gently attempt to scrub some of it off. It only succeeded in smugging the paint more; coating the complete length of their exposed face in dark paint.

You chuckle nervously. "That... probably wasn't the best thing to do.. I think I made it worse. Let's wait till someone who's right for the job comes, so you can look as good as new."

You flash the statue a reassuring smile. You weren't sure if could see you with its eyes closed; or if it could even hear you, but you felt it was the right thing to do. You stay with it until security came a few minutes later; chatting away like it was the most lively of company. From what you heard, they hadn't found the culprits of the defacing. They never would.

And you never saw that statue again.

-

Closing up the following fortnight, you wheel the supply cart down the empty halls; heading for the janitorial closet on the first floor. Your shift had ended on the third floor, and a little later than usual due to a prankster shoving paper towels up the air dryers. If you hurried, you had enough time to get out of the gallery before midnight.

Climbing in the elevator, you press the button for the first floor. You scroll through your phone as it takes you down. As you swipe your finger over the screen, a blotch of paint smudges the glass. Where did that come from? You don't remember cleaning up any paints that afternoon.

The elevator's doors open; a chill bellowing through its gates. You push the cart out of the entrance; doors slamming together behind you. The corridors to the elevators were pretty much the same on each floor. A long hallway with a few doors on the sides; hidden by paintings or simply locked off as they were for use of the employees. You roll the cart down to the janitor's closet; pulling your keys from your pocket. The key was to small to fit in the lock- but the door was already unlocked.

You step inside; alarm bells going off like a fourth of July gone wrong. For one, the room was quite larger than what you remembered, and secondly- you weren't alone. Various pieces of art were placed around the room; all in different forms of disarray. A painting with a tear through its center, a shattered vase - the statue.

"Gah!"

You hadn't even realized it was right in front of you til your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. The hulking mass of stone stands a few feet ahead; face still masked in shadows. Its head was tilted higher than you remembered; angled directly in your direction. Its hood appeared to be chipped.

You breath a sigh of relief. "Oh... it's just you. You startled me."

The statue's hand was raised in an extended motion rather that at its side when you first saw it; almost- inviting in the way. You take a step closer; splatters running up the sleeve of their arm. There's.. something nestles in its palm, surrounded in a pool of dark liquid. It's small; fitting perfectly in the crook of its hand. It looked flesh like, and shaped like the half of a heart; fitted with a small diamond hanging on its lobe. You recognized it the piece. An earring worn by one of the vandals from the previous weeks. Lost in concentration, you barely notice the statue's chest rising and falling with each ragged breath it takes.

"Ta...tak.."

A wet gurgle comes from the statue's face cavity. The black paint drips down its neck; falling on the floor with a wet smack. You could make out the outlines of its exposed teeth as they gnash together.

"T..a..ke it.."

The statue extends its hand further out to you, the blood accumulated in its palm spilling over. It wheezes; placing one foot forward towards you. The stiffness of its robes crumbles as they wrap around its thin bone structure. From somewhere behind it, you heard a laugh.

"Oh, hoho. Is that our new owner coming to finally pay us a visit? What an honor~"

The other voice steps from the shadows, fluctuating with each syllable. Its eyes lock onto yours; one wide open, while the other rests half closed. The entity's body was doused in a spectrum of color; no one section the same as the other. Swirls, splotches, and other abstract patterns covered its frame. Not even its basic shape was symmetrical. One leg longer than the other, giving it an awkward stance. Bits of it technicolored flesh melting from its other parts. The only thing that was somewhat similar was its arms. They had been dyed with the ink of its body, but they were exactly alike, and appeared to house human skin. One of the nails was missing from its left hand.

"What a pretty thing you are! It seems time has been a kind friend to you, my dear."

You can't speak. What's going on? This isn't anything like what you've seen before. You don't understand what's going on.

"Speechless, are we? That's quite all right. We've been waiting for so long to meet you!"

We? The painting throws its arm to the sky in a welcoming gesture. As if awaiting the cue; damaged artworks from around the room come to life. A mannequin attempts to stand on its splintered legs; a cuckoo clock chimes with a note so off key it makes your skin crawl. There's blood on their frames... their hands. Chatter comes from every corner of the room; all excited to see the new face.

"You've grown so much! Do you remember me? I used to hang by the gift shop. You're so beautiful, you should have your own painting done. "

"We've heard a lot about you, but we'd love to hear so much more. It's all I can do without my eyes"

"Please don't leave"

Run. Your brain screams at you to run. These pieces weren't like any you'd met before. Were those one as good as they seemed? Your head was spinning. Your body startled to tremble. What do you do?

You know.. the older you grow the more that body of yours will break. We can give you a better one. If you stay here with us...

"Y/n!"

Yanked by your collar, you're dragged from the madness. Your grandfather slams the door shut, locking it as a long bang comes from the other side. Your eyes subconsciously shift over to the sign by the door. Paint drips off its lettering. Restoration.

"What on earth were you doing in there? Do you know what time it is?"

You utter your first words of the night. "Did... did someone really.. die?"

The old man's eyes soften. He lets out a deep sigh, turning his back to you.

"It will be your responsibility someday. You'll have to make sure that no one hurts them. And that they don't hurt anyone the same."

-

From that day forth, your love of the gallery lost its spark. You still cared for it and its residents, but it was hard to look at them knowing what they were truly capable of. The inhabitants of the first floor soon began to ask you to stay as well. Never a demand, but a pleaded offer. They'd seen the light draining from your eyes; the droop in your smile. It was the last thing they ever wanted to see on the face of the one they came to admire.

Eventually, the time came. Your grandfather passed, and you became the head of the gallery. It became your whole life. You couldn’t hire any guards for the risk of their safety, and if you ignored them in the vain hopes nobody would trespass the artworks would get violent with each other. You were exhausted in every way, shape, and form- and everyone knew it.

Sitting alone in your office, you watch the cameras you'd set up; sighing in annoyance as someone runs by on the second floor. People never learned. You get up from your seat, heading out to find them.

-

You find the trespasser on the stairwell between the second and third floor; using hidden passages and keeping your head low to avoid detection. You applaused them for getting this far without being spotted. They crotch by the stairs with their hands over their mouth as they steady their breath; gripping something tightly in hand.

"Hey....follow me"

The burglar turns to face you; fear burned into their widen eyes. They point their weapon at you; completely on edge.

"S-stay away."

"I'm not going to hurt you. Come with me."

"No! No... you're trying to trick me. You're one of them."

You hear shuffling from the floor below.

"Keep your voice down. They'll hear you."

"You aren't going to get me, you monster!"

"Calm down." You hold your hands in peace as you slowly edge closer; attempting to show you mean no harm. This only settles them off more, slicing the skin of your right arm.You hiss in pain; trying to keep your voice low so they don't hear- but it's too late.

DoN't ToUcH tHeM

You lock eyes with the intruder. "I'm so sorry."

Before they can reply, dozens of hands approach from the lower form; wrapping around their ankles and theur lower torso- crushing them in their grip. They plead; beg, but their cries turn to incoherent babbles and screeches as their fate is sealed. You don't see what happens, your eyes covered by a heavy hand. It coos in your ear, inserting a piece of jewelry into its lobe. Your arm stings, pleading profusely onto the fabric of your shirt. It runs its fingers over the flow.

"Look at you.... You're falling apart. The wounds you've come to bear can never be healed, and you'll only continue to break til there's nothing left. Join us... We can make your image last forever. We can give you all the love you could ever desire. Our masterpiece..."

Your lips remained sealed. You know that one day you'll belong to the gallery for good. Somewhere deep in your chest you knew that you already did.

[altrodent]

Life Saver

Pairing: Timothy Lawrence x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Teeth rotting fluff, past relations with Handsome Jack, tiniest bit of angst, slow burn, Borderlands2/3 spoilers?, mentions of alcohol, lotssss of swearing lol, siren reader

Summary: After reunifying with someone from your past, you finally realize that someone you truly needed was taken away from you, just not the one you expected it to be.

DISCLAIMER: I wrote moxxi’s name like moXXXi for most of the story, please bear with me. Also, most of this was written very late at night and only poorly reviewed a couple times

After the not-so-tragic passing of a psychopath who controlled your entire career, you finally ended up back on track with your life. You originally worked as head of defensive security at the one and only Hyperion, but where did it all go wrong? It began when Jack broke up with his, at the time, girlfriend moxxxi. You couldn’t tell if it was desperation, or just a thing he was into, but he quickly took a liking to you. A person in charge, power, strength, but not more than him economically. He eventually “promoted” you to his assistant and you absolutely despised it. He made an excuse that the desk he ordered for you wouldn’t ship for a while, so you’d have to sit on his lap while he did his work. Though he was attractive, wealthy, and even kinda funny, it just felt gross- perverted even… and not the good consensual kind.

Whilst you worked there, eventually you started seeing him more often, except it wasn’t him. It was a man named Timothy, one of his duplicates. He hired him to be a vault Hunter for him but eventually as time went on he talked to you more and more, even convinced Jack to let you go on some of his missions with him. He was sweet and funny, and maybe at some point you were interested in him, but the way Jack had you wrapped around his finger, he’d pull you back in if he realized you got too close to Timothy.

Years later after working with them, Jack finally passed away leaving you go back to a career that was your own. While you wanted to find Timothy, you just didn’t have enough time, though if he survived that long working for Jack, he’s sure to be fine. As time passed, you became a Vault Hunter originally for the thrill of the kill and to hopefully just do whatever the hell you wanted alone, but you caved and ended up joining a crew on a ship called “The Sanctuary” and even though you knew your rule about not getting attached, you were sure they could handle themselves fine if anything happened. They could, and still do, one day when wandering around this ship you finally enter the brightly glowing pink room. You always noticed it, but was always too busy trying to complete missions for the other members. It looked like a bar after going on a killing spree for days takes all the energy out of you.

“Hey, sugar, never seen you around here” said a beautiful pale woman with a harlequin type corset “Yeah, I rarely have time to… explore.” You said, with a sigh. The woman can tell by the dark circles around your eyes that you’ve been busy, she’s clever so she puts two and two together. “You’re the Vault Hunter, right, pleasure” she puts her hand out, you grasp it with a firm shake even though it looks like you’ve been to hell and back. She starts making you a drink, seems like Lilith spilled to her some of your interests, which leads to a very interesting offer; “So, Vault Hunter, I was wondering if you’d like to take me up on an offer.” She leans against the bar getting close to your face “… what kind of offer..?” She smiles before moving a piece of hair out of her face “Well, wanted to see if you’d be interested in a raid of the Handsome Jackpot casino and claim its riches. You can say no but, you will get a lot out of this heist” her gaze doesn’t look away from you, intent on getting you to do the mission “How much are we talking?” She walks around the bar, picking up a scribbled-on clipboard on her way, and presents it to you. “Holy shit.” She hums a laugh “So, do we have a deal, VH?” She smiles and holds her hand out once more, needing your trust “Yeah, we do.” You take her hand and shake it. “I’ll send the coordinates to your Echo, from there I’ll guide you through. When you get there please don’t die, I prefer my attractive customers to stay alive.” She sends you a wink as you take one last drink before preparing to head to the Casino.

You jump on the drop pod, to head to- what might just be, the most rewarding mission you could ever imagine. Sure shooting Skags for the nice old man on Pandora is rewarding but, this is a literal heist. You had heard of ‘handsome Jack’ but you knew Jack, so you weren’t very ecstatic to see him again, even if it was just for this mission. Sure he’s dead, doesn’t mean you want to completely cut him out of your life altogether. From the small window of your drop-pod you see what is a giant hologram of Jack’s head. Once your pod drops, two robots try to stop you and get you to pay for “VIP” valet, you just shake your head no and then run past them into the building. “For a fancy casino… this place looks like shit.” You hear a giggle over your ear piece “Yeah, after Jack died the casino got ransacked with debt-ridden peasants. They’re the one’s we’re gonna help, sugar. Hopefully most of them won’t have to feel your wrath on the way~” you huff a laugh, before making your way to a giant slot machine? “What the fu-“ “Jack here! Welcome to the Handsome Jackpot! Who’s ready to give me their money?” The man himself, again as a giant hologram… he loves himself, too much “After all these years, I still want to kick his dick in.” You mumble, Moxxxi laughs “Keep that energy up, Vault Hunter, you’ll need it”

“That’s Jack for you. Dead seven years and still is trying to screw us over.” You roll your eyes, “tell me about it.” Moxxxi tuts “I have a question, if I may, did you know Jack? Before he died?” You purse your lips “Yeah, unfortunately. Used to be his head of security, then he ‘promoted’ me to basically his own personal lap dog” you kick away some of the robots, moxxxi gasps “Sugar, were you the person at reception? I remember you now, I always felt so bad that you had to be so close to him everyday.” You sigh “I got the attention I never had, but not in the way I preferred… well until the other Jack came.” You reach a room full of more debt-riders “dammit, what a waste of ammo…” you look down at your fist and shrug, you realize that the debt these people owed made them unable to afford any source of energy… or guns, for that matter. “Wait, Sugar, what ‘other Jack’?” You grunt as another debtor tries to take you down “Can you give me a sec, Mox?” You turn your echo piece off, as you slam them into the floor. You tilt your head back “god, why is there SO MANY?!” Another wave falls from the ceiling, you give in to the waste and take out a gun and knock them all down with a single mag. You click your echo piece on again “What were you asking about-?” You said, whilst looting some of their bodies for home fully something. “The other Jack? Who is it?” You bite the inside of your lip “Jacks dead, so I can say his name now, right? He might be dead too- I don’t know I think he said it was Jim- Jimmy? Jimothy? I feel shitty now, he was like the only person I talked to when working at Hyperion-“ “Timothy Lawrence, hm, never would take you for the type.” You pause your looting “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Your jaw drops in disbelief “Nothing, Sugar.” You can hear her giggle on the other side “Head out the exit, you should see a giant tower, it’s the biggest thing in the casino by a mile. Now if I know Jack, and I’m ashamed to say I did, that tower is where we can find the keys to the kingdom.”

After about an half an hour of wandering around and killing all the debtors, you reached what Jack so “greatly” named the Spendopticon. All of a sudden you get an incoming transmission from someone named “Pretty Boy” you groan “What do you wan-“ he cuts you off, very rudely “Welcome to the Casino! So you’re the big spender who’s been racking up charges, eh?” Your face grimaces before shooting a debtor that tried crawling on you “uh, yeah? I guess, who the hell are you?” He laughs as you’re trying to shake off more people “Heh, well pardon our mess there, we’re still working on ‘renovations’. But all you need to know is I’m the boss here. Anyone gives you a hard time, just ask for Pretty Boy, heh! I’ll sort them out for ya.” You groan as you swing at another one “Look ‘Pretty Boy’, thanks for the offer, but I’m good working alone.” He sighs “Well, my offer still stands, don’t go breakin’ my heart so soon, toots.” He signs off “God, why does everything with Jack have to end up creepy and slightly perverted?” Moxxxi hums, “I don’t know sugar, but at least we know who the boss is. But don’t trust a word he says, he seems all teeth.”

You wander around to another court yard, but this time it’s different. The robots don’t seem to attack you, they race past you to fight off the debtors who are causing a riot. Stunned, you walk past him. Once you snuck past, you see something out of the ordinary “Can ANYONE hear me?” A voice yells from inside a big yellow crate, guarded by giant loader bots. “Hahaha! I got all the time in the world, Timmie! All the time in the world.” You step closer to the crate until a loose sheet of metal gets caught on your boot and makes a loud crash “shit.” The door on the crate rattles “Is someone out there?! Please, help me out!” Pretty boy laughs over the Spendopticon’s PA systems “Have fun with my loaders, ya schmuck!” The loaders all turn to you, “Can’t I just have ONE mission on a nice beach somewhere?” You whine, while you really aren’t one to complain, you haven’t slept in a while and your body is running off whatever gasoline liquor Moxxxi have you on the sanctuary earlier. You grab your gun of choice from your bag, and load in a new mag “Come on robitches, let’s dance.”

Pretty Boy calls in for more backup, you get distracted and an EXP-loader hits hard, destroys your armor completely. “Fuck!” Pretty Boy laughs and mocks you right before you shoot the screen with his ugly mug on it, unfortunately for your gun that was all the ammo you had left. Luckily, using the anger from the guy in the box complaining that he was trapped, you took out your rage against the robots and started bashing their mechanical heads in with the butt of your gun. “You might’ve destroyed my screens, but your next toots. And Timmie, it was nice seeing ya, handsome bastard. We’ll talk soon!” And with that the final loader drops and you head back to the door. It swings open revealing a man hunched over with a metallic right hand, and his hoodie up. He raises his hands “N-n-no! Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! Don’t- this isn’t what it looks like…” he pulls up his hoodie, and immediately you raise your gun more. If it wasn’t bad enough his face was everywhere, there is no way in hell… he survived! It’s Jack, but it doesn’t feel like it, also isn’t he supposed to be dead? You raise a brow in confusion and you keep your gun steady. There isn’t any ammo, but he doesn’t know that. “Explain yourself, now, or I’ll turn your face into ground beef.” He raises his hands more “I just need you to-“ he pauses and his hands drop slowly “It…it’s you…”

your brows furrow and you slowly lower your gun “I’m who?” His lip corners twitch, unknowing wether to feel happy to see you do upset that you don’t remember him right off the bat. He pulls his shirt collar down to reveal a pendant, a pendant you knew all too well. When you two finished your first mission, the older woman who you helped made you both matching charm necklaces. They were gorgeous and even engraved your initials together, since she thought you two were dating. You put your gun down, you reach into one of your pockets and pull out your pendant. You lock eyes with him, “Timothy, is it really you…?” He smiles, and before he can even respond something inside you breaks. The cold outer shell that formed over the last tasking 7 years sheds away as your muscles move, without your will, and pull him into a warm embrace. It doesn’t take long for him to bury his face in your hair, and hold you like he was never going to let go. “I was so worried about you, Tim… I should’ve taken you with me, I- I’m sorry.” He pulls away and cups your face “Don’t apologize! You’re here now, that’s all I’ve ever wanted… wait, why are you here anyways? I mean, I’m glad your here, but you got to escape Jack why-“ you grab his shoulders to get his attention “Would love to fill you in on what I’ve been doing for the past 7 years, but I need your help.” He smirks at me “I’ll help you as much as you need, baby- I’m sorry! The DNA… yeah I got some of his DNA so stuff like that happens now. But what do you need help with?” Your face is blushed a bit from the first bit, but you manage to snap yourself out of it “I’m trying to figure out how to get into Jacks tower.” He snorts “Join the club, butt-face! Oh my lanta, Im soso sorry I really can’t help it.” You giggle, and he turns his gaze away but, you’re not stupid and you can see that blush on his cute cheeks. “I can get you in though, this-a-way!” He spins your shoulders so you’re now facing the way to walk, and while you’re walking to wherever you need to go you decide to ask him a couple of questions. “So Jack infused you with his DNA so now you make weird Jack remarks?” He groans “Yes, it’s the worst. I felt like I wasn’t myself before, and now I’m like an off-brand version of Jack!” He pouts, and you giggle at his expression “Look, as long as there’s a tiny bit of you still in there, that’s all that matters… and hey, maybe once this is all over, I can get my medic on my ship to get you back to normal… if you want to, of course.” He’s not listening, or maybe he is? You can’t tell, he’s just gazing at you as you tiredly ramble to him. “You have a medic, and a ship, and you still are talking to me?” You nod “Why wouldn’t I?” He looks down at his feet and shrugs, before seeing blood at yours. His eyes widen to see that the explosion he heard earlier, was displayed very boldly on your back. “Shit! You’re bleeding- like a lot!” You yawn “I’m fine that happens.” He takes your arm and rushes you to a door in a nearby wall “Well, I was gonna do a tour but I don’t want you to die on the doormat!”

He gently sits you in a chair while he grabs a small medical kit he had hiding underneath a nearby pipe. He’s panicking, to wrap your wound but when he does your echo falls to the floor. “Hey, hun stay awake okay? I don’t want you… dying.” You happy-pout “You’re so nice Tim…” he squishes your cheeks “And you’re so stupid! Sorry- DNA, again… but still, please don’t get this hurt again, I don’t want anything bad to happen.” You rolls your eyes and lean your forehead against his “Yeah, yeah…” he fiddles with his hands “Maybe- maybe we can push the mission off until tomorrow?” You huff “I’m fine, Timmy, I swear-“ he squeezes your face between his hands “Hun, you look tired, hungry and you could die if I don’t help you. So please, just let me do this for you… you’d do the same for me, right?” You groan, “Tim, I promise, I’m fine…” he rolls his eyes “If you were fine we wouldn’t be having this conversation would we?” You avoid his gaze, he was right. But you didn’t want to be weak, you didn’t want to be vulnerable.

“I’d hate to break up this sweet moment, sugar, but we do need him to help us with the mission.” Moxxxi speaks over your echo, Timothy picks it up “Moxxxi? You’re working on this mission?” This hurts a little, sure you were his friend before you were a Vault Hunter, but that doesn’t mean you maybe didn’t crush on him at one point or another. And Mox is literally the Handsome Jack gaze, Timothy… Tim could love her. Moxxxi finally moves from my echo to the holo-pad, “Tell my why I shouldn’t let the Vault Hunter blow your brains out Timothy?” He raises his hands “Moxxxiiiii, hi… look, they’re basically bleeding out can you just let me handle that first?” She crosses her arms before looking at you. He turns around to see that you’re standing up, seemingly fine. “Wait are you..” he lifts the back of your shirt, the wound is gone “How-“ he furrows his brows trying to figure it out before Moxxxi interrupts him “VH is fine, again, tell me why we should trust you.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Look, Mox, I trust him. If he wanted to kill me already he would’ve. And besides, I know he couldn’t if he tried either.” He pouts “what’s that supposed to mean-“ she sighs “Whatever you say Sugar, but what use does he have for us?”

He moves around to my side “Well, as unfortunate as it is, I both look, sound and even have a little bit of his DNA. I can get the vault Hunter where they need to go.” Moxxxi walks up to you “Are you sure about this? I trust your decision VH.” You nod, a slight smile on your face. She hums “Okay, well don’t get carried away in here, Sugar.” She sends you a wink before logging off, leaving you a confused flustered mess. Tim leans over to look at your face “You okay- also, again, never answered my question! How’d you heal your back?!” You grab your echo again “I’m fine, and I-“ you paused, you never told him. He’s never seen it, your siren markings. How would he react to knowing that you his that from him ever since you met. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” You scratch your head, “I’ll tell you about it later, we ne-“ he raises a brow and looks at you with probably the sternest face he’s ever made. “We need to get you to stop blowing me off.” You sigh as he moves to face you and gently places his hands on your shoulders “Talk to me.” You can’t say no to him, “Fine, just… promise you won’t get mad?” He smiles “I could never get mad at you” god you really want to kiss him right now- BESIDES THE POINT, you clear your throat “Just uhm… this is a little odd, so just bear with me here.” He nods, you take off your remaining chest armor and lift the under shirt to reveal glowing markings that curve around your chests features. He’s just standing there staring, maybe it’s cause he’s confused, maybe it’s cause he didn’t know your a siren… most likely because you just lifted your shirt for him, but beyond that, you’re concerned. “I was talking with my medic, Tannis, and she ran some experiments on me and when I woke up I had these siren markings. I don’t know how she did it but it makes me able to like save myself? I just keep forgetting about it, I usually never had the pleasure of not bleeding out.” He’s still standing there “Timothy, you’re staring.” He shakes his head, his cheeks colored a bright cherry red “Sorry, yeah uhm… that’s cool as shit, also maybe next time a more descriptive warning- but nonetheless, we should probably get going on this mission, yeah?”

He walks around the Spendopticon showing you all the entrances, the turrets and most importantly where he thinks the plan will work most. And before you know it, after days upon days of fighting, and even a trusted persons betrayal, you’re finally here. Pretty Boy kidnapped Timothy, and he wants your head on a mount. Unfortunately for you, he has a giant mecha-Jack suit, and you have to take him out by yourself. As easy as it may seem to a hardcore vault Hunter, you also have Timothy’s life- as well as yours on the line. He set it to self destruct, and the only way you can stop it is by defeating pretty boy and setting Timothy free. Luckily, Pretty boy isn’t used to having such height or the mechs controls, so as long as you move a lot he can’t seem to hit you. He finally get downed “Would you like to upgrade to the premium shield package?” You hear Pretty Boy slam the controls “No, dammit! Just go back to work!” Soon more of his loaders spawn. You walk near Timothy as you kill them “Are you doing alright in there?” He kneels down to talk to you “Are you alright out there? I would help but these bars burn like hell!” You grunt as you kick away one of the mini-loaders “I’ll be fine, Tim, trust me.”

Soon enough Pretty Boy stands back up “Round two, Toots!” You look back at Timothy “wai-“ You reload your gun “I’ll be right back, swear!” You run right up to pretty boy, shooting his mech in the weak spots that were basically already ripping open due to the pure amount of gun fire. Eventually you shoot at the spot for long enough to the point that the legs aren’t functioning correctly anymore. He gets distracted and you take this opportunity to shoot at this other weak spots. Mainly his joints. Usually you would aim for the head, but seeing as that’s quite literally the only part of the mech that backfired, you chose not to aim for it… it literally repelled your bullets. Eventually after enough damage to the robot he gets downed again. You slide over to a crate and grab more ammo before one of the mini-loaders starts shooting at you. “Why you little-“ you pick it up and throw it at the other one and they both make a tiny explosion. Cute, but unfortunate. You make your way back over to Timothy “Hey, Tim-Tim, you still doing okay?” He squats “Maybe you should stop talking to me, and focus on not dying, hun” you tilt your head “Hun? What’s with that, and why do you care so much? Do you not trust me?” He points, and before even getting a word out, you cut him off with the sound of a pistol. “Yeah, loader, got it, answer my question”

you continue to blast your way through the small wave of loaders “firstly, I said hun because of the DN- no, because I wanted too, and secondly I care because-“ The mecha-Jack stands once again “Dammit! Can this stupid bitch stay down! I’ll be right back Tim, we can talk after you’re safe!” He throws his arms up in anguish, before accidentally brushing his finger against the lasers “Fuck!” And finally, after Mecha-Jack starts to fly, he falls just as fast. Pretty boy crawls out of his head and tries running away, you pull him by the collar back “P-please! Toots, don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything! Wealth, power, what do you want?” You point your gun at his head “I want quiet.” You pull the trigger and his final breath draws. Though his life ended yours continues… but it won’t forever if you can’t shut down the course towards the wormhole. “Use that panel over there, it should work!” You type it in before the Hyperion voice lady boots you out “We need your DNA, Tim.” He groans “And I can’t get out of here without that either… look, you should leave” you look at him in disbelief “Timothy, why the hell would you say that, I’m not leaving you here. That’s not funny.” He kneels down to face you “I’m not Joking… you have such a cool full life ahead of you, and I don’t want you to die just because I’m trapped in this shitty laser cage-“ he stands up, obviously with an idea “Timothy I’m not-“ he shushes you “Wait I have an idea. Cover your ears, I don’t want you to hear this.”

You look around the room, but oblige covering your ears. He hesitantly brings his hand up to the laser and screams bloody murder while he slowly saws it off. You cringe, you don’t like seeing him get hurt. He finishes cutting his hand off and he sits in pain “Just… just pick that up, hun… use that I need a second-“ he breathes shakingly as you pick up his severed hand and place it onto the machine “Handsome DNA detected! Self-destruction by wormhole protocol: cancelled. Cages: cleared.” The Handsome Jackpot stops moving and Timothy’s cage bars fall. He jumps down and meets you eye to eye “Who knew that after all these years you’d still be helping me?” You smile as his arms meet your waist “Never said I would stop, did I?” He chuckles as your arms wrap around his neck “Well I think my hero deserves a long awaited reward.” He looks at your lips and back to your eyes, you nod before he tilts his head and locks his lips with yours. As cheesy as it is, you’ve always dreamt of this, preferably without the murder bots and the small guy’s corpse behind you, but beggars can’t be choosers. “You owe me one, now, you know that Tim?” He laughs “Yeah, yeah… come on, let go loot the shit out of this casino.” As quickly as the debt raked up, it fell just as fast. And everyone was finally free from Jack greedy hands for the last time.

The End (?)

~

(A/N): I might make a “Timothy on the Sanctuary” fluff story after this, you won’t need to have read all of this to read that one, but it’s gonna be so fluffy (I’m ill, don’t ask 😭) But I hoped you somewhat enjoyed this! I was on a mental rollercoaster writing this.

[theoceanoasis]

Thank you for the ratchlockrod food

Is it okay we have part two where roddy steadily grows their sparkling on a further planet.

Deadlock and ratchet took him to a much much healthier and safer planet where he can relax, ratchet can open a new clinic and deadlock either goes off on small missions as security or stays with Hot rod while they enjoy watching hot rod waddle around or recharge.

They even have the fun idea to put fuel at his lips and watch him eat as he sleeps. He is so annoyed when he wakes up but he admits its funny.

"Is this really necessary? I liked my old home."

"Yes."

Both Deadlock and Ratchet pulled him inside.

"It's farther from the war and look at all the space we have."

He looked around because it was true they did have a lot of space and a big backyard from what he's seen.

"Come on let's show you the best part."

Deadlock grabbed one arm and Ratchet pulled the other. They gently took him to a room that already had a crib inside and he gasped.

"This will be our nursery."

He found himself crying as his hand brushed against the crib because this was real. He was having a sparkling with Deadlock and Ratchet.

"It's not done yet but we'll have plenty of time to work on it together while Ratchets at work.

Deadlock pulled him into a hug and he gave Ratchet a curious look.

"There's a clinic nearby that could use some help. I'll be working there and Deadlock will start doing security and small bounty hunting missions after our little one is born."

He nodded feeling Ratchet come over and hug them as well.

"Come on let's show you the rest of it."

They walked around taking in their new house and he smiled. Rubbing his belly he could already imagine his little one growing up here.

Looking over he noticed them both staring at him and he gives them a confused smile.

"What?"

"Nothing just admiring your beauty."

He blushed feeling slightly embarrassed. Deadlocks engine rumbled as he came closer.

They both grabbed him and pulled him into the bedroom where they spent the day making love. Later when he was asleep exhausted from their activities. Ratchet came in with a glass of energon.

"What's that for?"

"When he wakes up. I'm sure he'll be hungry."

Deadlock took the glass and he gave him a confused look. As he wrapped his arms around Hot Rod and placed him on his chest.

"Don't wake him. He needs his sleep."

"I won't."

He gently put the glass to his lips and they both watched as he started drinking.

"No need to wake him up."

He smirked until he noticed Ratchet was watching Hot Rod.

"Deadlock."

He looked down to see Hot Rod waking up. He shifted causing some of the energon to spill on him.

They watched as he frowned and then opened his optics looking confused.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. We just thought you might be hungry."

"What?"

Hot Rod stared at the energon for a long time and then looked annoyed.

"Let me sleep."

He turned over ignoring them both even though he was still partially laying on Deadlock. They both laughed and set the cube down for later.

Hot Rod continued sleeping and they cuddled against him on either side. Their hands pressed against his belly bump which was getting bigger every day.

Later Hot Rod was sitting at the table when he suddenly burst out laughing. They both gave him a confused look until he explained that he realized they'd been feeding him while he was sleeping.

"You can be a pretty heavy sleeper sometimes."

"That's because you two did such a good job fragging me."

"We can do it again if you want?"

Deadlocks hand trailed up his thigh.

"Maybe later right now I'm hungry."

Ratchet came over with some treats and the two began feeding Hot Rod ignoring his protests.

"Let us do this."

"We want to take care of you."

Hot Rod relaxed and let them feed him and take care of him. Glad they had gone after him when he ran away. He didn't know how he managed everything without the sires around.

He's just glad he doesn't have to do that anymore and can be taken care of while he grows their sparkling inside of him.

[steak-n-popotoes]

FFxivWrite '24 - 19

U'zhango fussed endlessly with her hair, her clothes, her jewelry. Much as she loved to marvel at the works of Ul'dah's master goldsmiths and weavers, she was quickly beginning to realize that she had never before had reason to assemble her trinkets into one cohesive ensemble.

One of the caravans that still regularly passed through Forgotten Springs had offered a seat to a traveling painter, who was in turn accepting simple commissions for her room and board. Sadly, most of her sisters looked down upon such frivolities, so it seemed the artist had only closed on a deal with U'zhango and the Nunh. It wasn't that she was vain, U'zhango thought as she adjusted the loose top over her chest, she only wished to engage with anyone as worldly as this enterprising tradeswoman must be.

Now, would it be more authentic were she to wear her favorite hat? Or should she instead model the earring she but recently acquired, which honored Azeyma through its design and choice of stones?

She swore, she'd had an easier time of slaying drakes with nothing but her claws.

U'zhango eyed the piece as it dangled weightily from the end of her ear. She felt a little jealous of the other spoken races - with a pair of ears like theirs, she wouldn't need to pick one or the other at all. Maybe she would try the hat on again just to be sure...

However, as she reached down to lift it from atop her dresser, her touch was instead met with another, much smaller hand. "Bifu?"

U'bifu had been halfway through the process of snatching the hat from the vanity's edge when she tried to grab it. In fact, he was still slowly trying to slide it further down as she watched, no doubt in the hopes that she had somehow yet to notice. Perhaps her son had made the decision for her.

"You seem to be taking well to your pouncing practice, Bifu." U'zhango said as she gently took the beret from him and placed it atop his head, secure. "I didn't even hear you coming."

Bifu stared up at her with the faintest of smiles at his lips. Most may have missed it, but to U'zhango it was plain as the rising sun. Though he spoke so little, he did so love to feel included.

"And I see you're taking good care of your own jewelry, aren't you?" She tickled the plain titanium cuff that adorned his long Lalafellin ear. He used to want to try all of her (much more expensive and delicate) pieces on for himself, and wouldn't let it rest until she had bought him his own. It seemed his ears had lengthened faster than he could grow into them, like a kitten's.

"U'bifu," she said, using his signifier so he knew to listen carefully, "would you do me an important favor?"

He began nodding before he even knew what was being asked of him.

"Mother can't wear her favorite earring and her favorite hat at the same time. Can you keep this safe for me?"

In response, U'bifu reached up past his ears and smushed the beret down with both hands.

U'zhango's tail flicked in satisfaction. "Perfect. Thank you, Bifu."

She was still a little jealous.

It wasn't difficult to find the painter, as she was one of the only Hyuran women in town. After some brief discussion of what the service entailed, she moved to her easel while U'zhango sat down to have her portrait taken.

"Ahh... I just love working in Thanalan. My watercolors settle so readily into the canvas in this heat. Though I suppose it's not a canvas if it's paper, is it? Except it is mostly cotton..."

U'zhango wasn't sure she understood the distinction. "Is there a reason you've had me hold this vase...?"

The painter nodded back, attention still focused on her efforts. "I thought that a portrait like this could use some nice flowers to match." She was more open to U'zhango pestering her about her process and travels than she'd expected.

"Did... you have any particular ones in mind?" She couldn't figure out a polite way to point out that the vase was currently empty.

"Well, I've seen many blooms across many borders. I like to include some that I feel compliment my subject."

U'zhango resisted the urge to lean forward in interest. "Given that aesthetics are your trade, you must have a strong eye for such matters. I'm afraid I've spent the better part of the day trying to decide what to wear, and I'm none too confident in my choices."

U'zhango could see Bifu lurking behind the painter to study her work. He was doing his best to stand on his tiptoes so that he could peer over the top of the horizontal easel. She found herself wishing she could watch the image gradually emerge from nothing, too.

"Actually, I try to think on what sort of flowers represent you on a personal level. Bleeding hearts, shrinking violets, forget-me-nots..." Her eye turned up toward U'zhango for a few moments to compare before she spoke again. "Roses - so romantic. Though if you don't mind my saying, ma'am, you look quite lovely in the finery you've chosen."

U'zhango felt her cheeks tinge with warmth as a smile spread across her face, much as she tried to remain still and solemn for the portrait.

The artist returned the expression even as she made to capture its image. "There you are. Warm and bright as the sun."

For a while, the only sound between them was the soothing scuffle of brush against paper.

Eventually, the painter leaned back, satisfied. "Come come, tell me what you think."

U'zhango stood from her stool and hurried over to where Bifu and the painter stood. Upon the paper was her own image, rendered in shades as light and delicate as the spring waters with which the artist had daubed her palette. In her arms was a large bouquet that must have been conjured entirely from memory: a large golden sunflower presiding over an arrangement of other blossoms in rich yellow and purple.

"They're beautiful..." U'zhango breathed.

"No less so than your dear self."

"I know of sunflowers, of course, but these others-"

"Gyr Abanian wildflowers. Resilient, and all the more lovely for it. Make for a fine pigment, too. Not familiar with them?"

"I'm afraid my world has only ever been as large as Thanalan."

"Well, I do hope you'll see them someday."

[irenadel]

Small Graces

Mitzi x Mordecai The animated short took over my brain and re-ignited the hots I have for Mordecai. Filthy porn ahead, beware. I'm not brave enough to make this furry. Everyone is a human here. Pre-canon. Lackadaisy glory days when Atlas was still alive. Some mild spoilers for the last couple of comics, so read at your own risk.

Part I

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Unprofessionalism notwithstanding, Mordecai abhorred falling asleep in his clothes. It was liable to wrinkle them and require his pants be sent to the dry cleaners yet again this week. At least someone (he earnestly hoped it had been himself, he shuddered at the thought of strange hands touching his feet) had had the sense to take his shoes off and neatly drape his bloodied jacket and vest over one of the apartment’s plush chairs.

And there was the small matter of keeping a lookout for anyone seeking revenge for the recent bloodshed on his boss’s estranged wife.

He supposed it had been the steady ticking of the clock which had lulled him into sleep. On difficult nights he always slept with a pocket watch close to his ear… But his was most certainly still securely tucked into the pocket of his vest, and he didn’t see a clock anywhere in Mrs. May’s Bohemian though, he begrudgingly accepted, tidy bedroom. It wasn’t a clock. Ah. The high sweet keys of a piano emerged from his cottony, still half-unconscious perception (it had been a lot of blood loss, he wouldn’t have volunteered for lookout duty if Viktor hadn’t been in a sorrier state than he was). A metronome. He should have known, though somehow hadn’t expected it from Mrs. May’s self-admittedly hodgepodge musical education.

There’d been a man in the tenement building Mordecai grew up in who had fixed and tuned pianos for a living. Sometimes when he was working, he would use the metronome for some unknowable purpose. Mordecai had always liked the sound.

He let it draw him out of sleep now. Let it provide him with an excuse not to bother, or be bothered, by the lady of the house. It was still dark out, still dangerous, though the hint of a slowly graying sky promised him a ready reprieve. Soon he could be back home, change into fresh clothes, and never have to think about having had to intrude into a married woman’s private chambers. Nevermind that this married woman should have been in her husband’s home, not in some dingy apartment where Mordecai had to keep a lookout for her. He couldn’t pretend to understand what happened in a normal marriage, let alone one with any sort of turbulence to it.

The steady tick of the metronome, the accompanying slow, high notes of the piano let him tune out the distracting reality of the room, let him focus on his post at the window. He would not think of the confounding Mrs. Atlas May. He would not think of her vanity behind him, or the brush disgustingly full as he supposed it was with human hair. The whiff of perfume and cosmetics. The slept in unmade bed or any dirty clothes that–

But the bed was made. It had not been so when he arrived, when he’d woken up its occupant in the middle of the night. And someone had cleaned her vanity, down to putting her brush and combs away… The same someone who had draped his bloodied clothes upon the back of a chair, maybe taken his shoes off when he had curled up in the window sill… the same person who could have fallen asleep again but had chosen to stay up and occupy herself with something outside the bedroom, giving him space…

He’d known Mrs. May a long time. He’d known she was smarter than she let on, more perceptive… He hadn’t realized she was also kind.

“Would you like some coffee, sweetheart?”

He’d nearly jumped out of his skin, had certainly scrambled off his perch in the window sill. He hadn’t heard the piano stop because the metronome was still going.

“Thank you, Mrs. May, but not presentl–”

He’d turned to at least acknowledge her presence and was jarred into full alertness by the sight of Atlas May’s wife in nothing more than a nightgown and a robe. He averted his gaze immediately, brushing past her on his way out the door, unable to keep from shuddering at the extraneous, unexpected contact.

“I’ll just give you a minute.”

He fled into her little parlor for safety, finding himself drawn to the still ticking metronome. A good enough excuse to keep his back to her and allow her the grace of an inconspicuous exit.

“Sugar, you can give me ten or twenty minutes,” she drawled, still leaning on her bedroom’s door frame. “I’m still not putting on any clothes before the sun is out. You’ll just have to make your peace with it, honey.”

She gave him no time for further discomfort, sitting herself back down on the piano’s bench and resuming her practice. He was frozen in place, unable and unwilling to cede her the territory she had just gained. He should go back to his post at the window, pretend none of this had taken place and hope it would not be mentioned to any of their mutual acquaintances.

She didn’t play the same high, melancholy melody as before, but a set of scales. Somehow, that was better. Somehow, the repetitive, rising and decreasing nature of it soothed him. He wouldn’t look at her but still he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders and found himself suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. It had been a long night.

“You can sit down, sweetheart, you don’t have to stand at attention”

He glared at her, not dignifying her comment with an answer but still not finding in himself the energy to move back to the window.

“… if it makes you so miserable, I can dispense with the babysitter, Mordecai.”

He tried not to roll his eyes at her. “Mrs. May, your husband made it clear—“

The piano stopped with a sudden, dissonant twang. “What my husband wants is no longer my concern.”

The venom in her voice embarrassed him. This whole situation was simply intolerable. He wanted to cringe back from it and suddenly the thought that all her small kindnesses, her attire and her proximity may have been an attempt to involve him in some kind of petty revenge against Atlas… it was too much. Spite could be so tiresome.

“How ever much I appreciate your courtesy Mrs. May, I wish to play no part in your marital strife.”

She stared at him, half dumbfounded, half immeasurably wounded. He was not prone to sentimentality but somehow her big green eyes (beautiful, he’d often heard the boss comment what beautiful eyes his wife had, personally he was indifferent to them) made him fidget.

“Mordecai sweetheart,” she said tiredly, closing the piano’s fallboard over the keys. “I know it must be hard to understand, but not everything a married woman does is about her husband.”

There was a certain exhausted defiance in the way she looked at him that made him uncomfortable. His mother had looked like that at times after his father had passed away. It made his cheeks burn with a guilty sort of flush.

Atlas is still alive, he wanted to say, don’t look at me like that, Mrs. May.

But he said nothing, just returned her tired gaze with a bewildered one of his own and watched her silently give up. She made to get up from the piano, one hand reaching for the metronome to stop its steady ticking and he panicked. He didn’t want her to go back to her bedroom, disrobe even further and sleep in the bed he would have to be near if he went back to his lookout spot. Out of options to detain her further, he did the one thing he could think of: he acquiesced to her request and sat down on the bench beside her.

There was a certain satisfaction in seeing those usually languid, knowing eyes widen in surprise, and his stomach did a flip at the hint of a smile dancing on Mrs. May’s unmade but still very rosy lips. She flipped the fallboard back back up and started her scales again. Mordecai let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Up close, she didn’t smell like cosmetics as she usually would have, no slight sheen of sweat as he had always known her to have, from her exertions on the stage or the dance floor. Had she bathed too, while he slept? For his benefit? He forced himself not to squirm on the bench, suddenly aware of the bare, warm flesh beneath her thin nightgown and robe. He should not have sat down. For all her skimpy costumes back in her stage days, Mordecai had never personally been so close to a woman in such a state of undress. It made him nauseous, made his skin itch, made him…

She’d stopped playing.

“Mordecai honey,” she said tentatively. “Do you need a minute?”

For a second he didn’t understand what she meant. Then he became aware of the rapidly forming bulge beneath his silk pants.

He clambered off the bench, against the piano’s keys, their frantic, offkey protest mirroring his own frantic, strenuous desire to flee. He would have, if she had tried to touch him, would have ran if Mrs. May hadn’t left her seat on the bench and taken a slow, deliberate step back.

“Darling, it’s alright,” she’d said softly, so kindly it made him even more anxious. He wanted to blame her for this. Her and her uncharacteristic concessions to his innumerable peculiarities, so often points of contention or mockery. He wondered if she had planned this. Would have found it easier to retreat in a fury if she had. He wondered how she could have undone him so thoroughly, how she could’ve known, as she seemed to have guessed everything else, that nothing but the scent of her clean skin and talcum (no perfume, no artifice) could have left him in this dizzy, pitiful state of arousal…

But she didn’t seem to know what to do anymore than he did.

He could see her make up her mind in real time. Felt his whole body thrum with anticipation the moment she stepped into his space. It must be the blood loss or the drugs still swimming in his veins that kept him frozen in place. He must still be under the influence, woozy from adrenaline, or he would have never allowed this, never considered this. Would have never let her get so close. So close he could feel the heat of her body beneath her nightgown. So close he marveled that it was not enough.

“Mrs. May—“

“Honey, if you call me ‘Mrs. May’ again while we’re doing this, I’ll scream.”

She didn’t scream though. And for a short, panicky second Mordecai was afraid she would try to kiss him. Mrs. Ma– Mitzi did not. Did she know he could not stand it if she tried to kiss him? Even when she threw one arm around his neck, running her nails up his scalp in a way that made him forget about propriety, promises or even the wrinkles sure to form on his pants, all she did was lay her forehead against his while he panted madly, waiting, hoping, aching… Her other hand found the front buttons below his belt, deftly undoing them before snaking inside. Did she know he could not take anything else? All the secret, lewd things he’d heard others whisper about, the ones that had seemed too full of fluids and other people’s filth, the ones he’d scoffed at  (wondered at)... did she know this was the only one he could stand? He looked at her pleadingly, not recognizing himself, so desperate he was almost ready to tell her she could try to put her lips on him, anything, anything at all to quench this needy, wanton fire on his skin.

Her hand was enough. Wrapping around his penis, firmly, hotly pulling at him. He’d only done this to himself a couple of times during the first desperate pangs of adolescence. It shouldn’t have surprised him how much better it would feel when someone else did it for him. It shouldn’t have surprised him how much more skilled she was at it. He was mortified at the whimper that escaped him, his glasses fogging with a sweat he suddenly could not care less about. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips almost a smile, as she stroked him again and again, good God, to the rhythm of the metronome.

“Mitzi,” he keened desperately and heard her throaty, low chuckle before he saw the first real smile he had seen all evening break out on her face.

She must know, surely she must know how good it was, how crazy it drove him to have this done to him properly. He bared his teeth, letting his head hang back, keeping his hips still out of sheer stubbornness. He would not interrupt her blissfully rhythmic strokes. He’d surrendered any protests he could have. She knew better, knew him better than he knew himself. Knew he would prefer the chaffing to any improvised lubrication. Knew the only kind he could allow was what she could gather from the weeping tip of his erection, with her sharp little nails, running down his length again and again, again and again, all to the steady ticking of the metronome behind him. He was swimming in that even, predictable tick, tick, tick. Swimming in the heat at the pit of his stomach, in the sweet smell of her skin and her lady’s talcum, mysterious and alien and clean. Balls tight, nipples tingling, his skin so hot and needy he felt it would crawl off him any minute now, any second…

“Mordecai sweetheart,” he heard her one more time, searing lips against his neck. “Come for me.”

He hadn’t known the words would make a difference. They did. He screwed his eyes shut, hands braced against the piano and felt his balls empty themselves in her hand, his hips lost at last, pumping of their own accord against her. He, for once in his life, utterly heedless of the mess he was making, while choking on her name, Mitzi, Mitzi, Mitzi, like a prayer.

When he came back to himself, Mordecai realized she was panting against his throat too, her other hand still firmly cradling his neck, whole body draped across his own heaving one. The wound on his shoulder throbbed dully, and for a moment he was at a loss before this overwhelming, bounteous humanity in the form of Mitzi May, still in her nightgown, one hand covered in the shameful, evidence of his transgression. For a moment he felt like he could heave.

He felt like a fool when she used her clean hand to extricate a handkerchief from somewhere – the lady in her had thought of the handkerchief, the ballroom bawd had thought to stock it even into her undergarments – and used it to clean him up so thoroughly and expertly he was left dumbfounded. Deeply, heartbreakingly grateful. Almost ashamed of his brief, furtive revulsion.

“Thank you,” he managed, pathetically sincere.

Mitzi smiled at him again, something watery hiding behind her large doe eyes, which he could, at last, admit were beautiful beyond measure.

“Thank you,” she countered. “I needed that.”

Mordecai didn’t know if it was the haze of orgasm, danger or gratitude, but he touched her of his own accord then. He reached for her face and felt nauseously delighted when she leaned into his hand. He did not know if he would ever understand his sex’s fascination with beautiful women… but he understood this much. He felt reckless with the knowledge, almost drunk on it. He felt generous but afraid, suddenly, that whatever this was, would evaporate as morning dew…

When Mitzi made to go dispose of her soiled handkerchief he grabbed her wrist with sudden, forceful intent. It felt delicate, birdlike under his hands, capable as they were, of such brutality. He felt a thrill in that new awareness of her fragility, compounded by her still racing pulse and the lingering warmth of their exertions on the thin skin stretched over her veins. Reckless, heedless of consequences or even his own inclinations, he pulled her closer grabbing two ample handfuls of her hips and buttocks. He risked his forehead against her stomach and was exhilarated both at his persistent desire to touch her and her clean, handkerchief-free hand on his hair, carding fingers through the mess they had made of it. Together.

“Take a bath,” he’d risked the order, looking up at her from his seat on the piano’s edge. He was glad she bit her full unpainted lip, seemingly pleased, instead of cutting him down with a condescending “sweetie” or an icy glare. His heart was hammering at his daring. “I’ll meet you in your bed.” 

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

He was silent. Always was, new people just trying to do their job or so that's what he's gathered from how many have come. They all come and go, some die others are lucky. Selling things they find to meet some kind of quota set by the entity they report to. Tarhos would never pretend to understand it, but... for everyone else he's seen. This one was different and he couldn't tell why. Perhaps that's why he was staring for so long, leaning out of the door way just out of sight until he turned around.

The creature could feel his pulse- the audible gasp, how they sweat probably clung to his brow beneath the mask. Yet.. he stared despite every instinct in his body telling him to run. Find a different position to strike from- it was his nature. Food was food and yet... he couldn't bring himself to hurt this one. No. "What do you want?" His spines shifted as he tilted his head. What did he want...? Tarhos wasn't sure himself. Still... slowly he crept across the metal grating to sit on the floor and stare up at him.

Maybe he'd seem less intimidating if he was smaller, but... he could still feel how his pulse quickened by just being this close. How many others of his kind had he seen? Killed even? "Can you understand me?" Of course he could. The creatures head nodded... but it wasn't as if he could speak back to him. His vocal cords couldn't mimic the same speech that he used. - the stupid af bracken!Tar and employee!Haru fanfic joke but reality just for u

── 𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ── LETHAL VERSE (I cb we made this shit NFGKJNKJ)

The Bracken's submission did little to quell Haruko's rampaging emotions, he couldn't suppress the thunderous beating of his heart or relax his tensed muscles. How many of his friends had this sort of thing killed? Why didn't he take the time now to bash its head in and secure the building from at least one more freak of nature? His thoughts swirled and began to cook to a boil, their roars eclipsing the metallic clanging of a nearby fan and the gentle hum of the facility. Frankly he had no idea what to do. If he turned around to tell towards his coworkers would this thing get aggressive again and try to break his neck? Haruko mentally cursed; feeling his heart rate skyrocket - unsure to fight or to flee.

"Well - I - My buddies will probably try to kill you if they see you and I ... " He sighed, "I don't want any bullshit, ok? Back off and I won't hurt you, and you won't hurt me. Truce. - or ...whatever is the equivalent in your culture. If you have a culture - whatever that isn't important right now. Just - we promise not to hurt one another!" Haru sputtered out quickly, still quite flustered after nearly having the absolute shit scared out of him. He was going to hold out a hand to the creature but decided against it once he realized it might find that as an aggressive gesture - frankly he wasn't in the mood to bash this things brains in - so he'd behave. "I'm going to - errr - walk to my ... friends." He cringed internally, ugh - friends? Half of the time he questioned if he should have taken animal linguistics before coming on this mission since half the crew seemed to be speaking a different fucking language 75% of the time! " ... And bring them here. Do not hurt them or try any shit, do you understand?" Haruko's brows furrowed and his nose crinkled as he regarded Tarhos - mentally he took note of its beetlike color and ... flora adorning its shoulders and spine.

"Just stay here. I'll be riiiiiiiiiiiight back." The worker took a few steps backwards, keeping his eyes on Tarhos until he stepped into another hallway and let out a gasp of relief. His gloved hand rested atop his chest as a low groan followed his slowing breaths, "Fuuuuuuuckkkk, why me? Why me?" He whined and his shrill whimpering echoed through the facilities vent system. "Ok - ok, its fine. It's fine its just a sentient Bracken who understands English and at least basic human communication!" He brought his shoulders up and shrugged in a half pitched failure of trying to keep his head level. "Yeah! Yeah - it's ... it's not like they can ... "

Haru paused. The last clang of his boot against the steel beams under him bounced through the hallway; only to bring about an eerie wave of dread once everything had fallen silent.

Could they all communicate? ... Had they just been killing ... sentient life forms? Without any thought to them? Shit. Would the Company get sued? Could Bracken sue? Did they have a legal system?

"Really not in the mood to be having a existential crisis right now, brain."

Sorry.

"It's fine. Now where is the entrance ... ! Hey! Walter! Come here I found some freaky ass shit and I need someone to tell me I haven't finally lost it. I know I know "that's been long gone Haru" yada yada - I get it. I don't want to tell you what it is because you'll think I'm making it up! Just - just get the other guys and meet me back here."

[mekatrio]

giving dungeon meshi the second highest honor i can bestow to it: complaining about it (its ending specifically):

anyways the ending felt super rushed to me, almost like the author hadnt realized how long an ending with a cast this expansive would need to be, and ended up pacing it weirdly while also rushing some parts along the way. also these opinions of mine dont take into account any post-canon supplemental material, im judging the canon ending on an as-it-is basis, so maybe some of my gripes here get better explained in a bonus comic, but im not counting any of that rn. maybe later i will look back at this ending and feel better about it, but these are the impressions this ending had left on me as of now:

- laios becoming king makes sense when u consider the prophecy that this entire series prefaced itself with (the one who defeats the mad sorcerer will inherit the golden kingdom), but like.... it still feels somewhat out of place. its not a choice that i hate entirely, but i feel like the pacing towards this decision felt very off, when, in the ending to a series like this, shouldve felt more inevitable/final. it really did feel like there were numerous other options laios couldve taken on in the ending.

^these all felt like plausible outcomes to me

and while its somewhat logically explained that the only reasonable outcome for laios was for him to become king (cant leave the island to the long lived races and needs to take responsibility for.. saving the world?), this rationale for laios becoming king felt lacking in any emotional drama that i personally think this series' ending should have, especially considering that the events during the final climax just before this were extremely satisfyingly dramatic.

- izutsumi.... i can recognize that rui did her best to integrate her into the story and serve a narrative significance (barometz chapter succubi arc etc), and this did succeed to an extent, but it also felt like a case of too little too late.. the early arcs before izutsumi had very excellent pacing, with different chapters rotating its focus on a different party member effortlessly. it was during this time that the foundations of our main characters were really set up. izutsumi's late arrival meant that her character narrative had to squeeze itself between the other main characters' further developing narratives, alongside with the steadily developing climax, which had a whole other share of new character narratives it needed to develop (mithrun kabru thistle etc). this lack of breathing room for izutsumi made her feel kinda out of place in the overall narrative, when she, as a main party member, shouldve had more solid ground.

like for example, her yaad doll was barely mentioned until it was time to serve its narrative role (leading them out of the dungeon). looking back at the story, the doll was mentioned at least one other time besides its introduction and its narrative role:

^chp 85 in marcilles tower

but this happens during an extremely dramatic moment (marcille is losing her fucking shit) and this yaad doll mention ends up being overshadowed by it. i feel like the story shouldve called more attention to it; it's role as the plot key that lets the party safely escape the collapsing dungeon is a big role after all, and it shouldve been mentioned at a degree similar to shuro's bell or kensuke, two other objects that play a big role in the story's ending. but as ive said, izutsumi's character has to struggle to secure a spot with the various other rapidly developing narratives. this failure to cement izutsumi's bond with the yaad doll then had this important moment fall rather flat for me;

just like many other izutsumi moments that were meant to be emotional. izutsumi's character sadly didnt have enough time to stew and leave the bigger mark that she really should have, imo

- speaking of characters who didnt feel super impactful in the ending, i was disappointed that chilchuck and senshi didnt play bigger roles in the final climax. i think they played a significant role while marcille was the dungeon lord, but after that (while laios was the dungeon lord) they didnt really do much.. i wish we saw them do more when laios had turned into a monster, the way we see marcille lead the chase after demon-laios.

- also! why did the citizens of the golden land survive??? im so confused about that. like when i think about it i.. guess????? it makes sense?? bc they were cursed by thistle to remain in the dungeon otherwise they would turn to dust, but when thistle lost his desires, that curse was lifted, and they could return to the surface... i think??? but see, thats my problem w this, to make sense of this im doing a lot of guesswork, and something this significant shouldnt be left up to guesswork. i dont expect a story to explain every single detail about itself, especially with its ending; in fact some of my favorite endings are ones that leave certain details ambiguous, but this is an instance where there really should be some sort of explanation.. and the same can be said for why tf did thistle die! if he even died that is???? like man, so much is left up in the air, and the only really concrete things that happened are 1.) laios becomes king, and 2.) falin is resurrected. but my biggest gripe, the biggest thing imo that is not thoroughly explained when i really feel that it should be explained is....

- CAN PEOPLE JUST BE RESURRECTED NOW???????????? like marcille just spelt it out for us that they needed to learn to accept death, especially after spending such a long time in a dungeon where death is merely a suggestion, and yet.... falin was able to be resurrected outside of the dungeon?? does this mean Anyone can be resurrected outside of the dungeon, since the lines between a dungeon and the surface world have now been broken???? that cant be right, can it....??? didnt we just have 97 chapters of why People Should Not Live Forever And Need Food (taking the lives of other creatures) To Be Considered Alive? but how was falin able to be resurrected then??? 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 again, this is guesswork that I REALLY THINK should not have just been left to guesswork, man........ tho i do have an alternate explanation that kinda explains how she was able to survive, and ill hopefully post that at some point..

[liaromancewriter]

How different would book 1 be if your MC were in a relationship when she started her intern year? Would she had still fallen for Ethan? Would it be during the same timeline or would it have taken more time? Would she end her relationship before crossing any lines? Or do you think it might take a line being crossed for her to end the relationship? How different would Miami, late nights working with Ethan, the Opera and the ethics trial would be?

I've been thinking about my response ever since I got the question. I also visualized an opening scene for a fic that would suit this scenario. I don't have the rest, so I'll answer what I can. (It's long, so you're warned -- 😬)

This is specifically for Cassie Valentine as I've developed her, rather than MC in general.

How different would book 1 be if your MC were in a relationship when she started her intern year?

The professional/hospital sections of book 1 would have been similar with slight variations in terms of background. The personal parts of book 1 would be very different.

Would she had still fallen for Ethan?

I often say that Ethan and Cassie are inevitable in every universe but one. But, the reality is that circumstances play a role in bringing two people together or keeping them apart.

In this scenario, it could go either way. However, it would also depend on the type of relationship Cassie was in: casual vs commitment.

If Cassie was in a serious and committed relationship, she wouldn't necessarily have seen Ethan as a potential love interest. He would have been Dr. Ramsey, attending and medical hero. She'd want to impress him and have him mentor her.

It would never occur to her to see him as anything else. She would be secure in her relationship and have no reason to think Ethan saw her as anything but an intern.

In this scenario, she and her boyfriend would have lived together. The person I have in mind would have been from her social circle and he would've split his time between Boston and DC because he could.

The two of them would also be a unit, and she'd have him as part of her support system in addition to her friends/fellow residents. Residency is tough. So, while she would not have lived with the Roomies, but they would still be her friends.

In my original hc, Cassie was often lonely in year one because of being away from home, falling for Ethan and knowing it wasn't possible. She tried to date, but nothing stuck because her schedule was intense. And a part of her pined for Ethan so that she didn't register interest from other men.

Conversely, if she was casually dating with no expectations of exclusivity, book 1 events would have transpired as we saw them. Cassie might try to balance dating with residency, but she'd make it clear that her work came first.

Here, she would have definitely noticed Ethan as an attractive man and not simply as Dr. Ramsey. One reason is that she would give herself permission to be attracted to him. So if it was a casual thing, she wouldn't necessarily see her attraction to Ethan as cheating. And she wouldn't be afraid to tell him how she felt.

Would it be during the same timeline or would it have taken more time?

Maybe their timing would sync up according to canon. Or maybe they realize much later that they're perfect for each other, if at all.

If she was in a committed relationship, it would have taken more time for them to come together. Ethan would probably be the one pining and telling himself it's impossible.

After her residency ends, she decides to stay in Boston and on the Diagnostics team. I can see their friendship eventually turning into something deeper because of how much they have in common. It's not that her other relationship is bad; it's just run its course and residency combined with fellowship changed her.

If Cassie was casually dating but not interested or serious about someone, I see them following canon, either mine or the original. But they would definitely be official after the poison attack. Moments like that remind them that life can be too short to not go after what you want.

Would she end her relationship before crossing any lines? Or do you think it might take a line being crossed for her to end the relationship?

Cassie takes commitment very seriously. She would definitely end a serious relationship before crossing any lines, and let time lapse before pursuing Ethan. It would be the respectful thing to do, and also gives her time to figure herself out.

In the casual dating scenario, it might take a line being crossed for her to end things with someone she'd been seeing on and off.

I can't remember if I saw this in a book or a TV show/movie: The main character breaks up with a guy she'd been seeing. It's not dramatic but he asks her if there's someone else.

She says there isn't anyone specific but rather the idea of someone, and she owed it to herself to reach for it even if it went nowhere. Cassie would be like that.

How different would Miami, late nights working with Ethan, the Opera and the ethics trial would be?

I'm going to answer this from the perspective of her being in a serious relationship. That's where things are more different than the casual dating scenario.

Miami: No sharing of rooms, no nightcap on a moonlit balcony. A nightcap in the hotel bar with others around is acceptable. Even if nothing happens, Cassie's mature enough to know it could be seen as improper.

She's also seen/heard enough stories to be wary of mixing alcohol and intimate settings. Besides, she'd rather use the downtime to facetime her boyfriend.

Opera: She might have gone with Ethan and thanked him after for helping take her mind off things. But that's it. However, the chances are higher she would have asked for his advice at the hospital and then just gone home to reflect on it.

Late nights, ethics trial and the rest: Cassie has no issues working with Ethan on Naveen's cure, whether it's late nights or early mornings. Ethan kept his feelings close and she would have never guessed from his words or actions that he saw her as anything other than another resident.

She came to Edenbrook to learn from Ethan Ramsey, and she would take advantage of the opportunities before her. She doesn't see him as a love interest, but by the time of the ethics trial she does see him as a mentor and a friend. And she values any help he can offer, even if he's being stubborn about it. But that's it: no Dirty 30s in Ch15 or Ch17.

I hc that she often talks about Ethan to her boyfriend because no one in Edenbrook can know about Naveen. Her boyfriend is a neutral party. He is privvy to everything, including her hero worship of Ethan. But at this stage, there's nothing for him to worry about because she's devoted to him, and he knows it.

Okay... I'm done with this essay. Thank you for reading, and I'm sorry for how long this is lol

Character Asks: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @cariantha @crazy-loca-blog @coffeeheartaddict2 @doriopenheart @lucy-268 @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mrs-ramsey @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

[rafent]

He'd asked around where he could in the days leading up to this one — intent on securing a gift that would meet its recipient's high standards and flanked by an unexpected source of inspiration, surely there had to be a confectioner in town up to the task of what he intends. Someone who wouldn't ask too many questions, who could even charge him extra for his request if they wanted as long as it was taken care of. Settling for anything less, knowing full well the occasion, would be unconscionable; an insult to the bond fostered (forged, fought for) between dragons Divine and Fell whether acknowledged as such by the latter or not.

The end result: a slim package shelled in opulent red and gold, grasped almost protectively during its journey to an office previously discovered through pure chance and a freak accident. Kept firmly horizontal as if to avoid jostling the contents within, even when one hand relinquishes its hold to knock on wood.

An indication of presence, a warning to the occupant on the other side — the monarch wastes little time letting himself in after the fact, disarmingly friendly smile at the ready in seeming anticipation of a prickly greeting. Alear has never been particularly sorry for the ease with which he enters Rafal's space nor is he about to start, only caring in the moment that the other's day of birth is celebrated as it deserves to be.

“Happy birthday, Rafal! This is for you — I hope you enjoy what's inside,” because Mother help him, he certainly won't be buying anything else for a while after this. Lifting the lid from the box allows the cloying aroma of sugar to waft up and out of its confines, revealing an assortment of candied fruit slices painstakingly shaped into flowers and then coated in a layer of white chocolate. Far sweeter than should be tolerable to all save the Fell Dragon they are intended for. “I learned from someone that giving a person azaleas means you hope they take good care of themselves. Maybe you'll be reminded of that when you eat these... Or you can just indulge in them like they're any other sweets. Whatever the case, know that I'm happy to see you again, and that I wish you well today — and every day after, too.”

Though spice and bitterness defined him better in soul, none could discern the essence of sweetness better than Rafal. Mere seconds preceding discovery, a delicious fragrance flavored the air that sowed temptation. Liquid sugar enough to draw a sinner back into his sins, conveyed like a pollen from the cracks in a window and around the hinges of a door. Where others may land eyes upon a full-bodied beauty and wish to know her better, the atoning Fell Dragon did so otherwise for the bejeweled confections of his eye. Sweeter and fuller than any pair of painted lips.

To that end he had scarcely taken one step forward before being approached within his own workspace. Thus was the identity of the mystery dessert explained. Elucidated by the Divine One's innocently smiling form and an offering too good to be true. It took but seconds longer to acknowledge the circumstances of its arrival; not merely a dessert but a gift; not merely a gift for the sake of it, but for the sake of Rafal himself.

"This. . .you. . .Where did you procure it? How much did you spend?"

The Divine One had come all the way here, bringing with him an expensive confection that spoke readily for itself with appearance and smell. Surprise, realization, awe, and embarrassment; such emotions danced freely across his pale face, uncertain of how to proceed when met with the gesture's enormity. After a moment different words flowed without self-control:

"Simply gazing upon it, the presentation of this confection borders on art. I cannot imagine the skill required to create such delicate flowers from fruit, cream, and piping—Azaleas, you called them? I admit it is beyond even my ken."

The excitable rapture with which he brooded over the construction feigned little difference from scholars of different aptitudes and topics. Reining himself in with a bite of tongue, appreciation replaced that zeal, a steady gaze and steadier words as a Divine Dragon - and his former source of succor from another world - deserved. "I would be deeply pleased to accept these, Divine One, in addition to your sentiments. And if my gratitude were not plain, allow me to profess it so."

[siderealscribblings]

Mending Warped Designs Chapter 24: Bet It All On Black

The Empress slithered through the sky above Paris, glaring down as thousands of her progeny swarmed the streets below. Through a thin, shimmering barrier that kept them hidden from sight, Ladybug watched the monster carefully. There had to be some kind of weakness; no creature alive was completely immune to harm. There was a flaw in its design somewhere; if Ladybug could just find it, then maybe they could-

"You get all that Ladybug?"

Ladybug snapped out of her brooding as Rena Rouge lightly tapped her on the shoulder.

"Sorry I was snake-watching," Ladybug said, shaking her head. "How are we going at this thing?"

"They expect us to go toe to toe with the big one," Rena Rouge said. "So that's what it's gonna look like we're doing. Monarch, Bluebird and I are going to run interference while you and Queen Bee free Carapace and secure The Toad's ring if you can. Once you've taken some pressure off Nino...and if he's still in good shape, we can talk about regrouping and fighting The Empress. But right now we need to check some things off our to-do list before it overwhelms us and takes Paris down with it."

Ladybug glanced up at The Empress as she glided overhead. "She's gonna eat you if she catches you."

"But first she's gotta catch us," Rena Rouge said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "If I play my tricks right, we can reverse this little trap, slip under her radar and start counterattacking at their weak points. Use their own tricks against them; start a bunch of fires that they have to put out and attack the weak links in their command chain."

"Their chain is miles longer than ours is," Bluebird pointed out, glancing at Monarch.  

"Let me see if I can add some links," Monarch said, a butterfly fluttering off her fingertip. "I'll see if there's anyone available in town; every quality Champion is either underground or otherwise incapacitated. Bloody ARK bunkers lock until the all-clear is given.”

“Juleka said she'll try to get back in time,” Bluebird said, glancing at his phone. “But I think it'll be difficult to return from Australia in time to help."

"Bad time for a vacation but if things go to plan, this shouldn't take that long," Rena Rouge said, glancing at Ladybug. "What'd I miss?"

It took a second before Ladybug realized that Rena Rouge was asking for her input. "Besides the giant snake slithering through the sky and the small army of monsters at its beck and call?"

"Did she miss anything important ?" Queen Bee chuckled. "Monsters attacking Paris is nothing new; we're more than capable of handling a few runaway lizards for a little while."

"Yeah, I can tell you what you forgot," Ladybird said, jerking her thumb in Cat Noir's direction. "Are we supposed to just play tiddlywinks while you all save the city?"

"Considering you're the objective we're trying to keep our enemies from reaching, yeah, that would be ideal," Ladybug said. "But judging by the pout and puppy dog eyes, you're not going to stay put unless we gag you and stuff you in a broom closet, are you?"

"How many times do I need to remind you guys that we are heroes too!" Cat Noir said, tossing his arm over Ladybird's shoulder. "Heroes with a fantastic track record of success, I might add."

Ladybug and Rena Rouge exchanged glances and Ladybird took her chance to press the advantage. "If you guys can't pull off whatever it is you're gonna pull off, we're as good as captured anyway."

"But if we fight with you, we all have a better chance of seeing the end of this," Cat Noir pointed out.

“ And put you in mortal danger,” Monarch pointed out.

“Being a hero means being in danger,” Ladybird said, her eyes finding her partner’s for a second. “I’m not the kind of coward who will let people get hurt just to keep me safe.”

“Nobody is saying you're a coward, outside of some very emotionally disturbed felines with an axe to grind with our Ladybug,” Queen Bee sighed. “Buggy, please talk some sense into this kid before her ego gets her killed."

Ladybug tried her best to find a flaw in their logic, but after a screech from the monster overhead, she realized their time for arguing had come and gone. "Not together though; we have to split you up."

Read More...

[tinyunderwear]

From Sandy Hook to the NHL Draft, one prospect’s enduring connection

Scott Wheeler

Jul 13, 2021

Editor’s note: This article has been updated to correct the date of the Sandy Hook shooting. We apologize for the error.

At 9:39 a.m. on the morning of Dec. 14, 2012, Patty and Fred Samoskevich were sitting in the Blue Colony Diner on Church Hill Road in Newtown, Conn. They were eating breakfast when cop cars started flying through their quiet town.

“My God, there’s no reason why they need to be travelling that fast,” Patty said.

As they stepped out of the diner and into the parking lot, the wave of Newtown local police turned into a rush of Connecticut state troopers. They assumed the worst.

“Something has happened,” Patty said, turning to Fred, believing at first that the worst could be a fire, or maybe a robbery at a nearby bank.

Patty was supposed to hop on the interstate ramp adjacent the diner to begin the commute to her job of more than 25 years in the mortgage business. Fred, a tower crane operator, needed to turn right to make the short trip back to the family’s home down Riverside Road.

But before she got in her car and he in his truck, Patty turned to her husband again.

“You know what, before I get on the highway I’m just going to take a ride by the kids’ school just to make sure everything’s OK there,” she said.

So she went left to make the short drive to Reed Intermediate, a school for fifth and sixth graders where her twin children, Mackie and Maddy, had just begun that fall. When all was quiet there, she turned back and hopped on I-84, while cop cars continued to speed past her in the other direction.

Less than a mile from the diner, Fred came to a stop, hopping out of his truck where the cruisers had screeched to a halt outside Sandy Hook Elementary School.

Knowing that the road was a slow, meandering drive through the woods on a normal day, Fred, without talking to anyone and still believing he’d arrived at the scene of a fire at the school, decided to direct the traffic that had begun to back up, waving through fire trucks, town officials, and local post office security personnel he didn’t even know existed.

At Reed Intermediate, Mackie and Maddy, who’d celebrated their 10th birthday just a month earlier, were sitting in their science class when its lights were suddenly turned off and they were told they were going into lockdown. They remained there for four hours.

“It’s a day that I’ll never forget,” Maddy says. “I remember every detail about it, which is kind of crazy.”

“I just remember sitting in that dark classroom for the longest time and just not knowing what was going on,” Mackie says. “It was scary.”

Long before that morning, Sandy Hook Elementary held a place close to the hearts of the Samoskevich family and everyone else who called Newtown home.

Mackie and Maddy had been students there from kindergarten through fourth grade until their graduation that spring. Before them, their older sister Melissa was there, too. The school itself sits just a couple thousand feet from the Samoskevich family home through the forest that divides them, a walk Mackie guesses might have taken 10 minutes.

But none of the Samoskeviches yet knew of the tragedy that had just taken place. That a gunman had walked through the same school doors they had so many times before to murder 26 of their neighbors, including 20 children just 6 and 7 years old. That the lives of so many in their town had just been shattered. And that, though their family of five would escape unharmed, they would carry that day with them for the rest of their own lives.

Nearly nine years later, Mackie is set to be picked in the first or second round of the 2021 NHL Draft. And when people ask him about the town listed in his bio or about his family, he has a singular appreciation for what those things mean to him.

Newtown (or Sandy Hook as he calls it), Fred, Patty, Maddy and Melissa are his world, his everything.

There were two things that eventually made Fred realize it wasn’t a fire.

The first was when his kids’ former kindergarten teacher, Janet Vollmer, emerged from the school with her students. In the moment, he found himself thinking it was weird that her crying didn’t appear to be out of pain but as someone who was trying, desperately, to keep her composure.

“Mrs. Vollmer, are you OK?” he asked as she passed by him with her trail of children.

“We’re OK,” she said to him. “We’re OK.”

The second was moments later when one of the cars he asked to slow down, an unmarked old Ford van without windows, pulled right past him. Its driver made eye contact before stopping 10 feet from where he was standing to unload half a dozen men holding rifles. When the men leapt out, they didn’t pause to look for someone to talk to, like so many others had. They just sprinted down the street toward the school’s entrance.

Fred cries as he tells the story.

“I’ll never forget Mrs. Vollmer’s words,” he says, pausing to compose himself before choking them out a third and fourth time. “‘We’re OK,’ she said. ‘We’re OK.’ That hits me right now.”

He can still feel how the hair on his arms stood up and his heart sank when the men in that van unloaded.

After they arrived, he recalls how “everything went south” and cruisers made way for ambulances. Then came the groups of gathering parents who passed by with questions he couldn’t answer because he didn’t want to let himself believe that what had actually happened was worse than his worst fear.

“I didn’t really get a closeup. But I had to help out a lot of parents and I didn’t know what they were asking because I was convinced it was a fire,” Fred says between breaths. “That really hurts the most, knowing that I could have talked to one of the mothers that lost a child. That hurts. I couldn’t help her.”

Patty turned around on her way to work that morning when word of what had happened began to hit the news.

“It was a rough morning. It affected us for a long time,” Patty says. “I don’t know to this day how the parents go on. I really don’t.”

Halfway across the country, Melissa was on a bus to Chicago in her first year as a student and hockey player at Shattuck-St. Mary’s School in Minnesota when one of her teammates showed her the news on her phone.

The first thing she did was panic, nearly hyperventilating from the shock. Hours later, as she tracked the news and the number of deaths climbed, she allowed herself to cry.

That night, she told herself, “I’m going to play for my hometown tonight,” an experience she describes as out-of-body. The following day, she made arrangements to return home early before Shattuck started its Christmas break.

“I’ll never forget that day. I just felt so separated and so far away,” Melissa says.

When Mackie and Maddy returned home from school and walked through the front door, the first thing they saw was the television lit up with images of people and places that they recognized — and many others in uniform that they did not.

Into that first night and beyond, a world’s worth of news vans arrived and the police presence expanded.

“Helicopters were flying over our house all night. And I mean, tree height with guys on their landing thing with guns in their hands staring at me,” Fred says. “It was pretty heavy.”

Before putting the twins to bed, Fred and Patty sat them down to try to explain what had happened in terms they would understand. “The kids were young. They didn’t fully understand. And it was hard,” Patty says. “We were close with a lot of the faculty.”

When the names of those killed were eventually released, they learned that among them were 6-year-old Jack Pinto (the younger brother of one of Mackie’s classmates, Ben Pinto), 52-year-old Anne Marie Murphy (who taught Melissa in second grade), and 27-year-old Victoria Soto (Melissa’s favorite teacher).

When Melissa arrived home from Shattuck, Patty and Fred struggled with what to do next.

“We ended up bringing them to a rink outside of town to let them skate and try to get their minds off of it,” Patty says, laughing for the first time. “It was all about just trying to keep them safe and keep their minds in the right place.”

Hockey has always been the place the Samoskevich family goes to get away.

It was also the first thing that bound them together, before tragedy ever did.

Fred played the sport into high school and when Melissa was 3 years old, instead of installing a pool in their backyard, he constructed a year-round hockey rink, with concrete for ball hockey in the summers that he could cover in plastic and flood in the winters.

 Fred’s backyard rink. (Courtesy the Samoskevich family)

My wife thought I was crazy and I did too when I was about halfway done,” Fred says, chuckling to himself.

By the time the twins arrived and Fred got Maddy onto the ice, she took off walking, her pacifier still in her mouth. Mackie was a different story.

“Mackie started bawling his eyes out,” Fred says. “It probably took him a week to get over it. But I tell ya, once he got over it, he just took over past there.”

Together, the three kids grew up spending their afternoons after school out back, with Melissa showing her younger siblings the ropes. When they’d get called in for dinner, Mackie would strap on goalie gear in the kitchen while Maddy took shots at him. On weekends, they’d follow Melissa to hockey tournaments with her travel team in Eastern New York, stickhandling their way in and out of arena lobbies.

“Part of the reason why they’re the best of friends is because we’ve been together every weekend for their entire lives,” Fred says. “That’s what we loved about it. We were on vacation pretty much every week. We didn’t go to Disney World, we didn’t go for a week to the Caribbean or anything like that. We were in Philly, we were in Boston, we were in Toronto, we were in Edmonton.”

The twins were always inseparable, with Mackie choosing forward and Maddy choosing defense so that they could practice against one another. Both Melissa and Maddy played boys hockey until their bantam years, so Mackie and Maddy also played on the same team until he began playing AAA up a year with the 2001 age group.

Mackie and Maddy also played spring and summer hockey together. (Courtesy the Samoskevich family)

Every step of the way, Melissa was always there to give them pointers after their games.

“She taught us a lot growing up. Just seeing her love for the sport made us fall in love with it,” Maddy says. “And then when she put the work into it, it paid off.”

That work carried Melissa to the pinnacle of the sport. Beyond Shattuck, she played for Team USA’s women’s under-18 team twice (collecting a gold, a silver, and a spot on the tournament all-star team in her second appearance). She then spent four years at Quinnipiac University, including two as captain. She was the second overall pick of the Connecticut Whale in the 2018 NWHL draft. In 2019, she won gold with Team USA again, this time at the women’s world championships. This past season, she was hired as an assistant coach with Penn State’s women’s team (though she’s not yet prepared to call herself retired).

Mackie and Maddy have always tried to follow in her footsteps.

After finishing fifth grade, they both also attended Shattuck. In 2019, Maddy played for Team USA at the under-18 worlds, just like her big sister had. She then also committed to Quinnipiac, where she has just finished her freshman year.

Mackie’s turn to represent Newtown is up next at the University of Michigan — and the NHL beyond that. He spent two years with the USHL’s Chicago Steel following his time at Shattuck.

“To see my sister in those spots, it’s something that I want to do, to be on TV and have everyone watching,” Mackie says. “Just seeing where she was and how she got there has been a huge thing in my life.

“And I also want to represent Sandy Hook. It’s my favorite place in the world.”

Mackie calls his two sisters his best friends, a bond that they all say was strengthened in the years after the shooting.

These last two years, Mackie has called his sisters every week from Chicago. This year, when he broke his finger crashing into the boards, they dreaded being away from him.

As a family, they found the pandemic most difficult because none of the five do well being away from each other. In a normal year, Fred and Patty would visit Mackie half a dozen times in Chicago. This season, they weren’t able to visit until they were both double-vaccinated around playoff time, as Mackie’s Steel chased and won the USHL’s Clark Cup.

As soon as they’d won, he couldn’t wait to get home to celebrate it with them.

“When I’m at home, I’m not usually out and about with other friends because we’re always together and I’d rather be with my sisters,” Mackie says. “Not everybody has that.”

 Mackie and Melissa. (Courtesy the Samoskevich family)

None of the people who’ve worked with Mackie over the years have asked him about Sandy Hook. Not Ben Umhoefer, who coaches and runs the program at Shattuck. Not Ryan Hardy nor Brock Sheahan, who were his general manager and coach with the Steel. Not Michigan head coach Mel Pearson, who will welcome him to the Wolverines in the fall.

But they know all about Melissa, Maddy, Patty and Fred, because Mackie’s always talking about them.

And when you ask them to describe Mackie the hockey player, they can do that.

Owen Power, Mackie’s teammate in Chicago and soon at Michigan and the presumptive No. 1 pick in the upcoming draft, calls him the most talented player he’s ever shared the ice with. Pearson gets giddy when he talks about how he may be able to use him.

Umhoefer will tell you that Mackie’s game speaks for itself.

“From a skills, skating, talent perspective, there’s really not a lot to pick holes at,” he says.

Sheahan laughs about how often Mackie appeared in the videos he showed the Steel this season, both offensively and defensively, calling him a complete player. He and Hardy also said they saw Mackie do things every night for two years that nobody else could. Mackie, Sheahan insists, is “as elite as it gets” as a skater and puck handler.

“I think he was the most skilled player in the USHL,” Sheahan says.

Mackie Samoskevich is NHL Central Scouting’s 26th-ranked North American skater in advance of the 2021 NHL Draft. (Courtesy Chicago Steel)

But they’d all rather talk about Mackie the person.

“The way he treats everybody is awesome,” Hardy says. “He’s a very kind and genuine person and I think that speaks to the parents that he has and the relationship that he has with his sisters.”

Sheahan will tell you that he has learned as much from Mackie as he has taught him, something he says is rare.

“He’s a great kid,” Sheahan says. “He really burns to be a player, like he really works at it. He’s the type of guy I like to just sit there and talk with.”

Umhoefer talks about the Samoskeviches as a humble, hardworking, blue-collar family who have and will accomplish special things. Though he never spoke with any of them about the shooting, he and other faculty recognized that they were shaken by it and tried to go out of their way to check in on them at Shattuck.

“Mackie was a really quiet kid with us. He never really showed a lot of emotion. He’s one of those kids that’s sometimes hard to get a read on,” Umhoefer says. “But the shooting was a really sad time for everyone that worked in education and then there was a lot of focus brought onto those kids because as a school you feel a lot of the same emotions that they feel when you see that they’re hurting.”

Mackie’s quiet nature is one of the things that all those who’ve worked with him talk about.

“Mackie is identical to me and Madison is identical to my wife. I was the same way Mackie is right now, a little quiet,” Fred says.

But to Maddy and Melissa, Mackie is a different person than the one the rest of the world sees.

To Maddy, he’s a confidante who is easy to talk to.

“He was always there for me. If I had a question about hockey, he would spend a good amount of time teaching me until I got the full answer. I feel like I’m the player that I am today because of him,” Maddy says.

To Melissa, the reserved Mackie people see at the rink is someone else altogether at home.

“He’s soft spoken but it’s funny because he’s also a little shit around the house,” Melissa says, laughing. “He’s one of the funniest kids I know when you get him going. We make fun of each other a ton. So when people see Mackie and think he’s quiet, that’s because when he’s at the rink he’s ready to work.”

Melissa thinks that attitude has taken Mackie this far.

“Me and Maddy go to the rink and work but we like the social aspect of it,” Melissa says. “The quietness of him is because he’s a 24-hour athlete. And it has paid off for him and that’s solely because of him. He’s out on our outdoor rink for hours just stickhandling by himself. Watching his work ethic is amazing. I wish I had it.”

Whenever Patty thinks about her son’s draft day, she gets nervous.

“The butterflies just drive me crazy,” Patty says.

When Melissa and Maddy think about his big day, their octave changes in excitement.

“It’s going to be amazing. I’m so proud of everything he has accomplished,” Maddy says. “He has worked so hard for this and he deserves it. It’s going to be an emotional day.”

“I’m just,” Melissa says, choking up, “yeah … I’m really proud of him. He deserves all of the attention.”

But the draft won’t be the only thing on their minds. The first thing they’ll all think of will be Newtown.

“We love Sandy Hook … um,” Fred said, pausing to collect himself once more, “it’s just sad going forward. You see one of the moms out at the grocery store and it just brings you right back to it. We’re a resilient group of people here in Sandy Hook. We help each other out as much as we can. Plus, the help we received from the world. It was amazing what everyone did for us around here, it really was.”

“It was life-changing for so many, including us,” Maddy adds. “It brought our family a lot closer. After that day, our parents were there for us and we were there for each other.”

Not a day goes by where Mackie doesn’t think about that day or his hometown.

“It’s crazy to think about all of the towns in the world and your town is the one that this happens to. To see that people are willing to do that, I can’t believe it continues to happen to other people,” Mackie said, pausing himself for the first time. “But at the end of the day, it was a pretty amazing thing to see Sandy Hook come together. It was a positive thing in one small way, how everyone was able to come back from it the way that they did.”

And it’s that last part, that sliver of good, that he’ll carry with him.

It’s a reminder, he says, of how little hockey actually matters, and of how much his weird little hockey family does.

(Graphic: John Bradford / The Athletic; photos: Courtesy the Samoskevich family)