#they said fuck looking elegant we are CYBORGS

[sanstropfremir]

cho giseok working with xg :) i love when kpop companies let creatives do their work!

he worked with other idols before and it was always boring (see his “work” with txt and nj) because of the company’s restraints. so i’m happy he gets to do what he wants and have company support!

i know!!! im SO glad that somebody recognizes his vision and is letting him actually do the kind of work he does WELL. i really love that their whole creative team has really gone all out and actually committed to their concept for the prereleases, and likely for the album too if tgif was any indication. and even for the stages!!! the girl gvng stages make me fucking INSANE the decals the CHOREOOOOOO it's everything 2 me. expect it near the top if not at the top of the choreo list this year. i haven't seen a group commit that hard to an actual character in their choreo in ages, and definitely not for a gg

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Redemption is a Perpetual Journey

Series: Bloodbound

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed x Gaius Augustine

Rating: Mature (angst)

Word count: 1,491

A little birthday gift for the amazing @thosehallowedhalls ! Based on a chat we had... and because you have made me see our dear Gaius in a new forgiving light 🤭 I hope you have an amazing day - you deserve happiness and all good things! I'm so glad I met you, Caro 🌺🎉

The year is 3024.

The world had transformed beyond recognition.

Vast expanses of the earth had become unliveable, forcing its inhabitants to shelter in massive city-states.

The city of Novopolis had risen from the ruins of New York during the times of upheaval.

It sprawls beneath a massive shimmering dome, its skyscrapers reaching for the artificial sky like thousands of jagged steel fingers.

The domes were built centuries ago, consequence of the ozone layer’s depletion. Humankind in its hubris having failed to reverse the climate crisis. This development had been convenient for the vampires who could now walk in the daylight amongst humans, cyborgs and all manner of supernatural beings.

Kamilah Sayeed lands smoothly in a forested park on the outskirts of the glittering, fast-paced city.

A tap on her smartwatch, the lightweight wings disappear into her outfit.

She takes in her surrounding with a sharp glance. Smoothing her sleek dress. The digitally-enhanced fabric changes to align with her desired look – an elegantly dark don’t fuck with me style that makes her feel powerful, in control.

Today, she needs to be in control.

A thousand years had passed since they had defeated the original vampire, the Goddess Rheya. Since that fateful conversation with her sire, her on-and-off lover for nearly two thousand years.

******

2024

“Kamilah… in Japan… you said one good deed doesn’t undo all the evil I’ve caused. How many do you think it would take… to call me friend?”

“Come talk to me in a thousand years. I’ll let you know what I think then.”

“A thousand years…” he smiles wryly, “I suppose I could give it a try.”

*****

Gaius Augustine had been true to his oath.

The vampire had spent the past millennia wandering the known world, hunting down criminals and supernatural villains without reprieve. He seemed to have kept mostly to himself, not staying anywhere long enough to build attachments. Only leaving a trail of whispers of his exploits across continents.

Avoiding all contact with other vampires, anyone from his old life.

That was fine by her.

Kamilah had not wanted to see him. She remained angry at how he had degraded her, corrupted her into becoming a killing machine for thousands of years. But more so, Kamilah was furious at how she had let herself be seduced by his charisma, his allure. Allowed him to tempt her into following his murderous inclinations for so long. No, it would be disingenuous to lay all the blame at her maker’s feet.

And there was the issue of Rheya. Gaius had said she was not completely to blame for his behaviour, though she had locked away his empathy, his ability to feel guilt. How would their lives have turned out without her toxic influence?

At least, the pain had dulled over the centuries.

She had begun to forgive herself.

As for Gaius, she would see.

Kamilah takes a deep breath, composing herself.

The elegant vampire sets off at a leisurely pace, strolling beneath the shade of tall trees.

She heads towards a massive wooden bridge crossing a stream. A vestige of New York. Nothing made of wood was created anymore, the few surviving forests too precious to misuse so.

Kamilah crosses paths with humans, faes and other mystical beings. Most now have artificial limbs and enhancements thanks to growing advancements in biohacking.

Lily would have thrived in this environment.

Kamilah vividly remembers the vibrant, energetic young woman who had sacrificed her life to help defeat Rheya. Lily’s contagious positivity and selflessness had managed to thaw her heart a little.

The other members of their ragtag crew – Adrian, Amy, Jax, Seraphine, Nikhil – also held a soft spot, though each had followed their own paths over the centuries.

“Kamilah.”

Gaius’s soft whisper jolts the woman from her musings.

“A thousand years apart, and yet here we stand.”

He stops a few feet from her, movements uncertain.

Quickly calming her heartbeat, Kamilah takes in his appearance.

Physically, he had changed little. Those same handsome, sharp features. That charming, deviously seductive smile. That ageless face.

Though a constellation of new scars told a story, centuries of rough living. His blue eyes now held a certain melancholy.

“I’ve missed you.”

He smiles tentatively, his angular face softening slightly.

Kamilah remains silent. Observing him.

Attempting to process the chaos of emotions churning deep within her.

Together, they had danced, loved, hated and fought through epochs, their passion always an unbreakable thread. But now, after so many centuries apart, he felt like a stranger to her.

Kamilah’s gaze turns away, sweeping over the cityscape.

“Novopolis. A monument to human resilience. And yet, it lacks the wild beauty of our old world.”

They lean against the worn bridge, staring out at the jagged skyscrapers. Letting the sunlight warm their exposed skin. The dome above them hums softly, shielding them from the toxic atmosphere beyond.

“That is does. I miss the vast forests of old. How one had to spend months hidden on cramped ships to travel between continents. Spend weeks on horseback, traversing vast fields and woodlands, our bodies stiff with the harsh journeys. I had never felt more alive. Now, everything feels fast-paced, ephemeral.”

“Except us. We remain constant through all of it, unchanged.”

“Are we truly unchanged?”

Gaius asks, turning to her, gazing into her eyes intently. As if her response meant everything to him. Could perhaps redeem him.

Kamilah returns his gaze. Silent. Her face an undecipherable mask.

The man sighs.

“I have done my best to atone for my past deeds. Though it can never erase all the harm I’ve brought this world, I dare hope that somewhere down the line, I… I will begin to hate myself less. And perhaps, so will you…”

Those last few words are whispered. A confession to himself, to her.

Kamilah’s gaze finally softens. The tension eases from her shoulders.

“Gaius, for the longest time I have blamed you for our bloody rampage across Europe. For nearly destroying New York. Killing Amy, and countless others. Truth be told, I have my share of misdeeds to atone for. I am still working on forgiving myself."

Gaius takes her hands in his, willing her to look at him.

“My dear, you have always been the greater one. My moral compass. I will forever regret not heeding your advice during my darkest moments. Gods if I could take it all back…”

“But we can’t. We can only move forward.”

Those hands. Kamilah shivers unwillingly at the familiar warmth, as a surge of memories overwhelm her senses. Oh, how these hands had caressed her so tenderly, sensually for centuries. Traced every curve of her body, memorized her intimately, elicited a range of pleasure and emotions that no other being – man or woman – had been able to match since. How these same hands had also threatened her, hurt her and her loved ones. Caused her uncountable grief and sorrow.

What were they to her now?

He notices the conflicting emotions flashing across her exquisite face and steps closer, sliding his hands up, caressing her arms, shoulders, wanting to ease her pain. Somehow.

On impulse, Kamilah reaches out, tracing his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Such familiar features. That soft skin, so warm.

He closes his eyes, leaning into her delicate touch. The shadow of a smile dances on the corners of his lips.

“Gaius, will we ever find peace?”

He opens his eyes, locking onto hers. A mix of emotions flickering in those endless pools. Sadness, self-loathing, tenderness… and hope.

“Perhaps. Perhaps… we can attempt to continue our journeys of atonement together?”

Kamilah closes her eyes at that, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Gaius gathers her into his arms tenderly. She buries her face into the crook of his neck and breathes in his familiar scent, hints of leather and earthy notes. Allowing herself to be vulnerable for a moment.

Just a moment.

As the city buzzes in the distance, Kamilah whispers against his warm skin, regretfully.

“I am not certain I am ready for that.”

Gaius holds her tighter, unable to let her go just yet. He nods his understanding into her obsidian hair, bending towards her ear to murmur

“I have waited a thousand years to see you again. For you, my queen, I will wait a thousand more.”

[chenziee]

hello, can i request lawlu and frobin from outsider pov? thank you

Thank you, anon, for giving me an excuse to write this xD I hope you don’t mind some absolutely ridiculous, silly first dates with non-consensual meet-the-family.

This fic is the continuation to my Lawlu fic [Good friends (don’t) kiss] that I have wanted to write since publishing the original fic. It is absolutely NOT necessary to read the prequel to understand this fic :)

Enjoy~

Boyfriends (do) kiss

The innkeeper sighed as he leaned against his broom, looking around the mess that his cozy little inn had become. And the day began so innocently; quiet and slow like any other day. But now there was a charred table and burn spots on the floor, several broken chairs, with cutlery and shattered plates scattered all over. And that was him being lucky. He had been kindly informed some places hit by a similar disaster ended up with broken walls or windows—or both.

It all started a few hours ago when a couple of pirates came in. It was nothing to fret about; once in a while those sea rats would dock at this island and have a meal, then they would run off. None of them tended to stay very long or cause any trouble because of the small navy base just outside town, and even if they did start something, they were usually dealt with quickly. This was no backwater island with no police or competent security, after all.

So, when the two pirates entered, the innkeep paid them almost no mind. That is, until one of his regulars who had been eating his lunch at the counter whispered, "Hey, aren't those two…" He let his sentence fade out, only gesturing frantically in the direction of the two young men, making the innkeep frown and finally take a good look.

They were sitting at a table pretty much at the centre of the room, as if uncaring if anyone noticed them. That alone was not exactly normal in a marine town where pirates tended to keep low and hide in dark corners. The louder, seemingly younger one of them was stuffing his face with gusto, even stealing all the bread off of the other's plate while laughing and teasing his companion, who ate at a much slower pace.

The other one wasn't laughing along, having a much calmer and quieter demeanor, but there was an undeniable, if small, smile on his face. There was also a really familiar, yellow Jolly Roger contrasting against the back of his long, black coat but the innkeeper couldn't for the life of him place it. Narrowing his eyes, he wrecked his brain for where he had seen it, and for just who these people were.

And then his eyes fell on the straw hat hanging on the younger one's neck and it clicked.

Fucking Straw Hat Luffy and Trafalgar Law were casually having lunch in his goddamned inn. He really hoped they weren't going to be planning some big raids while at it or he would have to call the marines. Which he absolutely didn't want to do; there was always so much paperwork involved.

Praying to all that was holy that it wouldn't come to that, the innkeeper observed their interactions, watching for any suspicious movements. After all, two of the Worst Generation captains starting a fight with each other would be just as bad as them planing coups or navy base raids, as well as it was the last thing this old building needed.

Thankfully, it seemed like they were getting along just fine. They were both smiling, speaking quietly with each other and… holding hands? Ah no, that was just Trafalgar handing over the salt. Good. That would be awkward. The touch did seem a little bit too long for a casual contact though.

Just then, the door to the inn opened and in came a couple, a man and woman. Or a giant robot and woman? The robot had his arm placed gently around the woman’s shoulder so it looked like they were together at least.

“Oh! Robin, Franky, are you here to eat, too?” Straw Hat called loudly, waving at the newcomers enthusiastically, and only then did the innkeeper make the connection—they were two members of Straw Hat’s crew, the ‘Iron Man’ Franky and the ‘Demon Child’ Nico Robin. The innkeeper really didn’t like where this seemed to be going.

“That’s right, Luffy,” the cyborg said, equally loud, when the couple reached their captain’s table. “How’s the food here?”

“It’s great! Their bread is amazing,” Straw Hat replied and the innkeep made a mental note to relay the compliment to both his cook and the the town’s baker.

Nico Robin chuckled. “Torao-kun looks like he doesn’t agree.”

Trafalgar made a disgusted face before he looked at her and spoke up, “No, I don’t. But this bottomless pit ate all of my bread anyway and the rest is pretty good.”

“Of course I ate the bread for you, you hate it,” Straw Hat stated matter of factly before he grinned and leaned towards the other captain to give him a long kiss on the cheek, a gesture that earned him an embarrassed click of the tongue from the other pirate.

Oh. Suddenly, the innkeep remembered the newspaper article from three days ago, the one which had claimed the two were dating and which he had discarded as ridiculous and promptly forgot about. Maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

“You two are super cute,” the cyborg announced, making Straw Hat laugh and Trafalgar roll his eyes.

“Wanna join us?” Straw Hat gestured to the two other, currently empty chairs at the table. “We could make it a double date,” he suggested then, glancing to his boyfriend who only shrugged in response, apparently not caring either way.

The other two, however, shook their heads, and Nico Robin spoke up, “It’s your first proper date. You should enjoy it, just the two of you.” She smiled warmly at the two of them before she glanced up at her own huge companion and placed her small hand over his large one which was still resting against her shoulder. “We’ll get another table and we can meet for deserts later?”

“Sounds good!” Straw Hat and the cyborg agreed, both grinning, while Trafalgar only nodded silently at her suggestion.

The innkeeper couldn’t decide whether he was glad the four of them weren’t going to be a concentrated in one place, smack in the centre of the room no less, or if he was annoyed he would now have to keep an eye on two tables with high bounty pirates.

He barely managed to take notice of where the mismatched couple of the Iron Man and the Demon Child—who looked more like an elegant, beautiful lady than either a demon or a child—when someone at the counter called him over. He wondered when this young man got there; he hadn’t noticed him coming in or sitting down. Maybe because he was so preoccupied by the cursed sea dogs.

“Thank you for waiting, sir. What would you like?” the innkeeper asked the man with blond, wavy hair and what looked like a burn scar over his eye. There was a black top hat with a pair of goggles around it lying in the counter next to him.

The man smiled, putting a ten thousand beri bill on the counter. “When Trafalgar Law asks for a drink, can you add this into it?” he asked, pulling out a small bottle.

The innkeeper blinked, staring at the bottle for a moment before slowly looking up to meet the stranger’s eyes. “Are you asking me to poison a man worth 500 million beri?”

“It won’t kill him.” An unhappy, maybe even angry expression appearing on his face before he continued, voice lowering dangerously, “It will just make him regret every decision he had ever made that led to him being here.”

The innkeeper scowled, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded the man. “There will be no poisonings in my inn, lethal or not. I don’t care what your issue with him is but settle it somewhere else.”

“Damn,” the blond cursed, pocketing both the bottle and the bill. “Guess I’ll have to light his face on fire after all. Thanks anyway.”

As soon as he was done speaking, he turned around in his chair to glare at the table where his apparent nemesis was now ruffling his boyfriend’s hair while Straw Hat giggled, trying to push his hand away. When he finally succeeded, he didn’t let go; instead, he laced their fingers together and mumbled something that made Trafalgar look away in obvious embarrassment.

Suddenly, something bright caught the innkeeper’s eyes and when he looked what it was, he gasped. “Sir, you’re on fire!” he cried in alarm.

The blond startled, looking at his hand as if he only just realized it was engulfed in angry, crackling flames. “Whoops. Sorry,” he simply apologized, shanking the hand until the flame died down to nothing. After a mere second, it was as if there was no fire at all. “Glad to know Ace is angry, too.”

“Sabo! What are you doing here?” Straw Hat cried a moment later, jumping up and basically bouncing in place, and the blond cursed at being spotted.

He waved at the pirate awkwardly. “Hey, Luffy. Just—” he paused, seemingly wrecking his brain for a plausible answer— “passing by.”

That was the worst excuse the innkeep had ever heard, and that was counting all the excuses men have ever given to their angry wives who came to pick them up after a night of drinking.

But Straw Hat grinned, nodding happily as if it made perfect sense. Trafalgar Law, on the other hand, eyed the man suspiciously. “Your brother probably came to check up on you, Straw Hat-ya. Since the papers wrote about us,” he said flatly, making the blond glare at him.

Wait. ‘Sabo.’ Straw Hat’s brother. The Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army? That Sabo? This day was getting seriously ridiculous. What was next, a Celestial Dragon?

He barely managed to finish the thought when the entrance door burst open and in came two old men and a goat. The innkeeper couldn’t believe his eyes. They weren’t Celestial Dragons but at this point they might as well be. The goddamn Hero of the Marines Garp and former Fleet Admiral Sengoku had just walked into his inn and he felt like he might faint. Between four infamous pirates, number two of the revolutionary army, and two legendary marines, it would be a miracle if his inn was still standing by the end of the day.

“Luffy!” Garp roared, stomping forward.

Straw Hat flinched in response, immediately raising his arms in a attempt to block the fist that was coming at his head from above. “Gramps! What are you doing here?”

“Dating a pirate? You brat, you’re a hundred years early to pull something like this!” Garp growled, hitting Straw Hat once more.

“Ouch! Why does it hurt even when I use haki?” Straw Hat whined after taking a step back at the impact, his chair clattering to the floor. “And what do you care who I’m dating?” He went to punch back.

Garp side stepped him, grabbing his arm and stopping it from hitting some of the innocent customers who were scurrying to get out of the inn. “Because it’s a fist of love,” Garp said, as if that explained anything.

The innkeeper really wanted run away like his customers did but he was frozen in place, watching the scuffle happening. This was honestly the most bizzare pirate versus marine fight he had ever witnessed, possibly the most bizzare one anyone had ever witnessed. Neither was trying to beat the other, there was no attempt at capture or escape—if you didn’t count Trafalgar quickly backing away from the screaming duo in the direction of cyborg Franky and Nico Robin, who both looked entirely too entertained. At least Trafalgar’s face said he was about as happy about the turn of events as the innkeeper himself was.

A second later, in a flurry of flames, the revolutionary at the counter jumped forward, standing in between Straw Hat and Garp. “Gramps, wait. You should be beating up him,” he said sharply, pointing at Trafalgar, who was by then lounging in the chair next to Nico Robin, coffee cup he was offered by the woman in hand.

“Leave me out of this,” he called back, raising his free hand in a vaguely threatening motion, the air swirling around under his palm with in devil fruit power.

“Yes, leave him out of this!” Straw Hat snapped, throwing a punch at Sabo instead.

The bartender watched in horror as the punch went through the blond, spitting flames all around and setting a table on fire. At least the man quickly put out the flames but the damage was done and the table charred black.

Garp’s attention turned to the revolutionary then, his hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing until Sabo hissed in pain. “Hello, Mr Revolutionary. Do you care to explain?”

“Why are you so angry, we told you we didn’t want to be marines right from the start!”

“Baa!” The innkeeper’s gaze followed after the sudden sound, dropping from the scene of disaster to his knees where Fleet Admiral Sengoku’s goat was gently chewing on the wash cloth he had hanging from his belt. At least someone in here looked like they couldn’t care less about whatever it was that was happening around them. The innkeeper let go of a long, deep sigh, and stroked the goat’s head.

“Thank you,” he said to the goat earnestly, to which the animal only blinked and continued chewing.

Raising his eyes to look for the goat’s owner, he found the man slowly approaching the remaining three outlaws, dropping in the last available chair at their table—after turning it around to get a better view of the fight at the centre of the room. The three visibly tensed up at their new company, but Sengoku only looked at them blanky before raising the packet in his hand.

“Want a rice cake?”

The pirates stared at him, the cyborg moving forward a little to shield Nico Robin from the old marine.

Sengoku, however, only crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, looking as uncaring as could be. “Relax. I’m retired. I have no obligation to keep up with any new wanted posters so I have no idea who you people are. I’m just here to enjoy the show.”

It was a transparent lie, there was no way the man didn’t know he was sitting at the table with a former Shichibukai and a woman who had been hunted by the world government for twenty-something years, and the innkeeper couldn’t help but stare at the scene before him with an open mouth. Was this seriously, seriously happening? In his inn?

When it became apparent that Sengoku wasn’t a threat to them right then, the strange couple and Trafalgar slowly relaxed and the marine smiled, gesturing with his packet again. Finally, Trafalgar reached forward, grabbing a rice cake and tentatively taking a bite.

Soon, he was followed by Nico Robin who pulled out two, handing one of them to Franky who thanked her with a quick kiss before he took it from her hand. For a moment all four of them simply munched on their rice cakes in silence, watching while Straw Hat, Sabo, and Garp bickered and wrecked the whole goddamn inn while at it.

The entire thing was so ridiculous, so completely absurd, that the innkeeper wanted to cry.

It took them almost an hour after that to finally file out of the inn, leaving behind only absolute mess and destruction. At least Sengoku had assured the innkeeper in passing that the Navy would pay for the damages while he had ordered a tea.

He really hoped the marines wouldn’t complain about it since he would be forced to bill them eight people worth of food on top of all this, as the four pirates didn’t even pay for their own food or drinks.

Pirates, he thought to himself, finally tossing his broom aside and opening a bottle of rum instead.

[theplumsoldier]

let's have some fun (this beat is sick) [1]

summary: donald finds himself attracted to the [smoking hot, yes u r] reader and when she realizes this, she decides to play the game of seduction. part 1 of 2 pairing: donald pierce x reader word count: 1672 warnings: vulgar language, eventual smut

The infamous Alkali-Transigen Reavers rarely had time off and this time was no different. Howbeit, that did not stop them from deciding on celebrating their latest catch, and so at five o'clock they brazenly took to a bar downtown. Donald Pierce had not necessarily expected to "get some" as it would appear his fellow Reavers did, but the night takes a drastic turn when his eyes land on a certain little someone.

The night was passing slowly, and to be quite true, Donald was not feeling it. Not the cheerful atmosphere, not the drinks, certainly not the music. When an elegant figure waltzed its way through the crowd, now that was something he would like to feel.

Your sultry mien quickly rubbed off on him, even from the unbearable distance separating you from his grasp, and it was wickedly wrong how hard he grew a just that sight.

Bare legs balancing on impossibly tall heels, tight dress - stopping just beneath your enticing ass and fuck, he could not tell if that red dress sculpted you or the other way around - held in place with spaghetti-straps. A single delicate, golden necklace laced tightly around your neck and when you moved to take a sip from your drink, he noticed your alluring, plump, peach-colored lips. Everything around you disappeared and all sound had ceased to exist as he watched you with intense lust. He watched your tongue dart out swiftly, and then he caught your nails. He could not make out the color from the booth he sat in, but they caught a glimpse of bright light and reflected right back at him. He never had been attracted to someone so dolled up, but you were simply irresistible.

A shove in the arm brought him back to his drunken group.

"What?" grumbled he, looking confused to his mate.

"At work," hinted the Reaver. "The three new field-policies. Aren't they the fuckin' same?"

"I discern no difference," shrugged Donald off, reaching for his glass and drank the remaining half of his beer, piercing eyes looking for you. But you had disappeared. "And Pretty Boy, if you're still talking work, you haven't had enough to drink. Next round's on me."

Donald's coworkers cheered and hollered at him, banging on the table as Pierce stole toward the bar.

You were nowhere to be seen.

Donald sighed and brushed his blonde locks back in place, placing his order. The night continued and many beers later, you finally revealed yourself. But you were no longer alone. You sat in a man's lap, playing with his hair, and Pierce's body tensed at the sight. How the man with jet-black hair held you in place with his hands, frustrated him exceedingly. This was around the time - meaning a dozen drinks past ten – where he usually would have gotten up from his seat and made his move, but he did not want to embarrass himself in front of all your friends.

Besides, Mohawk had already whistled a couple of fine-looking ladies to the table, so Pierce settled.

But it was not the same. As the woman on his left flirted with him, traced the heel of her stiletto teasingly up his calf, he could not help himself but close his eyes and imagine it was you. Your fingertips playing with his hair, your lips brushing against his cheek, your teeth teasing his earlobe, your nails drawing blood from his back as he ruthlessly—

"What's the matter wit' you, boss?"

"The pretty lady gettin' your worked up?" grinned Angelo and the woman who had now crawled halfway up Donald's lap giggled, preening in the thought, but Pierce knew. Only you.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes off of your grinding body. Tapping the woman's thigh, he shifted. "Actually, I just need to take a piss."

She hummed, confused, and stood awkwardly as the man with the bionic hand marched away from the table.

Donald slowed down his pace as he walked past your booth, watching you intently. As you pulled your lips from the guy you ground your ass against, your eyes shot up, catching the man passing. A rush went through your body. The man beneath you sucked on your neck, but your attention was focused on Pierce. You could not help but smirk and shoot a wink his way. You would have to be blind not to have noticed his ceaseless eye-fucking throughout the evening. Any fool could tell you looked sublime, and you were all for the game, so when a stranger came around and blatantly flirted with you, you had to put on a show for the cyborg.

A part of you had hoped he simply would grab you by the neck and show you how a real man did it because to be quite honest, the one kissing you now was ignorant.

Pierce suppressed his lust and did his business, making sure to go the same way around when returning to his booth. Again, you locked eyes for a split-second and he knew it; he knew what you were doing.

Running a hand down his stern face he cursed, for he knew you were way out of his league, and his game had seen better days, so he saw no opportunity with you.

That changed later when you showed up at his table. And fuck me thought he because you looked even hotter up-close. Beautiful, even.

Leaning against the wall shielding the booth from the rest, you earned a few sultry comments from the men as they saw you. You paid no attention to his friends, however, merely biting the inside of your cheek and looking Donald suggestively up and down.

You put on a coy smirk, "hey there hot-stuff."

His eyes shot up from his drink, feeling a bag of TNT explode in the pit of his stomach. Your voice went straight to his cock.

"I've seen you staring all night. Wanna come over?"

All eyes expectantly landed on Donald, and as a smirk pulled at the corner of his lip, his mates could not keep their encouraging comments to themselves. Donald did not utter a word, instead, he stood to his feet, grasping your outstretched hand, feeling the tingle of your manicure.

As you led the way to an empty table, you cast a seductive look over your shoulder and found him looking you up and down, licking his lips.

Yeah, this was going to be a fun night.

Sitting on one side, you patted the spot beside you.

"Thought we were going to sit with your friends," wondered he, taking a seat. "Figured I'd get to know the man I'll soon have beggin'." You nodded toward your girlfriends and shrugged as if it truly did not mean much to you. "I mean unless of course, you'd rather sit with them."

Donald smirked at your words, admiring your confidence. He rested his arm behind you and leaned closer.

"I got everything I need right here, baby."

"Don't think I've never met a man with a gold tooth."

"Wanna feel it?"

Laughing, you shook your head at his boldness. "You're quite gutsy, aren't you?"

"Well, you've been teasing me all night, baby. I have to make a move before you move on to the next. I gotta admit, though, I ain't the beggin' type."

Challenge accepted.

"You don't think I can make you beg. . ." asked you while you teasingly drew a finger up and down his thigh, waiting for him to fill you in on his name.

"Donald."

You moved closer, taking advantage of how focused he was on your lips. Tilting your head to the side, you parted your lips teasing your teeth with your tongue. "Well, Donnie, I'll have you know men ain't nothing like themselves when I get on my knees. I'm Y/N, by the way. So you know whose name to mention in your prayer."

The images those words sparked. Fuck—

Donald took your hand from his thigh and placed it directly on the bulge in his jeans, pulling you close with the aid of his bionic hand. Keeping you mere inches from his face, his hand had a rough grip around your neck, and you could feel yourself get hotter by the second.

"You sure you could handle me, little girl?"

Licking your lips, you smirked up at him, his grip tightening just enough to elicit a gasp.

You subtly massaged his length through his pants, watching him breathe heavily through your long lashes.

"Funny you should ask that."

Holding you by the back of your neck, he kept you in place as he hungrily kissed into you. Squeezing your thigh, he moved his hands to your waist to lift you to sit on top of him. At the chill feel of his right hand, you gasped into his mouth, moaning out as you could not do a thing but imagine those cyborg fingers deep in your cunt.

Moving up in his lap, you sat just like you had with the guy from earlier. You had purposely put on a show for you admirer then, and now you sat grinding your hips against said man. He was rock-hard against you and you moaned into his mouth, biting on his lip as you pulled away.

Donald worked on your throat, licking and sucking until he found a sore spot, where he generously lapped. Your dress was too tight to sit with your legs on either side of him, but that did not stop him from sliding his hand between your leg and tease your inner thigh. What did stop him, however, was when he found that you did not wear any panties.

Halting his actions, he looked almost stupefied up to you, cocking an eyebrow.

"You little—"

You looked knowingly in his eyes and grinned at his reaction.

"This place is too. . . crowdy–why don't we go somewhere peaceful?"

"Baby, you're reading my mind. But there won't be no peace where we're going."

[mehenxe]

❝ i swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth. ❞ / ❝ there are many names in history, but none of them are ours. ❞ / ❝ there is no way to make this story interesting. ❞ / ❝ will you love me even more when i’m dead? ❞ / ❝ you didn’t show up. i kept waiting. ❞ / ❝ i will come back from the dead for you. ❞ / ❝ please keep him safe. ❞— for the bastards.

❝ i swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth. ❞ // the little bird ◌ his gilded cage.

◌◌ “then perhaps it would be better for the both of us, if you kept your teeth behind your lips, and your lips sealed shut.” jungsoo paces to the captain’s window, and his shoulders squared, a gaze outward to the whirling stars about them, something about him is too elegant for that of a criminal. there is something perilous lurking beneath his feet, threatening to uproot. “by bast, it’s as though you have no other desire in life but to make everyone around you miserable! there is more to this universe than my apparent incompetence and your thirsting for vengeance.” the smoke rises from the tips of his fingers, ruin and ruination. the cold chill settles on his neck, and it drips downward, ice from a comet’s tail. “— why are you staring at me now?”

❝ there are many names in history, but none of them are ours. ❞ // the sorcerer ◌ his reaver.

◌◌ a long exhale exhumes the space in-between them, closing it to no distance whatsoever, to the latent desire for less distance. to look at a man so worn and ragged and to love him besides it, to wish to do no more than lie down within cold stone and fade until the next universe came to pass — so simple a wish, to perish as a mortal. a chuckle follows the exhale. “we could say it is for the better, but perhaps the books forgetting about us, that is the true curse, the righteous punishment which must be carried out.” koschei muses amongst the fluttering, soft wings of the hoary owl resting upon his shoulder. the grey of their irises, the expansion of their pupils, is in a perfect synchronised dance. “so long as — we do not forget the truth of each other.”

❝ there is no way to make this story interesting. ❞ // the cyborg ◌ his impervious flyboy.

◌◌ "c’mon now, paraxis, don’t give up on me that easy.” the windshield remains fogged from the laboured breathing of their fevered love, the weight of paraxis’s thighs as he remains on top of him, his hair dishevelled and pulled out of its warrior’s bun. he rolls his shoulder, and the fluid caught within the joints pops and cracks. “you started the fucking story, finish the fucking story. and if it’s not interesting, you make shit up. i hear you do it all the damn time with jungsoo. but if this is your weird-ass way of saying you wanna go another round —” there’s a light shrug. there is a dragging of callused, war-torn fingers, & blood does not cover them now, but it will; still, it is gentle, yearning, how they pull at the muscle of his leg. “— i’m up for that just as well.”

❝ will you love me even more when i’m dead? ❞ // the oathbringer ◌ his time reaper.

◌◌ the butterflies decaying permeates the ground beneath their feet. the rocking of the boat, at last, settles into something like a lullaby, like the times of old when the petals of flowers would never have to be concerned with drifting off their centres. there is something like fire high above them, there is something like the end of the far-reaching galaxy and it looks like rain. he cradles that cold, detached face, and in it, he sees love bearing down upon him, sunlight-warm and darkness-safe. “my darling — there is no true killing of time. there is only cursing. and oh, how the two of us have been cursed.” he cannot die, but something like blood still trickles from his left nostril, water in his mouth. “cursed to never be the same. but i love you still.”

❝ you didn’t show up. i kept waiting. ❞ // the grand inquisitor ◌ his goddess divine.

◌◌ the music is a hollow echo behind him. broad-shouldered and shadowed in his gaze, quinn steps forward, and each step is slow, measured. he walks down the length of the path, naught but the moon to frame what is left of humankind within him, & he peers at ameena, he who has been exalted to divination, & oh, how breathless seeing him makes him. life, sucked right out of him, & what a tremendous, what an aching death. his gloved hand trembles as he lifts it, as he touches sehrin’s face, as he brushes the length of his cheekbone. the black leather glove comes away anointed in pink glitter. “i’m sorry i’m late.” it seems so simple a thing to say, simplicity & it has been echoed & it is not hollow. “and i hope that you can forgive me for it.”

❝ i will come back from the dead for you. ❞ // the dread wolf ◌ his moonlit god.

◌◌ he presses his nose into that wrist, he inhales deep that intoxicating scent of him, that of the night-jasmines, of nocte and vita. it infuses him with a different sort of intention; to hear death be so spoken of, a low growl in his chest, he shakes his head. his hair tickles that exposed neck and that exposed neck opens further for him, and he kisses the sharp planes of him, he marks up the flesh with teeth and tongue, he bites down on the curve of that delicate shoulder until there is gasping, writhing, back arching beneath him. splaying both hands against the arch of that spine, shifting and sliding upward to feel each notch of him as he moves like that. “last time i said there ain’t no death waitin’ for you, not any kind. and i gorram meant it.”

❝ please keep him safe. ❞ // the spider maiden ◌ his fluttering brother.

◌◌ “... why are you talking like this?” the form of the man he speaks about sleeps beside him, or perhaps, he pretends to sleep, but his sharp ears eavesdrop, the shock of hair falling about his ears and hi’sang touches it, absentminded, needing to be reassured. still he is there. still i have not done something to deserve to lose him too. “sehrin, you worry me when you go off on these tangents.” that flittering panic, that terrible sensation, the drawing of the tower as a card from a deck, magnetised & illuminated by the stars — what could it mean? he does not want to know. it is not something he wishes to consider. “i’m not going to lose him. and i’m not going to lose you either, not now, not in the future. isn’t that right, sehrin?” it better be right.

[tigressaofkanjis]

Distraction - Grievous/Rex One-Shot

I don’t know why but I love the idea of this pairing. This is a small fic I wrote about it.

Based on this: https://iwouldshipthat.tumblr.com/tagged/general-grievous%2Fcaptain-rex 

For @anpan-chan

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

There was a time Captain Rex hated his objective and then there was a time he really hated his objective with a burning passion. What was his objective?

“Okay, the head clanker is on deck nine with a full battalion and service droids two hangars away. We sneak into Grievous’ current position and blow the fucking bastard sky high. Afterwards, we run like hell back to this point and aboard the undetected shuttle we fly off into hyperspace. Any questions?”

Fives gave Rex an “are you serious?” stare, “And why aren’t the Jedi a part of this oh so important renegade we’ve decided to do which may or may not turn the tide of the war?”

The Captain sighed, “Ana…General Skywalker has gotten himself into a bit of trouble and General Tiin has taken over our missions for the time being. He’s instructing us from our base because he knows the Separatist Leader will be able to sense him. We’re going in Jedi-less because we’ll hold the element of surprise.”

“So essentially, we’re going to die,” Echo mused.

Rex immediately punched his shoulder pad, “You drag this team down because of your low confidence, I’m kicking your ass in any afterlife we end up in!”

The other clones snickered as Rex slid on his helmet and took the lead while Echo teasingly stuck his tongue out behind the Captain’s back.

“Careful Echo, do that too much and you’re face is going to stick like that,” Kix smirked.

“Shut up!”

The clone troopers quickly moved throughout the ship towards the hangars where their target lied. In order to keep themselves undetected, they hid whenever droids were nearby because although they could take the bots with relative ease, it wasn’t worth the mission.

Rex was confident that they could do the impossible this time. It was asking much from his team but it was the only chance they may have had left to end the Clone Wars once and for all. So far, everything was going according to plan.

“Hey, Rex, something doesn’t feel right,” Jesse sudden spoke.

Rex paused as he passed through an open doorway and turned around, “How so?”

“Doesn’t this seem a little too easy? There aren’t many clankers for a ship holding the general himself and not one of us has been snuck up upon, all parties accounted for. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never seen a mission go this smoothly before.”

Rex scoffed, “Relax, you’re just-”

Abruptly, the Captain was cut off by the large area doors slamming shut, separating him from the rest of the team. The 501st Legion themselves stood in awkward silence for a second before several of them groaned loudly.

“Oh shit.”

“Who’s rotten idea was this again?”

“Aw he’s so screwed.”

Fives moaned, “You and your fat mouth, Jesse!”

“What?! What! You think I could’ve predicted that?!”

Kix and Tup began arguing with him angrily as the others face palmed and leaned against the walls in defeat, shaking their heads.

On the other side of the doors, Rex only heard faint voices quarrelling. He knew exactly who was who upon how each argument was presented. ‘I’m sometimes surrounded by idiots.’

On a much sour note, he knew this was bad. He was separated from his group and there seemed to be no control panel to open the doors. He was trapped there. There was only one option left: keep moving forward and hope his troops could make it back to the ship to safety. He knew it was up to him now to finish the job.

The hangar Grievous was said to be in wasn’t even guarded. It hardly had any security, no droids standing nearby, not even a shuttle in its bay that the droid general could escape in. Jesse was right, there was definitely something wrong. Was it sheer coincidence he was separated but not ambushed or was someone leading him to a darker fate? Rex didn’t like fate. He didn’t like how this mission was turning out nor did he like his newfound role in it. If anything, he was really beginning to loathe this idea.

Entering the hangar with his pistols ready, Rex kept himself low to the ground and hidden behind crates or objects large enough to conceal him. From one shadowy point of view, his breath hitched. There was the general.

General Grievous, with his cape gleaming untouched and poised, stood almost completely up at his true height. From the back, Grievous merely appeared as if he was occasionally drifting his head from one side to the other casually looking for something. There were no other droids present so what could he be searching for? Those eyes were to be feared. The golden irises were hauntingly astounding to look at. The way the eyes contracted and dilated on emotions more so than human eyes could was fascinating.

Until now, Rex never had the chance to actually study the general up close. He always wondered what Grievous once looked like before the armor plating and servo mechanics keeping him alive currently. Even for a clanker, the bastard was a prime example of cyborg. Despite no muscles, he appeared extremely fit for a droid, robust, and even he dare say quite elegant. The mannerisms the creature demonstrated were a mixture of primal and malevolent tendencies but could be graceful and endearing when need be. It was like watching a purebred narglatch at work, so fluid yet so deadly.

A bump to Rex’s right made him jump slightly and turn in haste but nothing was there. When he turned his attention back to the droid general, the Captain froze now panicked. Grievous was gone. He hadn’t heard the leader move which meant he didn’t know where he was. The clone knew that under normal situations, that was life threatening losing track of your enemies. He was open for attack if Grievous even knew he was there.

“Okay Rexy, don’t lose it yet. You’ve still got a chance. You’re still oka-”

“Such reassurance for one so lost,” a choked laugh emitted from above him on the crates.

Rex scrambled upward almost losing his grip on his weapons and turned facing the one being he dreaded so much. General Grievous stared back as he was carefully posed on all fours on top of the crate, his ivory colored head tilted curiously at the lone trooper. As he began to crawl down and towards the clone, Rex stood his ground shakily. He knew the chances of getting a good shot of the general and killing the monster was slim as Grievous had unnaturally fast reflexes for a cyborg. If he shot, he died. If he did nothing and backed himself into a wall, he was dead as well.

As Grievous returned to his normal bipedal position, he didn’t unleash any lightsaber yet which was odd to Rex but it wasn’t like he was going to ask the mech’s thought process at a time like this, as interesting as it would be. Suddenly, the general whipped one of his arms out and the Captain’s guns were sent flying from his grip across the hangar. It was obvious Grievous was not fond of people pointing weapons at him. This caught Rex off guard and he found himself pressed against the wall with nowhere to run. Grievous also seemed to not care for personal space either.

“And what, pray tell, are you doing aboard MY ship, clone?”

Upon the close encounter, Rex somewhat had no choice but to put his hands on Grievous’ torso to keep from getting crushed between the droid and the hangar wall. He felt the general flinch back from his touch with a growl but said nothing about it, keeping only a foot between them but still keeping close enough to be imposing. Rex had felt the chest line and it was exactly as he predicted it would be, robotically muscular which was awkward.

He gulped inaudibly to hide his fear, “I was accidentally brought here. I fell into one of your ships in a battle and got knocked unconscious. Your droids retrieved the ship apparently but didn’t know I was there.”

He could feel those golden orbs staring into his soul, into his lie as if he did possess the Force. Rex knew that wasn’t true but it sure seemed like it. He could almost feel the agitation rolling off the pristine armor covering the general. But then he had a thought, a crazy one that Anakin would probably laugh at. Slowly, Rex clasped his hands on his helmet and slowly removed it to hold it by his side. The general seemed to have not expected this as he widened his eyes, not out of shock but now out of confused curiosity.

Grievous gave him a once over and he twitched slightly uncomfortably at the thought. In his mind, he figured Grievous found the clone armor distracting, emphasizing them as less than human. By removing the helmet, he made a more bold statement that he was still human and so far, Grievous had calmed a bit given the chance to actually interact with a person, not the equivalent of a droid.

“You were foolish to come aboard with no backup unless you want a death wish. I wouldn’t have taken someone like a commanding rank clone to be this desperate or perhaps you have guts just like your masters. You thought you could come and defeat me, didn’t you? Wait a second, I recognize your markings.”

In the back of Rex’s mind, he was yelling and trying to come up with an escape plan. Nothing was solid and most ended in death. There seemed to be one option he was unsure of and he doubted it would work but considering he was out of time, there was no turning back. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!’

“Ah, Skywalker’s clone!” Grievous began to laugh. “I-!”

Rex grabbed Grievous’ chin and placed a rushed kiss onto the mouthpiece. The metal felt weird but smooth and tasted like industrial minerals. He could barely see the general’s eyes but they were as wide as physically possible. The normally slit pupils were expanded as well. As soon as he broke off the kiss, he knew this was his chance. Leaving a baffled Grievous behind, he quickly donned his helmet again and ran to the nearest exit.

Before he made it out of the hangar, the distinct sound of a lightsaber rang out with a very sultry voice growling at him from afar, “Get back here right now!”

He nearly slid into the hangar doorframe cutting a hard left into the halls. His main priority if anything was to get as far away as possible. A few battle droids froze as they saw him but he leapt over one and continued on.

“Was that a clone?” One droid asked.

“I think so. He seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Wait, there’s the general too!”

Grievous ran after Rex and much to the droids’ dismay, sliced through them angrily just for being in the way. He ignored their screams as he had only one objective on his mind.

The clone captain glanced back, hoping he had outrun the general. What he failed to see was he had just run into a dead end. The main deck of the Separatist cruiser had only one way in and one way out. A few droids at their stations seemed to not notice him and taking advantage of that, snuck under the main control console to its farthest corner where he couldn’t be spotted.

The doors opened again and much to his alarm, Grievous slowed to a hunched stomping pose with a growl. “Where is Skywalker’s clone captain?!”

“Uh captain, general?” A droid questioned, “We didn’t know a clone was here, where was he?”

“He ran here, you fools! You didn’t see him?!”

Another droid shook his helm, “We thought we heard the door open and we assumed it was either you or another battle-AH!”

Grievous quickly flung his lightsaber at the droid and watched it cut the poor mech in half before turning off. “Find him!”

The other droids scrambled off their posts and grabbed their weapons. “Roger roger!”

The general snarled at his crew’s incompetence and took a seat on the admiral’s chair that overlooked the entire deck. Below, Rex could only gulp and saw the doors were still open. Perhaps he could sneak away. Looking up at the side view of Grievous from his position made him nervous. He seemed out of the line of sight but all it took was a turn of the head right and he would be in the corner of the eye as a grey form on a black background.

‘It’s either now or never, Rexy.’

When Grievous’ attention turned left instead, he took his leave. Slowly he crawled on all fours from his hiding spot and made his way to the door. He felt awkward in this position and was going slow enough to be spotted had any droids wandered to the upper half. He looked like someone’s pet massiff wandering about. All he needed was a collar.

Suddenly, he felt a hand clasp his ankle and he paled quickly. It was really no use to try and stand up to sprint as he only landed back on the ground to his utmost humiliation. Dragged back, he clawed at the ground but it was quite useless. He found himself even more humiliated as he was now on all fours like a massiff…in front of a seemingly amused General Grievous who sat back down.

“It seems you are very persistent in being a distraction today. Fine, if you wish to be that way, you can do this the remainder of the voyage here with me. After all, you seem to want my attention. Now you have it,” Grievous darkly mused.

This wasn’t at all what Rex had in mind on this mission. Sometimes he hated his missions. This was very high up on his hate meter. What caught Rex off guard was when Grievous suddenly hoisted him onto his lap, hooking the right hand under his thigh slightly lifting it and the other posed rather indecently on his chest armor, claws digging beneath the seam of the lower part that connected to the beginning of his waist.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Rex said in a panicky voice.

Grievous used a third arm broken off of his left to take off the captain’s helmet and threw it on the ground. He returned his appendage and pressed his faceplate near Rex’s with a low rumble, “I figured you would enjoy being up here with me, captain. Skywalker has an interesting reputation in the Jedi Order and some of the rumors he has with him seems to also apply to you. I cannot help but wonder if you are like him in more ways than one. That little distraction you pulled in the hangar was indeed a trick I never would have expected from the likes of your kind, but since you are so willing to come to my ship unaccompanied and you are Skywalker’s prized clone, I believe you would make an excellent addition to my collection of war trophies albeit alive rather than dead as I usually prefer.”

“Great,” Rex muttered sarcastically which earned him a slight bump on the head from Grievous’ chin.

“You aren’t like the other clones. Yes, you will do quite nicely. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have my own clone trooper. Welcome aboard the Black Death, captain.”

Rex accepted his fate as struggling did no good. He found his left hand covering the general’s on his chest and the other gripped the underside of the robotic neck as he leaned back against the armored chest in defeat. He occasionally kicked the hand exploring his leg when the touches bothered him but he did nothing else. He hated this mission with a burning passion.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Lena & Maura: Safe House Pt 3 of 3

Ten months after Lena returns to National City, she makes good on her promise to bring her mother to justice. The arrest dominates the airwaves for weeks, and Lena is hounded for comments and confirmation of her involvement in her mother’s downfall. She says very little, and absolutely nothing outside of press releases.

Still, when the trial commences, Lena testifies for days on end. Maura watches powerlessly in Boston, as Lillian’s defense attorneys tear Lena’s life apart, looking for something, anything that could undermine her credibility. But while Lillian is cold, manipulative, and vastly intelligent, Lena is cool, collected, and lightyears ahead. She fields every accusation with a smug smile and a calm response.

When the guilty verdict is read, nearly a month after the trial began, Lena’s facade finally cracks. Her eyes close, and her head tips back as relief washes over her– revealing for a split second the anxiety and exhaustion that has plagued her for so long. Lillian is incarcerated at a maximum security prison, far away from both her children. The state remembers how easily she escaped custody the last time, and isn’t eager to repeat the experience.

That night, Maura calls Lena.

“Congratulations,” she says, her voice low in deference to the late Boston hour. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I could sleep for a year,” Lena replies. There’s a sound of the door opening and closing, and a muffled greeting. Maura hears a soft hey, and it’s Maura.

“Hey, Maura,” Kara says into the phone.

“Hello, Kara.” Maura then hears the smack of a kiss, and the scrunch of a hug and a faint I’m gonna go shower.

“Honestly, though,” Lena continues, when Kara moves on. “I feel good. Relieved. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but it’s a victory.”

Maura can’t imagine what it must feel like. To put your mother in prison and call it a victory. Lena isn’t a cruel person, and not vindictive as far as Maura knows. But she knows what Lillian has done in the last five years, and knows how far she’s fallen.

Her own parents aren’t perfect– Patty Doyle was a murderer in his own right. But even he had a code, one that protected a specific sphere of people that extended beyond himself. He was motivated by a need to protect his people, not by ideals. Lillian operates in a way that both chills Maura’s blood and breaks her heart. Lena only ever wanted to love and be loved. She deserves far better than whatever Lillian had done for her.

“Jane and I have some vacation coming,” she says. “What if we came to visit? Get the proper National City experience?”

She can hear Lena’s smile. “We would love that.”

—

Lena offers the jet again, but Maura can afford first class travel on a commercial flight, and manages to decline. Lena still sends a car to pick them up from the airport.

“Jesus, this woman is rich,” Jane says when they slide into the opulent towncar. It’s not a limo, but the casual elegance hints at the lifestyle Lena enjoys. “She doesn’t act it, but by god…”

“It can’t be a surprise at this point,” Maura says. Lena’s a Luthor, both old money and new, and even in Boston it carries a certain reverence.

“No,” Jane agrees, “but she’s the normalest rich person I know and if I didn’t like her so much I’d call it weird as hell. At least, Kara is actually normal.”

Maura, who has seen pictures of the large home on the coast in which Kara grew up, doesn’t bother to shatter the illusion. The car takes them to their hotel, and two gift baskets wait for them inside– fruit for Maura, and chocolate for Jane (with a winking note from Kara).

When they meet for dinner later, Lena and Kara are both nothing but smiles, and it comes as such a relief that Maura can barely keep her eyes off them. Lena giggles and laughs, and Kara’s eyes shine as they stare at her.

Which is why Kara’s abrupt departure merely thirty minutes in comes as a shock.

“I forgot something at the office,” Kara lies, vibrating with energy. Lena watches her rise, and the eyebrow she lifts makes Maura think she might call Kara out. But she doesn’t.

“Okay,” she says simply, tilting her chin up for a kiss. “Be careful.”

“Always,” Kara promises with a quick peck. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Maura and Jane share a look as Kara slips out the front door, but Lena smiles brightly before changing the subject. “Maura, I’ve been dying to hear more about your article– you said it was just picked up by the Cambridge Journal, right?”

Maura hesitates, itching to know more about whatever that whole exchange they just watched, but Jane pokes her thigh sharply to remind her that they are guests and also there for Lena’s benefit after a hard case.

So she talks, and provides the distraction Lena seems to need… for precisely three and half minutes before the restaurants broad front window explodes inwards to a cacophony of shrieks and shouts. Jane pulls Maura down, just as she did that day at the cafe, but Lena doesn’t have Kara.

“Stay down,” Jane growls, drawing her weapon. “I’ve got Lena–”

But Lena has already joined them behind the table, drawing her own pistol from her clutch as a gargantuan man smashes through the remaining shards of glass still clinging to the window frame. Maura gapes at the intense blue glow of one eye, and wonders whether she’s looking at an alien or a cyborg. Apparently National City has both.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Lena mutters, clicking the safety off the gun in her hand. “Jane, Maura. Whatever happens, stay down.”

“Lena–”

“This is not your fight,” Lena snaps, “and this is out of your league. Just stay down.”

Maura lunges for her, but Lena is already striding out to meet the inhuman threat head on.

“It’s time you came with me, Miss Luthor,” the man says, voice gravelly with dark intent.

“Not likely.” Lena’s fingers clench around the grip of her pistol, but doesn’t raise it. Instead, she fills her lungs with air.

“SUPERGIRL!”

Lena’s bellow acts a starting gun. Before she’s finished the cyborg pelts towards her. He’s impossibly fast, but the blur of blue and red that snatches him up and whisks back outside the restaurant is faster. Then the entire restaurant seems to pause, before rushing towards the broken windows to watch the fight unfold.

Maura is tempted to join them, but checks on Lena instead.

“Fine,” Lena says in response to her gentle inquiry, distracted. “Excuse me.”

Lena pushes through the crowd to exit the restaurant, lingering just beyond the threshold tracking the battle with worried eyes, though they moved too quickly for Maura to follow.

“Holy shit,” Jane mutters, pressing against Maura’s shoulder.

“It’s fascinating!” Maura murmurs back. And it is. Not just the extrahuman might on display outside, but the other patrons’ response to it. Maura still felt the urge to duck and hide, but these people seem to be at ease, utterly confident in Supergirl’s ability to win. When the Kryptonian scores a particularly hard hit against the cyborg, the crowd cheers, as though watching a sports match.

“These people are insane,” Jane whispers, even quieter than before. “Lena especially.”

Maura glances at her friend, who at that moment lurches forward, as though itching to join the fight with nothing but her bare hands. When the cyborg suffers a long blast of heat vision and quickly returns fire, Maura realizes why Lena never moved to fire her gun– the bullets would have simply bounced off.

The entire scene feels like a phenomenon of human culture, something powerful and heavy with meaning Maura can’t quite put into words.

The fight ends when black clad reinforcements arrive. One man– or possibly not a man, considering the figure boasted green skin and flight ability of his own– drops a heavy metal net over the cyborg’s head, and the weighted circumference of the net cinches tight around his ankles. Tripped and pinned, the man who had come for Lena tips over, and doesn’t rise.

The restaurant fills with applause, and the patrons slowly return to their tables to wait for the police. Maura and Jane remain at the window, and are granted a front row view of Lena striding confidently across the pavement. The reinforcements must have the cyborg under control, because Supergirl breaks away to meet Lena halfway.

It’s too far for Maura to hear the words being exchanged, but the warm handshake they exchange and the casual set of their shoulders as they speak and remain in each other’s spaces does enough talking. Any concern Maura might have had about what Supergirl might think about Lena (a Luthor) is put to rest in moments. Their stances remain professional, but the ease of their brief conversation hints at something that could even be friendship.

Slowly, Maura realizes that NCPD has also arrived, and cordoned off their street at the intersections on both ends. Both spectators and press have gathered, camera flashes nearly lost in the pulsing red and blue of the squad cars.

When Lena returns to them, reporters call her name, but she ignores them all.

“Let’s get out of here.”

—

They end up at Lena’s apartment, where ice cream and pajamas abound and Kara reports she’s on her way back with fresh cookies from their favorite bakery.

Jane’s phone rings. “Shit, its Korsak. He probably saw the attack on the news. I’ll be back.”

She trots up the stairs to find some privacy, leaving Maura and Lena cuddled up on the couch with bowls of ice cream tucked under their chins.

“Well, dinner was nice, before it exploded,” Maura says.

Lena smiles, crunching on a chocolate chunk. “Sorry. It’s kind of the opposite of relaxing. I kind of forget that it’s not exactly a regular occurence for most people.”

From the corner of her eye, Maura sees a flicker of darkness in Lena’s gaze. “He worked for your mother,” Maura surmises. “Didn’t he?”

“Yes. I wasn’t expecting something so brazen– my mother’s contingencies usually have more finesse than simply storming a restaurant.” She shrugs, and scoops up another mouthful of mint chip. “I keep thinking it was a distraction for something else, but… I dunno. I’m probably overthinking it. For all I know he’s got a busted motherboard.”

For several minutes, they sit in comfortable quiet. Maura’s borrowed pajamas are silken and cozy, and sitting barefoot on Lena’s couch with Lena pantsless in an oversized t-shirt beside her makes it all feel like a sleepover– the utterly mundane serving as an oasis in the chaos of Lena’s world.

“Hey, Maura?”

“Yeah?”

Lena swallows her mouthful of ice cream, and stirs her spoon through her softening bowl. “You know that found family we talked about, during my internship?”

Maura smiles. “Of course.”

“I just want to say… thanks for being part of mine.”

Kara arrives in the next moment, preventing Maura from responding. But later, when Lena leans into Maura’s shoulder as the fatigue of the day sets in, Maura realizes she doesn’t have to.

Family never does.

[bluboothalassophile]

Hi Blu! I love Lucifer in his grandfather role, so it would be great if he decided to organize a dinner to meet the family of the boyfriend of his beloved granddaughter, Bruce with an existential crisis, the batfamily joining the drama, aunt Alice, Victor, Harley and Ivy, Gabriel in his alcoholic facet, the occasional angel, God as an unwelcome surprise guest of Lucifer, Jason being bombarded with questions, Raven with ageless shame, Damian being the favorite of Maze and Lucifer. A lot of drama.

Hello,

Alright, I am working on your other requests. Just I’ve been dead lately. Now I have writing time and I feel indulgent to write this up; it’ll be another mini multichap, so I hope you enjoy!

Impending Disasters!

Lucifer had never indulged in Thanksgiving, a useless human holiday.

But after everything; and he did mean EVERYTHING, in thelast year he found himself very curious about this holiday. Particularly withthe new addition of ‘Family’.

This family was nothing like his own, it was so alien it wasfascinating. Amenadiel and Gabriel were the only siblings he was involved withat this moment, and even those relationships were strained. His niece, Elianewas not really family even if he looked out for her. She had a perfectly sensiblehuman family adoring her.

About the closest thing to family that he had, that he couldclaim to be family, was Maze.

But then that girl came crashing into his life, running intohis club, bloody, bruised, scared, confused and on the run. Yes, that girl hadchanged it all, for that was his granddaughter, a creature he hadn’t evenbothered to keep up with because he had created her father in spite. Then shewas there, looking at him for help, him, Maze, and Constantine were there tokeep her safe.

Rachel ‘Raven’ Roth, his granddaughter, the most powerfuldemon in existence had brought him into a crashing reality as she dragged himinto a family.

She had an older adopted brother, Victor ‘Cyborg’ Stone. Hermother’s father, Alan Roth was a rabi, a Holocaust survivor. He had a daughter,Raven’s aunt Alice, and Alice had married to a devote Catholic, Jack Williams.They had three human children starting with Mary-Beth, Billy, and Jessica. Thenthere were Raven’s adopted niece and nephews; Melvin, Timmy, and Teether. AndConstantine had recently adopted the role of father for Raven, even forging papersfor this. Also her other adopted aunts, Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isley.

Then there was his darling granddaughter’s ‘not boyfriend’boyfriend’s family. Yes, Lucifer had learned a lot about humans through the extensivefamily of Jason Todd. Yes, the Bats had introduced him to a lot of human nuancesand this holiday.

“Lucifer, I’m not sure that this is a wise decision,” Mazesaid as she looked over his invitation.

“Nonsense, it will be a splendid occasion, and we have neverindulged in a human tradition before,” Lucifer pointed out as he stood on thebalcony of Lux watching the staff set up for the night.

“Yes, but these are humans, angels, demons, all in oneplace,” Maze pointed out.

“We mingle with humans all the time,” he countered.

“Not like this,” Maze countered.

“It will be fun,” he smiled broadly as he looked at her.

“It’s going to be a disaster,” Maze predicted.

“Nonsense, it will be enchanting,” he smiled. He was goingto enjoy this ‘family’ gathering. He had never been so excited for anything,this was going to be fun.

Lucifer had never had a family before, and this was going tobe an interest gathering. Perhaps humans had mastered something angels hadn’t:

Being a family.

His Father had ensured that family bonds were not formedamong them, so perhaps, this was Lucifer’s chance to have a family. He wantedit.

~~~*~*~*~~~

A lot had happened to her these past few years, at least toher and from her standpoint.

So she wasn’t all that surprised when her grandfather hadmailed her a beautiful invitation to Thanksgiving. And yes, while it had takena lot of getting used to, Raven accepted that Lucifer Morningstar, notoriousclub owner and lady’s man, was her grandfather. Also, the Devil.

It was fitting she supposed.

Anyways, she wasn’t surprised to pick up the envelope andsee his elegant scrawl on it, and sighed as she walked back into her apartment.Her phone rang then.

“Hey Lucifer,” Raven answered knowing it was him.

“Raven, my favorite granddaughter!” Lucifer announced gleefully.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Splendid, I was calling to inquire about your mail.”

“You mean the beautiful invitation that you’ve sent me for aformal informal Thanksgiving at Lux, full family requested?” she mused becauseshe was reading the letter now.

“Yes, is it proper enough for Thanksgiving?” Lucifer asked.

“Looks fine to me, Luci,” she shrugged.

“Wonderful, I sent it to all your family, with tickets andhotel reservations, and your boyfriend’s family.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That gentleman friend of yours.”

“Jason!?” Raven sputtered.

“Yes, that chap, he’s a lovely gentleman by the way,” Luciferstated smugly.

“You invited the Waynes, all of them to a Thanksgiving!?”Raven gasped.

“It seems like a wonderful time for me to meet my granddaughter’sboyfriend’s family,” Lucifer announced.

“LUCIFER!” Raven shouted.

“I must be going, there are so many preparation to be done,and I expect to see you soon love.”

“Wait! Luci!” Raven started but the other end of the linewent dead.

Oh shit!

Raven fell onto her couch and screamed into a pillow.

Ever since Lucifer had gotten involved with her life, whileit was infinitely more interesting, it was also infinitely more complicated asLucifer didn’t seem to grasp how humans operated and got exceedingly offendedwhen people blamed the Devil for their sins.

Suddenly Constantine walked into her apartment through aportal.

“What is this about you having a boyfriend?” Constantineasked.

Raven groaned into the pillow.

Fucking complications of Lucifer for a grandfather! Also, hehad thought she and Jason were dating; which did not help their claims to thecontrary.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason was lounging on his couch with Ace when he had a beautifulletter appear in his hand which had him yelping, throwing his book and jumping;mostly because he hadn’t expected it.

After the initial shock of the letter just appearing in hishand, he finally sighed.

He only knew a handful of magic people who’d send himletters; exclusively in this order:

-Lucifer Morningstar; yes, the Devil would do this.

-John Constantine; unlikely as he’d just walk in and demandwhatever he wanted.

-Raven, but that was also unlikely as she’d also just walkin or call; she called a lot.

Slowly he opened the letter then tore out his phone andcalled Raven for an explanation.

[madqueenalanna]

A story, a love story

Pairing: unrequited Grif/Simmons Word count: 1,637 Prompt: from @goodluckdetective: “I want to tell you a story. A love story" "Does it have a happy ending" "They never do" Summary: Set after 15x06. Caboose and Simmons can’t sleep, so Caboose begs Simmons to tell him a story.

It was midnight. Not that Simmons could tell, underwater. His helmet probably had the right time, but he’d had to sync it with Sarge, and Sarge didn’t obey daylight savings time. Stranger still, he didn’t even use military time. But it was darker than usual, and no one else seemed to be awake, and so even if it wasn’t midnight exactly, it meant the same thing: Simmons was alone.

He was no stranger to insomnia. Back in Blood Gulch there had been nothing to do but sleep, really, and he got a perfect four-point-five hours every night. But ever since… well, everything, really… ever since the first time Church died, ever since the word freelancer started to mean something distinct, ever since he’d said goodbye to that ugly red canyon for what he didn’t know was the last time, he’d been consumed by sleepless anxiety. It wasn’t even like he was anxious about any one thing, really. Okay, these alternates reeked of something wrong, and Gene was really getting on his nerves, and they didn’t even have a version of– Well, there were a lot of possibilities, a lot of things that could go wrong. After so many years it was weird to have Wash and Carolina not be close at hand. Vulnerable, almost. Was that it? He was anxious about his anxiety. Dick Simmons was a self-fulfilling prophecy. But the quiet was good. Right? The quiet was definitely a good thing. After years of screaming matches across a baking plain, after the ear-splitting volume of grenades and gunfire and the sound Wash made when he realized Caboose’s attempts at pancakes were stuck to the ceiling, after all day with his helmet giving him a white-noise buffer, being alone in the dark felt not relaxing but wrong. No one snoring in another bunk, no sounds of Oreo packets crinkling, no tinny music escaping from bad headphones. Quiet. Peaceful. Lonely. He sat cross-legged on his bunk, the retirement-atrophied muscles in his back strained from the weight of his metal arm. In armor, the body suit could support the heft of it, but in just sweatpants and a t-shirt, the metal relied on negligible muscles, weak ligaments, and thin freckled skin to keep it attached. Sarge had done a serviceable job making him a cyborg, even if his robot eye had a tendency to go all “blue screen of death” when he was stressed, but his weedy body still hadn’t adjusted to the cold, solid weight of the robotic parts. As usual, he ached in all the parts Grif took something away from him. But, uh, that was just the eye and arm and fourteen feet of small intestine, not… “Simmons?” “Caboose! Christ, you scared me.” A hulking silhouette in one’s doorway was rarely cause for celebration. Caboose, like him, was out of armor, rubbing his arm like he was cold or uncomfortable. “I can’t sleep.” “Me neither,” he admitted. “Church used to tell me stories when I couldn’t sleep.” “No he fucking didn’t.” Church wasn’t usually as much of an asshole as he pretended to be, but he had his limits anyway. “Was it something like ‘once upon a time, you got the fuck out of my room’?” Caboose’s face lit up. “He told you some too!” Simmons sighed. “Just come in and close the door. You’re letting all my self-pity out.” Caboose followed orders and planted himself at the end of Simmons’ bunk, mirroring his cross-legged posture. “I’ll tell you a story. A love story.” “Does it have a happy ending?” “They never do.” He looked down at his fidgeting hands. His left was slim elegant metal, his right boney and freckled with chapped fingertips. How could his hands look the same after so many years? How could he look the same after everything? “Once there was a– a wizard. And the wizard was really good friends with a… knight. They lived in– in a–” “Castle?” Caboose supplied, wide-eyed. “Sure, if you believe the listing agent. And the wizard was the best at– I mean, he was the smartest guy around. Not very good under pressure, but like, why does that matter, y’know? It matters that he’s good at magic! Not how fast he can do it! The knight’s not very good at being a knight. He’s fat and lazy and can’t ride a horse.” “He sounds dumb.” “Thank you! He is! But the wizard is friends with him anyway.” “Why?” “I don’t know. The wizard thinks about that a lot. Like, he figures someday he’ll learn how to use a sword and then he won’t need the knight anymore, and maybe the knight will learn a little magic too and they’d have more in common… but it never seems to happen. He just realizes that– that the time he spends with the knight is better than the time he spends without him.” Caboose nodded very seriously and Simmons wondered if he was thinking about Church. They’d all lost so much but Caboose had taken it harder than just about anyone; not as vocal about it as Carolina or Tucker, but only because he was still a little in denial. After all, he’d said, people who are loved come back. It was a nice thought. “The wizard and the knight go on a lot of adventures together. They fight a bunch of dragons with weird names, they go back in time, they travel through space! They even become friends with some of the dragons.” “That is good. It is good to make friends.” “That’s what the wizard thought too. But the knight… the knight didn’t really want to be friends anymore. They hung out in a, um, a magical… broom closet. And then after that… The wizard wished he could go back in time again.” “Why didn’t he?” “Cause you can’t just go back in time, Caboose. It’s only… sometimes. So you don’t mess anything up.” “He doesn’t sound like a very good wizard.” “He’s not,” he admitted. “Maybe that’s why the knight wanted to leave. Maybe if the wizard was a better wizard, or a better friend… maybe they would have stuck together. But they didn’t stick together. The knight left the kingdom.” He was going to end his shitty story there, but Caboose looked so crestfallen… “But, um, later he came back! With jetpacks! And he and the wizard ruled the kingdom harshly but fairly forever.” There was a moment of silence and Simmons wished he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat in it. “That story was not very good,” Caboose said finally, and Simmons sighed. “But that is okay. You tried to make it good. I liked the dragons.” “Thanks, Caboose. I appreciate that.” In a worse mood, or a better one, he might have complained that someone who could not read or write was critiquing his storytelling, but it was late and he was tired and somehow he felt absurdly bad that he disappointed Caboose. “I do not understand about the knight.” “What’s not to understand? He sucks.” “Exactly! You cannot be a knight if you are not good at things! You have to be good at things to be a knight! You have to follow the code of shimmying.” “Code of… do you mean chivalry?” “Code of Italy.” “Okay, forget it. And sometimes… sometimes people aren’t what they should be,” he said, wondering how best to explain the fragile nature of human sin and greed to someone like Caboose. “Sometimes knights aren’t very nice. Sometimes soldiers are like Sarge! You know?” “I think the knight must still be good,” he said firmly, in his no-argument tone. “I think they would not let him have a sword if he were not good.” Caboose lived in a different world, Simmons reminded himself. But it was a nice world, in a sense, a world that was not concerned about whether or not dragons existed but only wondered how to fight them, or befriend them. If you have a sword, you’re the good guy. God how he wished that were true. “Maybe so,” he conceded. “I’ll keep that in mind when I make up a better story for next time.” Caboose’s eyes shone at the prospect of next time and he kind of regretted saying it already. Only kind of, though. “Okay. Thank you for the story, Simmons. I like the happy ending.” “Me too, Caboose. You should go to bed. We have to get back to looking for Church in the morning.” “Okay! It will be good to see Church again.” “Yeah,” he said, making himself smile. “It will. Good night, Caboose.” “Good night!” When he was gone, it was quiet again, and Simmons could hear the tick-tick of his pulse. He thought a little human contact would be just the thing to cheer him up, and it was nice of Caboose to thank him for his awful story. But he just fixated on that damn happy ending. Why did his shitty wizard get a happy ending? What was he doing wrong? How was it possible that he could do everything right and still get the short end of the stick? And worse– was he even doing anything right? “I miss you,” he mumbled aloud. There was no answer. Of course there wasn’t. Before Chorus, he thought Grif’s insults were the worst thing– his curses, his shrieks, his rage. Before Chorus he would have given anything to get Grif to just shut up for ten seconds. But now it was after, after everything, and it was dark and he was alone and the stony silence was downright oppressive and Grif’s absence was worse than even the most annoying aspects of his presence. He sighed, curled up on his bunk, tried to sleep. At least his shitty wizard got closure. Why didn’t he get even that?

[just-a-geekygoth]

Overwatch daemon headcanon masterpost.