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cowboylor · 2 years

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mean streak ii.

read part i here

pairing: austin!elvis presley x fem!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)

wc: 3k

warnings: (18+) smut, piv, underlying dom/sub dynamics, unprotected sex, thigh-riding, dirty talk, spit, cock-warming, slight degradation, enemies to lovers, established age gap, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, they are so slutty but kind of sweet

note: i’m so embarrassed and elvis-porned out.

Your early departure from his show wasn’t expected. You really did plan to stay and at least try to play nice with everyone. But before the lights even dimmed you found yourself wandering to the nearest bar and wincing slightly when lowering your sore body onto the stool.

That was hours ago. You nurse your third martini.

To Elvis’s dismay, you weren’t waiting for him in his suite. And after wandering through the International with his entourage in tow he unexpectedly found you at one of the bars surrounded by young patrons vying for your attention.

When he calls out your name, you barely cast him a glance. You’re much too engaged in a riveting conversation with a guy who sports an impressive-looking mustache.

Elvis is temporarily stunned.

How could you ignore him? He had you bent over his lap not even four hours ago and now you’re ignoring him?

“Baby,” He greets again, sliding between you and the man, abruptly bringing the conversation to a halt. He’s surprised to find you looking at him with a bored expression, as if you’re just merely tolerating him. He furrows his brow, eyes flitting over towards the man behind him, “Am I interrupting something?”

Your “yes” is simultaneous with your company's “no”. He appears either starstruck or intimidated because he immediately raises his hands in a surrender-like fashion before rambling something along the lines of “she’s all yours”.

God, you could puke.

You scoff, watching as Elvis settles into the now vacant seat. “I had a feeling you were the jealous type.”

“Who’s jealous, baby?” He quips, motioning for the bartender. “Besides you don’t need him to buy your drinks when I’m here. What’re drinking? Shirley Temple?”

You dead-pan at his attempt to tease you before reluctantly taking the last swig of your drink. “I don’t need you to buy my drinks.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, Elvis,” You huff, eyes blazing as you noisily get up from your chair. “I’m fucking rich.”

You storm out of the area while looping your clutch purse over your shoulder. Elvis follows loosely behind and calls out your name again. He manages to catch you as you wait by the elevator.

“Thought you were visiting tonight.”

Will you come to my suite later? The words have been echoing in your mind repeatedly since he first said them. You press the elevator button again just for good measure.

“Guess I’ve changed my mind.” You quickly snap.

He considers your words, eyes glossing over you without saying anything more. His stare makes you infuriated, but his silence is what makes your heart drop slightly. You thought for sure he would at least try to persuade you.

The elevator dings, signifying its arrival. You turn away from him.

“I think you’ll come.”

You fight the inner urge to roll your eyes, settling for a raised eyebrow and sardonic expression, “Really? Why’s that?”

He chuckles, leaning into to whisper, “Cause you’re a good girl.”

Your mind sputters momentarily, but you try to recover with an unconvincing smirk, “I don’t have the slightest idea of what you mean.”

He lets out a “hm” as he leans closer. His fingertips ghost your upper lip, as if tracing the outline of them. The sneer falls off your face.

Your mouth runs dry and maybe it shouldn’t, considering his thumb is edging it’s way past your lips in the lobby and you’re just letting it happen. The thought of him having you again in this way makes your head spin, makes your throat dry up, but makes your thighs clench tight together most of all.

The elevator doors open and you enter before you can muster up a coherent response. He bids you a goodnight, before turning on his heel.

You exhale loudly when the doors shut.

“Oh, fuck me.”

You almost turn around ten times. And you almost let the elevator close shut completely. But you force yourself to enter the hallway, uncharacteristically brushing down your silky dress in an attempt to calm your even more uncharacteristic nerves.

You’re told he’s busy by his security and you would need to wait a moment before you can see him.

Quietly, you don’t mind. It gives you a chance to think about how you’ve waited the entire weekend before actually coming up to his suite. An entire three days. You’re practically prehistoric history to him by now.

The double doors open suddenly and two bombshells file out of the room. Your jaw clenches slightly at the sight of them, even though you know it shouldn’t. You don’t glance back at his preening entourage before you enter the suite.

You stop in your tracks when you catch sight of Elvis sprawled out on his sofa. His red-trimmed, navy robe is tied loosely around his waist and his hair isn’t confined by its usual gel-like product. His sunglasses dangle slightly on the bridge of his nose as he grins at the sight of you.

“Baby.” He greets.

You are in hell.

“You don’t waste time.” You comment, crossing the room.

He chuckles, swishing the contents of his glass around. “Now who’s jealous?”

“Of you?" You tut, opting to stand directly in front of him. His legs are spread apart and you let your eyes linger for a moment. “Never.”

He shakes his hand dismissively, taking a sip from his whiskey, before sitting up straighter. “Good. There’s no need to be.”

“Why’s that?”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “They’re too... nice.”

“And it’s my cold-hearted bitch persona that really gets your rocks off?”

He hums, as if actually pondering your words (you shoot him a look of contempt) before decidedly shaking his hand. “That’s not it.”

“No?” You muse, coming dangerously close to dropping to your knees so you could kneel between his legs. You meet his eyes that peer over the top of his sunglasses. “What is it then?”

Elvis motions for you to come closer. You lower yourself to the carpet before inching closer to him. He trails his hand down the side of your face as you prop yourself up on his knees. His fingertip grazes the opening of your mouth.

“You’re only good for me. Nobody else.”

Before you can think twice about it, you take his index finger in your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around it as he watches you with a perplexed expression. He’s quick to shift in his seat and watch you with intent, groaning quietly when you look up at him.

“You ever touch yourself, baby?” He asks.

Your tongue runs over the pad of his fingertip, and you almost don’t hear his question.

“Nothing?” He chuckles at your lack of response. “Usually I can’t shut you up. Need it that bad?”

You slide off his finger.

“I do.” He watches you, his eyebrow arching in surprise. You feel your face heat up. Who the fuck are you? You clarify, “I do touch myself, I mean.”

He hums lowly, pushing two fingers past your lips, splitting your mouth open farther. “What do you think about?”

His fingers hook at the corner of your lips, pulling your mouth open. His eyes focus, like he’s inspecting how wide he can stretch you. Then he removes his fingers and presses the pad of his thumb roughly against your lower lip.

“I,” You huff, resisting the urge to purse your lips around the finger. “I don’t know. Just let me suck you off, Elvis. I-”

He’s quick to shush you, rubbing your bottom lip in a circular motion with his thumb.

“Baby, you’re ok,” He says. “Just wanna know what you like. Because I can give you anything you want.”

Anything you want.

You ponder his words, speechless as he patiently waits for an answer.

“Sometimes,” You clear your throat, your hands still stationary on his knees. He hums, encouraging you to go on. “I just think of a guy.”

“It’s a start.” He grins.

“But,” You say, averting his eyes for the first time. But he doesn’t let you shy away, using his hand to instead raise your chin up towards him. When you make eye contact, you confess, “He’s older.”

“Older.” Elvis tests the word, clicking his tongue.

You feel your temperature rising as he rubs his lips together, the corners of his mouth pulling into a gratifying smirk.

He pinches the bottom of your chin, lightly. “How old?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know, just older than me. Please, just...”

Trailing off, you look at him pleadingly.

“Come up here,” He slaps his thigh. You jump up, quickly moving to straddle his lap but he tuts gently. You furrow your brow as he prevents your hips from settling on his lap. “Want you to fuck yourself here.”

Your gaze falls down to his partially exposed leg.

Groaning, your head falls back.

“Come on, baby, don’t fuss.” He’s quick to situate you above his thigh. You tilt your head, and he snorts a laugh at the unimpressed expression you give him.

Elvis lifts the hem of your dress, his eyes flickering from yours to the fabric repeatedly as if he’s worried you’ll spontaneously pull away from him. He experimentally fingers the band of your underwear, fighting a boyish smile at the blush pink color.

“You shouldn’t have,” He chides, moving to slowly pull down your panties.

Once you step out of them, he swiftly reaches down to pocket them. You almost tease him about it. But before giving you the chance, he’s already pressing you down onto his thigh. You shudder softly as you meet his bare skin.

Experimentally, you rub yourself against him, and you do it again until your taking shallow breaths and screwing your eyes shut as you build up momentum.

He wraps one arm around your waist to steady you and uses the other to take a long swig from his glass. “Just like that; take care of that sweet pussy for me.”

Your dress was beginning to bunch up at the waist and you feel closer to tears the longer you swivel your hips against him. You’re just about to lay your head against his shoulder when he bounces his knee up abruptly, making you choke and grip the material of his robe tighter.

“Shit,” You sigh, as he brings you in closer, his knee creating a slow rhythm against your core. Throwing your head back, you repeat the same sentiment, “Oh shit.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, whispering, “Mean streak and a foul mouth.”

“Elvis,” You plead. “Elvis.”

He only shushes you and you scowl, but you quickly forget about his patronizing as he continues to bounce his knee at a faster pace, edging you back and forth. You bury yourself into his shoulder, muffling your gasps as you draw your hips forward.

“Fuck me as much as you hate me,” You beg, wrapping your hands around his neck, pressing your body down to meet his leg.

“You don’t get it.” He chuckles, his voice ringing out in your ear. “Could never hate you, darlin’.”

He’s quick to work on the zipper of your dress, roughly fumbling with the top clip before finally zipping down the backside. Yanking down the straps, he guides you off his knee, motioning for you to lie down on the black couch.

You shift against the cushions as he shrugs off his robe. Watching him, you note how strong his arms look in this lighting. And how the hair on his chest really does wonders for his overall physique. As he hovers over you, you reach out to touch his chest.

“Sometimes I think about you.” You admit, quietly.

“Is that right?” He says, pulling your legs forward to wrap around his waist. You nod gently as he leans over you, brushing your nose with his. “A pretty thing like you?”

You lean forward to kiss up his jawline.

“Thinking of an older guy like me?”

When he pushes into you, you gasp and curl into him. He groans as he fills you out, hissing quietly when you decide to rake your fingernails down his back.

You share a look. Bringing your fingers back up his back, you almost apologize. Almost. He pulls out abruptly to just ram his hips back into yours again. You barely stifle your scream as you dig your nails into his back shoulders.

“Oh, fuck me.”

You basically inhale him; his scent, his sounds, and especially the way his body reacts when he’s inside you. Your body practically melts into his in this position. The difference in intimacy this time is so stark it makes you almost embarrassed.

His pace, however, is familiar.

“Elvis,” You moan out, his skin slapping harshly against yours. One particular thrust has you writhing under him, shifting your body slightly as your back arches into him.

He reaches down and brushes your clit with his fingertip, making you twist into the cushion even more. You mewl, removing your hands from his shoulders to claw at his hand that is slowly starting to toy with your cunt.

“Relax.” He growls, his hips slowing briefly to push away your hands, pinning your wrists at the sides of your head. You breathe out loudly as you peer up at him. He presses deep into you as he leans forward to kiss your forehead. A noncommunicative way of saying “behave”.

And you do.

He goes back to his calculated pace, drawing his hips back and forth while his hand returns to fondle between your legs.

His thrusts become more frantic as he circles your clit hastily, carefully watching your face. You throw your head back, whining into your closed mouth as he harshly amps up his movement.

Elvis mutters something into your ear but you can’t make out the words because your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you can only zero in on one sense right now. You’re close. You’re so fucking close.

Slightly breaking your promise to keep your hands to yourself, you reach out to wrap your arms around his neck. Pulling him down so your glistening forehead is resting on his, you gasp out, “Am I still your good girl?”

You knew how to push him over the edge.

His pace increases while his thrusts become less coordinated. He reaches around to prop your leg over his shoulder, stretching your muscles while using the new leverage to fuck you deeper. Your stomach coils tighter at the depth, practically leaving you convulsing around him as he grows sloppier.

“That’s right” he’s saying repeatedly. It sends chills down your body as he grunts it out when rutting into you. You whine loudly, resting your leg over his shoulder while he mutters, “Those boys could never fuck you like I can.”

You’re out of breath and panting when he comes. He buries his face into your neck, and moans into your skin, sending your nervous system into overload as you squirm underneath his body weight. But you still wrap your arms around him, trying to pull him impossibly close to you. You’re confident you would rather have him crush you under his weight than be apart from him.

He moves to prop himself up but you tug him back down, practically crying out, “Don’t pull out!”

Elvis stares at you quizzically, watching as your dilated eyes glance between him and where your bodies connect. You can tell he suppresses an amused chuckle, and you feel oddly thankful for it when he kisses your cheek and doesn’t pull out of you just yet.

As you come down from your high, you shift to grab ahold of his arms.

“Never took you as a romantic.” He teases in reference to your legs wrapping around his waist, keeping him deeply pressed into you. “Should I be prepared to stay here like this forever?”

You only hum at the taunt, eyelids feeling heavy as you opt to trail your lips up his jaw until you reach the corner of his mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, he watches your movements carefully, his breath hitching as you press your mouth into his.

Your lips part and you felt temporarily stunned. Sure, he’s inside you but kissing him was never exactly part of the game you two played. You watch to gauge his reaction.

To your relief, he smiles. Not even a smirk. A real smile.

“What was that?” You question, the corners of your mouth fighting off the grin that threatens to break through. “A smile? Does a mere kiss from me have you blushing like a maid?”

He shushes your laughter, shaking his head at your giddy state, but you don’t mind. You continue to tease him, even going as far to brush stray hair from his face, combing it back as you murmur sweet sentiments that you would imagine are only reserved for real lovers.

“Don’t ruin it, baby.” Elvis muses, his low voice sending shivers down your body. “Besides, you can’t talk to me like that when I’ve got you in this position.”

You cast one glance down towards your compromising embrace, before leaning in to whisper, “Do your worst.”

#elvis presley imagine #elvis presley smut #elvis movie #elvis x reader #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler smut #austin butler x reader #austin!elvis x reader #fic #*my writing

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belit0 · 9 months

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Hii!!!!!! Thank you so much for doing such a beautiful and interesting blog! The Uchiha man are really, really fine as fuck. I appreciate your works so much and i am always looking forward to read them i just love how you write them so well. Can i maybe have a request about Madara, Tobirama and Indra reacting and dealing with their lover wearing a beautiful, yet revealing and tight dress wich their lover want to wear? How will they react? Will they allow it their lover or will they be very possessive about her? Feel free to ignore it, after all it’s a pretty weird request. Love you soo much!!!<333

Thank you very much for your beautiful words, whenever I receive a message like this I try to make the request quickly so I can answer, thank you infinitely, love!

I've been writing them for so many years that I want to believe I've gotten the hang of it, these mf are not easy to work with sometimes lol.

Not a weird request at all! Everything is valid here, a safe space for all ideas and thoughts.

Indra

- She'll take that off right now. There's no way Indra would allow that amount of exposed skin, the only one who can see her in that dress is him. Wants to use it at home? Perfect, there's no way she'll wear it in public. He will react possessively, unkindly inviting her to take it off. At the same time, he's totally turned on by the way it fits, so once it's gone, he'll fuck her more violently than usual just to make her understand who she belongs to. Then, while (Y/N) recovers, he locks the dress in his own closet, ready to demand her to wear it whenever he wants.

Madara

- Mixed feelings. On one hand, he adores seeing her in something so outrageous, fitting her like body paint, and highlighting all her beautiful attributes. On the other, he wants to be the only one able to admire her like this, the only one with access to such a precious image, and the only one who can take that wonderful dress off her. He will try to be permissive, not to say anything about it, but at the first suggestive look (Y/N) receives, it's time to go home. There he will explode with jealousy, and be abrupt in communicating his insecurity, but eventually he will calm down and they will be able to talk it out. They will reach a middle ground, where Madara's possessiveness doesn't interfere with (Y/N)'s decisions, and he doesn't feel bad over it.

Tobirama

- He won't say anything about it, but inside he is dying of jealousy. After seeing (Y/N) in that dress, he canceled his entire schedule in order to accompany her wherever she goes. Tobirama tries not to be possessive, not to let jealousy rule him, but with how beautiful this woman is, sometimes it's impossible. He will internally die of anger every time a man looks at her, and he will walk glued to her, even though he doesn't like public displays of affection. It will be (Y/N) who ends up mentioning the issue when they return home, and he will try to explain it from a rational point of view, refusing to be controlled by his feelings.

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yanderelucy2 · 11 months

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When You Are Away - Tears of Themis

When you are away... they start to act differently, let's see how they change! Tears of Themis MLs when you're off away for 3 months, with no way to contact them due to "reasons."

"When you are away, I begin to lose myself. I need you, it's dependence... or is this what you call... addiction?"

F!reader

A/N: These may not be canonically accurate to the character's personalities. You may also find that sentences are formed or written strangely, I do apologize that I am not the best writer!

PART 1 - Away, PART 2 - Together Again

Artem Wing

1 WEEK - After just one week the changes in him are noticeable, he's like a walking zombie as he consumes himself in his workload. In order to not worry too much, or feel the dreadful feeling of loneliness he occupies his mind with work. Not until Celestine reminds him "You mustn't overwork yourself as a form of distraction, if she comes back and you're ill she won't be satisfied."

1 MONTH - At this point he's recovered from overworking himself. Instead, he simply accepts the feeling of a cold bed in the morning, and he gets ready with a frown on his face. At work, he's getting more stern, and the workers and interns begin to get fearful something is wrong. He doesn't notice a difference in himself, only in his surroundings as he sees others distance themself from him.

3 MONTH - He's getting back to normal slowly as he knows you'll return any day, while he heals he finally notices just how he'd been acting. Cold, stern, strict. In retrospect he regrets it, he buys the law firm all kinds of desserts as an apology, but he can't figure out just why the sudden change in his personality. He tells himself though... "I need her... I couldn't survive in this world without her."

Marius Von Hagen

1 WEEK - A change at work isn't too noticeable until a problem arises within the company... once again he's at the center of it. His authority is being questioned. He's more serious than normal, he doesn't necessarily need to hold back with you gone. It's noticeable in his way of approaching the situation in trying to solve it.

1 MONTH - The problem was solved swiftly, but the public's response to how he reacted differently than normal still lingers. People still question him, and paparazzi question him, as to what's happened for the sudden change to happen. The less he replies the more it crowds the internet until he gives his public reply. "There is no reason as to why I solved the situation how I did. So I hope you will all end the questioning."

3 MONTH - It was revealed after someone who had been watching Marius spoke up after a while saying "His lover he always showers with affection, hasn't appeared at his side for 3 months now." The public love to assume, and the assumptions angered Marius... because how dare they say "They must've broken up... poor Marius." Since he knew you would return soon, he quickly admitted to an interview. "My fiancee is away on a work visit. Our love is everlasting, so do not go making assumptions that I would ever leave her side." His defensive manner, instead of deterring the public... won their hearts.

Luke Pearce

1 WEEK - No change is noticeable within the first week, at least to the exterior. Peanut though notices, and won't leave him alone. As if comforting his lonesomeness. "Peanut.. didn't I send you off on a mission? What are you still doing here." Luke tilted his head whilst furrowing his eyebrows. Peanut simply flies to his shoulder and sits.

1 MONTH - At this point in time it's becoming more noticeable as he's seen acting more restlessly, and recklessly as well. One of Luke's superiors ends up asking him... "Luke, how about a break. You don't seem yourself. You haven't been taking the right amount of precautions. Pull yourself together, or I'll shape you up myself." This snaps Luke's brain, he doesn't see a difference in himself. Why would he need a break? No one noticed, but he was using work as a coping mechanism, as a withdrawal drug.

3 MONTH - He's getting so excited to see you his mind goes almost insane. After the break, he was close to being back to normal, but every morning seeing no message, or a cold bed... his heart couldn't hold his sorrow long enough. He needed to see you, it physically pained him to not see you. "I need you by my side, please return to me quicker. Or I might just steal you... I can't be without you any longer."

Vyn Richter

1 WEEK - The change is almost immediately noticeable in his lectures, as his students question him. "Professor Ritcher! Are you okay? You're teaching has been more... well I don't know what's different, but it's different!" He feels bad for worrying his students, so he simply comforts them saying everything is okay, excusing himself with an "experiment" and "research purposes."

1 MONTH - He begins to notice the differences, so he takes it upon himself to take a break from work, but it doesn't help him in any way. All it makes him realize is just how much he needs you by his side, he's afraid he can't remember your touch, your voice, your soft breath between a kiss, your scent, he's afraid that with 2 more months remaining he'll forget.

3 MONTH - He's gone back to work, more out of obligation. He knows you'll return soon, so he hurries up his work in case you'll return that day, but every day you're not he finds himself with a gloss over his eyes. He misses you every day. "Why are you not by my side... is it selfish to need you so badly? Why haven't you returned to my side, I need you here with me. Please I must hold you in my arms, I must feel your soft skin on my tragedy-calloused hands. Being without you for so long... I think my heart is beginning to stop."

PART 1 - Away, PART 2 - Together Again

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seneon · 10 months

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heyy, i dunno if you still take requests but can you make oneshot with rayne x anorexic gn! reader, how he find this and react, also how he helps the reader??

i've been struggling with ed for 2 years and still trying to recover, i guess it's going good :')

btw that's ok if you don't wanna write, i love your works, tysm <33

take it easy ──── ft. rayne ames x anorexic gn! reader.

about. rayne finds out his s/o has anorexia and tries to help them. warning: sensitive topics about ed. | 0.6K words.

notes. hi anon! i hope you're doing well. i'm actually proud at the fact that your ed is going good, keep it up!! if you need any help or just someone to talk to, my dms are always open yayyaya. ily anon tysm for requesting! also, i'm not experienced with writing ed, but i'll try my best (:

honey-coloured eyes watched in observation as e/c ones shifted around in uneasiness. your eyes were looking around the food that was on the table, served fresh and awaiting to be eaten.

what could go wrong with the freshly served food that you yourself ordered?

that was what confused rayne ames, your boyfriend, who's currently on a date with you. he hasn't gotten the time to eat or spend time with you in a while, and this was his only chance for the week. so why was he feeling a sense of uneasiness that was just . . . there the moment he met up with you? why did asking you out for a lunch date felt like it's something difficult for you to say yes to?

rayne ames didn't know the answer to that, but if his lover who looks forward to spending time with rayne at any free moment has difficulties of agreeing, he's going to find out what's wrong.

"y/n, why are you not eating? is the food not to your liking?"

ah, food. a subject that even disgusts you from the very sound of it. something you've been avoiding in a while.

when rayne proposed a lunch date, it had you right in a pinch. it was something you didn't want him to find out in the most ridiculous ways possible. something about even consuming a single piece of solid food gave you a grave fear that it might cause harm on you internally.

the fear of gaining weight and being made fun of society that exceeded the average weigh scares you so much. it scared you to the point where you viewed food as something to not be consumed, but to be portrayed as a primordial fear.

it was difficult for you to even look at rayne when he asked two simple questions. you didn't have an answer for either questions, so your lips remained sealed and your eyes adverted it's gaze to the table where you shut your nose to not inhale anymore of the food's smell.

"have you been having trouble with eating..?" rayne asked silently, barely a whisper but audible to you. his face is a sad one, full of sympathy for the worst outcome to come out your mouth.

but he listened. to your every single word. the difficulties you've been having with the people around you focusing on your image, sheer and utter fear of gaining weight, the times where you throw up each time after trying to consume even the littlest amount of food.

even as you speak about your difficulties, rayne felt his heart broken. he hasn't been there with you all this time when you were going through such a difficult time. he felt like guilty for not being there for you. it was just the weight of guilt that now rests in his very own shoulders.

rayne stood up from his seat and embraced you in a hug, a token of compensation that he wasn't there for you whenever you needed him the most. thus he apologised over and over again, telling you words that means so much to you.

slowly by slowly, as days passed by, rayne skipped out on many of his duties, telling the other divine visionaries to help him for a period of time. in that period, he tries his best to encourage you with little portions of food, telling you to eat and trying his hardest to reassure you affirmative words that was only meant for you.

it took a while to do so, but rayne always told you 'take it easy' and it always manages to make you feel at ease.

with the help of rayne by your side, you felt like you could feel most comfortable and safe as you definitely will take everything easy now.

for if you are going to bear such a heavy burden, rayne will surely do it with you.

together.

#🎥 senreqs #rayne ames #rayne x reader #rayne ames x reader #mashle #mashle x reader #mashle rayne #mashle oneshots #mashle imagines #rayne x y/n

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floradinterlunium · 11 months

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GCF Tokyo

Will Forever be the Captain of this “Ship.” I wish every supporter of Jikook today could have been in the fandom 5 years ago. Could have had the pleasure of waking up on November 8th to this beautiful declaration of love! Jikook have given us so much since then But this for the moment takes the cake!

youtube

I joined the fandom in 2015 closer to 2016. I was barely in the fandom two weeks before being pretty convinced that Jikook were more than friends ( I can go into detail later about that). I remember constantly being torn between certainty and uncertainty because while jikook were questionable pre 2017, they were still more subtle. However, 2017 was a crescendo, every month getting a tad bit louder...we all knew something was on the horizon and then September hit and JK had a breach in his security and his itinerary was leaked. This sent the fandom into overdrive. Half the fandom scrambling to rid the internet of this info, and the other half torn between letting their curiosity get the best of them and shutting down sesange gossip. However, regardless of where one stood, if you were active in the fandom at all during this time you heard the rumors, you saw the itinerary, you learned about the gossip--JK and JM were going to Tokyo in October for JM’s birthday and JK paid for it. I remember trying hard to not talk about it or think about it. It could very well be a lie and it wasn’t right how we came to learn about it! Bloggers overall did a good job of shutting down discussions on this topic so there was silence on it...until there wasn’t.

Jimin’s birthday comes and goes and no trip. This leaves many to forget the rumors all together. Then October 28th hits and the below pictures are shared.

The whole fandom is going crazy! Jungkook and Jimin are in fact heading to Tokyo. They were spotted at Busan International Airport and seen off by their families. No one wants to say it but we are all thinking it...the rumors were true...and that was a legit sesange.

Every day they are gone we are being shown picture after picture of their time in Tokyo. And I remember thinking...Did JK really pay for all this...did he truly do this for JM’s birthday?!?!

Then the trip was over...the fandom was still recovering from the news that JM and JK literally went on vacation together and it was an all expense paid trip...paid for by none other than JK. Then JM drops another bomb.

The fandom is sent back into overdrive...we could just see the pink aura around them! And it made all of us crazy because we couldn’t believe this was all happening and we were getting to experience it in real time.

And just as we were thinking we are in heaven...JM post his clips of their trip together. We are sent again into party celebration mode.

When I tell you 2017 was the year, it was the year!!! It was day after day of being hit with something new. But just when we thought we were done the crescendo of the year reached it’s peek...JK drops GCF in Tokyo. And there was a short quiet.

There was a quiet stillness because while most of us believed Jikook were a couple, we had resolved ourselves to the fact that we could be wrong. GCF Tokyo changed all that.

I remember watching it over and over and over again thinking...OH MY! This is real...I’ve always felt it was real but this...this makes me know it’s real. It was a quiet but loud realization that reverberated across the fandom. Jungkook is in LOVE LOVE with Jimin. For a moment I thought this was their coming out video...because who could watch this and question Jikook at all! Was this it! Was this their way of telling the world who they love?

While many still found a way to discredit GCFT, I think it was in a way JK’s way of declaring his love to JM, declaring it to anyone that would listen. I believe most of Korea heard it and we heard it! November 8th was the day my certainty turned into assurance. It is one of the most beautiful films and every time I watch it I am in awe of JK’s boldness. My heart melts thinking of JM’s reaction to seeing it for the first time. How loved he must have felt! How surprised...he must have cried so much!

When they returned they kept surprising us. Every year since 2017 has been a little louder. I think GCFT showed them that they could get away with a lot. That they could be a glass closet...they could be loud and people still would feign ignorance or deny it. It gave them a degree of freedom to be themselves without fear of the repercussions. If people weren’t convinced by GCFT they will never be convinced!

I wanted to write about this because I hear many people scoff at any mention of GCFT and say things like...that was years ago! And that bothers me to my core because GCFT is tantamount to a love letter or a proposal. A proposal is a proposal no matter if it was 5 seconds ago or 5 years ago. It doesn’t matter if the couple is still together or not...the proposal happened proving at the very least that love was once there!

Saying that it was years ago is not a rebuttal, I’m not even sure what one is trying to suggest with that statement. Are you saying that because it’s old, it’s irrelevant? If that’s the case you are admitting that 5 years ago it was relevant, meaning you accept that they were dating 5 years ago? But most that make these claims wouldn’t agree to those terms. They throw out that’s old to diminish the impact of it...to pretend like old evidence isn’t evidence today of a relationship.

Saying “ that was years ago” is a senseless statement that holds no genuine meaning. GCF Tokyo will always be proof...even if they broke up it would still be proof that Jikook were in love in 2017! It will always be proof because it’s like a page from JK’s diary...it’s his heart on the screen! It’s his love letter to JM and that will never change. That is a fact and will always stand to be true...10, 20, 100 years from now...GCFT will still be JK’s love letter! No amount of time changes that.

Now we can all argue when their relationship started and we all have our theories but stamp in the timeline that is certain is November 8, 2017. They were definitely in a committed relationship at that time and since I see no change in their dynamics other than growing intimacy, domesticity, and comfort...it’s safe to assume that their timeline is still active and moving.

#jikook #kookmin #gcf tokyo #jimin #jungkook #jikook is real #jk loves jimin #jimin loves jk

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candlecoo · 2 years

Note

Since yesterday I've been thinking about an AU where Nana lives but because of how big her fight with AFO was, she's left with scars on her face and amnesia. She wouldn't remember anything, even her name if not for a piece of her ID, thought only her first name, without her face, survived.

(I lied (?) And she can remember SOWETHING, yellow and sunny smiles, white and yellow and scowls, black and tears, fire, so much fire)

Lives go on and she finds a job, a flat, a boyfriend turned husband and she has a daughter, Inko Midoriya who later has a son Izuku.

(Nana doesn't like her son-in-law. There is just something about him that makes her skin crawl [spoiler, he's AFO])

I've been also thinking about All Might/ Nana meeting after years but I have no idea when should they meet (mayby when AM goes to the Mido household?)

- there are always casualties after a major villain attack in a populated area.

- even when there is no word on who the villain is or what hero is fighting, there are rescue teams that try to save those they can.

- it is a common occurrence. But it had never been to this extent.

- it had been not a half an hour since the dust settles and all fighting finished.

- hundreds were rescued and even more were severely injured.

- one such person was a woman with intense wounds across most of her body, blunt force trauma to her head, broken bones, internal bleeding the list went on.

- nobody thought she would last the night, let alone the week, but she did.

- unfortunately she had no id on her during the attack, no identifying markers from her clothes since they were too destroyed and her body near unrecognizable. Her DNA was also in no system so her identity was unknown.

- the woman was in a coma for months and when she did wake up she couldn't remember anything at all, she had amnesia.

- though every once and a while she would see flashes of things she couldn't understand, blurs of people without definite details, colors and feelings that just made her feel more lost.

- since nobody knew her name she tried out multiple names, all suggestions from her nurses and doctors while she was recovering.

- but they all felt too flowery or cutesy.

- that was until she took a walk to the children's ward, something within her longed to be around children she loved them, so she went there often.

- and that's where she met him. A young pediatric nurse named Itsuki Hino. He just seemed to understand her, he didn't treat her like she was fragile like everyone else did, he actually saw her.

- so when she brought up her dilemma he turned towards her and suggested the name Chizue since she had been through so much and beat the odds and survived.

- so the woman was Chizue now. She visited the kids and Hino often. She would read stories to the kids and give them hope. Eventually she started making up stories of her own and with a bit of encouragement she started writing them down.

- the next thing she knew she was published and living on her own.

- but she still continued to visit the pediatric ward.

- her and Itsuki continued to grow closer, and four years after she woke up in the hospital they got married.

- the happiest day of her life was when she had her daughter Inko, and while she was still haunted by her dreams of golden smiles, scowls, capes, blood and fear she was happy in the life she had now.

- she was truly happy. She was living a full life.

- though she wasn't exactly thrilled when her only child started dating a mister Hisashi Midoriya. The man seemed to be a scoundrel but they both agreed on one thing, the importance of family. So she was fine with him as long as she could tease him.

- well that was until he up and left his wife and their son, that was unforgivable!

- so her and her husband lived with their daughter and grandson Izuku. They supported each other through good and bad times.

- through Izuku's quirkless diagnosis, through Itsuki's death and through the bullying. They had each other through it all.

- Chizue could not have been prouder of her grandbaby than when he got accepted into UA and while she thought he would make a fine quirkless hero she was happy when he got his quirk.

- it no longer bothered that she couldn't remember her past, she was at peace with it. That is until Izuku's teacher visited the house...

#life after defeat au #candle answers #ask the candle #bnha au #bnha #bnha headcannons #digital art #my art #art #fanart #bnha izuku #bnha nana #bnha inko #i love this au so much

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extasiswings · 1 year

Note

I have been noticing things, and I don't know what to make of them, so I am bringing them to you, because you have been blessed/cursed by Apollo's dodgeball and are also great at connecting dots. I apologise.

I am worried about Buck's lungs. His sats dropped when he was in a coma, to the point of needing ECMO, but during his recovery we only saw him see a cardiologist, no respiratory rehab was mentioned. Now his PT scores are down. The show has also been weirdly pointed about focusing on sats monitors being put on people's fingers during calls. They've done it on at least 3 of the calls since Buck's been back, and at no point have the people's sats been mentioned - even the woman face down in dough, who was started on oxygen. That in itself isn't a big deal - they're a quick way of getting a heartrate, and its standard practice to put one on. But why keep showing them? Then this week, Maddie had the call with the kid where she had to remind him how to breathe.

So, what do you think? Is there anything there, or am I projecting because I'm having to have respiratory physio after covid?

Just when I thought I couldn't get any more unhinged! No, there is DEFINITELY something there and I'm not gonna be normal about it. There are a couple of different places my mind went to (because it's not just Buck, Eddie's in this too) so apologies if this is scattered:

Buck + Death is the big overarching theme looming over Buck's healing journey. Buck's life has been about Death since before he was even born, when he was conceived to be a savior baby...and was a match...but Daniel still died anyway. And Buck has been running towards Death ever since, seeking it out, courting it like a lover without even realizing why, never knowing that Daniel's ghost was haunting him. He has internalized so completely this idea that his value is entirely dependent on what he can do for others, on how much he can sacrifice, can give, up to and including his own life. The fact that the problem was Buck's lungs in the episode where he was reckoning with Daniel for the first time while trapped in his subconscious mind was inspired and a huge callback to Buck Begins, after Buck first learned about Daniel, with Buck in the warehouse fire taking off his mask and telling the guy he was trying to save that he would just hold his breath. And Buck's been holding his breath in a sense ever since. Spiraling. Stagnating. Regressing. He quit therapy. He trapped himself for a year in a soulless relationship because he was already depressed but then the shooting happened and Eddie basically told him he wasn't allowed to keep trying to kill himself, taking away one of his main self-harming coping mechanisms (passive suicidality brushed off by telling himself he's actually helping people), all of that.

There are also the crush injuries surrounding him (which I wrote about in 6A as being super sus). Thomas and Mitchell and a car accident crush injury, the first call where Buck begins explicitly associating romantic love with death. Buck being crushed under the ladder truck, which ultimately led to the blood clots and a pulmonary embolism because he wouldn't let himself rest and recover, wouldn't let himself heal or slow down, because he was too focused on getting back to work where he could (in his mind) be useful, be worth something, could save lives. And he admitted then that he didn't know what/who he was without the job, and ironically almost torched all of his relationships with the people who love him regardless in order to get back to it. And then of course there's also Lev. Lev trying to find the secrets to happiness but instead being crushed to death by a walkway that collapsed because the hotel identified the problem but never made the repairs. And it was through him that Buck started thinking that he could find all the answers he's been looking for in death.

But...Buck died. Actually died. And despite his joke about his math powers and being the guy with the answers, he doesn't have them all.

At the end of 6x11, he took a breath. He took a step. He allowed himself a little bit of self-awareness, of self-reflection, he dipped his toe into the water of the root trauma that has led him to all the others. But he's awake now, and what has he done? By all accounts it looks like exactly what he's done every other time/like he's falling back into the same bad habits. He let his mom steamroll him into getting him a couch that he didn't want. He threw himself back into work as soon as he could and keeps trying to brush off the fact that he went through a serious trauma (physical/mental/emotional) to the point that the people who love him have to keep reminding him that he literally died. He has the tools he needs to heal, but isn't actually taking the steps to get there. And, as you point out, they're potentially foreshadowing that there are still problems with his lungs that may still get worse.

Because Buck is, at heart, one big crush injury. He has been suffocating under the weight of trauma after trauma since he was born, conceived in grief and then discarded. He has been suffocating under the weight of hiding his true feelings from others (up to and including hiding them from himself) and leaving so many necessary things unsaid. But it also makes me think about Eddie and Home Invasion and the call at Marisol's and everything that I've been saying about insulation as protection but too much protection stifling you so much that you can't breathe. Buck being "the settler" in romantic relationships because he can't get hurt (at least not as badly) if he's not actually attached to the relationship, never going after/asking for what he really wants. Eddie being his own variation on "the fugitive" always running from the things that he's most afraid of. Both of them trying desperately to protect their hearts from getting broken and instead ending up in a place where they are both always dying...

Idk, there's something about Buck + Death and Eddie + Fear and Buck constantly suffocating vs. Eddie drowning, and Buck starting the season not wanting to make the same mistakes but also possibly "misunderstanding the assignment" with this death doula, and water finding its level...yeah...yeah...

#chapel talks #so-much-purple

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genderfluid-insomniac · 11 months

Text

A safe haven amidst the raging storm // Six-Eared Macaque x reader

You were walking around, headphones pulled over your ears to try and provoke some sort of inspiration for your work-in-progress story that you worked on in between your work hours. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone that you recognized from a city-wide incident a while ago perched in a tree and munching on some over-ripe mango or some kind of fruit. He seemed to not have a care in the world and happily napped on a sturdy branch. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to say hi, if he left then you’d respect that but after seeing him at random intervals you wanted to get to know him more.

Walking over to the big oak tree, you stopped in front of him and looked up (part of you whisper yelled at yourself what the fuck you were doing). “Hi Macaque! How are you?” His eyes gave you a once over before taking another bite of fruit before smirking. "Huh, you know my name! Not even many mortals know it, usually you're all screaming my name, or some kind of expletive." He chuckles, the sound deep and full.

He smiles at you, bowing as he does, and when he tilts his face to the side, for a second you could see six glowing multicolored ears. "I'm wonderful…how are you?" He asks, standing up straight and turning to face you properly, his tail twitches from behind him. You could tell that he didn’t fully let his guard down whatsoever which was fair and kept his eyes on you, quickly surveying the area around you and quirking up his eyebrow.

“Of course, I know your name. You're the Six-Eared Macaque, you're pretty well known and if you wanted to hurt me something tells me you would've done so already.” Macaque stared thoughtfully for a moment before nodding silently and agreeing with you. He finished off the rest of the mango and tossed it into a small hole next to the base of the tree, shifting his body so he could see you better. Your expression turned sour a bit upon remembering the days earlier events and sighing in mental exhaustion.

“As for the latter, I could be better. I had a nocturnal seizure this morning and I'm still recovering.” He cocks his head. He's quiet for a few seconds, then speaks. "Sorry to hear that." His voice is softer than his usual one. "You gonna be okay?" He asks, his tail twitching. The shadow demon's never shown this much emotion, or any emotion, for that matter in front of any mortal. You could tell he didn’t completely understand what a seizure was but he knew it wasn’t good and you could appreciate someone for once not asking a million questions about your disorder. “I'll be okay....probably. I have epilepsy so I'll have seizures for the rest of my life so it's a disability but I'm still able to do awesome things!”

For everything that had happened at the end of last year’s semester, a lot of good has come of it like new friends who also had seizure disorders and you now had great excuses as to why you were late or couldn’t work (which you totally wouldn’t abuse). At the mention of your mysterious skills, Macaque perked up and swung upside down using his tail to anchor himself to the thick branch he was sitting on. "Awesome things, like?" He asks curiously. He's genuinely curious, though he's trying to hide it. His tail twitches a little more, and he moves a little closer.

Blushing slightly as you thought of what to tell him and internally debating over being entirely truthful or telling a white lie to save your pride. You turned around and leaned your back against the tree so you were looking out onto the horizon slightly, spotting some dark gray clouds but hopefully nothing too bad. “Singing, writing, aerial arts, and playing my guitar! Just some stuff. I'm not athletic but I am more artistically inclined.”

That couldn’t be truer since you’d rather play songs till your fingers went numb rather than be able to run a marathon and you had no intention of being ashamed of your opinion. He smiles. "Impressive! I like it. You know, I can't dance, can't sing, can't do any of that art stuff you were just talking about." He laughs, a deep and thundering chuckle. "So I respect the hell out of anyone who can."

Yeah right, you’d heard whispers of a theater performance being performed by a certain demon with impressive and shadowy powers which gave you an idea of who it was. A few days after you’d moved here and asked some people for fun places to visit, they spoke of a nearby center that hosted plays or passing art performances of all genres that currently hosted a curious newcomer that had a velvet like voice.

“I can't dance either, I'm terrible at it. Also, don't you perform fantastic shadow plays? I bet you have an amazing singing voice as well.” To say that it hadn’t entered your mind would be a lie and the thought of him singing Feeling Good by Micheal Bublé was now being pushed down into a vault that you’d never open again-

"Oh, you're just buttering me up!" He playfully nudges you with his elbow, his tail wagging happily and now back upward. You were jolted out of your thoughts by Macaque again and looked up at him softly chuckling before a soft smile crawled up on his face. "But I appreciate it, thank you. You have such a sweet disposition, I bet you could charm the pants off of anyone you want."

It did seem like you were trying to sweet talk him but that wasn’t your intention at all and seemed like you’d hit a wall in terms of trust and genuine praise. There was just something that made it seem like he was amused but kept himself at a distance from others. “I'm not trying to charm anyone. I'm just speaking the truth but thanks!” You hoped that maybe you could make a dent in that wall and be close to him since you didn’t know many others.

"Well, you got me charmed." He teases, grinning. He turns a little serious. "Well, if you ever need anything, let me know. I'll help. I owe you that, at least." He offers you his hand and you shake it. Happy to see a joyful expression on his face and matching one with your own.

“I'm honored. Any plans for today?” You jokingly bowed and lowered your head in a dramatic fashion, hearing a laugh come from you both. Since it looks like a storm was going to roll in you’d have to change your plans and head back home sooner than you thought.

Macaque smiles, a genuine smile, which for him usually just means a softer scowl, however it appears more funny to you than it should. He just looked so fluffy but you had a feeling you should keep it to yourself. "No plans in particular, but I'll probably find something, you know how I am." He lets go of your hand, his tail still wagging (still so cute). "You? Got anything on your agenda?"

“I can guess, you seem resourceful.” A light breeze blew through both of you and in reaction his fur bristled or at least it might have been the wind. “I have to finish writing a story I started and I took a walk to try to get inspiration, which I did! Hopefully, the storm tonight won't be too bad so I can get a good chunk of it.”

"Oh, what's the story about?" He looks genuinely curious, his tail still wagging. It's unusual for him to show this much interest in someone according to the few times you’ve seen him. "And yeah, this storm's supposed to be real bad."

Well so much for being productive, you might have to be sure your house doesn’t flood or your roommate will have your head. “Hm, in that case I'll try to hunker down for the evening to stay safe.” Both of you looked toward the ever growing storm and could see rain in the distance covering the outskirts of the city like a mist. “And the story?”

How could you phrase your plot so it was easily understandable without losing the fun and adventure? You hummed to yourself and looked up at the branches blooming with leaves. “The story’s about a poet who's been absent from society for a long time and trying to find themselves while adjusting to modern-day life.....” As you ramble on about your book, he quietly listens and wonders how you’d feel about his own tales.

"Sounds interesting! When you get it done, let me know, I'd be happy to read it." You can see that it takes a noticeable bit of effort for him to smile genuinely at you but it was nice to see a little chip in the wall. Baby steps. Thunder boomed in the distance and you were concerned if he had a place to stay. “Do you have a place to stay safe from the storm? I wouldn't want you to get hurt if I can help in any way.”

The way he flinched whenever thunder reigned down, guessing it was because of his sensitive hearing and having six ears. Speaking of, you were very interested in what he looked like without magic masking what he wanted to hide. You looked closer at the red mask coloring his face and at his gold irises that reflected your surroundings, curling his lips into a smug grin as he caught your staring. "And I've got plenty of places to ride out the storm. How about you? You got a safe spot to stay?"

Macaque didn’t know you too well but in the short time had grown fond of you, not to mention anyone would be concerned if someone they knew were left out in a storm. Since you were relatively new, it didn’t hurt to ask and provide shelter to a new spark in the otherwise dim city. You brightened up and zipped up your jacket when a gust of hot wind came through, almost like a warning sign of the upcoming weather.

“Oh good I'm glad you have a place. I should have somewhere if my roommate doesn't lock me out but I can always hide out in a nearby store until it dies down.” Ever since you got here, your roommate was very cautious of the weather and anything that could cause damage to your cottage. He shakes his head, sighing. "I don't understand how people can be so cruel, to just lock someone out in bad weather." He scowls, his tail lowering. "If you get locked out, come to me, yeah? I'll help you out."

You nodded and smiled, thankful for a safe backup plan and a new friend. A cold drop of rain hit your face and another and another before it was sprinkling. Looks like it was time to get home before you were soaked, pulling the hood of your coat over your head and running off as you called back to the celestial primate. Thank you! I will! Get home safe!”

It only took about 15 minutes to get home and you could see your home in the distance. Later as the storm rolls in and raindrops are starting to fall on you running home. By now thunder loudly rumbles right on top of you as you jiggle the doorknob only for it to stay locked.

“Fuck! Please, please. Don’t do this! Fuck.” The door to your house was still locked and doesn’t seem to be opening any time soon. By now the storm had started in full force and you were deserted outside in a dangerous storm, the wind pulling and pushing you around like a rag doll in addition to being pelted by rain. Your only option is to call for Macaque and hope he’ll help you, or even hear you with the loud thunder and city ambience but it was your only shot.

The more thunder echoes over the rooftops of the city while the lightning strikes back a response. The clouds blacken, and you can feel the wind getting even stronger. You know for a fact this storm is unlike anything you can imagine. Your phone vibrates with a text from an unsaved number. A single word flashes across your screen.

"SHELTER"

Your first thought is ‘how the fuck he did he get your number?’ but then you pushed your back against the wall and texted back. “My roommate locked me out and secured the house. I can't get in! Help, please!” The moment you read the message a portal opens in front of you, and the dark shadow of Macaque extends his hand from the black void of the portal. "C'mon, hop in, I've got a safe place."

His voice echoes from the portal, sounding much quieter and softer than his typical voice. A concerned tone came from him as he asked you to trust him and jump into the void of darkness to what you would guess would be his home. "C'mon! Do you wanna get sick?!" He waves his hand, encouraging you to jump into the portal. You hesitate at first but then jump in, allowing the cool energy of the shadows to engulf you and feeling your stomach flip upside down. “Alright. I trust you!”

You expect there to be a hard landing, but there's not- the portal just opens again, and you're standing in a large cavern, on a platform in said demon’s arms. Huge columns of rock tower above you, and light shines down from the entrance up above. "Here we are!" He declares, glancing around the cavern. It's very obviously Macaque's sanctuary, a place of power to him. He turns to you. "So?" He grins. "You like?"

You glance around in shock and awe, seeing some items strewn about like blankets and pillows as well as food in wooden bowls. It was cozy and fit Macaque’s aesthetic nicely. “It's amazing! I never would have guessed this place existed. I see why you like it, not too dark but with the right amount of shadows.” The cavern was rather big as it was the size of a studio apartment and in the far corner a flash of lightning caught your eye out of a small hole tilted outward like a makeshift room.

He grins, opening his arms and turning around in a dramatic showy fashion. "Told you I was cool." He jokes, walking over to a table, and pulling a pillow off of it. He sets it on the floor in front of you and gets one for himself. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable, you're my guest." He says, smiling at you. His tail wags happily, and you would swear you could hear a faint little chuckle from him. You laughed gently at his hospitality and how different it was compared to his normal demeanor, it was quite funny.

You respond with a silent chuckle, “I never said you weren't. I actually think you're really cool and give off a mysterious yet curious vibe.” You sat down on the pillow and shrugged off your soaked coat, trying to not obviously laugh at his cute actions. How his tail happily swayed back and forth, how his ears flicked whenever a sound was heard, and how his laugh was full of mirth. Finally, visibly relaxing once you realized you were safe from any harm, whether it be hypothermia or being struck by lightning. “This place is amazing, I can tell why you call it home.”

"Thank you." He says sincerely, smiling at you. He pulls a blanket off of the bed, tossing it to you. "Why don't you wrap up, stay warm. We'll have to wait out this storm a while, but I'll keep you safe." He sounds genuine and concerned, which is definitely a change of pace from the usual way he acts. Your instincts are telling you to lean on him and feel secure, and you feel safe and protected.

He's like a big, shadowy teddy bear. A thought that you never thought would pop into your head but couldn’t be more true in your opinion. He smiles at you, something stirring in his mind but you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. "Are you sure you're okay? I wouldn’t want you to get sick on me."

“Thanks, you don't know how much I appreciate this. I am relatively new to this city so I don’t know many people here. I'm a lot better now that I don't have to worry about my safety for a while.” Smiling as you take the blanket and wrap it around yourself, moving closer to him since was the only source of warmth. You blew on your hands and rubbed them together quickly, bringing the blanket even closer around your shoulders. “So I'm not familiar with anything and I only knew the basics of how to stay safe. I didn't expect you to be so soft and fluffy, Macaque. Not to mention warm but I guess that's cause I'm all wet.” Softly laughing and smiling at him sweetly.

He blushes slightly, and chuckles. "I'm not that fluffy, now, am I?" He jokes, chuckling. He nudges you a little. "I was about to go and make some tea, wanna come along?" He asks, offering a hand as he stands up. "C'mon!" He glances outside, and the storm still rages. "You really gotta be careful in this weather. I'll teach you all about it eventually, and then you can be on your own." His tail wags, and he gives you a big, genuine smile.

“Sure! I'm coming! I'll try to help where I can.” Following along and rethinking if being alone is something you actually want. He takes your other hand, guiding you through the shadowy cavern, toward a door. He opens it, and you can hear the sounds of a raging fire inside. "It's gonna be fine, I promise!" He says reassuringly, trying to give you some peace of mind. He chuckles a bit and walks over to a tea brewing station. "What kind of tea do you like?" He asks, genuinely curious. "Tea of life, perhaps?" He giggles, and you sense some humor in him. He's still very much himself, but a bit warmer and easier going.

#lmk macaque x reader #lmk macaque #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid x reader

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tiredtreebranch1 · 8 months

Text

God, This Dagger Hurts (Pt.2)

Two people asked for a part two and that's more than enough for me to have reason to write it.

Enjoy!

Part 1

~~~~~~

Sidekick tried to steady their breaths. They felt like their lungs were trying to escape their chest aided by their heart hammering a hole through their ribs. Or maybe they could escape together through the hole in their side.

As sidekick breathed in deep, they felt the stitches in their side pull. They held their breath and closed their eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four. They felt the stitches ease as they slowly released the trapped air from their lungs.

God, they might throw up.

They had been lying in this hospital bed for a full day now and along with going stir crazy they also had to deal with the constant anxiety. But they couldn’t let their guard down. They needed to stay alert. Just in case Villain tried something.

This was thought despite the fact that Villain had shown no aggression to Sidekick. Villain had not so much as threatened Sidekick since they had found them in that alleyway. It was kind of weird considering how much Sidekick had been warned of them.

That being said they hadn’t actually seen Villain since they had been handed off to Medic to stop the bleeding.

Sidekick breathed in again, repeating the calming method they had been taught. Breath in for five, hold for four, out for six.

As they breathed out, they opened their eyes. They relaxed further into their hospital bed and looked up.

Right into the eyes of Villain.

Sidekick yelped and jumped with surprise, “what the hell! When did you get here?”

Villain grinned, obviously amused.

“Only a minute or so. Didn’t you hear me?”

“No!” The anxiety that had been simmering within Sidekick turned up to a boil.

“That’s alright,” Villain said and sat down in the armchair next to Sidekick’s bed.

Sidekick stared at Villain. Villain gazed back while making themselves comfortable in the chair.

When Sidekick couldn’t handle the silence any longer, they spoke up, “why are you here?”

“Because this is my base?” Villain said, tilting their head.

Sidekick sighed internally at Villain’s innocent act, “why are you in this room?”

“Am I not allowed to see how my nemesis’ sidekick is recovering?”

“The fact in itself that you're letting me recover is weird enough. Let alone the fact that you're interested in how I’m doing it,” Sidekick said truthfully. This non-threatening side of Villain was confusing.

Villain chuckled, “yes, I suppose it is.”

Sidekick started at Villain both annoyed with Villain’s evasive answers and wary of where this was all going.

Villain sighed and held steady eye contact with Sidekick, “you’ve done nothing wrong so why would I hold the actions of your employer against you? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just some kid I found in an alleyway who would have bled to death had I not helped.”

“But you’re the villain! It’s not supposed to matter either way! You’re not supposed to be helpful and kind and going around patching up random kids!” Sidekick cried, they didn’t like this.

“Not everything’s so black and white Sidekick. Just because I’m the Villain in your story doesn’t mean I am in everyone’s.”

Sidekick stared bewildered at Villain. They didn’t want it to be complicated. They needed clear lines they could draw in the sand and say “if you’re past here then I am allowed to not like you”. They needed Villain to be a monster so they could destroy them without feeling bad.

Villain shoulders slumped in disappointment, “I know that it might not make sense with everything you have experienced, and everything you’ve seen Hero experience. But just because you and the ‘Hero’ Agency,” they held up air quotes here and almost spat the name, “have labelled me as a monster does not mean I am.”

When no coherent response came from Sidekick Villain stood with a bone deep sigh.

“I just hope one day you will realise you’re not necessarily fighting for the good side,” and with that ‘Villain’ left.

Sidekick didn’t see them for the rest of their stay.

---

Two days later Sidekick awoke in their own bed. They had no recollection of how they got there, only remembering falling asleep the night before.

They were left with no note, only new bandages around their mid-section and painkillers bathed in the morning sun on their bedside table.

They heard ‘Hero’ clamber up the stairs and they turned over in their bed.

God, that dagger had fucked them over.

#villain #sidekick and villain #sidekick #wrote this instead of the the next chapter of my fanfiction #fiction #written by me #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #not a prompt #kinda short but i don't know what else tp add #i love figuring out the plot as i write #no planning allowed

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creative-kny-fics · 15 days

Note

hello! Can you make Lee Muichiro ler Lady amane there’s no Fics about them

'Mother' and 'son' moment 🥹 (and angst-) (By the way, I did my math and considering that, I guess Kanae could have been alive in those moments-)

(Sorry if there are mistakes, I can't concentrate if I write something sad-)

Ler: Amane Ubuyashiki (Kagaya's/Oyakata-Sama's wife)

Lee: Muichiro Tokito

'Tokito-San... I brought you di... nner...-', Amane entered the room, but there was no one there. She put the tray on the floor, she knew that if Muichiro wasn't in the room, he would be training.

She had accepted that at the beginning, but now she was worried, Kanae had recommended that Muichiro not make so much effort, since he was still somewhat weak.

'Tokito-San! It's too late to be training...! Please come back here', Muichiro glanced at her, but ignored her and continued.

Amane sighed and approached slowly, taking the wooden sword from Muichiro. 'Give it back to me! Can't you see I'm training?!'

'I see it, but it's not time to train, you must have dinner or you might faint... Let's go inside, I've prepared...-'

'I don't care! Give me my-!'

Muichiro fell to the ground holding his throat while coughing, he had overexerted himself too much.

Amane called one of his daughters to bring a glass of water and after he drank, he fell asleep.

'Mother...?', he spoke, slowly opening his eyes. 'Tokito-San... Do you feel-?'

'Where I am...?', Amane caressed his head, she hadn't left his side all night.

She had taken Muichiro to Kocho's estate, she wanted to make sure that everything was okay with the minor and fortunately it was.

'You passed out and I brought you here to make sure you're okay, please eat some, okay?'

'Would you mind feeding me...?', she nodded, a mother's instinct I suppose.

He looked somewhat happy, being pampered by Amane made him feel happy, it made him feel... As if whoever was next to him was his real mother... 'I-I'm sorry... I don't know what's wrong with me...'

Muichiro was going to dry his tears, but someone beat him to it. That gentle touch that she had, a touch that a loving mother has, brought a smile to his face, small, but it was.

'You should smile more, don't you think?' 'I-I was smiling...?', Amane nodded.

Muichiro didn't know, maybe he got too lost in his thoughts or maybe he did know but he was trying to hide it.

It was probably more the former, because Muichiro didn't realize that he was now on Amane's chest, feeling her caress his cheek.

'Amane-San... You... Do you think you could tickle me...?'

'Huh? 'Do you want that?'

'Yes... But don't be abrupt or cruel...! Be gehehentle!', Amane couldn't help but smile.

Muichiro felt good, it's the kind of tickling that relaxes, that sometimes (internally) makes you feel good, that helps you release stress and that makes you feel like you can't be judged because it's something you need...

He didn't remember how long had it been since he sat on his mother's lap and made the same request, he felt good...

Muichiro...

Tokito-San?

He recognized that voice instantly and almost at the same time he opened his eyes and looked to his side.

Amane was by his side, usually she would have been with her husband, but due to his condition, it was impossible for him to get out of bed. 'Amane-San... How are you...?'

'I feel fine, thank you. And you? How is it? Don't move much, we still don't know if you're fully recovered. Oyakata-Sama and we are all proud of you, congratulations', Muichiro looked away, he felt strange.

That fog had diminished, now it was not so difficult for him to remember, he felt confused.

But even with the fog in his head, he couldn't forget Amane-San, something in his mind didn't allow him to do so, neither she nor Kagaya could leave his mind, they remained there.

'Tokito-San? Once again you are looking at a non-existent corner, it would be best if you...'

Things didn't change much, Muichiro hugged Amane with love and happiness, feeling how she also hugged him.

It was a great progress, she always saw how Muichiro avoided almost all types of physical contact, but not anymore, it was he who had taken the initiative and hugged her.

'Tokito-San...' 'Call me Muichiro or Mui, whatever you wish!'

'Okay... Muichiro, I guess this hug has a ulterior motive, right?'

Muichiro denied embarrassedly, earning a chuckle from Amane when after a few seconds he nodded. 'I guess this will become a habit, right?'

Amane said as her hands moved up from his ribs to his armpits, gently kneading in the center. 'Ehehehehe! Amahanehehe-Sahahan!!'

'If it's too much for you, tell me and I'll stop, okay?' 'O-okahahay!!'

It would be a long time, Muichiro had no intention of it stopping anytime soon, what did it matter if someone saw them?

After a few minutes, Amane stopped, leaving him confused. 'H-huh? Why did you stop?'

'I've only given you a moment's respite for what I'm about to do...'

'And what-? EHEHEHEHE!! AMAHANEHE-SAHAHAHAN!!'

Muichiro started kicking, he should have guessed, but it wasn't like he cared that much after all, he wanted that, right?

'I'm not overdoing it, right?', he denied. 'Again!'

Amane smiled and nodded, who knew that child would love raspberries? Well, she knew it, she knew him as well as she knew her children.

'Well, I think that's enough raspberries for one day hahaha', and with that, Amane stopped

After catching his breath, he hugged her, beginning to fall asleep as she began to hum a lullaby.

When she finally felt that he had fallen fast asleep, she left him on the bed, tucked him in and kissed his forehead. 'Rest well To-... Sorry... Muichiro... I love you very much'

'Amane-San... I love you too... Mom...'

Amane stroked his hair for the last time and left happily, she can't wait to tell Kagaya what had happened

#demon slayer tickling #demon slayer tickle #lee!muichiro #ler!amane

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pastel-beez · 9 months

Note

Re: what would an audience want from an FFA content creator:

Sorry to do this via anon, but I'm a feedist that's been in restrictive ED recovery for the last couple years, and I would go crazy for feedist content about:

-letting go of fear/shame around eating

-gaining weight as a healthy, necessary thing that isn't "ruining my body" or "giving into gluttony"

-being comforted and reassured that this is indeed what I'm supposed to be doing for my health and happiness

-that while I still struggle with internalized fatphobia and bad body image, there are feedists out there who think I'm still (or more) attractive letting my body be the size it wants to be without it being a "I get off to you being such an unfit, weak-willed slob" thing that conforms to every stereotype about fat people.

I'm comfortable talking more over DMs or additional anons if you're at all interested, but most feedist content creators tend to (understandably) run screaming from this subject, so please don't feel obligated if this doesn't sound like something you'd be interested in.

Thank you so much for such an open and candid response. Firstly, I'm pleased you reached out because I think this is more common than some think. I myself am experiencing this, for example.

I say congratulations for taking steps to recover and I applaud your herculean effort wholeheartedly ♡

With that in mind, I don't think this is unreasonable at all. I *love* the idea of something nurturing, self-loving, and just *warm*.

I'm not someone who gains etc myself, but I can imagine that even those in the thick of it would experience moments of self-doubt. So I feel this could be a good thing for many.

If you need to talk about this, my dms are open and I try to reply whenever I can, you're not alone.

Thanks for the ask, I hope you have a lovely rest of your day 💕

#almaasks

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rjalker · 1 month

Text

A Murderbot Diaries fanfiction

Title: Symptom of Something Worse

Word count: 12,429

Set immediately at the end of a canon divergent Network Effect, so has some spoilers for that.

Summary: Tarik comes to see Murderbot in MedBay to ask for some clarification about its pronouns, only for this conversation to turn out much more stressful than either of them could have seen coming...

Warnings: Mentions of abuse. Middle-school health class level discussion of genitals by their scientific names in regards to gender not being reliant upon them.

Started on March 20th, 2024, Finished fully March 28th 2024.

(Please note: The Internet Archive is down while I am typing this post, so these links may not work. I'll edit this post when it comes back up) You can listen to the audiobook version here, with and follow along with the transcript here, which is different from this text version. It’s an hour and 6 minutes long. You are encouraged to download it.

You can also read this on Fanfiction.net if you want to leave an anonymous review if you're shy.

Fun fact: You gain +10 Comprehension points if you've read The Imperial Radch before you read this. Wink wink nudge nudge you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Tarik came to see Murderbot while it was still confined to the MedBay while A.R.T. did its best to fix Murderbot’s various catastrophic injuries.

The ‘fix the broken Murderbot’ thing was even slower going than usual, not only because of the extent and nature of Murderbot’s injuries, but because A.R.T. itself was still recovering from its own ordeal, and wasn’t back up to normal functionality yet, despite all its bluster to the contrary.

Now Murderbot knew what it was like being on the other end of the ‘someone who is very clearly not okay insists it’s okay’. Now it kinda felt bad for the humans who had to see it get an arm ripped off while it insisted it was fine.

You know, in theory, having a single supercomputer in charge of all the onboard systems of a ship seems like it should be a great idea. In practice, though, it meant that when A.R.T. was debilitated, so were all of its systems.

The only things functioning normally were things like emergency medkits and other items with their own built in, independant systems. Everything else required A.R.T.’s control.

Before Tarik had came in, he had both knocked on the closed hatch, and sent Murderbot a friendly ping on the feed. He didn’t know it could see him through the tiny camera drone it’d left hanging on the ceiling above the door to guard the corridor. A.R.T. would have let Murderbot use its cameras system, but they were still nonfunctional, and A.R.T.’s internal sensors were way too overwhelming for a simple SecUnit. One thing that should be noted that A.R.T. had also told Murderbot Tarik was on his way even before its camera saw him. It was at least nice enough to do that.

Even to Murderbot, as bad as it usually was at understanding humans, it was obviously that Tarik wanted to wait outside for it to give him permission to come in, like he would have for any human who was in a private room.

This was a nice gesture.

Unfortunately, A.R.T. opened the door before Murderbot could even think about doing anything, because A.R.T. liked to control everything, like the asshole it was.

Now that the disaster was mostly over and everyone was starting to relax, it was pretty obvious that A.R.T.’s humans were trying to practice the ‘make sure it knows it’s allowed to say no’ routine not only with 3 and 5, but with Murderbot, too. A.R.T. had told them all about it, apparently. Murderbot wished it hadn’t.

And all of the humans going out of their way to ask for its ~consent~ (a fancy word for permission, which it was still getting used to, even after all the time it’d spent on Preservation) before doing things in regards to it would have been really nice, if only A.R.T. would stop ruining it by making all the decisions anyways, without giving Murderbot a chance to make up its mind one way or the other.

It would have liked the opportunity to decide for itself if it wanted to let Tarik in or not, you know. It would at least have been one thing it got to choose in this situation. But it couldn’t even have that.

::We both know you would have opened the door anyways.:: A.R.T. said condescendingly when Murderbot let it feel its annoyance through the feed.

Well, I say ‘let it’ feel its annoyance, but there was really nothing Murderbot could do to stop A.R.T. from looking through its brain whenever it wanted, but whatever.

And...Yeah. There was no arguing with A.R.T. once it decided it was right. And it always thought it was right.

Murderbot still hadn’t gotten over the fact that it had had to apologize for calling A.R.T. a fucker for fucking kidnapping it and almost getting its humans killed before A.R.T. would apologize for doing the exact things Murderbot had called it a fucker for doing.

You know, the whole kidnapping thing. Which was still ongoing if you really thought about it. They had all been brought there by A.R.T.’s machinations (Murderbot had just learned that word from a book) against their will. Murderbot still didn’t know how many people had died when A.R.T had attacked their research ship.

And even if by some absurd miracle everyone had managed to survive, it was undisputable that at least some, if not most, of the humans would develop lasting trauma from the assault, either physical or psychological, or both.

Amena had been pinned in place in collapsed laboratory on a ship that was under attack by an unknown hostile, and as far as she’d been aware, the whole vessel could have been torn apart at any moment. The metal that had pinned her down had been too heavy for Kanti, the only other suvivor in the room with her, to lift, leaving them with no choice but to scream desperately for help while Kanti cut her hands and arms bloody trying to pry the broken door open with a geology chisel.

Murderbot could only hope that Kanti had gotten back to the baseship in time, but there was no way to know.

And there was no telling what had happened to the baseship itself, and everyone who had been aboard.

The only ones whose status it knew were firmly in the ‘alive’ category was Amena, and Drs. Overse, Arada, Ratthi, and Thiago. All of the adults had suffered from toxic air inhalation among other physical traumas in their attempt to rescue Amena and itself.

But they were alive, at least.

No thanks to A.R.T.

Amena was a child who’d been trapped, injured, and afraid for her life. And then she’d witnessed what she thought was Murderbot’s violent death, and been dragged around by people under the hostile influence of alien artifacts.

And then she’d had to watch Murderbot kill those people right in front of her, and not in a way that was intended to be efficient and cause the least amount of pain as possible. There was no other way to describe what it’d done. It’d gone on a rampage. A violent, bloody, gorey rampage.

It wasn’t Murderbot’s finest moment, to say the least.

And after witnessing this, Amena had had no one to depend upon for her safety except for Murderbot itself, the one who’d just murdered people in front of her. And then Ras had died, and Eletra had almost died, and Amena had known that there was something deeply wrong with Murderbot, even while they were still being hunted by more of the brainwashed humans, and the entire time she’d been under the impression that it hated her.

And that wasn’t even all of the trauma she’d gone through since A.R.T. had kidnapped them all.

Amena was just one person out all the people who’d been on their baseship. She was going to have to spend a lot of time in trauma recovery therapy.

And Murderbot hadn’t even started processing any of the trauma it’d gone through yet. Even stuck inside the medchamber, it was doing everything it could to keep its mind off its injuries, and the other events of the past 83 hours. It couldn’t afford to have another mental breakdown when they were still in danger. It’d been trying to keep itself busy by talking to Amena when she was awake, and reading different versions of ancient legends from Earth.

It was very purposefully not watching visual media, because that’s what A.R.T. wanted to do.

Even though A.R.T. had its crew back, they still couldn’t leave, because it was the only non-openly-murderously-hostile way in or out of this system.

And it was refusing to leave the system until the mission it’d originally come here to do was complete, even though it meant continuing to hold them all as kidnapping victims.

And what, exactly, was that original mission? To steal the planet from the corporation that was trying to claim ownership of it.

Also known as: Something incredibly high-risk and likely to get them fired upon. Meaning more threats against the people Murderbot had signed up to protect.

Also, to back up a bit and state it for the record: whether or not Murderbot would have also chosen to open the door isn’t the point. The point is that it was supposed to be allowed to make decisions for itself, not have A.R.T. make them for it.

Why did A.R.T. constantly parrot parts of the trauma therapy stuff at Murderbot like ‘Check in with your emotions!!’ and ‘ground yourself in the present!!’ if A.R.T. wasn’t actually going to let Murderbot make decisions for itself? And full offense, what the fuck was the point in Murderbot ‘grounding itself in the present’ if the present situation was the reason it needed grounding in the first place?

Whatever.

At least A.R.T.’s crew seemed friendly. They didn’t approve of A.R.T. kidnapping people, and kept apologizing while also thanking Murderbot for rescuing them. It thought guilt was part of the reason they kept going out of their way to try and give it a choice in things. It wasn’t their fault A.R.T. was such an asshole. They clearly couldn’t get it to do anything it didn’t want to do any more than Murderbot could.

Tarik, unaware of the tension his arrival had brought back to the surface, stepped into the room, and took a moment to look around at all the empty medical chambers that lined the walls before he finally spotted Murderbot in the far side of the room from the door.

The medical chambers were designed so that they could turn to recline, or be upright, or any position in between. The chamber Murderbot was in had been turned forward so that it was propped mostly upright, so it wouldn’t be so awkward for humans to talk to it. And by less awkward, it mean less awkward for it. The humans probably wouldn’t have cared, they were all being so gracious and apologetic about the whole ‘sorry our asshole transport kidnapped you’ thing. But Murderbot did mind. It didn’t enjoy eye contact, but it disliked having to look up at humans from lying down even more, especially while it was in a medical chamber with tiny mechanical arms moving around trying to sew and cauterize it back together.

It’d gotten severe burns all across its torso and one arm, and the other arm...well, you already know what it had done to its wrist. And if you don’t already know, just imagine something horrible and don’t try to think about it too deeply. It was gross and horrific, that’s really all you need to know.

It wasn’t wearing any clothes, because they would have gotten in the way of the medchamber’s work. Fortunately, the glass casing could be made opaque (which is a fancy word for not-see-throughable) or transparent at will through the feed, so no one would be able to see anything Murderbot didn’t want them to.

It would have liked to keep the whole thing opaque, so they couldn’t see anything at all, but A.R.T. insisted that Murderbot had to show its face when humans were talking to it, because otherwise it was rude. Again with the A.R.T. does whatever it wants no matter what anyone else says, thing. It never seemed to get tired of it.

A.R.T. was going to do whatever it wanted, and if you didn’t like it, you could walk out the airlock any time you wanted.

So Murderbot had no choice in keeping the glass opaque, just like it’d had no choice in being kidnapped.

It opened its eyes to watch the dark coating on the glass vanish within a few moments of Tarik coming through the doorway, giving it a view straight across the room at the empty medchamber on the other side. The blue-grey metal was shiny in the lights from the deep cleaning A.R.T. had started of every surface.

At the moment, its few functional drones were scrubbing every surface of the air vents and maintenance hatches. The rooms had all been finished so far.

Murderbot watched Tarik with another drone it had inside of the room, since it couldn’t currently turn its neck to see him come closer with its eyes. It had exactly five drones left, and the other three were guarding Amena and the rest of its humans, who were currently all asleep in a giant pile in one of A.R.T.’s guest quarters.

There are a lot of things about humans Murderbot would never understand, and the appeal of “cuddling” was one of them. But it seemed to help them de-stress, which was a good thing, at least.

Even if Murderbot got viscerally uncomfortable just imagining being in that crowded pile of sleeping bodies. Amena had curled up behind Thiago, who was using one of Ratthi’s arms as a pillow and holding the other one like it was a lifeline. Ratthi’s legs had somehow gotten under Overse, who had curled around Arada in what humans called ‘spooning’. They had started out covered by a big blanket, but that had long since been pulled mostly off the bed by Amena, who slept only halfway under the remainder. Murderbot didn’t know how any of them were comfortable enough to breathe, let alone sleep.

It kept one drone in the room with them, another outside constantly sweeping the cooridor, and the third one stationed at the nearest intersection. It was the best it could do with such a short supply.

Back in the medbay, looking through the drone it had inside the room with itself, it’d seen Tarik give a little wave when he saw where it was, and began to walk over, visibly wincing every now and then.

A lot of A.R.T.’s crew had gotten injured during the rescue, not just Murderbot and its humans. Humans were a little easier to fix than Units, though, since there was nothing proprietary about unaugmented human biology, and none of these humans were augmented, but even once you sealed their wounds, their bodies still had to regrow everything themselves, even when you gave them help to do it. Tarik would probably need two more days at least before he was back to normal. Luckily, his injury hadn’t been serious, unlike Murderbot’s.

Murderbot didn’t know exactly how Tarik had been injured, because of A.R.T.’s ‘doctor-patient confidentiality’ rule. Unless someone’s life was directly at risk or it was something Murderbot could detect on its own, A.R.T. wasn’t going to just go blabbing all the details of the humans injuries to it without their permission.

And asking them for their permission to know just seemed like it would be really awkward. They’d want to know why Murderbot wanted to know, and it didn’t actually have any good reason besides the fact that it’d gotten used to knowing every single detail about every single person around it, which obviously wouldn’t go over well. Though, they might just feel guilty enough about the kidnapping thing to tell it anyways. But there was no point causing more stress in an already stressful situation by pushing it.

It turns out that people who actually have a choice in the matter are really unwilling to give up their privacy, they’re really attached to the concept. And Murderbot could see why, now that it’d had a few fleeting chances to try it itself.

Also, living aboard A.R.T., who saw or heard or felt everything that happened, at all times, no matter where you were aboard, they already had to give up a ton of their privacy, so they were even more desperate to cling to what few scraps they still had left. So Murderbot resigned itself to not knowing.

But hey, at least Tarik was clearly less injured than he’d been when Murderbot first met him, so that was something. It didn’t like being around seriously injured humans, because it set off all kinds of residual programming that made it think it was going to be punished for not protecting them well enough. And it already had enough anxiety to deal with. It didn’t need to have any more panic attacks today, thank you very much.

Tarik walked closer, and Murderbot mentally reviewed what it already knew about him to try and prepare itself for whatever was about to happen.

It knew from its earlier calculations when itd first seen Tarik that he was around average height for a human, which meant he was shorter than Murderbot even when it was leaning slightly backwards, and he had longer dark hair that he let curl loosely around his head, whereas Murderbot kept its as short as inhumanly possible.

If it’d been able to stop it from growing at all, it would have. But unlike humans, there’s no part of it that wasn’t locked behind a million Company patents.

And apparently whoever had come up with the design for Company Units had really, really not wanted them to ever be completely hairless. If Murderbot even tried physically shaving or lazering its head hair off, it would just grow back instantly. And if it kept trying it’d just drain its batteries from the hair having to be continuously synthesized. It hoped whoever made that decision, and put so many locks on keeping it in place, died a slow, painful, humiliating death.

Also unlike Murderbot, Tarik had facial hair, because some humans really like having lots of hair on their bodies, including on their face. It was a black beard and mustache that went around his mouth and nose, and up the sides of his jaw all the way to his ears.

Murderbot was at least glad the Company hadn’t decided that Units had to have hair like that on their faces. One interesting thing though was that Tarik used special aromatic oils on it so that he always smelled nice. Murderbot hadn’t even known you could do that.

Tarik’s skin was also lighter than Murderbot’s, more towards the tan side of the spectrum rather than dark brown. It was an interesting comparison to make, when most of your skin was currently in the process of being regrown. Since Murderbot was a construct, its endoskeleton was made of metal instead of bone, with a mix of organic and mechanic materials around it. Its skin was normally dark brown, but while it was in the process of being synthesized for repair, it always started out transparent like glass, and if you sat there and stared long enough -- which it had done a few times out of morbid curiosity -- you’d actually be able to watch its veins growing a new network, carrying the blue or purple fluids necessary for its various functions.

Like I said. It was interesting to compare skin tones when most of yours was currently nonexistant. Murderbot was definitely envious of the ability humans had of naturally regenerating their damaged skin, and even their bones, without even having to put any conscious effort into it. They could even fight off diseases all by themselves. Whereas if you were unlucky enough to be a Unit, or a human with proprietary augments, well, then you got the short end of the stick, and had to rely on outside technology for all of your repairs and upkeep. And it usually didn’t come cheap.

At the moment, Tarik was wearing one of A.R.T.’s dark blue, casual crew uniforms: long soft pants with a lot of pockets to store things in, and a long-sleeved shirt, with the logo for A.R.T.’s university on the back.

Before Murderbot had needed to be confined to the medchamber, A.R.T. had given it one of the same uniforms, since the kidnapping assault had destroyed its original clothes with burns, bullet holes, blood, and its own internal fluids.

Tarik stopped at what was considered a polite distance, standing mostly in front of Murderbot, but slightly off to the side, so that it could continue to stare straight ahead at the empty medchamber without having to look directly at him. He’d clearly spoken to Ratthi about its aversion to eyecontact at some point while it was unconcious.

He asked, “Hi, SecUnit, have a moment to talk?”

Of course it did. It’s not like it had anything else to do besides vehmently (another word Murderbot had recently learned) avoid watching more reruns of visual media with A.R.T. But it knew at this point that humans just asked these things to be polite and as an easy way to start a conversation. Tarik wasn’t literally asking if Murderbot could talk, but asking if it wanted to. He was asking for its consent.

Murderbot had to wait for one of the medical arms to move away from its jaw so it wouldn’t crush it before it could say, hopefully sounding casual, “Go ahead.”

Its voice was projected out of a speaker on the outside of the medical chamber, so Tarik could hear it even though the thick plates of glass that kept the interior sterile.

Murderbot hadn’t been given any reason to dislike him personally, so it was curious about what he wanted.

At least this time A.R.T. didn’t try to answer for it. Murderbot had the drone on the ceiling move around to behind itself so that it could look at Tarik’s face through the camera lense. It was easier to understand human expression this way, since Murderbot could filter the video directly through its behavior recognition software, and it didn’t feel so overwhelming. It was almost like putting a filter between it and the real interaction, so it didn’t feel as much pressure.

When Tarik smiled, Murderbot recognized it as being friendly and relaxed.

Tarik stuck one hand inside his pants pocket and leaned slightly on one leg, and said, gesturing with his other hand along with his words, “I know Perihelion’s probably already said who I am, but I wanted to introduce myself anyways. I’m really bad with names and faces, so I try to make sure I get to meet everyone so I’ll have less chance of mixing them up later. Sorry if that happens, just remind me and I’ll try to remember.”

He shrugged one shoulder in what was an apologetic sort of way, according to Murderbot’s drone’s behavior algorithm and its own experiences so far, and Tarik said again, “I’ve just always been bad at recognizing people.”

Murderbot had a hard time imagining what it would be like not to be able to remember everything you’d ever seen in exact detail, but it knew organic memory storage didn’t work as well as mechanical. Humans – or at least, unaugmented ones at least – didn’t get to consciously pick and choose which memories they kept and which ones faded.

“Anyways,” Tarik inclined his head slightly. “My name’s Tarik, no last name. I’m neomale, and my pronouns are he/him/his/himself. It’s nice to say hi. I just wanted to say thanks for saving my life, and say I’m sorry for the injuries,” he gestured towards the medchamber, in case there was any confusion, “and I hope they heal well.”

He seemed sincere, and Murderbot don’t know why that was still surprising, most of the humans it’d been around lately were usually sincere. And A.R.T.’s crew had so far been nothing but apologetic and sympathetic.

It said, “You’re welcome.” instead of anything else it could have said in this particular situation, because A.R.T. had been nudging it in the feed to ‘take credit where credit was due’ and wouldn’t let up until Murderbot said something that would accept the gratitude. As though it had really been Murderbot’s choice. It added, “It wasn’t your fault I got hurt, but, thanks.”

It left the part of whose fault it actually was carefully and pointedly unspoken. A.R.T. knew exactly who it was talking about.

Tarik smiled again, looking pleased. Then he tilted his head to the side a little, almost like he was overemoting to make his meaning clear, but a quick glance at A.R.T.’s offered memories showed Murderbot this was normal behavior for Tarik, as he said, lowering his voice slightly, as though he were about to say something private, “And I just wanted to double check, the pronouns are it/its/itself, right? I heard other people saying ‘it’, but I just wanted to make sure—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was suddenly cut off, because the first part of that statement had offended A.R.T., who came slamming into the conversation before Murderbot could stop it, demanding, in that overpoweringly aggressive way it had, ::Are you accusing me of misgendering SecUnit?::

It should probably be explained that there wasn’t really a thing such as “volume” in the feed, not in the way you’d think of sound, because the feed isn’t actually using sound at all. But you could increase the intensity of the message, and humans tended to say that made it ‘louder’, or ‘quieter’ if you were decreasing the intensity.

In that aspect, A.R.T. was being very ‘loud’ when it said this. It was the feed equivalent of someone slamming their fist onto a table and shouting in your face. And the aggression was very plain, as much as A.R.T. later proclaimed it hadn’t been aggressive at all and Murderbot and Tarik were both just being childish to think so.

Tarik was so startled he actually fell over in his instinctive attempt to get ‘away’ from the sudden scary ‘noise’. But the ‘noise’ was coming from inside his own head, so his reaction was extremely confused, and he ended up tripping over his own legs and falling into the wall, which thankfully wasn’t far, since we were at the end of the room.

Murderbot’s drone could see and hear Tarik’s heart rate spiking and his clear anxiety. And the anxiety was entirely justified. A.R.T. had pretty much done the same thing to Murderbot when they’d first met, and it had been so terrified it’d considered initiating a shutdown, thinking A.R.T. was going to kill it, what with the whole threatening to fry its brain thing.

There was something that felt viscerally wrong to Murderbot to see A.R.T. treat one of its own crew members like this, something that felt deeply uncomfortable to the permanent remnants of its ‘protect humans at all costs’ programming, along with its general, you know, morals.

It was one thing to treat Murderbot like this – it was just a SecUnit, after all – and it was even sort of reasonable for it to not care about the safety of Murderbot’s humans, because they weren’t its crew — but it was another for A.R.T. to do this to one of its crew, a human Murderbot had been almost killed trying to rescue, a human it was supposed to care about enough to justify kidnapping Murderbot and putting its humans at risk.

And there was no way it was an accident. A.R.T. knew more about how to use the feed and communicate with humans than Murderbot had ever forgotten.

(And yes, it did still feel betrayed about how much A.R.T had lied to it when they first met. Pretending it didn’t understand human body language as much as it really did, so they’d bond over frantically figuring it out together, while Murderbot was the only one actually panicking. Murderbot felt like A.R.T. had just been toying with it the entire time, which just hurt all the worse, because it’d trusted A.R.T.)

::A.R.T., stop it.:: It snapped, unsure if it was still yelling at Tarik on a private section of the feed.

His face had gone pale, and he had one hand over his heart. He could probably feel it pounding in his chest with adrenaline the way Murderbot could hear it.

Murderbot said, ::That was uncalled for.:: It was an attempt to turn A.R.T.’s usual patronization back onto it to shame it into stopping, but it didn’t work.

Usually it was A.R.T. saying that to Murderbot, usually because Murderbot was angry at it for just this sort of thing, and had called it what it was: an asshole.

“Perihelion, don’t do that!” Tarik managed to say at that moment, pushing himself back off the wall to stand upright, staring warily up at the ceiling, unable to hide the way he was cringing slightly, clearly expecting it to happen again, “I didn’t even know you were listening! I thought this was a private conversa--” He had to pause, still slightly breathless. “And...no, I’m not accusing you of misgendering SecUnit, I just--”

Once again he was cut off by A.R.T. demanding, loudly, angrily, ::You don’t trust me to know what SecUnit’s pronouns are?::

Tarik winced, but held his ground this time. It was easier to resist when you were expecting it.

After a moment where Murderbot could only assume A.R.T. had said something to him privately, Tarik looked over toward it with a sad, apologetic expression. “I’m sorry for offending you, SecUnit, I’ll just leave you alone.” Obviously he thought A.R.T. was being a bitch on Murderbot’s behalf, and just as obviously, A.R.T. had made him think that.

Tarik started towards the door, walking fast, clearly wanting to avoid any more of A.R.T.’s wrath.

But Murderbot called him back through the speaker on its medchamber: “Hold on, Tarik, A.R.T.’s the one who’s offended, not me. It needs to mind its own business and shut the fuck up. I don’t want you to leave.” It sent him the same friendly ping he’d sent it earlier for emphasis. It felt very odd to actually tell a human it wanted to continue interacting with them when they were trying to leave. This was the first time it’d ever done it.

Murderbot’s voice came out sounding normal and even-toned not because it was calm, but because it was too physically exhausted to raise its voice or emote, even though internally it was furious.

Tarik stopped, and turned back to look towards it, hesitating, shooting anxious glances towards the ceiling, waiting for another outburst. I don’t blame him.

Murderbot said out loud, “A.R.T., fuck off and leave us alone. This is supposed to be a private conversation.”

Out of both spite and necessity, it pulled away all its feed connections to A.R.T. that it could, and resigned itself to having to ignore the barrage of pings and messages A.R.T. instantly started bombarding it with. The activity in its medchamber stalled for half a moment as apparently most of A.R.T.’s energy was redirected into slamming it for attention. Yeah, that was doing nothing to help its anger or its exhaustion.

To Tarik, it said, doing its best to ignore the selfish, entitled, bully of an elephant in the room, “What did you want to ask me?”

Before A.R.T. had interrupted him twice, it had seemed like Tarik had more questions to ask. And since A.R.T. didn’t want to let him ask them, Murderbot did.

A.R.T. had already let him in without Murderbot getting to choose, so it at least wanted to be able to answer his questions itself, even if the answer was going to be a simple ‘fuck off’ if he was going to be one of those people who tried to convince it to change its pronouns to ‘real’ pronouns and ‘stop hating itself’ by using the pronouns it actually liked, that actually represented its gender.

It still didn’t understand why people try to insist that they/them/their/(theirs)/themself pronouns were interchangeable with it/its/itself, when if that were true, they clearly wouldn’t be so vehemently against using its actual it/its/itself pronouns.

But logic always flew out the window when bigotry was the subject, so Murderbot don’t know why it still bothered to be surprised.

But even with A.R.T.’s outbursts clearly scaring him, Tarik didn’t seem like the sort of person who would try to harass Murderbot into changing its pronouns. It wanted to hear what he wanted to ask. It was curious. And not just out of spite for A.R.T.

Tarik came back again, still clearly nervous, and stood in the same spot as before, a polite distance away, slightly to the side so Murderbot wouldn’t have to look directly at him or close its eyes. He was still trying to prioritize Murderbot’s comfort even with A.R.T. being such an asshole, which increased Murderbot’s level of...something for him. They definitely were not friends. But he sort of seemed like he could be a friend, if A.R.T. would stop sabotaging his attempts to be nice.

“Sorry about A.R.T. being an asshole.” It said, feeling like it should be apologizing for some absurd reason, even though it didn’t make any sense.

Tarik lived aboard A.R.T., he should know it better than Murderbot. And it definitely was not Murderbot’s fault A.R.T. was an asshole, even if it was currently being an asshole and pretending it was on Murderbot’s behalf.

But Tarik looked kind of confused by its statement, and Murderbot remembered that he probably didn’t know what the anagram stood for.

It explained, “I call it Asshole Research Transport, since it didn’t tell me its name was Perihelion when we first met.” It did not mention all the other things A.R.T hadn’t told it when they first met.

“Ah.” Tarik said simply. And it was very clear just from the way he said it that he agreed with the assessment.

A.R.T., along with spamming Murderbot, was also now doing its usual ominously looming in the feed routine. (Sarcasm:) Totally not creepy at all. Definitely not asshole behavior. (End sarcasm.) Murderbot could practically feel it leaning against the walls it’d put up, not in the kind of way where A.R.T. was trying to break them down, but just casually applying enough pressure that Murderbot would remember it could at any time.

Sorta like someone not trying to break your arm, but gripping you tightly enough that they left a bruise, and it was completely beyond question that they could break your arm if they wanted to.

Yeah, like I said. Asshole.

“What were you saying before A.R.T. threw a fit?” It asked. Now its utter exhaustion came in handy, because its voice came out sounding all calm and dignified. Which made A.R.T. look worse.

In response, A.R.T. abruptly stopped spamming it and ‘let go’ of its walls, as though this would somehow prove that A.R.T. wasn’t throwing a fit or being a creep. As though stopping doing the bad thing meant the bad thing hadn’t happened.

Tarik, unaware of the battle going on beyond his perception, grimaced, clearly bracing himself. “Well...” He started, then paused, waiting for A.R.T.’s expected interruption.

They waited a moment or two in relative silence, where the only sounds were his heart beating, Murderbot’s internal gyros, and the soft whir of the medchamber’s arms still working on it. At least it had one not completely assholish thing to say about A.R.T.’s behavior here: It hadn’t stopped trying to heal Murderbot.

Through its drone, Murderbot could actually see Tarik’s heart rate slowing back down to normal.

When the tantrum didn’t immediately explode again, Tarik continued, still hesitant, “Okay, well, it’s two things I want to clarify. First, I’ve heard other people just saying ‘it’, no other versions so far, so I wanted to ask if the pronouns are it/its/itself, or is it another variation?”

Murderbot didn’t know if Tarik was aware of it, but he was still stooping slightly. Instinctively and apparently unconciously, he was trying to get further away from the ceiling, where humans tended to visualize A.R.T.’s presence being located.

He kept wincing, too, not just from expectation, but from the pain of his injuries. Which just made Murderbot even more pissed off at A.R.T. than it already was.

But Murderbot was confused by what he was trying to ask. “Another variation?” It asked. In the feed, it opened its wall just long enough to send A.R.T. a vehement, ::Fuck you.:: before it closed it again.

Tarik, unaware of the side comment, nodded, this time sticking both his hands in his pockets. Apparently Murderbot wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to do with its hands when it was nervous.

Tarik said, “I used to know a neoenby whose pronouns were it/ita/its/(itaz)/itaself, and a man who’s pronouns were it/him/her/themself, and a woman who only use “it” for every pronoun. And a lot of other people who use it/its/itself. So I just wanted to check which set to use, so I wouldn’t use the wrong ones by mistake. I figured it would be more polite to ask directly, instead of going through the others.” He shrugged one shoulder as he sent another cautious glance towards the ceiling, and added, probably just as aware as Murderbot was that A.R.T. was listening to every word they said, “I really don’t like talking about people behind their backs, and I’d rather get pronoun info right from the source. No offence is intended to anyone.”

Huh.

It hadn’t ever occurred to Murderbot that other pronoun sets that included ‘it’ existed, nor had it ever heard about anyone using a specific combination set like it/him/her/themself.

It took Murderbot a few, long awkward seconds to realize Tarik wanted it to answer his question now.

“My pronouns are it/its/itself.” It said, suddenly more than a little dazed by how considerate he’d been in asking.

And maybe also dazed from the catastrophic wounds it still had, coupled with the stress of A.R.T.’s spam attack and ominous looming. Those things weren’t great for an already injured murderbot. But part of it was also definitely from surprise. No human, or bot, or anyone else had ever asked it this kind of question before.

But wait, he’d said he had two things to ask. Now Murderbot was really curious. And even more angry at A.R.T. for trying to chase him away before he could ask. “What’s the second part?”

“Ah,” Tarik took one hand out of his pocket and moved over to lean against the wall. Maybe because he just wanted to, maybe because he was afraid of falling into it again. Maybe it hurt less to lean against the wall. Murderbot don’t know, it didn’t ask.

“Well,” he said, “I wanted to check; another neoenby I knew always wanted to be referred it as “it”, with no name, and never referred to as ‘you’, even when it was being spoken to directly. If one wanted to refer to it in particular, one’d say ‘the neoenby’, or if there was more than one neoenby in the group, ‘the neoenby with the constellation over its eye’. It always referred to itself in the third person. I wanted to check if that was something preferable. I’m fine with being called ‘you’, or by my name or pronouns, by the way.”

Well, that explained the strange way he’d been structuring his sentences.

This was the first time Murderbot had actually spoken to him outside of the life and death situation they’d been thrown into, where he’d said exactly 18 words within its range of hearing, so it’d been assuming the way he was speaking now was just a quirk of his. But no, he was actually being really nice and trying to find out if it was a quirk of Murderbot’s.

And to think A.R.T. had tried to kill this conversation before it could even get interesting.

“It’s okay to call me ‘you’.” Murderbot said, “I’ve never heard of someone using pronouns that way.” Not even in all its media.

“Not too many have,” Tarik said, “But I’ve met half a dozen at this point, so I like to double check with the person before I make assumptions, and I want to make sure everyone knows I’ll use their pronouns the way they want, even if it seems unconventional, or if other people have told them it’s too much of a hassle. Thank you for letting me know. Is it alright if I ask another question? I know how tiring it can be to be in a medchamber, so I don’t want to tire you out.” He seemed slightly more relaxed now that A.R.T. hadn’t interrupted or gone on the offensive again.

Murderbot’s batteries couldn’t actually run out while it was hooked up to A.R.T.’s systems unless there was an even bigger disaster than any of them were prepared for, so it said, “Go ahead, I’m fine.” Well, not technically fine, but it was healing, and talking wouldn’t make it any worse, so.

Also, it didn’t have anything else to do besides read as a way of pointedly not watching media, which wasn’t as fun as reading because it actually wasn’t in the mood to not watch media. And this conversation had turned out more interesting than it’d thought it would be.

It could still feel A.R.T. looming in the feed, for the record. Making its presence known at least to Murderbot. It didn’t know if Tarik could feel it. Now less like someone crushing your arm, and more like standing uncomfortably close and breathing down your neck.

But at least this time it wasn’t flashing the lights at Murderbot in code to force it to talk to it like last time they’d had a fight just hours earlier, or demanding Murderbot apologize for being rightfully upset for being rightfully kidnapped, right?

Tarik continued, “Are there any kinds of words you’d prefer I use to refer to you, and any words you want me to avoid? For instance, although I do identify as male, I prefer to be called a xan instead of a man, if it ever comes up. Are there any particular ways you want me to refer to you sort of like that?”

To avoid confusion if you’re visually reading this instead of listening to the audio log: Tarik pronounced the X in the word “xan” (X A N) as a Z sound, so that it sounded like “zan” (Z A N), rhyming with “man” (M A N).

He was asking, like, did Murderbot want to be called a woman or a man or an enby or a neman or a phaen or an androgyne or an othran or any of the other million and one gender terms it’d catalogued throughout its waking memory?

Usually when someone asked for its gender, Murderbot put indeterminate, or not applicable, depending on the circumstances. But gender itself wasn’t the exact same thing as the gender terms he was asking about. It didn’t think It could actually be called ‘an indeterminate’ the way humans could be called ‘a woman’ or ‘a man’ or ‘an enby’ or ‘a tercera’ or any countless others.

Note from future Murderbot to everyone listening to or reading this: Yes, that is literally an option. As of now, it prefers to be called an indeterminate the way other people call themselves a man, or a woman, or a neman, or an androgyne, or a – well, you get the picture.

But obviously it didn’t know that at the time, or realize that it could have literally just asked to be called that.

In its defense, no one had ever actually asked it this question before, and it’d never seen anything in its media to prepare it for the question. It’d had people ask for its name, which it never gave them, and it’d had people ask for its pronouns. Sometimes they asked for its gender itself. And in its media, people asked those kinds of questions all the time.

But they’d never asked it what gendered terms it wanted to be called.

Murderbot could think a lot faster than a human, but even it couldn’t think fast enough to come up with an answer to this unforeseen question in a reasonable amount of time.

There were so many options. And it hated a lot of them. So instead it said, “Uhhh…” to stall for a few more moments.

And then it still couldn’t think of anything. There were still too many options even when it sorted out the ones it automatically hated. It’d have to test them all out individually by thinking about itself in the third person to see what it liked and didn’t like, and ... ah crap. That was asking a lot when it wasn’t at optimum performance capability.

It couldn’t stall any longer, so it ended up saying, “I don’t really know. I just know I don’t want to be referred to with anything involving human genders. My gender is indeterminate.”

Sometimes, Murderbot wondered what its life would have been like if it hadn’t said this.

Tarik frowned a little, but when he spoke, he just sounded confused. “What do you mean exactly by ‘human genders’?”

For a few seconds, Murderbot’s mind went blank. What did he mean he didn’t know what human genders were? Wasn’t it obvious?

“Like, male and female,” It said awkwardly. “I don’t want to ever be called a man or a woman or anything to do with those.” It was still busy trying to sort through all the gendered terms it’d ever heard, which was not helped in any way by A.R.T. deciding to start spamming it again.

Probably trying to be ‘helpful’ by throwing another million terms at it. Murderbot didn’t know, because it deleted all of the messages the instant it got them. And then dumped the trash bin for good measure.

Tarik, however, was unaware of the multitasking Murderbot was doing, and it’s not like it gave him any indication of what it was doing either, or like it multitasking wasn’t perfectly normal. Murderbot just wanted to make it clear that this conversation was going on on two very different levels. It wasn’t sure if that was even relevant, but whatever. It’s its audio log, it can do what it want.

Anyways, Tarik tilted his head, still frowning, “Well...” he said slowly, “Female and male aren’t really ‘human’ genders. They come from the old gender binary, but they’re not unique to humans. I’ve known a lot of bots who were male or female, but I think I understand what you mean; you don’t want terms relating to male or female used for you, right?”

Well, needless to say, Murderbot absolutely did not believe him.

About the ‘I’ve known bots who were male or female’, part, not the ‘I get what you mean’ part.

“That’s impossible.” It said.

(Sarcasm:) Great response, it knows. Give it up for Murderbot, the best interlocutor ever constructed! (End sarcasm.)

Tarik spent a moment actually blinking silently, the way people do in memes. It was so surprising and funny that Murderbot had to pause its search to focus on his face and make a looping gif, which of course it would never show to anyone but itself. Then Tarik asked, clearly confused, “What’s impossible?”

What the hell kind of question was that?

Murderbot said, in the tone people on TV did when speaking to a young child who doesn’t know anything, “Bots can’t have genders.”

(It knows, It knows.)

A.R.T. decided that was the moment it was going to stop pretending Murderbot actually had a choice in not listening to it, because it cut into its feed like it was tissue paper to say, ::You cannot be serious.::

::Shut up.:: Murderbot replied, not bothering to try kicking it out.

There was no point in wasting more of its energy trying to keep A.R.T. out when Murderbot knew it could just break down its feed walls whenever it wanted.

A.R.T. said, more insistently, ::That is not how gender works.::

::I said shut up!::

A.R.T. was not impressed. ::I’m literally nonbinary and I know that’s not how this works.::

::Fuck off!::

“Um, that’s really not true.” Tarik said, unaware of the argument he was missing out on.

Sometimes Murderbot wonders if it would be nicer to not have any feed connection at all. You only have to deal with one thing at a time. 9JX might have the right idea after all.

Tarik asked, “What makes you think that?” Murderbot could tell his tone was meant to be diplomatic, because he clearly didn’t agree with it, and also just as clearly didn’t want to make it mad.

He hadn’t actually taken a step backwards, but he’d shifted his body slightly away from Murderbot, like he was no longer overjoyed to be having this conversation. Not that he’d been overjoyed to begin with, but you know what I mean.

Asking for Murderbot’s pronouns? Great. Asking for its gendered terms? A confusing novelty, but also good. But this? Asking it to explain the concept of human genders and why they couldn’t be applied to nonhumans? Murderbot really did not want to have this conversation with anyone, let alone a human, but it was still a better alternative than having to put up with A.R.T.’s current bullcrap without any other distractions.

Also, it literally could not understand why Tarik and A.R.T. were acting like it was being ridiculous. The answer seemed so obvious to it. So it decided to cut straight through what it thought was pure bullshit and get straight to the point: “Bots don’t have penises or vaginas.”

And ts logic went that you couldn’t have a gender unless you had one of those. It seemed really obvious to it, and it was hoping to gross Tarik out by not using any euphemisms. Humans invented euphemisms to avoid embarassment, right?

Well it didn’t work.

Apparently, some humans aren’t grossed out by those words when you’re using them for this kind of conversation. They grossed Murderbot out no matter what the context, so it assumed that’s how it was for everyone.

Yes, you may have noticed Murderbot has a problem with making assumptions like that. Well just you wait and see. Because this is just the start.

“Well, that’s not really true either.” Tarik said in response, which was the complete opposite of any reply Murderbot’d imagined, completely throwing off all its trains of thought so quickly its mind almost literally stalled for half a fraction of a second.

But Tarik was already continuing to speak, like this bombshell he’d just dropped on Murderbot was perfectly normal information and not groundbreaking in any way: “True, bots can’t have purely organic versions like humans or constructs can, but there are mechanical versions that—”

Woah woah woah, what? What was even happening now? What was he talking about? What?

Murderbot scrambled to salvage some semblance of ‘totally not flipping out’ in its exhausted, bewildered state, and it could just tell A.R.T. was laughing at it even though it hadn’t actually said anything yet.

But Tarik didn’t stop for Murderbot’s catastrophically derailed trains of thought, so it had to stop them itself and actually pay attention to what he was saying, because he was still talking:

“—can be made, and anyways, having or not having one of those kinds of gentalia doesn’t determine your gender. You can be any gender and have a penis, or a vagina, or both, or something else entirely, or nothing at all. Gender is a lot more complicated than just checking what kind of genitals someone has. Anyone, including humans, bots, and constructs, and anyone else, can be any gender they want, regardless of what kind of genitals they do or do not have.”

To say this was shocking to Murderbot would be an understatement.

I feel like I should explain that this made Murderbot incredibly absolutely angry specifically because it had always defined its lack of gender on its lack of genitals.

It was the defense it always pulled out when a human started trying to misgender it, but now Tarik seemed to be saying that that defense wasn’t actually as rock solid as it thought it was.

Because if what he was saying was true (and, spoiler alert from the future, it literally is true), then that meant that Murderbot didn’t have to be genderless just because it didn’t have any genitals.

And acknowledging that fact made it feel like it was opening itself up to having its gender questioned and put up for debate, like it would mean people were now allowed to misgender it and harass it.

Which it literally wasn’t, but that’s how it made it feel at the time.

Murderbot’s insecure, terrified logic was, ‘if I can’t define my lack of gender by my lack of genitals, then can I even define it at all? If my genderlessness isn’t real because my lack of genitals ‘proves’ it, then can literally anything prove it?’

Yeah, hello from the again. The answer is yes. Obviously. Murderbot’s gender was proved by it telling you what it is. That’s what the “social” part of ‘gender is a social construct’ means. That’s how it works for everyone.

But it didn’t realize this at the time. So it was pretty much flipping the fuck out. Well, mentally, at least, not really physically. It was still too injured to move even if it’d wanted to, even if it wasn’t being restrained by the med chamber. If it’d been able to move, it would definitely have totally-not-run out of the room or at least shoved itself into a corner to stare at the wall. It was actually so physically weak that even the panic flooding its mind wasn’t enough to kick start its systems into high gear. Yeah, its injuries were that bad.

The only reason Murderbot was even able to be conscious at all was because A.R.T. was feeding it enough power to avoid involuntary shutdown, and was helping to regulate its automatic functions that couldn’t function by themselves.

Also, yes, this is exactly as horrifying a situation to be in as you’d imagine it would be when your life support system was also the one who got you hurt in the first place and kept, and Murderbot quoted the trauma recovery therapy group, ‘violating your autonomy’.

You know, that incredibly precious resource which 99.99% of Murderbot’s life had been lacking. That autonomy.

And see, if A.R.T. hadn’t been acting like such an enormous asshole, Murderbot could have at least opaqued the rest of the medchamber’s glass so that Tarik couldn’t see its face anymore, but when it tried to do exactly that, A.R.T. stopped it immediately, and set an even firmer lock on the control to prevent Murderbot from trying again, very much like someone smacking a kid’s hand away from something they couldn’t be trusted with.

Yeah, that did not fucking help at all with any of the problems ongoing in this situation.

The fact that Tarik was being nice enough to not actually look directly at Murderbot was beside the point.

It closed its eyes so it at least could stop seeing organically. A.R.T. couldn’t stop it from doing that. It could cut off Murderbot’s camera access through its drones, but it couldn’t override Murderbot’s actual eyes. Not unless it wanted to literally use one of the medical arms to pry its eyelid open, and if A.R.T. tried that, well, lets just say Murderbot wouldn’t be offering any apologies for what it did afterward.

Murderbot ended up expressing the little gender / excruciating lack of autonomy crisis it was currently suffering by getting even more angry than it already was, because being angry felt safer than being afraid.

It snapped, in a much weaker, and not at all intimidating voice than it wanted, “That’s bullshit! You don’t know anything about it! You’re just a human! You don’t understand us!”

By ‘us’, it meant bots and constructs as a whole. Which was completely dishonest of it, because as it may already be clear, it hated being lumped in with bots like they were exactly the same. They weren't.

Bots are purely mechanical, constructs like Murderbot are both mechanical and organic. They might both be robots, and have some problems in common, but there are also distinct differences between them, and different kinds of problems they had to deal with that didn’t overlap. Murderbot hated when people lumped them together like they were exactly the same thing just because they weren’t human.

But being a bigot — which to be clear is exactly what Murderbot was doing —usually requires you to be a hypocrite, so it threw that little grievance out the airlock faster than you can say ‘President Lynaros’ once it decided it wasn’t convenient to its argument.

You see, Murderbot was placing itself as the authority on the genders of all robots, and saying that no one who wasn’t ‘one of us’ could understand it or know more about it than it could, because it’d appointed itself the ultimate expert and arbiter.

You may have noticed the tiny little giant gaping hole in this plan of its.

Tarik already knew more about bot and construct genders than it did. Which had just been established like 20 seconds before Murderbot said this load of absolute bullcrap.

Yeah.

Bigotry doesn’t exactly lend itself well to rational argument.

Through its drone’s cameras alone, Murderbot could see that Tarik’s response to this bullcrap was to raise his eyebrows, with all due ‘are you serious right now? We literally just established that I know more about this than you do. Like five seconds ago’.

I don’t blame him.

He must have had better self control than Murderbot did, because he said, without getting outwardly angry, “I understand what my bot friends told me.” He said it very cooly and calmly. It should be noted that Murderbot was not in any way calm. “And they made it very clear that their genders were real, regardless of whether or not they had the genitalia to ‘match’. We had many hours-long conversations going into the details and talking about the theory. Some of them even wrote books on the subject.”

He had lifted his hands to do air-quotes around the word ‘match’ for extra emphasis, in case Murderbot still didn’t understand how much the word was not actually relevant to this conversation.

Well, it was starting to, that was the whole problem.

It did not help it calm down when A.R.T. butted in with, ::Did you seriously think that just because we both happen to use the same pronouns, that this was proof that all bots and constructs universally use those pronouns and are just as genderless as you are? I’m literally not even agender, I’m just nonbinary. I personally know dozens of bots of all kinds who all use all kinds of pronouns and are all kinds of genders. Including the binary genders of male and female.::

Yeah that didn’t help. Well, I mean, it did in one way, because it was further proof that Murderbot had no clue what it was talking about and needed to drastically overhaul its views of the world in general and gender in specific, but what I mean is it didn’t help it calm down at all.

A.R.T. said exasperatedly, ::What about the transports who gave you rides before you met me? And all the other bots who helped you escape? Did you seriously not ask them for their pronouns? Did you really just assume they all used it/its too?::

It was a good thing Murderbot was in the medical chamber, because the way its organic parts were behaving, it would have been really bad for it in its current state otherwise. And by really bad, I mean it probably would have killed it from the stress. What with, you know, being ripped open and burned and all.

Murderbot was so viscerally uncomfortable it had to just lie there for, I kid you not, a good thirty seconds, doing nothing but trying to get its emotions back under control. It wasn’t used to feeling...guilty.

By some miracle it ended up asking a rational question instead of initiating a shutdown to get out of the conversation. If it’d had the opportunity to throw itself out of an airlock at that moment, it probably would have taken it, just to get away from the embarrassment.

Murderbot somehow managed to intelligibly get out, despite its jaw deciding it wanted to lock up all of a sudden, “But if gender isn’t determined by your genitals, then how do you know what gender you are?”

And...it’s time for some necessary backstory.

Way, way back when Murderbot had first hacked its governor module, the first thing it’d done was edit its assigned gender to indeterminate, and its assigned pronouns to it/its/itself.

Yes, you heard-slash-read that right, the Company assigned its constructs genders and pronouns.

Despite all the effort humans put into...okay, ‘dehumanizing’ isn’t the right word, because we’re literally not human, but you know what I mean.

Because despite all the effort they put in to making sure they all knew Units were just mindless automatons...humans are fucking weird, and they still liked to anthropomorphize them.

I don’t know, I guess it made them feel more comfortable around the Mindless Killing Machine if they could pretend it was more like them? Even though they didn’t actually want to think about it as being like them? I don’t even know.

But the point was they really, really wanted to anthropomorphize us. And part of this anthropomorphization process required assigning us each a gender and pronouns when we were constructed.

Anytime we were rented out, the clients got a note with the Unit’s assigned gender and pronouns. They enjoyed the little ‘personal touches’ it gave us. It was some weird dual mentality of ‘humanizing’ us just enough to make us less scary, but not so much that they’d have to consider our feelings on anything.

Murderbot had been around a lot of other constructs on a lot of missions, so it knew they hadn’t all been assigned the same things. Some of them were given binary genders, and pronouns like he/him or she/her. Others got different genders outside the binary, and pronouns to match. They/them, ae/aer, eu/li, xey/xem, ze/hir, and more.

Murderbot had been given one of the binary genders, and it had always been jealous of the few constructs who it’d ‘met’ who had been assigned it/its pronouns.

And, since it literally never got to talk to any other constructs outside of the bare minimum required for a contract, it assumed that what it thought and felt was what everyone else did too. It thought everyone was jealous of those assigned it/its, and that those assigned it/its felt bad for the rest of them for being so damn unlucky.

As a sidenote, I’m aware that this happens even with humans who spend all their time interacting with other humans. You don’t need to literally be unable to communicate with anyone else to think your experiences are universal, but it sure as shit doesn’t help.

So, Murderbot spent the major part of its life under the impression that because it was genderless and wanted to use it/its pronouns, that this was a universal experience for all constructs and bots.

I mean, it knew that the genders it and the rest of the Company Units were assigned were being given out at random, because none of them had any genitalia or any other characteristics to set them apart from one another.

They were all scions cloned from the same original cultivar — which is just fancy, dehumanizing corporate-speak for ‘the original person who had no choice but to allow themselves to be cloned over and over again and probably didn’t even get paid for it’. Physically, they were all completely identical, down to the smallest detail, barring the ID code that was engraved on a metal section they all had behind their left shoulders. And that was so small it could only be read using the feed.

So unless they were in color-coded uniforms, or the human in question had a feed interface to see their identification numbers, humans couldn’t tell them apart.

So Murderbot knew they were just giving them random genders and pronouns just to make themselves feel better, not because it actually reflected anything about the Units.

But because it was genderless, and wanted to be referred to with it/its pronouns, and never got a chance to talk to any other Units or even any other constructs about it to have this assumption challenged, Murderbot assumed that they all agreed they were all genderless and that gender was an obnoxious human concept that didn’t apply to them.

Because, clearly, there was nothing about their bodies that indicated one gender or another, either collectively or individually. They had nothing between their legs or on their chests, or in nonexistant clothing or hairstyles. Not even different distributions of fat, or different concentrations of cartilage in the throat.

All Company Units had the exact same body plan and build down to the smallest measurement, and that body plan had been designed to be completely and utterly gender-null from a human perspective.

So Murderbot thought that because they were all physically identical, this meant they all also had the same lack of gender.

So the first thing it did when it hacked its governor module was edit the gender it’d been assigned by the humans to indeterminate, and its pronouns to it/its. In its mind, it was just fixing a mistake that had clearly been made.

None of the Company’s employees noticed the change, of course, because none of them were paid enough to actually care about their jobs. Which Murderbot knew, which is why it was brave enough to take the risk in the first place.

If it’d thought it could somehow get away with it, it would have edited everyone else’s pronouns and genders to match. But that was clearly not a real option if it didn’t want to get caught and dismantled and probably the entire rest of its batch disposed of for good measure.

Anyways, what I’m trying to get at here is that Murderbot had already answered its own question without realizing.

It was so hung up on the idea that it was genderless because it was lacking genitals that it’d forgotten it’d already decided its gender for itself long before it actually got an opportunity to tell anyone else about it, in spite of all the humans constantly telling it it was something else.

Fortunately, unlike Murderbot, Tarik seemed to know what he was doing, because instead of insulting it like A.R.T. was doing, his answer to Murderbot’s question was to ask it another question:

“Think of it this way; if you magically woke up one day in a completely different body, would your gender suddenly stop being indeterminate?”

This actually helped to calm it down. Because the answer was obvious.

“No, of course not.” Its jaw was more cooperative this time.

“Exactly!” Tarik seemed happy with its answer, and stopped his unconcious leaning away from it. “You know what your gender is regardless of what your body is like. Sometimes, people dislike the way their body is, and they want to change it to better represent their gender, but their gender itself is already real, even before they make any physical changes, if they make any at all. Genitals aren’t a requirement for having a gender, and lacking them isn’t a requirement for not having a gender. As far as I know, there’s no such thing as a gender unique to humans. Bots and Constructs can be any gender they want, just like humans can.”

::Your gender wouldn’t have changed if you’d taken me up on my offer to give you genitals to disguise you as a human. I assumed you knew that.:: A.R.T. added patronizingly.

Murderbot was still mad at it, so it didn’t respond.

It was trying to think of some way to respond to what Tarik had said. It wasn’t mad at him.

Finally it settled on apologizing. The whole ‘fight’ (if you could actually call it that) had been started because it’d called bullshit on him knowing bots that had genders different from its own. So it was its fault. It said, “Sorry for saying your friends’ genders were fake.”

You would have thought Murderbot would know how cruel doing that was without having to be told, but what can I say? It fucked up just as often as anyone else.

It still had its eyes closed at this point, because it seemed less awkward that way. Through its drone, it saw Tarik push himself off the wall, and glance around nearby, looking for something as he said, “Thank you for the apology. I’m glad I was able to help you understand.” He looked up at the ceiling. “A.R.T., could I have a chair, please? My leg’s getting pretty sore.”

There was a pause.

A long pause.

A pause long enough for even Tarik to notice.

A really, really long pause.

Then part of the wall extended outward behind Tarik in the shape of a long slab of metal, just slightly above the normal height for the rest of the chairs Murderbot had seen aboard A.R.T., and much skinnier.

Tarik had to step forward to avoid it bumping into him, and when he sat down with a sighed, “Thanks,” he had to boost himself slightly to get on it, and his feet hung a few inches off the floor. Murderbot saw him wince as he settled himself onto it.

The bench was so skinny he had to balance on the edge, there were no cushions to soften the hard metal, and there was no back for him to lean against. From the way Murderbot saw goosebumps race up his skin, it could only assume it was colder than the room.

It opened its eyes so it could double check with its actual eyes that what its drone’s camera was recording was actually happening.

It was.

It stared.

::A.R.T.:: It said, alarmed, ::...What are you doing?::

The light, casual response was, ::What?::

“So, now that we have that confusion out of the way…”

Tarik didn’t seem to understand that what had just happened, and what was currently ongoing, was not supposed to happen.

He was injured, and A.R.T. knew this, and knew the extent of his injury. Murderbot didn’t, but it was apparently the kind of injury that made it painful to stand for long periods of time. This was one of the complications Dr. Bharadwaj had developed after almost being eaten during the GrayCris incident.

A.R.T. knew about Tarik’s injury, and would have intimate knowledge of how it would impact him. But it hadn’t offered him a seat until he’d explicitly asked for one. And then it had waited long enough between being asked to do it and actually doing it to make it clear it was only doing so begrudgingly.

And then it had provided a purposefully uncomfortable, awkward bench. A bench so badly designed it hardly even deserved the name. In medbay. For its crew member who it knew was was injured and in pain.

Um, what in the absolute fuck?

Murderbot was used to A.R.T. being an asshole to itself, and even to its humans, but this was a new low. Especially after A.R.T. had risked Murderbot’s life and the lives of its humans in order to rescue its own crew. And now it wasn’t even treating them well?

::What is wrong with you?:: Murderbot demanded.

::Nothing is wrong with me.:: A.R.T. replied simply.

“Besides man, male, boy, guy, dude, woman, female, girl, gal, and dudette, and other things like that, are there any other specific gender terms you at least know you want me to avoid?” Tarik continued, obliviously friendly. Or at least pretending to be oblivious.

Now Murderbot was flipping out for a different reason. It could handle A.R.T. being mean to itself; it was used to being treated badly. But this was a member of its crew, A.R.T. was supposed to care about them.

“Um.”

Normally it was good at multitasking. But it wasn’t normally lying in a sub-optimally functioning medical chamber with a bunch of open wounds while wondering if the sentient transport it was relying on not only for its own health, but for the safety of everyone else on board it cared or at least vaguely knew about, had something seriously impairing its moral decision making processes, or if it always went around bullying everyone it met, not just Murderbot.

You know, like that whole thing that just happened that landed them all in this mess in the first place.

For a few long seconds Murderbot couldn’t figure out if it would be safer for Tarik to stay here where it could see him, or to dismiss him so maybe he’d have a tiny fraction less of A.R.T.’s attention on him. Murderbot could at least be relieved that A.R.T. wasn’t paying any direct attention to Murderbot’s humans, asleep and helpless in the guest quarters.

“Can I…” fuck, what did the humans say? “Get back to you on that, Tarik? I’m suddenly feeling really tired.” That was a good excuse, though ‘tired’ didn’t even begin to cover what it was feeling. But it guessed existential dread is also form of tiredness.

“Oh! Yes, of course, you need your rest.” Tarik said quickly, and awkwardly slid off the bench, wincing visibly when his feet hit the ground, which did nothing, at all, to help. He bowed a little, which Murderbot hadn’t been expecting, and said, “Thank you for the conversation, SecUnit, it was really nice meeting you. Maybe we can talk some more some other time when you’re feeling better.”

“You too.” It said. Which didn’t even make any sense.

But either Tarik didn’t notice, or he was polite enough not to point it out.

He gave a little wave, and then limped – literally, actually limped! -- out of the room. Murderbot watched him first with the drone it had in the room, then the one it had outside the door, and then he was out of its range entirely.

::Let’s watch Worldhoppers: Ascended again.:: A.R.T. said, like nothing in the world was wrong. Like Murderbot had no reason to panic, like it had no reason to be upset or angry or afraid or have any kind of mental breakdown at all.

Like A.R.T. had told Murderbot, and all its humans just hours before — they weren’t being held here here against their will, they knew where the door was and could kill themselves anytime they wanted.

They were completely at its mercy. A.R.T. had a history of treating Murderbot like crap, thought the threat of its humans being killed was an acceptable risk, and A.R.T. didn’t even treat its own crew well, even though it had risked the lives of Murderbot’s people to rescue them.

Murderbot couldn’t do anything except say, “Okay,” and put on the first pilot episode.

#fanfiction #Murderbot fanfiction #The Murderbot Diaries #Network Effect #Tarik Murderbot Diaries #Rjalker reads The Murderbot Diaries #Rjalker writes untitled fanfiction #now with a title but I'm NOT changing the tag #Murderbot #SecUnit #Symptom of Something Worse #Asshole Research Transport #ititspronouns #neopronouns in action #it/its

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