singularityderp | HORRIBLE MEMES ALL DAY ERRYDAY

prism/hal.

they both have creepy humanoid bodies now, right?

I demand someone else fill this properly.

Jack/Atlas.

Obligatory "would you kindly"

/SOB This is clearly fic about the game and not about Sing PCs, so I hope that's okay, and man non-con/dub-con/forcing yourself on the mentally handicapped warning: go.

The floor rocked and somewhere, deep beneath the concrete, Jack could make out the feeling of the bedrock crumbling. Fire poured out behind him and there was a sick sort of churning beneath his feet as water separated the foundation of the docks from the seafloor. The floor was rising, or falling, it was impossible to tell and he needed to get the hell out of here. He wheeled around and his wrench caught a splicer across the jaw, the Nitro dropped as his neck twisted round and his gas-mask went flying.

Jack made it around the corner before the oil on the ground caught fire. The corpse, and the grenade box at its side, exploded with a sickening series of wet cracks and concussive booms. It was getting hard to hear, too much was going on at once. The sound of metal above him, sharp and bright, meant he had Spiders after him. The whole room craned to the right and water splashed up, over the causeway. He didn't stop running to check, but the heavy metal crash and the female shriek probably meant that the submarine (or what was left of it) had taken care of the Spiders for him.

"Atlas!?" Jack called into the radio. He wasn't sure if the static he got back was actually coming out of the radio or if he was hearing things. His arm was still fuzzy, jumping with stray electricity, and his head was ringing. He was out of EVE and he had no idea which way to go.

"In here, Boy'o!" It was strange, hearing that voice in real space, not through a radio.

Before Jack could register how surreal it was, there was a firm hand on his upper arm and he was being yanked through a threshold. The steel door slammed shut hard at his heels and the metal floor creaked violently as the hall twisted. The pounding in the back of his skull might have been water hitting the door and bulkhead, he wasn't sure. Jack was working pretty hard to make sure he kept up with the slender Irish man leading him by the arm, and everything else was really a secondary consideration.

"Atlas?" Jack managed as they beat feet toward the seals on Neptune's Bounty proper. "You're alive?"

"Not for long, you don't pick up the pace," Atlas answered in his familiar Irish brogue. His hand shifted and he was pulling Jack by the wrist. Atlas was fast, was that how he got away from the Splicers? "Would you kindly hurry up?"

Jack nodded and picked up the pace. The floor was curling beneath them and the bulkhead was groaning. That was a lot of water. They made it in to the airlock and the door slammed just as the sound of buckling metal filled the hallway behind them. Atlas let him go as he tightened the door lock and the force of the water hitting the wall managed to knock both of them back and onto the floor.

The sole light in the room flickered and Jack looked at Atlas. Atlas was busy staring at the door. After a few moments, the sound of rushing water faded away and silence permeated the tiny room. Another minute crept by and slowly Atlas's eyes started searching the door. Abruptly, Atlas let out a deep, rich laugh and curled forward to slap at his boots. He was still half lying across Jack, but his relief was enough to put a smile on Jack's face.

"We made it, Boy'o, we made it!" Atlas shouted and clapped Jack on the shoulder. His grip tightened and he shook Jack a little before smashing an enthusiastic, half crazed kiss across his lips. Jack froze, more out of general confusion than anything more sophisticated, but Atlas hardly noticed. They parted with a wet smack and Atlas patted him on the cheek as a wide grin split his face.

"What...what about your family?" Jack asked...mostly because it seemed like the prudent thing to ask. Atlas stared at him and a flicker of confusion darted across his face before it crumpled into something resembling sorrow. Jack didn't know how to decipher the expression properly, so his knee-jerk reaction was only partially accurate.

"I'm sorry, Atlas," Jack professed honestly and wrapped his arms around the Irish man in a powerful and slightly incongruous hug. Atlas didn't seem particularly encouraged by this, so Jack tightened his grip and pressed his forehead against the Irish man's shoulder.

"Alright, 'nough, there friend," Atlas announced sharply (or as sharply as he could manage through the rib-cracking grip Jack had on him.) "Now, would you kindly let me go?"

Jack released the grieving man immediately, he didn't want to be a bother, and he had no idea how to deal with this. Atlas turned a flat and irritated gaze on Jack. There was a thread of something darker in there, some ironic rage that Jack didn't recognize, but it vanished quickly as Atlas turned and straddled Jack's legs. When he didn't stand, Jack shot him a confused look.

"I'm beginning ta' think yer more trouble than this is worth, m'boy," Atlas all but snapped and Jack flinched a little.

"Atlas, I--" Jack paused mid-sentence. What do you say when it's your fault someone's family is dead? When you're the one who inadvertently goaded Andrew Ryan into unleashing the crazies on them all?

"Would you kindly shut yer trap?" Atlas cut him off and Jack was startled into silence. His Irish brogue faltered there, briefly, but Jack barely noticed. "I finally start to really like this acquaintanceship of ours an' you go and fill it right up with all manner of 'orrible."

Jack couldn't come up with a response. It stung, but it was true. He'd done very little to help, and a lot to ruin Atlas's plan, at the cost of his family. His silence drew a slow smile out of the man perched atop him and, as confusing as it was, Jack didn't even think to comment. Atlas's hand patted him idly across the cheek and his smile broke apart into an equally incongruous dark grin.

"Atta'boy," Atlas congratulated and Jack moved to speak. No sooner had he drawn the breath before Atlas's hand drew back and struck him across the face. It was shocking enough that Jack just blinked. "Now, now, non'a that."

Jack barely has the presence of mind to nod--had he hit him? Was he angry?--and Atlas leaned forward, pressing himself down against Jack in a manner that was both unusual and sent a twinge of worry up Jack's spine. He felt like he should know, should understand the hardness in Atlas's pants, but he didn't and he wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next.

"Ya are good at followin orders, aren't you?" Atlas asked and Jack nodded. "All efficiency an' exactness. Even if yer timing is a wee bit askew." Atlas was musing more to himself that Jack, even if those dark eyes were locked on him, and Jack just nodded mutely. "At's a good boy. Now, yer hand?"

Jack's attention strayed from Atlas's face and he caught sight of the man's hand extended and waiting at his side. Jack was confused. What did he want?

"Now, now, that furrowed brow ain't helping nothing along that ought ta be helped," Atlas scolded. "Now, would you kindly give me that hand." Jack did so without protest and there was a strange disconnect for a moment because he couldn't figure out why he'd done it.

"Good," Atlas praised and Jack strained to see what he was doing but his head was quickly pushed back onto the ground. He found out soon enough as Atlas pressed his open hand against the front of his pants and the hardness of his erection. Jack froze and Atlas grinned charmingly at him.

"Now," Atlas continued, his voice like oil. Jack wasn't sure he liked it better in person. "Would you kindly: squeeze that. But be careful, I'm fragile right about now."

He didn't sound fragile, but Jack was gentle anyway. He wanted to pull away but...maybe this was part of grieving? His arm didn't want to listen to him, and Atlas hissed slowly as Jack did as he was asked. The Irishman pressed a hard kiss against him, completely unlike the first, and Jack just stared at his too-close face as he pressed his hips in and drew back, bucked against the pressure of his hand. Eventually Atlas pulled back for air, when he did, his face was still too close.

"Good, boy-o," Atlas congratulated. "Was that so hard? Now, would you kindly say my name?" Jack did and Atlas shuddered. Jack didn't understand what happened, didn't want to think on it too hard, but when Atlas stood up and went for the door without another word, he got the distinct feeling that he wasn't really dealing with a good guy.

golly gee, jack, i think you might be right.

did he wipe it off on his sweater

Yeah he did, like a boss.

So hot
so guilty

Human!Red/Tucker. Anything goes.

When York brought Red back home, Tucker hadn't paid much attention. Red looked like she always had when her hologram was up and she'd long since gotten used to having a raptor in the house. It was when she sat on the couch, which surprisingly didn't tilt severely under her weight, that Tucker looked up from teaching Junior how to suck at Mine Sweeper. She looked at the couch, then at Red before raising an eyebrow. "Uh, is there something going on I need to know about?"

Red beamed at her and patted Junior on the head, which he allowed because she was familiar in a strange way. "Am human now. Was accident. Station did something strange." She chirped.

"Oh. That's kinda... really fucking strange. But whatever. This place does weird shit all the time." She turned back to Junior, trying to explain the purpose of the flags again, when Red tugged at her shirt.

"Yeah? What'd you need, Red?"

"Permission."

"Uh, what? Sure, okay. You've got my permission to do whatever."

York was lured to the living room by the sound of high-pitched honking. It sounded a little more than distressed, mostly due to the dash of confusion mixed in. He frowned. If he kept being around Tucker's alien kid, he'd end up speaking the damn language. When he moved into the living room, he saw Junior in his usual place on Tucker's lap, but he seemed a little more than squished. Probably because Red had decided that one of the first things she should do with her human body was wrap her arms around Tucker's middle and press her face into the sim soldier's meager amount of chest.

To her credit, Tucker looked just as confused as he did, and slowly turned her head to stare at York as he entered and mouthed to him silently for help. York, deciding he'd had enough of this kind of thing for today and and in general from Tucker, slowly backed out of the room.

Edited 2010-12-25 22:13 (UTC)

A++

Poor York. Poor Junior. DISTURBED FOREVER.

Jorge/Emile

Someone give this thread (http://community.livejournal.com/singularityderp/4803.html?thread=604867#t604867) a happy ending?

Garrus/Shepard

Shepard is turned on by Garrus voice calling out kill-counts during a mission.

Hijinks ensue.

Jack inhaled sharply as Jorge's calloused fingers toyed with a loose thread on his sweater. They were almost touching, standing close enough that if they were to simultaneously inhale, they certainly would. Jack rested his palms against Jorge's hips, curling his fingers into the hem of his shirt in preparation to lift it up. Jorge's hands engulfed his, stilling him.

“No, Jack,” he whispered. “We leave the sweaters on.”

Jack looked up at him a little uncertainly. Jorge looked down at him with soft brown eyes full of Hungarian admiration. A sure smile rested just below the dark, authoritative bristles of the man's full mustache. The lamplight shimmered off of every hair, thrilling and arousing Jack. He could not resist its siren song.

“Okay,” Jack murmured, roving his hands over Jorge's warm, cashmere covered muscles. Jorge lent substance to the material, the contours of his form still obvious through the delicate fabric. Never before had a cashmere sweater exuded such raw manliness. Jack pressed his face into Jorge, smiling when the Spartan flexed his abs under his cheek.

While Jack was distracted with rubbing their besweatered bodies together, Jorge took the liberty of removing their pants. Jack gasped at the sudden cold air as it rushed across his bottom half. Jorge picked him up and mashed their chests together.

“Oh god, Jorge. That won't fit. That won't-” Jack stared up at him in wide-eyed shock. He could feel Jorge's manhood standing up proud against his thighs. It was the most deadly trousersnake in the world, of this he was sure.

“Shh,” Jorge assured him, brushing his hypnotic mustache against Jack's cheek in a gentle kiss. “It isn't going in anything.”

Jack's nonexistant bosom heaved at the touch. He was too breathless to ask questions, though he was positive Jorge had a plan. The Spartan still held him off of the ground, fingers pressed into his hips gently. With no apparent effort, he began rubbing Jack against his member. The human whimpered at pleasure of the unfamiliar sensation. They built up speed and their sweaters built up enough static electricity to kill a room full of splicers. With a sharp cry, Jack released all over the downy fabric.

Jorge's cock slipped between Jack's abs and his sweater and he continued to thrust. The contrast between Jack's heated underbelly and the soft, cushy fabric was intense. He grunted and shot several volleys of thick seed all over Jack's chest.

They could only hope that there was a dry cleaner on the station.

This was beautiful.

/Dead.

I'm not Commander Shepard, but this IS my favourite fill on the meme.

HORRIBLE MEMES ALL DAY ERRYDAY

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1/? No anon because everyone knows I'm writing this.

2/3 Dammit LJ.

3/3

Re: 3/3

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/writes about her own characters all day erryday

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COMPLETELY UNBIIDDEN. DEAL WITH IT.

LMAO

/DEALING WITH IT.

Re: COMPLETELY UNBIIDDEN. DEAL WITH IT.