#raise your standards to men that are willing to sacrifice something for you

[wkemeup]

Double Blind

summary: Set up on what might be the worst blind date you’d ever been on, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious bartender instead  pairing: bucky x reader, bartender!au warnings: a handsy asshole named Brock Rumlow a/n: this was written for @notyetneedcoffee​‘s 2k writing challenge! My prompt was “Touch her again and lose that hand." Congrats on 2k!!

The night hadn’t even started and you already missed your couch. With every step along the sidewalk and the click of a heel, you craved to dive into the soft cushioning of your old, worn down sofa, rid yourself of the makeup on your face, and watch movies all night with your best friend. Though, considering she was the culprit behind your current predicament, you might have to reconsider your friendship status for a while.

Natasha was always on your back about how often you kept yourself holed up in the apartment. You weren’t one for nights at the bar in tight dresses baring more skin than you were comfortable with or mingling with strangers in overcrowded spaces with music so loud you could hardly hear yourself think. You were always content with a bowl of popcorn on your lap and hair thrown haphazardly away from your face watching a fourth episode of the same series in a binge, and perhaps that made you a little lame, but you didn’t much mind.

You were happy in your ways, but Natasha had other plans.

It was how you ended up wearing a dress from her closet, black and short enough for your hands to be gripping and tugging the fabric down every few paces, and on your way to a bar downtown to meet a guy you didn’t even know. Some friend she was.

You crossed your arms as you walked, holding the sleeves of your jean jacket tighter against you to hide the exposure of your chest that Natasha had adamantly suggested you learn to flaunt. She tried to snatch your jacket from you before you could leave, but you swiped it back just as you slid out the door. 

You didn’t mind the heat of sweat that had started to bead at the back of your neck. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make if you were forced to wear a dress that had stranger’s eyes following you down the street with wolf whistles in their wake.

The guy’s name was Brock Rumlow, a security analyst from Natasha’s firm she crossed paths with in the break room on a few occasions. Devil that she was, took it upon herself to set up a blind date between the two of you. 

He was handsome, she told you; tall, dark haired, and with a jaw line so sharp it could cut through glass. He was brooding and mysterious and made the kind of money that could force you to overlook some minor character flaws, though she refused to elaborate until you at least agreed to meet the guy.

You were already so picky, she told you. You had impossibly high standards that no man could possibly meet, but hell, maybe that was the point.

You nearly walked right past the address he had texted you to meet at, surprised to find an entrance to a dive bar located down a series of steps away from the sidewalk and with a sign barely illuminated by a fading light. You glanced at your surroundings, clenching your jaw at the isolated area and the group of men across the street smoking under a street lamp, and reminded yourself to give Nat a piece of your mind when you got home.

Stepping into the bar, it was instantly apparent that you were wildly overdressed, even with the jean jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the faded smell of second-hand smoke soaked into the wood of the barstools and booths, the clicks of the pool table as two rather large men with thick grey beards leaned over the edge to inspect their next moves, and the stick of spilled beer on the floor under your heel.

A man in the corner of the room was watching you, arms folded over his chest like he was eyeing up prey, with a kind of hungry gaze that sent shivers down your spine as it trailed over your body. He licked his lips and you shuttered.

Tugging your jacket as far across your chest as you could manage, until it was wrapped in layers over itself, you quickly made your way to the bar. It seemed like a safe enough place. It was a decent distance away from the hawk staring you down in the corner of the room, anyway. The sticky sound of the floor followed with every step you took.

The bartender’s back was to you as he was cleaning a series of glasses in the sink. Watching him for a moment, he didn’t seem to notice you standing behind him but you could hear the faint sound of him humming along to the rock music playing softly from the jukebox in the far end of the room. He nodded his head along to the beat, shoulders swaying somewhat. It made your lips curve into a faint smile.

You were about to clear your throat, hoping to get his attention, when he turned around suddenly, tossing the rag over his shoulder and the features of his face softened into confusion as he laid eyes on you.

Blue. It was suddenly all you could see. Eyes like deep ocean waves and clear open skies. With long, brunette hair by his shoulders tucked behind his ears and a plain black t-shirt barely able to contain the strain of muscles in his arms and across his chest, he certainly looked tough enough to work in a bar like this, but with eyes like that, you wondered if he really belonged here at all.

He smiled at you, something soft and endearing, and you almost forgot why you were in this place to begin with.

“You sure you’re in the right bar, doll?” he asked sweetly, not skipping a beat and wiping the towel along the countertop of the bar in front of him and gestured for you to take a seat across from him.

Looking around, you winced at the men at a booth in the corner of the room who were about three seconds away from a brawl. One pointing a finger at the others chest, and the other so beet faced that he looked like he was about to explode at any given moment from holding back his tongue. 

You turned back to the bartender with an uneasy grimace, hoping that your directions had led you astray because this certainly couldn’t be the ‘restaurant’ Brock wanted to meet you at.

"Is this The Centurion?”

“The one and only.” Blue-eyes nodded, clearly a little amused by the way your shoulder slumped and the quiet huff that left your lips.

Of course, it was.

“You might want to change the name of this place,” you commented nervously as you finally took a seat, a slight tremor of a laugh in your voice, “because I clearly wasn’t expecting a bar like this when I left my apartment.”

You gestured to the dress and heels you were wearing and the stain of red upon your lips. He laughed a bit at that as you grabbed a napkin from behind the bar and started to wipe the lipstick away, leaving behind smudges of red upon the paper cloth. You licked your lips to restore some of the moisture and already felt a little lighter without it on.

“’Bar like this?’ Whatever could you mean by that?” he teased, all bright eyed, and when you started to realize what you had said and a blush burned in your cheeks, he only winked at you, chuckling softly to himself. “Trust me, I know this place is a shithole. I’m just surprised to see anyone besides our regulars around here, let alone a beautiful woman lookin’ like a deer in the headlights. We usually cater to a rougher sort of people.”

“You know, I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment,” you laughed, letting a brush of your hair fall into your face to shield the burn of red his comment elicited. The touch of your cheek was warm as you tried to hide it with the heel of your palm.

“Only an observation,” he replied quickly, though with a smirk on his lips.

You nodded, struggling to contain your smile.

He started to wipe down parts of the counter beside you, lifting up bowls of pretzels and limes, and swiping underneath, though there didn’t appear to be much of anything needing cleaning.

He was humming to himself again, not bothered at all by the way your eyes watched him as he worked. He started to wipe down his work station and you noticed rather quickly he paid special attention to the space of the bar ahead of you.

You sat in silence for a while, periodically checking your watch and tugging the lapels of your jacket further across your chest at every glance towards the door, only to find that same man in the corner staring you down and sending unpleasant shivers down your spine.

“Are you cold?” the bartender asked softly, looking over at you curiously as he dried a glass by the sink. “I can turn the AC down if you want.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused, seeing as you had sweat dampening the back of your neck, until he nodded at your jacket, which was still wrapped tightly around your chest. “Oh! Oh, no, I’m burning hot actually. This—This is my roommates dress and I never—I don’t usually wear stuff like this -- not that there’s anything wrong with it -- but I just—um—”

“Men are gross,” Blue-eyes concluded, biting on the edge of his lip as you nodded. He sighed, shaking his head as he slumped back to lean against the bar. “Yeah, I noticed Harvey’s been eyeing you since you walked in here.”

You followed his gaze to find the man who had been staring you down like a hawk the moment you stepped inside. He had yet to take his eyes off of you, though when you turned around, you found the bartender glaring at him with a kind of warning in his expression that gave the man enough sense to keep his hands to himself. Harvey threw his arms in the air, retreating back to his table in the corner and to the series of empty bottles beside him.

“Sorry about him,” Blue-eyes said sincerely. “I can’t kick him out for lookin’, but I swear if he comes close enough to make you uncomfortable, I’ll knock him into next week, alright? I double as the bouncer here, too.”

He added the last bit with a wink and it got you smiling.

“Busy man,” you commented and he laughed. It was the kind of sound that made your stomach twist in knots and you wondered if it was possible to preserve something so beautiful, something so light and airy that sat in such contrast to the tall, thick wall of muscle standing before you.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” you added, sincerely. He nodded in return and you got the feeling he wasn’t like the men who frequented this bar or the men who shouted at you as you walked down the street. He was something else entirely.

Glancing up at the clock in the corner of the room, it was past the time Brock was supposed to meet you and while you thought about sending him a text to check in, you decided against it, half hoping he would just stand you up so you could go home, or maybe, if you were brave enough, ask the bartender for his name.

“So, what can I get you? You must be looking for a drink if you're wasting your time sittin’ up here with me,” he asked as he swung the towel over his shoulder he had just used to wipe his hands.

You glanced behind the bar, hoping a drink might calm your nerves and settle the warm blush in your cheeks at his words and eyed up the series of bottles and liquors on the shelves. Bourbons and vodkas, tequilas, and a few select drafts of beer, and nothing you would ever touch. You frowned.

“You don’t happen to have a Pino here, do you?”

He laughed at that. “I’ve got a shitty red blend that might be worse than boxed wine? But if you let me make you something, I promise it'll blow you away.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Alright then, but I’ll warn you, I’m picky when it comes to alcohol.”

“I think I’ve got a good enough read on you,” he shrugged casually and it made your heart skip, “just give me a minute.”

You watched as he pulled out a tall glass from under the bar, placing it on the counter in front of you with a wink. Then, he started to fill it with various bottles he poured too quickly for you to tell what they were. One was certainly carbonated, leaving bubbles in the glass, while others were clear, some rich in color, and he topped it off with a straw, sliding it closer to you.

You eyed him suspiciously, amused by the confident look on his face, and you took a sip. It was better than you expected, with a subtle taste of cranberry and ginger, with the alcohol barely noticeable, and you sat back with a content sigh.

“What is in this?” you gaped, moving to take another sip.

“A secret I’ll take to my grave,” he replied cheekily, arms folded over his chest and leaning back against the wall behind him, watching you as you nearly downed the first half. Then, a man at the end of the bar was waving his hand, and blue-eyes nodded at him before turning back to you. “I have to take care of this guy. Don’t drink that too fast, doll.”

You nodded, lips still wrapped around the edge of the straw as you took another sip, desperately trying to ignore the thumping of your heart when he shot that smile at you again. Watching as he made his way down to the end of the bar to refill the series of beers for the man and his friends, you felt a vibration coming from your purse. You frowned, seeking out your phone to find a text from Natasha.

How's it going??

It’s not. He’s not even here yet, you responded, glancing around the room to double check because you certainly wouldn’t have noticed if he did arrive amidst your conversation with the blue-eyed bartender. It was nearing fifteen past the time Brock was supposed to meet you anyway.

Give him some time! Maybe he’s running late. Don’t back out, Y/n. This will be good for you!

You’re the worst, just so you know.

Love you, too.

“So, you never did say what brought you to a bar like this,” the bartender said, his voice surprising you as you glanced up from your phone.

“Oh, well,” you stuttered, suddenly embarrassed, “my friend is trying to set me up with some guy she knows from work. He said to meet him here.”

He raised an eyebrow and the flash of disappointment on his face didn’t go unnoticed. “The guy said to meet you here? For a date?”

“You see why I’m overdressed then, don’t you?” you replied, nodding with a teasing smile.

“Definitely wouldn’t waste a dress like that in a place like this,” he agreed, the curve of his lips pushing at his cheeks and though his comment was about your dress, his eyes stayed glued to yours. He made no attempt to steal a glance down your body or under the jacket you kept wrapped over your chest.

“Yeah, well, it’s my friend’s,” you grumbled, tugging at the fabric on your thighs in hopes to pull it closer to your knees, though it jumped back up to the mid of your thigh the second you released the material. “I would much rather be in sweats on the couch right about now.”

“I hear you,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes I feel like jeans are too restricting. Can’t imagine how you’re sitting in that dress comfortably.”

“That’s the kicker. I’m not.”

That got him laughing again and the smile that ached in your cheeks was one you wished you could have worn for hours. Blue-eyes was still wiping down the same section of the bar he’d been cleaning since you got here and you wondered if he was really meticulous in his polishing or if he was finding excuses to talk to you. The thought alone made your stomach twist up in knots.

“I don’t know many people who’ve even heard of this place. We mostly cater to regulars,” he said after a few moments, voice fading out a little as he seemed lost in thought. “Maybe I know the guy. What’s his name?”

“His name?” you repeated, suddenly unsure why you were so reluctant to tell the handsome bartender with the big, bold, blue eyes and the sweetest laugh you’d ever heard. “His name is, um--”

“Bucky! A little help!” a voice suddenly called from the back of the room where a small, brunette woman with an apron draped over her waist and a thick eastern European accent was attempting to keep the two burly men who had been arguing earlier from throwing fists. Even as small as she was, she kept a hand on both of the men’s chests, keeping them apart.

“Shit,” Blue-eyes, or Bucky you supposed, cursed, sending you an apologetic grimace. “Hold that thought for me?”

“Y/n,” you blurted out suddenly before you could lose your nerve, stilling him in his movements and a grin spread across his lips. Time seemed to slow down for a moment.

“Y/n,” he repeated, smiling at the way it felt on his tongue. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nodded, watching how he chewed on the edge of his lip before he hopped over the end of the bar, jogging towards the commotion. The men seemed to straighten their backs and settle down the moment he stepped into view. He seemed to have that presence about him. Perhaps it was the reason you’d gone straight to him as you first stepped into the bar.

Caught up in the way Bucky placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the men to help calm him down and ushered the other to take a seat, you didn’t notice the presence of someone hovering over your shoulder; not as you smiled softly to yourself as Bucky began to take a seat himself across from one of the men, nudging the other into the booth as well in favor of exchanges words over fists.

“Y/n?”

You gasped, startled, turning around to be met with deep brown eyes and a charming smile. The man grinned at you, but there was something off in it, like it was a layer of a mask. He was staring at you, raising an eyebrow at the way you glanced over in Bucky’s direction out of instinct, hoping he’d notice, though you weren’t even sure what you would have wanted him to do.

“Brock?” you asked, uncertain and he nodded, his smile fading the longer it took for you to tear your eyes away from Bucky. If he was a regular here as Bucky suspected, it was evident he didn’t get along well with the bartender.

“I see you got started without me,” he commented, gesturing to the half empty drink Bucky had made for you.

“Oh, well, you were late, so,” you muttered awkwardly, reaching to take another sip to ease your anxiety but Brock grabbed the glass from you before you could, placing it down behind the bar.

“I’ll order you something nicer,” he said flatly.

It was then that Bucky returned to the bar, albeit slower as he swung around the barrier to find Brock standing next to you, looming over your shoulder almost possessively. His eyes flickered down to the drink that was now placed out of your reach, causing him to frown.

Bucky looked to you, soft eyes and concerned expression, and you only nodded, answering his silent question that yes, this was the man you were supposed to meet. His whole body seemed to tense up at your response.

“Rumlow,” Bucky gritted his teeth, jaw clenched and strained history more than obvious between the two.

“Barnes,” Brock replied, just as stiff.

In the exchange, Bucky’s eyes turned to you, trying to catch your own though you were staring down at the floor, a heat of embarrassment in your cheeks you couldn't quite place. You felt a sudden hand on your forearm, rough skin under the palm but so incredibly gentle, and you looked up to find Bucky watching you.

“Call for me if you need anything,” he said sternly, like a warning. “I won’t be far.”

“Thanks Barnes, we’ll be sure to do that,” Brock spat, taking another step closer to you so that his chest pressed against your back, his arms curling around your sides. You shuttered out a shaken breath. “Why don’t we go sit over at the booth for some privacy?”

Your eyes met Bucky’s again, panicked for a moment and you swore you might have seen him shake his head subtly.

“O-oh, I actually prefer sitting here. If that’s alright?”

Brock paused, clearly reluctant to your request, but he eventually took a seat next you, dragging the bar stool close enough to you that when he sat facing you, his knees parted wide enough that his legs were practically caging you. You glanced down, observing the territorial nature of his stance and you gritted your teeth.

Meanwhile, Bucky had been called down to the end of the bar to attend to one of the men at the pool table. He was reluctant to move, but as the patron called for him again, blue eyes met yours and gave you a subtle nod; one that told you he’d be close enough to come running if you needed him.

As he retreated, you watched him for a moment, wondering what it was in the few moments you’d known him that he started to carry an aura of safety around him, a sense of protection, one you had no interest in being removed from and yet, Brock was poking at it with the sharp edge of a needle.

Even from the distance, as Bucky listened for the men’s order, his eyes were on you; not territorially, but out of concern, out of care. His hands were gripping the countertop, shoulders tense and hunched. You only looked away from him when you felt Brock’s hand on your leg.

“So, I should tell you I almost didn’t come tonight,” he purred, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush against your neck, leaving an unpleasant shiver in its wake, “but when Natasha showed me a picture of you, I couldn’t stay away. Had to try a bite of that myself.”

Awkwardly shifting yourself away from Brock’s closeness, you reached for a menu behind the bar, clearing your throat and nervously pushing hair behind your ear and desperate to change the conversation.

“Why don’t we, um, why don’t we get some food? I haven’t eaten in a while actually and--”

“What I want isn’t exactly on the menu.” Brock tugged the pamphlet from your hands and tossed it behind the bar. It fell down to the floor and he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest that it nearly took out a tray of glasses on its way down.

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you, feeling incredibly unnerved and exposed under his stare. You swallowed thickly, folding your jacket tighter across your chest. “So, what do you do at the firm? Nat said you were an analyst?”

A pathetic attempt of changing the subject again. He wasn’t interested.

“Why don’t you take off your jacket? It’s a thousand degrees in here,” he urged, fingers already sliding up your back and slipping under the collar of your jacket and attempting to pull it down. You only held on tighter.

“I’m okay,” you tried to respond, but Brock’s grip was tight on your collar and he was working on sliding down the jean over your shoulder despite the hardened clench of your hands to the fabric.

Brock’s hands moved to your own, trying to pry your grip away from the lapels long enough to loosen your hold and remove the jacket himself. There was no kindness in the way his hands touched you.

You could tell he was starting to get frustrated when he grunted at your reluctance.

“There’s no need to cover up, baby,” he pressed, darkness in his tone and you tried to shoulder away from him.

“Everything alright over here?”

You looked up, startled by the familiar voice. You didn’t realize how tense you were under Brock’s touch, your hands aching from how tightly they were clenching around the flaps of your jacket wrapped over your chest, desperate to keep it secure, eyes locked on the wood of the bar to avoid Brock’s unsettling stare.

Bucky was standing just a foot away from you, barrier of the bar between you feeling like a mile long. He was staring daggers into Brock, not moving a muscle until Brock’s hands retreated from your jacket with a defeated groan.

“I was just trying to help the lady out and take her coat. I was being a gentleman,” he said, though his hand quickly made its way to your thigh. It seemed he needed to have some kind of physical contact with you while in Bucky’s presence, just to remind you who you were here with. You tried to ignore it.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were,” Bucky accused, shaking his head in disgust and seeing straight through Brock’s excuse. He turned to you, incredibly softer now. “Can I get you anything, doll? Anything you want, just say the word.”

You knew what he was offering and it was more than a refill on a drink. The discomfort must have been clear as day across your face because the way he was watching you was so incredibly sincere; like he was prepared to jump over the bar to your defense the second you asked him to. Eyes filled with nothing but sparkling pale blue that made your stomach twist and turn in such startling contrast to the Brock’s hands roaming over your thigh. You longed to get lost in him.

“No, no I’m fine. Thank you,” you replied reluctantly, forcing out a smile, but Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave yours, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. A silent conversation between the two of you and you tried to mask the scream in the back of your head wanting him to rescue you.

“The lady said she’s fine, Barnes, so give us some privacy,” Brock spat, his hand creeping along your lower back and you let out a shaky breath at the touch of him.

Bucky noticed, his eyes darting down to Brock’s hand, but he didn’t say anything, not until you gave him the ‘ok’ to do so. It took him a few seconds, lingering behind, before he ultimately returned to his duties at the other end of the bar.

Heart still in your throat, you tried to find a way to get through this hellscape of a date so you could get home and tear into Natasha for setting you up with a man like this. He didn’t seem to care that you leaned away from his hands as they roamed your body, and if anything, it urged him on.

“So,” you started, nervously avoiding his eyes, “what, um, what got you into analyt--”

“Enough with the small talk,” Brock grumbled, grabbing a firm hold of your bar stool and yanking you closer. You gasped at the sudden movement, clinging onto the bar to avoid losing your balance. “We both know why we’re here tonight and it’s not to get to know each other.”

You shook your head, stretching your neck away from his touch as his fingers trailed up along your shoulder, though it didn’t prove of much use. You could still feel the unpleasant tremble of shivers in his wake.

“I don’t know what Nat told you but I’m not looking for--”

“I know exactly what you’re looking for, baby,” he whispered, startlingly close to your ear, and his hand was on the bare of your thigh, creeping dangerously close to the edge of your dress.

“Brock, stop,” you urged, trying to swat his hand away but he held on firm enough to grip into your thigh.

“Don’t be dramatic.” His fingertips slipped under the fabric of your dress and you jumped up from the bar, stepping a few paces away from him but he followed you.

“I think you should go,” you warned, your voice shaking despite the anger in your veins. It was a wild range of fear and embarrassment and fury rushing through you and you couldn’t control even an ounce of it.

“I came all the way out here for this and you're not even going to put out?” Brock spat at you, inching close enough to cage you against the edge of the bar. There was nowhere for you to go.

You were starting to panic, desperately looking down the bar for Bucky but he was suddenly nowhere in sight. Your hands pressed against Brock’s chest to find he was as unmovable as stone.

“Let me go,” you said quietly, desperately, and losing the strength in your tone quickly. Your breaths were coming in too fast, heart rate skyrocketing, and as Brock’s hand slid up your side, you bit down hard enough on your cheek to draw blood.

“Maybe you should learn a little respect,” he sneered, fingers pushing their way into your hair and before you could even part your lips to shout for someone, anyone, to notice Brock was suddenly ripped away from you, his hold vanishing as he was tossed forcefully to the ground.

“Touch her again and lose that hand,” Bucky growled, hovering over Brock and placing himself strategically between you. 

His hand darted out behind him, searching for you to confirm you were alright and you grabbed onto it, squeezing it hard and the tension in his muscles only seemed to relax for a moment.

“What are you gonna do about it, deadbeat?” Brock spat back from the ground, brushing off his hands. “You gonna try and fight me for her? Is that what you want, huh? You want the girl all to yourself?”

Standing behind Bucky, you watched the way his body acted at your shield, his shoulders heaving with every panted breath, free hand curling into a fist as Brock attempted to stand, the other in sharp contrast sitting tenderly wrapped around your own. Brock rose from the ground, gritting his teeth and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Y/n, go with Wanda,” Bucky said over his shoulder, voice low and stern.

“But Bucky,” you whispered, afraid of what would happen if you left him.

He paused for a minute, turning back to you. His jaw was clenched, tense, but his eyes were full of worry; blue shades of concern and urgency.

“Please,” he asked, holding your gaze for longer than he probably should have but there was just a desperation in his tone that took you off guard. His hand squeezed yours and you nodded at him, releasing him though it pained you to do so and jumped into the arms of the petite woman who ushered you safely away from the fight.

With her hand on your forearm, she tried to lead you to the back room where the owner’s office was, but you planted your feet, turning back to Bucky and Brock as they were spewing taunts at one another too low for you to hear, but you could see the tension burning in the air as they circled one another.

“Wait! Will he be okay?” you asked timidly, flinching on impact as Brock suddenly took a swing that Bucky was able to dodge easily before he slammed Brock’s head to the countertop. Eager chants urging them on started to echo in small space of the bar as men cheered and sloshed beer over their glasses. It was chaos in a matter of seconds.

“Bucky can take care of himself, I promise,” Wanda replied urgently, pushing you further into the back room and you let her guide you away when Bucky and Brock were suddenly hidden from view by the patrons gathered around enthusiastically to watch.

Even from inside the office as Wanda closed and locked the door behind her, you could hear the crashing of glasses and the grunts of pain and exertion from beyond the walls. You slumped down into the chair behind the desk, arms wrapped around your waist and tried not to picture what was happening.

“How long have you known Bucky?” she asked, trying to distract you.

You shook your head, finding it impossible to tear your eyes away from the door. “I-- I don’t. I just met him tonight.”

That seemed to surprise her.

“Why?” you asked, flinching at a loud, muffled crash beyond the office followed by a collect eruption of shouts and applause.

She shrugged, a soft smile on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Bucky smile the way he has tonight. He doesn’t usually spend so much time cleaning the bar, especially that one particular spot.”

You shook your head, shaking away her comment because it felt too real. “Yeah, well, I’m sure it’s only because you guys usually have old biker men and handsy assholes frequenting this bar.”

Wanda pursed her lips, a knowing look in her eyes and entirely unconvinced by your excuse, but she didn’t push it and instead agreed, “sure. Maybe that’s it.”

***

Wanda certainly did her best to keep you distracted, but with every echo of a cheer beyond the wall, your attention quickly diverted back to the door, leaving you to ruminate constantly on whether it was Bucky or Brock who had been struck before the reaction of the crowd. You didn’t know who these men would cheer for or if they only cared about the thrill of the fight, eager to watch either side get a decent hit in.

Wanda informed you that Bucky had a history of fighting. He used to be a boxer back in the day and knew his way around a fight better than most. He would take care of himself, she told you, promised you.

You didn’t know why you cared so intensely, why you worried so much. You didn’t even know him, and yet, something about the blue in his eyes, the tenderness of his smile, and the sweet tone in his laugh drew you to him unlike anything else.

There was so much about him you still wanted to know, so much more you longed to talk to him about and ask him just to have a chance at hearing that laugh again. It had been years since you felt anything remotely like this and never so quickly. The fact that after all of the sweet talk and the teasing, he jumped head first into a fight to protect you from a man who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself, only seemed to spur on the twists in your stomach for him.

So, when the crowd began to quiet and the door to the office began to unclick with the turn of a key from the other side, you weren’t quite sure relief was a strong enough word for the release of tension in your chest. Though, when Wanda stepped aside and Bucky’s full figure was in view again, that same panic rushed back tenfold.

“Oh God,” you gasped, hand clamped over your mouth as you stood from the desk.

Bucky slowly made his way inside, evident by the wince on his face that something was bothering him in his leg. Blood dripped down from an open cut on his cheekbone and his lip was busted open in the center. Swelling had already started to take effect around his eye and his skin was marked in pinks and reds sure to turn blue in a few hours.

Your lips were parted in shock and the panic must have read over your features judging by the way Bucky tried to push out a smile for you.

“You should see the other guy,” Bucky joked, though a drip of blood slid past his lip and neither you nor Wanda smiled. He turned to Wanda, observing the tension in the room between you. “He’s already gone. No chance he’ll risk his own ass by calling the cops, but better get a word in to Steve at the station as a warning. I don’t want that piece of shit in this bar again.”

Wanda nodded, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder before she left the room.

Then, you were alone.

“How are you doing?” he asked after a moment of silence, sincere as can be because only this man would be concerned about you after he just took a pretty significant beating.

There wasn’t even a thought to yourself as you looked at him. You were too focused on the blood on his face, the open wounds, and the way he was holding onto his side like it pained him just to breathe. You shook your head at his question, in disbelief.

“How am I--? Jesus, Bucky, look at you!” you stuttered out, pointing at the state of him and you suddenly realized your hands were shaking. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

Bucky must have noticed because he pushed himself further into the room, despite the clear ache as he walked and he sat against the edge of the desk next to you, close enough for you to hear the subtle wheeze in his breaths and feel the heat off of his skin.

“I’ve had worse, doll. I’m fine,” Bucky whispered, blue eyes raking over your face.

“You didn’t-- you didn’t have to do that,” you said, unable to meet his eye, staring at his hands as they gripped at the desk.

“’Course, I did,” he replied quickly. “I wasn’t going to let him touch you like that, not with you so clearly telling him to stop. Guy like that doesn't know when to quit, doesn’t respond to being asked nicely either, but he’ll run off after a few good hits.”

“But why?” you choked out, finally gathering the courage to look at him only to find the crease of his brow stitched together and a layer of surprise on his face. “You don’t even know me. Why put yourself in harm's way if--”

“Well for one,” Bucky started, pulling your hand gently into yours, watching the way you stilled upon his touch, a gasp leaving you in a breathless kind of way, “I wouldn’t let him do that to anyone if they were explicitly saying ‘no,’ but you... I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy and maybe I’m making things up as I go, but there’s just something about you. From the second you walked in I didn’t want you to leave. I hated every time I had to deal with someone else and I lost a few minutes I could have been talking to you. That was all before Rumlow even showed up, and once he did, it felt like my skin was on fire.”

You watched the way he played with your hand, running his palm over it and cupping it between his own, drawing lines in your palms, and distracting himself with something tender despite the broken knuckles on his skin. His words left your heart racing but you bit on your lip, letting him continue.

“I’ve seen him hit on women before,” Bucky sighed. “I’ve seen the way he treats women like he deserves something from them but I’ve never seen him go this far, to—to trap you at the bar like that. I just—I lost it. The thought that you could be next in this line of women he’s hurt and I couldn’t--”

“Okay,” you whispered, pulling his attention from your hands and meeting his eye. You nodded at him, hand squeezing back at his to still his anxious movements. He seemed to relax at that, though your eye was still drifting up to the open wound on his cheek.

“Will you let me fix that up?” you asked softly, and he narrowed his eyes, confused.

“You sure you don’t want to run from this place and never look back?” he whispered, evading your question with an almost certain look as though he was awaiting your escape; maybe because of the confession that he might feel something for you other than the adrenaline in his veins, or maybe because he was bloody and broken and too hardened and violent to be touched by a woman as gentle as you.

You shook your head, following the crease in his brow and tenderly cupping his cheek to closer examine the wound, watching as his facial muscles relaxed instantly under your touch. Blue eyes studied you like you were from another world as you took a mental note of the supplies you’d need.

“I assume you have a first aid kit around here somewhere, tough guy?”

He chuckled at that, a lower, harder sound than the laugh you’d heard out in the bar, but it was still as beautiful. He was trying to hold this one back from the pain in his ribs, but it was too sweet to ignore. He nodded, pointing at the drawer next to your thigh. Sure enough, inside was a kit that was faded in lettering and looked to be years old.

You pulled out alcohol swaps and bandages, gesturing for his right hand. He gave it over to you without hesitation. His hand felt nice sitting in yours; heavy and calloused, and impossibly tender.

“This may sting,” you warned him.

“Do what you need to, doll,” he smiled and even through cracked lips he was stunning.

He still hissed as the alcohol-soaked cloth touch the exposed wounds on his knuckles and he tried to pull away instinctively cause you to grip tighter onto his hand to keep him firmly in place. He didn’t flinch as much as you pressed it to the break in his skin again, dabbing gently and ridding his knuckles of the blood before you tenderly applied the soothing gel and wrapped his hand.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said softly. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Who says I haven’t?” you smirked, gathering new supplies to start working on the cut on his face. You gestured down to his thighs and he parted them for you, letting you step between them as he kept his seat on the top of the desk to give you a better angle to work on the wound on his cheek.

Standing this close to him, you wondered if he could hear the thunderous pounding in your chest.

“Might be a little jealous someone else is getting this kind of attention from you,” Bucky replied casually, as if it didn’t make your stomach twist over on itself.

You bit your lip, taking in a steady breath as you dabbed the alcohol wipe to his cheek. He winced, reflexively trying to dodge the burn of the wipes, so you reached up to the cup the side of his face to hold him still. He relaxed instantly under your touch, almost leaning into it. You ran your thumb along his cheek on his unmarked side to sooth him as you placed the sting of the alcohol to the wound again. He didn’t budge even an inch this time, eyes staring into yours as you worked.

“Well, your supposed jealousy is unwarranted, seeing as it was my brother with the tendency to end up battered and bruised,” you said, focusing on the open wound rather than the blush in your cheeks and the sincerity with which Bucky was watching you. “He always had a hard time walking away from a fight. Didn’t matter he was consistently smaller; he was constantly picking fights under some moral imperative he lives by.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Bucky laughed, and you could feel the vibration of it against your palm. “Mine grew up to be a cop.”

“Better tell him to watch out for a lanky teenager running around Queens with a vigilante complex,” you grinned, grabbing a bandage from the kit and gently applying to the cut on Bucky’s cheekbone, paying careful attention to line it up perfectly despite the crinkles in his smile leading up to his eyes.

You pressed on the bandage, ensuring the adhesive was applied and let out a sigh of relief. You hand slipped away from his cheek and though you were smiling at him, you missed the contact instantly.

You smiled at him. “I think you’re gonna make it.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked, a sudden longing in his voice that brought shivers to your spine as he tilted his head. His eyes were somehow twice as big, twice as blue, when he looked at you like that, like he wanted you to stay.

You made no move to step away from your stance between his legs and while his hands stayed planted on his thighs you could tell he was inching closer to you, though he’d never make the first move, not after what happened with Brock.

“Maybe I should double check,” you said, almost breathless.

Your hand slid up the side of his arm, with more courage than you’d ever had in your veins in a single moment in time, and cupped the side of his face again. You didn’t have the energy to even pretend to look at the bandaged cut because your eyes were flickering to his lips; pink and pillowy and so incredibly perfect.

Your free hand came up to rest on his shoulder, playing absentmindedly with the fabric of his black t-shirt and as you took a step forward, though impossibly small because it was miracle in itself you could get closer than you already were, Bucky’s hands slowly came to your hips. It was timid at first, gently seeking permission and waiting for a soft nod from you before he tugged you closer.

His breath was warm on your cheeks the closer you leaned in. Lips ghosted against yours and a soft chuckle left him as he winced at the touch, the cut on his lip from the fight stinging at the feel of you. He moved to readjust, positioning himself so that it was his upper lip you captured between your own, not that you much minded, because the thought of him alone was enough to keep you sustained, despite the trembling in your legs.

You hardly even noticed the office door swing open.

“Hey Bucky I could use some help with—oh, I’m sorry!”

You jumped away from him instantly, stumbling back from the shock of Wanda’s entrance back into the office and the flush of her cheeks as she turned away. Bucky’s hand reached out to grab yours before you crashed into his bookshelf and he was grinning wildly, almost impossible to contain.

“What’s going on Wan?” Bucky asked sweetly, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Burgess isn’t as keen on letting me close up as the rest of them were,” she said apprehensively, offering him an apologetic grimace.

“Ok, kid, I’ll be right out,” he replied and Wanda quickly exited the room again, muttering another apology under her breath. Bucky laughed breathily as he stood up, hand still tight in yours. “Promise you won’t go far? I’d like to make sure you get home safe, if that’s alright?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your own words from the nervous aching in your bones. As Bucky slipped past you, he pressed a quick kiss to your hairline, winking before he stepped out of the room. You exhaled a breath you were sure was held since the moment his hands touched your hips and slumped down into the chair. The sharp vibrations that came from your phone nearly pulled a yelp out of you.

Glancing down at the caller ID, you saw an image of Natasha with about three dumplings stuffed in her cheeks and tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. You rolled your eyes, picking up the phone.

“How’d it go!” she shouted the second you pulled the phone to your ear.

Not bothering with greetings, it seemed.

“I can’t believe you would set me up with that monster,” you hissed, glancing back at the door. “What is the matter with you!”

“Forget Brock,” she groaned, “I’m talking about Bucky!”

You froze. “Wait, what? How do you know about Bucky?”

“Do you seriously think I would set you up with Brock Rumlow?” she gasped, feigning offense. “He’s a Grade A asshole and will hit on anything with legs.”

You rubbed at your temples. “Nat...”

“Ok, so... I may have set you up on a blind date, but it wasn’t with the guy I told you it was with,” Natasha explained, “and maybe I didn’t tell Bucky either, but I would bet next month’s paycheck that you two hit it off instantly and he got all worked up and jealous with Rumlow around. Did he come to your rescue? Bucky really loves being a hero...”

You shook your head, hand planted into your face and trying to process what she was telling you. Natasha wove people around her fingers in string and let them dance beneath her hands. She was perceptive and intuitive and seemed to know the people in her life better than most of them knew themselves; you included. Still, you couldn’t help but be impressed. She was so much smarter than anyone gave her credit for.

“You’re incredibly manipulative. You know that don’t you?” you said, though there was a teasing tone in your voice, a smile on your face and frankly, relief that she didn’t actually think Brock was someone you’d like.

“I like to think of myself as strategic,” she retorted, laughing.

“Yeah, well, wait until you hear how your ‘strategic’ plan let Brock get far too handsy with me.”

“Did Bucky punch him out? I guarantee he went all White Knight for you.”

“I hate you,” you laughed. “I hate you so much.”

You glanced up to find Bucky standing in the doorway, just watching you contently with a smile on his face. You chewed on your lip, looking away from him nervously as a blush rose in your cheeks, wondering how long he’d been standing there.

“Nat, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you when I get home, alright?”

“He’s in the room now, isn’t he?”

You could practically see the gloating smirk upon her face as she sat curled up on the couch and twirling a pen around her fingers. It was criminal how often she was proven right.

“Goodbye, Natasha,” you pressed, ignoring her protests and tossing your phone back into your purse.

“That the supposed friend that set you up with Rumlow?” Bucky teased, crossing the room to you and leaning against the desk. You settled in next to him and felt your heart skip a beat at how quickly he let his hand slip into yours, nervously biting on his own lip.

“Turns out she wasn’t setting me up with Brock at all,” you shrugged and when Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion you explained, “I think we have a mutual friend. Romanoff.”

Bucky started laughing at that, shaking his head, with a grit of his teeth. “Of course, she’s involved in this. I can’t believe she actually pulled off another double blind.”

“A what?”

“A double blind. Like in research studies when the participant and the researcher both don’t know if they’re in the treatment or control group,” Bucky clarified, unable to shake the smile from his face. “She’s done this before with my buddy, Steve, and his fiancé Peggy. She puts people in these situations she knows will lead to some kind of organic connection they never would have had otherwise. It takes your guard down, opens you up to something you might not otherwise see. I mean, think about it. Would you have ever stepped foot in this bar if you weren’t supposed to meet Rumlow here?”

“I think I could have done without Brock in general,” you laughed. “I was liking you all on your own before he even showed up. Though, I’ve never had someone fight for my honor before.”

“Wish it was under better circumstances, but I won’t say I’m against having an excuse to punch the guy.” Bucky grinned, stepping in closer to you, his hands sliding up your arms tenderly until the rested against your neck, his thumbs running over your jawline in soothing sweeps.

He sighed, his smile softening as he looked down at you, like he was memorizing the intricate details in your completion. “Is it bad to say I’m happy Rumlow isn’t a better guy? You knocked me out from the second you walked in this bar and if he was a decent guy, maybe you wouldn’t have even given me a second look.”

“I would have,” you said adamantly and when Bucky met your eye again, you could see the surprise lingering in his features. There was a trace of uncertainty, an insecurity you didn’t expect from a man so charming, so beautiful, and so incredibly willing to jump to your defense in the very second you needed him.

In a surge of courage, as his gaze flickered down longingly to your lips, you closed the space between you. Your hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, the hardened ripple of muscle beneath evident against your touch, and it took Bucky a moment to pull himself from the shock of it before he kissed you back.

Fingers raking against your scalp, he captured your lips in his, pulling your lower into his mouth and sucking sweetly enough to draw a moan from you before his tongue swept over it. You yanked him closer, tugging on his shirt, only find him pressed up against you with nowhere else to go.

With the lingering scent of alcohol in his clothes, you drank him in. Lips moving against one another, hands roaming and aching for more, and only pulling away when you were breathless and his lips were red and swollen and so impossibly gorgeous.

You met each other’s eyes, a laugh breaking through the both of you as you leaned forward against his chest, just caught up in the rush of everything that happened and the adrenaline in your veins that led you to this moment. Bucky’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you securely to his chest and you felt his lips press gently to the crown of your head; a soft, delicate gesture that expected nothing in return.

“I’m a little annoyed I’ll have to thank Natasha later,” you teased, drawing another laugh out of him.

“I’ll happily do it for you, if you like,” Bucky offered, pulling back just enough to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll throw my pride in the Hudson and thank her a thousand times if you let me kiss you like that again.”

“Yeah?” you giggled, leaning up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips before you pulled away, leaving him wanting. “What about a date?”

“I’ll give you any date you want,” he replied quickly, seeking out your lips again as his arms wrapped around your waist again and pulled your feet from the ground. You broke away laughing and he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Just say yes and I’ll take you anywhere, give you anything your heart desires.”

“That’s a bold offer,” you commented, grinning at him.

“Not when it’s sincere,” he replied, sending you a wink that made you knees feel weak.

As he grabbed your bag for you and led you to the doorway, his gentle hold around your shoulders serving as lingering connection to you in sharp contrast to the way Brock’s touch was an act of possession, you leaned into him with every step. The soft vibrations of his laugh, the low tone of his voice, and the gentle touch of his hands caught up in your senses as he walked you home.

Your regret of leaving your apartment faded in an instant the second you first saw him and even now with his pace in line with yours and your arm wrapped at his waist, you ardently decided you’d deal with a hundred Brock Rumlows if it brought you to Bucky.

If it brought you to blue eyes and kind smiles.

Your knight in a black t-shirt and faded jeans.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #needcoffees2k

[sesskagarchive]

Do you know any sesskag dubcon/rape fics?

Hello anon, thanks for asking.

We decided to compile a list so here are some recommended fics for Dubcon/rape. Some of these even come with Sequels! Happy Reading!

Admin Wicked/k9plus1

DUBCON LIST:

A Curse of Lust by Squash/Fearless miko:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net,  Rating: MA Summary: A lusty curse leaves the females in Inuyasha's group running for their lives...and towards their destiny! 

A Mere Digression, by elle6778:

Posted on: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: A digression was what Sesshoumaru called it. ‘It’ being the heated encounters between him and Kagome which took place simply because neither of them could resist. Heed warnings and notes in the first chapter.

A Woman!, by sugar0o:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net , Rating: M Summary: Based somewhat off the idea of Mulan, staring our fav paring Sess/kags, AU, their both demons, because well it makes it easier, and I don’t want to make Sess human, its not right! [lemon w/a plot] this has 2 points, I want to write a lemon to get more comfortable with them, also I want to explore detailing my writing, I will ask that you give serious reviews/critiques, bc I want to learn from this, not just entertain and enthrall. *COMPLETE as of 9/3/9*

Acquisition, Possession, Seduction, by Mistress Sianna: 

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: M Summary: “Do not think for one moment that you can escape me.” he said slowly, deliberately. \"You Higurashi Kagome, are mine! Only I will decide if you will stay, if you will go, if you will live or if you will die.\"

Alpha, by Lyra/ lyrainthedark:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: M Summary: Kagome mates Inuyasha...but Inuyasha was reluctant. Why? Pack politics...and his brother, who is Alpha. What that means will take time to learn, if Kagome can only live long enough for the lessons... Finally Complete!

Bound by Corruption, by BelovedStranger/ Two Hearts:

Posted On: Dokuga. AO3, FF.net   Rating: M Summary: Inside every individual, darkness dwelled large or small. A young woman, cast under her elder sister’s shadow, was bent on proving her worth. A terrible threat hung over her village, giving Kagome the opportunity she had been waiting for. On a mission to save them all from the hearts of evil men, she journeyed to the Inu no Kami’s temple to beseech divine intervention. Instead, danger befell the headstrong woman. Rather than obtaining help from a merciful god, another stepped in to slaughter her enemies, but for a price. An Inugami did nothing for free. Status: Completed

Detrimental Desires, by Mistress Sianna:

Posted on: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: The idea was to make Inuyasha kill Kagome. Little did Naraku know, that on the night of the new moon, Inuyasha looses his demonic powers. Instead, Sesshoumaru and Kagome will be forced to succumb to their most detrimental desires.

Fix It, by Smortz:

Posted On: Dokuga. Rating: M Summary:  When Sesshomaru needs Kagome to help him, she takes advantage of the dog demon now in her debt. As they set out on a new journey, will Kagome be able to overcome the problem that arises? Pun Intended.

He Must be Breeding, by ChaoticReverie:

Posted On: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru requires the perfect female to bear his heir, and Kagome… well, she doesn’t know how she gets herself into these messes.

Heated Blood by Imani Joain:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Kagome cannot help but try to fix anything she finds broken, even if it is not in her best interest to do so. When she comes across Sesshomaru in dire need of assistance, she cannot deny herself. She only hopes that he won't kill her for it. Rated MA for graphic intimacy. Staus: WIP

House of Ill Repute, by Aurora Antheia Raine:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary:  "I will never be yours." // "But you will be, miko," he nearly purred, "you will be when this Sesshoumaru is finished with you."

Irresistible Temptation, by DestinysTears:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net     Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru finds he cannot ignore this inexplicable temptation. (Oneshot)

Just Another Lemon, by Tiegrsi: 

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru has gone into heat, and finds Kagome willing to put up with his antics. Kagome thinks he was unable to find a suitable woman, and came to her as a last resort. Perhaps there are some things Kagome needs to learn

Lair, Lair, by susie: 

Posted On: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: After nearly being nearly absorbed, Sesshoumaru's Bakusaiga is forged, and we all know the rest of the story... or do we? In a deal with Sunrise to accelerate the events of TFA, part of the infamous manga was left on the cutting room floor. Though the hack job began well before that. For the sake of public decency, and in accordance with Japan's obscenity laws, the spiciest and most controversial scenes from the original manga were banned from ever seeing the light of day. Until now. On the condition of anonymity, a diligent hacker provided via email a copy of the raw version you were never meant to see. This is Inuyasha Nights – The Lost Chapter *Dubcon

Macaria, by mythicamagic:

Posted on: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU. Human women were all but wiped out when the demons took over. What few remain have gone into hiding or concealed their true gender. When Kagome hears news of an orphaned little girl, she'll stop at nothing to protect her from the dangers of the world- including the city of demons and the infamous Killing Perfection. But is he friend or foe? Status: WIP

Not Impervious, by Oroyukae: 

Posted On: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: He was supposed to be the most powerful demon in existence; one that none could best in any situation, at any time. That was not entirely accurate, it would seem. One error in judgment at the most vulnerable of times, and all that he knows lay in jeopardy. Just what would said being be willing to agree to in the direst of circumstances? {FIN}

Passion, by CiraArana:

Posted On: Spark, Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru turned to her and gazed back. He did nothing else, just standing there, looking at her... As he kept his eyes on her, his lust for blood and killing faded away, leaving behind another lust. For her. Status: Abandoned

Poison of Erised!, by Vyncent:

Posted On: Dokuga, Rating: M Summary: Tomorrow night, brother moon would be witness to the music that he heard, and felt in his very soul, as he howled his conquest to his blood red face. Tomorrow his hunger would be fed by the blood and flesh that he hungered for, and the world would know of his claim. Status: Abandoned

Poison Within, by Angelic Memories:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net    Rating: MA Summary: *Two-Shot* Due to a nasty bite Kagome is poisoned and fights for her life. Inuyasha can only think of one person who might be able to help her but there’s a problem he didn’t consider.

Secret Possession. By SakuraAngel1:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshoumaru is forced to put his mating plans into action a lot sooner than expected, and has Kagome kidnapped in order to fulfill it. When Kagome awakens, she finds herself as the new Lady of the Western Lands...with no Lord in sight… Status: Abandoned

Sleeping Beauty, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Based loosely on the Disney movie, but darker and a bit twisted. Sesshoumaru is betrothed to a little human princess who is delivered a curse by the hanyou Naraku, Kikyo, Miroku, and Kaede agree to raise the child in safety. Smuts in final chapter. Status: Completed

Striking a Deal With the Devil, by Smortz:

Posted On:  Dokuga, FF.net,   Rating: M Summary: Does anything sound funner? Kagome needs help from the new Commissioner. A man that gave 'bad reputation' its standards. However, will Kagome be able to pay the price he demands when a life is on the line? Status: Completed

The Sacrifice, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: Kagome is lured to a strange village, where she finds herself in an unpleasant situation. She is to be a sacrifice to an as yet unnamed youkai. Semi-non-consensual. Status: Completed

Trapped, Breeder, by sesshou_lover:

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: N/A Status: Completed

Virginity of the Soul, by Madison

Posted on: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Fresh from a betrayal that shattered her world, she was lured into getting even. Alas, the ones we trust and love aren’t always the ones we should. Semi-PWP. COMPLETE Staus: Complete

The Western Breeding, By Blackthorn:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, Rating: M Summary: The end has come. Demons have found that certain humans can breed pure blooded demon pups. Sesshomaru is leading with Kagome running from the demon lord. Once she is at his side can she learn to love her captor for the sake of her unborn pup or find a way out? Status: Abandoned

RAPE LIST:

Blood Stained, by Madison: 

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3  Rating: M Summary: COMPLETE! A sudden loss of control intertwined their fates. It dragged her through hell and he couldn't have cared less. She tried to escape her fears but the only way to do it was to face him through time and love.

Heat of Exchange, by Catalina: 

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: It is that time of year for demon women, but Kagome is experiencing something very strange. Sesshoumaru arrives to help her, against her wishes. Freshly beta'd now.

Hell’s Shadows, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: MA Summary: Formerly named "Ghost of Death" Sesshoumaru lives in hell requiring human women to increase his own power. Kagome falls into his waiting claws, while all of hell is turned upside down by her.DARK. NON CONSENSUAL.

His Wife, by Aries_heart: 

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3,    Rating: MA Summary: "With a kiss on her shaking lips, he would leave for work and once the door was closed she would allow herself to cry once more. And then the cycle will repeat."

I Don’t Want a Mate, MLMonty: 

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshoumaru goes into heat during mating season and rapes Kagome. Now she's pregnant and wants nothing to do with him. Should Sesshoumaru respect her wishes and leave her unguarded while she carries his heir?  Status: Abandoned 

Kagome’s Trust, by Fire_and_Earth_Sorceress55/Huntress-of-Flames-55:

Posted On: FF.net, AO3   Rating: M Summary: When Kagome is raped by Sesshomaru on the night of the new moon. Kagome goes home to the future as finds out that she is pregnant with pups? PUPS! Now one year later, she decides to go back to the feudal era.

Paper Cranes, by midori Haru: 

Posted On: FF.net  Rating: M Summary: Meeting, attraction, courting, commitment. For most of the world relationships form in the normal fashion from start to culmination. Naturally normal isn't enough for Sesshoumaru. And he wonders why he runs into problems trying to build a relationship from the wrong end.

Principal Life, by Catalina: 

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Kagome is dating the principal's brother, and he finds out about it. What can an untrained miko hope to accomplish when she is so ignorant of youkai mating traditions? Story is dark and now involves non consensual situations, with more to come. Status: Abandoned

Rise Again, by Catalina: 

Posted on: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: Youkai have become weak and feeble but are attempting to strengthen their population. Sesshoumaru leads them, and discovers the solution to their problem in an unwilling human. VERY non-consensual stuff happens. Frequently.

S t a s i s, by wonderbug: 

Posted On: Dokuga, AO3  Rating: M Summary: Love, he tells her, as he trails a claw along the pathway of her shivering spine, is only a human notion. [VERY dark; drabble-ish CU/AR]

The Breeder, TexanLady: 

Posted On: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: There is more to Kagome than anyone could ever imagine. After learning of her destiny Sesshoumaru swears to make her his at any cost. Once forced to his side can Kagome teach him to love or learn to love him. Status: Abandoned

#sesskag #messages #requested rec list #sesskag fic recs #admin Wicked #dubcon #rape #tw: rape #tw: dubcon

[swimfuel]

Hey!! The X-men are literally my favorite thing and I was wondering if you could elaborate on how Scott is a knight of doom

YES OF COURSE!!!! i'll put it under a cut since i tend to ramble a bit & i'm pulling a bunch of explanations from people smarter than i am

the knight weaponizes their aspect; they have an inherent understanding of their aspect that allows them to exploit it completely. doom is the aspect of systems, restrictions/limitations, sacrifices, and endings.

one of scott's core themes is reclaiming his restrictions in order to serve others/the greater good! he takes the possible liability that are his faulty powers and shifts them to become an advantage, largely through the strength of his restraint and discipline. his role as a tactician and the way he sees sacrifices (more on that later) also mesh EXTREMELY well with the knight of doom.

i feel like the Wh*don run (specifically astonishing x-men #22-23) really highlights how scott can turn a situation on its head through exploiting his disadvantages to the point where they become tactically advantageous!! like, let's count the ways:

the ship the x-men stole from kruun is obviously bugged, so his team won't be able to communicate without being overheard. he realizes this, and uses that restriction (being overheard) as an advantage, by falsifying their course of action.

he has been left "without his powers"—he presents a restriction that lowers the guard of his adversary and grants him entry to their home base. he then subverts this by exploding the shit out of everything when an opportune moment arrives

HE LITERALLY EXPLOITS DEATH...... HE EXPLOITS HIS OWN DEATH...................FOR THE GREATER GOOD..........DUDE???? someone get this man an advil

some more thoughts, followed by some examples by people smarter than me:

he exhibits a similar pattern of idolization/realization with xavier irt karkat/HICand dave/bro.... not sure if this by itself is a knight-y thing but i think the consistent disillusionment with their role in defending their aspect is interesting (aka knight burnout, more on that later)

he is def willing to sacrifice shit for the greater good of mutantkind. the shit in question sometimes being his closest friends and allies. the examples that stick out to me are how he allowed beast to get tortured (utopia era) while executing his plan to solve All His Problems At Once & also when he sent x-force to the future to defend hope knowing it was going to be a one-way trip

that entire issue revolving around just how GOOD scott is at self-repression😭😭😭 i'm pretty sure it's post-schism utopia era i don't remember the exact issue WAIT NVM i'm pretty sure it's uncanny #518

seeing phoenix!scott as an inversion to (rogue of) life is also an interesting concept (unchecked growth!)

the amount of responsibility he feels he has to take on (partially due to his idolization cycle w xavier/xavier's dream) is also both knight-y and doom-y

and of course the instinct to protect the people around him --> being expanded into the whole of mutantkind (which, in turn, expands his sense of obligation)

everything leading up to revolutionary cyclops is also very interesting through this framework because its reminiscent of the knights & doom players in hs! the "taking on an insane burden" (phoenix force, whatever whammied mituna) -> the "resignation to the fate handed to him by his aspect" (his stint in prison, dead daves, sollux in general) -> the "refusal to accept that fate" (prison break, dave not wanting to use time travel, sollux fucking off into the dreambubbles, karkat coming to terms w his relationship w leadership) --> experiencing knight burnout at the end of revolutionary era going into death of x

im not sure exactly how to put it into words but everything about his childhood/teenhood... like being surrounded by forces seeking to control him and use him for their own ends..... idk

(from @/land-of-classpects-and-analysis, sections highlighted red are of particular interest)

HIS GIANT STINKING MARTYR COMPLEX.....DUDE😭😭

side note & ive mentioned this before but scottjean is an interesting parallel to davejade in a way i cant verbalize

Then there are the ones who may accept [the fact of inevitable human suffering], and so choose to live in high alert of any danger - any threats - as well as living in fear of what harm may befall them and/or their loved ones. It is this third and final group of people that so deeply marks that of the Knight of Doom.

Now, this might cause a few eyebrows to become quirked. After all, a Knight? Being fearful of something - nevertheless that thing being related to their Aspect? Knights do often present themselves as ruthless and fearless warriors, yes, but that is only because their Aspects and the world around them raised and called them to act as such. 

... A key factor in the Knight’s life, specifically before their journey truly begins, is that they are already well equipped with their Aspect.

... The Knight of Doom is one where their Aspect being all around them is far more bittersweet than anything else.

... What is important to acknowledge is that the facade the Knight of Doom puts up is not only to hide the fear they have for their Aspect, but it is most definitely there to hide the grief and pain they have not yet completely finished going through. Whether it’s been weeks or years, the Knight of Doom is someone who would rather hide themself away from these feelings than find a way to truly mend and heal them ... they have built a false wall between them and their suffering strong and thick enough to partially block it from their memory. 

... Knights are known to become extremely stubborn whenever people try to order them around and pressure them into doing something, and the Knight of Doom is no different - especially if they believe what they are doing is for the greater good. 

(from @/dahniwitchoflight)

Dahni’s Explanantion: “Doom can be a negative force that rejects and harms, fostering a sense of hostility or sadness. But, it is also the idea that you can pull backwards and cautiously and wisely withdraw into your own self.  It can be the idea of Control taken from the sharp Black and White Restrictions that everything in the world gets sorted into. It understands community necessity and need, responsibly pulling back and lowering you down into its lap to help wind yourself down. Doom then is an ultimate gentle Equalizer, instilling its players with an internal sense of Acceptance and eventually true Wisdom.”

Knight of Doom: One who Exploits with Doom or Exploits Doom

Knights hide a fear of a perceived fundamental failure with their Aspect behind a shield of confidence and obsessive effort. Their challenge is to learn to take it down a notch and to understand that they are skilled enough

A Knight is very skilled with using the rules and limitations of any game or session to their advantage. They skillfully fulfill any responsibility or obligation required of them with ease. They might use their natural caution and pessimism to make realistic choices and endeavors. They use and exploit any rule or limit that they can to their advantage. They might also be very good at exploiting any sacrifices made or any obligation or responsibility that they are held to. They might be very good at avoiding any unnecessary thing or person and are very good at recognizing when something is too futile to even bother with.

Likewise they might only focus on the necessary things in their game or session so they are likely to not do much unless it’s absolutely necessary. They would very likely be very meticulous with themselves about following the rules properly and constantly restrict themselves, maybe thinking they aren’t following the rules properly enough or not following the right ones. They might sacrifice anything they consider unnecessary about themselves or the way they live, sometimes even going too far with it, in order to be considered or thought of as less useless. They’re always trying harder and holding themselves to extreme self-imposed standards.

They would likely wait for the opportune moment to strike, though they are slow to move or act, they always will when something necessary needs to happen. Out of all the Doom players, a Knight of Doom seems like the one most likely to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. A Knight of Doom can also expertly use and exploit fire, bombs and explosions to their advantage, maybe they create flashy distractions during fights. They might even use decaying or dying things to their advantage.

(from @/communistvriska)

Role in the Session: Rather like the Prince of Doom, this role’s title kinda has “edgelord” written all over it, but that’s not a set-in-stone character trait. The first thing that comes to mind re: what the Knight Class and the Aspect of Doom have in common is a strong sense of obligation. The Knight of Doom is bound to take their duties and responsibilities Extremely Seriously, perhaps rather too seriously at first ... Knights also tend to be very protective of both their Aspect as a concept, and of themselves and those close to them; while the Knight of Doom isn’t likely to be outwardly aggressive, given Doom’s reserved, slow-burn tendencies, woe betide those who try to deceive or confound the Knight or their allies. One of Doom’s internal contradictions (which I find personally fascinating) is that the aspect is associated both with cynical resignation and with a profound albeit restrained sense of passion and persistence. Doom is what’s left after everything else gets burnt away.

The Knight of Doom will likely be a very skilled combatant, as the Knight is a class strongly associated with Strife / battle, and Doom is one of the more overtly destructive Aspects. I’d put them in the Top 5 Roles to use a cool flamin sword, at least. They’re not going to be eager to fight, per se, but they’re not going to have much trouble scaling the echeladder when it comes to that either. Internally, they’re likely to struggle with a perceived (but largely imagined) inability to fulfill their duties, and they could well stumble once or twice in their quest to be perceived as reliable and stoic, or as someone who their friends can lean on. They’re probably doing more than enough already, but if they’re not careful they might overexert themselves and take on too heavy a burden, and they’re liable to be crushed by their own expectation that they face their challenges alone. This is going to factor into their capital-Q Quest and the environment of their planet, and will be the biggest obstacle in their path to Ascension. A Knight’s duty is to protect their co-players, but their co-players also have to support them.

#mail #scott summers

[madamebaggio]

Notes: As promised, here is the Margaery ship chosen by you!

This is a direct continuation of this.

I hope you enjoy it ;)

***

Thranduil was incredibly old. He remembered things that history itself had forgotten, and some that he himself wished he could.

He’d seen countries rise and fall, kings and lords losing everything, humans learning and destroying. He loved dearly, he lost things…

Thranduil could go on for days about things he knew -when he was feeling particularly bored he’d do exactly that, just to make his guards sweat.

Legolas -still young and impetuous -would roll his eyes and call his father dramatic. And Thranduil imagined he could be considered dramatic by some standards, but he was too old to actually care.

Besides, drama was one of the last things he could actually enjoy.

As he was this old and experienced in life, it was downright insulting that a human would think of lying to him. Most wouldn’t even try, because they could see in his eyes that he wouldn’t take kindly to it.

But this woman…

If Thranduil was in a generous frame of mind -he hardly ever was -he’d concede that she wasn’t exactly lying to him. She was -at most -hiding parts of the truth, and Thranduil normally didn’t care humans all that much to really be bothered by it.

However, this time, there were dragons involved.

“Let us try this again.” He told her slowly. “What does your Queen want?”

At least Lady Tyrell was smart enough to stop flowering her words. He could see she was still smarting from him calling her out a few minutes ago.

“As you probably already know, Your Majesty, my Queen had to fight hard to get what was rightfully hers.” She started again. “This led to a war, and that itself brought many consequences. Most of all, we are short on allies and some goods. I am here as her emissary to question about those things: friendship and trade.”

Thranduil hummed his understanding, now knowing she was speaking the truth. It wasn’t as pretty as she’d made it sound at first, but it did make sense that the Queen would look for new allies.

He hoped Lady Tyrell wasn’t in a hurry.

“We can discuss this later.” He decided. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

***

Margaery had dealt with many people throughout her life. She was raised to be the lady of a big house, groomed to be a Queen if the chance presented itself. Her grandmother had sat her on her knee and taught Margaery a lot.

From a young age she’d learned how to read people, and -consequently -how to get what she wanted from them. She always hoped she’d get to be like her grandmother one day.

She talked to lords and ladies, made them think she was sweet and kind; talked to commoners and made them love her. Margaery knew that alliances were important to get what she wanted and she had wanted a lot.

The war for the Iron Throne curbed her ambitions, to the point she was happy to be alive. Many hadn’t  had the same luck; like her grandmother.

Margaery had always wanted to be a Queen, but she’d learned that she’d rather survive this. She wasn’t unhappy serving Queen Daenerys, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore.

She enjoyed the respect brought by her position, and even liked the fact that she was actively doing something for Westeros, but…

Some days she felt as if she was doing things just to survive, just to keep going.

Like this, right now.

It had been a week since she’d been ‘welcomed’ into Greenwood, and she hadn’t seen King Thranduil since then.

When Daenerys suggested going to the elves, everyone thought she’d finally lost it. There had been no contact with the elves for centuries at that point, and everything that was known about them came from songs and legends.

Daenerys had pointed out people thought the same about dragons.

Therefore, Margaery, Tyrion and Varys had sat down and tried to figure out what could be real and what was fantasy.

At that point, immortal beings didn’t seem that far fetched. There had been an army of undead and dragons, so why would that be impossible?

The songs agreed on a few things: elves were beings of pure light, they were beyond beautiful, and they lived for a long time. Everything else was… Not so simple. Some stories pictured them as extremely benevolent creatures, full of goodwill and wisdom. Others portrayed them as fickle and untrustworthy, always willing to sacrifice what they considered ‘lesser’ creatures. It was hard to determine what was fiction, personal impressions, and they didn’t feel comfortable considering any of that actual information.

They poured over maps and figured a general direction and sent messengers.

Margaery hadn’t expected an answer, but she got one.

Tyrion had wanted to go, but Daenerys asked him to let Margaery go instead, since she was much better at first impressions. Marge was starting to think Tyrion might have had better luck with the King.

They were all beautiful; it was downright ridiculous. There wasn’t a single elf she’d seen that was less than stunning; men or women, they all had perfect facial symmetry. And there was this… Strange glow. It did look like they were made of light -or at least had great skin care. And the King…

Margaery wasn’t a girl to be infatuated with good looking men, but… She had never seen a face like his. It was… It was perfect, because there was no other word for it. Even his hair was perfect.

She was still figuring out what was true from what she’d read, and mostly elves were… Odd. She could imagine that being immortal could get boring after a while, and maybe that’s why they seemed too detached from the world.

The only elf who’d talked to her more was Lady Tauriel. She was supposedly guarding Margaery, but the young woman knew she was just keeping an eye on the human.

Tauriel was a fierce warrior, and extremely young by elves’ parameters. She wasn’t even a thousand years old yet.

She was also full of questions. She wanted to know about Westeros, the dragons, the dead, the Queen, the war…

Margaery didn’t mind talking to her, because she was the only one willing to talk back and let the lady know what to expect from elves in general.

There was also prince Legolas, who was also extremely beautiful -not as much as his father, of course. He seemed to mistrust her on principle, but Margaery didn’t care about his opinion at all.

She wanted to talk to the King, but he was never around.

Tauriel admitted that the King did this occasionally, then came around saying that weeks were a blink of an eye to him, so he’d forgotten. She was also unsure if he was serious about it, or just messing with them all.

That wasn’t encouraging.

“Lady Tyrell, the King has invited you for dinner.”

Well, finally.

***

The dinner was intimate, for lack of a better word. If he was anyone else, Margaery would think he was trying to get her alone and seduce her, but the idea seemed laughable when it came to him.

They sat together for the meal and she was served the best wine she’d ever tasted. She tried making small talk for a while, but then got the distinct impression he was amused by her attempts, so she became quiet and waited for him to say something.

“Tell me about your Queen.” He asked eventually. “Not the pretty lies and the poetry. Tell me the truth.”

Margaery took a minute to think about it. “What do you know about the Targaryens and the war that almost ended then, Your Majesty?”

“Nothing about that.” He replied easily. “I don’t pay attention to human affairs. Once the last dragon died, I didn’t care anymore.”

“I see.” Margaery told him about the Mad King and the rebellion against him, and how Daenerys and her brother had escaped and lived in exile. She told him about Daenerys being sold into marriage in exchange for an army.

During the whole tale of Daenerys’ conquests in Essos, Thranduil barely moved. Margaery wasn’t even sure he was actually listening to what she was saying, but -as he didn’t tell her to stop -she just carried on.

That was until she spoke of their first meeting.

“What did you think of her when you first met?” He finally asked.

“I thought she was pretty.” Margaery admitted. “I thought she couldn’t possibly be the woman of the stories. She’s quite short, and looks very dainty.”

“And after?”

This was a tricky question. Margaery had already learned she couldn’t lie to him, and the answer to that question was…

“I was…” She took a sip of her wine to buy herself some time. “I was intimidated. She’s fierce and the people that serve her are loyal. Honestly, at that point I just wanted someone to kill Cersei Lannister.”

“So you didn’t mind what type of person she’d be.”

“No, not really.” Margaery confessed. “I just wanted her to end Cersei, I didn’t particularly care how. I barely escaped King’s Landing with my life, I wanted retribution.”

“Do you believe in your Queen?”

“She’s young.” Margaery spoke diplomatically. “I think she will grow into her role, and she’ll be a great Queen.”

“How political of you.” Thranduil took a sip from his wine, and Marge felt as if she’d lost his interest. “Do people in Westeros still talk about the gods tossing coins to know if a Targaryen will be mad?”

“I… I didn’t know that story was that old.”

“Trust me, it is.” His eyes turned back to her. “Is your Queen mad?”

“No.”

He hummed. “You are uncertain.”

She was. Margaery didn’t dislike or envy Daenerys, and she had supported the Queen and intended to continue doing so.

But…

“Only time will say, sire.”

“You do have a way with words, Lady Tyrell.” He sighed. “I don’t care to listen more about the Dragon Queen. Tell me about yourself, Lady Tyrell.”

“Myself? What would you like to know, sire?”

“The truth, but only the interesting parts.” He was still watching her. “You don’t strike me as a simple woman, and you do seem smarter than most humans.”

Margaery couldn’t help but chuckle. “How kind of you, sire.”

“There’s something about you, Lady Tyrell. Something that is vaguely interesting.”

This time Margaery couldn’t hold in her laughter. “Oh sire. You are so charming.” She couldn’t stop giggling. “I think this wine is too strong.”

The corner of Thranduil’s mouth was curled up. “For some, yes.”

“I can tell you whatever you want to hear, sire, but it’s not that interesting. Or pretty.”

“Pretty stories are normally lies, Lady Tyrell. I’m interested in the truth. Tell me something that will make me pay attention.”

“I’ve been married three times and all of them are dead.” She blurted out a bit less gracefully than she’d have liked. That wine was going way too fast.

Thranduil arched an eyebrow. “Now that is something that sounds interesting.”

#madame baggio #crackship #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #gifs not mine #the hobbit #game of thrones #margaery tyrell #Thranduil #Margaery x Thranduil

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 85

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"What can you give me about Hill and her huntresses?" Ironwood asked me as we walked briskly up to his office.

"Fiona has some sort of matter absorption semblance. Evidently she can put a plane in her pocket and walk away. It's Striker ranged and probably limited to non-living things, I'm speculating on that bit. Still, it's supposed to be fairly wicked. May has the invisibility field. It's got a decent radius and it's mobile. It fucked with one of my own operations once. Sabotaged me. Then there's Joanna. She's got super strength, classic Brute," I informed him. "You want me here for this? I've had a run one with them before."

"You'll be with me," he affirmed. He swung the doors open to his office and he sat down at his desk.

I took to a corner by the window. I folded my arms. My sword hilt extended over my head.

"Their weapons?" Ironwood asked me.

"These crossbow staves. Probably modifiable with dust rounds. Except Hill. She's got a crossbow with blades on either side. My man described it as like a fan or an accordian."

"Your man?"

"A union leader down in Mantle. That's how he worked with Hill. You want the details?"

He shook his head. He steepled his hands before him and we waited. Penny came skipping into the room. She saw me, smiled, and waved at me. I grinned back at her and nodded.

"Oh are we acting brooding? I'll do my best." She imitated me by the far side of the long window.

"I don't need to act. I am brooding," I laughed back. "But yeah. A little."

"Hill should be up any minute."

"Good. I was getting tired of looking relaxed."

"I'm glad you two get along," Ironwood mumbled. "It bodes well. For you in particular, Strife."

"Eh, it's mostly Ruby." I kicked my foot around, rolling out my left ankle.

"Don't say that. I thought we were friends."

"We are, Penny. I'm trying to brood, though."

"I see…"

Hill pushed her way into the room with a small smile. She took me and Penny in. She had Fiona with her and another woman I recognized as Joanna Greenleaf from a photo.

Fiona nudged Hill. "That's him. Cloud Strife. The killer mercenary."

Hill glanced at me. "I've heard a bit about you, done some nasty business in my town. What? You working for Ironwood now?"

"For the foreseeable future. Judge ordered. You could probably find out about it. Given your seat," Ironwood returned from behind his steepled fingers.

"You give up the merc life?" She asked. Her question directed at me.

"For now," I answered.

"You're a dangerous man, Strife, I'd be glad to hear you're playing for the good guys. If that's what's going on here."

"It sort of is. You fucked with my operation. Don't think I don't know."

"I did nothing illegal. Nothing anybody could prove at any rate." She showed her teeth. I liked her. "Not like you and Taurus."

"You heard anything about him?" I wondered. "I have a blood score to settle with the bastard."

"Not a peep. He's been laying low. Like I thought you and your illusionist were. Color me surprised to find you standing beside the General. Right beside the protector of Mantle after the shit you pulled."

Maybe this was why Ironwood wanted me here. To divert her focus. I doubted he wanted me for moral support. He wanted me on as a distraction. So I'd be as distracting as possible.

"Those charges were dropped," Penny said.

"You hear that?" I asked. "It's like I never did it."

"But you did do it," Fiona spat. "You killed people."

"Interesting way you phrased that," Hill said with a hand raised at Fiona beside her.

"I only killed other criminals." I shrugged. "And I got time served with a hefty fine."

"Meaningless to someone like you," Hill countered.

"Not meaningless. Just the best I could have hoped for."

"But are you reformed? Do you serve Atlas and Mantle well?" Robyn wondered.

"To the very best of my ability, I protect the people now."

"Will you swear by it?" Hill held out her hand.

"Sure. I'll promise." I took her hand. Purple flowed over my hand as I took hers and it wreathed both of us.  "What do you want me to say?" I asked. Words could be very particular.

"That you serve as a guardian to the people, now."

"I serve as a guardian to the people now." I echoed. I technically did before too. Her aura flashed green. It must have registered as true because she reclined looking satisfied.

"Now that that's settled we can get down to business. When will the new tower be ready for launch?"

"Classified. You shouldn't even know about the tower," Ironwood returned.

"But I do. And this will go smoother if we work together, General. I can vote in your favor or I can vote against you at every turn. I can even raise a vote of no confidence."

The General grimaced. I think that he hoped I'd buy him more time before the nitty-gritty.

Robyn leaned over his desk and spread her palms on it. Hunching over on him.

"What's it gonna be, General? I can do worse besides. I can petition to have your council seat taken away. How long will your precious tower take to get completed then. Work with me. I just want to talk."

"You want to talk for now."

"That's right," Hill returned. "I might change my mind based on what I hear, too." At least she was open and clear about it. The value of her prizing honesty.

"The launch is two months out." Ironwood stated.

He stood up and towered over Hill with her slumping over the desk. She recoiled back and stretched to her full height. It was still nowhere near the General and closer to me though she was tall for a woman.

"All of our attention has been on raising the tower and restoring communications between the kingdoms."

"Even though Mantle suffers," she murmured.

I thought about saying something like 'Mantle always suffers' but I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't the time. Never let be said I couldn't be diplomatic.

"Some sacrifices have had to be made to get things done but we're in the final stretch now. No going back."

"I want things to get better for Mantle, General. And fast."

"I'm working as fast as I can," Ironwood vowed.

"I want you to slow down the launch of it means things can get better for Mantle. Diverting both supplies and huntsmen."

"That isn't practical."

"Practical be damned. Mantle always bears the lion's share of the suffering for Atlas. All for it's floating neighbor. You want me to not vote against you at every turn so this project gets completed? You're going to have to make concessions. That means voting my way on minimum wage increases and miner safety standards. Even if those safety standards set back your little project."

Ironwood sighed. It sounded like she had him in a corner.

"We are so close." He grunted. He sounded frustrated and exasperated. "So close to getting this project done. For everybody's benefit."

"Well it just got further away. One way or another. Not one more miner will die for this or anything else. They matter to me. What's it gonna be, James?"

"Friends call me James. You can call me Ironwood or General."

"Petty," she clicked her tongue. She had him in a vice though. She'd be petty and slow down the project too. She was a woman of her word. No one with a semblance like that wouldn't be.

"It sounds like I've got little choice. Just know that once my project is complete I won't back down so easily anymore."

"I'm counting on it, General," she turned on a clicking heel and left. Her tour de force departed with her.

"Sorry. I tried but she wasn't going to be distracted. Not by me and not by Penny."

Ironwood groaned. "The launch just got set back a month. Minimum. And if I start capitulating now who knows when it will end."

"She's a woman of her word. So you've got that going for you."

"At least it wasn't Jacque Schnee," Penny chipped in brightly. "This election could have gone much worse. She's willing to work with you if you work with her."

My scroll chirped. I pulled it out of my pocket.

"Strife. Who’s this?"

"Aurum. I've got a hit on your lady friend. She's here. She's threatening me. She demanded my information. She was asking the same sort of questions you were. I need to know what that's about now."

"You don't. I'll be there."

"My life is on the line! She immolated my men!"

"Try and hold her there. I'm coming. Let's get lucky and kill her."

"Sorry Cloud but I have got to do what I got to do to protect my business."

"Just hold her. I'm on my way."

I cut the connection.

"Something important?" Ironwood asked.

"I got a hit on Cinder. She's about to burn one of my contacts to death. I need to get there."

Ironwood nodded. "Do you need reinforcements? I'll call Ace Ops."

"Better call Team RWBY too and put them on standby with Qrow. She's at The Den."

"I'm sending Penny with you."

"Let's go Penny." I said with a nod by the door. "You and I will fly there."

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Penny and I swooped down on The Den. "You take her accomplices. Let me worry about Cinder."

"Do you believe that you can defeat her?"

"We're about to find out." Let’s hope that sounded confident.

I bust in the door to find the club empty and quiet. The lack of music and the distant smell of inhalants gave the place a void like feeling. It was strangely empty and lacking.

"Sorry Cloud. It's nothing personal. Just business, you understand." It was Aurum's voice coming from the top floor above me. "She forced me. You get it."

There was the clink of glass heels on the floor above us and Cinder Fall came into view.

"You," she purred. "Jaune Arc was it? I owe you for when last we met." Her one eye glowed like embers.

"It was. Not anymore. It's Cloud now."

"A change in name will mean little to my mistress. You're her son."

"Hardly. She didn't raise me," I shot back. I drew the broadsword from over my shoulder. I gripped the enormous handle beneath the titanic cross guard the shield helped form.

"She has bade me not kill you and your sisters have a certain fury I would dread but whatever happens happens," she sung. She spread her fingers and a flame grew across them. "You would have had me last time if not for my maiden powers. Powers which have doubled. I'm sure you are aware. And you've been spying for me. Through this rabble but you've been on the look out nonetheless."

She made Aurum call me, then. Aurum dashed out the exit, trying to keep his life intact and escaping while we were both distracted. Cinder set a trap for me. Sustrai stepped out from behind Cinder with Black in tow. I watched and my vision faded as Sustrai narrowed her eyes at me. She was trying to use her semblance on me.

I shouted at Penny and I watched a blurring kaleidoscope fly up to them and slash out at Emerald with ten floating blades appendages. My vision snapped back into focus and in perfect time for me to see Cinder descending on me with flames pouring from her feet to aid her assault. As she flew she left fire behind on the glass dance floor. I met a strike from her similarly glass weapons and stuttered back a step on the dance floor.

I activated my semblance and brought my weapon around to match her. I drew an electric crystal from my pocket. I crushed it in my palm and sent a thunderbolt at her. She blocked it by crossing her weapons and her one eye flared at me with the power of the maidens. She gestured and a half dozen fireballs floated into place before her. She blew gently. Like she was blowing a kiss at me, I didn’t catch it, and I was forced to dance out of the way of the fireballs.

I went through them. I rolled and floated towards her through the conflagration. I stabbed my sword downward and tore up glass as I pushed it screeching across the dance floor towards her. She met my strike with both her weapons crossed.

Then she struck out at me in high, low, high fashion, alternating each blade. She twirled with the motion and I was forced on the defensive, blocking each one of her attacks. I never let her truly get close to me with the enormous blade between us.

She waved her palm and a flare shot up inside the tight room towards me. I couldn't be sure how Penny was doing against her two opponents because I was too focused on Cinder.

I blocked her and seesawed my weapon down on her. Sparks flew from her glass weapons from where my Titania edge but down into them.

"I'm going to kill you this time. We'll see how my Mother takes that," I whispered. I spoke softly as I threatened her. As I made my vow.

Lightning ran up her weapons and into my arms. It made me tremble in pain for a moment before she pushed me off of her and kicked me in my exposed chest. Then she flew at me.

"Aren't you quite the little rebel. Doing what makes mommy mad?" She laughed at that.

"Oh I'll piss her right the fuck off. Can't imagine she was happy I didn't bring the relic to her."

She pointed her sword at me and there was a kazzap of lightning. I blocked it on the edge of my weapon but she just swung her weapon around her body again. A trail of fire emanating from it and growing larger until she whipped a lash of red hot blaze right at my head.

I rolled again and came up thrusting at her, forcing her to block. She swung at me with one of her glass weapons but at the far range of my weapon I was too distant and she miscalculated.

She dropped into a crouch and pointed both her weapons at me and there was another mighty kazizzle of electricity.  I jumped over it and brought my weapon down on her head in a move that forced her to block with both of her own. It shattered the dance floor around us for yards and yards. All the way to the edge near the bar.

"You're right of course. She was most displeased. She will punish you for it given the opportunity. I think not, however. You will die here."

She waved her hand and a gale picked up. All the glass from the once smooth and now shattered dance floor flew up from it. She gestured at me and I hunkered behind the wide edge of my weapon and weathered the storm of glass pellets. Some struck into my aura and chipped it away. I held firm against the wind.

Blue light still licked at my body but it seemed like my semblance would not be enough. I couldn't imagine spending it and then being forced to fight her without it. If I spent it, when I spent it, it would have to be for the kill. I could use it for no other purpose. And it would probably have to be the Octa slash. No other attack would do enough damage in a single go to take her down except maybe a Finishing Touch.

I'd hardly touched her. Hadn't touched her, I realized.

When the gale broke down she hit me hard with both flaming feet. Not as hard as Penny had with a similar move but hard enough to send me stumbling back. Next she delivered three lighting fast diagonal slashes to my torso. She ripped away massive chunks of my aura.

Then she thrust forward and I blocked to the side. Her weapon buried in my personal soul based force field to the hilt right next to my head. She still managed to rip away a chunk of blue light from my body.

Things were seriously not good. Her magic was too much for me and her competence with a blade in each hand was nothing to scoff at.

I kicked her back. A move that caught her in the gut. Then I swung my blade towards her head in a massive strike that she caught with both her weapons. Making yet another 'x' shape. It seemed to be her go to in order to block against my titanic sword.

I screamed and flew at her. Closing the little distance between us with a shoulder check that knocked her to the ground.

I danced at her, flowing like water as she caught herself on one hand and tried to cartwheel back but I chased her roll now that she was out of position. Now that she was in serious disadvantage and close to me I made to capitalize on it.

I caught up to her and hit her once vertically diagonally downward and to the right. Then I reversed and came diagonally up and to the left. Then I can back down on her diagonally and from the right once more in a staggering triple hit. The kind I'd seen do twenty-five percent or more of Ruby's aura when I wasn't Limit Broken. When I wasn't Limitless.

I didn't spend the charge on it but I did shout, a scream left my lips as I performed the move with exertion. It flung her back and into one of the bars and into the wall in a shattering of glass and bottles.

She flew out of the hole in the wall and through the crevice her body had left in the bar. A trail of flame coming behind her and at her feet. I flew to meet her and where we struck the ground rippled like it was made of liquid for a moment before elasticity caught up with it and it shattered.

I was taller than her. I was conventionally stronger, too. Especially while Limit Break was active and I slowly lowered my weapon down onto her while her back twisted from trying to match me in the crater on the floor.

She kicked my leg at the hip but I only grunted and took it. I took one hand off my blade and backhanded her hard with my knuckles. Then I slid forward a step and reversed my hand and grabbed her by the throat and picked her up into the air. I pulled her in and kneed her in the stomach hard enough to make spittle fly from her lips.

Then Mercury came flying and kicked me in the back. Then he shot me in the back with both of his boot guns.

I twisted to my feet again on a pocket of air. He was breathing hard. So was Cinder where I'd knocked the wind out of her.

I wasn't much better and now that they were alone Emerald let out a scream where Penny slammed her hard into a wall.

"Ma'am…" Mercury trailed.

"Save Emerald," Cinder hissed.

Then I gambled. I dashed forward like I was going to hit Cinder. Then I spent Limit on a thrust but not at her. I thrust up and into Mercury's aura and then into his chest in a crackle of violet energy.

Blood flew from his lips as I speared him. Penny had done enough work for this to pay off and from the sounds of things she'd defeat Emerald too.

"No," Cinder whispered. The battle was out of her favor.

"Yes!" I roared. The edge was ours now.

I watched as Emerald plucked herself from the wall and fell to her knees. A tear on her face as we all saw Mercury slide onto my six foot blade.

"Emerald! Get us out of here!" Cinder called.

I swung my sword and Mercury flopped off the blade. He was already dead. I flexed and started charging my next semblance. With slow promise I stood and began the charge. Soon.

"Emerald!" Cinder barked. I was assaulted with a massive illusion. Penny was too from the way she stepped back in shock on the second floor. A gigantic image of my Mother rose from the twisted glass and roared.

Cinder burned a hole in the wall and grabbed Emerald's sobbing form and fled. I was too shocked by the cyclopean vision of my Mother to move.

"Cloud!" Penny called to me distantly. I fell to my knees before the image of my Mother and held my hands up like I was expecting an attack, I fumbled my sword with dumb hands. My brain burned and my mind was ajar.

Mother…

I thought. And despite that I knew it was an illusion. Despite the distance between us I heard her answer.

“My son…”

"No…" I whimpered.

“Yes…”  

The voice seethed.

“Yes… you belong to me… I am your mistress…”

I could feel her shadow on the corner of my mind. She twisted into me and trapped me between agonies I knew weren't true.

"Cloud are you alright?"

The massive image of my Mother faded. But she lingered on my brain. A growing pressure. I howled in pain. She raked at my body and I convulsed.

"Cloud, it wasn't real."

"She's in my… my… my…" I stuttered like a broken record player. Then I started to froth at the mouth. I seized on the broken dance floor.

“My son… my precious son…”

"Oh my gods!" I heard Penny cry. "Don't worry, Cloud, help is on the way!"

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

#rwby #ff7 #ffvii #cloud strife #jaune arc x ruby rose x weiss schnee #war of the roses #lancaster #whiteknight #white knight #white rose #whiterose #cinder fall #fiona thyme #robyn hill #james ironwood #penny polendina #mercury black #emerald sustrai #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!jaune arc #may marigold #joanna greenleaf

[bobbystompy]

91 Quotes I Enjoyed From 2020

Below are my favorite quotes from 2020. Though most occurred throughout the year, some took place before but were encountered during.

1) “You don’t have to be new to make new.” - Rick Rubin

2) “He put the beat on and go to sleep then wake up with a verse.” - The Lox

3) “Every opinion is bad.” - Blink-155

4)

(via Twitter)

5) “At the start of every disaster movie, there’s a scientist being ignored.”

6) “Be brave enough to suck at something new.”

7) “Comedy is the only job you can have where you can use everything you know” - Robin Williams via Dave Chappelle

8) “What’s the worst swear word where you live?” - Josiah Hughes

9) “Cookies are a really great way to get everybody to like you for a short period of time” - YSAC

10) “The worst dancer at a wedding is the one who’s not dancing.” - John Mulaney

11) “I never saw the end of the tunnel. I only saw myself running out of one." - Kobe Bryant

12) "A good movie begins as you're walking out of the theater" - Ethan Hawke

13) “When I was young and starting in cinema, there was a saying that I carved deep into my heart which is, 'The most personal is the most creative.’ That quote was from our great Martin Scorsese.” - Bong Joon-ho

14) “Run to the rescue with love, and peace will follow” - River Phoenix via Joaquin Phoenix

15) “Thank you -- I will drink until next morning.” - Bong Joon-ho

16) “Men will bury their emotions for decades and then take it all out on children tubing while they drive the boat.” - @krauter_

17) “They help you with the dumb face stuff, but they don’t tell you how to fix it” - Adam (Nate’s friend), on having older sisters

18) “We all had our connections, but it’s not the details themselves that matter, it’s the feeling behind them. There are a million coming-of-age tales. Lady Bird’s secret sauce is how deeply its creator gave a shit. The older I get, the less I care about anything but the sense of a filmmaker’s personal connection to the material. It doesn’t matter what it’s about, what genre it is, or whether it’s genre at all. I only really care that it feels like something the filmmaker had to tell me, and that it was that filmmaker in particular who had to tell it. It has to answer the ‘why are you telling me this’ question, and not just why are you telling me, but why are you telling me.

Lady Bird is a movie that feels like only Greta Gerwig could’ve made. And it’s only because it’s so specific to her that it can be so meaningful to so many people.” - Vince Mancini

19) "I have cast some lonely votes, fought some lonely fights, mounted some lonely campaigns. But I do not feel lonely now.” - Bernie Sanders

20) “Ever hear a Beatles song you haven’t heard before?”

21) “Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you're allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It's like killing yourself, and then you're reborn. I guess I've lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.” - Charles Bukowski

22) “You shouldn’t have to hear a band to know if they’re good or not” - Josiah Hughes

23) “I was raised by OGs.  Some of you were raised by IG.  I understand.” - Ice-T

* * *

[Here is where I note the line of demarcation that was the COVID-19 pandemic hitting the US, pushed forward by Tom Hanks’ announcement, the NBA and NCAA shutting down, and, then, the nation itself.]

* * *

24) “There are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen.” - Vladimir Lenin

25) "Taken together, this is a massive failure in leadership that stems from a massive defect in character. Trump is such a habitual liar that he is incapable of being honest, even when being honest would serve his interests. He is so impulsive, shortsighted, and undisciplined that he is unable to plan or even think beyond the moment. He is such a divisive and polarizing figure that he long ago lost the ability to unite the nation under any circumstances and for any cause. And he is so narcissistic and unreflective that he is completely incapable of learning from his mistakes. The president’s disordered personality makes him as ill-equipped to deal with a crisis as any president has ever been. With few exceptions, what Trump has said is not just useless; it is downright injurious." - Peter Wehner

26) "Epidemics have a way of revealing underlying truths about the societies they impact." - Anne Applebaum

27) “A funny thing about quarantining is hearing your partner in full work mode for the first time. Like, I’m married to a ‘let’s circle back’ guy — who knew?” - Laura Norkin

28) 

(Jojo Rabbit)

29) “The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. - Deadwood: The Movie

30) “All bleeding stops eventually.” - Deadwood: The Movie

31) “Our Father, which art in heaven… / Let him fucking stay there” - Deadwood: The Movie

32) “It’s like a power outage, but we still have power” - Ryen Russillo, on the pandemic

33) “Whenever Sox baseball returns, it’ll be weird to not have Farmer on the call any more. The relationship between a fan and longtime announcer is always built in the little moments. One afternoon, he’s the soundtrack as you clean the garage. On another night, he’s your bookmark for the game as you stand in line for churros or walk down the ramps at Sox Park to try for better seats in the 100 level. A voice like Farmer’s becomes so familiar that you only really notice when it’s no longer there.” - Kevin Kaduk, on the passing of Ed Farmer

34) 

(via Twitter)

35) “In my songs, I try to look through someone else’s eyes, and I want to give the audience a feeling more than a message” - John Prine

36) “Observe everything. Admire nothing.” - Generation Kill

37) “Trump, by that definition, has always been a wartime president -- always willing to sacrifice people he doesn’t know to things he only sort of cares about” - David Roth

38) "Whenever they speak Michael Jordan, they should speak Scottie Pippen." - Michael Jordan

39) "Fiction is a bridge to the truth that journalism can't reach." - Hunter S. Thompson

40) “Airlines sending me “we’re in this together” emails. When my suitcase was 52 pounds I was on my own.” - Mike Dentale

41) “Sometimes you can be the worst source of your own story” - Ryen Russillo

42) “Family is not necessarily blood, but instead who you would bleed for.”

43)

(via Twitter)

44) "This is the deal that Jordan made, knowingly or unknowingly — that he would trade everything he had for everything he wanted. And then, when he won all those things, he found that he had nothing but that.” - David Roth

45) “I’m brand loyal, but the brand doesn’t matter” - Caitie Miller, on why she doesn’t like generic peanut butter

46) “NOBODY shitposts Gene Hackman!!” - Mark Dehlinger

47) “When a man concludes that any stick is good enough to beat his foe with—that is when he picks up a boomerang.” - G.K. Chesterton

48) “You can be appalled forever, but shocked only once.” - Jeff Weiss, on early Eminem

49) “Whether I’m pessimistic or optimistic, the fight’s the same” - David Simon

50) “Freedom can never be completely won, but it can be lost.” - Bernard Simon

51) “Racism in America is like dust in the air. It seems invisible — even if you’re choking on it — until you let the sun in. Then you see it’s everywhere. As long as we keep shining that light, we have a chance of cleaning it wherever it lands.” -Kareem Abdul Jabbar

52) “In a racist society, it is not enough to be non-racist -- we must be anti-racist.” - Angela Davis

53) “Start as close to the end as possible” - Kurt Vonnegut, on creative writing

54) “You can’t stay woke all the time — that’s insomnia.” - Dr. Cornel West

55) “No, I get it. I’ve dated a lot of Geminis.”

56) “The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.” - John Krakauer, Into The Wild (via Tyler Keller)

57) "I couldn't show them my For You because it's pretty much just lesbian stuff and depression memes" - Maggie Loesch, on showing TikTok to her coworkers

58) "It's 1 a.m. in Slovakia and I've already had one bottle of wine and I don't know how long this press conference will go, so good luck to me." - Marian Hossa, following his NHL Hall of Fame announcement

59) “All I want in life is to go on an Anguilla group trip” - Mandy Gilkes

60) “You miss old friends when you don’t see them, but you miss them more when you do.” - Chuck Klosterman

61) “The only way to appreciate the present is to pretend it’s already the past.” - Chuck Klosterman

62) Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth, oh, never mind You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth Until they've faded, but trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back At photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now How much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked

(”Everybody's Free [To Wear Sunscreen]”)

Second time that essay’s been quoted on this list.

64) "I mean, it's just human nature to suck up to the people above you, crap on those beneath you, and undercut your equals” - Brian, Family Guy

65) “You never quit a job. You quit a manager.” - Brian Bedford

66) “All the pictures in my house are of people I’m not friends with” - Tracy Cunningham

67) “In order to leave something behind, you have to leave.” - Dr. Herman, Grey’s Anatomy

68) 

(via Twitter)

69) “You can obsess about death if you don’t have to obsess about dying.” - Brendan Kelly via “White Noise”

70) “If it’s right to do, it’s wrong to wait.” - Andy, doorman 

71)

72) “When I'm sometimes asked when will there be enough [women on the Supreme Court] and I say, 'When there are nine,' people are shocked. But there'd been nine men, and nobody's ever raised a question about that.” - Ruth Bader Ginsburg

73) "America is mostly people who’ve never left their state saying we have the best country in the world." - Billy Wayne Davis

74) “A writer is someone who knows at least 80% of their writing sucks.” - Gabe Hudson

75) 

(via Twitter)

76) “You’re dead twice” - Brendan Kelly

77) “Perfect is the enemy of good” - Voltaire (via Zach Lowe)

78) “I don’t want to be a savior, I want to be a mirror.” - Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

79) “I get bad Twitter FOMO but not real life FOMO. That just goes to show I need to get off the Internet.” - Josh Thomas

80) “Is there anything you love in life that you engage with seriously that you don't also engage with humor?" - Sam Sutherland, on his relationship with Blink-182

81) “My favorite genre of music is my friends' bands" - Josiah Hughes

82) “Let’s fall in love like both our parents aren’t divorced.”

83) “Seabiscuit may be the only earthling that was on both sides of the stamp.” - Brendan Kelly

84) “There’s no shame in coming in second, except in, like, wars.” - Family Guy

85) “I feel like I experience writer’s block 100% of the time, and when I do write, I have impostor syndrome.” - Phoebe Bridgers

86) “We teach based on what we most need to learn.” - psychologist on Grey’s Anatomy

87) “Having too many choices is the leading cause of stress” - Grey’s Anatomy

88) “I think we've all gravely underestimated the extent to which this year has changed all of us, permanently” - Kelli Maria Korducki

89) 

(via Twitter)

90) “I wonder if people understand why they don’t have polio” - Sandra E. Garcia

91) “Ending songs is terrible, so let’s keep singing” - Dave Hernandez

#covid19 #2020 #star wars #dave chappelle #volatire #ysac #kobe #kobe bryant #ladybird #bukowski #jojo rabbit #aoc #john prine #deadwood #bernie #rbg #notorious rbg #phoebe bridgers

[ask-jaghatai-khan]

Upsilon-28

A fanfic showing off my character, the Lord-Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28, from my Sect of the Revelation Mechanism.

Read below the cut, or on my other blog.

Image of Quartermaster Rho by TomisJB

“Are you assured of this procedure’s safety, my Lord-Archmagos?” the adept asked, his half-modulated voice subdued yet still retaining but a hint of mortal apprehension.

Archmagos Chertovsky did not respond. Not at once. Like an inert golem of tangled metal, he stood with his inhuman eyes fixed on the suspension tank in front of him. Within the amniotic fluid of that arcane structure floated a figure in stark contrast to the elder tech-priest’s own. Whereas Chertovsky Upsilon-28 was a hunched being with an ill-defined silhouette broken by so many layers of intricate augmetics, the being within the tank was an unadorned human. More than human, even – perfection. They stood a head taller than any typical mortal, with a muscled physique somewhere between the lithe form of a trained assassin and the unstoppable power of one of the Emperor’s own Angels of Death. A dormant face like the visage of a masterwork statue, pale with fresh tissue and possessing a bone structure more fearsome than any living man or woman lulled atop the divine form.

Not one of the myriad trusted adepts within the operating room would comprehend the thoughts going through the Archmagos’ mind. Beyond the simple fact that the processors supplementing their more “youthful” brains were insubstantial compared to Chertovsky’s own databanks, they couldn’t know the depth of emotion felt by that otherwise cold and impassive tech-priest.

It was him. The figure in the tank, for how much it resembled no human who had ever lived, was him. Within the enhanced and perfected features of that vegetative husk hid the subtle markers of what the Archmagos had once been. He could remember, however dim those memories were – the shape of his nose, of his brows, the fine details of bone structure in those areas which had seen the least amount of modification. It was like those depictions of Imperial saints crafted by artists long after their subjects had passed into legend, idealizing the forms of men and women who had been but scarred wretches in their true lives.

The strange feelings that Chertovsky wrestled with in silent contemplation were made all the more powerful by the knowledge of his own current degradation. He had not been as diligent of late with the upkeep of his augmetics. Chertovsky Upsilon-28 was a being who preferred careful symmetry, efficiency, and greater thought given over to the aesthetics of his bionic enhancements than some more utilitarian members of the Martian cult. Yet in recent months, at the leadup to this procedure, he had focused on nothing more than ensuring he had the right tools for whatever task was at hand, his cyberized form lapsing more and more into an ill-defined morass of mechadendrites and layered servos. Not even of the highest quality, either, just simple factory-standards. This was his sacrifice – he’d waited for so long, he’d saved up so much, in resources and knowledge and all that was needed to perfect this great transformation.

What a shame, Chertovsky thought then as he pushed such mortal sentiments from his mind for the time being, fixated on the task at hand. You shall not be whole for long, creature. He spoke to his own un-twin. However fine that flesh was, it was still but a foundation for far greater enhancements.

—

Looking like a diminutive pest, a waylaid rat, the youth stood in the corner of the whitewashed room. They were an adolescent, almost an adult, but the with way they seemed so out of place, so fearful of their surroundings – they could not have looked more like a child if they’d tried. Robes of Martian red covered their wastrel form, but they were not the holy vestments of a tech-priest.

This place was so much different from anywhere that young boy had ever seen. Far removed from the brutal, industrial maze that dominated any civilized tract of Mars, this room was clean, sterile, almost comforting in its soft and bare décor. The youth had seen medical rooms before, but a handful of times, yet the quality of the Mechanicus’ own facilities was astounding. A simple waiting room in a surgical center was as a cathedral to the boy.

Sunken, flitting eyes darted to the steel door at one end of the room, as a prominent beep announced the arrival of the individual he’d been waiting for.

“Chertovsky – Germani—” the figure spoke as they entered, in a voice that was near musical in its synthesized smoothness, “You are the last one today. It is good that you made it.”

Compared to the wiry young human known as Germani Chertovsky, the being which now dominated the waiting room held little to reflect that it had once been human itself. This was Ben-Sheva Stith, though the use of his full name was reserved as an honor for those aspirants who managed to gain acceptance into the Mechanicus. To all others, he was Stith-E200, Magos Biologis and Ordinator to those myriad souls who sought to find purpose within the Machine God’s holy embrace.

Stith was a monstrous being, made all the more freakish by what parts of him were still in facsimile of humanity. Yet his charges did not fear him. Rather, they envied him. Stith had assembled his body in a bulky form that almost evoked the might of one of the Emperor’s great power-armored warriors, looking like a bronze statue come to life. From his back sprouted a mantle of servo-arms like the branches of a metallic tree, and his unmoving face was a mask of polished marble-hued stone with eyes like gleaming aquamarines. Yet where the tech-priest might have had normal legs, instead between the gaps in his crimson robes could be seen glimpses of his almost insectoid lower half. Stith’s centaur-like form, both majestic and intimidating, was a testament to what any mere mortal could become through the grace of the Omnissiah.

“Ave Deus Mechanicus.” Germani bowed, looking even smaller next to the grand form of the Ordinator.

“Against all odds you have completed your training as a novice and shall soon be inducted as a Rassophore within the holy order of Mars. This is a time for rejoicing, if ever such mortal emotions are to be indulged, Chertovsky!” Stith counseled the boy, “You shall soon be free of the frailties of your crude flesh and brought into the mechadendrites of the Machine God.”

The boy just kept his gaze lowered, though he gave a vigorous nod of understanding. Truth was, he felt as if he were about to throw up. It wasn’t all fear – the knowledge that his long transformation from a being of flesh to a being of iron would soon start proper via the most direct means was daunting, for sure, but he was still enthusiastic. Beneath simple red robes there was the form of a human who had seen ails beyond their years, and Germani longed to be free of the limitations of his base tissue.

“So tell me, Chertovsky, what will you give up?” the Ordinator asked then, instruments whirling about his head on their hydraulic stalks, funneling myriad unknown data-readouts into Stith’s processors, analyzing the charge in front of him.

“What?” the novice asked, somewhat dumb in his tone.

“Come, mortal, you know,” Stith waved his brassy hand, “Upon your ordination you shall receive your first core bionics. Spinal enhancements and neuro-ports and those basics which shall see your path towards enlightenment eased in these initial steps. But this is not fully standardized. You must choose something else to give up. A sacrifice of flesh to the Machine God.”

Germani looked about the room as if the answer might be written on the wall somewhere. He had indeed thought long about this choice, though now just as it was to be made, his mind had been flushed clear of all thoughts.

“M-maybe – maybe my legs,” the novice gestured down, “Like the Skitarii.”

He spoke of the Tech-Guard, the line warriors of the Mechanicus. To a soul they replaced their lower legs with durable augmetics, to honor those first nomads of Mars whose flesh and bones had been scoured on their long treks through the red sands. Germani himself just thought about the acute pain in his own legs. He was often in pain, though to the point where he had long since adjusted to the constant aches within his body, dulling them into one subconscious sense of weakness. Beneath his sturdy work-boots was skin afflicted with sores and callouses, bones compressed and tendons strained from an upbringing within a Martian landscape which was holy to the tech-priests but near unlivable to any normal lifeforms.

“A noble choice, and a popular one,” Stith might have grinned were his face not set in stone, “The prerequisite enhancements to your spinal column shall ensure you will not be hindered by these replacements, and they shall be only of benefit to you. But can you think of nothing else?” he asked then, trying to beckon some zeal out of the timid boy.

Germani thought again and considered how even now the world seemed lopsided. His left eye, which had been singed by a plume of sparks when he’d been but a child, and even now gave him little more than vague shadows in place of genuine sight.

“My left eye?” the novice offered, “So that my sight might be more pure?”

“Also good, and also common,” the Ordinator approved, “We may do both surgeries, if that is the offering you are willing to make?”

But Germani’s mind was racing now, and he was so aware of all the acute pains and ills which he had put up with his whole life, brought about by his growth on a world of poison, ash, sand, and steel.

“My hands, maybe?” he suggested, “Or my lungs? Maybe my stomach so I’ll no longer be a slave to hunger?”

Stith raised his hand, and the boy stopped at once. Yet when the Magos spoke, his synthesized voice was absent anything but pride.

“There will be time for such things later on in your journey. This is but one offering, one ascension which you shall make today. Though your ardor is laudable. Nurture that feeling. Couple it to your lust for knowledge, and one day you might find unity with the divinity of the Omnissiah.”

With that, the tech-priest beckoned for the youth to follow him to the next room. Though he had not yet been given his new name, Germani thought many times after, as all of his order did, that his rebirth as Chertovsky Upsilon-28 began not when he donned his clergy robes, but when he laid down upon that operating table.

—

The Lord-Archmagos oversaw the dissection of his own homunculus with exacting rigor. Half the time, it was not the ministrations of his trusted adepts or the automated algorithms of the surgical servitors that progressed the operation, but his own sterilized mechadendrites. These younger tech-priests were some of the best available, to say nothing of their loyalty – Chertovsky had contracted their services from Set-E299, apprentice to his old Ordinator and one of the few individuals on Mars the Archmagos could count as a true “ally” – yet still their skills paled when put up to some of Chertovsky’s most ironclad specifications.

Layer by layer the unneeded tissue of the grandiose clone-body was stripped away in preparation for its encasement in divine metal. Like any experienced Magos Biologis would confirm, not all flesh was so impure or antithetical to the Machine God’s designs. It was but one aspect of the myriad systems through which that holy Order expressed itself, though prone to failure and degradation. As such, but a handful of organs and the like would be kept from this corpse – the simplistic efficiency of such structures as marrow, certain neurons, and hormonal regulators. In time they would be upgraded by supplements of steel and copper and glass, but they would be left intact. The rest – the muscle, the unneeded bones, the vestigial tracts – would be recycled.

Cloning was in itself not a difficult task if one was not looking to create life. To grow a shell was simple, and drew upon long traditions of Imperial science dating back to the Emperor himself. Still, the procedure that Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28 intended to undergo was not so standard. Radical, some might say. Yet it was necessary. All of his progress as a tech-priest had led to this moment. Some on Mars thought him dead, for how long he had been absorbed in his own calculations, cut off from the greater machinations of the Cult. It was time for his second rebirth. Like the emergence of the Omnissiah, and the crafting of the ancient warriors of Terra – Custodian, Space Marine, and the like – Chertovsky was preparing for a metamorphosis. Decades worth of valuable resources had gone into the gene-crafting and augmetic specs for this new body. It almost seemed like a waste, even to the Archmagos, but what was one masterwork body compared to all the industry of the Imperium? This was a form suitable to the ongoing work of someone as ambitious as Chertovsky Upsilon.

Flesh disappeared, replaced or covered by layers of technological augmentation. The corpse became a skeleton of metal and wire, before the outer plating was affixed. For how much the Archmagos had dwelled on this design, it was rather simple. At its core it kept a humanoid form, yet that was but the chassis for the true ingenuity of the shell. Numerous ports and mechadendrite-mountings would allow for all the adaptability and modularity a senior Magos would expect and demand, while the central unit retained a degree of strength, of majesty. This was enhanced further by the final addition – the Abeyant. Like the shell of an isopod, the outer casing loomed about the skull-like visage of the husk’s face, before arcing back in broad segmentae down to the waist. Not just a mechanism for locomotion and adaptation alone, equipped as it was with repulsor-stabilizers and even more servo-ports – it was the main housing of Chertovsky’s primary obsession…

A wise soul once said that the most key step along the Quest for Knowledge was in fact learning how to learn, and the Lord-Archmagos had taken that concept into his synthetic heart. Where other tech-priests might become enamored by more “impressive” technologies, Chertovsky’s earliest training had been as an augmeticist. Risking his very life, he had delved into the ways one could enhance their own brain, expanding databanks and supplementing processing power. From thereon, all other tasks had seemed simple by comparison. Once one could manipulate the very core of their being – their means of accruing knowledge – no further obstacles were ever so insurmountable.

As such, the Abeyant of Chertovsky’s awaiting shell was the home of its multi-brain. Not just a single casing with neuro-uplinks, but a chain of multiple wetware cogitators assembled with painstaking precision by the Archmagos himself. In a moment of rather base lust, Chertovsky wondered what that high would feel like – to leave behind this venerable but utilitarian body and jack-in to the computational power of that hardware.

It might kill him, but that was of little concern.

A great many hours later, and at least one changing-out of the assistant adepts, the work was at last complete. Or rather, everything but the final step.

The body had been crafted. From a being of cloned flesh had been forged a suitable masterwork of steel. Its core was almost reminiscent of a Skitarii warrior in its semi-skeletal armored form, though additional layers of plating in several sections gave the suit a more martial appearance. From a harness about the waist emerged the stumps of numerous ports that would soon be host to whatever tangle of mechadendrites the Archmagos might require, though still the body retained its arms and legs in honor of what it had once been. The face was like a hybrid between a skull and a gas mask, its goggle-like eyes unlit and dormant, flanked by several lenses to allow for an impressive range of enhanced sight. Despite being laid on its back within the operation-scaffold, the body was almost sat up due to the size of the Abeyant on its back, like an upended turtle. Coupled with the broad mantle of the form’s shoulders, the metallic hood of the mounted processor provided an impressive silhouette, while the port-studded and armored carapace gave the whole figure impressive size and solidity. It looked somewhat ungainly, but that would be fixed once all the needed mechadendrites were attached.

“It is time.” The Archmagos said, more to himself than the nearby assistants.

“A triumph of artifice, m’lord!” the lead adept lauded. His own form was reminiscent of a Sicarian guard, and far better assembled than the mess Chertovsky had allowed himself to become in his single-minded focus of late, yet even that younger tech-priest’s impressive shell could not hold a lumen to the creation that sat just behind a layer of sealed glass.

“Engage the final routines. I take my leave.” Chertovsky said, shambling over to the airlock.

“Are you assured of your safety, m’lord?” the adept pressed, though he did not stop his superior, “What are we to do in case of complications?”

“Irrelevant details. I have composed the final algorithms myself,” the Archmagos replied, stepping into the first hall of the sterilization chamber and turning to meet the glass eyes of his assistant, “The commendations for you and your associates have already been sent to Magos Set. If this operation results in my expiration, it shall not impact your rewards.”

There was a pause then, and so Chertovsky concluded that their exchange was over, and yet – quite against all etiquette of the Mechanicus – the adept asked a final question. A base question, but one that almost managed to halt the Archmagos in its sincerity.

“M’lord – are you afraid?”

Chertovsky paused for but half a second before he pushed the button to seal the airlock. Beneath a hooded miter of Martian red, a static face of wires and lenses could do nothing to convey emotion. Yet within the modulated voice of the Archmagos there was a timbre of something great. An almost human emotion.

“Not anymore.”

Lord-Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28 pressed the button, and was alone. Within the next room, an operating mounting awaited him. Bending to his neural inputs, Chertovsky saw his various supplemental readouts go dead as he detached the case that contained what remained of his brain from all ports but his locomotive motors. He proceeded into the surgery theater and entrusted his mind to the pre-programmed hands of his servitors.

—

It was an uncommon thing for a tech-priest to dream. Periods of dormancy might occur, but to dream required that the core cogitator – the brain – should slip into an unconscious state. If they so wished, a cyborg of the Mechanicus might “sleep” and awake an indefinite amount of time later as if no time had passed at all.

With this sacrifice are you brought into the fold of the Machine God. With this augmentation of your body is your soul made more pure.

But Chertovsky indulged himself. There was no real way to regulate his sensory inputs as his brain itself was handled, and so a quick injection of some anesthetic helped to ease the process along. His mind swam within currents that had been long forgotten to him – as if he could dip for but a moment into the cerebral waters of the Immaterium itself.

How long until I am like you?

Are there any limits to the Omnissiah’s path? You say I must keep some of my flesh – but when is flesh superior to iron?

To have one’s very grey matter manipulated, even while under sedative, was a surreal experience. One did not “feel” anything, and yet they felt even the slightest disturbance as if it touched at their very soul.

Are you afraid?

This is but one offering – one ascension – which you shall make today.

Man and Machine. This union between our two empires. For from humanity are our souls born, and through the godlike Machine are they made strong.

You do not understand. I see the true potential of this crude matter. This was my first step. I have learned how to learn.

There was a change. A switch. Something connected, something came online. Chertovsky could not know yet how long the surgery had taken, but it was as if his mind had forgotten its own senses. Bare inklings of readouts – felt more than seen – were like breaths of pure air to a forgotten prisoner.

Are you afraid?

The flesh is weak. It is pain.

By the Omnissiah you are anointed. By the Omnissiah are you reborn.

Are you dreaming?

Awake.

Beyond the glass of the surgical theater, the assisting adepts watched the servitor arms retreat from their charge. Hissing and clanging sounded as stabilizers and therapeutic regulators detached.

[CONNECTIONS ONLINE]

The monitor readout was confirmed by one of the adepts.

[CORE REACTOR EQUALIZED. NEURAL SIGNATURE STABLE.]

“Finalize.” The lead adept gave the one order needed, and his compatriot entered the code to end the automated routines and release the Archmagos’ shell from its bonds.

Within the sockets of Chertovsky’s silver, skull-like face, electric blue lights flickered to life.

#warhammer #40k #mechanicus #oc #cyborg #short story #fanfic #homebrew

[sooave]

The Problem With Wanting: 2

It’s 2026, and an old celebrity crush comes to haunt your old and cynical heart. You’re doing great at pretending you were never obsessed with him, and finding things about him that you don’t like. Until you’re repeatedly forced to work with him. Until he decides that he’s in love with you.

Genre: I really don’t know what to call this, but it’s not an AU, Kyungsoo’s older and still a celebrity, and it’s friends-to-lovers.

Characters: Kyungsoo x Reader

Length: 1,484 words

Tags: Angst, Slow Burn

Part 1 | Part 2

The instant you got home, the first thing you did (after putting away your supplies and changing) was to sit down at your computer and do a quick Google search on Do Kyungsoo. It had been quite some time since you were actively following him (you could try to dig up your Twitter accounts but that wasn’t worth the time).

EXO as a band had not formally retired, and from time to time would release a song or two. And like their hyungs from Super Junior and SHINee, most of them remained relatively successful in the showbiz. This, you knew. But you had no idea what Kyungsoo specifically was doing.

You almost didn’t want to look. As if becoming informed would bring you one step closer to being obsessed. Guilt coursed through you when you saw the paparazzi shots that popped up from your search. It felt somehow… disrespectful, now that you’d actually “met” him.

A quick scan through the Career section on his Wikipedia page told you that he continued to act in various movies and dramas, but had also released a few solo albums. You raise your eyebrows when you see a few titles that you actually recognize as being critically-acclaimed, but you have never watched them yourself.

He was doing well for himself career-wise; that much was to be expected. Personally, the fangirl inside of you was happy that they all seemed to be doing well.

The Personal Life section remained minimized, and you stared at words on your monitor, debating whether or not to open that Pandora’s Box.

Your cursor hovered over it, and just as you were about to open it and take what you promised yourself to be a brief look, your phone on the table began to flash with an incoming call. A breath quickly escaped you and you immediately hit the shortcut to close the window.

Thanking the gods for the intervention, you snatch the phone up to pick up the call from one of your old-time clients. He was an owner of a Michelin Bib Gourmand traditional Korean restaurant, looking to open up a new location. Your gratefulness to him extended beyond the fact that he interrupted your unhealthy behaviour; he gave a chance on you when you first started looking for contract work in Korea, and it has opened up a lot of doors for you since.

“Hello?” You greeted automatically, even though you already know who called you.

“Ah! It’s me, Kim Yongsun.”

“Yongsun-ssi, how can I help you? It’s been a while.” The computer desk proves to be a dangerous place to be, so you quickly moved to the sofa and laid down, balancing the phone between your shoulder and head.

“Yes… thank’s for being patient, it’s been a little crazy here.” There were rambunctious shouts in the background and you heard Yongsun cover his mic to loudly scold them.

“Ya! Keep it down, I’m getting work done in here!” He hollers. The mic crackles as he returns.

“Sorry, new hires getting excited and all. Anyways… I’m ready to start talking about what you can do for the new location. What time are you free?”

This is one of your favourite parts of what you do. Sitting down with a client and getting to know their dream and understanding how you can help them achieve it.

“I have time tomorrow actually. I’m free anytime.”

“Okay…Hmm.” He seemed to contemplate something before continuing. “Come over to the restaurant at 3:30. I’ll have some food prepared for you,” Yongsun says proudly, as if he doesn’t always provide free lunch for you.

“Wow… you’re so generous,” you thanked sarcastically but couldn’t help but smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You both said your goodbyes and hang up.

Riding on the high that was imagining the success of a client consultation, you scrolled through your phone and reopened the dating app that you haven’t touched in almost a year. It was a little tough to date in Korea, your age aside.

Relationships were successful if the two persons involved had mostly similar values. It was also a well-documented phenomenon that young adults in Korea are staying single longer, and weren’t prioritizing marriage. You certainly weren’t alone in that you were in your 30s and unmarried, but elders still held a strong bias against it.

Back to values. You were absolutely not interested in being a housewife, despite the fact that you keep an impeccably tidy house and enjoying doing so. Your art and career are important to you.

But whenever you happen to mention that you’re an artist and do most of your work from home, men seem to assume that you’d be a perfect for the role of a housewife. The men who were actually on these dating apps were usually looking for a woman willing sacrifice their career for the “home”.

In short, Korean men who grew up in Korea usually did not hold the same values as you.

Nevertheless, you swiped through a good number of men, excited by none of the prospects. And it ended the same, with you throwing your phone across the sofa and closing the app. But this time you didn’t delete the app, because you promised yourself you’d try.

—

“Hello?” You poked your head through the door of Youngsun’s restaurant and called out cautiously. It was 3:20, and the restaurant was eerily dark and empty. Usually, the lights would be on and there would be a couple of chefs mulling about during the service break. You pulled yourself out of the door and checked your phone for the third time, double checking that you’d gotten the date and time right. You had said tomorrow right? Maybe he forgot.

A minute or two, no one had responded, so you reluctantly slipped into the establishment, tiptoeing your way to the back. The kitchen had it’s lights on, to your relief. Humming of the industrial hood fans and the noises of a knife on a chopping board comforted you.

Still paranoid that you had gotten yourself into a mix-up with Yongsun, you silently slunk your way towards the kitchen. There was a large pass-through window but there was no one visible through it, and you guessed that whoever was in there was towards the back of the kitchen. You poked your head around the corner and quickly shrank back in shock.

The heart in your chest was threatening to jump out of your throat at the sight of what looked to be Do Kyungsoo in his standard baseball cap, thick rimmed glasses, and plain t-shirt, cooking in Yongsun’s kitchen.

You weren’t even 100% sure it was him. But you knew you weren’t hallucinating.

With a growing horror in your chest, you pressed your back against the wall, contemplating your next move. Your two options were to run out of the restaurant and never contact Yongsun again, or to text him and figure out what was going on.

With slightly shaking hands, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and frantically dialled Yongsun’s phone through FaceTime Audio.

His phone began to ring in the distance, and you squeezed your eyes shut. The fear churning in your stomach was telling you that you had completely gotten the time or date wrong. What were the odds that you’d run into your old celebrity crush? Zero. So maybe that wasn’t him in there, but you could recognize Kyungsoo anywhere.

“Ah, hold on, let me get this,” You hear Yongsun say.

The realization that Yongsun or Kyungsoo might be able to hear you speak from outside the kitchen dawned on you, and you practically dove around another corner to get as far as way as possible before he picked up.

Why did I not just text him??? You groaned internally.

“Hey, where are you?” Yongsun skipped the pleasantries, not bothering to say hello.

You cleared your throat and spoke as quietly as possible, heart thundering in your chest and ears.

“Oh… sorry… I just came to the restaurant and no one was there. So I assumed I might have gotten the time wrong.”

“Ahhh,” he let out a bark of laughter, “I forgot to tell you that we were closing early today. Going to have the night off. It’s my wedding anniversary tonight.”

“Wow, congratulations!” You chirped, and immediately slap your hand over your mouth. That was dangerously loud.

“Thanks… but again, where are you? Did you leave?”

You looked around awkwardly. It was pretty much out of the question to tell Yongsun that you were behind his restaurant bar, splayed out on the floor from tripping on your feet.

“Just waiting outside,” you said nonchalantly as you stared at a dustball on the floor.

“Okay well come on in. I’m in the kitchen.” He hung up and you were left with nothing but dread and a dustball.

A/N: I finally finished Ch2, and ch3 coming soon!! I finally have it all planned out. Also, credits to my Apple Pencil breaking down so I couldn’t do any artwork. Who else is staying up right now to watch the musical xiusoo are in??? (hi, @lapetitefangirlperdue)

#exo #exo fanfic #exo fic #kyungsoo fic #do kyungsoo #exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo angst #exo scenario #doh kyungsoo #kyungsoo slowburn

[thelordstears]

Prepare for some dope ass writing guys gals and nonbinary pals!

“ If love is sinful, and who I am is unholy, then I'll be nothing more than myself.” - Camilla Davidson

“ He follows old scriptures and old fashioned standards of human decency, this is a whole new world, and he'll die on the wrong side of history, while I live on the side that's more loving, accepting, and stable.” - Camilla Davidson

"The human race hates, and hates, and got damn hates. But for what, really? Why hate when you could love instead? All hate does is make ya angry. But love? It hurts, it brings ya pain and sorrow. But it also gives ya peace, happiness and pride. And all those emotions mixed inta one make love, beautiful.” - Sofia Johnson

“ He was gettin' beaten up in some alley, a bunch of white folk decided his skin color, was more important than his humanity.” - Sofia Johnson

“ I am trapped by these memories, because they echo in my head, and I remember everything.. by God, I remember it all. The first time blood other than a fishies stained my hands, the way Caityln'd hold my hand, the way bodies splashed in the seas and the whir of cannon and explosion rang in my head.” - Augustus Seaborg

“ I'm scared, because in this new world, it kill or be killed, fight or die. I raise my weary fists, if only just to survive another day. Because this isn't life, it is survival of the most broken.” - Augustus Seaborg

“ He's everything to me, he's so intertwined into my heart and soul, I imagine he's part of who I am. We're beautifully us, in all our imperfection, we found perfection.” - Malachi Razor

“ Strength isn't in how many pounds you can lift, or how big your muscles are, true strength, is in the heart and mind.” - Malachi Razor

“ As they've always said, violence for violence is the rule of beasts, so does that make war a battlefield, or hunting grounds?” - Burke Castles

“ The leaders start war, but never pull a single trigger. They watch their pawns and brooks move across the board, we never had a King or a Queen, just ourselves and our sins.” - Burke Castles

"I'm the damned priest, the forgotten messiah, I'm just another man. How can you fault me for the sins of another? How can you condemn me, for what I did not do?” - Gusto Mellowrich

“ People use God as an excuse to slaughter, they say they shalt die on the cross for their sins, and don't realize driving nails against the condemned only drives nails into their coffins and secures their place in Hell.” - Gusto Mellowrich

“ I find so much damnation on this Earth, because if this is Earth, by God do I fear Hell.” - Gusto Mellowrich

“ People say God is dead, that his grave is up in the Heavens and he's rotting in his golden throne, but if God was dead, I believe it wouldn't rain. Because it is my belief, that it rains because God weeps for us, he weeps for what has happened. And weeps for what is to come." - Gusto Mellowrich

"Life either kicks you down, or you don't allow yourself to fall.” - Icarus Richens

“ My dear brother has fallen far, he believes his wings clipped, his honor stolen, but if he simply climbed, and took my hand, he would find salvation is for the sinners of this world, which in theory means salvation is for everyone.” - Icarus Richens

“ Gregory is a soldier, he stands sturdy, smelling of ash and smoke, because he let the fires of love build him anew. He is a phoenix, not of light nor darkness, but of love in all of it's grace.” - Icarus Richens

"Even God, sins on the occasion.” - Alastair Sambridge 

“ People walk this earth and call themselves saints whilst sinning just under the nose of the people, we've allowed the commandments to be re-written, where in the commandments did it say, "Steal from the rich?" where in the commandments did it say, "Let the rich steal?" And where in the commandments did it say, "Be sinful as long as it's for a good cause?" - Alastair Sambridge 

“ You believe God loving? If any ruler in history was loving nothing would happen. Imagine what would've happened if George Washington fought violence with peace. We'd still be shackled by Britain, so tell me why it is you wish me to fight your sin, with holiness?" - Alastair Sambridge

"Ain't it the most wonderful thing, bein' able ta break a man and give ta yourself? The Hell's morals doin' in a world that don't give a fuck what happens? It'll tear ya down, push ya down several flights 'a damn stairs, the world is fucking cruel, ya gotta be just as cruel ta survive it.” - Gunther Mirowick

“ I'm only alive because other's aren't.” - Gunther Mirowick

"Isn't it better to sacrifice your life for a good cause rather than die for nothing? I imagine no cause is worth killing for, there's only causes worth dying over, and love, is something to die for.” - Vekel Kidelman

“ Love is what makes us human, the lack of it often creates monsters.” - Vekel Kidelman

"This blackhole in my mind would destroy anyone who dare stepped forth to walk into it's depths, so imagine what's happened to me, wandering inside of it every day.” - Daniel Abacross

“ Knowledge is a weapon, and I've allowed mine to pull triggers and create a cacophony of suffering and the demises of those who didn't deserve death.” - Daniel Abacross

“ I learn this world is a brutal place to live, the killings of innocent men and women is commonplace, but I survive, and when you survive such tormented things you become the very things that tormented you.” - Isiwoah Sakigowami

“ We are not in control of destiny, but at least I'm in control of yours.” - Isiwoah Sakigowami

“ I live by no moral code, because when one is in power, morals only allow the crown to be stolen from atop your head by he who's willing to cut it from your neck.” - Isiwoah Sakigowami

"To live is to die, so might you allow yourself life, so you may experience death?” - Will

“ I have found such a cold heartbeat inside my chest, I believe if one were to perform an autopsy on me, they'd find a hollow ribcage and strings attached to my heart, played like a violin, it may sound beautiful, but the meaning behind the melody is sinful. They'd find the coldest of blood and it'd flow the color of the night sky, except when my soul is involved, the night sky is starless.” - Will

“ My pain shaped me into a beast, and I'll never find the strength to put myself down, because I am no hunter, simply a scared child, trapped inside the mind of a wilder beast he once would've imagined was so fantastical that he could ride it into the sunset. But with the lenses of childhood innocence removed he sees it's bloodstained lip, it's teeth cracked and stuck between each one flesh of a fresh kill, it's eyes crazed with hunger, he'd find nothing but a wild beast, the hint was within the name wilder beast, because it twas simply a beast wilder than any other.” - Will

“ I've learned knowledge is power, but it can be misused dare one use it to harm another. If you use knowledge as a weapon, you've already failed.” - Lola Crabthorn

"If this is what it's like to feel alive, than bury me low. Sink the coffin into the hallowed soil, toss dirt upon my grave and etch my name upon the tombstone, and let this girl finally rest in peace.” - Malarie Cavafich

“ I've grown so cold on this journey to find home, they say home is where the heart is, but perhaps my heart is in so many pieces I can't possibly find home. I've pulled a trigger so many times, I simply believe I can never be whole, because I've stopped the heart beat of so many other's, I ask why mine deserves to beat for another.” - Malarie Cavafich

"Live your life fearin' change, you'll fear yourself in da futcha'. But if ya learn ta embrace change, ya ain't gon' fear da futcha', because da unknown ain't so scary when ya learn if life was predictable, it wouldn't be worf' livin'.” - Daurice Marston

“ I'm nothing to my mind but a meat sack of rotting intention.” - Faymelina Van Patten

“ Though revenge didn't help, I still see him in my nightmares, perhaps he's a haunting now. A poltergeist in my mind who throws my mental state about and crashes around the halls of my mind, creating a ricochet of death and eternal sorrow.” - Faymelina Van Patten

“ Though I wield a spear as a warrior, my heart beats that of a woman who wishes to see only peace, and sadly, peace has to be fought for.” - Nova Toria

“ The meaning of life is different for every soul, for one it might be dancing underneath the stars with the one they love, for another it could be solitude. For some the mind is most keen when surrounded by others, but for others the mind is most keen when surrounded by only their ideas.” - Nova Toria

“ You don't have to fall into the arms of another, you can catch yourself if you wish.” - Nova Toria

“ Just because something can kill, does not mean that is it's only use.” - Morgan Gaskill

"Days come and go, I keep each memory close to my tattered heart, because if I forget the little moments, I forget life.” - Journey Castlehill

“ I don't quite identify with any of the norms people have set in stone, and if people hate me for that, they aren't worth my time. They're stuck in a construct, and refuse to dig themselves out.” - Journey Castlehill

"The rule of predator and prey, the dance of gnashing teeth and ragged fur, a melody of naturality and sinful desire. Thus is the rule of life, a song of gnashing jaw and flowers of misery bloomed from sinfulness so deep not even a God could wipe it from existence.” - Ranbraker

“ She's my hero, really. Even if she's my little sister, she kept me safe from my demons, and I'll always keep her safe from her demons. We've both suffered, both thought who we were is wrong, but you know what? Screw that. If being who I am is a sin, I'll be a sinner. Because I'd rather burn in Hell for being who I am, then enter Heaven being who I'm not.” - Tristy Hem

“ In all my pain, in all my scars, I find hope. Because I still have people I need to find, people I love with all my heart.” - Hailey Fellwitz

“ Be the author of your own story, and remember, not every page is one with pain written upon it. There's peace, too. Fight for your happily ever after." - Hailey Fellwitz

"I've been drowning in the depths of my shattered soul, gulping in false promises and empty threats. And yet here I am, searching for myself when other people is all I've found.” - Tina Diamon

“ People say love is a double edged sword, but that's because you love the wrong people. If you find the right person, love isn't a sword, it's a shield.” - Tina Diamon

“ A love so beautiful can not be destroyed, though the world has tried to tear us apart, it only brought us closer together.” - Tina Diamon

“ They say what's done in the dark shalt be dragged into the light, but I'll only come into the light when I will it so. And when the sun soaks my bones, and light is all you can see, I'll grip my club and let it be the sinking of the sun, cuz when I lower it, you lower a damn coffin.” - Luga the Hidden

“ Us orcs aren't treated so well, so I think it's about time I showed em the monster they damn well created. Because here I am, nothing but claws, teeth and crimson.” - Luga the Hidden

“ I can be vile, I can be a monstrosity, and people'll blame it on my heritage.” - Luga the Hidden

"When you're broken down to nothing, and find yourself mourning all that you've lost, remember what you have. I've been stuck in the past before, but I found there's always a rope, whether it be one of love or hope.” - Thorballa Ulfdottir

“ You have to be careful, when you're in a dark place. Because your decisions could lead you straight to your demise, the path to Hell is paved in bad deeds, don't follow it.” - Thorballa Ulfdottir

"My mind is so filled with ghosts of me you could walk into it and find only a graveyard, every tombstone reading my name, and the name's of those I've slain.” - Sheriff ~~Redacted~~ (Can’t say his name, it’s a twist and my twin sister follows my Tumblr)

“ I hear a blood curdling howl on the wind and I come to the haunting realization that it came from my own throat.” - Sheriff ~~Redacted~~

“ This life, it'll throw you through the ringer and then some, but what matters is that you rise like the champion you are.” - Vasiliki Mathers

“ Family is made up of loyalty, not blood.” - Vasiliki Mathers

“ I've spilt so much damn blood that it's just another habit these days, one trigger pulled, one man dead and one bullet torn through the got damn sky.” - Oswega Creek

“ Ya'll sip on regret as if it were a cure ta your damn sinfulness. But regret can't change the damn past, it only changes the future. But when you decide ya don't wanna live in regret you keep pullin' the damn trigger and watching bullets tear through the sky on burnin' wings and bloodied talons.” - Oswega Creek

“ You better tell the whole world Oswega Creek is coming home, because peace is an option better left in the past and harsh words are best left unsaid lest you wish to end up in a pinewood box with nuthin' but the wrigglers ta give ya company.” - Oswega Creek

"Life ain't all dat bad, ya focus on da shade unda' da tree, ya'll miss da branches dat provide it. Ya can't focus on da bloodshed 'a nature when bird's sing songs just fo' da soddin' world ta 'ear.” - Daisy Gloria

"I know, you'd think a gal like me would have a pitch perfect life like in a shitty comedy movie, but that isn't the case, ya see perfect lives reside in the land of fairy tales and fantasy, while I live in the gritty reality of this bizarre world, life is a bumpy fucking ride, and you better hope you can hold onto those reigns, because sometimes you get bucked off and fall, and sometimes you fucking stay there." - Mary Adler

"Oh if they thought they'd seen the end of days, just wait til they see what happens when they utter the word, "No." - Javier Cross

"The hope of morning can't come if your mind is stuck in the night." - Dale Markus

"I hide in the shade of my deeds, but you, my friend, will lay underneath the shade of a willow." - Edgalzio Halvlies

"I'll sip on this regret as if it were a cure to the disease of my past. But all it'll ever do is poison me." - Chase North

"Jou can regret jour actions, but jou can not change zem." - Marlene Dayvrack

"The echoes of death and tragedy ring in my ears. But it's not my own." - Autumn Wolfmoon 

  "Sin only intensifies when the whole world is set ablaze and all ya got left is the echoes 'a normality." - Davy Blight 

"Reckon we do what it is we always do. Sin as if our lives depended on it, cuz these days, the do." - Davy Blight 

“ You’ll see Hell, it ain’t no man with red skin and a pitchfork, it’s me in all my vengeful rage.” - Davy Blight

"You touch 'im I swear ta every God I'll send you their way fuckin' howling!" - Davy Blight

 "Life don't get that much betta' these days. It's a symphony of broke bones and spilt blood, only difference 'tween you and me is, you're the one singin' the damn song, I'm the one echoing the harp." - Lind Blight 

  "Life ain't a constant state of kill or be killed. There's peace, you just have to fight to achieve it." - Cago Envers 

 "The truth is suffocating. It's why I breathe in a lie." - Sam Dellwotfire

  "I could burn alive within the hatred of my family tree and still I wouldn't find peace." - Rover Calico 

"You know, I'd be who I am if it ever did me any good." - Drew Dreadful 

"All I've ever been is scared, and in this new world, fear only kills everyone but you." - Drew Dreadful 

  "The sky bleeds golden, yet my scars bleed black, and the color of my skin, is but the troubled sin within." - Sandro Colorfeid 

"It ticks the wrong direction, because it is damaging itself in the process of working how it was built to operate." - Gregeno Puley 

  "Ben you live in a family of heroes. Will you become one by circumstance, or will you become one the hard way?" ~~Redacted~~ (Another case of my twin would see his name)

"No one can become me, Ben. Only I hold such a torment." - ~~Redacted~~

"My curse will only be the death of you." - ~~Redacted~~

 "That's where you're wrong, Ben. I am fate, I am the law, I am peace, I am chaos, I am everything, Ben. you're nothing but a speck, whilst I'm the sun." - ~~Redacted~~

"Stars can only be destroyed if they implode upon themselves, and thus I chose to implode so I could destroy the darkness I had found." ~~Redacted~~

"You're so covered in the blood of wolves you think you are one." ~~Redacted~~

"You want to be a leader, step on the podium and speak to your subjects. You want to be a King sit on the throne and wear the crown, you wish to be a subject sit still and listen. But if you want to be a God, show people that resisting your dynasty is a death sentence and all you have to do is snap your fingers to rid yourself of their treacherous ways."  ~~Redacted~~

"They say we aren't our sins, but here I am, nothing but death." - Arthur Wellburn

"I looked Hell in the eyes and all I saw was myself." - Betty Shalfien

"You look evil in the eye, you begin to get a taste for it." - Destallo Starend

"Sometimes secrets are best untold, because when something's too awful for this world it is best erased from time entirely rather then brought to the light." - Yuntara

"Don't walk the path you're given, find a different way, cuz often if someone hands ya a path, and tells you ta walk it, they've got tricks up their sleeves. And they ain't card tricks." - Church Godsel

"Mr. Bundy! Killa' of men! You think you got the damn balls ta take on three devil's? Cuz I'm tellin' you now, you can slay men, but you damn well can't slay legends." - Saul Northutt

"You don't know what I've done in the dark, but unfortunately for you, it hails in comparison to what I'll do in the light." - Corvenstain Bonstellos

"I never pulled you down, Idian, your life was Hell before our destinies intertwined. I could see it in your eyes, the mark of a broken soldier, what was your battle Idian?" - Corvenstain Bonstellos

"Get off the tracks, boy. This is a revolution, and you're in our damn way. Do you wish to be a splatter across the tracks or the conductor?" - Corvenstain Bonstellos (Props go to my twin for the beginning of the line, a callback to what her character said)

"Abel! Your ambition is what's going to kill you in the end." - Corvenstain Bonstellos

"To some, I am life, to other's I am death. It is up to you what end of the blade you receive. The hilt, or the sword." - Raimundus Wolfes

"If the holy spirit were to ever meet me, his name would be tarnished." - Caldwell Ramirez

"Hunting is an art and you're a canvas to be splattered red." - Luther Woolhaun

"The hunt is all about what you do with the prey, how you stalk them and how you execute them. The hunt is a sport, an art, a masterpiece that smells of gunpowder and the tangy scent of iron." - Luther Woolhaun

"All I find in myself is the blood of those deemed weaker than me by the rule of sword." - Violincia Bloodwort

“The pits are me only 'ome. Me 'eart 'as resided 'ere fo' da longest time, and now all it beats is a thirst fo' more." - McCannon Bowitsend

"All it takes to ruin a life is one bullet. But all it took to make mine a glory to behold, was one bullet." - Ewan Hanstammer

"I'd say I'm lost in daydreams, but those are just an echo, these days." - Hanzo Sabian

"I slipped from the edge of my own ignorance." - Pedro Bonfire

“A man who spreads violence is remembered, a man who doesn’t, isn’t. It’s the curse of a hero.” - Miella Fang

"Crumble? We all did that fifteen years ago, we're the rubble of judgment day fighting amongst ourselves, difference between me and most people is, I've been fighting for scraps since I was ten. I'm fit for battle. What about you?" - Scow Wiston

#writing #author #characters #characterwriting #Iknowredactedhasalothe'scoollikethat

[thedreamsmith]

How (Not) to Seduce a Blueshirt (Chapter 4)

@atc74​ @alleiradayne​ @arrowsandmixtapes​ @captain-s-rogers​ for #OC appreciation day 2020

Warnings: Swearing, mild sexual situation 

Pairing: Jim Kirk x OFC

Chapter summary:  Jim is allergic to first dates.

For some reason, Bones had not been thrilled with his news. In fact, he had let out a stream of particularly foul expletives and pinned Jim with a glare that by all accounts should’ve set his hair on fire.

Even so, Bones had agreed to help him pick out something to wear to dinner. For all his CMO loved to jab him with hypos, he was the perfect Southern gentleman and he had the manners and fashion sense to match.

Once Jim had swallowed his pride and comm’d Bones, the good doctor had strode into his hotel room within ten minutes, taken one look at what he was wearing and ordered him to strip because ‘Good God man, you’re not going on a first date to a nice restaurant with a pretty girl wearing that.’

Personally, Jim had thought what he’d been wearing hadn’t been one of the worst getups he’d tried on before Bones got there, but he deferred to the older man’s judgement anyway.

Between the pair of them they had finally agreed on an outfit and that was how Jim found himself standing in front of the mirror, watching his reflection eye the dark jeans, white shirt and dress shoes that Bones had talked him into. They had compromised on the leather jacket, but only because Jim had threatened to reprogram every computer on the ship (besides Spock - he hadn’t quite figured out to rewire him yet) to address Bones as ‘snugglebunny.’

Mirror-Jim looked as nervous as he felt.

How had he convinced himself he could do this? He was a playboy hick from backwater Idaho. Reyne had a medical degree, no criminal record, standards…

It felt as though a metal band was squeezing his chest; growing tighter and tighter as the chrono ticked closer to when he was supposed to meet Reyne in the plaza.

The room was too bright, the hum of the city outside too loud and his reflection had gone blurry.

‘Lights at fifty percent.’ He managed to choke out, though his throat felt like it was closing over. ‘Bones…’

Jim spun towards his friend, stumbling as he struggled to catch his breath.

‘Think ‘m having an allergic reaction.’

And then Bones’ was gripping his shoulders, hands firm and steady as he pushed him towards the bed. He barely registered as his friend waved the tricorder over him once, twice. The frown lines on Bones’ forehead deepened as he checked the results then flicked his gaze back to Jim and the way his shoulders heaved, trying to draw enough oxygen in to stop the room from spinning.

McCoy drew in a deep breath before he spoke, his medical skills diagnosing the issue even as his knowledge of Jim Kirk insisted that this was highly unlikely.

‘Outta all the things you’re allergic to, I doubt that proper first dates are one of them. You’re havin’ a panic attack, Jim.’

Jim briefly interrupted his breathe in, breathe out, don’t-throw-up cycle to shoot a poisonous glare at his friend.

‘Just breath, Jim. You’ll be alright.’ Bones kept his hands on his shoulders, grounding him. ‘Hell, Ree was chattering about this date with my nurses the other day – had to shoo her from the medbay so they could get anything done.’

Jim raised his head a little, expression hopeful.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. So quit being an idiot and keep your head between your knees. I don’t need you passing out before you’ve left your room. I had enough of carrying you back to your room at the Academy.’

*

Reyne was already in the plaza when he arrived. She was in conversation with a couple of Enterprise crew members. He recognised the taller, darker of the two men as one of Bones’ best nurses – distinctive for the sleeves of tattoos that disappeared beneath the cuffs of his civvies. The other was fair haired and shorter, also sporting tattoos and the same Scottish earth accent as Scotty and Reyne. As the trio turned to face him, he placed the shorter man as one of Scotty’s crew, a brilliant electrical engineer he’d picked from the Academy himself. Ensign Josh Watt.

Ensign Watt smirked and murmured something to her that made her blush and laugh as she waved them off.

But all thoughts of Reyne’s friends left his head as she stepped around nurse Stephen, towards him. Laughter danced in her eyes, a few shades darker than his own, as she took him in. In a navy, knee length dress, her curves could’ve stopped ships at warp speed.

The artificial lights of Yorktown had been dimmed to mimic sundown, and the lamps overhead illuminated her ivory skin in a warm glow.

‘You look amazing.’ Oh great, Jim. Thirty years old and that’s the best he could do?

‘Not too bad yourself, Captain.’ He glanced up from his own shoes to see that Reyne was smiling, amusement still glimmering in her eyes as she stepped closer.

Bolstered by the knowledge that he hadn’t cocked it up in the first five minutes, Jim let his features slip into a crooked grin. With slowly-returning confidence, he grasped her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles.

Reyne’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t pull her hand away.

‘I promised Stephen that I’d let you know that I’m armed.’ She delivered the line with such casual amusement that his heart nearly stopped in his chest with a painful thud. But she tightened his grip on his hand before gracefully looping her arm around his waist. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t intend to use it. I very much want to be here.’

Her grin was warm as she tilted her head to one side, and her height meant that she didn’t need to raise her gaze far to meet his eyes. ‘I want to be here, Jim.’

‘You’re terrible.’ He draped his arm over her shoulders, enjoying the warmth of her body tucked against his side.

Reyne shrugged slightly, the movement shifting his arm. ‘I only own one knife. If you think that’s bad, you should meet Stephen - he always has at least two on his person at any given time. Legal carries, of course. Although there was that Cardassian hunting knife he was looking at last shore leave…’

She trailed off as she registered the expression of disbelief that must’ve shown on his face.

‘My friends are weird.’

‘I think Scotty and Jaylah would take offence to that.’ They passed storefronts and restaurants; lit with strings of jewel-toned lights and orbs that floated above the heads of passers-by.

‘Scotty was exalting the virtues of deep fried mars bars and pickle sandwiches yesterday. I don’t think he gets a say in this.’

‘That seems fair.’ Jim laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a long while. ‘So I have to ask, where are you keeping a knife in that get up?’

Reyne’s gaze slid slowly over to him as a wicked smirk lifted the corners of her mouth.

‘A lady never tells, Captain.’

*

It was well past midnight by the time they made it back to the hotel that most of the crew were staying in. His face hurt from the grin that he’d had on for most of the evening and his fingers were tangled with hers.

Too soon, they reached her door and the conversation petered out as they both silently acknowledged the choice that lay before them.

‘I really enjoyed tonight.’ It would seem that his sparkling wit had failed him once again tonight. He fumbled for the right words to convey what he felt, a way to secure another night like this and maybe another after that. ‘I just mean, I had expected to, of course, despite the panic attack I had earlier.’

‘Panic attack?’ Concern laced Reyne’s voice, brows kitting together as she searched his face.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. Quick, Jim, think.

‘Right, here goes nothing.’ He forced himself to hold her gaze, to watch for her reaction. ‘For most of my life, I’ve never tried particularly hard when it comes to dating. Usually all it takes is an introduction and my reputation does the rest but with you, that doesn’t work cause you just don’t care. You’ve never fallen at my feet and you want more from me than a quick fuck and some pretty words. And that terrifies me. I panicked ‘cause I don’t believe I deserve someone like you, Reyne.’

‘You’re right – I don’t care about any of those things. I said yes because you’re also the Jim Kirk who regularly attempts to sacrifice himself for his friends; who actually died to save a ship full of people he barely knew. I said yes because underneath the charisma and the recklessness and the batshit crazy, even without knowing you all that well, I’ve seen and heard glimpses of a heart of gold and an intellect to rival Commander Spock’s. My point is, you’re multifaceted, Jim; and are much more than you think you are. Plus, the package it’s all wrapped up in doesn’t hurt.’ A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. ‘I’m aware you don’t have the best track record when it comes to long-term partners; but if you’re willing to try, then I’ll happily boldly go where no one else has before.’

Well, if that wasn’t an invitation then he didn’t know what was…

The sound of the Captain’s Oath falling from that mouth was downright obscene, but it was all Jim could do to lean forward, a silent answer to a question she hadn’t asked out loud. He closed his eyes, held his breath until he felt the warmth of her mouth against his. Reyne pressed slow kisses to his lower lip, lingering too long for it to be called chaste, but far too reverent to be lewd.

Jim found that it was nice to share a first kiss that didn’t taste of alcohol – that wasn’t fast and hard and needy. Not to say that there was no lust there, just that he was perfectly content to lean against the door of her room and continue this slow exploration of lips and tongues and teeth.

A whine escaped him as she pulled away; spots of colour high on her cheeks, lips ever-so-slightly swollen from the kiss.

‘You’re terrible for my self-control.’

‘Who needs self-control anyway?’ Certainly not James T Kirk. His grin was twelve kinds of filthy as he gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘I might not be Uhura with her fancy xenolinguistics degree, but I’ve been told that I have excellent oral sensitivity.’

A beat of silence followed, before Reyne’s face crumpled and she doubled over with laughter, the sound rich and sweet and deeper than he had expected. Jim decided right there that Reyne’s laughter was his favourite sound in the entire galaxy and he would gladly make a fool out of himself just to hear it every day of their 5-year mission.

Dark eyebrows knitted together as she fought for breath, and she could already feel herself flushing to the tips of her ears. She thought back to the one time she had seen Jim shirtless in the medbay after an away mission – the man had a body made for pleasure and sin and even then, she had decided that no one should be allowed to be so goddamn beautiful.

‘And not just oral sensitivity,’ Jim pushed his advantage, never one to miss an opportunity. ‘Let’s not forget dexterity, flexibility, stamina-‘

The Many Virtues of Jim Kirk were cut short as Reyne grabbed the lapels of his jacket and yanked him down for another kiss – this one decidedly more heated. Her clever tongue flicked along the seam of lips before gently tugging his lower lip between her teeth, earning a low groan from Jim.

Jim tangled his fingers in her thick, dark locks, tugging hard enough to elicit a gasp from the doctor.

‘Is this your way of telling me to shut up? Cause if it is, you can tell me to shut up anytime.’ And Jim found that he was entirely open to this kind of positive reinforcement, especially when it involved a hotter than Hell medical officer and her unholy way of finding that spot on his neck that – fuck.

Reyne bit down and his hips jerked involuntarily. Her thigh was a solid presence between his legs, the seam of her jeans enough to produce a maddening amount of friction against him and dammit he was the captain of Starfleet’s flagship, not some overeager teenager getting to second base with a girl for the first time.

Her smile took on a distinctly naughty cast and he’d be damned if it didn’t go straight to his dick – like he needed any help in that department. A pleasant daydream of an unruly science officer in need of punishment, pulled up in front of her captain for insubordination filled his brain.

‘I don’t put out on the first date, Jim.’ Her voice was soft, a gentle reminder. ‘It’s late, I’ll see you tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, see you tomorrow.’

With one last smile and a quick peck on the cheek, Reyne tapped in her room code and disappeared into the darkened room, leaving Jim to sag against the wall.

She had him wrapped around her finger already.

He was in so much shit.

#oc's are people too #oc appreciation day 2020 #star trek #jim kirk #jim kirk x oc #bones #ofc #fanfic #ocs

[theculturedmarxist]

You might have heard the pithy little soundbite from FDR, “we have nothing to fear, but fear itself.” It’s pretty catchy, the sort of thing every president or head of state wants, you know, something clever enough to seem deep, but not so substantial that it inspires critical thought, something that sounds inspiring, but not something that actually directs anyone to do anything. It’s a neat little “Yes, we can!” sort of slogan that you can slap on pins, signs, shirts, anything. A pretty sharp little piece of electioneering. Great job, case closed, let’s head home.

Except, if you watch the whole thing, it doesn’t stop there. The Great Depression has been ravaging the great Capitalist economies for nearly four years by this point, and Roosevelt spells out in no uncertain terms exactly who’s to blame: not foreigners, not workers, not average people trying to get by, but the capitalists.

I am certain that my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the Presidency I will address them with a candor and a decision which the present situation of our Nation impels. This is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself [emphasis mine]--nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days.  

In such a spirit on my part and on yours we face our common difficulties. They concern, thank God, only material things. Values have shrunken to fantastic levels; taxes have risen; our ability to pay has fallen; government of all kinds is faced by serious curtailment of income; the means of exchange are frozen in the currents of trade; the withered leaves of industrial enterprise lie on every side; farmers find no markets for their produce; the savings of many years in thousands of families are gone.  

More important, a host of unemployed citizens face the grim problem of existence, and an equally great number toil with little return. Only a foolish optimist can deny the dark realities of the moment.  

Yet our distress comes from no failure of substance. We are stricken by no plague of locusts. Compared with the perils which our forefathers conquered because they believed and were not afraid, we have still much to be thankful for. Nature still offers her bounty and human efforts have multiplied it. Plenty is at our doorstep, but a generous use of it languishes in the very sight of the supply. Primarily this is because the rulers of the exchange of mankind's goods have failed, through their own stubbornness and their own incompetence, have admitted their failure, and abdicated. Practices of the unscrupulous money changers stand indicted in the court of public opinion, rejected by the hearts and minds of men.  

True they have tried, but their efforts have been cast in the pattern of an outworn tradition. Faced by failure of credit they have proposed only the lending of more money. Stripped of the lure of profit by which to induce our people to follow their false leadership, they have resorted to exhortations, pleading tearfully for restored confidence. They know only the rules of a generation of self-seekers. They have no vision, and when there is no vision the people perish.  

The money changers have fled from their high seats in the temple of our civilization. We may now restore that temple to the ancient truths. The measure of the restoration lies in the extent to which we apply social values more noble than mere monetary profit.  

Happiness lies not in the mere possession of money; it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort. The joy and moral stimulation of work no longer must be forgotten in the mad chase of evanescent profits. These dark days will be worth all they cost us if they teach us that our true destiny is not to be ministered unto but to minister to ourselves and to our fellow men.  

Recognition of the falsity of material wealth as the standard of success goes hand in hand with the abandonment of the false belief that public office and high political position are to be valued only by the standards of pride of place and personal profit; and there must be an end to a conduct in banking and in business which too often has given to a sacred trust the likeness of callous and selfish wrongdoing. Small wonder that confidence languishes, for it thrives only on honesty, on honor, on the sacredness of obligations, on faithful protection, on unselfish performance; without them it cannot live.  

Restoration calls, however, not for changes in ethics alone. This Nation asks for action, and action now.  

Our greatest primary task is to put people to work. This is no unsolvable problem if we face it wisely and courageously. It can be accomplished in part by direct recruiting by the Government itself, treating the task as we would treat the emergency of a war, but at the same time, through this employment, accomplishing greatly needed projects to stimulate and reorganize the use of our natural resources.  

Hand in hand with this we must frankly recognize the overbalance of population in our industrial centers and, by engaging on a national scale in a redistribution, endeavor to provide a better use of the land for those best fitted for the land. The task can be helped by definite efforts to raise the values of agricultural products and with this the power to purchase the output of our cities. It can be helped by preventing realistically the tragedy of the growing loss through foreclosure of our small homes and our farms. It can be helped by insistence that the Federal, State, and local governments act forthwith on the demand that their cost be drastically reduced. It can be helped by the unifying of relief activities which today are often scattered, uneconomical, and unequal. It can be helped by national planning for and supervision of all forms of transportation and of communications and other utilities which have a definitely public character. There are many ways in which it can be helped, but it can never be helped merely by talking about it. We must act and act quickly.  

Finally, in our progress toward a resumption of work we require two safeguards against a return of the evils of the old order; there must be a strict supervision of all banking and credits and investments; there must be an end to speculation with other people's money, and there must be provision for an adequate but sound currency.  

There are the lines of attack. I shall presently urge upon a new Congress in special session detailed measures for their fulfillment, and I shall seek the immediate assistance of the several States.  

Through this program of action we address ourselves to putting our own national house in order and making income balance outgo. Our international trade relations, though vastly important, are in point of time and necessity secondary to the establishment of a sound national economy. I favor as a practical policy the putting of first things first. I shall spare no effort to restore world trade by international economic readjustment, but the emergency at home cannot wait on that accomplishment.  

The basic thought that guides these specific means of national recovery is not narrowly nationalistic. It is the insistence, as a first consideration, upon the interdependence of the various elements in all parts of the United States--a recognition of the old and permanently important manifestation of the American spirit of the pioneer. It is the way to recovery. It is the immediate way. It is the strongest assurance that the recovery will endure.  

In the field of world policy I would dedicate this Nation to the policy of the good neighbor--the neighbor who resolutely respects himself and, because he does so, respects the rights of others-- the neighbor who respects his obligations and respects the sanctity of his agreements in and with a world of neighbors.  

If I read the temper of our people correctly, we now realize as we have never realized before our interdependence on each other; that we can not merely take but we must give as well; that if we are to go forward, we must move as a trained and loyal army willing to sacrifice for the good of a common discipline, because without such discipline no progress is made, no leadership becomes effective. We are, I know, ready and willing to submit our lives and property to such discipline, because it makes possible a leadership which aims at a larger good. This I propose to offer, pledging that the larger purposes will bind upon us all as a sacred obligation with a unity of duty hitherto evoked only in time of armed strife.  

With this pledge taken, I assume unhesitatingly the leadership of this great army of our people dedicated to a disciplined attack upon our common problems.  

Action in this image and to this end is feasible under the form of government which we have inherited from our ancestors. Our Constitution is so simple and practical that it is possible always to meet extraordinary needs by changes in emphasis and arrangement without loss of essential form. That is why our constitutional system has proved itself the most superbly enduring political mechanism the modern world has produced. It has met every stress of vast expansion of territory, of foreign wars, of bitter internal strife, of world relations.  

It is to be hoped that the normal balance of executive and legislative authority may be wholly adequate to meet the unprecedented task before us. But it may be that an unprecedented demand and need for undelayed action may call for temporary departure from that normal balance of public procedure.  

I am prepared under my constitutional duty to recommend the measures that a stricken nation in the midst of a stricken world may require. These measures, or such other measures as the Congress may build out of its experience and wisdom, I shall seek, within my constitutional authority, to bring to speedy adoption.  

But in the event that the Congress shall fail to take one of these two courses, and in the event that the national emergency is still critical, I shall not evade the clear course of duty that will then confront me. I shall ask the Congress for the one remaining instrument to meet the crisis--broad Executive power to wage a war against the emergency, as great as the power that would be given to me if we were in fact invaded by a foreign foe.  

For the trust reposed in me I will return the courage and the devotion that befit the time. I can do no less.  

We face the arduous days that lie before us in the warm courage of the national unity; with the clear consciousness of seeking old and precious moral values; with the clean satisfaction that comes from the stem performance of duty by old and young alike. We aim at the assurance of a rounded and permanent national life.  

We do not distrust the future of essential democracy. The people of the United States have not failed. In their need they have registered a mandate that they want direct, vigorous action. They have asked for discipline and direction under leadership. They have made me the present instrument of their wishes. In the spirit of the gift I take it.  

In this dedication of a Nation we humbly ask the blessing of God. May He protect each and every one of us. May He guide me in the days to come. 

The language and ideology at play in the preceding paragraphs can be deservedly criticized, but they should also be understood both in substance and in the critical context in which they were spoken.

Crisis is a feature of Capitalism, not an aberration. A sound reading of the mechanics of Capitalism relies on several “laws” for its continued function. One such law is to produce as much as possible, for as little cost as possible, to as great a profit as possible. Another is that the capital coming in to an enterprise must be greater than that going out if it wishes to remain in solvency and continued operation. The ultimate result of the functioning of these two laws is firstly that wages, ie the outflow of capital from those possessing it, is predominantly inferior to the inflow of capital to those with the power to capture it, and secondly that profit, the driving force of the Capitalist economy, evaporates as those commodities which it has produced in such abundance become so depreciated in value by their ubiquity that, even if there is demand for them, the population at large loses the ability to purchase them at all, much less for the amount necessary to produce a profit great enough to continue large scale operation.

Or to put it another way, no matter how cheap things become, the “consumer class” loses the ability to purchase them. When that happens, production of those commodities ceases, and when production ceases, employment ceases, and when employment ceases, the economy ceases. For Capitalism, there are only two ways out of this trap: the first is through the creation of a tremendous amount of debt, and subsequently the infusion of a tremendous amount of capital by which it jumpstarts purchasing and consumption again. The other is the destruction of capital, in fact the annihilation of productive capital, which is what would result from this crisis in what would become understood as the Second World War.

This is the situation in which the Capitalist world found itself in 1933. Now, the Working Class, while a product of Capitalism, is not bound by the survival of Capitalism. Debt or Destruction are not the only two options open to the workers of the world. The inability to generate a profit does not in any way hamper production in a material, mechanical sense. People will always need food and shelter, clothing and education, transportation and medication. The elements necessary for their creation do not suddenly turn to dust because the economy no longer has a use for them. The only thing preventing workers from working is the Capitalist class and their armed thugs preventing them from doing so. As this fact makes itself known, the workers come to realize as well that, possessing the labor necessary, the knowledge necessary, and the means necessary, they understand that the Capitalists themselves are not necessary.

And that is the situation the Working Class and the Bourgeoisie find themselves in 1933. Those are the social and material forces that have put Franklin Delano Roosevelt on that podium, and which allowed him to indict the Capitalist class overtly, to the cheering of the crowds. FDR was a compromise on the part of the Capitalists. They allowed him to take command of one of the premier Capitalist economies on the planet, and to reform it to save themselves, and their property, and their fortunes. In doing so they may have gotten more than they bargained for. FDR would go on to be elected to an unprecedented four terms. FDR talks about a popular mandate for his policies, and surprisingly he isn’t joking. In the election that carried him into office he won 42 states to Herbert Hoover’s 6. In 1936 he would crush his opponent by winning 46 states to Alf Landon’s 2. Even in 1940, on the eve of WW2, he would win an unprecedented third term, 38 states to 10. In 1944, Roosevelt would win a fourth term, 36 states to 12. He would die three months into his fourth term as president, the most popular since Lincoln or possibly even Washington, having utterly transformed the country.

The war years and those leading up to them would be fatal for the working class. The devastation of every other major economy on the planet would lead to a revivification and revitalization of Capital, propelling it through the devastation wrought by it via the Cold War. The reforms won by the working class wouldn’t last either. Roosevelt was himself hardly cold before Congress would slam the door for any likeminded reformers shut behind him. The bourgeoisie would themselves claw back bit by bit every penny, with interest, that they surrendered to keep their necks from the guillotine and their property firmly under their control.

Which brings us to now, to circumstances not too dissimilar to those a century before that brought FDR to his podium.

In our time, it’s not organized labor bringing Capitalism to its knees, but Capitalism’s own excesses. Bernie Sanders, for reasons at which I can only speculate, seeks to be the Reformer that will rescue the working class from those excesses, and possibly even Capitalism from them as well. Whether or not this would be for good or ill, only time can possibly tell.

Yet, the Working Class is not the prisoner of History. As Marx so ably notes, workers play an active role in both the functioning of society and the production of history. We can see that however necessary reforms might be, reforms in themselves won’t liberate the workers. At best they will buy workers only breathing room—breathing room that will be utilized by the Capitalist class as well. Their position has changed also in the century since FDR. They know just as well that it’s a poor businessman that buys the same mule twice. With automation achieving new levels of sophistication with every passing day, what need have they with a restive and demanding working class? Their stock has only risen with previous mass cullings embodied historically in the processes known as World Wars 1 and 2. Now climate change offers them an even more expedient means of dispensing with the so-called reserve army of labor—all the better that it’s “natural,” free-range, guilt-free, on their part at least.

FDR’s words, spoken nearly a hundred years ago, resonated with the Working Class then in part because they were true—all great propaganda carries with it a core of truth around which builds its fantasy. There’s no point in fearing the inevitable, and anyone can see the inevitable result of the course we find ourselves on. For Workers those words are as true now as they were then, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. There is no need to fear climate change—it is already here. There is no need to fear fascism—it is already here. There is no need to fear persecution and repression—they are here already also.

You do not fear losing your job. It was never yours in the first place, so long as someone can deprive you of it by their whim.

You do not fear losing your family. Without the means to provide for them by your own will, from the beginning they were never yours to keep.

You do not fear losing your life. As long as you have to beg and scrape for permission to live, permission to eat, permission to love, permission to grow, it was never your life to begin with. Everything which you identity as “you” and “yours” is but on loan from the person that can take it from you by order of the bank, or court, or the rights claimed by the immortal, insurmountable corporation.

None of us have anything to fear, because fear is the apprehension one feels when faced with the potential of losing something or someone dear to us. The Working Class possesses nothing of its own, no country, no home, neither kith nor kin. We cannot even anticipate a future however dismal. That too has been claimed and spent by the Capitalist class. We have only to watch it turn to ash in between shifts in the prisons where we shovel it into Capitalism’s furnaces.

We have nothing to fear because we have nothing to lose—but everything to win, everything to save! No one is coming to save us. There’s no savior, no deus ex machina, no last minute salvation before the credits roll. Everything relies on you! On you and those that struggle with you. We’re the ones we’ve been waiting for! We’re the only ones that can!

Our generation has a date with destiny, and it can only be fulfilled if we meet it together. No more nations. No more borders. No more races. No more religions. No more property. No more classes. No more fictions! Only the reality of Communism—every one, every where, working together for a future for us all.

A new world is possible. Life waits for us there. We can build it. We must.

Together.

#communism #socialism #workers of the world unite

[tekka-dan]

we need to cancel the stigma “daughters marry their father” and be cognizant of the kind of men you marry for your daughters to mold themselves after.

had a very emotional discussion with my mother the other day revolving around my present but chooses to be distant / emotionally unavailable/ selfish father. I finally confessed to my mother how harmful that was to me as a child and how my adult relationships with men somehow represent my father. how the men I choose is because of my dad.

instead of being open with me she shut me down. I told her I never felt like dad cared about my, my interests or emotional well being. my mothers reply was “he doesn’t care about mine either that’s why it’s important to validate yourself” and in that moment something clicked for me.

my mother married, settled and had a family with a man she openly admits has never valued or validated her / her opinions / interests. she brought children into the world by a man who doesn’t even find it necessary to be apart of his child’s life not just physically but emotionally.

all my life I tried pin pointing where my craving for validation stems from and in my introspective therapy sessions I am revisiting childhood suppressed memories that don’t involve my father one bit. except what I remember were my accomplishments and him not being present unless it interested him in some way. he liked basketball and I used to play, he attended every game. however when seventh grade came I quit basketball. I joined band instead. all my recitals and games he never attended. because it didn’t interest him.

throughout my childhood I excused this. I actually ingrained in myself that I needed to do things worthy of my father’s interest in order to have approval. I began normalizing this.

This is why it’s so important for women to choose the father of their children accordingly.

what values do you actually admire in him? what core beliefs align with yours? what traditions are you willing to practice? are you compatible or just comfortable?

These are questions I implore young women to ask before they DATE these men because if you’re dating someone your intention needs to be marriage otherwise why’re you wasting both your time? and if you don’t have core values that align in the dating era - say goodbye and good luck.

I cannot stress enough how important the traits your significant other possess needs to align with your whole core self and well being. they also need to be willing to love you in a way that doesn’t hinder or distract you.

marriage is not compromising. marriage is not sacrifices. marriage is equality. marriage is effort. marriage is choosing. you need to be equals which means respecting each other. you need to make effort in how you love them because they are unique and want love a certain way. you need to choose them every day and all days.

I’m old school. However I was raised by an inconsistent and emotionally distant man which lead me to chasing men doing the same and I’m not saying I blame my mother for the man she chose - I am saying that from here on out I have complete digression and say in the kind of man I will choose to marry / have kids with.

Don’t let these dusty ass men out here make you lower your standards, beliefs, morals or expectations. Don’t let the way your father raised / didn’t raise you be a factor in the kind of men you choose either.

#personal #dani rants #relationships #father and daughter

[deepestuniversallove]

My Love Letter to Lotor

I have had way too many feelings for Lotor during the past few days, so I decided to put them into words and actually write out a love letter to Lotor in which I tell him why I love him so much.

It is written from the viewpoint of my Self-Insert

Dear Prince Lotor,

I know it is a bit unusual of me to write out my feelings like this, even if I used to just pour out my heart and soul into a diary in my younger years, but never targeted towards one single person. But my mind has been lingering lately on how to best describe my feelings for you, what the best way would be to let you know how much I love you.

I fell for you the moment that I laid my eyes on you - I don't know if by Galran standards, you are considered beautiful, but I can assure you that by human standards, you are one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen. Tall and svelte, your blue eyes in their beautiful diamond shape with your yellow sclera. Your snow-white long hair that looks so fluffy and soft that I want to touch it to confirm if it really feels the way it looks. I want to run my hand through it, maybe even braid it if you would allow me to. I would love to put a flower crown on your head, fit for the Prince that you are - and even more fitting considering your elven magnificence. Have you ever heard of elves, creatures of german myths from planet Earth? They were ascribed supernatural powers and abilities, and have ears much like you have. So to me, you are like a Space Elf. Or Space Prince. I always like to call you "my Space Prince" in my mind.

I know I have been waxing poetic about your outer beauty and wondering if it is only that which makes me love you. But no, it was just the first thing I have noticed about you. The more I got to know you, the more I fell for you over time for your inner beauty as well. I have tried not to, really. But I couldn't stop my feelings from growing ever larger for you, so it was a futile effort in the end.

I have seen your heart, your convictions. Your morals and your wishes. How you are demonized by most people who have never even gone through a fraction of the hardships you went through, and thus cannot possibly begin to understand where you come from and where you are going.

So many strangers who are just taking a look at you from the outside assume that you have a cold and calculating heart, but they are merely fooled by the steel that you had to forge for your own protection, to safeguard your warm and soft heart on the inside. What other choice did you have but to craft this barrier around your soul when you were abandoned and abused by your parents for a timespan longer than the existence of my species, Homo Sapiens? You had been born and raised by an alien species that lives by the mantra of "Victory or Death", which doesn't leave any room for weakness or softness. Or the open expression of warmth from your heart. And being punished for any such expression - so severely, your parents even killed an entire planet full of friends and places that you had fond memories of -  just reinforced the need to pretend that nothing affects you.

But Lotor...I can see that it does. You still long for warmth and connection. Somehow, through all the attempts of those who raised you and wanted you to become a cruel ruler as well, you have managed to keep the inner fire in your soul save. Many other people would have cracked under such pressure. Some of them would have become abusers themselves, bullies, people willing to indeed crush others underneath their heels. But you didn't. You still have so much COMPASSION within you. So much love to give. You care for people, for other alien races. You allowed conquered planets (that you were forced to conquer to not raise any suspicions from your empire) to still rule themselves as they always did. No one truly evil would do this.

But the point at which I knew how much you cared? When you protected an entire sector of space, with possibly billions of life forms, from being destroyed by a bomb that would have wiped them all out if detonated. You had JUST ESCAPED your father who was out to murder you, so no one would have faulted you if you had just stayed hidden. Heck, no one would have faulted you if you had just stayed in exile to fool around and live out your life in the luxury a Prince, even an exiled one, could expect.

But no - you didn't. You decided to walk the hard way, to do what is RIGHT! You knew that you would have to sacrifice so much, and yet you were willing to go down this road. You had to do so many things that must have not been very easy to do, decisions that you would come to regret later, and you knew it. You knew that to preserve the lives of millions, you would have to take the lives of a few - which is never easy for someone who has sworn to protect everyone. But you aren't deluded like most people who fancy themselves as "heroes" would be. For them it is easy to say that there must be a way with no victims, but both you and I know that this is war, and in war, someone innocent will always fall victim. And that the end goal thus should be to prevent the senseless murder of millions more.

My Space Prince, I admire you so much for the strength that you have to have to go through all of this. It is utterly beautiful and out of this world, and I cannot help but stare at you in awe whenever I remember this. You have the weight of the entire known universe on your shoulders, and yet never once complained about the burden that has been placed upon you. And by the Ancients, I wish I could help you lift this burden at least a little bit.

In my eyes, you are heroic as well. When you were beaten down by your father, at the end of your strength, and he wanted to kill the Paladins of Voltron, you jumped up to give him the final blow and end his life despite your own injuries. The moment you grabbed the nearest weapon, fueled by adrenaline, to rush and save them, I could see the light in your eyes, fueled by the fire of your determination.

This again, was a hard decision that you had to face. Even if you hated your father, I know that the child within you has still always wanted the approval of him - because children will always have some form of love for their parents, no matter if they cast aside their offspring and treat them in the most cruelest of ways. When I saw you after this fight, in shock, with no one there to comfort you, all I wanted to do was to hug you tightly and remind you that everything will be okay. That you don't need anyone's approval but your own.

And it is inspiring - that you extended a hand even to those who treated you in the most cruelest of ways. You saved their lives several times, yet they put you into extended solitary confinement and refused to help you in claiming the Galran throne for yourself. I for the life of me will never understand why they wouldn't help you - you didn't intent to gain the throne for your own gain or because you were power-hungry. No, you wanted it because it would put you in the position to end the war-like ways of your people. They had no reason to doubt your intentions, not after everything you have done for them, and I will never be fully able to forgive them for their treason. Least of all the Princess that you had hoped would have been better than she truly ended up being.

Lotor, my dearest Prince... how much have you longed for companionship, but suppressed that need for the greater good of the universe? How much have you dreamed to find the Princess that connects you to your Altean side, the Princess of Myths? Was it your hope that you and her would bring peace to the universe together, and right the wrongs of your fathers?

Lotor, I am so sorry that she didn't turn out the way you hoped she would be and I wished that she would have been just as you envisioned her. That she was unable to see all of your sacrifices and efforts. That she hated you simply because you were half-Galra, which is something that you weren't able to choose, because no one is. Otherwise, no babies would ever be born to cruel parents who will abuse them and break them in every way possible.

I must admit that I was jealous of her and that you were giving her so much attention. All of the soft looks that I wish you would give me instead. But all I ever have wanted was for you to be HAPPY, and if she was the right one for you, then I would step aside to let you be with her. I have resigned myself to giving up my feelings for you, told myself that I could at least still love you from afar, while every fiber of my being was burning for you.

My Prince, my Emperor... how much I yearn to hold your tall form in my arms! I want to know the warmth of your embrace, your arms around me, holding me tightly. I want to burry my head in the crook of your neck and inhale your comforting scent. I want to kiss you and know your taste. I want to bury my fingers into your snow-white soft locks as I press my forehead against yours, touching the tip of my nose with yours. I want to carress your face with my hand, make you smile and laugh. I want you to know that with me, you can be vulnerable, that you don't need the armor of steel to protect your heart when you are with me. Your secrets are safe with me, for I will sink them into the Ocean of my heart for no one else to find. You can trust me, and I would rather die than ever betray you. I want to be the one steady constant in your life, the one truth that will never yield. The one good thing in the universe for you.

Did the Princess ever feel the same way for you, I wonder? But perhaps you have just dreamed she would. And I don't fault you for that at all. Starved of all love from birth onwards, of course you would fall for the first person who would give you any positive attention - much less someone you have wanted to meet all your life. The Princess was a living symbol of the dreams that you always harbored but were forced to bury in this war. And so, seeing her, you had hoped that you might get your Happy End after all. The Prince and Princess, in love with each other until the end of your days. It rekindled your hope, and I loved how happy and relaxed this hope made you feel.

And then she betrayed you, willing to kill you in cold blood!

Oh, how much I wanted to END HER in that moment. I could feel my heart break for you when she accused you of being just like the father that you always hated. I could feel how shattered you were over this, pleading with her to please listen to you. It hurt. I heard the pain ring out in your voice, and all I wanted was to cradle you in my arms and protect you from this cruel universe that broke your heart over and over.

I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, or the thought that you deserved anything less than a happy ending. Never Death, oh no. The universe needs you alive, and you have always known this and yet... for love you risked to plead with the one who had wanted you dead on more than one occasion. Why else would she be so willing to hand you over to your murderous father so willingly even though you saved her and her friends? She had used you cruelly for her own gain to get even more magical powers thanks to you, and then proceeded to pervert the title of a "life-giver" to that of a "life-taker" - yet accused YOU of doing just what she had done to you. If anything, it was her who was more like Zarkon than you could ever be.

Lotor...I love you so much it hurts, and yet I am not entirely free of my own baggage. I know exactly how it is to be neglected and abused by your own parents, even if I only had to endure 3 decades of it compared to your 10 millennia, which to you must seem like a laughably short amount of time, but is already at least a third of my species' lifespan. I wonder if you have ever felt worthless in any way, like all that you did or ever attempted to do was for naught? I sure do, even now. I often wonder if my life has any meaning at all, if I can be useful to anyone in some way. When I was younger, I often wished I was dead. And even now, I am still convinced of my worthlessness. I often wonder if you would really love me or not, and more often than not, I am convinced that you would never - someone of your status could have anyone, and why would they ever fall for a lowly human like me who only seems to live for a second compared to your enormous lifespan?  

But at the same time, I know that those are meaningless technicalities. You wouldn't look at those even once; in a universe of betrayals, status means nothing, but love means everything to the one starving for this essence of life. So maybe, maybe you would give me a chance after all. Maybe you would love me back? Maybe those dark voices within me are nothing but evil liars, like a dark entity left over within me until it has drained me of my life energy and will to live.

Though the moment I saw you and got to know you, this fading will to live has returned a thousandfold. Seeing the determination, the fire in your eyes and the pride with which you hold your sword, your gaze focused on the outcome... you inspire me so much to try even harder myself, and for this I want to thank you.

I have seen how often to had to fight your own insecurities in this cruel world and game of life. I am much like you in this regard. When you stood up to your father in your final fight against him, or when you wanted to protect your first colony, or that one time when you stood up to your mother, not buying any of her lies that she cares for you in any capacity - in those moments I wish I had the courage to actually tell all of these things to my own parents as well. I too had to make hard choices in order to move forward in life, so I very well know the feeling of despair when a plan fails that you put so much energy and resources into. And like you, I also have wished for the approval of my parents for the longest time, hoping and wishing they would acknowledge me only to come to the conclusion that they never will, until their dying breath. So I always thought that I will stand alone in life, until you have proven me otherwise.

Lotor, to me you are the strongest and most beautiful being in the universe, and I count myself so lucky that destiny has deigned itself to let me find you in this truly vast plane of existence. I could have lived out my life stuck on Earth, never even knowing of you in the first place. That I was able to be in your presence, to be with you, is the greatest blessing I could have ever had. To me you shine brighter than the starlight of a million galaxies, and I wish with all my being to just be with you and stay by your side for the rest of my days.

I don't know if I will ever be able to put all of my feelings into words or if I will ever reveal the full extent of them to you. I guess I am much too fearful about you possibly rejecting me. But regardless of whether you will get to know of my true feelings for you or not, I will do everything in my power to lift the burden off your shoulders even a little bit. I will be someone you can always count on, whether as just a friend or a lover - it does not matter to me, as long as I can just be with you.

But I will continue to dream of you, always, of both your outer and inner beauty, my dearest Space Prince. In my dreams you will still appear, where I will be able to touch and kiss you, make you happy with my presence, and even become one with you in every sense of the word.

I will do what I can to see you smile and laugh and be happy, because your happiness is what matters the most to me. To me you are perfect, even with all your imperfections, even if the rest of the universe condemns your actions.

I will always love you unconditonally, no matter what the future holds in store for us.

With Love,

Your Monika

#Lotor #Prince Lotor #Emperor Lotor #self ship #self shipping #To my F/O #love letter #vld Lotor #tear in space #OTP: Tear in Space

[thexcolonistsxau]

Gift to the Family | Bailey | Poly

Bailey had grown up with the war. She had grown up knowing men and women of her planet were dying, but that the colonists were dying too. There were people dying all over, and she was safe in daddy’s little castle. Hidden away from everyone and anyone, just to be seen during important events. That was until her father came with a sorrow filled expression to her room, telling her to pack her trunk with everything she wanted to keep. They had lost the war, and she was going to be sacrificed to please them.

She, along with many other earthers had to marry the colonists, for peace. She had to sacrifice her life, for the life of the next generations. Which was…Well…. Not the biggest joy of her life. She could deal though. She was certain she could wrap whoever her spouses would be, around her finger. She was certain she could make them into her willing little slaves, more or less.

She’d gone to the cargo hold as instructed, with the others, and was just looking around, not paying attention until she heard little gasps. Looking to the trio of men who entered together, her head tilted to the side in curiosity. Two of them seemed ordinary. Standard soldiers, just like the others who had been in and out of the room, bringing the other earthers with them. But him… He was a curiosity. “Well damn, that’s not something you see on earth.” she muttered, mostly to herself. Well damn, she had not seen a family like that before, that was for sure.

“What’s your names? You guys are the most interesting combination that’s walked in here, so far.”

She was beautiful. That much was true but it was her boldness that surprised even Bear. They looked at her and then each other before turning back to her again. Ubbe looked at the Commander’s Attache and raised his brow, “She is for us.” he questioned. The Attache nodded, “Yes, she seemed fitting for three.” He replied before checking off his list and moving on to the next. Ubbe’s brows raised at that but he shrugged and replied to the young Earther. “I am Ubbe. These are my brothers, Bear and Ivar.” He pointed to each of them as he said their names. “We are the surviving members of the Ragnarsson family. You are to be our wife it seems.” 

Bear was about to reply when Ivar interjected. “No ... no not this one. I can’t ... she is ...” He shrugged and stepped back and away from the others. Bear’s arm shot out and he pulled his brother forward. “Yes ... you too. We are in this together.”

Shooting Bailey a hard look, he continued, “All of us and we will treat you well so long as you treat us fairly too. Do you have a name?” he asked, softening slightly as Ivar’s panic attack was due to her beauty, for which he could scarcely blame her. None of them could. 

@dollsxandxmonsters

#bailey #ivar x bailey #ubbe x bailey #bear x bailey #baileyxpoly01

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Sun Myung Moon visits Hearst Street, Berkeley, Jan 1, 1976

extract from:

Crazy for God: The nightmare of cult life by Christopher Edwards

Every year, on January 1, the Family celebrated God’s Day. As December drew to a close. Family members whispered and giggled at the expectation of dressing up like adults. Perhaps Omma [Onni Durst] would even let us sleep a few extra hours that night.

I was living full-time in Oakland now with the deli crew, a Family sister named Jennifer, and Dr. Durst’s kids, whom I tutored and fathered when not working on the school project or at the deli. Since Dr. Durst and Omma were the True Parents for all us needy adults in the group, they did not have time to see their own children by Dr. Durst’s previous marriage. In fact, Omma considered these kids so fallen and satanic that she showed disgust when forced to touch them.

On the eve of God’s Day, I zoomed up into the parking lot at Hearst Street—as the lot filled with white vans unloading their troopers.

…

At a nudge by Omma, Oppa exclaimed:

“We have a special surprise for you. We have just received word that Father has flown into Berkeley to visit us on this most special occasion. For the next few hours you must fall into your work crews. Center men will receive instructions from me. Now, everybody lock arms and let’s have a big choo-choo!”

Four hundred voices resounded through the crowded house: “CHOO-CHOO-CHOO, CHOO-CHOO-CHOO, CHOO-CHOO-CHOO. YAY, YAY—POW!”

The morning of Father’s arrival dawned bright and beautiful. San Francisco Bay sparkled in the distance. Mail trucks rattled through the empty Berkeley streets, picking up their bundles at the blue sidewalk boxes. We heavenly children were exhausted. After polishing doorknobs, hanging new curtains, moving Father’s ornate furniture from storage into the living room, we were allowed to nap briefly, then awakened to prepare for the arrival of the Master. Despite my excitement at the chance to see Father in the flesh, I desperately hoped that some way, somehow, I could get another few minutes of sleep.

At the sound of the whistle, everyone jumped with a start. A watchful brother guarding the door popped his head into the hallway, shouting, “Father’s here! Father’s here!”

Omma and Oppa descended from their private bedroom to welcome the glorious Messiah and his retinue. Christine blew the whistle again, and brothers and sisters assembled in rows and columns. Christine started the chant to summon the spirit world. “Glory to Heaven, Peace on Earth, Glory to Heaven, Peace on Earth, Glory to Heaven, Peace on Earth…” The bells in the nearby church tolled six o’clock as two immense limousines pulled up to the entrance of the mansion. Guards in black suits jumped out of the vehicles, speedily opening back doors. Out of the first limousine stepped a short, squat Korean with sparse black strands of hair fringing his smooth, round head. The guards immediately bowed and shut the doors. Several other distinguished-looking Orientals climbed out of the remaining cars.

The man we called our Father marched briskly up the stairs and through the doorway. He rushed down the hall, passing me and the others in line, and burst into the living room as though he owned the entire world. Thirty paces behind him followed his sad-eyed fragile wife. They sat down together at Father’s Table, magnificently laid with silver goblets, Lenox china, and the finest Waterford crystal, which gleamed in the morning sunlight.

The atmosphere was electric. I had never seen Father before, but he seemed much smaller and much harder-looking than I had ever imagined. I marveled at my great fortune. Here I was living at the most crucial moment in history, in the center of the richest, most progressive nation on earth, face to face with the most important man in the history of the universe. As the Family stood at attention, the Messiah sipped silently from his glass, surveying the crowd with indifference.

The room was circled by guards, huge Asians and Europeans in black suits, well drilled in the martial arts. The doors were locked, the windows tightly shut. Christine shouted, “Bow!” and we complied, all four hundred of us simultaneously inclining from the waist for Father. Christine shouted, “Down!” and we immediately sank to our knees, dropping our heads three times for the Master.

The Messiah continued to sip his drink as his faithful translator. Colonel Pak, a former Korean military leader who carried himself like a polished diplomat, stepped up to the microphone. He addressed us softly, saying something like this:

“How fortunate you are that Father has agreed to talk to you today. He wants to tell you he loves you in spite of your fallen nature and even Heavenly Father loves you because you work so hard for him. And now, Master speaks!”

Reverend Moon pushed back his chair and stepped up to the microphone beside his translator. The crowd, sitting in rows, applauded wildly, and everybody rose on their knees to get a better look at their Messiah. The chunky Korean began to scream at the top of his lungs, pausing intermittently for his translator to interpret. I looked on in wonder as Father danced across the room, ranting and yelling. Colonel Pak spoke, and I remember hearing:

“Father asks you what you expect to see in the Messiah. Father wants you to know that he is human, too. Father wants you to know that even he goes to the bathroom. Have you ever thought that the Messiah is that human?”

The crowd cheered and laughed wildly.

“Father says you can be sure that he’s the Messiah because God made him the handsomest man on earth.” The children chuckled. Moon beamed.…

“Now, Father is very tired. He has been praying all night for you, so he has decided he will not speak to you today. You don’t mind, do you?” Pak asked mischievously.

“No, no, let him speak!” we shouted in unison. “We love Father, we love Father… !”

Moon clasped his hands and shouted something in Korean, smiling at us all the while. Colonel Pak translated: “Father loves you so much that he feels he must speak to you. He is willing to sacrifice his meal and sleep for you. God will surely judge you for this, so stay awake and listen to his word. If sleep spirits attack you, you must fight them off.”

Colonel Pak paused, and Father continued to speak, chopping the air with violent strokes, slashing at spirits, wrestling with invisible demons, throwing out kung-fu punches. We watched him with awe and delight. He suddenly twisted around, pulled Pak’s lapels, shook him, pretended to punch the colonel in the abdomen, then pushed his faithful translator away. Pak smoothed his hair and pushed at the bridge of his black-frame glasses, addressing the crowd in broken English.

“Father says that this room is filled with demons. Because his spiritual eyes are open to spirit world, he can see Jesus, Moses, Buddha, and all the sages of East and West struggling, fighting evil spirits trying to gain access to this room. Father explains that this is why he ordered the doors and windows shut. Higher spirits can penetrate windows and walls, but lower spirits cannot. Father tells us that we must keep fighting, for Satan himself is in this room, directing all the evil spirits of the universe.”

Colonel Pak raised his arms and shouted, “Repeat after me: SMASH OUT SATAN! SMASH OUT SATAN! We must drive the demons away.” The crowd screamed their response.

The Messiah leaped into the air, then barreled across the room, waving his arms, shouting in Korean, socking at evil spirits. Once again Colonel Pak translated the Master’s words as I sat spellbound. The words went something like this:

“Tonight I have important news for you. Because of my struggles in spirit world and the success of the Unification Church, a new dimension of spirit world has opened up for us. Good spirits have won many battles against evil spirits. As a result Heavenly Father has cleared a path for more good spirits to act on the physical plane, especially in the political sphere. We call this spiritual path the Principality of Air. Now more than ever, good spirits can work through you in flower-selling and witnessing, in fact in all your spiritual work. You will be successful, thanks to me, Father, and of course, Heavenly Father. Of all the saints and prophets sent by God, I am the most successful.”

The Messiah continued speaking, praising himself and repeating the standard gospel of the Divine Principle, which I had heard from Durst so often, pausing only for Colonel Pak’s translation. Two hours into the lecture I began to feel dizzy, drugged. My stomach was churning and I wondered how much longer I could last. My face burned with heat, and I was suddenly drowsy. Satan must be attacking me! Sleep spirits were attacking me! I must fight them off, for they want to prevent me from hearing the Messiah. My eyes started drooping until the lids finally shut. If only I had a safety pin like other Family members … then I could jab myself to stay awake and really show that snake, Satan!

The Messiah’s face swam before me as I fought my exhaustion. Was this really happening to me? I suddenly wondered. Was this really God’s special agent, my newfound spiritual father, the Lord of Creation and the center of the universe?

How could I love a man I didn’t even know? I asked myself dizzily. I was constantly being told about all he had done for me, but what had that actually been? Who was this man who claimed to be the Messiah, whose mind was one with God’s, this man who wanted to rule the world? Oh, my God. Of course! Satan was attacking me. He was planting evil doubts in my mind. He was destroying my faith. …

As the Master talked on and on, Oppa shifted nervously in his seat, clearly uncomfortable in this panel of holy ones. He nodded from time to time as though he could understand the prophet based on his sparse knowledge of Korean, the Mother Tongue of the Universe. I wondered what his colleagues in the English Department would think if they could see him now. Did they know that the most important American in our history was the same man who taught remedial spelling to their struggling freshmen?

I turned my attention back to Father, as Pak translated. Father was saying something about how he was planting spies in the Soviet Union, how we are steeped in world war, and how it is time for us to build the final phase of the material foundation. I heard him unveil his world plan, frightening us by telling us that God had given him only five more years to win the war. Five more years! If America did not accept the Unification Church, if everybody did not follow Father, God would then leave America once and for all.

I sat dumbfounded. God would leave America and never return? I recalled all the hushed conversations Family members had had with me over the past six months, these prophets telling me that men would crawl like animals over the earth for a thousand years as Satan’s slaves if Father didn’t win. I remembered discussing with older brothers our fantasies about fighting and dying for God, my dream of climbing into a cockpit, decked out in Unification Church army uniform, waving good-bye to my sisters of the Church as I left. Tears came to my eyes as I thought about how many times I had failed God, thinking of sleep in my exhaustion, looking at food during my three-day fasts—oh, my selfishness!

As Father told of his political plans for this country, I was ashamed of how I had doubted former President Nixon as Father came to his aid during Watergate, placing ads in major newspapers for Nixon, sending hundreds of Moonies to fast on the Capitol steps for three days and march with “God Loves Nixon” signs. I thought of how we Americans had persecuted this man even after Father declared him to be God’s choice for America. I thought of Father’s plans to take over New York City, as an older brother had told me once, and I thought of all my tired friends who had been promised they would become senators after only a few more years of grueling flower-selling. I thought of all the political work my brothers and sisters were doing in Washington, Christine and Omma’s secret missions to the Orient, lavish lunches with political power brokers in the Bay Area, rumors of Joey’s plans to run for mayor of Oakland—even talk that God would appoint Dr. Durst as the next President.

And suddenly it was all so clear. God did have a plan and only Father knew it. All we had to do was follow Father— that was it—that was all! The world was turning to Father for help and all the seeds that had been planted would soon be ready. We were buying up land, we were growing, one worldwide Family, and we were already millions strong— millions strong! Father had a timetable for everything, and if we worked, if we worked just a little bit harder … “Push us. Father,” I whispered. “Push us…”

Father began to scream, blood pumping madly through his swollen cheeks. Colonel Pak shouted:

“Heavenly Father will win! Heavenly Father will win! Heavenly Father will win! Repeat it after me!”

“Heavenly Father will win! Heavenly Father will win! Heavenly Father will win!” brothers and sisters shouted in unison. Father stepped back and sat down on the sofa. As he dabbed at his shiny forehead. Colonel Pak spoke once more: “Father is very tired. He has talked for four hours without stopping, showing you his love and heavenly determination. But Father remembers that you love him, too, and Father will show his father’s love now. He has promised to sing you a song, a heavenly song.”

We screamed with joy, jumping up and down with excitement. Father gulped from a glass, then returned to the microphone, slicking back his sparse threads of hair. His fatherly smile melted my doubtful heart. He really loved me. That’s why he was here; that’s why he had spoken. I had been yearning for this fatherly love for so many years.

Father began a simple Korean folk tune. The audience listened breathlessly, young women swooning and sighing. We softly rocked back and forth on our knees in time to the song, our faces beaming, each of us hoping to catch Father’s eye. At the end of the final verse. Father reached toward the sky with his massive hands and gave a shrill Korean yodel. He then sank back in his chair, smiling benignly at his children.

The crowd went wild, whistling, screaming, shouting, waving arms. Tears of joy streamed down our faces as we prayed to Heavenly Father in gratitude. Every heart in the room was touched with Father’s love. Imagine, the Messiah serving me by singing a song just for me! How unworthy I felt of this grace, this blessing from God.

The Master rose, approached the microphone, and shouted a Korean prayer through the crackling, electric air. At the end of each phrase, he paused, and the audience screamed fervently. “Yes, Father,” or “Yes, Heavenly Father.” After about ten minutes of prayer, the Master fell silent. We rubbed our aching necks and looked up at him. Father turned on his heel and headed full speed toward the front door, flanked by his bodyguards and followed by his entourage.

While younger brothers and sisters stood around in the main hall, overwhelmed by the Master’s performance, the older leaders ran out the door and jumped down the steps as the Korean Messiah entered his limo.

“Father, Father, Father, come back! We love you, Father,” we shouted like six-year-olds saying good-bye to their traveling dad after a weekend of ice cream and baseball games, hide-and-seek and hot dogs.

The gleaming cars proceeded down Hearst Street toward the airport, as Father headed off for a secret destination to rest and recover.

We pressed our faces against the front window, crying that our Messiah had left us and hoping that God would bless him on this, the world’s most important mission.

______________________________________________

The full story:

Crazy for God: The nightmare of cult life by Christopher Edwards

Building the “material foundation” for Sun Myung Moon

Boonville’s Japanese origins

Moonwebs by Josh Freed

Life Among the Moonies by Deanna Durham

Mitchell was lucky – he got away from the Unification Church

#Boonville #Sun Myung Moon #FFWPU #Unification Church #Christopher Edwards

[askthecustodes]

The Tribune’s Return

Rewriting some old stuff in an attempt to reclaim it, so if this drabble looks familiar, its probably because it is.

An Ancient Tribune returns and is immediately thrust into combat again. A familiar face brings light back into his heart.

@ask-tribune-ra

Ten Thousand years. It tasted wrong on his tongue, the time fitting imperfectly into the recesses of his mind. He resisted the implications of it. While he understood that the passage of time in the warp was far different than its passage in realspace, to think that that many millennia had passed put a dread in his belly. How many of his comrades from that time remained? How long he had been gone was of no matter, only that Terra remained and the Golden were there to protect their liege lord. There was a sense of relief in coming home. A tension in his shoulders dissipated at the sight of Terra still standing.

His brothers met him and his sodality at the star port. The Adeptus Custodes were as resplendent as ever, their armor the iconic brilliant gold with red plumes. Red had replaced their black mourning shrouds; he would later learn of the return of Lord Guilliman’s plea to call the Golden back to the stars once more and Valoris’ plans to answer before the call was even made. For now he did not ask. They had no words for him or the Custodians that followed, for they could not have been more different in their streaked gold and bearing the tokens of thousands of battles against the forces of chaos. It was for the best, he mused. He had little patience for the decay he had seen during this journey home.

He kept his head high despite their suspicions. He remained unbent as they tested him and his companions for corruption. He did not blink when they told him he could not return to his previous position as Tribune. Still, the Captain General clasped his arm in the end. For the tedium of it, the Ancient once-Tribune understood well enough; there could be no doubt when if came to the safety of their King.

The Tribune had hoped for some time alone, to visit the Hall of Names and visit with friends long dead, and to learn of who had joined them. He had faced many daemons in the warp and in the webway, and they had told all sorts of stories- no doubt lies- about the horrid fates that had befallen his brothers and sisters. One name had recurred often, every story more grotesque than the last in its brutality and horror. Ra was not ignorant- ten thousand years of protecting the cradle world would have seen many, many losses, and those early days were no doubt a tremendous struggle. So he had made peace with their inevitable violent ends. He just had longed to know if her name really had found place in the endless honor rolls. He had dreamed of her in his few moments of rest, craved her gentle touch when they found some respite, wondered what she would think of him now.

But there was no time for such things just yet; orders came through immediately, that he and his kin would serve another shield captain and their company to handle an a chaos outbreak in a system adjoined to Sol. He accepted the assignment with a scowl, mustering his make-shift sodality to leave Terra once again. Their new partners remained aloof and afar. He bristled under their suspicions. It would take time for their brothers to accept them into the fold, but he didn’t have to like it.

He finally met with the shield captain of this unit. She was almost as tall as he, her armor a shade of a lighter gold than the traditional saturation of the main force. Amethyst eye lenses bored into his crimson red as he introduced himself. Her body language had been subtly hostile until he gave her his name. Then he swore there was a flicker of confusion in the way she shifted.

“Remove your helm, Ra.” There was something familiar in her cadence despite the vox wash of her helm.

Something prodded him to keep the sharp retort that came to mind unvoiced. Ra indulged her despite the objections of his companion. He looked many years older, and new scars lined his face. Long dreads were pulled back, and he needed a shave. He watched the shield captain before him carefully. She remained still for several seconds, before reaching for her own helm; the act silenced his companion. No other custodian outside the Captain General had done him that honor, for it was a symbol of fraternity among the Ten Thousand.

Ra could not keep the surprise from his face. She was exactly as he remembered her- ashen hair and piercing gray eyes, delicate cheekbones that swept to a gentle frown. Her brows were furrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Ra?” 

“Arturia…” Her name came like a oath from his lips. He closed the distance between them in a few quick steps, setting aside his helm to pull her into a tight embrace. “You yet live.”

The Custodians at her back swept their Guardian spears to aim at him, the unexpected behavior suggesting treachery. Ra’s companion replied in kind, not liking his odds but willing to protect the Tribune. Arturia raised a hand, wishing she could hide the tremor in it, before wrapping her arms around him. The trio lowered their weapons, but the tension remained.

“You’re alive…” She whispered and, like a dam breaking, she wept. “You’re alive…”

He laughed, tears welling up in his own eyes at the relief and joy that threatened to overwhelm him. “As do you.”

“I thought you lost.” She mumbled, tightening her grasp on him.

He nuzzled her ear, breathing in the scent of her. “I know.”

“Honored Watchman.”  One of the Custodians called her attention. “We break from the warp soon.”

“Hm.” She was slow to disengage from Ra, her hands lingering on him. “Yes. I must brief you on the coming assault. Come.”

She led him into the ship’s strategium and walked him through the planned assault, detailing the information given to them by spies and scouts. She was different here, but she had ten thousand years to grow into leadership and planning. Ten thousand years of experience against a varied host of foes. He envied her in a way; there was little sense in his time in the webway or in the warp. No battles to plan. No assaults to map out. Simply skirmish after skirmish after skirmish. Rhyme and reason were absent in the Immaterium. It was hard to know how many he would have at his side, much less what he would be fighting until they made contact. He watched her as she brought up maps and explained assault vectors and gave warnings. She couldn’t have been more beautiful to him. A sharp mind, careful in how she spent the lives of those who followed her. There was a precision she had lacked when he had last seen her- but she had been more wild then, more instinctive. Time had changed him too; he idly wondered if the new her would still as fiercely love the new him.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere, Tribune.” She interrupted his reverie.

He rolled his eyes, his gaze sweeping from her to the map and back again. “I am not a tribune any longer, but I am appraised. My men will be ready at their strike point.”

Her eyes searched his for a bit longer than a standard moment, her expression tight. “When you are done briefing your men, return to me. We have much to catch up on.”

He nodded to her, amused at how comfortably she gave him orders, and touched her arm. “As you wish, Honored Watchman.” He drawled her title, but she could not quite tell if he was mocking her, or emphasizing the difference between them.

Arturia gave no more words as he donned his helm and left the strategium. A hollowness collected in her chest in his wake. Their completion of this mission could not come soon enough.

The population had fallen to the hold of chaos cults, and the doomscryers were certain that their leader would pose a threat to Terra if allowed to escape. Arturia had volunteered for the role, and few could deny her it- since her first time among the companions, she found herself speaking with the Emmisaries Imperatus and taken in. Her King spoke to her on more than one occasion of the millennia, whispering as he done in life, brushing her mind and expressing His will. He told her to be there, that she had more purpose there than she could guess.

A shield company in addition to a warhost of Imperial Fists and guardsmen seemed excessive, but at the sight of the blighted planet, Arturia conceded perhaps it was not the most unreasonable. The surface looked not unlike old Terran artists depictions of Hell. Monsters of a multitude of variations lumbered among their zealous cult followers as they screamed for their patron gods. Arturia looked on impassively as the first sodalities made planetfall. She would follow with her own sodality, though she wondered if she would have the opportunity to see him, to fight by his side once again.

Ra was among the first on the ground, his sodality eager to wet their blades and prove their mettle once again to their brethren. They waded in, fighting as one unit as they broke the waves of chaos. There was a sense of revelry among them; to be in the service of their Emperor, doing what they had done for ten millennia, seemed almost like a dream.

Within hours they had narrowed down the location of the cult leader, deep within the hive city. Arturia led her shield company, her silver and gold armor stained with blood and gore, outriders feeding them information from their screaming hit and run passes overhead. She took no pleasure in every kill, for there were hundreds falling to her blade, and hundreds yet to go. Mortal or daemon, it mattered not.

The streets down which they walked bore the marks of the cults defilement. Their patron God’s symbols were smeared in blood or scratched by whatever was handy on every wall still standing. Bodies littered the streets, either willing sacrifices or unwilling citizens resisting the initial uprising it was impossible to tell. Smoke turned the air acrid, fires still burning where ritual fires lost control or Kataphraktoi gunners found more than their mark. Black billowed from buildings. Arturia was grateful for the air filter in her helm; the smell of burning flesh and putrid waste where sewage lines had broken made her want to gag.

Ahead was a cathedral, towering high above the surrounding structures. What once depicted the city’s dedication to the Throne World featured broken stone and shattered stained glass, mangled bodies of the planet’s defense force, and defaced frescos with proclamations to chaos gods. The sodality strode toward the gigantic wooden doors, taking the parade-wide stairs two at a time.

Another sodality came up on their right flank. In her peripheral she almost took them to be more daemons until she spotted the armor beneath their patchwork fixes. She picked out the tell-tale marks that separated him from his kin. 

“Arturia.” His voice purred over the vox. “After you.”

A part of her loathed how her name in his mouth evoked so much longing nostalgia in her; in the years that followed his disappearance, she struggled to make sense of the tremendous losses from that time and had put away the part of her that had loved so personally and freely. She gave him a nod, refocusing on the task at hand. There would be time for making peace again after their duties were seen to. Duty first.

It took the strength of several of the Custodians to pull the great doors open, the hinges automated system nothing but smoldering ruin. The rest of the two squads stood aside, their weapons ready.

Even with the windows smashed in, the light of the outside only reached in a few feet. There was an exchange of glances between Arturia’s sodality; impatient, Ra’s sodality moved forward as a single flock, crouching low as if they were on the prowl. Ra looked to Arturia, though she didn’t quite guess what his expression might be before he slipped into the inky blackness after them. This was not the way of the Custodians, but from what she had watched, these were now an entity all her own.

Her sodality followed behind, their formation and posture less of hunting animals and more of primed warriors. The black fouled their sensors; none of their helmet viewer modes showed anything helpful. A Custodian was not reliant on sight alone however, and they were quick to make contact. The bark of bolter fire and the crackle of power weapons mingled with the shrieking cries and heavy footfalls of daemons. Arturia couldn’t get a gauge on numbers, but it seemed as if more than a small fighting force had been ready and waiting for them. What was chilling most of all, was not the warcries of the monstrosities they were fighting, but the equally ferocious roars coming from their returned brethren. It left the Emissary unsettled.

Someone must have found the source of the smoke, because sensors chirped with acquired targets and the thick clouds began to dissipate, revealing the sheer breadth of the host about them. The sodalities were surrounded by slavering fangs, monstrous blades both biological and metal, and leathered flesh. Most of the cultists had already fallen to the Custodian’s whirling dervish of blades, but hordes of daemons took their places without hesitation. Their footing was getting all the more challenging with how they simply threw themselves upon the Custodians.

With the cleared smoke, Arturia spotted their target standing at the balcony to one side of the chapel. His outline shimmered, giving away the presence of a shield generator on his person. She seethed, annoyed she could not simply put a bolt round up there and be done with it.

“Target spotted, top left balcony. Be advised: Personal shield generator.” She hadn’t finished her last phrase before one of the returned had turned and did just what she knew would not work. The shell exploded a foot from the balding man, the force knocking him from his feet, but he was otherwise unharmed. He gathered himself up, and vanished from their line of sight. Arturia scowled, a Terran curse tumbling from her lips. “We’re losing time here. Angreth, Lionel, Oceanus, Grist, prepare to break off. Everyone else, clear a path for them.” Her sodality shifted towards the arched doorways on the far side of the chapel. With the help of Ra and his team, the red cloaked Custodians disappeared after their prey. The remaining Custodians’ circle tightened with the loss, and their foes pressed in closer.

Arturia didn’t fit into their flow of combat, leaving her mostly to fend for herself. Not that it bothered her any- it was the tradition of most of the Custodes divisions that they be singular in their fighting style. The Tribune and his men however, deviated from that doctrine, fighting in unity almost as astartes did. That style had evidently evolved with their time in the warp, making it just that much harder for her to follow.

The fighting had called the attention of other foes. A booming laugh called their attention to the great doors at the back of the chapel. The whole doorway was taken up by its bulk. It surveyed them with milky white pupiless eyes, its lipless maw curled into a vicious smile.

“Y̴o̶u̴r̷ ̴s̶k̷u̶l̸l̴s̵ ̶w̴i̴l̶l̸ ̶b̶e̷ ̵a̸ ̵n̶i̵c̴e̷ ̶e̶d̸i̷t̸i̴o̴n̷ ̶t̸o̶ ̵t̶h̴e̸ ̴T̸h̸r̴o̵n̸e̷ ̷o̷f̷ ̷K̷h̷o̵r̴n̷e̷“

Its voice was a gutteral sound, barely understandable. Arturia sneered back, fearless in the face of a chosen monster of Khorne. She cut through the daemons between her and the daemon, her blade moving at lightning speed. He laughed again, bringing forward his massive axe to meet her.

They still had dozens of daemons to kill before they could effectively join their sister-custodian. Ra grit his teeth; his men had faced such entities of the warp before, and were well adept at killing them, and while he was impressed that she thought she could take it, there was a tightening in his chest. She would not be the first if she were to fall.

Arturia was as strong as she was quick, dodging and slicing as she bounced around it, irritating the lumbering daemon. Its size seemed a detriment, its barbed body almost impossibly muscley. But with every cut, every drop of spilled blood, its rage and its speed grew, and soon she was struggling to outpace it.

Ra ripped his spear from the last of the horde that had assailed them, and looked up to see how the Shield Captain yet fared. Time slowed for a moment as he watched her Guardian Spear get knocked wide, and the spiked end of its axe surging towards her. It punched through her chestplate, the force knocking the air from her lungs. Pain bloomed immediately, drowning out feeling the myriad of other punctures and breaks in her armor. She might have screamed if there wasn’t blood bubbling up her throat. Weak hands grabbed at the haft of the axe the now lifted her into the air.

“Arturia!” Ra roared, equal parts wide eyed and furious. He charged the monstrosity, his Guardian Spear alive with a corona of crackling energy. It snarled at him, flinging her towards him with a whip of his axe. Arturia tumbled across the floor, blood spattering the floor in her wake. Ra jumped over her in his charge, his sodality following in his wake.

She watched as they descended together, united in their direction and purpose. One defended another as they fired their adrathic destructor on it. The others cut deep through it’s thick hide, earning unearthly screams. At some point she closed her eyes, focusing on the gaping hole in her ribs. Blood was collecting in her mouth, making it impossible to breathe without filling the inside of her helm. She couldn’t let herself fall into a healing sleep without at least removing it, but she couldn’t right herself enough to get at her seals.

Then she felt arms pulling her up, the vox whispering her name. Her broken fingers fumbled for the seals on her helmet. Ra gently pushed her hands away and relieved her of the cover. Blood made the air release sputter. She spat blood and gasped. Her good lung was struggling to keep up with the needs of her body.

“Finish- the mission.” She urged. “Su- support my- sodality-”

“My men are on it.” He tried to sooth her, cradling the broken Custodian to his chest.

“Med-evac’s- on its- way.” Every word was effort. She grimaced, baring her blood slicked teeth. “Go.”

“Stop talking, Arturia.”

She smacked his chestplate with her mangled gauntlet and tried to pull herself out of his grasp.

He held her fast. “Stubborn woman; stop this.” Arturia peered into his crimson eye lenses, her eyes narrow, but relaxed against him, her expression softening. He smiled under his helm, recognizing the relinquishing of control. “If you need to sleep, sleep. Just stay with me, okay?”

#drabble #the Tribune's return