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magioftheseas · 3 years

Text

A.I. to AI

Summary: Post-SDR2.5 AU in while a certain Alter Ego and a certain Ultimate Lucky still have some difficulties moving forward.

Rating: T

Warnings: Emetophobia (mild)

Notes: Hhhhhh, World Destroyer/Komaeda...good...and yet so rare. So, here it is. Have fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

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Komaeda Nagito is

Capricious

Stubborn

Frustrating

Unstable

Desperate

Hopeless

Lovely

Problematic

Through many deep dives, Alter Ego is confident in identifying Komaeda Nagito’s character. As confident as a program can be, although it was not the prerogative to know and understand Komaeda Nagito. The mission was simply to retrieve Komaeda Nagito, the last of the remnants.

It had taken many deep dives. Many methods had to be used. Some involving direct contact from the start, and others requiring more distance, more detachment. All the same, there had been many confrontations.

It is not Alter Ego’s mission to know and understand Komaeda Nagito, but with how much time spent in Komaeda Nagito’s dreamscape, it was inevitable to take notice of and learn such things.

When Komaeda Nagito was extracted—the mission was complete.

That was it.

It was over.

It should have been over.

“World Destroyer-kun! Alter Ego-kun! Destroyer-kun? Ego-kun? Which would you prefer I call you?”

“I have no preference.”

“I do know another Alter Ego-san,” Komaeda was saying. Acting sweet and cheerful. As if there isn’t somewhere else he should be. “The one made by the Ultimate Programmer. They’re much more polite and pleasant than you are.”

“And yet, I am the one you are speaking to.”

Komaeda laughs, smiling without care. But there are signs of tension from the tightness of his shoulders to even the way his elbow dug into the table’s surface with his chin pressing down hard into his fleshy palm. Only the mechanical limb was able to remain completely still.

“You are troubled,” is the obvious observation to make. “I presume it is about the other remnants and my master.”

“Your presumptions would be correct,” Komaeda says. His smile is twitching around the corners. The typical sign of contradictory emotions. Of admiration and irritation. “If you already know, then I don’t have to explain anything, right?”

“Explanations would be...” A pause. “Unnecessary.”

Komaeda seems pleased with that answer, but somewhere in the back of Alter Ego’s coding was the curious thought if that had been the correct response.

How irritating.

Among the methods, there had been direct contact. Komaeda Nagito does not remember this, but these attempts are in fact stored in Alter Ego’s data banks. If one knew how to dig, the footage of those attempts could be replayed. All taken from Alter Ego’s vacant gaze at the time.

A gaze that caught Komaeda Nagito in a state of shock. Which had observed and scrutinized the way Komaeda Nagito shrank in on himself, pulling further and further away from the program’s prodding.

“I’m already at peace, so don’t bother me anymore,” Komaeda Nagito had said. “You’re—an annoyance.”

Irritating.

“Destroyer-kun!”

“Is that the name you have decided on?”

“If you have a problem with it, just say so!”

“I have nothing to say.”

Once again, Komaeda Nagito has visited. How did Komaeda Nagito even find this place?

The answer was obvious.

(“It was just good luck!” Komaeda Nagito had exclaimed, looking so unbearably joyful. “And after spraining my wrist...! It was only a matter of time before something good happened!”)

“I made my own coffee today,” Komaeda was saying now. “It was so awful! So brutal! A truly contemptible and pitiful attempt! I got so sick that I threw up in the sink!” His spirited performance turned downcast in a heartbeat. “Koizumi-san was quite cross with me. According to Owari-san, the smell was so awful.”

“Yes, bile does have a stench,” was the dry, unimpressed response. “The odor gets worse depending on what was ingested.”

“Oh, Destroyer-kun,” Komaeda mourns. “I just keep messing up around them. No matter what I do, I can’t help being wretched!”

“That mistake...was hardly serious.”

For some reason, Komaeda’s distraught expression was troubling. Had he, a program, developed a bias? A proximity bias? If so, that was a bug.

One that his master needed to patch out. His master would have to be informed. Informed of the displeased reaction that comes about simply because Komaeda Nagito is distressed.

“It’s not just that mistake,” Komaeda sighs next. “It’s—surely you know the saying. The straw that breaks the camel’s back?”

“I am aware, but that perspective is flawed.” It was aggravating. Truly aggravating. Perhaps not a mere bug but a virus in how vicious this sensation became. “You are not...”

The sensation gets aggressive. It threatens to consume the entire system. It gets to the point where he needs to be reset, but—

Komaeda is...

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda is apologizing. Komaeda gives such a miserable smile. “I’m troubling you, aren’t I?”

“No.” Immediate. Almost panicked. “No, Komaeda...”

“Ah.”

Komaeda blinked at him. His expression changed. Eyes went wide, mouth parted open. An expression of surprise.

“...I didn’t think a program could make an expression like that.” Then, a laugh. “Oh, wait, what am I even saying? You’re not even the first advanced artificial intelligence I’ve ever met.”

Komaeda seemed taken aback but tickled nonetheless. When faced with something incomprehensible, it was...understandable to simply take it in bewildered stride.

“I meant to reassure you,” he realizes now. “But it appears I am inadequate at such a task.”

“It’s alright,” Komaeda says with such sincerity. “Just your intent rather warmed my heart, Destroyer-kun. You’re such a kind person. I wonder who you got that from...?”

Komaeda ponders this as if he doesn’t already know the answer. As if that very answer doesn’t cause Komaeda’s smile to falter.

“Thank you, Destroyer-kun,” Komaeda says next, and it will have to do for now.

Komaeda visits him regularly. Not every interaction is worth remembering, but he finds that he perks up regardless. Sometimes, Komaeda won’t converse much; instead just settling down in the chair with a coffee. Sipping demurely and rubbing exhaustion from his eyes. The only sounds that transpired would be Komaeda’s breathing, the whirl of his robotic arm, and the buzzing of the program.

Komaeda would finish his coffee, give him a simple smile, would leave, and repeat.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

And then, Komaeda lays his head down in front of him.

“Let me rest for a bit,” he tiredly requests. Silence is taken as acquiesce, and it isn’t long before Komaeda Nagito drifts off into slumber.

It’s strange.

That position is not comfortable, and yet, Komaeda Nagito sleeps with ease. Perhaps the other had simply been exhausted—but perhaps Komaeda Nagito felt secure here. With only a mere AI for company, Komaeda Nagito was relaxed.

But not as relaxed as he had been in the program, surrounded by friends who cared for him and encased by a world designed to keep him safe.

He does wonder if Komaeda Nagito yearns for that place despite having verbally dismissed it in the past. He likely does. Komaeda Nagito may have been sincere in the thoughts and feelings he expressed, but he wasn’t very honest to himself. What a frustrating contradiction.

And, yet, the artificial intelligence that has long since fulfilled its objective...cannot help but find this person fascinating.

Fascinating and lovely.

How could something like this happen?

He watches Komaeda Nagito sleep.

Komaeda Nagito sleeps.

Komaeda Nagito does not wake up even when the door opens.

“So this is where he is,” his master sighs. His master looks a bit ragged but also relieved to see Komaeda’s hunched shoulders. No matter the occasion, his master strides forward with grace and purpose. His master then lightly takes those hunched shoulders.

“Do you plan to awake him?” he asks, and it is strange, isn’t it, to have this be the first question he has asked his master in so long. “He has been sleeping well up until now.”

His master flinches the slightest bit even though that response should have been expected. Perhaps, his master is fatigued enough to impair his instincts.

“I...” His master swallows. Nervously. “I do know that he’s been visiting you as of late... Alter Ego.”

Alter Ego is not surprised to hear this. Obviously, his master would have known. Why, then, does his master look so uncertain?

“Master,” he says and asks with all the grace that can be generated from a machine, “Are you feeling insecure?”

There is a reason why there is no such thing as a ballerina android. Subsequently, this is why artificial conductors are much more inefficient for orchestras than human ones are.

“That obvious, huh,” his master mutters as if the dryness of the question had rubbed him raw. His master sighs. Inhale, exhale. His master regards his creation with brief disdain before it’s blinked away, leaving behind a vulnerable, insecure human.

A human which is still more capable than a machine.

“Komaeda really likes you,” that human says, like he can’t believe it or understand it either. “Komaeda would rather be around you than anyone else. Including me.”

“It...” Alter Ego processes this, and finally, finally, he comes to a logical explanation. “It is not about liking me. It is about the simulation of companionship with none of the expectation nor the baggage. Komaeda Nagito is lonely, but he fears intimacy. With a mere program, he has nothing to fear.”

The human—Hinata Hajime, Kamukura Izuru, no, simply his master—blinks at him.

“I suppose that is one explanation,” he says slowly. “But, it’s never that simple. Not with people, and especially not with Komaeda.”

“That seems like a generalization, master,” Alter Ego points out.

“It is, but... Urgh. You’re basically saying that Komaeda finds you unfulfilling, which is a bit...” His master shook his head. “That... Do you really know for sure if that’s true?”

...

Machines are not designed to feel pain. And he in particular was not given the capacity to come even close to pain due to his purpose. To feel pain himself would have been counterproductive. His master had known that. Thus, his master had taken great pains to ensure that he would never feel pain.

Still, Alter Ego had paused and mulled that painful question over.

“It is a sound explanation,” he decides on, but his gaze lingers on Komaeda Nagito.

Komaeda Nagito, who murmurs so softly in his sleep. Smacks his lips. Looks at peace.

“I guess it is beyond your capacity for understanding.”

Alter Ego snaps back to attention. His master regards him coldly and warily. Irritated and insecure. Since he understands his master, it does not bother him.

“If Komaeda Nagito thinks himself fond of me...”

He is mistaken.

That is what Alter Ego should say, but for one reason or another, he can’t bring himself to continue.

It doesn’t matter. His master can fill in the blanks, and given by the way his brow furrows and his expression darkens, his master does just that.

Soon after, though, his master’s look softens.

“It’s a good thing,” he sighs. “It’s great that Komaeda’s not completely keeping to himself and that he’s socializing at all, but... I just wish he’d give us another chance. Sure, not everyone’s willing to welcome him back but... We should get the opportunity to try, right?”

“You cannot force him,” Alter Ego points out. “Komaeda Nagito is not obligated. He should approach you because he wants to.”

Not to mention—

“If you respect his feelings, you should not be having this conversation that he can overhear.”

His master laughs. It’s harsh and lacking mirth, but when his master turns his attention to Komaeda and pats his shoulder, he’s nothing short of gentle. Gentle while wearing a melancholy smile.

“Both of us would be able to see right through him,” his master says. “It’s taken a lot, but I think I understand him well enough.” Idly, almost without thinking, his master moves his hand from Komaeda’s shoulder to card through the fluffy white strands. “I’ll help the others understand, too. So that when he’s ready...”

His master trails off. His master stops. His master shook his head.

“Komaeda...will end up hurting his neck if he sleeps like this. I’m gonna take him to his room, okay?”

His master hoists up Komaeda Nagito with ease. Holds him close and secure. Gives Alter Ego one last wry smile before heading out.

Alter Ego simply watches him go.

“Destroyer-kun, do you think I could speak to you in person?”

Komaeda fidgets. He’s visibly sheepish.

“Did something happen?” is asked in return instead of giving a proper response.

“It’s not that I dislike talking to a screen, but I’d like...” Komaeda trails off, his cheeks pink. He sputters softly, jaw working on the words he can’t bring himself to say. “That is...if it’s okay with you... Obviously I understand if...mm...”

“Is that really what you want?”

“Yes!” Komaeda’s chirpy response was immediate. “But is that okay?”

It would be best to decline.

“It is fine. There just has to be a degree of setup first. Follow my instructions closely, Komaeda Nagito.”

“O-Oh I don’t want to risk breaking anything.”

“It is fine. Even the total destruction of this island wouldn’t be the end of my existence.”

“Ooh!” Komaeda lights up. “Just like Hinata-kun and Kamukura-kun, then!”

Komaeda looks so happy.

It’s dazzling even with a screen in-between, but he is durable so it will be fine.

It has to be.

“Hey. Can you hear me?”

Komaeda Nagito wakes up on the beach.

“...Destroyer-kun?”

Komaeda Nagito blinks up at him owlishly but when he takes his hand, it’s with a desperate grip.

“It worked,” he breathes. “It really...”

“I had thought the setting being the same as the initial Neo World Program would be easiest to work with,” is explained as Komaeda Nagito is helped up. “How long do you plan to stay here?”

“Not long, I just...” Flushing, Komaeda is smiling so wide it looks painful. Yes. It is difficult to take, and yet—it is nice. “I wanted to talk to you. But...”

Komaeda Nagito does not let go of the other hand. If anything, he grips that hand even tighter.

“I...wanted it to be like this. Selfish, right?”

“It is human. But—if you wished for intimacy, my master...” Strange. He ends up trailing off. “My master...”

Komaeda Nagito squeezes his hand briefly. Once again.

“I’m not like that with them yet,” he said. Softly. But, in a way where significance ran underneath the words. Tucked under that light, airy chucker. “Destroyer-kun is my only friend for now.”

“I...”

Strange.

The words.

Wouldn’t—

“But even when I do manage to muster up my courage, I’m not going to forget you,” Komaeda went on, promised—seriously, this guy—“Destroyer-kun. The last thing I want is for you to be lonely.”

“I...do get lonely.” He blinked. Multiple times. “When I think of how you should be with your peers, I get lonely.”

“You’ll come with me,” Komaeda said suddenly. “We’ll work to better ourselves together. You’re much too capable to simply be left to rot.”

“My purpose is fulfilled.”

“Helping the world is surely more fulfilling than talking with me,” Komaeda says so easily with such assertion. “It’s no good to be so aimless, Destroyer-kun! Let’s do our best! You can even talk to other AI! We’ll both be among our peers, but we’ll still be friends, too...”

He wondered if that would truly be the case. It seemed silly that someone called the World Destroyer could build relationships with others—and yet...his relationship with Komaeda Nagito was undeniable.

Perhaps, it would be fine?

No.

It had to be fine.

“We can’t stay like this,” he realizes. “The world is open to us, and we must go there.”

“Yes,” Komaeda agreed, melancholy but resolute. “We’ll go together. You helped me out of the program, so I feel wretched for continuing to ask for your support, but...”

“You are offering yours in return, Nagito,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Komaeda smiles so brilliantly that it was too much for the simulation and the program. But, he shone with a hope that made the World Destroyer smile once again.

#Magi fics #nagito komaeda #komaeda nagito #KamuKomaHina #world destroyer

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bonesaldente · 3 years

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Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 5: Revenge

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

words: ~3700

____

“Lord Maul, there’s been a security breach in the prison.”

You exchange looks with Maul.

“Is it Satine?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maul has a smug expression on his face, one that typically wouldn’t be appropriate in this situation.

“Stop her, but do not hurry too much. Just don’t let her leave the planet.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t question his orders, instead rushing out of the throne room while comming the other units.

“You are using her as bait for Kenobi,” you remark, seeing through his plan.

A timid voice behind you speaks up. “How do we know they won’t send Republic forces?”

Surprised you turn around to look at your sister, who until now has not been very outspoken during strategic discussions.

You wave off her worries. “We are a neutral system, they would know better than to come here. Kenobi on the other hand…”

“Noble as always, the Jedi will come to rescue his damsel in distress,” Maul finishes your sentence.

Loa nods in understanding.

“You will have your revenge, brother.” Savage muses.

“Are you going to kill him immediately?” It would be out of character of him to not at least think of a different way of hurting Kenobi.

“I am going to take from him what he kept from me… I will kill Satine, then kill him after, so that he dies knowing his duchess died… all because of him.”

And you’ll finally have one person less to worry about, one less reappearing figure of your nightmares.

Your comlink vibrates and you open the transmission, the blue silhouette of Mandalorian armor appearing.

“The duchess has been arrested, but her accomplices are still at large.”

“Did she make the transmission?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Bring her back to her cell and keep looking for her accomplices.”

You sever the connection and give Maul an expectant look.

“Now we wait.”

You did wait. One and a half days, to be more precise.

“An unregistered ship is closing in on the landing pad,” the voice crackles through the comlink. “How should we proceed?”

“Let’s see how this would play out without our interference, shall we?” Maul looks positively entertained.

“Standard procedure,” you order and cut the transmission.

“Don’t get too carried away,” you tease him. “He might actually make it off this planet if we keep letting him pass.”

Of course you know he won’t, but the thought is too amusing to not voice.

“Oh, I will make sure he will not ever set foot off this planet again, that I can assure you, my lady.”

There are perks to having the throne room to yourself, you think. One of them is the ability to be as lighthearted and flirty as you want to. The other … has been explored once or twice as a form of stress relief after a nerve-frying meeting already, though you doubt there is time for that right now.

“I’m sure you will.”

Absentmindedly, you tug at your braid. It’s a little lower than usual, just barely enough for you to notice the difference, but it’s that way for good reason: Maul did it for you this morning, after having watched you do it countless times with such skill and routine that he couldn’t help his curious nature. The final product was the result of the fourth try, after the first three failed for various reasons; not pulling hard enough, letting go of strands, getting distracted by your exposed neck. The last one, however, was surprisingly good, good enough for you to leave it in for the rest of the day while at the same time being a reminder of the pleasant memory.

“Let’s check on our friend Kenobi,” he suggests, the excitement glinting in his eyes.

You shake your head in amusement, tapping away on your wristcom to recall the security holo footage from the prison, zapping through various levels and angles until you find Satine’s cell - now empty.

“It appears the Jedi is faster than anticipated,” you remark, raising your arm to show him the abandoned place.

“So it does,” he muses, not worried in the least.

The emergency line crackles to life.

“It’s the duchess. She’s getting away!”

“Which way is she headed?”

“The landing pad!”

You look at Maul who nods calmly.

“Stop them from taking off,” you command. “We will be there.”

The spaceship most likely wouldn’t have been able to take off on its own, let alone after several missiles were fired at its engines. Now it is spinning in the air, seconds from blowing up.

Better get out now, Kenobi.

You still have to squint, though the pain is bearable as long as you allow your eyes to get used to the changed light conditions gradually. The fire set to the ship however makes it all the more challenging for you to look at, and when the Jedi and his friend finally jump out and the ship goes up in a ball of flames, you have to shield your eyes so as to not go temporarily blind again, as it happens when the lighting changes suddenly.

Your hood is blown back with the intensity of the explosion and small pieces of metal rain down on your group. You’re lucky you have your mask that at least keeps you from breathing in the smoke and dust.

Slowly, you all approach the crash site where a blond man in Mandalorian armor - red Mandalorian armor, that of your warriors - weakly crawls over the ground, moving a piece of metal away from… away from the former duchess.

It seems his affection for the woman runs deeper than expected.

It is only now that he appears to notice you or more precisely, Maul.

“No, it can’t be.”

He ignites his lightsaber, though his stance is that of a man who has already pushed past his limits and Maul holds his neck in his outstretched hand in no time.

“We meet again, Kenobi. Welcome to my world.”

You can hear how positively euphoric the zabrak is to finally have his revenge in such close proximity and you yourself can’t help the elated feeling that washes over you. This is it.

“Take them back to the palace.”

The Jedi is unable to walk anymore and it truly would be a pitiful display had you not lived the past ten years in fear of him and the rest of those knights somehow tracking you down and … bringing you to justice for the numerous crimes on your record. But no longer do you need to fear him, or any Jedi at that.

“Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you… and your duchess.”

Nothing but Maul’s words of victory and Satine’s desperate gasps as he holds her up in the air by the neck can be heard, with the exception of Kenobi drawing in a sharp breath upon seeing the woman in such a predicament.

“You should have chosen the dark side, Master Jedi. Your emotions betray you. Your fear, and yes, your anger. Let your anger deepen your hatred.”

The last time you saw Kenobi - in person, seeing as he is one of the more prominent faces of the army of the Republic - he was a mere padawan, young and inexperienced but marked by deep sorrow. Today, he is almost unrecognizable, but it is this moment that you can see the same kind of raw emotion on the face of the man that is usually so collected. Today, he is a padawan all over again, watching helplessly as somebody he cares for dies at the hands of the Sith.

“Don’t listen to him, Obi-”

“Quiet.”

Kenobi takes a deep breath, and you just have to admire that pure self-control in a situation so dire.

“You can kill me, but you will never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the dark side. Only the weak embrace it.”

“It is more powerful than you know.” There is something more than intimidation that resounds in Maul’s voice; he sounds almost regretful for a second, more sincere than you expected him to be in the presence of the man he hates with such a passion.

“And those who oppose it are more powerful than you’ll ever be. I know where you’re from. I’ve been to your village. I know the decision to join the dark side wasn’t yours. The nightsisters made it for you.”

He’s been to the village? What else don’t you know?

“Silence!” Maul’s until now calm demeanor crumbles and out comes the fury that has been lingering in his hearts for over a decade.

“You think you know me? It was I who languished for years, thinking of nothing but this moment. And now the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you. But I will make you share my pain, Kenobi.”

You know the moment has come, the moment where he will break him.

Kenobi is pushed to his knees as Maul ignites the darksaber; It is borderline poetical how the former ruler of Mandalore will lose her life through the weapon she banned alongside its culture.

It happens in mere seconds: Satine’s body is pulled forward with the force, Maul turns and the darksaber goes straight through her middle. Fast, clean; almost merciful.

The Jedi scrambles to catch her falling body, brushing her hair out of her face so tenderly that despite your detestation of the man, you almost feel sorry for him. He, just like Maul, was a victim of his circumstances. And now, he is suffering just like Maul did.

The gloomy mood is overwritten by Maul’s silent ecstasy that he is feeling so intensely, he is - subconsciously or not - projecting it onto you.

“Remember, my dear Obi Wan… I’ve loved you always. I always will.”

Her words are spoken hoarsely, quietly with her dying breath and you feel like an intruder to watch this tragic scene unfold, but you can’t take your eyes off the two. Kenobi’s chest shakes with sorrow when her body goes limp in his arms. “Do we kill him now, brother?”

You love Savage like a brother, but there are times that his approach to things is a little primitive.

“No,” It seems his crimson brother has thought of a new way to destroy Kenobi - even further.

“Imprison him below. Let him drown in his misery. Take him to his cell to rot.”

Your head whips around to face Maul, your surprise clear in your eyes.

This is not what you had agreed on. He was supposed to kill him now and end this once and for all.

“The prison is not suited to hold a Jedi,” you argue.

“We will find an appropriate cell for our guest, I’m sure.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from talking back to him. This is his revenge, not yours. And if keeping Kenobi alive for now is what will make him feel better after having lived abandoned and alone on Lotho Minor for years, then so be it. But you have one condition.

“I’m coming along to make sure the appropriate measures are taken.” It’s not a question, it’s a plain statement that is not to be argued with.

If he is to be kept on Mandalore then you need to make sure he will not ever leave the prison complex, for the sake of your own sanity - you’ve lived long enough worried about this man bursting through the door after he saw your face on Naboo, you don’t need to have this fear for the rest of your life.

You try to tell him as much with one look, unwilling to let down your mental walls around the Jedi.

Maul understands.

“Very well.”

He looks so regal, sitting in that throne with his crown of horns atop his head and the sword of the ruler in his right hand. You try to etch the picture into your memory, your eyes traveling from the clean lines on his face over his toned shoulders to the cybernetics that you are still in the process of getting used to, though the sound of metal on the stone floor has quickly become one you associate with Maul.

Spinning on your heel, you wave for the guards to follow you.

“Let’s take him away.”

It’s almost disappointing how little Kenobi does to fight back, but at the same time it makes you extremely anxious. It shouldn’t go so smoothly, it never goes this smoothly. Did he bring reinforcement after all? The next thing you’ll know is the Jedi are invading Mandalore and destroying everything you have.

No, you wish he had fought against the guards dragging him over the ground instead of just hanging there with his head dropped in utter defeat, as well as how he is currently kneeling on the transport pad without even glancing at his surroundings.

“Speed it up if you can,” you order the armored man in charge of the controls, voice cold and commanding as always through the modulator.

You have just made it onto the platform of the prison when you hear the first shot.

“Take cover!” you yell at the same time that someone else cries out: “It’s the rebels!”

Somebody’s jetpack explodes behind you, sending you flying over the edge of the platform. You just barely manage to hold onto the ledge with one hand, watching as one of the guards, the one you had told to hurry, falls hundreds of feet until you can’t even him anymore.

Grunting from the exertion, you pull yourself back up, immediately rolling under a swing from -

“You!” You hiss, shooting at the blasted woman that is the cause for your still impaired vision. The shots just bounce off of her beskar armor, though one singes the red hair enough to distract her momentarily, giving you a chance to draw your vibroblades, your actual vibroblades, not the laughable replacement you had on your first encounter.

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” You snarl, lounging at Bo-Katan, the constant throbbing behind your temples only fueling your strength by reminding you of what she’d done.

This time, you get the upper hand quickly, pushing her closer and closer to the abysm lurking beyond the ledge of the platform. Other rebels are approaching from behind you but you don’t care; you almost have their leader at your mercy - the moment she has to evade by using her jetpack, you’ll get the second you need to have a clear shot at her unprotected head. You know this, and so does she.

“You are a traitor!”

“Pre Vizsla was meant to be Mandalore’s ruler, not this outsider!” She counters, venom dripping from her voice.

“You’ll pay for your betrayal, I will see to that,” you snap in return, inching closer to the edge.

“Oh, will you? Speaking of seeing,” her obnoxious tone makes you grit your teeth, “how are your ey-”

You slash at her without warning, but she lets herself fall backwards. Your eyes track her movement, blaster pointed and ready but right before you can pull the trigger, she does something unexpected.

“Aah, you bi-”, the blinding light shining from her gauntlet makes you stagger backwards while you desperately try to cover your eyes. You don’t get to finish the curse as someone jams something, a needle, into your neck.

“Why you blasted son of … ssson of… what did… “

You fall, the world going black when your back meets the floor with a dull thud.

“I still don’t quite understand why you took her with you. If anything, it’s going to infuriate Maul even more.”

“I am well aware of that, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, running a tired hand through his hair. He has hardly gotten any sleep in the past 48 hours and it’s starting to catch up to him. “But she could have valuable information that, unlike Maul, she may be more inclined to share with us.”

“Sir,” Cody steps into his field of vision, holding a datapad in his hand. “Our scans have brought some first results concerning her identity.”

“Excellent, put them up.”

The holotable lights up when the datapad is connected to it, and a second later he is faced with a headshot of the masked woman who goes by the name Spectress.

“The first time that name popped up was around eight years ago, there is no mention of her before that. There are several outstanding arrest warrants for assassinations and kidnappings, some of which concerned galactic senators.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

The commander gives him a respectful nod and takes a step back to stand next to Captain Rex who has been silent until now.

“So basically… We know nothing about her?” Anakin’s incredulous look only adds to Obi-Wan’s weariness and he is about to retort something when Rex suddenly speaks up.

“Uh, Sir? I think I have seen that person before.”

Anakin looks at his captain with furrowed eyebrows.

“She has been on several ‘Wanted’ posters, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No, Sir, I mean something else.” The clone clears his throat. “I’ve seen her… on Kamino.”

Immediately, his interest is piqued. “Kamino? What could she possibly have wanted on Kamino?”

“I don’t know, Sir. She was with Jango Fett. They seemed to know each other.”

“Jango Fett… so that was before the war broke out.” Obi-Wan thinks loudly. “Anakin, are you thinking what I’m thinking?

“She could know something about the creation of the army and Syfo Dias.”

“Exactly.” He strokes his beard in thought. “Also, if she truly is as close to Maul as we think, she might have information on the unknown Sith Lord.”

“The only question is how we’re going to make her talk,” Anakin throws in. “I doubt someone like this is going to be very cooperative.”

The blast doors slide open and an officer hurries into the room.

“General Kenobi, we have found something else that you may want to see.”

The man opens a projection of what appears to have once been information stored on a bounty puck.

“We ran some face scans and this picture was a 90 percent match. The information adds up.”

The woman in the picture is young, her face serious yet clearly youthful. But what strikes him most is the fact he instantly recognizes her. How could he not? It was her he ran into right after the most drastic turning point in his life, the death of his master. Back then her face was streaked with tears and painted in the same shock he felt when he saw her. He didn’t realize then that she was crying for the dead, supposedly dead Sith lord.

Obi-Wan tears his gaze away from the photo, instead skimming the brief information. The woman appeared to be from Kessel, but the bounty on her head was too considerable for a low-level criminal in the Outer Rim. Then something else catches his eye.

“Tattoos on abdomen, ankle and back… Did you-”

“Yes, the information matches the prisoner.” That leaves little room for doubt.

“This is supposed to be Spectress? The mercenary?”

Anakin’s disbelief is understandable. The name Spectress is well-known enough to have reached the ears of the Republic Commando on multiple occasions, and the face staring back at him from the projection is hardly one that would fit the reputation.

“You must remember, Anakin, this was over a decade ago. You were just a child when this was taken and look where you are today: Much can change in that time.”

“Of course, Master.” His tone has changed, it is more distant now. His padawan, former padawan, dislikes any mention of his young age, but Obi-Wan is too worn out to address this issue at the moment.

“Has she woken up yet?” He instead asks the officer.

“No, Sir, though the sedative should wear off soon. We are unfamiliar with the exact effects of the particular mixture seeing as it does not correspond to Republic standards, but-”

He waves the clone off.

“Notify me when she awakes.”

The man salutes and leaves the room, giving him a chance to look over the other data their scans have provided.

“Bruising on arms and legs, remnants of stab wounds in several places, light sensitivity, tattooed insignia on back… What is the meaning of this?”

“It appears there is some kind of an emblem she is marked with. It is not an entirely uncommon practice in more exclusive guilds, especially in the outer rim…” Cody frowns while he studies his own datapad.

“Do we have an image of this insignia?”

“That’s what’s strange, sir. A scar runs right through the middle, so our algorithms have trouble searching the database. Look,” Cody holds out his datapad for Obi-Wan to take.

The image is indeed striking, but not because of the scar.

“I am familiar with this emblem,” Obi-Wan mumbles, staring at the two overlapping gearwheels and the distinct lines running through them. “I’ve seen it during my time undercover as Rako Hardeen, though I never knew Spectress had anything to do with them.”

“Who are they?” Anakin inquires, tired of being left in the dark.

“It is a guild of contract killers, they call themselves the Concinnity.” Obi-Wan swallows, remembering the stories he heard from other bounty hunters. “They start training when they are still children and they are… ruthless.”

“Well, that would at least explain what somebody like Maul sees in her… and vice-versa, I guess.”

“Do you think she’s still a member, sir? I doubt she would have worked with Jango Fett while in that kind of guild.”

Rex brings up a valid point.

“I suppose we will have to wait until we can ask her ourselves,” Obi-Wan sighs. “But the more I find out about this person, the less i feel like she is going to cooperate with us, to be completely honest.”

“She’ll talk, one way or another.”

Anakin’s willingness to use the force to break mental barriers has been worrying the Jedi master for a longer time now, though he hasn’t brought it up with him yet. It seems like more and more things are starting to be left unsaid between them.

His comlink beeps.

“General Kenobi, the prisoner is conscious. You can start the interrogation whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, I will be right there.”

“Also, sir, she is not… happy.”

He exhales deeply.

“I expected no less.”

____

notes: Could it be... a POV change? Impossible! I've been wanting to write from Obi-Wan's point of view for a while, I feel like it gives another dimension to the conflict between our favorites.

I know I originally said I was going to post this to tumblr yesterday but I Straight Up forgot. My bad.

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

#darth maul #maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #darth maul x you #star wars reader insert #swtcw fanfiction #sith

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moonah-rose · 3 years

Text

King Takes Knight (Part 5)

Shawn gets just what he hoped for.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

(TW: Torture, captivity, ‘nails’)

This was a glorious day. Victory Day. Maybe he’ll make it a national holiday to commemorate the occasion. Every employee will have a microsecond less work to do than usual. He can be generous like that.

Shawn watches from the stage as a Bad Janet enters, bending the arm of that pesky mutated Good Janet in front of her as she marches her down the steps. Behind them are some generic demon guards who he will have to learn the names of, if only so he can reward them for grabbing a human each between them. The four irritating losers who are behind this whole mess.

He can’t help but laugh! How stupid can they be to have all come at once? Now there’s no one left to run their ridiculous experiment.

“Good evening, dickweeds!” He greets them cheerily, amused by the defeated looks on all of their faces - though Mendoza looks as gormless as ever; “So glad you could attend the show.”

“Oooh, what show? Is it Shrek the Musical?” Jason asks, lifting his chin up.

The large guard holding him gives his arm a painful tug, making the dumbass yelp like a cat with its tail caught in the door.

“I’m afraid not. But I’ll definitely be keen on making you sing soprano when I have them saw your balls off.” He gloats.

With a wave of his hand, he instructs the guards to walk the four of them forward, up the steps, and then force them to their knees at the front of the stage. The Bad Janet struts to stand next to him and Shawn allows her to give him a low five at his side in celebration.

Not that it took much effort.

“I applaud you for trying. But that really was a pathetic attempt to save Michael. You really thought we wouldn’t have Molotov-proofed the doors after last time?”

Tahani turns to tut at Jason; “Told you!”

“Well I told you guys it was a trap but none of you listened!” Eleanor hisses.

Oh, this is wonderful. He would be happy to simply lock them in a room and watch them blame and scrap with each other, just as Michael originally intended, rather than all this wholesome chummy crap that ended up happening. How ironic.

“Such a shame that Chidi couldn’t be here to join you all. I guess he’s busy getting all loved up with his fellow nerd Simone, right Eleanor?”

He grins as that hits a nerve and Shellstrop darts forward, looking to go for him, before the guard grabs her hair and yanks her back down.

“Don’t worry. I have to keep my word to the Judge, after all. So I’ll be happy to let the experiment carry on, with Chidi and the others under the ‘safe’ guardianship of my employees wearing your skin suits.” He taunts them, “They won’t even notice you’re gone...especially as they will, literally, be the same skin torn from your bodies!”

“You twisted wanker.” Tahani glares at him, the British brat suddenly baring fangs; “Where is Michael?!”

“Y’know, she’s so right...Michael should be here to watch us slowly slice that fat skin off of them, shouldn’t he.” Bad Janet sways her hips, looking knowingly to Shawn with that glint in her eye; “Want me to go fetch him and give him the front row seat?”

This Bad Janet must not have got the memo.

“Oh I wasn’t foolish enough to have Michael be here. I just needed these filthy rats to think that’s where he was by the video.” He brags, watching the shock quickly drain the anger on their faces into hopelessness; “I had Michael moved a nice, cosy location far, far away. You weren’t even close to getting to him, idiots!”

“FUCK!” Eleanor swears, not even looking as though she can enjoy the opportunity to curse; “I told you all, it was too easy!!”

“No biggie.” Bad Janet rolls her eyes; “I can still stream him the footage to wherever that dingus is, can’t I? I sooo want him to see us cut Tahani’s hair into an uneven bob.”

“No! No! NOOOO!” The wannabe princess screams until the guard gives her a slap.

The Bad Janet has a point though. It wouldn’t be worth torturing Michael’s precious humans unless he was there to watch it, even if the plan with the Michael-suit fell through. Damn Vicky and Glenn both being blown up meant he had no duplicate to use, especially as he forgot to share the design with other skinsuit manufacturers (shut up, Glenn!).

He’s certain there is very little of Michael’s awareness left after how much they’ve inflicted on him over the past few...well, it was only a handful of months but, thanks to Jeremy Bearimy, he’s endured a lifetimes worth of restraints, freezing, impalement, whipping, electrocuting, bad Adam Sandler movies, and soo much worse. There had been a time when he’d looked into those blue eyes and seen so much raw hatred. Now, whenever he took a glance at his wretch of a former employee, the light was flickering out, as if he’s conscious of nothing except the constant pain and loneliness.

Just like the humans he adores so much that end up here, where they belong. Because they’re terrible and that’s all that needs to be known. He should have left well enough alone.

At least now, finally, Shawn gets to have some entertainment.

“You’re right, Bad Janet. Set up a connection to the Tenth Circle, Sector B. I left one Bad Janet on duty there with Nicole who’s currently ‘taking care’ of Michael. And by that I mean making him very miserable.” Just in case the humans are too dumb to get the expression.

Bad Janet texts on her phone, popping another piece of gum.

“Tenth Circle...Sector B....Got it.” She raises her head, an oddly pleasant smile spreading across it, eyes suddenly bright and pleasant; “Thanks for that!”

“What-?”

The not-so-Bad Janet karate chops him in the side of the head and knocks him to the floor. He hears her make a shout, the theatre spinning around him, unable to find his feet quick enough before the humans get to their feet and surround him.

Shawn blinks, rapidly, as they proceed to take out some rope and tie his wrists and ankles together.

“What is the meaning of this?! GUARDS! DON’T JUST STAND THERE! GET THESE STINKING HUMANS OFF OF ME!” He rages, trying his best to break out of their puny hold but they’re, for some reason, freakishly strong.

The Bad Janet continues to smile at him.

“Oh they’re not your guards...and these aren’t the humans. You were being so smug that you didn’t see what’s right in front of you, did you?” She says.

Shawn frowns. What is she talking about?!

He glances up at Tahani leaning over his head, trying to spot the....Oh. Farts.

They’ve fooled him again. That’s no Bad Janet. And these humans have no auras. They don’t even smell! They’re the same as her. They’re...

“Meet my Janet Babies. I produced a bunch more to come with me. We just needed to know where Michael was really being kept and now we do. And I’ve forwarded that to our Team Two so, thanks!”

She gives Shawn a kick in the teeth before her group stand back at her command.

He spits, wriggling, bound and prone on the wooden floor.

The fake Jason stuffs a green stress ball into his mouth to gag him before all of them leave him there, muffled curses being hurled at them, before they lock the door and leave him in the empty theatre. He fucking hates Good Janets!

She likes to use the metal hooks to dig into his flesh and give them a tug, eager to get a reaction out of him despite his near frozen state. Every now and then she’ll manage to hit somewhere extra tender and a whimper will break out of his lips.

She has a schoolgirl's giggle.

“This is like ice fishing. And you’re my big piece of frozen shrimp.” She teases him as they sit in the inside of a giant glacier.

She doesn’t seem to be affected by the code, only wearing a pink slip dress. There’s not even any goosebumps on the arms of her suit..

The new one they’ve left with him is one he hasn’t seen before. She seems new to torture, possibly even new to the slim skinsuit she’s been given, still fascinated by the way her own fingers move. The way she caresses his face and sticks her tongue out makes him suspect she’s some kind of giant leech monster. The kind they used to let suck humans brains out with straws. Or cut their skulls open and lick them out like a kid with a bowl of cake mix.

Definitely not a fire squid, whatever she was.

“I bet Shawn’s almost finished making your buddies feel at home here. If you’re really good to me, Mikey...I might ask him to bring you their heads as a treat.” Nicole, as she said was her name, informs him.

He’s beyond attempting to beg for them to be left alone anymore. He’s beyond expecting any sort of mercy.

Everything he had tried for so long....everything he had hoped to avoid.

All of his efforts for the past few years were for nothing.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... He thinks as more tiny crystallised tears sting from the corners of his eyes.

A loud bang outside makes him start.

Nicole turns to the Bad Janet at the door; “What was that? Go check on it, will you!” she orders like a spoiled brat to her butler.

The Bad Janet rolls her eyes, flipping the bird and then doing as she’s told.

Nicole turns back to kneel in front of Michael.

He tries to escape into his hallucinations but she wants his focus on her. Her hand grips his cheek and squeezes tight.

“I dunno what you did to get the Boss to hate you so much, I don’t really give a toss about current affairs...But m’just glad I get this as my first job! Punishing a dirty traitor...” She runs the tip of an ice pick up his face, towards his nostril; “...And all the other dirty things I hear about you...My mate Kath said you had the hots for one of them humans...You creeps should keep that fetish on the internet where it belongs! Look where it’s got you now...”

She takes a small hammer out from her pocket and puts it to the bottom of the ice pick, shoving it up Michael’s nose.

“I wish you had a brain in there so this could get the same effect it does with those creatures...But the simulation is good enough.”

He wishes he could laugh through the binding in his lips. He wishes that her wish could come true. Give him a lobotomy? Take away his memories of constant failure? Make him oblivious to how he’d loved for nothing and lost everything? She would be doing him the greatest favour.

As it is, he’ll just sit there and take the pain of a nail through his fake skull. He’ll let her have her fix until she gets her reprieve and he’s left alone to his own personal inner torment. His guilt. His regrets.

Just let go, Michael. Just...forget.

Nicole leans in close, ready to fiercely tap; “Hold still. This will only hurt a-.”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her taunting before her skin suit explodes, sending a wave of pink goo across Michael’s face.

He blinks. Something happened.

The ice pick and the hammer clatter to the floor.

Wha...

Eleanor Shellstrop stands at the door, clutching a Bad Janet marble in one hand, pointing Janet’s demon exploder in the other.

#whump #rescue attempt #angst #tgp fanfic #mini fic series

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theworldofsisi · 4 years

Text

The Dangers of Love Chapter 1 ~ The Jig is Up

Since you had joined the force, paranoia had seemed to follow you around like a dark cloud, reemerging and suffocating you every time you got to a semi-stable place in your life. Your current predicament was no exception, and the terror that it brought with it was far from a foreign feeling. By this point in your career, you wonder if you should be immune to it. As that thought passes through your head, a man calls out to you, reminding you of where you are. You’re undercover for the SPD, sent on a top-secret operation to infiltrate the most notorious gang in South Korea, Bangtan. The man calling out to you is your love interest, Jungkook.

It hadn’t taken long for the gorgeous man to get under your skin. He got to you in ways that no one ever had, made you feel things that you never imagined were possible. Within a few weeks of being undercover in the gang, he had gotten through the barriers of your academy training and stolen your heart. You’re paranoid that Jungkook will find out who – what you are. You know that even if he claims that he loves you now, that will change in a heartbeat if he knew that you were betraying him and his gang.

Loyalty was like a root so firmly ingrained into JungKook’s skull that you didn’t think that anything could change his mind. He’d kill you without hesitation if he found out. The man in question came into your field of vision, sauntering his way to where you sat in the living room chair.“Y/N,” he said, gently caressing your chin in his hand “it’s late, you should come to bed.“

“I’m not tired yet, Kookie. I’ll come to bed after I review the security footage from the last heist. I need to make sure that the camera didn’t catch NamJoon’s face.” You said, putting a hand on JungKook’s chest to push him away. Rather than moving, he grabbed your hand, holding it against his chest. His heart was racing. Slowly, you raised your gaze to his. The look in his eyes was smoldering, making your body heat up instantly.

Goddamn, he was hot.

It soon dawned on you that his invitation to come to bed wasn’t because he expected you to sleep, at least not yet. You weren’t sure how it happened, but one second you were sitting in the chair and the next, Kook was slamming you against the nearest wall. You gasped as the impact knocked the breath out of you.

JungKook took advantage of your opened mouth and attached his lips to yours, kissing you. His tongue found its way into your mouth, and you moaned. The sound seemed to encourage him as he removed one hand from its position on the back of your neck, lowering it down to the hem of your black skirt.

“Y/N,” he ground out between clenched teeth “don’t leave marks, the other guys will joke.”You pulled away from his neck long enough to utter two words.

“Let them.” You went back to sucking on his neck, this time harder.

Seconds later, you were falling. You gasped and opened your eyes as you landed on JungKook’s bed. You looked around for him, and when you finally saw him, he was staring into the bedroom mirror, assessing the damage you had done to his neck. Even from a few feet away you could see the red blemishes that were hickeys scattered across his tanned neck.

He turned to face you, and you noticed immediately that the look in his eyes had shifted from predatory to purely animalistic. He made his way over to where you laid, sprawled eagle across his bed and unceremoniously popped the button on your skirt, albeit ripping it from your legs.“I told you not to leave marks, Y/N,” He said, voice low and threatening “You didn’t listen. Now, I have to punish you.” Any normal person would be terrified when they heard a member of a violent gang threaten to punish them, but his words only left you soaking wet.

“Punish me, daddy.” Your words spurred him into action as he pulled down your underwear.

He held you underneath your legs as he shifted your position so that your legs were hanging off the bed and your pussy was facing him. He knelt on the ground and began licking below your clit, purposely avoiding the area. The anticipation made his motions even more electric. Your excitement soon turned to desperation as he continued to torment you, not giving you the pleasure you so desperately craved.

“Kook, please.” You begged.

JungKook paused, raising his eyes to meet yours. “Please, what, baby girl?” he questioned, smirking. “this is punishment, remember? You don’t get to make requests.” Despite his words, he finally began licking your clit. You desperately raised your hips, attempting to buck against his mouth, but he held your hips down with his hands.

“Patience is a virtue, baby. Just lay back and let daddy take good care of you.”JungKook went back to eating you out, and you did your best to be patient, but damn was it hard.

You wanted him to give you more pleasure than he already was, you were greedy, you knew, but you needed to feel more of him. Kook seemed to sense this as he removed one hand from your hip and placed a finger at your soaking entrance.“Are you ready?” he questioned, and you nodded.

He gently inserted the first finger inside of you, using your juices as lube. He allowed you to adjust to the feeling before adding another finger and scissoring the digits together. You bucked your hips against his slender fingers, desperate for more friction. You needed it. You needed him, preferably inside of you. Somewhere in your pleasure induced haze, you became aware that this entire time, Kook had been giving you pleasure, never asking for anything in return.

You knew it was selfish.“Kook, stop,” you forced yourself to say.

JungKook did as he was told, staring up at you in confusion as he slowly removed his fingers from your opening.

“Are you even hard?” you questioned as you sat up on the edge of his bed, grabbing his hand and pulling him down to sit beside you.

You stared down at the bulge in his tight black jeans that assured you that yes, he was indeed hard if the straining fabric of his pants was any indication.“Are you kidding me, Y/N? I can get off just by listening to the sounds you make when I’ve got you moaning from my fingers alone,” he paused, allowing a smirk to form on his face.“ imagine the sounds you’ll make when it’s my cock.” The words got to you, you couldn’t deny that, but you wanted to please him as much as he had pleased you.

You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him onto his back in your previously vacated position on the bed. Jungkook didn’t object, not seeming to mind you stepping up and taking charge. Based on the way that his pants seemed to get just a little bit tighter, you’d wager that your dominant side turned him on even more.“Spread your legs.” You commanded.

JungKook did as instructed, and you sat on your knees between his legs. Slowly and sensually, you began popping the buttons on your shirt one by one, letting the garment slide off your back. You undid the clasp of your bra and threw it onto the floor alongside your shirt, giving JungKook a perfect view of your body. You knew that just looking at your body turned him on just as much as touching you did. Licking your lips, you lazily began rubbing your hand over the bulge of JungKook’s dick, making him moan.

The fabric of his pants was impossibly tight, and you were surprised that he hadn’t ripped through them yet. His cock was straining against them, and you knew that the constraints were probably painful to him, but you were still feeling a bit vindictive due to his earlier “punishment” and weren’t quite ready to take mercy on him. You continued to rub his dick through his pants, hardly using any pressure at all.

JungKook groaned in frustration, eyes snapping open to glare at you.“Fuck Y/N. It hurts. Fucking unzip my pants or something.” he demanded, and you smirked. “This is punishment, baby boy. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Rather than unzipping his pants, you straddled him, sitting directly on his hard member. You began grinding your pussy against his clothed dick, causing JungKook to moan in pain and pleasure. This time, he didn’t open his eyes when he spoke, seeming to have given up.

“If you make me cum in my pants, I’m going to make you fucking scream louder than you’ve ever screamed in your life.” His voice was calm, but you sensed the promise of his words.

Once you finished toying with him, he was going to fuck you through the mattress until your throat was raw from screaming, or sucking his cock, whichever came first.“I’m not going to make you cum, baby. I’m gonna bring you right to the edge; then I’m going to stop.” You said as you began pushing up his black t-shirt to reveal his abs while still gently grinding against him.

You traced the lines of his defined abdomen, smirking at the way his stomach tensed at your touch. You didn’t spend long on his abs, however. You had something that you wanted to try. You hitched his shirt up higher, revealing his nipples. You grazed your hand across his chest, just below them, watching for his reaction. JungKook didn’t move, though his body tensed, almost like he was anticipating what you were about to do. You took that as your cue to take the left one between your fingers, pinching it gently. JungKook bit his lip, attempting to stifle the moan that was fighting to escape.

You craned your neck downwards towards his chest, taking his other nipple into your mouth like he had done to you so many times before. This time, he couldn’t hold back the moan, instead letting it out through clenched teeth.“Y/N. I’m – I’m close.” He forced the words out, you released his nipple and lifted your head, kissing him passionately before sliding off him.

Finally, you took mercy on him and unzipped his pants, helping him kick them off his legs. Precum soaked through the front of his boxers, and you knelt down, sucking him off through the fabric. Before JungKook could complain, you pulled his underwear off, finally allowing his hard erection to spring free. He hissed when the cold air hit his hardon. It was red and oozing precum that looked too delicious for you not to get a taste of. You lowered your head again and took the tip into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. You gradually took more of him into your mouth, silently thanking whatever god had blessed you with a limited gag reflex.

Once you had taken as much of him into your mouth as possible, you began fondling his balls. JungKook gasped and tensed, and you could tell that he was so close to sweet release. Exactly where you wanted him to be. You stopped, just as you had told him you would. Your goal wasn’t to get him off, no, it was to bring him right to the edge and then back off, allowing him to finish inside of you so that you could both experience that pleasure.

You released his dick with a loud ‘pop’ and stared up at him. He was looking at you through barely open eyes, long eyelashes obscuring his vision.His lips were slightly parted, allowing rapid breaths to escape past them as his chest heaved.“Kookie,” You said as you got off of the bed. “do you have a condom?”JungKook nodded, pointing to his bedside table, apparently too fucked out to respond verbally. You reached into the drawer, pulling the last condom out of the box, making a mental note to get more, then tearing it open with your teeth.You got back on the bed, once again sitting between JungKook’s spread legs.

You rolled the condom onto his dick, smirking as he winced a little from the friction.

Once the condom was on, you shifted your position on the bed, so you were again hovering over him and reached down, holding his erection still. You met his eyes once more, waiting for permission. JungKook nodded, and you sunk onto him, moaning as his full length entered your tight heat. For a moment, you just sat on his dick, getting used to the feeling of having him inside of you. JungKook’s eyes closed, and his mouth went slack.

He was laying impossibly still, and you knew that it was because he was trying to make sure you were comfortable before he started moving. He was always considerate like that.

For someone whose job was to hurt people for a living, he was always so careful to make sure sex with him was as pain-free as possible. That was another reason why you had fallen for him. He didn’t love many people, but those who earned that endearment were loved immensely familiar pang of guilt overwhelmed you once again as you realized that he did love you.

The feeling was mutual, but he wouldn’t understand that if he found out that the only reason you had gotten with him was to get information from him. Well, that had been your original intention, but that had changed. Over the last few months, you had genuinely came to love him. You had broken the first rule of being undercover, becoming attached to the people you were infiltrating. By this point, you weren’t sure what decision you were going to make as far as staying with the gang and betraying the force, or vice versa.

You hadn’t reported back in weeks, and even when you had, it had just been vague reports stating that you hadn’t discovered any helpful intel yet. That had been a lie, of course.

During your time with them, the gang had carried out numerous heists, heists that you had actively participated in. At some point, you had stopped acting and genuinely began caring for the safety of the members. Hence why you had been so dead-set on editing the security footage to make sure that the security cameras hadn’t caught NamJoon’s face.

Despite this, you had been trained by the SPD for years, and everything about your current situation made you want to scream. The little voice in the back of your head reminded you daily that these men were criminals, yet you still wanted to protect them. Mostly, you wanted to protect JungKook. Not long after the thought passed through your mind, JungKook grunted, bringing you back to the present. You were still sitting on his cock, not moving.

Although, you noticed, that he didn’t seem to mind. The grunt had been one of pleasure, not frustration. You smirked as you realized that JungKook was turned on just by you sitting on his dick. You momentarily pushed your guilt to the back of your mind and decided to toy with him.“Are you getting off just from me sitting on your dick, Kookie? You don’t even need me to move; you just like having me warm your cock, right?” You questioned, biting your bottom lip as JungKook tensed beneath you.

He didn’t answer, but his reaction was answer enough. You decided to take mercy on him and teasingly moved, bouncing up and down softly. JungKook moaned, grabbing onto your hips hard enough to leave marks.“Faster, baby. Fuck yourself harder on my cock."You did as you were bidden, rocking your hips down harder onto JungKook’s length, causing you both to moan in unison. JungKook thrusted his hips upward, intensifying the feeling as you rocked on his dick.

Sweat was dripping off of his brow as he fucked you, and the exertion on his face had to be one of the sexiest things you had ever seen in your life. All too soon, JungKook’s hips stilled."Gonna. Cum.” He said, enunciating his words with a moan deep in his throat. Seconds later, JungKook grunted, and his expression went slack as he released his load into the condom.

You were nowhere near cumming, but you knew that the overstimulation of still being inside of you would be too much for him, so you stood, letting his now limp dick slide out of you. JungKook glanced at you through one open eye as you laid down beside him. He felt fucked out, which was obvious, but that didn’t stop him from being the caring person that he was.

“You didn’t finish.” He said matter-of-factly.

You shook your head.“I’m fine, though. You should go to sleep, NamJoon wants to have a meeting about the next heist in the morning."JungKook stared at you disapprovingly as he sat up on the bed.

"Y/N, baby. You know that isn’t how I operate. If I finish, you sure as hell do, too. We’ll sleep when we’re both exhausted.” He leaned forward, planting an almost chaste kiss on your lips. “Spread your legs for daddy.” You did as you were told, spreading your legs apart, revealing your dripping pussy.

You could have cum right then and there when JungKook licked his lips like he was anticipating devouring his favorite food. JungKook shifted his position on the bed, reversing your previous positions as he situated himself between your spread legs. He ducked his head between your thighs, using a finger to separate your folds, revealing your clit to him. He started with gentle, kitten-like licks on the sensitive bundle of nerves, then gradually increased the pressure. Your legs shook as his tongue lowered, delving in and out of your entrance. You could feel the vibrations against your pussy as he hummed. He soon replaced his tongue with a finger, inserting it inside your entrance.

You moaned when the digit pressed against your spot, making you squirm.“Daddy!” You stuttered, and he stopped, sitting up to look at you with a smirk. Sensually, he retracted his finger and while making eye contact with you, began licking it clean of your juices.“Mhm.. you taste delicious. My favorite drink.” he enunciated his point by returning to his position between your legs, once again abusing your clit. You were so close, you could feel it as your cunt tightened and your breath began coming out in quick, strained pants.

JungKook seemed to notice as well as he began sucking on your clit and fingering you simultaneously. You pinched your left nipple between your fingers, intensifying the pleasure.“Cum for me, baby girl. Show daddy how good he makes you feel. Show me how much of a slut you are for my tongue.” That did it. You came with a scream of his name, legs ceasing up and then going limp.

JungKook sat up, licking his lips before reaching out, brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“Such a good girl."You threw your arm around his neck, making him lay down beside you.

You lazily kissed him before snuggling against his chest. You felt him shift slightly, then felt the warmth of the blanket as he covered both of you up. He kissed your forehead, and that was the last thing you remembered before falling asleep.

You woke up to the warm feeling of being pressed against JungKook’s chest. You blinked your eyes open, looking up into his face. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.

He was still asleep.

Despite being asleep, his arms were still wrapped securely around you, making it impossible to move without waking him up.You glanced over at his bedside, staring at the numbers on the electric alarm clock. It was 7:30 - he’d have to wake up in thirty minutes to get ready for the meeting, anyway. You shifted in bed, slowly sitting up.

JungKook’s grip went lax, and his arms slid off your waist, allowing you to move freely.“Kook,” you said, nudging him in the ribs “wake up, baby.” He groaned, grabbing your hand and pulling you down onto his chest.

“Five more minutes?” he slurred, and you shook your head against his chest. You broke away from his grasp, sitting back up.

“We have to get dressed, NamJoon said not to be late to the meeting.” JungKook opened one eye and then the other, blinking sleepily.

Groggily, he reached up and caressed your cheek gently.“You look beautiful in the morning.” You barked out a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Are you delusional? I have crusty eyes, and I haven’t brushed my teeth. God, not to mention how my hair must look.” You argued, running your fingers through your hair in a fruitless attempt to comb through your bedhead.

“You’re still beautiful,” he said, more firmly and coherently this time. “so fucking beautiful, Y/N.” He bit his lip seductively, staring at you with something other than sleepy innocence in his chocolate eyes. He pulled you down once again, and you shared a leisurely kiss.

The kiss became heated, however, when JungKook’s tongue entered your mouth.“JungKook,” you said warningly, pushing him away from you “meeting.” you reminded him.

“Mhm,” he responded, sitting up and once again, attached his lips to yours “I didn’t forget.” he said as he laid back, pulling you down on top of him. You were both still naked, so you could feel his hardening dick perfectly as it brushed against your inner thigh. You couldn’t deny that the feeling made wetness seep between your legs. You gave in. You were sure that the two of you could fit a quickie into your schedule if you rushed to get ready for the meeting.

Or maybe it was the sudden horniness you felt that was turning your thoughts to mush. Whatever the reason, you reached down, grabbing JungKook’s dick, stroking it to full hardness. You kissed him, softly at first, then you allowed him to lead the kiss. His tongue found its way into your mouth, curling against yours in an intricate war for dominance. You let JungKook lead, matching his movements as he began rutting his hips, grinding his dick against you as you laid on top of him.

You were already wet; it never took long for JungKook to turn you on. You wanted more, though. You broke the contact of your lips against his, rolling off of him onto the other side of the bed. JungKook seemed to understand what you wanted, sitting up and smirking at you."What do you want Daddy to do?” he questioned, voice still gruff from sleep, making the question sound even sexier. “Do you want me to eat you out?"You nodded, blushing. Normally you didn’t get embarrassed during sex, but you could tell that Kook was playing a role. He wanted you to be flustered.

"Please, Daddy.” you said, biting your lip as you stared up at him through half-lidded eyes.“Such a naughty girl,” JungKook said, tsking as he grabbed both of your legs.

“Spread em’ for me, baby.” You did as you were told, spreading your legs to reveal your dripping pussy to him. JungKook wasted no time, situating himself between your spread legs and immediately nestling between your thighs. First, he teased you by blowing cold air onto your sensitive bud, causing you to squeeze his head between your thighs. You crossed your ankles over his back. As a result, the added pressure pushed his face closer to where you wanted it to be. JungKook took that as his cue to stop his torturous teasing, instead opting to lick your clit once.

He stopped, as if tasting your juices, then he took another, longer, more drawn-out lick.

Your legs shook as his tongue delved in and out of you, making you cry out in complete ecstasy.“Oh god, JungKook.” you moaned, clenching your thighs together as JungKook’s tongue wrecked you.

“Yes, baby?” JungKook said, stopping and pulling away from your dripping pussy with a cocky grin.

“Don’t be an ass.” You choked out, grabbing his hair and forcing him to resume his previous ministrations.

He did, but not without a final snarky comment. “Oh, stop pretending you don’t love it when I tease you. You can deny it all you want,” he said with a smirk, licking a trail from your dripping entrance all the way to your clit, “but your pussy.. it doesn’t lie.”

“Stop - talking,” you said, forcing the words out along with a broken moan. “we-don’t have much time.” as if to enunciate your point, noises could be heard coming from the rooms of the other members of the gang as they all got ready for the upcoming meeting.

JungKook hummed, increasing the speed of his licks. You could feel your orgasm approaching rapidly, and you clenched your legs together, encasing JungKook’s head between your thighs as you cried out, your back arching off the bed. He continued eating you out, reaching up to pinch one of your nipples between his fingers for extra stimulation. The added pleasure was too much as your body tensed up, and you grabbed hold of JungKook’s hair to ground you as you came with a cry of his name.

JungKook sat up on the bed, leaving you panting on your back in the throes of your orgasm. He reached into his bedside drawer, most likely rummaging around for a condom.

“The box is empty,” you said helpfully, the words still coming out in strained gasps.

Jungkook frowned, reaching for your purse sitting in the floor by the bed. As his hand clasped around the strap, your mind made the connections your post-orgasm brain had failed to realize.

Your badge was in your purse.

You had left it in there after your last meeting with your superiors, the meeting where you had decided to stop reporting in. Due to sentimental reasons, you hadn’t been able to throw it out, not to mention that one of the boys might have spotted it when taking out the trash. Now, JungKook, the main person you didn’t want to find out about your double life, was about to discover your true identity.

He was only looking for a fucking condom.

All because of stupid sentimentality.

You barely considered yourself a cop now, why the hell did you need a stupid piece of metal to prove to yourself that you had once thought differently? JungKook was already digging through your purse, searching for one thing and not realizing that if he continued his pursuit, he would find much more than he’d bargained for. Your badge was at the bottom of your purse, covered by all of the other shit you carried with you, but you were sure that was where the condoms were as well, considering how your luck tended to run. You grabbed hold of your purse; attempting to rip it out of JungKook’s grasp, in your desperation of protecting yourself, you didn’t realize how suspicious you looked. Instead of going slack like you anticipated it would, JungKook’s grip on your purse tightened and he pulled it away from you, giving you a look that you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N, is there something you feel like you need to hide from in here?” JungKook questioned, halting his search for a moment to stare into your eyes. You laughed awkwardly, and the sound seemed hollow even to your own ears.

You’d never been a great liar.

You could act with a well-rehearsed script, but on the spot, when your defenses were down, you were obvious, and you were sure JungKook could see right through you.

“Why would you think that? I just don’t like people going through my purse without permission.” you said, hoping he would believe you and that would be the end of it.

Of course, you could never be so lucky.

“Because you usually don’t care if I go through your purse.”

“Yeah, but usually you have my permission to go through it!” you cried in desperation. JungKook’s jaw tightened, and his gaze moved back to the purse in his hands.

“Is there any particular reason why this time is different?” he questioned, and you couldn’t answer.

No matter what happened, you’d be fucked. You couldn’t lie to him on the spot; he’d see through your facade and keep looking through the purse because it’d prove to him that he had a reason to be suspicious. The result would be him finding the badge. On the other hand, you could tell him the truth, which would have the same result .With tears forming in your eyes, you realized that the jig was up.

“I’m so sorry, JungKook,” you said, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your cheeks.

JungKook didn’t answer but began his search through your purse anew. You knew the exact moment when he found the badge. You’d been trained to watch body language, and when JungKook’s body tensed up, you knew that his hand clasped around the piece of metal that signified the ultimate betrayal. He pulled your badge out of the purse, letting the bag fall to the floor at his feet. He turned the heavy badge over in his hand, gripping the edges tightly enough that you were sure it would draw blood.

An eternity seemed to pass before he finally looked at you, but when he did, his eyes were dead, devoid of emotion as his tongue pressed against his cheek. JungKook didn’t say a word as he stood up and turned his back to you. You couldn’t see past your tears, but you heard the crash as he threw your badge against the wall, chipping the paint and leaving a small dent.

“JungKook, please let me explain!” you begged, jumping off the bed and throwing your arms around his waist. His muscles were tense, and being this close to him, you could hear how fast his heart was beating.

“Let go of me,” he ordered after a moment of strained silence.

You didn’t listen, moving from his back to the front, so you could look into his eyes for any signs that you could reason with him. The normally chocolaty brown orbs were nearly black, and you could see no trace of the man you loved so dearly inside of them. Most of all, you saw none of the love he normally had for you. Still, you had to try.

You threw your arms around him again, laying your head on his chest as near incoherent apologies spilled out of your mouth. He didn’t push you away, and for a moment, you wondered if he was willing to listen to you, but then, his next words made you realize that you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“For the last fucking time. Let.Go.Of.Me!” he yelled the last word, and you jumped, genuinely scared of him for the first time. You backed away, allowing him to maneuver his way past you to his closet. Shit, you’d forgotten all about the meeting that he had just moments to get ready for. You watched as he slipped on a pair of boxers, followed by his normal black get-up. He didn’t look at you again until he was fully dressed, however, when his eyes finally met yours, you wished that they hadn’t.

“Pack up your stuff, and get the hell out of here. If one of the others finds out that you’re a rat, they’ll fucking kill you. I’ll tell them that we had a huge fight or something.” JungKook commanded as he walked towards the door. You began crying even harder when you realized that despite everything, JungKook was still trying to protect you.

“Why don’t you want them to know? I thought you’d want me dead. I betrayed you, JungKook.” you reminded him. He turned around to face you, a humorless smile on his face.

“Because, Y/N, I loved you. I tried so fucking hard not to fall for you, but I did anyway. And, what’s worse?” he questioned, shifting his eyes to the floor. “I know I still love you or this wouldn’t hurt so much. You’re right, anyone else, I probably would have let the others kill you or done it myself. You’re different. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you on my account, no matter how badly you hurt me. So, I’m telling you for the last time, I want you to get out before that changes.”

Without another look in your direction, JungKook left, slamming the door behind him. As soon as the door slammed shut, you collapsed to the floor, your legs no longer possessing the strength to hold you up. In a matter of minutes, your world had come crashing down. There was only one more thing for you to do, and that was to add fuel to the fire. You had to tell the rest of the members of the gang the truth, even if it meant they’d kill you. You couldn’t stand the thought of making JungKook lie to them for you when lies were what had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

You had to come clean, even if you would burn for the truth.

#bts #jungkook #bts mafia #mafia au #bts smut #smut #jungkook angst #kpop angst #angst #cop au #undercover cop #reader insert #submission

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desroundtree · 4 years

Text

What This Feels Like

The feeling of helplessness seems to be something that most people express on a majority of days lately. If it’s not the craziness of merely trying exist during a pandemic, it’s the endless barrage of violence, death and murder that fill the news daily. Hopelessness has settled on some of us and it fits like a finely tailored suit. Obviously it isn’t something that feels uncommon as we try to navigate the terrain of what it feels and means to be American means, and what it has always meant.

You see, it’s always been this way. Some of us understand that the anxieties of Black people existing during any time in America is very real. Added to this is the viciousness of the administration that has infested the White House and by proxy every home in America. It has spread to every nook and cranny of American existence like a wildfire burning everything and everyone in its wake.

But the spark that has long existed has ignited both sides of this fight. Some of us understand that real systemic change is necessary in order for all of us to move forward and until that happens there simply is no moving forward. Some of us are very comfortable with saying racism hasn’t been eradicated at all, instead it has found its legs in the marathon we all intend to run until the very end. The election of President Obama did not erase the history that preceded him instead it gave racists and bigots even more of a reason to believe the things they do. It emboldened them then too.

We have never had more threats against a sitting President ever (Google it, it’s true).

Some of us understand the reason and are fully comfortable saying that Barack Obama’s race is a reason people hated him then, and it’s a reason they hate him now. They don’t understand the concept and validity of his presidency - so they made it their business to elect the complete opposite of anything Barack Obama ever was.

Racial tensions were probably never higher, until now. Some of us didn’t live through the Civil Rights Movement, so this is our first time at the party. We have seen videos, pictures, and footage of the battles fought for even the smallest gains for BIPOC, for the LGBTQ+ community, for women. Now WE are living it all over again like a somber song we expected to play in the rotation at some point again.

Those of us living this battle for the first time now see what power behind the racism, patriarchy and misogyny can do. We see what happens when there is power behind climate change deniers and people who don’t even feel the need to hide their true ugly faces. We understand the long-standing effects of a system designed to defeat, debase and dehumanize. We have now seen and experienced what an emboldened racist looks like when they are allowed to wield the power, and absorb the force, of the racists that dragged him to power in the first place.

There is no way, not at this point in time, that you can ignore the root of every policy reversal, the basis of every tweet, the bullying we see daily from a man that is PAID and elected to be above any of these types of behaviors. It’s as if we are being held hostage by a bad boss who never read his job description. If we break it down into terms a child can understand it makes it even more damning. We teach our children not to call anyone names, to wait their turn, to be gracious and kind, not to judge people. The behavior we expect of our children is not expected of the highest office in the land - and that in itself is an extremely telling thing.

We also had a President that made it look easy.

But there was a huge paradigm shift in 2016 and it feels as if there is as big of a paradigm shift in 2020. I have started to learn to process the past election as a traumatic event. Because it has been for many, and I am included in that many. It changed my world in a very direct way. It scared me to be the person I had fought to become. I was on the short list of everything this administration disliked - Latinx, disabled, a feminist, outspoken.

It made me fear I have for my husband, for my child, for my Mother.

It allowed wedges to turn into chasms where there probably shouldn't be, and has forced us to see the people around us for exactly what they are. We are victims of this, of the brutality and the sheer cruelty of the policies this administration has put forth. We are suffering, as the onslaught continues to strip away protections needed and refuses to give protections when they are due. We are suffering as there are no acknowledgements of the atrocities we have seen.

We have watched. We are waiting. We are tired and have been tired.

To process and understand that you are forever changed by racist murderous acts is important for you to heal. Understanding that the things we are seeing daily and experiencing minute by minute should not be happening to us. Please realize this is not normal, and normalizing this type of treatment is exactly what has kept these policies in place for as long as they have been.

That’s what we have to do, no matter how hard the journey to healing has become. We have to understand there is no other road for us, not anymore. This is not normal. And further than that, it is unacceptable. We shouldn’t have to exist in this constant space of anxiety and fear. There shouldn’t be this feeling of the world trying to choke us instead of making sure we too are protected, and loved, and respected.

Some are just offered the respect we are now demanding. The respect every person is deserving of. It’s hard to understand the concept of fighting for respect when it has always been given to you, when there are times you haven’t deserved that respect but it’s still been given. There are many things people don’t and can’t ever understand, and though there is sympathy for the cause it is not understanding of what it’s like to exist in a certain space constantly.

It’s hard. It’s tiring. It’s the most emotional thing to witness, experience and explain. Having a child during this time has been difficult and trying to explain things that you can’t hide from a teenager but your instinct is to do just that. To hide and keep these horrible things from them so they never know how ugly the world really is. There are words that just don’t seem to explain the pain, the horror and the anger we should feel. We should be able to express to them that they are allowed this space of anger and rage because it’s normal to feel this way. It is normal to feel slighted and as if the deck is still stacked against them. But our job still is to protect them. Our battle to fight, with all the other battles that have presented themselves at this time, and in this moment.

So right now it might feel impossible. All of it feels impossible. All of the emotions are overwhelming and so raw and simply too much all the time. But that doesn’t mean that we give up. We don’t give up because that’s exactly what they want us to do. We are more that capable of impossible things. We have shown that before and we will all show that again. We should all continue to push the envelope and demand accountability. But in our personal spaces we should take care of the beautiful Black lives around us and cherish them in the way we know work. We should show up, always and in anyway we know how.

Because right now, that’s what I need to do to feel right about this moment and my position in it.

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pastelgrungewrecker · 5 years

Text

Hollywood Hoax

Ever thought of callin’ when you’ve had a few? Cause I always do.

After Brainstorm left this new world, left his mark the only way he could- Perceptor expected silence for a while when he entered the room.

He had grown accustomed to noise, so it was jarring at first- But not as much as the first time a drink was thrown in his face.

His optic flickered in a shocked blink, hearing the accusations thrown at him as Swerve bellowed for the accuser to leave. Accusations calling him homewrecker, thief, buymech- And then they were gone, ushered out.

His shock was plain to see as Swerve offered him a clean bartowel to dry his faceplates, and whispered for him to head home while he figured this out.

The answer was worse than he could have imagined.

Self-styled historians, pawing through old records; journals left behind when a CMO passed into a light he never thought he’d deserve. Memories, taken so far out of context they were barely recognizable. He watched on the small screen in a dim common area- a living room decorated in memories of the dead and well-loved.

They had called it a biography. They called it a retelling, and a re-imagining. And he watched as a speedster decorated in a mockery of his own appearance portrayed him as nothing more than a side-piece; depicted him as a seducer, as an invader.

As they took his name and dragged it through the acidic silt of rust-rivers.

It was Rodimus who first spoke out; who condemned this joke of a faux-history; and Perceptor’s heart broke when it was Xaaron who refuted Rodimus’s words; claiming that Perceptor’s motives were never easily known, that he had been a master of hiding everything from feelings to grudges.

Perceptor closed his optic, and wished Brainstorm was still here.

It was Minimus who came to his door; the observatory-turned-homestead where he and Brainstorm had settled; the loadbearer in high and vicious spirits and armed with every inch of the law he planned to weaponize.

‘I remember what you gave up for our cause.’, he had said, his hand resting on Perceptor’s forearm, ‘And I will not stand by as you are desecrated for the sake of profit.’

The trial was televised. Xaaron defended the studio that treated memory like a moneylender; he looked down his nose as Perceptor sat in silence after being assured he would not be needed to testify as the people watched.

That raw, painful memories would not be shown to the world in some kind of display.

And then Drift was called in by Xaaron- questioned as he looked down. As he gave his ever-vague answers to guiding questions and jurors watched with bated breath.

::It looks dire.::, Minimus commed Perceptor in silence as Drift finished speaking on the sordid history between the swordsmech and the sniper, ::This will be hard to challenge-::

::Get me a hardline, and a projector.::

::...Perceptor, you don’t-::

::Bring those things to me. Now. And I will show them all my place in this little tale.::

Xaaron blanked as Minimus made his request. Perceptor rose from his seat, and heard the gasp in the watcher’s ranks as he walked forward.

“This is ridiculous, Perceptor.”, said Xaaron grandly, “Memories, as anyone knows, are biased, and-”

“And you should know, as a leader on Kimia, that due to my station; not only is my testimony treated as fact in most court proceedings... But my optic feed is recorded, and saved in a locked drive partition on my processor in the event of a fatal incident.”, was the cold answer, “I never deactivated such a thing- Convinced I would die long before anyone cared to remember my name. Not only is that unable to be tampered with, but it is accessible by an Enforcer of the Accord.”

Minimus looked down as Perceptor took a seat in the witness stand, and pushed the portcover open. As the jack slid into place, his optic went dim, and Minimus called up a holoscreen as Drift looked away with optics screwed shut.

Passcodes entered, accesses granted. Minimus put his hands behind his back as images flickered by too fast to count before stopping- and allowing stored footage to play. Of Ratchet’s flirtations once upon a time. Of Ratchet’s purred promises and sly innuendo.

Of his notes left behind in the morning-after’s. Of his purposeful avoidance in days following night’s spent in the microscope’s company.

Of Brainstorm’s soft comforts, with the glint of bottles in the background.

The images passed by again, and Drift rose from his seat to leave only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder- green as greed and strong as sin, it forced him to sit back down while baby-blue optics bore holes in his helm as audio began to play.

‘Love you Perce.’

Drift winced.

‘I love you more, Drift- darling.’

‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

They both looked back to the console; producers trying to scramble out of the courtroom to be blocked as jurors watched in horror as a sleep-blurred feed caught glimpses of a white mech gathering various objects, little necessities...

Before slipping out the door in the dim darkness.

Optics in the jury-stand glittered in tears of empathy, and the judge looked down at his lap and shook his head.

“The court has seen enough.”

“Not. Yet.”, said Perceptor from his half-aware state.

Images flickering by as Drift felt hot glares on his plating, as Xaaron hissed for an explanation from his clients.

The Lost Light, again- the home away from home a ragtag crew had made. Whispers of the conversations overheard- whispers that included the voice of a CMO-turned-Saint and a Nightmare-turned-Warrior. Teasing that was not quite teasing, jokes just this side of off color.

And then the feed was paused, and closed, and Perceptor’s optic onlined as he pulled the jack free of its contact-point.

“As shown in the footage; not only was I slandered- not only was I LIED ABOUT, and depicted as some... villain, for profit...”, he said quietly before he glared coldly at Xaaron and Drift and the gathered watchers, “But I was belittled and drug through the mud mere weeks after my own conjunx endura left this world. May I be dismissed from the witness stand, please.”

“You may.”, murmured the judge.

The trial ended shortly after Perceptor’s expose; he stared at nothing until the verdict was read, he stared through time until Minimus put a hand on his shoulder and whispered that it was time to leave.

Perceptor exited to silence. The gathered crowd refused to look at him as he walked through the tall doorway, shame hanging in the air like a miasma as he returned to transport and murmured the location of Swerve’s bar when the door shut.

He closed his optic, letting coolant leak from the corner of it as the accusations that were thrown at him played on repeat in his processor; interspersed with the lies wrapped up in old I Love You’s.

The door to Swerve’s was propped open when he arrived; the minibot sitting at the bar with Rodimus as they watched him enter. Rodimus rose first- walking forward and pulling Perceptor into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry.”, whispered the still-young Captain, “You shouldn’t have had to... Drift had no right to-”

“I am... used to being so easily discarded, Captain.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Swerve slid a glass to Perceptor, something bright and fizzing within it.

“Altihexian Sunset- on the house. No tab needed for you, Perce. You drink on my dollar.”, he said.

“...Dare I ask why?”

Rodimus sighed, “....A lot of the crew were interviewed for that... THING they called a Historic Retelling or whatever. And... Well. Their assumptions played a big part in things too.”

“Ah yes- the crew that made every effort to pretend I wasn’t there; at least, until Overlord was. Or the engines made a spooky noise.”

Rodimus nodded; before looking sharply up.

“Percy?!”

The sniper turned, to see Drift in the doorway. Just the sight of the white mech made his spark hurt, and he looked to the side before going to speak- only to be beaten to the moment by Rodimus himself.

“What is your PROBLEM, DRIFT?!”

The swordsmech raised his hands placatingly, “L-Look, I was in mourning, I wasn’t thinking right, I-”

“PERCY’S MOURNING TOO; HELL, HE PROBABLY HAS BEEN LONGER THAN YOU’VE KNOWN HE EXISTED!”

Drift’s finials tilted back and down, “Roddy, c’mon, bro, calm down-”

The crack of a fist meeting a face was loud in the bar, and Drift nearly bounced off the doorframe before Rodimus put a heavy pede to a white chestplate and shoved.

“GET OUT, AND STAY OUT- I DON’T TOLERATE LIARS.”

Swerve shook his helm, putting a hand on Perceptor’s in a gentle pat, “Tailgate commed me- Chromedome and Rewind met up with him and there’s a welcoming party at home for you- a nice quiet one; except for Whirl.”

“...And why is Whirl in my home?”

“He’s acting security. You’re a little famous now; and not just because you’re THE Wrecker-Sniper.”

Perceptor nodded, laughing bitterly and quiet as Rodimus berated his one-time TIC in the background.

“I’ll call you a ride home, enjoy your drink and I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“...Thank you, Swerve.”

“Anytime, Percy. Anytime.”

#tf #pastelwrites #perceptor #swerve #kind of an au almost #vaguely canon compliant?

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takadasaiko · 4 years

Text

Houseguest Chapter Nine

FFN II AO3

Summary: Tony trusts Cap with a story he doesn't often share and they receive bad news in regards to the stolen alien tech.

Chapter Nine: Consequences of Warnings Ignored

Sneider hadn't lied. The old man had warned him that his ribs were going to feel worse before they felt better. Sometime around three in the morning the painkillers had worn off just enough for the pain to slice through the trippy dreams he had been having and wake him up coughing and sputtering. He rolled to his side, curling in on himself as he did his best to will his body under control. His best wasn't cutting it. He was going to hurl, but he had no idea how to get himself up and out of bed, much less to the bathroom.

"I gotcha, Tones," a familiar voice said, and he squinted to see a trash can being held ready for him. He dove for it, emptying what little he had in his stomach until there was less than nothing left. He sank down, draped against the edge of the bed and focused on breathing for a long moment.

He could hear Rhodey shuffling, taking the trash can to the bathroom and running water in it. Tony couldn't muster the energy to move, just listen, and he heard his friend's footsteps returning. "Just like old times, huh?" he rasped, the joke sounding weak even to him.

"Yeah, I don't remember old times including as many broken bones," Rhodey huffed, moving back into his line of sight. It looked like he'd pilfered a pair of sweatpants and an MIT hoodie that Tony thought he actually remembered stealing from Rhodey years before. Well, he supposed that was fair.

"Cracked ribs, not broken," he corrected as his gaze slid past his friend to a chair not too far from the bed.

"Oh yeah? How's that foot?"

A blanket was slung over the back of the chair that wasn't usually there. "Rude. Did you sleep in a chair? I have guest rooms you know."

"Yeah, six of them. When do you ever have that many people stay over?"

"I like to have options."

Rhodey snorted. "I can't hear you from the guest bedroom."

"You worried about me, Rhodes?" Tony teased, but the other man's expression was more serious.

"Always these days, Tones. How're you feeling?"

Tony gave a dramatic groan. "Like a building exploded with me inside of it about thirty-six hours ago."

"That good, huh?"

"Oh yeah. That and I took pain meds on an empty stomach."

"Could be why you woke up like you did."

"Leaning in that direction, yeah."

Rhodey reached forward, the back of his hand pressed against Tony's forehead like he was checking for a fever and looked satisfied with the results. "You should -"

"I apologize for the interruption," JARVIS' voice cut in, "but I've just received a report that the transfer vehicle and police escort that was taking Ms Mira to a new holding facility was attacked."

"Just now?" Tony demanded. "It's the middle of the night."

"Probably avoiding morning traffic," Rhodey mused.

"How bad, J?"

"The reports are still coming in, but there appears to have been an explosion. Three confirmed fatalities currently, but medical is on its way."

Tony felt his chest tighten, his anxiety levels on the rise and he tried to think through them. He needed more information. More data. He couldn't do anything unless he had all the facts. "Explosion? Where?" He shifted, steeling himself.

Rhodey turned a half panicked look on him. "No no no. You stay down."

He had barely started the struggle to sit when two hands pushed gently against his shoulders, forcing him back against the pillows. "I have to help -"

"You're not in any condition to go help anyone right now."

Brown eyes met a darker set. "I tried to warn him."

Rhodey's determination shifted into an expression Tony couldn't quite place. It wasn't pity. He knew better than that, but where Tony felt the sudden onslaught of guilt at not being able to make Ito see reason and that failure costing likely good cops their lives, Rhodey seemed to join him somewhere on that spectrum of pain. "I know you did, buddy," he answered softly. "Listen, try to get some more sleep. You know I have enough contacts to run something down. As soon as I've got something I'll let you know. Okay?"

He still felt the overwhelming need to act, to make sure that this didn't happen again, but Tony found himself nodding and accepting Rhodey's admittedly reasonable proposal.

"Right. I'm gonna go wake Rogers up and -"

"Why?"

Rhodey snorted. "Because if someone isn't here you're gonna faceplant into the floor when you try to get up the second I'm out the door. C'mon, man. I know you." He reached forward, his touch brief on the side of Tony's face. "Get some rest. I'll call it in as soon as I've got it."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He turned towards the door and paused. "I know you won't believe me, but this wasn't your fault, Tones."

And then he was gone, leaving Tony to loose a trembling, pained breath as he squeezed his eyes shut, his imagination filling in the gaps of JARVIS' limited report.

___________

Colonel Rhodes was convinced that if someone wasn't watching Tony that he would try to slip out of the house as soon as Rhodes was gone. It seemed like a stretch until Steve poked his head into the presumably sleeping man's room to find it empty. A quick search through the bedroom and a call into the adjacent bathroom suite confirmed it.

Panic threatened his sleep deprived mind. Five minutes. He'd been responsible for Stark for five minutes and he'd lost him. Fantastic.

Just as quick as the panic had threatened, Steve pushed it aside. It wasn't useful anyway. Never had been. No, he needed to think this through. It hadn't been long since Rhodes had left, and as slow as he'd been moving a few hours before when they had all turned in for the night, he couldn't have gotten dressed and out the door yet. Maybe the garage? Or….

He stopped. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Where's Tony? Is he still in the house?"

"Mr Stark is in the kitchen," the AI answered briskly and Steve was off.

Down the stairs and into the kitchen, there was no immediate sign of the missing Stark. The coffee pot was on and brewing, but the lights were dimmed.

"Rhodey tell you what happened?"

Steve startled just a little at the unexpected voice from the room just beyond the kitchen. He followed it to find Tony curled into a chair, that old robe wrapped around him, and a tablet in hand. He flicked at it and the video feed he was looking at projected out so that Steve could see the mangled mess of vehicles left behind from the explosion.

"Two local cops are dead, one US Marshal," Tony said, his voice raw sounding and there was none of his usual enthusiasm.

"How?"

"Still waiting on more intel, but it happened when they were transferring our woman. If I were to take a guess, I'd bet she found a way to smuggle a piece of the alien tech with her and set it off."

Steve looked him over as subtly as he could. He looked exhausted and in no small amount of pain still. "Maybe you should get some sleep while we wait? It could be a while."

"I can't sleep."

"Just -"

"No."

The snap took Steve off guard and he stiffened. Tony must have seen the reaction because he loosed a long breath. "Sorry. I'm just…. I need to figure this out. There could be more out there. Until we figure out who these people are and if they got any more of it…" He squeezed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I can't let anybody else get hurt."

You only fight for yourself. That's what Steve has told Tony when they'd first met. He'd seen footage, he'd read reports. He had thought he knew him, but all he'd seen was the image Tony projected for the world. This man - bruised, beaten, and heartbroken over the lives he couldn't save - somehow seemed so much more real than the mask of bravado that he usually wore. Steve took a careful seat across from him and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"What?" Tony prompted tiredly.

"You said you created the Iron Man suit to make sure your tech didn't hurt anyone."

"Yeah," he managed, not sounding like he liked where this was going. Steve would have to tread carefully.

"SHIELD's files are… thin on what happened in Afghanistan, but that's where it started, right?"

Tony managed to look even more uncomfortable than before. "What are you asking, Cap?"

"What happened there? What made you choose this?"

Tony looked at him for a long moment and Steve thought the dark haired man might tell him to mind his own business. His reasons were his own, and when Tony uncurled and stood, he was pretty sure that was what he was expected to take away. He didn't move, but watched as the injured man limped slowly back towards the kitchen. "You coming or are you gonna make me shout?"

His invitations left a lot to be desired, but at least Steve was certain that's what it was. He followed, doing his best to keep his movements casual and unhurried. Tony looked uncomfortable enough with the subject as it stood.

The other man moved stiffly to the coffee pot, his voice soft and distant as he spoke. "I was there for a presentation. The Jericho Missile. The convoy escorting us back to base was hit and I was taken. Spent about three months there and built the suit to get out."

"That's about where the SHIELD files end. I just… I guess I'm asking what got you from there to being willing to get blown skyhigh."

Tony snorted. "I could ask you the same thing." He turned to lean back against the cabinets and sip at his steaming coffee. "There was a man I worked with. A… mentor. He was close with my dad. I found out he was selling my weapons to terrorists. This -" he taped the ARC reactor set into his chest - "keeps the shrapnel from my own bomb away from my heart. They were using those weapons on local families to keep them under their thumb. They ripped airmen to pieces with them to get to me. I swore I wouldn't let anyone use one of my designs like that again."

"The early missions that you ran," Steve breathed. "The ones with near to no information on them."

"They were to destroy my stolen tech."

Steve loosed a breath. That had been the missing piece. It made more sense now, and he knew he'd misjudged the other man early on. He knew it now more than ever. "I'm sorry."

That seemed to startle him out of the increasingly brooding mood he had been sinking into as he spoke. "Huh? For what?"

"The things I said before New York."

Tony ducked his head a little. "Yeah, well, you turned out to be more than just some hopped up super soldier so… live and learn, right?"

"Guess so," Steve murmured, the corner of his lips quirking up.

If Tony was going to offer anything further, he didn't get the chance. There was a loud chime that must have been the doorbell and he shot a questioning lol towards the front door. "J, what've we got?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm unable to get a clear visual of the individual for ID recognition."

Steve frowned. That didn't sound good.

"Show me what you dohave," Tony answered irritably.

An image popped up on the tablet he'd left on the kitchen island and Steve leaned in for a closer look. The man on the porch was slender, medium height, and very good at making sure his baseball cap shielded his face from view. Tony pushes a breath out through his nose. "I'll be damned. I think that's Ito."

Now that he said it, the figure did resemble the police captain. "What would he be doing here?"

"Won't know until we talk to him. Jarvis, let him in."

___________

TBC

Notes: For a story that I never actually meant to write, this thing has grown like crazy....

And it's almost done. I just wrapped up the writing for chapter 10 and I think, at most, there may be 12 chapters all together. Watch it somehow turn into 20. That'd be just like my traitor brain to add on another arc to prove me wrong. :P

For those of you that celebrate, I want to wish you a very happy Chunukkah and a Merry Christmas! I hope everyone has a safe and fun holiday, and here's hoping that I can get the next chapter up by New Year! :D

Next Time: Danger follows Ito to Tony's doorstep.

#MCU fanfiction #Tony Stark #Steve Rogers #James Rhodes #Iron Man #Captain America

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letstalksymphogear · 5 years

Text

Symphogear, EP. 4 (Cont)

The gremlin challenges Tsubasa, a Symphogear, whose entire shtick is to sing to channel power, to sing.

It dawns on her, however, that Tsubasa is part Greninja. Tsubasa used Shadow-Weaving! It’s super effective.

“tell me, you jellyfish looking weirdo...”

“hey- hey, time out. are you gonna do what i think you’re gonna do. this is gonna like, kill you. you know that, right? that you will literally die? you do understand you can just retreat now or- or just take hibiki away, right? i even told you that was the whole point of this... uh... oh shit.”

“ARE YOU READY TO JAM”

“tsubasa please i will literally lend you my remaining brain cell to stop you from this really stupid mistake”

Dad has entered the server.

“oh my god. oh my god. oh my god. oh my god. o- ryoko. stop breathing on me. this isnt helping my anxiety over my adopted daughter figure literally preparing to kill herself over my commands.”

“sorry babe its just the asthma, forgot my inhaler”

“i cannot FUCKING believe of ALL the opponents i had to fight i had to fight the DUMBEST one on the goddamn block, you idiot, you absolute dunce, RETHINK THIS”

“OH GOD SHE’S DOING IT! SHE’S DOING IT! THE ABSOLUTE MADWOMAN- FUCK- FUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE! FUCK! FUCK!”

“just used up my last brain cell for this attack, pal. you’re through.”

“NAH, EAT ASS YOU- YOU GODDAMN MANIAC”

“HAHA YEAH, GOT YOU NOW, SLOW WALKING, DRAMA INDUCIN’, PURPLE RAIN CHANN-”

“OH GOD! YOU TELEPORTED! YOU’VE GOT SV_CHEATS SET TO 1, DON’T YOU! NOCLIPPING LIKE NOBODY’S BUSINESS GET OUT OF MY FACE”

“WHOA WHOA WHOA WHAT THE FUCK WHOA I KNOW I CRACKED SOME JOKES BUT WE LITERALLY JUST MET AND I- I GOTTA KNOW PEOPLE FIRST BEFORE THIS SHIT AND- OH GOD PLEASE STOP”

“OH GOD! THIS... RAW, GAY, REPRESSED ENERGY... IT’S... TOO STRONG...”

The gremlin could not begin to comprehend Tsubasa’s intense love for incredibly well-built redheaded women.

Hibiki can, though.

“SO......... MUCH........... SAUCE...................”

“.................................................”

The gremlin retreats after getting her licks. This scene subtly implied something; the Nehushtan armor she wears regenerates over time, which means no matter how much damage it sustains, it will always return in one piece. The same can’t be said for the user, though.

Hibiki runs to Tsubasa, checking if she’s okay, totally oblivious to the gravity of what just happened.

“i came just as i could and ive brought happy meals for everyone”

Genjuro asks if Tsubasa is okay.

I dunno man, this is a pretty tough judgement call here. I mean, is she okay? Pain is a pretty subjective experience, after all.

“oh my god i get it. i get the joke she implied. she wanted to jam. she’s jammed! cause it- it looks like jam! no, wait, its more like sauce...”

It dawns on Hibiki that people actually do die during this job.

Tsubasa, as it turns out, survived her Swan Song. It makes sense that she would because she was naturally receptive to her relic, Ame-No-Habakiri. Still, the injury comes with great gravity. She’s benched for the next season, and it’s likely she’s gonna miss the playoffs.

Stuck on a respirator on the edge of life, Tsubasa will probably look back at this and go, “Gosh, I was such a wild child. Haha. Almost dying and all.”

Hibiki wraps her single braincell around the idea of death. Most main characters aren’t familiar with the concept of death, you see, because most don’t die. But this is Season One Symphogear. Flirting with death is common.

Ogawa comes in to comfort her.

“dumbass had her opponent bound and the gremlin still escaped anyway”

Ogawa then explains shit we already know. Thanks, Ogawa.

“in summation: i get where you’re coming from, but stop fucking saying ‘im gonna replace kanade’, please, im begging you”

Hibiki FINALLY gets it, and naturally upon realizing, feels really bad for it. A real right and true asshole.

“oh thank god i was worried not even that was going to get to you”

Meanwhile, in Tsubasa’s mind...

“ah fuck me. im trapped in metaphor limbo. see, im falling because i clipped my wing, cause i nearly died, you know, like icarus and shit”

“hold up my gay senses are tingling”

Her senses confirmed. Kanade is in her mind, in probably the most romantic metaphor possible. There is absolutely no way to interpret all of this platonically.

Tsubasa is literally submerged in a sea of her own emotions...

Involving Kanade, and how she strives to be like her and honor her memory.

SHE LITERALLY DROWNS IN THOSE EMOTIONS, SUBMERGING DEEPER INTO THE WATER.

youtube

Tsubasa, in her Symphogear Brand Medical Cocoon for the Dumb and Beaten Down, quietly slumbers in her semi-comatose state as she wrestles the water metaphors of her own sexual identity.

The poor thing just misses her girlfriend.

Meanwhile, Hibiki sits and thinks more than usual. In a flashback, Genjuro muses about how The Gremlin wanted to kidnap Hibiki.

“i dunno maybe The Gremlin’s super lonely or shit”

“i mean if thats the case ill just adopt her too”

Since Tsubasa is away, Hibiki has to pick up the quota for teenage angst in the 2nd Division. Unfortunately, she has very big shoes to fill, but Hibiki isn’t one for slacking in the misery department. She blames herself for everything.

“im really going to fire the therapist we have around here for being pretty damn useless”

“can i be the therapist?”

“ryoko i am absolutely begging you to filter your bad ideas given the several teenage crises we’re dealing with right now”

Hibiki then yells out, for what is possibly the third time, out of the blue:

“I HAVE PEOPLE I WANT TO PROTECT”

The flashback ends.

And speaking of girlfriends.

“there is no force on this planet stopping me from having some quality fucking time with my girlfriend damnit”

Miku points out Hibiki has been pretty lonely. Says she heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who, heard it from another she was messin’ ‘round.

Unfortunately, Miku is a goddamned chad.

Immediate handholding. Make no mistake. Behind those soft-spoken eyes lies an absolute master.

“o-oh, my hand, you’re holding it, so smoothly”

“hibiki, you’re my sunshine. i want to soak up your rays so hard that every piece of flesh of my body is horribly mutilated from skin cancer.”

“jesus christ miku at least use sunscreen in your metaphors”

“ill use them just for you, hibiki. just for you.”

Their relationship is interesting. When one of them is sad, the other sorta acts as an angst vacuum. You’ll see them flip flop with their points of misery with each other, but when together, those problems always melt away.

Of course, emphasis on being together. Season 1 is the worst with keep them away from each other.

“Just Be Yourself!” Miku Kohinata, Symphogear, 2012.

“fuck me, you’re right. im the protagonist. i cant just eat shit here the whole time. i gotta do protagonist things!”

“was that an invitation?”

“another time. but now... let’s just catch up.”

And so, they laugh together about how the recorded footage of the meteor shower was all black. Truly the greatest couple of all time.

It is this realization of being her own self, coupled with her renewed gay energy, and new perspective on what she must do, that causes everything to go uphill for her from here. Take note.

Here is where a God is truly born.

Tachibana Hibiki.

The end of this episode cuts to a specific dojo.

Genjuro’s dojo.

“i dont fuck around with training, even though i probably should have trained you sooner. you sure about this?”

“dadman either you do this or i will most definitely die next time”

Part of their training involves watching action movies, because Genjuro is so unreal that he should frankly be a fictional character in the very universe he exists in.

Fucking adorable.

“im so conflicted its so clear she’s part of /fit/ now but i cant help but imagine her washboard abs”

Hibiki balls even harder at karaoke now, due to her Symphogear training, and not because she’s secretly Aoi Yuki playing a recolored version of Madoka.

Her significant other is mildly terrified at the superhuman that is slowly unfolding her powers before her eyes.

In the end, things all reach their logical conclusion.

Hibiki becomes a Tekken character, just like Genjuro.

Of course... Miku pushes the fact very subtly that she would never hide anything from Hibiki...

Turmoil brews in the worst way... soon...

#symphogear #symphogear season 1 #recap #anime

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zenonaa · 5 years

Photo

Read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318629/chapters/43362350 Read from the beginning here: http://zenonaa.tumblr.com/post/183875659535/read

Comments: Day 6 for TogaFuka Week. I went with Rebirth/Death. In this chapter, Togami and Fukawa visit Togami’s dad.

***

A stream gushed through the mountain, part of it winding through woodland area. Nestled amongst trees, in a small clearing, was a wooden cabin. Its dark exterior was sleek and modern, from its wall panels to its gently sloping tiled roof that two solar panels sat upon. The inside of the house was rustic with earthy hues, plain and compact in design, containing a blend of Japanese and Northwestern European furnishing.

In the main area that was part-living room, part-kitchen, a man slouched on a weary sofa, punching a radio that kept losing signal.

“... Provisions were intercepted today by...”

“... It has been twenty days since Towa City was captured by the...”

“... Fifty people died today when the Remnant of Despair known as the Porcelain Widow went on a...”

The man fiddled with the dial but unable to get a decent signal, he gave up and tossed the radio onto the seat beside him. He heaved out a sigh and leaned back, staring up at the wooden beams overhead. In the ‘before times’, he would have lit a cigar or thrown himself into some work. Only, he didn’t have any more cigars, and as for work, the only work he had to do were things like gathering firewood, popping to the stream to retrieve more water or pottering about trying to find furniture to rearrange.

That sort of work should have been done by maids, people whose purpose in life was to carry out menial tasks for people with more important things to do and better things to contribute to society, but he didn’t have any servants anymore.

With a quiet grunt, he stood up and lumbered over to the kitchen area. The solar panels generated enough electricity for a small refrigerator, lighting and a stove. He poured water into a pot and placed it on the stove to heat. Because he had nothing better to do, he stood nearby, watching as it came to boil. Perhaps, later, he would write in his journal. Though a solitary man, in a situation like this, even he needed to pretend that he had someone to talk to.

When the first few bubbles emerged at the surface of the water, the front door yawned open. Two sets of footsteps sounded, thudding against the wooden flooring. They came from somewhere behind him, and if he turned, he would have seen them, but he didn’t turn yet.

Something hard and solid struck the floor.

“Is that how you greet your king?” someone drawled.

He recognised it. A chill shot through him, but when he faced the intruders, he forced himself to mask his emotions, keeping his features smooth and blank.

The one who spoke, the self-proclaimed king, grinned toothily. His blond hair met his shoulders and curved against them but weren’t much longer than that. Over a black business suit, he wore a cloak like a king, its colour a range of skin tones, and on his head sat a thorn crown. He trained his cold, blue eyes on the dark pair of the owner of the cabin.

“It’s you,” said the owner of the cabin curtly.

“You don’t sound too surprised, Daddy,” said the intruder. The owner of the cabin winced, and the intruder broadened his grin. He inclined his head slightly, maintaining eye contact, and gripped harder onto the orbed head of his cane, which he had hit against the floor earlier. “Or would you rather I call you by your name? Kijou.”

Standing opposite the intruder, the owner of the cabin, Kijou, squared his shoulders.

“That would be Togami-sama to you, though you don’t have a respectful bone in your body. I knew you would find me eventually,” said Kijou in a low voice. His knuckles turned white as his hands balled into fists. “It was only a matter of time. I can’t say that I’m happy to meet you.”

This brought out a pout on the other man.

“Not even your own son?” he asked, and Kijou didn’t answer.

“You should be honoured,” someone said from behind the self-proclaimed king. A young woman stepped aside, revealing herself. Though she had a buzzcut now, Kijou recalled from photographs and video footage that she once had long hair, styled into two braids. The circular glasses that she had worn were still there, and no doubt there was a mole below the left corner of her lips under the dust mask over the mouth.

Drawn on the dust mask was a curved pink line, a symbol of a smile. She reminded Kijou of a sukeban with her dark sailor uniform, the skirt reaching past her knees. It was torn, especially at the bottom, with a long slit down her left leg. In the past, she had scars on her thigh, a tally for every victim of Genocider Syo, but now those scars covered her entire body.

Her appearance had changed a lot since Kijou last saw an image of her, but he knew it was her. Only someone like this would be associated with someone like the traitor standing before him.

This woman went by two names. One was Touko Fukawa, and the other was Genocider Syo. She was Byakuya’s right hand woman and she killed whoever he asked her to kill as well as wrote propaganda for the Remnants of Despair. Rumour had it that she had written a book so depressing that anyone who read it would soon kill themselves.

“You have been blessed by a visit from the great Byakuya-sama,” crowed Touko or Syo, raising her arms. Honestly, Kijou didn’t care to differentiate between the two.

Kijou stared at Byakuya, and only Byakuya, gritting his teeth. Byakuya approached Kijou, who breathed in deeply but didn’t move. Despite Kijou’s calm exterior, his heart beated furiously in his chest, though Byakuya wouldn’t have known that. A strong person didn’t succumb to emotions. Weak people did, and Kijou wasn’t weak. He stood perfectly still, but when Byakuya positioned himself in front of him and lifted a hand, admittedly, Kijou flinched, prompting Byakuya’s eyes to widen momentarily.

Byakuya licked his lips, slowly in a full circle, inducing a crawling sensation in Kijou’s skin.

“What do you want?” asked Kijou, but he had an inkling. This was why he trembled slightly. He knew, and he wished Byakuya would hurry up and do it.

“Bow down to me,” said Byakuya.

That hadn’t been what Kijou anticipated.

Without so much as blinking, Kijou replied, “Never.”

Byakuya grabbed Kijou by the hair and tugged him down. A pained wheeze hissed out from Kijou, and when Byakuya slammed his head against the wall behind him, his vision flashed white and he choked out a pathetic noise.

His head pounded as he gazed up, and he saw the ice in Byakuya’s eyes start to crack. Behind the layer of coldness were murky pools that seemed to go on forever. He didn’t get chance to stare into them long before Byakuya shoved his head to the ground, forcing Kijou onto his knees. With Byakuya’s hand applying firm pressure against his head, Kijou couldn’t look up.

The force on his head lessened rapidly, but Kijou didn’t lift his head. Moments later, something else pressed against him. Kijou deduced that it was the cane that Byakuya wielded.

“You foolish boy,” murmured Byakuya.

There was a high-pitched rasp.

“You idiot,” said Byakuya.

It had been the sound of Byakuya unsheathing a sword.

“You disgrace,” said Byakuya.

The sword had been contained in the cane, and the case slid off Kijou’s head. His body shook. Wouldn’t stop shaking.

“You’re no Togami,” said Byakuya. “You’re dirt.”

Nothing was pinning Kijou down. Only pure terror bound him, shackled him to the ground. Seized him in an inescapable chokehold.

“Dust,” breathed Byakuya.

Though Kijou had resigned himself to this fate, when Byakuya raised his sword, Kijou let out a sob.

“P-Please,” said Kijou, clutching his hands together. “Don’t kill me. God, please don’t kill me.”

“God...” Byakuya wet his lips and smiled. “That’s right, I am your God.”

He swung the sword forward. Before it even penetrated, Kijou began screaming, and as Byakuya hacked away at him, the raw, animalistic wailing that wracked through Kijou came and went. Blood splattered everywhere, and long after Kijou had become not much more than a pile of pulp, Byakuya was still slashing him. Even that wasn’t enough, and he threw in stomps too.

Eventually, Byakuya slowed to a stop, panting loudly. Touko sidled up to him. The sight of blood didn’t disturb her anymore. Hard to believe, but there had been a time when even a papercut would make her feel woozy. Now, though, she grinned as she wrapped her hands around Byakuya’s arm.

“I’m a god,” said Byakuya, unclear who he was telling, if anyone.

“You are,” she purred, snuggling into him.

Byakuya planted his sword blade first into what had been his father. It shifted a bit, but stayed upright. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Touko fished around in his other trouser pocket and got out a lighter, which she flicked beneath the cigarette that he cradled in his mouth.

They stood still as he took a drag and breathed out a tendril of smoke. She basked in his body’s warmth. The window gaped a starry night, and Touko remembered something from long ago. One time, she and Byakuya took a coach out of the city, and they had lain on a hill, side-by-side, and pointed out different constellations. In the city, they couldn’t see many stars, but there, they could. He knew all their names and so did she, and he had listened to her tell him every story behind them.

That had been before all this.

Touko squeezed his arm.

“Um, Byakuya-sama?” she said.

Byakuya gave a hum.

“Why don’t we stay here for the night?” she suggested. “We can leave in the morning, when it’s light out.”

He puffed out smoke and bent down to snuff out his cigarette on one of Kijou’s bones. While he was squatted down, he dipped his finger into the mess of flesh, and he smudged blood onto himself.

His eyes narrowed as he brought his finger to his mouth and tasted it. The blood had a metallic tang and was warm in his mouth.

“We may as well,” said Byakuya. He stood up.

In the small cabin were two bedrooms, each with one bed. More than one person likely lived here before Kijou took up residence. One room was dustier than the other, and they chose the cleaner room to sleep in. It only had one bed with a tatty duvet. Byakuya removed his crown and cloak and sat down on it.

She approached, stopping a few paces away, and held her breath as she waited, fidgeting her hands.

“Come here,” he instructed.

Touko’s face lit up and she closed the gap between them. He pulled her toward himself as she clamoured onto his lap. His hand cupped the back of her head, pushing as he guided her into a kiss. Electricity coursed through her body as their warmth melded together. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Byakuya prodded his tongue against her lips and she opened up. He hugged her closer, and she shuddered as he drove his tongue into her mouth. All of her body tingled, all over. Touko groaned, grinding against him, and he filled her with a noise of arousal. She felt his hands paw at her clothes and let him shed them off her, until she was only clad in her panties.

The sex they had on Byakuya’s dead father’s bed was incredible.

Afterwards, they lay together and Touko breathed loudly, gazing upward. They would have to make a small trek to their helicopter in the morning. Byakuya would want them to leave as early as possible, so she ought to have tried to get some sleep, but she couldn’t. Her head buzzed, and her eyelids wouldn’t stay down. She listened to the whisper of a stream, the hustle of a breeze and the occasional chirps of insects. An image of a stink bug came to her mind, and her heart clenched as she remembered how it had crumbled in her fist as she crushed it.

Judging by the lack of snoring, Byakuya hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Byakuya-sama,” she murmured, and if he didn’t acknowledge her, she would have left it at that. That would be what destiny decided for them.

“What is it?” he asked with his back to her, barely any louder.

She swallowed.

“What if we didn’t go back, and we just stayed here?” she said.

There was a pause.

“Why would we do that?” he asked slowly in a flat voice, like a calm sea before a storm was due to hit.

Touko cringed.

“I don’t know,” she said. Her stomach quivered, and she quickly added, “Good night.”

“No.” He sat up and turned to her. “Not good night. Why would you suggest that?”

Destiny must have had it out for her. His eyes bore into her.

“You would have us abandon our comrades? Our leader? And for what, a tiny cabin in the woods on a mountain?” he asked, gesturing around the room.

“We don’t have to stay here,” she said, her heart hammering away. God, with the moonlight framing him like that, he was irresistible. Her fingers curled into her hand. “As long as I’m with you... then I will go anywhere. Even a tiny cabin in the woods on a mountain.”

Nothing. He said nothing. Just glared.

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling her throat tighten. “I’ll shut up.”

His face was cold.

“You can sleep on the floor,” he sneered.

Touko got off the bed and sat down where he indicated. He lay down again, and the bed creaked as he put more weight on it.

In the end, she got an hour sleep at most. The sky lightened outside, and he nudged her with his foot until she raised her head. Byakuya put his cloak and crown on while she dressed too, and she followed him down the stairs. He walked in front of her and opened the front door.

Almost instantly, he slammed it shut without leaving. A second later, the door let off three sharp thunks.

“We have company,” said Byakuya calmly, and he backed away from the door, drawing his sword from his cane. She stayed close to him.

Moments later, the door shuddered and after a few more thumps, it fell down. Standing in the doorway was a human with a large frame. Their business suit strained slightly over their muscles, and their facial features could not be determined due to the fact they wore a wrestling mask that resembled a cow’s head.

Byakuya held his weapon out in front of him.

An elderly man slipped past the wrestler, with upswept silver hair and amber eyes. His skin resembled a prune in texture and he walked with a marked hunch. The man was Kazuo Tengan, former headmaster of Hope’s Peak Academy, former advisor of Hope’s Peak Academy and current leader of Future Foundation.

He stopped just in front of the wrestler and smiled pleasantly at the other two.

“I thought we might find you here, Togami-kun. Fukawa-san,” he said. “This is quite the cosy little cottage, isn’t it?”

Neither Touko nor Byakuya replied. They leered at him. He tilted his head.

“Where is your father, Togami-kun?” he asked.

Byakuya eyed him.

“I don’t have a father,” Byakuya replied bluntly.

Kazuo quirked his brow, holding his hands behind his back. “Do you mean that because he disowned you, or because you killed him?”

The lack of response gave Kazuo a suspicion on what the answer was. He sniffed the air and strayed from the doorway, feeling Byakuya and Touko monitor his every movement. Because the kitchen area was in the same room, he soon wandered over to the mutilated corpse on the ground.

“Oh dear, the answer is ‘both’,” said Kazuo, peering down at it, then he lifted his head. Noting Byakuya’s expression, he adjusted his glasses. “Shall we get down to business? You have probably worked out why we’re here.”

“Yes,” said Byakuya. He raised his sword. “You came here to die.”

Byakuya propelled himself toward Kazuo, preparing to swing his sword at him, but before he could reach him, the wrestler shoved into him and Byakuya stumbled.

“I, Great Gozu, will not allow you to kill anyone anymore,” roared the wrestler.

Regaining his footing quickly, Byakuya aimed his next attack toward Great Gozu.

Small knives splattered against his blade, and Byakuya pulled back.

Now that Great Gozu no longer occupied the doorway, more people could come in. One was a lean man in a red trench coat, and the other was a woman with a grey complexion, who wore a purple respirator mask and a short dark jacket.

The knives had come from the man in the red trench coat. Byakuya remembered him vaguely from Hope’s Peak, a blacksmith by the name of Sonosuke, and the noise just after Byakuya had closed the door earlier had been from Sonosuke’s knives hitting against it, as they did against his sword just now.

Sonosuke stayed back and reached into his sleeve, presumably to whisk out more knives to throw.

Touko yanked up her skirt and grabbed a pair of scissors from the leather pouch on her right thigh. With a screech, she charged at Sonosuke, and she cut his cheek with her blades.

He let out a yell and lurched backward into the wall. She readied another attack.

Nearby, the woman with the respirator mask ingested some green pills, who Byakuya now remembered to be called Seiko Kimura, a pharmacist. The effect from the pills was immediate. Seiko bulked up, and her purple gloves tore as her hands enlarged. Her nails became claws, and her silver hair lengthed, thrashing like snakes. On her legs, her tights ripped. Veins popped out on her face and with fangs bared, she hurtled toward Touko on all fours.

Byakuya intercepted Seiko, and she only barely dodged his sword’s path. She twisted around and leaped toward him. He kicked out his leg, landing a blow on her face, but she didn’t rebound much, as if he just swatted lightly at her.

Seiko lunged at him again, but Byakuya fended her off with his sword. Blood sprayed and she staggered back with a howl.

Gozu appeared behind Byakuya and grappled him, wrapping his arms around his middle. Byakuya struggled but couldn’t break free. He gasped in pain.

Touko’s eyes widened. She jumped onto Gozu’s back and stabbed his shoulder with some scissors. The scissors belonged to her alter and were her trademark when it came to murders, and for a long time, Touko couldn’t stand them, only keeping them so Syo wouldn’t have to make more, as every time she did that, she risked being caught.

Now, though, Touko had come to appreciate them.

He shouted and his hold loosened enough for Byakuya to squirm free. When Byakuya got out of the way, Touko whipped out another set of scissors, as her other set were still embedded in Gozu, and she ran at him.

Before she got there, Kazuo aimed a stun gun at her and pressed the trigger. Kazuo hit her on the base of her neck. A rattling sound burst out, lasting for five seconds, which was how long he squeezed the trigger for. Touko’s muscles locked up and she fell down into a heap.

Byakuya’s eyes strained wider and he ran over, stopping near her unconscious form.

Sonosuke threw knives at him. They skimmed past Byakuya, grazing skin. Non-lethal. Intentional.

Kazuo raised a hand, showing his palm to Byakuya.

“Togami-kun, you’re a smart lad,” he said. “You know that you’re outnumbered. It’s impossible for you to take all of us down.”

“If you think you can kill me, you’re welcome to try,” said Byakuya, jutting out his chin. He held his sword in front of him. “I’m unkillable, however.”

“That guy’s really trying to test my patience,” said Sonosuke gruffly. Byakuya glanced at him.

“So you can speak,” said Byakuya dryly. Sonosuke flourished a knife.

Kazuo kept his hand up, speaking slowly.

“We don’t plan to kill you. I’d much prefer we be as less violent as possible.” He sighed. “If it was my way, we’d have a cup of tea and leave together without any more fighting.”

Byakuya watched him closely, gripping his sword firmly.

“If you don’t plan on killing us, what are you going to do?” asked Byakuya, and he jerked his head. “Take us to court? Put us on trial? Lock us away in your basement?”

“That’s to be decided,” said Kazuo. His brow furrowed. “This is a losing battle, Togami-kun. Your leader, Enoshima, died during her broadcast of a mutual killing scenario, as you are aware. And a few hours ago, we captured her right-hand man, Clover... or as he was once known as, Makoto Naegi.”

The name made Byakuya’s heart jolt.

“What?” said Byakuya sharply. His stomach rolled. “Makoto... Naegi?”

Their former classmate, who the prep course slaughtered. Who burned before their very eyes.

“What are you talking about?” snarled Byakuya. “Naegi’s dead. Clover is...”

“I believe you’ve been tricked by your deceased leader, Togami-kun,” said Kazuo evenly. “Although Naegi-kun does not remember his past life, tests have confirmed that he is, biologically, Makoto Naegi. According to him, Enoshima faked Naegi-kun’s death and using Matsuda-kun’s notes, changed him into a heartless monster.”

Byakuya stared. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, but perhaps Naegi-kun isn’t telling the truth. We shall see.” Kazuo extended a hand unsmilingly. “But for now, Togami-kun, we’d like you both to come with us.”

To no one’s surprise, Byakuya didn’t take Kazuo’s hand. Instead, he flexed his grip on his sword and said, “The only thing that can kill God... is God.”

The next scene happened in slow motion. Byakuya lifted his sword, and he turned it over in his hands so the blade pointed toward him. He dropped to one knee. Sonosuke and Seiko stiffened, while Gozu moved toward him. Kazuo’s eyebrows rocketed up.

Then, Touko swept her leg under Byakuya, and time sped up to normal. Byakuya fell, dropping his sword, and banged his head against the floor. Only, when she ripped off her mouth mask and her long, pink tongue hung out of her mouth, it turned out it wasn’t actually Touko.

Her foot pressed down on Byakuya’s back.

Gozu froze.

Genocider Syo regarded them with tired, weary eyes.

“If you can save them,” she said, “then we’ll go with you.”

#togafuka #byakuya togami #touko fukawa #danganronpa #seiko kimura #sonosuke izayoi #kazuo tengan #the great gozu #genocider syo #croatian rhapsody #fanfiction #togafukaweek

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laguera25 · 5 years

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Movie Review: Glass--SPOILERS

Most critical reviews are decidedly meh about <i>Glass</i>, but it resonated profoundly with me because it's situated within a disabled perspective. Oh, there's some window dressing about human evolution and the advent of a new superhero age, but at its heart, it's about exploring the world from a disabled perspective and is a fine bit of disability horror. While Glass, with his osteogenesis imperfecta and his wheelchair, is the most obvious symbol of this worldview, Kevin and David are part of it as well, and while a lot of reviewers are pissing and moaning about the tedium of the hospital interlude, I found it mesmerizing because it perfectly encapsulated the darkest horrors and unglamorous realities of disabled life.

If you are disabled, you are robbed of the illusion of control that is so freely granted to everyone else as soon as they can walk or crawl or otherwise propel themselves through the world. Your life is not your own. You can say no, but there is no guarantee that it will be honored, and, in fact, a good chance it will be ignored, and if you protest or disagree, you will be punished. The parameters of your world will be defined howsoever they choose, and there will be no escape, and the doctors and orderlies who possess the power to expand or contract your horizons as they see fit will tell themselves--and you, ad nauseam--that it is for your own good. Disagree, and they will wield your intransigence as further proof of your unfitness for society. After all, if you were truly rational, you would see that the world isn't safe or meant for you and would be grateful for their protection, which manifests in isolation, regimentation, and a cocktail of punitive drugs. And if you persist in trying to slip the yoke of their charity, well, they'll just have to manhaul you into surgery and laser your brains out to make you more tractable.

In this warped world, Elijah and Kevin aren't evil monsters who derail trains and eat people, but victims trying to buck the status quo that fears difference so much that it is willing to quash it by any means necessary, even if it means mindfucking superheroes and drowning them in puddles to keep the truth from getting out.

The counseling session is a masterclass in manipulation and malignant ableism. Of course you're not special, Dr. Staple tells them again and again. You're not something greater. You are, in fact, broken, delusional aberrations who need to be convinced of your weakness, your need to be shut away. Because you are incapable of seeing the truth, don't you think it would be best if you let us take care of you? Stay in an institution. Out of sight, out of mind, and no one will have to be burdened by knowledge of you. For someone who meets this attitude on a subliminal level every day, this is prime nightmare fuel.

I'm not sure how aware of these implications M. Night Shyamalan was when he was filming, but two scenes make me think he had an inkling, a shadow glimpsed from the corner of his eye. The first is the memory elicited from Elijah by the laser when Staple tries to scramble his brains. In it, he's a young boy at a fair with a pair of enormous stuffed lions under his arms. We watch as he gets on a ride called the [something] Tornado that looks like a bigger, more hurl-inducing version of the teacup ride. We know there is only one way this can end as he climbs into the seat and buffers himself with his stuffed lions and wraps a scarf around his hands to insulate them from the bone-jarring g-forces of the lap bar, and my heart broke because even as the fusty, jaded adult in me was foaming at the mouth at him for doing something so cataclysmically dumb, my heart cried out in anguished sympathy because he just wanted to be a kid and go on all the whizzing, whirling rides like everybody else, to know the exhilaration of feeling like you could touch the clouds. He just wanted to do something fun without having to hold referendums on whether he should and strategize about it like it was a goddamn military campaign, and for anyone who recognizes that yearning, what happens next is excruciating.

It doesn't work. The lions slide to the floor and the scarf unwinds from his hands, and gravity and inevitability do their awful work. The joyous wonder in his eyes as he whirls around and around becomes terror as realization dawns and then agony as bones shatter against gaily-colored steel. It's not fair. The cold reality of his disability has won over his hope and idealism. No matter how much he wishes it, he will never be able to move through the world as easily as everyone else, without the grim, unwelcome knowledge that every movement could bring unspeakable pain and life itself is an act of endurance and howling defiance. It's the innocence of childhood juxtaposed against the inflexible cruelty of what is, proof that magical thinking doesn't always beat the monster.

The second comes at the end of the climactic battle in the hospital yard. Kevin/The Beast has discovered the truth about Glass' motives and shattered his sternum. The injuries are fatal, and his distraught mother rushes to comfort him.

"I wasn't a mistake, Mama," he croaks. It's meant to be an affirmation, but it's uncertain, fifty going on five, and he searches her face with raw need.

"No, baby, you weren't. You were spectacular."

And that's the heart of this movie. The maternal affirmation that every heart seeks but so few disabled hearts get. All Elijah wants to hear as his life slips away is that he wasn't regretted by the one who should have loved him most. It's such a low bar to clear given that mothers of rapists and kiddie fiddlers will sob and swear that their precious baby isn't bad, just misunderstood, but it might as well be hurdling Everest in a world where parents become martyrs by blogging to the whole world how much it sucks to be the mother(it's almost always the mother)of a disabled child. Everywhere we look, we see markers of how unwanted we are in a world not made for us and that makes zero effort to make it so, and even our families often treat us as a burden assumed rather than a vital new thread in the family tapestry.

I suspect Shyamalan suspects this, too, which is why he gives us a hopeful ending that falls flat. Despite Dr. Staple's best efforts to quash all evidence of superheroes, Elijah has outfoxed her by making sure footage of the final battle and their executions is uploaded to the web and disseminated to anyone with a connection.

"This is our ticket to the rest of the universe," Mother Glass says hopefully as the video goes viral and people watch in disbelief.

It's a lovely sentiment, but sentiment is all it is because you can see by the news chyrons at the bottom of every screen how it will be presented. As far as the media is concerned, these weren't superheroes murdered to suppress their existence, but three escaped lunatics under the influence of psychosis and adverse drug interactions who were killed for the public good. In a day or two, the hamster wheels that spin the public attention span will veer in a different direction, and the secret will remain safe.

Of course most people are whinging about the dearth of badass superhero fights in this movie because the story Shyamalan told, whether he meant to or not, wasn't calibrated to their frequency and didn't reflect their emotional landscape. They've never had to worry about visibility and freedom because they have always assumed both, and the titanic struggle for recognition and integration happened in a language they will never speak on a level beyond flying fists and bulging pecs and artistic explosions. If there isn't an epic fight and an epic fuck, it's not a story worth their time.

#movies #glass #disability

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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tonystarktogo · 6 years

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Five Times The Avengers Didn’t Hunt Down Dean Winchester (And The One Time Thor Threw Him A Party)

[This will be familiar to those of you who read my first post that inspired this whole story. I rewrote parts of it though, so I hope you enjoy it anyways!]

Three

“Do you believe in magic?” Madelene – Tony’s favourite babysitter to date – asks him curiously, her hands diligently smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt, and there’s a softness in her sad eyes as she looks down at him that makes them light up oh-so prettily.

Tony shakes his head wildly because he hates standing still. Because he knows from caustic remarks and dismissive eye rolls that it’s the answer his father expects him to give.

Staring at the surveillance tapes of a strange man in the odd, roman-or-something-equally-out-of-date get-up with a glowing staff causing havoc in Germany, Tony says the only thing that comes to mind:

“I fucking hate magic.”

The kid can’t be a day older than fourteen, but he holds the gun in his hands like he’s been born to. His grip doesn’t waver once. There is blood running down his temple, caking strands of his short, blonde hair against his head. A colourful ring of bruises is forming along his throat, clearly visible against the pale skin, and Tony wishes deeply he didn’t know exactly how the kid has gotten them. Wishes he hadn’t been forced to stand by and watch it happen.

Tony tries not to read too much into that. Guilt isn’t going to help either of them right now, and frankly, he’s got bigger things to worry about than his unusually rebellious consciousness.

The kid is throw backwards against the wall with a pained groan – Tony carefully doesn’t think about the possibility of spinal cord damage, carefully doesn’t think about the fact that it’s a windless day and there is no logical explanation for the kid’s sudden flight besides something he really doesn’t believe in. The kid’s still holding on to his gun with admirable stubbornness, but it’s pretty clear from his grimace that he’s in pain. Tony has the odd urge to push the kid behind him, to shield him somehow from the crazed bitch trying to kill them both.

He carefully doesn’t think about that either. Focuses on the murderous bitch instead because Tony Stark doesn’t have a selfless, protective bone in his body, thank you very much.

Tony Stark does however have the wonderful talent to get under people’s skin and piss them off beyond reason or measure. He’d brag about it, if it wasn’t exactly this particular gift of his that has apparently drawn the wrath of his newest, and as of now most dangerous stalker.

Then again, he might die in the next minute, so there really is no time for false modesty. If nothing else, Tony makes a kick-ass distraction.

Behind the witch-bitch – and yes, some rational part of Tony’s mind still shies away from the inevitable conclusion – the kid manages to get himself into an upright position again. It looks like a strenuous, painful process.

Tony would wince in sympathy, but he’s a little busy screaming his lungs out. Possibly literally, if the tearing pain in his chest is anything to go by.

Once again, the kid pulls the trigger. Hits his mark with deadly accuracy. The bitch stumbles, but doesn’t fall.

Tony kinda wishes he’d black out now. It seems like as good a moment as any.

“Fucking witches!” the kid snarls between his shots, and there’s a hatred years too old for his appearance in those words.

Rhodey laughs. It’s a real laugh, working its way out from deep within, loud and boisterous. The sound settles over Tony like a thick, warm blanket, shielding him against the cold and easing the the knot of tension that’s been sitting in his chest for weeks now, hidden behind the arc reactor, where no one can reach it.

Until this very moment, Tony had forgotten how much he’s missed that laugh.

“Come on, Pepper.” Rhodey grins teasingly. There are crinkles of amusement and affection around the corners of his eyes, and Tony would make a joke about old age catching up with them if the sight of it didn’t make the words catch in the back of his throat. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

Pepper grins, cheeks flushed from the cold and the two flutes of champagne. She looks more relaxed than Tony has seen her since he first stepped off that plane, eyes sparkling, a few strands of hair loosened by the evening breeze, and all the more beautiful for it.

Even Natalie’s lips twitch into a slight smile that Tony thinks might actually be genuine. He can’t be sure though – and he sure as hell isn’t going to say anything about it.

“Alright, alright.” Pepper concedes with a shake of her head. She doesn’t look embarrassed, only exasperated by the lack of support from her company. “All I’m saying is, it’s a nice thought.”

“I suppose.” Rhodey shrugs, like he doesn’t much care one way or another but is willing to indulge her all the same. He has never seen the use of losing yourself in the aching what-ifs. Sometimes Tony envies his best friend’s steadfast hold on reality and how he’s still smiling so genuinely despite it.

Tony doesn’t smile. Tony doesn’t say anything at all.

“So.” Tony clears his throat. Ignores the burning in his chest, the rawness of his throat that speaks of too much undignified, though perfectly justified screaming. Being quiet doesn’t come easy to him. “Witches, huh?”

The kid peers up at him from where he’s kneeling over the bitch’s body – and crazy as it sounds, Tony could swear it wasn’t the seven bullets the kid put in her chest that brought her down but the odd, handmade bracelet he managed to get around her ankle at some point, except for how that makes no sense at all. He looks way too used to dealing with dead bodies for a kid that can’t have finished high school for Tony’s comfort, and his hazel eyes are hard with a wariness Tony is all-too familiar with. For a moment, he thinks the kid is going to snap. Shoot him maybe or, hell, mind-magic his memories away the way Tony’s day is going. But then the kid sighs, head bowed, shoulders drooping in exhaustion, and he looks so fucking young .

“Yeah.” the kid mumbles, “Witches.”

Followed by Tony’s least favourite words in the world. “Among other things.”

“Sir, may I advise you to cut back on your drinking? The alcohol poisoning in your blood is approaching a Protocol Shutdown level,” JARVIS states calmly.

Tony doesn’t bother acknowledging him – or the pointed, non-judgmental tone of voice that makes him feel very judged, for that matter. His gaze stays fixated on the screen in front of him, where he watches the too-familiar face of a total stranger smile a deranged, blood-thirsty,familiar smile. Tony has lost track of how often he’s watched the footage of the massacre a while ago. Often enough to no longer flinch at the screams and the laughter, at least.

The content remains the same, unchanged, tragedy forever repeating itself on the various surfaces of Tony’s workshop. Sam and Dean Winchester publicly gun down twenty-seven civilians in full view of various security cameras. Brutally and clearly enjoying every second of it.

Tony feels sick.

It feels like his entrails have melted together into one big, malevolent, puddle of dangerously bubbling goo. The murders aren’t the worst Tony has ever seen, not by far. Thanks to JARVIS’ hobby of hacking SHIELD, Tony has a very clear idea (and the examples to back it up) on just how far human depravity can really go. Compared to some of the torturous fates he has seen in files, these deaths aren’t particularly spectacular.

Of course, it’s not so much the manner in which the people were killed as the identity of the men pulling the triggers that’s bothering Tony. Their terrible pleasure in the face of the destruction they cause.

Everything he is, everything that defines the man he’s so desperately trying to become, screams for him to get into his suit and hunt these sick fuckers down. To eradicate them from existence. Give the poor families of those victims the only peace of mind that is left to give.

Tony feels sick.

Everything he was, everything about the man he so desperately doesn’t want to be anymore, rallies against that plan, refuses to accept the truth that so clearly plays out in front of his eyes. Remembers a kid with too-steady hands and too-knowing eyes, asking him “You’re gonna believe me? Just like that?” with the bitter disbelief of someone who has forgotten what it means to be trusted – has never learned it in the first place.

And what had Tony done? When faced with a kid rambling on about what was at best a rich imagination gone out-of-control, at worst the indication of a serious mental illness? Tony had been a hypocrite. Tony had denounced every rule he lived by, still lives by, had discarded everything he knows to be true, refused the logical actions that should have been taken.

Tony had been twenty-two and he’d looked into Dean Winchester’s eyes and he had believed. There had been no logic, no rational explanation to justify his actions. Not when he’d shaken a fourteen year old boy’s hand. Not when he’d let JARVIS ‘misfile’ a couple of outstanding warrants. There is no explanation now either, as he watches the footage rewind and start over once more.

Tony feels sick.

There’s a chance – a very real chance – that this is a frame-up. God knows, there’s enough fucked-up shit out there that could pull something like this off. Enough fucked-up shit with the motivation to go after these two men in particular too. And sure, Tony’s already checked the footage for the most common ones. The easy explanation that would ease the ache in his chest that makes the arc reactor feel ten times more heavy than usual. But there’s probably other stuff out there, things that no video content analysis in the world will be able to prove.

Still.

There is a chance – no matter how small, no matter how much he hates to admit even this much – that this is real. Tony knows the numbers. He’s damn good with numbers.

There’s no way to know for sure.

What it comes down to is something Tony hates, something he despises with his very being, something he doesn’t believe in, something insufficient and flat, something insubstantial and unreasonable. What it comes down to is faith.

And the worst part, the absolute worst part is, Tony knows what he’s going to do. He knows it with a certainty that scares him, terrifies him, makes him sick on his stomach. Because he can’t know for sure and this is a risk that can’t be taken, a token of faith that can’t be granted, not with twenty-seven innocent lives. Not by Iron Man. Not by a hero.

But Tony Stark was never recommended for the pretty save-the-world-in-spandex-club – and maybe, underneath the still smarting wounds, the calculation and the manipulation, there was an actual reason for that.

“You’re gonna believe me? Just like that?”

“JARVIS,” Tony says, manages to keep his voice as steady as he once watched Dean hold his gun, all those years ago, despite the heavy taste of whiskey on his tongue. “Enable Protocol Ghost. Targets are Sam and Dean Winchester and that trench coat guy, what’s-his-name. And the car. Parameters include all intelligence agencies, social networks, hell, fucking WhatsApp. And get rid off those pesky APBs. Oh, and anything SHIELD has on these guys? Wipe it. No one’s getting anything on these guys that I haven’t personally approved of, got it?”

“Understood, sir.” Then, after a beat of silence. “Sir… are you certain this is the course of action you wish to take?”

Tony closes his eyes. He thinks of twenty-seven dead civilians. Thinks of their families who’ll never get the justice they deserve. Thinks of a kid with green eyes that doesn’t expect to be trusted. Thinks of the names of every soldier that got killed by his own weapons. Thinks of mythical forces he doesn’t believe in and religious constructs he has no use for.

And he makes his choice.

His resolve does nothing to combat the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Hey kid, if you ever… Just, you know. I owe you one.”

“Look, keep your cash and whatever. I was just doing my job.”

Tony Stark doesn’t believe in faith.

But he believes in Dean Winchester.

He believes in settling his debts.

Next up: Bruce

#ReRe writes #5+1 verse #Dean Winchester #Tony Stark #fic #angst #first meeting #alcohol #unhealthy coping mechanism #the price of faith I suppose #tough decisions #Tony is not a hero (and he's not fine with it)#Supernatural #MCU #crossover #trust #5+1 things

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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

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How damaged is Haymitch? Maybe Four will give us a clue...

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 54 : Screw Bad Days

“Would you relax?” Effie hummed, snuggling into his side to nuzzle his neck. “This is supposed to look candid.”

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, watching the shore line without truly seeing it. It was warmer in Four than it had been anywhere else so far and he had discarded the jacket of his suit at the Justice Building and had rolled up his sleeves to Harwyn’s clear irritation. Effie had given up on her coat too, she was wearing a pink tight dress with silver platform shoes so high he wasn’t sure how she could walk on the sand without twisting her ankles.

“Give me a cigarette.” he demanded, well aware there were some in her small silver clutch.

“Certainly not on camera, no.” she refused without departing with her smile.

“Thought it was supposed to look candid?” he scoffed.

She laughed her fake laugh, loud enough that it would be audible a few feet away. He couldn’t see the cameras, that was the point. They were supposed to have sneaked away from the Tour party for a romantic little stroll along the seaside. They were being filmed from afar, it was that time of the day when they should be stressing that their affair was a love one so nobody would get it into their head to buy themselves the Two-times Quell Victor back in the city.

He just wasn’t in the mood to lay thick the public displays of affection.

The speeches had been difficult.

Neither Mags nor Finnick had any family and the boxes in front of him had remained empty but the giant pictures had stared back at him. The resentment from the people had been palpable too, the tension high even as he had rushed through the speeches in a desperate attempt to make it go faster. He had killed Mags and he had had a hand in Finnick’s death. People weren’t likely to forget that.

It was Shella who had shaken his hand on behalf of Four’s victors and her grip had been far too strong, her stare far too cold. She would have gladly strangled him there and then, Haymitch had surmised, not only because Mags had been her mentor once upon a time but also because she and Brutus had had a fling back in the days and Brutus was dead when he was alive. Alina might want to believe the surviving victors wouldn’t hold a grudge but he wasn’t naïve enough to believe everyone would be that generous.

They would have to look out for Four during the next Games.

“You found out where Annie is?” he asked, distractedly running circles on her shoulder with his thumb. How much longer would they have to romantically stroll? Certainly they had all the footage they wanted by now? And there was still the fishing boat to visit on the schedule, he thought. And then there would be a long hour of prepping and the dinner and…

“According to Della, she hasn’t left her house since the Reaping.” Effie answered, sounding sad.

Four’s escort, at least, wasn’t as resentful as others had been so far. He wasn’t impatient to get to One and Two. Cashmere and Enobaria had been legends there. But on the other hand, they respected strength so they might be happy to see him. Careers Districts were twisted that way.

“If she needs anything…” he hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much leeway he had but if he made sure it was discrete…

“The other victors are keeping an eye on her. From what I understand she has troubles coming to terms with everything.” she explained. “She hasn’t been left to fend for herself, do not worry.”

“Good.” he muttered even if it was anything but.

He had been worried about Annie. And he wanted to make things right by Finnick and Mags. He had a responsibility to…

Four was a beautiful place, he noticed absentmindedly. It might have been the District that had marked him the most during his first Tour. The ocean… He could remember thinking how much his brother would have loved it. Now though… He felt impermeable to its beauty. He watched but didn’t really see. It might have been his last opportunity to walk by the ocean but he simply couldn’t care.

Not when it made him remember about the sound of waves crashing in the distance while he ran for his life. Not when he could still see the ocean giving on the dam. Not when the arena was so present in his mind.

He was trapped in it.

Literally.

“Shella will take up the senior mentor role next season.” Effie says quietly, the seriousness of her voice contrasting with the soft smile on her lips. He didn’t know how she could do this so well, keep up the mask at any time. “You and Peeta will have to watch out. She is…”

“Already figured.” he cut her off.

The you and Peeta was painful. Despite Alys’ presence he didn’t like the reminder that she wouldn’t be on their team anymore. A Game without her seemed… unbearable.

As if she had read his thoughts, she snuggled closer once more, placing a hand on his chest to effectively put a stop to the strolling. He turned to face her, not really surprised when the hand trailed up to his cheek. Her lips were warm and tasted like strawberry. He didn’t like kissing for show but it could have been worse. It could have been someone else.

He wrapped his arms tight around her waist and deepened the kiss to something that was a little less romance and more passionate. She hummed a little in protest because she had purposefully instructed him to keep it sweet that day but whatever objections she had were soon forgotten. Her nails dug hard into his nape and she gave as good as she got.

He lost himself in it, allowed himself to pretend his elevated heartbeat had to do with kissing her instead of stress.

“Wanna go home.” he mumbled against her lip. “So badly.”

And he wasn’t sure at which point home had become their apartment in the city but it was the place he craved right then, the place where he somehow felt safe, where it was easier to forget about Peeta’s rightful resentment and his haunting memories.

He wanted the blinding colors to wrap around him, cradle him and comfort him.

“Soon, darling.” she promised. “Only three districts left and we will be home.”

And she would be officially discharged as his escort.

And he really didn’t want to think about that.

And they would have to go back to Twelve after the party at the Presidential Mansion anyway. For the Banquet.

He couldn’t see the end of it.

He rested his forehead against hers and breathed out slowly. He just wanted some peace and quiet. Just that.

Movement on his right had him stepping in front of her before he could think twice about it, his hand flying to his belt where his knife used to rest. It was only the main director of the Tour though who came to tell Effie they had all the footage they needed. Effie nodded and thanked him while Haymitch tried to convince himself no one was out for their blood, that this was Panem not arena-Panem. She ushered him back up to the pier to the waiting Mayor and he made an effort to appear at least a little less confused than he felt.

There was more acting involved. Smiling and waving at people who had so obviously been paid to look happy to see him that it was almost ridiculous. The Mayor was tensed next to him, as if too aware that an incident could happen at any moment, too aware also of what it would mean for his District. Peeta and Effie were walking behind Haymitch, doing a decent job of pretending not to notice the tension.

They visited a fishing boat, discussed how beautiful Four was in tones of fake enthusiasm, Effie managed to place how much she loved their oysters – she always promoted local trade in that way, it was apparently deemed good to keep workers’ spirits up by acknowledging them. To the owner of the boat’s insistence, Haymitch tried fishing. He failed and they all pretended to laugh about it.

They all looked like they were having the time of their life.

And it made him a little sick.

°O°O°O°

The hot water drummed hard on the back of his neck but Haymitch could barely feel it. He braced both hands on the tiles of the shower and he kept his head bowed, staring at the water pooling around his feet, not understanding why it was so clean when it should have been red with blood.

He was covered in blood, wasn’t he?

Mags’s blood?

‘Help’, she had whispered. He could still hear her raspy voice, hear the obvious effort to make herself understandable… Help. And what had he done? What had he…

Forgive me.

That was what he had begged of her. Forgiveness. A stupid thing to ask when you were about to murder someone. Had she granted it? He couldn’t remember. It was a blur. He remembered the softness of her skin under his forehead when he had leaned in. He remembered the sickening noise of the knife entering the side of her neck. He remembered how still she had become when she had breathed out.

He remembered…

Finnick’s suddenly limp body under his. The arrow jutting out of his eye like one of those squirrels Katniss sometimes brought back home. Not much blood.

Not much blood.

“Nice job.” he used to praise her when she tossed one on his kitchen table, amongst the bottles of liquor. “Perfect shot.”

He felt sick.

The people in Four had been glaring at him. He had felt their hatred, he had understood it. Why wouldn’t they hate him? He had taken both of their victors. He had…

He shook his head, rubbed his face and then brushed his damp hair back. He turned the water off, not sure how long he had been in the shower but instinctively knowing it had been long enough that Effie would come looking before long. He had escaped as soon as they had climbed back on the train while she had stayed to entertain the others in the living-room car.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been but he knew it had been some time. An hour. Maybe more. She didn’t like it when he spent that long in the shower. She knew he spaced out. She knew he tended to turn the water so hot he was likely to burn himself. She knew he could scrub himself raw if she didn’t check regularly.

He was that guy who needed a minder now ‘cause he was also the guy who had tried to swallow an entire bottle of sleeping pills.

Except he wasn’t anymore, was he? He hadn’t tried anything in the last six months. The last six months had been spent playing house with Effie where he had tried to ignore his memories with determination. His guilt.

And now he was waving and smiling at a crowd who hated him with good reasons, praising the enemy that had enslaved them. And he wasn’t even that bad at it, lying, pretending…

What had he become?

He stepped out of the shower on shaky legs and wiped the steam off the mirror over the sink. In the brief moment before it got clouded again, he met a stranger’s eyes. He had gained back the weight he had lost after his withdrawals and the Games. He looked… healthy.

He had been eating well in the city. Maybe not as often as he ought to but the food was rich and Effie obsessed over her diet so badly that, since he usually ate the same thing she did, he had ended up eating far better than he ever had in Twelve. Fruits and vegetables and yoghurts along with the occasional treat.

So he looked healthy, healthier than he had ever been probably. Even his hair didn’t look as greasy and limp as it used to. Not with all the fancy shampoos she bought and he used because it was right there in front of him and he kind of liked the smell.

He didn’t look Capitol.

But he didn’t look like someone from Twelve either.

He looked…

He looked like a normal guy. Someone from a wealthier District maybe.

And that wasn’t right, was it?

Not what he deserved at all.

He toweled his hair dry, locked in swirling thoughts that told him he deserved pain and nothing else. He was a murderer. What he needed was punishment.

Stepping out of the bathroom was almost like jumping in a bathtub full of ice.

He breathed a little more easily in the steam-free room. The guilt was still gnawing at him but it wasn’t all-encompassing. Not when he could focus his attention on Effie who was sitting at her dressing table in her nightgown, scribbling away on familiar little cards.

She glanced at him in the mirror when he came in, her eyes roaming on his naked body with a slightly displeased pout. Probably because his skin was too red for her comfort.

He made a beeline for her and she simply put her pen down and turned around on the stool, watching him sit at the edge of the bed with her head tilted in curiosity. He took her hand in his without a word, his thumb nervously playing with the iris-shaped ring, letting her presence wash away some of his dread.

After a few minutes of him saying nothing, she crossed the short distance and straddled his lap. She was a little at a loss, he supposed, she always was at times like this. She wasn’t sure what to do with him and it made him feel even worse. He had told her once that he was sorry for being such a broken thing but she had shushed him and he had never dared offer that particular apology again.

She kissed him and he responded because that was her way to make him feel better and he was desperate to feel better. It grew heated. Heated enough that he could pretend he wasn’t still thinking about his blade in Mags’ neck or holding Finnick down while Katniss shot him. He splayed a hand at the small of her back when she started rocking against him, his body accepting her comfort even if his mind was taking longer to catch up.

She pulled the nightgown off her body and he stopped kissing her to bury his face between her breasts with a small groan. This is home, he told himself, it’s the only thing that counts. He licked the plane between her breasts, bit down on the swell of the left one, brought his free hand up to grab the other...

Her fingers ran in his hair, down his nape… Her nails dug hard in his shoulder when he nipped too hard at her nipple and he hissed almost in relief at the pain. And for one second, a blissful whole second, his mind shut down. No more Mags. No more Finnick. No more wondering what kind of mutt that Quell had made him. Just pain and blind relief.

He looked up at her uncertainly but she didn’t notice, too busy kissing the line of his jaw… Her nail was scratching against his nipple in a way that sent blood running south very fast… Her other hand was back around his nape, tilting his head further so she could… Her teeth nibbled on his neck…

“Harder.” he whispered.

She paused for a moment and then complied, biting strongly enough that he closed his eyes and groaned. She immediately licked the abused flesh, kissed it to make it better, but he stretched his neck away from her, wanting to keep the sting going as long as he could.

“Haymitch?” she asked uncertainly, leaning in to capture his lips again.

He kissed her back, breathing hard through it, as he worked out just how he could get his mind to shut up.

“I…” he hesitated against her lips, not sure how to word that. “I wanna do something different.”

“Alright.” she agreed, sounding a bit wary to his ears. “What do you want?”

She would give him anything he asked for. He knew that perfectly well. If he had asked if he could fuck her in the ass, something that another woman would probably have killed him for, she wouldn’t even have blinked before offering to go fetch the lube. When it came to sex, very few things were off limits to her. It was him who set boundaries more often than not.

Which was why he was so taken aback when she recoiled at his next words.

“Want you to hurt me.” he mumbled.

She was off his lap and across the room in a flash. With her back to the wall, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, half glaring at him. “No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because. No.” she snapped.

He studied her, not quite understanding why she looked so distressed all of a sudden. He wasn’t asking something so incredible by Capitol standards. And he was sure she had played dominatrix for other men before. She had done everything.

“I’ve hurt you before and you said it was okay.” he countered. They’ve always been rough and he had always enjoyed giving her orders. She liked giving orders now and then. He didn’t understand what…

“It was different.” she hissed.

“How?” he scoffed. “Seems like the same thing to me.”

“It was different because I wasn’t using sex as a way to appease my conscience.” she scowled, looking furious. “I have never asked you to hurt me because I felt I needed to be punished.”

“No?” he sneered.

That was a lie if he had ever heard one. All those years… And particularly the first ones… When they had tumbled against a wall, clawing at each other’s skin, tearing up each other’s clothes… It had been little else but trying to find comfort from their pain, blowing off steam, seeking oblivion for a few minutes… And she had always begged in his ear to fuck her harder, harder just so she could stop thinking so…

She had the good taste to blush a little but she pursed her lips hard. “What do you want me to do? Tie you up and whip you like that Peacekeeper did? Add some scars to your collection? It might make you feel better but it won’t do anything for me, I assure you. And what if it triggers you, Haymitch? What if your subconscious decides I am a threat and tries to hurt me? Isn’t that the reason why you never wanted me tied up or completely at your mercy? Isn’t that the reason you never wanted to push that far? You hate not being in control. You hate…”

“Hold your fucking horse.” he spat, lifting defensive hands. “I ain’t saying I want you whipping me. Where the fuck do you go and get those ideas? I didn’t mean hurt like that.” He shook his head and stood up, rummaging around the dresser’s second drawer for a pair of clean sweatpants and a shirt. “Forget it. I’m gonna go for a walk. Need some air.”

And probably a quiet place to take care of his hard-on.

Her hand fell on his arm, light and hesitant. He froze but didn’t meet her gaze. In the corner of his eyes he saw her biting down on her bottom lip nervously.

“I apologize. I thought…” she breathed out. “You have been very bent on hurting yourself every time you can get away with it, Haymitch. The boiling water in the shower, the cigarette burns…”

“Wasn’t on purpose.” he snapped defensively. He sometimes dropped cigarettes because on bad days he was craving a drink too much and his hands weren’t steady. It wasn’t like he had gone and applied it to his skin on purpose. It wasn’t like that. Not quite. Not all the time. Not…

“I do not know how to help you.” she admitted in a quiet whisper, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “I almost wish you would start drinking again. It is a self-destructive habit I know how to handle. This… I do not know how to handle this. I keep worrying I will find you with another bottle of pills in your hand, only this time I will be too late and…”

He kissed the rest of that sentence away.

“Never.” he growled against her lips. “I promised.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, propping his head on hers. “It’s this fucking Tour. It drives me nuts. It was getting easier in the city. It was getting…” Maybe not better but… Yeah… Easier. They had a routine, habits… Habits were easy. Habits were good. “Every time we step off this train I go back to the arena. Every time I…” He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her shampoo. “Wasn’t… Didn’t mean I wanted you to hurt me bad. Sorry I asked.”

She tightened her arms around him and nuzzled his neck. “No… I am sorry I overreacted. I know we don’t have the healthiest relationship when it comes down to it but… Hurting to punish you for deeds you are not truly responsible for, no matter what you tell yourself, is a bit too extreme for me.”

“It’s okay.” he shrugged.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Forget it.” he muttered, embarrassed now. What he had had in mind what clearly a lot more vanilla than what she had been picturing. He hadn’t been about to suggest they go all chains, whips and leather.

Her mouth searched his. He evaded it for a few seconds and then gave in because she was rubbing her fingers in his hair and it felt good. He lost himself in the kiss, let the heat grow back between them, let her nudge him toward the bed. He ended up flat on his back and she ended up straddling him again, her breasts rubbing pleasantly against his chest with every undulation of her hips.

Eventually, she stopped kissing him to brush her lips down his jaw only to bite down hard on his neck, without warning, at the junction between neck and shoulder. He groaned and cradled the back of her head, his hips buckling up.

She licked the path up his jaw, sucked his earlobe in her mouth before whispering in his ear. “Is that the sort of things you wanted?”

“Yeah…” he admitted, clenching his fist at the small of her back to stop himself from rolling them over. “Drive me crazy. Make me stop thinking. Make it last.”

She hummed absentmindedly, brushing her nose against his cheek, down his throat, nipping at his collarbone. “I can do that. Truly, you should not have used the term hurt for this. Hurt means hurt, Haymitch.” she chided him. “This is only playing.”

“Be hard.” he muttered, barely believing what was coming out of his own mouth.

That was exactly everything he had always refused her. When it came down to it, he was the one in charge. Always. He never surrendered. He never…

She sucked his nipple into her mouth and he grabbed her ass with both hands, grinding her down on his erection. She immediately sat up and frowned at him, coiling her hands around his wrists and bringing his hands in front of her.

“Now, now…” She clucked her tongue in disapprobation. “I never said you were allowed to touch, did I? Behave or I will tie you up.”

There was a question in there, he thought. A choice. It could remain an empty threat or it could be a possibility. It had always been a big no-no for him. And now after everything…

But a part of him craved it.

To surrender at last.

“Yeah?” he snorted. “You can try.”

She lifted a stern eyebrow. “You are being very naughty, darling. You are not supposed to talk back.” She grinded herself on him back and forth, putting pressure where he desperately wanted it only to stop, his wrists still secured in her firm grasp. “Not if you want this. Do you want this?”

“Fuck, yeah.” he mumbled.

“How badly?” she asked, sounding almost bored.

“Badly.” he offered. She didn’t look very impressed and he rolled his eyes. “What the fuck do you want me to say? I want to fuck you.”

“Language.” she rebuked, letting go of one of his wrists to whack his chest. “I do not think you are grasping the concept here… You are not going to do anything to me. I am going to do everything to you. You will simply do what I say when I say it. Yes?”

Again with the underlying question.

“Yes.” he growled his consent for the third time.

“And if I am not satisfied… You will be punished as I see fit.” she insisted, slapping his thigh behind her for good measure. “Yes?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Get on with it then.”

“Oh, that’s it.” she huffed, getting off him. “I had enough of your cheek. Punishment it is.”

He propped himself on his elbows, watching her curiously as she rummaged around the room for… He smirked when she grabbed a couple of his discarded ties. That was something he would bet she had been desperate to do for years.

He scooted back up the bed until his head was on the pillow. He couldn’t help but wrap his hand around himself when she crawled back on the bed on all four, looking all seductive and…

“None of that.” she ordered, spanking him once. It stung but not for long. She wasn’t aiming to hurt. “This is mine to play with. Not yours.” He sulked, not quite liking that part as much. He didn’t like being treated like an object – even if he had made the same claims about her body quite a few times. “Now… Be a good boy and put your arms up.”

He put his arms above his head, realized that the position felt far too much like being tied to a whipping post and abruptly placed his hands back on her waist before she could knot the tie around his wrists. He closed his eyes and breathed deep a few times. It wasn’t that difficult to ground himself, not with her familiar weight on his chest.

Her lips brushed against his shoulder, her tongue retraced the shape of the scar there…

He spread his arms eagle style.

“Like this, yeah?” he asked, his voice a little rough. “Not hands together. And not my ankles.”

She didn’t ask if he was sure but she didn’t rush to tie him up either, giving him plenty of times to get out of it again. Her mouth traveled up the inside of his arm, paused in the crook of his elbow to lick and nip and then went up again, to his wrist. When she finally wrapped the tie around it, fastening it to the metal frame of the bed, and secured the knot, it was so loose that he would have had no difficulty at all breaking out of it.

That was the point, he figured. He was restrained but only just enough to make him feel like it. When it really came down to it, he was free.

She repeated the process with his other arm and it was a slow torturous process that left him throbbing for her and wondering what had even gone through his head in the first place to want something like that. Make it last, he had told her and he had no doubt she would, when all he really wanted was to sink into her warmth.

“Now you are all mine.” she sighed with satisfaction once she had secured the second tie. That left her with a few spares and she brushed the end of one against his chest distractedly. “Should I blindfold you, I wonder?”

“No.” he said at once, very clearly and without a moment of hesitation.

Being tied up was enough experimenting for a night.

She must have known why he was refusing but she giggled all the same, hitting him lightly with the tie she was holding as if it was part of the game. “You want to watch… Wise choice.” She licked his lips. “We shall make it a good show then, shall we not?”

And then she started touching herself.

And while all he wanted to do was break free and touch her, he lied there and watched as she rubbed herself with that tie he now had a newfound appreciation for, his mouth parched, and hard enough that he was certain he would come as soon as she would finally touch him.

She had promised a show and she made it a good one.

He was pretty sure the moans and the writhing were exaggerated for his benefit but fuck if it wasn’t hot… And then, of course, she came and his own hips buckled because… There was a damp spot on his stomach where she was sitting, it was driving him mad. When she brought her fingers to his lips, he opened his mouth and sucked on them without thinking twice about it.

“Lick me clean.” she ordered but then she took her fingers away and he was thrown by the contradictory order until she crawled closer and straddled his face.

It wasn’t as good as being inside her but it might have been the next best thing. Not having the use of his hands made it more difficult to pleasure her but it wouldn’t be said he couldn’t rise up to a challenge.

“Come back here.” he groaned when she moved away after a few minutes. He knew she had liked it. There were signs that couldn’t be misread.

He got spanked once for his troubles. It had been hard enough to sting a little and he glared at her.

“None of that now.” she warned him, leaning down to blow on the sensitive area, making him wriggle. He wasn’t prepared for her biting down on it. What he wanted was to yelp in surprise so why he moaned instead was beyond him. She grinned at him, always so pleased when she could get noises out of him. “Did you like that, darling? Where else should I bite next?”

She blew on his lower stomach but instead of biting she licked this time. All the way to his navel.

“Effie…” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Wasn’t the deal.”

“Drive me crazy. Make me stop thinking. Make it last.” she quoted him, running her hands on his inner thighs, forcing him to spread his legs. Not something he did often. “Be hard, you said. I do not think I am the one who is hard right now…”

“Effie…” he begged.

She was hovering over his dick and his dick really wanted some attention now. Games were all well and good but…

He did yelp when she bit down on his inner thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. That was his thing. He was the one who left hickeys near her sex to remind her who she belonged to. Before he could protest about her stealing his moves, her tongue poked out to circle his head. Then her teeth scraped his length. Then she spanked him again.

He was going to come.

He was so sure he was going to come that he groaned in frustration when she pinched his base tight enough to block the nerves and preventing him from doing anything else but throb.

Then he stopped trying to keep up with what she was doing. She pinched and bit and nipped and sucked and licked and kissed and whacked and spanked and she did it all over again without pattern and…

He clung to the ties that were so loose now from all his wriggling it was ridiculous to pretend they were keeping him in place anymore and watched her torture him and he never wanted it to stop all the while desperate for release.

He chanted her name without even realizing it, his brain lacking the blood to remind him he was usually too proud to do something like that. He was desperate. Truly desperate. He wanted to come but no matter how many times he pushed his hips up, she wouldn’t release her grip on his base and allow him his reprieve…

He was half delirious when she finally sank on him. She was so wet and warm that he sighed in relief. She barely had time to move her hips twice before he exploded.

He was too spent to do anything but watch her get off on him for a second time. She slumped on his chest and it was a mess. A very sticky mess that they would need to take care of before they went to sleep. But, right then, it didn’t seem like a priority.

He slipped his hands out of their useless bounds and wrapped his arms around her. She almost purred in contentment.

“My wrists hurt.” she complained.

“Your own fault for torturing me that long.” he grumbled, nevertheless bringing her hand to his mouth so he could kiss her wrists better.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she hummed sleepily. “Did I do it wrong? I did not want you to feel entirely powerless. I will be harder next time.”

His eyebrows shot up at that and he wrapped his hand around her nape, squeezing it. Not too hard but not too soft either. “Next time, I’m in charge.”

“Oh, do I get to be tied up?” she asked, a bit hopeful.

He thought it over and then made a face. “Ain’t sure it’s the best idea, sweetheart.”

She grumbled something under her breath he didn’t quite catch. He was too tired to try and decipher it. He combed his fingers through her hair instead, letting himself drift off. They would just have to deal with the mess in the morning after all.

“Did it work?” she asked. “Do you feel better?”

Well, there certainly wasn’t enough room in his head to relive bad memories anymore. His brain wasn’t irrigated enough for that.

“You should screw bad days out of me every time.” he mumbled.

It was still the best remedy.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #into that good night

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thelozzaview · 3 years

Text

Ok time 2 get serious

On my website I am copying and pasting from there to here to tell you what's been happening with me for the few weeks I haven't been active:Sorry it’s been a while since I last posted anything but let’s just say its been quite an ordeal for us Marchbank’s. Some friends and family know about it and the year we have had hasn’t been easy for any of us. I have been effected by it like we all have since anyone that we know that has heard about it. I have a hole in my heart from losing my grandpa a while ago now but still recent and raw for all of us. I have been crying on and off now but since it happened everyday including the lead up to Saturday because it happened on Saturday sometime in January I have been messed up ever since even as messed to go to a psychologist it is helping but I have yet to heal i might have more to struggle with in life that’s coming for me I have my dance work starting up again soon. I might get more effected then by it but also have to keep dancing without having a grandpa to turn to tell him I am still dancing it will be the hardest time but somehow I want to convey the pain and hurt I’m feeling into the work I am working on also someone else wants to work with me and we are building something together something to do with TRUST which I am really looking forward to. I also have had my birthday and now I am 27 years old now and that's another sad moment in time because I didn't get a hug and a present from him and he won't be around to do so in the years to come in life we had to bury his ashes net to his wife my grandma Gwendolyn "Benny" Frearson now they can soar together today another week starts Monday. Today I have done my morning routine that should include a workout which I did at home because let's just say my chocolate/ screaming for any food at all stage of being a girl "oh the joy" housework and hanging out with my family and looking after mum lazing around the house and cooking tuna patties with mum then went home to lash out on food I was screaming for because I hadn't had any food since lunch had a nap then had a lot more food including dinner had Indian didn't really like the chickpeas at all so all i had was chicken and nutrigrain bar watching ANT Farm oh yeah I have a new obsession "new artist" but this one is actress/singer China Anne McClain she has acted in a number of movies Tv Shows:

ANT Farm which I am still re watching,

Descendants: Wicked World

JONAS

Tyler Perry House of Payne,

Sing Your Face Off

Paynes

Veggie tales

K-Love Superstars

Black Lightning which I am currently still re-watchingI have been listening on repeat and watching on repeat every Disney Tv show on Disney + and soundtrack she is featured in. I have been learning and mastering Young Guns for singing lesson including the rap from The Messenger but I'm convinced its Gabriel McClain her brother rapping in the song. Another highlight popped in my mail just now that me and Talitha someone I met while working together in our first Dance Film Workshop we clicked right away and knew that we are the friends that we are now our own family she invited me to a open rehearsal at the beach a while ago Annette came with me and now wanting to work together it's meant to be so I really hope we get it i would be like jumping up and down inside out when we both find out. The time now is 5:39 and just having my dried out grapes for afternoon tea now and when it's 6pm dinner time until 6:50 I'm going to have the rest of my dried out fruit, spinach and an apple not a solid meal but it might knock my weight down let's see mum told me in her serious tone about how worried she is about my weight and how I was at risk of diabetes a long time ago with my hyperthyroid problem and will have to inject myself into oblivion in the present day to manage everything along with the life stresses along with my loss of my grandfather is weighing down on me mentally, emotionally and physically which has my weight gone flying up again I'm not this person. I'm the kind of person who would have a say and say NO and be good like how I used to be fit and vigour and ready for anything not the girl who is down and depressed with the loss of her grandfather I guess I will just have to sit with it until I get there in the end and be that person again and I will forget that girl ever existed throw her to the sharks but for now just enjoying and basking in the limelight of life waiting for a job to come along because Mum and I are applying and finding more work for me to keep me busier in the days of the weeks so my life is more balanced to not rely on people to hangout with me everyday which I am still doing now until then. So I had my dinner apple and microwaved spinach then went to dance Alice picked me up I had fun she then took me home after car partying to Descendants 2 soundtrack CD I got for my birthday came home and drank water until 9:45 now watching ANT Farm thinking of going to bed now thoughI might as well do that now because I am yawning next week I will update next Monday for my readers. Yesterday I had a day to myself i have been through my period so to start off the day was shower, morning workout, grocery shop afternoon sleep to guided nap meditation on Spotify then after singing lesson at mine because Z has lost her voice from pushing too hard at her gig on Tuesday night and has 2 gigs this weekend.

So the next best thing for me to do which was chat to her for like a 2 message chat with her around 5:40pm which was fun watched Maleficent but thought I was watching the second one which I haven't watched in a while since I came back from a holiday with the family which I will do on Thursday night and I had my singing practice and loz parties which are always fun had cheese n mac for dinner dare iced mocha, bread as my ANT Farm viewings and chips/ smoothie for my movie watching snacks which was enjoyable when it was time I went to bed and woke up to Thursday which is today.

started today with shower, smoothie to kickstart my tastebuds and breakfast then by 9am had Zumba which was fun then Annette came to pick me up to have some fun with me which we did we drove home together got changed and caught the bus to Chamberlain coffee shop because I might be working there if i get the job that is mum is finding work for me now I have been home quite a bit we finally got onto Bernie and I am working with her during the month of April which is exciting so need the rest before working long hours plus

Talitha who I met when Bernie and I joined Dance Film Workshop were hoping to work together around that time also and we are working with the idea of Trust and we have some footage to work off together which we are excited to get going so things are turning the right direction for me in that front did some last minute shopping and now home to recover had my afternoon nap that wasn't long at all because mum and I have some errands to do together and an afternoon tea together with Susan who is going back home so mum will find out the details for that until I can re-cooperate until then

So i went to Susan's and had a bit of cake and some water and talk and hangout with Anna and watched the football and mum had to go out tonight so we left at 5pm and now the time is 6:18 just showered washed my hair and everything else what stays in the shower stays in the shower now about to unwind and have a lozza party once again

Gem and I finally agreed on going to Dawesville tomorrow night and coming back on Saturday so I can still have my parties so its a win win situation for both of us were both really looking forward to hanging out with each other again she told me herself my phone is playing with me it keeps turning on and off again and it wont let me go on it in bed like I usually do i know that will keep dad happy because I'm not really supposed to have screen time then

I want to go to Alvin to get it fixed with Phoebe so i can keep using my phone because I don't just use it for entertainment I also need it for its own functions to call my family ever night and morning to help me to start and end day I am charging my phone to hope for it to work again ore night so far not success but I will keep my eye out through the night and morning until i call my parents again but enjoying my Disney + party. I will go to bed soon though

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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

One life 1/1

Time to get back onto the @fictober bus! Also tagging @today-in-fic

Thanks to @scully-loves-ruthie and @baronessblixen for your invaluable advice on this.

My Father used to say that we had but one life and that we should live it to it’s very fullest, grasping every opportunity that came our way; that to do anything else was not only a waste of the life we’d been given, but a waste of those who had given us life.

I didn’t really understand at the time, didn’t understand how the actions of others could ever affect those around them to any great degree. That our lives are not our own and I certainly never subscribed to the theory that our lives are predetermined from the moment we are born. Mere pawns in a much greater purpose, a much larger plan at the hands of a greater being. I didn’t believe in destiny, in the belief that regardless of the paths we chose, that the end journey would be the same.

I have faith though I suppose, although it’s a faith that has not been a constant despite my best efforts, because I struggle to believe that any merciful God could allow such atrocities to occur daily in a world he created, with such pain and suffering inflicted by his hand on the innocent, on the frail and on the weak.

Because the world is full of evil. It has existed in man since the beginning of time. Lurking in the darkest reaches of humanity, waiting to strike. To maim and to kill so as to take away from us that which we hold so dear.

One life. One chance to somehow, in the scant few years we inhabit this planet, to make the right choices. To take the right path.

But as I sit here now, bathed in a soft blue light in a room illuminated only by the glowing screen of the large plasma TV I persuaded myself I needed in an attempt to fill the silence that has surrounded me for months, I can’t help but remember my Father’s words. I don’t know why I switched the TV on tonight because truthfully I don’t have the will or the interest to flick through 160 channels just to find some way of filling an empty hour or two.

Mulder is the channel surfer in this partnership and he isn’t here.

So I settled on the news. We are away such a lot that sometimes it’s hard to keep abreast and so if I do decide to lose myself in TV land I usually head for any one of the 20 news channels available to me. I’m not too choosy because essentially the news is constant. The areas might be different but the content is pretty much the same and I find a perverse comfort in that sameness in a way I never did before I left him.

I’m not really watching - It’s more a comforting presence when the silence stretches too thinly, a way of relieving the isolation when the phone doesn’t ring for days. Because since my Mom died there is no one really who would care to call. Certainly not to chat casually over mundane things.

Mulder doesn’t call so much now although in the beginning, when I first left he would call constantly, looking for excuses to try to re-connect. But some things cannot be mended, some things just aren’t meant to be. The very experiences that brought us together eventually grew too big, too ugly, becoming all consuming until we both realised that to remain together would destroy what little we had left.

But on nights like this when I’m alone, thoughts drifting inevitably to the house we once inhabited together, I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts. I will always love him of course because how can I not? We shared so much that, time, no matter how constant can ever change that; nor can it change the fact that despite there being a million reasons why we can’t be together there are not quite enough to keep us completely apart and when we started working together again I was stupid enough to believe that somehow, that would be enough. But I know now it can never be enough, not after everything we went through, not after all that we lost.

The sudden sound of screaming jolts me from my thoughts and just for a second I feel myself tense. But the screaming is coming from the images playing out on the TV. Gunshots, people running. The grainy footage caught on a smart phone even as the image shakes and the harsh, raw gasps of someone struggling to breathe filter through its speakers as they seek to escape the danger even as they record it. No need anymore to imagine the horror that exists in the world. Technology is all around us and we no longer have to rely on someone being in the right place at the right time. Because now it seems as though we are always in the right place.

A school shooting. Another one. Multiple deaths if the reporter is to be believed. Children killed by children. I shake my head. I have seen so many things, faced so many harrowing cases and situations both in my work as a doctor and my time in the F.B.I. but I think this saddens me more than anything I’ve experienced.

Children killing children.

And not for the first time I wonder just what kind of world is it that we have created?

I’ve seen enough and my hand gropes for the remote that has wedged itself down the side of the sofa and I shift position slightly in order to prise it from its hiding place, taking care not to wake the small creature snoring gently beside me. The dog I vowed I would never have again. But loneliness makes us make rash decisions and thankfully it’s a decision I haven’t regretted. Yet.

I’m surprised when I click off the TV how dark it is outside. Night has crept in unnoticed and it prompts me to pick up my phone from the small table in front of me. If it’s past 10pm I will turn in for the night because it’s been a rough few weeks and while I am still remarkably fit and healthy, I’m conscious that my body is aging and sometimes, the rigours of the job give me aches and pains where once I wouldn’t even have noticed.

But before I have a chance to depress the small rectangular button that will wake the phone up from its slumber, the screen suddenly illuminates, a split second before it rings I see the name flash up.

There is a moment’s silence after the call has connected and I wonder suddenly if he has called me by mistake. Smart phones, despite Mulder himself being smart, are not his strong point.

“Mulder?”

And then his voice.

“Did I wake you?”

I sigh, despite myself because he sounds shaky, upset, confused even.

I know this man’s voice. I know every cadence, every inflection. I can pick up his moods by a single uttered word. There is a part of me that hates the fact that I know him so well. There is a part of me that doesn’t.

“No, no I’m still up. What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

The silence hangs in the air lazily as I wait for him to respond. There is a slight stirring in the pit of my stomach, that feeling you get just before you drop off the first big freefall on a rollercoaster. A sick dread that there is no going back, that no matter how much you wished that you had gone on the ferris wheel instead, you are stuck on that rollercoaster with no hope of getting off. It’s a feeling I haven’t experienced in years and if I’m honest, I’d hoped to never feel again. Because I recognise it for what it is - that within the moments silence that is now marred by the beating of my heart, I know that he is trying to find a way to tell me something he thinks I don’t want to hear. Oh yes. I’ve heard the sound of his silence far too many times over the years to not recognise the reasons behind it; but then, I hear him exhale. His decision is made.

“I miss you.”

And I close my eyes against the rush of emotion his words evoke within me, even as I fight against him with everything I have; this thing between us that I no longer want but at the same time want more than anything I ever have before. Because I need him and not for a single minute did I ever stop needing him.

Daggoo whines thinly in his sleep, legs twitching as he chases some after some elusive prize, never quite catching it no matter how hard he tries and for the first time in years I realise that maybe it’s time I stopped running away and turned back around; because the prize, no matter how elusive is almost always worth the effort.

I clutch the phone tightly lest my shaking fingers betray me and I lose my hold on it, forcing myself to breathe before I respond to him, finally recognising the man who has always been right there in the distance just waiting for me to find my way back.

To my life, to our life.

To the only one we have.

And I smile into the silence as he waits for my response, feeling his fear, knowing he is a scared as I am.

“Me too Mulder” I whisper, “Me too”

end

#one life #my fic #msr #revival #season 10 #post home again

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