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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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You’re Safe Now

Prompt: aaaa, i love your story ‘imposter syndrome’!!!! I love the dynamic between black and purple, it’s so sweet!! but what would happen if purple was a little kid, and a stowaway on a ship, and black ended up finding them? how differently would black react to an even sweeter and tinier purple??? (if you could write a small one shot or somethin based off of this, please do!!! only if you wanna, though!!!!)

Ahhh yess! ahhhhh yesss more of protective black, this time with little baby purple!I didn't wanna full on call this an au in the tags, but this is an alternate version of my longer fic 'impostor syndrome,' except purple is a lil bb. you don't have to read that first but you can if you want to--this one is more of an alternate timeline where there's very little context in the first one important

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, but nothing explicit

Pairings: impostor!black adopts lil bb crewmate!purple, nothing romantic

Word Count: 3471

Black is a senior Impostor. Deadly. Dangerous. This is hardly the first mission they've been on and it is far from the hardest.

...it is the first one with a stowaway.

“You fucker!” Red claws at their suit with the fury of a frenzied animal. “You’ll fucking pay for this!”

Black muscles them into the airlock and slams the door shut. Red pounds their fists against the glass.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me? I’ll—“

Black’s fist slams the button and the airlock opens. Red’s furious body vanishes in the sudden decompression.

At least the anger was a welcome alternative. For all the work that humans had done to build up their reputation as fearless, remorseless, and absolutely uncaring about anyone other than themselves, so few lived up to it. Especially in death.

Black rolls their shoulders back and strides off down the corridor. The ship is empty now, save for their own steps echoing off the metal walls. Good. They can barely breathe with the stench of human fear roiling off of every surface. And soon enough they’ll be off this damn ship, back to Polus.

They shake their head as they round the corner. They really are getting on, aren’t they? Mission after mission after mission. They all blur together after a while.

Black stops.

Tilts their head.

Takes one big breath in…and out.

What is that?

Another scent. Not fear, that won’t go away for a while, but something else, riding the undercurrent. Something…less acrid, less bitter.

They take another breath. Their maw begins to snarl.

Red was the last crewmate. There aren’t any more humans registered on this ship.

So why can Black smell another one?

They fall into stance quickly, one hand going to their knife, the other checking the rest of their weapons, before stalking along the corridor. Their footsteps are silent against the metal floor. Their suit melts effortlessly into the shadows.

Their maw rumbles in anticipation.

Electrical. Of course.

No one would bother to hide in a death trap unless they were certain they weren’t going to be looked for. Black feels their mouth turn up into a smile.

Blur together they may, but a mission does have its fun moments every once in a while.

Their footsteps barely give them away over the humming of the room, creeping inside under the flickering lights. They close their eyes for a moment to scent the air again.

The human is close.

Black turns, pivoting effortlessly on the balls of their feet. Their gaze lands on the space between the lights panel and the back of the computer terminals.

There you are.

They creep closer. Closer. A shadow falls over the machines. Inside, there is a human.

Black leans forward and—

—stops short.

There is a human here, but not—well, not what they expected.

They’re not wearing a suit, that’s the first thing. Instead, they’re wearing a shirt that dwarfs their frame and a pair of trousers covered in singes. Their hair is tied back messily, but not enough to keep it from getting caught on different parts of the machine.

For another, they’re fucking tiny.

Not just because they can fit into this small space—how did they even get themselves in there?—but because their head looks barely bigger than Black’s hand.

Also, why is there a human juvenile here?

Black shakes themselves. No. Now’s not the time to lose concentration. They refocus on the child.

The child looks back at them, blinking slowly, their hands cupped around something in their lap. They tilt their head as much as they can as they stare at Black.

Black tilts their head.

The child mirrors it.

They tilt their head the other way.

So does the child.

They lift their hand up to give a little wave.

The child’s arm looks hurt, they realize, as a little wave comes back.

“Hey, there,” Black says after another moment, “what’re you doing?”

The child scrunches themselves further into the gap. “Hiding.”

“I can see that.” Black runs a finger down the machines. “What’re you hiding from?”

“Everybody.”

That takes Black by surprise. If the child were just trained to hide from Impostors, sure, but…everybody?

“Did the—does the crew know you’re here?”

The child shakes their head. Black squints as they take their bottom lip between their teeth, chewing so hard it looks like it must hurt.

“Hey, hey,” they call, “don’t do that, you’ll make yourself bleed.”

“I’m supposed to.”

Fucking what?

“You’re what?”

“I’m supposed to be quiet,” the child says, and damn right they didn’t mean make themselves bleed, “this keeps me quiet.”

Black shifts, crouching down properly to stare at the child. They’re so…small.

“Why are you supposed to be quiet,” they ask, lowering their own voice, “what are you afraid of?”

There’s a pause. Then: “nobody wants to see me. They don’t like to know that I’m here. So I’m quiet and then I don’t get in trouble.”

They curl up a little tighter.

“…I don’t want to be in trouble.”

Unbidden, Black’s maw snarls. They dragged a child onto this ship and forced it to hide away? Under threat of…who the fuck knows what?

“I’m sorry.”

They snap out of it when they see the child flinch away.

“Hey, shh,” they caution, “you’re going to hurt yourself on the wires.”

The child doesn’t listen, still shying away. Only when Black realizes their maw is still rumbling and forces it to shut the fuck up do they relax a little. Black sighs, glancing over their shoulder.

“Come here.”

The child’s eyes widen.

“Come here,” Black repeats, holding out their hand, “or at the very least, come out of there, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

They shake their head furiously. “Can’t. Can’t come out. They’ll be mad. Can’t be found.”

“Whoa, hey, easy, it’s okay, no one’s mad.”

“You are. You will be. I’m not supposed to make noise. I’m not supposed to be found.”

“I’m not mad,” Black says patiently—since when have they ever been patient with something that wasn’t a mission?—still reaching out, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

They keep shaking their head. “Getting spotted means punishment. Punishment hurts. No. I’m safer back here.”

Another wave threatens to fully split Black’s maw. What the fuck happened to this child? Why the fuck are they here? Children are supposed to be safe, cared for by their people, not cowering in a dangerous place because being seared by wires is safer than being out in the open.

And why did the crew know nothing about it?

For now, though, the now-familiar scent of fear hits them and they bite back a curse.

A child is a child, human or not.

“Hey,” they call quietly, trying to soften the rasp of their voice, “hey, listen to me, just listen, okay?”

They shift, trying to make their posture as non-threatening as possible.

“I’m not mad at you,” they continue, watching the child’s eyes follow their every move, “I’m not going to punish you. I just need you to come out of there, okay?”

Those eyes narrow. “Why?”

“You’re hurt.” They indicate the child’s arm. “I want to have a look and make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

Unconsciously, they cradle it to their chest, even though the suspicious look doesn’t go away. “Grown-ups don’t care if I’m hurt. They just want me to be quiet.”

Black swallows their rage. “I care,” they say instead, “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But I hurt myself and you don’t like that.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being in pain,” Black says through forced patience, “and I want to help.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed. Black ignores it and wiggles the fingers on their outstretched hand again.

“Because you’re still too close to the wires,” they say instead, “and if you stay back there much longer, they could hurt you very badly.”

The child’s gaze finally softens and oh, oh, they look so small.

“Come here,” Black calls again, gentleness seeping into their voice, “please?”

“…you promise you aren’t mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Promise you won’t hurt me?”

“I won’t hurt you.”

The child shifts a little. They hug their injured arm to their chest and take their lip between their teeth again. Black lets out a soft noise, wiggling their fingers again.

“Come on, baby, you can do it.”

Finally, finally, they start to move. They shakily try to get on all fours, crawling out from the gap, only to let out a sharp cry when their shirt gets caught on the machines.

“Shh, shh, easy,” Black soothes, “it’s okay, you’re just a little stuck.”

“I can’t—I can’t move—I—“

“Easy, just look at me, okay?” Their frightened gaze snaps to Black. “That’s it, baby, just look at me, I’m right here.”

“I’m stuck!”

“I know, baby, I know, shh—“ Making sure their gaze is still on Black’s helmet, they reach a little further into the gap— “try and take my hand, baby.”

They reach, crying out when they try and rest their weight on their injured arm.

“Shh, shh, other one, baby, you can do it.”

Their hand is so small and soft and fragile. Black fights down another wave of anger and holds tight.

“I’ve got you now, baby, now try and come to me.”

“I can’t, I’m stuck, I’m—I—“

“I know, baby, just try for me.”

Out of their line of sight, Black grits their teeth and lets a single tendril flick out, disguised by the shadows, and yanks their shirt away from the blockage. They barely have enough time to reel it back in before they suddenly have a lapful of human child.

“Hey, hey, easy, baby,” they murmur, “you’re alright now, see?”

The poor thing is still trembling in their lap, their face all but buried in Black’s chest. Black coos, wrapping their arms tightly around the shaking bundle and softening the suit into something a little less abrasive.

“Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re out of there now, you did great.” Their maw rumbles softly. “I’m right here, I’ve got you, you’re okay now.”

It takes far too long for scared little fingers to reach out and clutch at Black’s suit.

“There you go, baby, just hang onto me,” Black rumbles, rocking them a little back and forth, “you’re okay, everything’s gonna be okay now.”

“They’re—they’re gonna be mad at me—“

“Who’s gonna be mad at you, baby?” Whose ass do I need to kick?

“The—the crew, I’m—I’m not supposed to be here—“

Stowaway, Black’s brain realizes finally, they’re a fucking stowaway.

“The crew is gone,” they say instead, gently pulling the little thing closer, “it’s just you and me now, baby.”

The child stills. Then they look up and Black almost coos at the blatant hope on their face.

“…you mean it?”

“Yeah, baby,” Black murmurs, running their hand through the child’s hair, “just you and me. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“So…” Those little fingers clutch a little tighter. “…I don’t have to be scared?”

Oh, baby…

“No,” Black says softly, “you don’t need to be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You won’t be mad at me and punish me if I do something bad?”

“No, baby.”

“Oh.”

Black blinks as the smell of fear slowly begins to fade, replaced by the softer, sweeter scent from before. In their lap, the little one shifts closer, their arms going shyly around their torso.

“Can I—can I stay here for a little longer, then?”

“Of course you can baby, we can stay here as long as you like.”

The child immediately snuggles up to them with an eagerness that takes Black by surprise. Less than a moment ago, they were shying away from them, suspicious, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, and yet here they are. Curled up in Black’s lap.

Black’s grip on them tightens marginally.

Children are supposed to be kept safe. They are supposed to be raised to know what care looks like, to know what it is to be treated well so that when they do go off on their own, they can recognize what it looks like when someone mistreats them.

Hiding away, afraid to make a noise, stowing away on a spaceship is not what that means.

The child squirms in their lap and they look down.

“Am I holding you too tight?”

They shake their head, still squirming. “Tickles.”

“What does, baby?”

“Your tummy.” They shift again. “Tickles.”

Ah. Black’s maw is humming, contented with the knowledge that the child is safe now, here in their arms, in their lap. A smile tugs at the corners of Black’s mouth as they rumble a little louder, watching as the child squeaks.

“Alright, alright,” Black murmurs after a moment, stroking their back and making their maw be quiet, “that’s enough.”

The child goes to hug them again only to wince.

“Your arm.” Black touches it gently, noting the way they hold it awkwardly. “Can I have a look?”

The child nods, cradling the limb to their chest and placing it in Black’s hand. It’s fairly badly bruised, but other than that, intact.

“Can you bend it and unbend it for me?” They do. “Thank you. I don’t think it’s broken, I think it’s just bruised.”

“It hurts.”

“I can tell.” They give their waist a squeeze. “How about this, let’s go to the medbay and I can get you some bruise cream and an ice pack?”

“I’m not supposed to—“ they stop themselves, swallowing heavily— “you said…you said the crew was gone?”

Black nods. “Just you and me, baby.”

“So I can…I can have the ice pack? A-and the cream?”

Oh. “Yes, baby, of course. You’re allowed.”

They nod shyly. “Then I…I want to go.”

“Can you stand up for me?”

They try, only for their legs to give out almost immediately, tumbling back into Black’s arms.

“Hey, whoa, easy, baby,” they murmur, “it’s been a while since you stood up, hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, shh, none of that now, it’s not your fault.” Black gets them settled again. “May I carry you?”

The child’s eyes go wide. “You—you would?”

“How else would we get to the medbay?”

“O-okay.”

“Yeah?” The child nods. “Can you give me your hands, baby?”

Black takes the offered hands, guiding them around their neck and softly bidding them hold tight. In one smooth motion, they slide an arm under the child’s legs and stand, pulling them into their arms. They stand still a moment, letting them get used to it.

“Alright?”

The child nods, tucking their face over Black’s shoulder. “Why isn’t your tummy doing the thing anymore?”

“Do you…want it to do it again?”

Another nod. Well, that’s easy enough. Black smiles as the child sighs, relaxing into their maw as it rumbles softly again. They make their way to the medbay, setting the child carefully down on one of the beds and fetching what they need. As they turn around, they see the child staring at the floor with their eyes shut.

“Hey,” they murmur, hustling back over, “hey, what’s wrong, baby?”

“It’s really bright,” they mumble, “hurts.”

Right, they’ve been in the dim light of Electrical for…who knows how long. Black turns the lights down a little.

“Better?”

“Mhmm.” The child’s gaze lands on the scanner. “What is that?”

“That’s the scanner. It scans your body to see if you’re healthy.”

“Wow.”

“Mhmm.” Black holds up the tin of bruise cream. “Can I put this on for you?”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, I’ll be very careful.”

“Okay.”

As Black starts to spread a thin layer of the cream over the worst of the bruising, the child lapses into silence, occasionally swinging their legs back and forth.

“Are you an Impostor?”

Black’s hands falter for a moment.

“Yes.”

They’re going to be afraid again. They’re going to find out I killed the crew and they’ll—

“Does that mean you can shapeshift?”

Black’s head jerks up. “What?”

The child cocks their head. “I heard that Impostors can shapeshift, is that true?”

“Yes…yes, we can shapeshift.” Black gestures to themselves with their free hand. “Technically, I’m doing it now.”

“You don’t actually look like that?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The child swings their legs again. “Can I see you shapeshift?”

“…if you want,” they say after a moment, “but I’m going to need you to close your eyes for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I get embarrassed when people watch.”

“Oh. Okay.”

As the child closes their eyes, the rush of trust leaves Black more than a little heady. They close their own eyes, rolling their shoulders to let their human shape form, finding a smile still on their face as it settles into place.

“Okay, you can look now.”

The child cracks one eye open, only to gasp in delight and reach out for Black’s face.

“Easy,” Black chides lightly, “I still need to finish your arm.”

“But you’re really pretty!”

Unbidden, heat rises to Black’s cheeks as the child cups their face in their hands, staring at them with the wonder of someone seeing the stars for the first time.

You are the most adorable thing I have ever seen.

“I like this face,” the child declares, squishing it a little, “I like it a lot.”

“I’m glad,” Black chuckles, “and I’m happy for you to look at me while I finish tending to your arm.”

“Can I play with your hair?”

In response, Black takes their free hand and rests it gently on their head. “Try not to pull, okay?”

“I won’t.”

The child lapses back into silence as Black finishes fussing over their arm. Their fingers card shyly through Black’s hair, uncaring about the slight pressure the bandages put as Black finishes wrapping the bruises.

“There,” they murmur as they finish, “all done.”

“Oh.” The child looks down. “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby.” The hand doesn’t leave their hair. “Having fun?”

The child nods, their own flush blooming on their cheeks. Black chuckles, raising a hand to gently cup their face.

“What’s this for?”

“Can I stay with you?”

Black blinks, a little taken aback by the sudden question. The child’s hand trembles on their head and they reach up, holding it and giving it a soft squeeze.

“You’ve—“ they swallow— “you’ve been really nice to me and I—I like you, so I want to—can I stay with you?”

Oh.

“Yeah, baby,” Black murmurs, smiling as the child’s face starts to split in a wide grin, “you can stay with me. I—oof.”

They barely have a moment to open their arms before the child all but throws themselves at them, hugging them tightly. Black chuckles, their maw purring, holding them tightly.

No one is going to hurt you ever again, baby, I’ll take care of you.

“Thank you,” comes the shy mumble.

“Of course, baby,” Black murmurs back, pulling them away enough to see their face. They frown, seeing something in their hands. “What’s that?”

“It’s a, um…” They hold it up, studiously not meeting Black’s gaze. “It’s my flower.”

Black’s eyes widen. “Indeed it is.”

A little purple flower with two green leaves.

“It’s pretty.”

“Mhm.” The child looks up at them and raises it to—

I am going to die. I am going to die, right here, because this is too cute.

The child tucks the flower shyly behind Black’s ear.

“Now you’re both pretty.”

“Oh, baby, thank you.”

The child nods, still looking away. Black can’t stop smiling.

“Hey,” they call softly, “what should I call you?”

“Um—“ the child twists their hands together— “I don’t, um…”

Something twists in Black’s gut as they realize that probably their name hasn’t been…fondly recalled.

“You can pick a nickname if you want,” they encourage, “I won’t mind.”

“I don’t have any nicknames.”

Black thinks for a moment.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color,” Black repeats, “do you remember how the crew used to call each other by their colors?”

The child nods. “Are you—are you going to call me by my color?”

“Is that okay?”

“Mhm, but then…do I call you Black?”

Black smiles. “If you like, yes, I’m Black.”

“Hi, Black,” the child says shyly, “I’m Purple.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Purple.”

“C-can I still stay?”

“Of course, baby,” Black murmurs, “you can stay.”

#among us #fic #dragonbabbles

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star-killer-md · 3 years

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Happy Hunting

A/N: Hello everyone, two updates in one week I know. Very out of character for me. Anyway, this is my first like actively dark fic so please be warned and mind the tags, it is dead dove. This has been sitting in my docs since October and I’m excited to get it out. There will be a part two to this with way more smut if y’all want it. And of course credit to @direnightshade for coming up with serial killer!Charlie, go check her out! Thanks to @sacklersdoll as well for being an absolute babe and reading over this for me.

Warnings: Dead Dove, mentions of murder, mentions of fantasized violence against reader, Charlie is a murderer in this so ya know, drugs used on a non-reader character, mentions of blood, mentions of sex, implied noncon, stalking behavior, allusions to predator/prey dynamics reader is implied afab/fem presenting but no pronouns are used for them, once again, this is a dark fic so be mindful of the tags and let me know if I’ve missed one.

Part 2

Ship: Serial Killer!Charlie x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Charlie is branching out, searching for some new hunting spots when he finds the perfect next victim. Soon he decides he wants more than to simply add you to his body count, but murder is tricky and not everything goes as he planned.

He’d been frequenting different bars as of late, branching out into new territory. There were rules to these games, after all—rules to the hunt, rules to keep it sustainable. Charlie knew well by now that staying in the same place for too long would only deplete his selection of targets. And he couldn’t have anyone making connections, so he moved around but always stuck to what he knew.

That was another rule: never hunt on unfamiliar land. It was just asking for trouble. With such a sensitive, calculated act, one could never afford any random variables.

This was how he’d been so successful.

He knew the rules, he played by them and he reaped the rewards.

And he had just found his next victim.

You were ordering a drink, lovely figure bent over the bar top while you waited. The curve of your back, exposed by the sheer lack of fabric, and the flicker of your tongue over the rim of the glass told him all he needed to know.

Yes, you would be a perfect addition to his collection.

But this was still too new, too fresh. So he settled for watching, memorizing the way your throat moved when you swallowed and the crease of your thighs as you crossed them. His hands itched to spread you apart, see how wet he knew you’d be. Soon, he reminded himself.

Patience was the mark of a good hunter, and he’d have you in his hands if he simply waited for the most opportune moment. He’d get to watch your throat collapse under his weight and feel the fluttering of your cunt as he fucked you through the fear.

It would be glorious.

And well worth the wait.

***

One week later saw him back in the same bar, ordering a drink and watching as you swayed to the soft music playing. He knew you’d be here, Charlie had a sense about these things.

It helped as well that he’d trailed you to your apartment, curiously far away from this section of the city. But you seemed to spend quite a bit of time in this area. Took walks in the park nearby, and stopped in the odd cafe every so often. Maybe you worked around here, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet. Though, it had only been a week. And where you worked wasn’t all that important to him.

No, what was important was now.

Now that he was sipping his Old Fashioned and watching you make eyes at another man across the room.

He was shorter than Charlie, but not by much. The way he stumbled a bit when crossing the dance floor to you told him your new admirer had more than a bit to drink as well.

What an amateur.

You didn’t seem to mind, though, as you guided his hands to your waist and moved your hips with such fluidity, Charlie couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he’d wanted to. This man with his dark hair and hands that engulfed you let you lead him in clumsy circles, trailing like a puppy.

He was very nearly drooling and you knew it.

Charlie sneered and nursed his drink, taking it all in. The way your feet avoided being trodden on, the way you pretended not to notice when the man’s hands wandered lower, the way you glanced up through your lashes and smirked when he followed your lips with his.

All so practiced.

But the lumbering idiot grabbing handfuls of your ass in front of the whole bar was so predictable, Charlie wasn’t surprised in the least.

You wouldn’t look so self assured when you were with him.

Charlie was too full of surprises.

He was something you’d never encountered before.

And wouldn’t again, he thought with a chuckle. He’d be your best and your last and that was how it should be.

Charlie knocked back the last of his drink, setting his glass down on the counter as you led your new find in his obnoxious, neon green sneakers off towards the doors. Your eyes never left the man trailing behind you, locked in place even as you disappeared into the New York night.

He wouldn’t go after you this time.

But soon, he thought. Soon those pretty eyes would find him and wouldn’t he be a magnificent last sight?

***

Charlie was trying something new again. Dangerous maybe, but progress was never made without taking a few risks.

So here he was, walking through a park in broad daylight. It was the same one he’d seen you only days before, walking through the canopy of leaves that were so hard to find in the city. There was a bench positioned right under a few limbs that were already shedding red and brown onto the asphalt path. He sat on the cold metal and waited.

You’d show up momentarily. He had learned you came here around this time in the afternoon during the week. Always dragging your feet through the grass and staring at the sky while you walked the little looping path. Maybe you came for inspiration. It was a nice place to write, he thought. He’d have to bring his notebook next time.

That could be his keepsake from you, this place. He could come to this bench and sit and remember how you looked scuffing your heels in the dirt, facing up to the heavens.

Just like you were now.

Right on time as well. You’d always stuck him as a creature of habit, something he supposed you both had in common.

Your hands were buried deep in the pockets of your coat, collar turned up against the wind. He watched the subtle shake of your spine, working its way from your head down to your fingers as you shivered in the cold.

His teeth caught his lip, sucking it between them as he thought of all the ways he could warm you, make your skin sticky with sweat and cum and blood, make you tremble all over again with the pleasure from his cock sinking into your warm, wet cunt. Charlie could quite nearly taste the hazy tang of you on his tongue, feel the way your thighs would tense and pull to pin his head, but he’d want you tied down. He’d need you splayed out and restrained, he could already tell—having only observed you this short time—you’d be a fighter.

And didn’t that make you the best kind of prey?

He loved it when they fought, when they struggled, when they kicked and spit and bit at his hands. Or when they were so broken, bloody and hopeless and crawling on their knees, scrambling to get away.

There was something in the way their eyes looked, something primal, like they knew what he was. Like they knew he was a hunter, a predator, and they were trapped under his claws. Wild and insatiable and delicious.

He was hard in his pants just thinking about it—at the images his mind concocted. You with your sultry hips swaying in the dim bar light and that locked in look in your eyes. You, in that barely there clothing and the set of your jaw that says you’re just begging for him to catch you in his snare.

He knew you wanted it, even if you didn’t quite yet.

Charlie’s hand dropped down to palm at his throbbing length, his long coat covering most of the movement. It was cool enough that no one else but the two of you had wondered out this late in the day. So he brushed over the sensitive head of his cock and watched you making circles around the path until you stopped.

That was new. That was a break in the pattern, and it made his hand pause.

You froze and planted your feet on the earth, staring intently into a little copse of trees and shrubs. The barrier of leaves formed a small hidden space that you slip into easily, practiced and lithe like a cat weaving through iron bars. He could only catch glimpses of your face from between the branches, tilted up with eyes closed.

You looked alive, that was really the only way he could put it. Charlie watched as the shadow of your body lowered itself onto the cold dirt and breathed in the scent of the dying foliage. Under the curve of the roots he could see it: your face scrunched up, lips parted, plump and bitten with your chin tilted back towards the sky.

He couldn’t look away from the strange display.

Couldn’t help but feel like he knew the look on your face.

***

This time, running into you really was an accident.

He was just stopping for coffee, on his way to work and rushing. Traffic was bad, but it was his turn to run for drinks and there would be an uproar if he showed up empty handed. And there you were, headphones in and seated right by one of the windows in the little cafe.

Your face was half lit by the laptop screen you were leaning over. Writing, he supposed based on the way your fingers flew across the keys. So nimble, he thought, how skilled those hands must be. How lovely they’d look wrapped around his dick, lips spilling drool and split open—

“What can I get started for you today?” the barista asked.

Charlie’s head whipped back around to the overly cheery face behind the counter. He frowned, throwing glances back at you while he rattled off his list of orders.

“Alrighty, can I get a name for the order?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw your fingers still on the keys, “Charlie is fine.”

“Great, I’ll get that out for you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tucking his wallet away and moving to lean against the far wall.

From here he could look at you head on while everyone else would simply assume he was staring out the window, watching the way today’s light drizzle had doused the city in sepia grayscale lighting. You had gone back to typing, foot tapping on the rough wood floors. He studied your legs, the way they bounced to whatever rhythm was playing in your ears.

They’d look good shaking, he thought, crawling breathlessly away and scrambling against the cool tile of his kitchen.

What a joy it was to see you so unexpectedly. Certainly one of the better parts of this morning, even if it was a bit strange as well. This part of the city was a considerable distance from your apartment building. Maybe you liked the shop too, stumbled across it the way his crew had and been drawn in by the aesthetics and quiet atmosphere. Charlie didn’t have many regular stomping grounds but this place was one of them.

If he was a better man, he might have taken you to coffee here, participated in banal small talk and gotten to know your favorite authors, where you worked and what a creature like you did there. If you hated your boss, if you were quiet about it, if you sent emails with exclamation points to seem friendly and non-confrontational.

But this was sort of like a date. He had learned something new about you every time, even if you weren’t aware of it. In time, he’d learn even more, see all of you. See what you looked like in your purest form—primal fear in your eyes and blood on your lips.

And you would get to know about him as well, in time. He’d show you everything, all of it.

With every new meeting, the feeling grew stronger.

This wasn’t just about the kill anymore.

You would be the one, Charlie knew it in his gut. Different from the others who fell so witlessly into his trap, took the bait and barely had the wherewithal to even struggle as he reeled them in. They were dead fish on his hook, limp and rotting before he could drag them to shore.

But not you.

You were alive and kicking and perfect.

You would be so good for him.

“Charlie!” the barista called, breaking him from his reverie.

As he swooped in to grab the two drink trays and hurried back out into the rain, he stole one last glance in your direction.

Silhouetted by an errant ray of sunlight, you struck an immaculate picture. So much so that he missed the way your eyes trailed him out the door, catching on the edge of his coat and following him out into the gloom of the New York streets.

But he was too busy engraving the image of your slightly curved spine, the arch of your shoulders and neck, to notice your stare on him all the way down the block until he melted into the background of the city.

***

It was late and Charlie felt worn thin. The subway platform was crowded as always, despite the hour encroaching closely on midnight. They really were true, all those awful cliches about how the city never sleeps.

He sighed, moved farther to the tile wall so he could avoid being tossed into the tracks by the rustling of passersby. There were dozens of people shuffling around on their tired feet, bitching about any number of things or playing music too loud. The smell of stale piss and the bleach public transit staff used to mask it was even stronger after the rain. Charlie wrinkled his nose against the onslaught and watched the westbound train come and go, rattling like a bull down the tracks and sweeping away passengers as it went. A slip of paper from the wall fluttered off in the draft and settled in a puddle on the ground.

And a familiar face stared up at him.

Large black text framed the photo. “MISSING” it read in all caps that quickly dissolved in the New York rain water. Rain here had a tendency to wash away everything just when he needed it the most. He reminisced about the way her blood had slipped down the sewer grates so easily, leaving his shoes free of any evidence.

She had been particularly sloppy—not something to be proud of—but Charlie was nothing if not adaptive.

He learned from his mistakes.

His eyes flicked over the subway wall and was met with a plethora of blank xerox faces staring back. Most were young, photos taken from cell phones with lips stretched wide and smiling. There were more than a few men as well. Those he did not recognize, with dark hair and dark eyes, and arrogance clear even in pictures. Some of the others he did know, with softer looks—he always had a weak spot for faces like that.

But they were nothing like you. Besides, all that pretty had melted away so quickly under the knife. And you would be different.

You would bear him well.

You would look so pretty hanging from the subway walls, grinning out from the tile or the occasional telephone pole. Charlie didn’t think he’d mind it much if someone made a poster for you. That way he’d get a pleasant surprise while walking down the city streets when he was coming home late like this and had been away from you for too long.

It had been so long since he’d seen you last. Opening night was quickly approaching and work had been taking up far too much time. It had gotten to the point that he saw your face in every crowd. Walking from the station to his apartment he’d see you in the figures smoking on a neighboring balcony or in the cereal aisle at the grocery store or mingling with the backstage crew out behind the theater.

And now as well.

In the crowd, peeking out from behind one of the dusty, graffiti-covered columns, he swore that were standing—the curve of your back, the set of your shoulders, the lock of your jaw. Charlie’s feet moved without his noticing, carrying him towards you.

In the distance, the northbound train was approaching, he could feel the rumble of it in his bones as he pushed and maneuvered a trail through the crowd, but you were still slipping away. Faster than him and smaller, weaving easily through bystanders without notice.

The train rushed past him, blowing locks of hair into his face that whipped at his eyes and forced him to stop. He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair and trying to catch sight of you again. Though as he looked closer, the figure retreating was just another faceless traveler, their gate was similar but not quite the same, steps too short and heavy.

Charlie felt scoffed at himself, at the shameless desperation, and allowed the tide of people to sweep him into the train compartment.

His hand gripped the standing rail hard in a fist and his eyes stared out onto the platform, tiled wall of monochrome faces staring back. He looked out until it disappeared as the subway roared down the tracks once again and left them all behind.

***

He was finally here.

Finally after weeks of rehearsals running into the small hours of the morning and a mess of late night dinners, rounds of drinks with cast mates, he was finally here.

In your bar, watching you dance again in the dim light.

Charlie would never tire of the sight, the way you moved to the music was addicting in its own right. He’d only just wandered in less than an hour ago, ordered his usual and taken a seat at the bar. From here he had the perfect view, the door was behind him so escape was simple and you were visible just across the table top, swaying to the soft beat.

He wanted so badly to devour you.

It was a hunger the likes of which he had never known. It made him reckless, excited him as nothing had in so long. He’d always heard hunters talk about their most prized prey. Seen the massive antlers hung on walls in sets and in film, and he understood it now. You were a trophy, a wonder of nature and he would be the one to win you.

Keep you in your own trophy room for him to see you dance like that whenever he wanted.

There were not many people tonight, so you were still swaying alone, not having found a partner yet for the night as you had done before.

Charlie was stuck on the way your jugular was highlighted amongst the shadows of neon lights when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was nearly blinded by the bright white screen as he read the notification for an incoming call from his stage manager.

Shit.

He left his drink at the bar and stepped away for a moment, to the corner farther from the speakers and swiped to answer. She sounded frantic, muttering and hard to hear over the music. His supporting actress had broken her wrist from what he was able to gather, an understudy was being arranged. He huffed and thanked her, asking to be kept updated and saying that no, he absolutely could not give his input at this very moment, he was, in fact, preoccupied.

When she finally consented to calling back later, he turned and immediately stopped in his tracks. You were there, standing at the bar right next to his abandoned seat and staring right into his eyes. There was a subtle smile playing at your lips, and you rested an elbow on the counter, never breaking your gaze as he slowly walked back.

Had he been caught?

Charlie cleared his throat and cursed his racing heart. A sweaty palm combed through his hair as joined you at the bar. Your smile only grew.

“Mind if I join you?”

He nearly choked on his spit.

“No, of course not,” he grabbed his glass and you clinked yours against the rim.

You both sipped, and he tried not to stare too long at how your arms looked resting on the wood. This was...not something he had anticipated. But leave it to you to surprise him.

“Do you come here often?” you asked, swirling the liquor in your cup.

Odd that you hadn’t asked his name, but then again, he hadn’t bothered to ask yours either. He knew the constants and vowels of it by heart.

“I wouldn’t say often,” he shrugged and took a long drink, something to numb him a bit and calm the shaking in his hands. “Only when it’s convenient.”

“It’s nice here,” you said. “I like the crowd.”

“Yeah?” Charlie didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t expected to actually speak with you so soon.

“No one really comes in to talk, if you know what I mean.” You pulled your lip between your teeth and nibbled at it.

He could feel his cock twitch in his jeans at the way you bit at the flesh.

“Is that so,” he mused.

The look you gave him was succulent, mouthwatering and exquisite, “Wanna dance?”

He shouldn’t. It wasn’t time. There was an order to these things, there were rules and this was breaking them but, oh fuck you just kept looking at him and he was going to drown in how good it was. Charlie downed the rest of his drink and let you take his hand, pulling him slowly into the crowd of other dancers. Just as he had watched you do a dozen times, like he fantasized you’d to do with him.

Dancing was never really his thing but when you placed his big palms on your hips and let him feel you sway, his feet found their place. You turned in his grip—back to his chest and ass pressed to his front—and moved.

His vision tunneled. Homing in until the room melted away and there was nothing but your body and his hands.

***

The streets were dark and empty, but your hand was so scaldingly hot in his that Charlie barely noticed.

“Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Your voice rang out in his head. The music and the lights were brighter and louder and everything grew hazy the longer he touched you.

God, he shouldn’t.

It wasn’t time and hunting had rules but…

But this could be good. Go back to your place, learn the way in, maybe where you keep your keys, the door code and placement of security cameras—make it much easier on himself further down the line when you were ready. When he could take you.

There were leaves crunching under his feet and the night seemed to grow darker and darker as you led him forward.

“We can cut through here,” you said, turning to flash him another smile, tugging at his arm and making him stumble.

He was losing track of where his limbs existed in space, strange since he’d only had the one drink. His eyes were dry trying to adjust to the pitch blackness he was so unused to. It never got this dark in the city, too much light pollution but there were barely any shadows here, too far away from the bustling center of town.

Something cold and metal brushed his thigh as he followed you deeper into the darkness and towards the twinkling street lamps in the distance.

The bench, he realized, where he sat and observed you walking your circles.

This was the park.

The copse of trees was just ahead.

Charlie knew where you lived, somewhere far into midtown and not near here. Something unfamiliar was taking over him. His mouth felt thick, his face beaded with sweat and his chest was growing tighter by the minute. This was wrong, he should go, but his legs were like lead and as much as he tried to wrench his hand from your grip...he couldn’t.

The shrubs caught on his pants as you yanked hard on his arm and sent him tumbling forward into the dirt. He tried to catch himself, but his arms stayed limp at his sides. Face down, he landed with earth and dried leaves sticking to his cheeks. Your weight settled on top of him, thighs gripping his hips and hands planted on either side of his head.

“You bitch,” he gasped into the ground. “What did you give me?”

“It’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with,” your breath was so hot on his ear, tongue flicking out to lick up the shell of it and bite down hard on the lobe.

“You fucking whore,” Charlie hissed, trying to throw you off. He wanted to pin you down, fuck the plans he’d choke you out right here, right now. Wrap his big hands around your throat and watch you claw and grasp at him—

You were supposed to be perfect.

Supposed to be his.

Your nails skimmed up his scalp, grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking it back. His neck strained as you pressed your cheek to his, other hand coming to cup his jaw harshly.

“Listen to me you arrogant piece of shit,” you snarled, no honey sweetness dripping from your lips now. He still wanted desperately to taste them. “I’m assuming you're new to this game so let me explain some things to you. Now be a good boy and listen, yeah?”

Charlie tried to shake his head from your grip, work your fingers into his mouth and bite but your hand slipped to his throat and tightened just enough to restrict the blood pulsing through his carotid. He stilled, pursing his lips and nodded.

“Much better,” you whispered. He could only make out the blur of your face from his peripheral, feel the heat of your skin pressed to his. “There is one rule and only one to this dance of ours, do you know what it is?”

He grit his teeth, silent until your nails ripped into his hair again and he groaned as the strands separated from his scalp

“Why don’t you tell me,” he bit the ‘t’ and waited.

“You never shoot another hunter, dumbass,” you spat. “You make sure whatever the fuck you go after it isn’t wearing a bright orange fucking vest.”

“What?” he was panting now, the ground fading in and out as his vision went dark.

“Did you know prey animals never have forward facing eyes?” you stroked a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Cause they’re always looking out, always watching the horizon for predators and the sign of a good predator is that we never let them catch us.”

Charlie’s neck grew weaker, the only thing holding him up was your hands on his throat and buried in his silky hair.

“So the next time you go scoping for your next pretty young thing to kill, make sure it can’t look you in both eyes.”

“You, you’re—” his speech was slurred, the words tumbling out in a jumble.

Is this what they felt like? All the others when he was tying them down and preparing for the slaughter.

“Yeah. So next time you think about branching out, don’t,” you let his head drop to the dirt and pressed his nose into the soil.

This is where you took yours. That man with the neon sneakers. When laid here, when he watched you breath in the earth. This is where you came to remember.

“These are my grounds, so stay the fuck off of them,” you slid off his back, pressing a knee into his hip and pushing so he flopped over limply on the leaf litter. “I won’t be so nice next time.”

He watched blearily as you leaned over him, settling back and straddling his lap. You rocked your hips once lazily against his cock, still half hard and tenting in his jeans. “Pity I’m letting you go, you’re exactly my type.”

Charlie swallowed, tongue like chalk as the world faded out around him. You leaned in close, patting his cheek twice and chuckling. It was so dark in this part of New York, he could actually see the stars as you shifted away and sauntered off into the night. Your parting words echoed in his head as he stared, immobile, up at the night sky.

“Happy hunting, Charlie.”

#dead dove do not eat #dark fic #murder charlie #serial killer!charlie #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber smut #tw: murder #tw: drug use #tw: noncon #mind the tags #dr. b writes #baby's first dark fic

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rawliverandcigarettes · 3 years

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Mass Effect Retribution, a review

Mass Effect Retribution is the third book in the official Mass Effect trilogy by author Drew Karpyshyn, who happens to also be Lead Writer for Mass Effect 1 and Mass Effect 2.

I didn’t expect to pick it up, because to be very honest I didn’t expect to like it. 9 years ago I borrowed Mass Effect Revelations, and I still recall the experience as underwhelming. But this fateful fall of 2020 I had money (yay) and I saw the novel on the shelf of a swedish nerd store. I guess guilt motivated me to give the author another try: guilt, because I’ve been writing a Mass Effect fanfiction for an ungodly amount of years and I’ve been deathly afraid of lore that might contradict my decisions ever since I started -but I knew this book covered elements that are core to plot elements of my story, and I was willing to let my anxiety to the door and see what was up.

Disclaimer: I didn’t reread Mass Effect Revelation before plunging into this read, and entirely skipped Ascension. So anything in relation to character introduction and continuity will have to be skipped.

Back-cover pitch (the official, unbiased, long one)

Humanity has reached the stars, joining the vast galactic community of alien species. But beyond the fringes of explored space lurk the Reapers, a race of sentient starships bent on “harvesting” the galaxy’s organic species for their own dark purpose. The Illusive Man, leader of the pro-human black ops group Cerberus, is one of the few who know the truth about the Reapers. To ensure humanity’s survival, he launches a desperate plan to uncover the enemy’s strengths—and weaknesses—by studying someone implanted with modified Reaper technology. He knows the perfect subject for his horrific experiments: former Cerberus operative Paul Grayson, who wrested his daughter from the cabal’s control with the help of Ascension project director Kahlee Sanders. But when Kahlee learns that Grayson is missing, she turns to the only person she can trust: Alliance war hero Captain David Anderson. Together they set out to find the secret Cerberus facility where Grayson is being held. But they aren’t the only ones after him. And time is running out. As the experiments continue, the sinister Reaper technology twists Grayson’s mind. The insidious whispers grow ever stronger in his head, threatening to take over his very identity and unleash the Reapers on an unsuspecting galaxy. This novel is based on a Mature-rated video game.

Global opinion (TL;DR)

I came in hoping to be positively surprised and learn a thing or two about Reapers, about Cerberus and about Aria T’loak. I wasn’t, and I didn’t learn much. What I did learn was how cool ideas can get wasted by the very nature of game novelization, as the defects are not singular to this novel but quite widespread in this genre, and how annoyed I can get at an overuse of dialogue tags. The pacing is good and the narrative structure alright: everything else poked me in the wrong spots and rubbed how the series have always handled violence on my face with cruder examples. If I was on Good Reads, I’d probably give it something like 2 stars, for the pacing, some of the ideas, and my general sympathy for the IP novel struggle.

The indepth review continue past this point, just know there will be spoilers for the series, the Omega DLC which is often relevant, and the book itself!

What I enjoyed

Drew Karpyshyn is competent in narrative structure, and that does a lot for the pacing. Things rarely drag, and we get from one event to the next seamlessly. I’m not surprised this is one of the book’s qualities, as it comes from the craft of a game writer: pacing and efficiency are mandatory skills in this field. I would have preferred a clearer breaking point perhaps, but otherwise it’s a nice little ride that doesn’t ask a lot of effort from you (I was never tempted to DNF the book because it was so easy to read).

This book is packed with intringuing ideas -from venturing in the mind of the Illusive Man to assist, from the point of view of the victim, to Grayson’s biological transformation and assimilation into the Reaper hivemind, we get plenty to be excited for. I was personally intrigued about Liselle, Aria T’loak’s secret daughter, and eager to get a glimpse at the mind of the Queen Herself -also about how her collaboration with Cerberus came to be. Too bad none of these ideas go anywhere nor are being dealt with in an interesting way!!! But the concepts themselves were very good, so props for setting up interesting premices.

Pain is generally well described. It gets the job done.

I liked Sanak, the batarian that works as a second to Aria. He’s not very well characterized and everyone thinks he’s dumb (rise up for our national himbo), even though he reads almost smarter than her on multiple occasions, but I was happy whenever he was on the page, so yay for Sanak. But it might just be me having a bias for batarians.

Cool to have Kai Leng as a point of view character. I wasn’t enthralled by what was done with it, as he remains incredibly basic and as basically hateable and ungrounded than in Mass Effect 3 (I think he’s very underwhelming as a villain and he should have been built up in Mass Effect 2 to be effective). But there were some neat moments, such as the description of the Afterlife by Grayson who considers it as tugging at his base instincts, compared to Leng’s description of it where everything is deemed disgusting. The execution is not the best, but the concept was fun.

Pre-Reaperification Paul Grayson wasn’t the worst point of view to follow. I wasn’t super involved in his journey and didn’t care when he died one way or the other, but I empathized with his problems and hoped he would find a way out of the cycle of violence. The setup of his character arc was interesting, it’s just sad that any resolution -even negative- was dropped to focus on Reapers and his relationship with Kahlee Sanders, as I think the latter was the least interesting part.

The cover is cool and intringuing. Very soapy. It’s my favorite out of all the official novels, as it owns the cheesier aspect of the series, has nice contrasts and immediately asks questions. Very 90s/2000s. It’s great.

You may notice every thing I enjoyed was coated in complaints, because it’s a reflection of my frustration at this book for setting up interesting ideas and then completely missing the mark in their execution. So without further due, let’s talk about what I think the book didn’t do right.

1. Dumb complaints that don’t matter much

After reading the entire book, I am still a bit confused at to why Tim (the Illusive Man’s acronym is TIM in fandom, but I find immense joy in reffering to him as just Tim) wants his experimentation to be carried out on Grayson specifically, especially when getting to him is harder than pretty much anyone else (also wouldn’t pushing the very first experiments on alien captives make more sense given it’s Cerberus we’re talking about?). It seem to be done out of petty revenge, which is fine, but it still feels like quite the overlook to mess with a competent fighter, enhance him, and then expect things to stay under control (which Tim kind of doesn’t expect to, and that’s even weirder -why waste your components on something you plan to terminate almost immediately). At the same time, the pettiness is the only characterization we get out of Tim so good I guess? But if so, I wished it would have been accentuated to seem even more deliberate (and not have Tim regret to see it in himself, which flattens him and doesn’t inform the way he views the world and himself -but we’ll get to that).

I really disliked the way space travel is characterized. And that might be entirely just me, and perhaps it doesn’t contradict the rest of the lore, but space travel is so fast. People pop up left and right in a matter of hours. At some point we even get a mention of someone being able to jump 3 different Mass Relays and then arrive somewhere in 4 hours. I thought you first had to discharge your ship around a stellar object before being able to engage in the next jump (and that imply finding said object, which would have to take more than an hour). It’s not that big of a deal, but it completely crammed this giant world to a single boulevard for me and my hard-science-loving tastes. Not a big deal, but not a fan at all of this choice.

You wouldn’t believe how often people find themselves in a fight naked or in their underwear. It happens at least 3 times (and everyone naked survives -except one, we’ll get to her later).

Why did I need to know about this fifteen year’s old boner for his older teacher. Surely there were other ways to have his crush come across without this detail, or then have it be an actual point of tension in their relationship and not just a “teehee” moment. Weird choice imo.

I’m not a fan of the Talons. I don’t find them interesting or compelling. There is nothing about them that informs us on the world they live in. The fact they’re turian-ruled don’t tell us anything about turian culture that, say, the Blue Suns don’t tell us already. It’s a generic gang that is powerful because it is. I think they’re very boring, in this book and in the Omega DLC alike (a liiittle less in the DLC because of Nyreen, barely). Not a real criticism, I just don’t care for them at all.

I might just be very ace, but I didn’t find Anderson and Kahlee Sanders to have much chemistry. Same for Kahlee and Grayson (yes we do have some sort of love-triangle-but-not-really, but it’s not very important and it didn’t bother me much). Their relationships were all underwhelming to me, and I’ll explain why in part 4.

The red sand highs are barely described, and very safely -probably not from a place of intimate knowledge with drugs nor from intense research. Addiction is a delicate topic, and I feel like it could have been dealt with better, or not be included at all.

There are more of these, but I don’t want to turn this into a list of minor complaints for things that are more a matter of taste than craft quality or thematic relevance. So let’s move on.

2. Who cares about aliens in a Mass Effect novel

Now we’re getting into actual problems, and this one is kind of endemic to the Mass Effect novels (I thought the same when I read Revelation 9 years ago, though maybe less so as Saren in a PoV character -but I might have forgotten so there’s that). The aliens are described and characterized in the most uncurious, uninspired manner. Krogans are intimidating brutes. Turians are rigid. Asaris are sexy. Elcors are boring. Batarians are thugs (there is something to be said with how Aria’s second in command is literally the same batarian respawned with a different name in Mass Effect 2, this book, then the Omega DLC). Salarians are weak nerds. (if you allow me this little parenthesis because of course I have to complain about salarian characterization: the only salarian that speaks in the book talks in a cheap ripoff of Mordin’s speech pattern, which sucks because it’s specific to Mordin and not salarians as a whole, and is there to be afraid of a threat as a joke. This is SUCH a trope in the original trilogy -especially past Mass Effect 1 when they kind of give up on salarians except for a few chosen ones-, that salarians’ fear is not to be taken seriously and the only salarians who are to be considered don’t express fear at all -see Mordin and Kirrahe. It happens at least once per game, often more. This is one of the reasons why the genophage subplot is allowed to be so morally simple in ME3 and remove salarians from the equation. I get why they did that, but it’s still somewhat of a copeout. On this front, I have to give props to Andromeda for actually engaging with violence on salarians in a serious manner. It’s a refreshing change) I didn’t learn a single thing about any of these species, how they work, what they care about in the course of these 79750 words. I also didn’t learn much about their relationships to other species, including humans. I’ll mention xenophobia in more details later, but this entire aspect of the story takes a huge hit because of this lack of investment of who these species are.

I’ve always find Mass Effect, despite its sprawling universe full of vivid ideas and unique perspectives, to be strangely enamoured with humans, and it has never been so apparent than here. Only humans get to have layers, deserving of empathy and actual engagement. Only their pain is real and important. Only their death deserve mourning (we’ll come back to that). I’d speculate this comes from the same place that was terrified to have Liara as a love interest in ME1 in case she alienated the audience, and then later was surprised when half the fanbase was more interested in banging the dinosaur-bird than their fellow humans: Mass Effect often seem afraid of losing us and breaking our capacity for self-projection. It’s a very weird concern, in my opinion, that reveals the most immature, uncertain and soapy parts of the franchise. Here it’s punched to eleven, and I find it disappointing. It also have a surprising effect on the narrative: again, we’ll come back to that.

3. The squandered potential of Liselle and Aria

Okay. This one hurts. Let’s talk about Liselle: she’s introduced in the story as a teammate to Grayson, who at the time works as a merc for Aria T’loak on Omega, and also sleeps with him on the regular. She likes hitting the Afterlife’s dancefloor: she’s very admired there, as she’s described as extremely attractive. One night after receiving a call from Grayson, she rejoins him in his apartment. They have sex, then Kai Leng and other Cerberus agents barge in to capture Grayson -a fight break out (the first in a long tradition of naked/underwear fights), and both of them are stunned with tranquilizers. Grayson is to be taken to the Illusive Man. Kai Leng decides to slit Liselle’s throat as she lays unconscious to cover their tracks. When Aria T’loak and her team find her naked on a bed, throat gaping and covered in blood, Liselle is revealed, through her internal monologue, to be Aria’s secret daughter -that she kept secret for both of their safety. So Liselle is a sexpot who dies immediately in a very brutal and disempowered manner. This is a sad way to handle Aria T’loak’s daughter I think, but I assume it was done to give a strong motivation to the mother, who thinks Grayson did it. And also, it’s a cool setup to explore her psyche: how does she feel about business catching up with her in such a personal manner, how does she feel about the fact she couldn’t protect her own offspring despite all her power, what’s her relationship with loss and death, how does she slip when under high emotional stress, how does she deal with such a vulnerable position of having to cope without being able to show any sign of weakness... But the book does nothing with that. The most interesting we get is her complete absence of outward reaction when she sees her daughter as the centerpiece of a crime scene. Otherwise we have mentions that she’s not used to lose relatives, vague discomfort when someone mentions Liselle might have been raped, and vague discomfort at her body in display for everyone to gawk at. It’s not exactly revelatory behavior, and the missed potential is borderline criminal. It also doesn’t even justify itself as a strong motivation, as Aria vaguely tries to find Grayson again and then gives up until we give her intel on a silver platter. Then it almost feels as if she forgot her motivation for killing Grayson, and is as motivated by money than she is by her daughter’s murder (and that could be interesting too, but it’s not done in a deliberate way and therefore it seems more like a lack of characterization than anything else).

Now, to Aria. Because this book made me realize something I strongly dislike: the framing might constantly posture her as intelligent, but Aria T’loak is... kind of dumb, actually? In this book alone she’s misled, misinformed or tricked three different times. We’re constantly ensured she’s an amazing people reader but never once do we see this ability work in her favor -everyone fools her all the time. She doesn’t learn from her mistakes and jump from Cerberus trap to Cerberus trap, and her loosing Omega to them later is laughably stupid after the bullshit Tim put her through in this book alone. I’m not joking when I say the book has to pull out an entire paragraph on how it’s easier to lie to smart people to justify her complete dumbassery during her first negotiation with Tim. She doesn’t seem to know anything about how people work that could justify her power. She’s not politically savvy. She’s not good at manipulation. She’s just already established and very, very good at kicking ass. And I wouldn’t mind if Aria was just a brutish thug who maintains her power through violence and nothing else, that could also be interesting to have an asari act that way. But the narrative will not bow to the reality they have created for her, and keep pretending her flaw is in extreme pride only. This makes me think of the treatment of Sansa Stark in the latest seasons of Game of Thrones -the story and everyone in it is persuaded she’s a political mastermind, and in the exact same way I would adore for it to be true, but it’s just... not. It’s even worse for Aria, because Sansa does have victories by virtue of everyone being magically dumber than her whenever convenient. Aria just fails, again and again, and nobody seem to ever acknowledge it. Sadly her writing here completely justifies her writing in the Omega DLC and the comics, which I completely loathe; but turns out Aria isn’t smart or savvy, not even in posture or as a façade. She’s just violent, entitled, easily fooled, and throws public tantrums when things don’t go her way. And again, I guess that would be fine if only the narrative would recognize what she is. Me, I will gently ignore most of this (in her presentation at least, because I think it’s interesting to have something pitiful when you dig a little) and try to write her with a bit more elevation. But this was a very disappointing realization to have.

4. The squandered potential of Grayson and the Reapers

The waste of a subplot with Aria and Liselle might have hurt me more in a personal way, but what went down between Grayson and the Reapers hurts the entire series in a startling manner. And it’s so infuriating because the potential was there. Every setpiece was available to create something truly unique and disturbing by simply following the series’ own established lore. But this is not what happens. See, when The Illusive Man, our dearest Tim, captures Grayson for a betrayal that happened last book (something about his biotic autistic daughter -what’s the deal with autistic biotics being traumatized by Cerberus btw), he decides to use him as the key part of an experiment to understand how Reapers operate. So he forcefully implants the guy with Reaper technology (what they do exactly is unclear) to study his change into a husk and be prepared when Reapers come for humanity -it’s also compared to what happened with Saren when he “agreed” to be augmented by Sovereign. From there on, Grayson slowly turns into a husk. Doesn’t it sound fascinating, to be stuck in the mind of someone losing themselves to unknowable monsters? If you agree with me then I’m sorry because the execution is certainly... not that. The way the author chooses to describe the event is to use the trope of mind control used in media like Get Out: Grayson taking the backseat of his own mind and body. And I haaaaate it. I hate it so much. I don’t hate the trope itself (it can be interesting in other media, like Get Out!), but I loathe that it’s used here in a way that totally contradicts both the lore and basic biology. Grayson doesn’t find himself manipulated. He doesn’t find himself justifying increasingly jarring actions the way Saren has. He just... loses control of himself, disagreeing with what’s being done with him but not able to change much about it. He also can fight back and regain control sometimes -but his thoughts are almost untainted by Reaper influence. The technology is supposed to literally replace and reorganize the cells of his body; is this implying that body and mind are separated, that there maybe exists a soul that transcends indoctrination? I don’t know but I hate it. This also implies that every victim of the Reaper is secretely aware of what they’re doing and pained and disagreeing with their own actions. And I’m sorry but if it’s true, I think this sucks ass and removes one of the creepiest ideas of the Mass Effect universe -that identity can and will be lost, and that Reapers do not care about devouring individuality and reshaping it to the whims of their inexorable march. Keeping a clear stream of consciousness in the victim’s body makes it feel like a curse and not like a disease. None of the victims are truly gone that way, and it removes so much of the tragic powerlessness of organics in their fight against the machines. Imagine if Saren watched himself be a meanie and being like “nooo” from within until he had a chance to kill himself in a near-victorious battle, compared to him being completely persuaded he’s acting for the good of organic life until, for a split second, he comes to realize he doesn’t make any sense and is loosing his mind like someone with dementia would, and needs to grasp to this instant to make the last possible thing he could do to save others and his own mind from domination. I feel so little things for Saren in the former case, and so much for the latter. But it might just be me: I’m deeply touched by the exploration of how environment and things like medication can change someone’s behavior, it’s such a painfully human subject while forceful mind control is... just kind of cheap.

SPEAKING OF THE REAPERS. Did you know “The Reapers” as an entity is an actual character in this book? Because it is. And “The Reapers” is not a good character. During the introduction of Grayson and explaining his troubles, we get presented with the mean little voice in his head. It’s his thoughts in italics, nothing crazy, in fact it’s a little bit of a copeout from actually implementing his insecurities into the prose. But I gave the author the benefit of the doubt, as I knew Grayson would be indoctrinated later, and I fully expected the little voice to slowly start twisting into what the Reapers suggested to him. This doesn’t happen, or at least not in that slowburn sort of way. Instead the little voice is dropped almost immediately, and the Reapers are described, as a presence. And as the infection progresses, what Grayson do become what the Reapers do. The Reapers have emotions, it turns out. They’re disgusted at organic discharges. They’re pleased when Grayson accomplish what they want, and it’s told as such. They foment little plans to get their puppet to point A to point B, and we are privy to their calculations. And I’m sorry but the best way to ruin your lovecraftian concept is to try and explain its motivations and how it thinks. Because by definition the unknown is scarier, smarter, and colder than whatever a human author could come up with. I couldn’t take the Reapers’ dumb infiltration plans seriously, and now I think they are dumb all the time, and I didn’t want to!! The only cases in which the Reapers influence Grayson, we are told in very explicit details how so. For example, they won’t let Grayson commit suicide by flooding his brain with hope and determination when he tries, or they will change the words he types when he tries to send a message to Kahlee Sanders. And we are told exactly what they do every time. There was a glorious occasion to flex as a writer by diving deep into an unreliable narrator and write incredibly creepy prose, but I guess we could have been confused, and apparently that’s not allowed. And all of this is handled that poorly becauuuuuse...

5. Subtext is dead and Drew killed it

Now we need to talk about the prose. The style of the author is... let’s be generous and call it functional. It’s about clarity. The writing is so involved in its quest for clarity that it basically ruins the book, and most of the previous issues are direct consequences of the prose and adjacent decisions.The direct prose issues are puzzling, as they are known as rookie technical flaws and not something I would expect from the series’ Lead Writer for Mass Effect 1 and 2, but in this book we find problems such as:

The reliance on adverbs. Example: "Breathing heavily from the exertion, he stood up slowly”. I have nothing about a well-placed adverb that gives a verb a revelatory twist, but these could be replaced by stronger verbs, or cut altogether.

Filtering. Example: “Anderson knew that the fact they were getting no response was a bad sign”. This example is particularly egregious, but characters know things, feel things, realize things (boy do they realize things)... And this pulls us away from their internal world instead of making us live what they live, expliciting what should be implicit. For example, consider the alternative: “They were getting no reponse, which was a bad sign in Anderson’s experience.” We don’t really need the “in Anderson’s experience” either, but that already brings us significantly closer to his world, his lived experience as a soldier.

The goddamn dialogue tags. This one is the worst offender of the bunch. Nobody is allowed to talk without a dialogue tag in this book, and wow do people imply, admit, inform, remark and every other verb under the sun. Consider this example, which made me lose my mind a little: “What are you talking about? Kahlee wanted to know.” I couldn’t find it again, but I’m fairly certain I read a “What is it?” Anderson wanted to know. as well. Not only is it very distracting, it’s also yet another way to remove reader interpretation from the equation (also sometimes there will be a paragraph break inside a monologue -not even a long one-, and that doesn’t seem to be justified by anything? It’s not as big of a problem than the aversion to subtext, but it still confused me more than once)

Another writing choice that hurts the book in disproportionate ways is the reliance on point of view switches. In Retribution, we get the point of view of: Tim, Paul Grayson, Kai Leng, Kahlee Sanders, David Anderson, Aria T’loak, and Nick (a biotic teenager, the one with the boner). Maybe Sanak had a very small section too, but I couldn’t find it again so don’t take my word for it. That’s too many point of views for a plot-heavy 80k book in my opinion, but even besides that: the point of view switch several times in one single chapter. This is done in the most harmful way possible for tension: characters involved in the same scene take turns on the page explaining their perspective about the events, in a way that leaves the reader entirely aware of every stake to every character and every information that would be relevant in a scene. Take for example the first negotiation between Aria and Tim. The second Aria needs to ponder what her best move could possibly be, we get thrown back into Tim’s perspective explaining the exact ways in which he’s trying to deceive her -removing our agency to be either convinced or fooled alongside her. This results in a book that goes out of his way to keep us from engaging with its ideas and do any mental work on our own. Everything is laid out, bare and as overexplained as humanly possible. The format is also very repetitive: characters talk or do an action, and then we spend a paragraph explaining the exact mental reasoning for why they did what they did. There is nothing to interpret. No subtext at all whatsoever; and this contributes in casting a harsh light on the Mass Effect universe, cheapening it and overtly expliciting some of its worst ideas instead of leaving them politely blurred and for us to dress up in our minds. There is only one theme that remains subtextual in my opinion. And it’s not a pretty one.

6. Violence

So here’s the thing when you adapt a third person shooter into a novel: you created a violent world and now you will have to deal with death en-masse too (get it get it I’m so sorry). But while in videogames you can get away with thoughtless murder because it’s a gameplay mechanic and you’re not expected to philosophize on every splatter of blood, novels are all about internalization. Violent murder is by definition more uncomfortable in books, because we’re out of gamer conventions and now every death is actual when in games we just spawned more guys because we wanted that level to be a bit harder and on a subconscious level we know this and it makes it somewhat okay. I felt, in this book, a strange disconnect between the horrendous violence and the fact we’re expected to care about it like we would in a game: not much, or as a spectacle. Like in a game, we are expected to root for the safety of named characters the story indicated us we should be invested in. And because we’re in a book, this doesn’t feel like the objective truth of the universe spelled at us through user interface and quest logs, but the subjective worldview of the characters we’re following. And that makes them.... somewhat disturbing to follow.

I haven’t touched on Anderson and Kahlee Sanders much yet, but now I guess I have too, as they are the worst offenders of what is mentioned above. Kahlee cares about Grayson. She only cares about Grayson -and her students like the forementioned Nick, but mostly Grayson. Grayson is out there murdering people like it’s nobody’s business, but still, keeping Grayson alive is more important that people dying like flies around him. This is vaguely touched on, but not with the gravitas that I think was warranted. Also, Anderson goes with it. Because he cares about Kahlee. Anderson organizes a major political scandal between humans and turians because of Kahlee, because of Grayson. He convinces turians to risk a lot to bring Cerberus down, and I guess that could be understandable, but it’s mostly manipulation for the sake of Grayson’s survival: and a lot of turians die as a result. But not only turians: I was not comfortable with how casually the course of action to deal a huge blow to Cerberus and try to bring the organization down was to launch assault on stations and cover-ups for their organization. Not mass arrests: military assault. They came to arrest high operatives, maybe, but the grunts were okay to slaughter. This universe has a problem with systemic violence by the supposedly good guys in charge -and it’s always held up as the righteous and efficient way compared to these UGH boring politicians and these treaties and peace and such (amirite Anderson). And as the cadavers pile up, it starts to make our loveable protagonists... kind of self-centered assholes. Also: I think we might want to touch on who these cadavers tend to be, and get to my biggest point of discomfort with this novel.

Xenophobia is hard to write well, and I super sympathize with the attempts made and their inherent difficulty. This novel tries to evoke this theme in multiple ways: by virtue of having Cerberus’ heart and blade as point of view characters, we get a window into Tim and Kai Leng’s bigotry against aliens, and how this belief informs their actions. I wasn’t ever sold in their bigotry as it was shown to us. Tim evokes his scorn for whatever aliens do and how it’s inferior to humanity’s resilience -but it’s surface-level, not informed by deep and specific entranched beliefs on aliens motives and bodies, and how they are a threat on humanity according to them. The history of Mass Effect is rich with conflict and baggage between species, yet every expression of hatred is relegated to a vague “eww aliens” that doesn’t feed off systemically enforced beliefs but personal feelings of mistrust and disgust. I’ll take this example of Kai Leng, and his supposedly revulsion at the Afterlife as a peak example of alien decadence: he sees an asari in skimpy clothing, and deems her “whorish”. And this feels... off. Not because I don’t think Kai Leng would consider asaris whorish, but because this is supposed to represent Cerberus’ core beliefs: yet both him and Tim go on and on about how their goal is to uplift humanity, how no human is an enemy. But if that’s the case, then what makes Kai Leng call an Afterlife asari whorish and mean it in a way that’s meaningfully different from how he would consider a human sex worker in similar dispositions? Not that I don’t buy that Cerberus would have a very specific idea of what humans need to be to be considered worth preserving as good little ur-fascists, but this internal bias is never expressed in any way, and it makes the whole act feel hollow. Cerberus is not the only offender, though. Every time an alien expresses bias against humans in a way we’re meant to recognize as xenophobic, it reads the same way: as personal dislike and suspicion. As bullying. Which is such a small part of what bigotry encompasses. It’s so unspecific and divorced from their common history that it just never truly works in my opinion. You know what I thought worked, though? The golden trio of non-Cerberus human characters, and their attitude towards aliens. Grayson’s slight fetishism and suspicion of his attraction to Liselle, how bestial (in a cool, sexy way) he perceives the Afterlife to be. The way Anderson and Kahlee use turians for their own ends and do not spare a single thought towards those who died directly trying to protect them or Grayson immediately after the fact (they are more interested in Kahlee’s broken fingers and in kissing each other). How they feel disgust watching turians looting Cerberus soldiers, not because it’s disrespectful in general and the deaths are a inherent tragedy but because they are turians and the dead are humans. But it's not even really on them: the narration itself is engrossed by the suffering of humans, but aliens are relegated to setpieces in gore spectacles. Not even Grayson truly cares about the aliens the Reapers make him kill. Nobody does. Not even the aliens among each other: see, once again, Aria and Liselle, or Aria and Sanak. Nobody cares. At the very end of the story, Anderson comes to Kahlee and asks if she gives him permission to have Grayson’s body studied, the same way Cerberus planned to. It’s source of discomfort, but Kahlee gives in as it’s important, and probably what Grayson would have wanted, maybe? So yeah. In the end the only subtextual theme to find here (probably as an accident) is how the Alliance’s good guys are not that different from Cerberus it turns out. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

7. Lore-approved books, or the art of shrinking an expanding universe

I’d like to open the conversation on a bigger topic: the very practice of game novelization, or IP-books. Because as much as I think Drew Karpyshyn’s final draft should not have ended up reading that amateur given the credits to his name, I really want to acknowledge the realities of this industry, and why the whole endeavor was perhaps doomed from the start regardless of Karpyshyn’s talent or wishes as an author.

The most jarring thing about this reading experience is as follows: I spent almost 80k words exploring this universe with new characters and side characters, all of them supposedly cool and interesting, and I learned nothing. I learned nothing new about the world, nothing new about the characters. Now that it’s over, I’m left wondering how I could chew on so much and gain so little. Maybe it’s just me, but more likely it’s by design. Not on poor Drew. Now that I did IP work myself, I have developed an acute sympathy for anyone who has to deal with the maddening contradictions of this type of business. Let me explain.

IP-adjacent media (in the West at least) sure has for goal to expand the universe: but expand as in bloat, not as in deepen. The target for this book is nerds like me, who liked the games and want more of this thing we liked. But then we’re confronted by two major competitors: the actual original media (in ME’s case, the games) whose this product is a marketing tool for, and fandom. IP books are not allowed to compete with the main media: the good ideas are for the main media, and any meaningful development has to be made in the main media (see: what happened with Kai Leng, or how everyone including me complains about the worldbuilding to the Disney Star Swars trilogy being hidden in the novelization). And when it comes to authorship (as in: taking an actual risk with the media and give it a personal spin), then we risk introducing ideas that complicate the main media even though a ridiculously small percent of the public will be attached to it, or ideas that fans despise. Of course we can’t have the latter. And once the fandom is huge enough, digging into anything the fans have strong headcanons for already risks creating a lot of emotions once some of these are made canon and some are disregarded. As much as I joke about how in Mass Effect you can learn about any gun in excrutiating details but we still don’t know if asaris have a concept for marriage... would we really want to know how/if asaris marry, or aren’t we glad we get to be creative and put our own spin on things? The dance between fandom and canon is a delicate one that can and will go wrong. And IP books are generally not worth the drama for the stakeholders.

Add this to insane deadlines, numerous parties all involved in some way and the usual struggles of book writing, and we get a situation where creating anything of value is pretty much a herculean task.

But then I ask... why do IP books *have* to be considered canon? I know this is part of the appeal, and that removing the “licenced” part only leaves us with published fanfiction, but... yeah. Yeah. I think it could be a fascinating model. Can you imagine having your IP and hiring X amount of distinctive authors to give it their own spin, not as definitive additions to the world but as creative endeavours and authorial deepdives? It would allow for these novels to be comparative and companion to the main media instead of being weird appendages that can never compare, and the structure would allow for these stories to be polished and edited to a higher level than most fanfictions. Of course I’m biased because I have a deep belief in the power of fanfiction as commentary and conversational piece. But I would really love to see companies’ approach to creative risk and canon to change. We might get Disney stuff until we die now, so the least we can ask for is for this content to be a little weird, personal and human.

That’s it. That’s the whole review. Thank you for reading, it was very long and weirdly passionate, have a nice dayyyyy.

#Mass Effect #mass effect retribution #me critical #writing #mass effect novels #anderson #kahlee sanders #Aria T'loak #paul grayson #liselle #salarians #IP conversation #omega #mass effect lore #reapers #book review

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astralaffairs · 4 years

Text

voltaire to versace 03 | thomas jefferson TEASER

title: voltaire to versace 03 TEASER

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: a lil over 10k

warnings: sex jokes n references again, dolley simping for james again, but probably more this time, implied sex except dolley’s having it instead of mc, maria and angelica are girlfriends, lafayette is basically everyone’s plug for weed so like,, drug references and alcohol references??

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Are you sure I was included in that invite?" Y/N's voice was skeptical as she crossed the green toward Thomas's office. Apparently, Dolley and James had spent their afternoon together, taking a walk through the city. (When Dolley told Y/N that the two-mile loop near the Lincoln Memorial had taken them two hours to walk through, she had a sneaking suspicion walking wasn't all they were doing. Hopefully, they'd at least escaped the watchful eye of our oversized 16th president.)

"Yes, I'm certain you were," Dolley insisted from the other end of the phone's line. "He said it'd be great if I brought you."

"... This sounds suspiciously like a pity invite."

"It isn't a pity invite!" Y/N could hear the indignance in her voice.

"Dolley, why, exactly, would he want me there if it wasn't a pity invite?"

"... Because you're my best friend, and he's decided to make an effort to get to know you better?"

She laughed. "As much as I appreciate this idealized James Madison, I have a feeling it was more to the effect of 'I just saw your roommate and feel obligated to invite her'," Y/N corrected her. "But go to the party without me! Don't let me hold you back from having your fun, alright?"

"Please come? It wouldn't be the same without you." Dolley's voice was high, containing traces of what almost smelled like desperation. "It'll make me much more comfortable to have you along."

Y/N groaned. "So when you and James go make out in the bathroom, I'm supposed to, what, play truth or dare with all the other PhD candidates?"

"Why not?" Dolley's tone was mild, which made Y/N roll her eyes.

"No offense to James's friends, but I'm not sure I want to spend an evening making stunted small talk with them."

"You're such a warm person, though! You'd be quite alright."

"It'd be awkward!"

"Please, Y/N? I'll beg you if that's what it'll take."

She scowled at how soft, forlorn Dolley's voice had become. As far as she was concerned, this was akin to emotional manipulation. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

"Yes. I like him so much."

She sighed. "I'm gonna say yes solely because I have somewhere to be and can't deal with this argument anymore. But you owe me."

Y/N could almost picture Dolley’s sappy smile. “Thank you so much, dear. You’re too good to me.”

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Her words elicited a laugh from Dolley, and Y/N continued, “But you know I’d do pretty much whatever you asked if you asked it in that I’m-about-to-cry voice, so I’m not sure this relationship is healthy for me anymore.”

“Oh, of course; I’m truly a parasite,” Dolley sighed. “Taking you in as my roommate, paying for your ramen — how evil of me.”

“I pay half the rent, and ramen costs fifty cents!” Y/N defended, but the words were lighthearted nonetheless. “Next time you give up five perfectly good hours of a Friday night so that I can get laid, we’ll call it even.”

“Don’t make any calls about Friday just yet. You haven’t even seen James’s friends.” Dolley’s voice was just teasing enough to placate Y/N. “I may not be the only one having some fun.”

“Have you even seen James’s friends?” Y/N asked dubiously, and Dolley’s silence told her all there was to know. “That’s what I thought. He’s an econ student, so it’s probably gonna be about eighty percent entitled rich men attending school on family money.”

“Or they could all be just your type,” Dolley reasoned, but by then, any efforts to talk Y/N out of her convictions were futile. “Tall, hot, and older.”

“First off, I don’t have a type, and second, just because you’re dating an ‘older man’,” — The final two words were said mockingly — “doesn’t mean that his older friends aren’t still douches.”

“I hate to have to be the one to break it to you, but that is absolutely your type.”

“Based on what?”

“That professor of yours?”

“Dolley!” Y/N scowled, turning down the volume on her call just in case some passing pedestrians were notorious gossips with super-hearing. It was certainly possible. “Can you please stop talking about him like that? Don’t make it a thing,” she murmured, jaw tense.

“Oh, we’re well past that, dear,” Dolley said matter-of-factly, and Y/N could only roll her eyes. “But if you’ve agreed to the party, I won’t push my luck.”

“Smart choice,” she muttered bitterly. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later tonight?”

“Of course.”

With that, she hung up the phone before Dolley could take advantage of her giving mood and start making further outlandish demands, tucking it into her coat pocket as she pushed open the door to Melos Hall. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was broken, and Thomas's office was several flights of stairs above her.

After at least eight long pauses for her to catch her breath, heaving as she leaned against the railing in the stairwell, and three stomach cramps, Y/N knocked on his door. "Anybody home?"

"C'mon in." His voice was soft, muffled through the door, and she opened it to find him all but slumped on his desk, resting his head on his hand as he graded papers he appeared to be rather cross with, and with more of said papers covering the entirety of the desk’s surface (and much of the floor). He glanced up when she entered, and a soft grin split his expression. "Hey, I thought that was you."

"I'm in absolute awe of your pattern-recognition skills, really," she replied, tone dry as she let the door fall shut behind her, and despite the playful smile she wore, Thomas rolled his eyes.

"You actually here for anything, or am I gonna have to kick you out?"

She laughed. "I'm not here to derail your work, I swear." He raised a dubious eyebrow. "I was just stopping by to let you know that, assuming it's still on the table, I'd love the TA position."

"Oh, yeah?" His smile widened almost imperceptibly at her words, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "'M glad to hear it. Could've just shot me an email, though."

She shrugged. "I was headed this way anyway. Figured I may as well stop by."

"I'm not complainin'." She let out a soft huff of laughter at the words, but she could feel heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. "'S good timing, anyway. Intro to IR just turned in an essay on Kant."

The soft groan she let out only served to amuse him further as she surveyed the wreckage of his office. "That's what all this paper is?" He nodded in confirmation, and she scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure if I feel worse for the freshmen who had to write them or for you having to read them."

"Well, I should hope it's the freshmen," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back in his chair. The smile he wore was concerningly self-righteous. "'Cause, now, readin' these is your job, too."

Her eyebrows shot up; the dread in her gaze was the furthest thing from contrived. "... Is it too late to rescind my application as a TA?"

He shook his head. "Mm-mm. You're welcome to abandon ship."

She didn't like the satisfaction which grew in his gaze as she weighed her options; they both knew she wasn't considering turning down the position in earnest — that simple fact left Thomas unnecessarily smug. Another beat passed, and she sighed. "You're lucky this is going to look good on my grad school applications."

He laughed. "Sure am. I could use all the help I can get, right now."

"I can see that," she replied, voice laden with amusement at the state of his office.

However, Thomas said nothing more, and she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the drawn-out silence. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and it took her a moment to grasp his intention. "Wait... d'you mean, like, right now?"

"Unless you're busy." He shrugged. His gaze was hopeful as she eyed warily the small stack of papers she'd spent the past few minutes trying not to crush under her boot. She sighed.

He grinned when she bent over to pick up the papers that'd floated to her side of the desk. "As depressing as it feels to say, I've got nowhere else to be on this fine Friday night."

"That's the spirit." He winked, and though she rolled her eyes, her amused smile was deep-set. "So, you're gradin' for accuracy and watchin' out for grammar, of course, but the points are really earned for analysis. The paper's on changes in the international system. They’ve gotta connect ‘em back to Kant's maxims."

She let out a low whistle as she took a seat across from him, plucking a red pen from his cup and dropping her bag onto the floor. "That certainly sounds pretentious."

He laughed lightly. "You really tellin' me you didn't have to do anything like this as a freshman?"

"Oh, I wish I could say that, but unfortunately, my professor was apparently every bit the pseudointellectual you are.” She nodded sadly, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious, sweetheart, really." In the dry sarcasm of his tone, the casual pet name didn't seem to register with him, but Y/N couldn't help but notice, and her breath caught. "Here, lemme get you a copy of the rubric. 'S nothin' too complicated; go easy on 'em. Got some STEM majors in the class who're just takin' it for the graduation requirement, so I'm not expectin' much."

She pursed her lips. "Are the essays that bad?"

He deadpanned as he turned back to her, sliding the rubric across the desk. "At least as bad as I'm makin' 'em sound."

Y/N let out a long, dramatic huff, rubbing her temples, and Thomas looked thoroughly entertained at her reaction.

"I'm in for a long few months, aren't I?"

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x-wing-junkie · 3 years

Text

Onward & Upward

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

Tags: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb “Zeb” Orrelios, Garazeb “Zeb” Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus, Airen Cracken, Hera Syndulla, Original Rebel Alliance Characters

Established Relationship, Kallus gets his own ship, based on a Star Wars Adventures story, probably going to be jossed soon,

Summary: As the Rebels search for a new home following the assault on Mako-Ta base, Kallus is given a new assignment.

Notes: Sequel to A Safe Haven!

I fully expect this to be proven wrong as soon as we get more Star Wars Adventures comics with Kallus and his crew in them, but damn it if I didn’t already come up with my own ideas before finding out there would be further stories.

The Lasana, as always, comes from Anath_Tsurugi’s brilliant mind.

Cross posted from AO3 to celebrate 200 followers!

Home One was a busy ship in the days after the Rebellion fled Mako-Ta base. Their retreat plans had been thrown into disarray by the arrival of Darth Vader.

Stormtroopers, even Death Troopers, could be handled. But how could regular Rebel troops hope to last against a Sith Lord?

They hadn’t been able to and they’d lost a lot of men in the trying, General Draven among them.

The Rebellion was in space, all crammed into Fleet ships while the Council debated a new base.

Kallus hoped it was news of such a base that made General Cracken, head of Intelligence, call him to his office, but he couldn’t be sure.

When Kallus entered the tiny office, Cracken – a middle-aged human with graying hair – was poring over a datapad, so Kallus stood by the door until he was acknowledged.

After a few minutes, Cracken looked up. Kallus saluted and then sat in the chair Cracken indicated.

“Captain Kallus, you’ll forgive me for running late,” Cracken said. “We’re just waiting for General Syndulla.”

Suddenly, Kallus felt like a child about to be chastised. He ran through his behavior for the last few months and couldn’t think of any way he’d offended someone. Ever since the battle of Scarif, he’d been serving as part of the Ghost’s crew, going on raids and scouting locations and other ‘in-the-field’ missions. It’d been an ideal setup, allowing him the freedom to leave the base frequently and feel like he was making a significant contribution to the Alliance while being able to share a bed and a life with Zeb.

He wouldn’t change anything.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He chafed a little under Hera’s leadership – nothing to do with Hera herself, but Kallus had always been in command as an Imperial and he missed having the sort of authority an ISB agent wielded. He missed being in control of his own actions, his own missions, his own destiny.

A soft knock sounded and Hera slipped into the room. Kallus returned her smile, covering his nerves easily.

Hera nodded at Cracken and the general cleared his throat. “Captain, I assume you’re familiar with the Imperial Freighter we captured over Kile II?”

Kallus was indeed familiar with the ship. Zaarin’s commandos had taken control of it almost bloodlessly. “Gozanti-class,” he said. “Looks to be pre-Empire but modified for Imperial service.”

“You’re familiar with that class of ship, I understand.”

Kallus glanced at Hera, but her face betrayed nothing. “Yes, sir. I often flew or commanded one during my ISB days.”

“That’s what General Syndulla told me.” Cracken leaned forward on his desk. “Captain, you’re being reassigned.”

Reassigned? No! “Where am I needed, sir?”

“I’m granting you command of our new ship. You’ll need a crew. I’ll give you some leeway in selecting them, but you’re being assigned a protocol droid.” Cracken glanced up at Hera, who gave Kallus a soft smile.

“I’m keeping Zeb and Rex,” she said, “but you can pick almost anyone else.”

Kallus had known, in his gut, that Zeb wouldn’t leave Hera and Jacen anyway, but it hurt to hear he was being separated, even if it did mean his own command again.

“This assignment comes with a promotion,” said Cracken, pulling out a new rank tab. “Congratulations, Commander Kallus.”

Still trying to digest all the information being thrown at him, Kallus picked up the rank tab and nodded. “Thank you, sir. What sort of assignments can I expect?”

“You’ll be Fleet command, but most of your missions will come from Intelligence. I presume you don’t mind picking up the mantle of Fulcrum again?”

“I didn’t ever put it down,” Kallus said.

“Good. Then you’re dismissed, Commander. I’ll expect your crew transfer requests by the end of tomorrow.”

Kallus nodded and left in a bit of a daze. He wandered down to Home One’s main docking bay, where the newly-captured Transport 478 sat. Mechanics swarmed over it, removing carbon scoring and repainting the yellow and gray accents.

“Nice lookin’ ship, isn’t she?”

“Garazeb,” Kallus said, relief flooding his chest. “Did Hera tell you?”

“That you’re getting a promotion and a transfer? Yeah.” Zeb sounded just as enthused as Kallus was. He turned the conversation back to the ship, obviously a safer topic. “You know, she needs a new name. Something Rebellion-y.”

Kallus leaned into Zeb’s side. “You know what she kind of looks like?”

“Huh?” Zeb’s eyes narrowed as he peered at the ship. “She’s bigger ‘n the Ghost, that’s for sure. I dunno what else.”

“The paint job,” Kallus pointed out. “Yellow on top, gray on bottom. She looks like that meteorite from Bahryn. The one that kept us warm.”

“Mostly warm,” Zeb corrected. He cocked his head. “You’re right, she does. So what? Gonna name her the Meteorite?”

“Maybe. Maybe she needs a different name. Something the meteorite represented.” Kallus crossed his arms and thought. “Something to do with hope, maybe. Or warmth.”

“Ollirahnd Kasmera,” Zeb said after a few moments’ contemplation. “Means ‘Glimmer of Hope’.”

“‘Glimmer of Hope’,” Kallus repeated. He turned it over in his head a few times. “The Rebellion could use hope right now, I think.”

Zeb wrapped an arm around Kallus’s shoulder. “You think you can pilot this thing?”

Kallus scowled. “Garazeb, I’ll have you know I’m quite a good pilot. You just haven’t seen me fly much.”

“Oh? Better than me, are you?” Zeb grinned, pressing a kiss to Kallus’s temple. “I think we should test that.”

Huffing a laugh, Kallus replied, “In the simulators. I don’t want you crashing my new ship.”

Zeb gasped in feigned offense. “Alexsandr Kallus, are you implying I can’t fly a ship?”

“I know you’re a decent pilot,” Kallus said. “But you’re not a really good one. There’s a reason Hera doesn’t let you fly the Ghost, just the Phantom II.”

Zeb laughed. “Okay, good point.”

Kallus smiled, but said nothing. Slowly, his grin fell, becoming something sad and miserable. “I don’t want this,” he said. “I want to stay on the Ghost with you.”

“And I’d come with you if Hera’d let me, “ Zeb said. “But you’re a victim of your own abilities. You’re too good at this stuff. They saw you lead the commandos, they know you fly well.”

“I could refuse the promotion and position,” Kallus said. “Stay with you.”

Zeb stood there for a moment, obviously considering the idea. “No,” he said finally. “It’s where you’re needed. They were gonna split us up sooner or later.”

Kallus felt a jolt. “You’re not saying–”

“No!” Zeb said quickly. “No, I’m not saying we should split up. I’m just saying it was silly to believe we’d get to stay together the whole time.”

It wasn’t silly, Kallus wanted to argue. It was everything I was fighting for. “I suppose you’re right.”

“‘Course I’m right,” Zeb said, giving Kallus’s shoulders a squeeze. “Come on, it’s dinnertime.”

Zeb slid his arm down Kallus’s back and caught his hand so they could walk together to the mess.

The fare on Home One was not quite as varied as the food on Yavin IV had been, but it was edible and, most importantly, not a nutrient paste, so Kallus was happy with it. He picked out a few spoonfuls of promising-looking dishes and followed Zeb to an empty table.

Their table didn’t stay empty for long. Hera joined them, as did Zaarin, Kallus’s former roommate. The talk, of course, was all of Kallus’s promotion.

Hera seemed apologetic. “I’m sorry to see you two split up, but General Cracken was insistent.”

Kallus gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s really okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t. “It was bound to happen at some point.”

“So who’re you picking for your crew?” Zaarin asked, raking back his shaggy hair from his face. “You need a commando, right?”

“You want to give up command?” Kallus asked. “What will Orenth-2 do without you?”

“They’re planning on merging us with Major Lissiri’s unit,” Zaarin said. “So I’m history either way. Might as well go out and see the galaxy, not just battlefields.”

Kallus chewed his food, thinking. Did he really want to work with Zaarin? The man was a friend and they’d survived living together, but… well, Zaarin could be a bit grating. “Fine,” he said after a minute. “I’ll submit your name.”

“Great!” Zaarin leaned forward. “Now, if you really want to make me happy, you’ll ask that new elomin in Intelligence, too. I hear she’s killer with a Kyuzo petar.”

Everyone else at the table sighed. Zaarin’s penchant for aliens – especially aliens with horns, such as elomin – was well-known.

“Tell you what,” Kallus said. “If you can tell me her name, right now, I’ll ask her. But if she’s just ‘the new elomin…’”

“Mikal,” Zaarin answered quickly. “I do pay attention to that sort of thing, you know.”

“No, we don’t know that,” Zeb laughed. “Gotta say, I’m surprised.”

Hera grinned, too. “Looks like you’ve got two crew members already, Kallus.”

“Only if Cracken approves all the transfers,” Kallus said. “So Zaarin, you’re good with explosives and apparently this Mikal is good with melee weapons. I’m a good ranged shot. We have a droid. What are we missing?”

“You want a mechanic,” Hera said. “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve found myself wishing we had one.”

“Hey!” Zeb protested. “I do that sort of work!”

Hera smiled. “You do and you do it well. But it’d be nice to have you in a turret while someone else works on the shields when they fail. I don’t want to have to choose where you go.”

Zeb leaned back in his chair. “Fair enough,” he said. He turned to Kallus. “Grab a verpine if you can. If not, grab Jaci.”

Kallus nodded. Jaci had never quite bounced back after losing her cousin and both her lovers so close together back on Yavin IV. Instead she’d thrown herself into her work, quickly becoming the most sought-after of the human mechanics. Kallus had a fond spot for her; she’d been one of the first people on Yavin to show him kindness. Perhaps a change would do her well. “If Daine lets her go,” he agreed. “Anyone else?”

Hera shrugged. “We got along with a group of five for a good while before Ezra joined us and I’m sure between you and Zaarin, you can smooth-talk your way out of bad situations one way or another.”

Kallus wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. He’d use diplomacy if he could but Zaarin would probably flirt his way out of trouble.

And, knowing the bastard, it would work.

“All right. I’ll get those names to Cracken.” Under the table, Kallus reached out for Zeb’s hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“So does this make us all Fulcrum agents, too?” Zaarin asked. “‘Cause that’s really good for–”

Hera cleared her throat and Zaarin stopped mid-sentence. Continuing as if Zaarin hadn’t been about to make a lewd comment, she said, “I think Kallus will be the only Fulcrum agent, although you can talk to General Cracken if you’re truly interested.”

Zaarin laughed. “No, I’ll let K handle that one. I was just curious.”

Kallus and Zeb shared a glance and the lasat rolled his eyes. “I think Kal and I need to go,” Zeb said. “Got stuff for him to do.”

Cheeks warm with embarrassment, Kallus let himself be dragged off back to the Ghost.

“Garazeb,” Kallus said, casting about for the right words. “Are you sure you’re all right with me taking this position? We’ll both be gone so often.”

“But you’re not gone yet,” Zeb reasoned. “We’ll worry about that when it happens.” He reached out and pulled Kallus close, into a deep kiss.

Kallus closed his eyes and focused on the kiss: the taste and tang of Zeb, the feel of lips and sharp fangs against his. They’d gone through so much to get to the point where Zeb felt comfortable kissing him, Kallus hated to do anything to mess that up.

Reaching behind him, he hit the door controls and pulled Zeb back into their cabin. “Ollirahnd Kasmera,” he murmured, between kisses. “You realize Glimmer of Hope is a terribly sentimental name?”

“So call it the Glimmer. Or the Kasmera.” Zeb shrugged. “Better ‘n Glowy Rock That Kept Me Warm.”

Kallus laughed and cupped Zeb’s jaw, running his thumb through the lasat’s bristly beard. “I do love you, Garazeb,” he said.

Zeb arched his brows. “Now who’s the sentimental one, Alex?”

“Only because you made me so.”

Zeb pushed Kallus back on the bed. “Guess I rubbed off on you the right way.”

“Something like that,” Kallus laughed again.

“Tomorrow we’ll get you moved into your new quarters and then break ‘em in properly,” Zeb said. “But you’re not leaving on that ship yet. We’re still together for tonight. And I have plans for you.”

“Plans?” Kallus grinned. “Show me.”

And Zeb did.

Kallus lay there after, wrapped in Zeb’s arms, running his fingers idly through thick purple fur.

Glimmer of Hope, he thought. The Glimmer. I can work with that.

He used to think there wasn’t the slightest bit of hope for both of them to make it through the war together, but Zeb’s steady belief in something better had wormed its way into Kallus’s heart.

Thanks to Zeb, he had more than just a glimmer of hope that there was something for them on the other side of this long war.

And that something was worth fighting for.

Worth living for.

#Susan writes stuff #star wars rebels #kalluzeb

17 notes · View notes

bexterbex · 4 years

Text

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 71

Warning: 🥵🥵🥵

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother, but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 71: The Answers You Were Seeking

The ship came into the hangar, so you were finally back on the Supremacy. You attempted to get up, but your legs were failing you. This amused your guard dog. He came face to face with you, “Does Kitten need help?” He seemed to enjoy teasing you.

You just held your arms out in a silent demand. Enjoying the feeling of him picking you up in his strong arms. Inhaling his natural scent as you tucked your face into his neck to hide from the outside world. You wanted to stay in your little bubble with him for as long as possible. “If I am an Empress, shouldn’t I be carried everywhere, always?” You imagined him carrying you.

He chuckled, “That can be arranged if you want it, but you other royal carriers might disappoint you.” You felt his hands shift, holding you more securely against his chest as he entered the hallway.

As much as you tried hiding your face and avoiding the people you could hear them shuffling out of the way and saying “Supreme Leader” and “Empress.” You just wanted him to look at you, him alone. You were his, and no one else’s. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you entered your chambers.

Instead of heading directly to the bedroom, he brought you into the dining room where dinner was waiting for you. It was at that moment that you realized that you had worked up quite an appetite. Your nerves from before your consummation had completely dissipated. He set you down, in front of a glorious-looking feast. “I thought that a little Kitten like you would be hungry after playing with her guard dog.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he teased you.

You tried to put a poker face as you teased him back, “We didn’t exactly play.” No, you didn’t play, not per se.

“Didn’t you have fun,” it was more of a tease than a question. He knew the answer, but you two were just in a rather flirty mood.

“Oh, I had more than fun.” It’s true you did have more than just fun.

He leaned forward and scooped you up into his arms and onto his lap, “You’re too far away. You’re a Kitten that is meant to curl up on my lap.” He buried his head into the crook of your neck, delicately kissing the bruised skin there.

You chuckled at his neediness, “And who set me down there, hmm?” You buried your face into his chest. For the next hour, you spent time feeding each other, slowly with many kisses exchanged for bites of food. Once finished his hands roamed your body while your arms were wrapped around his neck. A hand made its way down to your bruised heat, testing the delicate flesh. You winced and whimpered at the feeling, still sore from you earlier escapades.

You could see Kylo contemplating your reaction to his touch. “We’ll have to get some bacta on that if we want to have any more playtime tonight.” He grazed his nose against you affectionately. He then carried you into the bathroom and set you on the vanity where he untied your dress, exposing you to him. He reached behind you and into the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what you assumed to be bacta. It was a warm liquidy, gelly substance that he carefully applied to your bruised cunt.

You thought the sensation to be rather unpleasant. It wasn’t like lube, but more like aloe slathered everywhere down there making you feel rather gross and not quite sticky. “When should I be healed enough?” You had no idea how this worked. This was an entirely new concept for you.

He thought for a moment before responding. “An hour to two max. You aren’t bleeding and as far as I can tell you haven’t torn anything, just bruised and overstimulated. It’s best to let it work undisturbed so, for now, we will have to do something else.” He then carried you out of the bathroom with your dress still hanging open. His eyes seemed to dance across your marked flesh as he took you upstairs to the lounge where you both settled down on a couch.

His arms wrapped around you keeping your against him, hands teasing and ghosting over your bruises. Almost as if he was silently worshiping you, appreciating the offerings he had left all over your body. You had a couple of hours to kill before you went back to your rounds of lovemaking. “Can you tell me why you didn’t tell me that making me Empress meant that we were going to get married? Because you just up and left before explaining that.” You wanted some answers, you just hope you could tiptoe around him so you wouldn’t ignite his anger.

His fingers wrapped themselves in your hair, his palm against your skull, and his lips against your temple. “Because I thought you might say no, so I didn’t ask. I was worried you would leave me Kitten, and then I would have no one to guard.” You could hear the hint of fear and sadness still lingering in his voice. You were the only thing he truly had in this galaxy. You knew it would devastate you as much as him if either of you left. It was better to be bound to each other than to live without the other half to your soul.

You turned your head and tilted up to kiss him, “I’ll accept that answer.” More kisses before asking, “How did your fight with the scavenger go? I watched the transmission, but I want to know how you thought it went and what your feelings are.” You knew there was much more to the fight than what you saw in the transmission. You knew there was a bit more to their ‘relationship’ in general that he hasn’t told you yet.

He let out a deep sigh as he turned to look away from you, to look at the ceiling while lost in thought. “It wasn’t easy trying to find her. Her friends tried to stay one step ahead of us and it worked until it didn’t.” You now fully turned to face him.

“The fight itself wasn’t that difficult until the defective stormtrooper shot at me and distracted me. She stabbed me, but she did not hit any vital organs thankfully. Managing to impale me between my liver and stomach. But as you can see I am alright…” he then trailed off as if lost in thought.

You brought a hand up to caress his face, trying to bring his attention back. “But what about her motivation? She wanted you to join her, to leave me.” You almost wish the vision in front of your blaster was actually her, so you could have killed her instead of him. He has already seen lifetimes of battles and death, and you just wished you could take just one away from him, to save him from that pain.

His voice became slightly agitated, “Yes, its true she wanted him to join her, but I didn’t want to. The only person I want in the universe is you. She believed she knew Ben Solo, but she didn’t because he still wanted you, he would have never have gone with her if it meant losing you. She was lost in her own delusion. I, Kylo Ren, have always wanted you, and just you.” His confession made your heart soar. You rolled onto your side and rested your head against his chest. Showing him how much you cared.

“I’ve always wanted you too. It’s why I am here, it’s why I have stayed. I don’t want anyone else.” You felt his hand rub up and down your back, making you feel all warm inside. You hated that you needed to break this tender moment with another heavy subject, but if you didn’t do so now, you don’t know when you would be able to get the chance again.

“But what about your mother? She just wanted her son to come home.”

You could see his demeanor shift, this wasn’t a conversation he really wanted to have, “In the end, it was something I would always have to do. It was always going to be Ben Solo or myself. She knew this too. She lost her son long ago, this was just the final act. In the end, I think she realized that I am still her son. She and Han Solo may have been gifted Ben Solo, but Kylo Ren is the man they made.” You could hear the anger and hurt in his voice even if you weren’t looking at his face. The man lying next to you had killed both of his parents, to be with you, to make Kylo Ren triumphant.

Your memory recalled her words, her warning, “But what was she saying about this not being the last of it? What is coming?” To say you were worried was an understatement.

He peered down at you, his eyes were like black steel with his brows furrowed and his lips hard in a solid line, “I do not exactly know yet, but I feel it in the Force. Something powerful has awoken, and I need to stop it, to protect you.” His hands grabbed your face, “I will protect you. I had a feeling on Mustafar that a key might be there, I will find it. I will find out who it is, end them and I will protect you.”

His reassurances were sexy, something about his need to keep you safe was something that aroused you. Which wasn’t a great feeling at the moment, as your wetness mixed with the gell and made you uncomfortable. You whimpered at the feeling, your belly warm but your brain disgusted. This caused Kylo to reach between your legs, testing the tissue there and it seemed to pass inspection as there was no more pain. Only a pleasured gasp escaped your lips as his fingers stroked you. “Hmm, it seems like you are ready to go Kitten. Shall I go clean you up so we can play again?” You let out a whimper in response, as his fingers still roamed your heated flesh.

He picked you up and carried you down to the bedroom instead of the bathroom. He set you down on the bed and left you to walk into the bathroom. Your body did not like the separation from him, as you whined as he left you. He turned on a switch in your brain which caused you to be needy for his touch. He returned with a damp washcloth and proceeded to wipe away the bacta, his stokes and attention to detail caused your slick to almost gush out of you at the attention. You rolled your hips up trying to cause friction, this caused him to chuckle. “Needy aren’t we Kitten?” You heard a wet slap as the washcloth was abandoned on the floor.

He quickly lifted you, ridding you of the wrap dress entirely before his fingers began to massage your clit in circular motions. Your hips attempting to follow his rhythm. “Can we try something Kitten?” He seemed to be the coherent one between the two of you. All you could do was nod in response, words failing you.

His touch ceased on your clit, on your cunt all together, which caused you to cry out in frustration. But then he brought your wrist to his lips. His name was now being kissed and sucked like the many, many love bites that littered your body. Suddenly it was if your body didn’t need anything else. You cunt seemed to pulse in pleasure at the sensation. Reacting as if the most wonderful touches were being performed on you, but they weren’t. Kylo was just nipping and sucking on his name on your wrist. It was like the ultimate key to getting you to orgasm as it didn’t take long before you were seeing stars. Your back arching as you came, Kylo’s name on your lips. You felt like you were going to blackout again, but Kylo’s lips on yours brought you back from the edge of it.

It took you a few minutes to regain full consciousness again, full coherence. When you did you threaded your hands into those dark raven locks and deepened the kiss rolling your hips up to meet his, which somehow were now completely bare. In your lack of awareness, he stripped down to his nakedness and your hips rolled up to meet his hardening cock. “That was amazing,” you said rather out of breath.

A smirk graced your lover’s face, “Mmm I could tell.” His hand reached back down to your now messy cunt, “You are absolutely sopping wet Kitten.” He kissed you hard, as one of his fingers entered your wet hole, earning a moan from you. “I guess we shall have to do that often. But let’s see if you can return the favor.”

He flipped you both over; you were now straddling his thighs, his cock in front of you. You saw its angry red, swollen head, and the shine of pre-cum on the tip. You wanted to eat it rather than ignore it, but he brought his wrist to your lips. You were supposed to mark your name as he did his. And you complied.

Kylo hissed in pleasure at the sensation, his hips rolling up, his dick bouncing. You continued to lick, nibble, and suck on your name. You even went as far as tracing the letters with your tongue. If you thought you were a mess, then he was a disaster. Moaning and panting your name and nickname. His hips trying to find fiction for his cock. It didn’t take long for his hips to stutter and his cum to shoot out in pulses as he orgasmed. Your name a shout on his lips, his voice haggard. His cum painted both of your chests with the splattery aftermath.

You decided to be a lady and clean his semi-soft cock with your tongue before you traveled up to his chest, rubbing your breasts against his, smearing the milky white substance. When you were satisfied with the completion of yours and his painting you licked up the evidence from his chest before flopping down next to him and beckoning him to do the same. He took his sweet time as he licked up and down your breasts, making sure both nipples were absolutely glistening with saliva.

One of his fingers tested your hole again as he positioned himself over you. “Mmm Kitten, you will be the death of me,” he said as he pushed his index finger into you, to his knuckle. He hooked into you and teased your walls.

You moaned back. “Death by sex doesn’t sound so bad to me,” you mused as he plunged another finger in you, trying to get you ready to fully take him again. Without this prep, you would surely tear right in two.

You heard him chuckle, the sound you loved so much, the sound you were pretty sure you were the only one who got to hear it on such a regular basis. “I suppose you’re right. If I had to choose how to go out. Dying with my cock buried in your tight cunt would be the best way.” His voice was sultry now, a velvety sort of sex that could get you to do almost anything.

It didn’t take long for him to get you ready. Your body responds quickly because he was right, you were made for him. He lined himself up once more, teasing you with his engorged head, just pushing your flaps around and only putting the tip in. “Please, just fuck me Kylo. I can’t take it anymore,” you whined earning a quick deep thrust from his hips, fully sheathing himself in you. You threw your head back in pleasure and released a loud moan.

It didn’t take very long for him to pick up a steady rhythm of his hips snapping consistently. You attempted to help him by meeting his thrusts, but he was buried so deep inside you it didn’t really matter. “So… tight..” was what he struggled to get out as his thrusting deepened. You could feel his cock twitching between your walls of pleasure. Enjoying the feeling of being fully engulfed in your heat.

You attempted to respond to him, “So… BIG,” you shouted as he found that spot, your g spot. The head of his cock relentlessly pounding into it, causing you to see stars. His pace and power only picked up as he was locked on target. The sounds of skin slapping and panting filling up the room.

You could feel the orgasm starting, “Kylo…. I’m…” you couldn’t even get the words out. Your brain was a solid clump of mush. He was almost literally fucking your brains out.

His thrusts causing the bed to quiver. “Cum with me,” his voice was thick with ecstasy. You followed orders as your walls clamped around him, his hips stuttering. His panting and moaning almost overriding yours as you came together. Eventually both your hips stopped as you both exhausted your energy, reveling in the orgasm together. Kylo collapsed on top of you, keeping his dick inside you, something you didn’t know you liked until he did it the first time. Your cunt being very happy at not being left empty. Loving the feeling of the weight of his dick inside of you. You also enjoyed the post-sex lazy kisses that he seemed to give you. A silent thank you for giving him his orgasm like you were a goddess blessing his fields with rain.

The next few days were filled with work and plenty of sex. Adlez and Olivia-Rose were rather pleased and horrified at the state of you in the morning. Kylo and you had another few wonderful rounds of sex. Your body looked more bruised than alright, but you assured them that it was fine. Three days after your wedding night, Kylo got a call to return to Mustafar, something there needed his attention. Something you wished would just disappear.

A/N: So....I take it y’all like smut?

#kylo ren #kylo ren smut #a soul to mend his own #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo x you #star wars #first order #star wars imagine #Star wars soulmate au #sw first order imagine #star wars first order

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evendeadlmthehero · 5 years

Text

The Five Year Promise: Visit From a Sorcerer (4/10)

Summary: Y/N Stark, 20 year old superhero, makes a promise with a 16 year old Peter Parker after being cheated on, that if she hasn’t found love in the next 5 years, they’d finally go on a date. Then the snap happens. Y/N is gone and Peter isn’t

Warnings: swearing, a little bit of angst

Twitter// BuckysLemons

A/N: this chapter is really long. I might add an extra part and make it an eleven part series if the next chapter is also too long.

The Five Year Promise Masterlist

Based on Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

It was 12pm.

12pm and you were in a lab, working on your suit.

It was a complex equation that was your suit, and you were still trying to figure it out. Yes, after one year of almost dying, you were still trying to figure out the secret of your suit.

“Which is velocity squared...” you trailed off, talking to yourself as you scribbled down the numbers. You then stuck the pen in your mouth, thinking of what to add now.

“Maybe the coefficient of kinetic friction?” You spoke, finishing out the equation. You were about to see if the equation was viable before your dad came in, scaring the hell out of you.

“Happy Birthday to you!” He yelled obnoxiously, wearing a birthday hat and a shirt with your face on it. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear pumpkin! Happy birthday to you!”

You stared at your dad with a ‘what the hell’ look. Your dad looked at you with the same look, shaking his head.

“What? You want me to sing it in Spanish?” He had asked, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, before your ungrateful self looks at me like I’m an idiot, I have made reservation for us, Pepper, Peter and Samwell Oshdorn.”

You let out a little laugh, folding the piece of paper containing the equation and placing it in one of the desk draws. “Dad, ‘Samwell Oshdorn’ and I broke up last week.”

Your father straightened up at the news. He was happy. Of course he was. He hated the Osborn kid. His father always competed with him and his son was equally as annoying.

“You got want you wanted dad,” you spoke out quietly, playing with your fingers. “You got what everyone else wanted.”

Your dad face fell at your sad tone. Despite your Dad’s perception of him, he knew you were just blinded by love.

Taking off the birthday hat, he placed it on the table and walked over towards you.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he spoke out, rubbing your shoulders. “You’ll get there one day. You’ll find love. And also, sometimes I am stupid, and you won’t hear me say that again about myself so don’t take this for granted, but your feelings matter more to me than what I think about someone.”

“Dad,” your voice cracked, shaking your head as a tear escaped you eye. “I just- I just want to know what I did wrong. I don’t know what- he just.”

You stopped shaking your head as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Your father embraced you, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Sweet pea you did nothing wrong, okay. I might be a little biased, but I think you are the most smartest and beautiful young lady in the world. He’s just an idiot who didn’t know what he had until it was gone.”

You sniffed, letting out a chuckle, giving your dad the tightest squeeze you can manage. You moved away from the hug, wiping the tears from your face. “Thanks dad. I love you so much. Like a lot. Like 2000.”

“2000?” Your dad faked being hurt, grabbing his chest. “I’m at least a 3000. I mean I have a shirt printed with your face on it, I deserve bonus points.”

You laughed at your dad, shaking your head. You then looked away from him, biting your lip. “Can I tell you something else dad?”

“Shoot”

“I miss Nat and Wanda,” you spoke, your eyes welling up with tears again, but this time you didn’t let them fall. “I miss having them around. I miss- I miss venting to them. This is the secound time that I’m not celebrating my birthday with them and it’s harder than the first time.”

Your dad let out a sigh, crossing his arms as he looked away. “You know it’s hard hun. Cap and I-“

“I know Dad,” you spoke, looking at your fingernails. “But one way or another, we will need them to come back. You and I both know there’s something big coming.”

Your dad nodded, getting up for the chair before placing the birthday hat on your head. “Get dressed, we’re leaving soon.”

You nodded, annoyed at how he changed the subject while placing the birthday hat on the table. “Sure.”

Your dad walked towards the door before halting. He turned around, pulling a little box from his pocket. “This came in the mail for you today.”

He handed you the box, giving you a final look before leaving the room. You ripped the brown paper around it before opening the box.

Inside it was a charm bracelet and a little note that said:

Hey mini me,

They were selling these at a little shop near Wakanda and I thought it’d look good on you. Happy 21st Birthday and remember; when you drink in front of your dad, make sure it looks like your first time ;)

With Love,

Your big sister Nat

P.S Wanda says she loves you a lot

You smiled at the note, placing the charm bracelet around your wrist. It had a bead that you assumed was made out of vibranium and engraved on it was a baby panther with an adult version panther.

You placed the note back into the box before placing it in the draw.

“And then he told the terrorist his home address!” Pepper exclaimed, drinking a glass of water as she shook her head. “Terrorist! We almost died!”

Your father had rented out the whole reasturant so that you guys could get some privacy of the media. You were thankful, not wanting to get asked questions from the public about your relationship.

Pepper and Tony were sitting side by side, opposite you and Peter. Happy had tagged along, sitting where Harry would have been sitting. Peter had gotten an apple juice whereas you had gotten a cocktail.

This of course made Peter feel like a little kid, with him and Pepper being the only ones not drinking alcohol. But then he remembered the countdown on his watch.

‘I still have a chance,’ he thought in his head, playing with the straw of his apple juice. ‘Just need to make sure that neither of us find love.’

“I remember that,” you replied back, laughing as your dad put his head down in embarrassment. “He had shipped me off to the Avengers facility.”

“Excuse but I seem to recall it is Y/N’s Birthday,” your dad spoke out, titling his head to the side as he took a sip from his drink. “Meaning that we should talk about her most embarrassing moments, not mine.”

“I’m up for this!” Peter exclaimed, laughing as you gave him a look. “I’ll go first actually. It was when we had a mission to stop some drug lords in Colombia and Y/N-“

“Oh my god no,” you whispered, putting your hands over your face to cover your embarrassment.

“-And then she- she,” Peter couldn’t finish his words as he kept uncontrollably laugh. This of course had made Y/N laugh even more. “I l-“

“I sneezed!” You spoke laughing, as you smacked his arm, making his face turn red from the lack of air in his lungs. “I told you I sneezed!”

“But-But you didn’t!” Peter kept on laughing, shaking his head at you whilst pointing a finger. “The man grabbed you- and you- you-“

He went on a fit of laughter once again as you were already gone. Your laughs were silent and your stomach was pounding. “I- I did not fart!”

This comment made Peter fall on the ground from his chair, holding his stomach as he continued to laugh. You got up from your seat, bending down to smack his shoulder.

“Shut up!” You told him, tears running down your face as you kept laughing. “In the name of Pablo Escobar I demand you to shut up!”

Pepper, Tony and Happy watched on, smiling at the both of you.

“They’d make a great couple,” Happy spoke, looking towards Tony who smiled down at both of you.

“Yeah,” Tony replied, shaking his head as you guys kept on laughing. “Just give it time.”

“Pepper,” you spoke, as you girls walked behind Tony, Happy and Peter who were in a deep conversation about nanotechnology and Peter’s Aunt.

“Yeah,” she hummed, holding her purse as you all took a stroll along a park. The birds chirped and it was a perfect day, not a single cloud on site yet a cool breeze was present.

The park was simple, surrounded by oak trees, benches and a backdrop of the city buildings. There were couples and singles jogging around, but not many on sight.

“I have a question,” you stated, pushing your hair behind your ear. Your cute little white French dress with frills was being blown back by the cool wind. “You didn’t have alcohol today. You had water.”

Pepper smirked at you, looking down at the pathway. Sometimes it amazed her how observant you were, sometimes the opposite of your father. “What are you implying little missy?”

You smiled at her, looping your arm around hers. “So it’s true isn’t it?”

“Yes it is,” Pepper nodded at you, instinctively grabbing her stomach even though there was no bump present yet. “I was planning to tell Tony later tonight.”

“Pepper, I’m happy you’re going to be my stepmom,” you revealed to her. She squeezed your hand in gratitude.

“And I’m glad to have you as my step daughter,” she replied back, giving you a warm smile. “Just a couple of more months, and you get to be a bridesmaid.”

You smiled, so happy your father had finally found love and was soon getting a secound child with his future wife. “What names were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking about Patience,” Pepper spoke, nodding to herself before looking at Tony who was a good 3 meters away from you guys. “Because being with Tony required lots of it.”

You giggled at her remark, making Peter look back at you. You smiled at him which he had returned before continuing his conversation with Tony and Happy.

“How about Morgan,” you told Pepper. “Like after that dude who does the voice over on Nat Geo. It’s a nice name.”

“That,” Pepper pondered, her face scrunched up in thought. “Is not the most horrible name that I’ve heard.”

The boys in front of you suddenly halted, looking back at you guys to make sure you caught up.

“Do you girlies want ice cream?” Tony had asked you both. You walked up next to Peter, nodding your head at your dad.

“I wouldn’t mind some ice cream.”

“Good, there’s a gelato shop a few blocks down that are still open we can-“ Tony stopped mid-sentence as a yellow-glowlike circle appeared in the middle of the path.

You pressed the button on your necklace, allowing nanoparticles to start spreading around your body and form your white suit. You were always prepared to fight the unknown.

Suddenly a 40 year old man came out of the portal that was formed, donning a red cape and a blue long formal shirt.

“Tony Stark and Y/N Stark,” the man announced, his facial expression remaining unchanged. “I'm Doctor Stephen Strange. I need you to come with me. Oh, uh, congratulations on the wedding, by the way.”

All five of you were understandingly shocked, looking at him like he grew multiple heads. This guy had come out of nowhere and requested you and your father’s presence.

“I'm sorry, you giving out tickets or something?” Your father spoke in his usual sarcastic manner.

“We need your help,” Stephen Strange spoke, looking at your father, you and Peter. “Look, it's not overselling to say that the fate of the universe is at stake.”

Your heart stopped when you heard those last words. You still had PSTD from Sokovia and New York, similarly to your father. You didn’t want another fate-of-the-world battle, although your anxiety always told you there was much worse than what you’ve been through.

“And who's "we"?” You had asked, crossing your arms. Your eyes suddenly widened as the man you always thought of as an uncle, emerges from the portal. A man you haven’t seen since Sokovia, which was three years ago.

“Hey Tony,” Bruce spoke, holding a blanket around himself as he emerged from behind the sorcessor.

“Bruce,” your father had gasped as he watched him walk over in disbelief. Bruce gave an awkward smile, as he pulled the blanket closer to his body.

“Pepper,” Bruce had greeted her too before looking at you. “Hey little rascal. Look at you all grown up.”

“Hi,” you and Pepper replied simultaneously, not believing your eyes. And why would you? This man was gone for three years. You guys thought you’d never see him again.

“You okay?” Tony asks, but Bruce gives Tony a desperate hug, not answering.

You knew something was up. Something was wrong with Bruce to have him shaken up like that, like he’d seen the devil himself.

Your hand instinctively reached Peter’s hand, scared to find out what had the fate of the universe in stake.

You then looked at Peter, your eyes still wide, pupils dilated in fear.

“You better suit up too.”

“At the dawn of the universe, there was nothing, then boom,” Wong had explained as you all listened intently, watching the visual representation. “The big bang sent six elemental crystals hurtling across the virgin universe. These Infinity Stones each control an essential aspect of existence."

“Space, Reality, Power, Soul, Mind,” Dr Strange listed as each stone glowed. Your eyes watched in fascination has he opened his necklace to reveal a stone emitting an emerald light. “And Time.”

You looked at your father to figure out his game plan. He looked at the demonstration intensively before speaking. “Tell me his name again.”

“Thanos,” Bruce spoke out, getting up from his seat and staring your dad dead in the eye. “He's a plague, Tony. He invades planets. He takes what he wants. He wipes out half the population. He sent Loki. The attack on New York. That's him.”

“This is it,” your father whispered to himself, as he rubbed his chin.

“Um Mr Dr. Strange,” Peter’s voice wavered as he lifted his arm up. Stephen gave him a nod, indicating him to continue. “What exactly is our timeline? Like today? Tomorrow? B-because we have a birthday to celebrate.”

“No telling,” Bruce looked at Peter, shaking his head as he gripped his blanket. “He has the Power and Space Stones, that already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe. If he gets his hands on all six Stones, guys.”

“He can destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of,” Dr Strange finished him. You shivered at those words as goosebumps appeared on your skin.

This is it. This is what you and your father have been prophesying for 6 years.

Your father leans against a cauldron, stretching like he's about to go for a run. “Did you seriously just say "hitherto undreamt of"?”

Dr. Stephen Strange looked at your father in ridiculousness as he kept stretching. “Are you seriously leaning on the Cauldron of the Cosmos?”

“Is that what this is?” Your father had spoke before Dr Strange’s cloak suddenly moved and smaked your father’s arm making him jump back.

“I'm going to allow that,” your father glared at Stephen, straightning up his jacket.

“Look this seems really dangerous and it’s getting out of hand,” you spoke, gathering all the men’s attention. “Maybe we should call the police.”

Your father snorted at that comment but the sorceress looked at you like you were an idiot. “Wha-“

“Or maybe the Avengers, idk,” you cut him off. You were stressed, and like your father, you made jokes when you were stressed.

Peter knew this so he decided to join along so you weren’t alone. “Or stick his stone in the garbage disposal.”

“Do you think if we auctioned it on Ebay, thanos will bid for it?” You turned to look at Peter. “Can you imagine him betting like 100 gold pieces. Or like paying with slaves-“

“We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone,” Wong interrupted you both like you had offended him. Which you probably did. “With our lives.”

“And I swore off dairy, but then, Ben & Jerry's named a flavor after me, so,” your dad replied back, giving both the men a shrug.

“Quince Quasar is the best,” you shot back.

“Whatever,” Your father replied before looking back at the man in a cloak. “Point is, things change.”

“Our oath to protect the Time Stone cannot change,” the doctor had urged your father, looking at you too in seriousness. “This Stone may be the best chance we have against Thanos.”

“And still conversely, it may also be his best chance against us,” you spoke back, now standing up from your seat. “We are bringing what Thanos wants right under his nose. To me, that sounds fairly stupid.”

“Okay, guys, could we table this discussion right now?” Bruce had interrupted you guys. “The fact is that we have this Stone. We know where it is. Vision is out there somewhere with the Mind Stone, and we have to find him now.”

“Yeah, that's the thing,” your father groaned out awkwardly. “He’s offline. We don’t know where he is right now.”

“Who could find Vision, then?” Stephen had asked.

“Shit,” your father whispered to himself, pushing his hair back. “Probably Steve Rogers.”

The doctor sighed in discontent, shaking his head frustration. “Oh, great.”

“Call him,” Bruce spoke out innocently making you sigh before you took your seat with Peter.

You smiled at him before leaning on his shoulder and tuning out the rest of the conversation.

“I hope this is a false alarm,” you told Peter. “Because frankly I’m scared of dying and also, we don’t have the rest of the Avengers so we’re screwed.”

You then looked at his watch.

1818 days and 3 hours

“I still have a lot to live for,” you then replied, closing your eyes. “I want to graduate MIT. Buy my first house that isn’t in the Avengers compound. Have 6 kids and name them after the infinity stones.”

You snorted at the last part, wanting to slap yourself for being so annoying.

“Hey,” Peter spoke, watching as your father spoke to the Bruce and the two sorceress. “You will. Except the last part. That last part is where you sort of went downhill.”

“Shut up web man.”

“Say, Doc,” your father had spoke, making you look at him. “You wouldn't happen to be moving your hair, would you?”

Dr. Strange looked up at his forelock fluttering in confusion. “Not at the moment, no.”

You looked up at the Hulk-made opening through the ceiling and see debris flying by outside. You then get up and walk near the door, seeing people running and screaming.

You open the door, your father and Peter following you close behind. A women runs into you as you stop her from falling. “You okay?”

The woman ignores you and runs away. The wind his blowing your hair everywhere and you are struggling to see through the debris that you almost miss the car hurdling towards you.

Peter, with his instincts, quickly webs the car into the wall before it hits you. You look at him, giving him a grateful smile that he returns.

Your father the puts on his sunglasses as you and Peter stood by his side, awaiting his intructions. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., what am I looking at?”

“Not sure, I'm working on it.”

Your father then faces Dr Strange. “Hey! You might wanna put that Time Stone in your back pocket, Doc!”

Dr. Strange moves his hands and now bands of spells were readied around his forearms. “Might wanna use it.”

A mechanical hum grows louder as you, Bruce, your dad and Strange approach the intersection with Wong following behind. As you turn around the corner, you see a huge circular ship floating over Bleecker Street.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., evac anyone south of 43rd Street, notify first responders,” you spoke as you readied up, your suit emitting a golden glow. “Make sure they set a perimeter 6 blocks from this area.”

“Will do.”

Doctor Strange throws some kind of spell that forms a strong wind over Bleeker Street before winking at your father who was begrudgingly amused for a split second.

The dust cleared and suddenly two aliens, one large and one small wearing a robe, exited the ship by what seemed to be a transmat.

The two aliens seemed emotionless and threatening as they spoke.

“Hear me, and rejoice. You are about to die at the hands of the Children of Thanos. Be thankful, that your meaningless lives are now contributing to-“

“I'm sorry, Earth is closed today,” your father cut him off, echoing his usual sarcastic self. “You better pack it up and get outta here.”

“Stone keeper,” the alien spoke, looking at Doctor Strange. He then gestures to your father. “Does this chattering animal speak for you?”

“Certainly not. I speak for myself,” Dr Strange spoke, as he hit his wrists together and formed a magicial shield before stepping forward. “But you’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.”

Wong copied his actions and formed shields around his fists. Peter got in an attack stance, placing a mask on his face whilst your suit begun emitting quantum energy more profoundly that your hair was floating up.

“It means get lost, Squidward!” Tony yelled at him. You saw your father’s fists clench and his whole body tense up.

Your father did not want a fight, you know that. He, just like you, wanted to continue your day without a worry in the world.

The alien looked displeased and stood his ground arrogantly. “You all exhaust me.”

He then turned to his bigger friend, lifting an arm up. “Bring me the Stone.”

The alien lets out three untranslated syllables. He drops his huge alien hammer and drags it along as he obeys his brethren.

“Banner, you want a piece?” Your father had asked Bruce.

“Cool!” Peter spoke excitedly, getting up from his fighting position. “We get to see the hulk?”

“When do I ever get what I want?” Bruce muttered to himself as he took a step forward. Bruce attempts to release the Hulk. Instead of Hulk coming out easily, the most that turns green is Bruce's neck. It almost looks painful to watch.

“Been a while,” your father had replied patiently, watching as the alien neared. “Good to have you back buddy.”

“I just-“ Banner stopped, trying to get himself to hulk out. “I need to concentrate here for one second. Come on, come on, man.”

“Are you okay Bruce?” You had asked him, walking over to him to rub his shoulder. “Because at this rate your more likely to shit yourself then hulk out and we don’t need that right now.”

“Me and Hulk are having a thing.”

“There’s no time for a thing!”

“Don’t you think I know!”

“Uh guys,” Peter spoke, pointing at the alien who was now running towards you guys. “I don’t think we have time for the Hulk to show up fashionably late.”

Bruce gives out a loud grunt, but fails to release the Hulk once again. Doctor Strange stares at your dad and Bruce in disbelief, making your dad face Bruce. “Dude, you're embarrassing me in front of the wizards.”

As the giant alien approaches the team, your father dons his nanotech Iron Man suit in the space of three steps. He grows a shield on one arm to protect himself, then grows a set of blasters that easily throw the giant back to his master who gestures and deflects his massive companion into some cars.

“Where'd that come from?” Bruce had asked excitedly. Your father smirked at him, showing off his suit.

“It's nano-tech. You like it? A little someth-“

Before your father finished his sentence, the alien creates a spike of earth that throws your father far up.

You feel anger bubbling within you as you clench your fist. “You’re gonna regret that.”

You fly over to him, your whole body emmitting a yellow bright light as you pulled your fist up, ready to punch him before Maw, the alien, lifts up his hand, throwing a car at you.

Before it hits you, your father returns and joins the fight, pushing a car thrown by Maw back at him. Maw cuts it in half and lets the pieces fly past him, untouched.

While he’s cutting the car in half, you let out a quantum blast, knocking him to the end of the street.

Your father looked at Stephen, his face now serious. “Gotta get that stone outta here, now.”

“It stays with me.”

“Exactly. Bye. Y/N, come with me,” your dad speaks before flying off.

“No. You, Strange and Wong fight off the beast and take Bruce with you,” you replied back in the comms. “Peter and I have got Voldemort.”

“Okay little miss bossy.”

You nod at Peter as Strange and Wong open a portal where both of them and Bruce disappear into.

“Just like we practiced,” you told Peter, as you saw Maw get up, dusting his attire. Peter nodded up at you, getting in position.

He shot an electric web at you, powering up your suit, before you shot a surge of quantum energy at Maw, blinding him.

You had five secound to attack Maw before the temporary blindness from the light would fade away. This had to be quick or else you’d both be at a disadvantage.

Peter grabbed you by the waist and webbed the surface of a building. He then swung over to Maw who was currently rubbing his eyes, letting out an incoherent sentence.

Peter made one final big swing before letting go of your waist. You swung your fist back, flying down with full speed as quantum energy surged throughout your body.

You punched Maw with full power, forcing him 3 meters down the earth’s surface. Peter then webbed you back up before throwing a timed-web bomb down the hole.

You breathed in heavily as Peter swung back to your side. “Don’t get too excited, he’s an alien. They usually need more than just a big hit to stay down.”

And just as you predicted, Maw surged out of the floor, using a piece of the road to levitate. “Let’s try this again shall we.”

Maw lifted up a finger, causing a massive rock to hurdle towards you. Peter quickly picked you up once again, and webbed you up into a balcony before the car would hit you.

“You sure do hate cars.”

Maw looked at you both angrily, getting sick of you guys. You gave him a little smirk before flying off the balcony and towards his direction.

You shot quantum blasts at him. While he was distracted trying to not get hit, you took a sneaky shot near the building next to him.

You got out of the way as the building started following towards him. But it was too slow. Maw had caught it his telekinetic powers, his arms up as he let out a groan.

Peter took this as an opportunity to swing down and kick him in the stomach but before he did, Maw quickly released the building and bended metal scraps around his wrists and ankles to the wall.

“I can’t move!” Peter spoke, trying to break free from the grips of the metal but failing to do so. What kind of power did this alien possess to have him stuck like this with metal scraps, he had thought.

“Can’t spiders shoot webs from their ass?” You yelled over to him while fighting maw at the same time. You moved your head to the side, narrowingly missing the pipe he threw towards your head.

“No I can’t!” Peter yelled back, not believing what you just said to him. “I’m not an actual spider!”

“So you’re a fraud,” you told him as you shot at Maw which he kept deflecting with various metallic items. “You’re Fraudelent man.”

“No I’m not!”

Maw moved both his hands up, now two flying cars surging towards you from either side. Before you could react, Dr Strange appeared, creating a portal behind you so that the cars wouldn’t go through you.

He then went over to Maw fighting him whilst you ran up to Peter. You drew your wrist back. “Close your eyes.”

Peter obliged and closed his eyes as you sent a blast at his wrists and ankle, setting him free. “There you go.”

“Well that was fun,” Peter had muttered to himself. “I thought today was just going to be lunch before we go back to the avengers compound to sing happy birthday, but apparently no.”

You see your father fly past you and over to Dr Strange who was being taken by the alien. It seemed like Dr Strange was unconscious and that Maw was taking him and the stone with him.

“Shit,” you whispered before looking at Peter. “We have to stop that alien from getting the stone.”

Peter nodded, rubbing his wrists before following you and your dad to where Strange was being teloported.

Peter webbed your foot as you flew up to the spaceship. You struggled to fly due to the turbulence that Peter caused from being webbed up to your foot.

“Pete, you’re making it really hard to fly!”

“I’m sorry if I want to save the world with you guys but don’t have wings!”

You put a little more effort to flying up, nearing closer and closer to the space ship. You felt the edge of the spaceship in your fingertips before quickly picking yourself up and holding on to the spaceship.

“I-I can’t breathe!” Peter gasped as his eyes was closing and opening his eyes. He ripped off the web from your foot and held onto the spaceship tightly instead.

“Unlock 17-A,” you heard your father speak to F.R.I.D.A.Y. You knew what 17A was. It was the suit your dad spent all night working on.

“Pete you gotta let go!” You spoke to him as you held onto the space ship yourself, feeling the wind pushing your hair around.

Peter didn’t want to let go. He was scared of heights. But he was forced to let go after losing consciousness.

Peter started free-falling, but not for long before the pod reaches him. It attaches itself to him, becoming the Iron Spider suit.

Now being able to breathe, Peter lands on a bottom part of the ship, standing up heroically. You smile at him, watching as he looked at the suit in surprise.

“Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!” He yelled over to your father.

“Happy trails, kid.” Your father had replied before speaking to his suit. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, send him home.”

A large parachute extends from the new suit, snatching Peter free of the ship's hull and him spiraling back to Earth. “Oh come on!”

“You should go home too,” your father told you as he latches onto the hull and cuts a hole to board the ship, looking for wherever Strange and Ebony Maw went.

“Well I’m not,” you spoke back in defiance as you too looked for where the surgeon had been taken to. “We’re in this together!”

“If you don’t turn around right now I swear to Thor that I will-“

“Boss, incoming call from Miss Potts,” F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke, making your dad sigh before answering. You walked a little further, trying to give him some privacy and also find Strange.

You ran your fingertips along the walls that were made out of steel, with multiple pipes running along. The lack of insulation in the ship was making you cold.

It also didn’t help that you were in outer space, where temperatures were even colder. You put your arms around yourself, determined to heat your body back up.

The ship however, was quiet. Eerily quiet. And this ship had looked like it was going in a coordinated location due to the lack of motion.

You were walking around, trying not to make a sound.

And that’s when you felt it.

A sickening feeling in your stomach that told you one thing.

This was a one-way trip and some of you weren’t coming back.

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wonderful-writer · 4 years

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20 - Doomed

Summary: Despite the risk, Y/n and Bellamy sneak back into Mount Weather with Lincoln’s help, but the group gets split up when Lincoln receives the reaper drug and Y/n is recognized, leaving her with a dangerous and uncertain fate.

Word Count: 2.29k

Based off: 02x10, “Survival of the Fittest” & 02x11, “Coup de Grace”

Feedback is always highly appreciated!

You left almost immediately after the plan was explained, and Lexa gave you clothing to make it look like you were grounders. You ventured out into the woods with the boys, Lincoln with a spear and you and Bellamy empty handed.

Sometime after dawn, Lincoln had killed a deer and used a knife to cut open its belly, confusing you and Bellamy. He stuck his hands inside the opening and spread blood all over his neck and chin, grossing you out a little bit.

“Okay,” Bellamy kneeled down to Lincoln’s height and started going over the plan again. “So we make it to the intake door without any of the real reapers seeing us. What happens then?”

“I kill everyone, you two slip inside. Limestone.”

You pulled the small pouch from your waistband and handed it to the man, who stuck his fingers in it and left 3 white lines on his face. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before dark.”

As you walked, you reminded the pair that you needed to know what happened after the intake door, seeing as no one actually knew, not even you did.

“They’ll remove your clothes.” Lincoln explained. “Blast you with boiling hot water and douse you with something that burns even worse. From there we were sorted. The others were tagged harvest, I was tagged Cerberus, turned into a reaper.”

“Cerberus, 3 headed dog that guards the underworld.” You and Lincoln looked curiously towards Bellamy. “My mom read Mythology to us all the time. Octavia loved it.”

You continued in silence for just a few more paces, then Bellamy spoke again. “You’re good for her. You made her strong.”

“She was already strong.” Lincoln noted.

“Hey, I need to ask you something.” Bellamy stopped walking. “You protected my sister before you even knew her. Why?”

Lincoln looked around before fully facing Bellamy. “When I was a boy, I saw a ship fall from the sky. Like Ravens.The man inside was hurt, his body broken. I couldn’t get him out.”

“Suicide by Earth.” You said. “My- I heard about it when I was younger; I didn’t know they were true.”

“I brought him food, water.” Lincoln continued. “I didn’t speak the enemy’s language yet, so I couldn’t understand him, but I wanted to. On the third day, I told my father. He made me kill him. The world has been trying to turn me into a monster for as long as I can remember. Let’s keep moving.”

The group atmosphere had dampened at Lincoln’s retelling. He continued on but Bellamy stopped him again.

“The parking garage where we found you; it’s north. That way.” He pointed to his left.

“There’s a mine entrance closer to where the reapers hand us over.” Lincoln said. “We’ll go into the underworld when we have to, not before.”

You followed and quickly closed the small distance between yourself and Lincoln. You made it most of the way there until Lincoln stopped to fashion restraints for you, giving Bellamy time to pull out Clarke’s map and look it over. He glanced up at the mountain before turning back to you and Lincoln.

“The mountain has many eyes between here and the tunnels.” Lincoln said as he shaved down a thick branch. “From now on, details must be exact.”

“What if we run into real reapers?” Bellamy questioned. “Won’t they wonder where you’ve been?”

“All they see is red. Once you take it, nothing else matters. Just how you’ll get more.” Lincoln assured you.

“How much do you remember from when you were on it?” You asked lightly.

“Everything.”

His tone sent a shiver down your spine. He instructed Bellamy to turn around and Lincoln took one of the shaved logs and put it on his neck, placing Bellamy’s hands on each side and tying them up.

Once he was done with Bellamy he did the same to you, leading you towards the tunnels with chains. On the way to the mines, light rain started falling and fog covered the sky from your view, but you still made it.

Lincoln stopped at the entrance, hesitant. Bellamy encouraged him, and with a shake, he entered the dark tunnel and soon you were engulfed in blackness, walking down a tunnel that you couldn’t see your own feet in.

However, after a little bit, lights lined the tunnel walls, guiding you and the two men down to the intake door. Lincoln stopped and you asked why, following his line of sight to an almost empty vial on the floor. He stepped on it with hatred, crushing the glass under his boot.

“You okay?” Bellamy asked.

Lincoln took a deep breath and moved a bit closer. “As soon as the intake doors open, we attack. Do not let it close. Once they’re all dead, you go in. I’ll make it look like you escaped. Once you’re inside--”

“We know.” You assured your friend. There was distant shouting and firelight heading your way, Lincoln telling you it was a raider party. He hastily pulled off your ropes, telling you the only way was to go back.

“Go back? No way.” You protested.

“There’s 3, maybe 4. We can fight our way through.” Lincoln said hurriedly as he removed all ropes from your body and moved to Bellamy.

“We’ll never get a better chance than this.” Bellamy pleaded.

“I thought I could do this, but I can’t.” Lincoln admitted. “It’s over.”

“No, it’s not.” Bellamy refused to go back. “We can join them. Listen to me. When they bring out the red, you grab it, and you run like hell. The reapers will go nuts, the grounders will run, and the mountain men will have to deal with it. No one will be looking for grounders running into the mountain.”

With that, Lincoln ripped the log off of Bellamy and Bellamy shoved him, whispering to fight back, making it look like an escape attempt. He looked over at you and you attempted attacking him, too, but he grabbed you and pinned you to the floor with his knee as he pulled his knife and forced Bellamy to his knees.

“These two tried to wander off.” He told one of the reapers. After a bit more conversation, he brought you both up and brought you both to the large log that the other two were carrying.

A blindfold was placed over your eyes and your hands were tied over the log. Your breathing picked up but you tried to contain it, realizing how screwed you were now.

They blindly led you down the path and stripped you of almost all your clothes, leaving you in your bra and underwear. You were sweaty from the journey and layers, but the cold air wasn’t welcoming and you were starting to freeze.

They shoved you onto your knees and pulled off your blindfold. The light leaked into your eyes and you blinked to adjust to it, seeing Bellamy beside you and Lincoln standing near you. The door to your right opened and people in hazmat suits entered, playing that high pitched sound that you heard when you escaped.

You kept your head down, but you knew things were going badly when you heard Dr. Tsing’s voice. “Harvest.”

“Look up at me.” She demanded. Your heartbeat was out of control, you started to shake and she demanded you look up again. When you didn’t do so, a gun was pressed to your back. Even more frightened, you looked up, meeting Dr. Tsing’s eyes.

A smirk formed on her lips. “I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to come back, Y/n. Exodus.”

The word left her mouth with an unusually happy tone, causing you to fear what was next. The rest were made for harvest and you hated that you pushed to go in with Bellamy. Everything was going all wrong and there was a strong chance that you weren’t making it out of the mountain again.

“Harvest everyone except for the girl. She gets put with the other two.” Everyone was dragged to their feet except Bellamy. He tried to resist, but it was no use. They smacked him with the butt of their gun and dragged him inside.

What came next was horrible in every way. First, they put a collar around your neck, hands, and ankles to keep you from attacking or running, and then the water comes. It’s just as bad as Lincoln said, if not worse.

Your screams, along with everyone else's, filled your ears when they slapped you with powder that made your skin crawl and felt like it was burning. They washed it off of you and examined inside your mouth, forcing a metal tube into it and shoving a pill down your throat. You almost threw up at that alone. They scrubbed you down in burning water, the screams from everyone else making your ears ring.

And then you passed out.

You woke up to someone poking the bottom of your foot. As you became more aware, you felt how uncomfortable the position you were in was. With squinted eyes, you sat up and put your knees to your chest.

“Y/n, Y/n,” Someone was quietly calling out to you. You blinked and adjusted your eyes, getting a look at your surroundings. You were in another yellow hospital gown, shoved in a cage on the ground.

It was a little dark, but it looked like the harvest room. Except it wasn’t. The cages were empty and there was a wall where the drop would be. You looked over to your right, meeting Monty’s eyes.

“Monty? What are you doing here?” He panicked and used his hands to tell you to lower your voice, leaning closer to the barrier between you.

“They took me. I stopped Mount Weather from jamming us. How are you here?”

“We got your message. Bellamy and I we-- we volunteered to come back and take down the acid fog. Things went wrong and now I’m here and he’s not.”

“Is he..?” You caught on to what Monty was implying.

“Oh, no. Not that I last saw. He’s still alive, I know that.” You assured the boy.

You looked up and saw a sleeping Harper above Monty. “What the hell are they doing to us?”

Right after you asked that question, Dr. Tsing came into the room with someone, who woke Harper up and dragged her to the bed near the cages.

They cut into her leg and she gasped, begging for them to not do it again. They ignored her.

“Please stop. She’s too weak.” Monty pleaded as Tsing’s assistant handed her a drill.

“Hey. Hey, stop!” You shouted as she turned it on. Monty pleaded with you, shaking the cage as she lowered the drill. Right before it touched Harper, Dante burst into the room.

“Jasper!” Monty shouted and Jasper made a beeline for him.

“Jasper?” You asked, sticking your fingers through the cage. He looked at you and almost started to cry.

The guards released you and Monty and Jasper helped you out, bringing you into his and Monty’s hug. You ignored Dr. Tsing and her complaints about the ground, remembering that Bellamy was still here somewhere.

“Go back to the dorm and tell your friends to pack their things. You’re going home.” Dante told you. Jasper thanked him and Dante left to find his son, while you helped Jasper take Monty back to the dorm.

“How did you get here?” Jasper whispered as you got on the elevator.

“Not here. I’ll explain later.”

Once you were back in the dorm, you gathered everyone around you and told them everything, after Fox gave you a change of clothes.. “Listen up. There’s a lot of confusion going around about how I’m back, but there’s no time for me to answer it right now. But we’re getting out of here; so pack your stuff.”

“Wait, they’re just letting us go?” Miller asked.

“Yeah. Right now, before they change their minds.” Jasper answered.

“What the hell is going on?” Fox asked.

“They’ve been lying to you the whole time, about everything.” You answered.

“The ark is on the ground, and we’re not safe here.” Monty told the delinquents. “Do what she says.”

Everyone picked up the pace and began to pack up their things, ready to get out of this horrible mountain. You looked at Jasper and he looked at you, giving you a little smile. Everyone was almost done packing when the doors sealed themselves shut and alarms went off.

You ran towards one of the doors and Jasper went to the other, spotting Maya standing at the end of the hall. When you looked again, your eyes met Bellamy’s, and although you were relieved he was alive, you knew him being out there wasn’t good.

The hope that radiated off of the teenagers around you was now rapidly dwindling, and you decided you might as well tell Jasper what was going on.

“Listen to me, Jasp.” You sat next to him on the bed and talked as quietly as possible. “The guard with Maya, that was Bellamy. We snuck into the mountain together. We almost made it, but they recognized me and stuck me with Harper and Monty.”

“They’re coming. Us and the grounders have an alliance, they’re gonna help get everyone out of here. Bellamy is working on taking down the acid fog, then they’re going to get us out of here. But we need to help them as much as we can.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” You confessed.

All you could do now was wait with the rest of the 46-- now 47-- teenagers and pray that you make it out alive.

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake series #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake x you #bellamy blake x y/n #this is war series #the 100 rewrite

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wendigordon-and-anna · 3 years

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Welcome to Blackwood Pines Sanatorium and Spa Resort! + About The Blog and Mun

Welcome! This RP blog has been in the works for,,, well over a year now based on how I accidentally reblogged an aesthetic post over a year ago. Oops. But with the short and sweet Gordon-centric one-shot intro I am finally ready to do something with it! The Inpatient still holds my brain deep in its grasp and I’m willing and able after a turbulent year to finally do something about it. Hence expressing my love for it in roleplay form!

Meet The Twins

Though never featured simultaneously, both Gordon and Anna are integral parts of the player’s focus during their stay at the sanatorium, this (and just my love and intrigue of them as characters in their own right) is why I’ve made this joint account to put myself in their shoes and grow their stories.

My personal headcannon despite their quite separate existences, is that they are fraternal twins, with Gordon being the older sibling by minutes. Their personalities and quotes are just different enough for them not to just be copy-pasted characters of different genders, but also similar enough to imply closeness. One could say they are spouses, and that is also super valid, just not the way I choose to roleplay them. Particularly since I headcannon Gordon as gay.

Most of the basis I have for this blog is centered around a timeline where Gordon was trapped in the cell with the inpatient player character and became the one infected by the curse. Where it diverges, though, is that Anna was also one of the survivors and she was able to come back in time to save him from full transformation. This leaves him partly mutilated, nearly invincible, and stuck with the wendigo spirit inside his head lest it be released to torment or doom another person. Hence the name: Wendigordon. (Clever, right?)

However, that’s merely a skeleton of my own creation and not some strict canon. So whether these two are trapped on a mountain in 1952, in high school/college with the other Until Dawn kids, or in some wild, dragon-filled fantasy setting with who knows what to face, I am excited for it all! Maybe they’re interacting with one of their old colleagues before the events of the game? Maybe there’s a timeline where Gordon was killed by the inpatient and now Anna has to deal with her grief and learn to forgive? I don’t know, the possibilities are endless!

Whether you are a seasoned roleplayer with tons of OCs, a UD roleplayer who’s been dying for more threads as the community has shrunk, or someone with zero experience who’s been wanting to roleplay as an Inpatient character I welcome you one and all!

About the Blog:

I tag each post with their related character, whether it be threads of aesthetic posts I make/reblog to make things a tad more organized. Anybody I have a thread with will also be tagged in the threads we share as well.

Understanding that the UD fandom is much smaller than it used to be and the need for these two characters is small, I’m very malleable about AUs and backstories. The bios I have in mind for both the characters are merely defaults and basic skeletons for them to start with!

Communication is key! If I as a mun, or these muses as characters, do something you are uncomfortable with, please do not hesitate to shoot me a message and I will either explain why such a thing happened, or I’ll learn how to handle this blog better! This also goes for certain things that may need to be tagged. I will try to be proactive for triggers and such, but if there is something I do not cover, please tell me.

All NSFW will be tagged accordingly, and there will be zero smut threads with minors. There are so many non-sexual/non-romantic thread ideas and starters so I look forward to roleplaying with as many people as possible no matter their age - but for any smut themed thread, you will need to be 18+.

This is a multi-ship account, and most separate relationships will be treated as if they are in separate universes.

I do have an Inpatient OC who may be referenced in tagging or aesthetics, but he will be largely uninvolved unless someone wishes for me to include him as a character I play.

Disclaimer of course that my use of the W word is in no way meant to be offensive as I understand its sacredness and the discomfort it can give to people. Seeing as the game and its whole theme rests upon this creature and the lore surrounding it, however, it is very hard to avoid. My apologies. ♥

About The Mun:

I have plenty of years of RP experience, with preference for paragraph-style roleplay. I’m far from a fancy roleplay blogger and I don’t do anything strenuous with fonts or icons - I’m just here for fun and to hone my writing. I can be very nervous when talking to someone new, but getting to know my roleplay partners and plotting stuff is one of my favorite parts of the hobby, so please don’t be shy! (If you’re shy and I’m shy then who’s flying the plane, you know??!!)

#until dawn roleplay #dr. bennet #the inpatient #until dawn #roleplay #wendigordon-and-anna

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starkerkeyz · 5 years

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College Dorm Omega Part 1/2

You guys are so amazing but I can’t keep up with your love! 😂 I was going to wait until I hit 300 and write a follow up to that Barista Camboy fic that launched me from 100 to 200 followers in less than 3 days. I see you guys and your thirst has been heard! But then, when I was dicking around thinking about that story, I somehow thought of this one instead :)))))

Warnings: ABO, implied omega-slavery/legal prostitution/something but doesn’t go into detail and Peter is overall positive about Tony purchasing him. That’s it for now the smut will be in part 2 😈

“Come here.” In the line up, he's the prettiest thing. Tony knows he’s taking him home then and there. His dad can eat the price tag and bitch from home all he wants; with Tony at MIT and old enough to claim his own omega he can’t even legally make Tony give him back.

Not that he would have, but. It’s good to have his bases covered. He’s far too close to his rut to want to deal with his dad in person or via lawyer (Howard would definitely sue if he heard the news in the wrong sort of mood).

The omega steps forward as instructed. He keeps his eyes downwards and his hands clasped. The collar around his throat reads ‘Peter Parker’ in a basic but nice enough font.

“I’ll take him.” Tony isn’t in the mood for showy games. If his impatience comes off as rude or peculiar neither Peter nor the employee at this shop show it. Tony has enough money that he only needs one card to cover the full cost, no he doesn’t want a paper receipt just email it, thanks, bye.

He arranges for Peter’s things to be shipped to his dorm (he’ll figure out how to get it to fit later) and then he’s bundling the omega into the back of the car and his driver is taking them back to campus. Soon enough they’re stepping into Tony’s dorm room and Peter is being led to the bed.

“So, you’re my omega now. Legally speaking. But I’m not going to fuck you.” Tony sits at his computer desk and spins in the chair, ignoring the college books and homework he should be getting to in favor of explaining the situation to his new charge.

“Excuse me?” Peter’s eyes are huge and liquid. Tony’s broken enough sorority and fraternity hearts to be immune -if he looks away right now- and continues, pulling out his phone to scroll on social media.

“Yeah, you’re cute, but I’m already taken. By an alpha. He’s great.” Tony briefly looks starry eyed. Peter’s charmed despite himself; his alpha -Tony, he thinks his alpha is named Tony- looks so excited and downright giddy at the mention of this other alpha.

“But...why did you buy me then?” Peter doesn’t want to sound heartbroken, considering he’d been terrified of this day ever since he presented, but now that he’s here and his alpha doesn’t want him...

Okay, he’s a little heartbroken.

“I need you there. For my rut.” Tony winces at how that sounds and hastens to explain. “Not to fuck, like I said, not going to force my knot on you, but I need you in the room. For your scent. Bucky will take care of the rest.”

“Bucky is your alpha?” Peter asks softly. He bites his lower lip and looks down at his hands when his alpha nods yes. His chest hurts and he feels so stupid. Why isn’t he happy that his alpha (Tony. He’s not really Peter’s alpha if he’s already Bucky’s) isn’t the kind of alpha to use and abuse his omega, like in all the horror stories? This is a dream come true for some of the omega’s left behind. Peter feels like he’s entered a nightmare.

“Hey, hey, please- don’t cry, don’t cry, I can take you back, okay? I’m sorry, I thought you would be happy, I was going to enroll you here at MIT with me, but I’ll bring you back and find someone else. You can pick. Whatever you want, just stop crying, okay?” Tony gets off the chair and drops his phone on the floor in his haste to get to Peter. He kneels down and hovers his hands over Peter’s heaving shoulders, frantic and babbling.

“No, no, please don’t bring me back, alpha, I can be good! Please don’t bring me back, please d-don’t leave me alone, alpha-” Peter’s babbling just as much as Tony through his tears.

“I won’t but can you, I mean, I know it’s not like- can you stop crying? I don’t like it when you cry or when anyone cries really but for some reason you crying is going right into my skull and my heart?” Tony can’t stop talking so who is he to ask Peter to stop crying.

“I don’t want to hurt you! I want to fuck you!” Peter’s wailing now. Tony’s even more confused on what he did wrong.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Bucky’s voice cuts across the chaos so cleanly Peter and Tony both freeze in place.

“I can explain.” Tony starts and then doesn’t go on. Peter looks at Bucky with tears running down his cheeks and his broken heart in his throat.

Bucky crosses the room and sits down on the bed beside Peter. He puts his hand over Tony’s mouth before the genius can speak and looks at the distressed omega filling the room up with pheromones that make his inner alpha want to find the threat and rip it apart. He tries to appear non-threatening.

“What did he do, Doll?” Bucky’s voice is soft and low, soothing like dark chocolate and warm blanket nests. He switches from his flesh hand to his metal prosthetic without taking his eyes off Peter when Tony licks his palm like the heathen he is.

“H-he...he bought me today...but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want me!” Peter’s tears start anew with this fresh baring of his emotional wounds. He startles a little when Bucky wraps an arm around his waist, wary instinctively of an alpha that isn’t his, but then he tips over into the bigger man when he understands it’s a hug on offer and not anything untoward.

“Ah. Don’t worry about that, doll. You’re exactly his type of omega. He probably took one look at you and flashed his wallet like the spoiled brat he is.” Bucky gives Tony a look from over Peter’s head that’s fond and exasperated.

“Then why-” Peter leans back to look at his alpha from out of the cradle of Bucky’s strong arm. His alpha still looks as handsome as Peter thought he was back at the shop he’d been sold at; Peter had taken one look at his boyish grin, one sniff of that masculine tang and alpha spice, and been gone for him. So when the alpha looked back, when he called Peter forward, when he also took one look, one sniff? Peter had been floating on cloud nine over the possibilities.

“He’s not very good at communicating.” Bucky takes his metal hand back only because he can sense the pressure against the small plates in his palm from Tony’s teeth and it tickles. The little shit.

“I told him you’re my alpha, how much clearer could I be?” Tony grouses. He’s grinning as he says it and Bucky knows he’s not annoyed or put out in the slightest.

“You could have explained we were open to the idea of him joining, if he wanted to join, or he could stay platonic with you and be a free agent.” Bucky rolled his eyes at his lover. Really. He could understand the schematics of Bucky’s arm from one scientific discipline to the other but he couldn’t do interpersonal relationships for shit.

“He started crying before I got to that part!” Tony shuffles closer to Bucky on his knees, moving like he’s a supplicant to Bucky’s open lap but the older alpha knows his bratty boy better than Tony knows himself. He reaches out and stops him before any seduction or offers of blowjobs can slip from his silver tongue.

“I want to. Join you.” Peter’s words are followed by a blush and a skirting of his eyes up towards Bucky. He cuddles closer to the big alpha and lowers his lashes, face still stained by his tears but a different kind of heat burning in his eyes.

“I want to join both of you.”

The next part will involve alpha ruts, alpha knots and omega sex, the typical ABO works and the typical amount of smut you see from me. Thanks again for being so positive and encouraging as a community 💖

#starker #winteriron #winterironspider #winterspider #OT3 is back #ABO #alpha tony stark #omega peter parker #alpha bucky barnes #peter is a kinky lil shit #tony is a brat #bucky has his hands full between these two knuckleheads #but he loves them #I wrote exactly 1 story before I had to fill my Bucky quota again #did you miss him #he's here to Dom the shit out of Tony #you thought Peter was gonna be in the middle #hahahahahahahahaha #Peter's not the only one that cries so pretty on a cock

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whirlybirdwhat · 4 years

Text

East Sea of Monsters - Chapter 19

Thatch loves his new brothers, but something is stalking him in the dark and its not friendly. Also ft. the spade pirates

Read the entire series on Ao3 for better quality and author’s notes, especially warnings for content within the fic!! Tag “Ficart” on my blog should also show some fanart and podfics for this fic, as well as the link to translations! give them some love!

Thatch - Paranoia

There is something on the ship. Thatch doesn’t know what it is or what it looks like, or even if it's corporeal, but he knows one thing.

One.

Thing.

And that is that this creature is trying to eat through all of the Moby’s food stores, one meat slice at a time.

He laments such claims to Marco and Ace, who are training on deck.

“It’s horrible! Absolutely horrendous! I woke up this morning to three – three, Ace, three! – carvings of that sea king from yesterday gone! Gone! And I have no idea what’s causing it, and I’m 99% sure it’s stalking me!” He flails dramatically out, but dead serious in his words. There’s been something in the shadows of late, something he can’t sense with his haki, and little (and not so little) scratches outside his door at night. He’s not the sort to be serious about personal danger, so he explains it as best he can.

Through jokes.

Ace laughs at him, throwing his head back and mirth clear in his eye.

Thatch is proud of him, their newest brother of only two months. He’s going to be second division commander in a week, not that he knows it yet, and Thatch is just so, so proud of him.

He’s so far from the angry creature that stalked around deck and threw himself, with the intent to kill, at Whitebeard every day.

In the sunlight, without the shadows of his usual hiding places, Ace looks even happier than before.

(Thatch could give a description of him, talk about his freckles or the way he smiles, but feels like anything he could say could never truly describe, well, Ace. His eyes are never truly the color Thatch think’s they are and his smile is just so pointy in certain lights, that Thatch often jokes about his feral nature. But, more than these oddities is the way Ace looks ashy and cracked when he suddenly pops into view and his smile too wide and skin covered in darkness and his fingers tipped in sharp edged claws.

It’s nothing, supposedly, just figures of the mind but Thatch wonders when it seems like Ace is burning from the inside out and not because of his fruit.)

Marco swipes at Ace for getting distracted and then gives Thatch a look. “Have you tried trapping it? Stalking it back?”

He doesn’t ask are you sure it’s even there because Thatch knows it has been clawing at Marco’s door as well.

(Deeper gouges, the scent of ash at sunrise, different from the cooling unburning flames of the phoenix.

And Marco hadn’t noticed it with Haki either)

Thatch huffs, flopping further on the crate he’s using as a table. “Yep. Pulled three all-nighters and tried three different types of traps in the galley, and only wound up with paranoia and giving Jim from Third Division a broken toe.”

Marco winces at that, because getting that means you go down to the infirmary, where their medical staff’s age is ten times worse than any injury.

(They seem to have a soft spot for Ace – Thatch doesn’t know if it’s because Ace is stupidly polite to them, or just makes this confused look when they imply they should be the ones to help his injuries.

Ace tends to go to Deuce more often, (something about fire proof bandages?) but still, the soft spot is there. Thatch has used Ace to get out of trouble for kitchen injuries once or twice.)

“Have you tried bait?”

“Yeah.”

“Ambush?”

“That’s what the all-nighters were for.”

“Asking for help?”

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“How about- “

Before Marco can give another useless bit of information, Ace cuts in. “Have you tried just, hunting it?”

“Observation Haki isn’t working on the thing.” Thatch explains, casting aside the idea.

Ace’s brow furrows, as if Thatch is an idiot. “I never hunted with haki, you don’t need it.” There’s something more to his frown, something sharp peeking out, but Thatch dismisses it.

“Yeah? You want to try then?” Thatch challenges him.

“Sure, it’s been a while.”

And that’s the start of it.

Thatch leaves Ace to his hunting, trusting that he’ll get the work done or give up trying, but that doesn’t stop him from curiously observing his new brother.

“Doesn’t that hinder your grip?” Thatch asks, referring to Ace’s right hand.

“Hm?” Ace says from his position at the top of their storage hold’s rafters.

“Your right hand.”

“Oh! Nah, I’m used to it. Say, pass me the turkey?”

“To eat or for bait?”

“Uh. Both?”

Thatch laughs and almost misses the way a part of Ace’s body seems to sink into the rafters. He tries to ignore it, he really does, but he can’t even tell if he saw it in the first place.

What.

Ace notices his stares. “Thatch?” He asks in that concerned voice of his, which sends all sorts of guilt up Thatch’s spine.

“Uh, nothing!” He searches for a new topic. “How’d you lose it, anyway?”

Shit! Not like that! Could be sensitive you dolt!

The ever present watching invisible creature seems to agree in Thatch’s mind.

Ace’s body (which gets all fuzzy, save for the tattoos, when Thatch stares to long, which he associates with the flame-flame fruit) is missing a crucial part.

“My pinky?”

His right pinky is a stub, stretched with scratched scars, like teeth dragging over skin that didn’t sink in on the hand until the base.

(Thatch is growing increasingly concerned as he swears he saw those marks glowing, he did, he did but he can’t say anything, can he? He can’t mention how the pinky stub itself has something dark around it, like a promise, like a curse, can he, without seeming insane and untrusting?)

“Yeah.” Doesn’t seem to be a sensitive subject, because Ace looks down at his missing finger with a grin.

“Just something that happened when I was a kid. Accidents happen when you live where I lived.”

“And where did you live?”

“A bandit den, for a while.”

“What.”

“Then a trash heap, just for a bit. Place was fun, lots of fights.”

“What.”

“Built a treehouse too though we grew out of it.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Ace looks confused and it would be funny if it didn’t…

“This explains so much, oh hell.” Thatch rubs a hand over his face. No wonder Ace is half feral, it’s a miracle he learned manners at all. He ignores Ace’s face and changes the subject. He’ll wait till Ace brings it up with the others, then he’ll tease him about it mercilessly. “You done?”

“Yep! If your little thief is who I think it is this should catch ‘em.” Ace looks proudly at his contraption in the rafters – a bed of blankets with a few slices of meat in a bowl. “Can’t believe I didn’t know he crept on here the bastard. Should have known anyway.”

“Wait, you know who-” Thatch is interrupted by a deep mrrowh? Coming from his left. He turns, catches a glimpse of Ace smiling, and is greet with the vision of an absolutely monstrous cat.

It looks like a lynx with simply monstrous fangs – but that’s the thing. It only looks like it and the way its eyes are wide and unseeing… well…

“What.” Thatch says as Ace makes a delighted noise.

“Kotatsu you little bastard! There you are! C’mere.” The lynx flies into open arms and suddenly Ace is holding a cat almost twice his size. That’s wearing pants. “Have you been stealing from Thatch?” Kotatsu, as Ace calls him, swipes at Ace’s face, smushing it to the side. A faint burning smell fills the air but Ace appears unconcerned, so Thatch lets it slide in favor of staring at the cat.

Upon noticing, Ace smiles at Thatch and tells him “This is Kotatsu! The Spades’ Cat. I thought he was with Skulls and Banshee on Moby Four, but no, you like stealing my food, don’t you? Bastard.”

Ace shoves his face into Kotatsu’s fur and is almost consumed by the fur that… that doesn’t really look like fur.

In fact, a lot of things don’t look like they are when dealing with the Spades.

“I’ll take care of him, making sure he doesn’t steal anything else.” Ace’s voice is strangely unmuffled as he walks away, Kotatsu in his arms and trap untouched.

Thatch stares dumbly and feels the sense of oddness washing away.

What?

God, he sounds like a broken record.

But now that the mystery of the stolen meat is gone…

A new mystery arises.

How the hell did that cat hide itself?

Thatch can’t sleep at night, now that he knows the watching feeling is Ace’s giant pet cat, which is too large to fit in any shadow yet still stalks him.

Something is up with the Spades pirates. All of them.

(It’s in the way Ace laughs or fights or exists on deck. His eyes are never the same color, his teeth a tad too sharp in certain lights, and his tattoos, emblazoned on his shoulder and back by Deuce’s skillful hand, have an unworldly shine to them

It’s in the way there is ash left in his footsteps soot where his fingers grip a tad too tight. Looking at him, directly, it’s like there’s a burning sense to eyes, like Thatch is looking directly at a blinding fire.

It’s in the way Deuce never takes off his mask but his entire face reacts a little too late to what he is saying, like he’s a second behind himself, like he’s a fault mask at work. It’s in the way Banshee lives up to her name and Skull’s skulls are always different but look a little too real for the odd horned shapes they have. It’s in the way everyone gives Finamore a wide berth but he’s less than five feet and the way Saber’s hat has five holes on either side, same as Ace. It’s in the way they all grow blurry when the sun goes down but no one mentions it, and the way Ducky Bree’s eyes aren’t ever exactly eyes.

The crew loves Ace, loves the Spades, for they are brothers and they won’t ever not love them, but they shy off, sometimes, when the dark is a bit too dark for anything normal.)

Thatch is going to find out what, because while the rest of the crew may chalk it up to Grand Line madness (a crew of misfits, the newspapers said) Thatch, and the other commanders, and some of the old hands of the crew who were around in Roger’s reign, know better.

What are you, Ace, really? What’s going on here?

He starts talking to the other Spades more often, trying to find out what’s going on, only to be met with laughter.

(Deuce’s mask shifts when he laughs, as if it’s not used to making that expression. He turns his head to fix it and Thatch swears his face slides forward just a bit, like it’s not even his. Its dark, under there, and it's gone for a second, but Thatch can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t talk to Deuce for a while after that.)

“Thatch,” Mihar says, tipping his hat up. “Be careful, won’t you? There are things you do not want to learn.”

Thatch doesn’t heed the warnings and backs off from Mihar too. But the rest of the Spades? Thatch is going insane.

He can’t explain it, he really can’t, he tries to tell Marco and Izo and everyone but he can’t explain anything beyond “It’s off.” His throat locks up when he tries to speak about Deuce’s face or Finamore’s presence or the way Banshee walks through counters in the kitchen and he thinks he’s going insane.

Kotatsu waits outside his door in the morning, and Thatch see’s agonized faces in his fur.

(Save us, they seem to scream voicelessly in inky black non fur (wasn’t Kotatsu brown?) Save us from this -)

He shuts the door before they can finish, and doesn’t come out till Ace starts making noises at Kotatsu to move.

He keeps quiet about it to others aft that, but now Ace seems to have caught on. He smiles at Thatch, baring sharp teeth and pricking him with too sharp fingers. When they slump together at drunken parties Thatch feels the point of something poking into his cheek.

Ace is Thatch’s beloved little brother but he can be a little shit sometimes. Especially when he takes his giant cat around (which Marco avoids like hell and is the source of Thatch’s amusement if not for the fact that Kotatsu keeps stalking him.) and rides the thing, leaving sharp gouges (in the Adam Wood deck) everywhere he goes like a king on a carriage.

(Thatch is sure the beast grown and shrunk twenty different time since it showed up. He doesn’t know how big it is, truly, only that Ace can ride it and carry it.)

He’s no closer to figuring it out than when he started, just more horrified.

As always, Pops has the answer, if in an unconventional way this time.

The sky is dark as the Moby battles in the midst of a hurricane. Some upstart pirate, strangely strong, had taken to attacking the ship.

Pops was impressed at his tenacity at first, then caught him throwing crewmates who objected over board. Then that impressment quickly turned to anger.

Now, in the middle of the storm, Pops was taking no chances to prolong the battle especially with the predictableness of a Grand Line’s storm.

Conqueror’s Haki cut through the air like an executioner’s sword, dropping everyone on the opposing ship dead. Thatch didn’t particularly care what happened to them.

But, for a second, Thatch’s eyes were opened.

(The Veil was gone, raging at a King’s force in which it could not fight.)

There was Ace, fire and volcanic ash in the rain, horned and glowing and made up skin just barely holding together some force. His eyes shone as did his tattoos, red in the light but shifting to blue as he watched. The necklace around his neck was floating wrapping around him with soft power as Ace raged with a sharp tooth grin across the deck.

Next to him, Deuce stood, if that was the word, tall, limbs bent and strange and his face…

Deuce didn’t have a face. Only a smile made of knives.

Hot breath went down Thatch’s neck.

Kotatsu, Thatch knew without seeing, K’oltqevo.

(The name comes in whispers)

He doesn’t look back. Ever.

(The Veil hides what should not be seen and not a soul knows why.

But, occasionally, it is so the world doesn’t fall for what it doesn’t know.)

Lightning strikes and Ace is ‘human’ again but Thatch knows what he saw.

He can’t come up with an explanation. He can’t. Thatch tries summoning stuff in the basement only to have Kotatsu land on him, maps out conspiracies, places where the Spades might have turned into this, this whatever it is.

Kotatsu laughs at him in that cat way of his, and Thatch is suddenly very afraid of how often Ace insults the lynx looking thing to his face.

(Little bastard, Ace affectionately says, coaxing Kotatsu to leap at Marco, who is more skittish now because he too saw the truth in that storm, Come on, get em.)

Thatch has gone insane.

Whitebeard laughs when Thatch tells him his theories.

“You’re brother,” Whitebeard says, “Is a true son of the sea. Tell me, what sea does your newest brother hail from?”

“The East- Oh.” Thatch remembers now.

His father, the one he was born to, had toured the world with him, but never went to the East.

“Son,” He had said, “The devil lives in that Sea.”

Guess it was literal.

(The whispers now, of Garp and Roger and Ace and Dragon, seem a bit more literal now, a bit more terrifying. Monsters, they were called, demons.

But who could have guessed it went beyond mere power?)

“Could’ve explained that from the start.” Thatch grumbles, though he knows no more now other than that the East Blue is a demon sea.

Whitebeard has a twinkle in his eye, and thinking back to the battle he had with Ace, Thatch wonders if he knew it from the start.

(After all, wouldn’t Whitebeard know better than anyone? Demons attacking you in the night (Ace, tenacious bastard, had attacked at all times) would alert anyone to the truth.)

“Where’s the fun in that?” Whitebeard rumbles. “Treat him kindly. This is his home.”

Thatch squawks. “Of course! He’s my brother!” Pops knows that, he knows, he’s just teasing.

He waves goodnight to his father and avoids Kotatsu’s giant tail in the hallway.

Brothers, we are brothers.

Ace smiles, the world darkens, and Thatch wonders what else he can’t see in the dark.

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tum-like-oxygen · 4 years

Text

I want you do depend on me. Part II

Hi my name is mel and I like to draw out nausea as much as possible. Sorry this is long as fuck bit I die for this scenerio. This is such a guilty pleasure for me this was also done on my phone so excuse any errors please.

Tw here and in tags for emeto (vomit) and general stuffed upset belly and sickness. This is make x male also. Shipping is highly implied. If that's not your thing please click back.

Minho moaned as Taemin's hand massaged his sloshing belly. The pangs of nausea came strong in waves. He didn't care that Taemin saw him like this, his troubled tummy was in need of soothing more than his pride. "Urrp... Hurk* "oohhhhh" swallowing hard, his cheeks grew hot and rosey. "s...sorry. my tummy is really upset.." Taemin shook his head. "It's alright hyung, I'm sorry you don't feel good. I'll be here to take care of you until you want me to go."

"Don't.." Taemin's eyes widened as his hyung touched his arm with his strong hands. Was he wanting him to stay? "Stay with me... Please. Don't go." Minho was never one to show weakness. "Hyung... Are... Are you sure .. I'll go get my sleeping bag." Minho shook his head, becoming more overwhelmed by nausea each moment he was only able to utter "no... Bed" his breathing became more shallow, worrying Taemin. He looked so sick. He brushed some of Minho's hair off of his forehead, that was now seeping with sweat.

The gurgles coming out of Minho's insides began to grow more violently audible. He could feel the saliva pool under his tounge, face distorting with discomfort. He knew no matter how long he nursed his upset tummy, he wasn't going to be able to keep his massive meal down. Shifting on the bed with a bit of difficulty, his stuffed tummy jiggled, basing a sickly burp to escape. He covered his mouth. "m..Minnie.." he swallowed hard, and layed his head against the headrest. "I'm going to be sick...."

Panicking for a moment Taemin stuttered. "d..do you need to go to the bathroom now, just in case? Can you get up?" Minho shook his head "Tummy hurts to much. I'm really nauseated but I don't think it's ready to come up... Please just rub my belly.."

Taemin nodded. "Here move up a little" he positioned himself behind Minho and wrapped his hands around to reach his bloated belly. He caressed the sides, and then began to rub in circles above his belly button. "You don't have to hide how sick you feel. You don't need to be strong around me... After all I love your soft side. " Shocked that he had said that, he blushed, hoping Minho was too fixated on keeping his food down.

Before he could respond Minho doubled over in pain. "Oooh... My tummy..." His stomach lurched. Instead of gagging he let forth a few deep wet burps. He got up and quickly walked to the bathroom. Shakily, he knelt in front of the toilet rubbing his belly. Nothing came up but gags and burps. A delicate hand touched his back. "Minnie... My tummy was upset before the eating contest. *Hurk* I... I don't want you to get sick ..." He spat into the bowl, his saliva becoming more frequent. "I just .. didn't want to lose . "

"Why didn't you tell us you weren't feeling good?" Taemin pressed with a bit more force into the rappers bloated stomach. Minho spat again, panting. He regretted agreeing to an eating contest. When he woke up he had an upset bubbling tummy, but shook it off as nerves for the audition be had that morning. Clearly it was a bug of sorts and he he had overfilled it to the point of misery. He could taste the spicy kimchi and savory japchae with each wet belch he brought up into the toilet. His vision blurred. Surely he had a fever. He was soaked in his own sweat.

After an hour of queasy burps and retching in vain, it was now 2 am. Taemin was worried to the point he himself wanted to throw up. He loved Minho and this was torture to see him so helpless. Minho's head rested against the back of the bathtub as he held his belly, burping sickly into his hand. "oooh.... I need to throw up..." Minho shut his eyes and rubbed his sick overfilled gut. He was sweating, but felt cold somehow. He didn't want to stand. Breathing heavily he reached his hand towards Taemin. "C..can you help me to bed?"

Back in bed, Taemin brought Minho some comfy loose pajama pants and a tank top that was a bit baggy. Ringing the excess water out of a rag he placed it on Minho's head as he took his temperature. "102.8.... you're definately sick. Let's try to get some rest."

Taemin changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and got the rapper some Pepto and a glass of water. He brought along a sick bowl just in case. "Here" he handed Minho the pink liquid. "this should settle your angry tummy." Hesitantly taking the cup, he rank the foul liquid, it was enough to make him lose his stomach all over the bed with it's sweet taste, but he regained composure and took a sip of water. "Thanks Minnie... I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning."

Minho had no idea how wrong he was. Taemin stayed up as much as he could to rub the loud gurgling belly next to him. Every time Minho moaned he tried his best to comfort his sick stomach. Minho finally drifted to sleep, cradling his belly while Taemin rubbed it.

From the sounds inside his belly, this wasn't going to end tomorrow.

To be continued.

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sweetiepie08 · 5 years

Text

Rebel Z (Chapter 2)

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

[-]

Fabulosa lay just outside of Irkan-controlled space. The planet served as the epicenter of the intergalactic fashion and textiles industry. Its natural vegetation could be spun into a wide variety of luxurious fabrics and the Fabulians learned long ago how to craft the finest garments in the known universe. This made Fabulain clothing highly sought-after and the citizens very wealthy. Naturally, it became a prime target for Irkan conquest.

They tired cycles ago but it stood as a rare marked failure on the Irkan military’s record. The Fabulains knew where their worth lay. When the Armada surrounded them, they threatened to burn their own fields and destroy the secrets of how to cultivate the fiber-producing plants… unless a deal could be struck. And so, the Fabulains and the Irkens signed a treaty which began a mutually-beneficial trade agreement.

Fashion and fibers didn’t interest Tak in the slightest. She was more concerned with what the planet could offer an Irkan on the run. It was outside of Irkan territory, but close enough that the civilization would be familiar. Its technology was advanced, it offered a variety of job opportunities, and the trade agreement allowed for a steady supply of Irkan snacks. It was the perfect place for a deserter to hide.

As she entered the planet’s atmosphere, Tak switched her holo-projector to her Vortian disguise. Lately, she used it more than any other. Irkens, she found, were not well liked by the rest of the universe and, if she was going to survive out here, she needed to build trust. She spent years accruing favors for seedy lifeforms and cashed most of them in when creating her PAK reading software. Skoodge’s favor she had no specific plans for but thought it would be good to keep in her back pocket just in case. It was about to come in handy.

She parked her ship in a public hanger for a massive shopping center and instructed MiMi to wait in there. She then headed straight for the store where her target worked. Sickeningly sweet Fabulain pop music assaulted her antenna the second she walked in the door. The peppy tones from high-pitched singers grated her with their manufactured joy. It was true, Irkens enjoyed sugar, but not like this.

“Hi, welcome to Glitz N’Nat,” a familiar voice chirped beside her.

She turned to see an unusually portly Vortian employee smiling at her.

“My name is Shickil. Is there anything I can help…” his eyes scanned her up and down, “you…” a look of recognition came to his face, “with…?”

“Yes actually,” she said, reaching into a rack. The Vortian gulped. “Do you have any more of these in the back?” She pulled out a random garment. It happened to be a glaringly bright green number with orange feathers framing the neckline. It would figure she’d pull out the ugliest thing in the store.

“There’s a whole bunch right there,” he said, pointing to the rack.

“But not in my size.”

“Actually, that one looks like it would fit.”

She glanced at the garment in his hand. Damn it. It might fit. Her eye twitched. “Maybe you could use some help checking.” She grabbed the employee’s arm and dragged him to the back of the store.

“Hey Tiff,” he called to his Fabulain coworker.

The female specimen flipped her white hair and looked up from the cash register. Her black eyes followed them as they made their way to the storage room.

“I’m going to help this customer in the back real quick, okay?” the Voritan finished.

Tiff giggled and waved a bubblegum pink hand at them. “Okay, have fun with your girlfriend.”

Tak’s insides clenched and she scowled at the Fabulain. Where did that lollipop-head get off mocking her? She had enough on her plate without lower lifeforms ridiculing her about her nonexistent mating practices. Then again, it was better than the time that Urth monkey child implied she was Zim’s mate of all people.

She tossed the Vortian into the storage room and threw the universe’s ugliest dress aside. Once she had the door closed and locked, the two of them disabled their disguises. “What’s this about, Tak?” Skoodge asked, sounding defeated already.

“First of all, why’d that brainless retail drone out there call me your girlfriend?” she demanded, jabbing her thumb at the door.

“Hey, Tiff’s nice,” Skoodge argued. Odd, he never had a backbone before. “Anyway, last time you were here, they asked me who you were and I panicked. Plus, the girls keep trying to set me up with other Vortians and I needed a way to get them off my back.”

“The girls?”

“Yeah, my coworkers.” His face lit up. “Tiff, Brandy, Cheryl, Dionne… Cheryl actually invited me to her baby shower next week. I’m not sure what that entails, but I’m real excited to go.” His eager clasped hands and giant grin attested to his sincerity.

Tak’s eyes narrowed and a sly smile grew on her lips. Skoodge seemed very happy here indeed and it wouldn’t hurt to remind him who was responsible for that happiness. “Seems you’ve cultivated quite the social life here.”

“Yeah, the girls are great! They’re nice to me, we go out all the time, we have a weekly brunch date, and they don’t shoot you out of the airlock if you mess up.”

“Sounds perfect for you,” she agreed. “Of course, you only have this life thanks to the holo-clocking device I made for you.

Skoodge’s excitement quickly drained and he looked down at the device on his wrist. “Please tell me you’re not going to take it away.”

“No, of course not,” she said, putting on her gratingly sweet voice and patting him on the arm. “You can continue to stay here and live your happy little life, but you’ll recall, you promised me a favor when I gave it to you.”

He relaxed slightly. “Okay, what is it?”

“I need to have a look at your PAK.”

He gasped and his hands flew to his back. “What? My PAK? Why?”

“Listen,” she said, all sweetness dropped from her voice, “You know how Zim always seems to come out of every situation relatively unscathed, no matter how destructive?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Well, I wanted to know his secret, so I created a software that I could use to analyze his PAK for answers.”

Skoodge pulled back in shock. “You tampered with his PAK?”

“Analyzed.”

“I can’t believe you tampered with another Irkan’s PAK,” he went on, wringing his hands. “That’s a capital offence.”

“I didn’t tamper I analyzed,” she countered through gritted teeth. “There’s a big difference.”

“Is there?”

“There is. I didn’t change a thing about Zim. I only looked to see if there was anything off about him.”

“And?”

“Defective, obviously, but that’s not the weird part. While I was looking, I saw things that were… strange to say the least, things I didn’t know the PAK influenced. I analyzed my own PAK and saw the same things. I need to see yours to confirm.”

“Why mine?”

“Zim and I are both encoded with menial-level jobs,” she explained, “but you’re still encoded as an invader. I need to see if that encoding makes a difference.”

Skoodge bit his bottom lip and looked away. “I don’t know. I’m not really comfortable letting an admitted tamperer access my PAK.”

“Analyzed,” she corrected again with a hiss. Damn it, how many times? “And don’t forget, you owe me. Think you’d have this lovely, insipid little life without me? Think you’d get that invite to that baby shower as Irkan Invader Skoodge?”

His eyes dropped to the floor. “Fine, I’ll let you analyze my PAK, but you better promise not to change anything.”

“I promise, now come with me. I’ll run the program from my ship. It’s not as powerful as Zim’s base, but I chose some key elements to look at for comparison.”

“We can go out the back, just give me a minute,” Skoodge said, reactivating his disguise. “I need to ask Tiff to cover for me.”

Tak reactivated hers as well and Skoodge went back out onto the shop’s floor. She watched as he talked with his coworker. The two parted with a laugh. “And watch out for flying shoes,” Tiff called as he walked away.

“I will,” Skoodge laughed.

Tak raised an eyelid. “Flying shoes?”

“It’s just an inside joke,” Skoodge replied, the pride in his voice betraying the fact that he’d never been on the inside of any joke before.

Oh and you have? It was true, she never spent much time socializing in her training days. There were more important things to worry about. She was a little busy making herself the best of the best. And what a lot of good that did you, right? Whatever, it was Zim’s fault she never took her rightful place in the Irkan military. If it weren’t for Zim, all that hard work would have paid off. Would it, Defective?

“Can we get this over with, please?” Tak growled. The sooner she figured out what was going on with the PAKs, the sooner she could get back to crushing Zim.

She led Skoodge to her ship in the parking hanger. Once inside, she activated the opaque tinting of the windows, deactivated her disguise, and fired up her computer. “Okay, all I’m going to do is plug into your PAK and read your stats. Got it?”

Skoodge deactivate his disguise as well. “Okay…” he said, still sounding apprehensive.

Tak rolled her eyes and plugged in his PAK. Once in, she saw Skoodge’s ID page come up on her screen.

Name: Skoodge

Age: 16.6

Occupation: Invader

Assignment: Pending

“Hmm…” Her eyes lingered on the “assignment” line. “They never reassigned you after Blorch?”

Skoodge sighed and looked at the ground. “No…”

That was interesting. Typically, after an invader completed their mission, they’d either be assigned to a new planet after a period of rest or rewarded with a cushy retirement. Given Skoodge’s youth, he should have been sent out again. She didn’t need to look further than the expanse of space above his head to guess why he wasn’t.

She pressed on. Unfortunately, her ship’s computer wasn’t powerful enough to run a full error check, but it could take a look at his personality drive. More specifically, she wanted to see the PAK installations and the Irkan traits.

Pak Installations

· Perseverance: 20/20

· Loyalty: 5/15

· Penchant for Destruction: 10/15

· Susceptibility to Propaganda: 5/15

So, Skoodge’s stats were also out of balance, not quite as bad as Zim’s (or mine), but was this enough to mark him as defective? She swiped over to his Irkan traits.

Irkan Traits

· Creativity: 10/10

· Personal ambition: 5/5

· Need for companionship: 523/0

· Need for affection: 443/0

· Sense of individuality: 231/0

· Individual survival instinct: 4803/10

That confirmed it. Another defective. Interesting. As an invader, his ideal levels may be higher than most, but they still didn’t match up with his actual levels. What were the odds that all three PAKs were defective? Could it be possible that most, if not all PAKs were defective to some degree? No, she couldn’t generalize yet. She only analyzed a small sample size and all three PAKs belonged to Irkans living outside normal society. It was much more likely that defectives tended to live outside the norm and were therefore easier for her to contact. If she wanted definitive answers, she’d need more information, but she couldn’t just go find more Irkens and start analyzing their PAKs. At the very least it’d raise suspicion. At worst, they’d assume treason was afoot. She needed to find another way.

“So? What’d you see?”

Oh right, Skoodge. She nearly forgot he was there. “Well, it looks like you’re defective.”

“What? No!” He jumped toward the screen. “How can this be?”

“My ship isn’t powerful enough for a full diagnostic, but your levels are out of balance,” she explained. “From what I can tell, that’s a sure sign of defectiveness.”

“But I conquered Blorch,” he went on. His hysterical voice was grating on her nerves. “I was the first to complete my mission in Operation Impending Doom 2. How can I-”

“Calm down. At least you’re not as defective as Zim and-” She stopped herself quick. “Anyway, I’m starting to wonder what being a defective really means.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at some of this stuff,” she said, gesturing toward the screen. “A functioning PAK will block natural Irkan assets.”

“Not really, I’ve still got some ambition, some creativity…”

“Because you’re an invader. It changes with encoding. A PAK with a low-class encoding has most of these set to 0. It doesn’t make sense. If we are the superior race, why block what makes us superior?”

“Well, I guess an invader would need certain traits to do our jobs…”

“But why just invaders?” she argued. “Why not allow all Irkens access to their natural traits?”

He thought for a moment. “You checked your PAK, right?”

“Yes…”

“So, what did yours say?”

Her lips tightened into a scowl. “We’re getting off the subject. Here, look at your stats,” she said, turning his attention back to the numbers on the screen. “Your survival instinct is much higher than it’s meant to be. That probably kept you alive on Blorch. And your need for companionship drives your desire to socialize. Thanks to that defect, you’ve got your little group of friends here. Would you trade them for a fully functioning PAK?”

“No!” he gasped, looking more devastated than he did when she told him he was defective.

“That’s my point. If defects can bring positive results, are they really defects?”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” he agreed.

There’s something else wrong here, but what? Skoodge, by all accounts should be a war hero. He conquered his planet in less than 0.1 cycles; a record time as far as invasions went. And yet, he was a defective. Did his defects give him the advantage? If that were the case, perhaps her defects helped her rise to the top of her training class. It would make sense. Her supposed defects included having “too much” ambition and “too much” perseverance. Those are the traits that pushed her to excellence. Surely, they could not be mistakes.

“What about Zim?”

Skoodge’s question broke her from her musings. “What about him?”

“You said he’s defective. If you think defects aren’t that bad…”

“He’s still a walking catastrophe!” she snapped. “I never said all defects were a good thing, just in some cases.”

This did raise an interesting point. Zim, also a defective, without a doubt brought disaster with his every move. Maybe the concept of a defective wasn’t the problem, but how it was measured. Perhaps there was even an issue with the encoding process all together.

She needed to research this future, but she had no idea how. Knowledge on PAK programing was off limits to all but those encoded as PAK maintenance specialists. Even if this information was widely available, she couldn’t show her face in Irkan-controlled space any time soon. Abandoning her post was essentially self-imposed exile. If she didn’t return with a victory that would impress the Tallest, she couldn’t go back at all.

Perhaps solving this mystery could earn her enough glory to pardon her desertion charges and raise her to a rank more worthy of her skills. She could start by researching the history of the PAK, but how?

“So, uh, what’d you go all quiet for?” Skoodge asked, breaking her thoughts once again.

“I was just thinking, where, outside of Irkan territory, I could I go to research PAKs?”

“You could try Refirencee,” Skoodge suggested.

“Where?”

“It’s an info-database planet near Meekrob,” he explained. “They gather the histories and knowledge of all known planets and compile them in one place.”

“Sounds like an obvious target for conquest.”

“Yeah, but it’s under Meekrobian protection, so the plan was to wait until Tenn took Meekrob, then take all the data in the spoils.”

“Hmm…” It was a start at least, though it was suicide for any Irkan to get anywhere near Meekrob these days. Her Vortion disguise and ship should give her enough cover to pass through without suspicion. It worked well enough so far. “Do you know the coordinates for this planet?”

“No, but your ship could have it’s coordinates in its data base. This is a Vortian vessel, after all. The Meekrob only hide the planet from Irkens. Everyone else is free to use it.”

Excellent, a better lead than she expected. “I think we’re done here, Skoodge,” she said, disconnecting his PAK. This favor paid off in spades. “Go, enjoy your baby shower.”

“Thanks.” They reactivated their disguises and Skoodge hopped out of the ship. “And, uh, if you’re ever around, feel free to say hi.”

Tak looked up, the invitation catching her off-guard. “Oh, uh, sure…”

“Bye,” Skoodge gave a little wave and headed back to his job. MiMi returned with a wave of her own.

Tak turned back to her computer. After a quick check for the closest fueling station, she ran a search for the Refirencee coordinates. The search was a success. A holographic diagram of the planet shown from the computer’s projectors.

“Well, MiMi,” she said, smiling at the projection, “it’s time we got some answers.”

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