#he's a machine as long as I have a copy of his core (which you grabbed) it's fine what's wrong with you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spontaneousglitterbees · 3 months

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“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The paper has it spelled out like sunrise over a lake; she can’t help but look at it until she has to make herself look away. Her first ‘client’, the fellow student she’s meant to be shadowing for the week, the person she is tasked with protecting if she wants to pass this class after transferring in partway through the semester is none other than–

“Ooh, bad luck.”

(Part of the TAPP AU, also on Ao3)

Ouma’s voice squeaks out from beside her upper arm so suddenly she flinches.

“Oh please, Harukawa, don’t tell me I caught you off guard. That’s like, your entire thing, now!” he sounds so jovial, without a care in the world, but his chest heaves as though he also just shuddered down to the core.

“You did this.” She states it without room for uncertainty.

“Why the hell would I do that?” he flicks his hand toward the sheet of printer paper pinned to the corkboard, the one that has condemned them for the next one-hundred-sixty-eight hours. It’s up there for the whole school to see. “It’s not even my MO to hack this school’s ancient copy machine, or whatever, I’m out for a good time. Besides, I’d like to live, thanks much.”

Maki is entirely unimpressed. “It is precisely your MO to stomp on my nerves in every way you can,” she enunciates with each step forward.

His grip tightens around the handle of his cane, still smiling. His knuckles threaten to rip themselves to shreds.

“Actually,” a voice chimes in, stern but not unkind. “It makes perfect sense, does it not? You are both in Class 79, which ought to alleviate some of the initial awkwardness.”

Silver hair catching the artificial overhead light, teaching assistant and upperclassman Peko Pekoyama overshadows the pair from behind. “Besides, as the Ultimate…” her eyes narrow, incredulous. “... Supreme Leader, Ouma is going to need a security detail someday.”

Maki glares up at her for all of a split second before dutifully lowering her gaze. It's less that the Ultimate Swordsman is intimidating than that she's so... coldly supportive. The kind of person whose praise is lined with mist and whose fury is a downpour. It'd be a shame to disappoint her, especially over Kokichi, of all people.

"Oh, but Peko-peko-chan, don't you know? Maki and I have been sworn enemies since we were kids! You'd really let that mean ol' teacher pair me up with my nemesis?! That's so cruel!" Kokichi leans in on his cane for leverage, arms crossed in front of him as he acts out the phrase in big, encompassing gestures. That's a lie. But...

Unfortunately for both of them, it only seems to reassure Peko that the path forward is clear. "It'll be a fine challenge for the both of you, then. You’ll be able to focus on two objectives at once: gaining experience staying alert, and equal experience working with difficult clients.”

Kokichi scoffs in the background, of course, but it's hardly worth arguing. He tries to get in your head and stay there, after all. If anything, being ‘difficult’ is a point of pride for him. His eye still seems to twitch a little at the admission. It’s probably just the dry autumn air.

Maki, inventing new curses in her head and keeping them there, nods sagely. "Of course, Ms. Pekoyama. I won't let you down."

She looks over to her current mark.

It's going to be a long week.

------------------

The week starts off innocuous enough. The worst of it comes at the beginning of each day as Kokichi pulls his books out of his locker. Literature, World History, ... Calculus II? Each slams into the floor with a resounding thud, one after another. Some of them won't even see use until near the end of the school day, but he insists she carry them now. Spiteful little shit.

Many of their general education classes are shared to begin with, fortunately, meaning the two of them simply have to walk between classes together for a while. It isn’t quite embarrassing as much as it is frustrating for Maki. Does he even really need a cane, or is it just a ploy to get the teacher’s sympathy? They saunter down the hallway in either case, uncaring of the actual time they arrive. Five minutes late, ten minutes, even; neither incurs a penalty, a bit of an affront to her own persistent punctuality. ‘This school is his’ indeed.

No. The real trouble starts brewing during their free periods.

"The autumn leaves are home to a variety of bug species," lectures Gonta, sitting cross-legged in the courtyard. Kokichi sits beside him, dredging through a pile of leaves; pick up, flip, sort, over and over. Maki remains stock-still and focused on defense. Peko could be hiding around any given corner, assisting a teacher lying in wait for an ambush just to make a point about vigilance.

But it’s a bit hard to stay on edge when things are so… unremarkable. So normal.

"As an example, early-emerging populations of Actias luna in North America lay eggs on the undersides of leaves to keep larvae and pupas safe during winter until the adults appear in March." Despite Gonta’s better efforts choosing a more palatable bug for discussion, neither Kokichi nor Maki seems to be paying actual attention.

"Which has to be why the leaf piles make such a good crunch when you jump in'em, riiiiight?" Kokichi teases, crushing the pile of leaves he's sorted beneath the base of his palm. He throws his back into the motion with a sadistic smile. It breaks into the same mischievous laugh as usual soon after, nishishi~!

Gonta, however, seems unalarmed; perhaps he sees the un-smashed pile, the ones with even just the potential to have 'stuff on'em'. Instead, he smiles. "That might be the beetles, they love hiding in leaves."

"Ewwww!" Kokichi wipes his hand on his pants, despite the distinct lack of bug entrails on them. "Great! Gonta, you can't just ruin fall like that! Now I'm gonna be thinking about nasty beetles when I just wanted to have some fun..." he makes a point to frown, but seeing no real reaction the expression disappears as quickly as it came.

"I not– I'm not ruining fall, it's too hot out to be real fall. It's messing with the bugs’ hibernation cycles...."

Maki finds she's won a fourth consecutive mental game of tic-tac-toe with herself before she finally sighs. Would it be out of line to suggest going inside? Perhaps a more enclosed space will help her readjust to the objective.

Before she can suggest such a thing, Kokichi beats her to it.

“Yeah, it’s waaaay too hot out for September, I’m beat. Harukawa-chan, can we go back inside now?” he doesn’t bother to pout, eyes going from half-lidded to three-quarters wide seeing the barely-contained irritation on Maki’s face.

“Gladly.” She stands without hesitation, turning to Gonta. “Thank you for having us.”

“Of course, is only polite thing to do,” smiles Gonta. Kokichi is a touch intrigued.

“What are you thanking him for, I bet you weren’t even listening! You haven’t taken that scowl off your face all day.” He leans a bit to his left, accentuating the roll of his eyes.

“I knew that you wouldn’t.” Maki says simply, opening the cold glass door.

Kokichi is shocked, appalled he’d tell you, with a loud gasp! Then he shrugs a little. “Eh. I wasn’t bored, anyway.”

Gonta waves, cheerful as ever, as the door swings shut.

The foot of his cane practically skids across the terrazzo tile as Kokichi takes off down the hall.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” Maki asks before she can think better of it; Ouma is still faster than she’d given him credit for.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Ultimate Assassin.” The reply comes quick and sharp, bitterness rising in his voice that hasn’t seen the light of day since well before the game ended.

Before she can ask ‘why now?’ or some such thing, as though there’s any logic behind what Ouma does in the first place, he’s looking at her expectantly from his perch just at the threshold of the main library doorway.

“Dunno about you, but I, for one, have homework. I’m looking for a book, silly, don’t you guys use those?” he shakes his head lightly, keeping the door open by leaning on it and waiting for her to go through. It takes a moment of the two staring at one another to determine who is going to relent; Maki walks a step inside as Kokichi beelines for the reading chairs.

Ah, the reading chairs. Only marginally more acceptable than the stiff, borderline crunchy upholstery of most of the furniture on campus. At least there’s no punishment for sitting on these. Surrounded by deep forest green carpets and a dim, subdued atmosphere one risks sinking into should they stay still for too long, the library is quiet. Starkly quiet. The sound of breathing itself seems to echo, not at all damped by the depth of archways and sub-sections of books and books upon books.

Kokichi looks idly up at the rafters, looking for something he must not find.

“What’s wrong?” Maki reluctantly asks, curiosity overpowering her better sense.

“It’s hot in here,” Ouma replies, his voice… uncharacteristically soft. It’s impossible to tell what emotion comes attached, if there is one at all.

“The air conditioning has been broken in this building all day, I hear.”

There is an awkward silence between them, an absolute vacuum of small-talk.

He takes a deep breath, only to look back over at Maki. “Welp. This place is huge, so. Might as well get crackin’, book’s not gonna find itself!” He smiles a little too wide for his face as he launches upright, looking over his shoulder and taking off into the canopy of books. “Be back in a bit!”

“Alright,” says Maki, striding over to meet him. “Where are we going first?”

Kokichi shakes his head. He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks it’ll be that easy to get rid of you. “Hmm, iunno. I’ll know it when I see it,” he chirps as he changes directions, taking a few dizzying turns before coming to a brief pause.

What is his problem? What does he get out of making this difficult for the both of you? Surely boredom can’t overtake the selfish want to do less work… yet, sure enough, he’s speed-walking away again.

Maki doesn’t need to look up to explain the sudden chill down her spine.

“Kiyo-chan! Fancy meetin’ you here,” Ouma laughs, stepping to the shelf opposite Korekiyo as Maki walks up to the two of them.

“Not exactly, Ouma, you know quite well I’ve been tasked with the maintenance of some of the anthropology department’s rarer books,” Kiyo shakes his head, adjusting his mask. “... No, I won’t be taking you to them. I was actually looking for a project on Minoan mythos in relation to pre-Hellenic…” he cuts himself off.

Really, Maki thinks to herself, it’s hard to believe this awkward kid could have been the monster he once was. That’s the thing about monsters, though, isn’t it? In real life they don’t have horns or tails like the minotaur….

“Say. What are you visiting the library for? Your field is not precisely predicated on a large literary basis, is it?”

“Kiyo-chaaaaan! No fair! Are you telling me I don’t look like I read? ‘Cuz I can read plenty, as long as it’s not BORING me to death!!” Kokichi leans on his cane, slightly swaying. “I like libraries. They’re like obstacle courses, and half the time nobody is even in them to get in the way!” he smiles. “But that’s a lie.”

“He’s looking for a book,” Maki chimes in, startling both Korekiyo and Kokichi back a few steps.

“Oh, is that all? What kind of book are you looking for, Ouma? Certainly I could be of assistance.” Kiyo nods, possibly(?) smiling, and at the very least visibly trying to maintain a less standoffish posture.

“That won’t be–”

“Binary star formation,” the two phrases come in at the same time. Kokichi continues, “and the history of their discovery.”

Kiyo stares at Kokichi for a moment, in (confusion? Disbelief? It’s difficult to tell, with so much of his face obscured and those piercing eyes ready to strike at any time…) before nodding. “Of course. I believe I recall where that one is, it was returned quite recently.”

Ouma stares idly into the distance for a split-second, an automaton re-calibrating on the fly. “Right. Duh, but I need it now, so.”

Sure enough, Korekiyo is only away for a matter of minutes before returning with a single large tome. The book seems more focused on general astronomical phenomena, but must have a chapter or two dedicated to binary stars. Should have picked something more obscure, Maki huffs at the thought, if you really just wanted to cause trouble. Let me guess, that isn’t–

“That’s exactly it!” says Kokichi, who excitedly starts flipping through the pages. Korekiyo looks like he wants to scold him, be more careful, but restrains himself from doing so. Nonetheless, the two share a look; Kokichi suddenly feels like maybe he should slow down, lest unsavory things happen to his nerves.

Just a feeling.

Things look, for once, to be going well again. Ouma is reading (or, at least, glaring at a page), freeing up Maki’s attention to better scope out the area.

… At least, until “Kiyo-chan? The text is so small, I can barely read a thing!”

Don’t get involved, don’t worry about it, Maki, you have a mission!

“Then why don’t you take it back to one of the reading areas? It’s certain to be brighter there.” Korekiyo shrugs, back to looking at the shelf ahead.

“Can’t you read it to me, Kiyo-chan? Pleeeease, you have such a nice reading voice!”

Korekiyo stops, for a moment, glaring at Kokichi. “And that’s a lie, certainly.”

“What! You’re calling me a liar! Kiyo-chan, that’s so, s-so,,” the tears start to well up, if only slightly. Is he losing his touch with the waterworks? “Accurate, yeah, but not this time! If I didn’t tell the truth some of the time, it’d make the lies too obvious! And that’s no fun at all.”

“... Ah,” says Kiyo, uncertain of how to take a compliment.

“So?”

“Oh yes, right. Hmm. It can’t be that large of a diversion, surely…”

Such is how Korekiyo winds up over by the reading chairs, telling a dubiously-interested Kokichi about disk and turbulent fragmentations. “Where the instability and arbitrary motion cause a core to split off into multiple masses of gas and dust that collapse into independent protostars,” so the reading goes, “that are close enough to one another they become entangled in mutual orbit.”

Maki can hardly say she’s particularly invested, even if it would be nice to have a better idea of what Kaito’s blathering on about half the time now that classes are in full swing. Still, something in her can’t help but hang on to this itch of unease, as though at any moment something will go wrong. She’s supposed to be watching Kokichi, but finds herself looking more at Kiyo than the surroundings. There is no danger there, anymore, though you’d have been more likely to get hurt than Ouma. But this feeling you can’t… no. That you refuse to name, this resentment, it takes residence in your bones and won’t let go. Is it because he’s been programmed as having been a killer? Aren’t you the very same? And when it really mattered, didn’t both of you decide to k–

The slightest sound makes Maki jump into action, fists at the ready to block an incoming blow, only. Huh. It seems it was just the weight of the book closing.

Kokichi sits up a little straighter, speaking a little louder (before, begrudgingly, quieting down, because this is a library). “Thank you, Kiyo-chan~ That would’ve been soooo boring to get through alone, you know? Nishishi, I’ll still be expecting your application for DICE one of these days! Best not disappoint,” he leans back in the chair, only to swing up to standing.

Korekiyo simply rolls his eyes, but there’s something undoubtedly fond in the gesture. If there weren’t, the fact would make itself known near-immediately; instead, Kiyo simply picks up the book to put it back on the shelf. “Is that all you needed, then?”

Kokichi exaggerates a sigh. “Not by a longshot, but I think I left the rest in Miu’s lab,” he rolls his head back, momentarily looking at the spot where Maki has planted herself, arms crossed. “So I gotta run. Laters!”

As Kokichi is picking his cane back up (and staring at the foot for a moment, making sure he’s placed it on the correct side for now. Working on making the ruse more realistic, perhaps, Maki posits, though she dares not say such a thing aloud), Maki nods in acknowledgement of Kiyo.

After an awkward pause, Kiyo nods back. “Miss Harukawa.”

But the pair are off again, out of the library and en-route to Miu’s lab.

The silence between the two of them is thick. Neither is perturbed by the light traffic traveling in either direction down the hall, staying steps apart but not quite identifiable as a ‘group’. Much remains unsaid between the two. Neither dares disrupt the precarious balance maintaining a stoic facade, and the awkward silence stays.

At least, while only in the company of one another.

“Hey!” Kokichi yells, swinging open the door to Miu’s lab with reckless abandon, startling a very focused Chihiro and Kazuichi sitting at the far end of a long table. “Where’s that boisterous blonde–”

“That is the best most bodacious boisterous blonde bitch to you, ‘ya shitstain.” Miu looks up from her workbench, approaching the opposite side of the long table with a haughty laugh.

“Mm, nope. Too wordy. Might mistake you for a nerd,” he teases, pointing up and down at a Miu dressed in her lab coat and covered from goggles to toe in smears of motor oil.

“Oh please, haven’t you figured out yet that I’m beauty and a brain?”

“And a nerd, yeah, I got that.”

The pair bicker like old friends, though it’s only recently they’ve had a chance to talk over their time in the killing game. Perhaps it’s easier for them to act like it never happened; it’d be hypocritical of Maki to judge.

Although…

“So you’ll concede she’s beautiful?” Maki tugs on her hair, wrapping it around her finger with a smirk. One sentence sparks a good five minutes of playful arguing, nuh-uh yuh-uh, and mild shoulder-punching. In terms of the assignment, it’s permissible, but on thin ice.

The perimeter seems clear in here, anyway, only the five of them. Chihiro and Kazuichi seem too engrossed in whatever project they’re working on to bat an eye at the two’s banter, and there’s no good angle for an ambush. Besides, it’d be irresponsible to initiate a confrontation with so many metal scraps and machines around. Still, she has to remain on alert.

… Though she can’t help but listen when she hears Miu launch into a small tirade: “What I’m always working on, dumbass, and a couple things besides. Picture this: you’re me, and you’re ‘getting a regular checkup’ because you’re ‘recovering from a traumatic experience’ and all that junk. And I’m sitting there, wasting valuable workable time between classes, just for them to call me up to do, like, the same three tests they always do? And I think to myself, man, wouldn’t it be genius if you could just step into a booth, or a pod, or something like that when you get there, and it does all of that preliminary stuff on you at once so you can just be done with it already? And this was like, two? Days ago? So you know I have a prototype.”

Kokichi looks nonplussed, to say the least.

“Haven’t you been working on anything less… totally mundane, than that? Maybe like a shrink ray, or a portal device or a body-swapper, or something exciting?”

“Well, you know I’m building an android, but we all know how you feel about that.”

“I do not need the list of features you’re giving that thing. Nobody, needs the list of features you’re giving that thing.”

“W-W, h-hey! I’m not gonna be weird about it,” Miu pouts, voice getting soft for a moment. “That’s like, totally crossing a line…” only to pick back up. “Nah, I’m not gonna load in any kinky shit until I can ask him about it!”

“Is that finally an answer to the question I’ve been asking for like three months now? We’re going with ‘robots only have dicks upon request?’”

Maybe it’s better to stop listening, actually. Not that Maki is given the choice.

“Point is, I still need a test subject! Why not you, while you’re right here? Every experiment we’ve run so far has been demonstrably fine, quit your worry-warting already ‘ya buzzkill.” Miu scoffs, rolling out a wardrobe-sized booth on a dolly.

“But Iruma-channnn,” Kokichi whines. His eye twitches, scanning the new device up and down, only more resolute that “there’s no way I’m gonna go in there unless it’s got AC!”

“That can be arranged,” says Miu, writing at the bottom of a spare paper. “Now, get over here so we can get this show on the road!”

“Nnnnn can’t make me.”

“Come on.”

“Nah.”

“It’ll be fine!”

“For you, maybe.”

“You know what? Fine. Hey Maki!” Miu calls, waving to where Maki is stationed around the corner. “C’mon, this’ll only take, like, two minutes, you in?”

Great. You’ve been Acknowledged.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Maki starts to stammer, but Kokichi has suddenly lit up.

“Ooh! Do it, do it Maki!”

“I really don’t think I should distract from–”

Suddenly, both Miu and Kokichi are peering over the table, all but pounding their fists against the wood as they chant “Do it, do it!”

If anything, their exuberance makes her want to give in less, but the coast is clear, for now… Chihiro gives Maki a withering look. Doesn’t seem like they’ll run out of steam any time soon.

“... Fine.”

Kokichi and Miu turn to one another and high-five, cheering in unison.

“Great,” Miu breezes by, opening an entrance to the box. “Come on in.”

Maki is immediately enveloped in what at first looks like a photo booth but, upon examination, has too many blinking lights and moving parts to be one. In lieu of a screen, a plexiglass barrier shows off the dim reflections of the moving mechanics, leaving the subject to back up into position. A thermometer pops out of the front panel at the same time as a blood pressure cuff restrains her left arm, a bar descending to the top of her head to record her height. Every metric is recorded on a tiny screen on the outside of the chamber.

Experiment: success. The device certainly does its job. Whether it’s been done well is questionable, but it certainly has been done.

Meanwhile, Kokichi has been lounging in quite possibly the single Good Chair in the entirety of Hope’s Peak, talking to Miu about something indistinct. By the time Maki walks out of the machine a matter of minutes has passed.

It feels like it’s been hours.

And Maki is not happy.

“Ouma? I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait? I sorta–”

“Now. Ouma.”

Kokichi keeps his head down, but follows Maki’s footsteps.

“We’re leaving. Goodbye, Miu. Hope you got your data.” Maki states, perfectly deadpan. She turns, practically dragging Ouma by the wrist.

“Harukawa, I’m sorry i–”

“That’s a lie,” Maki helpfully completes the thought, marching out into the hallway. “You’ve been lying all day, making up any excuse you can to be as distracting as possible just waiting for me to screw up. But it isn’t going to work. We are going, to your room, and you will stay there, and it will be quiet. Do you understand?”

Kokichi stops walking. He does not pull away from her hand any further than the natural distance that comes as he stops, glaring up at her with an oddly-canted eye.

“You think you can ground me, Child-Caregiver? All I want is to hang out with my friends, and get to do it at a decent goddamn hour, and that’s SO bad? Aww, am I inconveniencing you? What would you rather be out doing. Huh? Would you rather be hunting me down for sport–”

Maki snaps out of her shock, shaking her head. “UGH! Not everything is always about YOU, you know!” She storms a few steps ahead.

“Well excuse me if you aren’t exactly open about your hobbies,” Kokichi scoffs, jogging up a few more stumbling steps to meet her. “If you insist on making our little forced-bonding-time absolutely miserable, I guess, be my fucking guest.”

“It’s not about fun, it’s about salvaging the entirety of this semester! Out of all of us, you should understand that!”

“Oh, so there is an ‘us’! I thought it a mere myth on the breeze, oh please, Harukawa, regale me with tales of how our miserable myriad of troubled teens that calls itself a class constitutes any kind of Unit,” he coughs on the end, running out of breath. A bit of spit drips from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiped away by a hand before he makes a big swinging gesture with his cane.

This, it turns out, is a mistake.

First, his cane clatters to the floor. In and of itself, this isn’t surprising; at least it didn’t go through a window or otherwise launch across the hall, instead dropping down at Kokichi’s side.

Then Kokichi falls down with it.

He nearly faceplants, the only buffer coming in the form of outstretched arms in front of him that immediately buckle.

Maki stifles half of a laugh. That’s what your overly-theatrical-ass gets when you try to act larger than life itself. She holds out a hand to help him back up. Frustrated as she may be, she isn’t cruel.

… But he doesn’t take it.

In fact, Kokichi doesn’t seem to be moving much at all.

Thinking fast, she immediately turns him onto his side in a recovery position. Still breathing– heavily, at that, as it’s taking up the majority of his focus just to do that much. It’s a full minute before he starts trying to talk.

“Mmaki’alls sumiki,” is about all he can say, saliva rolling down his face, eyes glassy. One eye moves slower than the other as he tries to look up at her in that disturbingly blank way of his.

He says it again.

She doesn’t know what to do.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

You can’t react this way to a little surprise. Cool heads prevail, Maki, you know this.

She feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Maki? Thank goodness I was following you. Listen, both of you, I’ve called my classmate Mikan. She is a nurse. What I need you to do, Maki, is help me pick him up. Ouma, just keep breathing…” Peko Pekoyama commands, picking up the cane to carry with her bag as she prepares to pick up Kokichi.

There’s an upset indignant note from him, an ‘uh, no shit,’ that pierces through the existential terror. That’s a good sign. That means not every scrap of consciousness needs to be dedicated just to staying alive. “I ‘ust, ‘eed’an ninit,” he tries to speak again, getting steadily more exasperated with himself. Even so, he does not cry.

No matter how he may want to, he does not cry.

------------------

Kokichi Ouma finds himself in a hospital room yet again. Maki Harukawa, however, finally finds herself at liberty to have him out of sight as she leans against the closed door.

Now you can panic.

“Maki?” Peko asks, tilting Maki’s chin up to meet her gaze.

Nevermind.

“You did the right thing, initially. Okay? You put him in a position where he could breathe, which is probably the most important thing you could have done.”

Maki stammers, tugging on her hair with an iron grip. “I did not do the right thing, initially. That’s the problem,” she admits, shaking her head. It’s difficult to stifle the ghost of tears blocking out her vision.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Peko asks, guiding Maki over to sit in a pair of chairs beside one of the many windows on this floor.

No matter how hard she tries to stop them, once they start the words won’t stop flowing. “I mean that it’s my fault he’s like this!”

“... Maki, I saw it, it was an accide–”

“In the game, I shot him. Twice. With laced bolts, he. He just took Kaito, and was planning, s-something, and we were all so scared and I thought he was going to kill him so I covered them in strike-nine, and I shot him. Twice! And I went for a third…”

Peko is taken aback for a moment. Class 79 tends not to talk about their experiences in the simulation, so to hear things like shot and kill only confirm every terrible rumor she’s heard about the entire debacle. She blinks, once, then twice.

“Maki, I. I had no idea.”

Maki pulls on her hair, looping it around her whole hand and it still isn’t enough. “I know, I know, I’m an assassin, Ms. Pekoyama, and he’s the only mark I’ve ever actually killed myself.”

Peko is loath to let the silence spread between the two of them, yet she isn’t sure of what to say. Still, she says anyway: “I am. So sorry, that happened between you two. I assure you, I did not have an understanding of this. History, before I suggested you be paired together.”

“A-and now, now it’s my fault he collapsed, because whatever is wrong with him started because I poisoned him, because I’m a heartless, murder machine a-and,,” Maki hiccups, a hand over her face. She hasn’t even gotten this far into the story with her therapist, yet she sees enough of herself in Peko to entrust her with this secret.

“... I know what it is like to live with regret.” Peko offers. “It is never easy to choose one life over another. I don’t think that it should be, either. You should never have had to make that choice, but you did, and you made it as well as anyone could. You wanted to defend your friends, Maki, and you did. You cannot agonize about how things might have been after the fact if you want to move forward.”

Maki just stares at her hands, and cannot scrub away the illusion they are bright, bold magenta.

“... Maki?”

But Maki is far down the hall, watching Kaito close the door to that damn hospital room, because he’s betrayed me, again.

“... I hated him.” She takes a deep breath, and lets the words swish around in her mouth for a moment before spitting them back out: “I hated him. I wanted him to suffer. He was irritating, and a threat, and I didn’t– I don’t understand him, and I wanted him to get away from me and everyone I care about.” Deep breath in. “So I shot him, with a crossbow, and I laced the bolts with the slowest-acting poison I could find, so he wouldn’t know peace the same way the rest of us hadn’t.”

“Ah,” says Peko, surprised but without any tone of judgment. After all, it is Peko’s turn to think, wouldn’t that be hypocritical? “Multiple things can be true at once, you know. Just because some part of you wanted vengeance does not overwrite your intentions to defend. I’ve only ever known you to want to protect the innocent, Maki, and even if you haven’t always been that person, that is the kind of person you are becoming. Every last one of you was in significant distress at that time, and that includes you. You shouldn’t let self-hatred cloud your perception.”

Maki nods ever-so-slightly.

“What you did was. Excessive, yes, and you should not have done it. But it is in the past now, Maki. The fact that you feel remorse for it proves you aren’t ‘heartless’. You made a poor decision, with a high price. All that can be done for it now is to atone in ways you can. Sometimes, remembrance is all you can offer. But you,” Peko points at the flower on Maki’s uniform, “have a unique gift in all of this. Ouma is still alive now. In this life, you can still make amends.”

Maki sniffs, then holds her breath. In for three, hold for five, hold for four, hold forever… the tears just won’t slow. “It was cruel. I, was cruel, I don’t. I don’t want to be that way, not even to him. I-I want to. Amends, I want to,”

Peko smiles. She takes both of Maki’s hands into her own. “Then you will. You’ve already started, after all.”

The more Maki thinks of it, this whole shadowing experience has shown off facets of Ouma’s personality she hadn’t seen before. He does not like bugs, but still tolerates them out of care for his friendship with Gonta. He could have been cruel and smashed all the leaves, but he picked out any that even may have had eggs on them. Kokichi could have been legitimately cruel, yet he wasn’t. Kiyo, quiet as he is these days, is willing to accept him because Kokichi has accepted him in return. Even Miu, after she tried to bash in his skull with a hammer, has come around to not just tolerating his presence, but coming to enjoy it. Enough to make a machine for the medical wing since he, her friend, is in and out of the hospital so often… so he’s claimed.

Maki can only reconcile now that at least some, possibly all of those claims of chronic pain and complications are very real. Part of her knew this all along, but didn’t want to believe it; it’s easier, after all, to lie to yourself. Hadn’t Kokichi said something to that effect, so long ago?

Despite how irritating he is, despite his best attempts to get under her skin, despite being Kokichi Ouma, he’s… admittedly, a decent friend when it counts. And, perhaps, someday they can be friends as well.

“I still. It. It’s so stupid,” she shakes her head. “I-I better not…”

“But you want to say it, right?” Peko nods.

“I still feel. Jealous? Kaito can do what he wants, of course, but ever since the simulation it’s felt like our trio with Shuichi is… different. Like he’s choosing Kokichi over us.” Over me, she does not say. Peko can see it in her watery eyes.

“That, I’ve certainly understood,” Peko laughs. “Sometimes the person you admire can be… short-sighted, maybe. But your admiration is your own, you know. You have to own it, and, if they don’t ultimately feel the same way…” She looks off into the distance. Imagining someone, no doubt.

“... Right. Right, thank you Ms. Pekoyama.”

“Just Peko is fine, Maki.”

“Thank you, Peko.”

“Of course.”

“... But maybe they do feel the same way. You. Never know until you ask, right?”

Peko snaps back to attention. “I… suppose.”

“It’s just a matter of gathering the inner strength to ask, whether you like the answer or not. … I think you should,” Maki shrugs, drying her tears. “And maybe I should too.”

“Perhaps,” says Peko, unshaken as ever, until… she smiles, conspiratorially. “I will if you will.”

“Alright,” laughs Maki. “Deal. But I have someone I have to address first.”

------------------

Meanwhile, Kaito slowly closes the door to the hospital room. The cool air hits him almost immediately upon entering; the air conditioning must be turned up significantly higher than in the rest of the building. It’s a different room, this time; the slightly different decor is disorienting for a moment, while he allows it to be. There’s something far more important than misplaced flowers and chairs and abstract paintings at its center, though.

“Kokichi?”

There’s a disgruntled sigh from the hospital bed, and an equally disgruntled Kokichi hooked up to not-even-a-fourth-of the equipment he was last time, to Kaito’s knowledge, he actually had to stay here.

“‘eah. Yeah, ‘s me.” He even sounds tired, still slurring words together a touch at this point.

Kaito takes his left hand, the dominant side. The uninjured one.

Kokichi can barely curl his fingers around Kaito’s, for now.

“Like the worst case’a TMJ you ever had,” he tries to smile, but finds the effort fruitless to try. Out of everyone, Kaito won’t mind if you don’t pretend for him. He already knows what you are. “‘Cept it’s everywhere. Mostly.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking so much–”

“Tsumiki-chan said, as long as I focus on breathing, I can do what I want. Mostly wanna not-do-things, though. Boring. What’d you do today?”

“You’re asking me?” Kaito laughs, but humors the thought. “Class, mostly. Went out to train with Shuichi, he’s actually coming along pretty well. Still has trouble keeping up with me in the real world, though, lung capacity and all. Been missing Maki, though. She’s really trying her hardest for this class, you know, she’s even talking to that Peko girl right now.”

Kokichi looks away, both eyes now in-sync as he tries to look to the tile floor. “Yeah. She’s still Harukawa, alright.”

Probably not a great time to talk about it, it dawns on Kaito just a little too late.

“What even happened, man, can I ask that? Figure I may as well instead’a dancing around it,” Kaito says, just to banish the thought. To get it out of the way.

Kokichi laughs a little under his breath. It hurts, but there’s a degree to which he can’t help it. “Ask’er yourself.”

Kaito is confused for all of a moment before looking around the–

“Ah! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you! I-I just thought I could answer any q-questions, so Ouma doesn’t have to-o…” Mikan Tsumiki, Ultimate Nervous Wreck, holds her clipboard to her chest.

Kaito is beside himself, unsure of how to get her to calm back down. Kokichi’s hand squeezes his a little tighter. Give her a moment.

“R-Right, sorry, you were wondering about his condition, right? Ouma’s, I mean. T-There’s good news! And. Bad news, which we’ve already talked about before you arrived, or. I did most of the talking because he’s having a hard time at the moment, but you knew that– Bad news we’ve already talked about, and good news.” Mikan looks up at Kaito expectantly, straining a smile.

“... Do you want me to pick one? Because I’m sure whatever the bad news is won’t look so bad compared to the good,” Kaito nods, resolute.

“Oh yeah, s-s. Sorry. Yeah. SO the good news is this is just a flare-up, probably caused by a mix of stress and the heat outside. He’s been doing a lot better in this building since we have a backup generator for our climate control,” she continues. “But the bad news is that if he doesn’t take care of his condition, he could end up in a full-blown crisis, mister,” a darkness casts over her eyes “and if you do you won’t be able to breathe on your own, then it’s back on a ventilator for up to weeks at a time, and I know how much you hate that.” She picks her head up. “But, hopefully it won’t come to that!”

… It’s a lot to take in at once.

“What. Exactly, is his condition? How could he deteriorate so suddenly?” Kaito asks despite Kokichi’s half-hearted protest.

“It wasn’t sudden. I’ve been feeling it all day… it just got too bad to deal with. That’s all.” Mikan looks over to Kokichi before he relents and nods. “Someone else should know.”

“It seems to be an autoimmune disorder caused by the program. Not one that we’ve seen before, but one that’s kind of unique because of how it happened. The device ‘taught’ his immune system to attack danger that wasn’t physically there, so it started attacking what was there instead. It seems to include some of the signals sent between muscle groups to get them to move, leading to muscle weakness that varies in severity. This would be a moderate exacerbation, I think, so it really could be much worse!”

Mikan is still working on her bedside manner. Kokichi huffs a little, amused, while Kaito is still processing.

“Is. Is it ever going to stop?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Mikan sighs, a little shake of her head. The same thing Kaito had been told about his lungs. “It’s impossible for us to know, but don’t count on it.”

“So… So what can we do? There has to be some kind of training we can do to make it a little less severe, right?” The impossible is always possible, is it not?

“Well. Physical therapy might help as part of the treatment, but it’s most important he’s taking his meds regularly and getting enough sleep,” she says. “But it’s pretty near impossible to enforce.”

Kaito looks over at Kokichi for a moment, then back to Mikan.

“Maybe, on his own. What if he had a roommate? Then we’d share responsibility.”

“You’re kidding me,” Ouma says, doing his best to sit up a little. It’s more effort than it’s worth, but that does not stop him from trying.

“It’s that, or have you check in even more regularly than you already do. Even if I have to fish you out of the dorms,” Mikan shakes her head, tsk-tsk-tsk. “It’s not a bad idea. I’ll take it up with Administration. Unless you’d rather have an aide following you around…?”

“NO. ‘m good. It’s good. Could be way worse…”

“And I’ll see if I can get you an air conditioner in your room? It is very literally medically necessary.”

“Yessss,” Ouma seems happy enough, and settles down. It’s distinctly possible he’s too tired to put up much more protest, and takes the opportunity to start to nod off.

Kaito smiles fondly, and shakes his head.

------------------

Several hours later, Kokichi wakes up to the creaking of his door. He tenses, finding that he can, even if it’d be too much to disengage himself from ensnaring wires and monitors. He doesn’t bother. A moment later, it’s clear enough who it is.

“... Hello, Ouma.”

“Harukawa.”

Kokichi stares upward, idly counting holes in the ceiling tile.

The silence is deafening.

“I’m sorry,” Maki starts, a meandering sentence unto itself that unravels slowly from her tongue.

Too slowly, for Kokichi. “Yeah, alright. For what?”

“Take your pick.” The courage she’s built up is thrown to the wind as she strives to just say it, or at least say something.

“Sure. Forgiven. Whatever. Now, what’s it you want?”

“... That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Ooh, she catches on! Maki Harukawa, how do you do it,” he laughs. It’s a strangled sound.

“Cut it out, Kokichi, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what happened today. I’m sorry about pushing you too far–”

“You didn’t push me too far.” he says, but it sounds… hollow. Sincere, insincere, it doesn’t seem to matter; there’s no substance to it, but it’s also packed with double-triple meanings and spite.

“I’m sorry anyway,” Maki says.

This appears to appease him, if just for a minute.

“I’m sorry about pushing you around, and for blaming you for my own inability to properly focus.” she sighs. “… In my defense, you don’t make it easy, but. That’s not the point. The point is, I should not have done that. I got angry, and when I get angry sometimes I act rashly. So I’m sorry.”

There’s something bigger to that statement, of course. Something he cannot help but respond to with a brutal truth:

“I don’t know if I can forgive you. I want to stop being scared of you, but it’s not. Suddenly okay again.” He turns his head, half-muttering. “I’m not sure I’ll ever really be ‘okay’ again….”

The silence returns.

“... That’s. That’s okay. I mean, if you don’t. You don’t, have to. Respect is earned, and so… so is forgiveness, I think. I hope I can earn that in your eyes.”

“... Alright,” says Kokichi. “Fair enough.”

“See you around,” Maki shrugs, halfway to closing the door.

“And Maki?”

“Yeah?” she pauses.

“Thanks.”

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tbmunson · 2 years

Text

Eddie's Best Friend - Gareth Emerson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're at the music shop in Starcourt, goofing around with Eddie when Gareth comes in. You buy him drumsticks and he invited you and Eddie over for a movie night. (You're all college age)

Warnings: Fluff, Swearing, Quick Crushing. I think that's is.

WC: 1.2K ish

Part 2

Check out my Masterlist for more from me!

It was a lazy Thursday morning during summer break from college and you were sat in a chair, bass in hand, inside of the music store at Starcourt. You'd just gotten some new strings and decided to tune it there with the help of the employee which just so happened to be a friend of yours.

"Sounds good. Play me something, Sweetheart." Eddie smiled, making you roll your eyes. Eddie had quickly become a good friend of yours due to the amount of time you'd spent in the store, and having jam sessions at your place. You'd even considered that he was your best friend at this point. A big brother even.

"Only if you back me up with that." You pointed to the electric guitar left by another patron to be tuned by Eddie.

He nodded, grabbing it and tuning it quickly. His ear was honestly a gift with how quickly he could get the right tone out of any instrument in a matter of a moment. "Whatcha gonna sing for me today? Some Joan?" He teased.

You smirked at him, nodding. "Yeah, the one we just finished learning."

"Count it." He said, flexing his fingers.

"One, two, one, two, three four." The iconic start of I Love Rock 'n' Roll started. A few measure later you started singing.

I saw him dancin' there by the record machine I knew he must have been about seventeen The beat was goin' strong Playin' my favorite song An' I could tell it wouldn't be long Til he was with me, yeah me And I could tell it wouldn't be long Til he was with me, yeah me, singin'

I love Rock 'n' Roll So put another dime in the jukebox, baby I love Rock 'n' Roll So come and take your time and dance with me

You noticed a guy standing there, watching closely so you gave Eddie a look telling him to cut it and the song stopped. You didn't want Eddie to get in trouble for ignoring customers.

"Don't stop on my behalf. You're really good." The boy said, fluffy hair bouncing slightly.

"Gareth, what's up, buddy?" Eddie asked, drawing the boy's attention away from your reddening face.

"Just came to pick up some new sticks. You guys should really get me a punch card, as many as I buy." He rolled his eyes, the humor never fading from his face.

Eddie laughed, standing and putting the guitar back on the stand. "We really should. Uh, have you met Y/N?" He asked, motion back to you.

You're glad you'd had a moment to calm the blush because his eyes were back on you.

"I don't think I've had the pleasure." He answered before sending you a smile. "I'm Gareth. Eddie's mentioned you a few times. Glad to put a face to the name." He offered you a hand, which you took.

"Don't take him too seriously. He probably tells you I bully him." You joked, ignoring the electric feeling of your skin touching his.

Gareth laughed, his smile widening. "No, no. All good things. Baby sister and all that."

"That would be a first. I tell him all the time that his eyes are brown because of how full of shit he is." You laughed, finally letting go of his hand, letting yours drop back down to your bass.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "And that's why I tell everyone you bully me."

You copied his actions before sitting your bass on the stand. "You're my best friend. Gentle bullying is how I show my love." You replied sarcastically as you stood to push his shoulder.

"Physical abuse!" He claimed as Gareth laughed at the two of you. Eddie had made it clear to him after many many jokes that your relationship was strictly platonic. Eddie loved you to your core, but as a sister and you felt the same way about him. He was the big brother you never had.

"Someone's extra dramatic today." You rolled your eyes, stepping away from him and closer to Gareth. "What brand do you use?" You asked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the drum accessories.

"Usually the cheapest. Broke college kid and all." He joked, only slightly serious.

You nodded before squatting down to grab a more expensive brand. "Don't tell me not to, because I'm going to anyways. Music is a passion and your tools are important. Come on." You stated, turning to walk to the register.

"You seriously don't need to do that, Y/N. You don't even know me." He protested, following you up to the register.

"Munson!" You waved, letting him know you were ready. "You have a passion. I can tell. You deserve something with a bit more quality. Plus a friend of Eddie's is a friend of mine. Let me Sugar Mama you, huh?" You nudged him with your shoulder as Eddie stepped behind the register.

"Seriously dude, don't argue. She does what she wants. That's how we became friends." Eddie chuckled, tapping away at the numbers. "Alright so for the strings and the sticks it's fifty five even."

You nodded and pulled the cash from your wallet. "I'll see you tonight, yeah?" You asked Eddie, grabbing the sticks from the counter.

"Yeah-" Eddie was interrupted by Gareth.

"I invited him to my place for a horror movie marathon. My parents took my sisters out of town for a gymnastics competition and they'll be gone until Sunday. You should come." He rested his elbow on the counter as he looked at you.

You smiled at him and nodded. "Yeah, that would be great. Is it a stay the night thing or would that be weird considering I met you ten minutes ago?"

"You just Sugar Mama'd me a pair of the best drumsticks on the market. You can stay. Plus a friend of Eddie's is a friend of mine." He winked, causing your tummy to flutter.

You smiled and handed him the package. "You gonna pick me up, Eds?" You glanced back at the long haired boy who was smirking very mischievously.

"Yep. Be there at 5:30." He said with an odd monotone.

You nodded slowly and stepped away. "I don't like that but I won't question it. I think the answer would make me like it even less, so I'm heading out. See you guys tonight. Love ya, Eds." You walked away from the waving boys to grab your bass and and left the store.

"Love ya." He called before looking at Gareth. "You're in so fucking deep for her, dude." Eddie said, facing him directly.

"Dude, I fucking know." He dropped his head until it was resting on the counter. He let out a low groan before looking back up at Eddie. "Is she into me?"

"Oh absolutely. She only got me mediocre strings. She got you top of the line." Eddie answered, a knowing smirk plastered over his face. "You lied about inviting me over so you could invite her." He pointed out, tapping his fingers on the counter.

Gareth groaned again. "Don't tell her, please. Just come watch movies and claim the recliner so I can sit with her, okay? I'm begging here."

Eddie scrunched his face, fake thinking. "I don't know dude. She is my best friends. We're supposed to be honest with each other, right?"

"Pizza and beer. Please."

"You have a deal. We'll be there at 6:00."

Should I do a part 2?

#gareth emerson fluff #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #gareth the great #gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson x fem!reader

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mozillavulpix · 1 year

Text

Future Redeemed

i probably need to grind a bit more to beat the first boss of Chapter 4, but let’s see if I have things straight Lorewise

So at some point after the events of XB1, Shulk finds a copy of Alvis’s core program lying on the beach, with Melia saying it was something Alvis made himself as a gift to them. They use it in their part of building Origin, meaning Alvis is basically the core on which Aionios runs on in the first place

But it’s not until quite a long time later after the creation of Aionios that Alvis’s program suddenly wakes up. But without Pneuma and Logos to what’s essentially feeding him personality data across dimensions (since Logos [Malos] is dead and Pneuma reincarnated as ‘more ordinary’ Blades Pyra and Mythra in new bodies), he basically operates as pure machine

And he looks at Aionios and decides “welp, fuck this ‘reusing data of the people whose souls were recorded at the time of creation’ business, the only true humans here are the denizens of the City born naturally and everyone else are repeating fragments of the past who need to die”. He renames himself Alpha and goes on a God Complex

He takes control of Origin from Z but luckily Shulk and Rex show up to fight him. (Still don’t know how they entered Aionios externally like that with their memories and everything at that time specifically. Maybe Alvis summoned them there.) Anyway, they fight and beat the shit out of each other with both sides pretty badly injured, so they lie low and recover their strength.

After 10 years, Alpha is healed enough to try again, but decides that maybe it’ll be easier to avoid getting beaten up and control his power better if he uses a human as a vessel like Zanza did. Na’el happens to pick up his core and he starts getting to her head.

Meanwhile Z senses this, and realises the best idea to fight it is to get N, the only one who can wield the Sword of the End (which we still don’t know much about). He sends N off to stop Alpha. I don’t know if he also ordered him to kill the denizens of the City at the same time as part of resurrecting M, since it looks like Ghondor was the one who actually destroyed most of the City using the Ouroboros powers to try and stop N.

But also at some point N does something to Alpha’s core that Na’el was holding and that let Alvis’s memories split off from it into its own being. Who manifests as an anime girl called A because if Logos is the male and Pneuma is the female then Ontos is genderless so why not be an anime girl. You know. Fate logic.

I still have questions; namely, what caused Ontos to only decide to do this stuff ‘now’, when there was already many generations of the City. There doesn’t seem to be a real inciting incident yet, and maybe there is one to explain later on.

At the very least the title is making a bit more sense now.

#xenoblade chronicles 3 #xc3 #future redeemed #spoilers

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rxbelling-hxrald · 1 year

Note

alt!

An Alternative Muse || Accepting

“What do you mean the Vox stocks went off the record!? You can’t tell me with all those ratings we had at the finale and ending it with a literal BOOM! There were no profits? No memorials? No needy fans crying for a return!?” A cybernetic shark looking cyborg would yell into his holocommunicator, listening to another voice at the other end breaking the news to him that the times had changed and he no longer had any business with them before hanging up.

With a sigh the creature leaned back into his seat, taking a moment to think about his options....maybe he’d have been better off dead after all rather than using his savings to keep memory and even soul somewhat intact within the one piece of him that had survived that explosion. What good was a comeback if there was no audience?

Then it looks like he’d have to build that audience once more!

“Looks like its time for a fresh start! There’s bound to be more talent I can borrow from somewhere for a brand new season! Even if the rest of the galaxy has forgotten, DreadZone will return as the number #1 show on holovision!”

------------------------------------

I once briefly ran a blog for Gleeman Vox from Ratchet: Gladiator/Deadlocked. The idea behind it that despite his demise following the events of the game, The mad show host had made a data copy of himself by using his wealth, it was stored in the one place he trusted, himself via his cybernetic arm. the data contained memories, records, almost everything vital to Vox in order to keep DreadZone running on the off chance that he ever was caught and cancelled.

Sure enough, The only surviving remnant of Vox after the station’s explosion was that exact same arm. After drifting in space for years, it was retrieved, scanned and eventually found its way to old contacts whom rebuilt a robotic body upwards from the arm itself and used its data as the core. Now Vox had been somewhat revived in a new robotic body but by the time he’d been built up nothing of his former network survived. But it hasn’t stopped him from wanting to rebuild....a man, now machine of his charisma wouldn’t be denied for long.

Sure enough, he’d start returning to his old tricks but now being a machine, he was even more strict and ruthless in ensuring that the new and improved network stayed hidden. In order to do so he began sending search parties to further galaxies to take heroes outside of the Solana Galaxy so the brutal games could resume and not draw immediate suspicion.

I only stopped because I didn’t get much attention to it and I also had concerns as if I can portray Vox properly. I loved him in the game, While Nefarious is among the fave and best of R&C villians, I have a soft spot for Vox which is why I wanted to give him a shot at a comeback.

#Guest Muse: Gleeman Vox #Memes #wildcatofgreen

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

Text

daddy’s girl > andy barber

|| pairing: andy barber x black!reader

|| word count: 4,458

|| warnings: DD/lg, age play, smut, sex, vaginal fingering, thigh riding, praise kink, language words

|| note: this is based on @honeychicanawrites incredible headcanon about being andy’s little and having to deal with neal flirting with you while at work. i hope this is okay... this is my first DD/lg fic, so I’ve been obsessing over getting the details right.. which i hope i did...

gifs are from google. if you made them, or if you know who did, let me know :)

You stand at the copier, biting down on your lip as you zone out while the loud machine runs. It beeps after a second of it being finished and you blink, grabbing your copies before you turn and sit your stack on the counter behind you. You grab the stapler and start separating the copied pages, stapling together a small packet before you move onto make a new one.

You jump and gasp when a hand slips up your skirt and drags along your thigh, “Andy, stop it.”

A broad chest is soon crushed to your back, two hands are around your middle, and two lips nip at your jaw before skimming upward to nibble on your earlobe, “I’m so glad you work with me, baby. I get to tease you all day.”

You click your teeth and roll your eyes playfully, pushing your back into him to try and get him to back away, “You want me to keep working for you, don’t you? We can’t get caught!”

“We won’t,” he whispers as his hands move up to cup your breasts, “Who’s gonna catch us?”

You turn to face him, your eyes wide, your mouth open as you try to speak but before you can, his lips are on yours. He kisses you hard and cups the back of your head with his large hand, pulling you closer (if that’s even possible). You moan, running your hands up his forearms and biceps until they rest on his shoulders. You accept his tongue into your mouth, letting it run along yours before he sucks on it softly. He pulls away from you, but not very far, just enough so that he can lick the inside of your mouth and your top lip.

“Tell daddy you like working with him.”

His voice is so deep, so firm, that it sends a shock right to your core. You feel yourself slipping into your little space at just the name tripping off of his tongue. Daddy. You love making your daddy happy, any time, and usually any place, but... You toss your eyes around and bite down into your lip, “Andy,” you whisper, starting to rock your foot back and forth to resist the urge.

“You’re right,” He groans, resting his forehead to yours, “You’re just so fucking cute.”

You giggle, throwing your arms around his neck, “Maybe we can take a long lunch,” you suggest, kissing his cheek, “You can buy me a happy meal.”

“Sounds like a deal, baby girl.” He chuckles, pulling you back in to kiss your forehead.

He starts to pull away, but you stop him, grabbing his wrist, “You can finger me now, though.” You shrug, “If you want.”

He raises his eyebrow as a smirk crosses his face, “Goddamn, I love you.” He says, slipping his hand around your waist. He pushes his large hand into your panties, his middle finger sliding between your lips to tease your slit.

You grip the lapels of his jacket and grip them in your hands as he forces your legs wider. He plays with you, flicking and rubbing his fingers over your clit until your dripping - which takes little, to no time at all. He teases your opening with his middle finger, then pushes three of his thick digits inside of you, making you squeal.

“Fuck,” you squeak, “Andy.”

He pumps his fingers hard, his palm slamming against your clit as he fucks you up against the supplies counter. He starts to nibble on your neck again, teeth and lips nipping and biting, sucking and licking as you drop your head to his shoulder. He gets a firm grip around your waist with his free arm as he curls his fingers inside of you, massaging your insides with the tips of his fingers.

You slam your eyes shut and bite down on his shoulder, his jacket still balled in your fists. You groan loudly, but Andy is quick to cover your mouth, “Shhh, shh, shh,” he coos into your ear, “Quiet, baby.”

He grabs your hair, pulling hard on the ends to tilt your head up towards his. He stares down at you, his warm breath washing over your face as his blue eyes pierce your brown ones. His tongue snakes out from behind his pink lips to lick your mouth, from your chin, all the way up to the tip of your nose slowly as he continues to pummel your tight, little pussy with his fingers.

You let your head go limp, your eyes close as your body rocks with his fingers - that pull forming in the pit of your stomach. Your body tightens and you hear him growl under his breath, he knows your close.

“God, you are so good,” he groans, “Come on, baby.”

You whine, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you start to writhe as a warmth starts to spread through your veins and across your skin. Just a little more… a few more strokes and you’ll -

“Andy? You in here?”

You jump at the male voice coming from outside the room. You both snap your heads towards the door, “Yeah, I uh, we’ll be out in a second. Trying to get some paperwork ready.”

“Lynn wants to see us.”

“Okay,” Andy answers quickly, anger flashing through him, “Give me a minute, will you Neal?”

“She sounds irritated.” Neal continues from outside.

“Goddamn it!” Andy hisses, pulling his fingers out of you, “Fuckin’ asshole.” He pulls your skirt down, smoothing his hands along your hips to situate your clothing. He kisses you quickly before stuffing his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean, “I’ll take care of you at lunch, promise.”

“Really?” You shriek, your eyes wide as they follow him to the door.

“It’s not me! It’s that fuckin’ prick -”

“Andy?�� Neal knocks again.

“I’m coming! Jesus!”

Without another word, he pushes away from you and heads for the door. You spin around on your heels to face the wall and avoid Neal’s prying eyes as the door opens behind you. You staple some papers, trying to keep it together until the door closes again before you nearly collapse. You drop the stapler and rest your weight against the counter, dropping your head as you push out ragged breaths. Fucking Neal.

You know he did it on purpose. Lynn was just fine before he walked into her office just mere minutes ago. He’s been sniffing around your desk for weeks, slipping in little come on’s and pick up lines into your conversations, all of which you have brushed off and politely declined. He’s starting to get more aggressive - buying you lunch, walking you to the elevator at the end of the day, actively butting into you and Andy’s conversations. Andy has definitely taken notice. Their feud has intensified ten-fold since you’ve started working there to the point where you can feel the contempt between them.

Andy knows you’re all his. He knows there is nothing in this world that could ever tear you away from him - but that doesn’t stop him from getting jealous. Your stomach starts to twist at the thought of how angry he’ll be for the rest of the day, not being able to make you come. He’ll be brimming with anger, but what’s more, frustration. He’ll keep his eyes on you all day, making mental notes on every time you laugh too hard at one of Neal’s jokes, or get a little too close for his liking.

You don’t want your daddy mad.

You finish up with the packets, slowly, giving yourself some time to calm down and recalibrate before you push back out into the bullpen. You sit the stack of papers on his desk and start rearranging it slightly, putting various pens back into the small wire holder, straightening up file folders and loose papers, even grabbing a tissue to wipe away any excess dust on his computer monitor and keyboard before you exit. He likes order. That’ll make him feel better.

Your mind races as you move back to your desk, your thighs sticking together from the wetness still splashed on them. You sit, shaking the mouse to bring your computer back to life and cross your legs, squeezing them together tightly, sending another quick jolt through you. Hell, you should be the angry one. You’re the one whose orgasm was ruined. You’ll have to deal with this aching burn between your legs for the rest of the day, unable to procure any sort of release until you’re home with daddy.

If he isn’t too angry by then, that is.

Your stomach twists again. Lunch! That’s it, you’ll order his favorite lunch, that new little Japanese place. Then you two can go out to his car, drive around the block and have him obliterate your pussy while telling you how much he loves his baby girl in the backseat of that beautiful, expensive Audi. Yes. You grab your phone from your purse and scroll through your calls list, finding the number and tapping on it right when you see Andy, Neal, and Lynn emerge from her office.

Andy’s face is flushed red as he runs his hand through his hair angrily. Neal looks equally as annoyed - his hands in his pockets as he sucks on his teeth. You swallow hard as Andy walks past your desk, not even making the smallest attempt at any eye contact. Fuck. You mumble his order into the phone once the cashier answers and hang up quickly, glancing over your shoulder at Andy’s open door.

He’s slumped in his chair, his chin in his hand, his fingers crossed over his lips as he stares at his computer screen. You turn back to your computer and click on your IM’s, typing out a quick message.

We can skip the happy meal… I ordered lunch for you. That Japanese place you like.

Fine.

Your shoulders slump a little at the short response. Usually, you’d get a little emoji, or a thank you baby, never just fine. He’s mad. Goddamn Neal.

“Hey. I haven’t seen you all day.” Neal smiles as he moves towards your desk.

You take a breath and push it out through your nose before you swallow again, “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, tossing his eyes towards Andy’s office, “Barber keeps you plenty busy, huh?”

You nod, “He’s a busy man. He is the assistant district attorney after all.”

Neal cuts his eyes towards you once he registers your little dig. He smirks and sends his eyes towards the ceiling as he takes a breath. You uncross your legs and start tapping on your keyboard, hoping that he’ll catch the hint that you’re busy and leave you alone - but it backfires. You catch a whiff of yourself, your carnal scent from your still slick muscles, and cross your legs quickly again but it’s too late. You send your eyes to Neal as he squints his eyes and then quickly looks back down at you.

His brown eyes bounce back and forth between yours as a slow, sly smile spreads on his lips. He then glances back towards Andy. You sit back in your chair when he sits on the corner of your desk , unable to wipe the smile off of his face. You feel a pair of eyes on you, burning a hole in the back of your head and your stomach flips again.

Neal leans into you, sniffing the air, “That’s a wonderful scent,” he says loudly, as if he wants a certain someone to hear, “What is that?”

“Chanel no. 5.” You smile, not playing his little game.

He nods slowly, humming slightly, “It’s nice.”

You blink back at him, squinting slightly as your eyes bounce between his, “Thank you.” You respond flatly, leaning back up in your seat to grab your mouse again.

You sneak a glance up at him, blinking as you catch him staring back into Andy’s office. You turn your head, swallowing again as you glance back at Andy. He stares at Neal, an angry smirk on his face as he leans back in his chair. He blinks and shifts his eyes to you - the smirk dropping from his face as he twists back and forth slowly in his chair. Your lips part as you stare back at him, begging him with your wide eyes to not be mad - but he just turns his head and blinks back at his computer screen.

You turn back and face your computer. Fuck.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

Neal’s question makes your breath hitch in your throat. You feel those eyes on the back of your head again - feel your heart fall into the pit of your stomach, “N-no.” You answer softly, keeping your eyes firmly on your email.

Nobody knows about the two of you - nobody. You both agreed it was better that way so you could work directly underneath him. If Lynn finds out, she’ll reassign you, if not fire you all together.

“Really? A pretty little thing like you? Shit,” Neal smiles, glancing off in the distance, “Barber hasn’t tried to snap you up yet?”

You snap your head towards him, “Mr. Barber is a professional, and so am I, Mr. Logiudice.”

He throws his hands up, “I get it, I’m not implying that you aren’t. It’s just, you know, Andy has a type, that’s all.”

“What’s that?” You ask briskly, anger starting to bristle just underneath the surface.

He shrugs, “Brunettes,” he smiles again, looking you up and down, “Why don’t you have dinner with me sometime?” You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off, “You don’t work for me, there wouldn’t be any impropriety here.”

“I don’t think so, Neal. I’m just trying to focus on myself right now. Listen, Mr. Barber’s food is going to be here at any minute, so,” You stand, grabbing your purse, “I’m gonna go grab it.”

You move around the desk, tucking your clutch underneath your arm. Just as you pass by him, Neal reaches out and grabs your arm, stopping you. You turn to face him and watch as he drags his hand down your arm slowly, his fingertips caressing your soft skin as they move, “Just give me a call, hm? You have my number.”

You blink back at him, your mouth hanging open as your eyes bounce between him. You glance quickly over your shoulder but turn back just as fast, not even wanting to see the look on Andy’s face. You pull out of Neal’s grasp and take a step away from him before you hear a door slam behind you.

You turn, watching as Andy pushes past between you and Neal, brushing against him hard enough to make him stumble slightly, “What the fuck, Barber?” Neal growls.

“Mr. Barber?” You call, “Where are you-”

“I’m leaving for the day. Transfer my calls to my phone.” He doesn’t even turn around.

“But, you’re lunch, it’ll be-”

“I’ll get something on the way home.”

He turns the corner and is out of sight within seconds. You stand there, completely dumb founded, staring at the space where he once was. Neal shoves his hands back into his pockets and stands tall behind you, “Somebody is touchy today.”

You scoff, “You’re such a jerk, Neal.”

“I’m a jerk? What did I do?” he smiles, “I thought you said you were single.”

“I am.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Does he know that?”

You roll your eyes hard and scoff again, “Piss off, will you?”

“Oooh,” he chuckles, “Feisty.”

You stomp away from him angrily, your heels clicking against the marble floor. You feel Neal’s eyes on you until you disappear. You pull out your phone as you move towards the large front doors, pushing out into the warm Boston day. You tap on Andy’s name and bring it to your face, biting down into your lip as it rings and rings and rings.

You’ve reached Andy Barber. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.

“Andy,” you whisper, “Daddy, please answer the phone. Don’t be mad at me.”

You tap the end call button and immediately call back, still getting his voicemail. You call a third time. It rings twice and then goes to voicemail. You call again - it goes straight to voicemail.

“Shit.” You whine, stomping your foot.

Tonight is not going to be fun.

----------

You pull into the driveway and park next to his Audi. Your stomach is in knots, you’ve been dreading this moment all day, but at the same time, you can’t wait to burst through the door and confess your love for him - get down on your knees if you have to. You just want him to know that no one could ever steal you away from him.

You move into the house through the back door, closing it softly behind you as you walk into the kitchen, “Daddy, I’m home.” You call.

You don’t get an answer in return. You can hear the TV playing in the living room, Eddie Murphy’s distinctive laugh filling your ears. You sit your purse on the table and start pulling at the bottom of your blouse, wrapping it around your fingers as you start to make your way into the living room. As soon as you spot him on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth set in a hard line, his jaw tight, you drop your eyes to the floor and grab your fingers in your other hand, rubbing them hard.

You roll your ankle, pushing your foot over onto the side, rocking it back and forth as you start to fidget uncontrollably. You ring your fingers in your hand, bite your bottom lip, and blink nervously as you stare at the floor. He finally turns towards you, his eyes hard, his lips tight as he plays with your favorite pink bows in his hand.

“Come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

You bound towards him quickly. You stop just long enough to unzip your shoes, tossing them to the floor before you sit squarely in his lap, throwing your arms around his neck. He’s fuming, his face still red, his eyes dark, but he sweeps your straightened hair out of your face before he cups your cheeks, “He’s trying to take you away from me.” He whispers.

“No daddy,” you say quickly, your voice higher pitched and innocent as you start to regress further, your words slurring slightly, “I’m all yours, he’s not gonna steal me away.”

“You have his number?” He asks, squinting up at you as he recalls the conversation from earlier.

“No!” You exclaim, shaking your head vehemently, “Check my phone daddy, it’s not in there.”

His blue eyes bounce between yours, “Are you lying to me?”

You start to pout, poking your bottom lip out as you furrow your brow, “I don’t lie to daddy.”

“You better not. What does lying get you?”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “A disappointed daddy.” You hate disappointing him.

“And?” He presses further.

“No tweats for a whole day.”

He nods, taking a deep breath before he pushes it out of his nose. You play with the hem of his shirt, casting your eyes away from his and down to your fingers, “Please don’t be mad at me, daddy.” You say softly.

He clicks his teeth after a few seconds, “I’m not mad at you, baby. It’s that fucking asshole, Neal. He just fuckin’,” his words trail off as he sends his eyes towards the windows, his entire body tensing beneath you, “Daddy’s sorry, baby.”

“It’s otay,” You whisper, “He’s not gonna steal me away, daddy. Pwomise.” You reassure him, throwing your arms around his neck to hug him, “I’m all yours, forever and ever.”

“No he’s not,” he says softly, rubbing your back, “He can fuck right off. You are all mine, little one.”

“All yours,” you nod slowly, grabbing the collar of his shirt and twisting it around your finger, “I love you, daddy. You’re the best daddy a girl could have.” You whisper, your eyes cast towards his lips, your voice soft and small.

He smiles softly at you, cupping your face in his large hands again, “And I love my baby. Turn around for daddy, hmm.”

You do as he says, turning in his lap to face the television. You bend your legs behind you, straddling him as he starts to play with your hair. You smile softly as you feel him slide his fingers against your scalp, pulling your hair into two separate sections. He starts to braid it slowly, a french braid that starts at your hairline. You wiggle your hips down onto his thigh, gripping his jeans in your hands.

You start to roll your hips, grinding down onto his thigh as he finishes the one braid, tying off the bottom with your favorite pink bow. You bite down into your bottom lip again and let your eyes flutter shut as you grind against him, moaning and grunting softly as you start to cop a feel against your swollen, sore clit.

He moves to the second section of hair as you let your head fall back on your neck , moaning loudly for the first time, “Look at you,” he says sweetly, twisting and turning his fingers as he braids your hair, “Such a good little girl. You gonna show me who you belong to? Is that it baby?”

You nod quickly as your hips quicken and you drag in a breath between your teeth. You ride his thigh quick and hard as he finishes the second braid. He skips his fingers up your back, one hand gripping your shoulder while the other slips around your side to grab your tits. You run your tongue over your teeth as you groan and reach up to grab his hand on your chest. He teases your nipple through your silk blouse, rolling it between his digits before he just rubs it with the pads of his fingers.

He sits up, crushing his chest to your back as he kisses a trail from the back of your neck up to your ear and grabs it between his teeth. Your hips start to move faster, pushing down harder against his firm thigh as you rock back and forth. He drops his hands to your hips, helping to guide you as his fingers press into your flesh. You start to whimper, throwing your head back as you push yourself closer and closer to a sweet, long overdue release.

“Ooh, daddy,” you pule, your eyes slammed shut as a fire burns in the pit of your stomach, “Daddy, I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me come so hard, daddy.”

“That’s right, baby girl,” he coos, his breath thick with lust and desire, “You come for Daddy like the good little girl you are.”

He pinches the inside of your thigh as you grind against his jeans, slowly applying pressure until your orgasm blooms through your tense body. You scream out into the room as the waves crash over you, each one stronger than the last. Your hips thrash against his thigh as your clit contracts hard - almost painfully so. Before you know what’s happening, you’re suddenly laying on your back on the couch, your legs thrust open as Andy pushes your skirt up your hips.

He fumbles with the button of his jeans, popping it quickly before he unzips himself and pulls his hard cock free. He slaps his dick against your sticky flesh before he slams into you as your orgasms still rumbles through you. He pumps into you hard, making you squeal as each thrust pushes you up the couch. You start to rub your clit with your fingers, quick circles as your hips jump uncontrollably up into his as your synapses continue to fire.

Your daddy always fucks you so good when he’s angry - taking out all of the frustration with Neal on your perfect, pretty little pussy, “You are mine. This cunt is mine, you hear me?” He grunts.

“Yes, daddy!” You mewl, “All yours. I’ll always be your little girl.”

“That’s right. All mine. My little girl.”

He inhales sharply, hissing and grunting as he continues to pound his hips into yours, your hot, wet muscles gripping his cock tight. You start to come again as you rub your clit in hard, fast circles, your pussy squeezing down on him. He grunts one last time and suddenly you're all warm inside as he starts to spill into you. His cock jumps as long, hot ribbons of his spunk coat your insides.

He bucks into you with each spurt of his cock, until he’s milked dry and your second orgasm recedes back into the depths of you, “You are such a good little girl, baby,” he slurs, “Daddy’s best girl.”

He pulls you back up into his lap, staying buried deep inside of you, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You both pant loudly as you try and catch your breath - you close your eyes as you rub your face against the cotton of his t-shirt.

He rubs your back with both of his large hands as he soothes you, “You did so well for me, baby. You make daddy so happy.” You smile into his chest, “You know you’re safe with daddy, right? I’ll never let anybody take you away from me.”

“I know. Daddy loves me.”

“Daddy does love you.”

You smile wide, sending your big eyes up to his, “And I love my daddy.”

He kisses the top of your head, “You want your blankie?”

You nod slowly. He pulls you off of him and situates you on the couch, jogging up the stairs quickly to grab your favorite things. Within minutes, you are back on his lap and in his arms, his cock snuggled deep within your pussy, your body wrapped up in your favorite pink blankie with your small brown teddy bear in your hands. He leans back into the couch as he holds you to him, still running his hands up and down your back as the two of you settle into Beverly Hills Cop playing before you.

“Thirty more minutes and it’s bath time, okay? I’ll give you a treat before bed, and read you a story.”

“Go’dfish and apple juice?” You ask, smiling up at him.

He kisses your lips one, two, three times before he bops your nose, “Anything for my baby girl.”

You nuzzle back into his chest and let out a deep, content sigh. Nobody can ever steal you away from your Daddy. Ever.

#andy barber #andy barber smut #andy barber x black!reader #andy barder x reader #andy barber x you #defending jacob fanfiction #avintagekiss24

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pixie88 · 3 years

Text

Oxford to the Cotswolds

Chapter 23 - Always the Bridesmaid.

A/N: So here it is the LAST chapter of Always the Bridesmaid. I kinda feel sad but I know it’s not the end of H&L.Thanks so much @aussieez for proof reading. Thank you again to all those following this story and continue to follow it, you have no idea how much it means to me that you take the time to read.😘

I’m finalizing my tag list for this over the next few days, so again if you like to be tagged just let me know!

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff & NSFW

Word Count: 2914

Pairings: Laila x Harry

Enjoy! 😘

A week later.

After their little spat, Harry decided maybe now was the time to take up his parents offer of using their cottage. They had their trip planned out, they would leave London on the Sunday morning stop at Oxford for a day or two and get to his parents' cottage on the Tuesday afternoon. "We are staying in an old prison that has been converted into a hotel?" Laila asks as they drove along the M40 "Yeah, I thought it was unusual and right up your street?" he takes his eyes off the road for a second to wink at her "You know the whole cops and robbers thing"

She rolls her eyes and laughs, "I'm guessing you're the criminal?" he smirks. "Nah, I'm a law abiding citizen, my love. You seem like the troublemaker here!" she laughs, "I've been looking up all the sites we need to visit while we are there"

He knew she wouldn't be able to visit a place without doing her research.

"Where do you need to visit then?" she smiles at the fact he asked "So, there is the obvious Bridge of Sighs, which is kind of a copy of the Rialto Bridge in Venice, Carfax tower the views of Oxford, from there are supposed to be amazing, Martyr's Cross which is a cross they have in the road where two Anglican bishops and the Archbishop of Canterbury were burned, oh and there is a Harry Potter tour around the University as some scenes were filmed there and Oxford Castle which is right next door to our prison hotel!"

"Sounds like a couple of days of learning!" he laughs at her "NOT just learning! There is a bar with magical cocktails, ones in test tubes, with fire and even smoke!" she's excited.

Harry doesn't know it, but Laila is a bit of a history buff, if she goes somewhere new she will research the hell out of it. Not long after they moved to London Laila was still adjusting to life in the city, Ezra could see his granddaughter struggling, so he planned a day out with her.

They stood on platform 5 at Harrow and Wealdstone Station "Grandad, where are we going?" she asked him "You will see when we get there!" he smiles at her. The train ride wasn't long. Fifty minutes later they pulled into Bletchley Station "Grandad, why are we here?" he chuckled "And I thought you knew everything about World War 2!" he winks at her, but it doesn't click until 10 minutes later when they were standing outside Bletchley Park.

Laila's eyes are wide "Oh my god!! This....this is where Alan Turing cracked the enigma machine!!" she squealed with excitement before hugging him. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she's beaming, she takes his hand and drags him through the doors.

This was one thing he and his granddaughter had in common, was their interest in World War 2. They spent hours looking around the huts where it all happened. He never saw her face light up so much as she looked around at the artefacts. They had a look around Station X (National Radio Centre) and when they finally reached the Mansion Laila was overjoyed "Grandad, just think all those people that helped crack the code have been in this very room...no house!!"

They spend hours looking around, before grabbing something to eat at hut 4 "Grandad, just think this is where they would get lunch or even dinner!" she looks around the hut "Laila, just think while they were here no one knew! They had to lie about working here, they couldn't tell anyone even family members. They had to take a vow of silence" he said.

This rang true, as years later Max was building an annex for a couple at the end of their garden and when he got talking to the Nan, whom the annex was being built for she told him how her mum worked at Bletchley Park and had to take a vow of silence which she kept until the park reopened as a museum in 1994.

When it was time to go home Laila couldn't thank him enough for taking her there "Just don't tell your brothers!" she laughs, "I've taken the Bletchley Park vow of silence!"

They finally arrived, Harry pulls into a parking space outside the hotel and a valet comes over Harry hands him the keys and they head in with their cases. They check in; "you will be on the fifth floor in room 135, so take the lift to the right once you go through those doors. Here is your room key and enjoy your stay!" she smiles. "I'm sure we will!" Harry grins at her before they make their way to their room.

"Did you ever watch the TV show Bad Girls?" Laila asks him as the lift takes them to the fifth floor. "I did! Izzy made me watch it with her. That woman that played Yvonne plays Shirley from Eastenders now, doesn't she?" she laughs, "I thought you don't watch it?" she nudges him as the doors open "I don't but when you put it on what am I supposed to do?" he winks.

"129...130...4 more rooms to go," she calls behind her. "Actually 5 more my love," he laughs, she turns to look at him "No! You don't include our room!" she protests. "I think you do," he laughs at her. "NO! No, you don't," he doesn't argue with her.

They dump their bags and head out to look around the city "Oh, they have a Harry Potter tour" Laila's tone is ecstatic, Harry sighs "Don't you want to do it?" she asks "If you want to we will do it" her eyes scan his face "Did the kids in school use to take the piss out of you in school because you had the same name?" she asks, he laughs, "No, if anything they used to call me...oh what was his fat mate called?"

"Crabbe?" she looks at him. "Yeah, that's the one," he offers a weak smile, she runs her fingers through his hair before her arms cling around his neck "Well, who's laughing now? I bet a lot of the girls and boys that bullied you regret it now! You are handsome, fit, funny and you are mine" she winks, he can't help smiling at her "And I have a drop dead gorgeous girlfriend" he says making her blush.

"We'll do something else," she smiles at him and kisses his lips "No, we'll do the tour if you want to!" she looks how long the tour is "2 hours, argh, I'd rather be doing some kinda cardio" he looks at her confused and she laughs, "use your imagination, you are a personal trainer" she winks. He quickly gets the hint "Right, what do we need to look at before I drag you back to the hotel?" he grins at her.

Later.

After dinner, they had back up to their room, "I'm going for a shower" Laila winks at him "OK, I'll grab one after you," she smirks "I was thinking more along the lines of you joining me," she doesn't have to ask him twice, he picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist as he walks them to the bathroom.

After their shower, Laila notices the chocolate on the bed as she's drying herself. "Oh wow! They're shaped like handcuffs!" she giggles "Hmmm.....that reminds me," he wanders over to his case in just his towel and pulls out a pair of metal handcuffs. "And what do you intend to do with those Mr. Taylor?" she bites her lip "Oh, maybe make an arrest," he winks at her, she notices his arousal through the towel "Oh, on what grounds?" she asks.

"Hmmm....for being stubborn and sarcastic, but also gorgeous, funny, adorable and extremely impossible not to fall in love with" he stands in front of her, pulling off her towel until it drops to the floor. He cups her face, his thumb runs over her lips before capturing them with his, he lifts her arms above her head and his hands run up her arms before he suddenly cuffs her hands.

She smirks against his lips "Oh, PC Taylor, what do I have to do to get you to uncuff me?" his kiss becomes more intense. She drops her hands, so they are wrapped around his neck, he moves them until the backs of her knees hit the bed. They fall onto it with Harry landing on top of her "Well, Miss. Carelli, I think you can convince me somehow" his fingers finds her core.

She hisses at the contact, his other hand comes up and pins her arms above her head as he found her slick petals. "I thought I was the one who had to.....oh shit...convince you to free me," she can barely get her words out, his lips find her pulse line "How exactly are you planning on doing that?" he smirks against her neck.

"Stand up and I'll show you," he does as she says, she sits up and pulls off his towel. Grasping him, she works her hand along him a few times before her mouth follows the same path, he groans as his hips thrust forward in need. Her pillowy lips work along his hardened member, he grunts as her jaw slacks, taking him in further "Fuck...." he mutters.

He rocks his hips back and forth as her tongue runs along the ridges of his cock, he grips a fistful of her hair. His head fell back as he groans, "That's...it gorgeous! Fuck...". She hums against him and her pace moves faster. His knees bucks, her apex is throbbing as she feels him nearing the edge "Laila....I'm...gonna....fuck!" he jerks as he hits his climax and he groans.

She releases him from her mouth and looks up at him. "Are you going to uncuff me now?" she asks as she's sat on her feet, he looks down at her with a grin. He lifts her up and throws her onto the bed, making her giggle "Hey, you said would take these off!" he has a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, Miss. Carelli! I prefer to have you like this, sorry." he captures her lips.

"That's not fair......." she protests, but she soon cuts off as he moves down her body to her centre, his hands grasp the back of both her thighs. His tongue moves apart her folds "Oh Harry!" she moves her arms to run her fingers through his hair. He pulls away, lifts her arms above her head again and kisses her lips "Keep them there!" he tells her before moving back to her core.

Her breathing hitches, he sucks against her clit, making her cry out "Ohhh"

A little later.

His legs are entwined with hers beneath the sheets, she's cuddled up against him as her head rests on his chest "When we get back do you think we should look at properties?" she lifts up and places her hand against his chest stroking his chest hair, looking up to him. He smirks at her, "definitely!" he strokes her hair away from her face "What if we have a look online now?" she stares into his ocean blue eyes and bites her lip waiting for his response.

He reaches for his phone "Let's have a look," he loads up and scrolls through the properties. "What are we going for?" he asks "Somewhere with gates, private drive and pool," she laughs, he digs his fingers into her ribs and she tries to wiggle away "Ahhhh! Harry! Stop!!" his phone is discarded, he cups her face and claims her lips.

His body covers hers and he takes her against.

The next day.

They are back in the car on the way to Harry's parents cottage in Wyck Rissington, Gloucestershire.

Along the way they find a supermarket and grab a few essentials before they continued their drive. They arrive at the cottage 10 minutes later "Aww wow! This is cute!" she smiles as they get out the car. "And it's ours for the next few days" he winks at her.

They head inside, "wow, look at those beams!" she points up at the ceiling. "Have you been here before?" she looks to Harry. "Nah, Mum and Dad haven't let any of us use it...well until now" he winks.

Once they bring in their bags inside, he takes her hand and they have a look around when Harry spots a hot tub outside "Oh, what do we have here?" he nods as he opens the door "I didn't bring a swimsuit!" he has a devilish grin. "Who said anything about swimsuits?" she bit her lip and shook her head at him.

Harry runs Laila a bubble bath with candles around the tub and told her to relax while he cooked dinner. The water was warm against her skin as she sinks into the bathtub, a minute or so later there is a knock on the bathroom door before Harry wanders in with a glass of wine "Here you go, my love," she smiles up at him as she takes the glass "Thank you! So, what's for dinner?"

He leans over kisses her nose and winks "You'll find out when it's on the table. Now enjoy." He leaves her to it.

34 minutes later.

Laila walks into the bedroom and Harry has laid out a dress grey dress on the bed for her to wear. She smiles and starts to get dressed, underneath she puts on some lacy lingerie she had brought for the trip. When she's dressed, she goes in search for Harry, as soon as she saw him, she blushes but can't help but laugh.

"Harry!! What are you doing?" he's stood in the kitchen in just an apron and his boxers, he looks up at her and grins. "You've heard of the Naked Chef right?" he winks. "But he isn't actually naked!" she laughs at him. "I'm not either! I was thinking about it but I thought that would be unsanitary. I see you're wearing the dress I picked out for you." She makes her way over to him.

"Yeah, but the view would be...very sexy," she squeezes his behind "What's for dinner?" she looks around him on the kitchen side "Ah, ah, ah go and sit down," he moves, so she can't see, she sighs, "Fine!" Laila pulls out her phone and sends a picture she took earlier.

Laila looks over to Harry, biting her lip and he catches her checking him out. "You realise I'm not dinner right?" He says. She looks up catching his eye, "might not be dinner, but there is always dessert!" She winks twirling her hair. He chuckles turning back to cooking.

She puts down her phone as he comes over with 2 plates, placing them on table. "Ooo spaghetti and meatballs!" he pours them more wine, Laila twirls her fork collecting the spaghetti "Did you ever see the film The Lady and the Tramp?" she looks over to him. "I have. Mila made me watch it once." He laughs. "Do think we can do a Lady and the Tramp kiss?" she hold up a a string of spaghetti and he chuckles "We can try. Let me put it in my mouth first" Laila cracks and can't help but laugh "OH MY GOD!!"

"Come on, let's give it ago!" He takes the end of the spaghetti and lifts the other side to Laila, she takes it in her mouth and begins to get closer to Harry until their lips are just above each other's. He brushes his lips lightly over hers before pulling away. "Come on, eat up" he smiles at her and she rolls her eyes at him.

After dinner, he takes their plates. "I'll wash them up," she offers. "You can or I can put them in the dishwasher," he jokes, "Actually, you load the dishwasher. I'm going to start up the hot tub!" she gets up from the table "Already done, my love!" he winks at her. "Oh OK!" she stands and lets her dress fall off her shoulders until it's a puddle on the floor.

He looks her up and down. "I didn't bring a swimsuit, but this will do?" say asks as she makes her way to the back door. His eyes never leave hers, she grins, knowing she had him hook, line and sinker. He quickly closes the dish washer and chases after her, she squeals running from him and towards the door.

@lem-20 @aussieez @secretaryunpaid @irisofpurple @khoicesbyk @txemrn @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer @tea-me-kah @casualpostqueen @beautifuluknownvoid @wombatsxkookaburras

Their moans fill the night sky, both are blissfully happy.

Series 2 - Chapter 1

#atb #Always The Bridesmaid #final chapter #original writing #harry x laila #oxford #oxford castle #oxford martyr #oxford university #malmaison oxford #Original Work #original character #original story #@pixie 88 original

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the-river-person · 3 years

Text

Falling Down Around You

Sans had been helping the Guard. His shortcuts were one of the most useful things he could provide to the Underground. It was why he’d kept his job as a messenger and mail carrier despite being the Judge, despite being a practicing psychiatrist. He could jump around the Underground in a few minutes, a journey which might take several days depending on which areas you needed to go through. The fastest road might take you from Old Home to the Castle in New Home in a few hours if you ran the whole way and didn’t stop to talk to anyone. But even the Human had originally taken a few weeks to make the whole trip, because they’d been stopped by numerous puzzles, Monsters who wanted to fight them, and even things like buying things at a shop or getting a room at the Inn. A closed down elevator or a blocked tunnel could delay you even longer, and what if you kept being forced down side routes? So if someone needed a message delivered right then and there, they could either send a text or call. But what happened when you needed to deliver something? Or someone? What happened when the person you’re trying to reach wouldn’t answer? The answer was simple. Call someone who can go there in a flash. And of course he’d been happy enough to do it all. Kept things interesting, let him hear news. Occasionally important things would go through from Gaster or the Royals. He’d be the first to hear about Mettaton’s newest shows. It was he who’d been able to congratulate Undyne on her first ever action film even before Alphys could. All the best Undertube videos, the most interesting articles on the Undernet, even plans for new puzzles. He heard about all of it as he zipped back and forth. Tonight however, he’d taken more shortcuts than ever before. First the King and Queen to Snowdin for Isa, then he’d taken them back to the Palace and immediately began transporting to the furthest areas of the Underground. Looking for the most obscure and hidden Monsters to let them know about the King’s order for evacuation. And he’d even helped special cases out for the guard, transporting fire Monsters who couldn’t enter in through the Waterfall Area, or various Monsters from Old Home who couldn’t easily pass through Snowdin Caverns. Then a Guard had asked him to go down to the Lower Waterfall City in the Cliffs and the Outpost below in the Depths to help transport people out so the elevators would be freed up a little. He had to pause and crouch down, his skull nearly level with his knees. Dizziness was making his head feel fuzzy, but he didn’t want to spend too long recovering from it. A real break would be needed soon or he’d regret it. When he had enough strength back he took a shortcut to Gaster’s cave. Asgore and Toriel were up on the platform with Gaster. He headed that way. “Hey Tori,” he said, and she turned with...well... not quite a smile, but more of a flicker of polite recognition. “Have you seen Papyrus?” She shook her head. “I haven’t, but Gaster said he went to inspect the ship, I think he is still on board.” Sans gave a small sigh of relief. Really there hadn’t been too much to worry about. They were trying to hurry with the evacuation because they wanted as much time as possible in case something went wrong or some Monster was missing. And there wasn’t anyone that could really do his bro any harm, or would even want to. But he’d still felt the icy chill of panic throughout this whole thing. Over near the catwalk, Seamus was packing up the last of the recording equipment, with his husband Evan helping him. Mettaton was nowhere to be seen, and Sans decided that the robot had probably either already boarded the ship or was in line somewhere. Or maybe searching for Napstablook. Over the years the two had had a strange friendship, though neither had ever really said how it came about. And the ghost had become somewhat less self depreciating and a little more confident in their abilities. Really their music had been in the top musical hits chart for over a hundred years now, even the newer albums were popular. Even so, Napstablook was still somewhat gloomy, and that was alright. Nobody could ever match the constant energy that Papyrus had. If Napstablook wanted to be a little gloomy and enjoy long periods of solitude, that was their right. Still working at the computers in the section of the cave that served as Gaster’s lab was one of his assistants. Tertia, who was bird-like and hunched over. She poked at the keys in manner that might have seemed like boredom to anyone else, but Sans knew it was just her way. All four of Gaster’s assistants were very strange Monsters. Suddenly the cave shook. Lights flickered as the very roof of the cave trembled, screams and gasps came from the lines of Monsters waiting to board the ships. Alarms began blaring loudly and little red lights began flashing all over the cave. Gaster whirled round. “What is it? What’s happening?” he demanded of his assistant who was now typing frantically away at the keyboard, trying to find the source. Down below the Monsters were beginning to panic and the Guard was having to step in to keep things from getting out of hand. Tertia gasped, her grey eyes going wide, the most expressive face he’d ever seen on any of the assistants. “It’s the Core! It’s experiencing an overload! It’ll go down in just a few minutes!” Gaster’s mouth fell open in shock. It was only for half a second that he stood there, but with everyone staring at him, waiting for him to carefully explain to them what that meant exactly and what they should do, it seemed like an eternity of waiting. When he finally did move it was neither carefully nor calmly. The scientist threw himself forward towards the ledge looking down on the ship, grabbing the rails to push himself up so that he was right above where the Guards were. “GET EVERYONE ON THE SHIP NOW! DON’T COUNT THEM! JUST BOARD!” Pandemonium ensued. Monsters surged towards the doors of the ship, climbing aboard with the assistance of the Royal Guards, who were doing their best to keep smaller Monsters from being trampled in the chaos. Gaster was halted by Toriel and Asgore who were demanding to know what was happening. But he had no patience for careful explanations. He dove past them and started grabbing files and notebooks off his desk and stuffing everything haphazardly into a briefcase. “It’s the core!” he screeched, almost in hysterics. “If it falls the entire grid will go down. It won’t be enough to kill anyone as long as they aren’t in the machine itself, but the shock wave will be enough to reach this cave. The ship is programmed to open a Rift in the event of an apocalyptic emergency, and it will think this is one!” Glancing behind and seeing their blank expressions he growled in frustration. “Don’t you get it?! If we don’t get on board the ship will leave without us!” That did it, horrified understanding dawned in the eyes of the two Monarchs and they ran for the stairways along with the rest of the crowds. But the lines still stretched out through Waterfall, there were still over 600 Monsters who hadn’t gotten the chance to board yet. Feeling sick to his stomach, Sans wondered for a second what he should do. Shortcuts. He could save some people. Seamus and Evan were making for the stairs as well and he ran to catch up with them. Grabbing their arms he used a shortcut to tear all three of them from their current position in space and onto the ship, where he left them confused and disoriented, and took a shortcut back. Next was Tertia, who was sitting, not moving, in her chair, staring blankly at the computer screen in shock. She didn’t thank him as he handed her over to the Guards in the ship’s hold. He’d gone back for Gaster when he spotted Realis enter the cave looking frantic. Running that way instead he brought the prince into the ship as well. Monsters outside were desperately pushing relatives, especially younger ones, forward. Though there were no real children left after three hundred years, many still appeared to be children, and their parents lifted them high, ignoring their protests, and practically handed them to the Guards, who took them into the ship. Cousins, lovers, and friends were shoved forward, and other Monsters who only had themselves to worry about pushed their way to the front. He saw Papyrus pull a Froggit as well as both Bratty and Catty into the ship all at the same time. Even Monster Kid had leaned back as far as he could to take the tiny Cinnamon with the curl of his tail while Goner helped Cinnamon’s older Sister, Lapina, climb up using his tail. A tiny yellow bird who had once carried people across a disproportionately small gap was clinging to her fur, terrified out of its mind. Where had Gaster gone to? He spotted Gaster fiddling with the computers, Sans appeared behind him and saw the little storage chip he’d plugged into slot. The Scientist was trying to copy over his research. “Doc! Come on! There’s no time!” And there wasn’t time. The surge from the collapsing Core hit and the cavern shook again and the lights went out, leaving only the ship and it’s power system separate from the main grid still lighting the space. Screaming and panicked shouting rang out and the Monsters nearest to the ship were forced back. The Rift had begun to open up underneath the floor of the cave. Papyrus was looking frantically around the cave, pushing against his own guards as they tried to close the doors for their fall into the Void. “SANS!!!” he screamed. Sans was only a few steps from the edge of the platform, right over the ship. He didn’t think, he only moved. He was already in the air when he realized that Gaster was with him, having tried to stop him from making the jump and fallen with him. To all those still in the cave it appeared as if a gigantic flat disk of nothingness you couldn’t describe that had no color to speak of but wasn’t black or white and could be seen even in the dark despite not giving off any light had opened up where the floor was supposed to be. The Ship and the pair of falling Monsters seemed to slow and freeze in place, then slowly... without moving, they simply began to fade away as if they had never been. And with them went the strange grey disk that made up the Rift. From San’s point of view the world around him began to warp and twist as if it were being turned inside out. He could still see the Monsters in Gaster’s cave, but instead of the cave being all around him, it was as if the space around him had been turned inside out and shaped into an orb, leaving only the Void around him as he fell away from the orb. It got smaller and smaller until it was gone, and so was the ship. He and Gaster were adrift in the Void.

#Gaster #w d gaster #sans the skeleton #undertale #aeontale #undertale au #the great papyrus #toriel dreemurr #asgore dreemurr #burgerpants #nice cream guy #the undernet #the underground #mettaton #napstablook #asriel dreemurr #the void undertale #gaster followers

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bastardsunlight · 3 years

Text

WIP snippet meme thing tagged by @avi17

Tagging @daughterofnero and @heamatic

Post a snippet of a thing you're working on

“Earthrealm’s champion is a mighty warrior,” Raiden observes, wrapping a cloth bandage around Shang Tsung’s right hand and wrist with firm care. His glowing eyes are downcast, watching his work, his mind a million miles away. The sorcerer recognizes the distance and reaches out with his as-yet unwrapped hand to tilt the thunderer’s chin upward so their eyes meet, bright and dark. There is still that old thrill of excitement, meeting those strange eyes and Tsung is surprised by his own enthusiasm. This is why I keep him around, he tells himself, as if in a last-ditch effort to maintain control over his emotions. Raiden, as no one else in his life, has been able to step effortlessly past the walls the sorcerer has built to protect himself—his mind and heart, so damaged and broken from a young life in the gutters of an unforgiving city—to lay hands upon the deepest parts of him. He fears this, loathes it, in a way, because it symbolizes his ultimate weakness, the largest gap in his otherwise impenetrable armor. Yet he, ever at war with himself, loves it, deeply and completely, craving the nakedness such intimacy brings.

[[MORE]]

“I am also a mighty warrior, old friend,” Shang Tsung reminds Raiden, pressing his lips to the corner of the former deity’s mouth. Raiden does not smile and the gesture is, for once, unable to pull him back from his distraction. The sorcerer begins to wonder if the man has not lived these moments before. They have spoken little of Raiden’s life before it became entangled with that of his chosen champion and for many years, that had been just fine, a mystery which would reveal itself or which Shang Tsung would unwrap with great care and gentleness, as he had unwrapped the man’s habit on that fateful night just after he had secured Earthrealm’s safety for ten generations. He of insatiable greed cannot, naturally, hold back that curiosity for eternity and soon he will enquire after it. For now, he supposes, speculation will do.

“And you are fighting on behalf of your Emperor,” says Raiden sourly, knowing what has to happen, what must be done in order for time to continue its course. He has had many conversations with Lord Liu Kang on this exact subject and even a few with Shang Tsung, who, upon meeting Shao Kahn, took an immediate interest, if not an outright liking to him. “His tactics,” the sorcerer had declared, “are far too brutal for someone so old; one might have learned subtlety by now.” But the subtlety had come from somewhere behind the throne—if Quan-Chi’s brand of mad soul sorcery could be called subtle. In other timelines, Raiden reminds himself, he is insidious; now he is a raving zealot with my father’s head whispering blasphemies to him. But he is still dangerous. By winning the Kahn’s favor in the first tournament, Shang Tsung had ousted Quan-Chi as Shao Kahn’s favorite sorcerer; the great Emperor had even granted Tsung the use of Quan-Chi’s flesh pits, an offer Shang Tsung had graciously accepted out of pure, human curiosity.

It is said—in whispers, mind; no one would speak such a thing aloud—that the Kahn’s lovely daughter, Mileena, had been created here, that she is not his flesh and blood, but a copy of the girl Sindel had borne to Jerrod of Edenia. Shang Tsung’s informants had soon given him even more detail about her creation and the reason behind it. “Evidently,” he had told his divine consort one evening as the breeze became chilly off that weird ocean and they lay together under furs, “that mad fool, Quan-Chi, claimed he had the power of something called an Elder God—that he could reverse death. Sindel’s little Kitana was too far gone, they said, and her mind was in shambles. Clever Quan-Chi used his creation, Mileena, to save the Empress and make himself valuable to the great Kahn. How is that for family melodrama?” The power of the Kahn had been such that no one questioned Mileena’s place at his side and her mother, the queen Sindel, had regrettably gone quite mad and so only wanted a daughter to love and dote upon.

“Yes I am, pet, at your suggestion—or have you forgotten?” Shang Tsung’s grip has not relinquished its hold on Raiden’s chin, but he does not pull away.

“No,” he says quietly, “I have not.” Some things, certain events, must happen in order to keep the sands of time from shifting out of control, Raiden reminds himself. Liu Kang had told him that this is one of those events. The new keeper of time, thankfully, is not so cryptic as Raiden’s own, past self—or doomed future self, as time rolls. On the other hand, he is also not dying.

“Do you regret advising me this way?” Shang Tsung’s hand has slid its way around the back of Raiden’s neck under his hair, which is secured with a simple, but pretty hairpin of gold. The sorcerer’s forehead presses forward and their knees touch as he leans into his lover, drawing strength from their proximity. “It is my right to challenge him, as former champion, and as my island sits between all realms, I can ally myself with whomever I choose, can I not?”

“You can,” breathes Raiden, “and his choice of you as his ally and favored sorcerer has angered Quan-Chi, who now seeks to upset the empire of Outworld.”

Shang Tsung does not speak. This is more than Raiden has ever said about his own machinations. The sorcerer is under no impression that his companion is a true fool or simpleton in any way, but his sincerity often gives that impression, so hearing this side of things thrills him. He would take Raiden right here if his match was not coming up shortly. He may still do so; there can be time for them… there is always time for him.

“Even now, in his fury at the affront to him and therefore to his mad, dark god, he is opening a rift between Outworld and…. Elsewhere.” Raiden’s eyes close and he sighs deeply.

“So his dark god… does exist?” Only now does Shang Tsung interpose his voice, so curious is he about the goings-on of the divine aspects of a world which has known few gods. Raiden sighs, shoulders sagging. He signals for his champion’s other hand and it drops gently and obediently from the back of his neck to his lap. Shang Tsung flexes the other one, testing its strength carefully, drawing away from Raiden to sit up straight and regard him intently.

“Yes,” Raiden says eventually, “he is—a remnant of a… dead timeline.”

Shang Tsung feels his heart beat a little more quickly then. Timelines and worlds apart from his own—what riches and knowledge such a thing must hold. But dead? How can a timeline die? How can a world die? Aside from merging with another, a realm can never cease to exist, can it? He makes a mental note to check his library for any old texts which might hint at such a thing, though he is fairly certain if he possessed such a tome, he would remember it.

“And this rift?”

“Could be disastrous for Outworld, but its opening will ensure the Shokan people never ally with Shao Kahn, forcing him to rely upon the Tarkatan tribes as his foot soldiers. They are mighty and many, but…”

The lack of prince Goro in the next tournament ensures long life for Kung Lao, the soft-spoken, humble choice of Lord Liu Kang. A Tarkatan champion might be a worthy foe, but they, at least, only have two arms apiece. This shifts the sands of time, but not beyond Lord Liu Kang’s ken and control. Shang Tsung still fights for Outworld and Kung Lao still faces him. “And if the Tarkatan are allied to the throne of Outworld, the Osh-Tekk will not be; that is an old feud, and a bloody one.”

“So, my sweet, gentle emissary has a few schemes in him, does he?” Shang Tsung’s voice is a purr as Raiden passively finishes wrapping his hand and wrist.

“A few,” Raiden agrees.

“You are destabilizing an entire realm, o’ exquisite one,” continues the sorcerer. “I admire your ruthlessness.”

Raiden looks up and their eyes meet. Shang Tsung is hungry, his gaze roaming over the thunderer as if the man were utterly naked before him. Raiden knows Kung Lao will win—he must, for the sake of the timeline—and knows he will spare Shang Tsung which, in another life, embitters him and sends him limping foolishly back to a pitiless ruler who punishes his failure. This, Raiden knows, is something Quan-Chi would love to see, though the Netherrealm sorcerer’s mind is currently elsewhere. Shang Tsung is not the only one with informants. This time, however, Shang Tsung will not return to Shao Kahn, as his servitude is a ruse. Still, Raiden worries…

That worry presently evaporates as Shang Tsung’s oh-so-clever hands find his thighs beneath the layers of cloth which conceal them and push them gently apart. He is seated on an ornate bench of dark, carved wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and shaped with sensual elegance. It is an ideal place for someone as beautiful as Raiden to be seated—or so Shang Tsung opines. The cushion beneath him is comfortable, the best there is, and it supports him pleasantly as his former student drops to his knees between great, powerful thighs, looking up with glittering, obsidian eyes, asking only the permission of the deity-who-was.

“I would offer more,” Shang Tsung asserts with the weight of years and complete devotion dripping honey over every word, “but…” His eyes dart minutely to the door which will lead out and down to the arena for Final Kombat. His look flashes annoyance, as if the event were a mere inconvenience. Right now, it is, of course, and will be treated as such.

Raiden can feel his pulse rising, core beating hard in his broad chest, and a gentle flush of red-gold crossing fine-boned features. A distant rumble of thunder from an unexpected storm whispers of deep, aching desire, but the sorcerer awaits Raiden’s express permission. Coercion will simply not do.

#WIP #warring exes #asonedoes #aboutraidenmeta

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tessiete · 3 years

Text

Yeah, yeah, yeah another prompt fill that came from DMs. And also was my fault. @treescape asked for prompts and I um, offered this, and immediately took it back, and didn’t even do a very good jobby on it so. *shrug*

Anyway! A vague continuation of The Punishment of Silence, post Order 66

THE HOPE OF ORPHANS, AND UNFATHERED FRUIT

He wakes to silence. There is nothing except the sound of his own breath being scraped from his lungs like wax under fingernails, the beating of his heart against his ribs, and the creak of his bones. There is nothing else. Even his cry of terror has died upon his lips, unfledged and unrealised in this void. He is all alone.

“We’ll be coming out of hyperspace soon.”

He hardly recognises the voice, hardly hears the words as he reaches for the only source of warmth and light in space. Beside him, tucked securely between his chest and the wall, is a heavy bundle of coarse wool, and worn linen. Within it, the weakly struggling flesh of new life.

“Hush, Luke,” he whispers, and even his voice is absent.

But Luke...Luke is here. With him. Luke is golden. Luke is the sun, and he shines so brightly that for a moment, the absence of stars is obscured by the break of dawn, and he turns his face to meet it. Luke cries, his voice wet with the sorrow of Obi-Wan’s soul, and he weeps where Obi-Wan cannot.

“Master Kenobi?” The voice calls again. It is young, too, and threaded with uncertainty as it seeks a mooring in this black new world. “Master Kenobi, I need your help.”

He must answer it.

But he is wrung dry, having wasted it all in the desert of affection.

“They’re asking for a landing code,” the boy says. “They want to search the ship.”

“Let them,” he replies. “We’ve nothing for them to find.”

He adjusts the swaddling around the babe, pulling the folds up higher until the little face is barely visible, and drawing up his hood until his own face is shadowed and obscured.

The pilot fumbles for the comm, but hesitates before he makes the call.

“Master, we haven’t got the clearance,” he says. “I tried Republic codes but they’re all invalid, and I daren’t use a - a Jedi -”

“No.”

“Master, they’re waiting.”

Outside the viewport, Tatooine looms larger, and larger, round and golden, like the husk of a burnt out star. Just endless swathes of sand and stone. A barren rock. The twin suns watch, and Obi-Wan feels his hackles rise, as though he were prey under the baleful gaze of a predator in the night.

“Tell them whatever you must,” he sighs. His shoulders slump, and his eyes close. He is weary.

He cannot see the way his pilot stares at him, hopeful, and waiting. He doesn’t want to. The weight of his need is punishment enough. Luke is light in his arms, and he rocks him gently.

“This is the pilot of The Slip, Corellian class YT-1300 AUX requesting permission to land.”

“Airbase to Slip , have you got those docking permits yet?”

A single, shimmering breath, and the pilot answers, “No. But we - I can pay you.”

Obi-Wan does not object.

“What sort of payment we talking?”

“What do you care, so long as you get your money?”

“I don’t know,” replies the man. “You bargain like a pirate, but you sound like a kid. I ain’t convinced you got anything I want.”

He can feel his eyes upon him, but he cannot tear his own away from the babe. He is preoccupied with this one last precious thing. The pilot grits his teeth, and replies with all the arrogance of his past life. “Well, how about this - if you don’t like it, you can shoot me when I get there?”

There is silence on the other end, then the comm crackles back to life. The deck officer’s voice rasps with laughter. “Alright, kid,” he says. “You got a deal. Hope you ain’t got family to miss you. We’ll see you at Dock 3, on the south side.”

“Dock 3,” says pilot. “Copy that.”

“And kid? Don’t try anything stupid.”

He takes the ship in with a steady hand, but as they get closer and closer Korkie feels his breath quicken in anticipation. They haven’t got anything to pay with. They have no credits, no valuables, nothing personal which might tie them back to the Core, or worse, to the Temple. He doesn’t worry so much for himself, having no particular training in the Force, nor any distinctly Jedi affectations. His borrowed robes he discarded on Polis Massa, but his father…

Obi-Wan is unmistakably a Jedi in his sand coloured tunics, and thick, wool cloak meant for all terrains but a blazing desert. However, there is one appurtenance which may work in their favour -

Everyone knows that Jedi have no children, and he will not relinquish Luke.

“Slip to base: Docking clamps locked, and pressure restored to atmo baseline. Please advise.”

There is sweat beading upon his upper lip. Obi-Wan rocks Luke as he fusses, awakened by the sounds of noise outside. People are waiting for them.

“This is Squaddy Redsun. Lower your ramp, and prepare for immediate boarding.”

He looks to the Jedi, and gathers himself. There is nothing on the ship, and so there is nothing to pack or take as they leave, but still, he casts one last look at the cockpit. Then, he ushers his father forward, through the main hold, and to the head of the ramp. He presses the pair to the side, leaving them just out of plain sight, and so wrapped up in the folds of Obi-Wan’s cloak and each other as to be indistinguishable from shadow. He steps back. He strikes the button to lower the ramp with an open palm. Sunlight floods the hold, and he is left blinking and blind as a rough voice calls to him.

“You the captain, then, kid?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. He can see a man clad in worn leathers, and decorated in the gleaming white bone of some fearsome beast. Beside him, two others with wrist guards, and pikes. He makes no attempt to resist as the guards approach, and does not fight as he is grabbed by the elbow and shoved down the ramp by the first.

But the second has discovered Obi-Wan, and grabs at him with the same barbarity. The Jedi flinches away, and curls around himself. One pale hand reaches back, and Korkie can feel the air turn electric.

“No!” he cries, startling both the guard and Obi-Wan, the warning clear in the fraught timbre of his voice. “He has a child,” he says. “He’s harmless. But there’s a child. Please. I am the pilot. This is my ship.”

“And who is he then?” Redsun demands.

“No one,” says Korkie. “A refugee of - of Mandalore.”

“He don’t look like no hunter.”

Korkie shrugs, watching closely as Obi-Wan descends untouched, the guard at his elbow. “I don’t know that he has enough left to look like anything.”

“Ha,” chortles Redsun. His men laugh, too. “Then I suppose it’s you what has my payment. Docking codes don’t come cheap.”

“No, sir,” says Korkie. “I - I haven’t any credits.”

“That Republican dross is no good out here, any way,” Redsun spits. “Now, where’s my pay?”

The guards edge closer, and Luke chokes on a feeble cry.

“Hush, dear heart,” murmurs Obi-Wan. “Hush, sweet thing. And sleep.”

“The ship!” says Korkie. “You can take the ship. It’s in fine working order, and the hyperdrive is good for your smaller jumps. I -”

His neck snaps, his teeth snap together, and he can taste blood as a fist connects with his cheek. It leaves him staggering, and spitting into the sand. Luke begins to wail. The sound rings out around him, but he struggles to place its source. Nearby, he knows. They must still be beside him. He reaches out and catches the edge of heavy wool in his grip.

“None of that banthashit, boy!” shouts Redsun, and he is near as well. He can smell the man as he comes closer, still. “That ship ain’t worth half the trouble you’ve caused. What else you got?”

“Nothing,” he pleads, struggling upright again. The guard at his side restrains him. “Nothing. But take the ship, and I can - I can work for you. You can garnish my wages -”

“Garnish your wages? What kind of -” A blaster primes. He hears the pitch rise with the charge until it disappears. “Now, we had a deal,” says Redsun. “You pay me now, or I take it out of your hide. Right? You pay me, or I shoot you.”

“Yes, sir,” whispers Korkie.

The barrel presses against his forehead.

“So you decide,” says Redsun. “Give me my money, or I kill you where you stand. You, and that screeching brat.”

Korkie tries to swallow, but all his tastes is the sour, metal tang of blood. It roils in his stomach. He feels faint. Luke screams, and screams but Obi-Wan only tries harder to sooth him, singing some sad lullaby. A Mandalorian lullaby.

Korkie recognises it. His...his mother used to sing it to him. He clenches his hand into a fist, tracing his thumb over the ring he wears, as a reminder. And he remembers -

“My ring,” he says, slipping the jewelry from his hand. It is a simple band, but thick and completely unblemished by age or use. “I can give you this,” he insists, holding it so that the suns set it ablaze, glittering like fire in his hand.

“And what’s that?”

“Pure beskar,” he says.

Redsun lowers the blaster. Korkie can see his interest pique, and greed replace fury in his cold, black eyes.

“Beskar,” he says. “And how’d you be coming by that?”

He nods at one of the guards, who swaps his pike for a techscanner. The ring is plucked from Korkie’s fingers, and the green light of the machine washes over it.

“Like I said,” says Korkie. “Mandalorian refugees.

The guard looks up. “It’s as he says, Squaddy. Beskar.”

Redsun regards him for a moment. He shifts his jaw, and rolls his tongue over his teeth. Korkie holds his gaze, even as blood drips from his chin. At last, Redsun gives the sign, and his man lets Korkie go.

“I’ll be taking the ring,” he declares. “And your kriffing ship, for all the good I’ll make of it. And you get off with a warning.”

“Yes, sir,” says Korkie. “Thank you, sir.”

Korkie gathers Master Kenobi in his arms, and pushes him towards the exit. Through the wide, rusted blast doors, he can see where the dockyards end, and the streets beyond begin. Their escape is at hand, but Obi-Wan is slow to move, fearful of jostling Luke who has settled tentatively once more. The guards make no move to assist, but Korkie is determined. He keeps between Redsun and the Jedi, he keeps him moving forward, and they are hardly ten steps from freedom when blaster fire rings out across the docking bay.

There is a blaze of fire along his side, and Korkie falls in a heap of fine, yellow dust. Breathing hard, he presses a hand to the source of heat, and cries out as agony is awakened by his touch. His fingers come away bloody, but he sits up, then stands, then stumbles on towards the exit, leaning on Obi-Wan, urging him to go, to move, to keep pushing forward. Step by step. He can hear the guards and Redsun laughing behind them.

“Don’t you try playing games like that round these parts, son,” shouts the man. “Not everyone’s as kind as Squaddy Redsun.”

The crowds are easy enough to get lost in, and soon Squaddy Redsun and the Mos Eisley docks are far behind them, but Korkie feels their ruin is closer than ever. His side aches, and bleeds sluggishly where the bolt hadn’t instantly cauterised the wound. He is hot. He is thirsty. But worst of all, he cannot speak or read a single word of Huttese.

“Please,” he asks of a woman hustling by with an armful of black fruits. “Please, can you tell me where to find shelter? An inn?”

She cuts him a glare, and hurries on.

“Sir, if you could - I need to find a place to stay.”

The man flicks his lekku, and shakes Korkie off.

He cannot tell if they’ve tried this street already, or not, all the architecture looks so similar to his unfamiliar eyes, and all the people are one massive murmuration of a society he is not part of. Then suddenly, a child stands before him. A little boy, with hair the colour of the sandstone walls of the city, and eyes like the sky reaches out a grubby hand.

“We need food,” says Korkie. “And a place to sleep. Please.”

The child nods, and Korkie takes his hand, fisting his other in the folds of Obi-Wan’s robe to be sure he doesn’t lose him in the crowds. They follow the child through innumerable streets, and darkened alleys before they are abandoned in front of a low building on the outskirts of town.

“Can we stay here?” Korkie asks. The child nods. The door slides open at his touch, and he is swallowed up in warm yellow light while Korkie hesitates on the threshold.

But it is getting dark, and he can think of no other alternatives. So he knocks.

“We’re all full up.” He hears the voice first, but it is soon matched by the scowling countenance of a woman worn old by the suns. The little boy clings to her skirts, now shy and retiring after his brazen rescue. She looks at Korkie and his charges from the doorway, and nearly turns away.

“Wait, wait, gedet'ye, jatne vod, vi linibar taap at nuhoy.” He’s slipping, and he only notices when her brow crinkles in confusion. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just - please, we need a place to stay. Just for the night.”

“We don’t have any more rooms,” she says.

“We have a baby.”

He clutches at Obi-Wan’s arm, until he steps forward, and the light falls across Luke’s sleeping face. The woman sighs.

“It’s five wuipui,” she says.

“I haven’t any money,” he says.

“Then I haven’t any beds,” she replies. He catches the door before it can slide shut.

“Please,” he says. “Please.”

And at that moment, Luke wakes and begins to weep. The woman stills, and Korkie thanks the stars for timing.

“One bed,” she says. “I won’t have a babe die on my doorstep. Bad business. Bad bly is what it is. But I can only afford to take the one of you with it.”

“Him,” says Korkie, shoving Obi-Wan forward. “He’s his father.”

“And where’s the mother?”

“Dead,” says Korkie. “It’s only - they only have each other.”

The woman nods, and reaches out to pull Obi-Wan into the shelter of her home. The wool slips from his fingers, leaving them clammy and sticky in the rapidly cooling night air.

“Thank you,” he says, and they disappear behind the door.

At once, the strange euphoria of a desperate flight deserts him, and he collapses in the sand against the wall. His side aches, though the bleeding has mostly stopped. He supposes that is the result of dehydration as much as anything. His lips are cracked. His tongue feels thick. His own blood sits uneasily in his stomach. The streets empty, the second sun slips below the horizon as he watches, and soon he begins to shiver. It’s difficult to stay awake, but after so many hours of preternatural vigilance it feels impossible that he should sleep. There is always some danger, now. They will always be hunted. He blinks, and sees three moons. Perhaps he is concussed, but then Coruscant had four moons, and Mandalore had two, so that is no measure of his injury.

He’d travelled once to Concordia, when he was a child. It was a beautiful place, and it felt, at the time, as though he’d been transported to some ancient world. There were trees. And grassland. There was water you could swim in, and could drink, and it ran freely over rock, and silt in unpredictable patterns, like the veins on the back of his hand. Though he’d been born in Sundari, there was something about Concordia that felt viscerally his. He recognized himself in the wildness of it all, as though it were a sort of mirror, as though if one were to pull up all the grasses and the plants they might pull up all his roots as well. The moons of Tatooine are white. They shine like stars, but there is no warmth to them. He doesn’t think he’ll ever see Concordia again.

Warm light illuminates the dark, turning the sand golden again.

“Alright, none of that. Can’t have Core soft boys dying on my stoop, either.”

“‘M not from the Core,” Korkie mumbles.

“That posh accent of your father’s could’ve fooled me,” she says. He feels her prop him up against the wall, and wonders when he’d laid down. She taps his face with her hand on the cheek that isn’t hurt. Water touches his lips, and he opens his eyes. “Drink up,” she says. “Heat’ll kill you faster than a blastoh will out here, lapti wermo.”

He drinks as quickly as she lets him, and until the vessel is empty. The clay cup is cool against his skin, and he presses his swollen eye against it, grateful for the relief.

“Now,” she says, taking it from his hand, and standing it upright in the sand. “Let’s see about that blaster wound.”

“It’s not bad,” he insists. She ignores him, and tugs his jacket down one shoulder, and slides his arm free. He hisses in pain, and she cuts him a look that says she has absolutely no confidence in his ability to self-diagnose.

Blood stains his close-fitting sark, and she draws back.

“I’m going to get some vibroshears,” she says. “I’ll need to cut this off.”

“No,” he protests. “Just lift it. I haven’t got anything else.”

“You haven’t got this , you stupa,” she grumbles. Korkie makes no reply, but leans forward and begins to tug at the hem of his shirt. In response, she leans forward to help him, and launches into a vehement stream of Huttese that makes no sense to Korkie. He comprehends the spirit of the words just the same. “Bolla rass tata, u beggybeggy brite lapti wermo.”

“On my world, we’d say ‘slanar nek gar shabuir’,” he says, grimacing as the shirt comes off. “Or something like.”

“Shabuir?” she says, letting the word bubble on her lips. “I like that one. I’ll keep it.”

“It’s yours.”

The fabric lifts away, heavy with dirt and grime. She is careful not to tear it further as she lays it flat to dry in the sand, and Korkie does appreciate that. Such a small measure of care, and yet already so coveted in this drought.

“I’ve a poultice,” she offers, withdrawing from the darkness a little bowl of sludge. “It isn’t bacta, but it’s better than nowt.”

Her fingers are cold against his side, or the wound is hot, but either way, he finds her ministrations soothing, and it’s not long before he finds his eyes slipping closed again. He fights it, and thinks he wins, but when wakes to her carefully tucking the ends of his bandages, the moons are much higher than they were before.

“There now,” she says, brushing back his hair, and giving his cheek a kind caress. “Let’s get you inside. Give you some food. Put you to bed.”

“I thought you said you had none,” he mumbles.

She smiles, and throws his arm across her shoulders. “That was before I saw how pretty you were. Now, come on.”

He grins, though it hurts, and rises to his feet when she pulls him. He staggers to the door, his feet made clumsier with exhaustion more than injury this time, and doesn’t fight when she leads him to a room, and drops him on a bed, and urges him to rest his head upon a thin pillow of sand and dry grass. The light goes out, and the door slides shut behind her. In the dark, he cannot tell if his eyes are closed, or not. But he is not alone. There is a voice.

Someone is singing a lullaby nearby. A Mandalorian lullaby. It is an old call and response. He used to sing the answers with his mother when he was very young. He hasn’t heard it in years. But when the singer gets to the end of the verse, he joins in.

“A ner kar'ta cuyir gotal ciryc, bal ni kar'tayl gar darasuum nayc or'atu...O meg, o meg, kelir ni vaabir?”

The voice answers back on a sigh, though the words are different than they ever were before.

“O, ner Kiorkicek,” it sings. “Ni kelir ratiin yaimpar bal cuyir saanyc be gar.”

A baby sniffles in the dark. There is another bed. And he recognises the voice.

“Buir Kenobi,” he says, his voice hardly more than a thought. “Cuyir gar pirusti? Cuyir gar morut'yc.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies. “We are well. You have saved us. Now, sleep. We shall all begin again in the morning.”

There is a warm hand upon his brow, and the irresistible temptation of sleep, and Korkie drops off into dreams.

#my fic #prompt fill #star wars #obi-wan kenobi #luke skywalker #korkie kryze #korkie is a kenobi #gffa #tatooine #post-order 66 #idk #whatever friends

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mk-wizard · 3 years

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Optimus Primal: Analysis of a bot who achieved “Nirvana”

Hello. It’s been a while since I’ve done a Transformers article, so to make up for lost time, I am going to do one on a character who was not only famous for their various bodily transformations, but also their spiritual transformation. I am talking about Optimus Primal.

So to get started, what exactly is Optimus Primal besides a Maximal who shares a name and helmet style with Optimus Prime? If you’re thinking that he is the Maximal equivalent of Optimus Prime, you would be dead wrong. Despite his name and looks, Primal is a great hero by his own merit who achieved greatness through grit, hard work, self sacrifice and inner growth on his own and without standing even for a moment on the shoulders of any giant. If anything, he is the reason Optimus Prime lived to make his own legacy. To understand and appreciate all of this, one must delve deep into the life story of Optimus Primal.

In the beginning, Primal was an average ranking leader of an exploration ship called the Axalon and his mission was to observe and collect data on other planets and their life forms. He was intelligent, honourable and not above having a sense of humour. However, he can turn and be very stern. The fact that he was young and inexperienced also showed in how he would have slip ups like making bad decisions, making one too many speeches and even losing his temper. All the same, he was the type who would learn quickly from his mistakes and constantly grow. He is also a skilled fighter with guns, swords and he is shown to be a martial arts master of some kind. He also seems to be part of the air force hence having the ability to fly in robot mode.

One fateful day, he was tasked with following and apprehending Predacon Megatron who stole the golden disks. The pursuit led them to getting stranded on prehistoric Earth though at the time, neither faction was aware that this was Earth yet because it was so different from the Earth they were informed of in the history books. At first, Primal chose a gorilla as his alt mode which proved to be one of the most useful beast alt modes in the series. As the Beast Wars (though here in Canada, the series was called “Beasties” for some reason) progressed and after several encounters with some mysterious aliens who intended to destroy prehistoric Earth, Optimus Primal unintentionally sacrificed himself to save the planet, Maximals and most of the Predacons. In the aftermath, the planet was changed and everyone could now see that they were on prehistoric Earth and with time, Primal was restored to life by having his spark transferred to an transmetal body. He could still transform into a gorilla though now he could fly even in his beast mode as he now had a hoverboard similar to the Silver Surfer’s.

During the second half of the war, the series became progressively darker and Megatron’s deeds became more sinister if not homicidal as he was now not above killing his own and even going as far as attempting to kill a comatose Optimus Prime in the Ark after he discovered it. Primal also clearly lost a lot of his innocence as he became less optimistic, more tense and while his honour remained intact, his hesitance to fight with full force with gone. In order to save Optimus Prime, he temporarily held his spark into his own body though holding the spark of a Prime had side effects on his own spark and body. Primal underwent a powerful change of which he became a giant quadruple changer, his firepower was at its peak and it can be theorized that a part of Optimus Prime’s divine connection to Vector Sigma was transferred to him.

In this new powerful form and now gaining clarity on the severity of the situation, Primal was more motivated than ever to defeat Megatron and return to Cybertron so history could no longer be tampered with. And while he did succeed at defeating Megatron who also underwent his own upgrade after exposing his own spark to the spark of the Decepticon Megatron, this victory was not without a price. When the Maximals returned to Cybertron, Predacon Megatron managed to take over the planet forming a new faction of mindless drones known as Vehicons which he controlled through a cybernetic psychic link, and in the process, wiped out the memories of the Maximal team and reduced them back to their beast forms’ lowest level.

Luckily, Primal managed to gather his team and find Vector Sigma and the entity/program known as the Oracle which purified them and gave them new upgraded techorganic forms which they all retained for the entire run of the Beast Machines series. At this point, Primal was no longer a naive mech of science and had become very hardened as well as fanatical without how he believed the Oracle was guiding him towards wiping out all technological life on Cybertron which also put him at odds with Cheetour who used to look up to him. After the devastating loss of Rhinox who was reprogrammed into the evil Tankor, Primal fell into a depression which affected him on both a physical and spiritual level, but he was brought to his senses after speaking to the spirit of a now purified Rhinox and with the support of his team. He now also realised the Oracle wasn’t guiding him towards eliminating technology. It was guiding him towards finding a balance between technological and organic life. With this new mindset, Primal stayed on this spiritual path though he now handled it with a cool head and a more enlightened tone until the final face off with Megatron. In the final face off, Primal sacrificed himself by plunging himself and Megatron into Cybertron’s core allowing the entire planet itself to transform for the better into a technorganic state and also reawaken the entire population. While the heroic deed did cost Primal his life, his spark was at peace as it joined the Allspark and it is hinted that he became something even more in this state.

Since his time in the Beast Wars and Beast Machines CGI cartoons, Primal has made some appearances in the comics, several Japanese mangas and animes, and may make a debut in the final season of War for Cybertron.

Out of all of the character in the Transformers lore, I find Primal is the one who had the most growing up to do and he not only did grow up, he stepped out of a large shadow he didn’t even know he was in and became something amazing. He is also one of the few heroes who I initially didn’t like. And even now, I didn’t like the naive, long winded immature person Primal was initially as he did feel like someone who was copying Optimus Prime, but as he grew up and dropped the naivety, my feelings towards him changed (pardon the pun). By the time Beast Machines rolled around, I outright loved him and I loved his newfound spiritual Buddha like approach. He found his own identity and it was inspiring. It was also this version of Primal that convinced me to look at the Transformers as being more than just machines. Showing that they had a religion, a culture and more made me see the Transformers in a new light that stayed with me for life.

I admit he is not like Optimus Prime, but in his defense, you simply cannot compare the two to each other because they are so different and their journeys were different. Prime’s war was more political and social, and he was much older and wiser. Primal was really just a young scientist who was asked to do a job though circumstances dragged him into a battle. With time, that battle became a rebellion. And also, Prime and Primal’s personalities are just vastly different. The very point of each of them is that they are not like each other and that is something to be celebrated not scorned. Optimus Prime was the leader for the team, era and war of his time and Optimus Primal was the leader for the time, era and war of his.

My overall analysis is that I can see why people are not initially endeared by Primal as I myself was one of these fans who wasn’t, but as his life experiences mature him, you fall deeply in love with the person he becomes and I think that was the point of him. I think that the writers purposely made him to rub you the wrong way because he was so immature and I think that makes him a cleverly written character. And also relatable. I’m sure by many people’s standards, we weren’t as likeable when we were immature and had a tendency to talk too much and not listen enough. Perhaps Primal could be seen as a Transformers character who embodies a metaphor for how growing up and gaining wisdom can change a person.

With all that said, Beast Wars and Beast Machine is worth watching thanks to Primal if not for the story, to at least see the journey of Optimus Primal, but that is all my opinion. What is yours?

If you have a Transformers theory or character analysis you want explored, please let me know in my ask box. And please, support me through Patreon or Ko-fi if you want me to make Transformers merch and videos. Or if you want a commission of your favourite bot, let me know in my shop. All links are on my profile page.

Thanks for reading and as always, stay safe.

#transformers #optimus primal #primal #maximal #optimus prime #predacon #transformers beast wars #transformers beast machine #growing up #beast wars #beast machines #beasties #rhinox #vehicons #tankor #allspark #oracle #vector sigma #character analysis

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foximator-blog · 4 years

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Mega Man 3 Electric Heart Styled.

Now we're on to Mega Man 3, and this time we introduce a new possibility to redesigns: Gender swapping. There are just way too many guys, I don't think anyone would mind if I made a few girls here and there.

Proto Man

Proto man, otherwise known as Blues, is Dr Light's first creation. He is the literal first robot master ever built, and his blueprints serve as the base for almost every robot master that followed him. When Dr. Light was revealing him to the public for the first time, Dr. Wily detonated an explosive at the convention, resulting in many injuries and the disappearance of Blues... While Light thought at first his son had died... the heavily damaged Blues was actually wandering around the outskirts of town, with no recollection of how he had gotten there or what had happened... and he was eventually discovered by Wily, who took advantage of the robot's amnesia. Proto man was then modified for combat, and his damaged core was replaced with an inefficient and possibly unstable nuclear core, resulting in buster shots somewhat similar to atomic fire, but not as strong. Under the guise of "Break man" Proto man willingly helped Wily, as he was led to believe he was protecting the world from Mega man. Luckily, Blues learned the truth and he slowly started to recover his memory... Though he does aid the right side now, he never stays at Light labs for too long. He loves his father and his new little siblings to death, but he fears Wily has rigged his power core to explode if Light were to replace it, which is why he avoids maintenance unless he really needs it. While wandering, he can often be heard whistling, or can be found spray painting one of Wily's abandoned fortresses. Oddly enough, he would become somewhat decent friends with Bass, despite the two having a fairly rocky start.

Needle Man

Needle man sometimes seems very cold and sharp with his words, but really he's just an introvert who values his alone time, which he often spends by knitting or sewing. Built through the combined efforts of Light and Wily, he uses his sharp needles to whittle down tough metallic ores into manageable pieces, namely on one of the mining planets gathering materials for building Gamma. Though when Wily created a plan to steal Gamma, Needle man was brainwashed into fighting for Wily against his will. Needle man is weak to the Magnet missile, since his armor and needles are made of highly magnetic metals, and in a similar sense to Metal man, Needle man's Element is Undead. Not only are needles deadly and sharp, but they even have their own dedicated phobia.

Magnet Man

Magnet man was built for sorting through scrap and recovering recyclable materials on the mining planets, to reduce waste and increase efficiency. His magnetic fields are very powerful, which is why Wily didn't hesitate to brainwash Magnet man on his quest to steal Gamma. Magnet man values his spiritual and physical health, despite being a robot, so he loves massages and Shaitsu therapy. He can also be found sticking to metallic ceilings taking naps. He dislikes Disk based media, because he is unable to touch it without accidentally damaging it. His Element is Tech, and his weakness is Spark shock, due to the electric charge disrupting the balance of his magnetism.

Gemini Woman

Despite Wily's arguments, Gemini woman is the second female robot master every created. Named after the twins constellation, she is able to create holographic clones of herself with varying levels of detail, and she can use her Gemini laser to mine tough crystalline minerals on the mining planet she was stationed at. Though Wily didn't want her to be a girl, her abilities were still useful to him, so she was brainwashed. Gemini woman is friendly, but very vain, and is said to use her holograms to admire herself when she has no access to a mirror. She is deathly afraid of Snakes, but still gets along with her sister Snake woman. Search snake is able to tell the difference between her and her clones, which is why it's her weakness. Her element is Light, because of her abilities utilizing holograms and lasers.

Hard Man

Big, buff, and made with thick ceratanium armor, Hard man uses his immense weight as a ground leveling robot, mak8ng mining and construction easier on the mining planets. He is able to shoot his heavy fists as projectiles, an attack called the Hard Knuckle, which Wily created after brainwashing him. Hard man is a fair minded and honest individual who loves good food, though he often finds himself disappointed in some of the decisions his little sister Snake woman makes. His Element is Earth, and his weakness is Gemini laser, as it's the only weapon capable of piercing through his thick paramagnetic armor.

Top Man

Top man was built with experimental auto-balancing technology and wheels in his feet so he could explore new territories. He is able to spin at high speeds, but only for short times as he can sometimes feel motion sick. Wily definitely brainwashed Top man, though no one is sure why he had Top man take over a greenhouse. He loves to dance and rollerskate, and he absolutely loves new years, as his ability to produce you tops from his head makes him popular. After the events of 3, he even left exploration behind in favor of working at an amusement park. Due to his toy based theme, his Element is Magic, and his weakness is Hard Knuckle as it knocks him off balance.

Snake Woman

Snake woman was also made for exploration, though she specializes in areas that are extremely steep or heavily forested due to her insane climbing ability, and her Search snakes, which slither across the ground and up walls as little surveillance drones. Again, Wily does not like that she was built as a girl, but he still found use in her abilities, especially when she showed interest in using her braid as a whip, and martial arts, primarily Viper style kungfu. Snake woman is very mischievous and flirtatious, she loves to tease and mess with others just for fun (Toad man being a favorite target bot necessarily because she's interested, but because she finds his reactions cute), which Hard man often gets disappointed in. She shows great interest in real snakes and would love a pet Boa, but she's terrified of Slugs. Being inspired by constricting snakes that are good at climbing and thrive in jungles, her Element is Life, though since the Needle cannon is good at pinning her down, it serves as her weakness.

Spark Man

Spark man's job is to manage the electricity on the various mining planets and ensuring that no blackouts occur. Since he's the only robot master with this job out on the colonies, he is able to produce three times the amount of power as Elec man, which is why Wily didn't hesitate to brainwash him. Spark man loves electric eels and catfish, but even more than that he loves his brothers and sisters being able to keep him company. He can be a bit clingy, and he really hates being alone for too long. He's weak to the Shadow blade, in reference to cutting electric wires, and his Element is Tech. Electricity technically isn't tied to a single element in Skylanders logic, so his Tech typing comes from the fact his body is shaped like a Spark plug, a common component to machines.

Shadow Man

No one knows exactly where Shadow man comes from, but he's possibly of extraterrestrial origin. Wily discovered this robot in ancient ruins, which would later be revealed to be where the Stardroids and Ra moon resided. Since this robot was in such a state of disrepair, Wily patched him up and added a ninja motif, though Shadow man requested not to be catalogued as a Wily robot when he was repaired. Shadow man is a fast learner, and he was able to learn ninja techniques from simulations alone because of this trait. He can seem cold and merciless at times, but he is loyal to the LWN robots, as they treat him as their brother despite his alien origins, and it would end up being him who helped Mega man craft a weapon that could damage the Stardroids.

Doc Robot

While these robots have no advanced personality or thinking ability like Robot masters, they are able to copy the abilities and combat patterns of previous robot masters from data preinstalled by Wily. While Wily was getting Gamma ready for world domination, he sent the Doc robots out after Mega Man to stall for time.

#megaman #megaman 3 #protoman #needleman #magnetman #geminiman #hardman #topman #snakeman #shadowman #docrobot #megaman au #electric heart

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quazartranslates · 3 years

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH92

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 92: Castle Cry (XIX)

{cw: discussion of miscarriage, suicide, gore}

Qi Leren hesitated and guessed who Su He was talking about. He had also doubted this person, but he still regarded him as a "witness" rather than a puppet master behind the scenes: "The doctor?"

Dr. Lu gave a cry: "You called me?"

"...I mean Dr. Flajser," Qi Leren said quietly.

Dr. Lu scratched his head: "Oh, when I was in the hospital, I was called for as ‘doctor’ every day. I was more habituated to hearing this title than to hear my name."

Su He smiled to show his understanding, and said: "The game’s copy tasks are very logical - in contrast, the tasks in the Nightmare World sometime seem out there, probably because the Nightmare World is relatively real and sometimes reality is illogical. However, in the copy world, 'illogical' situations rarely happen. The game may give you a useless clue to confuse you, but there will never be such a thing as the puppet master being an NPC that has never been mentioned."

Dr. Lu hesitated: "I have a little understanding of your meaning. You mean that the copy world tasks are like novels, movies, or games. They’re logical, just like how a culprit in a mystery novel must be a figure who has appeared before. It’s impossible to reveal that the prisoner is a pair of twins at the last minute without paving the way for it, because this violates the logic of a story."

"Yes, at present, the copy task should be coming to an end, and the plot is beginning to finish, so no new characters should be added. We can analyze the characters who have appeared at present: four plot NPCs, two players, the crazy lady Sarah, the male host John, the maid Nina, Doctor Flajser, the late Adeline, and perhaps the devil's will. The plot of the simple ending should be that the crazy lady lost her mind and killed all the people in the castle. As long as you killed the crazy lady in the castle, it could be over, but we are now on the route of the true ending, so we must solve the ghosts in the outer world. The crazy lady is also solved, and the truth of the year has been investigated as much as possible. The plot will be much more complicated, and many things may not be as we’ve seen."

Su He said easily, "Nina's problems need to be further investigated by her later. Let's talk about Dr. Flajser first. From Johann's correspondence with him asking him to come to the castle to treat the crazy lady—and more than once—it can be seen that he was also in China at that time. Considering that many foreign doctors did come to provide medical services to their employers at that time, this fact that he came to China cannot be used as evidence to question him, but it can be used as evidence that he has the conditions to commit crimes. The key point is that the letter also mentioned contraceptives. What are the ingredients of this medicine? Is the wife's miscarriage related to him?

"We can reverse it. First assume that Dr. Flajser is the murderer who let the crazy lady miscarry and go crazy, and whether he had any way to do it. Yes, he is a doctor, and he is familiar with and trusted by the couple. He has the conditions and ability to do such things, especially to drive the crazy lady mad. He should be aware of this genetic psychosis in her family, and that it’s only a matter of time before she goes crazy with a little hallucinogens. For motive, does he have a motive? I think he does."

Qi Leren listened attentively to Su He's analysis and kept up with his thinking: "Is it because of Adeline?"

Su He nodded and looked at Qi Leren appreciatively. "Yes, do you remember the paragraph in Johann's diary about him and Sarah sweeping Adeline's grave? He said they met Dr. Flajser on the way back from the cemetery visit. This clue was given for a reason. Dr. Flajser was probably going to sweep Adeline's grave."

"Hey, it seems that Dr. Flajser had a good relationship with Adeline. Did he know that Adeline's death was odd? Then why didn't he sue the crazy lady?" Dr. Lu asked.

Qi Leren said, "Don't forget Mrs. Sarah's identity. Her family should be powerful aristocrats."

"Oh oh, that makes sense. Mrs. Sarah murdered Adeline, and Dr. Flajser, who was closely with Adeline, saw that it was wrong but he couldn't get Mrs. Sarah to be brought to justice, so he decided to kill her and make a revenge drama," Dr. Lu snorted.

"But this is completely speculative, and there is no substantial evidence. Maybe we will find negative evidence in the future." Su He smiled. "If we change our thinking, maybe Nina is behind poisoning the crazy lady, or maybe Johann is the real murderer. Who knows?"

There were too many possibilities. From another angle, maybe the truth is that Johann and Nina had hooked up. Johann was greedy for his wife's wealth, and got all kinds of medicines from Dr. Flajser, which made Mrs. Sarah crazy and made people think that her genetic disease had broken out. Then he waited for an opportunity for her to "accidentally die" in order to get her inheritance.

What role did Nina play in it? Was it that although she had hooked up with the male host, she still sympathized with the crazy lady? Or did she secretly let the crazy lady go just to further stimulate her and even kill her?

"It's 4:43 now. We have to go to Nina quickly, otherwise we’ll enter the other world," Su He looked at the time and said.

On the way to the first floor, there was silence all around, and the creaking of shoes on the floor and the incessant thunderstorm outside the window made people uneasy. Qi Leren thought this kind of castle building was too dark, and people who stayed here for a long time would be prone to mental problems and become suspicious of everything.

"Just ahead." Once again entering the corridor on the first floor, Qi Leren pointed to the room in front and spoke.

Miao Bo's body wasn’t present in this world. This old room smelled unpleasantly musty. The wall near the window and the ground nearby had rotted to the core. The small door locked from the outside in the inner world was still in the same position, and it looked inconspicuous.

"It's this lock. After you engage it, you can't open the door from the inside. Obviously, this lock was added later." Inspired by Su He, Qi Leren pointed to the door lock and spoke.

"But you don't need a key," Su He said.

"Then I can open the door?" Qi Leren suggested.

Dr. Lu went hide behind Su He and said with great righteousness: "You can do it."

Qi Leren looked at him contemptuously, took Dr. Lu's flashlight, opened the outer lock, and then turned the door handle - the dusty wooden door was pushed open, a strange smell invaded their noses, and the flashlight shone in the dark room. On the wall facing the door, there was a corpse hanging under a mounted goat’s head!

“!!!” Qi Leren took a step back and looked at the hanged body nervously. After a long time, the body had turned into a skeleton and, dressed in a maid's clothes, her identity could be clearly seen.

Qi Leren immediately understood who she was.

But why was Nina hanging here?

Su He also walked into the room. His eyes stayed at Nina's feet, and his voice said coldly: "She didn't commit suicide, she was hanged here."

"Huh?" Dr. Lu also came in and snorted strangely.

Su He pointed to the tea table at the feet of the skeleton with his cane - Qi Leren remembered that he had picked up this tea table in the inner world to deal with the armor that broke the door - and the tea table was placed a few meters away from the feet of the skeleton. It did not seem to have been kicked away by the hanged woman at all, but seemed to be neatly placed away from her feet.

Qi Leren frowned and looked at the skeleton. The room was also filled with demonic power, and the smell of smoke made the seed in his body stir.

"There should be another devil sacrifice here," Qi Leren said with certainty.

"Indeed, look at the wall." Su He pointed to the wall.

Qi Leren looked down in the direction he pointed out, and there were some traces on the mottled wall... He stepped forward and scratched the wall with his fingers, and the moldy wallpaper peeled off like an egg shell. Some strange totems were faintly visible on several clean walls nearby…

[Obtained the Devil's Sacrifice 5/6]

"Is there no iron box this time?" Qi Leren looked around and asked softly.

"I'm afraid this room is an 'iron box', and the sacrifice is probably Miss Nina." Su He sighed.

"The phantom is coming, switch to theatre mode." Dr. Lu snorted, waiting for the show to start.

Sure enough, with the discovery of the devil sacrifice, the phantom appeared again.

"Are you afraid, dear?" the crazy lady asked softly.

Her phantom appeared in the middle of the room. Her face was blurred, but it could be seen clearly that one of her eyes had been gouged out and was still bleeding.

Nina, standing under the goat’s head, held a hanging rope in her hands, stepped on the tea table, then sobbed and shook her head. She tried her best to suppress her crying, but she couldn't hide her deep fear when she faced death.

"Didn't you say you would do anything for me? Why are you afraid?" The crazy lady stood in front of her, looked up at Nina, who was frightened and helpless, and giggled.

"I, I am willing to help you escape... I... but I..." Nina couldn't help crying. "I don't want to die, madam, I don't want to die!"

The crazy lady's facial expression changed and she stared at her fiercely. Nina's crying came to an abrupt end, and she dared not speak out, shaking and holding the rope with her hands.

"Good child." The crazy lady held out her bloody hand and stroked her cheek. "Yes, just put your head in. I just need a little help, and you’re willing to help me. You’re a good child..."

Nina's face was covered with blood. She looked at the crazy lady in fear, trembling and sobbing, but she stuck her head into the rope’s loop under the crazy lady’s guidance.

A twisted smile appeared on the crazy lady’s bloody face, and she suddenly leaned down and took away the tea table under her feet!

Nina's body fell, and the noose around her neck tightened immediately. She struggled painfully, kicking the wall and scratching the rope around her neck, but it was useless. The pain of suffocation made her eyes pop out, and they bulged. The sounds of crying and choking overflowed from her throat as if they could expire at any time.

The crazy lady looked at her struggling with the tea table, looking cold and cruel, without guilt or fear. She watched quietly until Nina gradually stopped moving and was hanged in front of her eyes.

The crazy lady took a step back, admiring the goat head in her head, and let out a sigh of relief. She put the tea table back in place, singing and pushing her finger into her empty eye socket. The stirring noises of the sour viscous liquid sounded, and she dug a pool of fresh blood from the eye socket and painted on the wall.

Her tone was so strange that the original lyrics became creepy: "Will you love me? I love you. Even if you change your mind, it doesn't matter. I have prayed to the Devil to let us be together forever. My love bird, don't try to escape me, dear Johann, you will love me as one."

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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imaginetonyandbucky · 3 years

Text

Keeping Me Alive

Chapter 10: Get Out Alive

by @dracusfyre

Now

“Save who you can,” Tony said to himself as he splashed water on his face.

He blindly grabbed for a towel and dried off, meeting his eyes in the mirror for what felt like the first time in years. “Don’t look back.” He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and went out into his bedroom. He picked up the photo that sat on his bedside table and took it out of the frame, tucking it into the pocket of his pants. Glancing around his bedroom, he nodded once, and went down to his workshop. He saluted the painting of Howard on the wall then dug out the photo of the Winter Soldier from his desk and set it on fire, dropping it to the concrete floor and watching it burn.

“Ready, JARVIS?” he asked. He ground the last bit of embers into the concrete to put them out.

“Are you ready, sir?”

“Yep,” Tony lied. “Let’s rock and roll.”

“Let it Burn Protocol initiated.” As JARVIS spoke, Tony felt the first explosion rock the house, rumbling through his feet as he stepped into the matte black suit in the gantry in the middle of the room. The facemask closed over his face as cracks appeared in the walls of the lab, and as the ground fell away from his feet he was already in the air.

36 days ago

Once he was sure that Stane was gone for good, Tony went down to his work shop and said, “Wake up, JARVIS, we have work to do.”

Sitting down at his workstation, he opened up the master file with the suit schematics and eyed the hologram critically. The hardest part of the suit to master was going to be the flight system, so he isolated and magnified that part from the diagram, studying the repulsors built into the gauntlets and boots with stabilizers along the back. “Start machining the parts I’m going to need for these,” he said. “Circumstances have changed and we are going to need to hit the ground running, so to speak."

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said, and the whirring of machinery became a low hum, punctuated by sharp bzzts as parts were cut and de-burred. Tony studied the prototype, exploding the diagram, moving it around, and after a while came up with a short list of non-critical design items he could spoon feed to Hydra to show his ‘enthusiastic’ cooperation. An hour later, the whirring stopped and the sudden quiet broke Tony out of his concentration. He sat up and stretched, wincing as his back popped. Standing, he went over to the coffee maker and started a new pot, then dug under the counter for his emergency stash of scotch, splashing a fingers worth in his mug while he waited for the coffee.

He had realized two very important things today. The first was that the Soldier needed saving even more than Tony did; the knowledge that the man was Hydra’s slave, kept ignorant and locked up until Hydra needed an attack dog, had shifted Tony’s world view like a kaleidoscope, shaking up everything he thought knew and making an entirely new pattern. The second was that he couldn't keep waiting around for a chance to escape, he was going to have to make one.

This suit, he knew, was the key to both of those realizations. But this half-baked, insane plan to rescue the Winter Soldier was going to kick the anthill big time and Tony also knew he needed to have some kind of plan for dealing with Hydra in the aftermath. This wasn’t going to be like Afghanistan, where he thought he was out and got pulled right back in again. The stakes were way too high this time.

With that thought in mind, when the coffee was done, he filled up his mug and went back to his desk. He pulled up the operating program for the suit and created a subroutine to overload the reactor, ignoring the flash red warning that said that this would result in a critical core breach and an uncontrolled chain reaction, and set the activation code as “Last Resort.”

One way or another, he thought as he sipped on his doctored coffee, this suit would be his way out.

32 Days Ago

Tony stared tiredly at the news as he took a swallow of stone-cold coffee. The breaking report was about the assassination of an Iranian nuclear scientist. Iran was already blaming Israel, who was of course denying it, but in response Iran was threatening to pull out of the treaties against nuclear enrichment and swore they could split the atom within the year. Political and military analysts were seeing storm clouds on the horizon unless someone backed down and talking about how another war would tax America's already overstretched military. Tony, meanwhile, could tell that this assassination had Hydra's fingerprints all over it, and knew that this was almost certainly the work of the Soldier. "JARVIS," Tony said, muting the television. "I need you to break into Hydra’s servers and find everything you can on the Winter Soldier. Cross reference it with the name James Barnes.” There was a chance that Stane had made the name up, but it seemed unlikely – from what he could tell, the Soldier would have responded to anything, and ‘James Barnes’ was a lot more specific than a simple ‘John Smith’ or ‘Joe Blow.’ “Actually, while you’re at it,” Tony said, having a sudden thought, “I want all of Hydra’s files. Copy them to one of SI’s remote servers.”

Hours later, Tony was just finishing up the wiring assembly for the repulsor system when his computer dinged. Setting down the soldering gun, Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly and turned on his monitor to see what JARVIS had found. To his dismay, there were thousands of files on the Winter Soldier; as he scrolled down the list, he realized that they went back decades. “Fuck,” he said aloud as he looked at the dates and the file names, most of which were a string of letters and numbers that no doubt made sense to someone in Hydra but gave no clue as to what the file contained. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to cry at the enormity of the task in front of him. He was so tired that his eyes were blurry and his head was pounding, but every time he tried to close his eyes he kept seeing James’s body arching with pain and hearing his screams.

“Sir, it has been twelve hours and thirty-six minutes since you last ate,” JARVIS said. “And you’ve made four mistakes in the past fifteen minutes. You need to rest.”

“I have?” Tony pulled his magnifying glass back over to the circuit board and saw what JARVIS was talking about. “Shit. Alright, fine.” He pushed away from the desk and went to the bar sink next to the coffee pot and ran his head under cold water for a second. He came up and wiped his face and the back of his neck, shivering as water dripped from his hair down his back, and went upstairs to look for food. Leaving his work shop felt like he was crossing into hostile territory, like he could be attacked at any moment. And he could, he thought as he opened the refrigerator. Stane had made sure that he always had free access to Tony’s home, because a locked door meant secrets and the only secrets Hydra allowed were their own. He wished he could just walk away from this place, blow it up and find a place to live that Hydra had never stepped foot in, a place that would feel like it was his –

He froze with a jug of orange juice in his hand. He stood there, thoughts racing, for so long that the chiller on the refrigerator came on with a hum. Then Tony said “Huh” to the boxes of leftovers and absently shut the fridge door, OJ still in hand.

25 Days Ago

“JARVIS, this doesn’t make sense,” Tony said, rereading the file for the fifth time. “This thing is saying that the first Winter Soldier was James Barnes, but the current Winter Soldier is James Barnes.” It was hard to think that it was a clerical error, since the earliest files went back to the 1940s and consisted of paper files that had been scanned into a computer sometimes in the 80s. “Is it an alias? Are all Winter Soldiers called ‘James Barnes’ as a security precaution?”

“Facial pattern analysis indicates that it is the same James Barnes,” JARVIS said, and it flashed up an image that looked like a scanned-in polaroid; in it the man was unconscious on an operating table, face dirty and bloody and pale. Next to it JARVIS pulled up an image from Hydra’s own security footage of what the Soldier looked like without his goggles and mask on. There was a vague resemblance to Tony’s eyes, but as the facial recognition algorithm measured the features in each photograph, the conclusion was mathematically precise – there was a 99.7% chance that it was the same man in each photo.

Tony’s face went slack with shock. “How is that possible? He’d have to be almost 100 years old!”

“That part I don’t know, sir.”

“Holy shit.” Tony went back to the original file, reading it more carefully. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he read. “Born 1917. American POW.” He paused at that and sat back in his chair. “Why does that sound familiar?”

In response, JARVIS pulled up a Wikipedia page on Tony’s screen. As he read it, Tony was speechless; for a long moment, he flipped screens between the dead-eyed man from Hydra’s surveillance footage and the smiling man with his arm around Captain America, but this time he didn’t need JARVIS to tell him that it was the same man. The implications made his stomach turn, and as he stared at the screen he exhaled shakily and covered his mouth with his hands. 80 years. James Barnes had been in Hydra’s clutches for 80 years.

He stood suddenly, sending his chair rolling backwards. “We’re doing another flight test. Right now.” 80 years was already far too long, and Tony wasn't going to let it be one more day longer than it had to be.

19 Days Ago

“Tony!” Ms. Potts said with surprise. “I didn’t expect you in the office today.”

Probably because Tony had been dodging Stark Industries for a while now, only coming out of his lab long enough to get her to leave him alone before burying himself in work again. It had occurred to him as he got in his car to go to SI headquarters, blinking in the bright sunlight, that this was the first time he had been outside of the house since Stane’s forced excursion. “Yeah, I wanted to meet with you,” Tony said, shutting the door behind him. He set a stack of papers in front of her as he sat down.

“What’s this?” She said, flipping through the papers. There was a line of confusion between her eyebrows which only deepened as she started reading them.

“I’m making you CEO of Stark Industries,” Tony said. “Effective two weeks from now. Should be an easy transition, you do most of my job anyway.” He grabbed a pin from her desk and clicked it, the sound loud in the sudden silence. “Sign on the highlighted line, please,” he added, holding the pen out to her, and despite everything he had to smile at the stunned look on her face.

11 Days Ago

Tony put a hand on Rhodey’s arm and met his eyes, willing him to understand. “I’m saying that Afghanistan wasn’t a random attack,” he said urgently. “I think I was being targeted, and I think whoever did it might try again.” He palmed a thumb drive from his pocket and slid it across the table. In the Hydra files, JARVIS had found that a senator named Stern had been behind the Afghanistan attack, apparently trying to get Tony out of the way so that his good buddy Justin Hammer and his company Hammer Industries could take over SI's lucrative military contracts. There was all of that and more on here, just enough information that if Rhodey put all the threads together he would start getting the bigger picture. Pierce, the STRIKE teams, all of it. “If anything happens to me, I need you to finish what I’ve started.”

“Tony, if you are afraid for your life-“ Rhodey started, still looking dubious but starting to get alarmed.

“Not just me. You. Ms. Potts. Anyone I'm friends with. I can’t do anything to make these people suspicious,” Tony insisted. It was strange to feel like he was lying even though every word he’d said was true. “No unexplained bodyguards, no sudden trips, and absolutely no cops.”

“I don’t like this,” Rhodey said emphatically. “You’re asking me to sit back and wait to see if someone kills you!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tony said. That part was a lie. He had a plan in the broadest definition of the word; mostly he was making it up as he went along and praying he could handle the fallout. “I need you to trust me.” Rhodey’s mouth was a grim line and his jaw was tight, and Tony knew he wasn’t convinced so he pulled out his trump card. “I can’t do this unless I know you are safe,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. “I won’t risk you.” It took a long minute, and Rhodey looked like he was swallowing something unpleasant, but he finally nodded and put the thumb drive in his pocket. Tony exhaled and sagged with relief. “Thank you."

“When this is over, you better have a good damn explanation,” Rhodey said threateningly, and Tony barked out a humorless laugh.

“You won’t even believe me when you hear it.”

8 Days Ago

After Tony hit save on the final design of the suit, he stumbled over to the couch and landed on it face first, exhausted. He was laying on the couch, eyes drifting shut as he went over his plan for the hundredth time trying to figure out if he’d missed anything when the lab went dark. “What the hell, JARVIS?”

“Sir, it’s been 56 hours since you last slept,” JARVIS said. “I’m turning off your systems for a minimum of twelve hours.” The light in the stairwell going up to the main floor turned on, its glow just enough to let Tony get from the couch to the door without running into anything.

Tony stayed stubbornly on the couch. “We don’t have twelve hours to waste,” he said. “Turn my power back on.”

The lights stayed off. “Sir, you are a hazard to yourself and others.” Tony scowled and wondered if he had actually programmed JARVIS like this or if he was channeling the man himself. "Also, there's nothing for you to do while I assemble the suit."

“Fine. Ten hours.”

“Ten hours," JARVIS repeated. "I will be monitoring the situation while you sleep,” he added, and Tony knew that he meant not just monitoring Stane and James, but also Tony’s vital signs to make sure he actually slept.

“You’re insufferable,” Tony accused as he made his way up the stairs.

“Yes, sir.”

2 Days Ago

“Sir, there’s something you should see.”

Tony looked up from the fine-tuning he was doing on the suit’s shoulder-fired weapons to look at the computer screen. JARVIS had maximized the window where he was constantly monitoring Pierce’s communications and highlighted a text that had just been sent. It was to an unknown number and all it said was lvl 10, CovJer10131973 nlt 200810162200Z. The first part was clearly a target identifier and Tony knew enough about the military to recognize the latter as a date time group, set for five days from now. “Bring up the camera feed,” Tony said, and sure enough when Tony looked at the video surveillance of the room where James was kept, he could see that the lights in the room were on and a technician was already in the room powering on computers. They’d found out a while ago that what Tony had taken for a hyperbaric chamber was in fact a cryostasis chamber, which partly explained why James was almost a hundred years old but looked younger than Tony.

“Shit." Tony exhaled long and low, feeling his heart rate spike with nervousness. "How long it takes to thaw him out? Was that in his files?”

JARVIS was silent for a moment. “Evidence suggests approximately 24 hours from the time the procedure is first initiated,” he said.

“Right,” Tony said grimly, turning back to his work with a new urgency. “Guess it’s time.”

Now

Tony flew north along the coast as his house collapsed into the Pacific Ocean behind him, throwing billowing clouds of dust and smoke into the air as carefully placed explosives reduced it to a smoking ruin. It was thrilling and terrifying to know that for all intents and purposes Tony Stark was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He'd become a dead man after all, and now the only thing left was this suit and his mission: rescue the Winter Soldier then burn Hydra to the ground.

“Pull up James' video feed for me," Tony said as he flew. Since he was over water, he set the suit to autopilot and shifted his attention to the small window at the corner of his HUD. James was out of the cryostasis chamber, sitting on a chair as a medical assistant appeared to be taking his vitals. Every now and then he shivered, still shirtless. Other technicians were milling around, tending to the computers, and standing guard were was two members of the STRIKE team, hands on their weapons as they kept an eye on him. His records had indicated that he was prone to ‘erratic violent outbursts,’ which Tony figured was code for “periodically tries to fight back.” Tony had actually been happy to read that, because it meant that Hydra hadn't managed to break him completely. Right now, though, James just seemed willing to numbly submit to whatever the technicians were doing, his long hair a curtain in front of his face as he stared at the floor.

“Sir, we are approaching the facility,” JARVIS said, and minimized the video. Tony flew lower to the water, navigating around the giant cargo ships at dock. Even for a twenty-four hour facility it was late, and there were only one or two ships that had people still unloading shipping containers. He landed close to the Hydra facility but out of the line of sight; he had managed to camouflage the suit to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t hide the bright lights of the repulsors so he made the rest of the approach on foot.

JARVIS’s scanners found four total guards around the building, patrolling in pairs. By sticking to the deep shadows cast by the stacked shipping containers and the orange-yellow glow of the sodium-vapor security lights, Tony got within hearing distance and hit them with a pulse of high-pitched wave frequency. They both stiffened and fell over, paralyzed, helmets bouncing off the pavement hard enough to knock them unconscious. Tony bound them with their own zip ties and hid them out of sight, then used his backdoor access to the security system to unlock the doors and set all the surveillance cameras on a one hour loop. As he strode through the door into the lab, all eyes turned to face him, and before anyone could even speak there was a brrrt noise and they fell to the floor, killed by the precision targeting system Tony had built into his suit.

When JARVIS confirmed they were all dead, Tony took off the helmet and looked down at one of the bodies; the one closest to him had been here a month ago, monitoring James’ vitals as they wiped his mind. This was the first time Tony had killed anyone and he expected to feel..something, sad or upset or even vindictive, but he didn’t really feel anything. It all felt too easy, and Tony knew it was because he had designed a suit that had made it that easy. All the more reason that Hydra couldn't be allowed to get their hands on it.

James was still sitting in the chair, watching Tony as he approached; he hadn’t even gone for cover as everyone around him had died. Tony wondered if it was out of surprise or indifference. “Do you know me?” He asked, coming to stand in front of him. James studied his features for a moment and shook his head. “My name is Tony Stark. You are James Buchanan Barnes, and I am here to rescue you.” Tony offered him a hand to get to his feet, but James didn’t move, he just stared at Tony with those glacier blue eyes. There wasn't blankness in them now, only a narrow-eyed look of consideration. “Come on,” Tony tried again. “We’re escaping. We have to hurry before more people show up.”

James didn’t move. “There is no escape from Hydra. The only way out is-”

“Death, I know.” Tony kept his hand out but gestured expressively around the room with the other. “But they never said whose death.”

James studied him again, then turned his gaze to the dead bodies. Finally, after a long moment, he took Tony’s hand and let him pull him to his feet.

#tony stark #Bucky Barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron

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pressedinthepages · 4 years

Text

Love

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Ciri & Eskel (Platonic/Familial), Geralt/Eskel, Lambert/Aiden

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: No request this time, just wanted to write something soft.

thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being a great beta/idea machine/friend :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, softer than a freshly washed puppy, ~yearning~

Ciri asks about love.

“Hey, Uncle Eskel?”

Ciri’s voice, smooth and level with her age, rings over the ramparts from which Eskel currently hangs. Vesemir has given them all a chore for the afternoon, and Eskel is finishing closing a gaping maw in the structure of the inner wall of the keep. He is just barely perched on a scaffold, reaching to place the last stone in a spot that’s *just* outside of his reach.

Eskel turns to look down at Ciri, her ashen hair shining bright in the waning sun. He huffs as the breeze catches his dark hair and flops it down into his eyes. Ciri giggles, a sweet sound that she has yet to grow out of. Gods, I hope she never does, Eskel thinks.

“Yes, Swallow?” Eskel is pretty proud that of all the dumb things Lambert and Geralt tried to nickname Ciri, his was the one that stuck.

Ciri crosses her arms over her chest, looking all the world like Geralt whenever he has his mind set on something that is almost certainly an inconvenience for Eskel. “After supper, I would appreciate your insight on some personal matters.” Ciri winks, her proper tone eclipsed by a chuckle just under her breath.

Eskel grins a bit, thinking back on their previous discussions. She’s grown up quite a bit, still on the earlier side of twenty, but her mind is sharp as a blade, and her tongue even sharper. “Of course, it would be an honor.” Eskel bows where he hangs, making his position even more precarious. He hears the quick intake of breath from Ciri and sits back up, smiling wide even as his scar pulls at his lip.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Eskel says, switching the stone to his other hand before leaning back to the hole. “You’ll not get rid of me that easily.”

Shortly after, Eskel and Ciri get to the supper table just as Lambert is serving. He’s on cooking duty all week, which works out well for everyone. He’s got the most agreeable palette, and he uses it well. However, next in the rotation is Geralt. He has the most sensitive nose out of all of them so he doesn’t season, and can’t cook a bird for shit. Eskel plans on appreciating his younger brother’s cooking as much as he can before the next week of bland meat and undercooked bread.

“Eat up, fuckers.” Lambert sets a large dish on the table, a hearty roast full of venison and root vegetables that had been stored away before the frost set in. A layer of lightly spiced shortcrust covers the top, and is served alongside tankards of ale and a hunk of dark bread.

“Smells delicious, Lambert,” Ciri calls after his retreating form. Eskel sees how the tips of his ears blush as he pours some of his “vodka” (which is really just shitty leftover potion water) into his tankard, but Eskel only smiles down into his plate. Vesemir joins them too, and the four of them tuck into the generous offering.

Their peace is short-lived though, cut off by the abrupt clang of the great doors flying open. Geralt stomps into the common area where they all sit, and Eskel wrinkles his nose. Geralt is soaked head to toe, and he smells like a mix between a decaying fish and a little bit of vomit after too much spicy food.

Lambert clearly picks up on it too, offering Geralt a sip of his drink. “Drowner duty?”

Geralt grunts as he sits across from Ciri, bumping Eskel’s shoulder as he helps himself to the dinner. Geralt moans a bit as he takes the first bite, and Eskel shudders at the sound. He’s always been weak for Geralt’s voice, especially with how rarely he actually uses it.

They eat quickly now, forced to scarf it down in an effort to escape the devastating scent that Geralt brought to the table. Eskel drains the last of his ale and grabs an apple, slicing it in half and handing some to Ciri. She whips out her own dagger and cuts away the core before portioning it neatly into several smaller mouthfuls.

Geralt sighs before pushing himself to stand, a whole new waft of nauseating aroma settling with the sudden movement. “I’m going to wash.”

“Thank Melitele’s sweet tits, I thought you were just gonna make that part of your ~look~ now, pretty boy.” Lambert leans back with his boots kicked up on the table, carving a crude drawing into a pear from the table. Geralt walks quietly away from the table before turning abruptly and swinging his leg wide, catching Lambert’s chair and yanking it out from under him. He flails wildly before his ass hits the ground and he turns to grab at Geralt’s ankle. But he has already torn off towards the baths, and Lambert huffs before scrabbling to his feet and chasing after him, his pear long forgotten.

Vesemir sighs in the now much quieter room, also standing and picking up his plate. “Well done on that wall today Eskel. Looks much better.”

“Thanks, wasn’t anything too difficult.”

“Maybe so, but I still appreciate it.” Eskel smiles as Vesemir walks away, letting himself revel in the praise for a moment.

Ciri clears her throat, bringing Eskel back to the matter at hand. “Library?” She asks, and Eskel nods. He takes Ciri’s plate and sets them into the washbasin for a later time. They trek up the stairs and push open the heavy wooden door. Eskel lights the fire with a flick of his fingers and the room instantly warms, the air light and swirling around them.

Eskel watches as Ciri plops down onto the dense fur in front of the fire, warming her hands as the orange light dances over her face. He walks over to his trusty copy of the Beastiary, only to pick it up and find it much lighter than he would expect. He opens it, and instead of his glass bottle of White Gull, there is a note in the hollowed-out hole.

‘Maybe pick a less obvious hiding place, douche-canoe.’

The handwriting is scrappy and small, just like the younger witcher that wrote it. Eskel sighs before turning to another bookcase, finding a heavy tome that Jaskier had left for him a few years prior. He flips this one open and finds two small flasks of Toussaint wine, which is certainly better than nothing.

Eskel walks silently over to Ciri and hands her one of the glasses before sprawling out beside her. They sit in silence for a while, as has become tradition while Ciri gathers her thoughts. They both sip at the wine, and Eskel needs to remember to write a letter to Jaskier at Oxenfurt for saving his ass tonight.

“I have to warn you Eskel,” Ciri murmurs, and Eskel looks over to her with a crook of his brow. “This isn’t going to be an easy one.”

Eskel hums, taking another sip of wine. “Never is, kid.”

Ciri takes in a deep breath, steeling herself with a long chug of the alcohol in her grasp. “How do you know if you’re in love with someone?”

Eskel’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and he can feel how his heart skips a beat. “Damn Ciri,” he chuckles, “you weren’t kidding when you said this wouldn’t be easy.”

Ciri only shrugs with a smirk. Eskel shifts a bit, partially to get himself more comfortable, and partially to give himself more time to think. He can only wiggle around for so long before it gets weird for everyone though, so he just ends up tucking his legs underneath him and taking another long drink of wine.

“Well, I-”

“Have you ever been in love, Eskel?” Ciri turns to him, her bright gaze shocking on even the best days. Now they bore straight through Eskel, and he feels like she is peeling away the layers of mortar he has so carefully laid around his heart for the past, oh, century or so. Eskel thinks back, trying to remember the moment that he knew what love was.

And then he tries to figure out how to tell Ciri that he knows what love is like because of her father. Geralt showed him what it was like to feel out of breath whenever they were more than a hairs’ breadth apart. And then the all-encompassing relief that sang through his bones whenever they reunited. They showed each other how to accept this part of their lives that had been so desperately ignored, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But that’s a lot. Geralt is terrible with words and feelings, and Eskel is not much better. Ciri looks at him expectantly, with all of the air of royalty running low on patience. Ciri is eternally patient though, especially with all of the practice she has had with Geralt.

Eskel is just about to open his mouth when he hears stomping down the hallway, and he waits until Lambert pushes open the old door with enough force to send the snow into an avalanche over the mountains. He, now, is soaking wet, though instead of drowner guts he only smells of the clean mineral water that flows into the springs beneath the keep. Eskel smirks up at him as he traipses over to where the two of them sit, dropping himself unceremoniously into one of the soft chairs that rests not far from the fire. “Geralt throw you in?”

Lambert hums in the affirmative, seemingly harboring no further ill-will towards him. “What are you two chucklefucks talking about?”

Ciri pipes up, seemingly (for whatever reason) interested in Lambert’s opinion. “I asked Eskel what it feels like to be in love.”

Lambert’s face looks as though he was just violently slapped with a fish, glancing over to Eskel who only offers a shrug in return. Eskel is expecting a long-winded rant about how ‘Witchers don’t love, it makes you soft, and a soft Witcher is a dead Witcher…’ blah blah blah, but that’s not what he gets. Instead, Lambert kind of sinks further into his seat and his eyes turn tender, and Eskel realizes that he’s getting a glimpse into the Lambert that the world so rarely sees.

“Wanna know what I think about love, little beetle butt?”

Ciri nods, turning more fully towards Lambert. Eskel does the same, curious to see what his youngest brother has to say. Eskel holds out his half-empty flask, handing it to Lambert in a silent offer of support. Lambert drains the remainder of the wine in one gulp, the bastard, before he smiles a bit as he loses himself in his thoughts.

“I think that love is-” Lambert sighs, searching for the right words, “love is indescribable. You don’t know what it is until you have it, and then you never want to let it go.”

Eskel nods at Lambert’s words, letting them resonate in his mind. He never quite feels right anymore without Geralt at his side, his body and soul yearning for their other half in a way that cannot be depicted with mere words.

“Ciri, I haven’t got a clue about whatever you’ve got going on,” Lambert wags his finger in the air, and Eskel can see just how influenced the youngest of them was by Vesemir. “But life, especially human life, is too short to dwell on shit that will fester and bubble under your skin if you don’t let it out.”

“But how do I know?” Ciri whispers, and Eskel’s heart breaks for her. Gods, he has spent decades asking himself that exact same question, and he still doesn’t really have an answer.

“You’ll know when it’s not a question anymore.” Lambert stares off into the fire, watching the flames lick up into the air, chasing the wayward embers into the dark of the ceiling. Eskel is kind of stuck, Lambert’s words ringing through his head. When it’s not a question anymore. Fuck, when did the little prick actually get smart?

Ciri rolls over, pressing a gentle kiss to Eskel’s cheek, right over the angriest of his scars. “Thank you, Uncle Eskel. And you, Uncle Lambert,” she gives him a kiss on the cheek as well, and leaves them alone to their thoughts.

Eskel looks over at Lambert, seeing in bright relief the decades that have worn this man raw, and wonders just how he can still have room for love in his heart. “Who is it?”

Lambert sighs, hanging his head a bit. “I met him on the Path. We’ve been...traveling together now for a couple of years. He’s uh-he’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

Eskel smiles wide once more, scooching closer to where Lambert sits. “I’m happy for you, Wolf. Why haven’t you told us?”

“He’s another Witcher, and a Cat no less.” Eskel blinks at this, but the way that Lambert looks at him, vulnerable and exposed, shuts up any errant thoughts he may have had. “Besides, like you have room to talk. You’ve been pining after Geralt for how long? A century? Two?”

Eskel throws his shoe at Lambert, catching him on the shoulder. Fuck, I need to work on my aim. “Shut up. I’m working on it.”

Lambert scoffs as he stands up, chucking Eskel’s boot back over his shoulder. “Right, well. Once you figure it out, let me know. By that point, I’ll be retired on the coast with a whorehouse next door. You’ll know where to find me.”

Lambert is almost to the door when Eskel’s arms wrap around him, strong enough to bruise a rib if he wasn’t a Witcher. “Shit, Eskel! Let go of me, you great oaf!”

Eskel gives one last squeeze before he relents, grabbing Lambert by the arm before he can take off running. “Thank you, Lambert, and I promise. I won’t tell anyone before you’re ready.”

Lambert glances down to the ground with a great breath in, his golden eyes catching Eskel’s when they return. “Thanks, brother.”

“Of course, Wolf.”

#uncle!eskel #eskel & ciri #gereskel #aiden x lambert #the pining is real with this one

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