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dragonnarrative-writes · 1 month

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Part 2 - Work Introductions

Autumn Embers Masterlist

CW: Mentions of child loss, mentions of medical neglect/abuse, mentions of reproductive abuse, mentions of pregnancy complications and death, mentions of racism, sexism (in an omegaverse way), Brandon (unfortunately living), real world references

Data entry and analysis isn’t the most exciting job in the world, no matter what kind of fancy title you’re given, but it pays the bills. Working on a military base isn’t ideal, but the benefits are nothing to sneeze at. And most days, you get to sit alone and uninterrupted, in your own office, instead of in a cramped cubicle.

On Tuesday, you’re startled out of your audiobook by a gentle knock on your desk. Sherry, your immediate superior, gives an awkward little wave and waits for you to finish your line and mute your music.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about this,” she says, as soon as your headphones are clear. “You remember those port reports from Honduras? Some of the senior analysts have some questions for you? They’re currently in a meeting and requested some clarification…?”

You wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. “…what do they want to know?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell me, I’m sorry,” Sherry says. “They asked if you could… Well, they need you to attend the meeting. Right now.”

“Do I even have the clearance for that kind of meeting?” You stand without waiting for an answer and disconnect your laptop from the dock. With it tucked under your arm, you grab a notebook and pen, as well as your water bottle.

Sherry leads the way out of the office. “I know you submitted these reports two weeks ago, and your notations are excellent. I think the problem is with one of the flagged ship manifests, but they wouldn’t clarify why they were concerned. Couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

Her apologetic air suddenly makes sense. “Brandon’s in there, isn’t he?”

Sherry grimaces. “I’m so, so sorry. It’s him and a few alphas. There’s an American CIA agent as well.”

“So I absolutely don’t have the clearance for this meeting,” you sigh. “Great.”

A short elevator ride and two halls away, you take a fortifying breath before you step into an occupied meeting room. Brandon’s is the first face you see, and when he sees you the corners of his lips turn up in an infuriating smile. Next to him, another senior analyst’s eyebrows pop up, but Andrew actually looks happy to see you.

Before the door can close behind you, a blonde, American alpha stands and offers her hand in a no-nonsense shake. “Kate Laswell. We appreciate you being so prompt.”

“Of course,” you answer. Unfortunately, your attention is a little torn. All four members of the 141 are sitting at the table, looking at you curiously. Sergent MacTavish grins like a wolf. Captain Price tips his chin up just enough that you know he’s scenting you. Lieutenant Riley, face covered from the nose down in a black neck gaiter, gives you a quick once over that makes you want to shiver. But you’re a professional, so instead of fleeing you take the nearest seat, across from a smiling Sergent Garrick. You fold both of your hands on top of the table, the very picture of accommodating and helpful, “What can I assist you with?”

“Why’d you flag this shipping manifest,” Brandon asks. The projector at the front of the room switches to a document that would be barely legible, even without the distortion of zoom.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” you tell him, flipping your laptop open. “What’s the file name?”

“Honduras,” Brandon says, Port Cortez.”

“Puerto Cortes,” you correct. And seeing as it’s the largest seaport in Central America, I’ve combed through literally hundreds of manifests, you think, but don’t say. “I’m going to have to ask you to be a bit more specific. The projector isn’t easy to read.”

“You flagged this manifest for a Korean ship.”

You jump when Sergent Garrick says, “Christ, mate, just give her the file name.”

Lieutenant Riley gives a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. You think you see MacTavish still grinning at you out of the corner of your eye. Laswell rattles off the document name without looking.

As soon as the document loads, you know exactly why Brandon and Andrew are confused. And you know that the following conversation is going to be so unpleasant that you shoot off a quick email to take the rest of the day off once this meeting ends.

You take a deep breath, let it out slowly. “The manifest is inconsistent with previous patterns from that particular port and that particular captain and crew. As I noted, the four containers from Venusian Pharmaceuticals wouldn’t have made it on the ship do to political and economic pressures.”

Brandon doesn’t bother to look at you when he asks, “What pressures?”

Laswell interjects before you can answer, “Leaked internal communications provided evidence that Cloudstone Pharm was selling tampered heat suppressants and birth control in various black markets. The 4B movement in South Korea had been calling for an investigation for years by that point. A lot of omegas were killed because of mis-labeled medications. Pregnancy and birth related complications.”

“I remember that. It was, what, five, more years ago?” Lieutenant Riley asks. “Had an entire re-brand. Cloudstone to Venusian. Everything went from blues and whites to greens and yellows.”

“Okay, so the containers had a bit of extra security to get onto the ship,” Brandon says, before you can get over the shock of two alphas in a room who know anything about even the broad strokes of omega health care. “There’s protesters at every major port for one thing or another.”

“Even if they’d gotten on the ship, they wouldn’t have made it to Puerto Cortes,” you counter. “The captain lost two of his kids because of their medications. He’s had his crew dump the containers and alter manifests before. He was investigated for it, but his crew wouldn’t speak against him.”

Brandon frowns. “How do we know he didn’t get paid off?”

How do we know the omegas weren’t worth less than a cash payment? Your throat feels like closing in on itself. You keep your voice as steady as you can. “He wouldn’t have been.”

“How do you know?”

Andrew, eyes darting between you and Brandon, tries to interrupt. “Well-”

“Because he made the autopsy reports for both of his sons public,” you answer. You have to force your jaw to unclench. “Along with pictures and videos of how sick they were before they passed, before anyone knew what was really wrong with them. And the executives of Cloudstone, an American company, laughed. Called them slurs and ignorant animals in emails and meeting memos that were later leaked to the public.”

Across from you, Garrick is not smiling anymore. “That’s… disgusting.”

“Cloudstone struggled to recover in eastern Asian markets, even with the re-brand,” you continue, then take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And all of this was in my report.”

“Your job isn’t to provide those kinds of references. You’re not trained for it. There were a couple of links to articles,” Brandon dismisses. “Not enough to-”

“One of his sons experienced total organ failure,” you interrupt, closing your laptop. You know your scent must be all over the place, but the subject matter was already touchy. Now he’s questioning your work and misrepresenting your job duties? Oh, fuck him. “Because he was on incorrectly administered fertility treatments that were disguised as birth control, he had a high-risk pregnancy with multiples. And then his medications were switched with heat inducers. His other son had rapid onset neuropathy and multiple strokes within a week. Neither of his sons wanted to have children. One of them couldn’t, biologically, because it would have killed him anyways. And their partners decided that they didn’t care.”

Brandon wrinkles his nose at you. “No need to get so worked up.”

You practically feel the way your scent goes hot and acrid. Where most omegas have a distress scent that is sickly sweet, yours is much closer to an alpha’s shock scent. Your parents used to call you “Wildfire” because of it. You watch the hairs on Garrik’s arms stand up.

You can barely smell Andrew’s nervous distress over your rage. “Okay, yeah, that’s plenty. The captain wouldn’t have taken the containers.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t consult the references I added into the report?” You know the sudden calm in your voice, the relaxing of your posture, is at odds with the way your anger scent gets stronger. You’ve been told it’s a sensory nightmare, so you only do it when someone tells you you’re not calm enough. You fold your hands on the table again. “Because I included original and translated sources, according to the standards of the department.”

The room is silent. All seven alphas are agitated. You can only pick out MacTavish’s scent, muddled and frustrated. Andrew opens his mouth, closes it. Finally says, “I didn’t receive the references.”

“Senior analyst Lawrence received the full report directly,” you say, holding eye contact with Brandon. “But I know how emails can get lost. I would be happy to send them again. I’ll CC you, and request that your access to the full drive be confirmed. Sir. Is there anything else I can assist the team with?”

Laswell scrawls something on a sticky note and passes it over to you. “Please also include me on those emails.”

You give her your most demure smile. “Unfortunately, Agent Laswell, I don’t have the clearance to send reports outside of the department. I would be happy to help you coordinate that with senior analysts Lawrence and Bennett.”

You pluck the sticky note from her hand, stand, and gather up your laptop, notebook, and water bottle. When you have everything, you pass behind her to where Brandon and Andrew are sitting. Deliberately putting yourself at Brandon’s back, you hand the note to Andrew with a placid smile. “Agent Laswell requests that you provide her with the full report.”

Brandon smells disconcerted, trapped in his seat with your scent roaring as you stand just inside of his blind spot. Andrew, for his part, only hesitates for a moment before taking the offered sticky note, looking from you to Laswell to Brandon and back. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“I… believe that will be all…?”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.” You cement your little performance with a perfectly deferential partial curtsy to Andrew, then to the rest of the room. “Please do not hesitate to let me know if there’s anything else I can do the support the team.”

As the door shuts behind you, you hear Captain Price’s voice for the first time. “Goddamn. That is a woman capable of murder.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #poly 141 #omegaverse #autumn embers verse #there's some meta to come #just a heads up

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queerautism · 2 months

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This is absolutely fucking sick and disgusting. The government of this country is irredeemable.

The people dealing with these kids didn't even pass proper DBS clearances. They are not qualified and do not have proper checks and balances in place, this is an absolutely huge safewarding concern with such a vulnerable population.

They are also fucking over a lot of people with perfectly legal, valid claims for asylum.

They were producing and sending the interview invitation letter and the failure to attend interview letter on the exact same day. They are also apparently operating on unpublished secret policy, to deny people their claim, that contradicts their public published policy. This has already been found unlawful for them to do in the past, but it's still happening.

They are quietly pausing applications of people who meet the entry requirements and just. Not telling them they've done so. Leaving their whole life in limbo for no reason, without their knowledge.

The Home Office is genuinely fucking evil.

#uk news #Kinds just want to fucking scream

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rubystatic · 8 months

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Asking For Trouble

I wasn't sure what to write for my first post here. I haven't written for Hazbin Hotel before, but I figured what better introduction to the fandom than a literal introduction between Alastor and the reader? I've had this scene rattling around in my head for a few weeks, so I hope you enjoy it.

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Contents: demonic summoning, Alastor being an eldritch horror, hints of gore, blood, minor self-injury (not sh)

The red paint glistens like fresh blood in the light of the candles. A dozen or more of them, scattered around your living room, resting atop the coffee table, the TV stand, melted onto the top of the bookcase and the windowsill. Thick, black candles you bought from the Halloween clearance sale at the local big box store. You don’t think colour matters, but it felt right for the occasion. If you’re going to do this, you might as well do it right.

A clear space dominates the centre of the room—all the furniture has been pushed aside, crowding up against the walls to make room. You’ve rolled up the living room rug and propped it against the stairs.

When you first moved into your basement apartment, you were dismayed to discover that it had a poured concrete floor, and that the landlord hadn’t bothered to put in carpet or laminate or even cheap lino. However, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the rent price was such a steal, you didn’t dare question him on it in case he decided he wanted a less whiny tenant.

You have reason to be grateful for it now, though. A red pentagram painted on a wooden floor or carpet would be a quick way to make sure you never got back your security deposit. A bit of turpentine and it’ll be like this never happened.

Assuming that you’re still alive. If this even works.

The thing that started it all, a simple black notebook—some Moleskine rip-off—sits open at the edge of your circle, along with a whole mess of measuring implements. A simple protractor wasn’t good enough for something like this. You’d had to buy some stuff off the internet, and now your Amazon recommendations looked like a geometry professor’s wet dream.

And there I was, thinking 10th grade math would never get me anywhere in the real world.

You pick up the notebook, glancing between the scrawled diagrams and measurements and your own summoning circle. It looks right. It had better be, since you spent all afternoon hunched over, painting it with dollar store acrylic paints. Oh, and your life depends on it. Can’t forget that much.

The notebook is a journal of sorts. You found it behind the bookcase when you first moved in, wedged there and forgotten. The pages are covered in the feverish scrawl of a previous resident. At first you felt a little weird about reading it, but curiosity overcame any moral quandary you had in the end.

The journal outlines the three month period it took for a young writer to seemingly descend into madness as his work was rejected, over and over. As his girlfriend left him, his father died, and his life fell to pieces. He became more and more desperate, his writing growing erratic. His writing research had already led him down some occult paths, but it seemed he’d decided to pursue them even further.

Which was you’ve come to be kneeling on your living room floor, trying to summon a demon.

Taking a deep breath, you flip to the last page, where the invocation is written, the pen almost tearing through the paper in some places. It’s the last entry.

You reach out, and use your fingertips to push a plate of venison over the boundary line, into the centre of the pentagram. The meat is a dark, pinkish red, practically pulsing with blood and vitality, as the journal instructs.

Getting it necessitated a trip outside city limits to a questionable butcher in the countryside who specialised in game meat. The journal is very clear—it has to be fresh. Supermarket meat won’t cut it.

Everything is in place. There’s nothing left to do but begin.

You take a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you lift the journal, holding it open. You have a strange feeling of duality, that you’re both at once powerful and ridiculous. Someone tearing open the veil between worlds to seek higher (or lower) power, and someone playing pretend.

You force yourself to ignore the latter, pushing it aside and holding onto the image that what you’re doing is going to work. Faith is important, even if it isn’t invested wisely.

“Let—”

Oh, shit, you’ve forgotten a step.

Dropping the journal in your haste, you reach for the small pen knife lying at the edge of the circle. Gritting your teeth, you tighten your grip on the wooden handle, and make a small cut on the side of your thumb. Holding your fist out over the circle, you let a few beads of blood, looking almost black in the candle light, splatter the venison.

You open a bandaid and slap it over the cut, pleased you haven’t completely sliced your palm open like they do in movies. Don’t they know how long that takes to heal?

Anyway, back to the demon summoning.

“Let this offering of flesh and blood open the veil between the earthly realm and the depths of Hell,” you read aloud, your voice becoming stronger with every word.

No wonder that writer guy couldn’t get his shit published if this is how he wrote everything. Despite the stilted prose, you keep reciting it aloud, just glad it’s not in Latin, or worse, rhyming.

“I summon you, o’ Deal Maker, Keeper of Bargains, Purchaser of Souls—”

Seriously? Writer of Bullshit, more like.

“I summon you, Alastor!”

You hold your breath as the last echoes of your voice fade from the walls, waiting for something to happen. The candles continue to flicker gently, and you can hear the muted hubbub of voices from your neighbour’s TV upstairs. Your knees are starting to hurt from sitting on the floor.

Sighing, you let the journal drop to the floor. It hasn’t worked. Of course.

Why did you think this was going to work? Summoning a demon of all things—

The candles ripple as if stirred by a breath, then their flames spike upwards, rigid. The light throws shadows across the walls, but the shadows don’t move in the right way. They sway back and forth, almost in a trance, as if the room is tilting side to side.

The candle flames stretch up and up, thinning out into streamers. The golden glow dims, before blooming a bright, venal red. Your ears fill with the sound of static as the painted lines of the summoning circle begin to glow crimson. Smoke boils up from the centre into a plume of pulsing fog, backlit by the red light and twitching shadows.

Something very old, buried and half-forgotten in your DNA screams at you to run, but you’re frozen to the spot, gaping as a figure takes form within the smoke. A tall, thin silhouette, long limbs distorted. Ice seeps into your gut.

The smoke clears, leaving an apparition, a demon, in your living room. It is not the monster you expected. No red skin, no black pits for eyes, no fire and brimstone… But whatever he is, he’s definitely not human.

Stretching from floor to ceiling, he must be seven feet tall or more, with a thin, attenuated form and an inhumanly narrow waist. The demon is a vision in red, from his hair to his suit to his eyes, red on red, his pupils black slits in a sea of glowing crimson.

It’s his smile that truly terrifies you, though.

His teeth gleaming, the colour of aged ivory. Two rows of sharp, dagger-like points, ready to sink into flesh, designed to rend and tear. Whatever this creature is, death sustains him.

Red hair, tipped in black, frames his face in a short bob, and tufts up at the top in what you think might be ears. Two small, black antlers jut from the top of his head.

The static in your ears crescendos like a wave crashing over your head, and the demon’s smile widens. He hums to himself, his voice a crackle, and looks around your meagre apartment. Finally, his gaze comes to rest back on you, the most interesting thing here.

“My, my,” he says, a strange, Transatlantic twang to his voice, “it’s been a while since someone summoned me. You really know how to set the mood, don’t you? Summoning circle, candles, and what’s this?”

He leans down to pick up the plate of venison. Your blood has seeped into the meat by now, indistinguishable from the dead deer’s blood. The demon uses his gloved hand to pick up a morsel of the meat, his red eyes widening in pleasure, before popping it into his mouth like an hors d'oeuvre.

“Delicious,” he praises. “Not a bit of fat on it, either. How did you know venison is my favourite?”

Before you can answer, his gaze lights upon the abandoned journal. He lets out a chuckle that’s half radio static.

“Oh, that old thing. I should have known!” He slaps his knee in an over-the-top display of amusement. “You’re all so eager to throw yourselves into the Abyss! Humans, lemmings, what’s the difference?!”

The demon pretended to wipe a tear of mirth from his eye, before finally paying attention to you again. His grin cranked up a notch, practically splitting his face in half, and his hooded red eyes gleamed at you.

“I haven’t introduced myself. How remiss of me. The name’s Alastor. A pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

The static in his voice fuzzed out, leaving behind a raspy baritone.

“Now, what can I do for you, darling?”

#rubystatic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #d's list of sins

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blacklesbothatlovestowrite · 4 months

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On My Mama Pt. 5

Tags: @mixedfandxms @shurislover @lppriceisright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @desswright29 @cutttteeee @onyxstones-world @katymae12344 @doramilaj233 @sweetalittleselfish-honey @6-noir @khara876 @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @teadah18 @un-deniable-me3 @goolishh @anayaperry @undercover-introvert @delightreadsfics

The next few days went by agonizingly slow. Riri felt guilty for going as far as she had. She was still angry but she also understood that she took things to hell. She couldn’t get the look on your face out of her head. You looked absolutely disgusted by her, and that hit her HARD. Despite how angry you were at Shuri, you’d never looked at Shuri that way.

She knew as much as you disliked Shuri, what she had done was by far worse. She felt like shit, and it only got worse as she realized you’d skipped majority of your classes and no one had seen you in days.

Riri but the bullet and opened your contact. She looked through all the messages and saw an audio message. She listened to it, her heart dropping into her ass at the information she was taking in. She frowned as she thought back to how she’d warned you against Bria only to end up listening to the vindictive bitch.

She tried calling your number only to receive the blocked voice message. She then sent several messages and attempted several calls to your social medias. When everything failed, she decided to get up after days of sulking to take a shower and head to the lab she’d abandoned.

As she made it to the lab, Riri noticed that none of the scientists were there. She could see certain members of the Dora Milaje guarding the lab but it was emptier than it had ever been.

“Miss Williams, the lab is closed today.” Aneka said, her face void of emotions. Riri found it strange since Aneka was the one that seemed to always be the friendliest to her.

“I’ve never been denied entry before, what’s going on?” Riri demanded to know.

“The princess has requested no interruptions.” Aneka said shortly. She knew Miss Williams was stubborn and she wasn’t interested in the drama that would come from her entering the lab.

“I have just as much clearance here as Shuri. She gave me free reign here—“

“Had is the correct term.” Aneka eyed the young girl with pity.

“What do you mean had? What the fuck is going on?” Riri hissed. She hadn’t talked to Shuri in days but she was sure they weren’t in a bad place.

“Miss Williams you need to remove yourself from the premises for the time being or I will be forced to remove you myself.” Aneka sighed. She could see the hurt that crossed Riri’s face as she spoke.

Riri whipped her phone out and called Shuri’s number. She wasn’t going to take orders from someone under Shuri. If Shuri was banning her from the lab she’d have to do it herself.

“What the fuck, Udaku!” Riri hissed the moment the call picked up.

“Riri now isn’t a good time.” Shuri sighed, her voice tinged with annoyance. “The lab will be reopened in a few days.”

“What is going on? You’ve never locked down the lab, and from me at that?” Riri mumbled, not sure what to make of everything.

“Look I can’t t..talk right now but I n..need you to l..leave for the t..time being.” Shuri stuttered, groaning. Riri’s eyes narrowed. “F..fuck… You look so pretty like this…”

“Shuri? Are you screwing someone in the lab?” Riri inquired. Shuri cursed in Xhosa and Riri froze as she heard a familiar moan and the sound of skin slapping. “Is that y/n?”

“Riri, I’m busy. I’ll talk to you later.” Shuri snapped, hanging up the phone.

Riri stared at the phone in her hand in shock, her body simmering with rage as she pieced together why Shuri had shut down the lab and why she was being banned from entering at the moment.

Your head fell back against Shuri’s work table as she thrusted her strap into you. You were a sweaty, soaked mess as she drilled into you over and over.

Shuri was definitely skilled. That you were sure of, you could see why so many women were fond of her and Riri. Because if Bria’s skills had you hooked, Shuri had you on lock. So far she’d made you come so many times you lost track.

You’d been here for days at this point stuck in a bubble with her, allowing her to fuck you against just about every surface. You could barely keep up with her stamina as she fucked you into a whimpering, hoarse state. You’d lost your voice at some point, and spoke in a low hoarse tone.

Shuri didn’t stop though. She kept you hydrated and fed as she continued using your body. She’d done so many things that had your eyes rolling back you felt slightly embarrassed at how inexperienced you apparently really were.

She’d folded you in ways you didn’t think possible, bending your body at angles that had you sore but still aching for more. She’d done such filthy things that made you feel good in ways you’d never experienced. She’d fed you your own juices, had you suck your juices from her strap, she’d eaten your ass and even sucked on your toes.

Shuri Udaku was a freak. One you’d never be able to shake. You could understand why women went crazy over the tall, attractive, genius. Money or power was the last thing on anyone’s mind when it came to this girl.

“Ahhhhhh.” You hissed, as she hit that sweet spot in you while choking you again and again. You squirted, your toes curling as she fucked you through your orgasm.

“Just like that sthandwa….” Shuri praised, as you cried. You’d never been fucked like this before. She was on a different level from anyone who’d touched you.

“Oh….k..k..kayyyyy….” You croaked, pathetically. Squeezing your legs closed, not able to take anymore as your body shook violently.

“What happened to I wasn’t all that?” Shuri taunted, her strong hands keeping your thighs apart enough to continue thrusting into you. Tears poured down your face as your pussy clenched on her.

“You wanted a taste of what everyone else was so desperate for, eh???” Shuri continued teasing you, as your core got wetter.

“P…pleaseeee.” You cried, not sure what you were begging her for. Your legs spread wider as you watched her enter you achingly slow. Each thrust making you want to pull your hair out.

“Uh uh, You wanted to see what was worth your mama risking her marriage?” Shuri continued and you felt all your self respect leave you as you let her fuck you like you were some needy whore.

“Fuck me….” You demanded, fed up with her playing with you. You were sure you’d regret having her fuck you anymore later as you could already feel the soreness.

“I’ve never fucked anyone, like I’m fucking you y/n.” Shuri leaned down to whisper against your lips. You watched her in shock as she pulled out before ramming the strap back into you.

You closed your eyes as you started to feel lightheaded the harder she thrusted into you. You couldn’t focus on her words. You were trying to hold on, to not cum. You wanted to ride out this feeling.

“I wanna ride you.” You pleaded, opening your eyes to stare at her. She smirked, before letting you go. As you tried to move you nearly face planted, your body ached as she lifted you with ease and laid on the work table before settling you in top of her. You squatted on her, the balls of your feet planted flat as you rode her.

“Damn….” She bit her bottom lip as she watched you fuck yourself on top of her.

After a lengthy sleep in Shuri’s private quarters on a separate floor from the lab underground, You woke to the sight of her watching you sleep. You hated to admit she looked gorgeous first thing in the morning.

She’d never had a bad day in the looks department. Whether it was effortless or full of effort you couldn’t tell but deep down you knew she just naturally had something about her that made her look so ethereal. Her beauty seemed unreal.

“Good morning, sthandwa.” Shuri smiled, as you sat up in the bed. You looked her over to see she was already dressed in a black oversized tee, oversized boyfriend jeans and sneakers. She had a good chain around her neck of her mother’s face, wearing her royal head piece.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere drinking the day away considering today’s the first day of break?” You asked, snippily. Just because you’d let her fuck you didn’t mean you weren’t still angry at her.

You rationalized her actions to be that of innocence. Your mother was the one that was married and Shuri hadn’t known, she simply saw an attractive woman that was all over her and returned the advances. You hated that Shuri and your mother fucked, it messed with your head.

Part of the reason you were so angry at Shuri was the fact you’d crushed on her for years. Since the first time you’d seen her online, you’d held a torch for the princess. Your mother knew that, hell you had posters all over your childhood bedroom of Shuri, the Dora Milaje, the avengers.

Your mother often shamed you for crushing on women, liking women. She was very unhappy when you came out and even more so when your father supported you. It felt like a knife to the back that she’d fuck someone around your age, someone you’d crushed on for years, and a woman?

She was such a hypocrite, a whore, a liar. You couldn’t understand how she’d become who she’d become. You’d remembered how she was before she there was any inclination that you were gay. How loving, how caring, how involved she’d been. It was like a switch flipped when she found out you were gay.

Suddenly the mom and daughter dates, the bonding, the love was just gone. She became overbearing, strict, and at times downright hateful. Your father was the light. He was more involved, he showed up and showed out for you every time.

“I’m not a drunkard despite what many murmur when they think my back is turned.” Shuri smiled, a smile that had your sore thighs clenching.

“What would you call yourself then?” You rebutted. She partied hard on a consistent basis. Though while she was drunk she could be very irresponsible and reckless at the mouth, once she sobered up she was the same girl genius you’d crushed on.

“A regular girl who’s human.” Shuri shrugged. She ran a hand over her curly fro, realizing she needed to get a cut again.

“Why do you go so hard?” You asked, curiosity had you wanting to learn more about her.

“You’ve experienced loss. I imagine It’s pretty hard on you considering you cry yourself to sleep most nights.” Shuri eyed you. You swallowed, not realizing she’d heard you. She tapped her ears. “Enhanced abilities.”

“I’ve lost my entire family in such a short period of time. It feels like I can’t breathe sometimes.” Shuri looked down. “All the pressures of the mantle, and being alone.”

Though she had T’Challa and Nakia. They had their own life in Haiti and Nakia had no plans of leaving or raising T’Challa in the spotlight. She agreed with her brother and Nakia’s decision, T’Challa deserved to grow up normal with none of the pressures she and T’Challa faced.

“I know what it’s like to be alone.” You rolled your tongue against your cheek as you looked at your hands. “It sucks when you have no family, no one to fall back on, no one to count on. Nothing but loneliness.”

“You aren’t alone, Y/n.” Shuri cupped your chin, forcing you to look at her. “I am so sorry for having a hand in the dissolution of your parent’s marriage. Whether I knew she was married or not, it led to very serious consequences for you and I can’t apologize enough. I may try to joke or brush it off as if it weren’t a significant thing but I genuinely feel remorse for the pain it’s caused you.”

You stared not sure what to say to that. You hadn’t expected her to apologize, and so genuine at that. Her words felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders as much as you hated to admit. It effected you in ways you could hardly speak of without tearing up.

Tears pricked your eyes as you tried to look away but the firm grip she had on your face had you stuck looking at her. Direct eye contact was something you hated as it forced you to deal with the uncomfortable feelings that stirred.

You hated that you had feelings sometimes.

“I am here. You may not trust me, hell I know you don’t like me but I am here for you. No matter what. I swear it on my life, you will never be lonely as long as I live. We’re kindred spirits in a way, everything happened to lead us to one another.” Shuri asserted. You took a shaky breath.

“I’m not saying there was any right in the situation leading us to know of each other. I’m simply saying things happen for a reason as fucked as the reason may be.” She added.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned since I found out about you. About what my actions caused. It’s that I owe you so much.” Shuri insisted. “I promise you a life long friendship, even if that means us not having sex even though I hope that’s not the case since you’ve outdone anyone I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know what to say.” You mutter, lowly.

“You don’t have to say anything. We’re friends, that’s it.” Shuri assured.

The rest of the day is spent with You getting to know Shuri. The more you learn, more you realize how many similarities there are. She allows you to see the latest things she’s been working on and you act like a kid in a candy store when she gives you permission to tinker.

“You have a little residue right there.” Shuri laughed, swiping the grease from your face. You stare at her, taking in her beautiful smile, her shiny teeth in the lab’s light.

“So you’re creating solar powered generators that can power everything in a standard family home?” You clear your throat, as you wipe your messy hands on the rag you’d grabbed.

“Yes. I want African Americans to be free in every sense. My brother bought land in Georgia, over 300 acres. A super city is being built currently, he started it and I’m ensuring it gets finished.” Shuri’s eyes gleamed as she spoke of her work. “I plan on giving people a second chance, a real life worth living. A fair chance they can’t get elsewhere. Wakanda isn’t open to outsiders and it shouldn’t be, it’s just too dangerous. However that doesn’t mean Wakandan’s can’t help the children of the lost tribe.”

“Did Riri help you with this ?” You asked as you looked at the finished generator. You’d helped her finish it. You were sure Riri had a hand in helping build it as you could see her handiwork all over it. You’d seen her work before in the apartment. Small projects she brought home or school projects.

“She did.” Shuri confirmed.

“Why’d you bar her from entering the lab. I thought it was considered both of yours ?” You asked.

“You’re angry at her. I don’t know all that happened or why considering Riri is one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met, though she can be hardheaded and stubborn. I respect your need for space.” Shuri admitted. “I knew you didn’t want to be around her so I closed the lab down for a while.”

“Shouldn’t have more loyalty for her? Isn’t she your best friend?” You raised a brow.

“Riri is my best friend, yes. However you are also my friend and I want to show you that you can count on me. That you can trust me.” Shuri reassured you.

“I’m starving. We should get some food.” You change the subject.

“I’ll order something.” Shuri grabbed her phone but you shook your head.

“Let’s head somewhere.” You find yourself saying. You had something in mind.

After showering and dressing in a Sweater of Shuri’s that hit your mid thigh and fit you snug, you decided to grab food from a food place you knew Riri frequented. She used that food as fuel.

“What are you up to?” Shuri asked, once she parked in the parking lot of the diner.

You remained silent as the two of you entered the diner. You weren’t sure just what you planned on doing. As you were led to the counter by a waitress, you took notice of Nina and Gina in a booth with a few other girls.

“Order the food, I’ll be right back.”

You walked over, watching as Nina met your eyes. She looked slightly wary but said nothing as you stood in front of their table.

“Hi, Nina.” You spoke, looking at the girl beside her. She was a pretty dark skin girl with neon pink small locs that fell to her shoulder. She was gorgeous.

“H…Hey, Y/n.” Nina greeted, her voice cracking. You looked at the girl beside her, a girl she’d been interested for a long time so she told you.

“Audrey is it?” You asked, watching as the girl nodded shyly. “You should know Nina’s a back stabbing, disloyal, whore. I’m not saying this to be spiteful or rude. I just believe in brutal honesty. You’re such a beautiful and sweet girl, don’t let her hurt you. You deserve more than someone with no morals.”

“Who the fuck are you calling a whore?” Nina exclaimed, trying to get to you but Audrey and Gina had her sandwiched in the booth.

“Yo, Y/n you need to chill with that. Idk what ya’ll got going on but that’s still my sister.” Gina defended Nina. They were sisters after all so it only made sense. Hopefully her whore of a sister was just as loyal and down for her sister.

“She fucked Riri in my living room, on the couch. On top of a portrait of my father and I.” You clarified and Gina’s mouth dropped open. You turned your attention back to Audrey. “My dead father.”

“That’s so fucked up!” Audrey gasped, moving from the table and storming off. At least she had some sense you thought.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Nina shouted, struggling against her sister.

“You. Girls like you disgust me. You don’t know how to be a friend, not that you ever were one to begin with.” You told her.

“You’re so mad!” Nina laughed, shaking her head. “Riri fucked me so good and you’re jealous. Admit it. You’d of let her fuck you wherever and however if you had the chance. You’re just mad it was me and not you.”

You snorted, staring at Nina in disbelief.

“What kind of strap is this bitch choking y’all with? I’m jealous! Me? Of a girl that’s so fucking easy all you have to do is smile her way and her legs open?” You laughed. “You literally tried to fuck me a few weeks ago and I chalked it up to you being drunk and let it go but clearly you’re another fan.”

“Bitch, please.” Nina huffed.

“So, what? You got rage fucked against a couch, as a way to hurt me and you think that makes me envy you?!” You couldn’t stop laughing, tears were leaking from your eyes as you watched Nina’s face get red. “Sorry to break it to you but I don’t envy pick me’s. It’s clear who the real pick me is, weren’t you just sniffing around Jess who publicly told your ass she didn’t want you? I ignored that weirdo shit because at the end of the day that wasn’t someone I claimed or took serious but you’re just a weird ass, hating ass, pick me bitch that clearly wants a taste of what I got between my legs. It must kill you that a ‘negrita’ like me is getting the people you clearly want effortlessly. That they’re chasing me, ready to do whatever just to have a taste of me.”

You watched as she moved to get closer to you but Gina kept her grip on her sister.

You leaned close enough to where your lips almost touched and you smirked as her breath hitched.

“You had a taste of Riri and thought that was a prize but baby I had the teacher. And she far surpasses the student.” You gloated, winking before moving away.

As you turned around and walked back to Shuri, you saw Riri standing by Shuri. She looked hurt but you couldn’t find it in you to care. She was angry off of words and no evidence, you actually witnessed what she’d done and it disgusted you.

“We should head back.” You said, staring at Shuri. You leaned up on your tip toes to speak against her lips. “I want you to fuck me so hard, I can barely remember the name Riri Williams.”

Shuri swallowed thickly before nodding, tossing a 50 on the counter and grabbing the bag of food before snatching your hand and leading you out with a quick see you later to Riri. As Shuri led you out, you turned to blow a kiss at Riri watching as she looked devastated.

#SoundCloud #shuri black panther #shuri udaku #princess shuri #shuri smut #shuri x fem!reader #riri x you #shuri x black!reader #riri wiliams x reader #riri williams #riri x reader

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wheels-of-despair · 2 months

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The Boy Is Mine (The Wheels Edition) Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman have a romantic night in. Contains: Snacks, smokes, alcoholic beverages purchased at a discount, teasing, snarking, fake snoring, Eddie being a butt-head. Project: @carolmunson's The Boy Is Mine Exercise Words: 700ish

(I haven't read any of the other entries yet, so if this is similar to someone else's... I'm sorry your brain is also lame. 😂 Props and dialogue prompts are in bold.)

"I ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?"

"Eddie, we're drinking wine from a box that we got in the clearance aisle," you laugh from the couch. "A coffee mug is fine."

Eddie grins and brings two mugs to the coffee table, then kneels by the TV to put in the first movie of the night.

You take a minute to survey the heart-achingly romantic scene in front of you: Date Night at Eddie's. (Sponsored by Markdown Day at Bradley's Big Buy.) You scored a cheap box of wine, heavily discounted cupcakes with the lopsided vanilla frosting, several bags of chips nearing expiration dates, and even a small cookie cake that was originally intended for someone named Carol.

"That everything?"

"Yup," you answer, reaching for a mug of wine and propping your feet up. The VCR comes to life with a clunk, the noise on the TV becomes a crappy monster movie, and Eddie drops onto the cushion next to you with a bounce.

He leans back with his own drink, and you clink your mugs before sampling your cheap-ass wine… which actually isn't bad.

"The hell is this," Eddie mumbles into his mug.

"Cheap wine?" you supply helpfully, going in for another sip.

"And you like it?"

"It's everything I want from a box of discounted grocery store wine," you chuckle.

"It's fruity," he complains.

"So are you."

"Shut up," he grumbles good-naturedly, leaning forward to grab a bag of chips.

You crunch and munch and maybe take a few hits off a bowl and drink your cheap wine while you enjoy your cheesy monster movie.

Every few minutes, Eddie leans forward to grab a small notebook from the coffee table and scribble in it with a pencil he's chewed the eraser off of.

"Whatcha doin'?" you finally ask.

"Campaign stuff," he says without looking up.

"Yeah? Am I inspiring you?" you tease.

"Nah," he mumbles. "Movie."

"Hmph," you scoff playfully. "I see how it is." You scoot toward the other end of the couch, leaving behind the warmth of the thigh that had been pressing against yours for the last hour. You lean back over and steal the bag of chips from his lap as an afterthought. This is when he decides to look up.

"What are you doing?"

"Being uninspirational," you say cheekily, popping a chip in your mouth.

"Aw, don't be like that. That's not even true." He puts down his little notebook and his gnawed-on pencil and crawls toward you. He rests his head on your shoulder, throws an arm across your stomach, and looks up at you with his best puppy eyes.

You roll your eyes and reach into the bag for a chip, holding it to his mouth. He opens wide and accepts. You alternate between feeding him and yourself through the movie's thrilling climax.

Eddie doesn't move when the end credits begin to roll. You give your shoulder a gentle shake to get his attention. His head slides down onto your breast.

"Eddie. Movie's over."

He nuzzles his face into your chest.

"I'll change the tape. Just let me up."

"Can't hear you. Sleeping."

"Eddie. I gotta pee."

"Honk-shoo, honk-shoooo," Eddie fake snores. You know he's grinning. Like an idiot. Because he is one.

You reach for the nearest throw pillow, take aim, and smack him in the face with it.

"That wasn't nice," he grumbles.

"Unhand me, nerd."

"No."

You hit him again.

"If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

"Already got one," you smirk. "Big eyes, bigger mouth, won't get the hell off of me."

You feel him chuckle, but he still doesn't move, so you whack him in the face with the pillow again.

Eddie growls and tries to take it from you. A struggle ensues. It's all a tangle of hair and limbs for a few seconds, but you emerge from the chaos victorious and free of one Edward Munson.

He crosses his arms over the pillow and pouts when he realizes you've escaped.

"I'm coming right back, nerd," you call over your shoulder. "Pour me another mug of that crappy wine if you want me to put out tonight."

You hear him scrambling into the kitchen before you even close the bathroom door.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman #the boy is mine #this isn't as psychotically proofread as all my other stuff but whatever fuck it who cares

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lexlawuk · 6 months

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UK Visa Refusals: General Grounds Explained

The United Kingdom’s visa application process is a complex and often daunting endeavor. One crucial aspect applicants need to understand is the potential grounds for refusal, especially when it comes to deception. The ramifications of presenting false information, documents, or misrepresentations can be severe, including automatic refusal of the current application and, in cases related to entry…

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sparklypinkflightsuit · 1 month

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The Containment Diaries: Entry 1

Pairing: Virologist!Bob Floyd x Reader AND Aviator!Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Apocalypse AU: Loosely based on Stephen Kings ‘The Stand’

Series Summary: A deadly virus has escaped the research compound where you live and work as head Botanist. The military have evacuated and you and a few of the best and brightest have been tasked with finding a cure. Alongside you is your esteemed colleague and Virologist Dr Robert Floyd.

While aboard an aircraft carrier, you meet charming and boyish Fighter Pilot Bradley Bradshaw, and find yourself falling for both men.

As you navigate the cruel new world you’ve found yourself thrust into, who will you choose to keep you from losing your mind?

—————————————

Warnings: Warfare, Military Inaccuracies (I’m but a layman, I have no idea what I’m talking about) Smut, Love Triangle, Angst, Fluff, Alcohol, Breakdowns, Apocalyptic themes, Swearing. I think that’s all!

—————————————

The first siren sounded at 2:46am. The sky was pitch black and the street lamps had not yet turned on for the morning.

You shot out of bed as your phone blared, the message flashing continuously across your screen;

‘Please stay alert for the following announcement.’

You waited as the noise continued its incessant honking, your heart in your throat as you waited.

You had all been prepped for this, an impending warning. Ever since the outbreak a few weeks ago, there had been talks of nuking if they couldn’t contain it, and you had been on edge ever since.

Yesterday the military arrived, but still you were advised that it was only precautionary and they, mostly, had everything under control and contained to the Infectious Diseases unit on the north side.

Your phone flashed again with another message;

‘All personnel to meet at the South Exit. Evacuations to begin immediately. Do not stop to pack personal belongings.’

You shot out of bed and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. The cold New England winters were bitter and wet this time of year.

Although you had been told not to pack anything, you grabbed a small backpack and threw in a few essentials; your toothbrush, underwear, socks, mascara (you wouldn’t go anywhere without at least your eyes on) and then you put on your sneakers before you dashed out the door of the apartment complex.

In the dark streets lining the several apartment blocks in the compound, you saw hoards of your colleagues hurriedly exiting their buildings and swarming towards the south side. Fear and impatience already thick in the air as people pushed passed one another.

The street lamps finally flickered on, usually not doing so until 5am, they must have been manually triggered for this occasion.

You noticed how everyone had the same look of worry, etched into a deep frown on their faces. Hundreds of scared adults wrapped in their warmest civvies.

You made your way down the street as fast as you could without pushing passed anyone, and noticed that the military stood either side, funnelling everyone in the same direction.

“Come on, please. My daughter works on the north side, I need to make sure she got out ok. I’ll come straight back I swear!” A man begged one of the military personnel, who held a hand to the mans chest as he pushed him back, shaking his head.

You didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as you were now being pushed by people behind you, a desperate bid to stay on your feet or be trampled by the nervous crowd.

Eventually you reached the South Exit, a series of heavy gates flanked by guarded watch towers. The compound you worked on was so highly protected that you had to have specific clearance before leaving the compound, and no visitors were allowed.

The military stood in neat lines and directed everyone to sit down in rows, tension thick in the air as everyone wondered what was happening. After what felt like forever, when everyone had filed in, the General pulled out a megaphone and drew everyone’s eager attention.

“Alright everybody, I know you must all be scared and confused. It’s very important that everyone listens and does as they’re instructed, as we have to do this quickly.” He turned around to look at his men and women as they ushered in the last few stragglers.

“I’m going to call out your names in alphabetical order, and with your name I’m going to assign you to group A or group B. Group A, when I call your names, you will get up and form a line to the left. Group B, there will be a heck of a lot more of you, so you’ll form three or four lines over to the right.” He instructed, his arm jutting out in the direction of each group.

Everyone murmured to one another, and you sat nervously as you waited.

Name after name was called out, some you recognised and some you didn’t, people shuffling left and right and forming lines. Eventually your name was called.

You stood. “Group A!” The general instructed, and you moved towards the shorter line, considerably more nervous now than you were before. You carefully stepped over hands and legs as you stumbled through the dimly lit courtyard.

Once you had reached the line, a man in uniform placed a tag around your wrist. You flicked your wrist over and were just able to make out your name in the dark.

“I heard we’re getting shipped out to sea to work on a cure.” The woman in front of you whispered loudly to her friend. You recognised her as Alberta from the Infectious Diseases department.

“Well I’d rather be shipped off than be left here when the bombs go off.” Her friend responded.

Your heart began to pound against your chest as you listened.

“Ladies, I don’t think it’s a good idea to speculate right now. Especially not when you’re talking loud enough for group B to hear you.” A deep voice drawled from in front of the two women.

You recognised the twang and turned to look at Dr Robert Floyd as he reprimanded the two scientists, who said nothing, a sour frown on their faces.

You smiled at him, almost if to say thank you, and Dr Floyd nodded at you with a soft smile back, before turning his attention to the front of the line.

You knew of Dr Floyd from fleeting glances in the hallways of your joint apartment block and the occasional times he’d visited the Botany lab for samples of plants he needed for experimental drugs. Most of all you knew of Dr Floyd through gossip that the women in your department allowed to flow freely.

The female scientists and lab techs were shameless when it came to Dr Robert Floyd, never hiding the fact that they were obviously flirting, hard, every time he passed them in the halls or when he approached them for anything work related.

Dr Floyd was extremely handsome, undoubtedly brilliant, and, probably most endearingly, he was extremely shy around the ladies.

He could be hard on his colleagues when he knew they weren’t doing what they should be, but the moment he realised he was being flirted with, Dr Floyd would shut down and go bright red.

You, on the other hand, were not shy, but tried to stay out of everyone’s way, you were not a fan of conflict which was so often rife in the compound, and you just wanted to get on with your job.

You loved plants and you were brilliant at what you did, and to add to the brains, you were also breathtakingly beautiful, which often caused jealousy in your circles. You tried to make it from one day to the next without getting on anyone’s bad side, but it also made it hard to relax and make friends when the competition was so rife.

There were not that many eligible bachelors in the compound, and even though you were not actively on the hunt for one, some of your colleagues felt that you took attention away from them, so when Dr Floyd paid you that tiny bit of attention, the women in front of you shot you a dirty look.

You stood and waited in the short line for what felt like hours, the line for group B growing ever longer. By the time the sun poked its shining head over the cascading walls of the compound, you were finally being ushered one by one into the trucks.

You noticed group B being ushered into what appeared to be school busses, and you overheard one of the army personnel speaking with some of them.

“Your emergency contacts have been notified, they’ll be there to pick you up. Those of you without an emergency contact will be provided with basic room and board until this is all over.”

You stopped listening as you reached the truck and you were helped up into the back. You were instructed to take a seat along the side bench and you’d be briefed shortly.

You sat down next to an older Doctor you didn’t recognise, who gave you a kind smile. He must have noticed you your nervous expression as he mumbled something along the lines of “We’re in the best place we can be.” To which you forced a smile back. Your pulse was so loud in your ears you could barely focus on anything as people started to file in.

You felt someone settle in next to you, but didn’t realise who it was until he spoke.

“Hope you have some snacks in that bag. I think it’s gonna be a long drive.”

He chuckled softly, bringing you out of your trance.

“Oh.” You grinned after a moment. “No… not unless you want to eat a pair of socks?”

Dr Floyd laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“Practical, I like that.” He said as he pulled his own backpack onto his lap and pulled out a pair of his own socks. “Snap.”

You laughed unexpectedly, a loud snort escaping you, and you clasped your hand over your mouth as the whole truck turned to look at you.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, but this only humoured Dr Floyd more, a deep grin etched on his face.

“I’m Bob.” He said, sticking out a hand for you to shake. You took it.

“I’m (Y/N), but my friends and family call me Rue.” You introduced yourself.

“Why Rue?” Bob asked.

“It’s a medicinal plant I was obsessed with as a kid. I was always telling anyone who would listen about the ‘Common Rue’ and asking them if they had a headache so I could try and make them medicine.” You chuckled awkwardly.

“Is that why you’re a Botanist now?” He asked you with a furrowed brow as he studied you intently. You were surprised that Bob remembered.

“I guess so. It was either that or art, but I figured Botany would get me into more debt and take up more of my time so I chose that.” You joked, Bob chuckled again.

Just before Bob could respond, one of the army personnel climbed into the truck and addressed your small group.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen. I’m Sergeant Williams. I know this must be confusing, but everything is going to be fine. We’ve selected each of you specifically because you are the best in your field, and we need your help.” He scanned the truck making eye contact with each of you.

“The virus has been contained, for now, however we don’t know that nuking this thing will eradicate it completely.” He continued. As he spoke, people began to murmur to one another.

“I’ll need quiet please.” He instructed sternly, and the truck grew silent again.

“We’re taking you all aboard our largest aircraft carrier out in the south Atlantic sea, it’s safe and secluded and has all the equipment you’ll need.”

“Equipment for what?” Somebody asked.

“A cure.” Sergeant Williams put simply, “We need a cure. Truth be told we’ve never seen anything quite like this before. If Ebola and Rabies had a baby, even that wouldn’t be quite as bad.” He suddenly looked grave as he continued quietly. “We can try to contain this thing, kill it even, but what we haven’t told you is that we’ve been trying to do just that for weeks. We couldn’t risk letting anyone panic, so we cordoned off the infectious diseases unit and isolated anyone who came in contact with it to be sure, but it’s proving harder than it looks…” he trailed off, but soon realised how terrified everyone looked.

“However, that’s why we have our brightest and best on the job. We’ve specially selected each of you based on your knowledge and what you bring to the table, you’ll work together and before you know it this will all be over.”

“But what about our families?” Someone called.

“You’re doing this for your families! If you don’t, who do you think will be able to?” Sergeant Williams began to sweat, and as everyone whispered to one another, you sat with your head against the trucks tarpaulin wall and tried not to be sick. Truth be told, you thought you were not meant to be there. If it was only the best of the best, there was definitely some mistake. Your imposter syndrome well and truly flaring up, you thought about sticking up your hand and explaining there must have been a mix up.

But before you could, Bob turned to you with a reassuring smile, and chuckled.

“No pressure then I guess.”

—————————————-

- Entry 2 Here -

I don’t have a Taglist for this series but I will be updating my Masterlist as I go 💛

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swathig · 2 months

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Customs clearance is crucial for efficient import and export activities. To make it easier, understand both country's requirements, use professional customs brokers or freight forwarders, and leverage technology such as EDI systems. Keep up-to-date on regulations and communicate openly with customs authorities. For additional guidance, read the Guide to Customs Clearance for Import and Export Shipments article.

#logistics #transportation #import #export #pickup #delivery #customs clearance #customs entry #freight forwarding #shipping #supply chain management

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anneapocalypse · 1 year

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On Dragon Age II's Ending

The ending of Dragon Age 2 has always felt to me like the least morally ambiguous of any of the games' mage-templar decisions and frankly one of the least ambiguous "big" decisions in the series.

DA2 makes it extremely obvious that the Circle mages are about to be executed for something that absolutely none of them had any part in and no one, not even the Knight-Commander, is arguing that that isn't the case. You can feel whatever kind of way about what Anders did, and still recognize the staggering injustice of killing all the Circle mages for something that everyone, including the Knight-Commander calling for their deaths, is fully aware they did not do.

And just in case that wasn't clear, someone made a point of dropping in that bit of ambient dialogue telling us that Meredith is already trying to get clearance for the Right of Annulment before the explosion; she's just looking for an excuse. The game is pretty clear about the injustice of this situation, regardless of how many demons and blood mages there may or may not be in Kirkwall.

I'm a chronic replayer who enjoys making up new characters every time to see things I haven't seen before and I didn't have a particularly difficult time coming up with in-character, circumstantial reasons why a character might annul the Circle in DAO or recruit the templars in DAI and believe they're doing the right thing. For the former: dwarven noble who knows little about magic and believes what the Knight-Commander tells her, and chooses the wrong dialogue option with Morrigan in the party so Wynne attacks and therefore is not present in the party as an emotional anchor and a voice for the mages, and listens to Cullen when he says it's too dangerous to let any of the mages live. For the latter: non-mage human noble from a Chantry-connected family who just implicitly trusts templars, as he was raised to. Or Dalish elf who walks into Redcliffe, sees a magister stinking up the place and says "Well, the Dread Wolf take the lot of you then" and turns around and marches straight to Therinfal, conscripts the templars, disbanding the Order in the process. Just a couple of easy examples I've actually played.

But the ending of DA2 is a choice between "Yes, I will help to execute these people for something everyone knows they didn't do" or "No, I will not do that and I will help them defend themselves and escape." Of course it's possible to come up with in-character reasons to make the former choice, and I have! But it's much less of a choice a character could just stumble into, and you have to do a lot more ideological contortions for a character to do that and believe they're doing the right thing.

Yes, there are a lot of blood mages and demons in Kirkwall. While we don't get a lot of opportunities to treat blood mage NPCs with much nuance apart from Merrill as most blood mages are programmed to attack on sight (and this is likely a product of the game's tight development deadline), the game itself offers an explanation for this in the writings of the Band of Three, the Enigma of Kirkwall codex entry that you can collect throughout the story. While you have to look to find it, this history does make it clear that Kirkwall is meant to be an outlier, for reasons both political and historical (which is another post for another day). And Merrill herself, whether you agree with her viewpoints or not, does offer an important counterpoint: a character designed to be sympathetic while giving a more nuanced perspective to the player on why a mage might choose to use blood magic.

And yeah, even with the fact that the game makes you fight Orsino in the mage ending, I still think this. It's clumsily executed, yes, but Orsino going all blood magic harvester abomination is just one more example of what the game has been showing us all along: that mages (like most people) turn to extreme measures when they're backed into corners with no sense of hope, and the templars then use those extreme actions to justify further abuses of mages. I don't think it was strictly necessary (and for what it's worth, Mark Darrah agrees with that; it's a decision that was made out of concern for gameplay balance more than narrative and in hindsight he's said that he thinks it was a mistake), and I definitely think it could have been executed better, but as it stands it does fit an ongoing theme, and Orsino's actions still do not justify the murder of every other mage in the Circle.

And then there's that thing where Hawke can only receive the support of the nobility and become Viscount if they side with the templars, thereby agreeing to uphold the existing power structures in Kirkwall. It's easy to miss if you've never played through the templar ending (and also because Hawke doesn't hold the position for long and Inquisition doesn't really acknowledge that they ever did Correction: It is actually mentioned in the Champion of Kirkwall codex entry, and possibly other places as well, my memory just failed me), but to me that outcomes is absolutely inspired. It serves to highlight how deeply intertwined the nobility are with the Chantry. The nobles of Kirkwall want Meredith deposed because they feel she's overstepped her bounds by denying them a proper viscount, but they are not anti-Chantry or anti-Circle; they still want mages locked up, and they probably also remember what happened the last time Kirkwall's nobility decided to try and contest the Chantry's power in their city (see: Perrin Threnhold).

I find the templar ending genuinely interesting to play through in terms of seeing the story from that angle, and in terms of what it has to say about power structures and politics in Thedas generally and in Kirkwall in specific, which I also wrote about recently. (To say nothing of how differently it frames Varric in Inquisition when the Hawke he idolizes is the Hawke who slaughtered Kirkwall's mages to a one.) I would honestly recommend playing it at least once for lore reasons if you're into that sort of thing. But I would hardly say that you as a player come out of that ending feeling like you're playing the good guy.

And I'm not even arguing that all choices in the games should be this in-your-face. On the contrary, I don't think they all should. I like it when it's possible for a character to make a choice with unintended outcomes, or get accidentally locked into a worse choice because of previous decisions (like annulling the Circle and then being forced to kill Connor or Isolde). Those are some of my favorite kind of choices in these games. In this particular case, I do think the extreme nature of the choice is important to the story, both as the catalyst for the mage rebellion and to underscore why Anders did what he did.

So when people tell me that DA2 "both sideses" the mage-templar conflict... I respect that it's possible to feel that way about it, but I just don't see it. The game allows the player to role-play a character who might make various choices within its narrative; that is not the same thing as presenting all choices as morally equivalent in-universe, and it has never been the same thing, in any of these games.

If you're looking for one mage-templar choice that puts the injustice squarely in your face, I think the ending of DA2 is very much that.

#dragon age 2 #dragon age #blunders of thedas #dragon age meta #chantry explosion #i've had this unfinished in my drafts for a while but today's the day i guess!#lmk if there's anything else i should tag this #i realize this is stuff we all have very strong feelings about #if you disagree with me that's fine #i just ask that you be civil please #there's some very gentle criticism of the game in here but mostly re: the rushed development

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chadillacboseman · 1 year

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The Shepherd's Daughter - PT 1

Pairing: Phillip Graves x F!Reader (Shepherd's daughter) Warnings: Reader is a CIA agent. Mentions of terrorism, both foreign and domestic, blood, injury, guns, etc. SPOILERS FOR MW2. Summary: As punishment for the botched infiltration of a domestic terror cell, your father, General Shepherd, pairs you with Shadow Company to retrieve American war assets that have fallen into the wrong hands. Word Count: 3.1k A/N: I went into a fugue state when I wrote this and wrote SO MUCH NONSENSE. The idea for this came from a prompt an Anon sent me. Will be multiple parts.

Your rise through the ranks was predictable. Expected. Forced at times, but inevitable nonetheless.

The name "Shepherd" was difficult to carry. Some days, it was a leaden weight, an enormous boulder, and you, Sisyphus, expected to roll it to the peak ad infinitum. Expectations were high and the whispers behind your back did nothing to ease them.

Whether you landed your position with the CIA because of your father's name or through your own merit was up for debate. Even you weren't sure anymore. Certainly, you'd found glory in the field- cartel busts and terrorist cells mostly. But there had been fuck ups too. Bad intel, worse decisions. Reprimands in offices so devoid of personality it felt like a parody.

Always your father there to bail you out.

As a child, he had seemed larger than life- a fleeting deity who only deigned you with his presence when his duties elsewhere had finished. Cards on your birthday often came stuffed with cash and bearing the trademark scrawl of his name.

Always impersonal. Always untraceable. A favor from the deity to make sure you said your prayers at night.

Even now, as you stood in front of his polished desk, he seemed untouchable. He sat, fingers laced on the wood surface, his gaze never breaking from the documents laid in front of him.

"You're going to be working with Shadow Company."

Shadow Company. A private military operation with a reputation for playing fast and loose with the rules of engagement. Unbound by the strict confines of military code.

"Doing what?" to question him felt foreign, as if you were making a mistake.

He gestured to the documents spread out on the desk in front of him. You stepped forward and examined them- photographs. Field reports. A few dossiers with names that seemed fleetingly familiar.

"American war assets were intercepted by unknown forces after the assassination of General Ghorbrani. You will be working to retrieve them."

Asking for clarification was pointless. Your security clearance would merit only a "That's classified" in response. Directed blindly into the fire with a PMC that would probably think of you as a burden, if not an outright liability.

"For the time being, you answer to Commander Graves," he gestured a broad hand toward the doorway and you turned to find someone standing in it.

A truly silent entry. How very shadow-like.

The man was tall, but not overly, with sandy blonde hair clipped short at the sides. He wore a plate carrier over a light blue dress shirt and jeans that looked as if they'd seen better days, battered by desert sands and nearly giving out at the knees.

"Pleasure," the man, evidently named Graves, spoke with a southern drawl that had been tamed by time among those who lacked one, "Phillip Graves."

He extended a hand and you took it, taking the momentary closeness as an opportunity to take in his features. Cobalt blue eyes peered out at you from above a stubbled face. On his right cheek a scar broke the terrain, about four inches in length and thin, as if made by a blade.

"Pleasure's all mine," you smiled and Graves returned it, revealing a mouth full of too-white teeth.

Contractor money could buy almost anything.

"I had no idea the General had a daughter."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat in the humvee, fingers flexing on the panic bar. Had your father told Graves that you were related, or had the shadow done his own research?

"What exactly are we looking for out here?" A deflection. Your specialty. Suspicions of nepotism followed your every footstep at the agency, and you had learned to redirect as a defense.

Graves smirked, surmising he'd touched a nerve.

"Missiles."

"What?" you asked incredulously, thinking perhaps the roar of the engine on the gravel had made you mishear him.

"Missiles," Graves repeated it simply, as if he was telling you the weather, "Intercepted while on delivery route to allies-" he paused there, as if considering how much to tell you, "Getting them back is priority number one."

"No shit-" the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. To your surprise, Graves laughed, his hardened face breaking into a wide grin.

"You know, I like you, Shepherd. I think we're gonna work well together."

You highly doubted that.

Graves' team was meant for clean-ups; the wide-reaching broom that swept the broken glass of failed missions into the dustbin. You were more like a needle. Precision, trained to penetrate deeply into the flesh of every mission. To infiltrate and exterminate without leaving a trace.

This new assignment felt a bit like a punishment, and you knew precisely what for: Billy Sullivan.

Billy Sullivan was a home-grown American terrorist. A real piece of work from the bible belt who was pegged by the FBI for his posts online. He'd generated quite the following of other lunatics in his little echo chamber, calling for the heads of political parties on pikes and waving their Confederate flags.

It's not hard to infiltrate groups like Billy's.

They're loud. Proud. Foolish. The Sons of Liberty, as they had deemed themselves, met in the back of some shithole bar in Cardeau, Alabama. A town barely big enough to warrant a spot on the map. They made their little plots over bottles of cheap beer, with maps and photos spread out on a rickety table.

It was easy to not take them seriously.

From a distance, they looked like a bunch of drunks with an ax to grind and no real way to do it. But up close, they were smart-diverting fertilizer from Lyle Welk's farm and buying up guns at every podunk gun show that bent the rules about registration.

So, the CIA loaded their syringe and injected you into Cardeau.

You started by getting close to Sullivan's girlfriend, Traci. A slight woman in her early twenties with "dishwater blonde" hair, as your mother might have called it. She worked at the four lane bowling alley on main street, splitting her time between the 'lounge' (if you could call it that) and handing out shoes that had likely seen the Kennedy administration.

Traci was desperate for a friend in the way that all girlfriends of terrorists are. Your boyfriend is gone for hours at a time. When he's home he's secretive, won't let you see his phone or come into the garage.

Your cover story was flawless- you were an over the road trucker on a new route, one that took you right through Cardeau twice a week ("Oh, bless your heart that's a terrible run") and the agency even gave you a truck to prove it.

You got close to Traci quickly, regaling her with tales spun from whole cloth about your life on the road. She ate it up with the kind of hunger borne from dating your high school sweetheart and never leaving your childhood town.

Traci knew a lot more about the operation than she let on to her husband. Once you loosened her up with a few cocktails and got her talking, she was a veritable fountain of information.

Perhaps that should have been a red flag.

Perhaps you should have looked past your own smugness at having "outsmarted" her for just long enough to see that you were making a mistake.

On a cold night in February, as you were writing reports in your hotel room two cities away from the dead ends of Cardeau, Traci Sullivan was being led to her death.

See, it turned out that Billy's men had been more observant than anyone had given them credit for. Despite your careful and collected efforts, one of them had managed to track you. Found your hotel and watched you exchange folders with men in a black SUV. That didn't bode well for the girlfriend who had so eagerly welcomed you as a friend. Who brought you around the bar and to the backyard barbecues.

Perhaps, if you'd just taken the extra time to glance in your rear view mirror-

Instead, Traci Sullivan died on her knees, begging, and you got your ass handed to you in a debrief that felt more like a court martial.

Your father's connections had kept you from being burned entirely, but he could not save you from the dismal assignments that came in the following months.

You'd never shared that story with anyone. Hell, you'd tried to bury it so deeply within your own head that it felt like a memory implanted rather than lived.

You wondered, briefly, if Commander Graves knew the story. If he knew that he and this assignment were divine punishment from the demigod himself, thrust upon you as one last chance to prove that you'd earned your spot.

You certainly hoped not.

Commander Graves proved to be every bit the punishment your father intended. He was smug, arrogant, and led his operations with all the delicacy of a battering ram through a splintering wooden door.

The rest of Shadow Company treated you like a liability- a few had even taken to calling you "princess" which made you vibrate with an anger that only spurred them on.

"What's wrong, princess?" Shadow 0-2 smirked under his balaclava, "Afraid you might break a nail?"

"Princess might not be able to keep up," Shadow 0-5 gestured at the uneven terrain, "somebody might have to piggyback her."

You hated it. Hated them. Hated your father for sticking you in the desert with a PMC that likely didn't care if you lived or died.

The mission itself had started to feel like a wild goose chase. Every lead seemed to hit a dead end, every asset gone in the wind. Even more maddening was the fact that Graves refused to tell you anything about the situation.

"It's classified," was his favorite answer, no matter how hard you badgered him.

"Do I not have a right to know what I'm risking my ass for?" you asked indignantly, arms folded across your chest.

"Sorry, princess," Graves knew the nickname irritated you and he thrived on it, "The General gave me orders to keep this on need to know basis."

Need to know.

A favorite phrase of your father's. Even as a child, when you asked him where he'd been for weeks at a time, he'd chuckle and tell you, "That's need to know, kid."

You used to find it funny. Now it made you want to leap across the room and wrap your hands around Graves' neck.

The man basked in his ability to get under your skin.

"Shadows 07 and 09, make your way to the warehouse, 06, you're with me," Graves nearly had to shout over the roar of the wind as it slapped and batted against your damp ears.

Sadow-06, your new moniker. It was better than "Princess".

Your group was on some forgotten stretch of coastline, following the trail of the stolen missiles. It was miserable work, buffeted by constant winds that carried saltwater-tinged rain and soaked you to the bone. You'd been at it for six days, sleeping in seaside shacks and eating MREs made lukewarm over heating packets long expired.

"This is our shot. You have carte blanche authority to neutralize any and all targets inside. Am I understood?"

Shadows 07 and 09, whose names you never bothered learning, nodded in agreement and disappeared into the night.

"What about us?" You shielded your eyes from the rain as you called to Graves, who gestured behind him.

"Lighthouse! About one click back from here. Intel says it's been abandoned for years. We'll take post up there, give them reports. Cover if needed."

"Roger."

The two of you made your way toward the lighthouse under the cover of night, slipping and stumbling up the slick rocks that surrounded the structure. One particularly jagged rock saw you plummeting toward the ground when Graves' gloved hand caught you by the arm with a tut of disapproval.

The lighthouse was decrepit, an aging white leviathan that reached for the inky sky. Barnacles and other sea debris had taken residence on the rust flaked metal base and the whole structure looked as if it was about to be swallowed by the sea if hit by an errant wind.

The inside of the lighthouse was a welcome reprieve from the wind, despite the lingering smell of mold and rotted wood that came with it.

A quick sweep of your flashlight revealed a barren entryway. Concrete floor, peeling walls, and the skeleton of a staircase tucked against the wall, winding toward the top. Toward the back, just out of the reach of your light, there were more rooms- likely a kitchen and living quarters.

"C'mon-" Graves gestured toward the staircase and the two of you made your way up, torches aimed skyward into the gloom. Signs of youthful vandalism adorned the place at scattered intervals- lewd graffiti and discarded beer cans, the occasional hard liquor bottle.

The lantern room, once home to an enormous lens, now held only shattered remnants and more signs of teenage parties. From the gallery deck that surrounded it, you could easily see the lights of the warehouse in the distance. 07 and 09 would be well on their way to infiltrating it by now.

Graves retrieved a spotting scope from his pack and aimed it toward the warehouse as you folded down the bipod on your rifle, taking a prone position and aiming the thermal scope, sweeping the area for targets.

"I have eyes on 07 and 09," Graves muttered, "Southeast corner. Looks like they're headed to the roof."

You trained your sights on the roof and watched as the two Shadows dropped gas grenades into the vents and rappelled in through the skylights.

"So, Princess," Graves didn't move his gaze from the scope as he spoke, "You any good with that rifle?"

"Don't call me that," You shot back, irritated, "I have a name."

"That doesn't answer my question."

You ignored him, watching as the warehouse doors shot open and cartel members scattered into the yard.

"Behind the forklift. Two notches," Graves glanced at you as you dialed in your aim.

BANG

The man dropped in a spray of blood.

"Good shot," Begrudging praise, "By the gate. Two for one if you time it right. Two and a half notches."

You eased your breath out slowly, training the cross-hairs just over two notches above the man's chest.

BANG

Two men dropped to the dirt and Graves chuckled, "Not half bad, Princess."

"Shadow-01 this is ground team," the radio crackled to life between the two of you and he snatched it up.

"Report."

"Hostiles neutralized. We've got a shipping container here- full of guns and drugs. Looks like some kind of cartel drop point."

"And the missile?" Graves sounded irritated, hammering the call button more forcefully than he'd intended.

"Not here, sir."

"Fuck!" he slammed the radio down and took a moment to compose himself before continuing, "Rendezvous at the lighthouse and we'll regroup."

You took first watch with Graves when 07 and 09 finally arrived at the lighthouse. Your clothes were still soaked, clinging to your frame as you posted up in the lantern room with your back against the old lens housing. You stripped your rain poncho and tossed it over an old wooden chair, watching as droplets pattered onto the worn and warped floor.

Graves looked pensive, staring out at the ocean, watching as the moonlight danced on the surface with the wind.

"There's something you're not telling me about the missiles, isn't there?" you folded your arms across your chest, trying to keep the heat from escaping your chilled core.

Graves shifted uncomfortably, his gaze cast down at the barren floorboards, "Tell me something, Shepherd, why'd the general send you with us?" A deflection on par with your own.

One of his eyes glinted in the moonlight as he glanced up at you, his handsome features just barely illuminated.

"I-" you paused. How much did he already know? Was he testing you?

"Did he send you here to watch us? To report back?" Accusatory. He sounded as if he was close to flying into a rage. Instinctively, you took a step back, widening the gap between the two of you.

"No." The truth. Your father hadn't so much as mentioned keeping an eye on Shadow.

Graves didn't buy it, his voice was raised, "Don't lie to me. Why else would he send you here?" A pointed finger, his face curled into a snarl that distorted his features, those razor-sharp canines now bared like an animal caught in a trap.

You weighed your options. It would do you no favors to have him angry with you.

"He sent me here because of the Cardeau incident."

Graves paused, the gears in his brain in perpetual motion, trying to remember an incident that sounded familiar, yet escaped him.

"Billy Sullivan-" you began, but he interrupted when his thoughts finally landed on an answer.

"The Sons of Liberty."

"Yes," you shifted your weight and sighed, "That was my operation."

"Shit," the only answer he could muster. A fitting one, "I'm sorry," genuine. Apologetic. Perhaps realizing that he had misjudged you.

You shrugged, shoulders suddenly lighter as the weight was cast from them, "I was cocky. Thought I was smarter than they were."

Graves laughed bitterly, "That trait must run in the family."

You didn't respond, but he continued, "You wanna know why we're out here chasin' missiles? The General had my men on a run to deliver them to allies in the Middle East. Supposed to be cut and dry. Simple. Only problem was, somebody didn't do their homework. The convoy got ambushed by Russian PMCs- killed the entire squad. Sixteen of my men."

"And they took the missiles," your heart froze in your chest, "How many?"

"Three."

Suddenly, you felt like Traci Sullivan. Cold, afraid. On a death march that wasn't of your own making. How could your father have been so reckless?

"Are we any closer to finding them?" your mouth was dry. How much damage could they do with three missiles?

"No," Graves responded flatly, "Not one fuckin' bit."

#phillip graves x reader #ns/fw #cod mw2 #shadow company #cod fic #my writing

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shitminds · 6 months

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With every hour that passes I watch my friends grieve the losses of their homes, their businesses, their family members, their entire homeland. I am from an Arab country where there are many Palestinians. The sense of hopelessness, frustration and pure rage is indescribable. I witness the genocide of my fellow Arabs from behind a screen and I cannot keep my eyes open through the scenes of indiscriminate bombings, massacres, the death of women, children and the elderly. I cannot begin to fathom what the people of Gaza are experiencing.

There is not anything we can do. All donations are iffy, no aid is allowed into Gaza; the world is watching as 2 million people experience unspeakable war crimes.

However, despite how minuscule it may seem, we must continue to speak about the atrocities being committed and push away whatever propaganda is thrown our way.

Use the correct words. Palestine is experiencing genocide and ethnic cleansing. Israel is committing unnecessary, sadist war crimes against innocent civilians, most of which are children.

What is happening in Palestine is barbaric.

I would like to point out that thus far Israel has:

Cut off the water supply and electricity to Gaza

Denied humanitarian aid entry into Gaza

Bombed all phone lines and any telecom facilities

Bombed hospitals

Bombed schools

Issued a “necessary clearance” to the south of Gaza, displacing 1 million residents of Gaza

Bombed entry roads and gates on the Egyptian border to Sinai, despite asking Palestinians to evacuate through the border

Threatened and murdered journalists

The majority of Palestinians are children. Israel is committing war crimes against children.

I will list the instagram accounts of Palestinian journalists’ coverage from the ground. Please visit their pages. (The images and videos you may find are graphic, raw footage of the situation in Gaza)

@/wael_eldahdouh

@/motaz_azaiza

@/byplestia

Consider writing an email (30 seconds) to the American Secretary of State, Blinken through the URRWA here to allow humanitarian aid into Gaza.

This is one of the biggest humanitarian crises in history. We are witnessing it play out before us. Don not stay silent. Every post counts.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

#Gaza #palestine #free palestine #free gaza #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #save gaza #israel palestine conflict #israeli war crimes #israel apartheid #palestine under attack

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wolven91 · 11 months

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Slugs & Apes - Chapter 2

The looming alien remained still, like a monolith.

The only thing that betrayed that he was even alive was the steadily expanding chest before it mesmerizingly shrunk back down. It was... alluring in a strange yet exotic way. No one Blarah knew could move in such a deliberate and measured manner. It was one thing to hear about the ‘solids’ and the bipeds, but to see one was… nothing could have prepared her.

The second proof that he wasn't simply made of metal or stone were his eyes. Colourful things unlike the deep solid black of Sluggat-kind. White and green, they flicked left and right as they attempted to focus intently on one of her eye stalks at a time.

Why couldn't it just do what a normal person should do in polite conversation and use both its eyes to look at both of her eyes! To stare so intently at one was.. was.. lewd and very forward.

The poor overwhelmed sluggat moistened her eyes with deliberate slowness, and began to speak in the brief respite from his overwhelming gaze. Her mantra repeated again and again; ‘She was not some easily seduced floozy’.

The lie was comforting and easy to comprehend, even if she was well aware of its flimsy nature.

"Of - of course I can help, where were you trying to get to?" The young slug said in as professional a tone as she could muster.

"I was greeted by a rather large representative, a blue hue to him? However he asked me to go to the waiting lounge as he was called away. It seems the freighter we piggybacked through the jump with to get here needed his attention..."

"That sounds like the dockmaster, I can contact him and see if he wants to meet you here or if we need to send you away?"

"Ah, thank you, I'd really appreciate that."

Blarah began to type in the old slugs contact number as she tried to release the tension in her body. His voice, the deep vibrations that he blasted through the air directly at her in the tiny quiet office had rolled over her without mercy.

A grunt came from the communication device.

"Ah, sir? The human got a bit turned around and is in the administration office, do you want to come up and get him or should he make his way to you?" Blarah asked carefully.

The old dockmaster; Blargh, was an old and rightly huge sluggat with the blues common to his home planet's race. Sluggats after all never stopped growing, albeit slowly, as they aged. Blargh was probably the oldest most would have encountered and had the mass to back it up, although he had never actually said how old he really was.

"Urgh, uh, no.. take him to the diplomatic room prepared for him. I'll update your clearance now.."

"Wait, no sir, im- I'm quite swamped right now, we need someone else to-.."

"There; it's done, be sure to be polite, you're his liaison until the Big Slime says otherwise. Once he clears you; come back and you can catch up, I'll pay you double time while you're away and until you're back on track. .." the line cut off without so much as a farewell or chance for her to voice her protest.

She wasn't opposed to helping the alien, she wasn't one of these nutjobs that had demanded that not only the humans be denied entry into the Community, but petitioned for their abandonment without a home due to them not technically being considered ‘sentient’ by outdated classifications.

She felt sorry for this new species that were so alone in their troubles in a cruel and dry universe.

But now, as she undulated with anxiety in the presence of one, they were, for lack of a better word, alarmingly, alien.

"Sorry if I'm causing you problems, but I really am grateful for your help." His face contorted, it seemed the only part of his flesh that was normal and alive, but even then; only parts moved and folded as she would expect. At the moment his mouth had stretched wide to the sides while the flesh around his eye holes crinkled up in what she tentatively labelled as 'happy'?

"It's alright, let's get to the lift." She said waving a wet tentacle. She stopped at the door to hit the lights, leaving the human briefly in the dark, just as the slappy, slick sounds of someone moving at speed came down the corridor.

Pleppany appeared in a rush and skidded to a stop in front of Blarah, out of breath and began to talk at the bemused sluggat.

"He wasn't on the freighter! He was on a transport that flew WITH the freighter, he landed over an hour ago!" She explained to Blarah, gesturing out the window and the massive ore freighter that was still inching its way into the dock on the other side of the window.

"He's loose and no one knows where he is! I'm going to miss my chance!" She groaned, practically losing all cohesion and puddling outwards on the floor.

"'Is she alright?" An earthquake-like voice rumbled not scant centimetres from Blarah's body.

Two opposite things happened at once that flew past the Human's notice.

Firstly, Pleppany did a fantastic impression of a human by coming to a complete frozen stand still, her eyes stalks shooting up and holding ramrod straight in shock.

Meanwhile, Blarah practically melted as the waves from his voice caused her skin to wiggle and roil. It took every scrap of her will power to prevent her eye stalks from becoming limp in the effects of his voice in such close proximity.

There was no denying it. He knew what he was doing, what he was doing to Blarah. Him and his hard skeleton and his.. his vocal sorcery!

She would have to address it sooner rather than later, but Pleppany, a credit to her craft, had re-coalesced and stood up again, rippling in the same manner as she did when she wanted the fast food slugs to get her extra portions or preferential treatment.

Pleppany had no shame as she oozed forwards and undulating, with practised ease, began to 'work' the Human as she had been trained to when seeking out a story.

"So! The mysterious humans finally made it to our humble corner, we're so glad you've made it; how was your trip?"

"It was alright, much quicker than our own transports."

"Oh yes, we're glad you're impressed with them, I suppose they're very confusing to you?" She continued, getting too close for comfort now as she tried to slosh herself between the human and Blarah. Pleppany continued without waiting for the Human to respond.

"I suppose you could do with a guide? I know all the best places on the station and both for socialising and getting some quiet time..."

The human’s face wrinkled again, but his mouth remained still, it was the flesh between his eyes that wiggled this time, as the two sets of dense whiskers that ran over his eye slots briefly came together or at least closer for a moment.

"Actually, I'm okay without. I have a guide for now thank you." He stated in a firmer tone than before. His own straight tentacle unfolded and extended past Pleppany's back before settling against Blarah's upper back, who had made a point not to be pushed away by the interloper, but now, with appendage touching her back, the harder, smaller tentacles pushed gently into her moist flesh to encourage her forward before relenting and folding back against his own side.

She got the message and surged forward, leaving the bewildered Pleppany in the snail trail.

Blarah had experienced several times in the past what Pleppany was probably only getting to live through for the first time now; rejection.

Maybe he wasn't as bad as she thought, although he was still a cad for flirting so aggressively.

With no further delays and in merciful silence they reached the transporter that would slide along the rails that crisscrossed the Station and deposit them as close as possible to their destination.

Her credentials were indeed now on par with the high class sluggats of the station which allowed her to select the diplomatic quarters near the top of the station, a far cry from her own quarters half way down and the middle of the Station's guts.

"So she was intense..." came a quiet rumble.

"That was Pleppany, a friend. She just thinks she needs to use her looks to get what she wants. Deep down she's actually quite insecure..." Blarah said, rippling in embarrassment and being honest in an attempt to defend her friend.

"I can understand that, I meant nothing by it..." the rumbling thunder said again. She had to keep taking deep breaths to remain steady and firm.

They stared out the window together as the transport rolled along towards their destination.

"My names Gregory by the way, or Greg for short..." Her mind was filled with rolling rain clouds over a parched savanna.

"Blarah, a pleasure to meet you." She demurely responded, a slight dip as she bobbed her entire body in respect.

A moment ticked by, followed by a second.

"This is why I'm here, you know..."

They stared out into deep space in silence together.

The rolling darkness that was the edge of space wasn't as black as one would think. It was the edge of the bubble that made reality. It was still expanding at a significant rate, but whether it be sluggat or human, the eye didn't know how to process the lack of existence that it was comprehending.

The result?

A chaotic swirl of colours and impossible geometry. Truly and utterly breathtaking. The first pioneer sluggats that made it this far had apparently nearly starved due to their desire to sit and watch the unending show of the universe growing.

"It is beautiful..." She murmured, whispering it as fact that couldn't be denied.

"Yeah, I'm very lucky to be here right now..."

The silence was pregnant and long.

The ding surprised Blarah and caused her to ripple. Sliding and stepping off the lift in turn, placed them in front of his quarters, the only ones in use in the diplomatic quarter. As he approached, the doors opened into a plush and well furnished home.

It was not of sluggat design and it was just as strange as he, yet he strolled in as if it was his own home.

"Don't stay outside, come in and make yourself at home!" He called from inside.

Blarah's eyes bulged. Not just welcoming her, a stranger, into his home, but to demand she treat it as her home? He WAS courting her! To provide a shelter for one's partner, so they could begin the ancient dance in privacy?!

She wouldn't be taken by surprise.

She wouldn't be seduced.

She would give a polite rebuttal and excuse herself from his presence.

Whilst this, the most dramatic dilemma she had ever encountered, played out in front of Blarah, she wouldn't have thought about the possibility that at the edge of the system; a sinister ship with a sinister goal could have slivered into the shadow of the planet like an eel; where it remained, coiled and waiting to strike.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #scifi #humans are space orcs #sluggat

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