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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

cocky. beautiful. bastard. - chapter 2

Read on AO3. Part 1 here. Part 3 here.

Summary: It's time for you to learn the rules.

Words: 7500

Warnings: more delayed orgasm, cum eating, mando’a

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Hello! I know I mentioned this would be expanded to three parts, but I actually decided to crank it up to five, oops. I have some shit planned for this fic--I needed a break, needed to write something fun and hot, haha.

I have been blown away by the feedback on this fic!! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I really really hope you like this installment, it's literally 7500 words and 6000 of it is porn. ToT LMAO. Let me know what you think!! I love y'all so very very much.

This morning, you’d woken up on your half-stuffed mattress, rolled onto your cracked stone floor, and bathed yourself in the kitchen basin, scrubbed your skin with the ratty sponge. You’d stuffed your face with the stale roll you’d made for your stew the previous night and shoved the bowls in the conservator before tugging on underwear and tossing your robe over it. In your tote, you’d carted your usual: a jar of lotion, mint cologne, and the little case that stored your identification and tip portions, and when you left your flat, you’d slipped on a pair of sandals and locked the door.

As you followed the Supreme Leader of the First Order onto the ramp of his sleek, knife-wing shuttle, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever cross that threshold again.

He had been silent since the moment you’d left the brothel, and when you boarded the ship, you glanced around the empty hull, discovering that the both of you were alone. Before you could question it, he was in the cockpit, the ramp was whirring, and your mind was spinning, elated and confused.

Counting the handful of seats, your mouth screwed in consideration. Your eyes crept to the front, spying a pilot’s seat--occupied--and a co-pilot’s seat, invitingly empty. With a shrug, you strode over to it and plopped down, stowing your belongings on your lap. He did not address you, did not even acknowledge the weight of your stare as he fiddled with the controls, engine roaring to life.

Kylo Ren was not only beautiful. He was huge. Of course, by now, you knew he had a massive cock, equally large hands--but the rest of him was just as proportional, just as hypnotizing. His shoulders were broad, even swathed under his cloak, his arms thick, his whole torso wide and solid with muscle. In a flash, you pictured him naked, a little thrill shooting through your spine. He’d said you were his, whatever that meant, and in comparison to what you’d woken up to this morning, the idea was more and more inviting.

He stole a glance--his gaze arrested your breath--and gripped the controls; in seconds, the ship was hovering, screaming, shooting into the sky.

You watched, speechless, as the pane of transparisteel was swallowed by white yellow blue black starlight, and then you were careening through space, hurtling out of the atmosphere and toward an unknown destination. The vastness of it mesmerized you, an echo of this man’s own engulfing perpetuity--both of them equally perplexing, equally captivating.

Maybe that was a little dramatic, but to be fair, despite the sore throb between your legs and the ache at your ass, just being this close to him buzzed your skin.

He guided the ship toward another, larger vessel--a Star Destroyer, you knew that much--and as he docked it in the hangar, the reality of your arrangement descended upon you. Hordes of Stormtroopers marched across ebony tile, cut through by officers in black uniforms, all of them with duty, all of them striding with purpose. Meanwhile, you’d just been plucked from a brothel on Nevarro, clad in your skivvies and a chemise cover-up. There was no shame in that admission, but more so the recognition that you were now far from home, in the company of a total stranger--a total stranger with the power to crush you between his palms without blinking.

Said stranger went through a sequence on the dash--the engine died, the ramp lowered to the ground. He stood, a towering dark wall, and studied the bay before turning his eyes to you. They flicked over your figure for a moment--appraising--and without a word, he turned, marching off the ship. You scrambled to your feet and followed, walking in double-time to match his pace.

When you entered the bay, dozens of faces snapped to you, and then shot to the floor, perhaps due to your attire and with whom you’d arrived. It was strange, to be important enough to not only warrant a glance, but to warrant its immediate aversion. As you walked, the masses parted for their Supreme Leader, and you trailed in his wake, feeling altogether powerful and powerless, an ember wisp to his raging inferno.

The Star Destroyer itself was repetitive and long, but while you followed your new leader, you took in every detail. To you, it might as well have been a palace, some sort of opulent, obsidian cavern, with floors clean enough to reflect your anxious face. Not anxious out of fear, of course--if the chakaar wanted to kill you, he could’ve done so when you’d mouthed off to him in the brothel--but anticipation. How this had happened to you, you weren’t sure, but a portion of you hoped the arrangement wouldn’t be temporary.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren stopped in front of a blast door, passing a hand over a sensor--it opened for him, and he stood to the side, observing you in expectation. The intensity of his gaze rippled heat through your thighs, and you entered, shoulders squared, ignoring the irritating thump of your heart. He stalked behind you, a heavy shadow, his presence both looming and lascivious as you glanced around his quarters. The ceilings soared high, stark white floors sweeping to white walls, a set of stairs descending in front of you, spilling out into an empty, bright floorspace.

You turned to him, gripping your bag. “Welcome home?”

He sniffed. “If you learn the rules. Earn your place.”

“My place?” A hand rested on your hip, and you cocked a playful brow. “And what exactly is my place?”

“It’s simple.” He stepped toward you, scorching you in his stare--your chest tightened. “Your place is wherever I direct you. Doing whatever I’ve ordered.”

You swallowed. His. “Mm. Okay. And what might you order me to do?”

Another long stride, and he circled you, skating a leather finger down your arm as his mouth swooped to your ear. “Bid etyc, kih tracinya,” he murmured. “You know very well why I brought you here.”

Though his release was dripping down your thighs, it was difficult to resist the urge to spin around and hop on top of him. How could you possibly help yourself? He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he’d made you cum hard on his enormous cock. Twice.

“Me? Dirty?” You went to lean into him, and he stepped back, making you stumble. You pouted. “Hey!”

He huffed, crossing away from you, and you turned to follow him down the steps, grumbling to yourself. His chambers were huge, at least twice or maybe three times the size of the entirety of your efficiency--so large you couldn’t identify the location of the refresher, or the food storage, or even the bedroom.

“So,” you said, still scanning your surroundings, “where do you expect me to eat and sleep? What am I supposed to wear?”

“I don’t care.”

You balked, staring at his back. “You don’t care?”

He opened a door, gazing over something, not bothering to look at you. “No.”

“Okay.” You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Chakaar.”

At this, Kylo Ren spun, cloak whirling at his ankles, stalking to you in long strides. The thump of his boots rattled your bones, his size consumed your sight. You didn’t flinch--only stuck your chin out with a smirk. He stopped inches from you, chest rising, eyes glittering under the searing light of his quarters, vestiges of a beast.

He took your chin between gloved fingers. “This nasty little mouth is going to be my first project,” he purred, and tugged you flush to his solid frame. “When you speak to me, you will address me as Supreme Leader. Do you understand?”

You didn’t reply--you were too busy trying to pull your brain from a sea of lust. Ren pinched your jaw, and you whimpered, your thighs pressing together, skin flush with heat.

“Say it.”

A slow breath left your nose, warmth washing over his hand. Despite your desire to antagonize him, there was a deeper, greater desire to please him--to earn your place.

“Yes,” you replied, “Supreme Leader.”

“Hm.” He thumbed your lower lip, his voice black smoke. “Good girl.”

Two words, but still you clenched. “I might not be good all the time, you know.”

“Don’t worry.” A tiny smirk on Ren’s pretty mouth, and he leaned to your ear again. “I’m counting on it.”

The Supreme Leader released you, your skin frosting in his absence, and he moved past you, up the steps. You tracked him, shrinking in the enormity of the strange, soulless room where he apparently meant to abandon you. Frowning, you crossed your arms.

“Where are you going?” you asked, fumbling with your belongings. “Uh, Supreme Leader.”

“I’m departing.” Ren didn’t even bother to peer over his shoulder. “Remain here until I return.” In a flourish, he disappeared through the blast door.

You sighed, deflating. Nothing to do but become more familiar with what the Supreme Fucking Leader of the First Fucking Order had determined to be your new home.

If you earned your place.

You were alone for hours. After a bit of exploring, you’d located the food storage (a bunch of military rations, which you ate anyway), the refresher (replete with a tall standing shower), and the bedroom, at the bottom of another set of stairs--the most impressive to you. The Supreme Leader of the First Order slept on a wide mattress built into a nook, its supporting wall replaced with a massive pane of transparisteel. Beyond it, the galaxy floated by, a nebulous nightlight and blanket to his slumber.

You shrugged off your robe and underwear and climbed on top of the rumpled, soft sheets, curling on your side to watch ships wink in and out of existence. Nevarro was a tiny sphere in the darkness, everything and everyone you’d known shrinking to a speckle in the sky. Despite all of this newness, nestled in the bed of Kylo Ren, you were not afraid--you were exhilarated. You’d forgotten to contact Cerra, but in the moment, you didn’t particularly care. A sunshine vibration settled in your chest. At some point, your lids fell closed.

Thwack.

A sharp thigh smack ripped you to consciousness, and you squealed, whirling to face your attacker. At the edge of the bed stood the Supreme Leader, hair caked with sweat and filth, face smattered with dark red crust. You screamed, skittering back, until you realized he’d come from battle. This was his normal. And even as the stench of rotting copper filled your nose, when his gaze skimmed your naked body, you fought the urge to shiver.

“Uh, hello,” you said. “What was that for?”

“Come.” He gave no further instruction, and spun on his heel to climb the stairs.

The rules. You didn’t need to be told twice.

Kylo Ren led you into the refresher--a spark lighting between your legs at your impending reality--and activated the shower before peeling off his gloves. This was casual, emotionless to him, as if he was not the most powerful man in the universe, as if you, a former brothel wench, were not about to see him entirely naked. You could only stare, entranced, while he moved to his tunic hook by hook before shucking it to the floor, then pulled his undershirt free, revealing to you his thick, muscled torso. Carmine mud had soaked through his clothing, a mist over his skin.

The rest of his disrobing was similar--the removal of his boots, his pants and undergarments, until he was bare, human and ethereal, a deity decorated in blood and dirt. He gazed at you, face blank, urging you into the water with a nod of his head. Hiding your joy, you obliged, and stepped under the spray.

The moment the water hit you, Ren’s grip was at your shoulder, whipping you around and shoving your back to the chilly tile. You released a breath, staring at him, and his hand drifted to your neck, thumb rising to pry open your mouth.

“You will bathe me,” he said, tracing the line of your lower lip, “get me hard, and suck me off.” His thumb slid past your teeth, depressed your tongue. “And if you can make me cum, I might reward you.”

Heat--whether it was from the shower or your mind--rushed your flesh. You liked the idea of a challenge. You nodded, and he released your tongue.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

He gave your throat a warning squeeze. “Don’t make me wait.”

Biting your lip, you sought out the shampoo, finding it within an assortment of plain, regulation-type bottles. Everything you’d come across in his quarters had been quite plain, considering he had the opportunity to access the best of everything. Shrugging, you popped the top, squirted some in your palms before returning it, and lathered it between them. Turning to face him, your jaw dropped when you took in the enormity of his form. The Supreme Leader of the First Order was a molded machine, as gorgeous as he was terrifying. And you couldn’t wait to put your hands on him.

You crossed behind him, inspecting the collection of white scars that had faded across his skin before reaching to massage the shampoo into his hair. He was so tall, you had to stand on the tips of your toes to meet the top of his head, but you managed, working your fingers through the knotted tresses, freeing it of mud and blood. The water ran an eerie crimson as you combed through his dark locks, and when your nails scritched his scalp, you felt him tense, felt him fight a shiver from his spine. Hiding a grin, you did it again, drawing lines across his head, and you heard it--a soft, satisfied moan, caught in his chest. You swallowed, cunt throbbing.

“Do you like that?” you asked. “Supreme Leader?”

He only hummed, non-committal. You were determined to make him make that noise again.

Having finished with his hair, you let the water clear the soap from his head until his locks laid flat on his face, exposing his wide, rounded ears, flushed red from the shower. A devious little thought flicked in your brain--you grabbed the soap (also plain, a boring yellow bar) and made some lather, circled to face him.

The shampoo had loosened most of the muck from his face, but you decided to clean the rest, swirling tiny circles across his forehead, his cheeks, staring into his eyes. He stared back, watching you from behind an invisible barrier--and when you rubbed the shell of his ears, his gaze broke, lids fluttering in delight before he caught himself, lip curling in a hint of irritation. You smirked, another clench between your legs.

“What about that?” you murmured, ghosting your thumbs over the helix--another groan trapped in his throat. “You like that, sir?”

Ren stiffened his jaw, but didn’t move, almost daring you to continue. But you decided to move on with your task--there would be plenty more opportunities to tease him.

You cleared his face of debris before standing back to admire his body. To your disappointment, his cock was still soft, but you knew this was through sheer effort, through a determination to make you earn it.

Starting with his shoulders, you ran your soapy hands down his strong neck, skimming across the long scar that arced over his eye, a pretty crevice in his flesh. You were close enough now that you realized he was covered in scars, marring his arms, his torso, his abdomen. Rather than repel you, they drew you closer--the evidence of his survival, the physical remnants of his conquests made your mouth water.

Stepping into him, you massaged the soap into his flesh, working it into his muscles, down his biceps, glancing at him when you did, a spark of excitement in his gaze. You kept his attention while you washed over his hands, circling each of his fingers with your fist, pumping them like you might his cock. They were thick, rigid in your palms as you cleaned them free of grime. His eye twitched.

Grinning, you gathered more soap, swirling large loops over his broad, solid chest. His firmness made you throb, made you want to step even closer--but you focused on your duty, reminded of your mystery reward. You kneaded over his pectorals, flicking his nipples with your thumbs before dropping lower, smoothing soap across his abdomen. Kylo Ren tensed when you cleansed his stomach, and you glanced at him again. His pupils dilated--your fingers followed the line of his hip bones, inching toward his thighs, and he swallowed, shifting on his feet. You were getting close.

Licking your lips, you foamed more lather and shifted behind him, caressing suds into the powerful planes of his back. Here, you could see more scars, more war-made muscle, and you cleansed it all, digging into his shoulder blades, down his spine to his ass, squeezing handfuls of it--he tensed again. Keeping a giggle to yourself, you returned to face him, still juggling suds, and finally, finally dropped to your knees.

Kylo Ren’s thighs were just as large as the rest of him, big slabs of muscle smooth to your touch. He stared down at you, observing you with restrained desire, and you coasted over his quadriceps, the backs of his knees, his calves, rubbing up and down his flesh, all the while avoiding his cock. You marveled at him, at this marble-carved man, at the ripples under his skin as you kneaded over hard ridges of strength. Around you, the water faded to a translucent pink, filtering clear--you took the bar of soap a last time between your palms, placed it on the floor, and massaged a wide circle around his dick.

His legs and stomach tightened, and you smirked, keeping his focus and beginning at his hips, mouthing open, soft kisses to the inside of his thighs, moving closer while your soapy hand slipped over his length. Ren’s lips parted, and you did it again--a gentle graze of his shaft--and kissed his pubic bone, licking a stripe to the base of his cock. When you took it in your lathered fist, he gasped--you grinned, and started pumping it long, slow strokes.

A shuddered exhale escaped him, and you were spurred on, spreading your knees and continuing to kiss around the root, reveling when you felt him swelling and pulsing against your palm. You rolled your fingers around his shaft, cupped his balls, water washing bubbles to his feet, and you tickled the underside of his dick, making it twitch. With a grin, you wrapped him in your fist again, increasing your pace, letting him grow even harder in your hand--and Ren released a shaky, blissful breath. Celebrating an internal triumph, you peppered tiny kisses around the hilt of his cock before circling your thumb around the head, smearing precum into his skin.

“Don’t be coy, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I know you like that.”

He snatched your scalp, cranked your neck back into the water. “I don’t remember asking for your commentary.”

Wincing, you obliged him with a tight, languid stroke. “You’re right.” You squeezed his fully erect cock, wet and clean. He was even bigger up close. “I have a better idea.”

In one motion, you took the head in your mouth, dropping your jaw to seal your lips around it with a lewd moan. Ren strangled a gasp--you curled your fingers around the base of his dick, eyes trained on his while you swallowed his length inch by inch. He was thick, throbbing on your tongue, and you pressed it to his shaft as you pulled back, fist following your mouth’s lead. The dry rub of water scraped your grip, so you released him for a moment, locking with his gaze and dribbling a long line of saliva onto his dick. Ren gulped again, his amber irises hazy with lust, and you slicked him in preparation before sucking on the head of his cock.

Big hands coiled in your hair, and you groaned, pleased, twisting your wrist and bobbing back and forth on his length. His breath quickened, his grip tightened, and you whimpered, the ache between your legs burning you with desperation. But you were learning the rules--you already knew he would be serious about making you earn it. So you pressed your thighs together, another hand curving to grip his ass while you drooled and gagged on his cock.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Can you handle all of me in that little mouth?”

You hummed in agreement, taking him deeper, driving him into the wet heat of your throat--you wheezed, but fought through the tears, your gaze on his own, even as the spray of the shower fuzzed your sight. Fist moving faster, slippery with spit, you suckled in another inch, jaw sore from his size. You could only imagine how obscene you looked--dripping with water, salivating down your chin, tears stinging your eyes as you swallowed his dick.

It was incredible, getting to please him like this; since the very first time he’d fucked you, before you even knew his face, you’d dreamed of making his massive dick twitch and cum in your mouth. But now with the knowledge that this dick belonged to the Supreme Leader--you were intoxicated, your clit stiff and screaming for attention, your skin crackling with need. Yes, you needed to make this bastard cum, because you just as badly needed him to return the favor.

You tightened your fist, jerking him faster, and he yanked your hair, pushing your nose against the patch of hair at his groin. Ren fucked hard into your throat, and you heaved, writhed, sobbing onto his cock, both hands burrowing into his thighs as he pistoned his hips against your face. He panted through hoarse groans, his face flush, cheeks red, cock pulsing with an impending climax. Between clenched teeth, he growled, thrusting deep, gaze black and feral.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “that’s it…” He snapped his pelvis, and you retched, slobbering around his cock, clinging to his flesh. “Take my cum down your throat, tracinya. Fuck, take it--”

Kylo Ren suppressed a groan, rocked into your face, heavy cock throbbing and spilling the hot, salty loads of his release. You moaned, sucking it down, watching his chin tremble as you drained him through his climax, humming until he started to soften. Grunting, he slid out, untangled his fingers from your hair, and ruffled the wet fringe from his face before focusing on you. He scanned you: skin soaked, jaw sore, smugly satisfied. You’d certainly earned your reward, now.

“Good girl.” He pinched your chin, thumbed your swollen lip. “Come.”

He turned off the water and exited the shower, leaving you needy and clenching in the dewy air. Frowning, you stood, seething from the ache at your knees, and peered through the fog to spy the Supreme Leader toweling himself off before exiting the refresher. You mimicked him, drying yourself too, and trailed him with a grumble as he strode through his quarters, still entirely naked. A glimmer of hope when he arrived at his bed--until he reached into one of the closets at the side and started pulling on a pair of compression garments. You paused, folded your arms over your chest.

“Uh. Excuse me. Supreme Leader?”

“Hm.”

“Aren’t you. Y’know. Gonna make me cum?”

He huffed. “No.”

You gawked. “I’m sorry, what?” You paced over to him, feet sticky on the cold white floors. “You said you’d reward me.”

“No.” Ren was impassive. “I said I might reward you.” He grabbed a pair of pants, pulled those on, too. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck in the future.”

Gaping, you blinked, laughing in disbelief. You’d played by his stupid rules, worked to earn your place. Had you seriously done all of that just to have him deny you? Whatever game he was playing, it was frying your patience. He’d had you convinced from your trysts at work that he’d want you to have a good time, too--but perhaps he was just like every other man. A whirlwind of curses flew through your mind, in Basic and Mando’a, but you settled on a language that he didn’t understand.

“Ugh! Doompa wermo nek!” you snarled, stomping past him and flopping on his bed. “Oto to crispo chuba!”

For a moment, Ren did not respond, his silence a thickening cloud in the room. For that moment--that short, foolish moment--you felt as if you’d finally gotten one over on him, and a smile snuck onto your face. But it was only a moment.

“You want to kill me, hm?”

“Oh.” He spoke Huttese, too. Your heart sank. “Fuck.”

The Supreme Leader clucked his tongue--you could feel him behind you, footsteps drawing closer. Squealing, you hid your face in his sheets, moving to crawl away, but he seized your ankle and tore you from the mattress, flipping you onto your back. A burgeoning brute, he pounced, palms on either side of your head, wet hair flinging droplets onto your face. His eyes were simmering honey, prepared to boil, igniting a clamor between your thighs.

“Look at what we have here,” he murmured. “A schutta of many talents.”

You sighed. “What language don’t you speak?” you asked. “Di’kutla chakaar.”

Ren hovered closer, placed a knee on the mattress. “Mm, don’t think I heard you, tracinya.” A warm, strong hand moved to your throat, thumb pressing into the divot under your trachea. “What was that?”

His touch stoked the fire in your belly, the greed in his gaze inciting your own. Whatever game indeed. This was a revelation--the Supreme Leader hadn’t lied to you about there being rules. You had just misunderstood them. Certainly, there was a part of him that enjoyed your obedience. But there was clearly another, greater part that craved your defiance.

“I called you,” you replied, peeling the words from your teeth, “a stupid bastard.”

Kylo Ren smirked.

In a single breath, your wrists were gathered and tacked above your head, your legs spread open. And when you tried to move, you found you couldn’t, held by invisible bondage, paralyzed by the air. You thrashed, to no avail, pulse skipping in your veins--he observed you in satisfaction, attention wandering your vulnerable body. It was the same magic he’d used to make you cum, you were sure of it.

“What is this?” You tried to wriggle again, but it was useless.

Ren leaned back, smoothing his palms over your thighs. “This,” he said, “is how I get you to do whatever I want.”

“Oh?” An eager flicker in your chest. “And what exactly do you want?”

“You.” A hand stroked up, over the roll of your belly and down your hip, painting goosebumps across your skin. “Begging for my cock.”

You snorted. “After the stunt you just pulled?” you asked. “I’ve had enough of your cock. It won’t be that easy.”

Delight flashed over his face. “You’re right, kih tracinya.” A snap of his wrist, and your knees were thrown toward your stomach. “It’ll be even easier.”

Ren bent forward, palms gliding up and down your sides, and pressed a hot, wet kiss to your throat. You shuddered, a groan escaping, head rolling onto his sheets, and he growled, nipping at the thin tissue, mouthing more nibbles along your neck. His lips were soft--softer than you remembered when they’d been at your cunt--his tongue laving at every tiny mark he left behind, his hands gripping, squeezing at your stomach, drifting to your hips and to your thighs. The heat of his bare skin inspired your own, pleasure quaking through you, a building fissure in your flesh--when he dragged his teeth across your collarbone, you whimpered in need.

A hand left your hip, curled in your hair and tugged your head back. “Poor thing. Listen to you whine.” Ren peppered heated kisses along your jaw. “When was the last time you fucked a man who wasn’t behind a screen?”

It was difficult to speak through trembling breath. But you managed. “When was the last time you fucked a woman without using magic?”

Face still buried in your neck, he huffed--a low, dark sound in his chest. “You think I can’t break you without the Force?” Kylo Ren sank his teeth into the exposed column of your throat, and you wailed in pain. He dug in, forcing a shriek before he released you, speaking into your ear. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

The Force--you’d heard it referenced before, in passing. You’d just had no idea it was a real thing. And that this man was someone who could control it. As you’d thought it, he released you from its hold, but the ache at your neck had stymied any snark in your mind for the moment. He took the opportunity to bind your wrists with his sheets before standing back, admiring his handiwork. You gazed at him--your chakaar was wild with lust.

He grappled an ankle in each hand and tossed them over his shoulders. “This should be a familiar position for you,” he muttered, before attacking your neck again.

This time, he was savage, groaning as he sucked welts into your skin, grazing his teeth over your shoulder, biting mark after mark into the muscle. Though you squealed, yelped with pain, you relished it, ecstatic at the show of possession, impatient to see the patchwork of bruises gifted to you by the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Ren hunched over you, finding your breasts, crushing them in his grip--you gasped, but he continued, punishing your tits under his palms. Voracious, he moved to your sternum in a streak of saliva, thumb and forefinger tweaking your nipples in pinching bolts of pleasure.

“Ka’ra,” you gasped. “You’re a dirty bastard, aren--mmf!”

Ren had crammed two fingers in your mouth, shoving them to the back of your tongue. “Come again?”

Before you could protest, he took a nipple in his lips, the other still battered by his thumb, and suckled, tongue swirling around it, gentle moans escaping him. You whinged, trying to buck your hips, finding yourself pinned by his weight--arousal controlled you, your core contracting in a cry for something to fill it. He must have known this, too, from the way his hand floated across your belly and between your thighs, petting your folds with a tender touch.

You moaned onto him, eyes lolling back, overwhelmed; Ren was in your mouth, at your tits, teasing your pussy--he may as well have been in your head, hijacking your mind, making you yearn for his cock. He sucked your nipple fat between his teeth, and you returned the favor, wrapping your lips around his fingers; he rewarded you with a slight spread of your pussy, earning a squeak, tempting you to crack.

“Ready to beg?” A quick bite to your nipple, and you released a muffled squeal, shaking your head. “No?” He stroked your engorged clit--you howled. “Are you sure?”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he wiggled his hand further into your throat while he stroked your clit again, and again, thumb catching on the hood, slipping to your entrance before teasing more. You writhed, lids squeezing shut as you fought his hold, but his natural strength rivaled the Force--he caged you, a warden to your orgasm. He tapped your swollen nub, testing a tiny circle around it, and you sobbed, bounced your wrists against the bed, staving the urge to bite his fucking fingers.

“Needy slut,” he muttered. “I can feel how wet you are. How badly this cunt needs to get fucked.”

He continued to glance over your clit, making you throb, making your pussy scream for more. Another swift circle, and another, flooding you with bliss--and he stopped, back to feather-light touches. You wanted to burst, you sucked hard on his hand, skating your teeth over his knuckles in complaint. Growling, he relieved your clit for a split-second, only to spank your pussy with his palm. Pain and pleasure ruptured through your thighs, and you shrieked, gagged around him.

“You can’t help yourself,” he said, and spanked your cunt again. “You’re dripping for my cock.”

Perhaps it was the delirium--the potent cocktail of your need, his torture, the extended denial--but you fractured. And you nodded, agreeing with him.

A grunt of approval. “There we go.” His voice was filthy with victory.

You loved it.

“Dush, etyc kih tracinya.” Ren shifted, pulled his fingers from your mouth to splay your legs wide with his hands, dipping between them to kiss down your belly. “Sucking me off made you want to cum. Didn’t it?”

You nodded again. “Yes…”

“Yes?”

The bloated, heavy ache between your legs took rein of your tongue. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Mm. Good girl.”

The very same Supreme Leader rose to his feet, looming over you, displaying the huge, straining erection behind his pants. His eyes glued to yours while he pulled it free, circled his hand around its massive length, and you gazed at it, still agog. You supposed you’d never get used to how big he really was. Ren pumped himself once, twice, drinking you in, before shoving you further onto the bed and climbing over you.

His lips found your throat again, sucking softly at it. “Do you remember how I had to stuff myself in that little cunt?” he murmured. “How tight you were around me?”

Mouth dry, you replied, “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Good girl.” He propped your calves up on his shoulders, lowering himself to your entrance, taunting you with it. “And do you remember how good it felt to cum on me?”

“Yes,” you sputtered, growing frustrated, “yes, Supreme Leader.”

“And do you remember…” another false-thrust, another anticipatory clench. “... how you begged for me like a filthy little bitch?”

It took all of your power not to crack wise. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Humming, he nipped your ear. “Then beg for my cock.”

“Ka’ra!” You lost it. “Shut up and fuck me, chakaar!”

He clucked his tongue. “You were doing so well.”

Kylo Ren slicked the head of his dick on your juices before pushing in just an inch, sucking in air through his teeth as he enticed you with a hint of stretch. Staring at himself throbbing inside of you, he held it, and eased out, then driving back in by centimeters--prying into your cunt, giving you only a bit of bliss before stealing it away. He shook with self-control, drawing in more oxygen, hissing in pleasure at even the slightest squeeze from your core.

Whinging, you tried to jerk your hips to take more, but found it difficult with your ankles at his ears. Hair tumbling into his face, he slipped out, slid in again, giving you an inch each time, letting your walls clamp around the length that wasn’t there. Ren leaned up, allowing the both of you watch his hips roll, watch his thick, heavy cock push you open with its head and pull back out. Frustration turned to tears--the sight alone was enough to splinter you, but his steady breath, the agony of being empty, the twitching of your clit, all of it compounded. It made you break.

“Please,” you whispered, “please, Supreme Leader, please fuck me, please give me your cock.”

It was impossible to miss the arrogant shimmer in his eyes. “No.”

Your face fell. “What?”

“You’ll take what I give you,” he said, “and if you behave, I will make you cum.”

Hundreds, thousands of thoughts raced through your mind in that moment, most of them profane, all of them capable of getting you in trouble. Yes, you were learning the rules. And you knew the only way you’d be sated is if you played by them. Steeling your jaw, you met his gaze.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Supreme Leader.”

Ren settled over you, nuzzling into your neck. “Jate, little flame,” he rasped. “Now take my cock.”

With a slow rock of his hips, he pushed in--millimeter by millimeter, digging you open, in and out, in and out, letting you feel every vein of his cock, every thump of his pulse as he drove deeper inside of you. You stilled your chest, trembling with blissful, beautiful pain, the sweet sting of being full, the addiction of being stretched. Kylo Ren seated himself, fully sheathed in your tight, slick cunt, exhaling as you clenched around him. Gritting his teeth, he dragged out, deserting you in the same, torturous fashion.

This was, you realized, your consequence. He was going to make you beg for him until the very end.

“Supreme Leader,” you said, grinding your wrists together. “Please, fuck me.”

He huffed. “No.” Another slow thrust in, stretching you again, and he caught a groan in his chest.

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, I want your cock.”

Leaning closer, smothering you with his frame, he glided out. “Too bad.”

“Please,” you said, as he stroked into you, wet and hot around his dick. “Please.”

“Beg all you want.” He shuddered when you squeezed him, his hips twisting into you. “Fuck.”

Sex with the Supreme Leader before had been incredible, sure. But the warmth, the strength, the size of his body over yours, the ability to feel his breath, his heartbeat, the rumble of his voice--incredible became inconceivable. Never had you imagined that you could ever be so aroused, so desperate. Never had you considered pleading and squirming through tears for the fill of cock. Never, through any of your antics, had you been this entranced by any single man.

But Kylo Ren truly was not just a man, you were learning.

He was also an utter bastard.

He was also still, despite it all, a corporeal god.

Ren’s rhythm continued to torment you, pumping slowly in and out of your pussy. You could only wince, inhale, and clench around his girth with each thrust--a strategy that seemed to work. Though his hips kept their pace, his breath quickened, his heart pounded, another groan stopped in his throat. Spurred on, you continued, constricting him, walls milking his dick, working him to his peak inside of your pussy.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Nasty fucking whore. You want me to cum in this cunt, don’t you?”

Lust tore through you. “Yes, Supreme Leader, yes, I want you to cum in me, please, please…”

“Fuck.” Ren slammed into you, jerked out, slammed in again. “Yes.” Another hard, brutal thrust, piercing your cervix, and you quailed. “Fuck. Watch me.” He panted, propped himself onto his palms, sliding out until just the head of his dick was buried in your core. “Watch me fill you.” A quick snap of his hips, and he choked, trapped a deep groan--and came.

His cock, swollen and flush and veiny with the promise of orgasm, jumped and twitched inside of you, a climax so intense it pulsed to his groin. He gasped, tensing with every wave of pleasure as he poured hot cum inside of you, a rapid throb of release. A few aftershock ripples, and it dissipated, his cock softening.

“That’s right.” Ren’s chin dropped to his chest, his lungs filled with satisfied air. Exhaling, he glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “I think you’ve earned it.”

In a smooth motion, he pulled out of you and tugged your ass to the edge of the mattress while he dropped to his knees on the ground. Sweat was a second skin, your arms strained, your heart ramming against your ribs. And you gaped, a mere spectator to two large hands wrenching your knees wide before the Supreme Leader dove face-first into your abused pussy.

The words that left you were nonsense, a multilingual damnation of his soft, skilled mouth. Ren devoured your cunt, staring into your eyes while he gathered his cum and your own on his tongue, gulping it down, his lips brushing your neglected clit. A feral, anguished cry escaped you, an appeal for mercy--you were so stirred, so edged that even the slightest attention to the nub hurled you near-orgasm.

“Fuck.” No other words would come to you. “Please. Fuck.”

Finally, benevolent god he was, Ren sucked your clit between his teeth. You screeched in ecstasy, head thrown back on the bed as he licked, lapped, suckled at it, humming at your flesh. He flicked the tip with his tongue, traced tight circles around it, and when your breath picked up in expectation of orgasm, a hand left your thigh, two fingers gliding easily into your core. You moaned, writhed in delight, and Ren crooked them inside of you, the intrusion forcing his cum and your own to drip onto the sheets. Like a starved animal, he abandoned your clit for only a minute to gather the creamy globs with his mouth.

“Supreme Leader,” you groaned, “ka’ra…”

Smirking, he swallowed, sealed his plush lips around your throbbing clit, and sucked. Pleasure commandeered your brain, shutting out rationality, logic, reality itself. Thick fingers curled in your pussy, and you spasmed around him while he groaned against you. The vibration of his voice ricocheted to your thighs, and you cried out, soaring higher, higher, until you were at the peak, a witless body suspended in space. A twist of his hand, a lave of his tongue, and you ascended.

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the walls of Ren’s quarters. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunted for air while he suckled you through the receding tide of your release. You felt your cunt quivering at his face, felt the mixture of cum at his chin, and you drifted to full consciousness, lids flitting open.

Ren smacked his lips, standing and wiping his face. At some point, he’d tucked himself away. He scanned your panting, exhausted figure before reaching over you and freeing your wrists from his sheets. A groan of relief fled you, and you winced when you dragged your arms down to rub away the fatigue.

Seeing this, the Supreme Leader took your wrists in his own hands, encircling them with ease, and massaged his thumbs where you’d been bound. Your breath skipped, your eyes widened--he did not look at you, did not acknowledge this gesture was his own, even as he adjusted his grip to rub the opposite side of your joints. When he was finished, he glimpsed you for a shooting-star-second--and released you, letting all of you sink into his bed as he paced to his closet.

“You are mine.” He said this while he clothed himself. “Expect to travel with me. Expect to serve me.” His voice was empty. Dead. “Expect me to use you however I please.”

You arched your head back and gazed through the transparisteel, the galaxy appearing just as infinite and enigmatic from this angle as it did from any other. This view, a comfortable bed, a real refresher, and the attention of the Supreme Leader of the First Order? You could be fine with that.

More than fine with that.

“Tracinya.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I understand.”

As Ren continued to dress, you hoisted yourself onto a pillow, pulled the covers over you. He still hadn’t told you if you could sleep there, but he hadn’t stopped you, either. After a moment, he crossed to you, boots striking the floor, and a gloved grip pinched your shoulder like a handle, turning you to face him. His hair was still half-dry.

“You’re learning the rules well.” He thumbed your lip.

For some strange reason, you blushed. “Only the most sincere effort for you, chakaar.”

He huffed. “Good girl,” he said. “Welcome home.”

Then he turned and left you there, climbing the steps, his footfalls disappearing into the air.

Four words this time, fizzing your blood with glee--home. You wanted to encapsulate this feeling, inject it daily, like a drug. Sighing, content, you stared into the stars, your sterling sentinels. Nevarro was as distant in your memory as it was in space. For now, you belonged to the Supreme Leader. For now, you’d never felt more pleased.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #cocky. beautiful. bastard.#fanfiction problems #just a meanie

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

About Face

Erasmus wrote, what else is the whole life of mortals but a sort of comedy, in which the various actors, disguised by various costumes and masks, walk on and play each one his part, until the manager waves them off the stage?

Prentiss, Morgan and Bishop were the earliest ones there that morning. Morgan had brought in donut holes and Piper took the jammy delicacies, catapulting them successively into his jaw. The 7th one in a row earned a cheer from everyone except Prentiss who had her eye caught by something entering the bullpen between shots. Piper missed her next shot as she focused on the figure drawing up behind Morgan as he ‘grooved‘ in victory. The outline of Frankenstein hovered above Derek’s ear before yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Jesus, Reid.” Derek took a deep breath as Emily and Piper laughed.

“Happy All Hallows Eve folks! To paraphrase from Celtic mythology, tomorrow night all order is suspended, and the barriers between the natural and the supernatural are temporarily remooooved!”

“That right there’s why I hate Halloween.”

“Amen,” Piper held out her hand that Derek slapped, laughing at the sheer outrage on Spencer’s face.

“Why?”

“It creeps me out.”

“You’re scared?!” Piper looked at him shocked.

“I didn’t say I was scared, I said it creeps me out.”

“Pipes, why don’t you like Halloween?” Emily switched the conversation, easily catching the voodoo doll Spencer threw to her.

“I just don’t. What creeps you out about Halloween, Derek?”

“I don't know. People wearing masks. I don't like folks in disguises.”

“What?” Reid exclaimed. “That’s the best part about Halloween! You can be anyone you wanna be.”

“Nah, I'm pretty good just being me.”

“Why is it that none of those views surprise me?” Emily scoffed, returning to her stack of paperwork.

“You know what, though? On the flip side, it does provide a pretty good reason to cozy up with a scary flick and a little halloween honey.” Derek clicked his tongue and shot a finger gun at Emily.

“Derek, I think you somehow made Halloween worse. So, thanks.” Piper jammed the last donut hole in her mouth before returning to her desk adjacent to Reid’s.

“Guys, he’s here.” Reid whispered excitedly.

“Who’s here?” Piper asked, smoothing out her hair immediately. She watched an ageing man walk in behind a marching Erin Strauss up to Hotch’s office, glancing at Reid smilingly at the getup. Reid hastily took of the mask as the rest of the team watched the man disappear into Hotch’s office. “Who’s he?”

“The lord and saviour of criminal profiling. David Rossi. Sold millions of books.” Reid answered as he pulled the noose over his head, draping it over Piper. She pulled it off immediately, discarding it on her desk.

“You know that Frankenstein was the doctor, not the green monster, right? Mary Shelley used him as a vessel in which to explain the repercussions of scientific innovation that doesn’t consider moral or ethical practices...” She trailed off from her conversation as Hotch approached them with Rossi.

“Team, meet SSA David Rossi. Dave, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA Derek Morgan.” He paused to let him shake hands with the two agents before letting Piper introduce herself.

“Hi, Dr Piper Bishop, this is Dr Spencer Reid.”

“Good to meet you.”

“Sir, if I could talk to you later about your work with the Scarsdale skinner. Psycho-linguistics is an incredibly dynamic field, and the fact that your profile of his reading habits ultimately led to his capture is something I find so incredibly intrig-”

“Reid, slow down. He’ll be here a while and JJ’s waiting for us.” Piper hid a small smile as she followed Emily, with the boys behind her, Derek playfully slapping Spencer.

They sat in the conference room, going through the case. One woman, brutally murdered and sexually assaulted with missing posters stuck up in her own house and a mask with the word “One” etched on it in blood. As the body flashed onto the screen and Piper flinched, Penelope walking in at the same time. She yelled, pulling her file in front of her face. “Dear god, what is that?”

“Technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, this is SSA David Rossi.”

“Is it gone, JJ?” Penelope quickly greeted the older agent and left apologising profusely. Until she came back in to hand Hotch the file she came in for.

Piper smiled as she listened to Reid’s explanation of the false face mask and Emily’s preliminary identification of the killer as a textbook sadist. Having covered the case, Hotch dismissed them all, telling them to meet at the jet.

^-^

Spencer moped as he perused through the files. Piper threw hers on the table. “Okay, Reid, spill. What’s wrong?” Emily raised an eyebrow in piqued interest.

“Nothing, I just had plans tonight.”

“For Halloween, I presume.”

“Yeah, I had tickets to the original Dracula.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the way Halloween is celebrated today has no historical merit to it.”

“I may regret asking this,” Emily started, “But what do you mean?”

“Well, like Spencer said this morning, All Hallows’ Eve was the last day where spirits could take vengeance on their enemies, so to protect themselves, the people in both colonial America and England would disguise themselves and in France, they’d visit the graves of their lost loved ones with dishes of milk. Similarly, in Italy, some families left a large meal out for ghosts of their passed relatives. And now, it’s known as the day when kids eat too much candy and dress up as anything they want.”

“So you didn’t have plans?”

“Nah, I had to cancel my ticket to Macbeth. They wouldn’t even compensate the ticket.”

“Damn,” Morgan said sardonically and Piper shoved him.

“Children, behave.” Hotch scolded. “Let’s take a look at victimology.” He beckoned at Rossi to join them. JJ stood with her cup of coffee, silently observing her team and their newest member discuss the case.

“So, we know there’s some kind of fixation with the face. He asks ‘Have you seen me?‘ on the fliers and he then removes the face of our victim.” Morgan says, turning to their resident geniuses to fill in the blanks.

“Well, often times throughout literature, faces are often linked with the pretences people pander to in modern society. In fact, an iconic line from TS Eliot is about preparing a face to meet the faces that you meet. In Roman mythology, Janus is the god with two faces, which incidentally has nothing to do with being two-faced. He’s more about the duality between right and wrong, between the future and the past.”

“The point, Bishop?” Morgan huffed.

“Sorry. The point being that betrayal is often linked with faces. Maybe the unsub feels betrayed by this woman.”

“So, we’re looking for a personal link?”

“I’d say so,” Reid agreed. “The mask could be a symbol the unsub attaches to betrayal.”

“Interesting,” Rossi muttered, eyes focused on his notebook.

“Something to add, Dave?” Hotch looked towards his old friend. He simply shook his head and Emily shrugged before delving into Michelle Colucci’s life. She was single, lived alone, no boyfriend and no ex-husband. She was an architect. Friends and co-workers said she was a class workaholic, a loner who rarely went out of the house. So she's extremely low risk.

“The guy was either a stalker or knew her personally.”

“Do we get a list of all the people in her life? Can we rule out a gender?”

“Females are almost never this violent to another female.”

“You clearly haven’t watched the Kardashians.” Piper scoffed at Morgan.

“What’s the Kardashians?” Reid asked quietly.

“You don’t want to know,” Piper muttered back darkly, trauma evident in her eyes. Spencer raises his eyebrows and returns to the case as she got up to make a cup of tea.

^-^

Bishop hated disposal sites. Finding the body of a woman they couldn’t save unsettled her. Gave her a responsibility to make sure she didn’t die in vain. She saw the same pain in Rossi as they trudged through the greenery towards the river. She faintly heard the conversation between Rossi and Reid and she felt her boots squish through the quagmire. “Dr. Reid, do we still keep all the old files in the fourth floor storeroom?”

“I think some are up there. You know, most of our information's on computer now.”

“Right.”

“Have you had a chance to go through our data since you've been back?”

“Not yet.”

“You'll be amazed. The original team-- I mean, you interviewed something like, uh, 45 serial killers, right?”

“Something like.”

“Today we have interviews with over 1,000 offenders. Serial killers, child abductors, sex offenders-- I'll go through it with you sometime if you like, answer any questions--”

“Sounds good.” They came to a halt and stood in the shade over the river. Rossi walked along the side of it, thinking out loud. He reminded Piper of Gideon, but something was different. “Water. Obliterates a body... Destroys evidence. But you weren't in the water that long, were you, Michelle? She had rocks tied to her to weigh her down. She floated to the surface before there was any other damage. Just what was done to her already.”

Back at the precinct, Piper entered the station with a tray of coffee cups, Rossi sat in a corner scribbling in his notebook. Reid flicked through security footage as Hotch and JJ marched back in. “We got anything?” He looked directly at David, who stopped scribbling but revealed nothing else. “Agent Rossi pointed out that since the victims were weighted down, it suggests the unsub didn't want them found. It suggests some sort of connection between them.”

“Maybe he thought he was saving them for himself, or he was trying to spare their dignity. Either way, he feels connected to this woman.” Piper said, handing JJ her hazelnut coffee. An officer from the department approached the lead detective, informing him about the woman waiting to speak with them. They heard Enid White’s voice break over the line as she gave them the address she was hiding out in. Except the room in the motel was empty, save for the dozen missing posters on the desk. Piper held a poster in her gloved hand.

“I can hear your gears clicking from waay over here Pipes. What you got?” Emily asked from the corner of the room.

“The pictures.” Piper murmured, glancing over at Emily before whipping out her cell to call Garcia.

“Your queen awaits her audience.” Piper couldn’t help smiling.

“Well, your Majesty, the pictures on these missing persons posters look kind of grainy and I think he tried to use some photo-editing software. Any magic in those fingers, my most ardent monarch?”

“I shall be with you forthwith.”

“I anticipate your communication with utmost fidelity. Piper out.” She switched off her cell, disposing it in her pocket, then glanced at Emily’s raised eyebrow. “I’ve been reading a lot of Romantic literature this week. Trying to offset Reid’s Halloween spirit.“

“Yeah, why don’t you like Halloween?”

“A woman’s missing Em. You really wanna talk about this?”

“Don’t try to guilt me. How did Halloween hurt you?” Piper swiped her tongue across her lip, checking to see if anyone with even a semblance of professionalism was near.

“Every Halloween, my siblings always wanted to go trick-or-treating. My father never bought us costumes either nor the materials to make them.” She sighed, carding her hand through her hair. “So I’d use the money I earned from my job down at the coffee shop to buy body paint and pirate hats. And my mom would always cover us. One year, Danny left the group and I couldn’t find him. I dropped Lucy home and searched all night. Turned out he stayed back at this kid’s house because he didn’t want to come home. Said he liked Halloween so much because he could be a Cyberman instead of being Daniel Bishop, son of Detective Leo Bishop. Except the night was so cold that he got the flu. My father pinned it all on me for entertaining their petty desires. I blame Halloween because it’s easier to blame the day than myself or my father.” Emily was silent, probably because she wasn’t expecting something so personal.

“I think that’s the beauty of Halloween. The escape from boredom. Maybe Daniel wanted to escape being a detective’s son and just be a kid. And if anything, you helped in that.” Piper gave Emily a grudging smile before leaving the house.

At the precinct, Piper grasped her tea in one hand, tapping her fingers on the table as Morgan started to deliver the profile. “There's a sophistication and patience in what this unsub does that suggests a level of maturity. We believe this puts his age in the mid-30s to 40s range.”

“Michelle Colucci was taken from the primary crime scene and disposed of at the tertiary crime scene 4 days later.” Reid continued. “That means she was held somewhere for at least 3 days. You can't really just hold a victim anywhere for days on end, so he most likely has access to a house of some kind.”

“And he's also fairly tech savvy,” Morgan pointed out. “The fliers were made on a computer. And it's probable that he used a device to intercept Enid White's phone call.”

“Witnesses in Ms White's neighbourhood say they may have seen a white man putting up fliers, but none of them could describe him, even with all the media attention this case has received,” Hotch elaborated.

“Great.” A detective scoffed.

“Actually, what that tells us is that there is absolutely nothing remarkable about this man. He is exceedingly average,” Prentiss communicated. “As you said, Detective Yarbrough, average height, average build.”

“It extends to his professional life as well,” Bishop continued. “He most likely works in a field where he doesn't stand out, doesn't really make a mark.”

“His lack of distinction is part of his psychopathy. We have hundreds of interactions with people every day. Most of those involve someone overlooking someone else,” Reid added.

“Most of us don't pay any attention to being ignored, but to this kind of unsub, each oversight is intentional. Especially when it comes from his object of sexual desire. He begins to obsess over her until she's all he can think about. And the rage builds until he has to attack that person,” Hotch finished.

“So he's pissed off that nobody notices him?” the lead detective asked sardonically.

“Have you seen me?” She recited.

“Wait. That's not about the women?”

“No. The masks are about the women. He cuts off their faces, replacing them with an expressionless white mask, reducing them to a number. He’s transferring the pain of invisibility onto these women. It gives him a sense of power and the power can make him arrogant, but it doesn't make him notable.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Hotch intervened, “He’ll contact us. Thus far, he’s wanted the police to see him. He isn't going public. Hopefully, by playing on his anger-” Hotch trailed off, glancing at the mask on the news channel. “JJ, how’d they get that?” JJ could sense the anger seeping into his voice.

“Hotch, I swear... I-I contacted all the local PDs and stressed withholding the information about the masks. I don’t know-” Piper heard JJ trail off as Rossi walked in with his notebook, glancing nonchalantly at the screen.

“Oh, I gave it to them.” Piper blinked. Derek stared. Spencer twitched his eyebrows and stared at the floor. Emily refused to make eye-contact as the team heard Hotch about to blow up.

“Dave, can I talk to you a minute?” As they left, Piper let out a breath.

“Hotch is gonna kill him,” Piper murmured to Derek.

“20 bucks he makes Rossi quit.” Piper slapped his outstretched hand.

“You’re on.” She hid her smile gracefully behind her cup of tea as she returned to her perch on the table.

^-^

“Why would you do that?” Hotch gritted his teeth as he asked the senior agent politely.

“It'll make him contact us. He's screaming for it.”

“We aren't prepared.”

“Prepared?”

“We need to set up a trap and trace.”

“Trap and trace? They never stay on the phone long enough for that.”

“Dave, they're a lot faster than they used to be. We also need to prep the detective on what to say to him.”

“He's not gonna want to talk to the detective. He's gonna want to talk to the FBI.”

“We don't step over the local police like that.”

“They called us in.”

“Yes, but if the perception is that we're to embarrass the locals by telling the media that we're gonna fix things, then they'll stop calling us.” Hotch tried to explain.

“Relax, hotch. I've got this.”

“You see, that's the problem, dave. There is no I. We function as a team.”

“I've been doing this before you were out of high school, probably before the rest of your team was in school at all.”

“I know that. Things have changed.”

“The bells and whistles changed. An unsub is still an unsub, and I know how to deal with an unsub.”

“No, Dave, it's not just that.” Their argument was short-lived as JJ interrupted them, telling them that Garcia found something.

As they came back outside, Rossi was confused by Piper’s outstretched hand and Derek’s reluctant $20 bill exchange. There was a lot to learn about this team. In their small space, they gathered around the conference table as Rossi stood staring at their crime board.

“Michelle Colucci recently drew up the plans for a remodel of 3 floors of a company called Techco Communications. It's a high-tech communications company in downtown Dallas.”

“And Enid White?” Derek asked.

“Worked there until 2 months ago.”

“Thanks, sugar plum.” Piper looked up as the detective walked in, alerting them to their unsub on line 2, demanding to speak with the FBI.

Rossi looked at Hotch. Hotch looked at Rossi. Piper stared at the landline, determined not to make eye contact with either. Rossi pressed the phone and introduced himself. As the unsub whispered through the phone to Rossi, Rossi raised his voice higher.

“You won't inspire fear, you'll inspire hatred and ridicule, because the only power someone like you has is a mask, and once that mask is removed, you'll be as insignificant as you've always been-- a loser!”

Piper’s eyes widened and Derek’s eyebrow hovered upwards. Silence followed as the group waited for the response.

“You just signed Enid White’s death warrant.” The line went dead as Hotch and Rossi’s eyes sparred over the last few minutes. Derek slapped the table as he got up from the group and Piper chewed on her bottom lip. Spencer stared at his shoes until Hotch told them to gear up to catch this son of a bitch. A few minutes later, Piper sat uncomfortable next to Rossi in the back of Hotch’s SUV, wishing to God she was with anyone else.

“Lieutenant, I need you to lock the techco building down tight. Nobody in, nobody out. It's vital.” Hotch turned off the radio, slipping it onto the dashboard before turning to Rossi. “Rossi, you really think the unsub's still gonna be there after that call?”

“Of course. He thinks he has all the time in the world.”

“You think they got an image off of the police security camera yet?” Piper asked them, trying to diffuse the situation.

“The security camera doesn't work. I lied about that,” Rossi confessed, causing Piper to mentally throw up her hands and resume her gaze out the window.

“You lied about that?” Hotch exclaimed, eyes still on the road. There was definitely anger in his tone now.

“He doesn't know.”

“Dave, that was incredibly reckless.”

“Hotch, he didn't weigh the body down well.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn't want Michelle found so quickly. He screwed that up. This kind of guy, when he plans something, if he has the time, if he's in control, he's meticulous. But being on the edge of the river, out in the open, he was not in control. He was in a hurry, and he made a mistake,” Rossi explained in his silky voice.

“That's what you're hoping.”

“Trust me. With an unsub like this, you need to throw him off his game. His hand needs to be forced.”

“I know that, Dave, but the point is, you did it by forcing ours.” Piper crossed and uncrossed her leg, begging to be closer to the building.

Her prayers were soon answered and she rushed towards Derek and the others. The group walked in to the building, Piper’s hand instinctively went near her gun. She relaxed as she felt Spencer standing near her. “Michelle remodelled levels 7, 8 and 9. Morgan, take 7. Prentiss, 8, Reid and Bishop take 9. We’ll be here in the lobby. We're looking for a rank-and-file employee who made a scene in the last 20 minutes or was here and gone.” Prentiss had no luck as did Morgan. Bishop and Reid reported back to Hotch that they found his desk. Reid started rummaging through the desk, looking for any type of clue while Piper connected the laptop to Garcia.

“Spence!” Piper called to him, pointing to Michelle’s poster. She flipped open her cell, reporting him. They rushed downstairs through the elevator, Piper tapping her foot as she stared at the silver doors, pulling her gun out.

Reid mulled over what had happened as he sat next to the young agent in the ambulance. He should have done something. He should have stepped out first, or pulled her back. Instead, Piper lay in the ambulance, a bullet lodged in her shoulder, wincing as she gripped Spencer’s hand. “Jesus, they don’t show this bit in movies.” She tried to breathe, her shirt stained with blood.

“Stop talking.”

“You know better than to tell me that Spence. I’m just glad I wore a dark shirt today. No idea how I’m gonna get the blood out.” She winced harder this time, cursing herself for the whimper she let out. Stop it. The guy holding your hand was tortured. You got shot in the shoulder. Stop your whinging.

“Just relax, please.” Piper felt her eyes closing, the pain unbearable. She tried to chuckle but all that came out was a grimace.

“Try to talk to me like I’m gonna live, Reid. Give me one of those statistics on shoulder gunshot wounds.”

“39,773 persons died from firearm-related injuries in the United States.” She slapped his arm weakly.

“Good statistics, Dr. Reid. Good statistics,” she murmured.

“Out of almost 400 million, Dr. Bishop. Not even 1%.” But her eyes had already closed and Spencer felt his eyes water as he pressed her hand to his lips. He imagined what she would’ve said.

“What happened to the sheer amount of germs that can be exchanged through hands?” She’d joke.

“It’s safer to kiss, remember.” He’d retort.

He watched helplessly as she was rushed into surgery and he raised his cell to his ear. “Yeah, they took her into surgery...Good. Thanks.”

To be continued...

9 notes · View notes

d-conde-art · 5 years

Text

Mandelbrot in Revolt

Possible triggers: brief mention of possible suicidal thoughts, mild eye trauma (blood vessel pop), syringes/injections/IVs, violence, broken bones, suffocation, mention of mild non consensual drugging for medical purposes (mild iv sedation on an unconscious person), brief flesh eating insect mention, brief spider mention, existential dread

Moira scanned the dossier on her mobile holopad for the third time that day, clinically worded phrases such as "highly volatile mental state", "multiple security personnel incapacitated" and "mechanics of gravitational anomaly not fully understood" keeping the cogs in her mind turning as she and her escort made their way down the unfamiliar halls of the containment facility. The doctor was Talon's ace in the sleeve when it came to sensitive, difficult cases like these, ones that held astronomical potential but couldn't be resolved by simply throwing money or bullets at the problem. Perhaps she wasn't the most tactful or diplomatic employee on Talon's payroll, however she possessed a deadly combination of tenacity, brilliance and patience that made her uniquely suited for certain challenges that others simply couldn't tackle. Subject Sigma, once internationally lauded astrophysicist Seibren De Kuiper, now dead to the world after what was reported as a tragic and disastrous malfunction in the life support systems aboard the Kuiper space station, was a challenge she had quickly become voraciously intrigued by.

She was brought to the processing bay for the holding cell, where she swiped her identification under the attendant's scanner, silently noting the armored uniform they wore and the electric pistol in their holster. She had been warned that extra precautions were being taken with regards to the anomalous man and his mysterious abilities.

"You have a weapon on your person, yes?" The processing attendant questioned, at which Moira indicated her own small, hip-holstered electroshock gun, as well as the small syringe of luminous biotic fluid she had stowed in her breast pocket.

"Don't let the subject take that gun from you. Keep it holstered until absolutely necessary."

"Until? Not unless?" Moira asked with a chuckle, oddly spirited for all the danger and mystery that seemed to hang in the atmosphere, the smile on her face betraying a hint of her anticipation. The attendant only nodded soberly at the doctor and unsealed the door, revealing a dimly lit, concrete hallway guarded by more heavily armed personnel, stationed in small recesses in the wall roughly 15 feet up, watching silently as the doctor stalked down the hall in long, echoing strides. She paused at the end of the hall, one door sealing behind her, and another slowly hissing open before her.

The room she entered was divided into holding cell and observation bay by a massive wall of reinforced metallic glass through which the doctor could observe the subject. Two armed guards stood, stoic and gargoyle-like, on either side of a glass door, making her frown with irritation.

"I was promised a private consultation with Subject Sigma."

"It will be plenty private when you enter, Doctor. Reinforced two way glass." A guard knocked the glass with a gloved knuckle for emphasis.

"We received specific instructions to remain on the observation bay to prevent security breach and casualties." The other guard elaborated. Moira didn't answer, gazing past the guards and into the cell, realizing with unspoken delight that Subject Sigma was nowhere on the floor of his holding cell. Instead, immediately, she witnessed the proof of the outlandish contents of his dossier she had been hoping for. He was suspended there, curled into himself as tightly as a fetus in the amniotic medium, nearly 15 feet in the air, rotating slowly as though he possessed his own skewed magnetic axis.

"How fascinating..." She murmured as she stepped close to the glass door, gazing at the man that defied the laws of physics, hovering like a dormant creature in an invisible sea. "You will have no reason to interrupt me." She addressed the guards curtly after a long moment, stepping back, allowing them to share a final tentative look before one of them unlocked the door and the other went to the intercom to address the subject.

"Subject Sigma, the doctor is here to see you." The sound roused the subject slightly, and he twitched, his neck bending at an odd angle, like an anxious animal. Moira strode over the threshold the moment the door was opened, and as it was sealed behind her with a mechanical hiss, a glance over her shoulder confirmed what the guard had said, the wall was an opaque mirror from this side. The air in the room felt thin, and she had to pause only a few feet from the mirrored door, the effects of the gravitational anomaly already affecting her body, making her feel oddly light and giddy as she called out to him in her loud, clear voice.

"Subject Sigma, my name is Doctor O'Deorain. I've been sent to evaluate your health and personally manage your long-term recovery from the effects of your incarceration. Now, kindly come down from there."

---

Noise. Endless noise. Static that reverberates through the consciousness like a swarm of insects, devouring self identity, razing humanity, liquifying perception. If perception were a pane of frosted glass through which a human could observe a hazy, easily digestible semblance of true reality, not only would his pane of glass be melted into bubbling silica, it's frame would be in splinters, and the wall it was set in would be bulldozed to rubble, exposing a scope of reality to him that was never meant to be witnessed by any human being, living or dead.

He should be dead. Part of him thought that would be easier. But through it all, a melody called to him. A haunting song that snaked around the essence of his being, coagulating his existence just enough to keep him from dissipating into stardust and the echo of a terrific scream. The universe would not let him die. It cradled him in the throes of it's song like a child, a wordless symphony that revealed to him the story of reality and unreality alike. It was simply too much, too much noise, too much knowledge, too much perception, too much to hold together, yet he was drawn to it, he followed it's call everywhere it led him. Endless existential spaghettification, coiling his consciousness in impossibly long loops, threading him inexorably through the tapestry of the universe, even as he frayed and came undone at the ends. He saw infinite possibilities, infinite timelines, infinite lives and deaths. He had wept at first, wept for people he knew, for people he had never met, and for himself. But he rarely felt anything as tangible as grief anymore. The life he had lead before all this was just one thread in this universal fabric, one among an incomprehensible number, a single drop in a sea the size of infinity.

Somewhere, far away from his mind and soul, where his physical body floated, another noise struggled to cut through the melody. A human voice, tinny, filtered through electrical components. His body seized as his focus oscillated, struggling to break away from the melody and zero in on the sound. What would be done to his body now? More restraints? More electricity? He wasn't even sure where he was. The space station, languidly orbiting the supermassive black hole at the center of the galaxy? The asylum, tranquilized like livestock and strapped to a slab? Or the place that came after that, after the men in dark suits and the struggle and the sirens and the black helicopter they had transported him in?

Another voice called to him now, clearer and louder. Ah, yes, the doctor. He was told to expect a doctor. He had grown very sick of doctors in the asylum, he found them tiresome and invasive, like insects that burrowed into the flesh for their own selfish purposes, spiders that cocooned him in industrial strength straps and chemically induced comas until they were ready to sink their fangs in and suck out more information they couldn't possibly hope to understand. She wanted him to come down. Always asking for something. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He wasn't of this world anymore, he had nothing for them except agony. He forced his eyes open, stretching his neck to gaze over his shoulder at the doctor, his expression wide-eyed and unreadable. The two way glass hid nothing from him, they had no idea how much he could perceive, how he could see the armed guards on the other side of the glass without needing to see them, them and their heavy duty electric weapons. He saw the weapon on her own hip, and he snarled, slowly unfurling himself and turning to face her, the fact that he didn't touch the ground only exaggerating his imposing height.

"... My imprisonment?" He said incredulously, an amused smile stretching across his face as he regarded the doctor. She was familiar to him in the ethereal way that everything was, to someone for whom time was a tangled knot of a trillion threads that branched off into endless possibilities, in endless directions. He knew her without having to know her. He knew endless iterations of her. And he very well knew he could kill her before she could ever get a clear shot at him.

"Oh, my ignorant, foolish doctor." He laughed at the look sprouting on her face, narrow-eyed and indignant. "Freedom, imprisonment... it's all an illusion." A twitch of his hand was all it took to take her body into his grasp. Raising her up effortlessly, hovering her closer to him until her face was inches from his, the doctor's limbs convulsed as she struggled against the effects of the gravitational anomaly, her face going red, then purple as he slowly squeezed the air from her lungs, as easily as a child might squeeze an insect between two fingers. "Do you feel free right now, doctor? I know what you desire. You crave an understanding of me. Of what I know. I will provide you no such thing." He could feel her ribs bend against the force of his gravity, her organs compressing under her bones, so fragile, so breakable. "The only thing I can provide you, intrepid doctor, is a new understanding of violence." His grasp tightened, and his grin widened as a blood vessel burst in Moira's eye, coloring the sclera a visceral red to match the stark, heterochromatic crimson of her iris.

Seconds, a mere heartbeat before the life was crushed out of the seizing doctor, the melody called out to him again. Wordless and all-encompassing, it spoke to him in reverberations, in gentle tones that softened his grip on her lungs and made him contemplate the horror of what he was inflicting on her. Let her live, it seemed to compel, and he trembled, her body shivering along with his hand, the sound of her gasping greedily for the air she was now allowed to breath melding with the ephemeral song. Let her live. Let her live. Let her live. Dear Lord, what is that melody...

The last thing he did before losing consciousness was a simple gesture, a broad sweep of his hand. The last thing he saw was Doctor O'Deorain's body crashing violently into the two-way glass of the holding cell in it's wake, before she fell several feet and crumpled on the floor. The last thing he felt was his own body hitting the floor heavily, and his eyes drifting closed, as the melody danced approvingly through his mind.

---

Of all the things she expected from the subject during their first consultation, being called an ignorant fool was low on the list. Her stature remained tall, her hands clasped behind her back as he slowly, dramatically rotated to face her, eyes narrowing at his words as a sneer tugged at his sharp, sallow features. "I assure you, I am, and will continue to be, the only person both willing and capable of managing and implementing the type of recovery regiment you requi-" Before she could finish her sentence, she was cut off by a feeling like a giant's fist clenching around her ribcage, fire blooming in her chest as her lungs and bones protested the crushing pressure. Her fingers twitched towards her electroshock pistol, but her limbs were no longer her own, the gravitational anomaly coiling around her in relentless bondage, like an invisible serpent constricting it's prey.

She glowered wildly into his emotionless eyes as he spoke, choking and flashing teeth, hovering ever closer to the tall, thin man that was exerting his suffocating power on her. Her heart pounded, and her vision erupted with stars as something popped painfully in her eye. He was tightening. He pressed on her bones like he wanted to kill her.

Hold on, hold on, don't die, don't die, fuck, fuck, fuck.

She struggled to keep her mind from dimming as it agonized for the oxygen he was depriving her of. If she could just force her hand to travel to the holster on her hip, one quick whip and a pull of the trigger is all it would take...

For a brief moment, it looked like a sudden realization dawned on him, and the force lessened enough for her to suck a deep, ragged breath into her lungs. Then, all at once, her body was flung against the glass with a power that made blackness engulf her vision and lighting shoot through her chest. She felt herself hit the floor with a dull thud, and gasped there for a moment, coughing and clutching broken ribs through her shirt. Shaken and snarling, she clenched her jaw through the fiery pain and clawed her way up the side of the glass, coming to stand on unsteady legs just in time to see the door of the holding cell fly open and the armed guards enter, taking aim at the now prostrate subject with electric rifles. She seethed, and summoned all her strength to lunge at the nearest intrepid guard, grasping the length of a rifle with her shaking hands and growling at the armored pair in a ragged voice.

"STOP. You have no idea how much you're jeopardizing, how- how important this is." Still seething from the broken ribs in her chest, she ripped a syringe of luminescent yellow biotic fluid from her shirt pocket, jamming it into her own arm and pressing down on the plunger with a pained twitch of her snarl, before exhaling with deep relief as the fluid spread through her veins, expediting the reparations of her bones and muscles to an exceptional rate. The doctor straightened to her full height, her body a barrier between the guards and the subject, the angry red blotch in her sclera being the last injury to dissipate as she loomed over the two guards, her hand still gripping one of their rifles as her eyes burned into them. "Listen closely. There is a reason I was assigned to this subject, and I will not have my work undermined by ignorant, trigger-happy expendables like yourselves. You will get the hell away from my subject, or you two will become today's only 'casualties'. Do we have an understanding?" The guards lingered for a long moment, sharing a knowing look, as if considering Moira's long-held place in Talon's inner circle, and her not-so-veiled threat. The pair cast one last cautionary glance at the now unconscious form of Subject Sigma, before retreating complacently from the holding cell.

Moira turned as the door sealed behind them, eyes falling to the crumpled body laying unconscious in a heap on the floor. She sighed heavily and rubbed her temple, tongue tutting against her teeth as she shook her head at his splayed out body. She just couldn't help it, it was illogical, it was unbelievable, and a sudden, long, hard laugh erupted from between her lips and rang through the cavernous holding cell. The deep, rich sound bubbled up from low in her belly and rocked her to her core until she doubled over and gasped for air, a wide, hyena-like grin still plastered on her face when she finally straightened up once more. The subject had already proved himself to be infinitely more difficult, more dangerous, and more revolutionary than she had ever anticipated, and it only made her want to seize control of this inexplicable power all the more. She kneeled beside his body, checking the pulse on his throat, and heaved a disbelieving breath as she noted his heart rate was now sitting steadily at a borderline comatose 15 beats per minute. "My, my, what am I going to do with you, Sigma?"

---

When Sigma awoke, he was laying in his cot in the holding cell, an optical heartbeat monitor strapped to one arm, an intravenous drip of what felt like a mixture of saline and mild sedative hooked into the other, and a thin sheet pulled over his body, up to his chest. No straps, no chemical coma. He blinked blearily and attempted to sit up, but only managed to prop himself up on his elbows, far enough to take note of the fiery haired doctor who seemed to be typing something out on a mobile holopad at a small writing desk. The quickening of the heart rate monitor caught her attention, and she looked over her shoulder, an easy smile gracing her mouth as she rose and walked over to his bedside with her holopad in hand.

"Ah, hello Sigma. How wonderful to see you're awake. Your vital signs were becoming extremely concerning there for a moment, and that's not even mentioning your severe dehydration and malnutrition, or the obvious distress our initial introduction placed on your already strained psychological state. I do apologize for that. This was far from my first choice of locale for our initial consultation, so much tension in the air here." He stared at her blankly, it had been so long since he had been conversed with so flippantly, months, possibly years, though it often felt like multiple eternities. The static still throbbed in his head, the melody that wafted through him a soft undercurrent, while the medication she had him hooked up to was like a bubble making the whole symphony sound like it came from underwater. "These living conditions are deplorable." She continued with a glance around the cell, when it became apparent he was sorely unaccustomed to friendly conversation.

"Do you have any idea where you are?" He responded only with silence, and a slow shake of his head. "You're in a holding facility in the middle of a Soviet wilderness, about a mile underground. This facility is owned by Talon, the organization that arranged your... transfer, from the institution where you were being illegally detained." Conveniently, she made no mention of the legal status of the facility they were currently inhabiting. "Essentially, you're currently in the middle of fuck-all nowhere." Still wearing that sage smile, she pulled up a chair, sitting close to his bedside. He remembered the image of her body colliding against the mirrored wall of the cell and crumpling like a doll, how the white of her eye exploded with crimson as he tightened his hold on her, the sound her bones made when they cracked on impact. Yet here she was, intact and spirited, with a conspiratorial look in her mismatched eyes. What was she? Was she even real?

"The way Talon sees it, you have two options. You can stay here," She gestured around the spacious yet stark holding cell, most of the room taken up by medical equipment she had requested be set up before her arrival, otherwise only inhabited by a few basic amenities. "-Doing whatever it is you've been doing so far." She paused, the corners of her smile curling up as she leaned in a notch closer. "Or, you can return with me to Talon headquarters in Rome, and assist me in developing a long-term recovery regiment for you, implemented under my personal supervision. You'll be provided with higher quality living arrangements, personal amenities, and the finest psychological and medical care Talon can buy, curated by yours truly." She sat back in her chair, flitting her eyes back down to her holopad, finishing the last of her report for the consultation. "All I ask in return is your cooperation during the rehabilitation process, of course." Glancing up from her pad, she hovered the stylus over it, locking eyes with Sigma, pausing before she checked off the last box on the report. "So, what do you say, Sigma? Would you like to leave here with me?"

He stared at her for a long moment, the oscillations in his mind not disappearing, but dissipating enough that he understood the offer that was being made. He could stay here and flounder through fractals and visions until the glass finally cracks, and they either shove him down into an even deeper hole in the ground, or worse, put him back in induced stasis and let him drown in the melody, alone and lost, falling forever. Conversely, he could take the doctor's offer, and face whatever plans she had for him. The choice was his. It felt like the first choice he'd had in a long time. And it was an easy one.

"Yes, doctor. I would like that."

She smiled, and with a flick of her stylus, checked off that final box. "In that case, you may feel free to call me Moira."

———

OP: This will become shippy eventually. I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this but expect more chapters forthcoming :3c

#overwatch #moira overwatch #overwatch fanfic #sigmoira #sigma #moira odeorain #sigma x moira #ow sigma #ow moira #moira x sigma #seibren de kuiper #moira x seibren #seibren x moira #overwatch fanfiction

59 notes · View notes

ryder-s-block · 4 years

Text

Jaig Eyes (Ch 47)

Jaig Eyes (47/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

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

Chapter Forty-Seven: Gone For a Moment

Obi-wan and I were probably about halfway up the pit wall when Ahsoka spiralled down to us on a speeder She hummed, glancing down below. “Nice job,” she teased lightly.

“What took you so long?” Kenobi offered back immediately jumping onto the speeder behind the padawan. I too, turned and leapt to the back. It certainly wasn’t a good fit with three people. I was more so perched on the back than sitting. But hey, I prefered anything that wasn’t climbing up the rest of the wall.

“Here,” Ahsoka said, handing back an ignition gauge to Obi-wan. “I did as you said. The shuttle’s going nowhere without that.” I smirked a bit. Great minds think alike.

“Good. That gives us some time to rescue Anakin.”

“We should head to the monastery,” I commented from behind them as Ahsoka guided us out of the pit. The air was fresh and cool, soothing the sting of my burned hand and tired lungs. “The Father will be there.”

As Ahsoka steered us towards the monastery, she glanced back at me. “What happened? Why did Anakin join the Son?”

“He showed Anakin the future,” I yelled back over the wind. “That place was enough to tempt you just by being there.”

“I felt it,” she commented. “And I wasn’t even all the way in it. What was that place?”

“The Father had called it the Well of the Dark Side,” Obi-wan answered. “We need to hurry.”

The monastery loomed before us, Ahsoka moving to take us up to the landing platform. “Wait,” I cried, pointing down towards the arena Anakin had been tested in. “Look over there!” In the center of the arena, laid beside the kneeling Father, was Anakin.

Ahsoka turned immediately, guiding us down. “Master!” she cried, stopped the speeder and climbing off. Anakin looked...normal. The shadows that had been on his face in the Well were gone, replaced by confusion.

“Are you alright?” Obi-wan asked gently.

“I think so,” Skywalker responded, finding his feet. “But we must stop the Son once and for all.” I raised my brow, a bit confused. Was Anakin just suddenly better? What about the jedi being the reason for war?

“We have little time and you’ll only get one chance.” The Father rose elegantly. “You know what you must do.”

“How quaint.” The Son floated down from above, his voice booming with power. “My own personal send-off.” He landed gently between Anakin and the Father, unbothered by our ready stances.

The Father regarded his son sadly. “I ask you one last time. Do not leave, my son.”

“You have no power to keep me, old man,” the Son smirked. “You must understand by now this planet is not my destiny!”

“What you will do will destroy all that is good,” the Father protested adamantly. “I beg you, restrain yourself and stay!”

“I cannot.”

“And then, it shall be,” the Father spoke, backing up slowly. “I love you, my son.”

“Do you?” he asked teasingly as Anakin ignited his lightsaber. Anakin attacked, but was easily blocked by the Son. The Dark Sider grabbed Skywalker by the neck and throwing him backwards. He pulled the lightsabers from Ahsoka and Obi-wan’s grasps before sending all three of us flying backwards.

“What?” I heard the Son chuckle lowly as I sat up tiredly. “You’re going to kill me now?”

“I held hope that you could resist the Dark Side.” Looking towards them, I saw the Father was now holding the blade that had killed the Daughter. “But I see now, there is no going back.”

I watched in horror as the Father turned the blade on himself, plunging it into his own chest.

“Father,” the Son breathed. “No!” He raced up to his father as he collapsed. “What have you done? It did not have to be this way!”

“Yes, my child,” the Father panted as he was helped to the ground. “It did. You and I are tied together, and your strength runs through me. This way, I take your power.”

A small gasp of breath came from the Son, making my brow arch in surprise. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t die.” As we all found our feet again, I watched as Anakin approached the Son from behind.

“I always knew there was good in you.” The Father wrapped his son in a hug, glancing up at Anakin.

Skywalker struck from behind, stabbing the Son through the chest with his lightsaber. “And so you have betrayed me, Father,” the Son gasped in the old man’s embrace before falling lifelessly to the floor.

“It is done,” Anakin said softly as he kneeled before the Father.

“And now I die,” the Father responded hoarsely. “My heart broken, but knowing the role you will play.”

“And what is that?”

“You are the Chosen One,” the man panted. “You have brought balance to this world. Stay on this path, and you will do it again for the galaxy. But beware…” his voice began to peter out as he fell backwards in death. “Your heart.”

The Father disappeared, evaporating like he had never been there. The feeling of the entire planet shifted and the monastery began to crumble. We all turned to see the glowing crystal crashing downwards on the top of the spire. It shattered into thousands of pieces before erupting in a bright purple spark. It billowed for a moment before letting off an explosion.

The light was blinding, making me squint against it. Would the entire place be destroyed before we could get back to the Jedi’s shuttle? It was our only way off this rock, considering my ship had been destroyed...by my own doing.

I closed my eyes as the wind rippled past us, turning away from the light.

And then I felt a familiar seat under my legs. Snapping my eyes open, I was shocked to find myself alone in the cockpit of my ship. I looked down, seeing that my weapons were all returned to me, as if I’d never lost any of them. Whirling, I made my way from the cockpit and into my quarters, seeing the holo-image of my family flickering in the corner.

A sigh of relief slipped past my lips. It was all a dream. I reached out, touching the edge of the holo-projector fondly, only to flinch when my fingers made contact. My hand...it was still burned and bleeding.

Whatever had just happened...had been real.

“Miss? Miss?” I jumped at Apex’s voice, walking into the hallway. “We were disconnected for a moment.”

“A moment?” I questioned, glancing down at my hand again. “I was gone for…”

“Miss? Are you alright?”

I cleared my throat. “Fine.”

“There is an incoming transmission from the Republic vessel.”

“The Republic--” I froze, recalling who else had been with me in that strange world. Hurrying back to the cockpit, I accepted the transmission, seeing an admiral I recognized. They couldn’t see me yet.

“This is Admiral Yularen of the Republic Starship, Venator. You are an undocumented vessel. Please transmit identification codes.”

I smirked at the formal man’s image, looking over the familiar attire of the Republic’s military. “I’m in Wild Space,” I muttered, knowing he couldn’t hear me until I opened a channel. “I don’t report to you here.”

I sat in my seat, resetting the system to fire up the engines. As much as my experience with the jedi had been good, especially since I found out I wasn’t a wanted woman anymore, I still didn’t really feel ready for another run-in with the military.

Especially because I knew Yularen was assigned with Anakin.

And that meant Rex was aboard, too. And the rest of the 501st that I knew.

I wasn’t ready for that at all. I knew I had to go on a journey of healing to learn to...see. But I had already taken steps that day. Large steps. Any more felt like a bit too much.

“Undocumented vessel,” came Yularen’s call again. “Disengage your engines and lower your shields. We are going to engage our tractor beam.”

“Not likely,” I muttered, already typing in a set of coordinates to jump to quickly. I glanced up through the viewport for a moment, seeing another small vessel below the Star Destroyer. The Jedi Shuttle.

My hand had been on the hyperdrive lever. I should have just pushed it and ended the whole thing. But I hesitated at the sight of the ship, relief flooding over me. Whatever weird thing had let me leave Mortis had let them survive too.

My mind shifted to what Anakin had said. “I will do such terrible things.” He had sounded so broken. Yet, so sure. It sent a shiver down my back, knowing that I was the only one alive who heard him say that. That questioned what he had meant. Who worried that it may still come to pass.

“Ah, Miss Fett,” I heard Yularen’s accented voice greet through the comms again. I turned my head abruptly at him knowing my name. “General Skywalker informed me of your presence,” he answered my unvoiced question. “He requests you come aboard for a briefing and to refuel.”

Every nerve was on fire as I panicked. I wanted to run. A past me would have run. But something held me back. I knew I was supposed to agree. This was the way to rekindle my connections with the Republic...and maybe start healing. Then maybe my crystal would heal, too.

My hand moved from the lightspeed lever to the comms, opening the channel both ways. I quirked a smile to the man as he finally saw my hologram. “Admiral,” I greeted. “Nice to see you. Is--” I stopped myself as I found that I was about to try and duck the situation again.

Bendu would have clicked his tongue at me.

“Whatever I can do to help. Please inform Skywalker that I’ve accepted his request.” The comms cut out as the Admiral gave me a curt nod. He didn’t really smile, but I’d come to learn that he usually didn’t.

It wasn’t surprising. He was so rigid and by the book. And he got paired with the wildest Jedi the Order had to give.

“Miss,” Apex cut in as I shifted the shuttle forward gently, heading for the landing bay. “If I may ask, why are you agreeing to go aboard? Your hyperspace engine was ready.”

“I know,” I breathed back. “But I am no longer afraid of what the Republic thinks of me. Or the clones. Or the Jedi,” I declared, both the the AI and myself. “It’s time I faced the things I’ve been running from.”

My automated friend was silent for a moment as he processed my words. “You have been changing an awfully lot of late, Miss, if I may say.”

I hummed lowly. “I know.” Trying to lighten the mood, I smiled, “Why? Getting bored with me?”

There was a moment of quiet in which my heart nearly dropped. Sure, his programing had a loyalty implant towards myself, but he was an AI, after all. Could he have developed past that and actually determined me boring?

“Never.” Was the only response to the conversation I got before I guided the ship into the landing bay. He picked right back up as if he’d never mentioned my change. “The ship is prepped for landing.”

I set the shuttle down easily, already seeing the astromechs and clones approaching to start refueling. With a hard swallow, I stood to exit the ship. “Keep an eye on those mechs,” I warned the AI as the gangway descended. “I don’t want them messing with my ship.”

“Of course, Miss,” I heard him respond as I walked onto the Republic Star Destroyer.

“Kida Fett,” one of the clones greeted, standing tall. A shiny. “The Generals are waiting for you on the bridge. I will escort you--”

“I know the way,” I said with as much surety as I could muster. In reality, I was nearly trembling with nerves. I saw some clones with 501st blue painted on their armor. They were relaxing in the hangar, playing a game of get’shuk. They were all laughing. Brothers. My heart longed to go play with them like I had before...when my hair was a short as theirs.

I kept my head down, glancing sideways at the shiny again. “I prefer to avoid the attraction of an escort,” I explained gently before walking on with confidence. I tried to appear confident, at least.

I remembered the ship well. Considering they were all laid out the same, I’d been on more than enough to navigate this one. Despite not having an escort, I still drew stares. And this time, I was more in-tune with the Force.

I felt their feelings towards me. Some scoffed at my ‘desertion.’ Some were curious. Some recalled the stories they’d heard about me. Some were surprised I was the legend they’d heard about. The ones that were the hardest to sense where from those that recognized me. They were more confused on how they felt than I was.

Then I heard a voice, that even though it came from genetically identical throats, still managed to be recognizable. “Kida?” I turned slowly, seeing the tattooed face of Jesse, followed closely by Hardcase.

I offered them a small smile, both genuine and apologetic. “Hi guys,” I said gently, trying to ease any tension. Nevertheless, I could feel it building in the hallway around us as more eyes turned to see what would happen.

Yet, none of that tension seemed to be coming from the three approaching clones. I was nearly bowled over as Jesse practically tackled me in a hug, followed closely by Hardcase’s burly arms.

“Woah!” I cried out in shock, doing my best not to stand rigid from fright. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s great to see ya, kid,” Kix smiled at me from behind his brothers. “You had us worried there for a bit.”

I quirked my eyebrow as the brothers finally detached themselves from me and gave me some breathing room. “Had you worried?” I wondered for a moment if the destruction of Mortis had caused changes in the galaxy. Had I never left in their minds? “What do you mean?”

“The Republic hadn’t gotten any word on you for over a month,” Hardcase explained adamantly. “We thought you’d gotten yourself killed.”

I glanced between them all in silent shock as it dawned on me. They had been asking after me. They got the intel from spies the Republic used when they would spot me. They weren’t angry at me for leaving at all. They were just glad to see me. Tears sprung to my eyes at the realization, making me glance away and blink awkwardly.

“Aw, Kida,” Jesse teased gently. “We wouldn’t have told ya if we knew you’d get all emotional on us.”

I let out a wet sounding laugh as he came forward and gave me another hug. I returned this one happily, wrapping my arms around his armor. With a sniffle and a small wipe at my nose, I glanced between the three men.

“I’m sorry I had to leave. I wish I didn’t have to.” I wasn’t sure how to apologize. Was there a right way to?

“Aw, we know, kid,” Kix assured me, clapping me gently on the shoulder. “We’re just glad you’re alright.” The tension in the room dissipated as the other clones saw how we were acting. They moved on, walking as if they’d never seen anything. “Kida, what the hell is this?”

My attention was drawn back to the clone who was holding my wrist, examining my injured hand. I flinched, not because it hurt--even though it did--but because I knew that tone. I was about to get the scolding of a lifetime for not treating it already. “In my defense--” I started, but was cut off.

“No, no,” Kix commanded, turning to grab out his on-the-go medical supplies. “You don’t get an excuse. You were just sitting in your ship! How did you manage to go this between then and now?”

I chuckled lowly, not wanting to try to explain, since I wasn’t even sure if I understood myself. “I have to get to the bridge, Kix. I can’t be late.”

“Then we do on the go,” Hardcase suggested, punching my shoulder pauldron lightly, right over the painted kyr’bes. I rolled my eyes, but allowed the clones to escort me to the bridge while Kix bandaged my hand. I wasn’t really worried about drawing attention now. I had friends with me.

“So, what took you off the map for the first time, Kida?” Jesse asked beside me with a smirk. “Found yourself some young rogue?”

I laughed shortly. “Kriff, no. I was...looking into something.”

“Looking into something?” Hardcase repeated. “For months? Nah, it must have been a boy. Or a girl. Whichever you prefer,” he waved his hand dismissively, making me chuckle.

“Or she got lost,” Kix added in shortly from where he was concentrating on my hand. I winced, pulling away slightly, earning a click of his tongue. “If you’d treated it when it happened, I wouldn’t be picking rocks out of it. And is this--is this shrapnel?”

I winced again, but didn’t answer, following the other conversation instead. “I wasn’t lost. I was just staying off the grid for a bit while the Republic had a price out for me.”

“I knew that wouldn’t last,” Jesse assured, rolling his eyes. “I’m surprised, really,” he commented, glancing back at me. “I never pegged you for someone who could stay in one place for so long.”

I hummed. “Well you’re right. But it was out of necessity. I was there because I needed to figure some things out.”

The brothers all glanced at each other in quiet curiosity, but didn’t ask. “Well did you figure them out?” Kix finally asked gently.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I quipped back, making them all smirk at me again. We reached the bridge, the doors opening before us to reveal a room crowded with familiar faces. “Ouch,” I squeaked as Kix gave me a shot in the arm between my pauldron and arm brace.

“Feel better?” I nodded at him. He waved the canister in front of my face. “Stim canisters. You have a belt. Please start carrying them.”

I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, giving a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Glad you could join us,” Kenobi greeted as I slowly entered the room filled with gazes. The jedi and Admiral Yularen stood in the room, with even more jedi watching on as holograms. In the corner, rather removed from the crowd, stood Captain Rex. His helmet was on, but I could feel his gaze on me. “Thank you, gentlemen,” Obi-wan said to my companions, dismissing them from the room.

They left an I immediately felt outnumbered again. While the three present jedi had been friendly on Mortis, I still didn’t get any sort of warm greeting like I had from the clones. I cleared my throat quietly, folding my hands behind my back.

“Thank you for letting me refuel here.”

“Of course,” Windu responded from the holoprojector, as if it was his decision to let me do it. “We owe it to someone who has helped members of our Order.” He gestured to Ahsoka, Anakin, and Obi-wan. I assumed they had told him at least a little about Mortis.

Or maybe he was trying to make up for helping place a bounty on my head.

I hummed slightly, doing my best to still feel relaxed. “I was told you wanted a briefing? I’d like to clarify that it’s about what just happened...not everything else.”

“While we are certainly curious about your adventures,” Kenobi voiced, touching his chin. “We only require your recounting of these recent events.”

I nodded my head slowly, aware of the hair that was still slipping from my ponytail. “Alright.”

“If you would be so kind, this is a Jedi matter,” Obi-wan voiced to the room. Yularen pivoted immediately, gesturing for the communications officers to follow him from the war room. I stood awkwardly as Rex passed me, glancing at his chest plate rather than his visor.

It was cowardly, but I was barely holding it together as it was.

“Your story, tell us,” Master Yoda said to the room as the doors sealed off. I settled myself in for a long recounting of a terribly confusing adventure.

#fanfiction #fanfic #captain rex #rex x oc #rexxoc #captain rex x oc #rex #star wars #star wars the clone wars #oc star wars #star wars oc #clones #Clone Wars #The Clone Wars #Clone Troopers #jango #jango fett #Daughter of Jango fic

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bargainbinwizard · 4 years

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Hi! So Im a baby witch can you me figure out what I'm seeing? I've been seeing this like pink purple color just kind of moving around in patterns and it's generally like floating to one side of something and three very distinct sets of eyes,one feels very masculine and they're a dark blue and I see it the most and feel like they're staring like in my soul, the other set is a light almost pink color and feels very soft and feminine and the other is just kind of like a statue it's all grey thanks!

Oh dear,my first ask and this one…is not in a field I’m familiar with.I’m sorry,please excuse my lack of experience for I’m not very familiar in identifying spirits by looks.With the extremely bare amount of spirit information I do have, all of the spirits I do know about have two eyes. Fae,angels,animal-like ones,humanoid ones…none of them describe the spirit you speak of. Uh, have you asked the spirit in question why they are manifesting in your house? Have you asked them who they are?

I’m just going to be very frank. You need to go email a reputable spirit conjurer on their website, not someone on tumblr, which includes me.Most of of the magical practitioners on tumblr I’ve seen are baby witches or those that have been practicing for a very short time.Those that do have experience, they aren’t usually spirit workers and even then, they work with the same handful of spirits/deities as other people.The only decent spirit conjurer I recommend you email to figure what this spirit is that I’ve personally had good experience with is Creepy hollows (it’s free,really. You don’t even need to be a customer to email them).They’ve supposedly been running the website since 2005 and the owners had practiced conjuring longer than that.All the rumors on the internet about spirit conjurers ‘forcing’ spirits into bindings or ‘hurting’ them are false,their official admin forums address this.All of their conjures are consensual which includes the custom conjured and 'pre bound’ ones. They ask spirits before binding them into vessels, and the spirits aren’t ‘trapped’ in their vessels. It just makes it easier to speak or interact with the spirit in question and the spirit can go anywhere they want and aren’t forced to stay in their vessels. It’s easier to hang out with them.Their spirits are real because I have once emailed them about the angels in my hallway that have manifested and I wanted to know what they are.They told me that they were either divine or star angels.Then a few weeks later I’ve ordered a custom conjuration of a divine angel, the same angel later appeared in my mom’s dreams with the same 2 angels that appeared in the house,they basically told her ‘We just wanted to tell you hi’ in a flower garden setting. The angels still appear in my house to this day. I’ve also conjured my own dark phoenix before using the incantation from the forum, she literally appeared in the hallway too and had chased my cat.She also still appears in my house to this day.

Yes,their spirits species may seem a little out there but they’re all real.

*ahem* Anyway,the point is that you need to talk to someone who knows WAY more about spirit identification than just message people on tumblr who may not know what you’re talking about.Maybe not Creepyhollows but definitely not another baby witch or a mediocre wizard like me.

Sorry for not being much help.

#ask

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blvebee · 5 years

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Lore Spotlight - The Lady Margaret

The Lady Margaret is the ship that brought the fog to Kingsmouth, the first location you are sent to as an agent. It brought with it the Fog, which kicked off a landslide of events.

First, a singing was heard coming from the ocean, and a large percentage of the island’s population walked out to sea. Returning as Draug. Soon after, the dead across the island started rising; whether they were killed recently by the Draug, or were buried long ago. Nearly every trickle-down disaster across the island can be traced back to this event.

Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see.

TRANSMIT - initiate New England signal - RECEIVE - initiate the Caledfwlch frequency - THE WEATHER STARTED GETTING ROUGH, THE TINY SHIP WAS TOSSED - initiate echinoderm syntax - WITNESS - Lady Margaret.

There is a horror story bobbing in Kingsmouth's harbour. Its name is Lady Margaret. Listen.

Eee-ah! Eee-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!

The story is encoded in seagull cries. The seagulls eat the bloated bodies, and in the alchemy of their bellies, those dead secrets fuse to the essence of the birds.

Owah! Owah-ow-ow-owah!

Can you decipher it, sweetling? No? Those vestigial bits have not fully developed yet - your skull is in its pupa stage - but they spasm when you hear the ranting of the gulls. We can decipher. The gory story drips into the tides, one part per million, and still we can taste it. We will regurgitate it to you - feed you as a mama bird does.

Initiate the seagull scream cadence.

They thought the fishing boat lost. Then it returned to port weeks overdue. It brought no relief. It brought no comfort. It only brought the fog.

Eee-ah-ah-ah-ow-ow-owah!

A great storm caught the crew of the Lady Margaret - twisting clouds and waves as tall as houses washing over the deck. Prayers were said, the final kind. The tempest beat the boat, and the crew scrambled to save their cargo. In their toil, a sudden swell washed a mate overboard. The rest watched helplessly as their fellow's head rose twice with the waves. There was no third time.

The waters calmed, and the Lady Margaret remained. A thick fog crept in like a cancer. Mechanical madness. None of the instruments worked. The crew tried to manoeuvre the craft, but there were no bearings, no direction, no mercy from the sea.

Time passes, first in hours, then in days.

The fog parted as a freak show curtain, revealing a graveyard of ships. Rusty steel, ancient wood, Dhows, Viking long-boats, modern frigates, oil tankers, and luxury cruise liners - they all dipped and bobbed in the same water - vessels from all times, all cultures, all covered in red.

What happened next, sweetling? Seagulls are compulsive liars. Let us say an object was found, floating on a driftwood raft. Let us say that a man, designation Joe Slater, dove in and brought it up. Let us say that at that moment, the fog closed on the Lady Margaret with the purpose of a vampire squid's mantle.

Perhaps the boat rotated, caught in the beginnings of a maelstrom. Perhaps the men looked upon the rotting hulks and saw the glistening movement of lean, slimy bodies writhing in red seaweed like undead otters cracking open skulls for their fruit. Perhaps the fog and the dark conspired to play tricks.

There are fragments of older tales embedded in the seagull screams - mariners' tales of things birthed in dead bodies and dark water. Putrid souls, stippled with eel holes, these unquiet dead, these hungry dead, with their milk-cataract stare. A few seagulls even remember the name. Draug-draug-draug-draug!

We can suppose the Lady Margaret fled both maelstrom and monsters. The engine came back to life. Some instruments found lucidity. The boat made its way back to Kingsmouth. The fishermen kept the strange object they found to themselves. Some argued to sell it on the Internet. Others said it should be brought to Innsmouth Academy for identification. They decided to bring it to the esoteric school.

The next day brought the fog. Time passes, first in screams and then in moans.

Joe Slater is the only one left. One by one, his fellows went away, like the deceptively vicious plot of a children's rhyme. Each is a tiny story in the belly of a different gull. And then there was Joe. But he is just barely Joe. Perhaps it was the object, or the primordial soup he swam through to get it, that passed on the fish-oil leprosy.

It started with stomach spasms that felt like writhing lamprey nests hatching in his belly. Then Joe could hear the hag-fish singing in the crushing depths, even when he pretended he could not, even when the Q-tips snapped in half in his bloody ears. Madness bubbled in his brain like the bends. Then pale flesh. Then barnacle sores and wriggling growths and sea cucumber discharges. Now Joe feels the itch and burn as different species of coral battle for primacy of his chest, spitting up their digestive enzymes in time-lapse warfare. Something scuttles out of one body cavity, to be eaten by something hiding in another.

And though the seagulls scream a hundred thousand stories, all Joe can hear is, "Draug-draug-draug-draug-draug!"

#|| Lore Spotlight #|| Lore Highlight #|| ooc

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sinesalvatorem · 6 years

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Finding Friendly Frequencies For Fish

Content: Wild animal suffering, discussion of the experiential lives of marine animals, speculative plans to improve them, and caring a lot about music.

Yesterday I was in a sociological discussion group where, while discussing big picture world-saving projects, I happened to float one of my ideas for combating wild animal suffering. The people in the group seemed to have a generally positive impression of the idea, so I thought I might as well write up a clear overview of it online. (Plus I have Tumblr asks on my world-saving plans from folks like @gatherers-incorporated, so here’s one answer):

Due to human activity, the oceans are now buzzing with industrial noise. A lot of it is chronic noise from the high volume of shipping we do, while some of it is acute sonic devastation caused using massive pulses of sound for things like sonar and oil prospecting.

The problem is, we aren’t pumping all this noise into a vacuum - the ocean is alive, and the things that live in it are being tortured pretty much continuously by a screaming din from all directions. Living in an acoustic hell can have all sorts of detrimental effects for humans - if you don’t believe me, imagine living in a screeching subway car - but this can be even more extreme for animals whose primary means of perceiving the world is through sound.

Cornell University’s marine bioacoustics expert Christopher Clark, when asked about the effects of seismic surveys on whales, said:

We don’t have all the details on that yet. But we can show that there are entire sections of the ocean — 100,000-square-mile areas at a time — that are awash in this sound and where whales just leave the area or shut up completely. We noticed them trying to hide behind rocks to escape in a sound shadow when seismic surveys were being conducted along the California coast. Some of the gray whales actually came right into the surf — we could see their bodies in the breaking waves — to try to get away from this. Hey, if I lived in the ocean and every ten seconds there was a brain-rattling explosion, I’d try to get away, too!

But Clark actually suspects the effects on large whales are less severe than on smaller animals:

In fact, I would argue that the whales are fairly robust. They can tolerate pretty severe acoustic conditions. But with fish, we just don’t know. The Norwegians have conducted some good research that has shown that the fish are moving out of noisy areas, and that the survival rate of the newly spawned young are greatly decreased when there are high noise levels. And science is only just beginning to pay attention to what the invertebrates are doing — the squid, the shrimp.

OK, so we know we’re scaring them away and killing their babies. What else have we learned empirically? For that, one of the best sources I’ve found is Lindy Weilgart 2018, on the impacts of noise on fish and invertebrates. Just the abstract is downright horrifying. Here are two excerpts:

Noise impacts on development include body malformations, higher egg or immature mortality, developmental delays, delays in metamorphosing and settling, and slower growth rates. Zooplankton suffered high mortality in the presence of noise. Anatomical impacts from noise involve massive internal injuries, cellular damage to statocysts and neurons, causing disorientation and even death, and hearing loss. Damage to hearing structures can worsen over time even after the noise has ceased, sometimes becoming most pronounced after 96 hrs. post-noise exposure. Even temporary hearing loss can last months.

Being hit by a blast of sound underwater when your own body consists of a tiny sack of water is apparently physically harmful. It causes serious damage to existing bodily structures, as well as the ability to develop new ones with maturation. I would probably liken it to being thrown against a wall. Hard. During a seismic survey, maybe every 10 seconds. However, even when the noise isn’t causing “massive internal injuries”, it’s still injurious to the psyches of fish. Because, well, how the hell can they think in this mess?

Stress impacts from noise are not uncommon, including higher levels of stress hormones, greater metabolic rate, oxygen uptake, cardiac output, parasites, irritation, distress, and mortality rate, sometimes due to disease and cannibalism; and worse body condition, lower growth, weight, food consumption, immune response, and reproductive rates. DNA integrity was also compromised, as was overall physiology. Behaviorally, animals showed alarm responses, increased aggression, hiding, and flight reactions; and decreased anti-predator defense, nest digging, nest care, courtship calls, spawning, egg clutches, and feeding. Noise caused more distraction, producing more food-handling errors, decreased foraging efficiency, greater vulnerability to predation, and less feeding. Schooling became uncoordinated, unaggregated, and unstructured due to noise. Masking reduced communication distance and could cause misleading information to be relayed.

Pictured here: A fish leaning in real hard to hear his mate at a party, except there is no party and his mate has internal bleeding.

Basically, when sufficiently stressed by the fact that THEIR ENTIRE WORLD IS SCREAMING AT THEM AT ALL TIMES AND THEY DON’T KNOW WHY, fish fall apart. In particular, they fall apart in a remarkably human way: They live by a hair trigger, become aggressive and flighty, and stop devoting their energy toward maintenance and improving the future. No more nest-digging; no more nest-care; no more seeking mates; no more children. How can you even think about tomorrow when the screaming is happening RIGHT NOW.

As I’m a very musically inclined person, I feel like the only way to really get this is to hear it in song. As it happens, you can! Ends by clipping. is about how dysfunctional living the ghetto is, but the amazing thing about it is that it’s self-demonstrating. It strategically recruits (mild) noise pollution into the substance of the music, by making you sense what it feels like to have your whole life narrow down due to living on the edge. The experience of the song is the experience of a life too constrained to make a story out of it. You can’t fit a beginning, middle, and end into life in the hood.

youtube

Once upon a time *drum motif begins, as if starting a story, but then trails off into ambient noise without resolution* Once upon a time, there was a middle of the story But fuck it, they need some ends Shoot up in the air See if it come down See if it come down Don’t look now

The psychological experience of living within that song is the experience of living in the ocean today. It’s what it feels like to be a fish while your world is screaming. When it doesn’t feel like there’s enough space to construct a life, because everywhere around you is saturated with hostile energy. Once upon a time, there was a middle to their lives, but fuck it, we wanted shipping. Blast sound into the sea. See who it’ll hurt. See who it’ll hurt. Don’t look now.

OK, so it seems we’re torturing trillions of lifeforms at all times. What now? There are already various initiatives around that aim to deal with acute noise pollution, like the seismographic surveys that make whales try to beach themselves. However, as far as I’m aware, no one is focused on solving the problem of noise pollution from shipping (if you know who is, please point me to them!). This is despite the fact that commercial shipping is probably responsible for the majority of the chronic sonic suffering we inflict on small animals.

Which is why it’s the focus of one of my world-saving projects. The goal is to get basically all large ships to run their propellers and internal machinery at frequencies that are harmonic intervals of all the other ships. Basically, I want every ocean-going vessel to sing in the same key, so that fish swim through music instead of screaming.

Some of this will require research. The most basic version of this proposal would require that all machinery be run at frequencies that are 2^x of some base frequency. However, this would seriously limit the amount of control ships have over their speed and maneuvering, so it might be a hard sell. Luckily, there are more harmonics than just overtones - it’s just not yet clear how more complex harmonics affect various nonhuman animals.

I’d like to conduct research into empirical, cross-species music theory, so we can learn if the harmonic intervals that sound pleasant to humans are also pleasant to sound-sensing beings in general. I expect that in the course of further abstraction, the final “Aquatic Scale” we end up with, as an ideal for pleasant fish lives and giving ships more degrees of freedom, will look quite different from existing music within the Western twelve tone system. However, I certainly intend to start by building on the existing body of Western music theory.

Then there’s the small matter of getting people to actually do it. This will probably involve a lot of interfacing with various political machines to pass various regulations which are in practice worse than the pure idea. Oh well. Any important work means learning how to deal with the existing institutions. My hope is that it’ll be easier to do if instead of asking people to tone down their activity, they’re just required to shift into any of a long spectrum of Schelling point frequencies.

This would, however, require that people actually care at all. That might be a little difficult in the current social and moral climate, where people still argue about whether the suffering of pigs matters, and few spare a thought for fish.

However, even here I’m hopeful. I think the current trends toward expanding circles of concern will make people more generally concerned about suffering. I think the vegan movement and increasing identification between people and their pets is causing a long-run increase in concern for animal welfare. And I think it’s actually possible to make people care by getting them to really understand how fish feel (and, yes, I don’t think you get those obvious patterns of stress response without them feeling the stress), and the ways this parallels parts of our own experience.

Plus, I’m not even asking people to stop eating fish! Unlike factory farmed land animals, I think most of the suffering to fish due to the human consumption of them occurs during the relatively short period during and right after being caught. It would be nice if even that didn’t happen to them, but it’s further down my priority list. There’s no ethical consumption under later capitalism or heterotrophic biology. Rather, I’d like to find as many ways as possible to get two seemingly-opposed parties to in fact move around each other without harm. Coordinating ships on a couple of frequencies to free up the water for life is one of them.

Finally, one of the reasons we should make the ocean into a symphony is because we can. We’re already completely remaking the sound architecture of the ocean right now. The power is here right now and being used to create a hell on earth by accident. We live in a modern world with precious few obvious miracles, but here an opportunity to make one is staring us in the face. We can turn the oceans to song. We can turn the oceans to song.

In a sense, they already are. The pulsations of life underwater do tend to sync up with each other, and with higher-order cycles such as tides. The continuity of frequencies like these have caused the rest of nature to build itself around it. What if we laid laid down our own frequencies? An underwater monument to our civilisation, to be known by trillions in the deep.

Once we were foolish. We poisoned the world in a thousand ways. We were confused and disorganised and sung a cacophony of a million dissonant voices. But then we grew up, and we learned to clean up our messes. We are sorry for the pain, and what we leave in its place is the song of our people. For it would great wonder bring to make the very oceans sing.

#animal welfare #effective altruism #science #marine biology #music #mother visible #long post cw

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azzandra · 6 years

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When the Bough Broke

Girl Genius Event Week: Day 2: Sturmhalten / Mechanicsburg / Paris

Words: ~2,000

(Part 1)

"So that's Mechanicsburg?"

The sight on the view screen did not give a good sense of scale, but at first glance, it looked closer to a hollowed-out planet than a space station.

Humanity's dispersal to the stars had been chaotic for the first few generations. Entire civilizations had gone out and run their course in uncharted space, or returned changed to bring stories of strange and unimaginable things. The first Heterodyne, when he first came from uncharted space, crashed onto the scene aboard the largest, more ridiculously over-bloated dreadnought anyone had ever seen. It was alien tech, people whispered. The Heterodyne had bargained with monstrosities unimaginable for a weapon that would give him supremacy.

He'd built it himself, the more terrifying stories went. And each generation of Heterodyne after the first lived up to it by unleashing new horrors upon civilized space.

But the dreadnought hadn't left the system in centuries. Whatever the lure of the Dyne Star was, it had made the Heterodynes keep the ship here, and build Mechanicsburg Station around it, in concentric decks and rings which turned to connect with each other in uncountable configurations.

Agatha remembered the old stock clips of Mechanicsburg in its proud, during the Heterodyne Boys' time. The rings had turned in a complex non-Euclidian ballet, rings passing by and through each other inexplicably.

But ever since the Other's attack, the rings had frozen into their configuration. A hole yawned through the broken rings and straight into the heart of Mechanicsburg, where the old dreadnought Castle was broken open, mad and dying, trapping the station in a decaying orbit which only the efforts of the Wulfenbach Armada managed to slow.

Mechanicsburg Station had fended off countless armies and attacks over the years. And yet, now, here it was, defenseless and quiet.

Or, well... not completely defenseless.

"Is this really safe?" Zeetha asked, giving a dubious look to the info-pad in her hand. She had one of the Mechanicsburg tourism pamphlets open. "It says here this area of space is a constant eight point five on the Bonkers scale."

That didn't sound safe, certainly. The Bonkers scale, named after Professor Thaddeus Bonkers, measured the density of anomalous spacial phenomena in an area. A place that was not space at all, and had no anomalous phenomena, was usually a one on the scale: places such as planets and the Core Worlds.

Most people didn't even think of going anywhere that scored over a five. Most couldn't be paid to get within spitting distance of a six.

Yet the Heterodynes had always been at ease navigating this strange system with its even stranger star.

Now that Agatha got a look at it, the Dyne Star seemed to pulse gently in time with the music in her head. She watched the Dyne for a long time, as she would the field around Beetleburg Station, but instead of making her feel nauseous, it made the music in her head feel like a warm heartbeat. She hadn't even noticed it until the field went down on that day when Beetleburg Station was attacked, but it was as if her mind had been in a fog before, and now it was expanding to fill the entire universe.

Agatha was startled out of her reverie by Zeetha touching her shoulder. She flinched, and adjusted herself in the pilot seat.

"We should be fine," Agatha said, "as long as we keep to the designated traffic lane."

The ever-helpful Wulfenbach Armada had delineated a path through the system, and marked it with space buoys that transmitted a constant stream of navigational data. The anomalies tended to move around, but the keen minds working for Captain Wulfenbach had actually figured out a formula for how the anomaly field was going to shift. The buoys could even upload auto-pilot data straight to ships, and steer them into Mechanicsburg Station's port. It was literally a fool-proof system, and there was no way to leave the lane unless it was deliberate, or you were a much more innovative fool than the Wulfenbach Engineer Corps had accounted for.

Agatha watched the navigational data scroll across the overhead display, and adjusted course accordingly. She was not much of a pilot--she was, in fact, not anything of a pilot outside a few failed simulations--but she was the closest thing because she'd read all the manuals. Zeetha didn't know a lick of piloting, and Krosp was a cat. He wasn't even tall enough to see over the console. He sat in the co-pilot seat instead, giving himself a tongue-bath.

The console gave a sharp trill as they were hailed.

"It's Wulfenbach Security," Agatha said, as she read out the information tag on the transmission.

"That's probably not good," Krosp said.

"Could just be routine," Zeetha opined, and leaned over to pick up the transmitter from its fork and speak into it. She gestured for Agatha to kill the visual feed. "This is Interplanetary Small Freight Hauler Baba Yaga, please advise."

"This is Wulfenbach Security. Baba Yaga, please activate your visual feed. We require visual identification before we allow docking."

Agatha cast Zeetha a nervous look, but Zeetha grimaced and then put on her best freighter captain voice, feigning a spacer accent somewhat poorly.

"Negative, Wulfenbach Security. Visual feed on this old clanker is borked. Would be happy to do in-person identification after we dock, though! We're just here on a juice run."

There was a long moment of silence, tense as their request was apparently being considered. Agatha had no idea what they'd do once they actually docked, but she supposed that was a bridge they'd pass when they got to it.

Any hope of a reprieve was dashed when Agatha looked down to the navigational display and noticed a ship moving in to intercept. It was tagged as a Wulfenbach vessel.

Another voice came through the radio, this one gruffer and far less patient.

"Small Freight Hauler Baba Yaga, last chance for visual identification," the voice spoke.

Zeetha raised the transmitter to her mouth, her expression pinched.

"...No?" she said tentatively.

"Prepare to be boarded," came the reply.

Agatha twisted in her seat to look at Zeetha.

"What do we do?" she asked, as the navigational display showed the Wulfenbach ship closing in fast. The blinking dot seemed to be swooping down on them like a hawk.

"I'm thinking about it," Zeetha said, but she did while loading a fresh cartridge into her ray gun, so Agatha could guess the arc of her thoughts.

Agatha blanched at the thought that they were about to get into a firefight with Wulfenbach forces, on board an old freighter that could barely hold together in even the best conditions.

"Leave the lane," Krosp said abruptly.

"What?" Agatha squeaked.

"Eight point five on the Bonkers scale!" Zeetha shouted, gesturing wildly at the viewscreen.

"We know what happens if they catch us," Krosp said, "We don't know our odds in the anomaly fields, and those are bound to be better. And they might not even follow us in. Now, turn around and leave the lane before they get within range to blow our engines."

It was the absolute worst idea Agatha had ever heard, but they were in the position to only afford bad ideas at the moment, so might as well take one from the cat. She veered off the lane as sharply as Baba Yaga could take a turn, and zipped past the buoys as fast as the sublight engines allowed.

It was still a fair bit slower than the Wulfenbach ship, which seemed like it was going to push for near-light speed catching up with them. It didn't hesitate to leave the lane as well, making Agatha suspect that whoever was on board had already concluded they were fugitives. Not like running away didn't prove it definitively.

Agatha pushed Baba Yaga as much as she dared, and she had only a moment's warning, a glimpse of the navigational display from the corner of her eye, to see the projectile that the Wulfenbach ship launched. She pulled a sharp upwards turn, but what really saved them was an anomaly making the projectile burst backwards just off the Baba Yaga's tail.

"What a terrible time to be on a ship without weapons!" Zeetha hissed. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know!" Agatha replied, as she spun the ship end over end. She wasn't sure why she did it until they felt the artificial gravity lag, sending them all floating for a second before falling back into position, and Agatha realized that she'd glanced against a spacial anomaly and somehow gained speed in the process. The Wulfenbach ship veered off the chase, trying to go around it and ending up mucked up in a gravitational pocket.

Her heart beating fast, Agatha could feel the music swelling in her head. With her expanding awareness, she could suddenly hear--and feel--a lot more than she had when this started. It was a sensation that had been growing in strength as she approached the Dyne Star, but now that she was right up against it, pulled and pushed by the embrace of its gravity, there seemed to be more nuance to the sensation. Like listening for the right notes, Agatha could feel where the anomalies were, and slip the ship between them easily. Sometimes, she'd feel what one or another anomaly would do, and pushed the little hauler a bit closer to them, and the pained rattle of the engines would ease, or old rust would flake away to reveal new metal, like healed skin beneath a scab.

This must have been how the Heterodynes did it. How they survived in this relentlessly hostile system, where so many others came to perish. The Dyne's music would show them the way, and the anomalies were not all bad when you knew what to expect.

When Agatha said it out loud, it sounded a bit silly, and she thought maybe Zeetha and Krosp would laugh at her. But Zeetha just thumbed her chin thoughtfully as she considered.

"Huh," Zeetha said, and looked at Krosp. "How'd you know she could do that?"

"Obviously, the Heterodynes had to have some way of navigating the anomaly field," Krosp sniffed, "or else they'd never leave their station."

"You guessed, didn't you?" Zeetha poked at Krosp, grinning wildly. "You had her endanger our lives on some wild guess! That's fantastic!"

Krosp raised his chin regally, and did not comment.

Agatha half-listened to the banter as another sensation distracted her. Overlaid with the music of the Dyne, and each note of the anomaly was another tune, complimentary yet distinct. This one felt more artificial, something composed rather than emerging organically, but there was something welcoming about it nonetheless, and Agatha followed the thread in a slow arc that brought them to the far side of Mechanicsburg Station.

"There's more buoys," Agatha said suddenly. "Not Wulfenbach ones."

It took her a while to identify, and Baba Yaga's scanners could just make out the buoys in the field of space debris that surrounded Mechanicsburg. To someone who was not actively looking for them and didn't already know the frequency on which to scan, they would register only as junk, perhaps broken off spaceships during ancient battles and never cleaned up properly.

But there was something too purposeful about their positioning, and something about that tune ushering her along... drawing her close...

The end of the path was at a cavernous entrance into one of Mechanicsburg's broken rings. The way the metal curled and warped at the edges, it looked like an open maw ready to devour, but Agatha knew, somehow, that inside would be safe. She trusted the music now.

#girl genius event week #girl genius fanfic

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sablelab · 6 years

Text

Covert Operations - Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander. This is a complete work of fiction and as such is an entirely fabricated tale created in my imagination.

There may be some suggestive chapters (S) and scenes of a violent (V) and or sexual nature (NC-17) through the course of this story.

Manip - @sassylover-stuff

SYNOPSIS: Jamie Fraser and his team approach the floating junk. They board it successfully but what they find is deceased bodies with a specific calling card.

CHAPTER 3 As the wooden, Chinese junk bobbed up and down on the water a small rubber zodiac speedboat carrying three Section One operatives, wearing camouflage wet suits, rapidly approached it. Speeding through the water at a rate of knots the water craft left a foamy wake in its path riding the waves as it sped across the sea to the floating target.

In Systems, *Fergus Claudel studied his computer screen matrix showing the location of the junk and zodiac as they moved toward the floating boat in the South China Sea. At the moment the blips were too far apart and there was nothing to report of any significance or of any successful outcome to Operations until James Fraser and his team reached the junk. Waiting for the Section One operatives’ body sensors to register that they were nearing the target, Fergus studied his computer screen and repeatedly tapped his fingers on his desk. He could not relay any information to Operations until he had clarification. Adjusting his glasses in concentration, he glanced up from time to time to see his superior pacing up and down in the Perch as he waited for confirmation that the mission was on track. Finally the dots got closer and closer and he communicated this to his leader.

“Jamie and his team are approaching the target,” he informed Section One’s leader Dougal Mackenzie.

In the Perch looking down on to Systems Operations leaned his hands against the ledge of his desk and peered through the glass windows at his computer genius. Switching on the communication button located near his hand, his words soon echoed in Claudel’s headset.

“Good. Let me know when James and his team reach the target.”

“Yes sir.”

Waiting at his post, Fergus’ computer screen suddenly began beeping significantly. Noticing the dots of the zodiac and junk merging on his screen’s matrix, Seymour looked up towards Operations relaying this important Intel.

“They're at the ship sir.”

“Excellent.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When it came closer to the junk the zodiac slowed somewhat before finally pulling up beside the listing vessel. Ever vigilant, James Fraser and his two operatives prepared to board. Time was of the essence and Geillis Duncan wasted none as she inserted a grappling hook inside the propelling mechanism that would fire it onto the junk so that they could easily scale the side of the boat and get on board. Once the grappling hook was inserted correctly, she handed it to her team leader James Fraser.

Taking the mechanism from her hands, Jamie quickly eyed the junk for a suitable location before aiming accurately at his chosen point. He shot the hook onto the deck where it lodged securely in the wood then signalled to his team to prepare for boarding. Rupert Mackenzie collected their laser weapons and handed them to Geillis Duncan and James Fraser. They swiftly scaled the side of the vessel after their leader until all three had successfully climbed onboard the junk. With weapons at the ready the two operatives were ordered to cautiously survey the deck from starboard to aft as Jamie relayed back to Section.

“Fergus … we’re in position.”

The operatives immediately split up to explore different areas of the junk for any targets. Stealthily making their way along the creaking deck, each was alert and cognizant of the potential danger they were in for they knew not if there were hostiles hiding on board or not. They moved as if blending into the surroundings, vigilant … aware … and watchful for any anomalies in the mission profile.

The young techie’s voice sounded in Jamie’s communication unit. "Jamie? Any signs of life?”

“No, the junk is abandoned.”

Seeing some bodies lying on the deck, he made his way over to them. “No hostiles alive Fergus.”

“How many?” Before relaying this information back to Section One, James Fraser bent down and turned the dead bodies over and examined the corpses. “Three men … two Chinese and a Caucasian on the main deck,” he replied.

“Anything else?” he inquired.

“Not yet,” Jamie answered and with a raised hand signal, he ordered his team to keep looking. They proceeded to the other ends of the junk to search for any other Intel that could be useful. Seymour’s voice interrupted once again. “Wait! Jamie! I have a faint thermal reading below deck.” “I’m going down.” “Okay … but … proceed with caution,” was his advice. Soft footfalls descended one after the other as James Fraser made his way below deck gun poised and ready. His eyes vigilantly scanned the perimeter. It was eerily quiet except for a creaking door that was flapping backwards and forwards as the junk rocked to and fro. It was then that he saw another two bodies and made his way through the open doorway into what was the bedroom on board the junk. Before him were two deceased, one male and the other female. Both were riddled with bullets and sword marks crisscrossed the male’s chest in a triangular pattern with writing inside the markings that appeared to be Chinese calligraphy. Taking a closer look Jamie knew he had seen this symbol on the other dead bodies on the deck. “Death with Honour” he translated. Stepping away from the male dead body he walked to the other side of the bed to examine the second corpse. It was a woman and she was stark naked. Her body had the same calligraphy marks as the male deceased but instead of sword slashes; it was written on her chest in her own blood. Her cerulean eyes were fixed open and stared right up at him. James felt for a pulse, but she had already flat lined. The young woman had obviously met with a violent death for she lay tangled in bloody sheets on the bed and coagulated blood congealed in her tousled long, brunette hair. He quickly searched the room for any identification.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Jamie? Anything to report?”

“There are two more bodies below. Both deceased. One male ... Chinese and a Caucasian female.”

“Anything specific that could identify them?”

“Not as yet but I recognise the Chinese calligraphy inside the distinctive triangle which marks their bodies.”

At this information Operations’ voice echoed in Jamie’s headset. “That is a modus operandi of triads. Do we know which one? Could it be the Rising Dragons?”

“It will be in my report when I debrief.”

“Good work James.”

“Thank you sir.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Back at Section One, Fergus Claudel’s computer lit up as yet another beeping signal flashed across the screen and an alarm bells suddenly went off. He watched, as the blip seemed to move closer and closer to the abandoned junk where James Fraser and his team were.

“Sir … There’s something's out there. I'm picking up something in the water.” “What?” “I'm not sure yet. It’s probably a passenger ship. I'll check.” Then switching channels Fergus contacted one of Jamie’s operatives. “Mackenzie, give me a visual ... forty degrees to the southeast.” Making his way promptly to position and looking over the side of the junk, Rupert raised a pair of binoculars scanning the horizon. “Looks like another vessel … perhaps a patrol boat.” “A patrol boat?” Rupert Mackenzie scanned the ocean once more just to be sure. “Yes … It has some kind of flag flying on it. Whatever it is, it’s getting closer.” “Who is it Claudel?” Operations bellowed. Thinking on his feet, to give Operations an answer that would satisfy his superior as to what this other craft was, he erred on the side of common sense and replied. “It could be the Hong Kong Water Police.” Operations did not want the Hong Kong Police to find the Section One operatives anywhere near the junk as it was a covert operation to gain Intel into who were the perpetrators of this crime. If indeed it was the Rising Dragons triad who was responsible and it very much looked as if it was, then Police interference could hamper their end game. When James and his team returned to Section One and debriefed, Madeline and he would go over Jamie’s’ report to see where any correlation was to the Intel they already had on the triad.

“Have James and his team get out of there,” was his next order.

“Jamie! Do you have the Intel?” “Yes.” “Then get your team to exit point … and proceed with plan B.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“We have an abort position,” James Fraser communicated to his team. Quickly abandoning the ship by jumping over the side into the sea below, the team climbed back into the floating zodiac and sped off as quickly as they had arrived. Thankfully this was done without being detected by the approaching patrol boat that was motoring towards the junk on the opposite side to the zodiac. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The police launch made its way out toward the open sea to the coordinates pinpointing the listing junk. Senior Superintendent Xiao Zheng had started the day early and already they had more cases than they could handle. More paperwork meant another late night spent at Headquarters. Although he was diligent in his police work and left nothing to chance, he loathed the mountain of paperwork that one of these cases usually resulted in. Now he had yet another case to add to the pile already mounting up on his desk. He cursed under his breath as a niggling sensation lodged in the pit of his stomach. If his gut instinct were anything to go on this would not be an ordinary crime scene. The junk had been listing aimlessly for some days. Whoever had perpetrated the crime had been long gone and by the time forensics had gone over it with a fine toothcomb, getting an early lead on whoever was responsible would take valuable time … and resources that he didn’t have. Nonetheless, he prided himself on the comprehensive and thorough investigation strategies of his team to do their job under duress. The work ethic of the men and women under his leadership was commendable yet he was extremely short staffed. Not only that but he had a rookie recruit and an exchange colleague arriving from Australia, plus he had not yet organised where to best use them. Perhaps this new case would be suitable. As the police launch made steady progress towards its target, Zheng watched his new recruit Mei Ling as she focused her binoculars on the horizon seeking out the floating Chinese junk. “Do you see anything Mei?” He said approaching her. “No, not yet Sir.” “The coordinates are logged in. It shouldn’t be too long before you see something … keep looking and let me know when you do.” “Yes Sir.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

FERGUS CLAUDEL - Section One's computer whiz kid. He has a healthy respect for Operations, and usually does his bidding without question. But his friendship with Murtagh Fitzgibbons and Claire Beauchamp leads him to bend the rules occasionally. Fergus’ work area is in SYSTEMS - A sector of Section One where computer operations are conducted.

Should you wish to access the other chapters of this story … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed my crossover story. xox

#jamieandclaireau #jamie x claire #crossover outlander/lfn spies modernau #the lallybroch library #covert operations #outlander fanfic

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