#this is why hand coding is and always will remain superior

[hootiee]

for no reason i changed my tumblr theme again <3 i like this one better

#.txt #its minimalistic but still has the features i wanted #like the full post date and the search bar and multiple links #also this one has a blinkie option too which is cool. i might add more to the code or just edit it to fit buttons instead(i like them bette #i like that this one has a ton of options for each thing but its veryy annoying when you want to have smth the same for multiple elements #like i was not gonna copy and paste the border color 5 times #this is why hand coding is and always will remain superior #anyways #yeah #new theme

[gch1995]

Obi wan was kind of a hater, he looked down on all of anikans closest relationships aside from padame…who he probably was attracted to (she had slot in common with the duchess)…he gave Rex a hard time even though in the end Cody was the one who turned on him and Rex was able to resist the order 66…he was always talking about R2D2 even through the droid had proven himself in battle countless times and saved many lives and Jedi

Obi-Wan was very critical, cynical, and hypocritical in regards to his treatment of Anakin’s relationship with Padme, too.

Yeah, Obi-Wan did genuinely grow attached to Anakin, in spite of his constant denials that he did until the end of Revenge of the Sith when it was too little too late to make any sort of change for the better. That genuine affection he developed for Anakin definitely was also one of the major reasons why Obi-Wan kept secrets from Yoda and the Council about Anakin’s romance with Padme and his growing unease in regards to his former padawan’s increasingly dangerous and erratic emotional/mental instability.

However, Obi-Wan Kenobi was also a deeply cowardly, insecure, hot-tempered, proud, and self-centered man. He built a stubbornly inflexible shield of arrogance, criticism, deceit, manipulation, and willful denial to avoid having to take the risk of truly facing and fully owning up to what were, at least partially, consequences of his bad decisions and flaws. iIn a lot of ways, he is similar to what Anakin becomes as Darth Vader until the end of Return of the Jedi, which is what truly makes them great foils when you really examine their dynamics, growth, regression, and aftermath in the series.

The take that Obi-Wan Kenobi was “emotionally mature,” “kind,” and “vastly morally superior” to Anakin is ridiculous to me because he really wasn’t. Yeah, technically we see Anakin committing more atrocities against others throughout the galaxy than Obi-Wan Kenobi because it’s a story about his fall from the side of the Jedi Order’s even more corrupt space soldier cult of enemies in the Sith/First Order from within the confines of a very corrupt and misguided cult-like Jedi Order that he had a one-in-a million chance of succeeding in because of his bad choices, his background, the Jedi Order’s neglect and unwillingness to meet his needs, and Palpatine’s deceptions and manipulations.

Obi-Wan doesn’t go dark, in spite of repeatedly being an asshole, because the plot required for him to remain as a deeply misguided tragic failed mentor character for the Skywalker boys in the lesser evil cult of two deeply fucked up space soldier cults.

However, it’s also not a story about Obi-Wan being this amazingly brave, kind, selfless, and supportive guardian and friend who got dealt an unfair hand by the Skywalker boys treating him like garbage all the time either. More often than not, we witness him being the asshole in his relationships with Luke and Anakin by abusing his position of authority and/or seniority over them, not the other way around.

For the most part, I don’t believe he intentionally went out of his way to seriously hurt Anakin, Ahsoka, or Luke. However, he was willing to knowingly take that risk to do so repeatedly when he was befriending them/working with them because Obi-Wan was more terrified of not fitting in with Yoda and the Jedi Council by being honest with himself, being honest with those he cared about, sticking up for those he cared about, trusting his own heart, and honestly admitting that he kept being an ass-kisser and kept following a fucked up Jedi code because he had no faith in his own self-worth.

Granted, Anakin did genuinely go overboard in his obsession with finding Obi-Wan to get revenge after the events of Mustafar. Obi-Wan and Yoda did have every right to feel angry about him going dark. However, they were the ones who allowed for it to become a possibility for Anakin to go dark at all in the first place as his guardians and teachers who repeatedly deceived him, endangered him, exploited him, gaslit him, isolated him, manipulated him, and willfully neglected his emotional/mental health and well-being as a child under their care by allowing him to speak alone to Palpatine, a politician they all had suspected was shady (sans Anakin since he had no prior experience with politicians before the age of 9 and was being groomed by him over that time) on the Council for the past 13-14 years now “for the greater good.”

It’s not like taking Palpatine down came from an entirely genuine desire to stop their enemies to protect other people because they were such “kind” and “selfless” people either. Yoda and the high Council also suddenly cared about taking the Chancellor down 14 years later into his term because their decision to have the recruits of their military/organization follow him was coming back to bite them in the ass by ruining their reputation in the eyes of the general public throughout the galaxy. Yoda and the majority of the high Council repeatedly decided to vote on being servants of the state to Palpatine and other politicians they knew were corrupt for “the greater good” for years now. They very conveniently only decided that one of them “must be a Sith they had to take down” after he requested them to join war, the high council agreed, and their organization/military’s incompetence and toxicity got exposed to the general public of the galaxy in ways that became harmful to their public reputation on a widespread scale, too. It doesn’t matter that they actually turned out to be right about suspecting Palpatine to be a Sith Lord, or that they had good reason to be suspicious. It’s all too transparent just how self-serving Yoda and the high Council actually are being when they suddenly decide to turn on a corrupt politician they enabled and supported for when the consequences of choosing to follow him have finally made them look bad in the eyes of the general public throughout the galaxy.

Anakin technically became worse in terms of morality because he got recruited to join the even worse military space soldier cult/dictatorship in the galaxy as Darth Vader. Yeah, that is, at least, partially on himself for his own bad decisions and eventual lack of effort to try better after he got put in that suit for a while, though I don’t think it’s fair to place the blame all on just him. He was constantly dealing with horrible mitigating circumstances of being an abuse, manipulation, and oppression victim with compromised agency under corrupt authority figures within broken systems his entire life in one way or another from which there was never a safe escape offered. He likely suffered from a handful of some moderate traumatic brain injuries to his prefrontal cortex from being electrocuted by Sith lightning, considering the changes in personality, decrease in empathy, flat emotional affect, and poor long-term decision making skills.

However, though the entire Jedi Order didn’t deserve Order 66, I don’t think many of them were these “blameless” victims or “noble” failures like Obi-Wan and Yoda kept trying to convince themselves they were after the Jedi Order’s and Republic’s fell either. I think a lot of them were and/or grew up to be very arrogant, cowardly, deceitful, hypocritical, manipulative, and willfully in-denial assholes who kept trying to lie to themselves about still being these heroic, kind, brave, and selfless soldiers of the Republic for “the greater good” because that was easier to accept than honestly acknowledging that they had been willing to knowingly commit these atrocities and hurt people in their fear of the Sith and fear of these corrupt institutions they served because they were more concerned about their needs, their public reputation, and their security than they were about doing the right thing when it seemed the odds were stacked against them.

Aside from protecting Anakin and himself from the condemnation of the Jedi Council by being quiet about his relationship with Padme that he knew about, I don’t really remember a time in the books, movies, or the clips of the TCW (2008-2020) cartoon when Obi-Wan was actually supportive of Anakin’s crush on Padme or his relationship with her. In Attack of the Clones, he forbids Anakin from getting romantically attached or involved with her. He insists that Anakin leave Padme behind after she gets knocked out for a minute in a battle on Geneosis when he sees that Anakin wants to go and rescue her after that happens because “he needs him here.” The TCW TV series actually makes Obi-Wan’s criticisms of Anakin’s attachment to Padme and his attempts to pressure him to choose between her and the Jedi Order look even worse.

At least, in the movies Obi-Wam never had been through a similar experience as Anakin to compare to where he fell in love with someone outside of the Jedi and felt pressured to choose between them and that ridiculous “no attachment” Jedi mantra, so his lack of empathy and criticisms in regards to Anakin’s feelings for Padme and their relationship feels more understandable. In TCW, though, Obi-Wan has also gotten romantically attached to someone else and felt conflicted over choosing between her and the Jedi Order, but he still refuses to have any sort of understanding for Anakin in this scenario. It makes him look like more of an asshole and a hypocrite.

They never should have made Obitine a romance in TCW because it doesn’t line up with the rest of Obi-Wan’s established characterization, and it makes him look like more of an asshole for not being understanding of Anakin’s attachment to Padme. In the movies, he was a hypocritical ass-kisser of the Council/Jedi Order at nearly all costs, but he wasn’t usually that blatantly hypocritical and law-defying of the Order. His flaws were there, but he lacked the courage, outside knowledge, and self-reflection abilities to fully acknowledge his shortcomings.

There’s no reason why a Jedi shouldn’t be able to feel safe and accepted by the Council for having and maintaining close relationships with other people, while also being Jedi in their day jobs on the side. So long as neither seriously interfere with the other, it shouldn’t have to be an issue, and I don’t think it would have necessarily become an issue of becoming unhealthily codependent, obsessive, and possessive for Anakin, Padme, or other fallen Jedi if they could have been able to feel safe and supported being honest about caring about their loved ones, needing help, and wanting more freedom in their personal lives without the constant threat of being shunned, ignored, or dismissed by their bosses, mentors, and the government if and/or when they were constantly lingering in the background.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, just because Obi-Wan Kenobi was a very bad guardian and friend who was a deeply flawed person with very emotionally/psychologically abusive/ cult like brainwashing tendencies in regards to Anakin and Luke, it does not mean that I also think he was a heinous mustache twirling Disney villain who deliberately set him up to fail from the very beginning because he was just that petty.

I just so happen to view him as being a very arrogant, cowardly, cut-throat ambitious, hot-tempered, hypocritical, impatient, emotionally immature, manipulative, exceedingly status conscious, self-centered, and willfully in-denial bastard. He was generally willing to throw other people under the bus who got in his way of being able to obtain the security of external validation from those authority figures with positions over him within a broken Jedi Order because he was too afraid to admit that he lacked too much security in his own moral self-worth and agency to do the right thing. Then, after it all shattered to pieces, at least in part, because of his own bad decisions, he and Yoda were way too guilt ridden and proud to accept the truth that they really hadn’t been the brave, kindhearted, or noble heroes of the story that they initially set out to be, but assholes who knowingly practiced, supported, and used abusive, exceedingly controlling, isolating. and morally wrong methods and practices to try and achieve worthy ends because they were easier and safer than actually taking the risk of facing their fears by learning to let go of air tight control and toxic conformity instead.

I’ve said that Anakin went on to develop similar negative traits, too, albeit in different way, but he’s the only one of his surviving predecessors from the old Jedi Order/Republic who consistently gets framed as wrong for it, never gets rewarded for it, and doesn’t get to be rewarded with any sort of happy ish ending until he finally does. Obi-Wan and Yoda never truly learn their lesson (the Obi-Wan Show doesn’t count as legit character growth for him because he goes right back to being an asshole again in the OT films, anyway), and ultimately get rewarded for being assholes who unrepentantly continue justifying behaving and treating others as pawns in shitty ways for whatever they consider worthy ends.

Yet, the narrative of the OT says I’m supposed to feel sorry for them and let them off the hook for treating Luke in shitty ways to use him as a pawn for their own ends without any remorse, just because they’re on the lesser evil of two deeply messed up sides. The way they’re written in the narrative of the OT movies gives me no real reason to be sympathetic towards Obi-Wan and Yoda, aside from just not being Sith, the greater evil side of the enemy, but I don’t know why I should be seeing them as heroic, sympathetic assholes, or reformed assholes at all in the narrative of the OT that Lucas treats them as? When do they actually ever do or say anything remotely apologetic, genuinely kind, and selfless for anyone else in the movies, unless it somehow benefits their own ends of “the greater good?”

Even that “sacrifice” that Obi-Wan made for Luke in A New Hope where he let Vader kill him in front of him was something he had an ulterior motive for doing. He wanted to become a force ghost to be able to train Luke to kill off Vader in the afterlife, and further motivate him to do it. The only surviving well-meaning asshole from Luke’s predecessors of the old Jedi Order who seems to genuinely grow to understand the true meaning of remorse and selfless sacrifice at all in the OT movies is Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader, and the narrative expected me to see him as more unsympathetic than Obi-Wan and Yoda, even though he had more meaningful character development and reformation in the last 20 minutes of Return of the Jedi than the “good guys” had throughout all three movies.

Yoda sucked in both the OT and PT movies. Obi-Wan was an asshole in both the OT and PT movies, too, though the PT movies definitely did make me more sympathetic towards his charactef. I get a better understanding of why he is an asshole in the PT movies than the OT movies, he’s a victim of a shitty Jedi Council, too, and he does face a partial negative consequence for being an asshole by helping push away Anakin. Ewan McGregor really did a wonderful job of making me feel for Obi-Wan as a character, even though he was generally an arrogant, hypocritical, and misguided asshole. However, when I look at all of his bad behaviors, choices, reactions, words, and traits throughout the franchise as a character on the whole, Obi-Wan Kenobi was even more of an asshole in the prequels at times than he was in the OT films. Just because Ewan McGregor and the script of the prequels made me more understanding of why Obi-Wan’s character acted like an asshole on a number occasions, that doesn’t mean I thought that made it cool for him to be one either. I could say the same thing about Anakin Skywalker, Padme Amidala, Mace-Windu, Qui-Gonn Jinn, the overall Jedi Order as a galactic superpower law enforcement/military, Padme Amidala, Jarr Jarr Binks, and the overall Republic government in the prequels.

Do I think they were cartoonishly evil mustache twirling villain Darth Sidious/Lord Palpatine level assholes who were secretly malicious psychopaths in their intentions all along with no genuinely pure motives or potentially redeeming qualities? No. They all believed they had good intentions and they all had so many poignant moments of great bravery, idealism, kindness, idealism, and optimism. Unfortunately, they all failed and got dealt consequences that were far worse than they deserved because their fear of honestly and openly taking more risks to face any sort of potential conflict or threat to their beliefs, family, lives, or lifestyle from the outside consumed them more often than not until it was too late.

If you guys want to comment, you can!

@tragicfantasy-girl

@mynameisanakin

@fanfic-lover-girl

@fanfictasia 

@praetor-canis

@an-angels-fury

#Star Wars anon #star wars asks #obi wan kenobi critical #anti yoda #anakin skywalker #darth vader #padme amidala #anidala #pt Jedi critical #the only way that obi wan was at all supportive of anidala was by keeping their relationship secret #otherwise he constantly criticized Anakin for having feelings for Padme and pressured him to choose beteeen Padme and the order all the tim #TCW made it worse by giving him Satine as a love interest that he felt conflicted about leaving the Jedi for #only to have him cold and unempathetically criticize and pressure Anakin over choosing between Padme and the Jedi order #just because I’m critical of them it does not mean I think they deserved mass murder or order 66 #however so many people in the world these days that victim who deserved better does not automatically excuse them for also being assholes

[docnomore]

Aboard ship I had a Senior Medical Officer (SMO), in charge of Medical. I ran Sick Call and there, I had a General Medical Officer (GMO, a Ship’s Surgeon, a Physician’s Assistant, a hand full of (visiting) Flight Surgeons, a Ship’s Nurse and quite a few Hospital Corpsmen (Hm’s). I never let the SMO see patients - the guy was an incompetent quack. I kept the GMO, the PA, the Surgeon in their respective offices and the Flight Surgeons out of Medical all together. They were arrogant with swagger bugger than their brains. The Nurse? He was cool. He out ranked me and new about as much (sometimes more) about medicine as did I. He liked seeing patients but was not licensed or credentialed. I saw patients and trained my HM’s to see patients. Everyone including the Nurse had to bounce all patients by me for a signature and all specialty studies and prescriptions.

I’d pieced together a computer we used to log in all patients being seen, from which departments they came, initial complaints, final diagnosis and disposition. The computer was officially not allowed. Instead, we were supposed to keep all of that information in a hand written, green ledger log book. Once a month, all of that information was compressed and coded by me and then forwarded up the chain of command ultimately ending at the Navy’s Bureau of Medicine. The logbook was ineffective and numbers were always missing and had to be fudged. The computer that was not allowed, allowed me 100% accuracy and what normally took about to weeks to compress and code, only took me about 5 minutes. (This was partially why I was so controlling - especially regarding the SMO coming into Sick Call). To keep things “fun”, I did 2 things: the ship’s public address system, I always kept tuned in to channel 5 - the Flight Deck. The Air Boss had the most colorful language, especially when the SMO was on deck trying to prove his leadership skills to the Commanding Officer, by directing plane traffic. Was just do much fun listening to him get screamed at by the Air Boss with a loud speaker turned up so loud, you could hear him over the noise of the jet engines. The second thing I did was to copy diagnoses and descriptions of various mental illnesses out of the Diagnostics and Statistical Manual (DSM), and I’d tape those to the screen of my computer so the HM checking patients in, could read and grin to himself when he’d see them checking in for Sick Call. Aboard ship, no one is allowed to be mentally ill. Reality was and I’m sure remains, that ship board life will drive you to mental illness. Me? I was a control freak with a HUGE anti authority streak. I worked on average 16-18 hours a day, 6 days a week. On the 7th, I’d put in 8 hours and the SMO called me “lazy” and “slacker”. Twice, he tried to have me removed from the ship. What he failed to understand was that by law, the ship could not sail without me. There are three people who can be relieved for cause. They are: the Commanding Officer, the Chief Engineer, and the Independent Duty Corpsman (me). I lived and worked for 3 years in an extremely hostile work environment. Those whose job was to care most, cared least. The guy in charge of the Pharmacy, the guy in charge of Admin and I formed a tight circle and we had one another’s back. Our job was to not only do our official jobs but we took it upon ourselves to run buffer between the SMO, the Division Officer and the overall command who relied on the SMO and DivO. We watched out for the junior HMs and protected them from the outrageous tyrannical behavior of our “superiors”. Sadly, the divorce rate in Medical was well over 60%. The DSM and the ship’s PA system tuned in to channel 5 were our sanity savers. You get your laughs from wherever you can. It wasn’t uncommon to see guys laughing in the face of life and death tragedy. A fresh meat would run between the spooled up engines of an F-14 and the Jet Blast Deflector, get instantly burned to death and blown up over the mast, landing in the water behind the ship and the guys would laugh about the burnt marshmallow. If not the fresh meat who didn’t have his head in a swivel, then it was the guy who’d had enough and decided to check out. No one board was allowed to be crazy, but you had to be to survive. So, channel 5 and the various passages from the DSM taped to my computer monitor that officially didn’t exist.

[yinses]

—hawks ft. established relationship + dom!keigo + exhibition + overstim

rating: 18+ a/n: thank you so much to @ultimate-astridwriting​ for allowing me to be part of this collab !! it was the shove i needed to get back into the fandom. hawks has always been my favorite hero so i hope to do him justice.

➳ impatient collab masterlist

fist pressed against his cheek, he browsed over the sight before him, taking it all in without considering really any details. fighting a smirk, he cocked an eyebrow.

“i’m not feeling the color. change it for the other one.”

to be frank, he had no particular preferences for color, design, texture or any of that shit–though, he did have a weakness for anything with a pretty flare to it, the air of innocence that he loved to bathe you in with all the frills and fluff. however, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t fond of deciding which palettes suited you best. but he had a specific reason as to why he voiced that particular opinion of his.

sale’s representatives, all mascara-lined eyes and glossy lips, held your hands by your side  in a surrendering position as they paraded you in front of your boyfriend as though this was his own private fashion show. and in a way it was, he’d spent good hard earned money renting out the area for a few hours. enjoying it all from his throne placed perfectly in front of the changing rooms, watching how you were dragged in and out by the forceful employees with him picking out what items you wore.

the clatter of the sale’s girls dragging you back in the changing room again, drew him from his thoughts. you were a flushed mess, struggling to wriggle away from their sharp nails while insisting that you could walk on your own. overall, you'd have been rather accommodating to his whims. but you always were. and as such a good girl, he would reward you for it. for now though, he couldn’t resist giving you a mocking smirk when you tried to grab him and failed miserably at that.

back to the prison of hands again, he noted, as they closed the door behind them and made a fuss over what you disliked and what he wanted. as more girls pecked at you to stay still while they taught you how to wear the clothing properly. outside, keigo waited patiently for them to be done as his eyes travelled from one end of the store to the other, looking at the fancy lingerie and wondering what would actually be perfect for you. but then again, to be painfully honest, you made anything here look good.

and then there's also another fact that he had to come to terms with.

he liked you best without anything on.

with only your bare skin, lying amidst the fluffy pillow with silken sheets tangled around your body. legs demurely spread, hands placed above your head and looking as though you were begging to be dominated. that was certainly the very image of excellence that any man could ever ask for. wanton eyes, warm cheeks, slightly parted lips, panting–ah, but you would gasp wordlessly as he’d stolen your voice many rounds prior. keeping his eyes peeled on the floor, the man shuddered briefly and rolled his shoulders back to remind himself that he was in a store and any further acts of indecency would totally be out of the question. especially when he remembered how you straddled him last night, thighs over his torso. sinking in inch by inch, throwing your head back when he bucked up a bit too hard on you–

"mr. hawks, what do you think of this?"

there you stood, with your hands still raised again, eyes watering under the torment of these awful ladies. biting your lips with warmth tainting your cheeks, hair cascading over your shoulders and meeting the body that was hugged by a pair of lingerie. strapless and curvaceous mounds of yours, covered with a brassiere. a matching panty, complete with small laces forming gathers on the hems as they trailed invitingly towards to garter at your thighs.

he stared.

and blinked.

only once.

"sir?" one of the older females repeated, raising her eyebrows. "…what do you think?"

trying to cover up the fact that his awkward silence was making the room uncomfortable with anticipation, keigo casually leaned backwards and crossed his legs together. his wings fluttered in reflection of his thoughts, rising and falling with each new epiphany. dark eyes walked all over your body, drinking in how your breasts were perfectly pressed together and how your legs trembled when his eyes stopped at the ribbons of the panty. finally hovering over your face, where when eyes met, your blush darkened and you immediately dropped your gaze to your bare feet. he smirked at that sinfully innocent reaction of yours.

coy today, were you not?

without skipping a beat, keigo drew out a card and threw it over to one of the sale’s girls, who fumbled as she tried to catch it with her clammy fingers. eyes still locked at your face, knowing that with his stare alone he was making you feel uncomfortable. and damn, he still loved seeing you squirm around like a virgin on her wedding night.

"i'm taking everything that she tried on just now," he answered loftily, still seated on the cushiony sofa, leaning his head against one arm and letting the other one tap rhythmically on the armrest. when the employees all squeaked out a pathetic noise of agreement, keigo allowed his lips to curve upwards in a smirk as he drawled out the next order; "charge what you need on it, i don't give a shit. and oh, and don't forget to charge what it takes to buy this section for another hour. turn off the surveillance too while you're at it because this area's mine from the time being."

needless to say, their faces instantly decolorized. but they wouldn’t challenge his demands. the brief raise of his massive scarlet wings was an unnecessary reminder as they stretch languidly without threat. he was a hero after all. who were they to challenge a frivolous form of stress relief?

he had no doubt that they had an inkling of what would occur over the next hour or so. but he was certain the gossip would get lost in the rumor mill.

hawks was a rather eccentric individual. what isn’t he up to these days?

keigo had never saw the staff evaporating and clearing the area within less than a minute as they closed off the doors behind them, leaving this particular section untouched for the next event that was about to take place.

it really did not make you feel any better though.

"little dove."

he watched as you jumped, realizing his attention was solely on you now. you raised your eyes to his again, locking eyes with deviously glinting ones. right now, at this moment, keigo knew how much power he held over you, and damn well he was about to abuse his privileges to no end. leaning snugly against the soft backing of the sofa, he cupped his chin with his palm and arrogantly raised an eyebrow when you shuddered under his disturbing gaze. you looked much as though you were lost and backed into a corner with nowhere else to go. keigo smirked; haughty, superior, dominating you single-handedly, and his other hand rose slightly from the armrest.

a single finger curled inwardly.

a low voice

commanding.

"come here, now"

you knew what came from that tone, but the words didn’t ignite the same spark as it did within the safe space of your home.

you only hesitated briefly, but it was still a second to long for his tastes as his lips already began curling down in disappointment. your heart rapped heedlessly against your ribcage, sent spiraling into an off-beat staccato as you quickly tried to alleviate the shift in mood.

never in your relationship had you considered denying keigo. not the man who laid out everything you could have asked for on a silver platter. it's just that-

your feet crossed the minimal distance necessary to appear agreeable though your face still twists in concern.

“really? …. you want to have sex …. here?”

fingertips grapple anxiously while your eyes dart across the empty but still very publicly accessible room.

“now?”

keigo already look bored with the exchange, digits curling once more with something just outside of patience.

“yes, now.”

his wings flex in consideration, yet he doesn’t move to rise form his seat. instead he changes tactics.

“i just want to show a bit of appreciation for all the pretty things i just bought you.’’

it sounds backwards … as if those should be the words coming out of your mouth not his. but the hint doesn’t come any stronger than the easy grin that spreads across his lips. he even makes a show of lounging back against the cushioned seat, body open in invitation should you dare.

and bite you did, teeth nibbling at the bait as you approach. keigo remains still, though his eyes dance with barely contained excitement as you gingerly crawl into his lap, fancy garments already rubbing enticingly against his thighs?.

the flap of his wings welcome gusts of winds and gratitude as his arms curl around you. the hand at your cheek tilts your head up to meet his gaze. it was always so easy for you to get lost in those specks of liquid gold. but now there was hardly any left to admire with the way his pupils were blown wide with lunch.

a shiver tickles your spine and you’re vaguely away that he’s kissing the line of your jaw, whispering soft words of encouragement as his hips raise to rock subtlety. it all left you shuddering in peaked anticipation as your worries melted into the recesses of your mind.

the hand cupping the roundness of your face stops you before you can lean in for more, the nose brushing against the tip of your nuzzling there in brief affection as he garnered the fraying tips of your attention. “yes?”

the fog of arousal abated a little at the question as your conscious thoughts swam back into the surface to input the code that would spiral you into your deepest desires.

“yes,” you verbally consented as you leaned up into him for a needy kiss. keigo swept his tongue out, meeting the the soft upper palate of your mouth with languid strokes. a rumbling trill greets you when you nibble in response. keigo eagerly chases you into a fevor of song and dance, building your body up to the inevitable fall he plans to send you crashing down in.

when he breaks the kiss, his eyes drop to the price tag still resting innocently against the swell of your bosom. he snaps it away from the fabric, uncaring of the threat against its delicacy as he tosses the flimsy paper to the side.

there were plenty more where it came from. and he was yearning to get the real show on the road.

“now then. how could i possibly show my thanks?”

nails dig into his shoulders for purchase as you rock traction into the firmness of his lap. keigo meets the upward curve of your hips with a sneaky dive of his hand between your thighs where his hand warms the skin there. 

you expect him to dip right in, cognitive of the spare time the two of you had to play. but as a dangerous smile twists at his mouth, you realize this is hawks time, a reality that flows differently than everyone else’s. 

“trying to decide if i want you to keep these on or not. “ he contemplates aloud, fingers plucking at the elastic.” i mean it would be a shame to leave them out.”

you nod mutely, ready to agree with whatever favored progression. keigo’s gaze narrowed at the silent insinuation “what? you want to make this into a quickie? but we have so many outfits to try.” 

you already knew that, acutely aware of each and every article of clothing that had been zipped, tied or squeezed around your body. and you were grateful of each and every addition, would even gladly spend the next few weeks letting him fuck you in each variation against your shared mattress at home. 

what you wanted now was for him to come so that you could start that private show within your own walls. 

keigo chooses to go for an adorable pout, lips pulling on aged heart strings, yet managing to make them go taut all the same. he waits until your body soften from the tension, aiding the transition with slow strokes against your back and inner leg. 

“one pair.”

it’s your back that losses his touch in order for him to bring a single finger in front of your face. 

“let me ruin one pair with my come and we can call it quits.”

and you say okay. brining your pelvis back into an enticing dance as you meld that pout into an eager kiss. you were already dressed for the occasion and had all the tips and tricks in your inventory to help him reach his goal. one easy step and you could be on your way.

                                                   how naive you still were. 

eight pair now. he’d brought you near completion just as many times before halting the grind of your hips with a frown. he mad for a rather convincing curator, inspecting each and every pair of to the finest thread. 

‘too blue.’

‘too much lace.’ 

‘it just doesn’t feel right. ‘

‘why don’t we try something else?’

true to his word, keigo had been determined to find the perfect pair to meet him at the edge of nirvana, and dragged you from one painstakingly near orgasm to the next along the way. 

"stop."

you whimpered desperately, pressing your forehead against his shoulder as you forced yourself to remain seated with him throbbing deeply within you. pulsing, hot, too hot. scorching you inwardly and causing strange sensations to sear through your veins. his hands were still on the armrest, they were not on you, they were not driving you crazy with their constant teasing and whatnot this time. because he was not doing anything to make you this crazy when you were already this crazy for him. 

his lips smirked against the shell of your ear, a moist tongue peeking out to leave a wet trail. you fought every inch of yourself to stop your hips from moving again. because of his command, you could not move. you could not bring yourself to move. simply because it was his desire and you could not deny him.

"close?" he murmured darkly into your ear, wispy breath tickling your neck. making a sharp sensation run down your spine, forcing you to arch against him and pressing your bare breasts against his chest. he knew it, he knew that he drove you this wanton for him, all desperate and wanting more.

and yes, you were too close.

too close until one more move, he could make you topple over the chasm of ecstasy without even doing anything to you.

"hmm," he whispered this time, continuing his words with a foreboding edge as his lips brushed against your neck, against your ear, over your cheeks and teeth lightly nipping at your bottom lip.  making you try to kiss him, but he pulled away just like that and watched in sadistic satisfaction when you gave an exasperated groan. "i was too. and then i saw a pretty olive green peeking out of that pile over there."

there was hardly any vigor left in you to groan. 

you pressed your forehead against his slick neck, letting your warm gasps leave his skin, as your head desperately twisted in pinpricks of denied pleasure at his command. it was all a game, one that you could end with a single uttered word from your lips. but you’d never been a quitter, something keigo admired in you. his desires took you on erotic journeys you would have never dared to attempt in prior relationships. perhaps you were becoming just as debauched as he was. 

 there probably wasn’t even fabric of that color lying around and if there was it they weren’t within his eyesight.  keigo was painfully teasing you with this, building up your desire to the most desperate extent because you could not stand anymore. and he knew it too. he throbbed against your walls, the sporadic pulsing sending shrapnel of lust into your loins, and you told yourself that if you were compliant to his orders, then he would surely reward you afterwards.

he would.

he always did.

"okay," he spoke up again, pressing his cheek against yours because he knew that you had if he didn’t end it now, then he wouldn’t get out of it what he wanted. bright eyes were still glowing deviously under the chandeliers of the store, making him appear feral. it provided a visual desire for you to nip his ear, to lick his neck and to kiss his lips.

"you can move now, dove. let’s finish this and go home."

what an alluring goal that was, twinkling encouragingly from finish-line.

you gulped harshly, feeling your legs too weak to push you upwards again.  because he stopped you countless times and made a pleasure overload overrun in your body, turning your limbs to jelly.

a simple shake of your head was all the answer that you could muster.

it was either that or you would faint from the sheer ecstasy.

that made him smirk devilishly again when he looked at you, taut cheeks, lust-darkened blue eyes, a trickle of sweat running down his temple from the amount of restraint he was putting on himself. you felt as though you were opened, taken, torn from within by this man alone when he chuckled, pressing those sinful-stained lips to your forehead.

"maybe if you would beg just right, i’d bother to move."

whining, you shake your head as every cry you knew spilled past your lips. you begged, to pleaded keigo to move so that he would put you out of this torture.  so that he could make you reach that blinding bliss, that your nerves would tighten and your toes would curl. so that you would clench around him tightly, that he could come together with you in this passionate endeavor.

too desperate, nerves tingling with his every wicked command, your shaking hands slowly rose and cupped his cheeks, feeling his soft, flushed skin under your touch and forcing him to look at you in the face. your lashes falling part way over your gaze. plump, bitten lips drawing closer and closer and closer to him and closer and closer and closer with every second.  him slowly moving forward to join his mouth with yours in a desperate kiss, and you suddenly paused, letting only your lips brush against his, not moving forward anymore.

his eyes hardened when he felt your words form at his lips.

please.

it seemed as though playtime was finally over, for now. 

keigo adopted a fast and hard pace, thighs jerking up to meet your earnestly with each slap of skin. the force of his thrust jolted you into a haphazard bounce as you fumbled desperately for traction and stability. each pull and push of your joined bodies was accompanied by a tremulous whimper as you gasped and groaned against the shell of his ear. keigo knew the sweet vocalizations weren’t completely for his sake, but more of the aftershocks of the broken damn as they spilled through the cracks of your lips. 

he still hummed, pleased as his mouth latched onto a pebbled nipple protruding from the fine silk still managing to encase your breast. it was a combination of the gyration of your hips and his own weakening resolve that triggered his own orgasm as he finally let go with broken explicative. 

your own pleasure was brought to you without chase, almost a reward for your efforts as you withered through it. keigo’s quiet praises wash over you like aloe, softening the worst of the burnings sensations as your thighs quake in protest. he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck as his arms encircle you and drag you down with him.

the already too small chaise had to be uncomfortable for his wings with your additional weight but he never voiced a complaint as the rose and fell over your sweaty skin. neither did you, despite the sticky resistance of his spent coating the inside of your thighs. at least you wouldn’t have to walk home in this particular pair. not that you planned on walking period as you grumbled a demands that he would be flying you both home. 

he snickers all while peppering a series of kisses against your nose,” anything you want, little dove.”

#hawks x reader #hawks bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha hawks #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #hawks smut

[holykillercake]

FRIED EGGS

KOBY x Pirate!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: Being infiltrated as a Marine and keeping your feelings under control was easy until you were assigned to work with Marine Captain Koby. How you wished he was a jerk.

highlight: ¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨

warnings: read under the risk of developing diabetes.

notes: Hey, guys! This was a lovely request from @pure-kirarin! <3 I had to stop other projects to make this one because Koby threw me out of my comfort zone hahaha I really hope you like!! ALSO 1) Happy Birthday Sabo-kun! ALSO 2) In order to add more dept to the story, the main character is part of a Yonkos´crew, but I wrote in a way that all fit, so choose your favorite! ALSO 3) ART ALERT!

Leave comments, hearts and love!

¨You have been doing a remarkable job in such little time, Commander L/N. We all have great expectations regarding your transference to our Marine Headquarters.¨ 

The words of the Rear Admiral barely scratched your mind as you discreetly observed the pink-haired boy´s reflection on the crystal clear window. 

He maintained a similar posture to yours: chin up, chest out, shoulders back, and stomach in. However, while your fingers remained paralleled to your trousers, you took a glimpse of his clenched fist, thumb fidgeting the side of his index finger. 

¨Vice Admiral Tsuru was reluctant to sign your transfer. She said you remind her of herself in the past, which is always an excellent compliment to hear.¨ you nodded, acknowledging his words  ¨We´re glad we convinced her.¨

Your heart warmed with his words, and you almost felt bad because you knew the disappointing outcome O-Tsuru-san would have at the end of this. She trained you with the iron face of a merciless soldier, and the elegance that resembled the animal of her name.

It has been three years since you received the green card from your captain to part ways in a long-term solo mission. A journey to excavate the putrid secrets of the so-called defenders of the law. You learned after a short time that justice is not so black and white.

Not that you planned to reveal the dirt, no. That intel your captain could sell to the Revolutionary Army and keep the capital running. You were interested in the arms race, the corrupt diplomacy, and more importantly, the dark pipes where traitors flowed.

Someone from inside the Yonkos was feeding the Marines with crucial information about the Emperors´ activities. And in such a close fight, you could not take those risks.

All other Emperors must have their own undercover agents within the Marines, but even that was a dispute. You could point some names to your boss, who confirmed what was suspected. Those would usually be the best of the best, extravagant and loud.

But not you. You didn't have to make that much noise. You slid between the floors of New Marineford like a snake swimming with the current. Earning the respect of your superiors and being promoted without ringing any bells. You accepted each medal with a firm salutation and relentless performance. 

¨The trip must have been displeasing. Submerging ten thousand meters underwater and rising to these fiendish waters require a good rest. Our Marine Captain Koby will escort you to your quarters, Commander Y/N. The remaining instructions shall be presented tomorrow.¨

You saluted the Rear Admiral in front of you and turned to the exit, passing by Koby, who waited for you to leave first.  When your paths crossed, the pace of your heartbeats quickened, pumping more blood through your body and leaving a burning sensation on your cheeks. 

The involuntary response was instantly interpreted as alertness to danger, which needed to be handled with caution. 

Can´t let my guard down around this one, you thought.

In fact, you planned to keep as much distance as you could from him. An officer let slip that he has been gaining incredible control over his Observation Haki since the Paramount War. 

But the wind seemed to change direction, and you began to swim against the current. When the morning came, you were assigned to be his partner for an undetermined time, and he would act as your superior. The idea of being bossed around by a younger marine got your temper sparked. 

Only he was not like the others, treating you in a patronizing and condescending way. He spoke to you with the same cordiality and politeness he addressed everybody else. 

Slowly, your concrete cold expression began to soothe. You would still remind yourself how annoying his good manners were, though. So annoying, seriously!

¨Good morning, Y/N-san!¨ he greeted as you joined him for breakfast. 

¨Good morning, Koby.¨ 

¨Our Border Force correspondent sent his report early in the morning with information about possible Yonkos´ alliances in the Wano Country. We are arranging a meeting as soon as possible.¨ 

You didn´t like to handle work so early, but this subject, in particular, raised your spirits. ¨Good. It was about time.¨

You noticed that he wore a different headband. ¨What happened?¨ 

¨Hm?¨ he brought the soup bowl close to his mouth. 

¨The bandana. Green, with the fried eggs.¨ he choked on the miso soup, coughing like he had swallowed poison. 

You reached for a paper tissue and handed it to him. ¨K-Koby, are you ok?¨

¨Y-Y/N... Y/N-san...¨ he coughed some more ¨They´re not... fried eggs...¨

¨Oh...¨ your brows raised slightly ¨What are they?¨

A depressive aura grew around him ¨They are flowers, YN-san...¨

The edge of your lips contorted as you tried to hide a smile. You haven´t felt like smiling genuinely for years. Annoying boy!

From that moment on, ignoring him became more difficult. He started to ask you to train with him or invite you to spend some time with him and Helmeppo whenever you had free time. Eventually, he began to ask you how he looked before an important meeting. 

Most of the time, you would reply something like ¨ok¨. But sometimes, the mouth was quicker than the brain, and you would let an ¨impeccable¨ slip out, followed by an awkward throat clearing and blushed cheeks. 

From both sides.

•

¨Oh my-¨ you stopped yourself from finishing the sentence. 

You were chosen to complete this mission due to your excellent skills in hiding emotions and acting calm under stressful situations. No one could break you. 

Within the Marines, no joke could make you crack a smile, and no torture could make you spill secrets. 

Why did you want to ask if he was ok?

Koby had entered his office with bumps and bloody bruises over his face. His always neat uniform was blotchy, and he carried a first aid kit. 

¨Garp-san paid a visit.¨ He sat on the couch and opened the white box, throwing everything on the coffee table. ¨I bet it wasn't like this with Tsuru-san.¨ he chuckled. 

¨No. She would beat me up, wash me and hang me up to dry.¨ 

You shot from the chair, moving towards the clumsy pinkette, who struggled to attend to his injuries. He tried to hold the mirror with one hand and suture his gash with the other. 

¨Thank yo-¨

¨Shh. Don´t move.¨

You leaned closer to have a better look, giving Koby the same chance. Your delicate perfume smelled like it was tailor-made for you. Your breathing was slightly irregular, and your lip twitched with every given stitch. Your fingers felt like feathers on his skin, so much that he didn´t even feel a sting. 

The job was fast and efficient, making Koby wish Garp had put more effort into his Love Fist. Grabbing a piece of wet cotton, you cleaned the dried blood.  

¨Alright...¨ you whispered.

¨Alright...¨ he whispered back.

You were inches apart from his face, your eyes traveling across the scar on his forehead, the pink locks, and kind features. Your mind traced back all the way to the Paramount War. You had very little knowledge about him, but the words he spoke that day have always made your heart pound like cannonballs. 

You will make an excellent Admiral one day, Koby. 

I hope you don´t hate me. 

¨Y-Y/N-san...¨

¨Hm?¨

¨Your smile is beautiful.¨

¨What?¨ The stupid scene of yours was interrupted like a DJ stopping the record player. 

With cheeks getting pinker than his hair, you shot up and marched back to the chair and your newspaper. ¨You clean this up.¨ 

He left a low chuckle out and began gathering the mess. 

Oh, no, Y/N. You have got to be kidding me. 

He is a freaking marine. Breathe. 

There were a vast number of reasons why you couldn´t like him: from him being a Marine Captain and you being a pirate to the fact that your mission was coming to a conclusion.

Meaning that your journey as his partner would be very soon reaching its end. The meeting with this mysterious correspondent regarding the Yonkos´ operations in the New World would be the last move in this chess game. You would be going home. Mission completed. Everything perfect, right? 

Right, perfect. Impeccable! Ugh!

•

¨... confirm secure line.¨

¨This is Border Officer code 404890. Secure line confirmed.¨ you spoke with a low but clear voice through the nail transponder. 

¨What´s the status on our birdie?¨

¨Positive. The birdie is located at 03:24:01.¨ you gave your boss a coordinate to the name of the Marine informant. The answer you took three years to find out remained on file number one, third page, suspect number twenty-four. 

An amused laugh echoed on your end, and you buried the speaker on your jacket to muffled the sound. 

¨At least he is not one of ours.¨ a chuckle ¨Great job, Y/N.¨

¨Thank you, boss.¨

¨I know this mustn't have been easy, but you were impeccable as always.¨

Yeah, impeccable. 

¨You know the protocol now. We´ll see each other in a few days. You´ll have a party waiting for you, kid.¨

¨Aye, aye, boss. But I want the good booze.¨  Both of you laughed. 

You finished the call, and the smile on your lips died as the image of a pink-haired boy invaded your mind. You wished he was a jerk like everybody else. 

It would have been so easy. 

¨Who were you talking to?¨ your chest contracted, pushing the air out of your lungs and sending extra blood supply to your muscles. 

You hid the transponder into your jacket and turned, facing your Marine Captain. 

¨Eavesdropping, Koby?¨

What should I do?

¨Y/N-san, who were you talking to?¨ he repeated himself, offering the benefit of the doubt. You sighed.

¨My captain.¨ 

Why the need to be honest with him?

¨Y/N-san, please don´t tell me-¨

¨I´m sorry, Koby. I wish I didn´t have to do this.¨ you couldn´t bring yourself to face him.

¨A-Are you a pirate? Why?¨

You chuckled ¨Why am I a pirate?¨

¨Why did you do this?¨ his face was pale, making your guts twitch in guilt.

¨I´m on a mission. But I´ll leave soon.¨

¨You are like... Vergo-san.¨ he sounded disappointed.

¨I am nothing like Vergo. You know this.¨ or at least you hoped he did. 

He closed the door slowly, eyes fixed on your figure. The bright light from the window made him look like an ethereal painting.

While you tried to predict his next move, whether he was going to interrogate you or kick your ass, Koby acted calm and collected, not hesitating. He trusted his Observation Haki to guide his next move. Or maybe his heart.

You saw a pink blur closing distance like a missile, and before you could dodge, his hands pulled you by the waist, connecting your bodies and lips. 

He forced your back to meet the thick window with a gasp that was muffled by the kiss. His touch was rough upon the fabric of your uniform, but his mouth felt soft against yours.

Your hands moved to his hair, removing the round pair of glasses and the green bandana so you could get lost in his locks. His grip was harsh under the fabric of your uniform, but his hair felt soft on your fingertips. 

A moan escaped your lips when he parted the kiss with a loud snap and struck the glass with both hands, keeping you trapped in the middle. You let go of his hair and grabbed him by the collar, not letting him go away.

¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨ his breath was heavy and carried with a myriad of emotions. 

¨I know... I am sorry.¨

¨Why?¨

¨Because I like you, Koby. A lot.¨ he paused for a second, fighting the urge to admit the same.

¨What was your mission?¨

This is the last lie, I promise, Koby. ¨The Marines possessed vital information about something my boss wants. I needed to get it.¨

¨Now that I know that you´re a pirate and that you stole Marine´s assets, I´m gonna have to hunt you down.¨

¨I´ll be waiting for you.¨ 

You stared him in the eyes, and he kissed you to stop himself from saying what he really wanted. 

I love you, Y/N-san.

Diary of Koby-Meppo: The Fried Egg Life Crisis.

💕 @vemuabhi

#koby #koby x reader #coby #coby x reader #marines #marineford #new marineford #paramount war #the warof the best #vice admiral #tsuru-san #otsuru-san #garp #monkey d garp #fleet admiral #sakazuki #akainu #rear admiral #four emperors #emperors of the sea #yonko #shanks #red hair shanks #kaido #kaido of the beasts #big mom #charlottle linlin #marshall d. teach #blackbeard #helmeppo

[edwardelricsrightarm]

"A lesson without pain is meaningless. For you cannot gain anything without sacrificing something else in return, but once you have overcome it and made it your own...you will gain an irreplaceable fullmetal heart." - Edward Elric

In honor of disability month and the FMA 20 year anniversary I wanted to address some Thoughts™️ about the series.

It's not often you see a disabled protagonist in media where their disability is integral to the story without taking up their entire character, even more so with anime. Yet, Fullmetal Alchemist has not just one disabled Protagonist, but two. The Elric Brothers are an exemplary representation of disability in media that I find myself reflecting on often as a disabled person myself. If you haven't completed the manga or Brotherhood, skip this as it will be brimming with spoilers.

(Mangahood will be my point of reference because while 03 is good on its own merits it's not as fresh within my immediate memory, and I am far less familiar with it. Keep this in mind, I've watched FMAB 10 and a half times whereas I've finished 03 only once years ago.)

The story highlights their disabilities immediately, Edward being a double amputee and Alphonse being without his ENTIRE body, only having the senses of proprioception, sight, and hearing left. Yet, despite this being key to the story and an integral part of their characterization, it is only one facet of their motivations and doesn't take center in the narrative, which is refreshing. It's not inherently negative to make a narrative centered on the characters' disabilities, but often this model of a story goes very wrong very fast and starts to feel hollow (no pun intended). FMA avoids this by making their disabilities a clear part of the plot and their motivations without allowing it to consume the entire story, so the Elric Brothers don't suffer the "my disability is all of my character" problem that many disabled characters are relegated to in a vast portion of media, all while being strong and competent.

Recap:

The brothers wished to revive their mother, but their good intentions cannot change the atrocity of their mistake, Truth makes this abundantly clear from the start. Edward loses his leg first, a punishment for "stepping" into God's shoes and transgressing the place of humans in their world. Alphonse loses his entire body, unable to feel any warmth or simple comforts like food and rest, when all he wanted was to feel the warmth and comfort of his mother's embrace again. At first, Alphonse's entire being is consumed by the gate, but Edward acts immediately, refusing to lose his little brother and refusing to allow his arrogance in this plan to cause his brother's death for only following his lead. Edward gives his right arm to have the gate give back Alphonse's soul, and stated clearly in his panic that he'd give his entire self to save Alphonse if that's what it would take, but Truth took his dominant arm only, showing something akin to mercy, although the character of Truth is capriciously strict and hard to describe as "merciful".

Through giving up his right arm, Edward regains his Right Hand Man, his little brother and best friend. His only remaining family, who he feels responsible for protecting in the absence of their parents. He felt immediately that he'd made a grave mistake, instantly full of regret as he realized the gate had taken his brother. In that moment he was willing to give anything to take it back and undo the suffering his arrogance caused his brother, yet Alphonse was still to suffer more to come. Ed tied Alphonse's disembodied soul to one of Hohenheim's collected suits of armor, managing to at least keep his brother alive in some way. One could say that Alphonse's punishment functioned as a secondary punishment for Edward, showing him how easily his hubris could have cost him what he has left in his obsession with regaining what they'd lost, their mother. A very clear symbolic reminder of the weight of his actions and how he'd misled his brother in his own naive ignorance. Even in giving another limb away to drag his brother's soul back out of the gate, he couldn't offer enough to bring him back intact. Thus is the law of equivalent exchange.

Now that we've reviewed some of that basic symbolism and the motifs the story draws upon with limbs and body parts in relation to characters, let's move on to each individual brother and break it down, shall we?

Edward Elric is a very realistic protagonist, this is one thing a majority of us familiar with this series can agree upon. He feels like a believable teen boy, with layers of complexity to his character while also showing arrogance and immaturity that is unsurprising at his age. He expresses unwillingness to kill and avoidance of unjust violence from the beginning, and has a strong moral code after the ordeal of committing the taboo.

In some characters his cocky personality would typically become grating, yet the story explains in itself why he is this way, then builds upon this to develop him into an incredibly mature character who is willing to admit when he's absolutely wrong and adapts to new information and context for the crisis unfolding around him as it comes, even if he remains crass. This arrogance is shown from the start to be a manifestation of insecurity, self loathing, and repressed guilt. Edward is a logic driven person, he has a very unique thought process, which is where my interpretation of him as autistic comes in. Edward's awkward social demeanor, somewhat abrasive and cold approach to some, and his trouble coping with nonsensical societal structures all stand out in this way. Furthermore he clearly shows hyperfixation, hyperactivity, special interest, and infodumping behaviors that are all too familiar. He's picky with food (*cough* the milk thing), has very little filter and speaks his mind bluntly even if this can warrant conflicting responses, yet at the same time struggles with vulnerable emotions, and he is frustrated when his own routine or itinerary are interrupted by forces beyond his control. All of these things Scream autism with comorbid ADHD. Many traits are shared between the brothers, and I'm quite certain they're both on the autism spectrum based on behavioral patterns. Neurodivergence aside, Edward's physical disabilities are undeniable.

Despite his bratty persona, Edward is fundamentally kind and uncharacteristically gentle and soft around the edges for a shonen protagonist in many ways. He cries openly on many occasions even if he struggles talking about his trauma and burdens in words at times, he feels pain, grief, and compassion so intensely it throws him into action on a regular basis in the narrative. In this way he's also a fantastic example of non-toxic masculinity (though in other ways he has displayed more toxic traits, he's just a kid). He acts on his heart, even if he's led by his mind and logic in most things. His humanity, value for life, and care for others will always win over his logic, and he shows a sense of personal responsibility for doing the right thing even if it harms him in the process. Ed is clearly shown having ghost pains in his lost limbs which is honestly an interesting detail to include, I don't think I've ever seen that aspect of amputation shown in media aside from FMA. It's also shown that when Ed's automail arm breaks this is a HUGE problem for him, but he's also shown to be very good at working around this in difficult circumstances. He doesn't become completely helpless, even if majorly weakened.

Alphonse is an extremely lovable and compassionate boy, brimming with altruism and care for others. Even in his noncorporeal state he pursues a better future and he's not helpless by any stretch. Edward clearly states Alphonse is the superior fighter for example, and it's not just because of his armor body being so large. He's *talented*, that's a fact. Al is every bit as clever and capable as Ed, moreso in some ways, and I love that about his character *because* he's so clearly disabled. He has no sense of pain, he is completely incapable of sleeping, he can't eat, can't relax or find comfort, he can only exist and think. This causes him to overthink in all his time alone, this is debilitating. He clearly is absolutely sick of the loneliness this causes, and he often feels helpless though he's not. He has doubts and fears that consume him in relation to his armor body, he questions his own personhood, even. Yet, Edward is stubborn and staunch in affirming that no matter what he's dealing with, he is fundamentally still a human being that is loved and irreplaceable. Alphonse is powerful and his body gives him some advantages, but it also sets him back, and the brothers know this even when others claim Alphonse's state is somehow a good thing. I have hEDS, a disability that comes with advantages as well as the major downsides, so I can understand and relate to Alphonse here. I too am told my disability is a boon because of flexibility and because I'm less likely to fracture bones, but I'm twice as likely to injure my ligaments and joints, which people ignore.

The brothers are both disabled, both flawed, both show weaknesses, but they are competent, determined, and strong in their own right. They are rounded characters that exist for more than to be pitied or condescended to by able bodied characters around them. They put their entire being in everything that they do no matter what that is, and they don't know the meaning of giving up. These traits that they're made of truly make them a shining example of disability in protagonists for others to look to for reference when writing their own disabled characters.

Even though by the end Edward has regained one limb and Al has regained his body, this also doesn't just deus ex machina reverse their disability or make it go away. It's clear that Alphonse's body is weak and has to be rehabilitated upon recovery, and Edward is still missing his leg and bears the scars and pieces of the port from his automail arm. They weren't suddenly made able bodied upon recovering these things, they reclaimed what was lost through struggle and grit, but the narrative didn't give the impression that their disability in itself was something to be fixed, which is important. They wanted to recover their bodies, but this doesn't erase the effects of their disability.

It was about Edward atoning for leading Alphonse into their mistake and saving his brother from suffering further, it was about them proving they can keep moving forward no matter what, not about getting rid of their disability in itself or putting themselves down because of the disabilities. This, to me, as a mentally and physically disabled viewer, is so important. They achieve their goal, but this doesn't in any way erase or undo the effects of their initial losses, they find ways to adapt and move on but they're still affected and still disabled. They always will be. That can be so important to see in comfort characters, and as a disabled individual who's had both brothers as comfort characters since I was a child, their impact on my own journey is surprisingly tangible for fiction.

#fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #edward elric #alphonse elric #elric brothers #character analysis #disability month #disability positivity #disabled #fma 20th anniversary

[joachimnapoleon]

Meet the Bonapartes--Louis (3/4)

I left off with Part 2 of this an embarrassingly long time ago, but I'm trying to make it a habit of finishing more of the things I start, so I don't want to leave this hanging. So, one year later, here is Part 3 of my write-up on Louis Bonaparte, and I promise Part 4 will not have a similar gap in between.

(Part 1) (Part 2)

***

Louis had been sincere in his declaration, upon accepting the throne of Holland, that he had "become Dutch." He immersed himself in Dutch culture, encouraged his Dutch courtiers to wear their traditional clothing at court balls, and tried to learn and speak Dutch--sometimes with comedic results, such as when he declared himself the Konijn (rabbit), rather than Koning (king) of Holland. His subjects appreciated his efforts nonetheless.

They also appreciated the initiative Louis showed when tragedy struck early in his reign. On 12 January 1807, a ship bearing hundreds of barrels of gunpowder exploded in the Dutch city of Leiden, blowing up hundreds of buildings and killing 150 people, and injuring thousands. Louis immediately left for Leiden and oversaw the recovery efforts, earning him the nickname "Louis the Good" from a grateful populace.

[Aftermath of the Leiden explosion, by Johannes Jelgerhuis]

Louis began his reign with a flurry of activity, writing to Napoleon to request a number of measures intended to favor his new subjects. He requested a reduction in the number of French garrisons in the kingdom, a new treaty of commerce with France, and the right to choose his own men for his Royal Guard. Napoleon granted these, but refused his brother's request for a loan, arguing that the expenses of France were so great that he was unable to give Louis any money.

The Dutch climate negatively impacted Louis's perpetually delicate health from the beginning, but he rarely left the country for much-needed stays at health resorts; this was especially true later in his reign after his relationship with Napoleon had deteriorated so badly that Louis began to fear that he might be deposed in his absence.

That deterioration did not take long to commence. Napoleon began finding fault with Louis's reign almost from the beginning. Napoleon had intended for Louis to play a key role in the 1806 campaign against Prussia, and was seriously disappointed with his brother's sluggish movements and lack of cooperation with Marshal Mortier during the campaign. When, towards the end of the campaign, Louis balked at attempting to seize Hanover in spite of his greatly superior numbers, Napoleon's displeasure with his younger brother was complete. But Napoleon still took care to preserve Louis's reputation; Louis's forfeiture of his command to Mortier and subsequent return to Holland were attributed to bad health, and further territory from Napoleon's conquests was added to Louis's kingdom. Returning to his kingdom, Louis received a hero’s welcome.

If Napoleon was irritated with Louis's conduct during the campaign, Louis, in turn, was angered by the retention of Dutch troops in Germany after the war, commanded by a French general; this, in Louis's eyes, was proof that he was to be little more than a puppet-king. His flagging health notwithstanding, Louis spent the winter working to further assert his independence by implementing public works projects, reorganizing his kingdom's administration and law code, and creating his own military orders, the Order of Union and the Order of Merit. A major point of contention arose between Louis and Napoleon when Louis announced that he intended to introduce the rank of marshal into the Dutch army and navy. Napoleon wrote to him scornfully on 2 January 1807:

Do you think a French general of division would take orders from your Dutch marshals? You are aping French organization, though your circumstances are utterly different. Why not begin by establishing the conscription and having a real army?

He followed it up more bluntly and concisely a week later: "There is nobody in Holland fit to hold such high rank." Louis viewed this as an insult and persisted in implementing the rank, until Napoleon finally ordered him to abolish it as one of numerous conditions to which Louis was forced to concede in early 1810 in order to retain his kingdom. On the subject of conscription, Louis would successfully resist its implementation, despite Napoleon's repeated demands, to the end of his reign.

Louis's relationship with his wife, meanwhile, remained fraught. Hortense had stayed with her mother, the Empress Josephine, during the campaign, and did not return to the Hague until months after her husband, prompting a quarrel. Mutual recriminations abounded: Hortense was upset over Louis's attentions to a Dutch lady at court; Louis, in turn, complained of Hortense's conduct. Napoleon became aware of the conflict and wrote reprovingly to his brother:

You have the best and most virtuous of wives, and you make her miserable. Let her dance as much as she likes; it is only right at her age. I have a wife of forty, and from the battlefield I write to her that she must go to balls; and with a wife who is only twenty and naturally wishes to live her life and has still some of the illusions of youth, you want her to live as if she were in a convent, or to be busy always like a nurse with her children? You yourself are too much shut up in your study and not about enough in public business. I would not say all this unless I thought so much of you. Make the mother of your children happy. You have only one way of doing this, and that is by showing her a great deal of esteem and confidence.

Louis was stung, and protested to Napoleon that he was being misrepresented to the Emperor by rumormongers. The domestic quarrels continued, as did the gossip they inspired at the Dutch court.

The estranged royal couple suffered a severe blow with the unexpected death of their eldest son, Napoleon Charles. The boy, who had been regarded by the still childless Napoleon as the heir to the Empire, had fallen ill in late April 1807. Louis frantically summoned numerous physicians to tend to the child; multiple remedies were attempted; but all without success. The four-year-old child died at midnight on the 5th of May. Hortense was almost insensible with grief and had to be taken away from the palace. Caroline Murat arrived soon to be at Hortense's side, followed shortly thereafter by Josephine. Hortense eventually left to take the waters in the Pyrenees, and Napoleon gave Louis permission to leave his kingdom to join her in early June. At the end of the summer, Josephine arranged for Hortense, who was still very unwell, to remain with her while Louis returned to Holland. Their younger son, Napoleon Louis, remained with Josephine at Fontainebleau as well. This tragedy drew Hortense and Louis together in their shared grief, but the reunion was short-lived.

[Queen Hortense with Napoleon Charles]

Before Louis's return to Holland, he had argued over political matters with Napoleon. The Emperor wanted more troops from Holland; Louis replied that he could not afford to raise them, due to his kingdom's economy suffering from the recently enacted Berlin Decree, which prohibited all trade with England. But Napoleon was unwilling to grant any concessions on this subject, and it would ultimately be Louis's inability--which Napoleon would interpret as unwillingness--to enforce the ban on English trade, that would spell Louis's downfall.

The 1809 war brought Louis's kingdom under threat from attack by the English, who intended for an expedition to seize Antwerp. Antwerp, however, was a French fortress, and as such, Louis was technically not allowed to interfere with it; but his warnings to Napoleon of its vulnerabilities went unheeded. Louis pleaded with Napoleon that his entire kingdom was defenseless due to Napoleon sending Dutch divisions off to Spain and Westphalia; Louis was left with fewer than 9,000 soldiers in Holland. Napoleon refused to reinforce Louis and downplayed the English threat; when the invasion actually occurred, he then blamed Louis for it. Invoking his title as Grand Constable of France in order to take command of the French troops, Louis set to work arming his fortifications and extending river defenses. On the 16th of August, he handed over command of the forces at Antwerp to Marshal Bernadotte. The English expedition ultimately floundered, out of a combination of disease and incompetence.

Napoleon, rather than thanking or lauding Louis for his efforts, blasted him in his correspondence. Louis was told that his office of Grand Constable was purely civil and honorary and gave him no right to command French troops. He questioned how Louis could expect anyone to respect Holland's independence when he refused to provide a larger army and navy for its defense. Without a larger army, his kingdom was a farce.

Louis protested that he was being treated unjustly. He had already heard whispers that Napoleon was planning to annex Holland to France, and garrison it with French troops. As he would soon learn, these were more than just whispers. By late 1809, Napoleon had not only lost faith in Louis, but had come to suspect his brother of disloyalty. In the Emperor’s mind, his brother was far too sympathetic to the Dutch nobility, whom Napoleon distrusted for their ties to the English. Nor did Napoleon appreciate Louis's attachment to the Dutch people and his insistence on promoting Dutch culture at every turn. But above all, Napoleon could not abide his brother's failure to enforce the blockade against English trade; this, in the words of biographer Michael Broers, "was the issue that turned incapacity into treason in his mind." Napoleon was determined that his Continental System be upheld at all costs; he was not oblivious to the suffering this would entail, as he made it clear to Louis in one particularly menacing letter:

Make searches and seize English goods, and [then] my customs men will respect your territory. If you don't do it, I will, as is my right.... The blockade will ruin many commercial cities, Lyon, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, but this state of anxiety must be got over; it must go on to the end.

The efforts of smugglers and corrupt/patriotic police notwithstanding, the blockade wreaked havoc on the commercial cities, just as Napoleon had anticipated. Writes Broers:

Amsterdam plunged into harrowing decline in every sense. Emigration caused by the collapse of commerce was compounded by the spread of diseases related to poverty, reducing its population from 202,000 in 1808, to little more than 180,000 by 1815. Its shipyards, which had employed 2,000 men in 1800, had barely 500 by 1808. Empty towns stood in ruins, while shanty towns along the canals swelled. Poverty was manifest in the city, and even the number of taverns declined. The local system of poor relief and charity that Louis had inherited from the old republic was stretched to the breaking point by the unprecedented speed and scale of Napoleon's manufactured crisis; it is estimated that between 30 and 40 per cent of the population of Amsterdam depended on poor relief by 1809.

And yet Napoleon remained displeased with his brother's enforcement of the blockade, and was convinced that Louis was deliberately acting to thwart him. When the entire imperial family was summoned to Paris in December 1809 for what would be the announcement of Napoleon's divorce and ensuing re-marriage plans, Louis suspected--rightly--that he might be walking into an ambush. He warned his ministers that he might be coerced into signing documents against his will, and that they were to only regard documents signed with his Dutch name--Lodewijk--as valid. In the event of an attempted French occupation of the country, his commanders were to offer a passive resistance, bringing their men inside their fortresses, closing their gates, and raising their drawbridges.

Napoleon welcomed Louis to Paris coldly; at their second meeting, he told him frankly that he intended to annex Holland, and that if Louis resisted, he would find himself at war with France. "Holland," he said, "is nothing but an English colony, more hostile to France than England herself. I mean to eat up Holland!"

In a bid to keep his kingdom, Louis pleaded for a compromise, and demonstrated a willingness to make concessions, including increased enforcement of the blockade and a ceding of territory. Napoleon sent orders to suspend Oudinot's march to occupy Holland, so that negotiations could proceed. But first, there was the issue of the divorce. Louis attempted to piggyback on his brother's divorce from Josephine by petitioning the Emperor for the arrangement of a formal separation from Hortense. Napoleon, instead, decided to have the matter decided by a family council. Though the two would not be permitted to divorce, it was decided that they might live apart; Hortense was permitted to remain in Paris and given an income of half a million francs. She also retained custody of Louis's eldest son, to Louis's bitter disappointment.

During this interim, Napoleon's mind had changed about his earlier negotiations with Louis. He predicted that Louis would not be able to meet the requirements they had agreed upon, and that the annexation would only be deferred. Harsher terms were drawn up--Louis was required to cede to France all his territory up to the left bank of the Rhine; he was forbidden to trade or communicate with England; he was required to build an army of 25,000 men and increase the size of his navy; and the rank of marshal was to be eliminated from the Dutch military. Louis was prohibited from returning to his kingdom until the agreement was signed. The treaty was finally signed on the 16th of March; Louis arrived back in Amsterdam on the 11th of April. Despite his earlier agreement to let Hortense remain in Paris, Napoleon had insisted on her returning to Holland as well. Hortense dreaded the return. "I wrote the Emperor a despairing letter," she recorded in her memoirs. "He did not answer me." Upon her arrival, Hortense writes that Louis "was overjoyed to see his son again but paid little or no attention to me."

Louis's unhappy queen leaves the following portrait of her life at court during this time, on the brink of her husband's deposition:

Word would be sent me when dinner was ready that the King was waiting for me. While we were at the table he would scarcely say a word. After the meal the King would thrum on the piano, which stood open. He would take his son on his knees, kiss him and lead him out on the balcony which overlooked the square. The crowd, catching sight of them, would give a few cheers. The King would re-enter the room, return to the piano, recite some French poetry or hum an air. I would stay in an armchair, not saying a word and watching what went on in the room. When a few hours had passed, my husband, becoming conscious of the strained situation, would ring and send for the Dutch members of our household and the ladies in waiting. Card-tables would be brought out. Sometimes I played also and at nine o'clock I returned to my apartments after having said good night, the only word we had spoken to one another. This is an exact picture of how I spent my days at Amsterdam.

Hortense did not remain in the kingdom for long. Her health suffered, and it was soon determined that it would be better for her to return to France. She left her husband for the final time on 16 May 1810.

The Sword of Damocles was not long in descending on Louis. An assault on a coachman of the French ambassador gave Napoleon all the excuse he needed to finally carry out his plan to annex Holland. Napoleon demanded that the perpetrators be arrested and hanged; Louis's ministers pointed out the impossibility of identifying them. Oudinot was ordered to march on Amsterdam.

Louis briefly considered appealing to Russia or Austria for help, but it was far too late. He had word sent to Oudinot that, though his troops would receive no welcome, they would also meet no resistance. Louis made some final, hasty financial arrangements, including selling some of the Dutch estates he had acquired and transferring his diamonds out of the country.

On 1 July 1810, Louis abdicated in favor of his second son, Napoleon Louis. The following night, he boarded a carriage accompanied by his captain of the guards, an aide-de-camp, and his favorite dog, Tiel, and headed east. In one last parting blow, Tiel was hit and killed at a horse-changing station on the road. Louis was devastated. "It was," writes biographer Atteridge, "he said, part of his bad luck, that now haunted him everywhere."

For weeks, Napoleon was unable to ascertain the whereabouts of his brother. "We don't know where he has gone, and we know nothing about this lunacy." He asked Hortense if she had any word of him. Writes Hortense in her memoirs, “Real anxiety as regards what had happened to the King was my first reaction. No one knew where he had retired. I imagined that he had left for America, alone, with no one to help him, no one to console him. His fate aroused my sympathy. I almost came to believe that I had become fond of him, now that he had known misfortune." Louis finally wrote to Madame Mère from the health resort of Toeplitz, that he was "as well as can be expected, and well out of affairs to which I will never return."

Regarding Napoleon's feelings towards Louis, Broers concludes that they were

an ill-sorted mixture of piercing truth and injustice clouded by the deepest kind of hatred, rooted in love betrayed. Yet, Napoleon worried about Louis' safety once 'the business' was over. He did not harbour the fanatical hatred that leads to murder. Even after his ill treatment of Hortense, Louis was his brother, and Bonapartes did not practise 'insular vendetta.' Nevertheless, in the world of high politics, Louis' end signaled the end of his faith in his brothers.

***

Sources:

Atteridge, A. Hillard. Napoleon’s Brothers, 1909.

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: Spirit of the Age. 2018.

De Beauharnais, Hortense. Memoirs of Queen Hortense, Vol I.

Masson, Frédéric. Napoleon et sa Famille, Vol I (1796-1802), 1907.

Roberts, Andrews. Napoleon: A Life. 2014.

#Meet the Bonapartes #Louis Bonaparte #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Hortense de Beauharnais #Holland #19th century

[needsastoryarchive]

Eugenetics

"Well, there you go... looks like the sleeping pill is finally wearing off Mr. Cavill."

''My head hurts... where I'm I? Who are you? Why am I chained and naked?!'' Henry looked around he was in some kind of lab with this creepy guy looking at him. He was short, especially compared to Cavill's large physique, a little bit chubby and hairy, wearing glasses, and had long messy hair with an unkempt beard.

''Yeah, those sleeping pills I gave you can give you some headaches, but those will wear off soon. You were hard to knockout big boy.''

''Why did you bring me here?! Who the hell are you!'' Henry tried to break loose from the chains.

''Hahaha don't even try it you may play Superman but even you can't break chains with your bare hands in the real world. Although I have to say that you played very well in those movies Mr. Cavill, from one actor to another.''

''Actor? Which movies did you play in? Is that why you brought me here so you can get a role?''

''Kind of Henry but no. You see I dreamed of being a movie star since I was little. I have done countless auditions for roles even as a background character putt somewhere in a dark corner. But did I get those roles? Not one! You know how cruel Hollywood can be, I wasn't tall enough, strong enough, manly enough, handsome enough to ''fit'' the role. While I'm a great actor! But my time to shine on the white screen has finally come, in the role of Hollywood hunk Henry Cavill!''

''I'm sorry little guy but I don't think you look enough like me to play as me in my autobiography. But let me go and maybe I can get you a nice little roll for you in one of my future movies.''

‘’I don't want to play you. I will play those roles of yours for myself. You see Mr. Cavill, rejection is a powerful motivator. You see I'm not only a great actor I'm also Head of biogenetic research of this lab. And this is my latest discovery!’’

''Uhm coffee? I'm sorry to say this to you but that's not a big discovery, sorry man.''

''Shut up! This isn't normal coffee I spent years of biogenetic engineering to create these coffee beans to... wait why would I spoil it by telling you? A demonstration makes things so much easier to understand don't you agree? Well, let me show you!'' 

Eugene put his coffee beans inside a machine and started the process. Soon a dark (liquid that smelled like normal coffee) came out of the machine feeling the cup in Eugene's hand. 

''You see Mr. Cavill this can be done in two ways but because you're my honorable quest, I will put in the effort this time.'' 

Eugene dropped his pants and underwear and began to stroke his tiny dick. ''You like that Cavill hahaha'', Eugene said while his dick got fully hard and finally dripped a little bit of his sperm in de cup of coffee. 

''Oh god you're a sick perverted man Eugene let me go and I will help you to find the right treatment I will even pay it for you!''

''I don't think that's necessary Mr. Cavill now just open your mouth and swallow.'' Eugene brought the mug to Henry's lips.

''No get away from me fuck off with that shit, you're disgusting!''

''I anticipated that you might not want to cooperate like that, so I brought some help''. Eugene took a funnel and placed it between Henry's teeth, and poured the sperm-coffee down Henry's throat.

''Ugh ugh ugh why do you do this to me, man?! What the meaning of all of this! Ugh ugh! Shit, I don't feel so good what did you... you do to me?''

''Don't worry Mr. Cavill you will soon see the results'', Eugene said as Henry's vision slowly became blurry and then he passed out.

...

''Henry slowly opened his eyes.  ''Ughgh what happened I had the weirdest dream ever. There was this guy that kidnapped me... and he cummed in his coffee... and he made me drink it! Ugh gross!''

''Weird dream indeed'', said a familiar voice.

''Who...who is there? I can’t…I can’t see, why is everything so…so blurry?” Henry asked, squinting his eyes.

''I guess that's what you get with my eyes was born with bad vision. Maybe it helps when you put these glasses on.''

''Wait a sec Eugene?! Why do I have your eyes? What the fuck is going on?” Henry said, a bit agitated, and a little scared.'' Henry felt the glasses being put on and his vision became clearer.

''Why am I looking at myself? Why do I look so unkempt? How long have I been out?''

''Oh this''? My doubleganger said as he stroked his messy beard. ''I guess some of my shagginess remained. The genetic transfer isn't perfect yet but it works for 99.8% as you can see.''

''Eugene is that you?!'' Henry said in shock.

''In the flesh... well your flesh HAHAHA. Well, do you think I could play you now in your autobiography? HAHAHA!''

''But how did you do this?'' Henry asked still in shock thinking he was still dreaming.

''I told you I spent years of biogenetic engineering with a focus on genetic trade between two separate genetic organisms. It was planned to be only used for plants but I have developed it further so now it also works between humans. And you Cavill were the perfect genetic package. All that's needed is sperm from one of the two participants and the transfer is activated.''

It couldn’t be…but, then how else could he explain it? Eugene had somehow managed to switch their genetic code. But then it dawned on Henry that if Eugene had his genetics what did he have? Henry looked down... everything he had since conception was gone. He was nothing more than a plump, sloppy hairy dwarf. Eugene had given him his horrible eyesight, and Eugene had in exchange taken his 20/20 vision. He felt how he’d always imagined waking up old must feel–sore joints, aching back, just a tired body more prone to inertia than anything else, it was clear Eugene never exercised in his old life. 

''Yeah, those genetics you now got are crap I know. But my genetics had to go somewhere when I got yours. It's not a surprise that you're still a little bit in shock it's a big transition, from being used to this to what you're now. But you will get used to it.''

''Eugene please can give me back my genetics, they are mine, not yours''.

''No,'' Eugene said in Cavill',s charismatic voice, without even thinking about it.

''No?'' Henry said, ''No?!'' What the hell?! ''''Those are my eyes, you fucker, and my hair! That whole body that you are illegally occupying is mine!"

“Well they’re mine now, so fuck that!” Eugene snapped back, “I’ve had fucking glasses all my goddamn life, grown out since middle school, and fuck no, I’m not going to go back to what I was, fuck that,” Eugene grinned at his reflection, I’m not going to be a piece of genetic waste anymore, you are! I’m now a genetic masterpiece!”

''I'm now 1,85 m tall, strong buff, and healthy. And that all with a handsome face like this. Oh, I almost forgot the best part'', Eugene grinned and unzipped his pants, pushed down his underwear, and hauled out a thick, seven-inch cock already drooling precum cock. ''Remember this one, hahaha! Henry readily recognized it as his own. Gulping, and still feeling helpless, he looked down to his crotch, already humiliated, and he looked at his now shriveled tool, barely two inches long, and he could tell, instinctively, that at best it could reach half-mast. 

“You–you took my cock?” Henry asked.

''Of course–the women are gonna love this thing when I ram it up their cunts during sex scenes and outside.'' Eugene said, flexing his new muscular frame, ''See, because this is where we’re different Cavill, see, I saw in you, I saw your biggest flaw–you’re a fucking loser. You simple don't deserve these genes but I do.''

''But...''

 ''Don’t try to deny it, I can see all of your fucking flaws, you fucking worthless piece of shit. See, I’m genetically superior and women will be begging me to fuck them, and film producers will give me the best roles. But you, you’re fucking worthless, so why in the hell shouldn’t you just be a storehouse for all the failed genetic mishaps of the human race?”

''You won't get away with this Eugene! People will notice something is off!''

It's ''Henry Cavill'' now and don't forget I'm a great actor. Besides I look like Henry Cavill, I sound like Henry Cavill, I... (*sniff*) smell like Henry Cavill, I even own the cock of Henry Cavill! 

''I... I'' , the real Henry Cavill was speechless.

''Yeah I already thought so, but if you don't mind I'm going to freshen up, maybe also a shave. Have to make a good impression on that talk show tonight. Don't worry ''Eugene'' I will leave the TV on so you can watch me''.

*Later that evening...

''Good evening everyone, this show we have amazing actor Henry Cavill joining us ! I have to say Henry you're looking sharp tonight how do you do it?'' 

''Hahaha thank you. What can I say see maybe it's just all in the genes.''

''So you say I'm a hopeless case?'' The presenter asked.

''You never know what can change in your life you never know.''

#male body swap #male body switch #needsastory

[polishksiezniczka]

Monsignor | Camerlengo Patrick McKenna x Reader

You meet il camerlengo for the first time at Mass, and he soon becomes captivated by you.

My first full-length oneshot! Sort of a slow burn but with some delicious fluff at the end. Please let me know if you have any requests or ideas for future works! 1.8k words

You had recently moved to Rome, your next diplomatic assignment being the US Embassy to the Holy See. The new challenges of your position were taxing, but you were proud of the work you did for your fellow citizens.

Being the good Catholic you were, you went to Mass as often as you could. And when in Rome—which boasted more than 900 churches—it was your goal to visit as many as you could. Although you had been living in the city for only a week or two, you had visited several parishes closer to your apartment to see if one appealed to you.

Today you decided to go to St. Peter’s Basilica for early morning service, hoping the crowds wouldn’t be as large. Aware of the Vatican’s strict dress code, you decided on a lovely vintage chiffon dress you had recently scored at a chic consignment shop. Its light coral color brought out the Y/E/C hues in your eyes, and it elegantly graced your figure while still leaving much up to the imagination. You paired it with sensible pumps and a loose white cardigan. You were feeling springlike today, it being a warm Sunday in April.

While you had visited the Vatican several times already on official diplomatic visits, you hadn’t yet as one of the faithful. As you silently made your way to the chapel, you marveled at the beautiful art surrounding you—the work of masters.

You chose to sit near the center aisle a few rows from the altar. The chapel quickly began to fill up; in a matter of minutes, you were surrounded by a trio of devout Italian nonne, clad in all-black, and a gaggle of starry-eyed Korean tourists.

As the processional music began, you felt your body ease into a state of peace. The ancient rituals of the Church always soothed you; they had not changed since you were a child and so provided a sense of comfort amidst an unpredictable world. You sang along, losing yourself in the beautiful melody.

When the hymnal ended, you lifted your gaze from your songbook to the altar. Your heart stopped as your eyes fell upon him—quite possibly the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

He was young, no more than 40 years of age. His hair was a rich auburn color, swept neatly into a well-groomed combover; you couldn’t help but admire how perfectly it framed his handsome face. His eyes, a lovely shade of blue, were mesmerizing. They reminded you of cerulean pools, clear and bright. His brows were furrowed in concentration, making him appear serious. His jawline was set in a strong, dignified way, sloping attractively down to his chin; there you could just make out a slight cleft. For all you knew, he was one of the marble statues carved by the same masters who had designed the basilica you were standing in.

Who was this man? That’s Father to you! you scolded yourself. You were in Church. And not just any Church—the Church! You tried to suppress your nascent infatuation, but you quickly succumbed to it, your eyes selfishly dragging down the rest of the priest’s body. He wore a white surplice over his black robes, highlighting the alluring musculature of his shoulders. His collar was a burst of white at the base of the column of his throat. His hands were clasped together in prayer in front of his chest, and you watched his eyes squeeze in concentration as he prayed along silently with the cardinal who stood beside him. His whole demeanor radiated safety, comfort, and protection.

You couldn’t help but stare, the chants of the prayer fading into the background. You couldn’t even look away. Even when he turned to look at you. You observed his eyes widening ever so slightly, his brow arching in curiosity. Regrettably, he seemed to catch himself after a few seconds, quickly averting his eyes away from you and back to his superior. The moment was so brief, you seriously doubted its authenticity. But there he was.

Mass passed by in a haze, your attempts at concentration all but shot. You tried to restrain yourself, but somehow your gaze always settled on him. It wasn’t until the pews ahead of you began to slowly shuffle toward for Communion that you momentarily became sensible again. As you stood and made your way toward the altar, your hands began to perspire. You ran through the expected response over and over again, worried you might choke on your own heart, which had invariably lodged itself in your throat.

Just as you had expected, he was even more beautiful up close. Like an angel. You were so taken by his handsomeness, his kind smile, his spellbinding eyes that you felt your chest tighten. Your eyes suddenly found the marble floor inexplicably fascinating.

He held up the thin wafer. “Il corpo di Cristo.”

You peered up at him from beneath your lashes and met his kind cerulean eyes again. They beamed down at you, joy and curiosity radiating from them. You quickly lost your ability to speak, momentarily dumbstruck. He must have sensed this, as a smile quirked the corner of his lips; you thought you were imagining things when the faintest chuckle reached your ears. If only you knew what he was thinking!

“Amen,” you whispered hurriedly, accepting the wafer in your trembling hands. You bowed to him and quickly stepped aside to genuflect before the altar. As you made your way to back to your pew, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance over your shoulder at him. As you expected, he was dutifully administering communion to the remaining parishioners. You sighed softly as you retook your place and knelt down.

Of course that’s what he’s doing! you scolded yourself. For the love of God, he’s a priest—why would he have feelings for you? Silly, foolish girl.

Your thoughts consumed you for the rest of Mass, even during the last processional hymnal. If only you had noticed the young priest’s longing glance at you as he walked past.

After the processional ended, you prepared to leave, but your shame got the best of you. As a penance you knelt and said five Hail Mary’s to atone for your distraction.

As you left your pew, you noticed how quiet the church had become. A few people remained, some finishing their prayers, others snapping pictures of the ornate altar. As you walked to the back of the chapel, you observed a small group of parishioners clustered near the back, no doubt socializing among themselves. You had planned to walk around them, but the group suddenly parted, putting you directly on course for him. The priest who had awoken in you a reaction so powerful, so complete, you couldn’t even think clearly.

The two parishioners he was speaking with said their farewells; then, he turned and noticed you. As your eyes met for the third time that morning, his face broke into a radiant smile. You approached him slowly, a blush creeping up your cheeks. You did your best to hold his gaze and maintain an air of confidence after your embarrassing conduct during the liturgy of the Eucharist. You stopped just short of a foot away from him, subconsciously holding your breath.

“Buongiorno, signorina,” he said. His voice was so velvety, so delightful, it practically overwhelmed your senses. Being so close allowed you to better study his chin’s adorable cleft, making you swoon. “Non ti ho mai visto prima a San Pietro. Stai visitando la nostra bellissima basilica mentre sei in vacanza?” His presence was oh so alluring—you couldn’t help but relax as air suddenly filled your lungs.

“Buongiorno, monsignor,” you replied carefully. “ No, ma sono nuovo a Roma. Vedi, mi sono trasferito qui due settimane fa. Lavoro per l'ambasciata degli Stati Uniti.”

He smiled knowingly, his eyes alight with intrigue. “So, you are an American?” The soft, gentle lilt of his accent sent a shiver up your spine. How was it possible that this man’s normal pleasantries were enough to provoke such a response in you?

“Yes, I am.”

“In that case, may I be the first to welcome you to Vatican City.” He bowed his head slightly in deference to you. “I am Father Patrick McKenna, il camerlengo to his Holiness. May I ask your name?”

“Y/F/N, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The camerlengo’s smile widened, and you momentarily glimpsed his dazzling white teeth. “Y/N…” he repeated thoughtfully. You cherished the way your name rolled off his tongue. “How lovely. Named after Saint Y/N if I am not mistaken?”

“Yes, Father,” you shyly responded. “I was raised in a very devout home.” You quickly averted your gaze to the floor, worrying that you had revealed too much about yourself. You certainly weren’t prepared for the camerlengo’s next remark:

“I…I hope to see you next weekend.” He spoke softly, tenderly.

Your eyes shot up to his face, eagerly finding his own. The camerlengo’s eyebrows were raised expectantly; a gentle smile graced his handsome features.

“Of course, Father. It was such a lovely Mass.” You tried to convey as much sincerity as you could with your voice.

He took your hand in his and cradled it, making your heart flutter even more rapidly in your chest. “I’m glad you thought so. In the meantime, do not make yourself a stranger.” For a moment, his eyes were expectant, and he nodded solemnly—as if holding you to a serious pledge—but his fervent expression quickly melted back into one of compassion again. “You are welcome anytime.”

Your cheeks took on a lovely pink color at his words as you beamed at him.“Grazie, Padre.” Reluctantly you added, “I believe I should be going now...” Your eyes flashed over your shoulder, subtly indicating a group of nonne eager to speak with him. “I would not want to keep you all to myself.” You shyly lifted your gaze to the camerlengo again.

He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with mirth at your remark. “May God bless you, Miss Y/L/N. Arrivederci.” As he said this, he traced the sign of the cross on your forehead, the scent of him filling your nostrils briefly. He smelled clean and masculine with a delightful hint of spiciness, which you immediately recognized to be frankincense. You savored the warmth of his skin on yours.

“Addio, monsignor,” you whispered breathlessly.

You found the courage to look into the camerlengo's spellbinding eyes once more before you turned to leave. As you exited the sacred space, you smiled to yourself, his words reverberating within you: do not be a stranger.

"Never, Father," you whispered. ¤

Translations

nonne = "grandmothers"

Il corpo di Cristo = "the body of Christ"

Non ti ho mai visto prima a San Pietro. Stai visitando la nostra bella chiesa durante le vacanze? = "I haven’t seen you before at St. Peter’s. Are you visiting our beautiful basilica while on holiday?"

No, ma sono nuovo a Roma. Vedi, mi sono appena trasferito qui due settimane fa. Lavoro con l'ambasciata degli Stati Uniti. = "No, but I am new to Rome. You see, I recently moved here a few weeks ago. I work for the US Embassy."

@seraferna @lemairepstuff

#camerlengo patrick mckenna #patrick mckenna x reader #ewan mcgregor #angels and demons #dan brown #forgive me father for i have sinned #hot priest #ewanfuckinmcgregor #fluff oneshot

[kjack89]

1B+

Man, I don’t even know. Established E/R, modern AU. CW for COVID and vaccine discussions.

“It’s redlining!” 

Enjolras’s raised voice was the first thing anyone heard as soon as they got on the weekly Zoom call, and Combeferre winced, reaching to turn down the volume on his laptop. The chat was already blowing up with everyone asking everyone else – besides Enjolras and Grantaire, for obvious reasons – what was the source of the argument this week.

Combeferre sent various versions of ‘I have no idea’ to everyone as Enjolras and Grantaire glared at each other through their respective computer screens. “I understand that,” Grantaire started, sounding angrier than usual, since he had a tendency to sound like he was enjoying his weekly arguments with Enjolras, “but I don’t think—”

“Look at the zip code map for the city,” Enjolras interrupted, also unusually angry, as Combeferre suspected (but would never, ever vocalize) that he also enjoyed his verbal spars with Grantaire. “It matches up almost exactly with historical redlining!”

“And I’m not denying that,” Grantaire snapped. “But that doesn’t mean—”

Marius had the misfortune of logging on right then, and had the even greater misfortune of not knowing immediately that he stepped right into the middle of a fight as he cheerfully said, “How’s everyone’s day going?” He broke off as he apparently spotted the desperate hand gestures that Courfeyrac was making. “Oh, um, sorry. Did I interrupt?”

“No,” Grantaire said stiffly. “We’re done here.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t appear to want to argue further, and Combeferre waited for a beat before unmuting himself. “Do either of you want to catch us up to speed?” he asked carefully.

Grantaire shook his head as he stood, disappearing from his camera’s view, and Enjolras scowled. “We’re talking about the vaccine,” he said, a little sourly, hesitating before adding, “Grantaire got vaccinated today.”

Courfeyrac whooped. “R, you got your Fauci ouchie?” he asked, delighted.

“Which did you get?” Joly asked, more curious than elated. “Moderna? Pfizer? Johnson & Johnson?”

Bossuet nudged him. “Does it matter?” he asked, sounding amused.

“No, of course not, and I’ll take whatever they want to stick in me—”

“Yeah you will,” Courfeyrac snickered.

“—but I’m keeping track of anecdotal data about reactions to the various vaccines,” Joly continued, giving Courfeyrac the finger.

“It was the Pfizer vaccine, but I think you’re all missing the broader point,” Enjolras said stiffly.

Grantaire reappeared on screen, a drink in hand. “Pretty sure the only one missing the point is you,” he said. “And Joly, before you ask, thus far the only negative reaction I’ve had is from Enjolras.”

Joly frowned. “That’s not what—”

“Oh, I’m sorry that I’m less than ecstatic that you, a white man who lives in one of the most affluent zip codes in our city, was able to get vaccinated, while vaccine rates in low income and majority minority zips remain among the lowest in the nation,” Enjolras snapped, the impetus of his argument with Grantaire finally becoming clear for everyone else on the Zoom call. “Forgive me for not celebrating that Black and brown folks remain disproportionately at risk while you get to go back to wasting your life drinking in bars until all hours of the night.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes so hard that Combeferre was half-afraid he’d pulled a muscle. “Right, because I forgot, in addition to apparently being an alcoholic, I’m also so incredibly selfish that I would put low income workers at risk just so that I can sit by myself indoors at a bar during a pandemic.”

“Hey, not by yourself,” Bahorel interjected with the sort of threatening cheerfulness he used when he was aggressively trying to change the topic. “Don’t forget, Feuilly got poked a few weeks ago, so he could join you.”

Feuilly looked very much like he wanted to be left out of the conversation entirely. “Ah, yes, the perks of being essential to keeping capitalism running,” he muttered.

But Bahorel’s attempt at humor had seemingly only made Enjolras angrier. “Yes, Feuilly got his vaccine because he’s essential,” he said icily. “Not to mention because he’s been risking his life for over a year now while the rest of us got to stay home.”

“Not to pull a Taylor Swift but I would really like to be excluded from this narrative,” Feuilly said.

Enjolras and Grantaire both ignored him. “I’m sorry that I can’t be as ideal as Feuilly,” Grantaire all but spat, “but me taking the vaccine because I’m eligible and was able to has exactly zero impact on the failures of equitable rollout.”

“Right, one less vaccine going to someone who actually needs it has no impact on anything,” Enjolras shot back. “Of course, I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like you’ve ever been willing to sacrifice anything for someone else.”

There was a sudden intake of breath from the collective group at that, and even Enjolras looked a little shamefaced. Grantaire’s expression was stony. “You really want to talk about sacrifice?” he asked quietly. “After everything this past year?”

Enjolras winced. “I didn’t mean—”

“Because while you were working at home this past year, some of us lost our jobs.” Grantaire’s voice was sharp. “And some of us have since stepped up to more or less become the primary caretaker for someone who’s too fucking stubborn to get the damn vaccine for himself, even though he’s also eligible!” Enjolras looked like he wanted to refute at least part of that, but Grantaire didn’t give him a chance. “But you know what? I’m done with that now. You can get your own damn groceries, even though you don���t have a car and refuse to use instacart. Or you can have takeout delivered without using third party delivery apps. Hell, you can figure out how to get anything delivered to you without using Amazon! I’m sure you and your moral superiority and your goddamned heart defect will have a gay ol’ time waiting for some arbitrary measure of equity.”

With that, he left the Zoom, leaving absolute silence in his wake. Enjolras looked too stunned to talk, so Combeferre took over. “Alright, everyone,” he said, “let’s take a quick break. I’ll send a text when we’re ready to get back online.” Everyone else quickly left, most likely relieved to not have to sit there in the awkward silence. Combeferre cleared his throat. “Enjolras?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “What?”

“Are you ok?”

“Fine.”

Combeferre frowned. “I mean, with what Grantaire said…”

Enjolras suddenly seemed very engaged with scrolling through his phone and not making eye contact with Combeferre. “You know Grantaire as well as I do,” he said dismissively. “He’s a drama queen.”

“Sure, and known to exaggerate. But not generally to outright lie.” Enjolras made a face but didn’t argue and Combeferre sighed. “Look, you’re not obligated to share any personal medical information—”

“Tell that to Grantaire,” Enjolras muttered.

“—but if there is something you want to tell us about…”

He trailed off and Enjolras sighed. “It’s really nothing,” he said grudgingly. “I have a small, congenital heart defect. “

Combeferre’s eyes narrowed. “How small?”

“Just, a tiny little hole. In the wall of my heart.”

“Atrial septal defect?” Combeferre asked sharply.

Enjolras snorted a laugh. “You’re a freak, you know that, right?” he asked good-naturedly. “Yes, an atrial septal defect. So I’m at slightly higher risk for COVID complications than the average adult.” He made a face. “And because Grantaire knows about it, he’s been absolutely insufferable.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Dare I ask how it is that Grantaire knows about this when you and I have been friends for years and this is the first I’m hearing of it?”

Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, I sort of told him about it. But in my defense, I wasn’t exactly anticipating a pandemic at the time.”

“What were you anticipating?

Enjolras looked even more uncomfortable. “Um, more sex?”

Combeferre blinked. “I’m honestly afraid to ask.”

Enjolras rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not even a good story,” he mumbled. “It was back when we first got together…”

----------

Enjolras and Grantaire lay in silence next to each other, both of their chests still heaving. Grantaire was the first to break the silence, glancing over at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Grantaire said skeptically, propping himself up on his elbow. “I can always tell when you’re thinking. You get that wrinkle between your eyebrows.”

Enjolras scowled, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Playing to my vanity?” he asked.

Grantaire grinned, brushing Enjolras’s hand aside and leaning in to kiss Enjolras’s forehead. “I’ll take whatever advantage I can get,” he said. “So what are you thinking about? Other than the best orgasm of your life, courtesy of me?”

“In fairness, the bar for that was pretty low,” Enjolras said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth before it faded. “Just...shouldn’t we talk about this? About what we’re doing here?”

Making a face, Grantaire flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. “Normally I require at least a half hour after sex before we do the ‘what are we’ conversation,” he said, his voice muffled before he turned his head to look over at Enjolras. “It’s like how you’re not supposed to swim for a half hour after you eat.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an old wives tale.”

Grantaire shifted in what might have been an attempt at a shrug. “Maybe, but I’m not willing to take that risk.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and sat up. “Fine, then what do you want to talk about?”

“Who says we need to talk about anything?”

“Isn’t that normally what you do after having sex with someone?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire smirked. “I mean, I’m hardly an expert but normally around this time I’m fishing around for my boxers so I can do the walk of shame home.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Keep it up and you will be.”

Grantaire laughed. “Look, this isn’t exactly normal for either of us. I mean, at least I don’t have to worry about forgetting your name, so that’s a step up.”

“You are, as always, classy.”

Enjolras made as if to stand up but Grantaire reached out and caught his hand, keeping him in place. “Well, I mean, c’mon, we’ve known each other for years. This isn’t like a regular hookup. I don’t have to pretend to care about learning what you do for a living or what familial issues you brought with you into adulthood, mainly because I already know.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “You think you know everything about me?”

“I know I know everything about you,” Grantaire said, a little smugly. “I mean, besides your social security number and family medical history, but we can save those for the second date.”

“I don’t know, I think my congenital heart defect makes for fascinating post-coital conversation,” Enjolras said with a grin. But Grantaire just stared at him, eyes wide, and his smile disappeared. “I was kidding.”

“So you don’t have a heart defect?”

Grantaire’s voice was even but Enjolras winced. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

“What’s wrong with your heart?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“A great many things, as I’m sure any of my few exes could attest,” Enjolras joked, but when Grantaire’s expression didn’t change, he sighed and elaborated, “I was born with a small hole in the wall of my heart. It’s called an atrial septal defect. Quite possibly caused by the cocaine habit my mother likes to pretend she didn’t have in the 80s.”

Grantaire didn’t laugh. “Is it serious?”

“No. Not really.” Enjolras shrugged. “I’m at higher risk for some heart and lung complications, but mostly it’s just something for my cardiologist to keep an eye on.”

For one long moment, Grantaire was silent, as if he was struggling with something to say. Then he managed a small smile of his own. “Well, at least it’s proof that you have a heart,” he said lightly.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “An Iron Man reference? Really?”

“Of course, I forgot that you hate the MCU.”

Enjolras made a face. “That’s a bit of a stretch. But Tony Stark is a war criminal so I’m not exactly thrilled with the comparison.”

Grantaire laughed. “Fair enough,” he said.

“Besides,” Enjolras said, his smirk returning as he moved closer to Grantaire, “wasn’t this enough proof that I have a heart?”

“Mm,” Grantaire said, his eyes half-closed as Enjolras traced his fingers down his back, “I’d say it’s more proof that you like sex. Which was also in doubt, for what it’s worth.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Then what about this?” he asked, closing the space between them and kissing Grantaire, a slow, heady kiss that had Grantaire tugging him down onto the bed with him.

When they broke apart, it wasn’t to go far, their noses brushing against each other as they lay tangled up in each other. “That’s closer at least,” Grantaire murmured, his expression soft. “But I’ll keep the heart defect in mind, just in case you give me reason to doubt that you have a heart in the future.”

“I don’t plan to,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire half-smiled. “I’m not sure this is the kind of thing that ever really is planned.”

“I know. But I want you to know that I’m…” Enjolras trailed off, looking for the right words. “I’m not going into this with the expectation that it’s a one and done kind of thing.”

Grantaire looked taken aback for a moment before his expression evened out. “Why, Monsieur, what sweet words for one such as me,” he said with a fake accent, fluttering his eyelashes at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Be serious,” he scoffed, adding warningly, “And don’t even say it.”

“Say what?” Grantaire asked innocently, not able to stop his grin.

“You know what.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “Even if it’s true?”

Enjolras just gave him a look. “You’re less wild than you think.”

Grantaire laughed and stretched. “Yeah, well, I blame my 30s for that.” He waggled his eyebrows at Enjolras. “Besides, if we want to talk about wild, I want to hear more about your mother’s suspected cocaine habit.”

Enjolras shook his head, his eyes darkening as he looked at Grantaire. “How about we do something that doesn’t require any talking?”

“Oh, do you have a ball gag hidden somewhere that I don’t know about?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed exasperatedly.

Grantaire grinned, running his hands down Enjolras’s sides. “I’m just saying, you’re a pretty mouthy lay.”

Enjolras pressed a hand against his chest “As opposed to you, who is known for his ability to be silent.”

“Exactly.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

Grantaire leaned in to kiss him but paused, his lips barely brushing Enjolras’s. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Is your heart healthy enough for sex?”

“It’s healthier than you’ll be if you don’t kiss me,” Enjolras said warningly.

“God, you’re bossy,” Grantaire sighed, but he was grinning again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate before kissing Enjolras once more.

----------

“And then about three weeks later, the world went to hell and all of a sudden, what I had told Grantaire mostly as a joke was somewhat more relevant,” Enjolras finished.

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Because COVID could cause problems?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Possibly.”

“But enough to put you in the 1B+ priority group.”

Combeferre didn’t pitch it as a question and Enjolras scowled. “Theoretically, yes, but these phases are bullshit, and besides, I’m not getting vaccinated until—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre interrupted, exasperated and wishing for not the first time that he could reach through the computer screen to knock some sense into his best friend. “Get the damn shot.”

Enjolras looked taken aback. “What?”

“The rollout is never going to be perfect, but this is the dumbest hill that I’ve ever seen you choose to die on.” Combeferre gave him a look. “And that’s saying something because I remember the time you took a stand in favor of school uniforms in junior high.”

“They can be an equalizer for students who can’t afford expensive clothes,” Enjolras muttered. 

“Enjolras.”

“I’m just saying,” Enjolras said stubbornly. “Besides, I don’t think this is a dumb hill to die on, considering the affluent folks who are exploiting every trick in the book to cut in line!”

Combeferre shook his head. “But you’re not cutting in line. You’re eligible.”

“Sure, but I also have excellent health insurance, and can take time off work if I get sick, so even if I were to catch it—”

Combeferre gave him a look. “And if you don’t eat your vegetables, there are poor, starving children in Africa…”

Enjolras matched his look with one of his own. “I’m more concerned about the poor starving children in our own neighborhood,” he snapped.

But Combeferre was undeterred. “And you refusing to get vaccinated helps them how, exactly?” Enjolras said nothing, just crossing his arms in front of his chest, and Combeferre managed a small, grim smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Enjolras said, just a little petulantly.

“So is getting vaccinated so that you can keep doing the important work that you do.” Combeferre sighed. “Look, I can’t make you get vaccinated any more than Grantaire can. But you being mad at Grantaire just because you feel guilty—”

“That’s not—” Combeferre raised both eyebrows and Enjolras winced. “I guess that is sort of what happened.”

Combeferre tactfully chose not to pile on to that. “Getting the vaccine keeps people safe,” he said instead. “And while Grantaire may claim not to care about anything, we both know he would do anything to keep you safe.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that he got the vaccine to keep you safe. And because he was eligible to.” Combeferre paused before adding, “And you owe him an apology.”

“And to schedule a vaccine appointment for myself?” Enjolras asked.

Combeferre shrugged. “Again, that’s your decision. But yes.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly, but he no longer looked angry. Instead, something contemplative stole across his expression. “Did you ever imagine, a year ago, that we’d be talking about this?”

“About you and Grantaire getting into some asinine fight and me talking you down from being a stubborn asshole?”

“Ok, well, when you put it like that…” Combeferre laughed and Enjolras managed a smile as well. “Thank you.”

Combeferre gave him a look. “The best way to thank me is to never make me play referee again.”

“Yes, but that’s just unrealistic, so…”

Combeferre laughed again and shook his head. “Talk to Grantaire,” he ordered. “In the meantime, I’ll get the meeting started again. You two can join us after you’ve talked.”

Enjolras sighed. “Yes sir,” he muttered sourly. “But there’s just one thing I need to do first.”

“Use an exploitative third party delivery app to send a bottle of whiskey to Grantaire as an apology?” Combeferre guessed.

Enjolras made a face. “Ok, two things.”

Combeferre grinned. “You’re making your vaccine appointment, aren’t you.”

Enjolras shrugged. “What can I say, you made some good points.”

“So did Grantaire,” Combeferre said pointedly. “And I suspect he’d much rather hear you say that than I.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Go,” he ordered. “We’ll be back on the zoom shortly.”

Combeferre hesitated. “Just one more thing.”

“Now what?” Enjolras asked, exasperated.

“Make sure to tell Grantaire that you understand.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Understand what?”

“That he got the vaccine because he loves you.” He leveled a look at Enjolras. “Enough for him to forgive you for accusing him of cutting the line just so he can drink at a bar.”

Enjolras winced. “Not my finest moment,” he admitted.

“Not so much,” Combeferre agreed.

“Think he’ll forgive me?”

Combeferre didn’t even have to pretend to think about it. “I know he will.” 

#enjolras #grantaire #enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #combeferre #all the amis #too lazy to tag them all #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #established relationship #covid cw #vaccine cw #just struggling with the year anniversary like one does

[todorokibois]

Brat - Katsuki Bakugo X Reader {M}

Disclaimer: Katsuki is aged up to about 21, as are all characters in my fics.

Genre: Smut (Dom/Sub themes, slight humiliation, Mistress, Bakugo is a brat)

Pairing: Katsuki X Reader

Words: 3,966

A/n: Came up with this idea while I was rewatching some bnha the other day, and I thought to myself, I think it’s time for someone to put Bakugo in his place. Thus, this idea was born. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!

Summary: The one in which you’ve had enough of Bakugo’s shit and decide to teach him some respect.

He’s been pushing your buttons all day. Every time you would suggest a plan to capture the criminals you’ve been chasing, he would counter your ideas, or go off and do his own thing. The worst was when he stormed into the building by himself, yelling at the villains to ‘stop being such little bitches’ and fight him head on. To say you’re frustrated would be an understatement.

Due to his attitude in the past, many other agencies refuse to work with him, leaving only a select few you can count on. You’re just lucky you have friends in those agencies, otherwise hero work might be a little bit more difficult to come by, especially when he goes off on his own like this, ignoring your direct orders.

It takes you all twice as long to capture the goons this time due to him nearly collapsing the building they were hiding in, completely ignoring the fact that you told him to wait for backup. Eventually, you managed to catch up to him and apprehend the villains you’ve been after, giving them to the authorities shortly after capture. 

However, not only are you beyond frustrated, but you’re also embarrassed by how Katsuki has been acting lately. Given that you’re one of the top heroes working at your agency, your team is supposed to listen to your orders and follow them, especially when it comes to tasks like this. Katsuki, on the other hand, directly refuses to even acknowledge how you run things, which only makes you believe he has no respect for the agency’s code of conduct, nor you, especially when the two of you are at work. 

You’re sick and tired of it, especially since the two of you are supposed to be partners, in more ways than one. You can’t count the amount of times you’ve overheard people commenting on your relationship because of this. Enough is enough, and you’ve decided you’re going to do something about this. It’s like he doesn’t have any respect for your authority.

This won’t be for long, though. Not if you have anything to say about it. Someone is going to have to put him in his place, and you know just the person to do it. You.

When the both of you get back to the agency building, your superior gave you both a massive scolding. Katsuki received a larger one than you, but you were still told to get him under control, lest the two of you want to be out of a job. The last thing the agency wants is their approval rating to go down in the eyes of the public, and Katsuki is already dangerously treading the edge.

“It’s your job to keep him under control, (Y/n),” your boss scolds you once the two of you are alone in their office.

“Yes, boss,” you reply, a sigh nearly escaping your lips for the umpteenth time that evening.

“Now go home and get some rest, tomorrow’s another day!” They say, sending you a tight smile as you nod politely and leave their office.

You say nothing as you pass Katsuki, expression remaining blank as your eyes blaze in anger. If anyone saw you, they’d think you look quite normal, but one look into your eyes and they’d know how pissed off you really are.

He huffs and rolls his eyes as you walk passed him, arms crossed as he follows you out to the car, “what? I got the job done, didn’t I?”

The only response he gets out of you is a glance at him out of the corner of your already narrowed eyes, only causing him to click his tongue in annoyance, “what?”

Sliding into the drivers side of the car, you remain silent. Turning the keys, you register him sliding in the passenger’s seat, teeth gritting against one another as he clenches his jaw. He tilts his head slightly upwards, his nose in the air as he looks over at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Are you really going to ignore me now, dumbass?” He scoffs as you remain silent. “Fine, I didn’t want to talk anyways.”

Usually, you’d be cussing him out by now, voices raised as you argue your whole drive back to your shared house about what has transpired this evening. To say your silence is slightly unnerving to him would not be an exaggeration. He has a feeling that you’ll probably lay into him as soon as you get home, and that anticipation alone is eating away at him. Believe it or not, he can’t stand you actually being upset at him, and he can tell you’re furious.

Your grip is tight on the steering wheel the whole ride home. Every so often, you can feel Katsuki’s gaze drift over to look at you, though he still defiantly holds his head high. Each time you let out a tense sigh, he tenses slightly, waiting for you to blow up at him like he knows you can. 

The longer this goes on, the more nervous he gets. Did he finally go overboard? Will you forgive him this time like you have all the other times he’s disobeyed your orders? It’s not like anyone got hurt this time, so he doesn’t understand why you’re so upset. In fact, you should be used to this by now.

Each second that goes by with this tense silence lingering in the air feels like an eternity to him, and by the time you’re pulling into the driveway he nearly breathes a sigh of relief. As you’re unlocking the front door, he figures he’ll attempt to talk to you again, wanting at least some sense of normalcy to come back to the two of you.

Stepping inside, he lets out an irritated huff, “look, if you’re saving the big lecture for when we get inside, you should just-“

His voice dies in his throat as you push him against the wall, the front door clicking shut beside you.

“You never know when to keep that big mouth of yours shut, huh, Katsuki?” You tut, shaking your head in disappointment. “You know, if you actually put it to good use, instead of spewing your typical bullshit…”

“The fuck are you talking about, (Y/n)?” He counters, brows furrowed.

“I’m talking about how this is the last time you’re going to disrespect me like that, you fucking brat,” you spit, pushing him harder into the wall with your arm across his chest.

“Oh, please,” he rolls his eyes, “if I hadn’t gone ahead-“

“Enough, Katsuki,” you cut him off, eyes hard as your gaze meets his. “This is the last time you pull something like this. I’ve put up with it for this long because I care about you, and it usually all works out in the end, but not anymore. It’s time you learned some respect.”

He scoffs, “and I suppose you’re going to teach me?”

“Damn right I am,” comes your immediate reply, and you can tell he isn’t expecting it. “It’s time someone knocked you down a few pegs, brat, and I’ll be happy to do it.”

A humourless puff of air escapes him, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, baby,” you grin, “I’ve already started.”

At your words, his brow furrows further in confusion until he feels you arm shift slightly, allowing for your hand to rest at the base of his throat. His eyes go wide as he feels your fingers gently brushing over his skin, almost teasingly against his throat, your body now pushing into his fully.

“Like I said, you’ve always had such a loud mouth, Katsuki,” you stare into his eyes, and you know he’s watching you, waiting to see what your next move will be. “You’ve always needed someone to discipline you properly, to tell you ‘no’ and actually mean it. To bring you to your knees and make you beg-”

Before you can say another word, he cuts you off, “like hell I’d ever beg for anything.”

Your eyes flash, grip squeezing slightly at the base of his throat in warning as he gasps, “don’t interrupt me again.” 

You notice his eyebrow quirk slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing against your hand as he swallows subtly, yet he nods once in understanding. 

“As I was saying,” you sigh, “you will beg by the time I’m done with you tonight. After I’m done teaching you some respect. Though, I don’t think I’ll need to try very hard.”

To emphasize your point, you bring your free hand to his crotch, cupping his semi-hard cock in your hands and squeezing. He inhales sharply, gritting his teeth as he feels you gently caressing his growing erection, both loving and hating how much this is actually turning him on at the moment. You smirk.

“After all, I’ve barely done anything to you, and you’re already this turned on,” your voice is low as you lean in to whisper into his ear. A shiver runs down his spine as he feels your breath ghost over his neck, “pathetic.”

A small moan escapes his lips, immediately causing his eyes to widen, face turning red as you chuckle at his reaction. He attempts to get words out, but all he can do is splutter as you release your hold on him with a quirked brow, nails trailing down his chest teasingly until all he’s left with is the faintest ghost of your touch over his skin.

“Seems to me like you’re already begging for me to have my way with you,” you say as you take a few steps backwards and away from him. 

He catches himself as he takes a small step towards you, gritting his teeth in frustration at what you’re doing to him. You watch as his fists clench at his sides, a fire igniting behind his irises. He’s putting up a front, and you can tell, one that’s close to cracking.

“Like hell I would,” he’s still, spine rigid as he watches you with defiance still shining in his eyes, along with something else. Something you’ve never seen before.

“Oh?” You quirk your brow once more, now taking small steps towards him as if you’re a cat stalking its prey, “you mean you don’t want to feel my hands all over your body, leaving marks for everyone to see? You don’t want to know what it’s like to be rewarded for being my good boy? You’d rather me not take care of that little situation you’ve got going on down there?” You trail your eyes over his body, gaze focusing on the tent now visible in his pants as he shifts slightly at the feeling of having your eyes on him like this. “Damn, Katsuki, I knew you were masochistic, but you shouldn’t let your pride get in the way all of the time.” You’re close enough to him now to trail a teasing finger across his chest. “Especially not at a time like this.”

He scowls, but you can see it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. He’s intrigued by your whole demeanour tonight, for he’s never really seen you act this way before. He always knew you could be demanding, a true leader that he honestly wouldn’t mind following anywhere you told him to, but he’s never had this directed towards him. Well, he’s never felt you mean it like this before.

Maybe he wanted this to happen. Maybe he wanted to see how far he could push you before you snapped and put him in his place. Maybe he’s been desperate for you to use him like he’s used you. The countless times throughout your relationship where he’s made you weak for him, made you beg him for more has made him want the same from you. Maybe, just maybe, there’s something more to it. Maybe he just wants to see how far you’re willing to go. Maybe, he just wants you to make him beg.

“I don’t let my pride get in the way,” he grumbles, as you take a step back to distance yourself from him once more. His gaze darts to the side as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, just waiting for you to do something to him.

“Sure you don’t,” you chuckle, now standing right in front of him. 

The two of you stare at one another for a few moments, the tension of anticipation lingering in the air between you. He can’t help but hold his breath as he watches your one hand come back up to cup his face, patting his cheek affectionately in the next moment.

“Once you’ve swallowed that pride of yours, brat, I’ll be waiting in the bedroom,” with a final smile that simply screams nothing but trouble for him, you’re turning around and heading up the stairs, leaving him standing there, stunned, in the front entranceway.

Letting out a frustrated growl, he shakes his head. No way in hell is he leaving things like this. There’s a part of him that wants to march right into your shared room and show you who you belong to. To put you in your place for teasing him like that. However, there’s another part of him that cannot help the way his heart races in excitement as he thinks of what you might have in store for him once he makes it upstairs.

The fire behind his eyes is still burning once he throws open the door, only for his steps to falter as he sees you casually changing your shirt. His gaze trails down your torso, swallowing slightly as he watches you turn around, you not wearing anything at all on your upper half.

“Took you long enough, brat,” you tut, shaking your head as you walk over to him, now frozen in the doorway. He’s seen you plenty of times without a shirt on, hell, even without a bra for that matter, but there’s something about your aura this time that makes whatever retort he’s about to say die in his throat. This time, you look serious, and he just knows he’s in for a long night. “What, no smart-ass remark?”

Your lips tugs upwards into a grin, arms crossing across your chest, only serving to emphasize the curve of your breasts. His mouth practically salivates at the thought of finally getting to touch you after what you did to him downstairs. He’s never gotten this worked up like this in such a short period of time before, and he wants to see what you’ll do to him next.

“Are you finally going to listen to me for once?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you continue to stare at him expectantly.

“I always listen to you,” he responds grumpily.

“There’s that smart mouth of yours again,” you shake your head in mock disappointment. “Now, see, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now if that were the case. So, we’re going to start at lesson one: do exactly what I say, without question.”

He laughs in disbelief despite feeling the way his cock twitches in excitement in his pants at your words, “like hell I’ll do that.”

“Did I fucking stutter, Katsuki?” Your hands are on your hips now as you stare him down. “Now, I want you to get on your knees.”

“Excuse me?” He shoots you an incredulous look, not believing what you’ve just told him to do.

“I said,” you breathe, closing your eyes briefly as you walk towards him, grabbing him harshly by the back of his hair and pushing him down onto the floor beneath you, “on your fucking knees.”

A gasp escapes him as he feels his knees make contact with the floor, loving the way your hand feels harshly gripping his hair, forcing him to look up at you. Tugging at his hair causes a low groan to escape his lips, causing him to flush red in embarrassment once more.

“What did I say?” You hum, “you’re practically begging to be put in your place.”

“That’s not-“ he begins to protest, but a strangled moan escapes his throat as you tug on his hair once more.

“You were saying?” You smirk, only receiving another scowl in response. “Lesson two: right here, right now, you will address me as your Mistress. Do I make myself clear?”

“What? Like hell I’m calling you tha-“

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Another tug at his hair has him biting his lip before conceding, “yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy,” you release the hold your hand has on his hair in order to bring your hand down to cup his face gently. He stares up at you defiantly, but you can see the excitement growing in his eyes. He’s wanted this for a while now, and he can feel his cock straining against his jeans, practically begging for your touch. “Now, I think you should make it up to me, given the way you’ve acted today, don’t you?”

“Yeah, right-“

“What was that?” Your hand grips his chin, forcing him to stare directly into your eyes as a sadistic smile rests on your face.

He huffs slightly, eyes avoiding yours now as he grumbles out, “yes, Mistress.”

“Glad you agree,” you hum, releasing you grip on him in order to undo your pants. “We’re going to put that mouth of yours to good use, and maybe by then I’ll have thought of a suitable punishment for a brat such as yourself.”

At this, it’s his turn to quirk a brow at you, watching as you strip yourself of the rest of your clothes in front of him. He smirks, drinking in your figure before him and admiring every curve you have to offer. If this is his punishment, he’ll gladly take it. After all, he can’t wait to have you begging for him later tonight.

“Lesson three:” you begin to say, positioning yourself right in front of him, your hips in his line of sight. His mouth salivates at the thought of getting to taste you as your one leg comes to rest over his shoulder, hand now back in his hair. Just as he’s about to bring his hands up to help steady your figure more, your voice is halting his movements, “no touching me if you still want to come tonight.”

“Huh?” He recoils slightly, eyes wide as his cock throbs, reminding him of how painfully hard he’s become already, and once again he’s reminded how you have still yet to touch him.

“You heard me, baby,” you smirk down at him, fingers tightening their hold slightly in his hair. “Hands behind your back; no touching unless I say so. Now, put that mouth to good use.”

Without waiting for a response, you push his head down. Putting his hands behind his back, his eyes flick briefly to yours before he’s attaching his mouth to you, sucking your clit into your mouth before flicking it a few times with his tongue. 

One thing you can always count on Katsuki for is his need to be the best. No matter what he does, he’s always proving to everyone that he can do anything better than anyone else. No one compares to him, and even if he’d rather you be sucking his cock first right now, he’ll prove to you that he does in fact, deserve to come tonight. That, and he can listen. He wants to make you feel good, always, and seeing this side of you has sparked a new flame of desire for you in him. He’ll be your good boy, but he’s going to make you work for it.

Throwing your head back, you let out a moan, feeling him lick at your entrance with his tongue before moving it back up to flick at your clit. Your sounds are music to his ears, and he never grows tired of hearing his name fall from your lips, especially during these times. He only wishes he could touch you back, to tease you like you’ve been teasing him. However, he’ll do what he can for now, eating you out like a man starved, moving his tongue just how you like.

By now, your hand is gently stroking the top of his hair, brushing it out of his face so he can maintain eye contact with you as you grind your pussy on his mouth. You can feel the rumble of approval he lets out from his chest as you tug on his hair every now and then, only causing you to smirk.

“See, baby,” you comb your fingers through his hair for emphasis, “you do know how to properly use that mouth of yours.” His eyes flash and he renews his efforts tenfold. Again, he wants to prove to you that he can do it, to please you in a way that only he can. A low groan escapes your lips, “that’s it, baby boy, just like that.”

The nails of his right hand dig harshly into the skin of his left wrist, wanting nothing more than to grip your thighs and pull you into him so you cannot escape the pleasure he’s giving you. He can feel his chest swelling with pride with each jolt of your hips into his face, letting him know you’re enjoying this, too. Except, he can feel himself becoming greedy; he wants more.

“You gonna make me come?” A growl is all you get in response. “Come on, baby, make me come all over that pretty mouth of yours.”

His chest is heaving as a feral look takes over his eyes. Seeing you above him like this has awakened some part of him he never knew he had, and he loves the control you have over him right now. All he wants to do is please you, to make you feel good and be your good little boy until you can’t take it anymore. This is what he deserves, what you deserve.

With a few more sucks of your clit into his mouth, you can feel yourself tipping over the edge. Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging harshly at the roots as you anchor yourself to him, his tongue continuing to work you through your orgasm as your eyes flutter closed. 

A breathless moan of his name slips passed your lips, and his whole body twitches, gut clenching in ecstasy. His eyes watch your every movement as you still above him, your head thrown back as you attempt to catch your breath.

“That’s my good boy,” you breathe, removing your leg from his shoulder as you steady yourself onto your own two feet. He smirks subtly as he watches you sway slightly, knowing that he’s the one who’s done that to you. “Now, on your feet, baby.”

As soon as he goes to move, the smirk is falling right off his face. His pants are no longer uncomfortably tight, but instead, he can feel stickiness pooling against his skin as the material rubs against his sensitive cock.

“What’s the matter, baby boy?” You tilt your head mockingly as your eyes glance down to see the dark wet patch on his jeans. A sadistic smile spreads itself across your lips, eyes glinting darkly. “How cute,” you hum, “was the thought of my wet cunt on your lips that tempting to make you come untouched?”

“Shut up,” he growls, cheeks flaring once more as he avoids you gaze.

“How sweet,” you purr, walking over to the bed and kneeling on it. You notice him starting to head towards the bathroom to clean himself up before your voice has him halting in his tracks, “where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

#bnha scenario #bnha smut #mha x reader #mha x you #mha smut #anime smut #anime scenario #bakugou imagine #bakugo scenario #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo x reader #anime imagine #bnha x reader #bnha #mha #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha imagines #my hero imagines #my hero academy fanfiction

[wri0thesley]

Paperwork - Bruno x Fem! Reader (Kinktober Day #1: Toys Under Clothing)

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. Public play, slurs (slut), toys, cunnilingus. 4k.

You’re usually willing to indulge Bruno in whatever he wants. But with so much work to get done and a meeting with the Don to get through, can you really let yourself indulge him in this? (Spoiler: the answer is yes). 

You are always far too eager to be a help to Bruno. It had, you hope, been endearing when you were a wide-eyed underling to him who just wanted to assist in his ideals of making the city a better place even if you were working for the Mafia. Too, you hope he’d been endeared by - when he’d finally pushed past his code of ethics and kissed you despite being your superior - how eager you were to kiss him and touch him and go on dates with him. Sure, you were a little green and naïve and sure Bruno was the first person you’d ever loved so fiercely and given every part of yourself over to, but you hoped he’d thought that sweet instead of desperate. 

As time had marched on, some of your bright-eyed and bushy-tailed nature had gone awry. There were only so many drug deals you could bust and files you could give to Don Giovanna of men you knew he was going to have killed before some of the hope in you began to die. But Bruno remained a cheerful constant - cooking breakfast in the morning, picking you up for dates, kissing you sweetly when you two went your separate ways for a workday. Sure, he wasn’t good at cooking and he was worse at driving, but the romantic was always there. 

It had taken you a little while to see some of the stranger and more intense parts of Bruno’s personality, but even those hadn’t been much of a deterrent. You’d laughed at some of his more macabre jokes, and when he’d suggested bringing some . . . slightly less vanilla elements into your bedroom, you’d found that you rather enjoyed being helpless and at his mercy when he unzipped your hands and left them on the table as he edged you with his mouth. You weren’t a prude!

But this was too much. Your face is burning. 

“It’s very simple,” Bruno is saying, a smirk playing on his full lips, his dark blue eyes glittering with mischief. “You wear this all day, and I take this, and I get to watch you come apart at your desk.”

“I can’t,” you try and say. “I . . . we have that meeting with the Don today, and I have lots of paperwork--”

“Exactly,” Bruno presses himself a little closer to you in the cramped space of your bathroom. He breathes lightly into your ear. “We’ll be together all day, doing boring admin tasks. It’s a perfect opportunity for me to see just how good you can be.”

Heat floods your face. You always become a little useless when Bruno says you’re a good girl, or you’re doing well, or ‘don’t you look pretty like that, bella, with my cock in your mouth?’. Maybe it’s a praise kink, or a corruption kink - whatever it is, Bruno is perfectly aware of it and clearly not afraid to use it to his own ends. 

“I can’t . . .” You say, weakly, but Bruno is smiling that dangerous smile where one side of his lip curls up and you both know that you have lost this battle entirely. “Show me how it works.”

“Alright,” Bruno hums, and he reaches into the pocket of his suit to show you the toy. It’s a dark black egg shape with a long handle that you know is designed to curve around and press against your clit, and you know from looking at it that it will drive you over the edge and then some. Bruno does not skimp on anything. Your wine is decades old, his clothes are custom made, the cabinets he had installed in your villa last week are antique - and from the way he’s cradling the sex toy, he probably paid a fair whack for it. “I feel like I don’t really need to explain it to you, principessa. Your face is as pink as a sunset.”

“I . . . I shouldn’t,” you breathe, but Bruno is still smirking. You bite your lip as he steps closer to you, and your breath catches as he sinks onto his knees and one of his hands travels up your stocking clad leg. 

“You’re going to look so beautiful, though, bambina,” he breathes. “When you bite your lip because it’s all too much, your fingers digging into your palms, your pretty lips pressed tight together as you try not to let yourself come in front of everyone . . .”

“Why does that sound so hot?” You ask him, and he laughs, the sound like sparkling. 

“You like the idea really, hmm?” His fingers play along the top of your stockings, stroking bare skin. When he slides his fingers over the gusset of your expensive satin underwear (bought for you by him, naturally), he hums to find it already slick with your neediness. “Ah. You really like the idea.”

“I . . . I just like being at your mercy,” you confess, squeezing your eyes shut tight. Bruno laughs again, and you feel the cool press of the toy against you as he manoeuvres it into place. The egg, it turns out, is shaped just so to gently press inside of you - as you feel it breach your entrance, one of your hands clings tight to Bruno’s shoulder and he makes soft, soothing noises as he settles it just right. You’re slick enough from the talk and the flirt and the promise of what is to come tonight that getting it inside you is no issue - but the sensation is still strange and different, and it takes you a few moments as he pulls away to get used to it. 

“You were dripping,” Bruno murmurs, stepping close enough to you that he can cup your chin in his hand and pull you into a kiss. He mouths hungrily at you, the kiss warm with the promise of all of the things he’s going to do to you later and all of the things you’re going to wish he was doing to you whilst he teased you at work. “You really do like the idea, hmm? Slut.”

“You’re one to talk,” you breathe. “When it was your idea--”

He laughs. 

“I’m not denying being a slut,” he tells you, as he kisses your forehead. You don’t see that one of his hands is in his pocket and he’s pressed one of the buttons until the toy buzzes to life and you bite back a whimper. 

“N-neither am I,” you say, and Bruno grins. 

The car ride to the office is torture, though part of that came from Bruno’s driving ‘skill’ - perhaps, if you’d been allowed to drive, the potholes and speed bumps wouldn’t have been quite so much of a rush. But Bruno had decided that turning off the toy was no fun, and so you’d sat in the passenger seat and bit your tongue every time Bruno had turned too sharp a corner to stop yourself from giving away just how much it was getting to you. 

Bruno comes around to the passenger door to open it, a hand proffered, and you’re grateful for the stability as it takes your legs a few moments to remember how to stand straight without shaking. Bruno is grinning as he looks down at you, and he’s grinning even more as the two of you walk through the door and immediately he’s rushed at by Narancia, who looks harried off his feet. You don’t catch all of the details through Narancia’s explanations, but Bruno keeps an indulgent smile as he follows the younger man. He throws a look over his shoulder that’s all helpless amusement. 

“I’ll catch up to you later for some of the paperwork,” Bruno calls to you, even as he disappears from view and you’re left alone. You stand where you are for a few moments, taking a deep breath - and you’re just about to go to your desk and begin working on the paperwork when you feel the buzzing between your thighs increase.

The bastard has turned it up. 

-

You struggle through some of the paperwork. Whatever Bruno is doing, he’s toying with the remote control every so often, and you find yourself shifting and sighing and pressing your thighs together through the blurring words and the sheets of white. Although Bruno didn’t say in so many words that you weren’t allowed to touch yourself, you’d rather gotten the impression - and you don’t want to ruin his fun. 

Besides. You have horrible visions of Sticky Fingers unzipping your hands and Bruno casually walking away, your hands in his pockets. When a fellow underling of Don Giovanna asks why he’s carrying his girlfriend’s hands around so brazenly, you imagine him raising his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. 

“Well,” the Bruno in your mind says, “she just couldn’t keep her hands off herself.”

You know Bruno well enough to know that’s not beyond the realms of possibility, and though the scenario makes blood rush to your cheeks, you think it’s one of those scenarios that are better in your head than played out in real life. You don’t think you could ever live that one down - better to not give him the ammunition in the first place. 

Every time you think he might be easing up, he surprises you by making the buzzing harder and faster. You suppose you should be grateful he spent the money on one that doesn’t make any noise - but the fact is, when Bruno comes in after helping Narancia, you’re bent double over your own desk and panting helplessly. 

Bruno stands in the doorway for a minute, blue eyes crawling over every inch of your body to take in the pathetic scene you’re making. You wonder if there are rivulets of your slick running down your inner thighs - certainly, you feel wet and needy enough that it might be the case. Your face is hot and flushed red, your lipstick all but bitten off, your pupils blown and wide. And Bruno stands there, drinking it in - and then has the nerve to laugh, low and dangerous. 

“I’m glad it was me walking in on you like this,” he says, lightly. The remote is pressed and the vibrating turns up a notch, your thighs squeezing reflexively together, useless little moan falling from bitten lips. “Lucky for you. Imagine if poor Don Giovanna had found you like this, helplessly splayed out on a desk like you were just waiting for someone to walk in on you and see you . . .”

The click of expensive leather shoes across the office. Bruno comes closer and closer to you, and your body reacts to the presence of your lover. Your channel squeezes around the toy, and you can’t deadfall the moan that breaks unbidden from your throat. Bruno chuckles again. 

“Mm, well, bella . . . you do make quite the sight like this, don’t you? Maybe I should feel like the lucky one. If anyone else had seen you in this state . . . why, how could they resist just letting you lie there whilst they fucked you? You’re tempting me something fierce right now, you know.”

“D-do it then,” you whimper. The idea of Bruno fucking you - even if it is in his office, even if anyone could walk in on him pounding into you and pulling your hair - is a welcome relief to the aching pound of your core. You know that the buzzing isn’t high enough to make you come (you’ve learnt your own tolerance very well, with Bruno as a teacher) but it’s still enough to have your nerve endings buzzing and your body wishing you were coming. 

“I’d love to,” Bruno murmurs, stepping behind you. His crotch presses into the soft curve of your ass, and you can feel the hard outline of his cock. He spends a moment there, grinding the hardness against you, teasing you - and then, sighing regretfully, steps away. 

“But we have a meeting to go to and intelligence to relay and the responsibility of keeping Naples clean at our feet, tesoro,” he says. You get the impression he’s fighting back a grin. “So you’ll simply have to live with it a bit longer, hmm?”

You lie there, gasping, for a few more moments, feeling betrayed that something with the power to stoke the fires within you was so tantalisingly close and yet still taken away from you. 

“You’re terrible,” you tell him, pulling yourself up delicately, trying to ignore your shaking thighs and the fact you can’t seem to stand straight. “You’re a horrible tease.”

“I’m the one teasing you?” He raises his eyebrows. He smirks, and your insides twist in awful need. “You’re not the one who had to look at you. You’re not the one who had to feel you pressing against my cock . . .”

You bite your lip. His eyes lazily trace your form, zeroing in on your mouth. You wonder if he’s imagining your lips wrapped around his aching shaft - and meanly, you hope the thought haunts him throughout the whole meeting. 

“Oh,” he says, casually, “that reminds me. You’ll need to reapply your lipstick before we go. And . . . well. Perhaps you should wipe down your thighs, principessa. You got the front of my trousers all damp.”

-

Bruno holds the door open for you as you walk into Don Giovanna’s office, and as you pass him you hear a soft click and the device currently snug inside you begins to move in a way you didn’t anticipate - instead of buzzing, it lightly begins to thrust, rocking against you like a smaller version of your boyfriend’s cock-- 

And it’s all you can do to keep upright as you press your lips together and give your golden-haired boss a smile that you desperately hope doesn’t give away that there’s anything wrong. He tips his head to the side, his bright eyes questioning, but he doesn’t say anything as his office door swings close and  Bruno pulls out your chair for you. His hand lingers on your shoulder for a minute as he sits, but it’s nothing more intimate than how he usually treats you at work. 

Everyone knows that you and Bruno are a couple, and perhaps a few people have seen you guiltily steal a kiss as you pass in hallways or have heard you discuss date night plans when you should really have been working, but you both agreed to not let it interfere with what you do in standard business hours. This line of work does creep into your home life, of course - but at least at Don Giovanna’s offices and expensive villas and anywhere with a desk and a filing cabinet, the two of you are professional as much as you can be. 

Still. You doubt people would look at you so fondly and whisper about how sweet you are together if they knew exactly what Bruno was doing to you now. It takes much of your grace to not rock into the thrusts of the toy, the egg rubbing your g-spot in a way that has your strangled response to Don Giovanna catching in your throat. He looks at you, concerned.

“Are you feeling quite alright?” He asks you, and you nod, forcing a smile. Bruno’s concerned hand lands on your back, and his voice is dripping with worry as he murmurs your name. 

“Do you need to call it a day?” He asks, the double meaning very clear. You straighten yourself out as well as you can and ignore the persistent buzzing, the aching low in your stomach, the fact that you have to keep digging your nails into your palms to stop the edges of orgasm blurring your vision. 

“I’ll be fine,” you breathe. “Just a late night, that’s all.”

Don Giovanna gives your boyfriend a look over his desk and Bruno has the decency to look a little abashed. Good. If people can’t know the real truth, they should at least know that Bruno is responsible for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. 

The meeting goes on as well as can be expected. Your hands shake when you pass Don Giovanna paperwork, your voice breaks a few times and you have to restart, and at one point you give up entirely. 

You do not mean to give up, of course. You had made a pact in your mind with yourself that you were not going to let Bruno win this little game. You were going to keep your cool - you were going to be very stern and professional and absolutely nothing was going to be obvious to anyone else who might see you today. Nobody was going to know about the little surprise that Bruno had nestled between your legs that morning. You’d convinced yourself that Bruno wanted someone to find out - that the thrill of your humiliation was going to get him off, or that he wanted to have an excuse to punish you. And though you certainly wouldn’t mind being punished in some of the creative ways Bruno had previously come up with, just this once you wanted to win at his own game. 

So you had done your best to stay firm and calm and together. And until that one moment, you’d been doing as well as you could possibly manage.

In that one moment, you hand your boss a piece of paper and Bruno must turn something up because suddenly it’s buzzing fast and violently enough you fear you’ll be pushed over the edge right there - and, unsure of what to do, you wrap your arm around your stomach and whimper, rocking forward to try and escape the thrust of the egg. 

“Are you alright?” Don Giovanna is asking, immediately, standing up and rushing around to your side of the desk. He repeats your name. “Do you need a doctor?”

“Just a stomach pain,” you say, softly, your face red. You know that Bruno must be looking at you and you wonder if he’s hiding the gloating on his face. “I-I’ll be okay, in a minute--”

“You should go home,” Don Giovanna says, earnestly. “Bruno, you should take her home--”

“We have so much to do,” Bruno is saying, but an arm is gently pulling at you, lifting you from the chair. You cling to Bruno’s familiar warmth, the weight of him good against you. “I’ll take her back to our office and make sure she has some painkillers, though--”

(He turns it up again, the bastard, and you moan aloud this time, unable to even attempt to hide it. You hope it reads to Don Giovanna as a moan of pain as opposed to one of pleasure, but thankfully your back has been turned to him and you don’t have to worry about it.)

You’re taken through a maze of corridors, face pressed against Bruno’s arm, panting and red and shaking. People shoot you worried looks, and you do not at all escape attention - but Bruno murmurs soothing words to you and you hear him occasionally whisper something about how you’re not feeling well, and you think that you’ve gotten away with it. 

When you reach the office, you’re let go of, and Bruno says, voice stern;

“Sit on my desk, bambina.”

Helplessly, you follow his orders. There’s a click of a lock and a noise that you think is him drawing a curtain over the small window in the door, something he usually only does when he has an important visitor to his office that cannot be disturbed - now, though, as he approaches you (slack and useless on his desk, fingers digging into the edges, thighs apart in the hopes it will make the buzzing stop being so noticeable), it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be disturbed for a different reason. 

He looks at you for a few moments, before that damnable smirk curls his lip and he shakes his head. 

“Oh, bambina,” he says, again. “You couldn’t last the whole day?”

“Bruno,” you pant out. “I tried my best, Bruno, please . . .”

“Hmm.” He reaches into his pocket, very deliberately, and pulls out the remote. You stare at it in his hand for a few seconds, as he seems to weigh up his options. “Well . . . I could turn this up even higher, and watch you come apart on my desk.”

“Bruno,” your voice is a petulant whine. You know you shouldn’t, but you bat your eyelashes at him and pout, and softly whisper in a way that has always led to him wrecking you in the past; “But I tried so hard . . . I just want to be good for you--”

His breath catches. His eyes darken. He steps closer to you, settling into the space made by your spread thighs. 

“You were a very good girl for me, bambina,” he says. “I suppose . . . you did do your best . . . .”

When he leans into you and kisses you hard, you know that you’ve won - and you feel even luckier when he puts the remote control on the side, pressing the red power button, and the toy powers down inside you. And when he sinks onto his knees, fingers prising the slick-soaked toy from your sex, your soaking wet underwear tossed to one side - well. Then you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. 

Bruno presses kisses to your inner thighs that make the muscles jump, teeth grazing you ever so slightly for a shock of danger before he kisses again. His fingers dig into plush skin, almost as if he wants to pull you against him and never have you let go, your thighs pillowing his head.

His breath ghosts along the hot, needy valley between your thighs and you shiver. Your fingers go to tangle in his hair instead of cling to the hardwood of his antique desk, and Bruno groans when you tug a little bit. Kisses are pressed along the slit, butterfly soft. 

“Please,” you urge, in soft little pants, twitching your hips towards his mouth. The curve of his lips fits against your sex. 

“Patience, principessa,” he murmurs - but as his tongue darts out to taste you, swiping your slickness up, you’re reminded that when it comes to you Bruno has none of that. 

He uses the flat of his tongue to tease you into whimpers and sighs, the point occasionally going to toy with the swollen nub of your clit, but never long enough to have you too close to the edge. You’ve been hovering on a slippery slope all day, though, and even the slightest touch of Bruno’s lips and tongue has you seeing stars. 

You’re soaking wet from today’s foreplay, and the noise of Bruno’s mouth and tongue is lascivious in how sloppy it is in the office, but you can’t bring yourself to think about that as Bruno’s tongue thrusts inside of you, circling the ring of sensitive muscles around your entrance that the egg has been teasing all day. You whimper out his name again, pulling on his hair so he’ll eat you out more hungrily - and Bruno, lovely Bruno, giving Bruno, horny, needy, insatiable Bruno . . . he makes good on it.

His tongue swipes over your clit, faster than you realised it could go, pushing you to the very top of the mountain until you feel like you’re about to fall off a great peak - and then, with the slightest suck of your clit, you tumble down into the pillowy snowbanks. You pull so hard on his hair that he groans in pain, thighs tightening about his head reflexively as your orgasm tears you into pieces and puts you back together wrong. 

It takes a few moments, cool aftershocks ricocheting through your body, until your thighs drop from your boyfriend’s shoulders and you look down at him, feeling dazed but satisfied. 

He’s on his knees on the floor, a satisfied smirk on his unfairly handsome face. 

“Now,” he murmurs, “wasn’t that worth waiting for?”

-

Three days later, you get into the office to find a letter on your desk. You recognise the golden wax seal, a rose engraved in it - this is from Don Giovanna himself. You open it, wondering what your boss could possibly want with you. As you scan the words enclosed, though, your face begins to burn. 

I have sent Bruno a fee for the dry cleaning of my office guest chair. You left a wet patch. 

Kind regards, 

Giorno Giovanna. 

#writing #not sfw #afab reader #bruno buccellati #Bruno Bucciarati #fem pronouns #toys #slurs #public play #kinktober collection

[morihaus]

Betrayal

Waves splash against the rocky shores of Betony as a small ship rows into port. The docks of Whitefort town are quiet in the dying light of the evening, busied only by sailors and dockworkers as they fix ships to the moorings and ferry cargo about, hurrying to get their work over with so they might retire for the night. There are few people, and of them, the lone passenger of the sailboat blends into the crowd, steel boots stepping onto the dock, cowl held close around her head.

She keeps her head down, not attracting any attention as she takes a circuitous path around the shipyard, pausing only to spare a glance over her shoulder every now and then. It's not her first time here, and she knows where she is going- the grand Imperial ship affixed to the far dock lies foreboding in the corner of her vision- but even miles from the mainland of High Rock or Hammerfell, she feels eyes all over her, grasping hands reaching out for her. She's walking into a pair of them right now.

It's with this note of fatalism that she climbs aboard the Imperial galley, its captain waits for her at a table on the deck, seated warmly in her fine Skyrim furs. Lady Brisienna Magnessen smiles cordially, cheeks rosy, but not bothered by the winter chill as her visitor is, letting her fair hair curl down her shoulders without hat or hood.

"Agent Delarda," She greets her with a refined tone, coarse Nordic tongue dipped in honey, smoothed and shaped to suit the needs of an inter-provincial operative. "Please, take a seat. Let's conclude this as quickly as possible."

Against her better judgement, the agent sits down. Her amber eyes, sitting in dark circles, peer out at the Nord from under her hood. "They know." She says flatly, her voice quiet and weak for the first words she's spoken in days. "Gothryd, Eadwyre, Athoriki, Gortwog-" She slings her pack down one shoulder and reaches inside, producing several written correspondences. She sets them on the table in front of her, unsealed, slightly crumpled. She looks down at them now, rather than Brisienna. "Even Mannimarco, and the Underking. They know, and they want it. They're making offers now. I'm not sure how long they'll wait for me to make up my mind."

Brisienna takes a letter into her deft hands, unfurling it and scanning it over.

Arduirel- code name Delarda- lets her hands lie limp on the table, numb with cold and nerves.

After a minute or so, the Lady speaks up. "They're making quite the hefty offers for it."

"You believe them?" Arduirel says.

Brisienna looks half-insulted. "No," She shakes her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if any or all of them were lying. All that gold, those artifacts, nothing but bait."

"Should I assume the Emperor was lying as well?" She says curtly, still not meeting her eye.

Brisienna purses her lips some, but reaches over into her own pack, producing a small jewelry box. She places it on the table, turning it to her fellow agent. "The Warlock's Ring, as promised. Feel free to check. I wouldn't lie to you."

Arduirel's ears burn under her hood at that. Still, she reaches forward, unlatching the tiny chest and taking a peek at the ring inside. Gold-banded, covered in ancient runes, inlaid with a dazzling red gemstone. She closes it, satisfied with its authenticity, more or less. She looks back up at Lady Magnessen, who peers expectantly at the elf.

"The Emperor has been planning this reward for some time, Delarda. Your efforts, both here and in years previous, are greatly appreciated." For a moment Arduirel looks and only sees a mouthpiece, a puppet; she wonders whether Uriel said any such thing, whether these words were really his, or mere lip service from the Nord woman. She's sick to her stomach either way, not helped by the gentle rocking of the boat in the harbor.

"...I'm curious. What would the other rulers have done with... the Totem." She asks, quite aware of the fact she's expected to be taking it out by now. She doesn't want to touch it, to let it be seen by anyone. Her whole body feels wired, jittery, as though the other agent were about to make a desperate lunge for her pack.

It doesn't come to pass, though, Lady Magnessen remains seated, glancing down once again at the letters on the table. "Nothing good." She shuffles them around, laying one on top of the other, leafing through the names on the pages and thinking on what she knows of the Illiac's politics. "No doubt Daggerfall, Wayrest, and Sentinel would use the Numidium in their petty war games. Perhaps they would even realize the extent of its capabilities- they could undermine the whole of the Empire with this power." Arduirel feels a chill as she speaks. She wonders what Brisienna knows about Numidium. How much does the Emperor know about Numidium? The Nord frowns as she continues to speculate. "Orsinium would no doubt crush its age-old enemies, claim all of Wrothgar for the Orcs, maybe beyond. I cannot begin to wonder at what nefarious end the King of Worms has in mind... he claims he wants godhood?"

Arduirel gives a shallow nod.

Brisienna shakes her head. "By the Nine, what a travesty that would be..."

"Could that even work?"

"If what we are led to believe about big Numidium is true, it very well could. It could be as easy as it plucking him from this world and placing him high up in the heavens." There's an attempted humor to what she says, but Arduirel can only fight to keep up a veneer of composure.

"Is that what Tiber Septim did?" She blurts out.

Brisienna gives her a judgemental stare. "Is that... what? What are you talking about, Delarda?"

Arduirel clenches her fist, grinding her teeth together for a moment. "I just mean-" She looks out into the horizon, the now black sky meeting the edge of the water. "He became a Divine. He also used the Numidium. Is that related? Is Mannimarco trying to do what he did?"

Without looking, she feels the icy stare of her superior. She lets out a sigh. "Tiber Septim didn't become Talos through some... automaton. He was always Talos-" She trails off, shaking her head. "We can discuss theology when you're back in Cyrodiil, Delarda. You have the Totem, don't you?"

"Yes." She quickly replies.

"Where is it?"

Arduirel looks back at her. Brisienna's face is creased with irritation- she knows a diversion tactic when she sees it, she's starting to wise up to what's going on here.

"What is the Emperor going to do with it?" Arduirel asks.

Brisienna pauses. Arduirel stares and picks her apart with her eyes, trying to figure out what she knows. "That's none of your concern, agent." She replies with a blunt, forceful tone. "Just know that he's the only one who can be trusted with it. These petty kings will rip each other- and the Empire- apart in their bickering, and those undead sorcerers will only do the same. This thing belongs in the hands of an Emperor, a Septim, not some pack of quarreling insubordinates."

Her words hang in the air, burning against Arduirel's ears like the cold night air. Her hands begin to shiver. "The last Septim who got his hands on it..." She furrows her brow, glaring from under her hood at the Nord. "The Underking, he's Zurin Arctus, Tiber Septim's battlemage. He claims to have made the thing- that the Mantella is his heart, and that Septim used the thing to conquer all of Tamriel, to destroy all his opponents, to replace all royals with those who would swear loyalty to him." Brisienna tries to get a word in, but Arduirel plows on ahead. "And when he disagreed with this use of the Numidium, Septim fought with him, and both he and his creation were destroyed." She produces another letter from her person, one she hadn't intended on sharing. "This says that the Blades have been gathering parts of the Numidium for centuries- what is the meaning of this??? To what end does it serve???"

Brisienna leans in with a dour expression. "You take the word of a rotting, undead wizard over mine? Over the word of the Emperor?"

Arduirel stands up with a start, frost crackles in her palm as she glares down at the Nord, who reaches for her blade. "What is he planning!? Why reassemble it?! Why use it now??"

"Delarda, stand down!" Brisienna barks out the order with her sword leveled in the elf's direction. "Think for a second! If you don't relinquish the Totem, you'll be branded as a traitor to the Empire of Tamriel- you'll have one more agency hunting you down, is that what you want!?"

"I am NOT giving you the Totem! I won't let this happen again!" Before Brisienna can even question her, Arduirel shoots an ice spike into her chest. She staggers back as it pierces a rib, she wheels back her sword-arm before another spike finds its way into the hinge of her elbow, icing the joint over and sinking deep into her tissue. She cries out in pain before Arduirel charges into her, bashing her off the side of the ship with a forceful elbow to her collar.

The Nord falls into the icy water, right arm stiff and inflexible, lungs pierced by a spike through her ribs. She cries out at Arduirel- "YOU CANNOT DO THIS!" But a torrent of frost is already firing down at her, freezing the water she's fighting against, encasing her in a thick sheet of ice. Her body temperature drops rapidly, she trembles and struggles as her muscles grow stiff and weak.

The small block of ice containing her body floats out into sea. The Agent absconds with the Warlock's Ring and the Totem, forcing her way through the confused crowd and boarding someone else's ship, pushing it out to sea with the force of her magic, arrows from the guards loosing in her wake as they piece together that she had something to do with this.

It doesn't matter. The Emperor will not get the Totem. As soon as she's out of sight from the isle, she makes course for the east, for Hammerfell, as a traitor to the Empire. Her true colors are finally revealed. It's exhilarating. It's sickening. It's the only way to avoid another Summurset.

#tesfest21 #mori writing #oc: arduirel #cw for murder and death

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I

concept: this is a collection of happenings, the little moments with him, rather than a whole thought-out fic. the slowest of slow burns. this is the second part, the reunion. this is what happens when the night is over.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,618

warnings: none, except a little profanity

author’s note: part two is here! i hope you like it :)

The second time you met Chris, was while you were at work. You were a cocktail waitress at a relatively posh, incredibly elite, uptown bar. The kind that charges you way too much for a drink so little, and probably sells diamond infused vodka. This was the night spot of everyone who was anyone – gods that sipped golden champagne from fine, polished Baccarat flutes that were probably worth your house.

You had no problem with rich people. You just had a problem with the way some treated you – and that was to say, not very well.

“Hey.” A male voice startled you out of your near robotic drink making. They were a bit understaffed that night, so you had taken the liberty of helping out behind the bar while the tables in your section remained vacant. You were somewhat of an expert cocktail maker – you could even safely say you could do it blindfolded (an exceptionally wild bachelor’s party provided proof enough). So it wasn’t uncommon for your mind to drift elsewhere while you mixed a drink. You tilted your head slightly in the direction of your co-worker, letting him know you were listening, while still pretending to be way more immersed in your task than you really were. It was that anti-social kind of night, where you’d rather be curled up at home with Netflix and a mug of tea rather than be there (despite being fully aware of how many girls would kill to have entry to the most exclusive club in Los Angeles). But the pay was good – excellent, actually – and you did get some really nice patrons at times. And your co-workers? They weren’t half bad, either. “There’s a table that just sat down in your station.”

You swore under your breath, finished mixing the drink with a sped efficiency, and handed it off to the patron. “Your station” was the VIP section, and was rarely very busy so early in the evening. You knew club routine well enough by now: pre-drinks before the party were often done at home, in the limos, or in a relatively tame bar somewhere nearby. This was for the pleasantries, the catching up, the conversations that would inevitably be drowned out by the pounding music if done anywhere else. That usually occurred around this time. This club – and many like it – the kind that was where everyone who was anyone had to be seen at – was the second phase. The party phase. The phase where most of the time, drama, and scandal, took place. This was often from 10pm till 4am, depending on the stamina of the party goers. And then the wind down: after parties, often held at someone’s house. This was the natural order of the night world, and you respected people who respected that. You modelled your entire schedule around that.

That’s why you had assumed that your station would’ve been empty until much later – until after pre-drinks and conversations. Whoever just sat down in VIP – they were disturbing the natural fucking order, and you were not having it. Well, you were silently not having it; you still needed, like, money.

Your job didn’t come without it’s perks, though. A murder of stunning people were sat on the plush leather couches surrounding black marble topped tables behind the velvet chain that separated them from the masses. Some you recognised instantly from the big screen, and others from the tabloids. And one from a personal encounter… Your breath caught and you damn near choked.

There he was, reclined on the couch, so at ease with his arms spread over the back, grinning and laughing at something someone had said. He wasn’t looking at you. Yet. That changed abruptly, as soon as you (after having gathered your confidence) introduced yourself to them.

He faltered slightly in his laugh, but his grin remained – growing even wider, as slowly, he tilted his head to look over at you.

Immediately his eyes brightened. If there was any doubt in your mind as to whether or not it was really him, it dissipated with that single nod of recognition he gave you.

You cleared your throat as a small diversion to clear your head. “Are you ready to order?”

They rattled off their orders, almost all of them barely paying any attention to your silent exchange with Chris. Almost.

A (begrudgingly) stunning female on Chris left, who was pressed eagerly into his side, gave you a dirty once over and sneered out her order to you. Oh. She was one of those. The ones who looked down at literally anyone not a billionaire.

He noticed her disdain, and his grin fell. A small victory, he revoked his arm from around her – bemused by her display of deluded superiority. You had to physically hide your smirk as you got the last order – his – and slipped behind the bar with the orders engraved in your mind.

——————

The group departed after about two hours. Two hours of eyeing the table (mainly to check if their glasses were still full, or if they needed anything else – or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself), two hours of stolen glances – ones that you were always the first to pull away from, usually after the inevitable smirk that touched his lips when you looked for a bit longer than you should.

When they left, you cleaned the table. Who was he? He seemed to have friends in high places, but there was something else… You knew, when you first met him, that you knew his face. Ugh, that itch was back – the one in the brain where you know you know something but it’s evading your every grasp – and it was refusing to go away. Like an earworm of a melody, lyrics forgotten.

It plagued you for the remainder of your shift – which wasn’t necessarily long, just an hour or so more – and even as you got ready to go home.

It was approaching peak hours now, and so you knew the front would be bustling with paps and desperate social climbers begging for entrance from the surly bouncers, who stood as monoliths in churning seas. Because with peak hours, came the rich and famous; socialites, actors, singers, designers, models. And with them, the gods of the nightlife, came the screaming hordes.

God, you were dramatic. You smirked to yourself, at the internal monologue you were maintaining, as you punched in the code to slip out the back. Anything to keep a scrap of sanity in these long nights. So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice him following you until he laid a scopic hand on your shoulder.

You whirled, shoving him against a wall, knee approaching dangerously close to his crotch before you mercifully faltered at the familiar face.

“Chris?!” You were breathless with exhilaration, adrenaline thick in your veins at having been caught off guard. You released him, stepping away to run your hand through your hair to brush it away from your face. “What are you doing, hiding in a back alley, trying to catch unsuspecting girls off guard?!”

He chuckled at your scolding tone, at the way you pressed a hand to your beating heart, over the top dramatism at play in your actions. “Trying to catch an unsuspecting girl off guard. Obviously.”

You realised then how strange it was for him to still be here; his party departed at least an hour and a half ago. “Did you wait out here for me?”

“Can you promise not to kick me in the balls if I said yes?”

You laughed as he cautiously eyed your legs at his sentiment. “So, what, you’re following me now?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one who waited an hour for someone, out in a back alley, in the freezing cold.” To punctuate your point, a cold blast of wind ripped through the alleyway, worming its way under your coat to stroke at your skin with cold tendrils. You shivered, crossing your arms to preserve the warmth. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

He patted down his pockets. “Ah, shit. Must’ve left my axe at home.” His tone was dead serious, but at your roll of the eyes, he grinned.

You buried your hands in your pocket to stave off the chill. Weirdly enough, after the initial shock, you were glad to have someone with you to walk with you to your car, parked three blocks away to make room for the patrons’ stretch limousines. You inclined your head in the direction of your vehicle, nodding for him to walk with you.

He smiled softly, following you out of the dim lighting of the alleyway, into the lights of the main road. The clamour outside of the club was a roar, the leering of the paps at the celebrities who entered becoming a jumble of white noise.

You noticed how, as soon as you both approached the light, he ducked his head and upturned the collar of his jacket, avoiding the peoples’ attentative eye. You both pushed by relatively unnoticed, and you only spoke again when the bellowing crowd was a distant memory.

“So, who are you?”

The question took him by surprise. The action of lighting the cigarette he had propped between his lips stuttered, and he gave you an apprehensive look. He struck the match he had poised in his hand, looking down to watch where the flame licked. “You know who I am.”

“You just sat where Justin Bieber sat. I served drinks to the Kardashians on that couch. Only the VIPs of VIPs sit there. So, are you famous or something?”

Shaking the match out, he took a drag – prolonging his answer as long as he possibly could. He deliberated you, wondering what your reaction would be. Would you treat him differently, now? “Or something.”

You eyed him up, skeptical, before breaking into a massive grin. “Cool,” you said non-chalantly. Or at least in your head. What you really said was: “I fucking knew I wasn’t losing my mind! I fucking knew it, Mr I-Just-Have-One-Of-Those-Faces. Oh my God, I’m not crazy, fuck yes!”

The look he gave you negated that entirely, because indeed, he was looking at you as if you were a mad woman, in spite of the amused twist of his lips. “Are you done?”

After a moment of appraising him, you nodded, calm again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

You were less excited that you were in the presence of celebrity royalty, more relieved that you weren’t insane for feeling he was so familiar. That was refreshing for Chris; usually after someone discovered his identity, they would treat him differently – sidling up to him, for a favour or money or status or cloning DNA. Or for workout tips, but he got that regularly. Barring the brief moment of unhinged happiness you displayed, you treated him as you did before. Like when he stole your cab.

“Andy Barber!” You had started walking again, him alongside you, in a pleasant silence. Your outburst caused both of you to pause again. “Ransom Drysdale? Steve Rogers…”

He arched a brow in question, taking a pensive drag from his cigarette. “Are you having a stroke?”

“That’s where I recognise you from.” Mumbling to yourself, you muttered “God, I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

He chuckled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, both of you continuing on in a comfortable silence.

“So, what did I do to deserve the chance at having you escort me to my car?”

He stomped out the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as he tried to find the best way to word his question. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, you can proposition my fist to your face,” you chuckled in disbelief. “Just because you’re all high and mighty and famous doesn’t mean that every girl you meet is going to throw themselves at your feet even if you did buy me pizza and you’re all smug and handsome and have impeccable dress sense like, seriously, what is that? Armani? What? Why are you laughing at me?”

He had started laughing sometime during your rant and the sound, contagious and warm, had caused you to falter. You fought a smile that was threatening to rise. You were trying to make a point, goddamnit, and you would be damned if he was going to ruin it with his smug, handsome face.

“A business proposition, {your name},” he managed to say among the peels of laughter. “But please, do go on my impeccable dress sense.”

You were mortified. You probably sounded proper arrogant, thinking that he wanted to get in your pants. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a moment to conceal the fast rising heated flush of embarrassment. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let him know. Thanks, Elsa.

“What, uh,” you cleared your throat, turning away to continue your stalling trek (and to avoid his gaze). “What business proposition?”

“Do you like dogs?”

You ignored how laugh-drunk his voice sounded – gravelly and lilted with amusement. It just served to feed your embarrassment further. “Love them. Why?”

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “I recently, uh, split up with my girlfriend and I’m heading to Vancouver for a few months for a film. She was meant to help look after Dodger and the house while I was gone, but, given the recent change in plans, that would appear to no longer be an option.”

He avoided your gaze as you glanced over at him, but you could see the throb of the muscle in his jaw, indicating the grit of his teeth.

“And you have deemed me worthy?” You tried lightening the mood a little, and was satisfied by his small smile and accompanying chuckle.

“I know it’s too much to ask of a stranger–”

“Why don’t you get a friend to do it?”

“I would, if any were deemed worthy,” he teased. Warmth swelled in his eyes when he looked at you next, and paired with that smile and the words he spoke next, you knew you would do anything he asked. “And I am asking a friend.”

A beat passed. “Fine. I’ll live in your stupid mansion and look after your stupid dog. Okay, I didn’t mean that last bit, I’m sure Dodger is lovely, but I’ll have you know: I don’t come cheap.”

“What, living in my mansion isn’t good enough?”

“Fuck no! I still need to feed the dog, clean up after it, clean the house, have money on hand for damages in case I get too wild by myself… There’s a long, fucking list.”

“I’m sure we can make an arrangement,” he smirked.

You shivered slightly at the double entendres laced in his words; good thing it was cold, so you could easily excuse it.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” You tip your head in the direction of the club from which you were making your slow escape. “They pay well, a lot better than house sitting.”

“Are you happy there?”

You balked at his question. “The money is good–”

“I wasn’t asking about the money, I was asking if you were happy.” He arched a brow, something close to concern crossing his face.

“I–”

He cocked his head, waiting for an answer. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“No, not really. Some people are real assholes, especially when drunk.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come work for me.”

“Woah, hey now. I can’t just… Uproot my life and live with you. For starters, I have a lease and stuff. And I have a life, a job, a–”

“I have an adorable mixed boxer and a Jacuzzi.”

“When do I start?”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans/you #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans/reader #chris evans fluff #dina writes #when the night is over #ocean eyes #part two

[toboldlywrite]

I am not the same person I was eighteen minutes ago.

Eighteen minutes and twenty-five seconds, to be exact. That’s how long it takes for my new body to be printed and the lines of code that make up my virtual consciousness to be downloaded into its neural net. When I step out of the Printer, that consciousness is the only thing about me that is the same.

Kevler hands me a gun the second I’m out, not taking his gaze from the door that stands between us and the rest of the underground network of tunnels dug over the past twenty-four cycles.

“It’s a particularly nasty swarm this time,” he says.

This time. I’m glad my mechanical body doesn’t have the ability to snort. The swarms are nasty all the time. But Kevler is a guard; always behind the ranks, protecting the precious Printer, and therefore well-protected himself. He’s kept his well-armed, tank-like body- twice the height of mine and three times as wide- for four cycles now, more than anyone else on this damn planet. It’s still much shorter than the guards on most other missions, though, and he knows it. He just has a penchant for under-exaggeration.

I opt for not responding at all; there’s no time for the luxury of small talk down here. I make sure my gun is fully charged and head for the door, but Kevler catches my arm.

“The Net didn’t tell you? New orders. Stay back and guard the Printer.”

I tilt my head, but all I get is static. Either we’re too far underground, or something happened in the eighteen minutes between my last death and respawn. Probably the former, since Kevler got the orders. His guard form gets better reception than the soldier types. No use fitting us with anything fancy when our bodies will be worm-feed several times over before the cycle is out.

But to stay back with the Printer when there’s still a massive hoard decimating the squadron outside? It hasn’t happened before.

I hesitate, but there’s no reason for Kevler to lie. I can’t exactly ask my superior officer for confirmation, either. Hor is still out there drowning in a sea of worms- assuming he lasted much longer than I did.

“Is it that bad out there?” I’ve never heard of dual-guarding a Printer. Not even on Evrys- one of the most violent places in the galaxy. Guards are built to be tough so they can be on their own, and more soldiers can be used for the actual fighting.

He laughs with a sound of crunching gears. “Twenty-four cycles we’ve been here, kid. We push forward one inch, they push back a foot. How long you been here now, anyway?”

“Seven cycles.” Since it all went wrong. The original excavation team hit a particularly rough patch of stone and had to blast through it, angering the worm swarm. They encountered worms before, even on the surface. Even had a few bad run-ins with them- which is why they sent a soldier unit in the first place. But now the attacks don’t stop. And the soldiers have been able to do little against them.

That is the whole reason I’m here, but I don’t tell Kevler that. It would be unwise to reveal that I’m the copy of an investor. But I can’t help thinking about how much it doesn’t matter. The worms don’t discriminate between ranks.

“Ah. A rookie then.” He laughs again, but it’s cut short by the hollow echo of gunfire outside and the hoarse cries of the worms. The room shakes with the force of a grenade going off. The rest of my squadron isn’t faring much better than I did, and they’re being driven ever closer. Yet the Printer remains silent.

“They’re pulling out,” I realize.

“Oh so you do have some brains underneath all that brawn!” Kevler jokes. Front-line soldiers are built for speed and stamina rather than strength. My current body is much more human-like than his, but that isn’t saying much. Kevler is only human-shaped in the roughest sense: he has two legs, two arms, and a torso of sorts- made up of gears and lights and tough casings for the more delicate mechanical parts. He doesn’t have a neck; his massive body goes right into a trapezoid-shaped head flickering with so many lights he reminds me of a spider, even though none of them are eyes.

“Why? After twenty-four cycles of this? There must be something here they want.” The original mission objective was buried long ago under orders to wipe the worms out and collect a couple living specimens for analysis. We’ve had no luck with either. It wouldn’t surprise me that Control would label the mission as a failure if it weren’t for the fact they didn’t do so six cycles ago.

Unfortunately, my donor didn’t think it was necessary for her copy to know all the details of the mission. She just wanted eyes on the inside. And I suspected she was thinking of the old saying: if you want something done right, do it yourself.

She just didn’t want to get her hands dirty. And that was where she went wrong. We stopped being the same person the instant she had her mind copied and uploaded into the Net.

“That something is above our clearance level, kid,” Kevler says, answering my unasked question. “All I know is that these worms are proving themselves nastier every day. And Control can’t afford to lose another Printer. We’ve lost five already since we’ve been on this godforsaken planet.”

This time when he uses the word “nastier,” the cooling fans in my head go off just forcefully enough to sound like a scoff. I managed to keep my last body for half a cycle, thanks to the extra plating I earned sacrificing myself for my squad the life before that. But the aggravated swarm always goes for the strongest first, and an alpha worm charged through the pack straight at me. The last thing I remember was its mouth clamping over my head, blocking my sensors and burning right through to my neural net with its acidic saliva. If it weren’t for the core system our neural nets are automatically backed up to in case of severe injury, I wouldn’t remember my own name.

I wince at the memory of those ragged teeth chomping through my neck, sending me instantly back to the Net. Weightless, formless, shapeless. Just a string of numbers floating in a sea of code, aware only of the fact that one wrong click or thought could mix up your numbers with anything else in the Net. It happened once before, or so the rumors say. The soldier went crazy, wiping out their entire squadron before they were decommissioned. The nice word for deleted. The soldier’s word for death- the permanent kind.

Not that our donors see it that way.

The ground shakes again, but this time it’s not a grenade. The pack of worms is so large now we can feel them coming before we even get a whiff of their stench. Even now some of it wafts through our supposedly air-tight door. I wish Control would turn off our olfactory sensors, but they claim we need all the senses to be the best soldiers. That’s the same reasoning they give for making us feel pain, too.

I think Control are a bunch of sadistic assholes. The pain may be merely a dull ache of what it would be if we were still human, but there are only so many times you can take the feeling of claws as long as your arm slicing clean through you. Just because our bodies are made of metal doesn’t mean they feel less like our own.

I glance down at my arm and it lights up with numbers spelling out the time. Forty-five minutes left in the day. It’s more of a reflex than anything else. All the days here are the same.

I look away. “How long until retrieval?”

“However long it takes.” Which means Kevler doesn’t have access to the Net right now, either. Good to know it isn’t just me.

The gears in his chest spin and suddenly he does have a neck- enough of one to push his head nearly into the ceiling so he can peer out of the one tiny window that is our only view outside.

“Hopefully not to long.” He sighs, a low groan like old brakes. “I hope they send us to Evrys next.”

“Evrys?” It I had eyebrows, I would raise them. “Seriously?” I already suspected Kevler was crazy, but here is my proof. “Why would you want to go to that hell-hole? Haven’t you seen the vids? What ketlesh does to them?” My donor spent far too long studying the situation there. Those memories are blurred more than any of the others from my former life- it must have been tedious reading. Still, I remembered the violence. It was the sort of thing that was hard to erase.

“Yeah I’ve seen them. Child’s play compared to this. Besides, haven’t you heard? The war is winding down. They’re running out of the drug, apparently.”

“The investors aren’t going to like that, are they?” A rhetorical question. The Evrys government pays a lot for the army to keep the peace, or at least to keep the fighting away from the royal family.

Kevler shrugs. He’s not one for politics. I can’t seem to shake them off, no matter how far from my old life I am.

“They’ll just go looking for more wars to get involved in. Or new aliens to massacre.” If he had a human face, I would swear he was grinning. “I can’t name an encounter that hasn’t turned into a bloodbath. You’d think we don’t know how to share the galaxy.”

The worms’ growling echoes into our room now as they scuffle into the last corridor between them and us. I picture them in my mind’s eye: segmented, tube-like bodies as long as Kevler is tall; skin the same sickly green color as the moss in the caves where they live, but hard enough that we had to change bullets to be able to cut through them. Stalking low to the ground on wide reptilian legs, fooling you into thinking they’re slow until they sprint at you faster than the fastest of our bodies can run, drawn to the heat of your batteries. And those claws. Three on each front leg, each longer than my arm and so sharp they can cut through our soldier designs just like a hot knife through butter.

I stand still for a second, listening to the last of the gunshots pop off into silence. The rest of my squadron is dead. Again.

It will take the worms maybe twenty minutes to figure out where we are and get through the reinforced door. And with just me and Kevler inside, maybe ten to get through us- if I’m being rather generous with my faith in our abilities.

Just make it to retrieval, I tell myself. But I am not fooled for a second that Control will bother to get us out. We’re expendable. The Printer isn’t. One more death by worm. Then off to a different mission. Just not Evrys.

But twenty-four cycles, five Printers, and a few thousand respawns is quite a cost to decide to just pull out now. What the hell was so important on this planet? And what exactly had changed?

It isn’t any of my business. Control will be here to collect and I’ll either go off on another mission my donor wants to protect her investment in, or I’ll be decommissioned because she doesn’t want to keep paying for me. Whatever is going to happen has already been decided. And I have my orders, but-

-but I don’t have my orders, do I? The Net is down. All I have are Kevler’s words, and he isn’t my superior officer. I may trust him, but Control doesn’t need to know that.

Without moving, I flip through the Net’s archive- at least that still works when the live Net is down- until I find the mission directive. The one sent out more than twenty-four cycles ago, before the horror show began.

Directive: locate energy source at coordinates 47.475° N 3.105° W -715 and analyze for retrieval. Priority status 1.

Priority status 1? There is no way Control would pull out of a priority status 1 mission, no matter how many respawns it took. I read back over the message; read the coordinates again. Wait. That can’t be… But I pull up our current coordinates, and it is.

Energy surges through my neural net in artificial excitement. We are stationed at -700, at the exact same point. Whatever this energy source is, it is right beneath our feet. Yet my sensors show no sign of energy at all. The stone on this planet is tough- which is why it’s taken twenty-four cycles to dig down 700 feet- but this close I should have been able to see something.

Something clangs against the door. Kevler’s head retracts back to its normal level, and the metal strands of his biceps unfurl into two more guns to match the ones in his hands. “Better get ready. I have the feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

That’s an optimistic view. We won’t last the night.

Scratches start against the door; light and tentative at first, then with more vigor as the worms detect us inside. I tighten my fingers around my gun. Silver, metal fingers that can feel even the slightest temperature change, but never the feel of other flesh- human flesh. I can’t remember what it feels like to touch someone, or something that isn’t artificial or made to kill. I can’t remember what it’s like not to have the constant hum of orders buzzing inside my head. It was all so many lifetimes ago. If you can call this life.

But now, the hum is silent. The always-watching eyes are blinded, even if only temporarily. Now, I have a choice. Stay here, follow orders, die again. Maybe permanently. Or find out what they are hiding. What I am hiding.

Worms ram into the door, using the weight of their bodies to speed up the process their claws had started.

Not long now.

There is no choice. Or if there is, I made it seven cycles ago.

Fifteen feet are all that separate me from the truth. But how to get down there? A small laser drill sits in the corner of the room, but by the time I could figure out how to operate it and start digging, the worms would be inside. But then a memory tugs at my mind; one from the beginning of the cycle, when the Printer was first installed in this room. Hor insisted he install it himself. He claimed it was so the rest of us could look out for worms and make sure the Printer was protected. The deeper we go, the angrier they get. But why hadn’t that been true for all the other times we moved the Printer? Wasn’t taking longer to install it with one person more of a risk?

I glance at the Printer in its post up against the wall. Basic protocol states they are supposed to be in the open to reduce danger of overheating. I hadn’t noticed before in the chaos of dying, respawning, and rushing back out into battle. But Hor never broke protocol, even when the logic of the situation called for it.

“Kevler,” I say, walking over to the Printer, “help me move this.”

“Why?” His bicep guns remain trained on the door, but his head rotates all the way around to follow me as I push against the Printer. But my slight build isn’t strong enough to even budge it.

I don’t answer, not sure that he’d listen to my wild theory. He comes over anyway and pushes the Printer to the side with one hand, mindful of the cords and wires connecting it to the solar panels on the barren surface several hundred feet of stone reinforced tunnels above us.

And there, on the ground where the Printer had been, was a hole. Drilled by the laser digger, it’s just big enough for a soldier my size to jump through. Kevler grunts, the only expression of surprise he’s capable of.

The gears in my chest spin faster. “They aren’t pulling out because we lost, Kev.” I can hardly hear myself think over the victorious laughter inside my head. I was right. “They’re pulling out because we succeeded.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The original mission directive. It was a location and retrieval mission. Well, it’s been located. All that’s left is retrieval. Whatever Control wants, it’s down there.”

Kevler looks over his shoulder at the door. The metal is dented now, and the scratching sounds go through my auditory sensors and scrape of my neural net like shards of ice. He turns back to me, and I wish he had eyes to read rather than just flickering lights. Kevler has been a soldier for ten years, and a guard for half of that. he has never questioned an order in his entire existence, and I know what he’s going to tell me now. Put the Printer back, stand our ground and die defending it, ignore the spark of curiosity burning inside my synthetic neurons. The spark I’m not supposed to have. The same spark that wants revenge.

“Go,” he says, and I start, the turn of my gears sputtering for a second before continuing. “You only have a few minutes before they break through.”

With a thump, the dent in the door grows bigger. I don’t hesitate any longer; I jump straight down the hole.

The lights above my vision sensors turn on, flooding the new chamber with light that’s immediately reflected back at me. My sensors take a second to re-calibrate, and my neural net another to recover from the brief blindness. Record, I remember to think, activating the visual and auditory recorder as my vision adjusts. And then I stare.

I came down here with no expectations, but I certainly wasn’t expecting piles and piles of translucent green ovals the size of a human fist, thrumming as if with a million heartbeats.

They are heartbeats, I realize as I draw closer. I pick one up in my hand, running my thumb over it. It is smooth, completely unblemished, and weighs no more than a grenade. And inside, a tiny worm squirms in prenatal dreams.

In an instant, everything makes sense. Why the worms attacked us, why they’ve become more vicious the deeper we’ve gone underground, until now they are nearly rabid with rage. They are protecting their nest. Their children.

Unbidden, an image of my daughter surfaces in my mind. No. Not my daughter. Hers. They are memories that belong to someone else. But I still see the girl though those other eyes. Enough to understand the worms’ blind rage. Each death now has a meaning it didn’t before.

I gently cradle the egg and activate the extra sensors in my hands. A thin needle springs from my index finger and pierces the thin shell just enough to take a sample. My other sensors tell me that the energy from the embryo’s body is not enough to power anything. It would take all the several million eggs in the chamber to make a ship get from this planet to its tiny moon. This cannot be the energy source the army and its investors have drained millions of credits into finding. There must be something else hidden-

An alert pings across my vision: the chemical analysis of the amniotic fluid is complete. And there, tucked away amid several chemical formulas, is one highlighted in red.

“They’re breaking through!” Kevler’s yell crashes through my thoughts- I’d almost forgotten about him and the worms up above. “I need you back up here!”

I don’t move. I stare at the chemical, waiting for it to connect to something in my mind. I’ve seen it before, an echo of memory from my old life. A memory that, for whatever reason, is blurred. I’m starting to think it’s intentional. I think harder, and the answer suddenly sharpens and sparks through my artificial brain. It’s the addictive ingredient in keltesh. This isn’t about energy. It never was.

Slowly, gently, I place the egg back onto the pile and leave the little worm to its sleep. It doesn’t disgust me anymore. Instead I direct my disgust back onto my own species, where it belongs. I glance down at the gun in my hand. Is stopping Control’s plans worth destroying all this life? I don’t know the right answer, but I know mine.

Stop recording. Save to core and erase.

My middle finger lights up as I activate the backup storage in the core. The cores are in different places in every body, always somewhere away from vital systems so they’re harder for enemies to target.

Are you sure? My safety protocols ask, flashing red across my vision. This action cannot be undone.

Confirm.

Save complete.

Good. Now initiate emergency backup and download protocol.

There was a pause as even my safety protocols were shocked by the order. Are you sure? This action cannot be-

Confirm.

Password, please.

I think the letters and numbers my donor had left me, and feel the energy draining from my systems. It doesn’t matter. The soft vibration in the back of my head tells me that the Net is trying to reassert itself. The retrieval ship is almost here. And not a moment too soon.

“Now, soldier!” Kevler yells.

The lights on my finger turn red, telling me that the protocols are starting. Even though my body doesn’t need to breathe, I mentally take a deep breath. The door crashes in up above. Kevler yells something unintelligible, and I backtrack to underneath the hole. I brace myself and jump; my mechanical legs launching me right back up into the room as the worms flood in.

Kevler fires all four guns into the heaving mass of bodies, intent only on the battle. Visual sensors can’t show emotion, but I swear there is bloodlust in his. He takes enough of the brunt for me to fall back to the Printer with only the occasional shot at any worm that attempts to get around him.

I glance back down at my middle finger to see the lights switch to green. It’s now or never.

I only hesitate for a second before pulling my middle finger off. There are fewer pain sensors in that joint, but the ache is still enough to make me wince before jamming the core into one of the Printer’s empty ports.

This is for you, you heartless bitch, I think at the other woman, living her undeserved life of luxury so many light-years away. All at the cost of so many others. I am done fighting your wars.

There’s nothing I can do now except hope it works, and that the carnage the worms leave behind will cover for my missing core until it’s too late.

It will work. It has to.

I raise my gun again to join Kevler’s battle, but the Net reconnects with a violent explosion of thought in my head. When I can see again, it’s only to see a worm hurtling towards me. It takes my arm with one bite and the dull thud of pain hits my neurons like drum beats. Massive claws rip through my chest, pushing me onto the ground. They tear gears and wires apart, but I hardly feel it. The retrieval ship is here, and I watch as the Printer flickers away in coils of green light. My consciousness drains out of me, uploaded number by number back into the Net. But next time it’s called to be downloaded, it won’t go where Control orders it to. It will go right where I want it to.

No more fighting, I think with the last bit of thought I have.

No more dying.

The words turn into echoes in the dark.

War is hell.

The worm crushes my metal skull.

But it won’t be mine.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

I look up from my book as Sanara runs across the lawn towards me, a big smile on her angelic face. With the low sunlight filtering between the leaves behind her, the sky blue of her dress, and a colorful crown flowers poking out of her hair, she is an image straight of a fairytale.

“What is it, dearest?”  I press the button on the arm of my chair, and it slowly floats across the pool towards my daughter.  

“I found it!” She stops at the edge of the water and excitedly holds an orange ball out to me. It is the one her father got her for her sixth birthday; programed with a couple dozen games and to come back to her when thrown. But she still prefers to play with a partner.

I smile back at her and reach to take it. But chimes go off in my ear, and I hold back a sigh. They were right when they said the more successful you are, the fewer weekends you get.

“I’ll tell you what. You go find us the perfect spot to play, alright? I just have to take a quick call and then I’ll be right there. Is that alright, dearest?”

Her smile falters, but only for a second. “Okay, Mommy!” She skips back off across the grass, her curly hair bouncing and turning gold where the sun hits it; just like mine.

I put my book down, folding over a page to mark my spot. I tap my ear twice and General Marvis’s face appears in the corner of my right lens. I force all annoyance out of my voice. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Kline. I’m so sorry to disturb you.”

“Not at all, General.” Out of the corner of my eye I see my daughter frown down at the ground, making sure there are no bugs hiding out in the grass where either of us would step on them. She’s always so careful of all living things. She doesn’t understand how fleeting their lives already are. “What is the status of the mission?”

“Complete,” the General says, and I instantly forgive her intrusion.

Finally.

“The cargo is now in our possession, en route to Evrys. But there is one problem.”

My smile fades. “What problem, General?”

“Your Synthorg saw the cargo before we arrived. Went against orders and protocol to discover it.”

I sigh in annoyance, but secretly, I’m pleased. It would be smart enough. It is me, after all. “Aren’t there safeties in place to prevent that sort of thing?”

“We are-”

“Is that all it found? Or do you think it discovered the true purpose of our mission?” I had paid a lot of extra credits to edit the Synthorg’s memories, so the answer better be no.

“There is no way for us to tell, Mrs. Kline,” the General says instead. “There were disconnected from the Net during that time so we have no thought-feed. But we have the uploaded consciousness of both yours and the guard. You should be able to check.”

“Good.” I sit up. “I want to know what it knows.”

“You are aware, ma'am, that standard protocol dictates that within forty-eight hours-”

“Yes, yes. I know. Memory wipe. I’ll be there tomorrow.” I should be able to trust myself of all people to understand the necessity of the mission. But I haven’t gotten to where I am today because of trust. I can’t risk a rogue Synthorg. What I find tomorrow will just help prevent future mistakes. “I want it decommissioned.” I see a complaint forming on the General’s face, but I press on. “You can recommission one when I’m there. It is vital that this mission doesn’t go wrong. Not when we’re so close to succeeding.”

“Of course, ma'am.” She swallows her protests. She knows, as all good generals do, that arguing with investors is unwise. “You do realize that commissioning costs have increased since last time?”

I press a button on the other arm of my chair, and a glass of wine appears in the cup-holder. “Yes, I realize.” I’m glad she can’t see my face the way I see hers. It is also unwise for investors to show any doubt in their ability to finance a project. My husband learned that the hard way.

“Very well. What time should we expect you?”

“Mommy! I found the spot!” Sanara beams at me from just in front of the garden, dwarfed by the rose bushes behind her.

I smile at her and hold up a finger to tell her to wait. I pull up my private ship’s settings on my other lens to make sure it’s charged. “0900 hours,” I tell General Marvis. “Make sure everything is ready.” I tap my ear once to end the call. Her face vanishes, replaced by Alta IV’s iconic rolling hills spreading out beyond my pool. I sigh and take a long swig of wine before guiding my chair out of the water and onto solid ground again.

“A wonderful spot, dearest,” I call to my daughter. I tap the palm of my hand as I walk over, pulling up my bank information. I grit my teeth and transfer one million credits from my account to the army’s. But I know what’s at stake. You never succeed unless you first sacrifice.

I reach her, and her smile is nearly enough to burn away the ugly veil of politics that separates me from the world. My perfect angel, too pure for a cruel universe. I will do whatever it takes to ensure she need never see it the way I do.

I smile back, and catch the ball she throws at me.

War is hell, I think, and throw it back, watching as it briefly transforms into a butterfly and Sanara giggles in delight.

But it won’t be hers.

Inspired by this post

#ok i just reposted it #my writing #short story #18 minutes #this is pretty long btw #about 5k #but i am very proud of it

[powerosewaterpuff]

yk so i was watching bmw (boy meets world :) ) while procrastinating an essay so oF COURSE i decided to write some more of my reverse robin au (that pertains to jason being the oldest of the batkids w/ him and dick growing up together) except fLUFF bc i cannot handle angst rn (oR cOulD I wE wiLL nEvER kNoWwwW)

oh and disclaimer there may be several medical inaccuracies so please feel free to correct me :)

jason often gets night terrors, ones that can get particularly awful when bruce goes on an overnight business trip. so one night bruce is in new york after being forced into it by lucius, with dick being adopted for some time now. dick was awake because he was having trouble sleeping, for no real particular reason in all honesty. he heard a short yell though, coming from the room next to him and he dashed over, tripping over his blanket and still gripping zitka tightly. he knew that he wasn’t supposed to fight yet, but he doesn’t really think about that as he yanked jason’s door open.

he then saw his brother laying on his side, turning back and forth, breathing heavily looking so visibly pained it was hurting dick. he rushed over to jason, his eyes darting around because he just didn’t know what to do. taking his chances he tapped jason’s shoulder gently, and he already felt like it wasn’t the right move but he sucked it up and tried again, only this time to some result. jason shot up, gripping on tightly to dick’s arm, his eyes hazy and unfocused and his chest heaving.

dick remained still, only slowly trying to push jason off of him and back into his bed. jason’s grip didn’t let but he laid back in bed, squeezing his eyes tightly as if he was trying to push away everything he had just witnessed. dick took this as an initiative to gently climb into bed, as jason fell back into a less violent but equally as stressful sleep. he placed zitka next to jason, who still hasn’t let go of his arm, and awkwardly sat up in bed, almost acting as a protector. slowly, dick began to doze off, feeling a lot more comforted in his brothers prescence then he had been in his own room.

jason on the other hand, doesn’t remember much of that night, as he rarely fully remembers any of his night terrors (only the scars they leave behind), but when he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn with a few fragments of something he would prefer not to remember, he puts it together rather quickly. he guessed it would happen, and he could’ve told bruce and he knew the guy would drop anything in a heartbeat, but that pissed him off, more so then it justifiably should. he wasn’t a child and he hadn’t been a child for a long fucking time, and it was stupid that he couldn’t deal with a single night without bruce. jason then turned onto his side, disgruntled with a new found rage directed at himself that he might take out on someone else, when he found dick, sleeping at an awkward position.

he was leaning on the headboard, but was slumped down and drooling a bit, which would have been hilarious blackmail material on any other given day. but today, jason felt a pit in his stomach. the only rational thought that his mind could conjure in its fear muddled frenzy was please tell me i didn’t hurt dick, pleasepleasepleaseplease. he quickly checked over dick’s face, cupping his checks and looking for any signs of a bruise. he had given bruce a particularly nasty one earlier in his tenure at the manor, after bruce attempted to restrain him while he was having a night terror so he could avoid hurting himself, instead jason kicked him in the jaw. he even felt bad about it the next day, which was an odd surprise for him at the time.

after checking over dick hasilty, he could see he wasn’t all that hurt, even though if he looked hard enough he could see inklings of nail shaped markings in dick’s right arm just under his shirt sleeve. jason felt a bit of bile rising up, as he gently shifted dick into a better sleeping position, and pulled the blanket up to his chin and slipped a pillow underneath him. dick opened his bleary eyes, mumbling jason’s name in question, and squinting his eyes. jason rolled his eyes but nodded, “yeah, it’s me. now sleep–why’re you shaking yer head? you don’ wanna sleep? too bad.” jason pressed another pillow onto the side of dicks face in a teasing attempt to smother him to sleep, but dick only proceeded to giggle, and snuggle closer to jason, who had sat up already. jason tossed the pillow to the side after a few seconds of play fighting, dick was going to be too sleepy to remember this break in the ‘teasing older brother’ façade. so, he ran his hand through his little brothers hair and laid back down, tracing soft circles into dick’s scalp absentmindedly. and feeling a rush of gratitude that bruce had brought this little circus boy into his life. he really didn’t know what he would do without his little brother. (needless to say, dick became a constant comforter in jason’s night terrors).

jason blames dick for everything. if a vase got knocked over, it was a dick. if the tv wasn’t working, dick had been playing with the satellite. if his phone was missing, dick stole it to play games. if his sweater had a stain, you better bet it was dick. the boy in question, of course, adamantly denies these facts and does have a way of persuading bruce (he is the golden child after all, jason could testify to that), but bruce also knows both of his boys are annoyingly good liars. so every incident is treated like a little miniature crime scene, and it never fails to make jason howl in laughter at dick explaining how he couldn’t have possibly used up jason’s shampoo because he has his own washroom with his own shampoo and so w h y jason w h y would i steal your shampoo. (jason’s usual response is a deadpanned ‘why wouldn’t you’, and that just gives bruce another headache as the two bicker on and on and on.)

the pair of them usually go biking together, and it’s usually quite tranquil to start. until dick makes a sly comment that jason’s old bones must be so tired from cycling, so why not take a break? jason snide reponse is how the fuck are you touching the pedals with your stubby ass legs. that’s really all it takes for them to delve into a full on biking race. it never really ends well, but the two always come out rolling in laughter so whose to complain.

dick thinks real housewives of beverly hills is better then new jersey, and jason is adamant that new jersey is superior in every shape and way. the two agree that atlanta is the absolute winner no matter what though.

jason is dick’s english tutor. and it’s safe to say that it’s an experience. dick already knew a fair amount of english growing up, his father had been a wonderful teacher but it wasn’t exactly up to gotham academy standards apparently (jason knew the feeling) and his accent was still quite prevalent to have him be considered an esl kid, so jason ended up being his tutor once dick started going to english class at school and after his time with an esl instructor. jason, who has an untapped passion for literature that not many can match, is absolutely dedicated to teaching dick, because fuck man this is genius! genius, dick! and dick isn’t exactly a fan, but he does secretly think jason should be a teacher, he’s better then any of the teachers he’s had that’s for sure (his father would’ve really loved jason too, that was also for sure). and dick is considering buying him a little briefcase with his little initials on it. ((it happens, and jason tries really really hard not to cry))

bruce is absolutely that parent that secretly takes pictures of every single moment possible. he isn’t a photographer, in any sense, but he likes to capture natural moments, and he has a series of pictures dedicated to the one trip him and the boys took to Barbados where he started this habit. he wasn’t and still isn’t a big fan of beaches, they’re hot, crowded and just too much for bruce to feel any kind of comfortable in. he remembers sitting under a floppy beach umbrella, feeling the knot in his chest sit heavily on his heart, fire ants scurrying across the underlining of his skin, burning under the side stares of those passing by. it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of dick riding on jason’s little shoulders, as they trotted around waist deep in the clear ocean water, that the fist squeezing his heart like the rotten fruit it was began to ease. he glanced down at the camera that alfred had subtly slipped into their bag after dicks insistence, and lifted it up to fiddle with it slightly. then raised it up to take a swift picture. capturing jason mid laughter as he leaned back, in a joking attempt to shake dick off who was in the middle of a yelp but had entrenched his hands in jason’s mop of curly hair. it was hilarious imperfect, but bruce would not want it any other way. not at all.

(jason found it once. he saw the picture at the corner of his eye sitting by the keyboard of the ‘Batcomputer’ ((dick was so shitty with names, thank god he didn’t come up with flippy man as his code name )), and he hesitated for a moment before hastily grabbing it. examining it with an unexpected amount of gentleness, he rubbed his thumb against the glass above dick’s hands in his hair and felt something snake around his heart. slowly and methodically seeping into it until he felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. then he heard damian trotting down the stairs as he explained the details of his anthropology class to dick who was hopping down behind him. jason shoves the picture back and grits his teeth together to ignore the sting that was absolutely not in his eyes)

aAAAND THATS ALL!! i’ve had these in my notes for a while so it’s relief to get them out there hehe so i really hope y’all enjoy ive legit been falling in love with this reverse au bC THERE IS SO MUCH POTENTIAL U G H IVE NEVER BEEN EXCITED TO WRITE SHIT UNTIL NOW SO Y A Y FOR INSPIRATION

Y A Y :)

#reverse robin au #reverse robins #big brother jason #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #good dad! bruce #bruce is a good dad #oK?? SUE ME HE IS FUCK CANON #dcu #robin #brothers #they are such dorks #and idiots #bUT THEY ALL LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH LIKE IDGAF HOW MUCH JASON WANTS TO PRETEND DICK IS HIS BROTHER AND HE LOVES HIM NO MATTER WHAT UNIVERSE #OK??? OK #fluff #i promise i can write fluff #i wrote this at 2am #again #hence the spelling mistakes so please excuse those :) #this is angsty yall #ish #maybe #ITS DEPENDS ON HOW U VIEW IT OK?? #batman #:) #this is fine i’m totally not procrastinating and writing dc headcanons to compensate :))) #also #headcanon