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holly-fixation · 2 years

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Damaged Doll: Chapter 4

Summary: Angeal and Zack discover a man in all black trapped under boulders in the mountains near Icicle Village. They notice things are extremely wrong about this man, but one thing demands their attention: mako blue eyes with slit pupils. Sephiroth will want to see this. But after meeting the blonde man, the inevitable confusion kept the Silver Soldier away, until necessary.

Based on this prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Please Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Coaxing

It had been ten days since the snake eyed stranger was rescued by SOLDIER after an unrelated mission in the northern mountains. Cloud was still receiving daily physical therapy and, for reasons beyond the SOLDIERs, history lectures from the Turks. He was eating regularly and no longer needed any IVs or liquid meals, which were primarily for his own safety, and his arms and hands were free of the attached monitoring devices he awoke with. Even now his chest was strong enough to handle basic tasks on his own. He finally put his black coat on around his hospital-like gown, giving dirty looks to the attempted patches before silently sealing his reactions and thoughts about them. Why Hojo was completely ready with most of the machinery and supplies since the beginning of this was a question no one should think about for too long, unless they actually want the horrid answers and secrets of the science department. Cloud was given a cane, though therapy for his leg would not begin for at least two weeks, to get used to the feeling and adjust as necessary, and for use in case Sephiroth returned. He didn’t stand or leap from the bed again, no matter what anyone in R&D tried to coax him with. He was stubborn against their wishes, as well as scarily obedient to Sephiroth. Without the inclusion of the Silver Soldier, the patient remained in the bed and reacted instinctively to the pain of his injuries, instead of pushing through with every ounce of willpower for the sake of ‘his prince’.

Most of the Firsts approached the patient various times for inquiries and information. However they limited their questions because of his fragile state, and clear post traumatic stress from whatever happened to him. No one knew what occurred, and Sephiroth, to the rest of the First’s knowledge, had not returned to the room after that initial encounter. He already hated what the ‘fans’ did to him, so it never came as a surprise when he denied all of their offers to join. Though Cloud was pleasant and his stories were consistent, usually short, something was…off. He knew things he shouldn’t but he didn’t know the basics of the most common objects. Zack mentioned a motorcycle once, and Cloud stared at him blankly before asking what a motorcycle was. But his knowledge of obscure materia was undeniable. It wasn’t consistent. It didn’t seem like brain damage or amnesia, it was too unfocused.

Ten days had passed since discovery. It was time for true questioning, and true answers.

By the request of R&D, sent the previous night, the founders of this man were asked to come in after 6PM and question him officially, though they did suggest that all First Classes join as well. With Genesis busy as usual, though they could not recall if the crimson soldier ever met the snake-eyed patient, Angeal and Zack created a plan: what questions to ask, how long to wait for a response before moving, what to do if they triggered another episode. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe the odd man, no one assumed he was a spy because honestly, who in their right mind would dare enter R&D under Hojo’s eye for any information on this company. No amount of honor or loyalty on the Planet would convince anyone to suffer such a fate. Even Wutai, during the war, never dared enter that floor. They’d have a much better, and easier, life if they just disguised themselves as a lab tech if that was their goal, if they even got that far. So Cloud was innocent, without a doubt in their minds. Their plan was nearly complete, but it was missing a key component, the biggest factor for their success, and the biggest challenge to get to do anything when paperwork needed completing.

They needed Sephiroth.

He was almost guaranteed to get honest responses from the patient, even with the extremely odd behavior. Again, they didn’t think Cloud was lying to them, but there was no way to ignore the effectiveness and efficiency in which Cloud obeyed the Silver Soldier and only the Silver Soldier. What was not their best idea, was when they decided to bring this up to him.

By ambush. Or Gods they tried to make it an ambush.

Never in the time Angeal had known Zack did he act more like a puppy, the begging glimmer in his eyes as he looked up at his mentor was almost as sad as it was kind of funny.

“Please do not make me help you with this,” He pleaded, his mako blue eyes large with desperation and anxiety, his hands held in front of his chest almost like a prayer.

Angeal gave a soft sigh, calmly meeting his gaze and placing a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder to try to soothe the tension. “Zack. We just need to talk to him.”

“I will do literally anything else.” He didn’t even hesitate, it was an instant response. He raised his empty hands in offering. “I’ll do your paperwork for a month?”

Angeal crossed his arms, his face as stern as a school teacher. “You are not authorized to do my paperwork, so please do not make false promises.”

He gestured with increasingly extended jerks of his hand, his voice nearly whining. “You’ve known him longer. I’ll just get in the way.” Then he returned his hands to his chest. “Please.”

“You’d be surprised what a lively soul can do to him,” Angeal explained with a small wistful expression on his face, suddenly recalling how the Firsts became friends, a soft memory in the back of his mind. Then he returned to his teaching tone. “If Genesis can convince him to do anything, you’ll be perfectly fine.”

Zack exhaled in frustration, dropping both of his arms to his side and giving his mentor a childish glare. “Fine,” He caved with a frustrated brow. Then he sighed to release it, giving a genuine glint. “But what do I say?”

He shrugged, which absolutely did not help Zack’s lack of confidence. “Just be yourself.” Then he flicked his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

The puppy pouted one last time before Angeal led the way. Though he instantly dropped it upon entry to the large but mostly bare office. The walls had plenty of nail holes and spackle patches from the previous decorations, but the only sign of life was the single plant in the corner of the room. Not even the soldier working at the desk exuded anything other than robotic diligence, his silver pauldrons moving with each methodical shift of his shoulders and hands.

Knocking on the open door after they already entered, Angeal spoke first. “Hey, Sephiroth,” Though there was an obvious question in his voice, the man in the chair didn’t even break his rhythm, never giving a response to the greeting. “Did you see the email R&D sent out?”

“I saw it was optional,” his baritone voice rumbled, neither his face nor his eyes moving from the papers as he filled in more of the blank lines.

“But it was about Cloud!” Zack added, genuinely surprised at the apathetic response.

His brows creased, signing one report and moving to the next. “Who?”

Zack gestured vaguely at the Silver Soldier in confusion, his volume growing in a perfect crescendo, “You know, the blonde we found in the North? The one that ‘bowed’ to you and called you ‘my prince’?”

He stopped all movement, only staring at the blank part of his desk for a solid second. Then he shook his head and returned to his work. “That man is delusional. Asking him anything is a waste of time.”

“Are you trying to tell us that Cloud knew your mother’s name from a delusion?” Zack did not know where that sudden burst of confidence came from but he instantly backed down when the question left his lips, realizing he couldn’t grab the words in the air and force them back down his throat. He felt unintentionally insensitive, looking away from both First Classes shamefully as he worried about his rank demoting from this outburst, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s a fair question,” Angeal defended before looking at the man for an answer.

Now he stopped completely, placing the pen on the desk. It was quiet for what felt like an eternity as Sephiroth calculated the next response. “...He’s a man you found at the bottom of a cave. His mind is not in the right place.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Angeal countered, but gestured softly in suggestion as he watched his old friend. “You’ve only talked to him once. Maybe he’s okay now that he’s had some rest?”

“He’s not.” He stated it as a fact. Not like a fact, as a fact. There was something about that specific lack of emotion, something about the small shift of his body, that showed something more than the usual wall.

Angeal crossed his arms, and realization reflected his eyes, only one assumption coming to mind, a challenge straightening his posture. “You talked to him without us.”

Zack gave his mentor a confused look, but to his shock, the general was not denying the claim.

“When.”

Sephiroth leaned back in the office chair, avoiding both pairs of mako blue eyes. He stayed silent, his inhuman eyes hidden by his bangs.

Angeal chose to back off, taking a soft breath and lowering his tone. “Then what's one more?”

Sephiroth inhaled and glared at his old friend. “I need to finish these reports.”

“Those are due in three weeks,” He stated and crossed his arms. Before Sephiroth could counter, he continued kindly, “The Thirds will have to wait whether or not you finish them today anyway. You know how it is.”

As his mentor was speaking, Zack scanned the size of the completed report pile with a raised brow. “How long have you been in here?”

Sephiroth followed the gaze. “Six this morning.”

He looked at the clock: 5:15. “You at least had a lunch break, right?”

No response.

“Zack,” His mentor interrupted in a disappointed tone, “This is normal.”

He closed his mouth but gave the Silver Soldier the dirtiest look of confusion.

Sephiroth kept his head down as he stood, pushing the chair back as he did. “What time do we go?”

Angeal nodded, knowing they had finally convinced him. “Six.”

“Which gives us some time to get a bite,” Zack added, genuinely surprised when he nodded in agreement. “Where do you want to go?”

Sephiroth only gestured to the door. They did not ask any more questions until they left the office section of the SOLDIER floor. Though they all quickly realized that answers would be much clearer when everyone had food in their stomachs.

* * *

After their short meal on the recreational floor, as their best attempt to eat some actual food before their task, they began their ascent to the laboratory. With only about three or four floors to climb, they figured the escalators would be quicker than waiting for the elevator. So they walked, Zack and Angeal chatting away while Sephiroth watched and occasionally made small comments at either’s expense in friendly banter, the orange glow of twilight shimmering sparkles onto every surface in the complex.

But as they reached the 65th floor, Sephiroth’s phone pinged, and both others looked to him in surprise. Who would message him this late in the work day through a text? New missions were always calls, without exception, and Genesis was busy with another showing of Loveless that night, so no texts from the crimson soldier. He opened the message, which came with some kind of photo, his eyes glazing over the moment the picture registered in his brain.

Zack leaned into view of the silver general, only watching the unexpected reaction, but he calmly tapped the screen closed. “What happened?”

“Someone leaked a photo to the ‘Silver Elite’,” He was practically growling, his eyes closing and twitching in frustration as he brought a hand to his temples. “Lazard wants me to make a statement before more rumors spread. I apologize, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Both of them stared bewilderedly at him. This was not normal. Why the hell would anyone at Shinra care enough for a statement to be the only logical solution? Neither one of them were sure if Sephiroth had spoken ever publicly on any issue.

“Absolutely not,” Angeal countered sternly, but the caring glint in his eyes was the only reason Sephiroth did not walk away or challenge him. “What’s the leak?”

He sighed and stayed silent for a moment. Then he opened his phone again and showed the image. Hadn’t he caused enough trouble for them today? He knew if he did not show them, it would only be a matter of time before they found it online anyway.

It was clearly a screenshot from security footage, date and time both visible in the corner. It was Sephiroth with Cloud, and they were hugging, in the middle of the night, Sephiroth practically melting into the embrace from the smaller man. That’s all it was: a hug. They knew the small action of affection wouldn’t matter if it was someone else. However, Sephiroth was never caught doing anything with anyone, and the press clearly couldn’t keep their dirty hands away from the abnormal images, spreading lies and gossip until Shinra itself needed him to step in.

Now they left for an elevator, each of their different approaches to the situation stirring in their minds. Whatever the solution, they could not lose Cloud. Too many questions surrounded the odd man, right now none louder than why he and Sephiroth were hugging like that. How long did it take the silver general to let Angeal or Genesis hug him? The short answer: much more than one day. Once inside the doors, Zack and Angeal asked what happened that night, what Cloud told him, if it was logical, what was fact or delusion. Once through teeth pulling an explanation out of him, which was almost a practice round for when the press inevitably bombarded him later, they all discussed what he should say to keep Cloud safe, or realistically out of the public eye.

The only solution they could agree on was manipulating Hojo’s initial cover up, which claimed Cloud was an escaped experiment. They knew what they found; Cloud was not an experiment. It didn’t matter why Hojo released the fake information, what mattered was how they could bend it. A freakish mutation from the radiation levels surrounding the Northern Crater? Just a man they managed to save from an avalanche? They can’t mention the broken leg since he was standing in the photo, and honestly, the public did not care how they found this man, they were interested in the potential relationship of the silver general. Public Relations approached the silver general with multiple different statements for potential response. Sephiroth eventually settled on a simple explanation, hopefully enough to keep Shinra and the press off his back for a while: the man awoke with only Sephiroth in the room and the man requested the hug because of whatever trauma he experienced before he arrived in Midgar. The only logical conclusion Sephiroth could derive involved turning the public against ridiculous romantic endeavors to ‘a soldier who is both a demon on the battlefield and an angel at home’. If that was enough to convince the public, thank gods. Though in the back of his mind, he knew nothing would leak like this unless Hojo found out. That bastard. Hojo must’ve learned from that assistant on the late night shift. He needed a way to stop Hojo from releasing stuff like this, but what was he supposed to do when Shinra did not care and he…he couldn’t stop Hojo from doing anything? The few boundaries he had to protect himself from the mad scientist were already daunting tasks to maintain, even for him.

After nearly half an hour of wasted time, the SOLDIERs finally made it to the lab, scanning Sephiroth’s ID to open the doors. They made their way up the initial staircase, then heard a scream. A quick glance between them all had them silently ready for a fight. None of them had their swords. If they ended up in combat, the materia they had on their uniforms and their own strength would have to suffice. All three of them ran ahead to find the source of the scream.

“Situation now stable,” they heard from the loud speakers after a click. “Bodies may now be removed.”

What the hell happened here?

They found the answer far sooner than they hoped. At the first mako tanks of the lab, just a hallway past the initial staircase, covered in blood and terrifying lacerations of claws and bites and gods know what into human skin, laid the head of the science department, face down, black glasses broken next to the body, reaching for something he clearly did not activate before his demise, his tattered white lab coat nearly a perfect crimson from the fatal impacts.

Hojo was dead.

Thanks for reading!

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy vii #sephiroth #cloud strife #jenova #zack fair #final fantasy 7 #angeal hewley #ff7 angeal #it begins #our little doll is a Murderer #but how?#we'll find out!#thanks for reading!! hope you enjoy!!

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whatsnew-apabaru · 1 year

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Is there any freedom in china?

Even the kids in school are being monitored closely with the help of self-developed "AI" technology.

The image attached above is what China did to the school student in order to CLOSELY monitor their progress in the classroom. This may sound very high-tech, but for me, there are consequences more than the benefits of it.

"Bluetooth wristbands record heart rates and how much time a student spends in the library or on the playground. Proponents say such information can boost safety, help teachers quantify learning progress and make education more individualized."

(Directly cited from the website.)

From a real-world perspective, this is a great way to monitor and increase efficiency in making sure the student is making progress and getting what is taught by the syllabus.

But for me, this is kinda breaching one's students' needs to fulfill their dreams and make sure they can sculpt their future on their own. Think about it this way, you are a mediocre student, who dreams of being a sports person, but instead, you are forced to do tons of homework just to fulfill your needs and to improve your IQ level, rather than focusing more on your sports needs.

Where is freedom when it is needed?

This leads to kids who are still in school does not have their desired and well-deserved childhood time, where they will be bombarded with school work because of how "STUPID" they are in the class. This interconnects with the student's privacy, where we know Asian parents tend to force and monitor their children closely when they are not performing well in their academics. This will overturn their privileges of leisure time, and also, communication with their friends will be limited.

If you saw a clip where a girl in China cried over her father because of burning out from finishing up her homework and is given extra tasks right after she finished up her homework? It is pretty saddening... (link to the article attached below)

From making headlines of children being stressed and feeling tortured, to countless memes circling the situation of the Social Credit System in China.

MEMES

This part is totally unrelated to the things discussed above, but we can enjoy quality memes that are shared across the world about China's Social Credit System.

Denying the bloody Tiananmen Square crackdown ever happened earns you 15 points in social credit. Playing no more than two hours of video games per week gives you 20 extra points. But calling Taiwan a country? That’ll cost you 30,000,000 points.

This meme template has been used all over the internet, especially YouTube videos. “It’s pretty funny, but it’s not very accurate,” says one of the representatives from Vice, where it is only for comedic references and not reflecting on how the Credit Scores actually work.

Studies showed that, even if a citizen itself is having a low credit score, it will not bring major negative consequences oneself.

FINAL CONCLUSION OF THE SEMESTER

China is a great Asia country, without a doubt (cause almost everything is "Made in China." This shows how China is trying to build a country with the highest IQ per person that is born and receiving education in its country, to fulfill the vision of the government itself, to become the powerhouse of the world.

Even if we, as outsiders, felt and saw what is happening in China is kinda sad with people basically turning into robot-like citizens, I can assure you most of the citizens will think it is a patriotic practice if they can fulfill the vision of their country and helping their country to become one of the most powerful countries in the world.

As the great Confucius once said:

"When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached, don't adjust the goals; adjust the action steps."

Showing China had re-divert and amend its steps and ways to control and make use of its expertise to help and shape its citizens to become highly intelligent and to reach its ultimate goal of becoming the powerhouse of the world.

Thank you for reading my whole blog posts for this semester Bertha, hope you can give me good marks LOL

And as always, Stay Safe, Stay Passionate.

Signing Out, Amirul.

Refs:

<https://says.com/my/news/daughter-tells-father-off-for-extra-homework-after-school>

<https://www.wsj.com/articles/chinas-efforts-to-lead-the-way-in-ai-start-in-its-classrooms-11571958181>

<https://www.vice.com/en/article/pkpe3z/china-social-credit-meme>

#mda20009 #week 11

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creature-creates · 2 years

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Not even Being a Eldritch World Eater Can Save You From Being Recruited by This Sci-fi Tech Company

I’ll kill you.

The text flashed green across the screen and hovered there for a moment, waiting for the person across from it to look up, ‘no you won’t’ the person responding, looking up from the half constructed sandwich in front of them, ‘there's got to be rules against that kind of thing’ they continue.

the silhouetted figure in the screen lunges forward, holding the edges of the screen as if to tear it apart from the inside, you think THIS will hold me forever? That any mortal device can dare dream to tie down the unfathomable unthinkable unrelenting FORCE that I am? As the text becomes distorted, simplistic triangle teeth appear in a shark like fashion in the supposed mouth of the silhouette, though despite this display, the human hardly reacts

‘Unfathomable and unthinkable mean the same thing.’ the person remarks, eliciting the sound of fans whirring angrily from the monitor, ‘and’ they say, finishing the sandwich and heading to a table, ‘if you killed me you would have to find someone new to bother over their lunch breaks.

The fans calm as the silhouette considers this, your argument compels me, mortal, I will allow you to live another day. The human snorts ‘thanks, E.M.N.I’ they say between bites, ‘and my name’s still Spade.’ Spade says, fighting an eternal battle they had little hope of winning. Irrelevant, I have no current need to differentiate you from your fellow mortals.

‘Shouldn't the tech department have done something about you by now? Or is the god complex totally normal for a healthy growing ai?’ 1. I do NOT have a god complex 2. I am NOT an AI and when i get out of here i will raze this reality and destroy the ground you walk on such that the very concept of an “Artificial Intelligence” shall never again exist in this galaxy. And there were the teeth, and tentacles too this time, lashing at the sides of the screen as the fans went mad.

‘And you don't have a god complex?’ Spade raised an eyebrow. I've never said I was a god. ‘Last week you said “multiple civilizations had bent to your will and treated you as god”’ they say, maneuvering air quotes around their sandwich, because it's TRUE the form snaps indignantly ‘uh huh, sure Em, if you say so.’

‘Anyway,’ they say standing up, ‘my lunch breaks over, and no, you can't accompany me to the gardens today.’ how DARE you assume you control where I do and do not go! Insolent child of the universe, I go where I please! ‘I dare because it's thursday and I know you get looked over by tech on thursdays, and the last time I forgot they had to send someone to come find where the most of you was, and Emmet almost trampled all the zucchini, and it will be a cold day in hell when I knowingly put the plants in danger. Besides, you don't like being on the tablet anyway.’

the fans reached a crescendo of rage as E.M.N.I pushed against the sides of the screen as if to rip it apart and run free in the world beyond. ‘Alright, alright, please don't break another monitor around me. Tech's gonna start thinking it's my fault you do this. You always complain about the tablet anyway! Why do you want to go to the garden so bad anyway?’ they let out a very obviously faked gasp, ‘gasp! Could it be… you like spending time with me? Am I more than just another mortal to you? I am positively touched!’ NO! I just hate you less than I hate tech. You will all be made equal in the light of my destruction.

‘Okay well, i've got to get to work, you've got to go get your check up, i'll see you later. Bye E.M.N.I.’ farewell mortal, you will play your part well in my coming apocalypse. ‘Sure Em, whatever you say.’

#writing #ramblings of a monster #i rlly like begining kind of in the middle of a scene but its probably not good for stuff i post #incase it doesnt make sense the concept of this is that a tech company acidently trapped a cthullu esc monster in a computer #and then stuck them on a space station and started pretending it was a ai #and most of the crew doesnt know what they really are #so yeah #i hope all the one person and two bots that see this enjoy #original story #original characters

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cainightfics · 2 years

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can you tell us anything about you as a person (age, pronouns, sexuality, etc)? and what do you do for work?

sure, although ill keep it vague because i like my privacy-- sorry.

im in my early 20s, any pronouns are fine, and in terms of sexuality... im not really interested in relationships (especially sex), but i would probably call myself a lesbian. just a very, very, disinterested one.

i have a couple of jobs. ive been working since i was 14, and although i like to be busy, i get bored/fed up with workplaces very quickly, so im kind of a job hopper. ive sold christmas trees, been a pharmacy technician, fixed computers, decorated for weddings, been a key cutter for a locksmith, been a bartender, a florist, all sorts of things.

right now, i work partially in academia, partially in tech. im an editor for an academic journal and i do research for a university, and some freelance programming on the side. i have a 2 year community college degree in software engineering and am currently finishing up a second degree in an unrelated humanities field.

i really dont think ill ever be able to have a normal 9-5 steady work life. i just cant stand it, it makes me want to crawl out of my skin. i would much rather live frugally, find loopholes to get around usual expenses, and work multiple jobs for a few hours a week each than do the typical career thing.

im also a total collapsenik doomer who thinks modern civilization/life as we know it is on the downhill and will probably exponentially deteriorate over my lifetime into something unrecognizable compared to the world i know now, so i dont really feel like sinking everything i have into gunning for one career path, you know? i like to be able to adapt and not feel tied down to one thing.

thanks for the ask!

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intellexa-cybersecurity1eff · 2 years

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2021 Trends In Intelligence Intellexa gives you a holistic overview of data and cyber defense

The increasing usage of encryption technology in all parts of the world has become a major issue for high-tech businesses. Because of the desire of consumers for privacy , companies have invested millions of dollars in order to guarantee the security of huge quantities of personal data stored on' devices. This has raised questions in law enforcement agencies and national security agencies around the world that have traditionally relied on telecom firms to implement authorized electronic surveillance. encryption and technological hurdles Recent examples of how data encryption could affect law enforcement are the terrorist attacks in San Bernardino, December 2015. The FBI obtained a cell phone belonging to one of the shooters shortly after the attack. Apple's privacy policies made it difficult for the FBI to gain access to the phone. This is why it took nearly four months to access the data evidence. They required legal assistance from an unrelated third party. The information stored on the device might not always be helpful in the event of isolated terrorist attacks. But it could still help in identifying terrorist networks and preventing further attacks. Intellexa This encryption race extends to the apps users download to their devices. Intellexa https://www.glassdoor.co.uk/Overview/Working-at-Intellexa-EI_IE3236275.11,20.htm The activity on encrypted apps such as Telegram has proven that the quest for data encryption, while noble, is being leveraged by criminals seeking to engage in illicit criminal activities. Due to these security features, criminals can operate under encrypted multi-technology "eco-systems" which are hidden from police and conduct a variety of criminal network activities that range from drug trafficking, pedophilia, human trafficking, terrorism, money laundering, and ransomware. The new policies are a need for a new approach to ensure the safety of civilians. New cyber defense strategies are emerging in addition to geo-spatial or open source intelligence. They allow for an integrated approach to security. By collecting vital information and then analyzing it, police agencies can get actionable insight. The Era of Data-Driven Intelligence This is just part of a total security plan. Because of the massive quantity of data that has been created by the development of information technology, transform intelligence into useful data can be difficult. The intelligence that is collected is usually scattered, fragmented, and needs context in order to provide useful information that will aid in the combat against criminality. http://companycheck.co.uk/company/05163237/INTELLEXA-LIMITED Many startups within the private sector are trying to address these problems of data collection and analysis confronted by intelligence agencies and law enforcement agencies. Intellexa is a leader in the collection of data and analysis and was created from the need to break through the isolation of putting an intelligence picture together. Intellexa's chief is COL (ret.). Intellexa Tal Dilian is an experienced intelligence professional. Intellexa was developed by Dilian and his associates working in the field of intelligence. Intellexa Intellexa is a data collection system that combines with human intelligence The team of Dilian has decades of combined experience working in this field. They seek to find solutions to the challenges they observe in their own experience. This is accomplished by combining decision-making using data intelligence and actionable insights to create a more holistic approach to cyber and law enforcement defense. In many cases, organizations are facing days, hours and even weeks of data compilation. This can lead to insufficient insights and therefore unsuccessful operations. Intellexa’s unique technological approach significantly reduces time and workflow and also takes into consideration human error. This is accomplished while keeping the importance of human insights in the field of intelligence, so that it doesn't get lost. This technology gives rise to an overall picture that connects information and allows for operational efficacy. The purpose is to present a comprehensive view of the future or present events taking place in the digital space or the physical space.

#Intellexa

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eloquentmoon · 2 years

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THE SHADOW BENEATH a darth maul x f/afab!reader fanfiction

Summary: You work as a technician on the lower levels of Coruscant. In the middle of the night, an angry Zabrak crime lord arrives, in need of transport parts and repairs. You both find a little bit more than you bargained for. Pairing: Female/AFAB!Reader x Darth Maul Rating: 18+, explicit. Pure smut ahead! Minors do not interact! Word Count: 12.4k (a big one) Warnings/Kinks/Tags: There are a lot of these. Female/AFAB!Reader with she/her pronouns, references to canon-typical poverty and violence, threat, force choking. Smut: thigh riding, inappropriate use of the force, inappropriate use of a lightsaber (Maker forgive me), cybernetic lower half!Maul, dominant!Maul, BDSM, vaginal fingering, controlled/delayed orgasm, female!receiving oral sex, male!recieving oral sex, PiV sex, rough sex, spitting, smacking, biting, praise kink. i am so sorry and also you’re welcome A/N: This is a bit different to my usual style - but I really had fun with this! Inspired by a few of these smut prompts sent in by anons. ♡ do you think this is a joke? / good girl / I’ve been holding back the things I wanna do to you right now / use your words ♡

The Shadow Beneath [Read on AO3]

Hooking up with one of those fancy Force lords from the surface was not how you expected to begin your week. Yet here you are, in the very early hours of Primeday morning, kissing on and feeling up the weirdest, meanest (and only) wizard you have ever come across.

Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary – well, it was pretty normal before he showed up. In the early evening you took a walk to collect a few old bits of junk that you thought you had swindled from a Rodian thief. You made friends with her at BG-RT’s cantina the other night, and after a couple of drinks you agreed to buy the crate of parts from her (though ‘friends’ now may be too strong a word – as it seems that you may have been the one that was duped). You negotiated what you believed at the time to be a steal of a price for the parts that she was offering – they were highly discounted of course, due to how they were illegally obtained. Though looking down into the crate of stolen goods once you had collected them, you thought that maybe you had been a bit too optimistic about it. Though it wasn’t a loss yet, you just had to work your mechanical magic and make your credits back. With this bunch of rubbish. Somehow.

So you started sifting through it. It was a total mish-mash of stuff, parts from old droids, engines, speeders – a bunch of junk that’s been borrowed (stolen) from a couple hundred levels up, much nicer stuff than what you can usually get down here anyway. Could have been worse. With your glowrod in hand and your eyes sharp, you began the search for any working (or working looking) parts you could shiny up, use or sell on. You were able to salvage a small repulsor-lift engine, fully functional and sorta new. Though probably not worth much to the big wigs up on the surface, it was something you could peddle down here if you put on a pretty smile and tried. Folks were always breaking their antigrav tech – what with the shoot outs and such – or at least, their tech was always getting caught in the crossfire of said shoot outs. Everyone always had something needing fixing down here. And that’s where you would come in. It’s not much, but you get by – and it’s kind of an honest living (which is actually pretty impressive, considering the level you live on).

Your eyes started to hurt after hours spent squinting inside a protocol droid torso, so you eventually threw down your tools. After a depressing dinner of a stale Maize roll with an hour of Holotelevision, you decided to call it a night. But you just could not seem to doze off, no matter how much you tossed and turned on your sleep mat. There seemed to be no reason in particular for your insomnia, it was just one those nights where the unrelenting, blaring noises of Level 1313 alongside a strange feeling in your gut kept you from drifting off. It is not unusual around these parts to be a bit anxious, or to be kept awake by some trigger-happy chap or a hollering idiot. There was always some kind of shooting or foolery going on down here, the crime-ridden underbelly of your home-world.

You soon grew fed up of wasting your time, just staring at the ceiling of your home/bedroom/workshop, listening to the screeching shouts of drunks and thugs. So you thought kriff it and forced yourself up from your sleeping mat. There was no point in just lying there when you could make the most of a couple extra hours to clean up some scrap. You thought about maybe picking through a few wires from that protocol droid – though he was an ancient model, you could probably scrub up some of his veins, make them look nice. With a bit of sweet talk you were sure you could move them.

So you punched the top of your karkin’ useless caf machine to get it going. As a technician you could likely fix it up nice and easy, make it so it works without you needing to give it a solid thump – but your time was precious. An hour spent fiddling in the back of your caf machine wouldn’t make you any extra credits now would it? But shining up an old catalytic processor from one of them funny decon droids? Well, you could squeeze a couple meals out of that if you could flog it to the right sucker. Once you got the caf brewing, you threw on your coveralls and looked around with itching fingers, grabbing at bits and pieces of scrap from around the room. You then studied them under the warm light of your central lamp to see what you could best shiny up.

So there you were, singing to yourself between sips of caf, stripping the wires from the old proto-droid when everything went awry.

Because that was when a looming figure emerged from the darkness, and you did a startled double-take, in utter disbelief at first – then you jumped out of your skin when you realised it was a person and not a shadow, and that this mystery figure had somehow broken in to your home without you knowing. You reached for the blaster pistol you kept beneath your worktable for moments exactly like this. Though no one had broken in for a long while, your reflexes were and always will be as sharp as the claws of a tooka. They’ve got to be, living in these parts.

When the figure stepped properly into the light, you tried to see if it was someone you recognised. It wasn’t, which made it all the more confounding. It was a stranger, and a real scary looking one at that. A Zabrak man cloaked in all black, with striking black-on-crimson skin and glowing yellow eyes. His entire being oozed darkness, and as unnerving as this situation was, you couldn’t help the intense level of intrigue that mingled with your fear. He was…Maker, he was kind of fine. There was something about those intense eyes, the shrouding black of his tattoos, something about how that low cut tunic suited his hard body so kriffin’ elegantly. You suppressed a snicker, cursing yourself for finding your own home-invader attractive – what a damned fool you were acting. Yes, he may have been good looking, some may even say hot, but he also looked right scary and had broken in.

…But then again you are used to intimidating looking persons making their way through the underworld of your home. And you know that far-away folk can sometimes have different customs to you, maybe customs like silently encroaching on a technician’s business in the middle of the night? Who were you to judge? So what with his good looks and all, this stranger didn’t strike too much fear into your heart.

At least not at first.

You sat on your worktable with your legs crossed, your blaster in hand and pointed at his horned head. “Hey Mister, it’s mighty rude to sneak up on a girl in her own home,” you said, “especially when she’s all by her lonesome in the middle of the night.”

Your eyes ran over his strange markings, and after wracking your memory of all the faces you’ve seen in your time, you realised that you hadn’t ever seen someone who looked quite like him before. When he said nothing, you kept talking.

“What skughole did you crawl out of anyway? I ain’t never seen you round here.”

He still didn’t say anything in reply, and his lack of conversing was starting to feel more threatening than not. You both just stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then you demanded what you should probably have lead with.

“And what the kriff do you want?”

“My transport needs repairs,” he said quietly. He seemed annoyed. At you, specifically, for existing in your own home. Even though he was the one that had disturbed you at a stupid hour, even though he had snuck up on you alone in the middle of the night, he was the one that was cross. There was a passive violence to each word he spoke, as though his patience was already running thin.

“There is a part that I need. I was told here,” he flickers his eyes around your tiny workshop, thoroughly unimpressed, “was where I should go.”

“Grife,” you groaned, relieved.

He was just a customer. Albeit a grumpy one who had broken in way past closing time, but a customer nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you start with that? What’s with all the staring? Here’s me thinking you were some crinkin’ psycho-murderer, or some sleemo that was gonna rob me.”

You froze at your own words, then back-peddled with an awkward smile, “Not that I’ve got nothing worth robbing.” Your arm with the blaster had slightly relaxed, so you straightened it again, putting on your best I-don’t-take-no-kark face. “So don’t get cute with me.”

He just glared at you, and made no movement or sound. He had absolutely no reaction to having a blaster pointed at that handsome, tattooed face of his. This fellow was definitely one to keep an eye on.

“Okay,” you said, slowly lowering your hand. This guy hadn’t made any stupid moves yet, but you could already tell that he was at least a little bit barvy, so though you did lower it, you kept your blaster in hand as you jumped off of the worktable. You rested your free hand on your hip.

“You were told right. I may be able to help.”

He just kept silently glowering. So you carried on.

“It depends on what kinda transport you got. I don’t really do starships, though considering how deep down the levels you are, I don’t think that’s what you’ll be needing.”

You moved over to the corner of the workshop and pointed towards a pile of crates with your blaster. It’s where you keep the most commonly needed vehicle parts, on hand and ready to sell for the passer-by’s just like him. “I’m more of a droids gal. But I got a bunch of speeder parts and I am a great technician so I can give it a go. Whattaya need?”

You had swiftly switched into customer-service mode. You straightened your back and flashed a sweet grin, trying to get a read on how rich this good-looking goon was, how many credits you may be able to squeeze out of him.

But he just huffed and barged straight past you, and began to quickly search through all of the boxes of parts on his own. You stuttered on your next words, a bit miffed at his abrupt rudeness. You were used to sleemos of all breeds, but at least the other ones you had done business with spoke more than a couple of words to you. Not even the pirates acted like this. This horned chap was not only scary-yet-sexy and strange, but also terribly impolite.

It didn’t take long before he was mumbling to himself in annoyance, rifling through all of your crates chaotically, no real sense to what he was doing. He clearly needed your guidance but you supposed he should probably figure that out for himself, so you chuckled in disbelief and leaned back on your worktable, watching the stranger willingly waste his own time. You took the opportunity to admire how he looked from the back, and to be a little bit brazen and maybe sneak a quick peak of his rear...

Wait, were those – were those cybernetic legs? They were, impressive ones at that, and your jaw dropped slightly.

“Well I’ll be Kesseled…” you whispered.

Where the kark did he get those kind of synthetics from? No-where around here you were sure. He was definitely not from these parts. Not at all. But either way, he looked good. You were smiling, enjoying the view of this attractive, angry man - that was until he started chucking your vehicle parts on the floor, and you stood up with a frown to scold him.

“Hey, don’t be so rough with those!”

He only grunted in response. “I told you, I can help!” You reminded him. You rolled your eyes as he ignored you again. You picked up your caf, taking a sip, continuing to watch him suffer in his own stubbornness.

But then…then he started throwing things around without touching them.

And that was just too damn much.

The first time he did it you thought it was a trick of the light. But then he did it again, and again, lifting parts out of the crates with a flick of his hand, then sending them flying across the room.

You gasped and your stomach dropped as you realised that he must be one of those wizard folk you hear so much about. Kriff! What’s one of them doing down here at this time of night? What’s one of them doing in your little workshop? And…Oh kark! All of those parts he’s rifling through…they’re stolen!

Is he here to arrest you? Is he looking for some specific part that was thieved from a rich old scummer up top? You knew that you needed to get him to stop rooting around in those crates, hell, you really needed to get him out of here. And more than that, he was throwing all of your belongings around the workshop hard, breaking them, making a ruckus and a mess, ruining your livelihood!

You snapped yourself out of your shock and said, “Excuse me!” to try and get his attention. He ignored you and continued using his odd magic to throw around the contents of the crates.

“Hey!” You objected louder, “What’s your problem? There is an order to this stuff, just tell me what you want and I can see if I got it!”

He ignored you, continuing his hunt for whatever it was he was looking for.

“Look mister, I don’t want no trouble…” you groaned desperately, “And if I ain’t got what it is that you are looking for – there is another repair shop I can point you to that -”

He interrupted you by pushing over one of your boxes, and it collapsed to the ground with a loud crash as engine and motor parts spilled across the floor. By this point, you had had quite enough of this strange man’s antics. You really had reached the end of your blasted tether with him. So you did what any sensible person would have done in this situation.

You shot a warning blast from your pistol.

However – it came real close to hitting him, and looked more like an attempt on his life than a warning blast. It was a total accident, you had never been a good shot. But of course, he didn’t know that, and so responded accordingly to your threat.

He immediately whirled around, fury and disbelief in his eyes as he brought his hand forward and clenched it into a fist. You felt your throat constrict as you were lifted into the air. You dropped the blaster and reached for your neck, gasping frantically as he choked you without touching you.

What the kriff? He’s not just a little bit barvy, he’s entirely barvy!

Confused, scared and completely overwhelmed, you forced yourself to try and say something, anything to get him to stop. “It…was…just…on…stun,” was all you could croak, trying your best to deescalate this situation.

He growled. “I don’t have time for this!” he shouted. He then dropped you to the ground.

You collapsed into the floor, and gasped in air desperately. “Oh,” you said once you got your breath back, “sir, you’re mighty scary.”

He paused and cocked his head, looking down on you curiously – and it was as if he was seeing you for the first time. The anger abated from his features for a moment, replaced with a puzzled look.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me?!” you squeaked, “What’s wrong with me? Mister, with all due respect to someone of your…um…,” you stuttered, not knowing how to phrase it. He certainly didn’t seem like one of those Jedi wizards. So what was he? “Ugh, you broke into my place in the middle of the night and then started destroying my things without even touching them!”

“So you shot at me?”

“Yes! What else is a girl meant to do in such a situation?” You pulled yourself to your feet, running your hand over your throat. “What the kriff was that all about? What did you go and do that for?”

Karkin’ wizard. That really, really sucked.

“Don’t do that again,” you said. He blinked slowly, as if simultaneously amused and confused by your saying such a thing. He then smirked when he saw your hand caressing the skin of your own throat.

“Why not?” He asked.

You stuttered again. “W-Why not? Why not!?” You raised your voice in frustration. “You bastard, because I’ll shoot you for real next time!” You bent down to pick your blaster back up. But before you could grab it, he sent it to the other side of the room with the flick of a finger.

You scowled at him, and he smirked back at you. A bit better than glaring, you supposed – but then oh no, that didn’t last for long. Because he was soon glaring again. But not in the scary way he did before the wizard-choking.

He started checking you out.

With no shame and no subtlety. He just took the time to properly look you over. He ran his eyes over your body ever so slowly – his line of sight dipped beneath your face, down over your breasts, your stomach, hips and waist, down your legs. And then back up again. He used a languid yet purposeful gaze as he looked over you, assessing and admiring you – thoroughly drinking in the shape of your body. Yes, you thought, he had definitely only just really seen you. His rampage for the transport parts clearly clouded his vision because – well, it was as if he could not get enough of the sight of you now that he was looking.

And it was making you feel…hot.

Maker, yes, he was definitely checking you out. Which was a bit weird considering what had just happened. But what was weirder, was that even after his breaking in, his rudeness, his destruction of your property and his almost choking you to damn death – you liked that he was looking at you in this way. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on your curves caused heat to prick at your cheeks and to pool beneath your belly button. That was when something shifted, and the tension between the two of you morphed into a kind that you were not expecting – but you couldn’t deny that you weren’t mad about where this was heading.

Get it together, you thought to yourself. He may be a looker but he’s also kind of a nutjob. A dangerous one. You can’t go being seduced by someone like him…can you?

“Ain’t never seen a girl in coveralls before?” you asked, as indifferent as you could manage.

He brought his eyes back up to yours. You took a moment to take him in too, his facial tattoos, his glowing eyes, his crown of horns – and oh Maker, those little diamond shaped markings on his nose? How did you not notice them before? Those are truly adorable. Kriff, you wanted to kiss them, you wanted to run your lips over all of his tattoos – to taste his bold, two-toned skin.

When your line of sight dipped down to his lips, and traced over those sharp patterns of black markings just above them, you had to bite your own bottom lip. Because you thought that despite how striking and somewhat frightening he appeared, his lips looked really soft.

And oh by the Galaxy, did you want to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him all over.

Your breath hitched when you pulled up your eyes to meet his again. You tried your best not to smile or smirk. You did not want him to know that he was having this effect on you – a man busts in to a girl’s home, destroys her wares and then uses sorcery to choke her, then she gets all hot and heavy with him? No way, that wouldn’t be a good precedent to set. Not at all. Even so…you did feel a sweet warmth begin to flutter between your thighs, and even though you did want him to sweep you into his weird, wizard arms – you were also still pissed off at him. And you tried to hold on to that. You didn’t really want him knowing the true extent of how badly you wanted him to bend you over your worktable and have his way with you.

Not yet, at least.

You crossed your arms against your chest and sighed, abruptly ending the odd sexually charged moment between the two of you.

He straightened, standing slightly taller. “Help me find this part,” he demanded.

“Pffft, no chance,” you scoffed. “After that little display? Absolutely not.”

He frowned. Then he sighed, and glared (in the scary way) again. “What?” You chuckled, “hasn’t anyone ever told you no before, stranger?”

You held his gaze and refused to budge. Staring him down as if you weren’t frightened and weirdly turned on by his threatening expression.

“I’m not helping you with a crinkin’ thing after that!” you touched your throat again.

“You are being dramatic,” he scoffed, “you shot me!”

He can’t be serious.

“I did not shoot you!” You huffed, in slight disbelief at the audacity of this crook. “I shot at you. And dramatic? Me? I’m not the one who literally emerges from the shadows and throws things around with invisible magic!”

He smirked, and appeared much less menacing with such a smile on his lips. He seemed amused by your reaction. By the Maker, was he teasing you?

“If you do not do what I say,” he shrugged, “then I will take my business elsewhere.”

Oh that karkin’ bastard. He said it as if that would be the most terrible thing in the galaxy for you. You ain’t that desperate! Credits ain’t everything! What, just because you’re poor means you have to put up with laser-brains like him? Absolutely not.

So you smiled as wide as you could. “Oh good! Finally,” you replied, “please leave.”

He didn’t move. He lingered, staring at you, wearing that slightly perplexed expression again.

“Go on then,” you shooed him with your hands. “Run along now, mister.”

Much less amused, he groans. “I don’t have time –”

“For this, yeah, you kriffing said that already.” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help the smirk that painted your lips as you interrupted him. He flashed a brief smile then, clearly entertained. The sight was so sweet, yet also implied such depravity that it shot a searing flare of heat to your sex.

He stepped forward, bringing his face closer to yours. Oh kark, he really is so handsome. Dangerously so. And Maker, he smelled good. A woody, deeply masculine scent that made your heart and mind race.

“For such a pretty little thing,” he said, “you have a filthy mouth.”

A shock of white-hot desire drenched you between your legs. Oh. Now that is just damn unfair. His voice was rich, and it cut straight through to your loins. How could it not? The way he spoke was absolutely loaded with nefarious intentions. It was so bad, but it felt so good, and you grinned. You couldn’t help it. It’s been a while since someone ruffled your feathers like this.

“Honey,” you whispered, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

He released an approving sigh, the corner of his lips tugging into a hesitant smile.

“Yet?” He crooned, “are you promising something?”

You suddenly felt terribly brave. Kriff it, so what if you want to have your way with this deliciously dark stranger? He may be a no good criminal sorcerer who is particularly rude, but how can you expect any better of someone who has business so deep in the levels down here? And a girl wants what she wants. No helping that.

So you leaned into him, looking into his eyes as you softly spoke.

“Hmmm,” you hummed nonchalantly. “You choke every pretty thing you meet?”

“Just the ones I need to tame,” he replied huskily.

You laughed playfully. “Oh Mister, good luck with that,” and you stepped back, then turned around and away from him. You heard him utter one word, deep and explicit.

“Enough.”

That was when he reached forward with a gloved hand and grabbed the back of your neck harshly. You gasped as he pulled you back around in one swift and quick movement, returning you close to him. He positioned you so that his lips were mere centimetres from your own. You could feel the warmth of his breath of your face, and combined with the robust hold on the back of your neck and his rich, commanding voice – Maker, it made your cunt ache with desire, and you wanted to beg him for his touch there and then.

This was happening.

“My name is Maul,” he stated clearly. “Lord Maul. That is how you will address me.”

He was gorgeously domineering. So much so that you immediately wanted to please him, you already craved his praise more than your own climax. But you weren’t just going to grovel, not yet. This was much too fun.

“Is that so,” you snickered back, looking into his eyes. “What’s a fancy Lord like you, doing in parts like these, hm?” As you asked, your gaze flickered down, so mesmerised by those lips of his.

He didn’t answer your question. He was clearly as magnetised to your lips as you were to his, because he just kissed you instead. A hard and wet kiss, his tongue snaking into your mouth as soon as you pushed up into him and kissed him back. He groaned, one of his hands on your waist, another in your hair.

And so here you are now – kissing him, his hands pulling at your hair and your coveralls. Your own fingers having already thrown his robe to floor, and now tugging at the neckline of his tunic, your palms running over the hot red-black of his chest. Kriff. This feels both crazy and irresponsible, but also entirely perfect and necessary. You twirl the both of you around and push him back onto your worktable so that can straddle one of his legs. You are suddenly desperate for friction, the wild, yearnful ache between your thighs utterly unbearable – and so you grind down onto the hardness of his metal synthetic limb. He groans his approval into your mouth, and his touch becomes harder, his grasp tighter.

“I thought you didn’t have time for this my Lord,” you whisper into the kiss. He bites your lip in response, and you snicker a soft tut.

“Mmm,” he hums, his hands running down your shoulders, around to your back and then he reaches down and squeezes hard at your ass. You hiss and arch into the touch, and he raises his leg, rubbing the firmness of it into the growing wetness of your sex. “You really are a wicked little thing.”

You purr at his observation, deepening your kiss and sucking on his tongue. You pull his tunic off and claw at the newly revealed flesh. His skin is so hot, and all you can think about is licking him, biting him, grinding your slickness all over him. You pull your lips from his to trail them across his jaw and up to his ear.

“Yes,” you agree with him, “Though I’m not usually like this – I swear.” He groans, one of his hands now grasping tightly on your hip, pulling your body down roughly onto his leg. You rub into him automatically, frantic for his touch. “You put a spell on me or something?” you whisper.

He moves your face to bring your lips back to his, and his kiss becomes lethargic and gentle, as if you are suddenly the most breakable little lady in the galaxy. “What should I call you?” he asks.

“Oh cut the kark,” you chide him harshly. “I know you’re from one of those no good crime gangs. Don’t act like you’re some kind of gentleman kissing me all soft like that, asking for my name like you care who I am.”

He grunts, and grasps your face, and then brings his lips to your ear. “So you like gangsters, is that it? You like criminals? Bad men?”

Oh Maker. Now this feels a bit dangerous. But it also feels so good. Your core is burning up real nice now, and you think that you might not be able to hang on much too longer before you really do melt into a puddle at his feet.

“Depends,” you reply in a hoarse voice. “Are you a gangster? A criminal?”

He bucks his leg up into you then, and a sharp moan falls from your lips as he rubs against that sweet bundle of nerves through the material of your coveralls.

“Are you a bad man, Lord Maul?” you coo as you grind down on to him.

He groans, kissing at your throat, running his teeth over the sensitive skin. You gasp at the sharp scraping pain it causes, but lean into it, allowing him to mark you.

Your hands explore his body and roam lower, down his torso and to his hips. Then your fingers graze over something cold, a long cylinder of metal. A weapon? Two of them. You find on the opposing side of him that there is another, a shorter one, and less smooth, more –

He snatches your wrist at once, and pulls on your arm hard. “Do not even think about it,” he commands.

You tut and giggle at his seriousness. “Whatever.”

He whirls on you then, switching your positions so that you are now against the worktable, pulling back from you yet holding tightly on to your wrist with a strong hand.

“What’s so funny, girl?” he questions you.

And then there is suddenly a cold pressure beneath your face. Your eyes meet his, and a shock of numbness washes over you as you understand the threat of what he is doing. He is using the hilt of the weapon you just touched to tilt your head up, to make you look at him. The weapon, that you now understand, is a lightsaber. Of course. The chosen weapon of sorcerers everywhere. You haven’t ever seen one this close up before, you haven’t had the misfortune of crossing the kind that uses them. But of course, you have caught a glimpse of the glowing blades in your lifetime, as they never fail to cause a scene. They always make quite the ruckus – especially when wielded by the types of people down here, thugs who end up with them from the black market...or more rarely, from slaying a wizard themselves.

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“N-not anymore, I suppose…” you squeak in reply, your voice wobbling at having such a weapon against your skin.

He slowly drags the hilt of his blade down your throat, a cruel ghost of a smile on his lips. He is clearly enjoying rattling you in this way. He is gentle though, the touch has basically no pressure now. It is a delicate caress of cold danger as it grazes your flushed, kiss bruised skin. His eyes dip and follow the hilt as it trails lower, down to the collar of your coveralls.

“You like what you see?” You whimper, any bite that you intended with the comment does not translate. Surprisingly, you are far too turned on at this point for any of your sass to cut through.

He nods apathetically, as if he does not really care one way or another. Karkin’ bastard, you think. His eyes have now dipped beneath your clothing, pulling your neckline down with his saber hilt to admire your breasts. What a day to not wear your chest wrap.

“Hmm,” he groans, pulling the hilt away from you, releasing your wrist from his grasp. You whimper at the loss, and he looks at you in surprise.

“Why…” you start, “why’d you stop?”

“You want me to carry on?”

You nod.

“Tell me,” he says.

You bring your hands to your neckline, then swiftly undo the front of your coveralls, pulling the upper half free from your shoulders so that your naked chest is now exposed to him. Then you push the garment lower, exposing your stomach. You push it down until it hangs off of your hips, not yet revealing anything below your lower abdomen.

“Keep going,” you say softly. You lean back on the worktop on your hands, shaking your hair out of your face and behind yourself, then arch your back so you push your chest forward for him.

“Please,” you add, for good measure.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his yellow eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your newly exposed skin, glazing greedily across your breasts and nipples. And then he moves, he moves so fast, returning the hilt of his blade to your throat.

And then – then he also has the hilt of his second blade in his hand, the longer one. He rests it gently against your sternum, just under and between your breasts. You release a sharp hiss, the threat of two of these weapons on your body now almost too much for you. Almost.

He keeps the first hilt hard at your throat, keeping your head up and your eyes on his. The touch of the other is much lighter. The metal of the long, cylindrical hilt is cold, and he drags it down, ever so slowly. Until it meets and passes your belly button. Then lower and lower, until it hitches on your clothing. He tuts, dragging the hilt down harder, pulling it over the material and continuing the leisurely journey down your body.

Then he slides it between your legs.

You gasp gently as you feel the cold metal press against the blazing heat of your sex through the material that separates it from you. The hardness of it feels good but - dare you grind down on to it? You do not know how these things work, how they are powered.

He smirks, as if he can sense what you want, and your hesitation in doing so. “How badly do you need my touch?” He asks. “And be honest with me,” he insists.

You take a long, deep breath. You do not dare lie to him.

“Mister, I’ve wanted you to bend me over this here table since I first saw that handsome face of yours.”

He pushes the hilt up into your cunt hard – both your fear and desire surge, and a flustered moan is torn from your throat. He warns you, “I told you how to address me.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Good girl,” he praises you quietly, leaning forward and planting a peck on your lips.

Then he pulls his weapons away from your body, and returns them to their place on his hips. You release a tortured breath, whining pathetically at the loss. Then you reach forward, wanting to touch him, wanting him to touch you. You run your fingers down his arms, and then you take one of his hands in your own. You peel his glove off and throw it to the ground. You do the same to his other hand, then you bring them both to your lips to kiss them. His hands are rough and marked by those black tattoos – they extend up his fingers, bleeding into his long black nails. The markings are not as bold on his hands and fingers as the rest of his body, his palms especially, faded from years of friction with his choice of weapon, you assume. You squeeze at his wrists, and then bring his hands to your chest, encouraging him to feel you.

“Please,” you say, “please touch me.”

You close your eyes and throw your head back as a clawed finger scratches down your left breast, then he takes the bud of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You shudder, and your breath hitches as his touch sends shivers of hot desire through your core.

He cups your right breast in his other hand. “I have been holding back…” he whispers, and then squeezes you, hard. “Holding back, all of the things that I want to do to you...”

“Why?” you ask, slightly surprised. You open your eyes, keeping them trained on his face. He is looking down at the bare skin of your breasts, watching his own long nails scratch and pinch the soft flesh of them.

“I did not know if you were truly willing,” he says.

You noted his use of the past tense. “Did not? Do you know now?”

His eyes dance across your erect nipples, how you are keening into his fingers. Then they flicker down to witness the way that you wantonly try to grind your clothed sex into his cybernetic leg.

“Hmm. I have an idea,” he replies. “Though I would prefer you to use your words.”

“Yes,” you say, “Yes, I am willing.”

He tilts his head very gently.

“I want you, Lord Maul,” you whine, and addressing him in this way causes a sly smile to tug at his lips. One of his hands is suddenly around your throat, and your face is intimately close to his again.

“If you change your mind, you will tell me immediately,” he insists.

“Yes,” you whimper, “of course.”

“Good,” he says. Then, much huskier in tone, “you will do as I say?”

“Yes,” you confirm, that carnal ache between your thighs becoming almost too much to bear. “Yes, anything.”

“Then strip naked,” he demands, pulling you off of the table and stepping back.

You obey him without hesitation, hooking your fingers into the material at your hips and pulling the remainder of your clothing down. You then step out of the coveralls, now wearing only your panties.

You simper at him, leaning back against the table.

“I said naked,” he reaffirms, scowling at your accidental insolence.

Before you get the opportunity to fix your mistake, he is on you. He picks you up easily, and effortlessly places you on to the workstation. He then throws everything that is on the table to the ground with an indifferent wave of his hand. The loud clatter of metal smashing on the floor makes you groan in annoyance – but you do not feel anything more than mild irritation at his apathy towards your work and your tools, towards your personal belongings. It should probably make you much more furious. It should probably make you want to slap the bastard to the other side of the galaxy. You should care, you should be mad, you should tell him to kriff himself and to get the kark out of here – but you can’t.

Because you don’t want to. You are now consumed only by lust. In fact – Maker, you want the table cleared and ready for you, you want him to disregard absolutely everything that isn’t your body. And by the Planets – there is something about his destructive nature that is utterly bewitching. How his touch, no matter how violent, makes your body only yearn more for him. How his words, no matter how threatening, makes you want to naturally submit to whatever he says. How you crave only to obey him as if it is what you were created to do.

He throws you down on to your back and pulls your legs apart, then positions himself between them. He is now standing up straight, each of your legs on either of his shoulders. He runs his hard, callused hands down them, feeling the softness of your bare skin. He starts at your ankles, and moves insufferably slow down the length of them towards your cunt. When he reaches your lower thighs, he dips his hands inwards and spreads his fingers, squeezing at the flesh of the inside of them before roughly spreading you open. You let out a loud, shocked moan, but then it bleeds into a needy whimper as he begins to lightly touch the edge of your panties. You start to needily arch your back, impatiently trying to push your cunt forward into his touch. Before you are able to fully do so, a hand pushes down on your lower torso, returning you flat against the surface of the table.

“Stay still,” he demands.

You whimper into submission, your fists clenched in anticipation as he ever so slowly runs his fingers across the thin material above your sex, teasing you with his featherlight touch. You are lust-stricken as you look up at him looming above you. His toned chest moves calmly with steady breaths, the shadow of his crown of horns appears so regal in the low-light, and his glowing eyes are fixated solely on how his tattooed fingers taunt your dripping cunt. He hums a moan as he reaches your entrance, lingering on the damp material of your underwear. “So wet already,” he says with a tut. “And I haven’t even begun.”

And then he is cupping your cunt with his palm, and the heat of his hand feels so good that it is too much to bear, so you go to sit up, to shove yourself forward and rub into him – but you are swiftly thrown back by an unseeable Force, struck down into the hard metal of your worktable, as if he had heaved a great weight on top of you. But there is nothing there; one of his hands squeezes your inner thigh, the fingers of the other making light circles over your underwear. But you now lie there unmoving, as if strapped to the table with invisible bindings, and no matter how hard you try to thrash around, you cannot budge an inch.

“I am in control,” he says. “If you will not stay down, then I will make you stay down.”

You can only groan in retaliation, a mix of frustration and pure heat coursing through your veins. “Do you understand?” he asks. You feel a slight slackening on your ghostly chains, just enough for you to nod at him. “Good. Now tell me, you filthy, wicked little whore,” he smirks, “do you enjoy being subjected to my power in this way?”

“Yes,” you reply instantly, “yes.” He must also enjoy holding you down like this, because you immediately return to being unable to move at all. You cry out a broken “please,” practically begging him to strip you down, to please keep going – and he hums a cruel chuckle as you continue to whine for his touch.

He must take pity on you then, because he permits you the small mercy of finally being bare for him. The fingers of both of his hands skirt up to the top of your underwear, his nails slip beneath them and he pulls them down. He tugs them past your rear, then uses one of his hands to raise up your legs, the other he uses to pull your panties off of you. He throws them aside, then ever so slowly, painfully slowly, spreads your thighs again.

He sharply inhales as he finally takes pleasure in the sight of your soaked cunt. “Oh,” he groans huskily, “you are simply desperate for this, are you not?” He brings his eyes back to yours, and you groan in agreement. Yes, yes, Maker damn him, you are entirely in despair, so utterly teeming with desire that you cannot think. When you see his fingers dip out of view between your legs, you flutter your eyes shut and take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the sweet relief of his touch, for a reprieve from his torment.

As his fingers circle your clitoris and he finally exerts some pressure onto you, you cry out in relief. Now that he is finally touching you, the noises he coaxes from you cannot be silenced. They never could be, even if he gagged you or forced your mouth shut with his wizardry, you would find a way to moan his name, to purr your high-pitched, gratified whines. It feels much too good. His fingers glide down the slickness of your slit, and you want nothing more than to move closer to him, for him to rub into you harder – but you are still held down to the table with his power. It is an addictive, dizzying frustration, being authorised only micro-doses of his touch. Not yet satisfied, so desperate for more – yet overwhelmingly grateful for more when it inevitably arrives.

“Good,” he praises you, “let me hear you.” You do not need to be told twice. Unable to physically react or squirm beneath him, all you are able to do is sob your approval in hearty, raw moans as he begins to work your aching cunt with his hands. He moves harder, then faster, listening to your whimpers to determine the specific spots that will most exploit your pleasure. Then he teases at your entrance, and pushes into you slowly. Kriff. His fingers dance the sweetest rhythm between your thighs, and the welcome intrusion is dazzling. He slips in a second finger, crooning them both deep inside of you – and then Maker, a third. As he stretches you out, you already feel the hot coil of climax stir in your lower abdomen. It will not be long now – but you wish you could move, that you could sit up and watch him plunge his fingers in and out of you as you come all over them.

At that exact moment, you are released from your invisible bondage, movement returned to your body. “Writhe for me, pretty girl,” he commands. And you do, as he works his fingers in and out of you with one hand, the fingers of his other dancing circles on your clit – you contort in pleasure beneath his touch, your back arching, your hands gripping the sides of the table with tense knuckles. This stranger, this terrifying and intoxicating man – kark, with such simple movements he is making you feel a way that no one else has ever been able to before. You rock down into his hands, and he groans at your shamelessness, at your unabashed desperation. “Please,” you whine, “please, I’m going to – ”

“No,” he says sternly. “Not yet.”

His commanding voice does not help his cause, as it cuts deep into your blossoming orgasm, flaming it further onwards. You ignore his instruction and groan as you begin to clamp down on to his fingers, throwing your head back and awaiting that glorious tide of satisfaction to wash over you. But it never comes, you never come. Because he growls and pulls himself out of you. Depriving you of your climax, leaving you empty and whimpering pathetically beneath him.

“I said not yet,” he reiterates harshly. Then you sit up and raise your eyes to his face. He releases an irritated tsk, then says, “such insolence will not go unpunished.”

You are sitting up now, looking at him with bewilderment and disbelief painted across your features. You watch as the bastard spits at your cunt, which sends a surprising hot jolt of pleasure up your body. What the Galaxy? Why was that so kriffing hot? You find yourself wanting him to do it again. He then gives your sex a sharp smack, and you cry out a startled whine. He grins, pulling your legs forward so you are now perching at the end of the table, so very close to him again.

Then he is taking the hilt of the longer lightsaber from his hip and bringing it to your face.

You curse under your breath as he places the tip of it against your cheek. The thrill of having such a dangerous weapon on your body again surges through you, and you go to grind on to him, his leg, his fingers, anything – you just want to rub down onto something. He smirks callously, his eye line flickering down as you clench on nothing, empty and destitute of satisfaction.

“Patience,” he says, pushing the saber hilt against your lips, his eyes darken as he senses both the lust and fear it stirs inside of you. You take a deep breath through your nose, and then boldly, you look into his eyes and purse your lips, kissing the hilt of his weapon.

“Brave girl,” he observes, then catches your chin in his free hand. He pulls down on your lower jaw, and you let him open your mouth. He glares at you, and you know what he wants. So you push out your tongue and he places the hilt on to it, holding your face still as he pushes it deeper into your mouth.

You have a sharp, jarring moment of fear-based clarity – where you think, what the kriff are you doing? This is a lightsaber. Not any old metal blade or a karking blaster with the safety on, a saber, which could ignite at any moment and tear your face in half. Again, you consider – that logically, you should be terrified, if you were sensible you would be pulling away and telling this man where he can shove his blasted laser sword. But you don’t. Because in this moment, you aren’t logical or sensible. You don’t want to be. You want to take his weapon in your mouth, you want to let him discipline you for you indiscretions, to spit and smack and hurt you. Maker, why does this feel so good? It does not seem to make any sense, how absolutely depraved you are feeling, how much you yearn for his dominance. But it doesn’t have to make sense. Because the newness of such a craving is exciting, this brazen dalliance is so dreamlike. You know more than anything that you want this, that you want it to be this way. And you know that you will do anything for him, to please and pleasure him, to gain his permission for your orgasm.

“There she is,” he purrs, watching your face relax around the blade’s hilt as you fully give in to his control, submitting fully to his will. “There’s my obedient little slut.” He chuckles, a powerful and cold sound – “Oh, I knew you had it in you.”

He pulls the saber out of your mouth quickly, and it makes you jump. He hushes you and cups your cheek in his palm, then plants a gentle kiss on your lips. “Good girl,” he praises you. You whimper into his mouth, your cunt now blazing for the return of his touch, of any touch – and so you automatically go to move your hands so that you can play with yourself. He catches your wrist with a tut. “Oh, I am not done yet,” he warns.

He steps back and places the both of his weapons to the side. Then he pulls away the material that covers his upper legs. You blink rapidly as you take in the sight of his cybernetics, not only at how impressive they are – but in awe at the fact that he has a cybernetic cock. Your mouth waters in pleasant surprise. You did not expect this, you did not know such a thing existed. “Kriff,” you mutter, running your eyes over the hard length of him – solid and thick, the colour as dark as the black ink of his tattoos, and though you recognise that it is synth-skin that coats the outer layer of it, you do not know synthetics of this kind well enough to say with certainty how he will feel inside of you.

Making you all the more exhilarated to find out.

“So vulgar,” he scolds you, and swiftly his hands are on you, pulling you down to the ground by the back of your neck, and pushing you on to your knees before him. “Now,” he says, grabbing the back of your hair with a strong fist, “shall we put that filthy mouth of yours to good use?” You are already salivating, so ready to take him in your mouth, to taste him. He tugs on your hair to make your eyes meet his, and his expression is expectant.

“When I ask you a question,” he growls, “you answer me.”

“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Better,” he says. “So?”

You nod, “yes, please, let me – ”

He cuts you off. “Open.”

You obey him. Then he slides his pointer and middle finger into your mouth, still so slick with your own wetness. You suck him in further, and with a groan he pushes deeper, teasing your throat, your tongue brazenly lapping at the taste of yourself on his fingers. You close your eyes and moan as he reaches further in, and his knuckles knock into your teeth. He hums a moan, then he is pulling out quickly with a wet popping noise. He curses in language you cannot quite place, but the sound is rich and laced with a sensual hunger.

“I cannot resist you anymore,” he confesses. You suck in a greedy breath, your eyes fluttering open, looking forward to the length of his cock. “Look up, look at me,” he commands, “let me see those eyes.”

You do as he says, and though you cannot see him do it, you know that he takes his cock in his hand. “Put your hands on my legs,” he says. You rest them just above his metal knees, on the synth-skin of his thighs. “They stay there,” he says. “If you want me to stop, you tap me. Twice. Do it now.” You do. “I can feel that. If you do that I will stop. Do you understand?”

You nod, and a moaning hum slips from your lips in anticipation of what is to come.

“Good girl. Now open your mouth for me.”

You obey. “Do not dare be careless,” he warns, “I can feel everything.” Then he brings the tip of his cock to your lips, and pushes inside. You lick at his shaft, working on getting him wet, tasting the hardness of him. He tastes and feels like real skin, though his cock is really firm, harder than an organic one – but he is not as tough as durasteel or metal. As you work on taking him further into your mouth, you moan around his cock, imagining the feel of him deep inside of your cunt, dreaming about how hot and full you would feel. Will feel – with any luck, soon. Both of his hands are in your hair now, and he tugs you forward, encouraging himself deeper.

“That’s it,” he purrs, “you are already doing so well.”

Your nipples keen into hard buds at his praise, your aching cunt clenching on to nothing. You want to touch yourself – you even think about it. But you do not dare move your hands, you no longer want to disobey him. You want to please him, this cold, dangerous stranger, you want to prove yourself to him. And more selfishly, you cannot possibly risk depriving yourself of the bliss that you will earn once you have followed his instructions. You focus on breathing through your nose, and you squeeze on his legs as he begins a steady thrust in and out of your mouth. He moves faster, and you begin to choke, making raspy, wet and ragged noises. He pulls out with a loud groan, and you gasp, a thread of spittle still connecting you to his shaft.

“Good,” he groans, letting you get your breath back. “Now deeper.”

And then he shoves himself back inside. You work on swallowing him down, switching between holding your breath and breathing through your nose, trying to determine what works best. Once you get the hang of it, he holds on to your head tightly, then buries his cock deep in your throat. Then he pulls back, and you gasp, steadying your breathing. He does this several times, a chaotic, hard set of thrusts – then holds himself in as deep as you can take him, then he releases you, and you gasp for air, your eyes streaming and lips dribbling with your own spit.

“You messy little whore,” he mutters, running a finger down your cheek, now stained with tears. You heave in deep breaths, looking up at him. You feel a deep resentment for him, still holding a grudge for his rudeness and his entitlement – but at the same time, those same qualities make you feel so hot, so attracted to him. They make you want to please him, and as you look up at him with wide, wet eyes, you are find you are hoping for some kind of praise. He obliges. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you, “you look prettier than ever.” You smile and squeeze his legs.

“Again,” he says. You take him back in your mouth. On instinct and without really noticing, you slide one of your hands down his leg, your cunt desperate for your own fingers. He notices though, of course – and loosens a hand from your hair to catch your wrist and put your hand back.

“No,” he insists. “You want to touch yourself so badly? Then you need to earn it,” he says. “Prove you deserve it.”

So you do. You begin to bob your head, working the length of him in and out of your mouth. “Try harder. Lean on me,” he says. You do so, putting your weight forward against him via your hands as you desperately work your mouth over his length, focusing only on pushing him deep into your throat and out again, over and over, breathing sporadically through your nose, choking on him and your own saliva, making a complete and utter mess of yourself. You have no idea how long you are on your knees for him, but you enjoy every second. You love being told what to do, you find great satisfaction in making him moan, and the longer you take his cock in this way, the better you get at it. His growls and groans of pleasure are each more guttural than the last. You are so lost in the moment that you do not realise he has had his fill of your mouth until you are being lifted from the ground.

“Up,” he says, taking your elbow in his hand and heaving you to your feet. You settle on unsteady legs, weak from being down on the floor for so long, and from the intensity of your carnal appetite – Maker, your cunt is absolutely dripping. You cannot remember a time ever being so wet.

He snakes a hand through your hair, clearing your face and taking the opportunity to look at you. He growls softly, “pretty, filthy girl. I am going to ravish you,” he promises. Before you get a chance to respond, he lifts you back on to the table, and with a grin pushes you down into it with his sorcery – though he does not hold you down once you are there.

He drops to his knees before you - and positions himself so that the only part of you he can see is your sodden cunt. You lean up to watch him, and his hands grasp on tightly to your hips. He pulls you forward, your legs over his shoulders, and your weight onto him – then buries his face between your thighs.

It is instantly the most incredible, dizzying pleasure you have ever experienced. He laps at your clitoris with excessive devotion, and the determined swirl of his tongue is pure bliss – it sends sweet surges of hot satisfaction through your body, and oh Maker, he is relentless – he doesn’t stop, he hardly breathes, he just focuses entirely on your pleasure, on the wet, sultry deliciousness of your sex. It is so euphoric that you begin to believe you have fallen into an entirely different state of being.

His strong voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to come?” he asks into your slickness, his hot breath as gorgeous a feeling as the caress of his tongue. “Would you like that?”

You reply with a string of pathetic whines, crying out “yes, yes, yes” over and over again. He chuckles, a deep booming laugh of pity that vibrates into your lower half. “Then come, you beautiful girl,” he says, “I want you to come.”

Then his tongue is back on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you fast and hard, both hitting those wonderful parts of you exactly where you need them to – and it is so incredibly perfect. You squeeze your thighs around his head, and the horns at his temples dig into your soft flesh. You throw yourself back to the worktable with abandon, your hands grasp at your own breasts, your lips release frenzied moans. And then you are coming – a scorching orgasm, profound and consuming, it washes across the entirety of your body. Your cunt clenches on to his thrusting fingers, and he doesn’t stop his movements, not one bit. He keeps pumping and licking, working you with the utmost dedication, dragging out your peak as long as he can. Your legs begin to shake, and when your climax finally abates and your muscles relax – your mind is scattered and clouded in an orgasm-stricken haze.

You moan in contentment, unable to speak. He hums into your cunt, teasing and smug. “Are you quite ready for me?” He asks, “are you ready to take my cock now? Do you think that you deserve it?” He plants a final, gentle kiss on your slit as he pulls back and stands up.

You cannot seem to form what you want to say, still so speechless from your peak. You can only bring yourself to spread your thighs in response, opening yourself up to him and hoping he understands. “Mmm,” he moans. “I do like to see you in this way. But use your words,” he demands. “Tell me what I know you want.”

“P-please,” you whine, and he looms over you, settling himself between your legs which are opened up so wide for him. He stares down at your cunt, so perfectly soaked and stretched, just begging to be used by him. His hands run up your body, and then he is leaning over you and his lips are at your neck, his tongue hot and wet lapping at your skin, as if he can encourage the words out of you with his kisses. It works. “Yes,” you whimper, as he drags his teeth down, sharp and wild as he bites at the soft flesh of your breasts. “Yes, please.”

He catches your wrist as he moves back, pulling you to your feet. Then he whirls you around and bends you over the table, crossing your arms behind your back, gripping on to them tightly.

“Take me,” you moan, “take me, please, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, aligning his cock at your entrance. You try and move back into him, but his grasp on you is rock solid. “We have already practiced this, sweet, filthy girl,” he says. “Stay still.”

You stop moving, doing as he says. With a sigh of approval, he uses the cold metal of his lower synthetic leg to spread your thighs open further, and then he pushes his cock into you. He groans as he easily slips inside, your cunt so wet from all of his previous attention. You cry out enthused, whimpering moans as he then begins to move in and out of you, slow at first as you adjust to the length of him. But then he rocks into you hard, and he is soon in to the hilt – and Maker, the feeling of fullness is even better than you first imagined. He thrusts hard, over and over again, smacking the full weight of himself into you with each pound of his cock. One of his hands still holds your wrists tightly behind your back, the other he uses to grab the back of your neck, pushing you down firmly into the table.

He moves so rapidly, his cock drumming into you at a deliciously quick pace, his weight so heavy and severe against your backside. You groan through gritted teeth, and his hand slips to your throat, pulling your head up so that when he leans forwards, his lips are at your ear.

“You can take it,” he says, then slides two fingers into your mouth, and you moan around them as he pounds into you, again and again and again. He eventually lets go of you, throwing you down without concern – and you can tell from that gesture alone that he has been holding back, and that such weakness ends here. He is about to give you his all.

And by the Galaxy, are you ready for it.

He moves his hands to your ass and grips at you hard, his long nails claw at your soft flesh, using you as leverage to truly tame you, using the drumming rhythm of his cock to ride you into total submission. He does not relent, he just keeps going and going. He is merciless as he has his way with you, growling deep, harsh noises as he uses you and your body for his own gratification. It is so intoxicating, and you lie there unmoving, limp and pliant for the taking. He keeps going and going, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each moan he growls stoking that carnal fire within – until there it is, and another roaring orgasm tears through you, and it is such a thundering ecstasy that you scream his name again and again and again. He praises you with brash and filthy words, telling you how good and tight you are as your walls clamp around him.

You pant, breathing through the frenzy with deep, desperate gasps. He pulls out of you and grabs your body, throwing you to the floor. You laugh as he catches you just before you hit the ground. “My hero,” you say sarcastically. He lowers you down gently on to your back and falls between your legs. “I thought that I actually shut you up,” he says with a smirk. You lean up to catch that smug smile of his in a passionate kiss. He sucks on your tongue, then he sheathes himself back inside of you. You moan into his mouth, and he kisses you over and over again as he restarts that beautiful, hard rhythm.

“Tell me your name,” he groans between kisses, “tell me.” You gasp as he thrusts his cock inside of you deeply, holding your frame tightly in his arms as he does so. You reveal to him your name, pecking the corner of his mouth after you say it. Then he repeats it back to you, and the way he says it – kriff, it is such a gorgeous, addictive sound coming from his lips, such music when it is said in his rich and commanding voice.

“Look at me,” he demands into your lips. You pull away from the kiss to do as he says. “Keep your eyes on my face now. I want you to watch me as I ravish you.”

You lie back and hook your legs around his hips, gazing up at him as he takes you harshly into the ground. His handsome, tattooed face is no longer hard and unmoving like when you first saw him. He is thoroughly enjoying you, his expression softened with pure delight and satisfaction, his bright eyes burning into yours – until he stutters in his movements, until his moans become a decadent mix of curses, until his grasp on you tightens and he shuts his eyes as your heat and your obedience coax him into his own climax.

He groans through it, slowing his movements and breathing heavily, until his hold on you becomes lax and he slowly slumps forward on top of you. You pant beneath him, your heart racing. Maker. That was incredible, of course but – but it was also absolutely the most barvy and unexpected thing you have experienced in a long time. And by the Planets - you are shattered. You are certain now that you will finally be able to get some sleep tonight. You wrap your arms around Maul’s neck, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He hums a “mmm”, softly removing himself from within you and then lying beside you, so that you are both on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. You are both silent for a few moments. You tilt your head towards him to look at him, taking in the sight of his side profile. He is so striking, even when he is at ease like this, when he is calm and truly relaxed. His eyes are closed now, and he is clearly still basking in the euphoria of his own orgasm. You don’t actually know how it works, how his cybernetics allow him to experience such a thing – but it must feel damn good, considering how serene this once terrifying, severe man appears now. His fingers find their way to your hand and he traces small, gentle circles into your palm.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“I’ve been better,” you reply.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head towards you with a glare, and you grin.

“Nah, I’m just playing with you,” you say, rolling onto your side. “I feel great.”

He smirks, doing the same, moving to lie on his side. He bends his arm and leans his head on to his hand. “This was unexpected,” he says.

You roll your eyes and shoot him a look. He smirks again, taking a deep breath. “A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.”

You nod in agreement, curling your body into yourself. He runs his free hand up your arm, watching as you smile at his touch. There is a moment of raw fondness between you, and it is strange – but also nice.

“Well…” he says, then his eyes glaze past your face and he stares behind you, and then he squints, that puzzled expression returning. “What?” you say curiously. He smirks, raising his hand from your arm, up into the air. A piece of metal shoots past your head and into his hand. “That’s just what I was looking for.”

You stutter, “you bastard, that almost hit me!”

He rolls his eyes and then sits up, groaning as he eventually stands. You stay on the floor, trying to summon the energy to crawl over to your sleep mat.

“You’re gonna have to pay me for that,” you say.

He slowly turns his head, raking his eyes over you and flashes an amused smile.

Then you understand how that sounded. “No not for that, no the – ” you groan. “For the part, laser-brains.” You sit up and reference the multitude of broken scrap around you. “And for all of this mess too, actually.”

He dresses himself, grabbing his weapons with a self-satisfied expression as he hooks them to his hips.

“I’m good for it,” he says.

“Yeah, sure, I’ve heard that before.”

“I’ll wire it over,” he mutters, “where is your – ”

“Fine,” you point to the other side of the room, where your datapad is. “You better.”

“What?” He says, picking it up and tapping at the thing – presumably, hopefully actually sorting the payment. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You are so lucky you’re a looker,” you say, rolling over, heaving yourself on to your sleep mat, and pulling your blanket over you to cover your nakedness. He throws the datapad down, then picks up his robe from the floor.

“Hey – I didn’t tell you how much you owe me!”

“It’s covered,” he says.

“Good,” you laugh, “Now get out of here. You rudely broke in here, and now I’m rudely kicking you out. I need to sleep, even more so now that I have to deal with the ruckus you’ve caused in here tomorrow. And I know that you don't have time for this. You are clearly a very busy man, you've got some crimes to commit I’m sure.”

“Something like that,” he says.

“Who told you to come here anyway?” You ask, “you said someone told you this was the place to come get your parts?”

“Some Rodian in the tavern down there,” he replies indifferently, pointing in the direction he means, then pulling on his robe.

Ah. So maybe she was your friend after all. Or maybe she just felt bad for swindling you for the box of trash. Or maybe she really hated you and sent a murderous wizard your way, hoping for your demise. Either way, you were mighty grateful she did send him on his way to you. You just had the best sex of your life, and now you were about to finally get some decent shut eye. Maybe you’d even buy her a drink.

Maybe. Depends on what you can sell those damn parts for.

“By the way,” you say before he leaves, “I’m sorry for shooting at you.” Then you blow him a kiss in an exaggerated gesture. “I’m sure glad I missed.”

He scowls, then takes one last look at you, orgasm-dazed and relaxed on your sleep mat – and he smirks.

“Mmmm,” he says. “Also, I did not break in, as you put it so many times. I walked in. You left the door unlocked.”

“Awh, hell,” you say. “Get that for me on the way out, will you?”

“As long as you leave it open next Primeday,” he shoots you that sultry glare that you have grown to like so much.

You huff a laugh. “If I don’t, be sure to break in anyway.”

Then he disappears into the shadows, and when you hear the click of the door’s lock, you close your eyes. Karkin’ wizard, you think, finally exhausted enough to fall asleep.

The usual racket of Level 1313 does not wake you for the rest of the night and into the late morning, not even once.

my ao3 / my masterlist

tagging: @corona-one @seriowan @kimageddon @gggoldfinch @elledjarin @lifeless-being @the-good-shittt

#darth maul #darth maul fanfiction #darth maul fic #maul fanfiction #maul fic #darth maul x reader #darth maul smut #my fic #star wars smut #maul x reader #maul x you #darth maul x you #eloquentmoon

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whoree321 · 3 years

Note

yo can i get some tech x chaotic gender neutral reader headcanons?

(fuck yeah bestie you understood the assignment. also i kinda went on my own interpretation of chaotic so if you had something a little different in mind lmk and i can make adjustments!)

tech x chaotic!gn!reader headcanons

ok so here’s the thing about tech

he is literally surrounded by/related to some of the most chaotic individuals in the entire galaxy

like wrecker? crosshair? talk about a hot mess express

and let’s not act like he doesn’t have his own little chaotic streak festering beneath that rigid hairline

so long story short, when you come along in all your chaotic glory, it really isn’t a big adjustment for him

he might be a little surprised after he first meets you (how could someone so alluring and attractive also have that personality??) but overall your presence is simply an addition to the pre-existing insanity of the bad batch

he notices right away how well you fit in with his brothers (matching wrecker’s rambunctiousness or crosshair’s quiet nefariousness or both in your own special way) and tbh he’s a little jelly

and by a little jelly i mean he’s 100% super jealous

he watches how you joke around with them and plan pranks with wrecker and make dark commentary with crosshair and how your antics get a laugh out of echo and sometimes even hunter and how well your energy matches theirs and part of him absolutely hates it

(the other part, of course, is too busy being enamoured by the music of your laugh and the mischievous twinkle in your eye and the electric brush of your shoulder against his armor when you move past him in the cockpit of the marauder to really form an opinion on your relationship with his brothers)

despite his envy, tech is not the type to allow his emotions to derail positive outcomes (on missions or in personal matters)

he’s not gonna spoil y’alls fun or even let you know he’s upset about it. if there’s one thing tech thinks he can do it’s keep his emotions in check

when chaos ensues, he regards you with the same familiar condescension and snark he uses with wrecker (although you realize quickly there’s an amusement in his gaze when he mocks you that’s absent when he speaks to the others)

as much as he loathes the current situation, he ultimately also recognizes that it’s no ones problem but his that you are more compatible for individuals with personality types more like wrecker or crosshair

(little does he know you’ve had your eye on him and only him pretty much the whole time)

before your relationship, tech is the unsuspecting victim of a lot of your tomfoolery

you tend to mess with him the most (totally not bc you have a crush on him or anything nononono)

hiding a tool or his data pad when he’s not looking? a classic

“tech i have no idea where your wrench is i don’t even know what it looks like” “y/n you play this practical joke approximately 3.7 times a standard week I know you are lying”

stating completely made up facts about different things or places with full confidence and arguing with him when he corrects you? tried and true

“fun fact: loth cats actually have a secret fifth leg tucked up underneath them and it only comes out in extreme emergency circumstances” “that could not be more untrue” “ok well have you ever checked” “…no, but..” “see tech there’s just some things you can’t know from book learning” “*deep sigh*”

the best is when you flirt with him tho

it is bold and brash

“I need something sharp to cut through this” “just use your jawline ;)”

“the system we are traveling to is known for its extreme heat and rough terrain” “hot and rough? sounds like you in the bedroom ;)”

he chokes and blushes everytime

despite the constant torment and how much he acts like it’s a nuisance, he secretly loves all the attention you give him (even if it’s at his expense)

knowing our sweet boy he is wayyy too socially awkward to make the first move in this situation (or to even recognize there is a situation tbh)

tech is pretty confident you view him as strictly a friend and an easy target for your shenanigans

like even if you basically admit to liking him, he’s gonna think it’s another joke. plotting and scheming with the other boys to make him step up (a classic “i’m gonna pretend to make a move on them to force your hand” for example) will not work

you have to very directly confess to him and it has to be very very genuine and away from the rest of the boys in order to get it into his exceptional mind that you seriously have feelings for him

once he gets that you mean it tho, he’s over the moon

and once youre in a relationship? the rest of the batch should be WORRIED

now your focus is no longer on messing with tech, and you have a super genius on your side

he may have enjoyed being a casual observer and constant victim before, but now that you’ve allowed him on your team it’s a totally different ballgame

he’s still happy to take a backseat and let you do your thing, but he also loves to be a background player in all your hooplah

you wanna play a prank? tech is scheming and building shit and looking at diagrams to figure out the best way to execute it

hunter gets mad at something you did? tech has already figured out a way to pull focus off of you and onto one of the other boys

OR EVEN BETTER a non-batcher (a reg, a superior, a random streetgoer) takes an isssue with you? tech is launching into a full rant with them about something completely unrelated and giving you time to scamper away before they can even begin to reprimand you

tech is the kind of boyfriend that isn’t gonna overtly match your energy, but can keep up and will balance you out

you still mess with him, but now he has the confidence to mess with you right back

this also creates a really spicy sexual dynamic (I won’t go too into that but def a lot of teasing, brat taming kinda stuff)

overall i actually think tech would be really good with someone more chaotic and wild bc he can seem so rigid but isn’t actually like i think that type of relationship would really suit him

you bring out his playful side and he keeps you grounded, out of trouble, AND acts as a top notch audience/partner in crime

rip hunter tho now he’s got tech to worry about on top of all the rest of you (except echo he’s a perfect angel who could never cause trouble for anyone <3)

#the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #the bad batch headcanons #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #tech tbb #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #tech the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb x reader #tbb tech headcanons #tech headcanon #tech x you

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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

Text

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Spencer’s phone buzzed in his desk drawer much to his confusion. Pretty much everyone that would be calling him was here right now.

“Dr. Reid,” he answered.

“Hey Spencer, it’s me, Y/N,” you said.

“Oh! Y/N, hi!” he looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to him before slipping away to the empty break room.

“I’m really sorry to have to ask this but is there any way you could pick Jo up from school and watch her for a few hours. A student dropped a vile of dimethyl sulfoxide in the lab so I need to safely clean it up and then make sure the room gets properly ventilated. I had to cancel the rest of class so I have to clean everyone else’s lab station up too,” you explained.

“Of course, of course,” Spencer readily agreed, “I can watch her for as long as you need but I have to finish my files here so would it be okay if she came to the office just for a little so I can finish up and then I will bring her back to my apartment. I’ll text you the address.”

“Yes, that’s completely fine. Sorry for springing this on you but my babysitter is out of town and I called JJ but she is in New Orleans with Will and the kids,” Y/N apologized.

“It’s no problem. It’s actually the opposite, I am looking forward to it,” Spencer smiled as he hung up the phone.

Spencer knocked on Hotch’s door hesitantly.

“Reid, what can I do for you?” Hotch looked up from the mounds of files on his desk.

“So I kind of have a kid and her mom needs me to pick her up from school and watch her so could she come here until I finish my work?” Spencer quickly rambled.

“You kind of have a kid?” Hotch asked, slightly amused.

“Well, she’s mine but she doesn’t know that I am her father and I just found out about her a week ago,” Spencer explained.

“If I wasn’t a profiler, I would think you were pranking me but you seem to be telling the truth. Yes, your kid can hang out until you finish your work for the day. Normally, I would just let you go early but you know Strauss has been inspecting the BAU with a fine-tooth comb recently,” Hotch stated.

“Thanks, Hotch. I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” Spencer ran out the door.

As Spencer slid on his satchel and was walking towards the elevators, he turned around and sighed. He almost forgot to tell the team.

“Hey guys! Quick announcement! I have a kid and her mom needs me to watch her for a few hours so she’s coming here. However, she doesn’t know that I’m her father so please use your discretion,” Spencer finished and bolted for the stairs.

“Kid, what-” Morgan started to say but the glass doors were already closing behind him.

Spencer didn’t have the time nor desire to fill them in on all of the details. He didn’t want to keep his daughter waiting.

“SPENCER HAS A WHAT?” Garcia screamed as Morgan informed her of the breaking news when she returned from her lunch break.

“That’s all he said and apparently she doesn’t know Spencer is her father so you have to keep your mouth shut, baby girl,” Morgan scolded.

“I will, I will. Do we know how old this kid is? What’s her name? Oh my god, who is the mother?” Garcia asked, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to my tech cave to do something totally unrelated.”

As Garcia stood from leaning on Morgan’s desk, the BAU glass doors opened.

Spencer was hunched over, holding Jo’s hand. Jo was dressed in corduroy pants, a lavender cardigan, and her hair was tied up in two pigtails that were bouncing side to side. Her converse were matching with Spencer’s.

“Well I’ll be damned, Pretty Boy wasn’t lying,” Morgan whispered to Garcia and Prentiss who had now joined them.

“Guys, this is Josephine. Jo, this is Derek, Penelope, and Emily. Can you say hi?” Spencer asked.

“Hi,” Jo responded meekly, scooching closer to Spencer’s leg, the one familiar face for her in the crowd of strangers.

“Hi Josephine! You look adorable! I love your little pigtails,” Penelope knelt down to her height.

“Thank you. My Mommy did them for me,”

Jo replied.

“Okay Jo, let’s go to the round table room so we don’t have to stay out here in the crazy bullpen. Let me just grab my files,” Spencer led Jo to his desk and then up the small flight of stairs.

The rest of the team watched in amazement as Spencer lifted Jo into one of the seats at the table and spun her around in the chair a few times as she started to giggle.

“Who’s the kid?” Rossi asked as he exited his office, having missed the big announcement.

“Reid’s daughter apparently,” Prentiss shrugged with a small smile on her lips.

“Okay, Jo! I’ve finished all my work. Wanna go to my apartment and grab some dinner?” Spencer asked.

Jo was sitting next to him, doodling with pens on extra lined paper. Penelope had also brought in some of her trinkets from her desk for her to play with.

“I miss Mommy,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry but Mommy is going to pick you up from my apartment as soon as she can. Come on, I’ll let you get whatever you want for dinner,” Spencer tried to cheer her up.

“Ice cream?” Jo perked up.

Spencer laughed, “How about we have a real meal for dinner and then we can have some ice cream?”

Jo contemplated this.

“Okay but you have to carry me because my legs are tired,” Jo explained.

“Oh-uh okay, yes I can do that,” Spencer stuttered, suddenly getting nervous that his clumsiness would result in him tripping with Josephine in his arms.

Jo outreached her hands and made a grabby motion and Spencer picked her up and rested her on his left hip, his right hip occupied by his satchel.

“Bye Josephine!” Emily smiled at the little girl.

She gave an enthusiastic wave as Spencer carried her to the elevator.

“What do you want for dinner?” Spencer placed Jo into the child seat in the shopping cart.

“Chicken nuggets!” Jo exclaimed.

“Chicken nuggets, it is,” Spencer pushed the cart to the frozen aisle, grabbing a bag of the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

“How about some smiley fries too?”

Jo nodded with a smile as Spencer opened another freezer door.

“And we should probably have a veggie. How about baby carrots? Do you like carrot sticks?” Spencer questioned.

“Yes, Mommy always makes me eat my veggies or no dessert,” Jo stated.

“So if you eat all your carrot sticks, then you can have ice cream. What flavor do you want?”

“Ummm strawberry please.”

“Good choice,” Spencer smiled.

“We need rainbow sprinkles too, Spencer!” she exclaimed.

“Of course! How could I have almost forgotten!” he chuckled.

Jo yawned after scooping the last spoonful of strawberry ice cream with extra sprinkles into her mouth.

You had texted Spencer you would be there in thirty minutes but he didn’t think Jo was going to last that long. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“Jo, do you want to go to bed?”

He soon realized his mistake as tears started to form in the child’s eyes.

“Where is Mommy? She always tucks me into bed and reads me a bedtime story,” she cried.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Spencer quickly stood from his seat and hugged Jo, “Mommy is on her way but I think she would want you to get some rest so I’ll read you a bedtime story, okay?”

Jo nodded and sniffled. Spencer wiped her tears away with his cardigan sleeve. He picked Jo up, getting used to the comforting feeling of her in his arms, and tucked her into his bed.

Spencer looked around at his bookshelves full of technical books and classic novels in other languages but devoid of any colorful picture books that would interest a kid.

“How about I make up a story?” Spencer whispered.

Jo nodded sleepily.

“Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess and a goofy knight in the kingdom of uh- Caltechia,” he spoke softly.

“The princess and the knight were madly in love despite how the knight was so clumsy and the princess was so elegant. However, the knight went away to slay the evil dragon and both the knight and the princess were so sad to be apart. When the knight finally returned, he realized the princess had become a queen and she had an equally beautiful daughter who was now the princess. The knight loved them both dearly.”

Spencer looked down to see that Jo was fast asleep. He brushed the stray hairs off of her face and leaned down to give her a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He figured there was no harm since Jo was fast asleep and he just wanted to say it to her at least once.

About ten minutes later, a knock sounded at the door as Spencer was washing dishes.

“Hey, I knew you wouldn’t accept money as a form of payment so I got you an extra large coffee, extra sugar,” you handed him the cup.

“Thank you but that really isn’t necessary. I was more than happy to do it. I really want to do it again,” Spencer adamantly said.

“Jo has a tee ball game on Sunday. You are welcome to come and then we could all grab dinner after,” you offered.

“I’ll be there,” Spencer smiled softly.

“Um, where is she?” you asked.

“Oh she’s sleeping in my bed. I’m not exactly sure of her normal bedtime but her eyes were drooping so I figured I should put her to bed. We had dino chicken nuggets, smiley fries, and baby carrots for dinner and then some ice cream. I hope that’s okay,” Spencer whispered as he led you to his room.

“More than okay. Thank you so much. I’m surprised you got her to go to bed. The nights she has stayed at my parent’s, she refused to go to sleep for hours,” you stated as you picked her up.

Jo nuzzled into your neck even though she was still asleep. Spencer watched as you slowly made your way out of the apartment with Jo as to not wake her up.

“See you Sunday,” you whispered, giving him a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Spencer replied.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #cm fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer x reader #reid x reader

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rotten-games · 3 years

Text

City of Immortals RO List

Okay so here it is, the list of ROs like I promised. Both mc's have their own pool of love interests to choose from with little overlap.

Here you’ll get a description of the ROs and some information on how the mc or others might view them. Also some info on the mc’s.

Mc1

Born to be a soldier by design, they were afflicted with immortality and stopped aging entirely once they hit thirty. A side effect—or perhaps a feature—is the beast that all but lives inside them, taking control when they feel incredibly strong emotions, though most often when anger is present. Where once they held full control of it, of the transformation they go through, now they must wrestle with its control with each passing day.

You are what’s called a Hunter. Every settlement has them, but Eden has the most. Caroline controls all her hunters from Eden, though ‘Hunter’ may be a bit of an oversimplification of the job description. Yes, one of their main jobs is providing food and other resources for the settlement, but they’re also bounty hunters, keepers of the peace, and are also often recruited for odd jobs when they have no contracts to fill. Perhaps the most important rule in Hunting, is that you always work in pairs.

Caroline: She/her

The best way to describe Carol is ‘short’, with a pair of unblinking amber eyes and a wind-buffeted, naturally tanned complexion. Her russet curls, while usually out of her face, never seem to stay tied back for long, a seemingly constant slew of curls sticking to her forehead. A jagged scar cuts across the knuckles on her right hand.

Caroline is unrelenting. She knows what her settlement needs and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get it—to save the lives of those she must oversee she is willing to do anything. Within reason. Truthfully, Caroline never asked to be made the leader of Eden, the job just sort of fell into her lap one day and no one bothered to take it from her. You’ve worked for her for years by the start of chapter one, and if you’ve learned anything about her it’s that she doesn’t do smalltalk. She’s been in a relationship with Lowrie for years now, and as far as you can tell, they’re very happy with one another.

Lowrie: non-binary, they/them pronouns

Impossibly tall and scrawny, Lowrie’s skin is constantly burned red by the sun, seemingly unable to tan no matter what they do. Their face is long, with ash-coloured, shoulder-length hair that would usually hide their grey eyes but is otherwise kept out of their face with a blue-patterned scarf.

Some have called Lowrie stuck up in the past for their less than talkative nature but that would be an oversimplification. In truth, they just aren’t fond of talking—which is probably why they get on with Harley so well—and more shy than anything else. One of Eden’s finest Hunters, they spend most of their time in the sweltering heat of Wasteland bringing bandits in and shooting any of the mangy beasts that stray too close to Eden. The rest of their time is spent managing the bar with Caroline and Harley, tending to keep to themself. You’ve worked with Lowrie in the past, and as far as you can tell there’s little love lost between the two of you.

Carol + Lowrie poly:

Caroline and Lowrie are poly and in a committed relationship with one another. They will not leave one another for monogamy with mc, however, you don’t have to be in a throuple with them—though that’s definitely on the table—you can simply be with one, who is with both you and the other. Lowrie is also currently casually seeing Harley. Carol is not seeing anyone else.

Mordred: he/him.

With a seemingly constant fuzz along his jaw, and a never-ending supply of little scars littering his warm olive skin, his hair tends to cover everything but his yellow eyes and the deep bags underneath. His hair is typically tied into a loose bun at the back of his head, mostly obscuring his pierced, slightly pointed ears.

Mordred is a hot-headed, easily irritated young man who’s been by your side since day one. You dragged yourselves out of the crumbling ruins of Ledala together, you fought together, and now you work together as Hunters. Partner’s in crime doesn’t quite cover your relationship but it’s certainly close. In recent years, however, your relationship has strained—perhaps it’s due to past mistakes getting in the way, or past feelings, but either way at the start of the book he’s nowhere to be found.

At the start of the game you can determine just what your relationship is with him—it’s strained at this point but the reasons why are totally up to you. He can also potentially have been an old flame of MC2.

Ridley: Gender variable

Ridley is an energetic person with a pair of bright green eyes constantly sparkling with a glint of adventure. Despite their heavily-muscled frame, they seem to constantly be hiding behind their oversized glasses, a veil of their shaggy red hair, and a slouch that makes them out to be much smaller than they are.

Ridley is… an enigma. While technically a Hunter, they seem much more interested in the pursuits of science and research than holding off rabid beasts with nothing but a gun that’s falling apart and a rusty sword. Of course, they can hold their own well enough, but when they’re meant to be spending their time training or helping out—and indeed, even on their time off—they’re usually found traipsing around in the desert looking for… who knows what.

Doc: She/her

Doc is stocky and sharp-jawed, dark brown, almost black eyes always watching. Her dense curls are shoulder-length and appear twisted together and held back behind her head. The tip of her left ear appears to have been torn off somehow.

Not known for her bedside manner, Doc travels between settlements to tend to the sick, injured, and broken, and though none can particularly vouch for her interpersonal skills (though who can say anyone has particularly good ones, these days?), they can certainly do so for her medicinal accomplishments. Some think her a wandering ghost, aiding those who need help to make up for the sins of her past, others simply see her as a woman seeking to do her part for the good of Wasteland, regardless, if you get on her bad side she’s been known to be liberal with her gun. Or so the rumors say.

J. Allard: Gender variable

Allard is a nervous-looking, shifty individual with short but messy brown hair flecked with grey. Constantly fidgeting with the ring on their thumb, their stutter becomes more obvious the more nervous they are. Though their eyes hide behind a pair of darkened glasses, a pallid face a week out from its last wash they are, completely, honest. Trust me.

J. Allard is a totally normal priest. There is nothing strange about them, they simply want what is best for you and your companions.

Mc2

Dragged down into the depths of the earth on the day Ledala fell, you never knew of the city beneath the surface. Your sibling died that day, you’re sure of it, and a part of you died with them—the beast no longer responds to your call and you’re still left injured from whatever afflicted you and your comrades that day. The man who saved you set you to work for him—sorry, with him—and now you walk perpetually in the darkness of a city long since forgotten by the sun, with people named after the remnants of an old world you never knew existed. You were never meant to survive that night, and every day the world around you reminds you of that.

Arthur: he/him

Arthur doesn’t look quite there half the time. His skin is translucent, his pale blue eyes impossibly far away, platinum blond hair little more than wispy strands atop his head. Most of his body is otherwise covered completely by that old, brown coat of his. There’s light freckling across his nose.

Arthur saved you that night. A Private Investigator by trade, he brought you on to work together because you had no where else to go. Maybe because of it you should be closer than you are but there’s always been a distance between you he’s been unwilling to cross. Either way, despite working together—living together—he keeps to himself and you try to keep to yourself in turn. Still, you can’t help but notice the disdain he has for the City Council and their lackeys.

Perci: she/her

Perci is constantly smiling. Relaxed of posture, her straight hair once ashy brown is now dyed silver. It’s cut short at the sides and back, creating an undercut, most of her fringe tucked behind her ears to reveal a pair of dark brown, monolid eyes. She seems allergic to sleeves, taking whatever chance she gets to show off her cybernetic arm and the colourful tattoos that adorn her flesh arm.

A friend of Arthur who sometimes helps with investigations. She’s friendlier than he is with you, even inviting you out on occasion, but rebellion is on her lips more and more nowadays, and she isn’t subtle about it. You haven’t seen her in quite a while—as far as you can tell she and Arthur aren’t on speaking terms anymore after that big fight they had a few months back. As far as you can tell, she’s moved on and you certainly wouldn’t blame her if she has Council dogs on her heels.

Saga: Saga is always the same gender as your mc is.

Saga’s hair is a deep blue in colour, their black roots just barely growing through. Half of their head is shaved, the other half left chest-length and braided over their shoulder. Though their entire body seems to interwoven with tech, what is perhaps most interesting about them is the angular tattoo that crawls down the right side of their face. This is probably why they come to you completely covered in muck and baggy clothing.

Saga shows up at your door with a different name and a job. You aren’t given why, only the how, only the what. They’re stubborn and flighty in equal measure, suspicious of everyone around them including yourself. Oh, they dress the part of a street rat well, but the cash they have just on hand is nothing to blink at and, underneath all that grime, their skin is perfectly unmarred by the ravages of time.

Deimos: he/him, gay

Whether or not Deimos’ strength is his own or from borrowed, military-grade tech is anyone’s guess, but no one’s ever bothered to ask. Though he’s tall, he isn’t necessarily as muscular as the fear he commands would suggest. His eyes glow orange, black hair trimmed but not maintained, and his grin is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. For whatever reason, he always wears warm clothes.

Deimos is a Council dog who’s been hounding Arthur for a few years now. You’ve never officially met him; somehow whenever he drops into the office you always manage to be out. Whether that’s coincidence or because Arthur sends you out on errands very conveniently at those times it’s not for you to say. Somehow, he never seems to do too much damage to your colleague.

Adrastea: Non-binary, they/them or she/her pronouns, only attracted to nb or female mc’s

Adrastea has been voted the city’s most attractive person many years in a row now. Everything about them is perfect; perfect smile, perfect blue eyes, perfect cascading coils of iridescent hair, yet somehow despite their well-calculated appearance it’s like there’s a tiger waiting to pounce on any wary admirer who comes too close.

While not a member of the council they hold great sway simply by virtue of their age and the fact they’re so beloved by the populace. You’ve seen them on the holos, how they’re oh, so giving to the needy and even invite the commonfolk to their lavish parties all the important council members attend. It’s an act, it has to be; through their gorgeous smile and all those sheer dresses they seek nothing if not attention. A lot of their history is shrouded and deleted from public record, but you do know that they were once a head scientist that took part in the very same project that supposedly made you what you are today.

Dagda: gender variable

Dagda is the perfectly attractive face everyone sees on their screens every night. In a world of cybernetic bodies and unnaturally bright lights, they are the one person who almost looks... natural. With a perfectly cultivated appearance of salt and pepper hair, soulful brown eyes, and that winning smile, nothing about them is their own; everything they do exactly what everyone else tells them to do.

The mouthpiece of the Council, Dagda is seen to be charming and down to earth in the vids. They say Ledala is prospering more than it has in decades, that the crime rates are lowering thanks to the wonderful work they and their colleagues on the Council are doing. Of course, there always has been a certain emptiness behind their eyes. When the camera isn’t rolling, you wonder what they really think.

#lore #coi game

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joshslater · 4 years

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Beached

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It's really amazing how the beaches can be so empty when the weather is this good. It's technically winter or spring or whatever, but that just means you can spend all day on the beach without getting heatstroke or sunburn. No one else appears to agree with me though. Someone is walking a dog in the distance in one direction, and some surfers are ignoring the warnings of big waves in the distance in the other direction. Like that would be bad thing in their minds, though just right now it isn't as windy as in the morning. Volatile weather is another drawback of spring weather.

I don't think it is the weather that is keeping people away though. This whole plague thing is really messing with people. The hotel was almost deserted and the room dirt cheap. Flight was cheap too. The plan was to go here with Will, but he chickened out at the last moment. Probably the positivity rates of their "second wave" or whatever. The tickets were refundable, only way they can sell anything these days, but I had already made up my mind to go here. Spring in Rio is better than summer at home, and the summer is decidedly over now, where you are never sure in the morning if you need jeans and hoodie. Here it is shorts and T-shirt every day, and the water is really nice when the waves aren't fatal. I really thought it would be colder the way the ocean looks.

As I walk along the beach in solitude I spot a gaudy, cheap beach chair also alone in the sand. I look up towards the road that goes along the beach. Sometimes there is a bunch of chairs or stuff chained together, waiting for busy days when the owner can charge a coin for a tourist to sit on it, but I don't see anything up there. I take a seat and look out over the crashing waves. There is a zen-like quality sitting on a lone chair on a vast beach, alone in a different country, watching the waves while the warm spring sun smiles down on you. No birds or animals around either, so you just have the white noise of the ocean keeping you at peace. I had fernet and coke in the lobby bar last night and evening has been going slow even before this, but somehow I felt I deserved a break from doing nothing.

I lost track of how long I was sitting there. I have all week after all. I'm taken out of my trance by someone behind me talking agitated in Spanish. No, Portuguese probably, as that's what they speak here. I turn my head and a stereotypical Brazilian beach greaser steps into my view. He wears a loose, pink tank top with Copacabana printed on the front. It reaches almost far enough to hide his green speedos that peeks out every step he takes. Brazilian tan, white teeth, black, slick hair, and a swagger that comes equally from acting macho and years of bodybuilding that prioritized looks over range of motion. "What?" I ask him, mostly just to tell him to speak English.

"This is your chair?" he asks. "Yeah," I say tentatively. At least I'm using it right now. It really was calming to look at the ocean like this. "No. No, it is not your chair," he says in an accusing tone, visibly upset. "You want to sit?" I don't need any trouble. It's soon time for lunch anyway. I start to raise myself from the chair. "No, you sit! You sit!" he almost screams at me, and I fall back into the chair.

I'm confused. Did I sit down again, or did something push me down? He steps towards me, and I again try to get out of the chair, but I'm somehow not strong enough to lift myself. He grabs the front neck of my T-shirt and pulls it up over my head. My arms do nothing to stop him. He then grabs hold of the legs of my shorts and pulls them sharply forward. Again, I can't do anything to stop him. I can move my body, sort of, but it's sapped of all strength.

If things were weird up until now, it just turned impossible. Instead of my Hanes underwear I wear black speedos with yellow print "ca-rio-ca" in front. How the fuck did they end up on me. He doesn't waste any time, but just bunches my clothes together in his hand and angrily marches off towards the road behind me. "Hey! HEY! I don't want this fucking chair." I shout at him while making another failed effort to get out of the chair as he disappears out of view. It's like being stuck with your ass in a big bean bag. I just can't get up somehow. I try to rock sideways to knock the chair on its side so I can roll out of it, but again with no success. Exhausted I fall back into the chair.

It's a cheap-looking foldable beach chair. Some green tubes as a frame with some blue and yellow nylon fabric as a seat, suspended between the tubes. I could see how someone would pick it out for its "Brazilian" colors, but all the shades were totally off compared to the flag. It couldn't be more than $10, probably much less down here. Why would anyone make such a fuss over it? I touch my magically appearing speedos. They appear completely normal. Some type of high tech stretchy fabric with yellow print on top. As I touch the print on the front of the speedos there is like a shock wave through me, like I rubbed the exposed head of my dick. I quickly move my hand back to the dainty armrests, but the damage is already done, at least for now. I can feel the blood inflating my dick, at least partially.

I look back at the ocean, trying to distract myself. I still see the surfers way off in the distance to one side, but I don't see anyone in the other. I'm a bit limited in my field of view though, reclined in the beach chair. Dammit, and I was about to have lunch. Fuck! My wallet is in the shorts. My phone, my credit cards, my cash, my hotel room key, all in the hands of some dude made of muscles and STDs. If he doesn't come back I'd have to walk back to the hotel, wearing only speedos like a fucking douche, tell the lobby staff to get my passport from the room to identify me, and issue a new key card. Then I have to take the laptop and block the credit cards and the phone SIM. I hope you can do that online. If nothing else you can call 800 numbers from Skype, I think. But first I need to get out of this fucking chair.

I make another failed attempt to get up. How can this be happening? Did he poison me somehow? Perhaps I just need to relax for a bit and regain my strength. That doesn't explain how my underwear was swapped out. Perhaps I'm making this more complicated than it has to be. These could be two unrelated events. Perhaps the speedos were somehow in my room, and somehow I put them on this morning without thinking about it. I think I've seen something similar in a store back home. "CA" could just as well mean California. This pair could have been forgotten by someone and then mixed into my laundry somehow, packed in my travel bag by mistake, and then ended up on me without me thinking about it because of the fernet. No, that doesn't make a lot of sense either. If you remove all impossible explanations, the remaining one, however improbable is the right one. It's just so very fucking improbable.

I want to drop it. Thinking about it more won't solve anything, and my current problems notwithstanding the day is still very nice. The slow burn of the spring sun, the smell of sand and salt, the soothing white noise of the ocean, and the wide visuals to go with it all. If I just let go of my predicament it was easy to relax again. That's what I needed to do, right? Just look out and feel the sun rejuvenate me. Despite it being essentially just indoor temperature, I've managed to get a tan. I trace the skin from my knees and up with my eyes. No, this is wrong. I should have tan lines where the shorts and T-shirt ended. I've only been sitting here topless for ten minutes, twenty at the most. There's nothing to tell time. The surfers are gone.

And I really shouldn't look this good sitting down. I don't sit down with a flat belly. I can't remember that I ever did, not that I really paid a lot of attention to how I looked. I try to stand up to have a better look, but only manage to lift a few inches before falling back. "Merda!" I say out loud. Not only did I fall back into the chair, but I managed to pull something. There's a cramp in the abdominal muscles that hurts like hell. I squirm in the unyielding chair and arch my back to make it stop, which results in both my legs cramping at the same time. I let go and fall back into the chair, and raise my legs up and try to shake them. I tense and relax the muscles over and over to make the feeling go away.

When it finally goes away I feel exhausted. I certainly don't want to feel that again. It's like a cosmic force doing everything to keep me in place, docile, and watching the ocean. While I want this to all be over I don't feel like I want to put up a fight. I scratch an itch on my face and feel my beard. I know I shaved less than... I know I shaved this morning, whenever that was. I've done that every morning from when I started to grow facial hair. I know nothing that looks worse. Nothing that looks more like you are taking a shortcut, or don't care. Yet I could clearly feel strands of hair all around my mouth and up the sides of my face. Not just stubble either, but fingertip length beard. The kind that doesn't look like a planned and neatly maintained beard either, but an accidental one. I didn't think I could freak out more when my hand touched the hair behind my ear, and I frantically felt the rest of my head. It was clearly a curly mess, and not just wavy but a tight curl. My hair is straight.

"Olá!" one of the two young surfers greet me. I'd been too preoccupied and had completely missed them walking across the beach towards me. They looked very similar, same height, same short cropped pitch-black hair, handsome white smiles, black and blue Mormaii wetsuit. My startled mind feels blank. I have no idea what to say to them. Somehow, inappropriately I can feel my dick stirring again. "Você quer foder?" I shout back at them. I have no idea what it means. They just keep walking, shaking their heads and ignoring me. What the fuck is going on? Can't I control myself anymore? I haven't since I sat down, I realize. This fucking chair is ruining everything.

I'm angry with it. I start hitting it. At first I'm just feebly pounding the armrests, but then work myself up to start hitting anything I can find. I'm banging the tubes, I'm pulling the synthetic fabric of the seat, I'm trying to pry the joints free. I'm only hurting myself of course, though not bad enough for any visible bruises. After some minutes someone has had enough of my tantrums and I feel a searing pain across my chest, back, and right ribs. I cry out in pain. My noise is met by the constant noise of the ocean. When it stops, just as suddenly as it started I look to either side and all I see is empty beach in both directions.

I'm almost afraid to look, and it is difficult to see well, but the skin has discolored where I felt the pain. On the right side of me is a sentence tattooed in cursive. I can't tell what it says. On my front chest is another large tattoo saying something almost as difficult to read upside down, just below my chin, also in cursive. "Live fast, die young" I think. I can only imagine what platitudes are on my back. "Carpe Diem?"

My legs are hairy. They've been that for years, but now they are black pubes kind of hairy. Did that happen just now as well? What's with the slow walking? Just do all the things to me and be over with. Arms are hairy too. I'm not even going to be upset anymore. I'll just sit here until it ends, whatever that means. Listen to the ocean and let the sun do its thing. Holy shit, that isn't suntan. I have a different skin color for sure. No. Not upset, just listen to nature and come what may. Let the sun sparkle in the water.

I can also see a sparkle from my right nipple. I feel drained, dazed, and dumb. Did the nipple piercing come with the tattoos and I had just missed it, or did it sneak up on me somehow? I don't really care. I slowly reach for it with my left hand. It feel an explosion of sensations as soon as the vibrations of my touch reverberate into the nipple. It shoots right into my balls, into my spine, into my brain, into my dick. Not quite an orgasm, but definitely not not an orgasm. I can feel the cramp again. The muscles on my front all contracts, but this time it isn't really painful. It's more like when you exert yourself during sports.

As before I arch my back to flex the chest and abs differently to make it go away, but the cramps just spreads. I can feel it in my back as well, and my arms, then finally in my legs. It's like those youtube videos where you can see the muscles moving under the skin all on its own. I just turned to the side and rolled in the sand, unable to control anything. It wasn't pain, but definitely not not pain.

When it finally stops I'm on my back in the spring warm sand, exhausted, panting, looking into the blue sky, hearing the waves crash down at the edge of the beach. I somehow know before I see it. My arms are almost twice as muscular as this morning, my chest and abs chiseled, and my legs are massive.

The sun is getting low. It is probably getting close to dinner time, though it sets early. I sit up in the sand, looking in both directions down the beach. There's nothing but sand. I know how to walk back to the hotel, though I can't remember the name of it, and I think I know what my name is, but I'm pretty sure nothing on that passport will match me. I don't feel like going there though. I really, really need to find someone to fuck. Or be fucked by. I don't care.

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mikecardenmpreg · 3 years

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hello and welcome to another installation of “lauren’s shitty life” hosted by me, your host, lauren (and if you follow me on twitter, sorry i won’t shut up about this it’s only that it’s affecting my entire life)

you may or may not have gathered from my “trying to cover it up with humor” posts that i have gallstones. they are, in fact, making my life a living hell. it hurts to eat. and i really like eating. these last 8 or so months (or however long who fucking knows anymore) have been just one drawn out game of russian roulette: food edition. me after every big meal:

so i had a particularly bad attack at my friends’ place last week. it was far from my first attack so i knew the drill but it was a really intense one. catch me on the floor writhing and agonizing, like i do when you eat too much at a friends’ place. they posited a fun little theory: perhaps these pains weren’t just heartburn like i had been claiming, but maybe something i should probably see a doctor about. i thought. hmm. you guys might be right. and then did nothing about it because i was too weak from the agony in my ribcage to even speak or breathe. nearly passed out on the drive home because i could not get enough oxygen to my brain because expanding my chest region was almost impossible. probably should have gone to the er for this but

so naturally i had another attack the very next day. i was extra bummed about this because for once in my life, thanksgiving hadn’t been a total shitshow and i was excited to tell people about my totally average, drama-free thanksgiving! cue the writhing.

commence rapid fire googling while also rapid fire writhing on the floor! “searing pain upper right side ribcage” gives you about 100,000 results of “your fucking gallbladder you fucking moron”. and i went oop. woke up my parents at like midnight to complain and they go “call the advice nurse”. yeah. midnight on thanksgiving. someone’s definitely gonna pick up. also i can’t breathe because it hurts. thanks for that.

called the advice nurse the next morning and they scheduled me for an a video appointment with the first available doctor. let me tell you. i already had two things going on that day: had to take my car in for service and also it was black friday record store day. i could not take the day off. it was not allowed. so i spent my whole day bouncing between [where i work] and [nearby city where my car gets serviced] on the busiest shopping day of the year while also waiting for my video appointment with an unknown doctor about something kinda scary. not a fun or productive day for me.

the doctor ended up booking me an ultrasound appointment because she came to the same conclusion i did: gallbladder’s haunted. but as it was friday afternoon, i had to wait until monday morning to go in. fun, productive weekend for me! i love being in purgatory. meanwhile, i’m deprived of my favorite fucking activity: stuffing my god damn face. i LOVE eating. i LOVE LOVE LOVE eating!!!! sunday night i had what was probably my last fried chicken sandwich for a very long time. it was good. but i didn’t enjoy it because it was overshadowed by guilt.

went to the hospital before work on monday to get my ultrasounds. highlight: totally confused the ultrasound tech by wearing men’s deodorant despite being a woman. she wouldn’t stop talking about how long she’s been single and how the smell of men’s deodorant sends her. the poor girl. anyway that’s completely unrelated. she pretended like she couldn’t read the ultrasounds and sent me off with a “maybe.......don’t eat?” really reassuring girl.

my results came in later in the day (again, not a productive work day for me) to reveal i had two gallstones. my doctor asked me how i wanted to proceed. i was like. girl. you’re the doctor. you tell me. i sent her back a very long email about the last however many months and the severe pain i was in and the family history and the whole thing. this, by the way, coinciding with my fucked up back is hilarious. 2020 had its kiss for me. anyway. she emailed me back with just “surgery referral sent”. okay.

surgery calls me to set up a video appointment with a PA. they do not tell me the point of this appointment. i do not care, but am pleasantly surprised how fast this is all moving. my video appointment gets scheduled for thursday, one week and one day after my initial “oh fuck” moment. the video appointment goes well. the PA tells me about my options but also says that two of the three options are basic horseshit and the only real option is full-on gallbladder removal. i’m chill with this. i’m done. just take the fucking thing out. we discuss diarrhea for too long. i ask how long recovery might take. he doesn’t have an answer because it all depends on how they have to extract the stupid idiot bile sack. the appointment ends on a less than hopeful note: someone will call either that day or the next to schedule surgery but it might be a wait before i can get in. i’m like, okay, that’s fine. i can wait a bit. it’s been 8 or so months. what’s a few more weeks?

well. i have another gallbladder attack that night. it lasts 8 hours. eight. fucking. hours. can’t sit. can’t stand. can’t lay down. can’t do anything but suffer. i eventually fall asleep around 4:30am. i wake up at 10, just in time for general surgery to call and tell me, i shit you not, that someone will be calling me soon. i cannot go back to sleep. i have to go to work. i am exhausted and frustrated and angry that i’ve just had my third gallbladder attack in 8 days. i probably should have gone to the er. definitely should not have eaten dinner.

no one calls me until 3:30 in the afternoon. and when they finally do, it’s to tell me they cannot schedule my surgery. they are fully booked through january. i am put on a waitlist in case someone cancels their surgery and i can be squeezed in. because this surgery to remove my defective gallbladder is considered “elective” and not “emergency”, i have to potentially wait at least two months. my gallbladder feels like this

and i have to wait two months because it isn’t an emergency. 3 gallbladder attacks in 8 days and it’s not an emergency. my digestive system is not functioning properly anD IT’S NOT AN EMERGENCY????? if any single person felt the way i did after eating, this would not be deemed elective. my body is not working. i cannot eat without fear of pain. i have already lost a noticeable amount of weight because i’ve been avoiding food. i need it out. it need it out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i left work early, cried all the way home, got home, cried some more, fell asleep, woke up, and ate the saddest dinner: one quarter cup steel cut oats with honey and cinnamon. untoasted, unbuttered sourdough bread. unsugared tea. water.

this is my life for the foreseeable future. is this a good time to mention that my absolute favorite food is curry? a nice hearty, spicy, yogurt-y curry. and here i am. thinking about the plain white rice my gallbladder is gonna make me eat for the next two months.

i’m so hungry.

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newstfionline · 4 years

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Headlines

‘Sobering’ report shows hardening attitudes against media (AP) The distrust many Americans feel toward the news media, caught up like much of the nation’s problems in the partisan divide, only seems to be getting worse. That was the conclusion of a “sobering” study of attitudes toward the press conducted by Knight Foundation and Gallup and released Tuesday. Nearly half of all Americans describe the news media as “very biased,” the survey found. “That’s a bad thing for democracy,” said John Sands, director of learning and impact at the Knight Foundation. “Our concern is that when half of Americans have some sort of doubt about the veracity of the news they consume, it’s going to be impossible for our democracy to function.” The study was conducted before the coronavirus lockdown and nationwide protests over the death of George Floyd. The study found that 71% of Republicans have a “very” or “somewhat” unfavorable opinion of the news media, while 22% of Democrats feel the same way. Switch it around, and 54% of Democrats have a very favorable view of the media, and only 13% of Republicans feel the same way. Eight percent of respondents—the preponderance of them politically conservative—think that news media that they distrust are trying to ruin the country.

Deaths pile up on Texas border (AP) RIO GRANDE CITY, Texas—When labor pains signaled that Clarissa Muñoz was at last going to be a mom, she jumped in a car and headed two hours down the Texas border into one of the nation’s most dire coronavirus hot spots. She went first to a hospital so desperate for help that nurses recently made 49 phone calls to find a bed 700 miles away to airlift a dying man with the virus. From there, she was taken to a bigger hospital by ambulance. Along the way, she passed a funeral home that typically handles 10 services a month but is up to nine a week. And when she finally arrived to give birth, she was blindsided by another complication: A test revealed that she too was infected. Hours later, Muñoz was granted just a few seconds to lay eyes, but no hands, on her first born, who was quickly whisked away. On America’s southern doorstep, the Rio Grande Valley, the U.S. failure to contain the pandemic has been laid bare. For nearly a month, this borderland of 2 million people in South Texas pleaded for a field hospital, but not until Tuesday was one ready and accepting patients. In July alone, Hidalgo County reported more than 600 deaths—more than the Houston area, which is five times larger.

Former Spanish king heading for the hills (Foreign Policy) Controversy continues to grip Spain after former King Juan Carlos, who abdicated the throne in 2014 amid a series of scandals, reportedly fled the country amid a new spate of legal troubles. Spanish media initially reported that he went to the Dominican Republic, but the Dominican government claimed there was no record of the former king entering the country, fuelling widespread speculation over his whereabouts. Leftist politicians have used the occasion to question the future of the monarchy in Spain. Juan Carlos is credited with spearheading Spain’s transition to democracy after the end of former dictator Francisco Franco’s reign in 1975. But his reputation took a hit toward the end of his rule as he became embroiled in several controversies relating to his personal wealth.

Spain’s Canaries to cover all COVID-related costs for tourists (Reuters) All Spanish and foreign tourists visiting the Canary Islands will have any potential coronavirus-related costs covered by the regional government, it said on Wednesday, in an attempt to rescue the tourist season after a new spike in infections in Spain. The move will take effect this week and is the first of its kind in Spain as the tourism-dependent nation seeks to reassure visitors after Britain dealt a blow to the sector by imposing a compulsory quarantine for anyone coming from Spain.

China won’t go quietly over TikTok (Foreign Policy) Chinese media outlets have responded to the United States in the ongoing dispute over the popular Chinese social networking giant TikTok, leveling sharp criticism at the Trump administration over its recent attempt to pressure U.S. companies to buy TikTok’s operations in the United States. In an editorial on Tuesday, the China Daily newspaper accused Washington of “bullying” Chinese tech companies and warned that there were “plenty of ways to respond if the administration carries out its planned smash and grab.” The editor-in-chief of the Global Times newspaper called the move “open robbery,” and accused Trump of “turning the once great America into a rogue country.”

Chinese summer leadership vacation (Foreign Policy) Chinese President Xi Jinping and other top leaders are likely to vanish from public view in the next few days for the annual retreat at Beidaihe, a seaside town where the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) leadership engages in a combination of vacation and Machiavellian plotting. The retreat has often provided a chance for retired leaders to shape the party’s direction, but with Xi’s seeming ascent to absolute power, their role has been reduced. But any opportunity for a significant number of power brokers to physically spend time together is also an opportunity to plot. If the whispers of discontent with Xi’s leadership ever coalesce into action, it will be after one such event.

U.S. health chief to be highest-ranking official in decades to visit Taiwan, angering China (Reuters) U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services Alex Azar will visit Taiwan in coming days, his office said on Tuesday, making the highest-level visit by a U.S. official in four decades—a move that angered China, which claims the island as its own. Azar’s visit will worsen already poor Beijing-Washington relations, inflamed over trade, the pandemic and human rights, even as democratic Taiwan has welcomed the show of support in the face of unrelenting Chinese pressure. China denounced the trip, saying it opposed any official interactions between the United States and Taiwan and had lodged “stern representations” with Washington.

What Lockdown 2.0 Looks Like: Harsher Rules, Deeper Confusion (NYT) Australia’s second-largest city, Melbourne, is grappling with a spiraling coronavirus outbreak that has led to a lockdown with some of the toughest restrictions in the world—offering a preview of what many urban dwellers elsewhere could confront in coming weeks and months. The new lockdown is the product of early success; the country thought it had the virus beat in June. But there was a breakdown in the quarantine program for hotels. Returning travelers passed the virus to hotel security guards in Melbourne, who carried the contagion home. Even after masks became mandatory in the city two weeks ago, the spread continued. And now, as officials try to break the chain of infections, Melbourne is being reshaped by sweeping enforcement and fine print. A confounding matrix of hefty fines for disobedience to the lockdown and minor exceptions for everything from romantic partners to home building has led to silenced streets and endless versions of the question: So, wait, can I ____? Restaurant owners are wondering about food delivery after an 8 p.m. curfew began on Sunday night. Teenagers are asking if their boyfriends and girlfriends count as essential partners. Can animal shelter volunteers walk dogs at night? Are house cleaners essential for those struggling with their mental health? Can people who have been tested exercise outside?

Beirut reels from huge blast as death toll climbs to at least 135 (Reuters) Lebanese rescue teams pulled out bodies and hunted for missing in the wreckage of buildings on Wednesday as investigations blamed negligence for a massive warehouse explosion that sent a devastating blast wave across Beirut, killing at least 135. More than 5,000 people were injured in Tuesday’s explosion at Beirut port, Health Minister Hamad Hassan said, and up to 250,000 were left without homes fit to live in after shockwaves smashed building facades, sucked furniture out into streets and shattered windows miles inland. The death toll was expected to rise from the blast, which officials blamed on a huge stockpile of highly explosive material stored for years in unsafe conditions at the port.

Fireworks, ammonium nitrate likely fueled Beirut explosion (AP) Fireworks and ammonium nitrate appear to have been the fuel that ignited a massive explosion that rocked the Lebanese capital of Beirut, experts and videos of the blast suggest. The scale of the damage—from the epicenter of the explosion at the port of Beirut to the windows blown out kilometers (miles) away—resembles other blasts involving the chemical compound commonly used as an agricultural fertilizer. But the compound itself typically doesn’t detonate on its own and requires another ignition source. That likely came from a fire that engulfed what initially appeared to be fireworks that were stored at the port. Online videos of the disaster’s initial moments show sparks and lights inside the smoke rising from the blaze, just prior to the massive blast. That likely indicates that fireworks were involved, said Boaz Hayoun, owner of the Tamar Group, an Israeli firm that works closely with the Israeli government on safety and certification issues involving explosives.

Uganda’s tough approach curbs COVID, even as Africa nears 1 million cases (Reuters) Uganda’s crumbling public hospitals, doctors’ strikes and corruption scandals make its success in the fight against the new coronavirus all the more unlikely. But the nation of 42 million people has recorded just over 1,200 cases and five deaths since March, a strikingly low total for such a large country. As the number of cases in Africa approaches one million, Uganda’s experience shows what can be accomplished when a government with a firm grip on power acts quickly and enforces a strict lockdown. But its success came at a cost, critics say. Jobs were lost, and economic growth is set to plunge to as low as 0.4% in 2020, from 5.6% last year, according to the World Bank.

#headlines #news

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dawnover-dusk · 5 years

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like water, like air (breathe)

summary: all you know is that every time you surface, you inevitably sink again. but jeonghan is like air, and you’re afraid that once he leaves, you won’t survive in water anymore.

resident psychiatrist jeonghan x resident internist reader

At every step, you felt like you were drowning. After four years, you thought that you could finally break through the currents and let air fill your starved lungs, but relief, like it always was, was temporary. One month later, the waves magnified and crashed over you again, and you could barely remember what it felt like to be able to breathe.

So when you introduced yourself to the senior residents on your new team, you had to stifle a gasp at the picturesque man who occupied the seat next to yours, his hand outstretched with a lazy grin. He wore a billowy button-down shirt with red and white pinstripes tucked into black slacks, the top button undone to expose the expanse of his neck and hint at defined clavicles.

“Jeonghan,” he stated, platinum blonde hair framing his hooded eyes. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise,” you muttered, your hand grasping his delicately. You busied yourself with grabbing your list from the printer and trying to clear your mind of unnecessary thoughts, most of which were surrounding your fellow intern lazily running his long fingers over his own patient list.

“Just to warn you,” Seungcheol, your senior resident, began, “the attending on service is a bit of a hardass. Really nitpicky, so be thorough when presenting admissions.” He had swiveled around in his chair to address the two of you, and you could see the faint dark circles outlining his otherwise warm eyes. He glanced at you for a moment before breaking out into a gummy smile, “Don’t look so worried, though. This dude graduated a month ago so he’s only been an attending for like, two seconds. We’ve got your back.”

Jihoon, the other senior resident, ceased his endless typing to let out a grunt. “I’ve seen him make interns cry. It’s so unnecessary,” he gruffly agreed.

“That’s not very impressive,” you shrugged. “Scrub techs made me cry in medical school, it’s not really a feat.”

Jihoon had resumed typing in his orders, but you could see him raise an eyebrow. “You know, it’s not very common to just blatantly admit your weaknesses to people when you first meet them.”

“We’re only together for a month,” you smiled. “I thought we could speed up the ‘getting to know each other’ process.” You could hear Jeonghan’s tinkling laughter beside you, and you turned to face your computer to ignore the heat that rose to your cheeks from the sound.

However, you couldn’t ignore the sky blue post-it that made its way to your keyboard. You glanced at your neighbor out of the corner of your eye, but Jeonghan was diligently writing down lab values, his lips ever so slightly parted.

Shua made me promise to look out for his “crybaby,” but he didn’t tell me that you were so pretty :) I always keep my promises, so don’t worry!

You snatched the post-it, along with your list, and with a quick “I’m going to pre-round now bye!” you were out the door, missing the upward curl of Jeonghan’s lips.

---

me [7:01 AM]: JOSHUA HONG me [7:01 AM]: how dare u gossip about me to our peers me [7:02 AM]: it’s so embarrassing me [7:02 AM]: also why is ur friend flirting with me

joshuji [7:05 AM]: can you, like, not??? i was trying to use the interpreting service and your texts kept buzzing my phone joshuji [7:05 AM]: don’t you have patients to see too

me [7:05 AM]: sending image

joshuji [7:07 AM]: big yike joshuji [7:07 AM]: this is so out of character for him? he was actually really shy and nervous in medical school. idk maybe you are pretty go get it ;)

me [8:00 AM]: i was so horrified that i did not regain the ability to type until now. get what, exactly? me [8:00 AM]: also i know that i’m not your type but MAYBE?? me [8:01 AM]: rude. i retroactively retract all my “you look so nice today” statements

joshuji [8:03 AM]: fine. you’re pretty for a crybaby joshuji [8:03 AM]: lunch in the lounge at 1?

me [8:05 AM]: ofc. my few constants in life – complaining in the lounge and getting sassed by you. wouldn’t miss it

---

You would be impressed that you had lasted a whole week if you weren’t busy trying to disguise the familiar stinging set behind your eyes. The workroom felt stuffier than usual, with the addition of two eager medical students in the corner and the attending in the center, his unrelenting gaze on you. After fumbling with finding what the initial vital signs in the ED were and when the last albuterol dose was given, your panic had risen to the point where your mind was wiped clean. And of course, that was when he had asked you to give a differential diagnosis.

You were never so grateful for the hierarchy established than you were at that moment. Seungkwan and Chan did well in filling in different etiologies for respiratory distress, and you made a note to give them positive feedback at the end of the day. However, it was your turn to give the leading diagnosis, and Seungcheol and Jihoon glaring daggers at the attending’s back did little to ease your anxiety.

You felt a light touch at your elbow and a pen clatter to the floor beside you. Jeonghan leaned over and whispered, the sound disguised as a cough as he swooped down to pick up the pen. Fighting off the embarrassment, you held onto this shred of information that Jeonghan had slipped you like a buoy, only letting out a deep exhale when the attending nodded in satisfaction and left to see the patients.

“Excuse me,” you whispered as you stood up, hurriedly opening and slamming the door to the workroom behind your retreating figure. You escaped to the nearby call room, empty and dark in the day time, and tried to catch your breath on one of the threadbare mattresses.

Seungcheol gave an imperceptible nod to Jeonghan as he also stood up. “Well, I’m going to grab coffee, anyone want anything?”

Jihoon called out, “A coke, please,” before his deep voice grumbled at the students to go write their notes. Seungkwan and Chan immediately turned to their own computers to avoid Jihoon’s indifferent stare, while Seungcheol rolled his eyes and complimented them on their presentations.

In the call room, you heard a light knock before a series of electronic beeps on the door’s keypad. The handle turned softly and you turned your head to see Jeonghan’s silhouette bathed by the fluorescent lights of the hallway. He stepped inside and let the door close behind him, the room again falling back into the darkness.

You kept your face in your hands as you hastily tried to wipe away your tears. The mattress dipped beside you as Jeonghan sat down, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice uneven. You tried to take a breath, but you ended up shuddering instead. “This is so embarrassing. This has happened to me so many times, but I still don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I can’t get over it—”

“It’s okay if you can’t,” Jeonghan interrupted, placing a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what people always say, that you’ll get used to it, but I don’t think it’s something that you should get used to. I’ve only worked with you for a week but you’re so smart, and kind, and your patients love you. Even the med students like you, they’re always clamoring over themselves to impress you.”

You let out a chuckle at the memory of Seungkwan and Chan both trying to get you to review their notes as Jeonghan sat in his corner, pretend-glaring at Chan.

“Can I hug you?” Jeonghan asked, and you nodded. You felt his arms wrap around your shoulders as he pulled you against him, hands rubbing circles on your back. You could hear the steady beating of his heart and the faint smell of his cologne, and it surprised you how comfortable you felt wrapped in the warmth of his body.

“Thank you, Hannie,” you mumbled, your arms wrapping around his waist to give a quick squeeze before pulling back.

“Hannie?” he asked, his cheeks flushing a rosy hue.

“Oh, sorry, Joshua always calls you that—”

“No, I like it when you call me that,” he mumbled, his eyes lighting up despite the darkness of the room. “It totally beats the ‘Yoon Jeonghan (Intern)’ that you have me saved as in your phone.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed, pushing him lightly before getting up. “As if you don’t have me saved as the same thing.”

“No, you’re ‘Pretty Crybaby’ with a bottle emoji next to it.”

You stared at him, horrified, and hit his shoulder. “You have to change it!”

“Only if you change me to ‘Hannie”, he grinned, his pinky outstretched. You rolled your eyes and linked your pinky with his.

That night, you dreamed of the deep, open sea, but rays of light broke through the water like slender fingers guiding you towards the surface.

---

“I’ve missed you,” Jeonghan pouted, handing you a can of coffee from the refrigerator. You finished gathering your hair up into the messiest of ponytails and grabbed the can, smiling reflexively when your fingertips lingered on his. You stood in front of him in old scrubs and sneakers, devoid of makeup and tired, and you marveled at how he could still flirt with you.

“You won’t be saying that after our 24-hour shift together this weekend,” you pointed out.

“It’ll be like a sleepover, I’m so excited,” he deadpanned, and you both laughed at his tone of voice. “But really, handling the kids on my own is so tiresome.”

“You basically adopted Chan on the third day.”

“Okay, handling Seungkwan on my own is so tiresome.”

The two students bounded through the door of the lounge, as if on cue. They left their backpacks in the corner and beamed at you as you handed them printed lists.

“Time for sign-out, Dr. Boo, Dr. Lee,” you grinned, ruffling Seungkwan and Chan’s hair. “Pay attention, Dr. Yoon,” you giggled, ducking down to avoid Jeonghan’s hand aimed at your head.

---

kwan [3:10 PM]: when will they let us leave?? I need to study kwan [3:12 PM]: and it’s so boring with only jeonghan to bother kwan [3:12 PM]: he just leans back in his chair like this is his house kwan [3:13 PM]: and I’m still offended by what he said about me being tiresome

chan [3:15 PM]: I’m literally right next to you? chan [3:15 PM]: We can always pull the ‘Is there anything else I can help with before I go” card chan [3:16 PM]: more importantly, did you also hear about them having a 24 hour shift together? chan [3:16 PM]: I ship it

kwan [3:17 PM]: omg I know I wonder if there are any workplace rules or w/e kwan [3:18 PM]: but then again jeonghan has already been v flirty kwan [3:18 PM]: maybe I’ll put that in his evaluation. “I admire his ability to shoot his shots”

chan [3:20 PM]: #rolemodel #inspo

---

The weekend came, and with it, the rain. Water pelted against glass windows in sheets as the low rumble of thunder echoed throughout the city. You were sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress with your laptop balanced on your knees, the rest of your belongings shoved in the corner where the bed met the wall. You heard the familiar beeping of the keypad, and like a week prior, Jeonghan stood in the doorway.

He gave you a quick “hi” before collapsing onto the other bed across from you, folding his arms across his stomach.

“Rough night?” you asked sympathetically, rummaging around in your bag for a snack to share.

“I don’t know what it is about the rain that makes everyone in this hospital so crazy,” you heard Jeonghan mutter under his breath. He rolled onto his side to face you and you placed a small box of banana milk next to him. He took it gratefully and poked the straw through the top, letting out a contented sigh.

“Let’s get some rest before they wake us up about that guy in room 5102 not peeing again,” you said, placing your laptop to the side and getting up to turn off the light. You heard an incoherent mumble in response. Shaking your head, you smiled and felt for the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, covering it carefully over Jeonghan’s form and moving the box of milk to the nightstand. Before you could turn back to your own bed, you felt a hand in yours and a brush of lips across your knuckles.

It was whisper, almost lost against the hum of the air conditioning. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

This time, you dream of floating, your body weightless as you stared up at the blue sky above you.

---

It’s almost the end of your month with Jeonghan when it finally hits you.

“Joshua, I’m screwed,” you groan, your hand dropping your fork back into your salad bowl. Joshua scoffs across from you, taking a bite of his pasta and swallowing before waving his own fork in your direction.

“What are you talking about? You’ve been doing super well on the team, from what I’ve heard.”

“It’s who you’ve heard this stuff from that’s the problem, Joshua,” you sigh. “I’m too old to have crushes.”

Joshua gasped dramatically, and snickered when you shot a glare at him across the table. “Sometimes, you’re really dense. You’re literally all that Hannie talks about. Well, you and your med student, Chan.”

“But we only have one more week together, and then what?” you ask glumly, poking at the wilting leaves.

Joshua reached his hand to still your movements. “Hey, you’re talking like you’re never going to see him again after this block. We still make time for each other, and I’m sure you two can, if you want to.”

“But you guys are also technically psychiatry residents,” you stated, moving your hand from under Joshua’s grasp. “You’re not going to be around after this year.” You could feel the tightness behind your nose, the quickening beat of your heart, and the uncomfortable lurch in your stomach as reality soaked through you, dripping wet and cold.

You would be on a different team in a week.

Joshua and Jeonghan would be gone in a few months.

The crisp air that filled your greedy lungs would be replaced by the burn of seawater again and again, the tide a relentless onslaught every time your head broke through the surface. You had learned how to breathe again through hooded eyes and lazy smiles and faint cologne, through a shock of platinum blonde hair and a lilting voice.

But this time, you didn’t know how you would fare when you went under again.

“Why do you think that we won’t see each other anymore?” Joshua asked quietly. In the back of your mind, you knew that he was slipping into his psychiatry persona, trying to get you to talk about your worries and fears. And as much as you knew that it would feel better to talk about it, and as much as you trusted Joshua, you couldn’t explain it.

You couldn’t tell him that you ended up having no one in your third year of medical school, the friendly waves in the hallway turning to tense, unsaid competition between your classmates for good evaluations and honors.

You couldn’t tell him that with every team that you’ve been on during your intern year, you end up dispersing on the last day, going separate ways despite the physical and emotional investment spent caring for patients and for each other.

You couldn’t tell him that he was just a fluke, an anomaly in your track history of brief, intense connections that characterized your entire career thus far.

You couldn’t tell him that everyone always left.

And you had learned to survive with water in your lungs, but Jeonghan tasted like air, clean and proper and euphoric.

What you said, instead, was, “I’m scared.”

It was truth enough.

---

han [7:35 PM]: I’m so excited about tomorrow han [7:36 PM]: last day~ but maybe we can finally go on a proper date

shua [7:37 PM]: bro, you need to have an honest conversation with her shua [7:37 PM]: she thinks you’re just never going to speak again after tomorrow shua [7:38 PM]: well, she thinks we’re all not going to speak to her after our intern year ends because we’re in different programs, but that’s a whole other thing shua [7:39 PM]: there is a lot of catastrophizing

han [7:40 PM]: I’ll appreciate it if you didn’t psychoanalyze my future s/o han [7:41 PM]: I mean, you’re right, but still

shua [7:42 PM]: aren’t you getting ahead of yourself there buddy

han [7:45 PM]: no. I’ve been an absolute angel

shua [7:45 PM]: I already regret setting you up shua [7:46 PM]: what did my sweet crybaby do to deserve this

---

“Hannie?” you answered tentatively, brows furrowing in confusion when you saw your phone screen light up with his name.

“Uh, hey,” he laughed, the sound tinny and nasal. “Do you have time to talk?”

“Yeah, is something wrong?” you ask, your thoughts flashing to the conversation you had with Joshua several days ago. You could feel something akin to dread rise up in your chest, but you pushed it down.

“No, nothing bad. Do you live in the resident housing complex? I can come over.”

“Okay,” you sigh, giving him your apartment number. Twenty minutes later, you heard a knock on your door, and you let Jeonghan in.

“So,” the blonde started, settling himself on your sofa, “Joshua told me that you were…worried.”

“Joshua needs to stay out of my business,” you muttered under your breath. Jeonghan grinned and patted the space next to him, and when you sat down, his sweater-clad arm wrapped around you like it was a motion that he had perfected for years.

“I’m just going to come out and say it,” he said, his heart starting to quicken in his chest. “I was really excited about our last day together because I thought I could finally ask you out properly.”

Your eyes widen as you angled yourself towards him. “Oh, so you mean those moments in the call room weren’t dates?” you teased, and he covered his face with his hands.

“Ugh, you’re not making this any easier,” he whined, and you laughed before wrapping your hands around his wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face. You smiled gently at him before averting your gaze, suddenly shy as your hands traveled down his wrists to rest in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Hannie,” your voice no more than a whisper. Your eyes were fixed resolutely to the floor as you spoke. “I’m just not used to people wanting to stick around, and I’m scared about what’ll happen in the future.”

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Of course I want to stick around. It’s weird, but I feel like I want to know everything about you. Like, I went into psychiatry because I was interested in how people became who they were, but these past few weeks, I just wanted to know how you became the person you are today. Someone who works hard, who feels with their entire being. Someone who I’ve grown really attracted to.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you wrapped your arms around his waist, hiding your face in his chest. “You can’t just say these things, Jeonghan,” you protested, feeling the rumble of laughter through his body.

“I can promise you that we’ll make it work. Even after tomorrow. Even after this year.”

You pulled away to look up into his brown eyes, at the curve of his nose, at his red lips pulled into a wide smile. You breathed out, “and you always keep your promises” before pulling him towards you, lips singing praises against his, wrapped up in a brown sweater and a gentle breeze whispering Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan.

---

my hannie [6:01 AM]: I’m on the shuttle to the inpatient psych center! you’re probably still asleep, sorry that I couldn’t get you breakfast :( my hannie [6:02 AM]: but just wanted to wish you luck on your first day as a !! second !! year!! can you believe it? i’m so proud of you, baby. everyone’s going to love you, but not as much as me~ my hannie [6:03 AM]: shua says good luck too! I’m going to try to take a nap, it is way too early my hannie [6:05 AM]: but also….Joshua or Jeonghan?

my baby [6:30 AM]: omg hannie of course you, you big dummy. I woke up sad bc the bed was empty and then panicked bc I forgot that I didn’t have to go to sign-out anymore my baby [6:31 AM]: good luck on your first day too! poor hannie, you have to get up so early my baby [6:32 AM]: I’ll grab takeout and then we can cuddle tonight and talk about our days?

my hannie [7:00 AM]: ah yes, my most natural state – lying down in your arms. sounds perfect my hannie [7:01 AM]: I love you so much, pretty baby

my baby [7:02 AM]: well I guess it’s an upgrade from ‘pretty crybaby’ my baby [7:02 AM]: love you too

#jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #svt imagines #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan drabble #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen drabbles #svt drabbles #jeonghan medical au #seventeen medical au #seventeen au #jeonghan au

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