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frannyzooey · 1 year

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Short Days, Long Nights: 5

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (some desperate stuff right here people)

A/N: An endless and forever thank you to @mourningbirds1 for being exactly who she is and for being so patient with me. ❤

Summer comes, and you ache for the man across the hall.

It’s been almost a month since he kissed you — a month — and you’re starting to wonder if it was real, save for the way you can feel it vividly when you seek relief with your own fingers. Waiting until he’s hunting or during the dead of night, you slip them south and swirl with practiced, efficient pressure, muffling the sounds you make so he can’t hear you with your door open the way he insists.

You bite back the cry that gathers in your throat when you come knowing he would do it so much better than you. You know, because you’ve become obsessed with his hands.

He won’t touch you — not like he did at the lake, or on the couch — and you can’t stop yourself from watching his hands touch everything else: handling his gun as he cleans it, the ease of his knife as he prepares dinner, mending the clothes line outside when it becomes warm enough to start drying items out there.

He fixed up a rain barrel for the garden, helped you measure and stake lines into the ground for the plants to climb and all the while, you watched his thick, competent fingers. Calloused and rough, his hands are so broad you can still remember the way your fingers barely spread enough to fit between his and when you close your eyes during the peak of your pleasure, you imagine his hand replacing yours.

He told you he worked in construction, and it makes more sense now, the way he knows the build of things. He also told you about where he came from (Austin, Texas), what he did there (contractor), let it slip that he had a brother (Tommy). You didn’t ask him about why he called for his brother in his sleep once you knew who he was calling for, or what he wanted Tommy to help him with though. Those were topics you knew instinctively to avoid, and given the way he acted the last time you asked him if he wanted to talk about it, you didn’t dare bring it up.

Nights in the QZ spent smuggling under the cover of darkness replaced by nights spent keeping watch when you were traveling, he now spends them reading. Another trek over to the other cabin with you to collect things he missed before, you had carried home a sack full of paperbacks and he’s amassed a library of sorts on his bedside table, something that makes you smile every time you see it.

He tells you about those too: westerns mostly, a couple of thrillers, one family saga that he didn’t get through; his words spilling out into the peaceful forest and into your ears, like he couldn’t stop once he started.

You’ve learned a lot about him in the last few weeks, but you want to learn so much more.

A live wire every time you’re in his presence, your palms itch with the want to map the planes of his body, your lips longing for his. You study the lines of his body out of the corner of your eye every chance you get until you have his image burned into your memory for recall at night: the swirls of his dark hair peppered with gray, the fit of his t-shirts around his shoulders, the crinkles that surround his eyes when he smiles. You caught him grooming one day in the mirror, and for some reason, that’s one of the images that you think about the most: the meticulous way he trimmed his mustache; the careful, focused look on his face, the bunched, taut muscles in his arms as his hand held the scissors.

It’s the worst though when he works in the garden.

Always ending up in a simple white cotton shirt, the material is form fitting and thin, molding to the dip of his collarbones and dampening with sweat down the middle of his back. Your mouth waters every time you see him strip his top layer off, unveiling the undershirt he prefers to work in.

His hands still have something to do with it – those hands, working open a button at a time until he peels away the flannel to throw it carelessly in the grass, the short hem of his sleeves only serving to highlight his biceps even more.

It’s almost indecent, the image, but it’s definitely indecent the way you think about it later.

The same white cotton that has been seared into the back of your eyes is soft in your hands, when you take the laundry to the river. Hidden under a blend of your clothes in the basket, you take it out and steal a glance over your shoulder towards the cabin.

He’s not there, and looking around for a moment to make sure he’s not in your sightline either, you press the cotton to your face and inhale, closing your eyes. It smells so strongly of him, his sweat and skin and scent pressed into the fabric and it brings you back to the couch, when his face was next to yours.

Your thighs buckle slightly (his mouth moving against yours), arousal blossoming bright as it floods between them (his hold on your cheek, the low hum of satisfaction he let out). Kneeling along the embankment, cold water seeps through the knees of your jeans and brings you back to the shore.

Fighting the urge to bring it back to your room for safekeeping under your pillow, you pull it away from your face and submerge it into the water, watching it slowly sink.

—

It’s near suffocating, his want for you.

He should just give in, but with every day that passes, the possibility of it moves further away.

Your softness, the curving slopes of your body, your voice. Every scattered item of your belongings left around the cabin a reminder of you, it haunts him all.

You’re there during the day, the water of the creek molding the front of your wet shirt to your body while you do laundry. During the afternoon, a peek of your tailbone leading to the curve of your ass as you kneel on all fours in the garden. During the evening, your features softened by lantern light and your skin luminous and inviting, like velvet.

During the night, arching beneath him in his dreams.

He finds relief when he goes hunting, his bow discarded on the grass as his hand braces on a tree, his other stroking in rapid, firm pumps. The arousal in his gut is ever present, his cock half hard all the time and he grips the rough bark with a white knuckled hold when he comes, seed spilling onto the leaves below.

Every day. Every day he does this, unable to focus on anything else until he does - and even then, it’s hard.

He’s been tempted to do it while in bed at night, but he can’t quite bring himself to. The need to be quiet reminds him too much of adolescent anxiety and besides, he can’t shake the feeling that you would be able to hear him should he do it.

He thinks you might, because he can hear you after all, in the other room.

He hears your sheets rustle in the darkness, the springs of your mattress when you shift in bed. He can’t help the twitch he feels underneath his pajama pants at the sound and it shouldn’t be lewd, but somehow knowing you’re in there makes it so. His eyes staring up at his ceiling, he thinks about your twin bed tucked into the corner, the way he’d have to press close to fit in with you, the sounds the bed would make after that.

And so he’s begun reading, to distract himself.

At first, he tried doing it with you in the room, but he couldn’t stop the words from blurring, his mind focused instead on your presence. There was a tangible weight between the two of you, one he couldn’t ignore and when he found himself glancing above the top of the book at your face more than he was actually turning the pages, he started reading elsewhere.

On the stoop outside, down by the water, in his bed propped against the headboard.

He spends more time doing it now than he ever has, now that he’s got the time. Never really did before with a new baby and then a kid to raise on his own and then…everything else. Never really wanted to after that, choosing instead to work himself to exhaustion in order to sleep or having no choice in the matter just to survive.

He does like it, but besides that, he knows what he would do if he allowed himself to put the book down.

He tries to distract himself in other ways too: checking the traps every day, keeping up with hunting, helping you repair anything that needs it around the cabin with the materials he has. He stays busy because this is more peace than he’s known in a long time, and he also can’t stop worrying about when the peace will break. All good things must come to an end, especially in this life where the good things almost never get a chance to take root in the first place.

With every day that you make this place a home for the two of you, he already mourns the day that it will come to pass and so in the meantime, he takes what he can, when he can convince himself to take it.

Everything he can, except you.

—

Clouds darken and gather in the distance, the damp smell of impending rain permeating the air and you stand on the porch, your teeth worrying at your bottom lip. Not for the first time since this all began, you wish you had a reliable way to tell the weather. Sometimes it’s nice, never knowing what the day will bring, a certain sort of peace that comes with being forced to take each day as it is without worrying about how to prepare for it – but mostly, it’s a nuisance.

“It start yet?” he asks, and the question makes you glance over your shoulder at him as he comes out to join you.

“No, not yet.”

His eyes scan the yard, an unconscious action that you don’t think he’ll ever be able to stop and when they land on your face, he frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Your lip tells me it’s somethin’.”

He nods at the way you’re biting it, his eyes lingering there and you let it go.

“I know it seems dumb, but I’m worried about them.”

“About who?”

You gesture at the garden, and his eyebrows raise as he lets out a chuckle. “The plants?”

They are more than just seeds now – delicate, tender alive things that burst from the soil in neat rows, climbing the threads he’s hung. Their vines wind around the stakes in their search for light, their creeping leaves fanning out as they face up towards the sun. You created those, and you’re protective of them: check on them every morning, afternoon and night. They need to work, in order for this to work, and so you bite your lip again, pulling it into your mouth.

“Stop,” he soothes. His hand comes to rest reassuringly on your shoulder, the familiar weight of it making your heart pick up. “It’s rained before, honey. It’ll be fine.”

Honey — that was new, the nickname. Started calling you that after you decided you couldn’t learn to hunt because you didn’t want to see the animal suffer.

“You’re too sweet. Sweet as honey.”

You thought he would mind after the way he originally insisted on you learning, but were surprised when he didn’t push it. He just accepted it, and the action had made you come to a conclusion in the middle of the night after thinking about it for a couple of days: Joel liked having someone to take care of.

It seemed to be his driving force, his purpose and shed new color on every thing he’s done for you since you met him. You liked the idea of belonging to him enough that he felt he needed to care for you, but with every day that passed since the kiss, you had begun to wonder if that was why he wasn’t touching you: this sense of responsibility where you were concerned.

Somehow that made you want him more, if more was even possible.

Honey. His southern accent gave way to nicknames, that’s what you told yourself. It didn’t mean anything, but it didn’t stop you from inwardly preening every time he said it, like the sun itself was shining on your leaves.

“Don’t worry about them. They’ll be fine. Rain’ll be good for ‘em.”

You nod, knowing he’s right but when the distant rumble of thunder echoes through the trees, you look up at the sky, your eyes searching. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your profile, his eyes slowly sliding down.

The flutter of his curls is in the corner of your vision; your hand gripping the warped, dry railing. Never wanting anything more in your life than to feel the solid, warm wall of his chest and to breathe him in, your lips tingle with the imagined brush of his whiskers when you picture fitting your face into his neck. You’d kiss him there, along the pebbled, tan skin and the sound of satisfaction he would make floods into your mind.

The electricity in the air heightens what you feel, the weight of it wrapping around your lungs, making your inhales thin in the charged space. It pulses between your bodies, his eyes studying you as he pretends he’s looking at something else and you silently will him to just touch you.

Say something.

Do anything.

Jumpy with anticipation, you give him a moment before looking up at him and the intensity of his direct gaze is felt only for a fraction of a second before he breaks it, looking away.

His jaw ticks under his beard, his fist knocking restlessly against the top of his thigh as he avoids looking at you with a straight backed stance and then he's turning towards the cabin, leaving you to it.

“I’m gonna go read.”

—

A crack of lightning startles you awake, the sound coming from just outside your window and you're immediately thrown back into the base fear of childhood. Branches scrape and drag along the roof, your eyes open wide as they search the dark corners of the room and twigs snap and roll down the slope above you with an unfamiliar sound, rain pelting the window next to your bed in a torrential beat.

Another flash of lightning brightens your room for a split second before plunging it back into darkness and thunder immediately follows, rumbling directly above. The sound shakes the windows in their frames, the wind outside howling and you focus on that sound for a moment before it starts to blend with another one.

A low moan; a staggered strobe of light followed by another ground shaking roll.

You hear it again – a plea barely heard over the rain, but when it slips from a single drawn out sound to a more distinct muttering, you recognize Joel’s sleep blurred voice.

“Tommy,” he groans, the syllables long and slow. “Tommy, help me.”

Getting up from your bed, lightning illuminates the space again as you cross the hall and when you step foot in his room, a shake of thunder accompanies your first step over the threshold. Rain pours down his window, the wavy, lit reflection sliding over his bed and you kneel beside him on the mattress, reaching to wake him up.

“Joel,” you whisper, saying it again a bit louder over the storm. “Joel.”

A deep frown etched between his brows, he stays asleep, his body shifting on the mattress away from you. “No. No. Come on, baby. Come on.”

Pain laced through his voice, you turn desperate to soothe him. “Joel, wake up.”

The dream keeping him within its grasp, you grab his shoulder to give it a hard shake and the motion finally wakes him. Up in an instant, furious and wide eyed, his hands reach out to grab you in their hold and wrapping tightly around the top of your arms, a small sound of surprise escapes from your mouth when he flips you faster than you can react onto the mattress underneath him, pinning you down with his weight.

The dream clouding his vision, he’s still half gone above you and you lay still beneath him, not daring to move. Your heart thunders in your chest to match the rumble outside, and the longer he stays between your legs, you start to feel a dampness collect along your seam. The heat of his body leeches through his sweatpants, his solid weight pressing into the inside of your thighs to spread them wide.

“Hey,” you whisper, tentatively moving your hand. You bring it up, fitting the curve of his whiskered cheek into your palm. “It’s just me.”

The second he slips fully into consciousness, you can see it. His gaze regains its clarity, muted streaks of light flashing across his profile and the sound of the storm dies behind the sound of his labored breathing, warm gusts of it ghosting over your mouth. He frowns slightly in confusion, his eyes searching yours and when you offer no resistance and look right back, he bends to press his mouth to yours just as you rise to meet him.

Coming alive underneath him immediately, your fingers slide up to thread through his mussed hair and he tilts his mouth to fit yours, your head lifting to meet his urgency. He groans, a ragged sound of relief that tears from his chest and pours into you as his mouth devours. His hips seek the cradle of your thighs as he relaxes on top of you with a firm grind and you feel the stiff heft of his hardening cock against the curve of your ass, your legs already finding their way around his waist.

Holding on for dear life should he suddenly decide to pull away from you, you don’t have to worry this time. He’s so much more intent than he was on the couch, so much more focused and yet his urgency makes his movements almost frantic. Shaky and desperate, his hands hold you a little too tight, his mouth kisses a little too rough, and the grind of his hips is a little too harsh, but you absorb it all, shuddering as the heat from his body infuses into yours.

His kiss moves from your mouth to your jaw and then down your neck, his teeth dragging along the tender skin and when you moan, the sound is eclipsed by a distant roll of thunder. Your hands slide over his back, smoothing down the planes of firm muscle that you’ve been dreaming about and his hand comes up to wrap around the underside of your jaw, pushing it up so he can taste the hollow of your throat.

His fingers tug your neckline down before changing his mind to shove it up, giving you just enough space within the cage of his arms to untangle your limbs when he helps tear it off and when he wraps the heat of his mouth around your nipple with a reverential suck, you cry out loud enough for him to hear it this time. His tongue swirls a wet circle around it, the tip dragging over the peaked bud and his hand cradles the bottom of your breast, pushing more of it into his mouth. He moves onto the other one, tasting it just as thoroughly when he gives it an open mouthed kiss and then he’s coming back up.

Kissing him again, you’re already lifting your hips up into his, squirming under his weight and the both of you reach down at the same time, working the other’s bottoms off. It’s a hasty scramble, the material kicked off into the nest of his bedding and when he settles back between your thighs, you feel the pressure of him already lining up. The thick tip of his cock fitting at your entrance, he doesn’t stop for a moment before pressing into you and it’s a tight fit even for how wet you already are.

“Joel,” you moan, whining when he bottoms out and he groans into the crook of your neck, his hold coming to wrap around your nape to keep you in place underneath him.

“Fuck,” he grits out with a heavy exhale. “Fuck. You feel so goddamn good. Just like I knew you would. I knew it, honey.”

His words are punctuated with a heavy gust of breath for every stroke of his hips forward, his back rounding with each one as the the filling stretch of his cock overwhelms you. There is a slight pain to it, being used for the first time in years, but it’s quickly replaced with a delicious spark of pleasure, your slick cunt clenching around him to pull him deeper.

“Yes. Yes.”

His strokes get harder, harsher, the old bed beginning to squeak slightly in a rhythmic beat and while you can still distantly hear the storm still going strong around you, it’s muffled now by your mingled sounds: small whines to match his grunts, soft moans to match his deeper ones. His desperation is felt in every stroke, adding to your own ache in your core. Just knowing that he has been wanting this just as much, you wrap your arms around him to keep him close. Moving above you like his body craves relief, his grip digs into the meat of your hips while his other hand tightens on your neck and you absorb the frantic need rolling off his hot skin, your ankles crossing over his tailbone.

You need to come. You want to come so bad you’ll do anything, and you close your eyes and hope that he lasts long enough for you to do it, because you’re so close you can taste it in the back of your throat if you focus on it. Your body hums with it, your hips rolling frantically to match his every pound down and your thighs tighten around his waist in a squeeze of warning, your pleading getting higher in pitch.

“Please, Joel. Please. Please.”

“I got you, honey. I got it.” He shifts the weight of his hips, grinding his pubic bone into your clit as he pushes in deep and it’s only a couple strokes just like that before you’re coming harder than you have in years, the want you’ve been trying to foolishly relieve by yourself bursting inside you.

Ten times better than any release you’ve ever given yourself, he fucks you right through it, his hold getting tighter on your hip.

“Oh goddamn, honey,” he groans, the sound pleasure soaked and low. “Fuckin’ yes. Yes.”

His praise is panted into you right before he kisses you and it’s sloppy and hungry, his mouth resting just over yours. He shoves himself in as deep as he can get, a couple of rough strokes slipping into your snug, soaked heat and then he groans loudly, jerking his hips back just in time to spurt hot across the inside of your thigh. It splashes along the crease of your leg, painting milky white as it slips down over the curve of your ass and his eyes are clenched tight above you, his torso giving shivering little shudders as he finishes and starts to come down.

He’s breathing heavily, your heart pounding right underneath his own and then he opens his eyes, his gaze finding yours.

You don’t know what to say. Afraid to shatter this moment with speaking lest he suddenly realize what he just did and pull away, but also afraid that staying quiet will be taken as a sign of regret, you open your mouth and at that very moment, another flash of lightning bursts outside the window, a loud crack of thunder following immediately after.

It startles you, your body jumping slightly under his but he’s already flattening his body instinctively on top of yours, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head. He’s covering you, the reaction to gunfire embedded into the very bones of his body and then he stiffens, realizing what he just did.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, moving to shift off of you but your arms wind tight around his torso, keeping him in place.

“Don’t go.”

He stops moving, his expression softening and his tone slips into a reassuring murmur; the storm still raging outside.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, honey. I’m right here.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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chachadelight · 2 years

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Celle qui s'est enfuie

Part 1 | Part 2

Rating & Warnings: Swearing, smut, a tiny bit of violence

I’d also like to thank those who encouraged me to write this and! also thank you to @rymndsmth for some of the inspo I had for some of the saucyness that happens here. Their ‘kyoto’ series is top fuckin notch, please do give it a read!! This is a one shot technically, but if it’s well received I might write a second or third part, probably nothing longer than that but who knows! Enjoy!

Pairings: Tangerine x Assassin!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: All he has to do is follow the rules; but Tangerine’s never been big on rules. Where does that leave him?

“Yeah well, he’s a diesel innit?”

“Lemon what’d I say huh? If you talk about Thomas the Tank Engine again I’m gon- “

“You’re gonna’ shoot me in the face—I know”.

Yet there he went on again. It had only been about 30 minutes since they had gotten onto the train and Tangerine was already at his limit. If he hadn’t loved his dear brother as much as he did he most likely would’ve fulfilled his promise a long time ago.

Lemon sat back against his chair, huffing with annoyance as he adjusted the lapel of his jacket. “Right well, all we gotta’ do is get this fucker his lazy sod of a son and his hard drive and we can go home”, Lemon gestured to the opposing seats, a young tattooed boy blissfully passed out and pressed up against the window. “You’ve got the drive yeah?”

“Yeah thanks for the update Lemon I got it”. Tangerine rolled his eyes before checking the time on his watch; they had hours before they made it to their stop at Kyoto. Maybe this would be a great opportunity for them to actually relax for once considering that only a few hours ago they were about knee deep in blood just trying to get their hands on the White Death’s son.

It was a job they hesitated for that’s for sure, but after hearing about the pay out and just how keen their contractor was on getting them specifically for the job, they just couldn’t say no. They were professionals after all, they weren’t going to scrutinise that for nobody.

Tangerine’s gaze was suddenly stolen as one of the train crew members rolled by with a cart full of food. Without even thinking the male reached over at pinched a couple of bags from the cart.

“You don’t need to nick the biscuits”.

“Why do I do that? It’s like a compulsion or something”.

“You should see someone bout’ that”.

Tangerine cringed at himself, knowing full well his little klepto issue was something he needed to attend to but just never really got around to addressing.

The two men’s attention was stolen away when the chime indicating the train was coming to a stop sounded off, but only briefly once they noticed only a

couple of average looking citizens made their way through the cart. All but one.

“Mate she’s right lush”. Tangerine’s upper lip twitched upward ever so slightly as his head gestured forwards, causing Lemon to turn his head in an oh so not very inconspicuous way.

“Fuckin’ make it look any more obvious would ya, fucken git”.

There she was. The woman Tangerine was referring to. Hair ever so slightly covering her gaze, only adding to the sensual nature of her kohl lined eyes and red tinted lips. She walked with poise and a sense of elegance to her, she seemed unsuspecting but the way she carried herself said more about her that Tangerine just sensed deep down. What the sense was he had no idea but he really didn’t care at this point. She wore a black pleated skirt and socks that stopped just at her thighs, god, her thighs. The edge of the fabric hugging her flesh oh so perfectly it almost made Tangerine huff...almost.

His eyes flicked back up to catch the silver chain around her neck sat stark against the fabric of her black turtleneck. The man had obviously stared a little too long because she had caught his gaze by the time, she found her place into a seat that had her in perfect sight of him. The woman’s lip quirked into a shy smile, a blush forming on her cheek as she quickly looked away once realising his stare was for her only.

“Who’s the one makin it obvious now mate?”

Tangerine however didn’t look away, why would he? He wasn’t some shy schoolboy. He held her gaze for as long as she was staring back, knowing her bashfulness was his doing only fed his already massive ego. With a tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, Tangerine only chuckled with pride once he saw the effect he had on her, of course, too easy.

Lemon shook his head quickly in succession, twisting his face in disagreement. “Nah nah nah, none of that”.

“None of what?”

“None of—” Lemon tilted his head quickly to the side, motioning to the woman. “That”.

Tangerine scoffed and reached up to slick back his hair in a show of confidence and ease. “Dunno what you’re on about mate”.

“The last thing we need is you goin’ off and shagging some girl in the middle of a job”.

Immediately Tangerine showed offense to his brother’s accusation and started adjusting the collar of his suit with a shake of his head. “Don’t be stupid”. He shook his head again in dismissal but still managed to sneak another look at the woman, quickly getting the chance to catch a glimpse of the way her thighs pressed together as she sat cross-legged. Fuck she looked good just sitting there. Lemon and Tangerine’s line of work wasn’t exactly the most social occupation in the world, there wasn’t really time for making friends let alone a sexual partner. So, to say that Tangerine was a little ‘deprived’ might have been a slight understatement.

“Whatever Tangerine...I’m gonna’ go secure the train. Make sure everything’s in check”.

“Yeah right”.

A sudden slam to the table had Tangerine’s attention onto his brother in an instant, his eyes wide as if to say, ‘what the fuck Lemon’?

“I fuckin mean it, no funny business”.

‘Yeah yeah alright, fuckin ell’ you’re like my mother or somethin”.

And with that, his brother disappeared into the next train cart and Tangerine was left alone. Just him, the White Death’s sleeping son and his raging hormones.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her and she was well aware of it herself. There was no such thing as sneaky stolen glances anymore. Tangerine had no shame at this point with the way he tapped his fingers lightly against the table, his gaze fixated on her form, tracing a line up from her legs to her face he noticed her looking back.

Although this time she didn’t look away shyly, if anything she was now smiling back. Her red lips pulled back unto a smirk as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. With a wave the woman wiggled her fingers in Tangerine’s direction in a form of a flirtatious wave, a completely opposing energy to what she showed only moment before when she first boarded the train.

Tangerine lifted a brow as a chuckle escaped his lips, curiosity was definitely getting the better of him. He peered behind his shoulder, wondering if Lemon was going to turn the corner any moment. He did say he would behave himself.

Well who the fuck cares about what Lemon tells him what to do? He was never big on following the rules anyway.

Just like that Tangerine found himself walking towards her, a hand smoothing down his hair and fingers making quick work at is sleeves to roll them up to his elbows. Soon enough he slipped into the chair opposite to the woman, leaned back with a coolness Tangerine had long ago perfected with ease.

“Now what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ here eh?”

“Just visiting a friend in Kyoto”. Her voice rang like bells in his ears and the smile on her lips was only making her that much more tantalising.

“Got a long way to go just to visit a friend no?”

She grinned “Maybe. I guess I’m just devoted like that”.

Tangerine reached up and smoothed a finger over his moustache as he gave her another once over she didn’t fail to notice. “I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”.

It was almost nard to keep her focus. Almost.

Those blue eyes paired with that accent had no doubt gotten this man anything and everything he’d ever wanted. And now here he was facing her, leaned back in his seat with the scent of his ego practically oozing off of him. The way he looked at her was predatory, his gaze eating her up with every chance he could get. She was amused to say the least, and the grin on her lips was impossible to get rid of. Her job was relatively simple, get the drive from the twins and get off the train before they ever noticed. But what her handler failed to mention was just how delicious a certain curly haired killer

“I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”. With that she leaned forward against crossed arms, her breasts provocatively pressed up against each other. Tangerine’s eyebrow twitched upward with interest, his tongue swiping out over his bottom lip as he simply followed her movements by leaning in towards the table, closing the gap between the pair.

“What am I going to do with you luv?” She couldn’t help herself when her teeth grazed her bottom lip, why was he so hard to ignore? He was so close to her now and she could smell his cologne so vividly. He smelled of vanilla, cigars and smoke, no doubt fresh from a fight and it was a sent that could make her legs shake from excitement. She wasn’t supposed to get too involved but now he asked her that question and she didn’t really feel like behaving.

She had a little time to spare and she just couldn’t find herself not taking this delicious opportunity.

Their gazes were locked and for moment she let her eyes dip down to peer at his lips, head tilting ever so slightly as the next sentence slipped from her mouth with a little too much finesse. “Anything you want”.

It was clear they were on the same page. Yet what made everything in her favour was that he had no idea that she was after exactly what he had. He hadn’t even asked for her name; it couldn’t have been any better.

Tangerine let out a huff from his nose as he promptly stood from the chair, picking at an invisible piece of lint from his shirt before making his way past her. However not before slyly grazing his fingers over the edge of her jawline, letting his fingers glide through her hair for a moment before he continued his b-line to the train bathroom.

She smiled to herself, a breath seizing in her throat for just a moment as she felt the warmth of his fingers against her skin.

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

She soon found herself slipping into the too small train bathroom, her palms pressed against the door for just a moment longer before she turned around to find the man leaning himself against the too small sink. The air inside suddenly turned thin, and the beating of her heart thrummed wildly against her chest. Why she did not know, she was not one to get nervous in a situation like this but this man...this man was unlike any other she had come across. He made the others seem insignificant and judging by the way she almost shook just from his burning gaze; she could tell this was going to be different.

“You know...” She cooed softly as she took a step forward, noting the way his forearms flexed as his grip on the edge of the sink tightened. “I don’t even know your name”. Reaching forward she looped a single finger over the gold chain decorating the empty space on the man’s neck, a single tug forward causing him to snicker.

She was playing a dangerous game and as soon as she took her grip on that necklace and it tightened around his neck something inside him snapped to attention. “Just call me Tangerine luv”.

“Like the fruit?” She quirked an eyebrow “and his hands found her hips. “Yeah, like the fruit”.

“How – “She looped in a second finger and tugged once more causing Tangerine to grunt at the sudden squeeze he now felt around his neck. “– Cute”.

Tangerine let out a puff of air that sounded like amusement, their lips so close to one another she could feel his warm breath fan across her face. “Watch it luv”.

“Or what?” She liked this game. But so did he.

Lips against lips in a matter of seconds. The kiss was hungry, desperate, it was angry. She had clearly pressed the right buttons because the grip he help on her hips was bruising. Fingers digging deep into her skin as they both fought for the dominance of the kiss. He tasted just as he smelled, smoke and vanilla permeated her lips and mouth, and she couldn’t help herself as she whined into the kiss.

He pulled he in closer, hips pressed flush together that had her melting into his touch to the point that she let go of her grip on his, completely forgetting that she was trying to win dominance only moments before.

His fingers soon found home in her hair, digits twisting into her locks before tugging roughly to pull her head backwards, exposing her neck to him. “Not so cheeky now hey luv?” His voice had deepened, laced with arrogance as he dipped down to attach his lips to her neck and leave a trail of hungry bruises he knew she would have to look at for days to come.

If she could see herself she knew she would be mad; mad that she had let this man cause her to become so undone in a matter of minutes. This wasn’t what she had in mind but it had been so long since someone had made her feel this alive.

“Don’t—” He cut her off quickly when his mouth found hers once more, tongue slipping past her lips without a moment wasted. “Get—cocky”. She managed to let out a few breathless words between the sloppy kisses, her breath heaving in her chest to keep up with his hunger.

Tangerine chuckled against her lips before he hauled her upwards with a little too much ease, her arms found solace around his neck whilst her legs wrapped securely around his waist. He carried her over towards the closed toilet seat before settling down, allowing her to find herself seated comfortably in his lap. This gave her a chance to catch her breath from the bruising kiss, hazed over eyes peering down at an equally dishevelled Tangerine.

He was beautiful like this, in the dim lighting of the train bathroom, perfectly gelled hair now a mess on top of his head. Blue eyes turned a storm cloud grey and hooded with desire. It was almost a shame that she was going to have to steal from him and run away, never to been again.

That’s when she saw it. Peering down his vest pocket she saw the glint of the hard drive poking its head out, her heart skipping a beat. It was right there, un his pocket. And she had him seduced and sexed up in the bullet train bathroom.

This was too good.

His hands slowly slid their way up the exposed part of her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her skirt before stopping dangerously close to exactly where she wanted him. The cold of the varying rings decorating his fingers sent a shiver through her.

With her new position she didn’t miss the way his hardened length pressed against her clothed core, a coy smile on her lips growing as she took the opportunity to grind her hips downwards. Immediately eliciting a groan from Tangerine that wanted to make her go wild

“You gonna’ ride me sweetheart?” He cooed.

She leaned in towards him, her fingers snaking their way into the back of his hair before tugging softly. Doing what he had done to hair by yanking his head back to give her more access to his neck. “Anything you want handsome”.

Tangerine’s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her lips against the shell of his ear, the tightness of his hair being pulled sending him into a craze that his grip on his hips and thighs tightening even more. He pulled her down against himself, the sound of her soft mewl letting him smirk with pride.

She couldn’t help it, the feeling of having him press against her was driving her crazy. She had found herself at a rhythm, hips swirling back and forth. Her movements at his command as his hands guided her every move. It didn’t take her long to get panting, her head falling back to indulge in the feeling of his hardness rutting against her. His soft grunts filled the small space and run in her ears.

The heat that was overtaking her body was indescribable and at some point his hands had found home against the slope of her arse, kneading the flesh generously. She needed to feel him, just him.

And it seemed like he had the same idea because Tangerine was rushing for his pants—she reached down with him when she was able to become coherent enough to pay attention. They both knew this was going to be anything but sweet and slow, this was going to be quick and hard but neither of them was complaining.

“You’re gonna take me like a good girl...” Tangerine gripped the base of his length, pulling her panties to side to teasingly circle the head against her folds. “Aren’t you sweetheart?”

She whimpered softly, her breath catching in her throat as his length prodded at her entrance, threatening to enter her at any moment. He was too good, and the way those pet names rolled off his tongue in that accent was doing things to her she had just never expected. But she was losing patience, and the more he had her coming undone the more frustrated she became with herself.

“Fuck me good and find out”.

He growled and with one sudden upwards thrust and guttural groan he sheathed himself inside her. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, almost regretting her show of defiance before the painful sting was replaced by the sweet sting of pleasure. Tangerine reached up, his palm pressing against her mouth to muffle her scream as he let out an amused chuckle.

“Careful luv, wouldn’t want anyone to know we’re doing in here”.

She knew he was right but the way ne filled her just right had her eyes rolling to the back of her head and all her inhibitions disappeared.

“That’s it...” He cooed again, one hand squeezing against her hip and the other snaking its way up her chest. It didn’t take long to build up a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping up against her almost painfully. The pace had her biting down on her own lip, hard enough to the point she drew a small amount of blood, the taste of iron coating her tongue as she propped her hands behind her on his knees or support.

Tangerine watched her with a lust in his gaze, hard muffled grunts leaving is lips with every thrust of his hips. He kept his hold on one side of her hips whilst the other had found its way around her throat, fingers squeezing a firm pressure onto her neck that was already littered with his bruises.

Now with the added loss of oxygen, she was being sent into complete bliss. Pleasure was already overtaking every inch of her body and she could feel that familiar twinge in the centre of her core, that feeling of unwinding threatening to break at any moment.

He never let up his pace, sweat beading at the crown of his head as he focused himself on her, on her body and the way she started to tighten around him. She was close and her warmth only egged him on, encouraging him to only wreck her even more.

“Let go for me sweetheart”. He managed to grunt out his words, focusing on getting her to the end.

She whined softly, trying her best on not screaming out as the searing hot burn of her climax finally imploded inside her. Her body seized from the pure pleasure. Tangerine’s hips stuttered with her release, the constant feeling of her core flexing around him sending him over the edge shortly after her. He filled her with his warmth, the feeling sending a shiver through her already sensitive body.

“Fuckin’ ell”. Falling forwards into Tangerine’s surprisingly caring embrace his arms wrapped around her to help her ride out her orgasm, “Good girl”. Tangerine stroked the back of her head, heavy breath blowing past her ear with the words of praise.

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

Surprisingly he helped her clean herself up, where she had expected him to leave as soon as they were done. But now, here she was, watching him primp himself in the mirror, smoothing those beautiful curls back down to a somewhat more presentable way.

She hadn’t forgotten about the drive in his breast pocket however.

He had his back turned to her as she silently stayed leaning against the door of the bathroom, her head tilted in observation as she waited for the exact moment to make her move. He was gorgeous, he really was, and shit he made her feel good. Him standing there now, examining every little detail of himself in the mirror, ensuring he was presentable or perhaps just liked looking at himself a little too much. But he was charming, too charming for his own good. Damn...she was starting to like him.

“You know...it’s a real shame”. “What’s that luv?” “Sorry about this”.

“Sorry about wha—" Without letting him finish his sentence she had already gripped the side of his head, using maximum force without being lethal to send the man’s head directly into the side of the porcelain sink. With a deafening crack and a loud groan of pain, Tangerine was on the floor, a sizeable cut on that beautiful forehead of his.

She sighed dramatically before squatting down beside a groaning Tangerine, clearly disorientated from the hit to the head. “No hard feelings?” She cooed, a grin on her lips as she slipped the hard drive from his pocket and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Oi...you—f...fucken ch...cheeky”.

“Shhh, you’ve hit your head. Rest a while”. And with that she disappeared through the bathroom door.

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

“You’ve got to be fucken’ kidding me”. Lemon stood before Tangerine, hands on his hips as his twin held a bag of frozen whatever against the forming lump on his forehead. “What’d I fucken say?”

“Shut up mate”. “Thomas would nev-“ “Don’t even fucken go there”.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #bullet train #tangerine fanfic #tangerine x y/n #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train fanfic

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fairytale-poll · 5 months

Text

ROUND 2A, MATCH 6 OUT OF 8!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Queen Cinderella Charming:

She's kind, she's funny, she learns to use a sword, and she's related to Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Red Riding Hood. She helps the protagonists any chance she gets and even hosts their mother and step-father's wedding. She never gives up and never lets her fear stop her. Absolute queen (literally) <3

While she isn't hugely relevant in the story itself, she is always down to help out the protagonists where she can. When they need one of her slippers, she sneaks it into their bag without them noticing. She calls them family. She loves her daughter too, and is a badass mom.

When the main characters need her glass slipper for a spell, she snuggled it into their bag, and she has a daughter named Hope <3

I think she’s a minor character in the first book, but she’d really nice and stuff!

Because I LOVE HER!! also she has a daughter called Hope who got kidnapped by rumplestiltskin at one point but that is besides the point. She is a strong independent woman and we love those she was NOT about to sit around doing nothing and i love her for that

Vote Land of Stories Cinderella because she's the best!!!

Elegance "Ella" Coach:

Ella fights for labor reform! I just reread the book intentionally so I could make propaganda for her but now my head is empty only LOVE FOR ELLA. She has two (gay) fairy godfathers, she worked in a sweatshop where her mother died, she has a well-developed with her prince, Dash Charming. The glass slippers are a very important motif even though she doesn’t actually get a pair herself because she was a secret fairy godparent case because the fairy godparent organization had become corrupt and wasn’t helping needy children, only the rich. It’s a sequel to Grounded which is a Rapunzel story, but Disenchanted stands alone in the same world and it’s my most favorite of the two!! She’s so kind and helps institute kingdom wide labor reform and ahhhhhhhh

Former child laborer who wants to use her family's newfound privilege to fight for workers' rights. Brave, smart, and compassionate, although she can also be reckless, because she's just a kid and she deserves BETTER. Actually has a good relationship to her step-family, who are badass and Black like her, and there's this really touching moment at the end that recontextualizes things a lot and it's very sweet and cool worldbuilding. Her fairy godmother is two gay contractors who overthrow their boss for being complicit in a corporate espionage/coup scheme. She has a nice and believable relationship with her prince, who is a fucking dork that learns to be less of a privileged idiot and would absolutely put his ass on the line for her in return. She's just so GOOD and Disenchanted is UNDERRATED, everyone go read it.

Her goal is to improve workers rights, directly inspired by the 19th century textile industry, right down to child labor and workers getting locked in factories. Her mother died working in a sweatshop. She struggles with her working class upbringing and her new upper class status after her father's invention made them rich. Not afraid of breaking the law. She's so cool and her book is so good.

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notknickers · 7 months

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könig's new haircut

this is for you, @kathy-ifnt ! (i feel like preemptively apologising for draggin gyou into this, but... it's done.) it's not a silly mini-comic, but sometimes i can put one word after the other in an order that almost means something. almost.

synopsis: in a comment section on tumblr, two unhinged individuals plot to make könig's life into a joke.

warnings: none apply

audiences: teen and up

word count: 1140

a/n: lots of silliness in this one. (don't get used to it, we'll be back with smuttier, slightly darker stuff soon.)

the lights blinded könig for a few seconds before his sight returned, annoying squiggles of static still dancing behind his eyelids as he quickly blinked.

the view in front of him caused such visceral dismay he had not known equal in his years as military contractor, during which he witnessed atrocities that sometimes plagued his dreams to this day.

nothing could have prepared the austrian soldier for this. not in a thousand years.

he instinctively tried to back away – perhaps it was not too late to leave – but he could not. he just could not.

knickers and kathy, his two civilian best friends who had insisted on a visit on his part as soon as he was back from deployment, were standing right behind him.

«do you know how many favours i had to call in to even get you on jean paul’s waiting list?», kathy scoffed, reminding könig that their sacrifices were not being met as a grateful friend would.

a quick glance in knicker’s direction and he knew he had lost this fight: no one in his corner against the afternoon of pampering the two had organised for the soldier.

«chop chop, darling! we don’t want to be late!», knickers hurried him with the same condescension one who’s never been around children would use on a five-year-old.

(and that, pretty much described knickers to a t.)

könig made a mental note never to accept an invitation at the friends’, unless they promised not to ambush him like that. there was nothing wrong with the way his hair looked and he should not have had to be here.

the red-headed giant reluctantly walked past the threshold, all eyes on him for a long moment of discomfort, until jean henri appeared.

«kathy! knickers! you’ve made it!»

«jean louis! mwah! mwah! of course!», the two intoned in unison as if they’d rehearsed, gesturing as if to kiss the empty hair in the iconic hair stylist’s direction, while he mirrored their contactless greeting.

könig observed the interaction, slightly aside. grateful to have been left to his own for a moment as he reflected on how mundane life and its trappings remained inscrutable to him, especially when he spent most of his existence training and not knowing whether he would come back in one piece – or at all – for the better part of the year.

reprieve did not endure. the allegedly famous hair dresser, a short, slight man with tan skin and white stripes of hair at his temples, turned to him with a staged expression of surprise and wonder.

«and this must be my lucky 15:30 appointment!», he clapped his hands in front of his chest, eyes contoured in black beaming in his direction, as he pretended to be incapable of fully seeing könig’s face, at more than 2m of height..

«that’s him!», kathy replied jovially, before turning towards könig, who wished he weren’t so large and noticeable, so he could sneak away in the commotion, «awwww, pookie! don’t worry, you’re in great hands!»

«yes, luv. now stop wasting the nice man’s time and do as he says, yes?», knickers remarked, before something else caught their attention and spared them from könig’s frozen glare.

«right this way!»

the miraculous jean jacques showed him to the shampoo station and könig, defeated, followed with heavy step and heavy heart.

bottomless champaign flutes appeared in the two harpies mutuals’ hands as they conspired giggled and chatted, in a worrisomely increasing state of inebriation, on a satin-lined faux vintage love seat the colour of their ruddy cheeks.

they kept refilling and refilling, to the point that when könig returned, face hidden under his mask and long, silky hair sprouting from the neck hole on top of his head, they almost didn’t notice.

«well, what do we think?», jean justin’s voice trilled.

the seated duo lifted their heads, training their gaze on the central european god in the corner like marksmen training the scope on their rifles on their target.

«is… is that the same hairdo as daenerys targaryen, down to the platinum blond hair?», kathy whispered in utter confusion towards knickers, who was, for once, speechless.

«well…»

kathy pinched the bridge of their nose as they suppressed a hiccup, suddenly feeling sober: «jean pierre, i’m sure someone like you can do batter than this…?»

«oh, you’re right! back we go…», the coiffeur took a könig with the incipience of the worst headache of his life back to the mirror.

«i mean», knickers, finally out of their shocked silence, interjected, «i would have happily been his cal drogo…»

kathy raised an eyebrow sarcastically and rebutted: «… or his horse!»

the two drunken and rumbunctuous mutuals began laughing loudly enough that the hanging crystal on the chandelier at the centre of the of the ceiling started vibrating.

there könig was, back to strut – well, more like sadly drag himself – back to show his new hairdo.

this time, he hadn’t even reached his friends, that knickers, prey of such furor fuelled by both alcohol on an empty stomach and outrage, had already hopped up from the love seat, animaniacs-style, to land in front of the hair stylist.

they grabbed the charlatan by the neck of their salmon shirt: «now listen here, old man! do you think that someone with a mullet – a. fucking. mullet – could ever be the personification of my every erotic dream, jean… jean… jean geneviève?»

kathy pulled knickers back, who still scowled in warning as the two men reluctantly returned to the station.

«i mean… i would still…», knickers gesticulated rather eloquently.

«oh, yeah, no. me, too!», kathy agreed.

the two burst out in laughter for a second time and, this once, it was not just the crystals of the chandelier that shook, but its wiring too…

when könig returned, hopefully for the last time, no more hair peeped through his mask.

Wary, the two mutuals started circling the pleasant-looking mountain of flesh they thought of as dearest friend (with benefits), masterful cunnilinguist, pain slut and obedient little pup, carefully inspecting: all they found, was a buzz cut.

«I… he… ran out of hair to work on…», the coiffeur wrung one hand in the other, intimidated by the unforgiving fury in both of the mutuals’ eyes.

The silky strands of titian red they both had delighted in running their fingers through, tangling, pulling, stroking, weaving in a plait to use as leash… gone.

The next step was nothing if not obvious.

And so it came to kathy holding the traitorous charlatan still, while knickers fed him handfuls of lovely, auburn silky flakes, collected off the floor and forced through the hair stylist’s mouth by the fistful.

König ignored the scene altogether, brushing a large palm across his fresh-shaven scalp in satisfaction: it would soon be time to be deployed again, anyway.

#cod #call of duty #könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #könig mw2 #konig mw2 #könig mwii #konig mwii #könig headcanons #konig headcanons #könig x reader #konig x reader

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eoieopda · 1 year

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the one with hoseok and the teapots

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Type: Drabble, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 1K CW: AFAB!Reader, established relationship AU, implied miscarriage/pregnancy loss (not described). A/N: I received a special request from someone (who wishes to remain anonymous,) going through something heartbreaking. They asked me to write something to help them “cry it out” but find comfort, too. I hope this drabble can give them a piece of that. This is not something I have personal experience with, so please take that for what it’s worth.

Standing in the doorway, Hoseok can’t think of a single thing worse than the image before him.

You spent months whirling around this room like a hell-bent hurricane, oscillating through paint swatches at the speed of light. You’d settle on one shade just to think better of it seconds later. As you moved through your indecision, his t-shirt fluttered over your busy body. Flecks of mint green were covered with a corrective white — then delicate yellow — then white again — then soft, blue-toned grey.

Once you’d finally gotten the walls the way you wanted them, you went on to second-guess the angle on every single item you placed between them. You’d gently shift him around, too, keeping his input in mind and his body out of the way. Your partner became your independent contractor, compensated with giddy kisses in exchange for his consultation.

It started with the chair in the corner, first too exposed to direct sunlight — what if it hurts their eyes? — then too shadowed — Vitamin D is important, isn’t it? — then just right.

Next was the humidifier, shaped like a thick tear drop, that glows like the Northern Lights when it sprays cool — not hot, though, because that can be drying and it defeats the whole purpose, I think — mist from the corner near the closet. Not too high up on the floating shelves that its moisture traps itself in the ceiling, but just enough to escape the threat of spills.

Then you moved on to the rug, which ended up tucked at the edge beneath the dresser; itself stabilized by dutifully-placed brackets. He held the hammer and you held the nails next in line, kissing his sore thumb when he got distracted by your smile and missed his target. A few little bruises were worth your sigh of relief; and the reduced risk of tripping in the dark when your feet were more awake than your brain.

In the present, you’re sitting on your knees on that rug. There’s no giggling, no singing to pass the time; just you, packing away sheets too small for any other bed, in a house too big for just the two of you.

Now, Hoseok realizes: he can’t think of any sadder scene because there isn’t one.

It’s all too heavy on his shoulders to keep standing there, but he hasn’t been able to step foot inside that nursery for fifteen days. It feels offensive, even the idea of entering. Like it takes audacity he can’t muster to bring his grief over that threshold and exist with it inside those walls.

Those walls were painted with broad-stroked joy, he thinks, but where is that joy now?

Hoseok doesn’t know, but love is at his feet, struggling to smooth out wrinkles in a folded, fitted sheet.

He lowers quietly into the space behind you. One leg on either side of your weary frame, he leans forward to wrap his arms around your waist. Gentle, irrationally fearful that if he blinks too hard, the physical misery you only recently shook off — that kept you curled up on the living room couch for days — will seep back into your bones.

You lean back against him, though, dropping elephant-print fabric into your lap so that your hands can cling to his forearms. It’s still quiet, but your fingers beg him to hold on tighter. He does.

He will.

Hoseok will stay like this forever if that’s what you need. Career be damned, he’ll sit on this floor, holding you, until that suffocating fog eventually clears. And it will, he knows, somehow. Enough time will pass and some day, this room won’t be empty. All of that untapped, unconditional adoration will compound interest in the meantime, until there’s a new tenant to spend it on.

You’ve both been at an uncharacteristic loss for words lately. So, Hoseok does what comes naturally: he presses his lips to your temple and keeps them there. For a second, a minute, an hour, he isn’t sure — until he hears your voice.

All cried out, your signature softness sounds like sandpaper.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You continue in a voice that’s a little bit louder, more than a little wobbly. “The logical part of my brain knows that this happens and that it’s not my fault. I do know that. I just — I feel so fucking sorry.”

There’s no apology needed where no blame exists. He’s glad you understand that, but wishes that there was any better way to describe this feeling. Anger doesn’t fit; there’s nowhere to direct it and no use for it, anyway. Disappointment is too small.

Hoseok isn’t sure what’s big enough, but he’s fucking sorry, too. He says as much, voice thick. He swallows hard and it hurts.

Sorry that he couldn’t be the one to go through it instead. Sorry for the guilt you still feel, even knowing that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong. Sorry that wanting something so badly couldn’t guarantee the outcome.

He kisses your temple again. Once, twice, three times.

There’s a crack when you say, “I wasn’t sold on the elephants, anyway.” Then a shaky, shallow breath as you tilt your head to look down at the sheets, “They look like teapots.”

Hoseok drops his chin onto your shoulder to see what you see: white blobs on rustic blue. There’s no way to know which end is the trunk and which is the tail — if the little points are either one of those things.

“Kind of,” he hums in agreement, “Ducks, if you squint.”

That little noise you make has nowhere near the power of your usual laugh, but it’s something.

More than something — it’s the prettiest song he’s heard in recent memory. One that sounds like a step in the right direction; like dust shaken off a back that’s been knocked hard to the ground. Rusty, sure, but not beyond repair.

Still good, still you.

It sounds like hope.

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anarchotahdigism · 18 days

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"At the time I resigned in early March, I was the only staff member of Palestinian descent at World Central Kitchen (WCK).1 I resigned in protest of extensive, unexplained censorship regarding Gaza at the organization. WCK leadership is taking a stand six months too late, only after 7 of its personnel were killed." ..... "Much of the work in a genocide is not pulling the trigger, but instead minimizing and denying that a genocide is going on. Genocide is a phenomenon of gradual boundary pushing. Each increment must be accepted by the parties with agency for the next to be reached. Under the direction of CEO Erin Gore, Linda Roth, and “Chief Feeding Officer” José Andrés, World Central Kitchen recklessly endangered its personnel, selfishly exploited the situation for its own benefit, and actively participated in the normalization of an ongoing genocide." "The way in which WCK writes stories and talks about its work in Ukraine suggests this isn’t principled humanitarian neutrality. In three separate videos, the NGO has highlighted its initiative in rural Ukraine, titled “Seeds of Victory.” It refers to its Ukrainian employees and volunteers as “Food Fighters,” positioning them as part of the war effort. Gaza has had a much higher rate of civilian, especially child, casualties. Andrés is Co-Chair of Biden’s Council on Sports, Fitness, & Nutrition, a member of the State Department’s American Culinary Corps, and has warmly hosted Antony Blinken on his podcast. He has had no issue asserting that Russia was using starvation as a weapon in Ukraine, but has never publicly stated a similar stance on Israel’s policies in Palestine. Until the highly publicized slaughter of its employees forced it to do otherwise, WCK has been towing the Biden admin line regarding Gaza. Despite ridiculous assertions to the contrary, WCK does take political stances, seemingly in line with the privately expressed views of its leadership.

Save the possibility of genuine incompetence, the WCK leadership’s decisions were not made to maintain neutrality, did not increase effectiveness, and, as April 1 demonstrated, did not protect personnel. The leadership’s failure to honestly portray the dire reality in Gaza, and lack of an attempt to influence the genocide in Gaza via its status and close ties with the Biden administration, means that they bear responsibility for its outcomes. Let no one say they did everything they could.

Mine was only one experience. When I resigned, there was a palpable, widespread atmosphere of disappointment and anger among employees, stemming from issues that began long before I signed on. I am calling on current and former World Central Kitchen employees, contractors, and volunteers to publicly share their stories and force accountability and change."

nonprofits/NGOs exist to ensure neoliberal politics continue to apply to those they claim they "help" or "serve." They will never take radical actions, they will never effect systemic change, and they will always be complicit in the sins of the systems they promulgate. They are all tax reliefs for the rich and nearly always follow white supremacist neoliberal policies while presenting themselves as being morally superior to whatever conflicts they are involved in, claiming to be neutral when they consistently work with genocidal regimes & forces to effect whatever projects or goals they decide are best for the most vulnerable people on the planet while laundering, if not enriching, their executives & founders. WCK executives are all absolutely accomplices to genocide and one final note is that they have claimed to have distributed almost as many meals in so-called Israel as they have in besieged Gaza. They are quite literally feeding the genocide of Palestine and Palestinians.

#free palestine #genocide #anticapitalism #anarchotahdigism

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jakelandryshorts · 1 year

Text

Ring of Change: Home Improvements

With Mr. Johnson being so busy at work, I was starting to get a few more jobs put onto my plate. Not that I was complaining as he was happy to reward me with my extra diligence. With the extra time I was spending with him out of the office, he’d given me a key to his place. However, it was also because he needed me to let in the contractors who were currently working on his basement.

I spun the ring, still around my finger. I couldn’t believe how much it had changed, yet everything still felt completely normal. Even though I knew it was wrong, whenever I would try to imagine what had been, that would feel as though it was just in my imagination.

A knock on the door woke me out of my thoughts. “Right,” I sat up from the couch. “The contractor.” I went to the large wooden double doors and opened them. A large overweight man about my age, maybe a few years older, was on the other side. He was tall, with broad shoulders but had clearly gained a lot of weight over the last few years. Most likely keeping his football diet without the exercise routine.

“Hi, I’m Clayton,” he stretched his hand out for me to take.

“Alex,” I found it hard to contain my excitement with how big he was. There was a strong masculine energy hidden deep down in that rounded face of his. But the thick beard and forest of hair running up and down his arms gave him a rugged toughness not many men had lately. Though, I still had other ideas that I would want to try out on him.

“Alex?” Clayton tilted his head slightly. He rested the clipboard on his rotund belly as he looked over the paperwork.

“No. No,” I said quickly. “You have the right house. Mr. Johnson just wasn’t able to make it home yet. He has me run errands like this for him from time to time.” After I finished the statement, I started to wonder if that was the reason he’d told me to come over. Time paradoxes aside, I was still happy to do so. “It’s just a quote today. Right?”

“Right,” Clayton nodded. The clipboard went back to his side. “Mind showing me in?”

“Of course,” I moved to the side and then closed the door behind him. He put on some white booties, and I led him to the basement. Just like the rest of Mr. Johnson’s house, it was large and open. A full living room along with a TV and what had to be hundreds of movies that he’d never even watched lined one of the walls. A full bar with stools, glasses and an entire wall of alcohol was just a little bit past that. There was even a pool table, foosball table and a punching machine that he’d actually gotten into using since the transformation.

Clayton’s eyes couldn’t help but wander. Not that I blamed him. Houses like this were always impossible to not want to gawk at the opulent wealth. This entire basement was larger than my apartment. I didn’t even have a wall big enough to put Mr. Johnson’s TV against.

“This way,” I said. Clayton’s eyes snapped to me as he waddled over to the back room. “Mr. Johnson said that there was a leak with a window back here. He just needs the window to be fixed.” I paused. Thinking about it a bit more. This was just a storage room right now. Technically I could make it whatever I wanted and Mr. Johnson would be none the wiser. “After the window is fixed, he’s going to turn it into a gym.”

“Oh? I don’t know if he mentioned that on the phone,” Clayton said. “I’ll go ahead and get some measurements for the whole space then. And he can call back if he wants us to do more.”

Part of me started to worry that it didn’t work. I didn’t know if there were more rules or if someone like Clayton really wouldn’t have been informed about something like that. I spun the ring around my finger. Then pushed forward. “I guess this would be something you’d specialize in, because you go to the gym a lot.”

“Hmm?” Clayton looked up from his measurer. “I guess. But it’s mostly just for work. I haven’t been there to work out in a while.”

Somehow, I’d screwed up. I huffed a bit out of anger. Then realized my mistake. “What do you consider to be while? A day or two.” I answered my own question, hoping that it would work. To my excitement it did as his hefty body started to tone ever so slightly. Muscle mixed with fat making his body far more imposing. His rotund belly tightened up and pulled backwards. It still pushed at his shirt, but now his heavy pecs were doing some of the work as well.

“Something like that,” Clayton laughed. His much tauter belly still bounced as he did so.

“People must think your addicted because you go four or five times a week,” I said, trying to make it sound like a statement as much as possible.

“Sometimes,” he laughed again. Then threw up his arm. The muscle was molding itself into something a bit bigger than it had been. The fat tightened more against his much harder bicep. “But can you argue with the results?”

“I can’t. And I’m sure all your male fans love it too,” I started pushing the conversation about his body harder. He looked shocked for a second. But I quickly made it normal. “Don’t act so surprised. They love your photos and you love them fawning over you and your body.”

A cocky grin appeared on Clayton’s face as he lightly flexed his arm. Muscle was rapidly overtaking the fat. Yet, none of the size of his arm disappeared. Instead, his skin just tightened around his muscle as thick veins started to bulge out. The amount of blood rushing through his body to consistently maintain oxygen to his muscles must have increased substantially. Though, I was more surprised as to all the hair that had been covering his body disappeared. The thick forest of hair running along his arms was gone, and his beard had trimmed closer to his angular jaw. I stared dumbfoundedly as he continued to stress the sleeves of his shirt with his new muscles.

“I guess you’re right,” Clayton bragged. He flashed me a wink and my face burned red.

Words were caught in my throat. I still wasn’t used to getting attention from guys like this. Each time he’d turn or bend over, I’d get a new glimpse of his hard-earned muscles. Even though he’d only had them for a few minutes, they had been earned over decades in the gym. “You—You…” I gasped trying to get the sentence out. “You like it when guys flirt with you.” I paused making sure it was a complete thought. “Right?”

Another cocky smile flashed on his face as he stood up after measuring something. “I guess you could say that.”

“That must be why you’ve been hard since you’ve come inside,” I quickly added. His smile didn’t falter. Only his eyebrows raised as though he was to say, ‘you just now noticed?’ He started to break the distance between us. The small room we were in suddenly felt so much smaller. “You’ve been thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me.”

Clayton nodded. “I have…” His big hands gripped my wrists and then pinned me against the wall. He leaned in. His beard brushed against my bare face. The hair tickled against my skin as he leaned in to kiss me. My mouth naturally accepted it. His tongue wrestled against mine. I writhed under his control.

Then it stopped. I leaned in, only to be rejected as he spun my body around. His thick hands ran down my sides and then undid the button on my jeans. It was barely even a thought before my pants and underwear were around my ankles and his tongue was in my ass.

I gasped. “Oh fuck…” I moaned. “You’re so good at this…” It was just a natural response but suddenly the way his tongue moved was far better than it had been. Suddenly, he knew all the most sensitive spots of my insides and could lick them accordingly. Thoughts were getting harder. My hands clawed at the wall for support, digging into the plaster as much as they could. I was barely able to get the next sentence out. “Every woman you’ve been with is so impressed because you’ve practiced with at least ten times as many men.”

Clayton laughed. “Are you jealous?” he whispered into my ear, biting it lightly. His hairy face nuzzled against my neck as the tip of his cock pressed up against my asshole.

I gasped again. “It’s so big…” I muttered. Suddenly, the average sized cock grew in size. The mushroom tip was bigger, pressing against my sensitive hole.

“Think you can take it?”

I nodded.

“Good man,” he whispered. His kisses continued as his cock pushed harder against me. Slowly the thick rod dug into me. I gasped. Clayton chuckled. “Too big?”

“No…” I breathed as more of his dick entered inside of me. “It fits perfectly.” My asshole held his cock not too tightly, but not too loosely.

Clayton chuckled again as he started thrusting inside me. One of his big hands had found it’s way under my shirt and was clawing gently against my bare skin while his other was holding me tightly in a hug. His warm breath graced my neck as his speed increased. The hug tightened as his moans grew louder. Each thrust he was losing just a little bit more control of himself. His breathing grew haggard. Then he squeezed my body hard.

I felt him finish inside me. “F-fuck,” he winced as his cock slowly started to soften.

“Upset that it’s over,” I made sure to make it into a statement instead of a question.

Clayton pulled out. His cock was shrinking ever so slightly. Apparently he shaved all over as there weren’t any pubes of hair on his thick quads either. “Little bit,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry,” I smiled, leaning in for another kiss. “There will be a next time. And maybe I can show you a thing or two.”

“I don’t know what you could show me,” Clayton had a cocky confidence as he said it.

“A few things,” I grabbed his exposed ass.

He winced. “Don’t know about that bud.”

“You’ll make an exception for me,” I said.

The worry turned right back to his cocky nature. “Will I?” he tried to act all confident again. Though, he wasn’t fighting off my fingers as they drew a ring around his hole.

“You will,” I smiled, leaning in for another kiss.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

More stories over on my wordpress

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whiteliningcontractors · 2 years

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Car Park Marking in Lower Green #Car #Parks #Floor #Markings #Lower #Green https://t.co/IT9M8QQl47

— Lining Contractors (@whitelininguk) Jun 4, 2022

#white lining contractors #white lining #lining contractors #contractors #white lines #lining supplie

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docgold13 · 4 months

Text

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Jack Napier

A ruthless and thoroughly cold-blooded criminal, Jack Napier joined Sal Valestra’s criminal organization and quite quickly became the gangster’s premier assassin. Even these hardened mobsters were given pause by Napier’s sadism and sociopathic blood-lust. Nonetheless, he was a highly effective enforcer who Valestra turned to with his most important jobs.

One of Napier’s last assignments for Valestra saw him traveling to Europe where he tracked down and murdered Carl Beaumont, a businessman who had fled the States after embezzling funds. After this Napier began working as an independent contractor.

Some years later, Napier led a job to loot the Axis Chemical plant. This was shortly after Batman had become active in Gotham City. The Dark Knight broke up the robbery and, in the ensuing fracas, Napier fell into a vat of strange chemicals.

He was believed to have perished but managed to survive. Yet exposure to these chemicals turned his skin chalk white and his hair green. It also unhinged his already tenuous grip on sanity, releasing unto the world one of the most dangers villains of them all. Jack Napier had died, but in his place The Joker had been born.

Napier did not have any lines of dialogue in his appearance in the animated feature ‘Batman: The Mask of The Phantasm.’ Mark Hamill voiced the villain in his subsequent appearances as The Joker.

#batman the animated series #Batman The Mask of The Phantasm #Batman #Joker #cut-out #paper art #Mark Hamill #DCAU

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usafphantom2 · 7 months

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This SR-71, the second off the production line, clearly has an identity problem.

In 1971, #17951 was loaned to NASA to complete the testing of the YF-12A program (2 of the 3 YF-12s had already been lost in accidents). 951 was temporarily redesignated as a YF-12C (there being no B-model trainer for the YF-12 series) and given NASA#937. This number was chosen for two reasons: the Air Force didn't want anyone to know that NASA had an honest-to-goodness SR-71 in their possession and made up the "YF-12C" designation to hide the fact. Since the other 3 YF-12s bore numbers 934, 935, and 936, it made sense that the next aircraft in the series would be numbered 937. This SR 71 is the oldest surviving blackbird; the first one, the 950, crashed.

She first flew on March 5, 1965, and served as a test bird for her whole career. With lots of test equipment and instrumentation aboard, she was too nonstandard for operational reconnaissance work.

She first flew as the contractor test aircraft based at Air Force Plant 42 in Palmdale, CA. She would serve as a NASA propulsion test vehicle until October 27, 1978, when she was transferred back to the USAF. At that point, she regained her original designation.

951 made her final flight on December 22, 1978, rolling up a total of 796.7 flight hours. She remained in storage at Plant 42 until 1990, when she was disassembled and transported by road to Pima Air Museum. After a recent restoration, the aircraft stands proudly among one of the largest aerospace collections in the world. At Pima Air Museum, you can touch an original, classic blackbird.

This photograph SR-71 #951 in flight under NASA colors; notice the red rectangular markings on the upper wing surfaces, the clearly visible anti-collision beacon near the center of the fuselage, and the pilot's white pressure suit - photo courtesy of NASA

Post by Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

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archivallyfound09 · 2 years

Text

Something In-Between, pt. 2

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (f), Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader (f) (no y/n)

Summary: Something old, something new- reader's stuck between two men who look damn good in Navy blue(s).

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), drinking, potentially some suggestive situations in the future (none here). Everything I write is Mature- read at your own risk.

Part 1 Part 3

“I mean, look, you’re the electrical engineer. If this doesn’t fix it, it’s not going to be my ass on the line.” Your comments were met with an annoyed huff from the contractor at the top of the ladder. You shrugged and stepped back, clipboard falling to your side, finders mindless drumming on the back of it.

“Hey, you.”

You turned abruptly to face the comment, positive that it wasn’t someone on your crew. You were immediately met with a lopsided grin and warm brown eyes. Your gaze softened and you let out a slight laugh.

“What’s this I hear about you introducing yourself to my squad?” He smirked and cocked an eyebrow at the eye roll you shot back at him. He threw an arm over your shoulder and you groaned, pushing it off and back to his side.

“Hey- you’re the one who sent in some stranger with a key to the house to waltz in and get god knows what. I did no introducing, just facilitating a task that YOU,” your finger poked into his chest as your turned to face him dead on, “asked me to do.”

Bradley have you another grin and stepped forward closing the gap between you. His eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to say something but you were quicker on the draw.

“Besides, Bradshaw,” you drawled, “it wasn’t your squad. It was a singular Jake Seresin that interrupted my morning routine.” You didn’t miss the flicker to envy that crossed his features. You had always had a jokingly flirty relationship with Bradley, but it never went beyond the jokes. You tapped his nose and turned walking away.

“Next time you send a Naval aviator into my house unannounced, at least do me the decency of telling me he’s attractive,” you called over your shoulder, no doubt lighting some sort of frustration in your roommate. You smirked, enjoying riling him up, and continued stepping out of the hanger and towards the parking lot.

———————

“You gonna keep sulking or what, Bradshaw?”

The comment pulled Bradley out of his staring contest with the drips of condensation that were running down his glass. He glanced up to see Fanboy giving him a look as he paused his game of pool with Payback.

“Yeah, Rooster- seems like something pissed on your parade,” Payback didn’t look up as he lined up his shot, thrilled to have sank the eight ball, winning him some cash for the evening. Fanboy reluctantly paid up, his eyes never fully leaving Rooster as he stared daggers at the other side of the room.

“Not something,” Payback corrected, “someone.”

The realization came in a three part harmony as Fanboy and Payback connected the dots and Rooster further ground his own gears.

“Hangman.”

As if perfectly on cue, the pilot in question turned slightly to order at the bar, flashing a perfectly white smile at Penny and leaning a tanned forearm on the faded wood of the counter. He knew Rooster’s eye has been boring into the back of his skull for quite some time and he was impressed- he didn’t think bringing up Rooster’s little roommate would have had such an impact. He was proud of the aggravation he had caused.

The night continued mostly uneventfully, Rooster continued skulking around with his beer and Hangman just sat back and watched the show (and was happy to pick up some scratch from a few games of darts). When their eyes finally locked, Rooster stood up quickly, his beer hitting the table a little too hard. Hangman smirked and took another swig before his own drink was perched on a nearby ledge.

Perfect timing was not your strong suit, but as you walked through the doors of the Hard Deck your laughter was cut short. You saw the murderous look from Bradshaw, the shit eating taunting grin from Seresin, and a very “over it” look from Penny.

You blinked a few times, your few friends continuing to a booth without you. Penny looked beyond exasperated, having been on edge watching the Top Gun section of her bar all night worried about a fight.

“Did you do this?” Her voice broke you out of the split stare between the two pilots, who had now turned to fully face you, forgetting about the impending donnybrook on the horizon. The bar wasn’t very full, so you could easily make out her question. You shook your head, made a comment, and walked over to your booth.

“No ma’am, never seen these two idiots in my life.”

———————-

You continued your “team bonding” outing with a few contractor friends without event. You sipped your drink and casually tossed a glance over towards the pilots hogging the pool tables and you found not one, but two stares on you. You suppressed the need to roll your eyes and turned back to the conversation at hand.

You played with the straw in your drink and then looked up, spotting a certain blond-haired pilot with his back to you at the bar. You stood up a bit more suddenly than you intended, earning a few looks as you interrupted the conversation.

“Hang on guys, I’ll be right back.” They all gave you unsurprised glances and continued tittering amongst themselves as you walked over to get another drink. You sidled up next to Jake and he gave you a bemused smirk as he leaned over the bar. You returned the look and flagged Penny down. She gave you a warning glance that you brushed off.

“Two draft,” you ordered and Jake raised an eyebrow- you had been paying slight attention to the fact that he wasn’t drinking domestic out of the bottle. Penny nodded, pulled the taps, and then put the two beers in front of you with a knowing smile. Both of your hands reached out and grabbed the glasses and you had them off the bar before Jake had realized what had happened.

“Put ‘em on ‘Seresin’ Pen!” you yelled to Penny as you walked over towards Rooster and offered him one of the beers. Jake made a face you couldn’t quite describe- impressed, annoyed, interested. Bradley raised his newly purchased beer in a mock “thank you” gesture to the defeated pilot at the bar.

“Will you knock it off now? You’re acting like a brat.”Bradley almost spit out his drink as you spoke in a low tone just to him. You gave him a warning glance and he followed your eyes to Jake’s general direction. Before he could offer scolding remarks, you cut him off.

“Cat’s out of the bag, Bradshaw,” you yelled to the group, “ya gonna introduce me to your squad or what?” Bradley was quick to catch on to your use of his earlier comments but rolled his eyes and stood up gesturing to the group and giving you a proper introduction, trying to match callsign and last name to the faces in front of you.

You tuned out most of Bradshaw’s ramblings as you noticed Jake was still staring you down from the other side of the bar. “….and that’s why I just opted to bunk with her for awhile. Just like the old days, huh, Dino?” The old nickname pulled you out of your locked stare across the room and back to Bradley as he slapped your shoulder a bit too hard.

You pushed down the blush that was threatening your cheeks and swallowed, fully conscious that all eyes were on you, waiting with bated breath for an explanation.

“Hey now, private citizen, I don’t get a callsign like you boneheads,” you slapped Bradshaw back in the shoulder, forcing a bit of beer to spill out of the glass in his hand. He groaned and shook off his now beer damped hand. You sighed, realizing no one was going to speak until you started talking.

“It was a nickname in college. I was the only one with a previous degree. It was in history and paleontology. I was also almost the oldest one in the class,” you shot a pointed look at Bradley, earning some chuckles, “so the kids in the class called me Dino. Also,” you started rolling up your sleeves, “this didn’t help.”

You showed off just under your watch and on your left arm, a small thin line tattoo of a brontosaurus. You shrugged. “Hey, a weekend in Vegas definitely does not stay quiet when you bring one of these home.” Everyone laughed and the awkward tension in the air dissipated quickly as everyone went back to their own conversations.

You noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that Jake had moved in closer from his perch at the bar to hear your story. And to catch your name. You gave him a smirk and then turned back to your roommate beside you, his arm resting on the back of the stool that you were standing in front of.

“You good, pops? You need a ride?” You teased and downed the rest of your beer, stepping away from Bradley and waving towards your original crew you hand wandered in with. He groaned, downed his beer and then started to follow you out. You motioned for his keys

“Kelli drove me over here and I’m a way better driver than you. Hand ‘em over.” Bradley muttered something I set his breath as he reached into his pocket and handed you his keys, knowing it was no use fighting you.

The two of you walked past the bar on your way out and your hand patted the blond pilot on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the drinks, Seresin, next time they’re on Bradshaw.”

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

A/N: alrighty, what are we thinking? Where we leaning? :)

Part 3

If you'd like to follow along, please follow me and turn on notifications when I post. I'm so grateful to so many of you for wanting to be on a tag list, but it literally crashes my stories because there are too many links! <3

#jake seresin x you #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #top gun 2 #jake hangman x reader #hangmanx reader insert #hangman fic #jake seresin #Top gun Maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster top gun

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witchofthesouls · 1 year

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Can we pretty please have a little snippet featuring Unfathomable-humanformer!June who was once Megatronus, the Fallen Star? Who dreams the endless dream but ever so slowly is starting to wake up?

They who were of Primus but have dug down deep and found a place to belong in a wild, chaotic and savage world?

Can we hear of Jack, the last gift Solus ever gave?

(Ohhh, Unfathomable!June that was once Megatronus Prime would fuck up the bayverse, and it wouldn't be surprising if a child of Solus had a gift of prescience.)

_____

“They don’t like them,” Mikaela murmurs low in his ear, hiding it as a kiss. They’re pressed side-to-side and no one comments on the teenage lovebirds. “Watch close. Don’t be obvious.”

After the initial panicking and screaming, the company picnic is in full swing as the entire base was transported Elsewhere. There’s no difference between the sky and the leaves of the trees: so enormous that they dwarfed the aliens, the inky-black foliage is dotted by lanterns of starlight.

Mrs. Darby and Pilar are present along with the Foundation personnel. Some are human. Some are humanoid. Shadows not matching and shifting features, the subtle flicker of limbs in the corners of his eyes. Sam’s wholeheartedly sure that the other contractor’s cloth face is not a mask. The stitched smile and gleaming buttoned eyes are too unnerving with the yarn hair piled high.

A few of the personnel don’t care. A speaker that rivals the Optimuses’ height that moves as if gravity has no hold on their body, layers and layers of beautiful, rich robes with a veiled face, and the smell of license and decaying flowers. A living automaton, a self-declared Clockwork, taller than humans but shorter than Bumblebee, with several sets of multi-jointed arms and a gilded bird cage for a torso with live birds, gears clicking and chimes softly twinkling with birdsong from every movement.

Sam sees it, or he feels it. The lines are drawn in the sand. The tension beneath the calm picture. He thinks Agent Fowler knows it, too.

(They’re so careful, Pilar and Mrs. Darby with a more human, softer face upon their metal bodies, but neither of them leaves the area, nor lets the kids out of sight.)

To a future of cooperation and security, the Head Speaker had said, and the buffet tables appeared without warning. Food for everyone, regardless of species.

But to secure what, he thinks.

________

Sam jumps out of his skin when he sees a sparkling -dark-framed and dark wings, it can only be Jack -in his designated space in the base.

Blackbirds tilt their heads in his direction and there's an uncanny awareness in those beady eyes. The sparkling whistles and clicks like a bird and a few flap over to perch on his shoulders, chittering and croaking with affectionate pecks on the metal.

"I like how you sound," answers Jack. “I like the songs.”

Sam has no idea what he’s talking about, but he isn’t surprised at this point. Their “new” arrivals aren’t as straightforward

He peeks over a wing to see what the kid is drawing and it’s a mashup of things. Serpentine bodies and massive tentacles from a half-unfinished page with massive hands, different ones, rising between them. Bright armor with a burning sword. A black dog with burning coal for eyes. White trees full of eyes and porcelain masks upon feathered faces and bejeweled beaks. A girl set aflame in a yellow-red wash with a white-blue heart. A cross between monster and man, spider body taking several pages with limp hair pooling on piles of skulls and a wide jaw dripping venomously green.

“Jeez… You’ve been seeking to watch horror movies, haven’t you?”

The boy doesn’t answer for a beat, humming a tuneless song and those birds stare too closely at Sam. Jack sighs and turns to look at him with a mild expression, audials flicking.

"One day," Jack intones slow and sure, and Sam sees strange shapes flickering across his optics. "They will all wake up."

His hair raises and he's beyond unsettled, but the sparkling goes back to coloring the fantastical creatures and makes no mention of Sam leaving him.

__________

“Why are you here?” He asks Mrs. Darby, who’s puttering around in his kitchen.

“Visiting,” she replies airily. A pot boils on the stove and it smells delicious. His stomach growls, and her optics soften as she turns to ladle him a bowl. “Besides, your Bumblebee is getting worried. You haven’t returned for some time.”

It’s a stew and it’s brightly purple. He tucks into it because the Foundation will immune anyone to stranger things. “I’ve been busy with school.”

It’s not a lie. The words don’t sound hollow.

“Of course,” she hums and her words are gentle. “Education is very important.”

_____

“Parents worry. It’s their nature to fret over their children.” Mrs. Darby says, looming over his shoulder as he does math homework. “And they’re afraid.”

His skin pricks with goosebumps and he can hear his parents through the open window with their usual arguments over the garden. Sam looks up and stares into that knowing face for a long moment.

She hums and he feels rattled by her words, “That answer is wrong, Sam. Look here…”

His heart stops racing as she goes over formulas in an easier method to understand and she stays until he nearly finishes the last question.

“Are you afraid, too?” She breathes.

__________

(Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky have reasons why the Autobots should stay away. Some legacies are far too heavy to carry down.)

__________

(Some things change, but some remain the same.)

__________

Hanging in his peripheral vision is the indistinct form of Mrs. Darby. Her gaze is heavy and pitiless as he writhes in agony and terror beneath Megatron's and Scapel's hands.

< Here lies a choice. > The words vibrant in his head clearly, rattling his bones and his organs quiver. < What will you give to the fire to change this? >

He chokes on his tongue, words faltering, as the probe slithers its way down his throat and up his sinuses. The sinuous, metal feelers leave an icy-hot trail of its pathway within his body. Sam watches the very same sigils that haunted his waking moments flicker and sear over her frame and time simply stops-

Her jaw drops to the floor and within the chasm of her throat is the sharp cold of the ocean, the massive pressure squeezing his chest. Sam's plunged into the fathomless abyss and down in its depths, he sees life-

He sees the inevitable shifts of the world: the byplay between magma and lava on the mantle and forming the new crust, ocean currents cycling and cycling as it breathes and breaks across landmasses, and he's swept away in the flow of water, carried away and submerged into the patient rivers that carved down mountains. He seeps into the sand, melts across a hot sidewalk, and freezes in the massive hailstorm. He's the clouds and the rain and the steam that condenses on a mirror plane during a hot shower, the snowfall that sublimes in the desert, the nourishment of root systems, the glide over gills, the vapor on a living creature's exhale, the blood that pumps through hearts and muscles and sinew and coats teeth when a maw breaks flesh, and the groundwater that finds its way to geysers and hot springs.

Sam is everywhere and nowhere, and he can only drift farther a-way f-

rom him-

self

-and he's cast into the ocean of deep space, the void entwined in the very fabric of the cosmos. He's the ice and gas and clay and dust and dust and dust and dust-

(-and the cycle restarts.)

He sees the death of countless stars, beyond beautiful in dying throes, and the birth of new galaxies between breaths; consuming black holes, the return to nothingness, and the ignition of raw power that sparks life; undiscovered, distant constellations so far, yet so close, their entire stories played in front of him in a bittersweet symphony; the origin of them all spanning across eons and the bizarre, untold connection between Cybertron and Earth, even in this dimension-

Sam is suddenly slammed back into his body, small and definite and contained in a physical form, weeping between the return of bodily agony as the music of the universe croons in his head and beckons him back into its never-ending dance of Eternity. A cool voice weaves into the tattered, leaking edges of his mind, buffering it against the cosmos, the sporadic jumps of the Allspark are made far tamer-

< I am the Shadow to the Light. The Void that walks upon this earth. The Madness that is within All. I touch everyone and everything and none can deny me and mine own. >

(and through his eyes, the Ancient Primes watch the alternative counterpart of their brother, the Fallen- a twice-fold god in another universe, the Shadow of the Thirteen and closest to the Unmaker by Primus; the Tempest, Typhoon, and Tsunami by Earth, champions a mortal with the bloody blessings of Daughter).

< Behold, little fragment, an act of sacrifice and salvation. >

Sam witnesses a firestorm bloom before him, raging bright and furiously consuming, and he knows nothing else but the songs of the Allspark.

______

(Mikaela Banes screams to an uncaring world and a Primordial beyond her universe is the one that listens.

Mikaela Banes dies as she swallows the storm of a starseed and is reborn to match the soft fury burning in her mouth, the star-forge of her bruised, aching heart, and the brutality of a god that was hailed as the Undefeated.

Fate sunders and the future falls apart and resets.)

_______

Far away on a sandy beach, a boy hums a new song as birds whisper at his feet that a new Dragon walks upon this Earth once more.

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