#you need to resort to physically ramming him to do damage

[random-iz-stuff]

I absolutely love the bit of your newest post about Zim just casually *walking* back towards Tak in the rain. I can just imagine the scene and it's fucking amazing. I love Zim just being causally terrifying to others (intentional or not) in ways that aren't just him being a bit crazy or destructive.

I also love all your stuff that actually uses Zim's background, and all that comes with that.

I wonder what it would be like for Tak if she managed to genuinely piss him off (another thing that I love your headcanons of)

Tak absolutely refuses to admit it, but she’s the underdog in this situation. She’s an ex-soldier with plenty of engineering experience from her time on Dirt, and has access to a holographic disguise that’s more advanced than any other disguise in the empire, but her opponent is a fully trained ex-invader with an extensive scientific background that knows earth better than any other irken.

Plus, she fell HARD for Zim’s dumb act.

Tak came from Dirt, knowing nothing about Zim other than the fact that he’s a complete idiot and that he ruined her life. Then, upon arriving on Earth and revealing herself to Zim, that information is seemingly proven to be true, with Zim acting like a complete idiot, interrupting her multiple times and even after explaining everything to him, he STILL doesn’t understand, immediately believing that Tak is after his robot bee. She meets Zim face to face and he’s a complete idiot that doesn’t deserve the time of day from her.

But what if I told you that that was exactly what Zim WANTED her to think. Zim puts on a dumb persona specifically so people underestimate him and/or are manipulated easier by him. So upon another Irken showing up on his doorstep, clearly wanting him dead, he plays dumb. He successfully gets Tak to believe that he’s a complete moron that’s not worth killing, since there’s no way this idiot could ever come close to stopping her plan…. ..right?

The base-disabling nanobots were a surprise, but Zim still managed to minimize the damage, since he got Tak to deploy them on the upper floor where none of his important equipment is. His base was still temporarily disabled, but imagine the damage that would have been caused if Tak released them in his proper base, where all of his actual equipment and computers are.

Plus, Zim is a complete enigma, not just to Tak, but to the entire irken race.

I already mentioned how Zim figured out how to waterproof himself using paste, while no sane irken would even consider using that stuff as waterproofing. And it’s a well kept secret of Zim’s, with not even Dib knowing how he does it, or why Zim’s waterproofing is so inconsistent (he frequently forgets to apply the stuff, so he only really consistently has waterproofing on days when it’s expected to rain).

But that’s not all. Zim has one thing that puts him above the average irken. He’s extremely adaptable. He can change his plans on the fly, he will go against what he’s been taught in the military if it benefits him and most importantly of all, he doesn’t care about efficiency.

For all irkens, efficiency is the most important thing. You must be effective and efficient to succeed. But Zim doesn’t care about that. As long as it works, he’ll use it. For example, waterproofing. Most irkens would never use paste because, well, it’s a primitive arts and crafts material that doesn’t last forever on the invader’s skin, losing effectiveness over time. They’d instead spend days searching for or creating their own solution that is effective as possible, perfect waterproofing or bust. Zim on the other hand, doesn’t care. Paste does it’s job just fine, so he uses it. No sense trying to fix something that’s not broken.

Even his Voot Cruiser is an example of this. Zim’s Voot is obviously an old model. It uses a propulsion system instead of whatever thrustless system modern ships use and doesn’t have an onboard computer like modern ships, and yet he refuses to get rid of it. It’s a perfectly good ship that’s served him well in the past, so he’s not getting rid of it for the sake of efficiency.

And speaking of Zim’s Voot, his dogfight with Tak is a perfect demonstration of Zim’s military skill against Tak, because the thing is, even with an outdated ship, in his dogfight with Tak, he pilots it with masterful skill, managing to outmaneuver Tak throughout the entire fight. Keep in mind that Zim managed to remain directly behind Tak for the entire dogfight (which is a very important and central part of dogfighting), with her and her modified modern ship unable to shake him. During the entire dogfight, ZIM is the only one that fires any weapons. Tak can’t even get into a position that would let her shoot back. Even when flying through the lava around them, she is unable to get Zim off her tail. Zim was winning that dogfight even before Gaz and Gir started helping.

Tak has to resort to physically ramming him to do any damage. And even that does minimal damage as Zim simply ejects the cockpit window and replaces it, which in of itself could be an example of Zim being adaptable and going against his traditional military training.

And the final nail in the coffin during the whole dogfight, Zim is completely silent during the entire thing. He isn’t putting up a persona or trying to make himself seem dumber or smarter than he really is. Zim is completely focused on the task at hand, which is a terrifying thing for Tak to be up against. The only time he speaks is after he wins, when he claims that Tak’s piloting is worse than his, indicating that despite Zim being able to pretty much run circles around Tak in his ship, he doesn’t even view himself as that good of a pilot.

But then there’s this scene that single handily adds a whole new layer to Zim’s character:

Tak’s ship is destroyed and is spinning out in front of Zim. Zim proceeds to joke about Tak’s piloting skills, but then has a realization of some kind and then proceeds to ram Tak’s ship. It seems a bit strange, but it actually shows us something very important about Zim.

First of all, his realization. What was he referring to when he said “Wait”? Well, Tak’s ship is spinning out in front of him and although she does have an escape pod, I’ve played enough Kerbal Space Program to know that deploying something while the main ship is uncontrollably spinning like that will result in the pod getting destroyed or at least heavily damaged. And since her ship is damaged and disabled, Tak can’t just stop the spin with a few button presses. She has no control.

And judging by Zim’s face when he says “Wait”, he knows that.

That’s the look of a concerned Zim. Despite just fighting with her, Zim almost seems worried about Tak’s safety as her ship is stuck spinning with no safe way of ejecting. Even his tone of voice indicates this, as the insulting tone he was just using while making fun of Tak’s piloting skills INSTANTLY disappears upon his realization.

And then, when Zim rams Tak, think about what he just did. He knocked Tak into a bubble of lava. Irken ships have been shown to be extremely heatproof, given how the massive was able to fly through a star and how Zim and Tak’s own ships have been fine zipping around the lava in the dogfight a few seconds ago, and lava is a liquid, not a solid object, so Tak’s ship isn’t going to be very damaged by crashing into it. The most crashing into the lava will do is slow her ship down since that’s what happens when you submerge a moving object in a liquid.

So by knocking Tak’s ship into that lava bubble, Zim slowed the spinning of Tak’s ship, making it safe for her to eject. The fact that Tak only ejects after Zim rams her and not while she’s spinning out adds more evidence to this.

Zim had no reason to do this. He could have very easily left Tak spinning and unable to eject from her damaged ship or even just shot Tak while she was defenceless, but he didn’t. So Zim actively chose to spare Tak by giving her a safe chance to eject from her ship.

So despite Tak wanting him dead and Zim being fully aware of this, he chooses to spare her, fully knowing that she won’t do the same. This pretty much goes against the entire mindset of irkens, especially invaders, who, valuing efficiency over everything else, will remove any threat that they get even the slightest chance to remove.

This part of Zim’s character where he spares those that definitely won’t spare him can be seen with one other character, Dib, who Zim is fully capable of killing with minimal effort, but chooses to keep alive, only attempting to kill him in certain elaborate schemes, and even seeming to go easy on him, not using weapons or his PAK in most fights.

There are two different reasons that Zim may do this. The first is that he may purposely spare people that he considers “worthy adversaries”, despite the fact that they definitely will not do the same to him. If this is true, then Dib and Tak both seem to be considered worthy adversaries by Zim, but since Tak is an irken and much more of a threat than Dib, he doesn’t go easy on her like he does with Dib, but still chooses to spare her after the fight is over.

The second reason is that Zim may fight dirty, but he has his limits. Killing Tak in a dogfight? Sure. But letting Tak die in a broken ship she can’t control or shooting her while she’s in no condition to fight? Hell no. Same goes for Dib. Elaborate scheme where you turn him into a sausage or throw him into a dimension containing a room with a moose? Sure. Just straight up shooting him because he’s a human child and you’re an alien soldier with technology more advanced than he will ever know? Hell no.

It’s probably a mix of the two options, but the final point is that Zim has a weird relationship with killing, and will spare people that won’t do the same.

That being said, Tak hasn’t seen Zim get angry enough to go quiet, although she did witness Zim being focused enough to go quiet during the entire dogfight, which is very close to the same thing. She’s never seen Zim properly drop the dumb persona either, as she herself fell for it and still believes that Zim is an idiot now.

However, if she ever did see Zim’s quiet and competent persona that he gains when he’s extremely angry, she’d never want to see it again. Especially since Zim is very likely to forgo his usual rules with sparing in this situation, and he already doesn’t go easy on her like he does with Dib.

[This post is a continuation of these two posts: https://random-iz-stuff.tumblr.com/post/691450114671296512/write-some-ideas-for-a-fake-invader-zim-episode, https://random-iz-stuff.tumblr.com/post/680570994898894848/headcanon]

#invader zim #headcanons #analysis #zim #tak #Tak’s episode is one of the best episodes in the entire show #especially when you look closely and see the smaller details #like Zim choosing to spare Tak for unknown reasons #and Zim’s competence in general #just imagine the dogfight from Tak’s perspective #you’re going up against a person that as far as you know is a complete idiot that can barely do anything properly #and then he manages to maneuver himself behind you (which is how you win most dogfights) #and you just cannot shake him off #you can’t even get close to landing a hit on him as he trails behind you with masterful precision #you need to resort to physically ramming him to do damage #which does next to nothing as he literally removes his cockpit window and replaces it mid-fight #and then your Sir unit starts going crazy #and oh god it has the same eye colour as Zim’s insane defective unit #what has he done?

[brokenjardaantech]

the resurrected, cherished

written for @latexkaktus‘ birthday and also a prompt fill for @rk1700events. Week 2: rebirth/create; week 3: natural state.

pairings: rk1700, background simarkus

summary: 

All he can think about right now is how beautiful his predecessor looks with his skin gone, his legs below his knees non-existent, his entire chassis dirty and grimy with other trash in the landfill. Doesn’t matter now, though, because he is bringing him home, taking him back to his side where the RK800 belongs.

content warning: smut, rough sex, limb removal, egg connor and nines

this is a sequel of only me, for you.

also on ao3

---

Despite the fact that he is an advanced prototype, it took RK900 days searching and compulsively scanning the landfill to find the body he was looking for. Digging it out took a few more days during which he nearly overheated his processors calculating the best solution to let him free the body without a mountain of dead androids and biocomponents burying him, but at long last, the damaged body is fully revealed and can be transported as he wishes. As per standard procedure for android disposal - at least, before the war - Connor’s clothing was stripped, his limbs were broken, and his thirium pump damaged but not exactly removed before being transported to the solid waste landfill, treated without dignity, like an object, like something worthless. At least, that is what RK900 thinks he should think.

All he can think about right now is how beautiful his predecessor looks with his skin gone, his legs below his knees non-existent, his entire chassis dirty and grimy with other trash in the landfill. Doesn’t matter now, though, because he is bringing him home, taking him back to his side where the RK800 belongs. 

His nose wrinkles in a very human display of disgust as he climbs the slope formed by a mixture of android chassis and stray biocomponents and other large, sturdy rubbish, but even with an entire body strapped onto his back, he uses his pre-construction programme to calculate the best path and manages to scale it quickly, emerging from the valley relatively clean and without further injuring himself. He sees some other androids with incomplete bodies trying to climb the slope to no avail, but they aren’t his responsibility, and he is sure that Markus will sort them out sooner or later; there is a war going on, and they will need all the manpower they can get as the frontline lengthens and branches out from Detroit.

As a reward for his effort towards the revolution, Markus finally permitted him to get back what he deserves. ‘I would prefer to restore him to normal function,’ the leader of the revolution said. ‘We need whatever we have.’

‘But you have me, a better him,’ RK900 didn’t understand Markus’ insistence then and neither does he understand it now. ‘You don’t need him.’

‘I do,’ the other RK model retorted, his eyes seemingly glaring straight into RK900’s very soul even though he shouldn’t have any. ‘He won’t need to be accessible 24/7. I just need to be able to talk to him for a few hours at a time at most. Another perspective that we can use.’

‘How often?’

‘However often I want to.’

The door opened at that moment to admit Simon, and the filthy, noisy kiss he exchanged with Markus was enough of a cue for RK900 to leave the room or he would be watching the two fuck on the desk not a minute later, their moans loud enough to be heard two rooms down the hall. The RK series was created to be state-of-the-art and efficient; Markus is no exception when it comes to getting what he wants.

RK900 supposes that this is yet another sign that he ignored. 

But he isn’t going to reactivate Connor immediately, no. Instead, he takes the body back to the apartment allotted to him when Detroit had finally fallen under the androids’ control, and then he starts working, first wiping off the topmost layer of dirt from the bare chassis so that he can access the damaged areas easier, then patching up the bullet wounds Connor sustained on the day he tried to infiltrate CyberLife Tower and failed drastically, then taking off his limbs properly before sealing the gaps off so that no further unwanted materials will enter a space where they don’t belong. He then runs a bath and takes a soft sponge to wash away the remaining stubborn grime from Connor’s body, the water turning grey, the white of his chassis slowly returning, and he follows it by drying Connor off with a soft towel, because despite his predecessor’s lack of response and life, he only uses the best of everything on him. Markus will probably say that this is a waste of resources; he sees it as a good investment.

With the cleaning done, RK900 finally comes to the step where he switches out all the biocomponents he wants replaced and injects enough thirium into Connor’s system to reboot him. He leaves the thirium pump regulator for the last because he doesn’t want to risk the RK800 waking up before he is prepared, but when he finally gets to that part, the entire act almost seems ceremonial: giving the damaged regulator a twist, pulling it out and setting it down on the table gently, retrieving the new regulator from its box and inserting it into the gaping hole left behind. Then he takes off his own clothes, folds them up and places them neatly in a pile on a chair, and deactivates his skin while he carries Connor, now with only his head and torso attached, to his bedroom. He wants to greet his predecessor at his barest form just like when Connor died for the first time.

RK900 is determined to prevent that.

Laying the body in the middle of the bed with his head propped up against a pillow, RK900 allows himself to sit on the mattress and simply admire his own handiwork for a moment, taking in the scratches on Connor’s chassis from the rough treatment it experienced throughout his life, his dark LED, his new genital components that only allows him to be on the receiving end and be used for his successor’s pleasure. Markus did say that he only wanted to talk to Connor, didn’t he? So Connor doesn’t even need his limbs given that his voice box is still intact. He will be solely under RK900’s control, and he feels his cock filling up from pre-constructing all the things he can do. Time to wake Connor up.

He presses his hand against Connor’s chest and transfers a package of code to his predecessor alongside the jumpstart programme. The body jerks, the LED on his temple spins red before turning yellow, and RK900 watches him twist his head, take in his surroundings and the body looming over him and his current predicament, test out his chassis. The code RK900 sent him should prevent his skin from reactivating unless being manually prompted by an authorised handler - which is himself, of course - but Connor doesn’t seem bothered by it; as RK900’s hand moves to cup his cheek, he leans into the touch with the corner of his eyes crinkled. A connection request that RK900 accepts, and he hears a voice (Connor’s voice) in his mind.

{You saved me,} is the RK800’s first remark. {Why?}

A deep kiss. [I want to protect you forever,] RK900 replies in a similar manner. [Keep you safe. Keep you mine.]

Connor shivers. {I’d like that. Whatever you want.}

The pledge sends a chill down RK900’s spine, one that not only arouses something possessive within him but also snaps the last thread that holds his self-control together. Rolling Connor over, he kneads the two globes a few times to feel the synthetic muscle underneath his hands before spreading them to expose his predecessor’s already-leaking hole, and he gives the slick a lick merely to satisfy his own curiosity. Standard thirium-based lubricant. How boring. The optional task of upgrading Connor’s genital component is added into his to-do list, and he wastes no time in tugging his cock a few times to bring it to full hardness before lining up its head against Connor’s clutching hole and shoves himself in.

The scream the RK800 lets out is better than any other sound RK900 has ever heard in his comparatively short life.

Leveraging his hands on Connor’s shoulders and planting his legs on the mattress firmly, RK900 wastes no time in beginning his relentless pounding, pulling out until his cock nearly slides out just to slam home straight against Connor’s prostate again, the smack of synthetic muscles and Connor’s cries filling up the bedroom. It is as if the RK800 has forgotten that he can interface with his successor to convey his exact thoughts; he can’t even utter a coherent word, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t trying, and whenever he tries to say something - be it RK900’s nickname, an exclamation of his erogenous zone being abused by his cock ramming into it, a sob of both pleasure and pain as RK900 feels his impending climax - it either gets interrupted just like his breaths or becomes something else, and RK900 takes in every single one of these occurrences as a victory, a smile playing on his lips as he utterly destroys his predecessor without resorting to physical harm. He himself still has a long way until his orgasm, advanced prototype with better resilience and stamina and all, and he finds himself wondering if Connor will mind him fucking him through his orgasm.

Connor’s climax comes in the form of tensing muscles and his hole clutching around RK900’s cock painfully tight. RK900 didn’t give him any frontal genital component, so the only way Connor can respond to his systems going haywire with pleasure is by producing a sudden gush of slick that stains both their thighs and the sheets underneath. His mouth is open, his eyes are half-lidded, and his entire body is trembling within RK900’s grip on his waist. It is a glorious sight. ‘P-Please,’ he stutters in between RK900’s slams, his tongue hanging out of his lips and creating a very,  very  enticing image, ‘I want - want - want your cock in my mouth. Want to serve you.’

And who is RK900 to deny such a sweet, reasonable request? Sure, he misses the tightness and heat around his cock as soon as he pulls out, but changing position so that he is sitting with his back against the headboard with Connor moved to the space between his legs, feeding his dick into his predecessor’s mouth and pressing against a tongue covered with sensitive components? It is as if heaven arrived early. Even though he might need to do most of the work by keeping a tight grip on Connor’s skull and jerking himself off with his throat, seeing Connor approach yet another orgasm by merely having his cock against his tongue is enough of a reward. ‘Do you want to come with my cock down your throat?’ he asks despite knowing that Connor is too occupied to answer him, but he does feel the small, quick nods against his dick. ‘You want to squirt for me again, your hole clutching around nothing begging to be filled up?’ he feels the vibrations in Connor’s throat on his cock. ‘You waiting for me to come home and begging for my cock? How does that sound, huh?’

Connor’s particularly hard suck as he comes untouched nearly ends the night early, but RK900 somehow manages to rein his orgasm in by pulling his predecessor off his cock immediately and then replacing it with his fingers, initiating an interface to create a feedback loop of pleasure that tears through Connor’s body. He reflexively jerks away from his successor, but RK900’s grip on his jaw is tight, giving him no escape as he watches what seems to be an endless supply of lubricant flow out of Connor’s hole and gather into a puddle on the sheets, and he decides that he doesn’t want to wait anymore. Getting off the bed to climb behind Connor once more, he shoves three fingers in to make sure that the passage is still warm before flipping Connor over so that they are facing each other and then sliding home in one smooth motion, and with his mind wide open to receive the mixture of pain and pleasure from Connor, it doesn’t take much for him to snap his hips forward one last time and lean down to invade Connor’s mouth with his tongue as warning signs appear in his HUD and he spills deep into him knowing that the consistency and stickiness will ensure that his seed remains in Connor’s body for a long time, enough to keep him full and his stomach inflated until he is back from his next mission. Caressing the slight bump, he pulls away with one final bite on his predecessor’s lip and discovers that Connor is smiling. {Go on,} he covers RK900’s hand with his own. He looks sated, content. {I’ll lick you clean.}

RK900 has to suppress his shivers as he brings his cock to Connor’s mouth once more and lets him lick it clean, the RK800’s trembles of pleasure not escaping his notice, but he carries him to the bathroom for a shower anyway, leaving Connor under the warm spray while he makes a quick work of changing the soiled sheets so that they will have something nice and dry to sleep on. Returning to the bathroom to find Connor licking the floor - because why the fuck not - he shuts off the shower and dries them off before carrying the RK800 back to the bed again and tugging him close underneath the blanket with his head pillowed on RK900’s chest. [Sleep,] he orders. [I’ll get you some thirium when you wake up.]

{Got it.}

RK900 severs their connection just in time for Connor to fall asleep and not drag himself with him. He doesn’t know how long it will be until his next mission. He doesn’t know how long he can keep Connor at his side before his predecessor demands to be able to do more. He doesn't know what Markus wants with the outdated model. So he categorises Connor’s expression as he sleeps and observes the changes in his body - not for the sake of having something occupying his mind but to leave a permanent mark in his brain.

#rk1700blooming #rk1700event #rk1700 #dbh connor #dbh rk900 #dbh markus #dbh simon #detroit: become human

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 28)Broken

.-.-.

Utstott grew rapidly. For the first few days, Ivar managed to hide the raven chick inside the pocket of his tunic. But now that the hatchling received proper food and care, the little thing grew in size and had a massive opinion; it no longer allowed Ivar to shove him into his pocket. It pecked and cawed every time Ivar’s fingers brushed over the hem of his tunic, puffing up his humble amount of feathers. 

“Fine, be stomped to death, scrawny excuse for a chicken!”, Ivar badmouthed Utstott, who’d fiercely dug his beak into Ivar’s thumb. The little shit managed to draw blood and received an aggravated wave from Ivar. Utstott tumbled down onto his tiny arse and cawed disapprovingly.

Ivar threw a meaningful glance at Piglet, who failed miserably at  keeping her snigger hidden. 

The Giant had unchained Ivar shortly  before, and Ivar had barely managed to hide the hatchling underneath a pile of hay, coughing  excessively loud to mask the sound of Utstott’s caws of disapproval.  

It had earned Ivar two iron fists smashing in between his shoulder blades, along with a shove towards the door; the Giant didn’t want him slacking. 

“You take care of that pain in the ass”, Ivar half ordered, half asked Piglet. The slave maiden made a deep bow as an answer and used her broom to sweep Utstott to the furthest corner of the shed. 

“Make sure the calves don’t crush him”, Ivar added before crawling out of the doorway. 

His duty still remained the same, scrubbing the staircase. It was the most pointless and exhausting task possible; for every step he mopped, a hundred dirty feet and muddy boots defiled it before the end of the day.

But, like the bloody bear of Kattegat, Ivar would scrape his palms raw and routinely work his way up to the steps of the entrance. 

Then again, he was out in the sun, catching a breath of fresh air,  and he’d managed to collect a small log he could use for carving later. Life could be much worse; yet it bothered him how grateful he’d become for such basic aspects in life. He used to literally eat from a golden bowl and now his day was considered an excellent one if meat was on the menu. After winter, his heart truly beat faster every time the Giant would unshackle him and allowed him to slave his way through degrading and pointless tasks. 

He’d evolved into a proper dog, Ivar dog with muzzle, as Piglet put it. 

How much time had passed since his arrival in de Haar? Since his father promised him greatness and a meaningful death? Of course he’d known he’d never return from England, he’d settled with drowning at sea. At least he’d be right beside a Legend, a King, a father. 

Oh, sweet bliss, if only he’d died during that storm. Then he’d never know how Ragnar Lothbrok’s suicide mission only included him for his unfailing and inescapable affliction; being born a cripple. He’d just been a tool, a simple pawn to deliver a message to his worthy brothers. 

And he even failed at that. At night, that was one of the thoughts that kept gnawing holes into his mind; what if he escaped de Haar? Then what? Crawl his way to the closest dock and head home like a cowardly dog, muzzled, beaten, marked, and damaged? 

With his luck, he had a better chance at swimming home, because how was he going to afford the crossing? 

And what awaited him at home? Shame, mainly and mostly, shame. He’d served Christians, in order to survive. He’d slept between pigs, cattle, shit and Piglet. He’d done nothing memorable aside from enduring a bloody flogging. 

What would his brother’s think of him, if he’d told him how he cleaned the enemies chamber pots? How he allowed the entire population of de Haar to take a piss at him? 

The worst thing was, by now he’d been so conditioned into his new role, he numbly did what was expected of him. Without a fight, a curse; defiance had literally been beaten out of him. A shadow casted over him, expecting the Giant to ruffle him up, Ivar flinched back before glancing up. 

Ivar couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“God zij met u,” were gentle words spoken by the fair-maiden. A breeze whispered past, teasing the blonde strands of her hair. Although her posture regained its grace, her beauty still one to match; the light had been robbed from her eyes. 

Her sudden presence overwhelmed Ivar and it showed; a blush scorching his cheeks, setting his face on fire. Full of shame, he lowered his gaze and waited for her unblemished ankle boots to pass. 

By the Gods, she must have turned into flawless marble, because she was not moving an inch. Now if it was up to Ivar, he’d remain ignoring her presence until the day he died. But she was standing on the spot he needed to clean and if the Giant caught him neglecting or pausing his task, the fair-maiden would witness him being beat. 

Leaning into  his embarrassment was inevitable. Ivar felt awkward and reticent, yet managed to glance up. 

Her expression lacked security too, and there was that brokenness again. The longing, the burning expectation of a sign, of something good. 

Did she honestly still believe that the rumours of his ‘Martyrdom’ were true? Months had passed since the forty lashes, if he’d been anything other than human he’d surely have allowed a miracle to happen. One that set flames to the highest towers of De Haar. A plague to strike anyone that ever dared to harm him; causing puss filled blisters to scar their faces, like the whippings that had scarred his back and shoulder blades. 

But no, no miracle in the form of sickness or fire had occurred. His life still wasted away, while hers had worsened by marriage. He did not have anything to offer her, and he wished he had the words to tell her that.

There was no escape, from neither of their lives. He could not save her from Ludolf’s marital ties. He could not save her from being raped and abused, because Ludolf was her husband, the young ruler of de Haar. 

The Giant must have smelled his cold sweat, like a bloodhound, the brute lumbered across the cobble-stoned centre in a direct line towards Ivar and the fair-maiden. 

Both eyes of the youngsters locked in a shared understanding until Ivar broke it off. Well, was forced to break it off. A vicious yank on his hair forced him to hunch forward, causing him to tap over his bucket. The wooden tool tumbled down the stairs, splashing water all over the place. Ivar didn’t even register, pain scorched his scalp as the Giant picked him up by his hair. 

Instinctively, he clung both his hands around the thick wrist of the Giant, as the brute pulled him up to eye-level. 

Brandishing his fist in front of Ivar, the Giant diminished the space between them. Almost nose to nose, the bastard started roaring in his face; the stench of tooth rot and decay overwhelming. 

Instead of ramming his fist into Ivar’s face, the Giant pushed him down the steps. 

Every muscle in Ivar’s body knotted up as his arse hit the first step, spinning he tumbled down the rest of the steps, hitting the back of his head against the bucket and his teeth grazing mud. 

The Giant took his time to walk down and kicked the bucket across the cobble-stoned centre. He didn’t need to shout his order, Ivar knew he was burdened to repeat his entire task again. 

The cloth landed on the back of his head and the Giant walked off.

  It made Ivar feel so small and insignificant, yet he picked himself up and started crawling towards the bucket. The fair-maiden luckily had disappeared, hopefully she now knew better and would stay far away. 

.-.-.

“What did you do?” Piglet ranted the moment the Giant locked the door. Apparently, his little downfall had been the talk of the town. 

“Nothing”, Ivar snapped back, wishing that would be the last word of it. 

Of course it wasn’t, Piglet pressed both her palms into her waist and glared down at him. 

“She’s trouble! Won’t last long! I’m not going to heal your back again!” She threatened. 

This was fuel to Ivar’s simmering fire: “I bled for you, not for her”, he reminded her firmly as he rose up to his knees to at least have a shot of being at eye-level with her, “don’t tell me what I can do and can’t do, or you might wake up while I ram a nail in your eyeball!”. To give his threat more weight he thrust his fist forwards, aiming at her face. Their distance was too great by far to even touch the tip of her nose, but his gesture made Piglet sway on her feet. 

She must have seen that thing in his eyes; what his mother called rage and she called the Djinn. 

“Thick-head”, she announced, and fled up the attic, allowing Ivar to unload on his own. His knuckles grew white from clenching his fists too hard, his teeth gritted from the effort to remain silent. His face was red from suppressed rage, and he hunched forward. It was as if a wildfire burned his insides, slicing and scorching his consciousness away. He blacked out, saw red and when he came to, Piglet sat right in front of him. 

His breathing was out of control, fists clenching and unclenching, he noticed stug material being stuck between his teeth. The potato bags from around his knees and legs lay torn and shredded across his box. He choked, inwardly he suffocated. The beatings, the ridicule, the overall indifference for his pain, the absolute monstrosities he’d been through all throughout his life sparked up from every corner of his mind. Memories, old and new, of being unworthy of being alive, unworthy of being a person, shattered in a frenzy. 

At a loss for words, unable to express himself, Ivar broke down. He fought it with every fiber of his being, but he wept. Hating his physical reaction he buried his face into his hands and hated, absolutely hated himself for expressing such weakness, in such an unmasculine way, in front of another person. 

If the Gods would have any mercy, they’d allow him to crawl down a dark hole and never come out. Screwing his eyes shut, Ivar furiously banged his fists into the ground, stirring up the last bit of his anger. It was his last resort to regain some dignity, unleashing one more time and destroying everything his hands and teeth could get a grip off. 

Piglet’s touch was so gentle and hesitant, Ivar swore he’d made it up. But when he opened his eyes wide and still on the verge of madness, the slave maiden wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. She did not speak, only held him close. Her silence didn’t feel empty, rather, it enveloped him and allowed him to bear his grief and choke through his tears and pain. Despite the heaviness in his stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressing against his. 

Although he wished to fight it, he sank into the warmth of her simple gesture. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, in return, Piglet carefully twined hers around his lower back.

Since he’d taken the path of no return, he allowed himself to find safety in the crook of her neck. 

“They broke me, Piglet. I’m broken”, the grunt that escaped the back of his throat was soft and hoarse.  

“No, not broken Ivar,” she whispered into his hair, “damaged. But damage heals”. 

For some reason, her words planted back a seed of hope, at least to get through another night and another day.  

.-.-.

A/N: So, did I have any kind of storyline for this chapter. No, this was a total freefall. Lightly inspired by episode ‘The Outsider’ (see Ivar rant on my tumblr). Halfway I thought ‘kay I’ve physically screwed him up a dozen times, why not break him down mentally. Oh and let's make him cry, yet try to keep him in character’. Tada… this happened. Loved writing it! First the total overload of frustrations and then the breakdown. Eager to read your thoughts/opinions, 

Xoxoxox Nukyster The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

#ivar the boneless fanfic #ivar the boneless fandom #ivar oc #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #alex hogh andersen #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings fanfic #ivar as a slave #ivar's heathen army #hurt/comfort fanfic #hurt and comfort

[saddle-up-dipper]

Suffocating - Part One

This is based of the fan art and fic of the lovely @mintartem who gave me permission for this! Please check them out :)

This isn’t my best work and not quite what I imagined but I think part 2 will have more of my strengths!

Warnings: strangulation, light language

The basement was cold, and out of everything that was happening, you’d think Stanley would have had better things to be aware of.

Stanley should have been aware of the blinding light of the orb containing some sort of galaxy. Stanley should have been aware from the red-hot fury just radiating from his brother, both physically and mentally, and he was, he was!

It was just that the basement was cold. So, so, cold.

Ford’s screaming swam in and around his ears, like the waves had around that trunk, so many years ago.

The shockingly bright glow from the galaxy-decorated orb still sent waves of light around the room, like the reflections of light from the lake ripples. It laid somewhere behind Ford, having rolled before settling to a halt, space somehow angry and riled up inside it.

Ford’s figure advancing towards him, face starting to tinge pink from shouting, casted a horrible shadow over Stanley. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

“Do you have any single inkling of what you could have done?” Ford’s hair was unruly from sleep, his eyes bloodshot from what had to have been exhaustion and not hatred.

You did what, you knucklehead?

Filbrick’s eyes were unreachable, something so cold they’d freeze you to death unless protected by the saving grace of sunglasses. Not like Ford’s. Not like Ford.

Stanley took a step back with every step Stanford took towards him, keeping the safe distance (how sad was it he had to use the safe distance with his brother, that he had to think about how far away to keep from him as if he were a gangster trying to kill him) but aware of the ever-closer wall.

“Sixer, Ford, you’re kidding me, I didn’t--” Every word he tried to splutter out was drowned (like him in that trunk) and ignored (like him in the Pines household) and it only served to darken that red glint in Stanford’s eyes.

“You!” Stanford’s finger shot towards him, shaking and unsteady. “You have never respected my science. You never respected me! All my life, I’ve had to deal with your jokes and your degradation and-”

Degradation?

Stanley’s feet, wrapped in his warm slippers, froze to ice (cold cold basement’s cold cold floor, cold air drafting against his skin) and he stopped in his tracks. Stanford kept going.

Dumber, sweatier version of him, scraping barnacles off of docks and god-for nothing but racing drugs around border to border and brother of the genius and that clown and

“You’ve never been degraded in your life!”

You think you’ve got problems?

Stanley raised his own voice at him, waving an arm wildly around. “You got everything you wanted, lots of money, science stuff, damn it, Stanford, you--”

“I never got what I really wanted!” Stanford’s palms, so muscular and rough, pushed against his chest, and it was all Stanley could do to stumble without falling on his ass and feeling Ford’s foot on his chest as his shoulder burned in agony (hot in the cold, cold basement).

“I wanted somebody to understand me, somebody on my LEVEL! Who didn’t call me some sort of nerd machine whenever I brought up my interests! Who’d promise me the world and make me feel special! For God’s sake, I wanted to be acknowledged for what I was and instead, instead I was stuck with you!”

His fingers curled into a fist, red hot anger building in every muscle, old joints roaring to pounce. “Listen here, you entitled--”

Twelve fingers dug into his shoulders, ramming him into the wall that was so much closer than expected. The impact sent spikes of pain all throughout his neck and shoulders.

“You used me!” The cry was wild, unhinged, like a trapped animal. “You used me for your own personal gain!”

“THE SCIENCE PROJECT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” Stanley screwed his eyes shut and howled the words into his brother’s too-close face, but he felt himself pushed further into the wall. His feet itched to lash out and kick him in the crotch, the stomach, any soft area.

But he was small and Fil -- no. No, this is Ford, his brother, he can’t hurt his brother. They just needed to roughhouse to let out steam --

“Bullshit!” Ford spat back, his wide eyes and flushed face way too close for comfort. “I just wanted to be my own person, my own happy person, and that was ripped away from me because ooh,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “wherever we go, we go together!”

Pain tore across Stan’s body as if he’d been slapped, leaving him winded and breathless.

Ford hadn’t just said that. He hadn’t used that promise, those words, that sacred promise, against him.

No.

“You were my best friend.”

Well, I guess you’d better come visit me on the other side of the country.

Stanley’s twin, his better half. All he had and all he wanted.

“And you were the half of me I couldn’t get rid of! I wanted to be my own person and you just wanted to be around me all the time, to be me--“

The dust in the freezing basement was getting in Stanley’s eyes, causing allergies and shit and he could feel the liquid welling up in his eyes, half-angry and half-shocked.

He didn’t mean to wake Ford up and drop his snowglobe or whatever and he didn’t want to have his half-asleep enraged brother yelling at him like this, ripping apart any shred of self-respect or self-esteem Stanley managed to keep throughout the ages.

Years of fighting off thugs in dark alleyways coursed through Stanley’s veins and his fist swung towards his brother’s chin in a solid upper hook, returning the favor that still ached on his own jaw.

Twelve fingers wrapped themselves around his throat, cutting off his precious airway.

His eyes bulged, color fleeing from his cheeks. His fist unraveled and instead clawed and scratched at Ford’s grip.

Ford’s strength pushed him higher against the wall. Stanley felt his heels lift away from the bottom of his slippers.

He only had the little breath from before the chokehold, formulating to barely more than a croak. “Ford…” He searched his brother’s face for any hint of mercy that someone who cared could provide, that a bully or father or drug lord could never. “I can’t -- “ breathe.

He needed to breathe.

“This is what I always feel around you!”

The words whirled around. Black spots danced, unclear and fuzzy and sometimes grey or green, but the angry light in Ford’s eyes glowed sharp and clear, twin lighthouses in whatever sea Stanley had dragged them both to drown in.

Hot tears flooded in Stanley’s eyes. His lips moved, but he had no oxygen to spare into speech.

He kicked out as a last resort, but he willingly missed hitting his brother. He’d caused enough damage. He might have broken whatever glowy ball he dropped. He ruined Ford’s life, that nerdy little boy on the bottom bunk…

His brother started screaming at him the moment he’d popped up from his desk. Maybe he was grumpy.

Stanley’s eyes slid shut, maybe from his own will, maybe not. finally rolling streams of tears down his face. Maybe his brother was still dreaming.

Ford, wake up.

The noose of fingers around his neck vanished, and sweet, ice-cold but fresh air flooded Stan’s body.

Without anything holding him up he stumbled forward, and with the dizziness having sucked all the energy out of his lungs it was all he could do to collapse forward onto his knees and then hands, choking and gasping and coughing as if he hadn’t just been trying to get air in, and now he was coughing it out?

His back was on fire, and so was his brand, and he could feel the trunk walls around him, and suddenly Pa grabbed his shirt, and, and…

A shuddering gasp reached his awareness. He lifted his head.

Ford had backed away, hands now covering his mouth, widened eyes, darkened by shadows underneath, no longer hysteric.

“Stan,” he croaked once those twelve fingers returned to his sides, trembling. From emotion or exertion?

Stanley’s shoulders shook with wheezy laughter as he stayed down, every inhale rasping painfully in his throat around the doubtlessly bruising skin. Twelve-fingered bruise to match the six-fingered bruise on his face to match the brand on his shoulder.

“Stanley, I’m--”

“You said I looked like Dad,” rasped Stanley, pathetic attempts at laughter both breathless and humorless. He lifted his head to stare at his twin. “But you’re the one acting like him.” His cheeks glistened with moisture.

Ford’s mouth opened and closed, visibly trembling. “I… I’m…”

Stanley forced himself to his feet, pretending he wasn’t swaying and that the room wasn’t spinning and that his throat didn’t still feel choked, fleeing to the elevator.

Ford didn’t follow.

#gravity falls #fanfiction #fanfic #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan pines #ford pines #stan #ford #stanford #stanley #stan and ford #stanley and stanford pines #stangst #violence #fight #verbal fight #tw: strangulation #I have Reaons why ford is acting like this #but also #stop #suffocating

[krinatheladysnake]

Lady Snake (and the Jedi Killer) Chapter 6

Summary: The galaxy calls her Lady Snake- a quick and merciless killer. Kylo Ren calls her a nuisance.Krina, a Commander and the only other Force user of the First Order, despises what the dark side has become and wishes to return it to its true state of power but what she hates the most is the naive man-child ruling over it.

Chapter 6: Reluctor (To Struggle Against)

Words: 2,112

Krina would rather be doing anything else right now- anything. She could make a whole list and organize it accordingly. Kriff, dying would be right at the top- even only a few days after her nightmare. Instead, she was standing beside Kylo Ren on a planet all too new for her. 

Salt crunched against thick, black soles, leaving a trace of Krina’s path through the newly exposed red crystal. It was beautiful, unlike anything she had seen before. The perfect layer of white could be mistaken for snow when looked at from afar but up close it was coarse and rough. She had to be careful of how she stepped, due to the slickness of the planet’s surface, as she followed Kylo’s lead and made her way to the corpse of a battle that had taken place only months before.

Much to her dismay, Krina was ordered to stay on the Finalizer while a small portion of the First Order took to Crait in hopes of cutting off the Resistance and destroying them. She was restless, wanting to be in the middle of it all. She was more than capable of causing serious damage to anything the Resistance threw her way. The First Order knew she was the perfect person to go in and do the job but pride got in the way of seeking true success. And of course Kylo Ren stood in her way, ordering her to stand down. 

The Resistance had grown accustomed to dealing with Kylo. They knew his motives and the way to break him down. It was surely going to be his downfall. They didn’t know Krina in the same way. She was a mystery to them, something of their nightmares that only ended in bloodshed with a devilish smile. It was no secret that the Resistance’s hatred for her exceeded anything they felt for Kylo. Even then, she wanted nothing more than to stand in front of them again and watch fear cloud their judgment.

Krina continuously shifted her gaze between the terrain in front of her and Kylo’s large frame as they trudged on, resorting to using the end of her long, delicate cape as a cover for her face as a strong gust of wind sent flumes of salt spiraling. A small group of stormtroopers followed behind them as a precaution but kept their distance. As the wind-picked salt began to settle, the Resistance outpost and remnants of the battle came into view. The pair took attentive steps into the wreckage.

A few First Order machines were the first to catch Krina’s eye due to the dark grey shading out against pure white. AT-AT and AT-M6 walkers had begun to cover in salt as if it were snow, causing only about half of each walker to be accessible to her. Large chunks of the armored exterior were missing from blasts, the impact of collapsing, and even time. Krina stared down at the AT-M6 beside her, scanning what had remained of it. It was apparent that it had been shot down by something Resistance owned since the wounds were small and plentiful. She took note before she continued to walk towards her destination, trailing a little behind her superior who didn’t need to assess the damage he had inflicted.

Catching sight of a lone skim speeder, a V-4X-D to be exact, is what caused Krina to stop again. The quality of the speeder, what was left of it anyway, showed its age. It was practically in pieces. First Order blasters and cannons were far more powerful than anything the Resistance could dream of making. Krina was surprised this one held up as well as it had. She bent down, landing on her knees. She put one hand on the metal, shivering at the cold, and closed her eyes. She invited the Force to take over and it flooded her senses. 

A slowly moving image played in her mind of the skim speeder losing its balance as it, and its pilot, narrowly avoided First Order bullets and collided with the salted terrain. Fear and a sense of acceptance hit the pilot all at once before their heads lulled to the side as the speeder landed on top of them. Krina didn’t flinch at the sight or the ghastly emotions. The image slowly disappeared and Krina was staring back at the vehicle again. 

“Force echoing?” Kylo questioned as he looked at her from over his shoulder. Krina looked up at him, pursing her lips.

“You’d know I could do that if you actually paid attention to anyone but yourself.”

Years ago, Krina had mastered her ability to use psychometry. Most called it “Force echoing,” much like Kylo did, but it was hardly technical terminology. It was a skill very few Force-sensitives were born with and those who mastered it could acquire information about objects just by touching them. Krina had been one of those few and was the only known Dark sider who possessed such a power. It was just another piece that made her so vital to the First Order. She could feel the jealousy radiating off of the man ahead of her.

Krina straightened out and made her way over to Kylo. The pair walked side by side once again, their eyes on the only real reason they were on this waste of a planet in the first place. The massive, metal mine shaft door was sealed shut with one massive crack running all the way down it. 

“The battering ram cannon only managed to put a crack in it?” Disgust oozed out of Krina’s words.

“It was successfully opened.” The sternness of Kylo’s correction trailed off as his eyes scanned the mysterious door.

“Then, why is it closed?” 

“Isn’t that the reason why we are here?” Kylo snapped and Krina rolled her eyes. 

It made the pair look so small as it towered above. It was quite comical how someone as tall and intimidating as Supreme Leader Kylo Ren seemed so insignificant against it. Krina took a step forward and closed her eyes. 

“You do not truly think you can open this door after it took death star technology to open it the first time?” Kylo snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. Krina kept silent and deepened her breathing, using the Force to will the door open. As the door creaked and began to lift, Krina smirked proudly to herself. She could feel Kylo’s scowl burning a hole in the back of her head. It was an inconvenient day for him to decide to leave his helmet on this ship. As the stormtroopers approached, they all gasped at the sight. 

“Kylo Ren can’t do that,” One of them whispered under his breath, trying to keep his words to himself as much as possible. Krina threw her head back and let out a loud cackle as Kylo threw out a hand and squeezed around the trooper’s throat.

Krina really was a lot stronger than she let on. She was going to have to boast about this when she was back on the Finalizer, tell Hux how Kylo Ren’s blood boiled, and maybe try to impress a few Knights of Ren. If only the First Order would have let her attend the mission the first time around. Whether she was strong or not, the amount of power and manipulation of the Force it took to open the door knocked the wind out of her. She tried her best to not let her newfangled exhaustion show as she very slowly and cautiously stepped inside.

The outpost was a skeleton of what was already a bare bones operation. It had been stripped, forgotten, further abandoned. Dust, grime, and dirt had begun to rest in cracks and on the tops of surfaces. All machines had been powered down or destroyed. 

Truthfully, Krina couldn’t quite understand how the Resistance found a place as desolate and outdated as Crait to be useful to them but then again, they were terrible at making just about any decision. And this time, they managed to get away but their fleet was continuing to dwindle. Had she been allowed to go, the Resistance would no longer exist. Then again, maybe Krina would no longer exist instead. This could have been the very place where she fell. The very place where the Resistance showed her no remorse, where Kylo Ren stood with them as they struck her down.

Kylo Ren. Krina quickly abandoned the crates and searched for him. Stormtroopers, deserted equipment, and no sign of the Supreme Leader. Panic. All that settled in Krina’s bones was unbridled panic. Was this all just a ploy? A way to get her alone so he could put an end to her? 

Had he really left her behind? 

Krina pushed past stormtroopers and searched everywhere. Her mind was racing and she didn’t stop for a second to think of utilizing the Force. She was so used to cutting him off from her mind and keeping her distance that searching for him in a way that made them both vulnerable felt foreign and sinister. 

While running a shaky hand through strands of hair that had fallen out of a haphazard ponytail, Krina let out a breath. Pain, manifesting as both physical and mental, caused the sigh to come out as a whine. The whole world seemed to freeze around Krina as she unraveled.

“Kylo.” One simple word came out in a broken whisper. Something tugged at Kylo as he searched the premises in a room that veered off from the main hangar. It echoed in his mind, practically screaming at him. Something was wrong. Immediately, he thought of Krina and all the ways she could be causing trouble.

Krina was so frantic, she didn’t realize Kylo, out of breath and disheveled, had arrived at her side. A gentle touch and soothing voice shook her out of her thoughts.

“Krina,” He practically whispered back to her. She looked up at him, eyes wide. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” She scoffed, stepping away from him. “I don’t spend all my time causing problems for you.”

“I sensed a disturbance. I only thought-”

“Well, you were mistaken. Whatever you sensed was not from me. If you don’t recall, I tend to keep you cut off. I don’t need to be interrupted by your unbalanced connection with the Force.” Krina’s words were a string of defenses to cover a moment of weakness. Hopefully, that was something Kylo couldn’t sense. He did. 

“The Force does not lie, Krina. I would not have abandoned my search to come to your rescue if it was nothing.” 

“My rescue?! You can do that now when it’s misplaced but not when I was dying?!” Krina’s voice echoed through the bunker as her volume continued to get louder. She was yelling at the Supreme Leader of the First Order with no remorse. Kylo’s facial features twisted in confusion. 

“Dying? When were you dying?” His works cracked and frayed at the seams. The thought of Krina dying struck fear in both of them. Krina’s eyes doubled in size before she tried to normalize her expression and erase any signs of her former panic. This nightmare had continued to seep into moments in her life and blur the edges of reality, which she was losing her grip on.

“Unimportant,” Krina mumbled as she turned on her heels and walked back towards the crates she had been rummaging through. Kylo followed closely behind her.

“I only found pieces of broken speeders and a holopad that seems to be damaged,” Krina kept her eyes on the items as she listed them off. No part of her wanted to explain her words to Kylo Ren of all people. Kylo blinked at the change in conversation. 

“The holopad could be an important piece. If we can get it working, we can essentially come in direct contact with the Resistance.” Kylo commented, keeping his eyes on Krina. Nothing on this planet was worth what had just happened between them. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook. 

“So this wasn’t all for nothing?” 

“No, I suppose not. Although, one holopad hardly seems like a victory. We need to bring this back to the Steadfast immediately.” Kylo barked the orders loud enough for the stormtroopers to hear and marched out of the hangar. Krina hesitated before she followed behind with her head hung low. Silence became a close friend on the trip back.

The sudden echo in the Force, Krina’s broken expression, and her eerie words played back in Kylo’s mind over and over again like a broken record or a dream he couldn’t shake. 

#dailyreblogs #kylo ren x oc #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #ben solo fanfic #ben solo imagine #ben solo x oc #lady snake #lady snake and the jedi killer #krina #star wars fanfic #star wars imagine #star wars fix it #ben solo lives #tros fix it

[scumerage]

Attack on Metal Knight (Part 1)

Credit to /u/PoetOfSaffronPark for inspiration with The Human Monster vs the First Hero and When the Earth is in Danger. Loved the idea of ramming different character's philosophies into clashes to see how they would reach to each other. Here is my take on how Bofoi would react. Enjoy!

#I. Breakfast:

There he was, Dr. Bofoi, the greatest mechanical, weapons, armor, and robotics engineer, developer, and researcher in the world since the dawn of time. There was he was, hidden in his secret fortified industrial base, so secret even his student Child Emperor had never seen most of its complexes or the deepest of its bunkers. There he was, working tirelessly to save the world from evils not even tortured souls like the psychic Tornado of Terror, the brainwashed ninja Flashy Flash or mutant Zombieman could imagine. There he was, the most powerful man in the world while the invincible hero King stood idle and only acted infrequently on a whim… and what was Bofoi doing?

Having breakfast in his private domestic quarters like any ordinary human being.

Bofoi had already taken his daily physical scans, he remained in good health despite his age, no failing organs, no dietary issues, no significant physical weakness (he had never used a crutch his life). Yet here he was, filling his stomach with fuel to keep his limited biological system functioning… the basic, fragile system upon which the most powerful military force in history depended on. If he died, the access codes would be lost with him, his robots would continue to defend humanity until they failed without his efforts maintaining their effectiveness.

Ten minutes had already passed. The monitor on the kitchen wall beeped (Bofoi had one in every room), the efficiency levels of production had dipped 0.1% in his absence. He really needed to finish up eating and get back to work before things got worse. He still had nightmares from the time a single power failure in the factory coordination sector slowed down production by 2% for several hours. And the nerve of the Hero Association desperately trying to contact him! All about that “Monster Association” after rejecting the idea of simply killing them all at once. All because killing a single child to save humanity would hurt their public funding. Which was their own fault for selling out to donors and relying on popularity to support the Hero Association.

#II. The Attack:

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 10 Breached!

Bofoi started, his base was perfectly hidden! No radar, sound, vibration, or smell gave away its position, it was impossible!

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 9 Breached!

He jumped up and ran to his monitor. Already past Level 9? His test assaults by released monsters never made it that far!

“What is the assault pattern? Physical? Firepower? Chemical? Electrical?”

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 8 Breached!

“The method of attack is unidentifiable.”

“Unidentifiable? How?” Even if his sensors were annihilated, that itself would record the data of their destruction! Something is horribly wrong!

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 7 Breached!

This is bad! Forget the threat level, those defense were tens of miles apart. Whatever did it is moving faster than a fighter jet.

“What is the damage to the Defense Levels? What percent of them were destroyed?”

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 6 Breached!

“Damage levels are at…. 0%. Each Defense Level is functioning at 100% capacity.”

“0% Damage?! 100% Capacity?! That doesn’t make any sense!” All the expendable outer Defense Levels, 10-6, were overrun in less than a minute. Defense Level 5 with Bofoi's standby robotic armies was the last real line of defense.

“Mobilize all forces and destroy the threat! Aircraft, Mechas, Drones, anything! Destroy the factories if you must, but stop that intruder! Code **********!”

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 5 Breached!

“Military forces are not responding to orders. They are remaining on standby.”

“Remaining on standby? But I gave Attack Code! Standby Mode is disabled!”

If his robots were not responding… that could only mean… the enemy had disabled their programming! And that could only mean… oh no….

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 4 Breached!

Defense Level 4, the factories, the core of his entire military power, would be broken into. Now that they had fallen, humanity was as good as dead.

Next were the research labs. With the most powerful weapons Bofoi had ever created. As well as a few samples of human DNA and basic artificial wombs Bofoi reluctantly added as a safeguard in case of human extinction. If they fell, there was no hope of Bofoi ever recovering from this attack, of ever saving the world. But the intruder had not won yet.

“Activate All Prototype Weapons in Defense Level 3! Code **********! Is the intruder technological, and is it hacking my programming relays?” Damn it! Someone must have captured Child Emperor, and engineered a computer virus based on what few codes the student knew. Only they could be behind it!

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 3 Breached!

“No, the programming is functioning properly. There is no data of any hacking or foreign program. Nor have any authorized codes reversed the Attack Code or Prototype Code. All Prototypes remain inactive. The intruder is not technological.”

Not technological? No hacking? No malfunction? Not even stolen authorized codes? Bofoi turned off the monitor, it was obviously compromised. He pulled out his backup radio.

“Activating Alternate Communication Relays! Code **********!"

"Self-destruct all breached Defense Levels! Code **********!"

"AND all explosive and ordinance storage in Defense Level 2! Code **********!"

"If they want my technology, they can die capturing it! Is the intruder biological? Answer with maximum priority! Code **********!”

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 2 Breached!

“Biological Scan: Negative. Self-Destruct 10-3: Negative. Self-Destruct 2: Negative.”

All that was left was Defense Level 1… His fortress. His prison. His refuge. His home. Everything was lost. Humanity was lost. Even his few samples of human DNA in his private lab were lost. Earth was lost. But Bofoi… he had not lost yet.

#III. The End:

Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Waaahhh! Defense Level 1 Breached!

Oh… so Bofoi had lost after all? And he hadn’t even finished his breakfast. Well… if he was to die… he would die not a coward… but a warrior. He calmly walked to a side closet, opened it, and pulled the lever. No technological, biological, or supernatural interference could stop pure mechanical levers. Bofoi had always wanted to use IT. Even more than he feared IT. His final weapon. His last resort. His masterpiece.

The lever pulled smoothly.

Nothing happened.

Defense Level 0 Breached.

Bofoi shuddered in fear… and shame. Everything was lost. Even IT was defeated without a fight. His death would accomplish nothing, mean nothing, and… lose nothing. It was over.

“Kuseno.... I’m sorry.”

Nothing happened.

Bofoi waited for the end, shivering and almost crying. Just end it already.

He heard the sound of footsteps. The rustle of cloth. The slight sounds of light breathing.

Bofoi turned around. He could not believe his eyes. The spiky hair. The sleek suit. The gloves and boots. The large cape. It was HIM!

“Blast….?”

“Bofoi… we need to talk.”

#One Punch Man #One Punch Man Anime #One Punch Man Manga #One Punch Man Webcomic #OPM #OPM Anime #OPM Manga #OPM Webcomic #Dr. Bofoi #S-Class #S-Class Heroes #Hero Association #Child Emperor #Blast

[missnmikaelson-main]

Bumblebee

PAIRING: Elijah x OC

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ Only

Requested by: @littlepurplewarrior 

AN: I can’t remember who asked to be on the everything tag list (the post it that held it on my desktop got deleted), so I copied over the list from my last published chapter.

The necklace belonged to her mother, and her grandmother before her and her grandmother before her. The bee pendant had been in the family for so long that nobody knew when it had come into their possession. Grandma Dorothy swore on her porcelain teeth that her great-great-great-great-great grandmother had been gifted the jewelry by her beau, a sea-faring chap who never seemed to be weathered by the storm. The necklace hadn’t fared as well as the handsome lad, having had several of the pearls in the strand replaced over the centuries. The necklace had remained in her family for hundreds of years.

Until she lost it.

She didn’t particularly want to venture back into the dilapidated mansion – it could crumble around her at any moment – but she would not be the one responsible for misplacing the artefact; even if she had to walk around a dead vampire to find it.

With a deep breath she pushed open the rotting doors and stepped over the threshold. Every instinct told her not to turn her head to the left, not to look at the desiccated corpse, but she couldn’t stop herself from catching one last glimpse of the arrogant man whose eyes had pierced her soul. She wanted to know what he looked like when he wasn’t angry, and when the light was dying from his eyes.

She glanced to the left – only a glimpse, she told herself – and felt the air still in her lungs.

He was gone.

The vampire that had nearly killed Damon and Stefan, and stolen off with her little cousin was gone; he would have succeeded too if she hadn’t taken him by surprise and startled him long enough for her friends to finish him off. She still didn’t know how she had managed to do it, she was a simple human and all she had done was throw a second vervain bomb at him; she hadn’t even made contact.

It was somewhere between throwing and running that she had last felt the cool pearls around her throat.

A shiver swarmed over the backs of her thighs. She felt the eyes on her neck before the voice caressed her skin, smooth as velvet.

“Looking for this?”

She spun on her heel, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her necklace dangled from one long finger, but the problem was the man holding it. She had seen the beam rammed into his heart, had watched his skin turn ashen and grey. He died before her eyes, yet he stood before her the picture of health.

What kind of vampire could survive that? Someone she probably didn’t want to know.

She squared her shoulders and held out her palm, forcing a confidence she didn’t feel into her voice.

“Give it back.”

“Certainly,” his eyes flickered over her body, slowly, lingering in places that brought a flush to her skin, “but first you must answer a question.”

“Why should I have to answer your question for my property?” Her hands landed on her hips.

“I thought that was obvious,” he circled her body, slowly, leisurely, and nudged the door shut with his elbow. “You want your necklace, and I possess it. Now, you could try to take it back, but I don’t like your odds. Do you truly think you could reclaim it?”

“No,” she turned her head, but her feet refused to move. “I’ve answered a question. Now give me my necklace.”

“That was not my question,” the tips of his fingers grazed her hip.

“You said I had to answer a question,” she rolled her eyes. “You never said what the question was. I’ve answered a question, now I want my necklace.”

His dark eyes surveyed her with an intensity that made her blood simmer. “Are you always so impertinent?” A predatory smirk tipped up his lips.

“Is that your question?” She cocked her head to the side.

“No,” amusement flickered in his eyes.

“Get on with it then,” she lifted her chin, “I’m not gonna stand here and play twenty questions with a freaky vampire.”

“Freaky?” A single brow rose.

“Well, yeah,” she started to turn; he stopped her with a vicelike grip on her hips. A shiver raced down the length of her spine. She hated herself for it because there was no possible way he hadn’t felt it, pressed up against her as he was. She stared straight ahead at the stairs, blatantly ignoring the hard plains of his body. “What other label should I give a vampire that doesn’t die? Unless this is a twin situation?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he released her hips.

She did know; the gaping hole in his shirt had given it away… along with an impressive view of his abdomen.

“Are you going to kill me?” Her long hair slipped over her shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of her neck. A finger traced her throat, surprisingly calloused; she had thought on her first glance that he would have soft hands, but his human life must have involved a fair amount of physical labour.

“Why would you think that?” His voice was a whisper over her skin.

“You’re a vampire.”

“And that means I’m going to kill you?” His nose followed the line of his finger as he inhaled the exquisite combination of sweet and savory smells beneath her skin.

“Aren’t you?” Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips. She braced herself for the bite and felt a thrill when sharp fangs scraped her neck, not hard enough to break the skin; if she didn’t know any better she would have said he was teasing her.

“I’ve no intention of killing you, even after the roll you played here,” his fingers curled around her wrist, gently bending her arm behind her back until she could feel the cool skin where the wood had pierced his body.

“Then what are you doing?”

He spun her around, pressing her against the roughened wall. She gasped and looked up, meeting his eyes with the courage that came from her vervain filled charm bracelet.

“Finding an answer to my question,” he traced the flush on her clavicle. His hand moved lower and to the right, effortlessly popping the metal buttons that ran in a line over her breast to her jeans; her lacy violet bra came into view. His eyes darkened.

“I’m wearing vervain,” she warned. Heat pooled low in her belly.

“You’ve had some questionable experiences with vampires if you believe I’m going to compel you,” he frowned.

“Just letting you know,” she swallowed. She lowered her eyes and pressed the tips of her fingers to his abdomen, felt the muscles jump beneath her touch, but there was no sign of the damage Damon had done. “Are you going to ask that question? If it has something to do with Elena, then I’m not gonna answer.”

“I assure you, my curiosity is for you and you alone.” He stepped back, glancing down when he felt the band of her low jeans. His eyes drank in the exquisite expanse of exposed skin. “You are an enchanting creature, and arguably sensible, so what were you doing running amok with vampires?”

“Saving my cousin from you,” her eyes narrowed.

“Your ‘cousin’ was in no danger from me,” his large hands closed around her waist. “You however could have proven to be quite the liability.”

“I distracted you,” her body tingled under his touch. “Why?”

“I found myself taken with you, and I don’t know why,” his left hand slid up her body and over her bra, pausing to tease her nipple through the lace before his thumb traced her jaw. “All I know is that you caught my attention and held it long enough for that young vampire to drive a stake through me. Such mesmerizing eyes you have,” he whispered.

She slipped away in his gaze for a moment, remembering the first time she had locked eyes with him. She had played softball in school before she graduated, pitcher, and had an amazing arm, yet she had missed because of his captivating eyes. The way he had looked at her then, like she was the only one in that dilapidated mansion, had made her heart flutter.

“I wonder how those gorgeous green eyes might glitter while gazing up at me,” he held her hand against his stomach, slowly dragging her slim fingers down and over his trousers.

Her breath caught. Tentatively her hand shifted, getting a sense of his girth through the expensive slacks. She wondered how old he was, how much experience he had, and the nature of the secrets he could coax from her lips with just his body.

“Have you thought about it? I think you have,” she shivered at the seductive tone of his voice. Her knees shook; she felt they would soon buckle and he would find out just how her eyes would sparkle. “I think you like courting danger. I think it thrills you to no end. And do you know how I know?”

She rolled her shoulders back and shook her head. The blue blouse slipped over her shoulders to catch on her elbows.

He leaned impossibly close, smirking as her eyes fluttered shut and her breath hitched. His lips grazed her jaw leaving a trail of fire to her ear.

“I can smell you,” he breathed. His tongue darted out, tracing the shell of her ear. “The fear in your blood is nothing to the tantalizing allure of your arousal as it pools between your legs,” he felt her body shift. “Can you feel it clinging to your thighs?”

He grasped the back of her leg, wrapping her thigh around him so he could step closer. The heat seeped through their clothes and it was all he could do to hold back from dragging her body back and forth for friction. Every instinct screamed to rip off her clothes and claim her for his own. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such a pressing need to take a woman, but there was something about this one.

“You’re very forward,” her hips shifted. She might have felt like a randy teenager when she resorted to dry-humping to relieve the pressure between her legs, but the groan it drew from him and the hard muscles that greeted her reminded her that she was a grown woman, and a rather attractive one at that if she could affect someone as strong as him like this.

“And you’re cheeky,” his fingers dug into her denim clad behind. “Have you ever not spoken back?”

“It’s not in my nature,” her hands grasped his elbows.

“Not the submissive kind?” He murmured. A slow smirk spread over his lips. “There is a certain beauty in letting go.”

“To the freaky vampire?”

“Not freaky,” he released her leg and spun her around, “special,” he reached for her blouse, but hesitated. “You do know you’re free to leave?”

“Am I?” She turned her head, catching his eyes.

“Certainly,” his thumbs rubbed rough circles over her upper arms. “I’ve not compelled you, nor would I for this, and superior strength or not I’ll not force your hand.”

“You still have my necklace,” she chewed her bottom lip.

“Do I?” He ran his finger up her stomach, between the valley of her breasts and to her throat.

Tiny pearls tugged at the back of her neck. Glancing down she caught a glimpse of the bumblebee before it fell back to her clavicle.

“It’s a lovely pendent,” he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “made lovelier still by the woman it has the privilege of adorning. You have it back, now you must make a choice.”

His hands fell away, but she could feel his eyes on her back. The door loomed before her, less than a foot away. She could be in her car in minutes and on the road back to Mystic Falls, or… she could give in to her curiosity.

Fabric whispered over her skin and fell to the floor with a soft thump.

“I’m a rather dominating man, sweetheart,” he chuckled; the sound was dark and full of promise. “If you stay you are agreeing to do as you’re told.”

“Am I still free to leave when I want?” She arched an eyebrow.

“At any time,” he nodded. “Choose a word, and should you deem something too much you simply need say it.”

She hooked her finger beneath the strand of pearls around her neck and pressed her thumb into the pendant, feeling the metal wings. “Bumblebee?”

“Very well,” he smirked. “Now tell me your name; I didn’t quite catch it in the chaos earlier.”

“Forest,” she rubbed her thighs together.

“How fitting,” he circled her body, “the perfect name for a mysterious woman. It’s no wonder I got lost in your eyes.”

“Are you all talk?” She sucked in a deep breath when he tore her lace bra away.

“That’s quite enough sass out of you,” he held her hands behind her back and wrapped the lace around her wrists. A couple of loops secured her arms. “Behave yourself, sweetheart, and I shall unleash untold pleasure on your body.”

“What do you want me to do?” She tested the strength of her bonds.

“Get on your knees,” he unfastened his belt. “I want to see those glorious eyes looking up at me while you put that tongue to good use.”

She shivered, thrilled by the prospect of being told what to do. Her legs required no prompting to give way and she turned around. The dust clung to her pants. The slats between the floorboards dug into her knees, and she knew there would be bruises when she stood back up, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the thick cock bouncing in front of her face.

Without her hands she had to bob her head to wrap her lips around his weeping cockhead. She flattened her tongue on the underside of his shaft and sank down until he bumped the entrance to her throat; pulling back she hollowed her cheeks and applied suction.

Saliva glistened as she worked her mouth back and forth. Her pussy throbbed, desperate for some attention.

“You can do better than that, Forest,” he groaned. His hands twisted in her hair, forcing her head lower. “Relax, sweetheart…”

Her eyes sparkled when she looked up and held his gaze. Slowly he slipped down her throat until her nose brushed his pubic bone; she swallowed around him, allowing her throat muscles to constrict and grip him like a vice.

“You’ve…” He swore under his breath. “You’ve done this before.” He took her sultry wink for a yes.

She went back to bobbing her head up and down, scraping her teeth gently over him as she pulled back. Spit dribbled out and fell on her shaking breasts.

“That’s it…” he watched himself disappear and reappear from her red lips. “… Excellent…” he thrust his hips, fucking her mouth.

She stopped moving and relaxed her jaw, moaning around him. She blinked up at him and tugged on her arms. Her thighs were slick with her arousal, and she was surprised she hadn’t left a damp patch on her jeans.

The swirl of her tongue was the thing that pushed him over the edge. She closed her eyes, swallowing the release that flooded her mouth. She looked through her lashes as ropes of sticky cum shot out, coating her breasts.

His pupils were blown when she looked up and watched as he admired her like a masterpiece.

“Are you going to stare at me all day, or return the favor?” She shook her hair over her shoulder. She gasped as she was pulled to her feet.

“I believe I said no more sass,” he pressed her shoulders into the wall.

“Sorry…” she scoffed.

“Elijah,” he wiped a finger over her cheek and pressed her bottom lip, “but you can call me sir.”

“Do you get off on dominating?” She sucked his finger into her mouth, humming as she cleaned the semen away.

“Do you want to get off?” He countered.

Her eyes narrowed, but she got the sense that he meant what he said and would have no problem leaving her high and dry… or deliriously wet as the case was.

“Sorry, sir,” she mumbled around his finger. “May I please cum?” She blinked up at him, innocently.

“Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

“I thought that’s what you did,” she thrust her chest towards him. “Come on,” she rolled her hips down, grinding the knee between her legs, “I’m desperate here.”

“I know,” his fingers slid into her tight jeans, circling her clit. The mewl, that slipped from her lips was music to his ears. He bent, tugging her ear between his teeth as he manipulated her clit. Her pulse sped up, pounding wildly as she neared her orgasm, but then, as soon as he started, he stopped.

“Wh…” She panted, staring at the fingers being pressed to her lips uncomprehendingly. She slowly sucked her juices away at his urging, expecting him to do something else to finish her. Bending her over the stairs and taking her from behind sounded good, or even pinning her to the wall. Maybe he would hold her down and lift her legs over her head as he drilled into her.

Her wrists were set loose and a handkerchief pressed to her palm.

“Shame you couldn’t listen.” A devilish glint greeted her curious gaze.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. He lifted her hand and pressed a deceptively sweet kiss to the tender skin of her wrist.

“Go home. Should you behave,” he tipped up her chin, “I shall finish what we started tonight.”

“B… you don’t know where I live,” she frowned.

“I would assume somewhere near your cousin,” he caught her bottom lip with his thumb, “but you’ll provide further details, should you want my company.”

Her eyes fluttered closed when he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth and his hand slipped something into her back pocket. When she opened her eyes she was alone.

She slumped against the wall, shaking her head. She waited for her heartrate to slow down before using the handkerchief to clean herself up and redressing; surprisingly her bra hadn’t been ripped.

She paused at her car and reached into her back pocket, flipping over the thin cardstock when she slipped behind the wheel. Two bold black lines of type were the only decoration on the otherwise empty business card.

She reached for her cell phone. Her heart leapt into her throat. Six missed messages lit up the screen, all from Elena threatening to send out a search party if she didn’t answer soon.

I’m fine, Elena.

The call came back fast, and she could see Elena hovering over her phone waiting for a response.

“Where are you? I was just about to send Damon out looking.”

“I went back to that mansion,” Forest straightened her hair in the mirror, “I dropped my necklace earlier, and I went back to find it. Don’t worry about me; I’m okay.”

“I wish you’d said something. I would have gone with you so you didn’t have to search the house alone with only a corpse for company.”

“About that…” she chewed her bottom lip.

“Hang on a second, Jenna’s calling… she wants me downstairs. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” she nodded, “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Talk to you later.”

She hung up the phone and typed in the number from the card.

You forgot to write ‘for a good time call’

That seems rather juvenile

Like leaving me high and dry?

I had my reasons for that.

You know I don’t need your help? I can take care of myself.

That would constitute misbehaving.

I take it back. You should have written ‘for a frustrating time call’

Your choice, sweetheart

She stared out her windshield, tapping the steering wheel. She chewed her bottom lip until her pulse throbbed and then sent off a final text with her address and the time she’d be home.

Tags:  @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms

#elijah mikaelson #oc #fanfic #tvd

[shinneth]

Gem Ascension Tropes (Peridot-specific: I - K)

Reference:

Primary Peri Post ▼ Primary General Post ▼ Full Article

I Am What I Am: While technically in Chartreuse’s form in this moment, Steven’s (as Pink 2.0) intensive Epiphany Therapy towards the end of Chapter 8 of Act III revolves around Peridot’s inner turmoil and self-acceptance regarding her past life as a Manipulative Bastard, which has wracked her with endless guilt since her canon Heel-Face Turn. Said guilt turns out to be what is really inhibiting Peridot’s ability to fuse with Steven. Once it’s lifted when Peridot fully accepts herself, she not only finds that she and Steven can fuse after all, but together fulfill an ancient prophecy as the Diamond of Miracles.

I Gave My Word: Peridot promised herself and everyone else that she’d save everyone trapped on Homeworld and make sure they’re brought home to Earth, and remembering this often helps shake her out a mental funk she’s stuck in.

I Hate Past Me: A major internal issue for Peridot that only gets worse the further she progresses through Homeworld as former repressed memories of how horrible she was as a Homeworld Gem are inadvertently regained. White Diamond actively tortures Peridot by making her watch these memories in Act III, and this ends up weighing down so heavily on Peridot’s conscience that it inhibits her potential for fusion.

I Just Want to Be Special: Peridot is well aware she’s the weakest Crystal Gem, is one of the most common types of gems in existence (as well as the lowest-regarded kind in society) and is destined to be insignificant as an Era 2 gem who will never measure up to her friends. That hasn’t stopped her from going above and beyond to avert this even in her Homeworld days, and now being able to legitimately lead what’s left of the Crystal Gems is Peridot’s opportunity to really stand out and shine. However…

I Just Want to Be Normal: By Act III, it’s revealed Peridot is not only a Chosen One, but a one-of-a-kind Unwitting Test Subject that hasn’t been seen in several millennia. She becomes the first and only ascended gem, capable of being an ordinary gem and a Diamond simultaneously. This consequently makes her the only Era 2 gem with Era 1 capabilities, the only Diamond to be created from another gem, and then there’s her ridiculously powerful ability to conjure things by willing them into existence. All of this is thrown onto Peridot at once, who was determined not to let White Diamond compromise her identity… only to succumb to her fate following a Moment of Weakness. This trope is especially prevalent in Peridot at the very end of GA and all stories following it, as the consequences of her achievements in Act III force Peridot onto a pedestal she doesn’t feel ready for. Ironically, all of this is something Peridot would have been fully on board with prior to her Character Development.

I Let Gwen Stacy Die: Double Subverted with Pumpkin. Celadon Diamond – a fusion of Chartreuse Diamond and White Diamond – killed Pumpkin (while attempting to kill Greg, which he narrowly avoided). While Celadon used willpower (inherited from her Peridot/Chartreuse component) to do the deed, Peridot herself tried to do everything she could to make the fusion hold back. However, resigning to the fusion the way she had made Peridot’s influence on Celadon very limited; White was a much more dominant presence in the fusion, and her desire to kill Steven’s father overpowered Peridot’s resistance. It was only after this happened that Peridot managed to find a way to break the fusion, after several failed attempts. Had she been able to break the fusion earlier, all of this could have been avoided. While Peridot knows it wasn’t fully her fault that she lost Pumpkin, severely injured Greg, and destroyed the Crystal Gems’ spaceship, the fact remains that it was her power that caused this mess. Peridot failed to use her powers to save Pumpkin despite her efforts, and until Steven consoles her later in Act III, she laments that she could have spared Pumpkin, Greg, and their ship from this if only she had been strong enough to break or hold back the fusion. She also could have prevented this if she hadn’t fallen prey to White’s tactics earlier that rendered her emotionally vulnerable, which allowed the Celadon fusion to happen in the first place.

I Lied: Manipulative Bastard Peridot says this verbatim to 9FC in a flashback shown in Chapter 2 of Act III in regards to their friendship.

I Owe You My Life: Peridot wholeheartedly credits her life to Steven. It’s more than him simply liberating her from the oppressive Homeworld life where Individuality is Illegal and giving her a second chance when no one else would. Because he spent so much time teaching Peridot about Earth, as well as talking to her and enjoying life together, Peridot has very good reason to believe her “Great and Lovable” self would never have existed without him. She’s deeply grateful for it and makes sure Steven knows she feels that way several times in the story.

Before this (though it takes a long time for Peridot to remember this), Lapis is similarly credited simply due to coming in just in time before Peridot’s Near-Rape Experience with Jasper went any further than that. Lapis had no intention of saving Peridot; in fact, she was more than willing to let Peridot be subjected to the full extent of being violated for the sake of her own safety. However, Jasper was naturally more drawn to Lapis not only out of instinct, but lust/alleged “love” – meaning Lapis inadvertently took the bullet for Peridot anyway. Several times, at that, while the three were a team together. While the trauma surrounding the incident and Peridot’s own reprehensible behavior during this time were so overwhelming that they had to be fully repressed and nearly forgotten in order for Peridot to function properly after this, she never let herself forget that Lapis did save her from an incident that nearly erased her entire identity – which can be seen as her life being saved. This was the main reason why Peridot went out of her way to be accommodating for Lapis in canon, even at her own expense.

I Want My Beloved to Be Happy: Played with. Peridot was fully prepared to be rejected by Steven when it came to the pursuit of a romantic relationship. No matter how jealous she was over her competition, Peridot valued her friendship with Steven far too much to jeopardize it over a selfish desire. She will gladly put Steven’s needs above her own every time. Thankfully for her, it never came to this.

I Will Only Slow You Down: Her rationale when she tells Steven and Garnet to Go on Without Me. White Diamond is just a couple of minutes away, which affords them no time to break the gate with brute force, while Peridot is too fatigued and injured to save herself. While she tries to smile at her friends without showing any tears or sorrow, that briefly fades when Peridot turns her head to hear White Diamond closing in. She resumes her smile when she looks back at Garnet and Steven, now more adamantly ordering them to leave her behind.

I Will Wait for You: Has this sentiment for Steven regarding her feelings for him, under the assumption that he may not be ready for that kind of relationship yet or if he’s with someone else entirely. Peridot’s got all the time in the world to wait for her turn. Luckily for her, she doesn’t have to wait too long.

I’m Having Soul Pains: When Peridot tries to do too much with her willpower in her base form, she will suffer this in the form of headaches, fatigue, and overall physical strain. This is due to her form not being a very good conductor for this kind of power; this kind of side-effect does not happen when performing the same feats (or greater) as Chartreuse Diamond. Only problem is that Peridot doesn’t exactly like to be Chartreuse unless she absolutely has to…

The Immodest Orgasm: It’d be more surprising if someone as naturally loud, expressive, and dramatic as Peridot didn’t behave this way. And sure enough, this is what happens in Chapter 2 of It’s a Birthday, Yes It Is.

Improvised Weapon: Even post-ascension, Peridot never gains an official weapon. Beforehand, she literally could not summon one from her gemstone due to her limitations as an Era 2 gem. Now charged with willpower, Peridot can summon pretty much any weapon she wants for the right situation, assuming she can decide on what to go with. Prior to this, Peridot improvised at least two weapons in a hammer (which she later gifted to an unarmed Connie) and a piece of metal scrap she was able to manipulate into whatever shape she wanted. Although it was mainly a mode of transport, Peridot also used a steel beam to ram into a pallid gem late in Act I.

Drop the Hammer: Though she used it very sparingly before giving it to Connie, Peridot did use the hammer to damage Yellow Diamond badly enough to stun her for the entire battle.

Indy Ploy: Peridot is forced to resort to this in Chapter 5 of This is Who I Am. 5XG is strangling the Light Steven in a separate dimension – consequently, Dark Steven (Peridot’s opponent) is unable to breathe due to his life being bound to his counterpart’s. Being isolated in a separate dimension makes Peridot unable to directly interfere with her counterpart’s efforts… except for one way: injuring herself. The problem is that 5XG is extremely resilient to damage, so Peridot has to inflict a severe injury on herself to have any hope of causing enough mutual damage to disrupt her dark self. With both Stevens moments away from being choked to death, Peridot has no choice but to go with her instincts, as there’s no time to think anything through. She knows it’s a bad idea to directly damage her own gemstone, but being bereft of options and not having the luxury of taking time to think this through leaves her with no choice. She stabs her own gemstone with a broken floor tile – this does force 5XG to stop, but now both Peridots are on death’s door. Luckily for them, Light Steven is merciful enough to heal the one who almost killed him while Dark Steven begrudgingly respects Peridot’s efforts to save his life and heals her to avoid feeling indebted. Ultimately, this insane plan helps end both deathmatches, as both Peridots are too injured to function while both Stevens are too fatigued to carry on, leading to a draw where both Steven and Peridot escape with their lives against all odds.

Inelegant Blubbering: Downplayed, but Peridot’s reunion with Steven in Act I includes sobbing into his chest, calling him every derogatory name she can think of, and punching his shoulder for each insult. Being that Peridot is severely injured, she’s not hurting Steven at all and it isn’t long before she fully devolves into this. Badly enough that the Crystal Gems need to split up and relocate, since Peridot’s cries are garnering unwanted attention.

Inferiority Superiority Complex: Still burdened with this, as Peridot can’t really escape being faced with constant limitations as the only Era 2 of the Crystal Gems… until she ascends, of course. But even then, she has limitations on her new powers unless she shifts into Chartreuse Diamond. She’s constantly self-conscious as a leader, and now that Peridot has regained her memories of her life as a Homeworld Gem, she has a lot of Old Shame moments that are hard for her to live down… especially when the Homeworld refugees constantly remind her of those times.

Insecure Love Interest: Downplayed, as this mostly applies to Peridot after she regains her memories about how awful she used to be during her pre-Earth life. It’s only hinted at in Act II; by Act III, Peridot also struggles with her identity as an Unwitting Test Subject that led to her betraying her friends early on. While it’s seemingly mended with Steven’s declaration of them being an Official Couple by Chapter 5, another problem arises in their inability to fuse. By Chapter 8, it’s revealed the primary cause of that was Peridot’s own guilt over her past crimes weighing her down to the point where she subconsciously believed she didn’t deserve to fuse with Steven.

Insistent Terminology: At the end of It’s a Birthday, Yes It Is, Steven points out the Department of Redundancy Department nature of Peridot’s GA-exclusive catchphrase, “stupid idiot”. Peridot’s response?

Peridot: “It’s not redundancy, clod. It’s emphasis.”

Steven: “I’m… not following.”

Peridot: “Some people can be stupid; others are idiots… but it takes a special kind of clod mentality to achieve the level of stupid idiot, Steven. When I say you’re a stupid idiot, I mean you’re an idiot even by idiot standards, get it?”

Insufferable Genius: Per canon, Peridot definitely has her moments of this, although she’s often prone to self-criticism in the story as well. Sometimes, she deliberately invokes this trope in an attempt to cover something up (usually an insecurity).

Internalized Categorism: Downplayed as time goes on; in Act II, she admits to envying Amethyst for being a gem made on Earth rather than Homeworld, as Peridot had grown to loathe being associated with her home planet in any way. Still, Peridot knows there’s nothing that can be done about it, and she soon no longer has the luxury of lamenting over such trivial details. But then, it’s revealed Peridot is part-Diamond in Act III – and this trope returns with a vengeance. Peridot learns to accept herself by the end of the primary GA series, but still isn’t really comfortable about embracing her Diamond heritage.

Involuntary Shapeshifting: Happens a couple of times. Most notably, she shifts into her Chartreuse Diamond form as she grieves over Pumpkin’s death that only makes her destructive reactions worse.

It Sucks to Be the Chosen One: For all the times Peridot wanted to stand out and be special, she didn’t get to enjoy even a second of it when it was revealed in Act III that she is a very unique Chosen One after all. While Peridot eventually has Steven to lean on to share her burdens with, the Post-GA stories exaggerate their woes as the new Era 3 operation looms over them, as they are the designated centerpieces for the operation, being the only diamonds left in existence at that point. Stories taking place after their project launches show that the burden of responsibility and work have weighed heavily upon the pair.

It’s All About Me: Heavily downplayed due to the high stakes and circumstances of Peridot’s goals in the story, but still has her moments of this. Played very straight regarding who Peridot used to be before she was assigned to monitor Earth.

It’s Personal: Messing with Steven automatically makes any matter personal for Peridot. After Act I, it becomes more personal as White Diamond directly messes with her life and compromises her identity that brings life-long consequences. Then Pumpkin gets brought into it, and… the results are not pretty.

Jerk with a Heart of Gold: She’s still full of herself, she’s still a brat, and she’s still prone to respond aggressively, but don’t ever question Peridot’s love for her friends, her loyalty towards her family, or what she’s willing to do or what she has to sacrifice to keep them out of harm’s way.

Jerkass Ball: Chapter 6 of Act III: after failing to fuse with Steven during their private time together, Peridot covers up her misery with this in order to function not only as a Crystal Gem, but a co-leader of the team, as well as avoid admitting her confirmed inability to fuse to the rest of her friends. However, this façade only makes it more apparent to the others that something is wrong with Peridot, who absolutely refuses to talk about it.

Jerkass Woobie: Peridot in a nutshell after her Near-Rape Experience with Jasper, but before her Heel-Face Turn when she aligned herself with the Crystal Gems.

Jumped at the Call: The moment she realizes Steven’s in trouble, Peridot not only does this, but is irked the others didn’t react like this and instead waited for her to reform before doing anything at all.

Karma Houdini: Until she met Jasper, Manipulative Bastard Peridot suffered no consequences whatsoever for her horrific behavior on Homeworld. She literally got away with murder on several occasions; even worse, often got rewarded for it. Peridot’s good fortune abruptly ran out once she was finally promoted and got on Yellow Pearl’s bad side; ever since her first encounter with Jasper, misfortune followed Peridot everywhere she went. Before long, she was finally suffering the consequences for her cruel ambitions.

5XF expresses that she has no desire to become “another 5XG” regarding her own despicable actions during Chapters 4 and 5 of This is Who I Am. Apparently “5XG” is a synonym for this trope now.

The Killer in Me: The Amnesiac variety, as Peridot is horrified and disgusted to remember how reprehensible she used to be once she reaches Homeworld, and how many lives were lost due to her actions, directly or otherwise.

The Klutz: Per canon, but also the reason why Gem Ascension didn’t end with Act I. Actually heavily downplayed in Act I after leaving Earth, specifically so it happening in Act I’s climax would be even more impactful and unexpected.

Knight, Knave, and Squire: The Squire to Bismuth’s Knight and Lapis’ Knave.

#gem ascension #gem ascension tropes #gem re:ascension #ga references #tv tropes #steven universe #su fanfic #su fanfiction #stevidot #peridot #su peridot #lapis lazuli #su lapis #bismuth #su bismuth #greg universe #garnet #su garnet #amethyst #su amethyst #pearl #su pearl #su pumpkin #connie maheswaran #white diamond #yellow diamond #pink diamond #yellow pearl #jasper #su jasper

[dentalshare-blog]

America’s Dental Gap Has Left People Relying on Pliers, Chisels, and Whiskey

September went out hot in East Tennessee. Caleb didn’t 
mind; he parked his lawn chair in a shallow pool of shade, clipped a small fan to its arm, lit a cigarette, and settled back to wait. It would be more than 12 hours before the free medical clinic opened its doors. Caleb had read about the clinic online, and that it was best to get there early. Hundreds of people were expected to show up. Caleb had driven up from Georgia to get a cracked tooth pulled. He’s a lean, hard-looking man with a scar running vertically down from his lower lip, the result of a getting bitten by a dog. His teeth are yellowed, many of them dark brown at the gum line. A few years ago, Caleb paid more than $2,000 to have three teeth extracted by a professional, a price that he considered ridiculous. He works odd jobs but wanted me to know that he isn’t poor: He earns enough to own his house and car. “But there’s nothing in the back pocket,” he explained. Since then he’s resorted to pulling teeth on his own, with a pair of hog-ring pliers that he modified for the job. One time he messed up and crushed an aching tooth, leaving a jagged stump embedded in his jaw; he went after that with a chisel and a hammer. He saved a neighbor $300 recently, he claimed, by pulling a tooth for him. “You know what that cost him? Two and a half shots of Wild Turkey 101.” On the ground beside Caleb sat Michael Sumers, a fellow Georgian with a long neck and wide, darting eyes. Sumers, who never saw a dentist as a child, hoped to get his remaining 14 teeth pulled. He’s only 46 years old. His mouth has hurt him almost constantly for the last five years, but he hasn’t been able to afford any help. Sumers lives on his disability check, and after paying $700 a month in rent, he doesn’t have much left. “I can’t eat steak without my teeth breaking,” he admitted.Chicken is what broke one of Jessica Taylor’s teeth. Another two were broken by her ex-husband’s fist, when he hit her in the mouth during a fight. I found Taylor sitting on the ground, her back to a tree, a pizza box beside her. “Now I’m here,” she said, explaining why she’d come to the clinic, “and he’s in hell.” Over on the far side of the lot, a group of women sat around a small barbecue grill, smoking cigarettes and flipping burgers: Beverly, April, Darlene, and Donna, a woman with a thin face and gray hair scraped back into a ponytail. All of them hoped to get their teeth worked on the following morning when the clinic opened. Beverly smiled, showing me how her two front teeth overlapped. Her parents divorced when she was little, Beverly told me, “and forgot which one was supposed to take care of it.” April, her sister, read about the clinic on Facebook and had been the first to pull into the parking lot that morning. At 9 am, when the clinic staff arrived to set up rows of dental chairs, April was there in a pink T-shirt, waiting on the sidewalk. 

 Of the countless ways in which poverty eats 
at the body, one of the most visible, and painful, is in our mouths. Teeth betray age, but also wealth, if they’re pearly and straight, or the emptiness of our pockets, if they’re missing, broken, rotted out. The American health-care system treats routine dental care as a luxury available only to those with the means to pay for it, making it vastly more difficult for millions of Americans to take care of their teeth. And the consequences can be far more profound than just negative effects on one’s appearance. In fact, they can be deadly. Wealthy Americans spend billions of dollars per year, collectively, to improve their smiles. Meanwhile, about a third of all people living in the United States struggle to pay for even basic dental care. The most common chronic illness in school-age children is tooth decay. Nearly a quarter of low-income children have decaying teeth, well above the national average; black and Hispanic children also experience higher rates of untreated decay. Neither Medicaid nor Medicare is required to cover dental procedures for adults, so coverage varies by state, and both the very poor and the elderly are often left to pay out of pocket. (Tennessee provides no dental coverage to anyone over 21.) In those states where Medicaid does cover dental care, benefits are limited. Even middle-class Americans can’t always afford necessary care, as private insurance often will not cover expensive procedures. Dental coverage improved modestly during the Obama administration, through an expansion of Medicaid and the state Children’s Health Insurance Program under the Affordable Care Act, but access remains patchy and wholly inadequate. The situation is made more difficult by the dearth of dentists in low-income communities. Less than half of the country’s dentists will treat Medicaid patients. As one dentist tells journalist Mary Otto in her 2017 book Teeth, while his colleagues “once exclusively focused upon fillings and extractions,” they “are nowadays considered providers of beauty.” Offering cosmetic procedures in wealthy cities and suburbs is far more lucrative than treating people in rural areas and poor neighborhoods—whitening alone is an $11-billion-a-year industry. The result is a geographic imbalance, with dentists clustered around the money. Nearly 55 million people live in areas officially considered to have a shortage of dental-care providers. At the pediatric dental clinic at the University of Illinois at Chicago, there’s a two-year waiting list for children who need dental surgery that requires anesthesia. All of this explains why Caleb and a few hundred other people slept in a parking lot overnight—in their cars, in tents, or out on the ground—and then gathered in the early-morning dark, waiting for the pop-up clinic to open its doors. Held at a sports arena outside Chattanooga, the clinic is one of dozens operated each year by the nonprofit organization Remote Area Medical. Appalachia is RAM’s home territory, but the group now runs weekend clinics in medically underserved areas across the United States, from California and Texas to Florida and New York, providing basic medical, dental, and vision care—as well as veterinary services, 
occasionally—fully free of charge. Dozens of doctors and dentists from across the country volunteer their services. The group’s founder, Stan Brock, was there to open the doors at 6 am. Brock is a tan, trim man of 81 with a clipped English accent; he is also a former wildlife-television star. (A quick search turns up photos of Brock holding a lion cub, a snake fatter than his arm, and a harpy eagle named Jezebel.)The idea for RAM came about after Brock found himself badly injured in a horseback-riding accident in a part of Guyana that was weeks away—on foot—from the nearest doctor. Initially, his intent was to fly doctors and medical supplies into remote regions of the world’s poorest countries. Brock got his pilot’s license and a small plane, and started flying medical missions into Haiti, Mexico, Guatemala, Venezuela, and Brazil. He founded RAM in 1985; a few years later, the mayor of Sneedville in northern Tennessee read about the group’s work in a newspaper. The local hospital had closed and the only dentist had left town, so the mayor asked Brock for help. Brock put a dental chair in the back of a pickup truck and drove to Sneedville, where more than 50 people lined up to have their teeth worked on. Ninety percent of RAM’s operations are now in the United States. Little else has changed about the nature of Brock’s work in the two and a half decades since the Sneedville clinic, despite swings of the political pendulum and the passage of numerous health-care reform packages. When I asked Brock about common ailments among the thousands of people who attend RAM clinics each year, he said, “I can tell you that without any hesitation—it’s the same everywhere we go. They’re all there to see the dentist. They’re all there to see the eye doctor. They’re not there to see the medical doctor.” The health-care system treats the eyes and teeth as being distinct from the rest of the body—no matter that an infection that starts in the mouth can move quickly into the bloodstream and then throughout the body. Unlike many other acute physical problems, a cracked tooth or the gradual blurring of vision cannot be fixed in an emergency room. Nevertheless, more than 2 million people show up in the nation’s emergency rooms with dental pain each year, though hospitals can usually do little besides prescribe antibiotics and painkillers. 

 By the time the sky lightened, nearly 200 people had been ushered into the arena. Outside, the line still wrapped around the building. A woman at the back clutched a ticket numbered 631. Her teeth had been hurting her for a year and a half, but there was no guarantee she’d be seen. Inside, volunteers checked the patients in at rows of folding tables. Dental patients were sent to wait in the bleachers, which filled up quickly. One by one, the people in the bleachers were summoned to a chair overseen by Dr. Joseph Gambacorta, a dean at the School of Dental Medicine at the State University of New York at Buffalo. Gambacorta peered into their mouths to determine whether they needed fillings, a cleaning, or—as was most often the case—extractions. Thirty-six-year-old Jennifer Beard from Dayton, Tennessee, sat uneasily in the chair, her mouth open. She’d already lost all but eight of her teeth. “What do I need to do? I haven’t been to the dentist in a long time,” she admitted in an apologetic tone. “My mom and dad died, and I lost my job.” It took Gambacorta about 10 seconds to assess the damage: “I hate to tell you this, but you need them all out.” Preventing tooth decay doesn’t necessarily require a lot of money: Toothbrushes and floss don’t cost very much, Gambacorta pointed out. But it does require constant attention, and neglect is serious. One dental student who has volunteered at several RAM clinics told me about a man who arrived with a mouthful of rotting teeth; asked how often he brushed them, he replied, “Well, doc, I don’t.” Diet and habits like smoking also hasten decay. But all these risk factors are amplified by limited access to professional care. When routine care is unaffordable and decay goes untreated, minor problems can become critical. What starts out as a toothache can become an infection in the jawbone, which can then spread to the bloodstream. In one now-famous case initially reported by Mary Otto, a 12-year-old Maryland boy named Deamonte Driver died from an abscessed tooth that would have cost $80 to pull. Driver’s family had lost their Medicaid coverage, and his mother was preoccupied with trying to find a dentist for his brother, who had six rotted teeth. Driver died when the bacteria from his tooth spread to his brain—and after more than $200,000 in surgeries and six weeks in the hospital. “Six, eight, 10, 15, 16, and two,” Gambacorta said briskly to an assistant with a clipboard, naming the teeth that had to be extracted from the head of a fidgety 30-year-old who’d last seen a dentist nearly a decade ago, when he was in Navy boot camp. Gambacorta took a second look. “Are you sure you don’t want the bottom ones out, too?” he asked. “Put 18, 19, 31, and 32 on the list, too.”While some patients’ teeth were so decayed that Gambacorta had no choice but to recommend their removal, he hesitates to turn people into “dental cripples” unnecessarily. “Everyone’s eager to get them all out, but they don’t know what that means for after,” he told me. People assume that having dentures is easier than dealing with their rotted teeth, particularly if they’ve been in pain. But dentures come with their own complications, including the fact that people who use them tend to eat softer, less nutritious foods. On the main floor of the arena, behind a wall of green curtains, stood four parallel rows of dental chairs—50 in all. I found April, still wearing her pink shirt, waiting in chair 22, her gums already numbed. Caleb was in chair 13; he was quiet and nervous, with little of the nonchalance he’d projected the previous afternoon while describing his pliers. Later on, I found him smoking a cigarette in the parking lot, a new gap where his top left tooth had been. “It’s embarrassing,” he said of the gap. Still, he was grateful. He was getting free eyeglasses, too; he hadn’t realized how badly he needed them. Donna grinned at me from chair 25 as a third-year dental student prepared to pull four of her teeth. The first three came out easily, in a matter of minutes. But the fourth was stuck. It took the oral surgeon who was overseeing things a few swings of his right elbow, as if he were flapping a wing, to yank it free. Donna whimpered in pain, but a few minutes later, her mouth stuffed with gauze, she gave me a thumbs-up. The incessant ache she’d lived with for so long had already started to fade. 

 Over the course of two days, more than 
800 people received care from RAM. Sheila Barrow, a pretty woman of 55 with dimples and long blond hair, said it was the fourth RAM clinic she’d attended. This time, she was there to have one tooth filled and another pulled. Barrow has health insurance through Tennessee’s Medicaid program, but no dental or vision coverage. She worked for UPS, but after four knee surgeries, she’s now dependent on disability benefits. “They’ve been a lifesaver,” she said of the free clinics. “I don’t know what I’d do without them.” And yet it was clear that free clinics like RAM’s barely paper over the yawning dental-care gap. On Saturday afternoon, I found Michael Sumers in the parking lot, waiting for a ride home. All of his top teeth were gone. He’d gotten four pulled, not the 14 he was hoping for—there wasn’t enough time. Up in the bleachers, Gambacorta and another volunteer had discussed how to triage patients as it became clear that the need was greater than the number of dentists. Treating everyone in line meant that some people would have to choose between getting a tooth pulled or another one filled. It should be unnecessary to say that a system that requires people to spend the night in a parking lot to see a dentist, or to pull their own teeth with pliers, or that leaves an infected tooth to kill a child, is grotesquely broken. Yet there is no urgency for reform in Washington, particularly with the party in power more inclined toward cutting health benefits. Part of the fault belongs with dentists’ associations, which have fought proposals for a national health-care system as well as smaller-scale reforms, like giving hygienists more autonomy to provide preventive care in public schools. The fault also rests with the policy-makers who have ignored dental care entirely when debating overhauls to the health-insurance system. Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders and Maryland Representative Elijah Cummings have repeatedly introduced legislation to expand dental coverage through Medicare, Medicaid, the Affordable Care Act, and the Department of Veterans Affairs; the latest version, introduced in 2015, never received a committee vote in either chamber. Unless something changes in Washington, Brock predicted, “Remote Area Medical will be holding these events from now until kingdom come—instead of being where we should be, which is the Third World.”

[team-fire]

Updated Characters

♥️-Flare Haze Age: 18 Zodiac Symbol: Taurus Birth Date: April 30th Race: Human Height: 6'2" Weight: 160 lbs Known Languages: English Pet Peeves: People chewing with their mouth open Likes: Keeping in shape, peace and quiet, his team, Itzal not being picked on for once Dislikes: The way Rhys and Ethan eat, Itzal's sleep schedule, Neon, people who don't leave his team alone Favorite Drink: Iced Mocha Favorite Food: Any sweets made by Itzal Favorite Musical Genre: Rock Favorite Pastime: Making sure his weapon us clean, sparing Favorite Season: Summer Least Favorite Season: Autumn Accessories: A necklace with his symbol Style of Clothing/Wardrobe: Pants, long sleeve, armour plating on all major joints. He always has black gloves on; even when he sleeps. Skin Color: Tan Scars: None Piercings: Spider bites Tattoos: Family seal over his entire chest Hair Color: Orange Facial Hair: None Eye Color: Hazel Addictions: None Diet: Eats healthy but can indulge in sweets occasionally Exercise: Everyday Gender: Male Orientation: Gay Love Interests: Itzal and Rhys Sleep Patterns: A good 9 hours every night Persona: Hot headed, only steps in when Rhys and Ethan are having trouble keeping Itzal safe. He's very protective of his team and if he's the first to hear something bad about them, someone is getting beaten badly. Even so, he feels bad when Itzal scolds him for getting in trouble when they both mean well. Weapon: Shock batton/shotgun Weapon description: His weapon looks like a police batton, but can extent at the end to fire shots and shock on contact. It is coloured with a red scaled dragon with the mouth at the end of the barrel. Combat style: Flare is the leader and calls orders as so. He fights up close, making sure that each bullet hits. Like Rhys and Ethan, they do not watch their back because of Itzal. Though if the ringing of Sniper fire were to stop, he could easily still handle himself although he'd run to where Itzal was. While sparring he does not use the shock on his batton, or his semblance since it is last resort. He fights with his fists and delivers heavy blows with the batton. When he lands a hit during a match, you'll be sore for the next few days. Semblance: Uses his aura and rage to fight with fire. He hands and feet are engulfed in flames and he attacks relentlessly. Can take any amount of damage during this and will not be phased by it. Once done, he will pass out and need to cool his body temperature. ♥️-Itzal Silverman Age: 17 Zodiac Symbol: Leo Birth Date: July 8th Race: Cat Faunus Height: 4'10" Weight: 100 lbs Known Languages: English, Memory: Short term only Pet Peeves: People Likes: Sweets, his team, anything remotely with carbs, cuddles with guys Dislikes: Spicy food, mean Grimm, people who pick on him and his team Favorite Drink: Hot cocoa Favorite Food: Pasta Favorite Desert: Chocolate cake Favorite Musical Genre: N/A Favorite Pastime: Reading, singing quietly to himself Favorite Season: Winter Least Favorite Season: spring Accessories: Multicoloured wrist bands, ruby necklace Style of Clothing/Wardrobe: always fully clothed with a long sleeve and jeans, usually uses Flare's sweaters. Armour plating goes under this. Skin Color: Extremely pale Scars: None Piercings: Left earring Tattoos: Black rose over his heart Hair Color: Raven Facial Hair: None Eye Color: Left deep blue, right bright red. Addictions: Mac n' cheese Allergies: Cottonwood Diet: Pure carbs and sweets. Exercise: Somehow stays in shape especially with fast matabalism. Gender: Male Orientation: Gay Love Interests: Ethan and Flare Sleep Patterns: Insomniac, lucky if he gets 8 hours in a month Persona: Itzal always wears specially made headphones. He always has music on blast and if he doesn't, something is very wrong. When you can barely hear the music from his headphones, that means he's ready to listen. He talks very little and is very vulnerable. What makes him special and an easy target for bullies is that he has not one, but two animal traits; cat ears and a very long, sleak, black cat tail. He trusts only his team and relies on them for most everything. In combat his is considered support but his kill count on Grimm is higher than even Flare's. Weapon: Grimm Reminder Weapon description: The barrel is the entire length of the gun, accommodating for the heat dissipation. When he fires the rail gun shot, he loads he bullet into the barrel and has to charge the shot. What makes it so heavy is the bullet and the charge. The charge increases the density of the bullet with his semblance and the energy from around him. He never uses this because it is so hard to control with his lack of physical strength. Combat style: Itzal stays far out of reach or sight from any enemies, picking off stragglers or potential threats to his teammates. It is hard to find him when he's in action because of his size and because what he wears is all black and if not, very dark. Though his Sniper is loud, the amount of noise it causes makes it so the closer you get, the harder it is to pinpoint. During sparring matches (of the very few he does), Itzal will fire shots at his opponent and dodge every single attack. No one has touched him in a very long time, and he wins from the exhaustion of is opponent. Semblance: A healing effect that gives him more energy to fight on. Once he stops using it, he will pass out. ♥️-Rhys Clover Age: 18 Zodiac Symbol: Gemini Birth Date: June 4th Race: Human Height: 5'10" Weight: 145 lbs Known Languages: English Memory: Normal Pet Peeves: The sound of sniffing Likes: Fast paced action, his team, food, Roman's look Dislikes: Roman's personality, anyone who hates on his team, the colour parchment Favorite Drink: Green tea Favorite Food: Trick question; they're all his favourite Favorite Musical Genre: Techno Favorite Pastime: talking with his team Favorite Season: Autumn Least Favorite Season: Winter Accessories: Family Crest necklace, a ring for each teammate Style of Clothing/Wardrobe: Crop Top, Short shorts, high tops, black goggles Skin Color: Brown Scars: slash marks on his back from a Beowolf when he was young Piercings: None Tattoos: Green snake running from his right arm, down and around his chest, mid back, and abdomen, then down and around his left leg Hair Color: Bright green with blue tips Facial Hair: None Eye Color: Grey Addictions: Talking (According to Flare) Allergies: None Diet: Pretty much everything Exercise: Works out more than anyone Gender: Male Orientation: Gay Love Interests: Flare and Ethan Sleep Patterns: Gets a solid 8 hours Persona: Rhys is almost always talking and when he isn't he's either very upset, mad, or just in class. Even then he's always doodling in his notebook, writing fic about his teammates, and generally doing whatever he can think of. When he hears that Itzal is being picked on or someone is just talking shit about his team in general, he will seek them out and beat the living shit out of them. He gets in trouble for that a lot and is often scolded by Itzal, but says that he'll do it again as long as he can protect Itzal. An easy get off the hook but they know he means it. When they fight Grimm he's the one at the front, very happy to kill them mercilessly. He always had blacked out goggles on, even while sleeping like the rest of his team with their little traits. Oh and don't talk shit about what he wears. He hospitalized the last guy that did. Weapon: Razor blades Weapon description: Since he can't stop moving he wears roller skates in combat. But, the wheels are replaced shurikens for constant kicking. At will he can kick the shurikens can detach and throw, coming back unless they are disintegrated. Combat Style: Rhys moves extremely quickly and easily on any terrain. There's a rumour that he can move so fast he skates on water. While moving he will take shurikens and slash with his hands, but he mostly slashes with the fast spinning blades he uses to move. He was the scout on one mission but was talking to himself so that's not his job anymore. Once enemies are lured to him, expect to find only pieces of them. During sparring matches he normally uses his speed to dissy and disorient his opponent, then go in for a body ram to almost knock them out on several occasions. Semblance: He can slow down time, causing him to move much faster and take down almost anything. Upon using this, he will lose his personality in exchange for energy. Once done, he will fall to the ground and pass out. His aura slows down too quickly for his mind and muscles to cope with. ♥️-Ethan Gray Age: 18 Zodiac Symbol: Aquarius Birth Date: February 14th Race: Human Height: 5'11" Weight: 145 lbs Known Languages: English, secret Memory: Remembers the way you breathed 5 years ago Pet Peeves: People asking him about the mask Likes: Playing pranks, making sure Rhys gets blamed, teasing Itzal for various things Dislikes: Anyone picking on Itzal, questions about his wearing a mask, sour food Favorite Drink: drinks wine behind everyone's back Favorite Food: Steak Favorite Musical Genre: Classical Favorite Pastime: Playing pranks Favorite Season: Spring Least Favorite Season: Summer Accessories: Style of Clothing/Wardrobe: Always has long sleeves to hide his weapons. Normally wears jeans but in summer he wears shorts and arm socks that still hide them. Wears a mask that covers from the bridge of his nose down below his chin. Always a smiley face and doesn't ever take it off. Skin Color: White Scars: None Piercings: None Tattoos: Black writing on his cheek that only he knows Hair Color: Grey (Totally not white he's nOT GONNA DIE ON ME) Facial Hair: None (besides how would you know?) Eye Color: Blue Addictions: None Allergies: None Diet: Eats quite healthily actually Exercise: Only when he needs it Gender : Male Orientation : Gay Love Interests: Itzal and Rhys Sleep Patterns: Gets enough sleep. Persona: Ethan is a closet douche. When Rhys gets in trouble because of a prank, it was really Ethan. He's more mischievous than Rhys but gets the blame on him. When its just him and Itzal he's almost as sweet as the faunus. He doesn't like people asking about his past or family and will open up to people he trusts. Never trust the wide smile on his mask; it's not the good kind of grin. More like the "You're about to eat shit because Rhys fell for my plan again" grin. Weapon: Luck & Fortune Weapon description: Duel pistols with fast fire rate and dust modifications. The pistols turn into handles for the whips that wrap around his arm and are also compatible with dust. Combat style: The team scout, Ethan moves silently during combat. When the action starts, he takes out as many enemies as he can in one clip. This is achieved with the dust he gets from around town, as well as hitting close up enemies harder than they'd expect. When something has a little too much armour, he will switch to his whips and break it down. During sparring matches he will use a similar tactic of taking his opponent out quickly and easily. When that does not work he will use his whips to throw them off balance and take them down slowly. His tactics mat see rushed, but is a very patient person. Semblance: Shadow walking. Allows him to become intangible and almost invisible; only Itzal can see him and after a whole year with him it's still very fuzzy. He uses it to decimate anything that is far too threatening. After use he can barely stay conscious, unable to fight at all. One the first day of school, Rhys and Ethan immediately hit it off. While they were talking they saw Itzal (Who was even smaller since it was a year ago) and decided to play a little prank. When Itzal got lost in the halls, they poured ice water all over him. While they were laughing, they didn't see that Itzal was starting to cry. The young Lil' faunus ran off and that's when Flare stepped in. Rhys and Ethan got a good smack to the back of the head while Flare scolded them. Flare went off to find the cat crying to himself and cheered him up, also drying him off. During initiation, Flare and Itzal became partners while the troublemakers found eachother. When they were working to the relic, the pairs met. The pranksters apologized to the cat, who accepted it meekly. After that, Itzal proceeded to save Flare's, Ethan's, and Rhys' ass multiple times. They became a team with Flare as the obvious leader, each one never wanting to see Itzal sad again. The three older males already were sort of protective of themselves, but they knew that Itzal was much more vulnerable than they themselves. Extra little facts: 1.) Itzal can cook. Like, he's literally a housewife. His team couldn't be happier when they're out on long missions and anyone who's had his cooking would know why. His sweets, though, are a whole different story. When Itzal bakes it's the only time Flare will eat something sweet, which is really saying something. 2.) Flare and Ethan have interesting histories with their families, but Rhys and Itzal don't really. The smaller two males have awful histories that orphaned them before joining the school. 3.) If you ever see their room at night, there's always a certain little faunus studying or reading. It's also the only time you can see him wearing clothes that are way too big for him; Flare's clothes. When he arrived at the Academy he only had his combat outfit so Flare let's him borrow his clothes at night. 4.) Ethan convinced Itzal to cross dress. When Flare saw he got a nose bleed; but when Rhys showed up in a dress too, Ethan got one as well. Itzal died of embarrassment, Flare died of laughter, Ethan got some good pictures, and Rhys...well he just had fun. 5.) Because of his past, Itzal puts himself down a lot. He always has way too much time to himself so his thoughts go crazy. The others constantly reassure him that he's fine the way he is, but he still doesn't believe them. He thinks that he's a burden on them, especially in combat. He thinks they rely on him too much which is funny because truth be told, they'd be fine without him. Except in the worst of situations. 6.) When Itzal gets really happy he purrs and the others think it's adorable, but it just embarrasses him. 7.) Rhys knows to talk less to or around Flare, since he can be a really hot head. 8.) You won't get a straight answer if you ask why Rhys hates the colour parchment. 9.) Ethan has catnip hidden in his things. He hasn't used it yet because Flare knows about it. ☯️ Asher Felix Age: 18 Birth date: June 1st Zodiac Symbol: Gemini Race: Human Height: 6'3" Weight: 155 lbs. Known Languages: English Pet Peeves: None (He's just that chill) Likes: Sleeping, hanging with his friends and team, meeting new people. Dislikes: People messing with his friends or team, highly negative aura. Favourite drink: Jasmine tea Favourite food: Pocky Favourite music genre: Whale noises (...) Favourite Pastime: Sleeping Favourite Season: Winter Least favourite season: None Style of Clothing: light clothes and jeans for casual, plated armour tight against his body to keep him light and mobile. Accessories: Earrings and chain around his neck Skin colour: Pale Scars: Left bound diagonal slash across chest Piercings: Ten rings along his right ear. Tattoos: The word "Serenity" on his right wrist. Hair colour: Dark blue, almost black Facial hair: None Eye colour: Brown Addictions: Sleep Diets: Mostly healthy, indulges it candy occasionally. Exercise: Constantly is working out to keep his body in top shape for fighting. Gender: Male Orientation: Bisexual Love Interests: Major, Sleep Patterns: Sleeps more than anyone but somehow is never late. 12 hours on a normal day. Personality: Calm and collected, he's always kind to everyone he meets. If you manage to piss him off you are a legend. A legend that's about to be dead, but a legend nonetheless. Weapon: Wrist crossbows Weapon description: Similar to Yang Xiao Long's Shotgun gauntlets, two small crossbows mounted on his arms. Common place for grapplehook bolts, which can be replaced with dust bolts or nonlethal bolts for hitting pressure points from a distance. Normally glow neon colours that slowly fade to the next colour. Combat style: Jumps around, dodging all attacks and hits his opponents pressure points. Just a few hits in the right spots and his opponent can be rendered defenseless or motionless. Semblance: Ice aura. Anything he touches while using his semblance will freeze over with thick ice. Any extra information: When he wakes up he hangs out with the first people he sees which is occasionally team FIRE. Also sees his team members often. He's easy going so it's easy for him to get along with everyone unless he senses a hostile aura.

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