#{ an awesome ten for ten // visage }

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually. 

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body. 

You pretended to be dead. 

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky. 

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly. 

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands. 

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it. 

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.” 

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up. 

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening. 

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest. 

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.  

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort. 

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.” 

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character. 

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it. 

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up. 

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood. 

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?” 

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull. 

Missions were rarely a failure. 

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.” 

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?” 

“None. Just us.” 

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.” 

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway. 

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it. 

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it. 

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation. 

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room. 

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly. 

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off. 

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin. 

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction. 

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.” 

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue. 

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in. 

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight. 

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends. 

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore. 

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him.  “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh. 

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why. 

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden. 

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions. 

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them. 

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too. 

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue. 

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch. 

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined. 

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you. 

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like. 

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse. 

This couldn’t continue. 

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side. 

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.” 

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air. 

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met. 

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires. 

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?” 

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?” 

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up. 

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.” 

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth. 

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas. 

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless. 

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds. 

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up. 

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though. 

On the second week, it got easier. 

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area. 

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over. 

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table. 

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally. 

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails. 

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind. 

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you. 

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces. 

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair. 

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse. 

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up... 

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring. 

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!” 

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp. 

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor. 

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers. 

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated. 

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug. 

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly. 

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air. 

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure. 

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.” 

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly. 

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward. 

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game. 

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching. 

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet. 

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table. 

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?” 

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.” 

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you. 

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss. 

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.” 

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it. 

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking. 

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second. 

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos. 

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat. 

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages. 

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out. 

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.” 

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?” 

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room. 

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out. 

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently. 

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.” 

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation. 

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.” 

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back. 

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat. 

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney. 

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly. 

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful. 

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand. 

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing. 

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.” 

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair. 

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back. 

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine. 

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts. 

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high. 

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river. 

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask. 

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare. 

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it. 

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh. 

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge. 

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already. 

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk. 

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…” 

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be. 

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.” 

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip. 

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able. 

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second. 

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table. 

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion. 

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?” 

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer. 

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix. 

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob. 

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.” 

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality. 

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer. 

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.” 

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own. 

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies. 

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep. 

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.” 

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though. 

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect. 

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt. 

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you. 

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back. 

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw. 

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms. 

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile. 

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.” 

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting. 

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial. 

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action. 

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot. 

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad. 

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you. 

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute. 

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

[drenosa]

Two months later...

Nora: *Moping on a park bench*

Yang: *Sits down beside her* What's got you down Miss Frown?

Nora: I've gotten WAY better a lightning manipulation, but it STILL won't let me fly!

Yang: I see. For what it's worth, it took Ruby years before she got some sort of control over her semblance.

Nora: Uuuuuuugh... that's nice I guess, but it doesn't change the fact mine only lets me do things that is NOT flying.

Yang: Like what?

Nora: *Holds up arm, hand open as if ready to catch something*

Yang: What are you- *Hears an electric hum getting rapidly closer* Huh?

Nora: *Magnhild flies in out of nowhere, landing with a heavy thwack into her waiting hand, the humming subsides*

Yang: Holy crap! that was awesome!

Nora: *Sighs wearily* I guess... but so far I've only got things to fly, not me. And there's this other non-flying thing I can do now.

Yang: What are you waiting for? Show me!

Nora: *Sighs again as she stands up* Okay then. Just stay right there.

Yang: Uhm, okay...

Nora: *Pulls out a vial of lightning dust and plants it into the ground a few feet in front of Yang, she then starts walking away injecting a second vial into her hammer, after about 40ft. she turns around and raises her hammer as if preparing to thump it hard onto the ground*

CRACK, BOOM!

Nora: *Now standing in front of Yang, residual electric currents crackling as they discharge into the air* See that?! All that work into trying to fly and this is what I- *Stops as she looks at Yang still seated on the bench*

Yang: *Eyes closed, fists clenched, visage tensed, her hair... spiking into every direction*

Nora: *Starts nervously sweating* Eh hehe... Hey, Yang. Everything good?

Yang: *Eyes still closed, veins popping* Depends. How good is your ten mile sprint?

Nora: *Slowly shifting away as Yang stands up* Si- silly Yang. That's, that's not a discipline in track-and-field.

Yang: *Opens eyes, anger blazing* It is for today. *Pumps shell into Ember Celica* I'll even give the starting signal.

CRACK, BOOM!

~~~~~~~~

Elsewhere...

Oscar: Ren, did that lightning just now sound strange?

Ren: *Somehow knows/understands what transpired* Not to my ears, no. Anyway, can you grab the medical bags? I need to go gather a few car batteries.

Oscar: ... Okay.

Jaune: *finishes his coffee* See you guys later, I have crossing guard duty down in Mantle!

Jaune: *jumps off the edge of Atlas*

Everyone else: 😱

———————————————————————

Little boy: *waiting at Mantle crosswalk*

Mantle mom: *holding her son’s hand* Hm…? Where is the crossing guard? It’s not normal for him to be late!

Jaune: *plummets out of the sky and slams into the pavement*

Jaune: *gets back up while amping his own aura back to full* Whew! Made it just in time! *waves children of Mantle through the crosswalk and around small crater in the middle of the road*

[harveybwabbit92]

The tallest x tall! reader: Snacks? Snacks!

The tallest endure one of Zim's awesome updates about his "mission" only to be distracted by what the banished Irken is eating, a misunderstanding and jealousy ensues.

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

Two hours.... that's how long this damn call has lasted. Red stopped listening to Zim's bantering about ten minutes into the call...and Purple? Well, Red was fairly certain his shrill counterpart was never listening to Zim to begin with! Speaking of which... the red eyed Irken tiredly side-eyed Purple warily, it was pretty clear the purple eyed Irken had drifted off to daydream land; if that dazed and drooling visage was anything to go by... 

"Oh-ho, Tar no! If I have to suffer through one of Zim's calls, then your gotta suffer with me!" Red lowly hissed and smacked Purple upside the head "waking" his dazed out co-ruler from his daydreams, Purple looked like he was about to retaliate when something caught his eye. "Hey.. What’s that?" Red blinked and turned his attention on to the screen.

He just saw Zim eating while watching him and Purple duke it out, It was like they were in the Elites again! Except, Wait... why is that snack yellow? "Yeah... what is that, it doesn't look like Snack-rations." Then Skoodge came into view eating something similar to what Zim was having, but it was light pink and dark brown. "Wha-Oh this is pudding Y/n made, I got Banana with black sugar caramel and Skoodge is Dark choco-Strawberry." Zim said said with a shrug.

For some reason Skoodge decided to choose this moment to speak. "She doesn't just make pudding either, she can make candy, Ice-cream, donuts, cakes..." while he was listing off the the types of sweets, Y/n can make neither him nor Zim noticed Red and Purple go rigid as they absorbed this new information.

Y/n... their Y/n can. make, snacks?! Delicious snacks, that she's wasting on failures like Zim and Skoodge?! Such a cruel provocation cannot go on any longer! Zim finally noticed Red and Purple's irritation, He suddenly remembered something and panicked. "Wai-" the Tallest hung up on him and immediately called Y/n.

The tall woman was getting home from work when she was suddenly greeted by two pouting Irkens on the obnoxiously large and out of place alien monitor in her dining room. Immediately her mind went to one thing. "What did Zim do now?" she sighed thinking Zim tried to do something dumb like teleporting the Massive to Earth or sent them a box of bees and they caught him! there was tense silence as Y/n tried to coax Red and Purple into telling her what was wrong? "You really don't know what you did?" Red spat Y/n was taken aback by his sudden hostility. "Snacks!" was all Purple was able to muster out as he angrily paced behind Red, which befuddled Y/n more.

"Snacks??? what did Zim try to take your snacks?" the earthling guessed on a whim, but that was quickly shot down by Red speaking up. "Does it feel good making snacks for those two?" he huffed in disgust Y/n on the other hand was still very much lost. "What?" she inquired as Ede realized what was up and explained it to her in binary (there was an incident at work, Ede's vocal module was damaged.) The S.i.R unit carefully explained through beeps and whirls that on Irk giving or receiving homemade snacks from someone is a sign of great affection and respect, and it's a pretty big deal if the person giving out said snacks is taller than the receiver.

You're pretty much telling Zim and Skoodge that you love them! ...which technically you do, but not romantically. "Oh... so it's like that, okay." The human hummed intrigued before noting Purple and Red's vexed expressions and realized how this looked to them.... "Oh no, not okay!... I uh, didn't know giving Zim and Skoodge some leftover pudding was like a big deal in your culture, cos on Earth it's not quite that big a deal!" Red cocked a brow as Purple stopped pacing and looked at the human warily. "I just gave it to them because I made too much for my coworkers retirement party, I was in charge of dessert, and they wanted pudding instead of cake." Y/n took out her phone showing them photos of Y/n and Co-workers having a party posing in front the dessert table with a banner.

[We'll miss you Ben!]

They assumed Ben was the old man sitting in the center of them, Red noticed the elder's jaw was hideously disfigured. "What's with his..." The red eyed Irken gestured towards his mouth, Y/n got a distant look in her eyes and chuckled darkly. "A while back Ben caught someone who didn't belong in our ranks. They tried to silence the old hard-ass by removing his tongue.." Purple looked like he was gonna be sick as Y/n continued the story. "I'm not sure on the details, but by the time we got to Ben we found one dead spy, and Ben holding onto what was left of his jaw, Don't need to tell ya why he was asking for pudding instead of cake."  the entire communication hub was silent as the tallest and the communication officers absorbed this story. "Tar's mercy..." someone muttered in shock.

Y/n awkwardly coughed snapped everyone out of the funk. "I didn't mean to upset you guys, I was just doing one last favor to my mentor..." Now Red and Purple felt like jerks, they came at you up in arms assuming the worst, it never ever occurred to them how different Earth and Irk cultures were, For you it was just an innocent exchange between friends, Zim realized this and was trying to tell them before hanging-up, But Red and Purple jumped to the conclusion that you were cheating... 

the was another pause before Y/n spoke up again. "Uh, I still have some pudding if yo-" Red and Purple were practically climbing on each other as they yelled. "Yes!" Y/n went to her fridge and took two bottles one bright purple and the other was dark red and put them in the small teleporter the Tallest had sent over, in seconds the the two Irken leaders were holding milk bottles that matched their colors.

"Red you got red velvet caramel and Purple you got Popping Cotton-candy."  They didn't hesitate digging in Red was satisfied with his pudding it the red-velvet had rich creamy bitterness that was evened out by the sweetness from the caramel sauce, While Purple was a giddy giggling mess, the pop-rocks topping his pudding was tickling his mouth with every bite, the cotton-candy flavor was just right, They really need the recipe for these. Y/n watched her boyfriends enjoy their snacks while she was enjoying her own (fav flavor) pudding, All was forgiven and Y/n had a few new fans to her baking skills.

[zhaozaipalooza]

Your (Hopefully) Weekly Insight into SA Culture! - The Blue Spirit Mask

Hallo, Ray here! As a Desi American, watching ATLA draw from a melting pot of cultural influences was great, and... not great. The only brown characters we see are Guru Pathik, and some resemblance in Mr. Combustion Man? Kinda sad, especially when the concept of the Avatar itself is drawn from Hindu mythology.

So, here’s a glimpse into the South Asian side of things! I’m going off of the stories and knowledge I grew up with, armed with a little bit of research - so expect small-brained inaccuracies. Maybe something in these blurbs, if I could be so honored, will inspire you to slip what you learned into future submissions!!! :D

Ah, the Blue Spirit... I’ve heard Bryke traced their inspiration to the masks found in Chinese Nuo opera, which sounds amazing! Masks seem to be prevalent in Asian cultures, and no wonder. Our religions are often polytheistic; there’s a lot of cool deities (and bad guys) to keep tabs on for when we honor them.

Just look at this range of Nepali masks! (Not me getting homesick already...) Any of these look like a much more flamboyant version of the Blue Spirit? Not good for Avatar-robbing under the cover of darkness, I’d expect, but the culture... so RICH!

Some of these dudes look pretty mean, but that isn’t to say they’re the rotten ones. (Demons in Hinduism are called asuras, I believe.) But we’ll say, for the sake of the Fire Nation branding Zuko’s secret identity as the “scourge of the Fire Nation”, that the Blue Spirit refers to a nasty villain in Hindu myth. After all, the Dark Water Spirit is the main antagonist in the plot of Love Amongst the Dragons.

There’s endless options: Ravana, the ten-headed bully who is STILL fresh in my mind (ugh, Sita deserves better back off), Duryodhana, mastermind behind the Mahabharata war, Mahishasura, the buffalo demon slayed by THE South Asian equivalent of Kyoshi... milady Durga herself!! All and plenty of others are likely paired with gruesome and recognizable visages, and given corresponding masks.

Now, check this: hair! A very big part of SA culture, and incredibly relevant to the Fire Nation. I remember going to Tirupati and climbing the seven Tirumala Hills (traumatic) so our family could have our hair cut. Hair is a powerful metaphor in Hinduism, but unlike the Fire Nation, it’s almost tied to the complete opposite of honor... Hair can be associated with undesirable traits from past lives, so sometimes children will have their heads shaved to symbolize severing that tether, and moving into the future with a fresh, blank slate.

In mythology (circling back to our gods and demon bois now), hair is HUGE and full of secrets. “Unbound, unruly hair represents wild nature. Well oiled and combed hair represents culture.” For some mythological figures, wild hair represents fury. Well-kept, thick hair represents reputation and potent mental power. And of course, shaved heads tend to represent asceticism.

Pretty familiar-sounding, and yet, it makes you wonder... whether Zuko was severing his ties to a distasteful life in this scene, ‘freeing’ himself - or losing his last shred of honor.

Last but not least, to allude to M. Night’s live-action garbage fire. ONLY because it has the occasional nugget of SA insight... and behold, the visualization of unruly and unbound hair, as depicted on villains + an asura’s mask!!!

Tada! Hair extensions can be a part of masks, too! I don’t know how many times I’ve worn long, braided hair that was someone else’s to accompany a ceremonial outfit... It felt weird, truly, but after it was woven with sweet-smelling jasmine flowers, and my arms were decorated with mehndi, golden bangles, and jeweled arm cuffs, hey, I looked neat!

I’d say it’d be awesome to see a South Asian interpretation of the infamous Blue Spirit. Hope you enjoyed reading, paloozers (that sounds mean 😬 I mean pa-WINNERS!), and if you had any thoughts, feel free to drop an ask!

[mommymooze]

Hermann Vestra- Tidbits

Lord Lonato’s Rebellion

Hermann was imprisoned by Seteth and Rhea for the entire time of the quest. Although it was the rebellion of the Western Church, and he is from the Eastern Church, he demands true and complete answers from Rhea as to why children were sent to do her ‘dirty work’ and why did she not allow the disputing church to air their grievances as it is explained in the Sothis Chronicles, Book 5, Chapter 17.

It is rumored that the next time Hermann saw Catherine, he gave her a black eye that would not fade for three weeks no matter how much faith magic was poured into it.

When he next enters the library, the other 9 books of the Sothis Chronicles are there, however book 5 is missing.

Conand Tower / Miklan

The Blue Lions request the assistance of Hermann for this quest. Ever since Hermann found out details of Miklan, he has been speaking with Sylvain. They sit at a small bonfire in the courtyard, talking the night before they leave for Conand Tower.

“You must have the strength to fight for what you believe in. You must do what is right.” Hermann pats Sylvain on his shoulder.

“You’re right. I can’t clean up after him any longer. He must be brought to justice. I will not run from him any longer.” Sylvain grits his teeth, a determined look on his face.

They stare into the fire, quietly watching the flames flicker and dance.

“Did you know that he threw me into a well? Right before a thunderstorm. I almost drowned. Then he left me out in the snow up on a mountain to freeze to death. I was just a kid.” Sylvain shakes his head, pulling his knees closer to his chest.

Hermann scoots closer to Sylvain, putting his arm around his shoulder. “Oh Sylvain. You are well aware as to who my brother is. Let me share with you some of his ignoble deeds. I’ll even show you a few scars to go with each story.”

“Damn, I wish you would have let me bring alcohol. This would have been a fucking awesome party. Maybe we should start a club. We’ll call it the ‘Victims of Fucked up Evil Brothers Club’. What do you think?” Sylvain grins.

Flayn’s Disappearance

Hermann immediately notices the change in Seteth’s demeanor. How desperately Seteth needs to have his sister returned safely. He makes certain to include both Flayn and Seteth in all of his prayers. He also provides words of comfort to Seteth.

“Please, you must eat something Seteth! What will Flayn say when you are reunited? You are wasting away to nothing!. Drink some water. Have faith, the goddess hears our prayers.” Herman urges the assistant to the Archbishop to try and eat the hearty soup he had prepared just for him.

In the catacombs below Garreg Mach, Hermann is on the front lines next to Byleth. His great axe taking out two enemies at once. The door that is locked that must be holding Flayn is no match for his great axe as he slices through wood and metal.

Claude steps back and mumbles, “Hey dude, don’t let me get in your way. Who needs a key with you around.”

Hermann stares into the glowing red eyes of the abomination before him. There is the skeletal visage of the Death Knight. The foul creature laughs as he glares down at the Golden Deer.

“My blade has been sharpened...and it craves flesh," the Death Knight rumbles.

“Foul beast! Return to the hell from whence you came! In the name of the progenitor god Sothis I banish thee!” Hermann raises his hands towards the Death knight, palms open and a look of fierce determination on his face. What seems to be a flash of light bolts from his palms to the enemy’s chest.

The Death Knight collapses, falling from his steed and hitting the ground just as the Flame Emperor appears. “You’re…done for now.” He announces as the Death Knight disappears.

Jeritza wakens in the designated catacomb below the monastery where Hubert and several of his spies tend to him.

Jeritza sits up from being on the ground, takes the mask from his head, looks into the face of it and shudders, throwing it ten feet away.

“Where am I? What am I doing here?” Jeritza looks around, shocked at his surroundings. “Why am I here, Hubert? I want ice cream.”

Hubert shakes his head and groans, he instructs a spy to fetch Arundel, they’re going to have to reprogram the Death Knight. Hubert then uses magic to draw a comical visage of his brother, then proceeds to punch it until the blood is running from his knuckles enough to blot out the face as he curses his sibling in five different languages.

Remire

The Death Knight appears, only to retreat at the sight of Hermann.

Hermann is horrified at the sight of the innocent villagers. Families torn apart by the evil spell they are under. Dedue is holding him back as the Flame Emperor appears, Felix keeping a hand over Hermann’s mouth. Hermann stays in Remire until the last of the dead is buried, until the last bit of healing is necessary for the survivors.

He writes letters beseeching the Eastern Church to send aid to the villagers. He also speaks with Seteth on multiple occasions and only stops when Seteth agrees to send some of the Knights of Seiros to work on rebuilding the village.

The Ball

Hermann is as excited as this is an excellent distraction from all of the horrible things that have been happening. He provides dancing lessons to anyone that seeks them. He represents the Golden Deer for the White Heron Cup. Alois cries, Manuela nearly swoons, and Shamir’s jaw drops open until she physically has to close it as Hermann performs his dance.

Hermann dances with anyone that wishes to accompany him. His perfect stance and moves, yet he always leaves room for the goddess. Seteth declines his request for a dance, he does allow Flayn to dance with him after she begs her brother for 30 minutes. Ferdinand is a gushing mess when Hermann finishes dancing a lovely waltz with him.

Hermann hesitantly approaches Edelgard to see if she wishes to dance. She looks inviting towards him, until Hubert steps between them and threatens his half brother within a centimeter of his life. Edelgard sighs heavily and decides to approach Professor Byleth for a dance.

Hermann does find the spiked punch. He advises the kitchen staff that this particular drink has turned bad and quickly requests that it be removed. He ignores the intentional shoves in the back from Claude and Sylvain who call him a party pooper.

@fireflyfalcon2309 for you and the 2 other people that read about this impossibly handsome man.

[anystalker707]

Cardboard Boxes

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Genre: Angst/Comfort Word count: 1 814 Summary: Gerard and (y/n) are organizing their things when they find not just their things, but also memories

"I told you! I knew that we had more CDs than the ones in the shelves!" I grin pulling some CDs from a cardboard box and inspecting them. "KISS, Led Zeppelin, my Rolling Stones one..." I mutter, setting them back inside the box after checking at least half of them. "We gotta place them back with the others."

"How did they get in here?" Gerard asks and I shrug, placing the box away and grabbing a black folder that lays aside. I swear I've gone through five folders already and none of them have useful contents, all they've got inside are useless papers that I don't even remember why did we keep it.

This one, however, is different. My face lightens up as soon as I see what's inside. "Hey, look at that!" I say getting the papers in hands and foiling it. He shoots me a questioning look before walking over and sitting next to me on the floor. From the papers, I get a picture we took when we had just started the band; there stands Mikey with his bass; Ray, Frank and I with our guitars, Gerard with a mic in hands and Matt with his drumsticks.

When Gerard's eyes land over the picture, they widen and his lips curl open into a grin; he takes it from me. "I didn't even remember we had this!" He brings it closer to his face, analyzing it. "Plain 2002."

"Right?" I ask with a chuckle, moving my attention back to the papers. "A shame we didn't write the date in everything." I comment getting another photo in hands. "Nowadays, we take a step and write down the date and time." He laughs at my comment, handing me back the pic and I give him the one I got. "Look, this one is from when we presented in New York for the first time."

"Why are those here?" He asks, looking at the paper.

"No clue." I say and grab a what seems like to be a page ripped from a notebook or something. It's blank- wait, no, it's just the wrong side. Turning it around, it's seen one of Gerard's drawings. "January 6 2003." I read the date out loud, getting Gerard's attention.

"What? What's this?" He leans a bit towards me, placing his chin over my shoulder.

"Drawing of me." I turn it a bit towards his direction.

"Cringy." He comments, wrinkling his nose lightly.

"It isn't!" I raise my eyebrows at him. "It's precious! Gonna post in Instagram later." I return it to the folder and continue looking through its contents.

"Will you really?" He asks and, without looking up at him, I nod. He whines quietly, leaning his head against mine for a moment before moving away. "Look," He says, holding up a book. "this book Ray gave you in 2015."

"I was thinking about it some days ago!" I exclaim, immediately getting the object in hands and grinning as I foil it. In one of the first pages, there's a dedication Ray wrote. Really cute. Gerard chuckles quietly at my desperate manner, but I just shake my head lightly. "Do you think he remembers about this?" I ask, placing the book over the CDs box.

"Maybe." He tilts his head. "Take a photo of that later and ask him." In response, I raise my eyebrows lightly, nodding.

"Look here," I say handing him another picture. "I couldn't stop laughing while took that one." A chuckle leaves my lips at the memory. "2004 were wild times." I comment and he nods when seeing the picture, chuckling too. There's Frank with his face white because of purposely passing too much powder on his face as a way to mock Gerard in the Bullets tour. He sits with his legs crossed and his hands above his knee, shooting the camera a smug look.

"I can't even find it weird," Gerard comments, "that's basically Frank being himself."

"Yeah!" I agree and get another photo, smiling, "I also took this one that's Mikey trying to look like Doyle Wolfgang. And," My smile grins when I get a photo of Gerard, "you." In the image, he grins as having his hair all over his face. "We could barely see you under all that hair, but you never changed until The Black Parade."

His eyebrows furrow lightly and he pouts as looking at the picture then at me. "It was nice." Raising an eyebrow, I narrow my eyes at him. "At least I liked it." He justifies and I shrug, tilting my head. "Sometimes I kind of miss the white hair, but I then I remember why I hated it."

"Y'know, I can't choose a hairstyle I like the most," I smile, putting on a defeated look, "all of them are awesome and you're always cute." His cheeks redden lightly at my comment and I wink. He rolls his eyes in response. There's a moment of silence as I look through the folder's papers again and Gerard does something himself.

"Do you remember we always watched this?" Gerard hands me a VHS tape box. The Man Who Fell to Earth, it says. "Like, we watched it so frequently that it doesn't even play anymore. We didn't have anything to do? Okay, let's watch the movie again."

"True!" I comment, turning the object on my hands. "We should watch it again. Do you think we can find a DVD or maybe in the internet?" I raise an eyebrow, setting it next to the book Ray gave me.

"Maybe, but I bet it'll be difficult. Or not, nowadays you can find anything." He shoots me a wondering look.

"Not everything; I couldn't find The Anvil by Visage anymore, plus that movie is older than us." I say and he mutters an agreement.

"1998!" Gerard exclaims in a tone that makes me immediately look at him, confused.

"What?" I ask through a laugh.

"This!" He shows me a photo of us together. "When we were in arts college yet." He holds it in front of me and I narrow my eyes, analyzing it.

"Cute!" I smile, noticing we were clearly awkward when it was taken. "Why do we have so much important stuff kept here like this?" I ask as carefully grabbing the photo and placing it between the things I'm not placing back inside the cardboard boxes neither throwing away.

"You get it that we don't touch those boxes since 2013, right?" He asks quietly and I silently agree, getting what he means and not wanting to go further in the subject.

"Smol us in a Metallica concert." I say handing him a picture of Gerard and I in a concert I practically dragged him to. "Here, Frank and I." I give him yet another, where Frank and I stand next to each other and he still had those dreads. "Ray and you." The photo shows Gerard and Ray behind the glass of a studio, both with thumbs up; probably from summer of 2003.

"Do we have this many frames?" Gerard says through a hopeless laugh.

"Damn, I don't know!" Desperation present in my voice as I breathe a laugh too. "No way I'm keeping such important pictures hidden!" I put everything back inside the folder before setting it next to the CDs box. Standing up, I carefully step between all the books and objects thrown on the floor and the open cardboard boxes. One of the boxes has just books and folders inside it, I bend down to take it away from there.

"Look at what I found!" Gerard exclaims and I immediately approach, kneeling behind him and placing my hands on his shoulders. I ask what's it and he simply smiles as showing me a paper with some sloppy handwriting all over it and some small heart drawings here and there.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I take the paper in hands and bring it closer to read what's written, sitting back on my legs in the process. My eyes slowly widen as I understand what's it. "It still exists..." I groan playfully, hiding my face on Gerard's shoulder; I can feel it moving as he quietly laughs. "So cringy..." I sigh, smiling, as reading the paper again. It's a letter, one of the really cheesy ones I wrote Gerard when we were dating. It's not like we lived far from each other or couldn't speak frequently, we were just two idiots in love. Shit, we still are.

"I loved those. Love those." He comments and I smile even more, placing a kiss to the side of his neck and looking over his shoulder, seeing he has a folder in hands now. It's one from when I worked in a instruments store and used to keep the store registers in there plus that's also why it's full of instruments brands stickers. I kept it because of the rare stickers and emotional attachment.

"And yours? Are they there too?" I say in a slightly teasing voice, reaching for the folder. Gerard, however, is faster and moves it away.

"Nuh huh." He looks back at me, twisting his mouth lightly. "If yours are cringy, mine are ten times worse!" His tone is playfully.

"Who cares, Gerard?" I laugh, setting the paper I have in hands aside and reaching for the folder. His crossed legs position is of course a disadvantage to him and I'm able to successfully get the folder in hands, sitting down next to him when doing so. I notice it's kinda heavy when placing it over my lap. Gerard's gaze doesn't leave me the whole time as I grab the letters in hands. I hold up a specific one. "You say it's cringy," I shoot him a bored look, "but those are fucking awesome. Cheesy and cliche as fuck? Sometimes, obviously; but it's so deep and inspiring that they make me want to write too!" His face reddens as his lips curl up into a sheepish smile.

"I tried to write something to match your amazingness." He says flirty, winking.

Not answering at first, I stare at him and finally crack a grin, "Oh my God, now you were cringy!" I exclaim, laughing, "I don't think that exists!"

"I know!" He starts to laugh too and buries his face on his hands.

"God, so cute!" I say placing the folder on the floor and moving closer to him - Gerard's red face comes into view as I pull his hands away. He looks at me with a small smile and I internally melt at the sight. We just look at each other smiling in silence until he leans his forehead against mine and the both of us close our eyes, sharing a silent 'I love you'.

[enkisstories]

The CyberLife app - Install today

One dark and dreary night during the android revolution of 2038, an RK800 android infiltrated the headquarter of the deviant androids. It delivered the unconscious deviant leader and his followers to the FBI, represented by one Richard Perkins.

“You knocked it out?” Perkins prodded. “Strange… our profile says you’re more agile than actually strong.“

“No, North knocked him out”, RK800 corrected the assumption.

“Wow. Their infighting must be worse than we anticipated. Neat!”

“Actually, no”, the RK800 said. “This isn’t quite how it happened.”

And the android remembered…

 Earlier the same day, at the Detroit Central Police station:

“I could swear it’s a deviant!” Gavin Reed repeated for the perhaps tenth time today. “That’s not normal, it going…”

“Looooook”, Tina Chen interrupted her friend, “if you are worried THAT much, just ask Hank to check Connor’s status in the CyberLife app.”

“That’s bulls… no, actually it’s not a bad idea”, Gavin conceded.

The “wanted for [insert crime]” and “missing our android, the kids are devasted, large finder’s fee!” notices were piling up at the DPD, something that shouldn’t have been possible, because every android came with an app that among other things tracked the damn things 24/7. But for some obscure reasons the tracking function failed when the android in question had went deviant. So if Connor was still showing up in the app… admittedly it could also mean that he had hacked the phone the little program was running on. But even so checking the app was a good start.

However, Hank only gave the two younger officers a blank stare when they inquired about the app.

“I haven’t got the fuggiest idea what you are talking about.”

“The CyberLife app! Come on, now! Everyone has it installed – Chris, Tina, me… it’s essential for managing your android, whether you bought it or got saddled with it as a product sample.”

“Uh-uh. That shit isn’t going anywhere near my phone”, Hank noped out.

But at least, the other two realized, he had confirmed to own a smartphone. Even Chris Miller, who was holding Hank Anderson in great regard, bordering on hero-worship, had come to doubt whether his idol bothered with owning such a devilish piece of modern technology.

“You want to tell me we have no means of controlling the new android?!” Gavin exploded. “Even if it’s a temporary loan only, we should have it registered in our equipment database!”

“Ah, should we? That’s nice…” Hank replied non-committally.

“You… you…” Gavin sputtered.

“The word you’re looking for is “You useless sack o’shit that will polish my snout if I do not go pester someone else RIGHT NOW””, Hank said, going from cheerfully-helpful to a low, threatening growl.

A minute later Gavin stormed Captain Fowler’s office, demanding the control codes for the RK800 android.

“I’ve mailed those to Hank”, the Captain started, before understanding dawned. “I’ve… mailed… them to… Hank. Oh, right. I see.” The sentence included to words that were utterly incompatible: Lieutenant Anderson and reading his own e-mails. With a nod and a few clicks Fowler forwarded the e-mail to Gavin’s work account. “There you go! Anything else?”

“Nah, nothing. Thanks.”

The Captain shook his head. Hank and Gavin! Android haters both of them, only Hank wanted the machines gone, poof into nothingness as if they’d never existed, while Gavin was mainly feeling threatened in his job-security and perceived awesomeness.

Much to Gavin’s dismay entering Connor into the database didn’t produce irregularities of any kind. That annoying, ugly thing was stable as fuck. But if there were no grounds for returning it to Cyberlife, maybe the situation could still work in Gavin’s favor…?

“This, Tina”, the man said with a grin while loading the CyberLife app on his own phone, “is where the fun begins! First we call over our new device…”

One push of a button and thirty seconds later Connor reported for service.

“Cute”, Tina said, then leaned over to get a good look at Gavin’s phone screen. “Can you make it follow wherever you point the phone? That would be kinda cool.”

“No”, Gavin answered, the same split-second Connor protested with a louder “No!”.

“But even so… let’s put it into customization mode!”

This time Connor only came to utter the “N” of “No” before he stiffened, awaiting the changes the program would force onto him by the will of his (temporary) legitimate owners.

“What the fuck, I cannot change that visage? On a detective android that might need to infiltrate locations?” Gavin wondered. “Stupid prototype! Okay, next is… ah, right. The damn voice.”

“RK800’s voice has been carefully selected to generate positive feelings and a warm welcome into any workplace situation”, the CyberLife app chattered away. “It is considered ideal. Are you sure you want to change the voice now? Y/N”

“Yes!” Tina called, grabbing the phone from Gavin’s hands. She circled through several voices before she selected one. “Perfect! And now the name… Connor is the default, time to change that!”

Gavin watched with interested what would happen next.

With a subtle “whirr” the RK800 android returned from maintenance mode.

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir!“ he proclaimed, a phrase that made Tina explode with laughter. “The android sent by Cyberlife. And you are silly.”

“Yes, yes! Do it again!”

When Connor von Aegir wasn’t inclined to do Tina’s bidding, the officer pushed the “test” button in the app. Promptly Connor went “I am Ferdinand von Aegir” again.

“That’s a meme?” Gavin asked.

“Haha, yes! Or it used to be one when we were teens. But you never were much of a gamer, huh?”

Tina handed the phone back. “You next!” she prompted her friend.

Predictably Gavin changed “Ferdinand”’s name to “Dipshit” and also made ample use of the test-button. Only when Hank came ‘round the corner, shouting for the “stupid, useless sardine tin”, did the duo revert the voice change. Gavin also typed something new into the name box that Tina could not see.

The android no longer going by “Connor” didn’t come to light anytime soon, because Hank had a rich pool of casual insults for it that could be used instead of an individual name.

Until RK800 found itself on the lower deck of the freighter “Jericho”, facing the deviant leader…

 Markus slowly turned around when he heard footsteps approach. He beheld the RK800 in its disguise and heard it say in its upbeat voice: “I am Your Daddy. Submit and follow me!”

“Is that a joke?!” Markus sputtered.

“No, this is very serious. I am Your Daddy, the android sent by Cyberlife…”

“That’s, uh, nice of Cyberlife. Yes, I really appreciate the gesture…”

This is probably meant as a distraction technique to throw me off? the deviant leader wondered. Out loud he said: “I’m an off-brand imitator product though. Not from Cyberlife.”

“I was instructed to bring you alive!” Connor chirped.

Markus hesitated. “By the person who named you?” he asked very carefully.

“No.”

“Ah, good!” Markus said with visible relief. “Well, maybe you and me can come to an understanding of a less… sensual nature?”

 Ten minutes later Markus introduced the RK800 to his friends:

“Hey, guys, this here is a new recruit. New one – meet North! North – meet Your Daddy!”

And that was the last thing Markus said for quite some time, because North punched him so hard that he temporarily shut down.

 Back in the present the captured deviants were still squabbling amongst each other, despite standing  with their hands behind their heads and lined up for transport to the recycling yards.

“That’s not fair!” an android wearing the old Cyberlife standard face protested, at which Perkins snapped “Shut up, tin can!“, but the blonde android retorted that he hadn’t been talking to the human, but to North.

“It really wasn’t fair of you”, the android addressed North. “Yes, you and Markus have been drifting apart and I admit in part this happened because of me, but even though your couple thing wouldn’t work out, he always had you in his mind. It was so kind of Markus to find you a new boyfriend, but what did you do? Punch him!”

This one, Perkins concluded, must be a BL100, a “perfect partner”. Even after deviating and  in the face of getting scrapped it was still obsessing about relationships. Oh, well, that would be Cyberlife’s problem in a few minutes, no longer his.

“Okay, that should wrap tonight’s operation up”, Perkins nodded. “Connor, was it?”

“Ah, no, actually I am Your Worst Nightmare Motherfucker… what the hell? Oh, no, they must be playing with the app again! I’m sorry, I…”

“You aren’t my worst nightmare, then?” Perkins sneered.

Already the man’s fingers were twitching, ready to draw his service pistol at this unpredictable prototype. It had served its purpose, after all.

“Then enlighten me, who or what are you?”

RK800 opened its mouth the exact same moment Gavin and Tina at the DPD were cracking up over another idea for a cool name that had just occurred to them. “I am A Deviant”, he said. “What? No I’m not! I am C… R… A Deviant! A Deviant! Oh, shit…”

There was no time to explain, because Perkins had already hissed “Should have known!” and opened fire. Simon, Josh, North and A Deviant dived for cover, dragging the unconscious Markus with them.

And the rest is history.

[bi-outta-cordonia]

Top 10s

The year is coming to a close and despite this being my first foray into PB fandom for the year, some interesting shit has happened in these books and 2019 was full of all sorts of fun stories. I want to cap off Choices this year by naming my top ten favorite moments in all the books released in 2019.

Tagging all my favorite unfriendly Black hotties: @questionablespecies @imogen-wescott @beyonceswigs @annelyseadair @cassiopeiacorvus @massivelysilentchaos @nikkisha16 @boujeechoices @raleigh-carrera @mand-delemonde

10) BB MC training with Jax: I like. Many things. Many things involve swords. Jax training BB MC in fight skills was awesome as a scene, especially since it came with the moment of him reestablishing his connection with his blade and the two of them touching foreheads as they come to terms with her death. But nothing--nothing--is gonna top the moment where the two of them literally fight each other. They train and they train hard as hell. “What’s this position called?” “It’s called ‘you better not break my defense because I’ll kick your ass’.” And then she cuts part of his shirt. He looks up, they start back with the training, and he slices part of her dress. They keep going until eventually there are no more clothes and they are now on the ground, making out. The exact opposite of training, but I can’t hear over the receptors in my brain that sound off for couple training scenes.

9) “Oh, you like that”: Listen. NB was trash. There’s no denying that. But that first moment when you finally get to dive into Cal, make out with him, when ol girl takes off both of their clothes for the most intense face sucking she’s ever experienced in life? And then he dips his head or bites her neck or whatever the fuck he does--I don’t even remember. Because what I do remember--very vividly--is damn near throwing my phone across the room when he says “Oh, you like that...” I read it in his drawl, felt that shit in my soul, and it will never not make me so incredibly disappointed that we will never get to see him really go buck wild with MC because it was there.

8) Landry bailing if you don’t talk to him: It happened with Vanessa, happened with Becca, happened with Olivia, happened with Sebastian--sometimes. I don’t want to make friends with folks who come at me sideways when it doesn’t immediately benefit them. Landry being a little coward was something all the intelligent folks saw coming but you could see inklings of the narrative trying to set him up for redemption at the eleventh hour. Except. I didn’t want that. A majority of folks did not want that it seems. And PB listened for once and didn’t force us to have to interact with him during the last leg of the first book. If you talk to everyone in the friend group before you get to him, he bails and is not seen or heard from. Good. 

7) MOTY MC making bank off her deadbeat ex husband: MOTY was also another unexpected favorite to come out of 2019 and told the story of a single mother trying to raise her baby right. Guy was and is easily the worst antagonist to ever show up in these books because he is so disgustingly real. Emotionally abusive, manipulative, narcissistic, and cruel--he did everything in his power to exert power over MC. He wanted the kid, not because he wanted to be her father but because he wanted to use her to help boost him, and going through the whole book making sure to pick options that would best demonstrate that MC was providing exactly what the baby needs, only for the judge to say that not only is she not awarding custody to Guy but he also has to pay child support, pro- and retroactively?? When sis opened that bank account and saw tens of thousands sitting in her savings?? I almost cried.

6) ILB MC rising from certain death and avenging her parents: Okay so this might be cheating a little because ILB came out in 2018, but I also said this was a top ten list of shit that happened in 2019, and seeing this bitch break out of a coffin, swim up, and straight murder the man that took her parents from her was insanity. Richard really thought he had her on the ropes, huh? He thought she wasn’t gonna be able to break out and kick his ass? And when she told him that, as far as the entire town was concerned, he was already dead and they were just waiting for his body to wash up? Ooh, she wasn’t stuck on the boat with him--he was trapped on the lake with her.

5) Logan was a forced LI for a good reason??: Girls, Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance was an unexpected fave this year but out of all the moments to choose from that absolutely floored me, the fact that Logan was so heavily pushed was because Kaneko asked him to gain your trust so that the crew could use you? That shit hurt so much and had me screaming the entire time I was tapping through the revelation scenes. I mean, we’ve had LIs betray MCs a ton of times but I still could not believe that Logan had so thoroughly did what he did and when they showed you the flashbacks of the very subtle ways he was trying to weed information from MC? In the early stages?? Man.....this is why my MC went with Colt--kidding kidding. She is with Colt but I love Logan deeply solely because of this.

4) BB MC dying: okay NB tried to do something groundbreaking but like it got completely overshadowed by BB MC getting fucking stabbed through her chest because typically your MC will walk away okay from most scenarios but this bitch actually didn’t. Couple that with the fact that I’m romancing Jax so the thing that killed her was his sword, something that has been revealed as being a precious thing and something he’s cherished for a long time as a tool to help him protect the ones he loves? It hit me right in the a ng s t. She pops back up a vampire in the third book, a reveal which comes to us at the end of the second but oh man watching Jax cradle her dying body, knowing he was never going to forgive himself for this happening? It was delicious.

3) ACOR MC turning the crowd on Caesar: okay, stabbing Caesar was fantastic, no one is denying that, but I honestly thought the most impactful and most fucking insane moment of ACOR is when MC made the first attempt, got caught, and was able to stir the crowd during the final leg of her trial to the point that she started a literal riot in Rome. The flavor, the power--can you imagine being Julius Caesar and watching a ho string your folks along and convince them that she couldn’t possibly have been guilty of a crime because her pussy is too good for that? Who is gonna win this fight--a certified conqueror of several realms or one bitch with the world’s most fantabulous coochie? The answer may surprise you...

2) TRR MC is pregnant: we got stuck in yeehaw hell for seven weeks...seven weeks of having to act like Bertrand and Savannah were even that important according to the narrative when MC is a whole ass duchess trying to start her family....all the months of seeing Liam talk so enthusiastically about wanting a family with MC, wanting to be a father, and wanting to build a life with her, after all the bullshit they went through and the hurdles they had to jump in order to even get to the point where they could be happily married? And then she called him out to the field and told him that they were having a baby? I cried. I cried so hard.

1) ACOR MC stabbing Cassius in the fucking back: I loved ACOR so much. So much of the political machinations, the scheming, the dancing around language while trying to manipulate powerful patrons into doing your bidding--I had Antony wrapped around one finger and Cassius on the other--string them both along while trying to achieve my own goals but maaaaaaan....Betraying Cassius at the last second in order to protect yourself from reprimand so you can make a clean getaway from Rome was the peak. The epitome of ACOR MC in a nutshell. I fucking loved how absolutely unhinged and manipulative that bitch could be. She literally sat up there and told him all the things he wanted to hear, acted like she cared about who he wanted for Rome, in some cases straight up lied to him about how much she loved him, and then during the moment that mattered most--when they both stabbed Caesar and thrust Rome into chaos--she shed the visage of the beautiful woman he had so deeply fallen in love with and unveiled the poisonous snake she had always been. She used him. He truly and honestly didn’t see it coming until he peeked outside and happened to spy her standing firm at Antony’s side. And the narrative let me do that with the utmost glee. 

And that’s it. Go forth. Make your own list. Criticize mine, idc. 

[missconstancehardbroom]

I would like to thank @singofsolace​ for being an awesome inspiration! I really love your work! I salute to you!

____

She remained stoic as she heard the woman wail in pain when she tried and failed to push the babe out of her body. Too much blood has been spilled and she knew for certain that it will either be that the babe will not live to breathe its first gasp of air or both the mother and child will not live to see the light of day. Either way, she had prepared herself to whatever path that the fate of these two beings will take, for she is certain that by the end of that night, death will befall in the Spellman house.

“Lady Spellman, one more push, I can see her head.” Agnetha, the trusted midwife of the coven, encourage the weakened woman, “Just one more push, my lady.”

“I can’t.” Iocasta cried, beads of sweat were visible on her smooth cheeks and there was an abundance of tears flowing freely from her eyes, “My baby, save my baby.” She begged, “Mother, please, don’t take my baby away.” She tried to reach out to her. The younger woman’s hands were shaking, suspended in midair hoping that she would reach out as well and grant her wish.

She could not.

She must not.

But a mother’s heart is easily swayed by the cries of her child.

And as much as she wanted to deny it, she has always considered Iocasta as her own.

“Mother,” Iocasta tried to push once more, but it was obvious that her strength was waning, but still she continued pushing, her face was now as pale as the moon outside and her chest continued to heave as she tried to chase the breath that seems to run out from her body.

She cannot help but feel a knot twist in her belly as she saw how her child’s face was contorted in pain.

Her heart cannot take it anymore.

She rushed to the side of Iocasta’s bed and as soon as she was within reach, Iocasta’s hand grasped her arm in vice grip, letting out a loud scream. The witch’s body seemed to lift itself up from the bed and collapse the moment the new member of the Spellman family was born in to the world.

“Thank you, Mother.” Iocasta smiled at her, her voice barely a whisper.

She just looked at the girl – no – the woman lying before her. Her face remained as unreadable as she first entered the room. She then shifted her gaze from her child to this new babe who remained quiet in the arms of its midwife.

“It’s a girl, my lady.” Agnetha stared at her. Shock and grief were easily seen on her face.

“A girl, mother,” Iocasta smiled proudly, her face pale, her breath shallow, “The first female babe born of a Spellman blood in centuries. Isn’t it wonderful, Mother?”

She didn’t replied, she doesn’t have the heart to tell her hopeful child that her baby was still-born, she just looked at the bundle of cloth in the arms of the midwife.

“What’s going on?” Iocasta fought that nagging urge to sleep, her eyes were heavy and weary, the lady of the house looked at the midwife and saw the grim expression on her face. “Is there… I don’t hear her crying. Why isn’t she crying? What’s going on?”

Despite of Iocasta’s exhaustion, the younger witch tried to sit up, tried to reach out to her new born babe. She was so pale that her skin was nearly transluscent.

Her child no longer need to hear her midwife’s reply. The silence of the room was more than enough to confirm what she dreaded.

Another stillbirth.

Another Spellman child – a girl nonetheless - gone.

Agnetha solemnly laid the baby on the mother’s arms. The joy that the mother felt a moment earlier is all but gone.

“She is so beautiful.” She whispered, a silent sob escaped her lips and Hecate could feel the younger woman’s body tremble, pinky finger tracing the babe’s little nose “so small… so perfect… ”

Iocasta whispered a lullaby unto the child’s ears, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped protectively around the babe’s tiny body.

I am here mother, I am here, I have not left.

Hecate heard a soft voice in the wind and a soft caress on her cheek.  Surprised, Hecate looked over her shoulder and saw the little girl with the most beautiful red curls standing behind her, hands reaching out to her in plea.

Please don’t let them take me. I don’t want to go.

Hecate shifted her head from the soul of the child to the lifeless babe in Iocasta’s arms.

Curses be damned.

Hecate knew that what she is about to do is against the law of nature and how her existence will be endangered by this decision. But enough was enough, if she must split her soul just to make sure that her children will no longer suffer from a curse they were not supposed to be subjected in the first place, then she will be more than happy to do so.

Hecate whispered a spell into Iocasta’s ear, sending the younger witch into a deep slumber, took the babe from her arms and sent the midwife out of the room. She knows that Augustus Spellman was waiting outside the door, she doesn’t have the heart to tell that man that he lost another child from that God damned curse.

Hecate bit her thumb until it a golden light bled out of her freshly cut wound and with that liquid light – her blood – she drew a circle surrounding her and the baby in her arms, and before her would closed, she let the glowing liquid fall upon the lifeless babe’s lips.

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for a girl

Four for a boy

Hecate began to chant, her voice echoed within the corners of the bed chamber, like the sound of a pebble thrown into a deep well.

Five for silvers

Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told

Around her, she could feel the old spirits trying to drag the child’s soul away from her. But it seems to her that the child’s soul is just as stubborn as she is. The young soul clutched tightly upon her scarlet skirt, a red thread wrapped around the girl’s little fingers, connecting hers and the girl’s soul together in one place. Entwined.

Eight for a wish

Nine for a kiss

With an old forgotten chant, she whispered the spell that will bind the child’s soul back into her body, and to ensure that neither the new god nor the coven’s Dark Lord will lay claim on this child’s soul, she took a piece of her own soul and bestowed it into the child – along with the numerous gift of magic that laid in every fiber of her existence – and used it as a glue to ensure that she shall not pass before her time.

Ten for a time of joyous bliss

Hecate heard the thunder roared outside, a quick flicker of light filled the room for a split second and when it is gone, so does the light from every candle that once illuminated the chamber. Everything in the room began to shake, rattle, and an undeniable smell of sulfur and sage started to fill the room.

So they came for the babe.

There was something with this girl that both the new God and the Dark Lord wanted to lay claim with the babe’s soul. She felt the dark battle for the babe’s life surrounding her. The last visage of her magic being snuffed as she fought to have this babe have a chance for life and give life if she so choses in the future. She felt the wrath of the New God and the Dark Lord surrounding her as she refused to surrender the babe’s soul unto them.

With the last drop of magic that runs in her veins, she called forth the names of her kin.

The Old Gods.

The ones that were forgotten.

To guard and protect the House of Spellman for she knows that the Dark Lord and the New God will do everything in their power to punish this family, her children, for her defiance against their will. And with her magic being at its weakest, she knew she could no longer do anything to protect them.

She felt something snapped within her, she felt it burn and simmer deep in her body before it died along with the candles that previously illuminated the room she occupied with the babe and her unconscious child.

She continued to chant, singing the names of the Old Gods, the ones that made the very fabric of the universe, the cosmos, to give her strength. She felt strong gust of wind knocking her off her feet and into her knees. She held the babe close to her chest and with the last breath of her magic, she breathe life into the babe’s lips and when she did, she felt like the world stopped turning.

It was the grandfather’s clock chiming that brought her back into this reality.

She felt the babe gasped its first breath, hiccups, and then there it was…

The loud wail of cries escaped from the babe’s lips, proclaiming her arrival on earth.

Hecate could still feel the New God and the Dark Lord’s presence in the room, and yet she smiled. She smiled because she knows that they could no longer do anything to stop fate.

The clock continued to chime, heralding the babe’s birth. A new goddess’s birth.

A female babe was born from her soul. Now, this babe is as much as her child as it was Iocasta and Augustus’.

Hecate cooed, she let gravity pull her into the floor and from where she sat, she rocked the babe in her arms, calming the baby girl with the made up melody she didn’t realized she was humming.

The babe’s eye began to open and stare at her, unseeing in the darkness. But she could see her, the babe in her arms, clear as day. Her skin glowed in the dark with touches of silver and gold and she felt inexplicable warmth deep within her heart when the babe’s hand reached out for her face. She felt renewed, like she was born anew when her eyes met the babe’s. She was overwhelmed with emotions that she forgot had once existed within her had not realized she had been crying with joy as she continue to hum, calming the babe with her voice.

Hecate could not help but laugh when the babe farted in her arms and all of a sudden, the candles in the room were lighted.

”Mother, you did it,” Hecate heard Iocasta, the young witch waking up from her deep slumber.

“She was meant to be here, child,” Hecate handed the babe to the new mother, “She chose to remain here, I just tied the necessary knots to ensure that she does stay.”

The double doors of the bedchamber bursts open, revealing a ragged looking Augustus. His eyes rimmed red, his cheeks raw from rubbing his tears away, followed by an equally exhausted Agnetha, who could not hide the look of surprise on her face when she saw Iocasta nursing the new born babe.

“Mother of mothers, you saved her.” Augustus cried the moment he reached Iocasta’s bed and knelt to witness the perfection that is her wife and new born child. He cried for he cannot believe his eyes, the babe that Agnetha pronounced dead is alive, and looked as perfect as his wife, “You saved her.”

Hecate shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips, “I believe it is the child that saved me.”

Agnetha looked at Hecate disapprovingly, she knew that she will be punished by the Dark Lord for this babe’s birth, but what can she, a mere witch, could do against a former deity. Hecate might be powerless, that is true, but she remained a Goddess nonetheless.

“A Saturnalia miracle.” Hecate announced proudly, “our miracle.”

“What’s her name, my Lord?” Agnetha asked.

Augustus looked at the Goddess who now stood at the foot of the bed, and then he answered, “Zelda Phiona.” He said proudly.

“A dark battle of a fair lady.” Hecate supplied, “a very fitting name. She will face many adversity as a Spellman and grow very fair much like her mother.”

Augustus shook his head, pushing himself off from his wife side and to the woman who brought his daughter back to life.

“No, Mother,” He said, “Blessed gift of a god-dess,” Augustus wrapped his arms around Hecate, “Thank you, Mother Hecate, thank you.”

“Welcome, my dearest Zelda.” Iocasta whispered to her baby’s ear, “Zelda Phiona Spellman. It’s perfect.”

Zelda’s lip curled into a smile as she closed her eyes, falling asleep as she suckled upon her mother’s breast.

Zelda Phiona, Hecate muttered to herself.

Zelda Phiona Spellman.

Welcome home.

[twistedsinews]

2019 Writer’s Year in Review

Tagged by @chyrstis.

Word count:

53248 per AO3 stats, and I think maybe a couple of thousand more on Tumblr.

Number of smut scenes:

Day 6752 of writing fic, still 0 smut.

It's not for lack of trying.  It's a lack of terminology thing and an inability to find a narrative voice I find fitting to the characters and the setting thing.

Maybe this will be The Year.

New things I tried this year:

I wrote for a few fandoms I'd been meaning to but hadn't gotten to, yet; as well as for a few rarepairs/character combos I love but never got that much attention.

I'm not sure I tried anything new on a technical level.  The way my narrative wanders, I wouldn't be able to tell you if I tried one that was new or not.

Favorite thing I wrote this year:

Where There Also Be Dragons: exchange treat for a UDIC alumni who requested Ultima and also dragons.  It practically wrote itself, but I had fun with it.

Frightful Tides of Smoke and Ash: FFV thing started for a challenge I signed up for and ended up missing the deadline, I still managed to finish it eventually.  I like all the places it went, even though it never got any feedback.  *shrug?*

Sun and Moon and Stars: First ever Moon Hunters fic for Be the First.  Best Ending.  Solar eclipse themed.  People even liked it!  Fun!

Favorite fic I read this year:

So, uh... I signed up for like seventeen fic exchanges this year and I've mostly only read the fic I got from those, and prompted fic on Tumblr.

And frankly I love them all, why would you make me choose.

sigh.

Half Sunk a Shattered Visage Lies: I got an amazing amount of awesome Ultima fic in exchanges this year, particularly for a fandom that's always had a bit of a tiny ficdom presence, but this one has bonus Halloween Creepy drawn directly from game elements and woven together in a fantastic uneasy way.

You Were Broken-Hearted (And the World Was, Too): So I randomly wanted SD3 fic a lot this year, and found out halfway through this exchange that we got an official translation after over two decades, omg!  Not only that, someone wrote me a fic with all of the feelings for one of my favorite obscure childhood ships.  It was just such a happy nostalgic surprise.

ignobility: All around fantastic Gat-voice that combines the off-the-wall Saints humor with absolute the drama of "Don't die," and Feelings.  Lots of feelings.  And it does those things very well.

...ugh, now i kinda wanna list them all, but maybe on a dedicated post and I'll finally rec all of the thing.  XD

Writing goals for 2020:

Fewer fic exchanges.

I mean, I will do Yuletide (because Yuletide I've been doing ten years as of 2019), and maybe one or two others, but even though I had a blast doing them and it got me writing again, I didn't get much else in that I wanted to get done last year because of it.  Like, across the board.

For writing, then, I need to sit down and write some of my own stuff, even if fewer people (if any) are going to pay much attention to it.  The deadlines help me write and so does the communal nature of it all and the promise that at least someone is going to be reading which was great; but it doesn't help me in getting to hammer out the stories that have been lurking around in the corner of my eye for years and years.

Also... just... write more.  Write better.  WRITE ALL OF THE THING.

Specifically, start on Quest of the Avatar.  Finally.

...oh, and I need to go through and update my AO3 account, because I've been trying to do that for ten years.  Technically that's an indexing thing, not a writing thing, but I gotta do it.  (And bookmark all the fic.)

And read more.  I haven't been doing that enough, I am sure I am missing some fantastic stories.

Tagging: @faejilly, @gatticus, @saintcorner, @ ... fuck it, whoever wants to, DO THE THING IF YOU WANT TO.  (obligation free!)

[concealeddarkness13]

A New Dawn Part 9

In which Kai actually feels pretty safe! Tagging my collaborator @ratracechronicler!

Intro

Kai: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Rat: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

Rat shook me awake, and I shot up, grabbing one of my knives. She whistled and shook her head. “Yeesh. It’s not my fault that you decided to sleep in late. We need to get going. Tim and Tom are waiting.” She tapped her wrist, even though she didn’t have a watch.

I blinked a few times as a fleeting fear faded away. A dream that I couldn’t remember. “You’re one to talk. I’m normally up hours before you.”

She scoffed. “Joke’s on you. I only wake up early when I have to. Anyway, you have ten minutes to get ready. So, get going.”

I rolled my eyes and ran off to get changed, and Eli shook his head at Rat. “You haven’t even contacted them yet.”

“She doesn’t need to know that.”

I just rolled my eyes as a smile tugged at my lips. They were weird, but they were my friends. I got finished getting ready in nine and a half minutes, so I was still on time. My machine was still not working, but at least it was easier to get one last good look at Joanndu as we left. Hopefully, the aliens wouldn’t follow me to Fre Jac-Mac, but I didn’t have much hope for that.

Rat cleared her throat, and I looked over at her. “We’ll be meeting our friends, Tim and Tom, right away because they offered to let us stay at their adoptive mother’s place. I don’t know anything about Miss Evy, but the twins are cool, so she probably is too.” She glanced back at me, and I stiffened at the fire in her eyes. “If you hear any whispers in your ears, let us know. We’ll help you keep watch for whoever is doing the whispering.” I nodded, and Rat smiled and turned back to the front. “Now, on to the description.

“Fre Jac-Mac used to be two separate cities, but the citizens thought that was a stupid idea, so they tore down the wall separating them because they felt like it. The river, Rio Sakura, splits it in half, so there’s still a natural divide. There are some pools of water, and there are parks for families to walk around in. We’ll be meeting Tim and Tom in one of the quieter parks. People in Fre Jac-Mac like art deco, especially graffiti, so it’s really cool to look at. And with that doohickey of yours not working, you’ll be able to see it in all its glory. Oh, and there’s, like, a thousand bridges.”

I smiled. “It sounds like a cool place.”

“From what Tim and Tom say about it, it is.”

Rat and Eli decided to talk too quietly for me to hear, so I just stared out the window again. We passed over three different bridges, and I just stared at them. They looked like they had tons of machines in them. If only I could tell what they did. Finally, Fre Jac-Mac to come into sight. It was so cool! A river did split the city, and some of the tallest buildings I had ever seen rose up on either side of it. It didn’t look as crowded or busy as Joanndu, so that was already better.

As we got closer, I actually saw all the bridges. Rat hadn’t been lying about how many bridges Fre Jac-Mac had. And there was art and graffiti everywhere. It was just so colorful, and people looked like they were enjoying themselves, like in Joanndu.

Rat parked, and we stopped to eat. Eli looked over at Rat anxiously, but Rat just brushed it off. “It would do them good to wait. Anyway, we’ve got to try the fast, cheap street food everywhere we go.”

It was a lot quieter than Joanndu was, and I just felt more comfortable here. And there weren’t any whispers yet. It was still early, but that already made me feel more comfortable.

The park we went to was pretty empty. We walked around it a little until Rat and Eli grinned, and Rat waved at two people sitting on a bench. They smiled and stood up. They looked almost identical, but one of them was using a cane to help him walk.

I hung back as Rat and Eli walked forward and high-fived them. The one without the cane smiled. “It has been a multitude of days since last we on each other’s visages laid eyes. It is pleasant and effervescent to see both of you again.”

The one with the cane grinned and leaned against his twin. “Hi! How’s you guys doin’? It’re good to sees y’all again!”

Rat snorted as I cocked my head. They just spoke so differently. “It’s good to see you too! How’ve you been?”

The one without the cane (hopefully they’d say their names soon) looked back at me. “But first, you might want to tell us who’s been following you. Is she a friend?” I cocked my head again. And now he wasn’t talking so formally.

Rat laughed evilly. “You know all those crazy conspiracies Rex had? Well, he was right, Tim. She’s an alien.” I just gave the back of her head a flat stare as she laughed again. Since she wasn’t able to explain it to Motor, she probably had been storing up the drama for the next victim on her friends list.

Tim frowned, and the other twin, who had to be Tom, laughed. “What a coincidence.”

It was Rat’s turn to frown. And she was just about to go into a big speech about how I came to be here too. “What do you mean?”

Tim shrugged. “Oh, these weird-looking things approached us earlier today. I guess you’d call them aliens. They wanted us to plague with you, but I made sure to let them see these…” He opened up his jacket, and I grinned automatically at all the weapons stored there. “And those fuzz decided to run. I don’t think they’ll be bothering us again.” He smirked, and Rat laughed.

“Good for you! Well, this’s Kai, and she’s the alien that the real aliens are trying to take. They threatened Motor in Joanndu, and they told him to haywire this weird machine she has in her brain. Could you keep an eye out for them while we’re here? We’ll need help if we want to get them.”

Both of their eyes darkened when Rat mentioned what they did to Motor, and Tim nodded. “Oh, I’ll do more than watch out for them. If I see their fuzzy mugs around here, I’ll repay them for Motor.”

I cocked my head again. “They aren’t fuzzy…”

Rat and Tom burst out laughing, and Tim frowned at me before he sighed and shook his head. I heard a snort from Eli before he smiled over at me. “When he says “fuzzy”, he means stupid.”

Oh. I flushed and ducked my head. “I’m sorry.”

A small smile flitted across his lips. “S’all prime, ma femme.”

I frowned, and Eli slid in. “He means basically “It’s all good, my friend”.” That just made me frown more.

He scoffed. “Any friend of Rat’s is my friend. I trust her.”

Tom and Rat finally stopped laughing, and Tom waved with his cane. “C’mon. Let’s go tour this park.”

I fell in step next to Eli as Rat teased Tim up front. “So, why does Tom have a cane? Did something happen in the extermination?”

Eli nodded, his eyes growing sad. “He was the first person in our group to get taken by the leeches. They messed up his leg really bad.”

I nodded with a wince. Tim kept hovering his hand near Tom almost unconsciously as we walked, and Eli walked up to join the group. He gestured for me to come up too, but I just stayed back. They probably wanted to talk about stuff I wouldn’t know about anyway.

It was a pretty park. Lots of trees and greenery, even though it was still freezing here. It was just so quiet, so peaceful. I smiled. I actually felt safe. Tim and Tom had scared away the aliens. Hopefully, they would stay away.

“Hey!” I jumped when someone spoke, but it was just Tom. The group had actually fallen back to include me. Crap. “I heard you have some kinda device in your head, but Rat said I’d have to ask you about it. So, what is it?”

“U…um. It’s a machine that points out other machines to me, and it helps me figure out what parts I need for machines I want to make. But it doesn’t work right now.” I frowned. “I don’t know if it will work again.”

Tom grinned. “That’s awesome! I’m an engineer myself. Do you have any machines you’ve made with you?”

“Uh…” I didn’t want to pull out a weird machine during the day where anyone could see it. What if the aliens saw it and could tell what it did?

Rat laughed. “Man, I’m starving! How about we head to your place to settle down? Everyone can check out the machine Kai made inside instead.”

I smiled over at Rat, and she winked at me. She had understood why I was hesitant.

 When we got to their house, I grinned. It was small and unassuming. So, at least it wouldn’t feel weird to stay here.

An older woman who was only about a few inches taller than me opened the door and hugged Tim and Tom. When they stepped aside, she gave us a small smile too. “I’m glad to have you over. I’m Eveline, but you can call me Evy, if you’d like. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

Rat grinned and shook her hand. “I’m glad to finally meet you! Tim and Tom talked about you so fondly. I’m Rat, and these are my two fellow road-trippers: Eli and Kai.” I smiled and waved when Rat said my name, and Miss Evy smiled back. “Thank you for letting us stay here.”

She laughed. “Any time. Can I get you anything to drink? Or would you like to set your things down first?”

Tom led me to my room, and when I finished putting my stuff up, I opened the door, and Tom was still standing there with a grin. “Could I see the machine now?”

I nodded, and a smile tugged at my lips. It was nice that he was curious about it. I pulled it out, and he pulled me into the living room. We both sat cross-legged on the floor, and I held it out to him. He grinned and looked it over. “What’s it do?”

“Since you encountered the aliens, did you feel the effect that causes you to not feel any emotions besides peace and calm?” He nodded. “Well, I figured out how to make a machine to at least dampen those effects. When we encounter them again, I hope to use it to protect us.”

“That’s so cool! Did you make it while your machine was still working?”

“Part of it. I made the mental list of what I needed before I made it, but then I had to make it without my machine.”

“Well, I’ve made some good machines in my time too.”

We talked more, with little interruptions from others, but after a few hours, Tim came into the room. “Dinner’s ready.” His eyes looked a little dark, but I had no idea why. I shared a smile with Tom, and we all went to the kitchen.

The food was really good. I’d have to ask if I could help next time, just so I could see how they cooked it. I fell asleep that night quickly. This was the safest I had felt since those whispers had started.

 The next day, Rat, Eli, and I went out to see the sights. While I was just enjoying how pretty Fre Jac-Mac was, a voice whispered in my ear.

“You thought you were safe? You’ll never be safe from us.”

I whipped around, but no one was there. Rat and Eli looked back at me with frowns. I was supposed to tell them. “I heard a whisper from the aliens. They said that I’d never be safe from them.”

Eli stiffened and looked around, and Rat clenched her fists. Eli frowned. “I don’t see any sign of them. They couldn’t have moved that fast, could they?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea what their powers are, so I guess they could.”

Rat sighed. “Fine.” She linked her arm with mine and gestured for Eli to do the same with my other arm. “To make sure that they don’t sneak up on us, this is how we’ll walk now. We’ll catch the jellyfish bastards.”

 That night, while Rat, Eli, and Tom were talking about the extermination, I walked into the kitchen. Tim was there, and his eyes were still a little dark when he looked up at me. He didn’t seem to like me for some reason. “What can I do for you?”

I clasped my hands together to stop myself from fidgeting. “Would you mind if I helped make dessert? My friend back home taught me a few things, and I’d like to cook, if that’s okay.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Sounds prime, ma femme. I’d just ask that you make what I pick out. We have some…food allergies.”

I nodded, and he gave me the recipe. As I worked on it, he would come over and check to make sure I was doing it right. He tasted it when I was done, and he smiled over at me. “Prime. Good job.” I smiled back at him. I loved cooking things after Taeo had taught me some desserts.

The rest of the night, Tim didn’t seem so unhappy with me, and we all chatted and had a good time. Even though I had heard their whispers again, I still felt so safe and secure here.

[nomadmilk]

Big Break (Peter Parker x F!Reader) - PART 2

Summary: It’s difficult working as CEO of Stark Industries, even if it was temporary. Stress has gotten the better of you, and so has Parker’s. Together, somehow, you guys find a way to escape your busy work lives.

Total Word Count: 10838 (Split into parts).

RATING: T+

Warnings: Fluff. Mild swearing. Mild sexual suggestive themes... Peter being his adorkable self

Author’s Note: Work is definitely going to keep me busy... I’ve been writing nonstop, and I’ve used up a day just to recharge... But I made sushi today, so that’s pretty cool... Also, thank you for reading ☺️ And, enjoy!!

You made a promise to Pepper as an assistant to make sure everything remains the same when she gets back. The company needed to run as if she hadn’t left her post. You made sure Happy was up to par with security checks and the deliveries, anything that needed to be signed was given straight to Mrs Stark with a response warning of up to a week, you directed board meetings and had to shut all the smirking members up with your ability to actually run a company.

Well, that, and Tony Stark seems to occasionally be eavesdropping to make sure you weren’t upset by any of them. And even when he misread the situation, he’d appear in a Skype call just to check in.

He trusts you, not everyone else.

It wasn’t just businessmen that he was wary of. He invited you to his garage for a short talk. You thought it was to remind you about maintenance with his cars, but something else was concerning him.

“Could you do one more thing for me?” He asked. You shifted in your seat. “Could you look after him?”

“The… baby?” You answered. A silly response when you looked back on it.

“No. Peter Parker. Could you make sure he’s not, y’know, doing something stupid.”

“Oh. Um. Yes, of course.” You coughed. “I’m sorry, but what-what does this entail?”

As the months went, and the Starks went on a break, you gradually learnt what taking care of Peter Parker was.

You were walking with him. It’s about four in the afternoon, but it is Winter so New York’s street lights were bright against the jet sky, and the breeze was making the night colder than it should be. Peter wasn’t smart about what he wore so he was beside you shivering every so often. You chuckled every time you offered him a resolve.

Peter was stubborn in the most particular times, but you knew a couple of techniques to loosen him up.

“The shops haven’t closed yet, Peter, we could get you a scarf and hat and gloves-“

“No, I’m okay, really-“

“They might give you an Avenger’s discount.”

Peter rolled his eyes, hedging away from laughing. “What are we doing out here?”

You step in front of him, and the gleam in your eyes set him at ease. He’s nervous about what you’re going to say, but your expression makes his irritation with the cold dissipate. You were appropriately layered; a thick, large blazer coat, kept you so warm that there was a pink hue to your cheeks. Peter has to remind himself that this outing was still a professional ordeal for the both of you; he doesn’t want to ruin that. Your work heels were swapped to some trainers that were left in your office locker, but looked odd against your blouse and pencil skirt. Peter found you adorable, but you didn’t need to know that either.

… Was this a date?

“We’re here.”

There’s a pause before he rips his eyes off of you to pay attention. You two stood in front of an all-night amusement and arcade building, still blearing with neon lights. Might not be the best for Peter’s senses, but the look of wonder it gave him was priceless.

“Used to come here when I was younger.” You began. “They have the usual zombie shooters, and normal water shooters, and whack-a-moles...”

Another gust of wind blew against your backs, and you felt a drop of rain on your face.

“Has a couple gems in there too.”

“Like what?” Peter asked.

“Galaga. Space Invaders… There used to be a Super Mario, but I think that got unplugged. Oh! They even have Tetris. The non-flashy kind.”

Droplets began landing on Peter’s quaffed locks. Why was he hesitating? Those titles were temptation enough. He must be still worrying about the suit, or his responsibilities to the Avengers, or maybe a couple of personal projects. You see his brown irises look at you, then back behind him.

As the rain starts to pour, you lead him towards a decision. He’s slightly startled as you took him by the hands. Whether or not it was your smile again, or the way your hands felt small in his, he didn’t know how to react but to follow you. “Come on, Peter. I promise everything that you’ve been working on will still be there when we get back-“

“Y/N-“

“And,” you continue, “there’s a Duckhunt high score just waiting to be beat.”

Peter bites the bait finally grinning from ear-to-ear. You cheer, and this makes him more eager to go inside. “Fine, fine, a couple of hours. Tops.”

This was the first time that you and Peter spent time together out of hours. When you started your job, you guys would talk about agendas on everything going on the Avengers compound. Eventually, when Pepper was nearing her maternity leave, after making sure you were thoroughly taught the processes of Stark industries, she handed the reigns to you. The workload became strenuous. Despite this, meeting Peter Parker became a regular event, especially when Tony let Peter take over his responsibilities. You always wanted to hang out with Peter, without the other suited colleagues around the corner or tasks hindering the time, but it wasn’t anything high on your priority list. It was just nice chatting with him, especially with everyone else ten years, or more, your senior.

Now, here you two were spraying water at a screen with monsters that melt from the touch of it, and laughing at the probability on who could get the toy frog with a hat out of the claw machine. It was nice seeing him laugh, as you usually meet him with his bewildered visage. It’s a refreshing, and delightful change. He’s great-looking with a smile.

After a while, it wasn’t you dragging Peter all over the place, it was him ushering you over to play indoor mini adventure golf.

You won, of course. That, and Peter kept having his hands stuck to the putter.

You both got back to the claw machine with the frog in it. He bowed to you in your victory.

“As your prize, Lady Y/N, “ Peter pronounced his words, “I will win you this most prestigious reward.”

“Oh, Sir Parker,” you gasp, “this is a dangerous feat. How could you possibly-“

“Fear not, my lady, anything is possible for you.”

You had to clear your throat for that comment, watching him place his palms on the joystick and buttons of the claw machine. As you wished him luck, he inserts a quarter, and the machine chimes to life. He was concentrating on the claw, his hands clammy but still functioning on the control panel. You observe the claw yourself; you see it go left, swing a little, and come towards the two of you. You hear a tap of a button, and the claw descends down.

“Oh my, God, Peter, I think you might just get it.”

He glances to the side of him, distracted by you. Your eyes hadn’t noticed him, as yours were still intent on the toy frog. His face wasn’t far away from yours, and you were just biting your bottom lip slightly. You let go of it, and Peter saw your mouth return to its full plump size.

He lost the frog.

You cursed under your breath. “So close! We cannot free them today, my knight.”

Noticing the silence, you face him. He’s still staring at your lips.

“Peter?”

He snaps out of his trance, laughing uncertainly, “Sorry, I couldn’t get it for you.”

His bashfulness makes you laugh. For a superhero, he still has a knack for being awkward. “It’s not a problem, Peter.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“For what?”

“This.” His head gestures to the machine in front of him, a emoticon flashing bright teeth from the background of it. “I’ve just been too overworked. I know I’ve been doing his job for a while, but Mr Stark is retiring, he wants me to step up, and I want to, it’s just-… What if I’m not right for the job? If I can’t do it, I mean, I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“There’s a lot of pressure on you, but you’ll get there.” You say, your lips in a hopeful simper. “I’m sure he doesn’t want you to rush, he just wants you to be ready. I mean, if you have that much doubt, you do know you can back out whenever. Tony’ll understand.”

“I don’t want to back out from this.”

“So, even with the pressure, and the choice of quitting, you want to stay?”

You see Peter take a deep breath, and survey you, a knowing look on your face. You knew Peter’s philosophy of power and responsibility all too well.

“You’re too good for this world, Peter.” You brush a hair away, glancing at him. “And, I just, uh, wanted to say – even with everything else going on – it’s been really great to spend time with you.”

“Yeah.” He said. “It’s been awesome.”

“Have you eaten today? There’s a diner nearby we can go to.”

His Spidey senses tingled. “Erm. It’s still raining.”

You point your thumb to a candy machine, smirking. “So you want me to suck on a lollipop because you’re afraid of a little rain?”

Peter blinked. His heart began racing. Why’d he have to think about you sucking on-

“Do they have pancakes?” Was all Peter could muster.

[angel-scythe]

Chloe : Chapter 22

I was so EXCITED to offer you this chapter to read! I’m so happy it’s finally up and I hope you will like it as much as I loved writing it.

Thanks for your support and reading since the beginning

As you know, smash my door |   °| or just keep reading!

15th December, 09:47

 The snow fell from the sky softly, the clouds were big and fluffy like Sumo’s fur, but the air was real cold. As cold as Gavin’s eyes as he lay them on Connor, standing few feet from him.

“I know you’re the one who killed Chloe Kamski,” Connor has said, his words stabbing Gavin.

Especially because he didn’t let the place to the doubt. He was an Android Detective. He was made for that.

Gavin opened the door of his car.

“Don’t worry, I won’t flee. I want you to tell me more about your passionate theory.”

“You’re a good cop. You know how things work. And you know too that everybody says Chloe Kamski left or disappeared. But you, you deeply committed that Chloe Kamski is dead. Either you’re stupid either you’re bonded to this case.”

“Maybe both,” Gavin replied while sat down to take gum in the glove box.

He checked for taste and Connor walked toward him.

“I had blank but now, I know everything…”

Gavin clenched the gum’s wrap he chose.

“So you had an idea and you needed to be sure. And for that, you decided to become my fucking whore?”

“Please.”

Connor put his hand on the car roof and pushed down his lowest part. He sat on his lap and kissed his jaw.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The cold air came around them. Gavin was still closed.

“What’s your theory?”

“It’s not a theory… That day when Chloe left the house, it was because of you. She was major and you could convince her to just leave. She said to her parents about you and they just couldn’t accept it. Elijah couldn’t help you because he didn’t get. Especially because his sister was everything to him. And she ran away for you.”

Gavin rose an eyebrow.

“However, you were alone. You couldn’t just live like that, even if you graduate. So you needed to find something. Nobody wanted you at work and so… Chloe did what she must do for both of you. At this time, Eden Club was a striptease, made with Humans, club like you could find everywhere with illegals things. If one paid enough, he could have more than a dance and that helped to live.”

Gavin’s lips moving as he chewed the gum, cold smirk on his lips.

“If she prostituted herself, people would have recognized her.”

“But people didn’t care about her in the end and a lot of people just wanted to fuck, didn’t caring about the look of her face or forget it after the sex. Or remember her just enough to have her again. Plus, she wasn’t stupid so I think, in three hundred seventy coma twenty seven square kilometer, she won’t stay near people who can find her. Not in the people she knew…”

“Okay. Go on. I’m having fun, right now,” Gavin laughed coldly.

“Okay. Then… one day, when you were twenty or twenty-one, Eden Club incurred a police raid because of their activities. Everybody should get to prison because it wasn’t legal for the men and women to sell their body. Captain David Allen was on it this day… Well…”

Connor saw the look on Gavin’s face.

“He wasn’t Captain yet. What was he?”

“Second Lieutenant. He was twenty-sixth and he gained his rank at West Point Military School.”

Gavin made a bull with his gum.

“That doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“Allen found you and he felt immediately in love with Chloe. He wanted to protect her with all his heart. However to get her, he needed to get you too.”

“Ah, that’s probably the reason why I didn’t marry him. That fucker,” Gavin laughed, rough.

Connor kissed him on the lips. Now he could taste, it was fascinated. Yesterday, his lips had a soft taste, yesterday it was a coffee like and now it was lemonish. Well it was often coffee like…

“He took you and Chloe at home and took care of both of you. Little by little, he started to love her and you more and more. He even helped her to become a cop. A work she liked even if she couldn’t find the right place for her. She was a girl and she had love story with the Second Lieutenant. Worst of all, she used to be a striper, a whore… That wasn’t awesome for her. And it wasn’t the only problem. Because when the time passed, you took more and more place. Chloe wasn’t at her place with you and Captain Allen. He loved you both and you just couldn’t stand when he made love to Chloe. It seemed normal when you carried about him, sexually, but when it was Chloe turn…”

Gavin frowned and he looked toward the Kamski’s house. From there he wasn’t sure the man could hear them. It would be better.

“For you, the worst was the moment, ten years before, when she fell pregnant. You just couldn’t support it but you loved Elizabeth already so you waited. You waited for her to have Elizabeth and then… you killed Chloe. You asked for being cop at the current DPD and you started your live again.”

“Okay… Why not, smartass. Let’s say that. And what? Dave knew I killed Chloe but he let me do because?”

“No. As I said, you’re intelligent. You won’t say she’s dead like that if we can go back to you. In fact, nobody could and even Captain Allen can’t say a thing. There is no crime and you did it with the only way anyone could kill someone…”

Gavin rose an eyebrow.

“Spit,” he commanded.

Connor felt the man wasn’t at ease anymore.

“I know from the beginning. When I was created, when I came to DPD, I used to scan every visage. Do you remember how I froze when I saw you the first time? When they introduce us to each other?”

“Yes… But…”

“I know you changed a lot of things on your account and your files but you can’t go against my scanner. It’s too performing. Even when you took a little weigh and you’re face is…” Connor caressed it. “… beautiful.”

Gavin took his wrist, squeezing tightly.

“What are you saying.”

“You perfectly know I told you your own story. Because you used to be called Chloe. That’s why you were a classmate of Chloe’s classmate but nobody could recognize you. That’s why you know she’s dead when everybody doesn’t get where she is.”

“Don’t… don’t be stupid. I don’t look like those ST200!”

“Yes… But Chloe Kamski doesn’t look like them neither. Because Kamski made her as he remembered his sister. As perfect as he saw her. And when Felix gave me report about the interrogatories with the classmate, I could see you.”

“Wh… Why would you? Why would you say that?!”

“Because Elijah Kamski is the Love of Chloe’s Life, isn’t it? Your Life. I asked to come because I couldn’t let you go with someone who couldn’t get. Couldn’t help you. And now I saw the pain in you…”

Connor dared to move a little on his lap and hugged him softly. He felt the arms around him and a head on his so he bend a little and nested his face against Gavin’s neck.

“Did you saw others things…”

“Nothing a Human could see. Your tattoo… it’s perfect but not for an Android Detective. I can see they used a darker black to cover the scars.”

Gavin closed his eyes.

“You’re right. Are you happy? You’re right. When I got eighteen, I dared to say to my parents I wasn’t a girl but a man. They didn’t understand. For them, I was just a little boyish… and when I insisted, when I said to them how I hated my boobs, how I hated bleed every month because my body reminded me what I was, they said I couldn’t be a man since I hit on dude. When they finally understand, they become mad.”

“And broke your nose… Sorry to have found it cute.”

Gavin passed his hand in the soft brown hair.

“It’s fine, you can find it cute. I can accept it from you.”

“Did Kamski really did not help you?” Connor asked doubtfully.

The man didn’t look like he could be like that. He seemed really sincere when he talked about his sister…

“Yeah. He tried to protect me, yes, but wasn’t made for it. And didn’t understand I wasn’t his sister. I didn’t feel like his sister…”

He looked toward the house.

“I’d like to go there and said it but what? He can’t understand, Connor. No one can’t. And I hate the looks on people face when I must explain that I’m not a girl even if…”

Connor rose up a little and kiss him.

“You’re the man I love.”

Gavin’s eyes widened.

“You… You’re a robot so you don’t know but… you should not say that.”

“Say what?”

“Love.”

“Why? I love you.”

Gavin was dazed.

“You said you’re my boyfriend…”

“I’m, no? We’re together…”

“Yeah…”

Gavin looked his soft face, his sweet smile and his eyes full of sweetness too. He mumbled something but Connor had great audition, thanks to his work and systems.

He could hear the “I love you too”.

“Let’s go. I won’t talk to Elijah.”

“But…”

“I won’t. He can’t understand and I don’t want to tell him.”

“Don’t you want to be with him? He’s the Love of your Life…”

Gavin frowned. He could remember that Allen was pretty shocked when he learnt that. He quickly understand even if he see him as a weirdo in the first, but he couldn’t just get that the love they shared wasn’t put in danger by that immeasurable love they shared. It was normal to understand that a family will fell love for each other but they never will talk about it in that special way…

“Okay. Rise your fucking ass, I need to get up.”

“Okay. You don’t want anymore to fuck me before your brother’s house?”

“Now you know it, it’s kind weird.”

Connor smiled and went up. Gavin changed his seat and attached his belt. He looked strange and frowned when the boy came near him, fasten his belt too.

“I didn’t think coming here will be successful in fact…”

“Is it successful?”

“We need authorization and mandate but… I think I have all the clues I needed. It was evident. The true question is: since we’re together, do you want to bust my parents with me or should I call Felix since he’s my partner? “

“You’ll need few hours, maybe more. At this time of the year, the judge are pretty busy. I don’t think we still be together.”

“Plastic shit, it’s a joke. ‘Together’ like in couple. The “a dude met his special one’s parents”… ugh, just go on internet, okay?”

“Okay. And, Gavin… can I come home tonight?”

“Yes. I’d be glad…”

“Thank you.”

[king-beard]

Trip down memory lane #3 Havelock Street, Canterbury. The scene of an act of monumental drunken stupidity during my student days. Walking home with @jimcohen after a night of heavy drinking, I thought it would be hilarious to charge full pelt at weedy Jim (think Louis Theroux on a hunger strike) and use my bulk and momentum to propel him through the front door of number 32 - a complete strangers house. To this day, I still don't know why I thought this was a good idea. Had my idiotic plan worked, the sound of splintering wood, shouts of alarm and Jim's feeble cries would have swiftly been followed by police sirens and the click of handcuffs. Luckily, I had underestimated wretch Jim's ability to sense oncoming danger (an ability he had honed after a life spent being bullied by small children.) He desperately tried to spin away, I clattered into him at an awkward angle, and instead, sent his forehead crashing into the corner of the brickwork surrounding the door with a horrible thud. The sort of thud you might hear if you dropped a Ten Pin bowling ball on to a carpet. Or a stolen bottle of gin onto a sleeping clown. Ouch. Luckily I hadn't killed him (although given his general cadaver like appearance, this might have been impossible anyway). A midnight trip to Canterbury A&E was required to stem the constant bleeding, with a still inebriated Jim requiring several injections and stitches to put his forehead back together. (I still recall the look of disappointment on this carer/girlfriend (now carer/wifes) @saracohen81s face, when she realised the impromptu medical procedure had done little to improve his actual face.) Naturally, the various NHS staff treating Jim were awesome, showing patience and good humour in, for what for them, was probably a boringly, regular occurance. Happily, Jim's normally grisly visage was unaffected by the incident (as were his dwindling supply of braincells) but his forehead does now sport a permanent, Harry Potterish style scar to remember me by. So it wasn't all bad after all. #drunkenidiots #shenanigans #idiocy #drunk #morons #a&e #whatwasithinking #nhsrocks #cccc #canterburychristchurch #canterburychristchurchuniversity (at Canterbury, Kent)

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - Namor the Submariner:

While Baltimore is under attack by giant crabs Namor, along with Meggan Szardos and Alani Ryan, tries to negotiate a truce.

Namor sat imperiously silent all through this exchange, studying the spirit creature with an intrigued eye as he waited for these diplomatic shenanigans to reach their inevitable conclusion. With the light of the dark cave and the ghostlight of the spirit's presence, there was almost something sharklike and predatory to his features.

The spirit let out a shriek of rage, swaying in a way that brought to mind agitated pacing. "Have I not been giving warnings for years? Decreasing the population of my companions, storms, flooding. And yet you mortals never know when to quit," she spat, "bloated, hideous, taking and taking. It ends here. I will not extend my largesse for the grasping greed of those who would fill the world with their poison." Her glowing visage settled on the one she'd classed as haughty-sharp-regal. "And you, son of the seas? Does this poisoned water not fill you with rage as your body filters it? Have you no kindness left for your lesser brethren, who cannot rid themselves of the toxins and so must suffer at the hands of these mortals?" She swooped closer, form solidifying as she held out a hand. "Would you not like to turn their poison back on them?"

Namor smiled back, teeth and eyes sharp. "We would revisit the sins of humanity back upon them one hundredfold. I hold no harbor or fondness for the sons of apes, but these passing centuries have seen them set their mark on everything across the land." He moved closer to her, appreciatory. Perhaps, even, flirting. "Humankind is too brief to ever learn or change. I can assure you, however, despite the glory of your army and the pleasing curve of your features, that they will only bite back ten times in retribution. These children, these girls, hold a short-sighted hope for change given their species does not live long enough to suffer for their own crimes. My recourse, though, is that you must either have either the strength to completely drown the land or the cunning to fight more slyly."

He took her hand then, caressing the manifested seaweed and barnacles as he met her gaze. "Tell me how you plan to win. Tell me how you plan to fight back against what they toss against you."

The spirit's eyes narrowed at his pretty words, gaze cooly assessing as she looked over the girls. "I suppose these daughters of nature could be spared, if they pledged themselves. But the other mortals in this city... no. They have had their chances, broken their pacts threefold. They have no further recourse, unless new guardians renew the pact and honor it." Her free hand moved up to the man's face. "And you, son of the sea? Do you propose to make this pact for these mortals? Be bound to making them keep their word, should they get a final chance?"

Namor, expression laughing, openly scoffed. "Humans cannot keep promises. They are liars, the lot of them, with only the follow through to keep a promise until something shiner comes along. You need to adopt more modern strategies, or be the tidal wave that eats them whole."

[briangroth27]

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle Review

I’ve always liked the original Jumanji and was pleasantly surprised by the sequel! The trailer sold me on the premise, but I wasn’t prepared for how much fun this movie would be. Both the young and adult casts were excellent, the adventure in this revamped Jumanji is exciting without feeling at all like a retread of the original, and the whole movie is a total blast!

Full Spoilers...

The young cast was solid, doing a great job of grounding their characters in the real world, while the adults adopted their characteristics and teen bewilderment at what was going on in the video game perfectly. The kids’ drama is fairly routine: Spencer Gilpin’s (Alex Wolff) a nerd being bullied into doing homework for his former friend (and current high school football star) Anthony “Fridge” Johnson (Ser’Darius Blain), Bethany Walker (Madison Iseman) is obsessed with her phone and her looks, and Martha Kaply (Morgan Turner) is a loner, refusing to conform to PE class. While the young actors definitely made these characters feel like real people instead of clichés, the writers could’ve added more depth to them, particularly with Spencer’s crush on Martha. I got the feeling that he’d liked her for a long time, but I’m not sure seeing her refuse to participate in PE was enough to fully sell that attraction (or her rebellious nature) and I would’ve liked to see more. Fridge also could’ve used a bit more depth in the writing.

Once the kids were trapped inside the game, the adult cast ran with what the teens established to incredible success. I’ve long thought Dwayne Johnson would be perfect as DC Comics’ Shazam/Captain Marvel—a ten year old boy who can turn into an adult superhero—and this movie’s premise is close enough to that to prove me right. He was hilarious as “Dr. Smolder Bravestone,” Spencer’s chosen character in the game, because even though he suddenly had an idealized body and was super-capable in this virtual world, he was still a kid. Things like trying to force himself not to cry in the face of their outlandish situation and the totally unattractive first kiss he shares with Martha’s avatar (Ruby Roundhouse, Karen Gillan) felt totally real and made for great comedy. I did think it was odd Bravestone didn’t have any weaknesses, but I liked that Spencer’s weaknesses showed through his virtual visage. His reluctance to go back to normality was understandable, given all he could do and be in Jumanji, and I liked that the movie gave Johnson a moment to play that uncertainty. Ruby’s “dance fighting” was a funny send-up of the current female action hero combat style and Martha’s reaction to the sexualized and scantily-clad video game character she found herself inhabiting felt realistic and appropriate. I also liked that she didn’t stand on the sidelines while the guys fought the villains. I do wish Martha had gained an appreciation for exercise from her adventure—physical activity is important, no matter how dumb kids might think it is or how awkward PE might be—but I liked the confidence she gained from her adventure and I also thought the moments of her bonding with Bethany in the game were well done.

It was great that they gave Bethany some depth in terms of explaining her addiction to her phone and Instagram. They did play her complaints and freak-outs about being in the jungle without her phone a little broadly, but it worked and Jack Black built on the foundation Iseman laid down to sell every ounce of her personality as Professor “Shelly” Oberon. Her reactions to suddenly having a penis were pretty hilarious too. I was pleasantly surprised that while she initially balked at being in this situation (and that body), she was quick to suggest solutions to the puzzles the gang had to get through to win the game and escape. She contributed instead of being a constant stuck-up stick in the mud like I thought she’d be, and that was a great choice on the part of everyone involved. I liked that she even got to solve the final puzzle too; that was a nice bit of redemption for the puzzles she didn’t solve. She also got a great selfless moment when it came to sacrificing one of her lives to save Nick Jonas’ Jefferson McDonough. I was really glad they didn’t have them kiss or let their attraction extend beyond longing gazes: even if he didn’t realize it, he was 20 years older than her and I think she was still a minor, which would’ve been gross.

I liked Kevin Hart as Fridge’s virtual alter ego “Mouse” Finbar, but I felt like he was the least developed in both his forms (despite both actors getting a lot of funny material and preforming what they were given well). Dramatically, his strongest moment came when arguing with Spencer on the edge of a cliff, but it felt like he and his insecurity about succeeding academically could’ve been explored a little deeper. Now that I think about it, however, his avatar’s encyclopedic knowledge of animals and his glee at being able to tame/command them during the climax is sort of an answer to that; I just wish we’d seen that inspire him to double-down on his studies in the real world. His fight with Spencer culminates in the weirdest choice in the movie for me, when Bravestone knocks him out of a helicopter to create a distraction. Mouse has the life to spare, so it was (coldly) logical, but Spencer never really has to answer for doing exactly what Fridge had nearly done to him earlier. I thought that should’ve had bigger consequences. Nick Jonas was well-cast as a daring pilot who was overwhelmed with fear of losing his last life and got some strong dramatic moments when he realized how long he’d been in the game and when he nearly died. I liked that he got a happy ending thanks to the teens changing time for the better by giving him his life back; this movie didn’t need a bittersweet ending of him exiting the game in the present, having missed such a huge chunk of his life. Bobby Cannavale’s Russel Van Pelt was menacing enough as the villain, but didn’t get much to do to put him over the top. Animals crawling throughout his body was a cool, creepy, and well-executed idea, though.

It was awesome that the kids had to work together as a team using both their strengths and weaknesses to win the game and none of them could just power through and do it alone. I loved the hidden treasure/classic jungle adventure vibe of the movie too. The filmmakers did a great job of making this feel like it belonged in the world of the original Jumanji (complete with a nice shout-out to Robin Williams’ Alan Parrish) while maintaining an entirely fresh feel with the video game concept. The video game format was translated exceptionally well, covering so many aspects like cutscene exposition, non-playable characters who repeat instructions and have limited ability to converse, the small number of lives players got in games of the 80s/90s (and co-op players sharing them), each character’s specific strengths/weaknesses, the ever-growing map as each level is beaten, the ease of dying with one hit from an enemy, and more. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the video game structure so accurately and perfectly translated as it was here (even Wreck-it Ralph gave its in-game characters minds of their own, making them more like actors than NPCs). The pace is quick, the jokes land much more often than not, the CGI animals look good, and the action is solid. I was also genuinely surprised that the movie actively fights the urge to set up a sequel, instead having the kids smash the game so no one else can get trapped in it (even if the extremely impressive box office success of the film means another one is inevitable).

Despite areas where they could’ve fleshed out the characters a bit more, this is an extremely fun and satisfying film! The chemistry of both casts and the comedic and adventure elements easily smoothed out any shortcomings for me. Welcome to the Jungle is an absolute blast and I definitely recommend it!

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