#army jobs alert

[jobsindia-governmentjobs]

For Detailed Advertisement and Application link : ARMY ORDNANCE CORPS FIREMAN TRADESMAN RECRUITMENT

[allbark-no-bite]

call it brotherhood (not love).

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: jake meets his match in a soldier rather than a sailor. you’re a bit more war torn than he expected, but it’s okay because maybe he is too

warnings: 18+ smut, * graphic descriptions of injuries and death ⚠️

* if you are uncomfortable with this, please don’t read

author’s note: spoiler alert, i know this isn’t the Jake fic that you’ve all been wanting but i swear that one is in the works. i’m about to go back to school and wanted to get this out there for y’all :) (ps i apologize for the lazy ending)

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"At ease, gentlemen —And woman," Admiral Simpson adds after a moment, shooting an uncharacteristically apprehensive look in Phoenix's direction. Payback snorts at his hasty correction, and Jake is surprised when the admiral doesn't fix him with a nasty look.

If the man's cursory show of inclusion perturbs the female pilot, she doesn't show it, and instead she takes a seat with all the rest of them. Jake turns back towards the front of the ready room, sinking down into his chair just a bit, toothpick clenched between his teeth as he waits for the admiral to address them.

However routine, this training meeting was a bit out of left field, especially for a Sunday afternoon. The Dagger squad typically had one weekly, but it was usually led by Maverick and much more informal. That wasn't to say that seeing Beau was surprising, but the man usually steered clear of the wayward captain and left him to his own devices when it came to training the Daggers.

Today the captain sits in the ready room beside the rest of the pilots. Jake watches as Bradley sends his godfather an inquisitive brow from across the room, to which the older man just shrugs. Interesting.

Cyclone clears his throat. "Good afternoon. I apologize for keeping you all, but I promise this will only take a minute of your time. As I'm sure you are all aware, the United States Department of Defense takes immense pride in maintaining one of the most well integrated military forces in the world. It's our job to work closely with other service members to ensure their safety and the safety of our nation." He pauses. "As experienced as you all are, your time here at Topgun has not reflected that."

Jake's brow furrows, his tongue worrying at the toothpick clenched between his teeth as he listens to the admiral go on. Javy shoots him a look but Jake stares ahead, waiting for Beau to continue.

"The permanent installment of your squad here at Miramar was to create a tightly knit group of elite fighter pilots who would be available at a moment's notice, and however successful that may have been, I cannot neglect the fact that comfort builds complacency. Later today, a squad of U.S. Army soldiers will be arriving to aide in your training for the next six weeks. The integration of mixed branch training units has been widely effective around the country, and it's about time we do the same here at Miramar."

With that, the screen positioned on the wall behind him lights up, displaying enlarged headshots of about eight soldiers. The first seven are males of varying ages, but none older than probably thirty. Jake quickly skims over their names and credentials, but when he gets to the last profile, his eyes stop.

The last solider is the only female projected on the screen, but even so she stands out as compared to all the other members of her squad. He can't quite put his finger on why though.

She's uncharacteristically pretty. And by that he means that to most, her appearance would be inherently off putting— even without the straight-mouthed scowl on her face. She's got a square, almost masculine like jawline that hardens her features considerably. Her hair is light, worn from spending too much time in the sun regardless of however dark it may have been naturally. The same goes for her skin, which is comparably bronze in contrast to the tan line on her forehead, he would assume from wearing a patrol cap out in the field.

Her eyes are wild.

And that's when it hits him.

She'd been all over the news just a few months ago. Something about a patrol gone wrong out in the Middle East, which ultimately turned into a high stakes rescue mission to extract the surviving soldiers. They went in hoping to bring back nine men and came out with one. Apparently they didn't even get to recover the bodies.

Jake can't imagine what that'll do to a person.

Before he can stare at her profile any longer, Cyclone quickly clicks off the projection and the image disappears. This time he appears almost nervous as he stares back at them. "These soldiers are recently returning from a deployment in the Middle East, so I trust that you all will do your best to make them feel welcome. If none of you have any questions, that is all. You're dismissed."

---

The following morning, the Jake receives word from Maverick that the Admiral wants to see him in his office. It's not a strange request but certainly raises Jake's attention as to why specifically he was needed.

Upon entering the room, Jake finds not only the Admiral but Maverick and another female that he's yet to have seen before. All heads turn towards him when he enters, as if he were interrupting something. Immediately, Jake snaps to attention, his heels clicking together and his fingers brushing his brow with a sharpness that would make the academy proud.

Cyclone nods in his direction, acknowledging Jake's customary greeting and dismissing him with the notion. "Lt. Seresin," he begins, gesturing to the female standing across the room. "This is Lt. (L/n). She's uh—a member of the squad that I briefed you on yesterday."

He hadn't noticed that she was wearing Army OCPs but he connects the dots as soon as the admiral mentions her name. He remembers reading it on the projector during the meeting.

Rather than introducing herself, the soldier stands rigidly across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest with a look on her face that Jake can only describe as fucking pissed. Unsure of what to do but aware from personal experience with Phoenix that he shouldn't try to cross any unknown boundaries, Jake settles for offering her a respectful nod. She glares back at him.

"You're two of our only service members with active combat experience," Cyclone continues, obviously ignoring the girl's crossed disposition. "I'm hoping that you and Lt. (L/n) can find some common ground. Perhaps it would do you both some good to—"

"Respectfully, sir, if I wanted to vent to someone about my feelings, I'd go see a shrink," the woman growls. "I recommend you do the same, Lt. Seresin." Her tone makes Jake's brow raise slightly in surprise. No one talks to an admiral like that, not even Pete Mitchell.

"Lt. (L/n)," Cyclone snaps. "That's quite enough."

This time, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. "You can't just—"

"Get out."

She clamps her jaw shut but doesn't budge from where her feet are planted in the ground.

"I said, Get. Out," Cyclone reiterates.

The eyes that had caught Jake's attention in the first place fix the admiral with a chilling stare. To Jake, there's something familiar in those eyes. Some sort of unmistakably justifiable rage that runs deeper than just being dismissed from the conversation. Jake watches, his breath stalled as she sets her jaw, unwilling to move, when it hits him. Identical jawlines and untwitching scowls mirror each other.

The illegitimate child of Admiral Beau Simpson stands before him.

He doesn't know how he didn't see it before, granted they don't share a last name, but Jake was aware that the Admiral was divorced, had been for a while. Allegedly he wasn't the marrying type. Jake isn't surprised by the statement. Beau Simpson is a hard man to deal with.

Jake watches in silence as the girl ultimately releases an irritated huff and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the loud, petulant stomp of her boots as she retreats down the hall. Evidently her looks weren't the only thing that she got from her dad. She had a temper that rivaled even Bradshaw's.

The clearing of the Admiral's throat removes Jake's eyes from the door. "I hope you can forgive my daughter's behavior. Her return to the states has been...difficult."

"I'm sure difficult is the way she would describe you too sir," Maverick jokes.

Cyclone fixes him with a perturbed glare but decidedly ignores his comment in favor of addressing Jake. "Lt. (L/n)'s squadron was ambushed six months ago. Just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and she was the only survivor. As her father, I wanted her to accept the Purple Heart and retire." He gestures flippantly towards the door. "Obviously that's not what she did."

Jake speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "Respectfully, sir, I don't blame her. I'm taking this career to the grave. I'm sure both your daughter and Captain Mitchell can agree," he adds glancing over at his instructor.

Before Maverick can voice his agreement, the admiral cuts him off.

"As I'm sure Captain Mitchell can attest to, as her father, I'm just trying to look out for her."

With his preexisting connection to Rooster, the godson that he would risk his career to protect, Maverick has no room to disagree with the admiral. For once, the captain, who usually always has something to say, stands with his palms folded behind his back and keeps his mouth shut.

"As I was saying," Cyclone continues, taking a seat behind his desk and kicking back as if to signal that he's won the conversation. "It is my hope that given your own—" the admiral hesitates for just a moment too long for Jake's liking "—personal experience, you'll be able to get through to her."

Jake swallows and hopes that he doesn't look as uneasy as the insinuation makes him feel. He has to take a moment to reassure himself that the psych unit has repeatedly cleared him for duty and that no one's threatening to take his wings away.

The nights that he wakes up, drenched in sweat, with his fingers wrapped around imaginary joysticks hard enough to make his palms bleed are few and far in between these days. And even those he's gotten good enough at faking like they don't bother him because he hasn't failed a psych evaluation in months.

It doesn't mean he likes to talk about it or that he won't hear the fear in Rooster's voice if he does.

But he's more scared of not flying than anything, so all Jake does is nod and offer a dry, "I'll do my best, sir."

———

PTSD or modern day shell-shock is what they like to call it. You call it waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Because there is always another shoe.

The slam of a beer bottle down on the bar top lights your nerves up like nothing else. It sends your heart straight to your stomach and makes your palms sweat like when you miss a step on the stairs and for a split second, you think you're going to die. You never do of course, but your body is hard wired that way to keep you alive.

There's a flaw in your system that hasn't been right since the east.

You knew that a popular naval bar on a Friday night wasn't the best place for you these days but your nerves had been yearning for an ice cold beer and fuck all if you weren't going to get one. The alcohol would soothe your nerves anyhow.

But after thirty minutes of waiting on said beer, you were beginning to lose your patience. Normally you weren't bothered by that kind of thing. The place was obviously busy and the lone woman behind the bar was doing her best to satisfy the flock of servicemen that only seemed to accumulate with every beer that she handed out.

Just when you're about to give up and leave, a large hand covers your lower back, pressing you forwards through the crowd and toward the bar top.

"Two more on me, please, Penny."

The voice belongs to the tall man standing behind you. He's removed his firm, but respectfully placed palm from your back and is now leaning over you to accept the two dripping bottles of beer. It doesn't take you long to recognize the green of his eyes from a few days prior.

"My dad didn't put you up to this did he?" you ask, somewhat reluctantly taking the bottle that he offers you. It's finger numbing cold, just how you like it.

He kind of just slowly smiles and shakes his head.

Immediately you feel like a jerk. You sigh, dropping your shoulders and smile softly back. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, ma'am, he didn't. Just had to find out if you smiled like that all the time."

The part of you that's a little bit of a bitch makes you clench your teeth together, tightening the smile that was once spread across your lips. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing right now," is all you say.

You want to tell him that you used to not be so mean.

At the realization that his words had the exact opposite effect of what he was going for, the guy graciously extends his hand. "Look I don't mean to bother you, I just wanted to say hi."

Despite not being keen on his advances, you aren't going to be rude so you accept his outstretched hand. You're surprised by his gentleness. It's not the rough, over-masculine shake you are expecting.

"Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n)."

"I know your name," he admits with a light, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think everybody in here knows your name."

Your skin prickles. You stare at him stoney faced, bracing yourself for what's going to come out of his mouth. "Why's that?"

The guy—Lt. Seresin—you're remembering, shrugs. "I mean, you're quite the story back here in the states. A bit of a ghost story, I must say."

Ghost story is right. Because who survives that? How the fuck does a twenty-two year old girl survive an outnumbered ambush and not eight men with years of experience? Not someone who deserves to be called a hero, that's for sure.

You're trying your best to keep your cool with him. You know that you're in a public space and he's just being friendly. You used to be so good at this kind of thing, the flirting and small talk.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is what you need. Maybe this will make you feel normal again. You need to feel normal again.

Maybe that is why you let him lean in closer, buy you another drink when yours runs dry, and another one after that. Maybe that is why you make an effort to laugh when he does, and you close your eyes when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out the breath that's been tightening your ribcage and do your best to smile. "Thank you for the beer. You didn't have to do that." You hope the words sound as genuine as they're intended to.

He smiles back like he's supposed to, all polite and inherently forgiving of your original attitude. You catch onto the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You're not sure why but it makes you think maybe he's just a bit sad too.

Maybe that is why he lets you wordlessly take his hand and lead him to the back of the bar. Maybe that is why he lets you sink to your knees on the cold, sticky tiles of the men's bathroom floor, his hands already fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

It smells like beer and piss, and you don't even wait for him to get fully hard before you take him in your mouth, your nose buried into his pelvis, where it smells like sweat. It's all wrong and right at the same time, and he won't ask you to stop. He just curls his fingers into a fistful of your hair, pinpricks stinging at your scalp the same way tears sting at your eyes.

He—Jake—he'd told you a while ago, has a pretty cock. At least as pretty as cocks go. Pink and ruddy at the tip, where it mushroomed beautifully. Almost dauntingly long but not grossly so with a throbbing vein on the underside. You run your tongue along it and he muffles a whimper, his fingers wrapping harder around your hair in an effort not to buck up into your mouth. At least he's a gentleman about it.

He's heavy and twitching in your mouth. You feel heavy. He is standing above you, a harsh line of a man against the buzzing bathroom light. You remind yourself to breathe through your nose and he punches himself further, the head of his cock skimming the back of your throat.

You swallow around him, trying to hold together what little is left of your remaining sense of self. It's been a while since you've been so careless as to place yourself in someone else's hands, rolled over and showed your belly to someone who could easily take advantage of you.

Your jaw aches, uncomfortable and familiar, like something you don't want to remember. Tears well up behind your eyes, the threat of an unwanted but unknown feeling looming just out of reach. Jake's hand in your hair hold your head firmly against his pelvis, hips rocking up into your mouth. He sighs like he can finally breathe.

You can't breathe.

You try to and something rasps inside of you, choking. The feeling that had been looming threateningly sparkles through you. Panic.

You know that he tries to settle you, does his best to wipe the tears leaking from your eyes with his thumbs and murmurs softly to you. "Breathe. It's okay, breathe for me."

You can't. You can't breathe.

Your head is pounding and suddenly you aren't kneeling on the bathroom floor of the bar. You're on the ground, crying, screaming like a wounded animal and no one is coming to help. You can almost feel the dirt under your knees, taste the blood in your mouth.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

Someone's grabbing you, hauling your useless feet across the floor. Your chest hurts like you've been punched with a bowling ball.

"C'mon, let's get some air."

How you end up outside the bathroom is beside you. All you know is one minute you're dying on your knees back in the desert and the next you're being sat down on the back steps of the bar. 

The cool air of the San Diego evening brings you back. That and the press of a cup of ice water to your lips, the condensation dripping from the glass and rolling down your throat. You swallow, letting the cool liquid soothe your burning throat.

You're aware of Jake sitting down beside you, close enough to touch if he wanted to but still keeping his distance. You can feel his eyes on you, watching carefully for a moment before he turns to stare out at the not so distance shoreline.

Your stomach feels odd, like you might be sick.

He probably thinks you're insane. You would think the same. But if he's dying to ask what the hell that was, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

How do you tell him that sometimes you think that you should have died, that sometimes the memories almost kill you?

"I hid."

He looks up from peeling off the label around the neck of his bottle. "What?"

You swallow, trying to collect yourself before your words fail you.

"I hid. A—After I was shot, I didn't get back up. I crawled under the humvee and... and I just laid there. I laid there and I closed my eyes and I prayed. I prayed that they wouldn't notice me lying under there or that they if they did, they would think I was already dead."

A mixture of sweat and dust burns your eyes. When you blink, you can feel the sandy grit trapped between them. You squeeze them shut while trying to swallow back the dryness of your throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, but it doesn't do much. An unwarranted tear escapes and runs down the track of your nose.

With your rifle held closely to your chest, you let it slide down and collect on the bow of your lip. It joins the puddle of sweat that has already accumulated there. Out here, the sun cooks you alive. You swear it's a constant one thousand degrees. The twenty pounds of kevlar doesn't help.

Dirt kicks up beside you and gravel showers your helmet as a round of bullets buries themselves into the ground a mere six inches from your face. You hardly flinch.

Somebody is screaming. The sound of machine gun fire is ringing in your ears. Somebody is screaming.

"(L/N), C'MON. LET'S MOVE."

It's Cain. He's grabbing the strap of your kevlar vest and yanking you to your feet. You scramble after him, desperate not to be left behind. Bullets explode at your feet the moment the two of you emerge from the concealment of the dirt mound. Fear makes you run faster.

You spot Manny crouched behind the tire of the SUV to your right. He's firing rounds into the brush. You can tell that he's bleeding from a wound to his arm and you're about to veer off to help him when his head jerks backwards, the scattered remains of his brain plastered onto the white side of the truck.

You stop running, the words caught in your throat.

"RUN," Cain screams. He'd backtracked a few paces and grabs hold of your vest once again to drag you behind a second SUV. You stumble over him, falling haphazardly onto your rear once he lets go of you. He immediately turns to fire over the hood of the truck, and the bullets hitting the truck stop momentarily.

Clawing at the gravel on the ground, you hurry to scramble to your feet. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry and gritty. Huffing, you glance between Cain, who is fumbling to reload his magazine, and the crumpled figure of Manny a few yards away. You can only hope Ronny is still out there somewhere.

Before you can even try to locate him or any other members of the squad, movement to your left springs your muscles into action. You slam your back into the side door of the SUV just as a round of bullets pelt the spot where you were standing just moments before. Automatically, you raise your gun, returning the fire. There are a few more shots fired in retaliation, but they stop a second later.

Once you're sure they're subdued, you lower your gun, breathing hard. There's so much smoke and debris in the air that you can hardly even see Cain ten feet away. He's shuffling towards you in a low crouch.

"Let's move, (L/n). They know where we are. We've got to find different cover."

You nod, your finger still pressed tightly to the trigger of your weapon. You drop into a crouch and follow behind him as he creeps towards the back of the truck. He pauses a moment, scanning the landscape before looking back at you. His blue eyes are a startling contrast to the dirt and sweat covering his tanned face. He lifts his gun in the direction of a flipped humvee about fifty yards away. His mouth moves in a silent command.

One.

Two.

Three.

The gunfire starts up as soon as the two of you spring from behind the vehicle. You can hear the whizzing of bullets as they just barely miss your head. All you can do is pray you don't trip as you struggle to keep up with Cain. Your lungs burn and your boots feel impossibly heavy.

The terrain is barren but the ground loose, and rocks threaten to upend your footing, slipping out from beneath your feet as the two of you flee towards the vehicle.

30 yards from the humvee, Cain tumbles to the ground with a broken cry. The bullet catches him in the thigh, stopping him mid stride. He hits the ground hard.

Without even thinking, you skid to a stop. Bullets spray the ground around you. Somehow you're more afraid of leaving him than being shot.

"Go!" he yells at you, already trying to shove you away. "Go, I'm coming!"

Already, there's a lake of blood beneath him. You step in it and the ground squelches under your boot. Crimson gushes from his left thigh, effectively saturating the fabric of his pants. His face is terrifyingly pale. The bullet must have hit his femoral artery.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Like hell," you snap at him, your pervious fear suddenly boiling into the purest form of anger you've ever felt. Angry for being in this situation in the first place. Angry that of all people, Cain is going to die.

It's terrifying how quickly the realization comes to you, how easily you accept it as the truth. There's already too much blood. Without a tourniquet, he'll bleed out in minutes and there's not quite time for that.

"Leaving him behind wasn't an option. It never even occurred to me that it was," you confess, as if saying it aloud will somehow explain away this title of heroism that everyone wants to pin on you. "Dead or alive, he was coming with me."

You shoulder your rifle and use both hands to grab onto the straps of his vest, hefting him backwards towards the truck.

He must clamp onto his bottom lip to stop the scream that threatens to escape because the noise that comes from his mouth is garbled.

You drag Cain about ten feet before you realize how just heavy he is. There's sweat leaking into your eyes and all you can see is the bloody lake that's left behind as you drag him through the dust. Cain's gone quiet, his head lulled to the side, eyes almost shut.

"C'mon, Cain. We're almost there."

His boot snags on a rock, and when you tug him free, he doesn't utter a word.

Something inside of you knows he's gone, was gone long before you started dragging him. You're still ten yards from the SUV.

POP. POP. POP.

You pause, your eyes fixed ahead of you. "Have you ever been shot before?"

Beside you, Jake shakes his head.

"It feels like someone has shot a bowling ball into your chest. Knocks the breath right out of you."

Pain explodes straight through your ribcage. Your vision clouds and you're vaguely aware of your knees buckling beneath you.

When you come to, all of the wind has been knocked out of you from hitting the ground so hard and your immediate reflex is to suck in a reviving breath. Instead all that comes out is a gurgle, the tell tale sign that your chest cavity is filling with blood.

You swallow, looking off at the dark shoreline of the beach, watching as the waves crash against the sand. "I knew that I wasn't dead yet—I did— I just—" Your throat constricts and when you speak again your voice is quieter. "He was already gone so maybe a part of me had already gone with him."

Jake nods slowly, as if putting together the pieces that you're laying down bit by bit. Somehow his green eyes have remained soft this entire time and maybe that's where you find the courage to continue.

Lifting your head, you crane your neck to see the damage, but the thick layer of kevlar strapped to your chest obstructs your view of the lower half of your body. Grunting in frustration, you reach blindly in the direction that the pain is radiating from. Numbly, your fingers find the gushing hole in your side. The bullet had buried itself in the exposed inch of your stomach between your belt and your vest.

There mustn't be an exit wound because there isn't a ton of blood surrounding you. If the wet cough you emit is anything to go by, it's probably pooling in your abdominal cavity instead.

You're going to die.

"I don't know how long I laid there," you admit. "I knew that the clock was ticking, had been since the moment I hit the ground. It was only a matter of time before I blacked out or bled out... I guess I was just waiting to see which one came first."

The scattered rounds hitting the ground around you become muffled background noise as the lull of unconsciousness begins to sweep over you, dulling the world as you know it. Through the haze of your fading senses, your eyes fall on Cain's motionless figure a few feet beside you.

He's lying face up, his desert tan uniform seeped a muddy crimson. You'd known he was dead a while ago. Still, you carried him. He'd have done the same for you. He was your brother, dead or alive.

Blood bubbles from your nose as you struggle to keep yourself breathing. The fact that you have to remind yourself to do that isn't a promising sign. Your body is shutting down, doing anything it can to keep your heart pumping, even if it means shutting down everything else.

Somewhere through the dullness, you hear Cain's voice. MOVE, (L/N).

You close your eyes, trying to picture his face from what had been just a few minutes ago. You remember the urgency in his blue eyes, the intensity of his fear overridden by adrenaline. How had that been only moments ago?

MOVE, (L/N).

"I—I heard his voice," you state, your tone not open for discussion. "Not the gun fire, not God, not anyone else's. I heard his voice."

So many people had tried to convince you otherwise, tried to tell you that it was because of the shock and your brain was shutting down, that you were hearing things. But you know what you heard.

"He saved my life, Jake."

You can see the gears turning in his head, the question carefully forming on his lips. "Were you two— I mean was he—"

It's the first time you have to suck back tears, your chest rattling with a longing emptiness as you fight the urge to cry. Memories of his wild blue eyes and wide smile that could only ever mean he was misbehaving flash through your mind.

You met Sergeant Anthony Cain not long after you commissioned as a Lieutenant. You were still a green officer when you were charged with your first platoon and given orders to deploy out East. You were scared as hell and Cain was your saving grace. He came in as if he'd always known you needed him and the rest was history.

There was never any question about intentions or commitment to each other. Cain was as honest as they came and you left it at that. You never imagined that's where your story would begin and end.

"I don't know, Jake. We didn't get that far."

Forcing your eyes open, you access the area around you. The sound of enemy fire has slowed but that doesn't mean movement won't trigger a return of bullets your way. Still, you know they'll be looking for survivors once the dust settles, and you don't want to be around when they do.

The humvee is only a little over ten yards away. You might would say it was crawling distance if it weren't for the fact that you were actively bleeding out. Even so, you don't really have any other option.

You take as deep of a breath as you can, your chest rasping as you do so, before lifting your right leg and using the weight of it to swing yourself over onto your stomach. Immediately, searing hot pain radiates through your chest and legs. You cry out, curling in on yourself, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

Sputtering, trying to breathe through the pain long enough so that you can move, you feel hot tears track down your face. They're tears of insurmountable pain and hopeless desperation.

"All I kept thinking was 'how does anyone survive this?' It was unimaginable, the pain. Looking back now, I don't know how I did it. I don't think I could do it again if I had to," you admit.

Softly, as not to scare you, you feel the gentle weight of Jake's palm on your knee. "You won't have to," he promises. "But you did it. You survived."

You stare down at his hand on your knee.

With a trembling, blood stained hand, you reach out in front of you and dig your fingers into the ground. Heaving, you draw yourself forward, your legs dragging limply through the dust. It takes an unimaginable amount of strength to pull yourself even six inches.

Sniffling back tears and out of breath, you curl your fingers into the ground and drag yourself forward again. This time, you probably only move half as far. You have to fight the urge to just lay your cheek against the ground and cry.

You do this again and again, keeping one hand pressed into the gushing wound at your side while the other drags you forward. Your lower half has become increasingly heavier with each passing minute, your legs nothing but dead weight to pull along. You don't think you could move them if you tried.

It takes you forty minutes to drag yourself to the humvee. By the time you get yourself fully under the abandoned vehicle, your fingers are torn and bleeding, the tips ripped open and embedded with bits of gravel.

Your muscles collapse the very second you give them the chance. Your forehead drops down to rest against the ground, and you finally have a moment to shudder out a sob. Your throat is dry and cracked, and dust coats the inside of your mouth. You're dimly aware that your breaths are dangerously shallow. You just know that you're miserably nauseous and each passing moment is more unbearable than the next.

You turn your own palm over, staring at the scars of your ruined finger tips, scars that tell a story of how you survived. They're ugly, and you wish you didn't have to look at the all of the time. At least your torso is mostly hidden. You've moved to a beach town and will never be able to put on a swimsuit.

Jake’s eyes follow yours and after a moment he flips his palm over, his fingers spread and inviting. His hands are large and calloused from years of flying. There are fingernail divots in his palm.

Almost shyly, his green eyes meet yours. You see a bit of that sadness you saw earlier. “I know it’s not my job to be your shrink or whatever,” he adds with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh with him. “But you’re not alone. We’re all a bit fucked up if you haven’t noticed.” He shrugs. “It comes with the job.”

You can’t help yourself. You trace a finger over the scarred palm of his hand. “My dad would disagree.”

Jake is fighting the urge to close his palm around yours, not wanting to overstep, and so he’s pleased when you intertwine your fingers with his.

“Family dinner must be interesting.”

Jake came from a military family himself and so he knows how deep the ties run. His old man was a sailor and so he knew better than to come home sporting anything other than his dress whites.

You laugh out loud because he’s not wrong at all. Jake squeezes your fingers in response. His hand feels good in yours. Safe and heavy in the way a padlock feels. Like he’s not going anywhere.

“It’s not all ‘Go Army, Beat Navy’ believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong, I was raised a Navy brat and I have a hell of a lot of respect for my old man, but at the end of the day, I had to choose myself. I couldn’t do that with him watching over my shoulder. The Army’s been both the greatest and the worst thing that could have happened to me,” you confess.

Jake hums, dare you say almost disbelievingly.

“What?”

“A few weeks here and you’ll change your mind. No one does it like the Navy does.”

It’s your turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“I guess you’ll just have to impress me, Flyboy.”

Jake squeezes your hand again. “Oh I plan to.”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

The Witch's Bodyguard

(2) I hide and cower in the corner, conversations getting hard

Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Bodygaurd!Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda has to do an interview and is a little anxious about it

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: None this is just a set up and establish chapter

A/N: I'm so glad you're all looking forward to this series!

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @rroyale-109 @wandanat01 @scarlizziee @nixxnsworld

@snoozingredpanda @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsromanovaa @sweet--escape17

@natashamaximoff-69

Your fist collided with the sand filled bag, stopping it dead in its tracks. Breathing hot and heavy after a two hour workout. You grabbed for your towel, sitting down to wipe away the sweat from your face as the feeling of a cold water bottle hit the side of your neck.

“I heard you finishing up so I figured I'd bring some water.” You hear Wanda say from behind you. Your tumbler is forgotten beside you as you take the bottle from her. You'd been here only a week, but Wanda quickly learned you're a creature of habit. The early wake up time, workouts that lasted the same amount each day. She was taking notice of the little things.

“Thank you. We have to go out for that interview soon, right?” You ask as you receive a nod. Your eyes flicked down to her hands. Her fingers fidgeting with the rings on her other hand. You could tell she was nervous, but it wasn't your place to say anything so you simply stand up. “I'll be ready in 10. Is Bucky ready?” Your voice is firm, commanding, but devoid of any unnecessary inflection. Bucky's reliability is another aspect of your job that you've come to depend on. Wanda simply nods as the two of you leave the at-home gym.

You head back to your room in the house, taking a quick five minute shower before dressing in your army pants, boots, and a plain white top. You also put on your bulletproof vest and holster your pistol.

As you swiftly gear up, the weight of the bulletproof vest is a familiar comfort against your chest. You've worn it through countless missions, and now it's become a staple of your attire as Wanda Maximoff's bodyguard. The pistol snug in its holster feels like an extension of your body, a tool of protection that you've trained with extensively.

Exiting your room, you find Wanda pacing in the living room, her nervous energy palpable. Bucky stands nearby, his posture relaxed but alert, a testament to his own years of military training.

"Ready to go when you are Ma’am," you state, your voice steady and authoritative. Wanda nods, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she gathers herself. She's still adjusting to having a constant shadow, someone who anticipates her needs before she even realizes them. You can sense her wariness, the uncertainty lingering beneath her composed façade.

As you escort Wanda to the awaiting vehicle you place your hand on the small of her back. A small gesture to reassure her that you’re here. You keep a vigilant watch on your surroundings. Every passerby is a potential threat, every noise scrutinized for signs of danger. It's second nature to you, this constant state of alertness, but you can see how it unnerves Wanda, the way she glances around nervously.

During the drive to the interview location, Wanda remains quiet, lost in her own thoughts. You respect her need for space, allowing her the silence she seeks while remaining vigilant for any potential threats. Bucky engages in small talk, attempting to lighten the mood, but you remain stoic, your focus solely on the task at hand.

Arriving at the interview venue, you scan the area, assessing the security measures in place. Satisfied with your observations, you usher Wanda inside, your presence a silent reassurance amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and eager reporters. Your hand once again finding it’s place on the small of her back.

Throughout the interview, you remain at the perimeter, a silent sentinel watching over Wanda's every move. You catch the subtle shifts in her demeanor, the way she navigates the questions. To most people she probably looked normal, but to you it was obvious she was anxious as she waited for questions to come her way with her other coworkers. She fidgeted with her rings again as she looked over the crowd. When she catches your eye you can fully see the panic and you do something that surprises you both. You make a silly face and she starts smiling with her brows furrowed. So you make another and get a chuckle out of her. It made you happy to be able to ease her tensions.

As the interview draws to a close, you guide Wanda and Bucky back to the vehicle. Once safely inside, you exhale a silent breath of relief, the tension slowly dissipating from your shoulders. You looked over at Wanda you also seemed to be much more relaxed now that it was over.

======

You sit in the dim glow of the fire, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows across the room. The warmth seeps into your bones, a comforting embrace after the long day's work. With a book in hand, you delve into its pages, immersing yourself in a world far removed from the reality of your duties.

The rhythmic tapping of keys fills the room as Wanda works diligently on her laptop, her focus unwavering. You steal a glance at her from time to time, noting the furrow of her brow as she concentrates. There's a sense of determination about her, a drive to excel in everything she does.

The silence between you is companionable, each lost in your own thoughts yet connected by the shared space. It's a rare moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of your lives, a chance to simply be without the weight of the world pressing down upon you.

As the night stretches on, the fire burns lower, casting elongated shadows that dance along the walls. You reach for your cup of tea, the warmth seeping into your hands as you take a sip. The aroma of chamomile fills the air, soothing and calming.

Eventually, Wanda closes her laptop, the soft click of the lid echoing in the quiet room. She stretches, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she settles back into her chair. You close your book, marking your place with a gentle touch before setting it aside.

"Long day," Wanda remarks, her voice breaking the silence. You nod in agreement, the events of the day still fresh in your mind. Despite the challenges, you feel a sense of accomplishment, knowing that you've kept her safe once again.

"But a good day," you reply, your voice low yet filled with assurance. Wanda meets your gaze, a hint of gratitude shining in her eyes. In that moment, you realize that despite the differences between you, there's a mutual respect that binds you together. "Time for bed?" You ask, but Wanda shakes her head, making you raise an eyebrow.

"A little longer." Her voice is soft. "Just want to relax without work for a bit. Let my mind shut off." She looked at you, eyes looking so tired. Like she could fall asleep in her chair as she curled up her legs and rested her chin on her hand to look over at the fire.

You let her be, picking your book back up to read a little more. It was only a few minutes until you heard her breathing even out, looking up from your book to find her asleep. A small smile on your face. This seemed to be a thing. Half of the week Wanda was falling asleep somewhere other than her bed and you'd have to take her to bed.

You lift Wanda effortlessly, her slight frame feeling feather-light in your arms. She stirs slightly as you gather her, her grip tightening instinctively as she nestles closer to you. Her warmth seeps into your skin, a comforting presence amidst the quiet of the night.

As you ascend the stairs to her room, you navigate with ease, your steps sure and steady. Wanda's soft breaths tickle the nape of your neck, a gentle reminder of her vulnerability in this moment of repose.

Reaching her bedroom door, you push it open with a gentle nudge, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the night. The room is bathed in moonlight, casting a silvery glow upon the familiar surroundings.

Carefully, you lower Wanda onto her bed, tucking the covers around her with a tender touch. She sighs contentedly, her features relaxed in sleep. For a moment, you simply watch her, the moonlight casting shadows across her peaceful face.

With a sigh, you turn away, leaving her to her dreams. It's become a routine, this silent vigil over her rest, a duty you've come to embrace with quiet determination.

Exiting her room, you pause in the hallway, your gaze lingering on the closed door. In the stillness of the night, you can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over you, a silent vow to always keep her safe.

With one last glance, you continue down the hallway, the echo of her soft breathing lingering in your mind. As you settle into your own room, you can't help but reflect on the complexities of your role as her protector, the unspoken bond that binds you together even in the darkest of hours.

And as sleep finally claims you, you find solace in the knowledge that for tonight, at least, she rests easy under your watchful gaze.

[ghouljams]

Sin Summer (Price) Rating: E Words: 6.2k Tags: Price x f!reader, Under communicated Kink, Dom!Price, sub!Reader, Spanking, rope bondage, Captain kink, forced orgasms, edging, improvised gags, vibrators, pussy inspections, drooling, boot licking, floor licking, breath play, nipple play, slapping, unconventional interrogations, knife play, squirting, sub drop Summary: You finally meet the Captain, and get a taste of why you'd been kept secret so long. <part 6 ao3

Ghost is sound asleep when you wake up. Fuck you’re starving. You didn’t realize you’d fucked through dinner until you were drifting off to sleep, but now you’re positively famished. You don’t know how Ghost is sleeping through it, big guy like him probably eats the army out of house and home. Doesn’t matter, you suppose, you need a snack. You know there’s a kitchen sort of thing in the rec room, Johnny pointed it out when he and Ghost were showing you around. You doubt anyone will notice food missing, and they’ll just blame it on a recruit if they do.

You nod to yourself, plan settled, and begin the process of extricating yourself from Ghost’s arms. You nearly fall out of bed just trying to untangle your legs from his. You’re forced to offer a quiet “need to pee” when all your struggling wakes him. He grabs a pillow and slips back into slumber with a grumble of something; you give yourself a thumbs up for not eating shit trying to get up.

You check that the hall is clear before heading towards the rec room. Ghost told you no one was likely to bother you, or really be in this section of the barracks, but it still made you a little nervous thinking you could get caught. As much as you enjoyed Gaz’s lesson in knocking, you’re not sure you want a recruit trying something similar. Best to make sure the coast is clear. Satisfied with your surveillance, you make your way down the hall.

The tile sticks to your bare feet, making your footsteps echo through the empty hall. It’s also: super cold. You should have worn socks. You’re regretting your choice in sleepwear. Honestly Ghost is a fucking radiator, the man puts out heat like it’s his fucking job, so you’ve been forced into shorts and a tanktop to avoid overheating. Now, however, you realize the British special forces must be trying to ice out any night time guests. This place is cold as hell. You miss your giant radiator.

You stop in front of the little galley kitchen, arms wrapped around your torso to keep warm, and take stock of your options. You could try the cabinets, but there’s no guarantee you’ll find anything on your first try, and too much rummaging around might alert someone. Fridge it is. You crouch down and tug the door open, scanning the populated shelves until you land on a box of fruit cups. Perfect. You grab a random cup, close the fridge, and find yourself in the all too familiar position of being on your knees in front of a strange man.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on around my base sweetheart?” He asks, tipping his head. The heady scent of tobacco lingers around him, his body filling the entrance to the galley kitchen. He’s got a neatly trimmed beard, and an air of authority that you think you should probably find more intimidating than you do sexy. You peel open your fruit cup and try not to slurp the juice from it too loud. Daddy vibes. Oh shit this is mandarin orange, sweet.

“-Havin’ a pretty thing comin’ and goin’ as she pleases-” he’s still talking, “-this isn’t a hotel-”

“Or a brothel,” you finish for him, fishing out an orange slice from the little plastic cup and dropping it into your mouth. You suck the juice from your fingers with a pop. The man hums, his eyes narrowed on you.

“Need you to fill out a few things,” He tells you finally. Your eyes drop to his crotch. The way he stands… you bet it’s heavy. Yeah, you can think of a few things he could fill out too.

“Like what?” You ask, fishing for another orange slice.

“Visitor logs, NDAs, might even send you to medical for a work-up.” You can feel his eyes roaming over you, watching you lick sugar water off your fingers. You hum, considering his request.

“Or what?” You grin, “You’ll punish me?”

That earns you a long silence. The man’s jaw working through the glint in his eyes as you finish your snack on your knees. At least he’s kind enough to reach up and turn the overhead bulb on, momentarily blinding you when you tip your head back for another orange slice. Better looking with some light on him. He’s big like Ghost, and you’ve never been one to turn down dark hair. You wonder if the thick hair on his arms is any indication of what he’s got under his shirt. You take the last dredges of sugar water like a shot, and push back onto your heels to stand. 

The man’s hand catches your arm, and takes the little plastic cup from you, leaning to toss it into the trash. His face is impassable, unreadable, but his fingers are warm and firm. They hold you in place with no care for resistance.

“Ghost may tolerate brats,” He rumbles, his voice low and dark, it slips through you like a shiver and settles warmly between your legs, “but I don’t.”

Brat? Well, it's not exactly new but most men would probably call you charming or funny. They wouldn't spin you around and lean you bodily over the counter. Which actually-

"Hey!" You yelp, feeling his hand against the waistband of your sleep shorts. The calluses on his palm make you shudder as they brush over your skin. He hums, a deep throaty thing that seems too pleased to stay in his chest. Somehow it makes you clench, makes your hips twitch as he slips his hand lower.

"Girl like you," He reasons, "must know her colors." The unspoken understanding that shivers through you makes you drop your head. "So where am I sweetheart?" You can almost hear his smile. Can reason that he's taking in the change in your posture as proof of your deviance.

"Green," You breathe. His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts, brush just under the elastic, teasing your skin with short touches before retreating. The push-pull of feeling leaves your mind racing to catch up, to make sense of the situation. You're in the kitchen still, aren't you? And there are people on base, people that might walk in on you, right?

"How long have you been here, love?" He asks, his voice low. He leans over you, lets you have a taste of his weight as he settles a big hand next to your head.

"Few days," You murmur, "Ghost and Johnny-"

"Got one of my sergeants too, eh?"

"Both of them," You sigh, feeling his hand grip your ass, "Sir." You add on, eager to see how he responds. A man that knows his colors, you reason, probably likes to keep his authority around pretty things like you.

"Garrick too?" He doesn't seem surprised. There's a quick movement from his hand, the callused skin scraping against your softer skin before he's ripping your shorts down. The hand beside your head pushes hard and fast against your shoulders to keep you down when you attempt to regain some of your modesty. The deep chuckle you earn is almost worth the way his finger traces over the sharpie drawing still sticking to your ass. "There she is." The man confirms.

He spends a long moment just tracing the shapes, waiting on you to start squirming. It's intolerable, standing with your ass out while this man holds you down. Even worse knowing that your pussy is starting to drip at the inspection.

"When'd 'e fuck ya?" The man asks.

"Um," You try to think, "This afternoon."

His hand comes down hard on your bare ass. Pain shoots through you, sharp and stinging. His hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your yelp almost as quickly as it leaves your mouth. You take a sharp breath, and feel a second spank land right on top of the first. Heat presses against your eyes, your skin burns, your pussy throbs.

"Though you knew your manners sweetheart," The man says, his patronizing tone edged with a predatory delight, "What happened to 'Sir'?" You can't speak around the hand holding your lips closed, his fingers slipped under your chin to hold your jaw shut, his thumb teasing against your nose. You wonder if he intends to cut off your air. His hand smooths over the sting on your ass, fleeting comfort before it raises again. "Maybe you'd prefer something else." He reasons, his hand coming down hard in punctuation. "Tried Sir-" spank "-could be Master-" spank "-but a pretty thing like you-" the last spank hits you hard and he yanks your head back with the hand over your mouth, “-always wanted one o’ you ta call me Captain.”

You whimper behind his hand, the title and the pain sending a wave of humiliated heat through you. Your pussy clenches, tingling with warmth at the lingering sting as his hand slides soft over your stinging cheek. There's something absolutely perverse in the silence, in the wetness that sticks to your lashes and threatens to fall over his fingers, in the way his fingers trace over the swell of your ass. He kneads and squeezes at the soft flesh, pulling it apart to get a better look at your holes. If you lean forwards a little more, push your hips up a little higher, for him, well, who could blame you? Especially when the movement draws such a deep relishing hum from him.

"There you go," it's shameful what the growl in his voice does to you, "know exactly what to do, don't you?" His fingers slip between your legs, sliding between your slick folds to drag back up and circle your ass. Up and down, up and down, each hole teased until your hips are shaking with the effort of keeping still. "Such a good girl presentin' your holes like the bitch in heat you are." He clicks his tongue, admonishing, and heat flushes through you. It drenches you, makes you clench just as his fingers are skimming over your cunt. That draws a low chuckle from him, and a twitch of pressure, not quite pressing into you, before he's trailing back up your ass."Too bad ya gotta take your punishment first."

As if the fresh sting of his hand didn't remind you. You choke on the sob you let out, and find yourself unable to draw in the next breath as his thumb pinches your nose. Your eyes go wide, and you flinch away from the next strike of his hand. Your brain mixing the pain and pleasure and fear into some sick concoction that numbs the tips of your fingers. Your ass hurts, the water on your lashes finally breaks free to tumble down your cheeks as your chest constricts and burns for air.

Your ears ring, your fingers scramble against his wrist, you dig your nails in and he strikes you twice for it. If he expected you to keep track of how many spanks you were given you sure as shit can’t now. You were too focused on the way the heat traveled between your legs, the way your vision was going fuzzy at the edges, and the way you (against all odds) were pushing back into him.

His hand leaves your mouth just as your head lolls forwards, slipping to cradle your forehead and stop you from banging it against the cabinet as he lowers it to the counter. It's not just your vision that's fuzzy as you suck in air, your head is too. Cottony, your thoughts stick to each other like flies caught in spider silk, you're too tangled in the soft fuzzy feeling to register the way he twists you at the waist, angling your hips to bring his hand down hard on your other cheek. You flinch, our already battered cheek burns with the tingling memory of his hand, as he works through whatever arbitrary number he's set. Somehow it hurts worse building up that ladder a second time.

The sharp sting of his hand, the rough drag of his calluses over your soft skin, the building heat that drowns out your other thoughts, you have to bite your lip to keep from sobbing. His skin against yours cracks so loudly in the small kitchen, ricochets off the cabinets and rings in your ears. You wiggle your hips a little, rocking towards the counter, pushing your body further against it. Are you trying to escape, or trying to arch your back more? You're not sure. It's good, the pain bleeds into warmth that sweeps over your skin, but it still stings.

The man smooths his hand over your ass, working out some of the sting. Finished, you think. "Come on then," His voice is lower, more throaty, "let's see those manners."

"Thank you Captain." You mumble into your arms. Just saying it aloud makes you feel hot, but you like the noise it pulls from the man behind you. Something rumbling and pleased, that makes warmth throb over your cunt. Or maybe that's from the way his ringers rub against your slit. Thick and dexterous. You can feel them sliding between your folds, parting your slick heat to expose your hole to the cool kitchen air. One of his fingers pushes inside of you, sinks in to the base, before pulling out and pushing a second in beside it.

He leans over you, covers your back with the warmth of his broad chest. His fingers pump in and out of your hole as his beard scratches your neck. You wonder if he's trying to test his leverage or if it's just to make sure you know how outgunned you are. You squirm under him, try to, at least. Your hips make a valiant effort to wiggle even as he twists and thrusts his fingers. Like Ghost he has a knack for hitting exactly where he needs to, working you up with quick jabs against that spongy spot inside of you. Heat courses through you, tightening like a spring almost as quickly as it starts. You can't squirt in the kitchen, you can't, you can't, you can't.

You shake your head, find yourself stuck between his fingers and the counter, nowhere to run and nothing to do but make it harder for him to hit the right spot. He pins your hips with his own, holds you in place and keeps you there with his weight alone. He picks up the pace, forces his way past the way your pussy clenches and wraps his hand over your mouth a second time when you wail on his fingers. You feel the sudden give in your pelvis, the sudden rush of warmth like a snap. Your core releases, orgasm squirting from you and slicking your thighs. It aches, like wringing a towel out. Slick gushes from you and you hear it drop onto the floor like a bell tolling.

The man's fingers pull from your cunt, and the hand around your mouth slides to grip the hair at the back of your head. You're pulled up off the counter, and just as quickly as your legs shake at the effort of keeping you up you're dropped onto the tile floor. You can feel the puddle under you, see the shine of it.

"Look at the mess you made," He clicks his tongue, "clean it up."

"You already spanked me," You whine, maybe you are a brat. The hand in your hair forces your face towards the floor. You know exactly what he wants from you.

"Got a week's worth of punishments pup, so hop to."

Your breath ekes through you, shuddering into your lungs as you tentatively stick your tongue out and drag it over the tile. It's cold from the night air, and the grout rolls against your tongue strangely, but you lick it. The man's hand doesn't leave your hair, doesn't give you a second to think about raising from the bent position. Your knees hurt, your neck hurts, but at least the floor doesn't taste too dirty. Perks of a military base you suppose. You pull your tongue through the puddle your squirt left, and find a leather boot shoved under your mouth as well.

The taste of it makes your stomach squeeze, clean polished leather mixing with the watery slick. You back off his boot to lick at the puddle, feeling the pressure on your head as he crouches down, watching you intently. You drag your tongue back to his boot, flick your eyes up to him. The shadow he casts over you seems to swallow you, darkness weighing down his gaze as it scrapes over you, the air pressure making your movements feel sluggish. You trace the laces on his boot with your tongue, feel the cold metal rivets, the canvas scratch, seeking out the barest hint of dirt. If you can't clean up after yourself, maybe you can clean up after his day.

He moves your head back to the tile, doesn't say anything when your eyes drift close, your tongue lapping at the spare drops of your orgasm still shining in the overhead light. Your head feels fuzzy, compressed, too heavy to lift yourself. You don't even make a sound when his grip on your hair tightens and he pulls you up to look at you. You hold your tongue out for him, let him check your work in the drool that drips off your tongue and onto your covered tits.

"How about you an' I take a little walk?" He asks, voice as smooth as smoke. He doesn't wait for an answer, just nods your head for you and drags you to your feet. His hand slips from your hair to hold the back of your neck, and you get the distinct feeling of being put on a leash.

The name plate next to the door he opens says "Cpt. John Price." You'd pay more attention to it, maybe even make a remark on it, if you didn't stumble over your own feet trying to follow his quick, dragging, pace. He tosses you into the room, and you have to catch yourself on the edge of his desk to keep from falling to your knees again. There's a wooden chair on either side of you, crisp slotted backs that wrap around to the arm rests, God you hate these chairs.

"Pick one," John tells you, you give him a look that you mean to be sassy but you're sure comes off as confused, "Five, four, three-" You look between the chairs as panic washes over you, sitting quickly as he hits "-one." You let out a breath, your ass fucking hurts. You'd give anything not to be sitting right now, the pain throbs through you with each shift of your hips. "Good girl," John hums, his hand is in your hair again, forcing you to lean back in the chair with a hard tug, forcing your head back to look at him. "Stay." He tells you, as if you could go anywhere else.

He walks around you, around his desk, to a closet door. You try not to move too much, but your eyes stay trained on him even as he leaves your periphery. You just want some... assurance, some knowledge of what's to come. You feel off balance, out of control, unsure what to expect. He comes back with rope, and you nearly lunge from the chair. One big hand presses to your chest and pushes you back into the chair.

"Now, now," He chastises, "I’m not gonna hurt you, just need to make sure you're not gonna run off back to my lieutenant," You try to get up again, feel the quick loop of rope around one of your arms to keep you down, "wouldn't want him takin' your punishment, would you?"

You very much would. You don't even know what your punishment is. You're not tugged so deep down that you can't put up a bit of a fight but that doesn't mean-

"Color?"

Right. You sag back into the chair, a gentleness in the way John ties your arms to the chair suddenly striking his every movement, careful to avoid nerves and pinch points- "Green," you reply without thinking.

"Told ya," He grumbles, tightening the rope and looping it around your back to catch the other arm, "not gonna hurt you,” He pauses, and shakes his head with a chuckle, “least not permanently."

That does enough to settle your stomach that you can tip your head back and close your eyes. You try to measure your breathing as he ties your other arm to the chair, finding your comfortable position and easing yourself back down into that soft headspace. You’re actually a little surprised that this guy has jute rope in his office, but you’re not exactly up to date on standard military equipment. You wonder if he has a gun. Probably.

Nothing permanent. That’s reassuring. 

It doesn’t stop the way your try to keep your legs squeezed together when you feel his hand on your knee. You open your eyes at the mirthful huff he lets out. It thrills you, sends a shiver down your spine, to see him grab your knees and wrench them apart. You keep them spread for him, flashing him a smile when he glances at you. He shakes his head and wraps a length of rope around your calf.

One knot is followed by another and another, circling a ladder down your shin and keeping your leg held against the leg of the chair. Your other leg is given the same treatment. It’s rather pretty when he’s done, neat and technical but pretty. You’re- 

Ok you may have been a little too into the way he was manhandling you to fully realize he was tying you to the chair. Like, you knew he was doing it but now that it’s done you’re realizing that you are fully tied to this chair. Trapped and not given any indication of what’s going to happen to you next.

The Captain tugs down the neckline of your tank top, fishing your tits out to rest over the stretched hem. It feels more naked than if he’d simply stripped your shirt off. Your nipples pebble in the chill of the room, and his thumb rubs over one. You try to ignore the way his rough hands groping your tits makes your pussy clench. It’s objectifying, his grip punishing as he squeezes your tit in one massive paw and moves to the other, rough calloused skin dragging against delicate flesh like he’s trying to check which he prefers. You tip your head to watch him pinch your nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers before pulling his hand back just enough to deliver a quick, harsh, slap to your breast. 

You bite your lip at the dull pain, the shiver of something lascivious making you arch into the sharp touch. He does it again with a hum. The shock of it loses some of it’s sting when you can see it coming, so you tip your head back and close your eyes. The chuckle he lets out is pure mirth, low and vibrating over your skin before you feel the sharp slap of his hand again. 

“Can see why my boys brought you back to base,” The Captain squeezes your breast hard, and your fingers curl tight around the armrest you’re tied to, “and why they worked so hard to keep you outta sight.” You open your eyes to look up at him and try to keep your breath from hitching when he hits your other breast. “Didn’t want me breakin’ their new toy.”

“Breaking?” It’s half a question, half a confirmation of what he’d said. Your mind swims with possibilities. If this didn’t count as breaking, what did? If hitting you wasn’t good enough, what was?

He grabs your face, squeezes your cheeks with rough fingers and shakes your head. “Manners sweet’eart.” He lets go only to slap you across the face, hard enough to shock you but- but you don’t think it’ll leave a mark. It’s practiced, controlled. He hits your cheek again, just barely lighter than the first time. Then he’s got your face in his hand again “You don’t want me havin’ to put you through basic, do you?”

Your head feels fuzzy, your eyes struggle to focus on his, you blink to try and clear them with little luck. 

“No Captain,” You mumble when he shakes you again.

“You be a good girl while I finish setting up, yeah?” He hums.

You blink up at the Captain and nod. He offers you a mirthful huff, and straightens to turn back to his closet. You hadn’t realized he’d had to bend over to put himself in your field of vision. But the more you thought about it the more you realized how wholly he’d encompassed it. You hadn’t been able to look anywhere but him, and he’d held you in place to make sure your attention stayed exactly where it needed to. 

He pockets something, you catch a glint of metal and it’s gone. More ropes follow. Deep black cording wrapped in tight bundles that fill his heavy palm. You’re not sure what else he could possibly tie down. Until you spot the wand in his other hand. 

You tug desperately at your bindings, trying to get free, or at least put up a good fight. Maybe if he hadn’t already tied your legs down you would, but in your current state the best you get is trying to arch your hips away from the head of the wand as he nestles it against your cunt. The Captain loops the rope around one thigh, then the other, tying the wand in place as you try to get away. He knots and double knots, braiding the ropes together into taut strands that you have no hope of squirming away from.

“No, no, please-” You beg “-don’t I’ll be good.” The Captain clicks his tongue, shakes his head.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” He pulls the rope tight and you feel your clit bump against the head of the wand even through your shorts, “it’s an interrogation.” Your eyes snap to him as he turns the vibrations on.

“Wha-” Your hips itch against the vibrations, your cunt already primed and wanting from everything else he’s done to you. Your eyes flutter, at the feeling of the wand tickling your clit. It’s almost dull. Dimmed is a good word for it. The feeling is dimmed, something you have to focus on to enjoy. The Captain watches your reaction, and clicks it up another level.

That you feel. The quick pulse of the vibrations rub your shorts against your clit in a way that’s almost pleasurable. It’s enough to make you want to grind your hips forward at least. Another click, another level higher, and your fingers flex tight on the arms of your chair prison. You’ll get rug burn on your clit if you stay on this level too long, but it’s good even through the uncomfortable rub of your shorts. 

A third click, but the vibrator doesn’t change. You glance at the Captain’s hands in time to watch him upend a bottle of lube over your shorts, drizzling the slick substance between your legs and over the head of the want. It soaks the cotton of your shorts immediately, sticking the fabric to your cunt. It eases the feeling of rub burn, but only so much as it forces you to contend with the wet stretch of cotton against your already wet cunt. It’s not pleasant.

“What?” The Captain asks, taking note of the way your nose scrunches, “not comfortable?” You nod. “You want me to make it better?” It’s patronizing, warning, the sort of devil’s bargain that makes you think agreeing would be worse than putting up with your current situation. But you’re nothing if not willing to play along, and also, you fucking hate being uncomfortable.

“Yes please,” You whine, he raises a brow and you tack on a sickly sweet, “Captain.”

“Alright,” He agrees, “How’d you meet Ghost?”

You give him a look of complete confusion. “Tinder?” You offer. What is happening? Wait, did he say interrogation? He slaps your breast hard, hard enough you jerk and let out half a yelp before you can bite your lip to keep quiet.

“How’d you meet Ghost?”

“Tinder, Captain.” You correct, trying to keep your breathing even, the sting of his palm still radiates over your skin, biting warm into your flesh and tingling.

“And he brought you home to meet Soap.”

It’s not a question, but it is wrong.

“I met Johnny in Glasgow.”

“You make it a habit of fucking special service members?”

“Only recently.” You joke. It’s the wrong answer because he slaps your face this time. Your head spins, and coupled with the vibrations against your clit the radiating pain makes your cunt clench. You wish he’d hit your tit again. At least that let you think clearly.

Although you suppose thinking clearly is relative at this point.

“Didn’t know he was army,” You mumble, trying to blink some of the stars from your vision, “thought he was just some slut, Captain.”

The Captain snorts, and you see the flick of a knife opening in his hand.

“He is.” He jokes, bending to settle the tip of the knife against the seam of your shorts. He presses the tip against the wet fabric and you hold your breath. It feels so dull and so pointed at the same time. Dangerously hidden behind the damp cotton and yet just a hair away from slicing right through. The Captain looks up to meet your gaze. “Who’re you workin’ for?”

There’s an evenness to his tone that leaves no room for argument, that tells you he already knows the answer without you telling him. You doubt a man like him leaves anything up to chance, the same way you doubt he wouldn’t have killed you on the spot if he thought there was any way you could be a threat to him and his men.

“I’m unemployed, Captain.” You tell him, an embarrassed wobble in your voice.

“Good girl.” The praise pulses through you, but it’s the knife you feel. The single press and slice of his blade cutting through the seam of your shorts and splitting them open, leaving your drenched skin exposed to the cool air of his office. You shiver, careful not to push against the intense vibrations from the wand when the flat edge of his knife is sliding over your cunt. 

“Now, I have to write these muppets up for hidin’ you away, so you’re going to sit here-” he taps the chair with his knife and you nod, as if you could go anywhere, “-and tell me exactly what you’ve been doing with them the last week.” He tips your head back with the tip of the knife, his eyes flashing and his smile all teeth, “In detail.”

-

There’s something about having to go through every sexual encounter you’ve had in the least week that works you up. Or maybe it’s the vibrator. It’s probably the vibrator. That doesn’t mean having a man behind a desk ask you in detail how Ghost ate you out, or Gaz fingered your ass doesn’t make your cheeks heat up. In fact going through the finer details and having to find a way to describe how it felt having your ass, your throat, your cunt, stretched around the (frankly impressive) cocks that made up the Captain’s task force would’ve made you wet even if you weren’t contending with the mind numbing rub of the wand against your clit.

And you do mean mind numbing. Every time you go to think of one of the mens’ next move, the Captain clicks the intensity up or down and your brain goes blank. You shudder and buck your hips against the head of the wand, trying to find a way to rub your needy clit against it harder, trying to find that perfect spot that’ll have you at the edge faster than fingers can get you. You writhe and shiver and try to hold your hips up only for the Captain to turn the intensity all the way down and leave you whining.

Goosebumps prickle over your heated skin. Your clit throbs, overworked and underserved at the same time. Your cunt pulses and tingles on the next edge. You’re getting closer to coming every time he cranks the vibrator back up. Closer to coming with each detail. Running your tongue up and down Johnny’s cock. Feeling Gaz press the vibrator into your cunt. Ghost licking into your mouth like he wants to taste what you had for lunch. Fingers pinching your clit, rubbing you, dipping into your cunt and searching out all of your soft spots. You’ve never had so much sex in your life, at least not good sex, and it’s a miracle it hasn’t broken you yet.

You babble about fucking Ghost for too long, your lips moving as you drool your praise for his cock, for the way he touches you, how gentle his is, how his calloused hands seem to care even when he pushes your head down his cock. The Captain keeps flicking the levels up and down, up and down, fucking you in a rhythm better suit for a cock.

Christ you feel so empty. Your cunt spasming and trying to clamp down on nothing but empty space. You’re actually starting to get close to tears. It hurts. The constant refrain of need hurts.

The Captain taps his pen against the paper and stands. You brace yourself as he moves closer. He kneels, and tugs a loop on either ankle. Your legs are suddenly, blissfully, freed.

Only to be caught by the Captain’s hands and pushed up towards your chest. You glance at where his cock strains against his fatigues. There’s a damp spot on one side that makes your heart swell with barely contained pride. The vibrator moves with your legs, changing position to press down onto your clit, right off center. You don’t care, not when he’s unzipping his pants and tugging a heavy cock free. No, the only thing you care about is how quickly that thing can get inside of you.

“Did good,” The Captain tells you, “good girls deserve a reward.”

You preen, doing your best to keep your legs up as he guides his cock to your sopping entrance. You don’t think you’ve ever been wetter for a man, the same way you don’t think it’s ever been so easy for one to press into you. The hand at the base of his cock grips tight, wiggling his tip inside you. It makes you mewl, feeling that horrible emptiness finally being filled. 

He has to bend his legs to push into you, meet you where he’s tied you, but once he does, he fills you in a single gut punching thrust. 

You suck in a breath as your back arches into his hold. His hand finds the back of your knee again and presses you down, folding you in half. He grinds his cock into you, hitting something deep and aching that makes you see stars. He pulls out, and presses your legs together, forcing the vibrator back into position as he fucks into you hard and fast.

You’re sure the scream you let out must wake the whole barrack, but you don’t care. You can’t care. Not when he sends you hurtling over an edge he’s kept you at for hours. The only thing you care about is the shockwave of pleasure that hits you deep in your stomach and courses through you. You shake under his grasp, your thighs vibrating as your muscles spasm and release, your clit throbbing and your cunt clenching tight around the cock still fucking into you.

Fuck he’s still fucking you, still got you pinned between his cock and the vibrator.

You’re shoved back over the edge with a whine, your stomach clenching hard as you squirt on his cock, all of your muscles tightening and releasing so quickly you barely have time to register your first orgasm before your second is crashing into you. 

The Captain isn’t far behind you, his cock twitching and spilling its hot load into your cunt only to have it dragged out, white and frothy, by his cock. God. You wonder how long it’s been since this man had someone to unload in with how long it takes him to slow his thrusts. You squeeze around him just to hear him groan low in his chest.

Your pussy feels raw when he finally pulls you, the vibrator rubbing like sandpaper against your clit.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” The Captain offers.

Something pathetic noses its way to the front of your mind as you stare at him. You can feel the pout that forms, just like you can feel the pleased smile he gives you.

“I want Ghost.” You pout.

“Course you do.”

divider by @/cafekitsune

[grimlers]

OUTLAST OC POSTING

Aleksandr Petrov - Ex-pop OC

Backstory to how he got to Murkoff:

Born 1923 in Western Russia, Petrov was raised very isolated from society as his parents didn’t want to risk him going out and be harmed by the very judgemental society they lived in or risk damage to their reputation because of his cleft lip, this meant he stayed inside for most of his early life, listening to broadcasts as his only form of entertainment and company.

This caused Petrov to grow up with a fascination for communication systems, taking the opportunity to work as a cryptanalyst during World War Two for the Russian army, during this time he began to become more and more invested in the opportunities of sound and broadcasting, this lead to him ‘experimenting’ on captured POW’s as he had access to them, which consisted of him essentially torturing them by using old radio equipment to create extremely high pitched and loud sounds to injure and kill the POW’s.

Then after some time, it was found out what he was doing and the army wasn’t happy with him killing POW’s that could’ve had valuable information and he was planned to be punished severely for his actions but before anything could be done, Petrov was able to find out what was being planned because of his exceptional decryption skills and was able to flee the country to America.

He was able to get by in America as he had learned English to a high standard through listening to the radio and his job but he still faced hatred for being Russian. Petrov stood out and so this made it easy to track him when being scouted out by Murkoff and he was easily linked back to his crimes that he continued to commit in America since he refused to stop what he was doing, only this time to innocent civilians.

He was eventually brought to Sinyala facility to ‘work’ as an Ex-pop in trials that are set above standard and include Radio Receivers. He relies heavily on his headset to hear, almost completely deafening himself from the years of being in such a close proximity to those he tortured.

His poor hearing can give an edge to reagents in trials as he relies on radios his headset is within range of to find reagents, not his direct surroundings so this means that reagents are able to get in extremely close and trigger nearby sound traps without detection unless they are in his direct field of sight. Petrov is also very susceptible to projectile attacks as when a projectile is thrown at him, it causes a loud feedback to ring into his ears and will stun him for a few seconds as he tries to grapple it off which he is unable to do because it is attached to his head.

However the closer reagents are to him, the more damage his attack does, his attack is similar to the screamers, causing reagents to cover their ears, shake and slow them only he has the ability to do damage, not just slow them down, by playing loud, high-pitched noises that reach over 200 decibels that have been compiled and kept as a recording on his reel tape recorder he is able to cause a bleeding effect (this is caused by pulmonary embolisms that occur). So the closer a reagent is, the longer they are stunned, the longer they are stuck close to him and the longer the bleeding effect lasts !

Radios- Depending on the trials difficulty his range to the radios he can use to listen for reagents for varies, it getting larger for the more difficult a trial is. Reagents however can crouch or slowly walk past radios to avoid being detected. He uses the radios to pinpoint reagents locations although this will take him some time for him to do so and will walk relatively slowly towards last heard locations.

Radio Receivers- Unlike radios, he is able to exactly pinpoint reagents locations extremely quickly when these are being tuned and he will be alerted and begin a chase from wherever he is in the map towards the room, even going past other reagents without attacking to get there as soon as possible. When radio receivers are tuned his headset will lose efficiency and range, and when all radio receivers in a trial are tuned his headset will become scrambled and he will leave the trial.

He will usually taunt reagents through the radios, saying things like he can hear them or that he’s close (when he could be lying) just to keep them on their toes, but he loses this mocking attitude when radio receivers are being/have been tuned and turns much more serious, hating them for messing with equipment ‘they don’t understand’.

Any questions about any of my OC’s I have posted so far are welcome by the way ! :)

[tizeline]

Does that mean you watched the new sonic movie?

If so, how did you like it?

Spoiler alert vvv

I have, and I did like it, but I dunno if I vibe with it as much as other people seem to do. TBF I've never loved the live action Sonic movies, they're decent enough but definitely not my favorite piece of Sonic media. That being said, this was probably my favorite out of the movies so far? They have improved a lot since the first one which is great to see.

One thing I think the movie did great was the action scenes, the coreography and animation was so fun and impactful and incredibly exciting to see! I also think the movie did a good job on selling us on Shadow's and Maria's friendship in a short period of time, that little montage of the two of them just doing a bunch of silly goofy shenanigans was really endearing. The wholesome innonsence of it all makes Maria's death hurt way more.

EXTRA spoiler, but arguably one of the things that made me the most excited in ghe movie was the post credit scene where Amy showed up LMAOOOO I've been waiting for her to show up. And I exepcted Metal Sonic to show up sooner or later in these movies, but I didn't expect a whole army of them haha but that seems like a fun idea.

[pagelets]

Teaser: Danger- C.B

Synopsis: Choi Beomgyu is a South Korean spy in a cyberpunk era where South Korea has imposed Prohibition across the entire country. One night out in NeoTokyo, while trying to gather information, Beomgyu meets a girl as mysterious as himself. Falling in love while on duty is a dangerous thing, especially when it’s with someone who has as many secrets as he does. 

Notes: I'll try to finish it till the end of January while I'm still on break from college. (Lemme know if you want to be tagged).

Also, if you're a minor or you don't like reading smut, I suggest skipping the teaser. It's sfw but the fic won't be!!

[...]

Beomgyu felt a bang to his head, instantly regretting not obeying the mysterious voice. He couldn’t see anything and had no idea where he was going to, but by the way his body was moving—making sharp curves at a high speed— he assumed he was on a slide heading to the speakeasy bar,  “Aaaaahhh!”, he shouted, his deep voice echoing through the metallic tube, “How did I end up here?”, he asked to himself. 

Choi Beomgyu ended up in a turbulent, dark slide beneath a milk shop in NeoTokyo, with a fake identity and a mission to investigate clandestin bars because he was a spy for the South Korean government. 6 years ago, in 2127, the South Korean president decided to ban alcohol consumption, under the pretext of providing a longer and healthier life for the citizens. But the actual truth was, the president was a clever player, th alcohol producers, including artisans and industrials, had been gaining more and more political influence. Fearing losing his power to them, the president implemented the Prohibition, and it didn’t happen only in Korea, but also in one of its main allies, Japan. Together, they launched an anti-alcohol campaign across all Asia. Industries were closed and liters of alcohol were burned in public places, even so, illegal bars and shops still existed, that’s where Beomgyu’s job came in— locating, investigating and commanding the destruction of those places, as well as arresting those who kept them running, was the role of the army and its advanced reconnaissance squads. 

According to his contacts in Japan, the milk shop was only a front for a clandestin bar and the Japanese spies couldn’t infiltrate ‘cause all their IDs were marked by the criminals. But Beomgyu was Korean, young, had a charming smile and incredible persuasion skills, including his cute pout in extreme cases. That’s why he was there.

He wished he hadn't complained about the slide because when he reached the end, he fell into a ball pit that, instead of colorful balls, it had purple and cyan cubes with a jelly consistency to cushion the fall. He was submerged among the cubes, which glowed in a neon bright, “Biotech”, he taught, before moving to the surface and breathing deeply. 

Around the ball pit was the supposed bar, decorated in neon tones of purple, green, blue, and pink. The walls were made of metal, giving the place an industrial vibe. On the ceiling, there were black and blue light lamps and tubes in which a yellow fluorescent liquid flowed through. Electronic music played from the speakers, and he could feel the bass vibration on his chest. People danced nonchalantly on the dancefloor, holding different laboratory glassware containing neon liquids in various colors— it was a true underground rave. “Clandestin, but not amateur”, he thought.

He left the ball pit and moved through the crowd, cautiously scanning the place: there were no cameras, no guards, no doors or even a single window, the place seemed to have been designed to prevent any sort of invasion. For a spy— like Beomgyu was— that place was a trap, in which he was completely locked in. He leaned over the counter, and there was a bartender with a bionic arm on the other side, “How can I help you tonight, sir?” “Beer. Cold”, he said, “Right away”, the man went to the kitchen, leaving Beomgyu alone. He sat on the bar stool, still alert, his fingers drummed against the counter while he tried to architect an escaping plan in his head, but still seemed impossible, he definitely couldn’t crawl the slide up and it had no perspective of getting out of that place. The same man from before came back with his beer, “Your drink, sir” “Thank you”, the drink had a radioactive chic look, glowing fluorescent pink and served in a chemistry glassware, a Beaker. Beomgyu grabbed the container and looked at it with suspicion, “Is this thing radioactive?”, he said loud enough to catch the attention of a woman sitting a few stools away, “Relax, you won’t die. At least not of that”, she said in a playful tone.

He looked toward the sweet voice coming from his right, the woman seemed young, not like a teenager, but like a mature woman in her mid 20s. She had an octopus tattooed on her right hand, and he was almost certain that her arms— exposed by a black tank top— were stronger than his. Besides that, she had dark short hair styled in an undercut, with locks dyed in blue, pink and green that glowed under the black and blue lights. She was a badass, that was for sure, maybe even an outcast. “Are you sure?”, he asked, his face relaxing for the first time since he stepped into that place, “Yes, beer is my go-to in this place”, she said before drinking the glowing blue drink that was in a round bottom flask. 

Beomgyu adjusted himself on the barstool, turning toward her. "So, do you come here often?, she smirked, “You like asking questions, don't you...", she left room for him to say his name, "Beomgyu. Chen Beomgyu".

[...]

⊹`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

Masterlist

[sissylittlefeather]

In honor of Halloween...

"Devil in Disguise"

I wrote a vampire fic but PLOT TWIST Elvis isn't the vampire.

YOU ARE!

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!! Kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), a little girl on girl action, threesome (MFF), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also vampire bites and blood drinking

A/N: this was a fun stretch for me. Please let me know what you think!

You've honestly forgotten how many years you've been a vampire. You know you were turned at the end of the American Civil War as a means of survival for your children, who are all dead now anyway. After your youngest passed, you moved to France. You followed the American soldiers here in 1944, since they had literally been your bread and butter since you were turned. Now, the war was over, but your job as a dancer at the Moulin Rouge was too good to leave and there was still a steady stream of young men, and even soldiers at times, to keep you well-fed and young(ish)-looking. You had been 33 when you were turned, so that was your permanent age, but when you were well-fed the men assumed you were younger and never bothered to ask if you weren't.

None of the other dancers knew what you were except for Anya, who was also like you and had been a refugee after the Russian revolution. While she was younger, she had become your closest friend in the years since you'd come to Paris.

She was the one who alerted you to the presence of one Elvis Presley in the spring of 1959. You'd seen him on television and knew he was in Germany with the Army, but you hadn't expected him to show up here.

"He's on furlough. The girls are fighting over who will get to be with him first." Anya whispers to you as you get dressed. Luckily you've learned to understand her thick accent. She knew you were always looking for a new challenge and she preferred rich, older gentlemen, so she wasn't interested in this boy, as she thought of him.

"Oh, Anya, I don't know. I'm exhausted and he's sure to be surrounded by photographers and fans. It'll be hard to get him alone."

"You're tired because..." she leans in and speaks softly, "you need to feed. And how fun would he be?"

"Maybe. I don't want to compel him, though. That's too easy."

"Then don't. Go out there and show these little girls how a woman works." She slaps your ass and gives you a wink before walking to line up for the opening dance.

******

After your dances are finished, you're sent to mingle with the men in the club and see if you can't score a few extra tips. You see the throng of people and assume that must be where he is. Swinging your hips as you walk, you move to a spot in his eye line, but far enough away to not draw the attention of the crowd. He's got dancers all around him and he must've kissed a half dozen of them already, but you recognize the look in his eye. It's the same look you have on most nights. He's hungry for a challenge, something new and exciting and not the same girls falling at his feet.

That's when his eyes meet yours. They lock for a good thirty second before his gaze moves down your body. He takes in your black and red bodice and fishnet hose, all the way down to the black heels on your feet and back up again to the feathers stuck in your hair. But you know what he wants, so you pull your eyes away from his magnetic stare and start to walk away, a look of disinterest on your face.

You move slowly across the room, talking and flirting with patrons as you do. Still, you can feel his eyes on you, tracking you like a predator with prey. Little does he know, he's the prey in this scenario and he's falling perfectly into your snare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him dismissing the girls around him and trying to shake the crowd that follows him, assuring them he'll be right back. But you know better. Once he's yours, he'll be yours for the night.

You keep making your way around the room until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder and a voice in your ear.

"You runnin' away from me, mama?" You turn to face him with a bored smile.

"Should I be?" The hunger in his eyes intensifies with your apathy towards him.

"I'm told I'm a pretty good time. You might not want to run away just yet." He's laying it on thick for you, smiling devilishly, with his lip curled just so. You have to admit, he is very good looking, and you smile in spite of yourself. He leans his head back a little, confident he's got you now.

"Come on, mama. Let's go somewhere we can talk."

That didn't take long. He's less of a challenge than you thought he'd be. Turns out his hunger is your best weapon.

"Follow me." You smile up at him through your lashes and make your way to the door that leads backstage. Once you're back there with a little privacy, you push him up against the wall and kiss him deeply, running your hands down his front to the top of his pants and then back up. At first, he's caught off guard, but it doesn't take him long to wrap his arms around you and pull your body in close to his. He has some skill with his tongue and you realize that you're hungrier than you thought you were. You feel your fangs start to extend, so you pull away quickly and grab his hand, practically dragging him to one of the rooms you use for this sort of thing. He doesn't complain about your speed, though.

When you get inside, you turn and lock the door behind you.

"Damn, baby. Somebody knows what she wants."

"You have no idea." You round on him, trying to keep your fangs hidden until the right moment. You don't want to scare him away too quickly. It takes everything inside you not to just pounce on him, but you take a deep breath and feel your fangs retract.

You push him backwards to the edge of the couch.

"Sit down."

"Yes ma'am." His eyes sparkle with the excitement of being told what to do. You can tell he's used to being in charge, but he's not opposed to letting you take control. You walk over to the record player and put on something jazzy and sensual. The more aroused he is, the more vitality you can derive from his blood. When you get back in front of him he reaches out and puts both hands on your hips.

"Nuh uh." You move his hands back to his lap. "Just look. Don't touch."

"Mmm." He grunts and bites his bottom lip as you begin to move in front of him. You sway your hips seductively and touch your body as you dance. Slowly, you reach behind you and unzip your bodice, letting it fall to the floor. The only thing you have on underneath is your fishnet hose and his mouth drops at the sight in front of him. He adjusts his pants and you know he's well on his way to where you need him. You slide the hose down and kick off your shoes until you're standing in front of him completely naked. He still hasn't closed his mouth or been able to make a sound. You straddle him on the couch and reach for his tie. His hands go to your breasts and again you stop him.

"Did I say you could touch?" He whimpers.

"Honey, please..."

"I will tell you when you can touch me." He whines and flexes his hands before he puts them back at his sides. You begin to undress him slowly, first his tie, then his jacket, and finally his shirt, running your fingers across his chest lightly. He barely even has hair there.

"I need to touch you. Please." He looks at you with puppy dog eyes and bucks his hips up into you. You feel his hardness pushing against his pants. Then, you stand up again and he moans.

"No, honey, I'm sorry..."

"Take off your pants." He does as he's told and frantically removes his pants and shoes and then sits back down on the couch. His cock bounces in his lap and you can't help but be a little impressed by the size of it.

"You want to touch me?"

"Yes, please, mama." He looks at you with his eyes wide, dick twitching. You walk toward him and he reaches out, first cautiously and then hungrily, his hands exploring your body feverishly. He pulls you down into his lap and kisses you passionately. He lays you on your back on the couch and kisses down your neck. You put your hand on the top of his head and gently push him down toward your center.

He smiles. He can do this part well and he knows it. When his mouth makes contact with your clit, you yelp a little because it feels so good. He really is talented with his tongue and it's obvious as he licks and laps at you. Then, he slides two of his long fingers inside you and starts to move them in and out. The sensation is almost overwhelming and you feel your orgasm building deep in your core. He knows he's almost got you there too, so he picks up the pace of his hand and tightens his tongue to a point as he licks over and around your clit. Finally, the waves crash over you, sending heat and electricity to your fingertips and back again. You shudder and pulse around his hand and he does that boyish grin again.

"How badly do you want to fuck me?" You ask as he makes his way back up your body.

"Honey, I don't think I've ever wanted anything more in my life." You push him up into a sitting position and straddle him again, slowly sinking onto his cock until you're stuffed to the hilt with him. He groans and leans his head back on the couch. You feel your fangs extend again with the pleasure and do your best to keep your mouth closed, but his neck is exposed and you're so hungry...

"Honey? You okay?" You realize that you've stopped moving and snap back to reality.

"Mhmm!" You go back to grinding on his lap, pushing him deeper and deeper. That was too close. You have to keep yourself under control better until he's lost in a post-sex drunken haze. Why is he getting to you like this? You need to not let yourself get this hungry.

"Fuck, mama. This feels so good. I'm getting close." You stop and stand up off of him. "What? Why?"

"Not yet." He breathes deeply and leans his head back on the couch again. You grab a robe off the back of the door.

"I'll be right back."

You step out into the hallway and almost run smack into Anya.

"Oh thank God. I need your help. I'm having a hard time controlling myself. Help me finish him off." Anya looks at you concerned.

"Okay. I will help you." This isn't the first time this has happened. You've helped her and she's helped you before. Balancing the desires and hunger as a vampire is a delicate business. Sometimes it takes two of you to keep each other in line.

You open the door again and step in with Anya. He sits up and attempts to cover himself with his hand.

You unzip Anya's bodice and let it fall to the floor, pulling her into a deep kiss, your breasts pressed up against each other. Elvis sits on the couch with his mouth open again, unsure of what to do next. When you both turn to him, he sits up straight and swallows hard. His cock bounces in his hand as he looks at you both there naked in front of him. You sit on either side of him on the couch. Anya's hand goes to his dick and you pull him into a kiss. You add your hand to hers and he groans, watching you both work with his eyes wide.

"Holy fuck." He whispers as you lean in and kiss each other again over him as you touch him. Together, you lay him down on the couch. Anya climbs onto his face and he goes to work. But when you slide his cock into you, you hear him moan audibly. You begin to bounce up and down on him quickly and he grabs your hips. He has a hard time deciding what to do with his hands as Anya sits on his face and you sit on his dick. He gets her to an orgasm pretty quickly, being as skilled as he is and she stands up off of him. He's surprised when you lean in and kiss him, even with Anya's desire on his lips. He thrusts into you from underneath and you feel another orgasm forming, your fangs starting to descend. She can tell you're struggling, so Anya leans in and kisses you hard.

"I think he's almost ready." She whispers with her thick accent. She grabs his hands and holds them above his head while you fuck him.

"'M gonna come, mama." He groans. You don't stop. Instead, you move faster, your own orgasm just a couple of thrusts away. You slam into each other faster and faster, harder and harder, all while Anya holds his hands. Finally, you scream and he cusses loudly.

"Yes, fuck, oh my god!" He pumps into you weakly as he shudders and fills you with warmth. You come too, hard, and your fangs come out one last time. You can no longer hide them and you lean forward to the soft supple skin of his neck.

"What?!" He begs, but doesn't fight back. You gently pierce him with your teeth and suck as the blood comes quickly. It's sweetened with the energy of his desire and his release and it fills you in a way you didn't think was possible.

As you finish, Anya releases his arms and you lick the tiny marks on his neck, knowing your saliva will heal it quickly.

"Did you just bite me?" He asks drunkenly.

"I did."

"I liked it."

"Most of you do, you just don't know it until it happens."

Anya kisses your forehead and grabs her things, wrapping the robe around herself and disappearing through the door.

He sits up and wraps his arms around you.

"Did you get younger?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Make me like you."

"Oh, no, honey, I would never."

"Why not? Please?" He looks at you with his round blue eyes and you see the pain there. You kiss his hair and hold him close to your chest.

"You don't really want this. I promise."

"What if I really do?"

"I'm not turning Elvis Presley into a vampire."

"Then I'll find someone who will." You look deeply into his sex-drunk eyes.

"We'll talk about this in the morning." You curl up next to him on the couch as sleep approaches both of you.

"I'm not changing my mind."

You drift off in his arms, thinking about what it would mean to release him into the world as a new vampire. Is that a responsibility you're willing to accept? Is it really what he wants? Can you be the vampire that makes the most famous man on the planet immortal?

You don't know. But tonight, you were the vampire that fucked and drank Elvis Presley. And who else can say that?

******

Hope that was a fun treat!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows

Sorry if you didn't want a tag in this one! Either way, I hope some of you enjoy this little Halloween treat!

[lesvii]

you could read this fic on AO3 too <3 ´´el sin nombre escape´´by lesvi

hello <3 here to do gods work cause there like few pics of Valeria x fem!reader out here, why is no one doing more of lovely el sin nombre, im such a lesbian for her lord. amor de mi vida fr fr. English is not my first language so please tell me if I used something incorrectly thanks!

*flashbacks to the capture of El sin nombre*

``How do you two know each other?´´.

Graves said while grabbing a chair for Valeria, demanding her to sit down, waiting for an answer from Alejandro. 

´´Know is a strong word´´.

Y/N could hear some of the conversation from outside the room, you knew some things here and there when she spent more time on places and conversations you shouldn't have heard, just for curiosity, about this big mission, the unit was going after Las Almas cartel. If you asked Y/N 10 years ago where she saw herself in the future, the army wasn't specially the best thing you had planned for your future, but oh well here you are, hearing some unpleasant conversation the boys really were angry about. You could hear Alejandro practically snapping back to Graves, at least you weren't the man they just captured, was it?. 

´´Las palabras fuertes son importantes, nuestra palabra es nuestro valor.´´

You heard a feminine voice, but from where? You did recognize it from somewhere…no way, valeria?. You accidentally open the door from the room and you could see the boys staring at you.

“Dios, Y/N this is not a place for you right now, it’s dangerous go back to your assigned work” Alejandro talked back with a seriously cold attitude.

All you could do is stare, no feelings, no movements, no nothing, plain stare right through your so called girlfriend. She was sitting down in a chair, you didn’t say anything of course you didn’t want to ruin her safety… or yours.

Valeria stared back at you in disbelief all these months of you two spending time with each other without mentioning each other's jobs has finally come to the answers why. You left in a hurry trying to process what the fuck just happen.

``No me jodas, valeria? Es el sin nombre…´´ (No fucking way, valeria is El Sin nombre?).

Y/N was rushing through the whole base, trying to stay away as far as she could from Valeria and the whole mess it caused, will this mean they could hurt her? I mean Alejandro could never, but as far as she knew 141 was going for this so called mission to take el sin nombre down, sure she knew soap, but ghost, especially graves, wasn't so sure after all you been a year in the base she couldn't possibly know that much about the boys.

overthinking again.

But was if they hurt her.

What if they hurt Valeria?.

You couldn't bear the thoughts of her girlfriend pleading for help, sure by now this meant if you were going to save Valeria. This action will have consequences, but you'll do anything for her, even if this means your safety and job are compromised. Y/N needed a plan, and a good one if she wanted to get Valeria out and safe, is better if you do what you does the best, watch from afar and seek an opening for, to act out. So that's what you did, you watched from a distance a close room near where they kept valeria, to be exact it was in front the building cell Valeria was, Y/N was called to clean some gunship it was perfect time since from a window you could see the building Valeria was captive, you needed to act now cause they will move Valeria to a more high security cell, waiting for the man to come out, her number one priority was going to be valeria.

Waited until the sun started coming down, the base was highly alert but at this point more calmed

Y/N placed some guns down that were finished cleaning, grabbed her bag with some clothes, a small pistol, and food, after all just in case someone saw her she needed to run too. Rushing to the building Valeria was, she analyzed some movements from afar so she wouldn't get caught, she charged through the stairs trying to make little to none noise at all. Walking reading the number of the cells, she overheard Valeria cell number actually, finally something she can work out.

``Cell 366… where are you Val?..´´Y/N hummed.

Lost in her thoughts, you still had no clue what you're gonna tell valeria, oh hey i know you're a drug dealer, war criminal, terrorist, but oh well still love you? Don't kill me?. That was stupid, but you still fought, maybe just maybe, Valeria was still there, the thought of her valeria, sweet and harsh woman, Y/N knew Valeria job wasn't a normal job after all, but never like this. This will either end in you being killed or seriously hurt physically or mentally. What if you were just a toy for valeria, a pretty doll she could use for some months then get rid of, after all she had money, Valeria could get anything she wanted, Y/N was probably easy to replace.

366.

You were here, Y/N panted, didn't even know how many stairs you rushed through  to get here, is now or never, grabbed the key you stole from some asleep soldier to open the cell door. Quickly, big footsteps were from across the room, closer and closer each time, until you finally opened the cell.

Y/N was pinned down to a wall, the grip from a hand into your face, blocking you to speak, the door closed by now, so whatever guard just passed by didnt even notice you. Your chest going up and down, breathing hard, your heart pounding, is this probably the end?, Valeria could easily kill you by now and get through the door.

´´Y/N?...´´Valeria looked back at you. 

She loses her grip and takes steps back to give you space. Her gaze softened as soon as she saw it was actually you and not some nasty old man trying to get information from her by whipping her to the ground.

``Valeria, dios mio que te hicieron?´´ (Valeria, my god what they did to you?)

You placed a hand into her bleeding bicep, Valeria hissed in pain.

´´Im sorry, i should've come earlier and stop them´´ Y/N said.

You looked back worrying about Valerias wounds, they weren't that bad, or fatal, but that will for sure leave marks. Valeria cupped your face with her hands.

´´No. mi vida, i already told you i'd never involucrate you in my… job, i want you safe´´

´´Val i need to get you out of here, the things i've heard from disgusting man, i'm scared, i just wanna go back to your room… you and i having a safe and quiet place´´ 

You fought the tears back, it wasn't the moment to look weak, not in front from el sin nombre.

``I- i don't even know how i got here i practically zoned out the whole trip, i just– you're the whole reason why los vaqueros were after.. el sin nombre´´

You practically whispered the last name, a part of you was still in disbelief, but the other part was still in love of Valeria Garza, El sin nombre was just another person for you.

´´Dont.´´ Valeria looked right through you

´´Don't what?´´you reply back, confused.

´´Don't say the name like that– like if is another person Y/N, that also me, that also Valeria, didn't i told you? it was complicated when you asked where i go those days i'm not home, where i work, im El Sin Nombre.´´ 

Valeria pinned you down to the wall yet again, focusing her gaze on you, right through you. Shit. How you loved her gaze all over your body. Your breathing accelerated again, both faces so close, you evaded her gaze, facing down.

´´I- I know…’’ Y/N  mumbled.

Valeria lifts an eyebrow, she's testing you.

´´Oh really.?´´ Valeria reply back.

Grabbing a strand of your hair, by her hands, putting it close to her face.

´´Why are you nervous then, cariño?´´ Valeria said with a cocky grin.

One hand pinned into the wall blocking you to move, the other was starting to move through your body, slowed down to your waist, she started drawing patterns. Your whole body had a slight shiver, one thing you loved about her is the way she handles you, the way she make you lose everything.

´´You know… the moment i saw you staring back at me, i couldn't read you, not at all, for a moment i was genuinely scared, petrified, not for the place i was, but for you, i thought you hated me. You don't, do you?´´

Valeria said, placing her hand into Y/N inner thigh.

``Id never hate you, amor´´

´´Belive me how bad i want you to fuck me right now, but is getting late we need to get out of here´´. Y/N said.

Valeria hummed back, placing her hand into the seam of your pants.

´´I don't think so, after all you owe me you didn't come earlier, remember?´´ Valeria mumbled into your ear, sending shivers all over your body.

She came closer and kissed your lips, it started slow, but quickly escalated into a passionate kiss, she grabbed your ass and took you to the bed in her cell. She placed you down.

´´How much i missed you cielo, you're mine now´´ Valeria said.

Pinning you down to the hard mattress, she was on top of you, adrenaline hitting you up, you were about to get literally fucked in a cell, wasnt the best place but you needed her so bad, after all you havent seen her in weeks, since she was scaping from the military.

She kissed your chest, grabbing your shirt by the hem and folding it up to get it out of you, kissing you from the neck mumbling sweet nothings in spanish. You noticed her hand drawing patterns in your abdomen slowly going lower, she looked at you asking for permission, you hummed in response.

 Her hand lowed down to your underwear.

´´Me nesecitas tanto amor?, you're so wet just for me´´ (Do you need me that much?)

You whimper when you felt her hand press against your wetness , she usually teases you, but now you're both as needy.

`´Oh, please, I- val i need you..´´you moaned into her ear.

``I know cariño.. Just be patient and we will have more time alone back at my place, huh? How you like that´´.

She slides her finger inside your underwear, you moaned in response, started doing an up and down motion. 

``Hmm, you know i missed you so much…´´ Valeria gazes you up and down, pulling her hand from your underwear drawing circles in your breasts.

´´What if we continue this back home amor?´´. Valeria said.

You couldn't speak, just nodded, the way this woman had so much power over you, you know you loved her so much, you'll kill for her, and you knew she would do the same for  you too.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Something I love about BG1+2 is how it simultaneously plays and subverts the demigod/chosen one narrative (which continues in BG3, except with only the subversion. (And Halsin is not joking when Durge tells him what they are: Do NOT advertise that you're a Bhaalspawn.))

I've always been fond of the set up in Saradush in ToB, where the surviving children of Bhaal are being corralled into the besieged city under promise of protection against the entire world - because basically literally the entire world is trying to kill the Bhaalspawn: Your more powerful siblings want you dead; your mortal neighbours, and likely your nation itself either thinks you're inherently evil and are ready to kill you, or you represent such a threat that they're ready to drive you out and/or kill you just in case. Case in point: the aforementioned siege outside the city walls with the army that wants you dead currently raining giant flaming rocks of death over your head.

Some of these guys have no idea what they are, or what's happening, until attempted murder happens.

Like this discussion with one of your random brothers, a guy called Alexander:

Alexander: "You don't look like one of the locals. Are you a child of Bhaal as well, lured here like the rest of us to face our inevitable end?" Charname: "As well? What do you mean?" Alexander: "I myself am one of Bhaal's progeny - or so I've been told. I guess Bhaal's blood runs thicker in some of his children than in others." Sarevok: "By your snivelling manners, I would say Bhaal's blood runs very thin indeed in your veins. Bah-why do I even waste my breath tormenting this cowering cur?" Alexander: "Uh... is there anything else I can help you with?" Charname: "How did you get here exactly?" Alexander: "I wasn't brought here by Melissan, like some of the others. My home village was burned to the ground by a dragon who claimed to be hunting me. My friends... my family... they threatened to give me to the dragon if I didn't leave. So I did. And I heard a lot of other Bhaalspawn were coming here. *sigh* Now I almost wish I hadn't come."

Spoiler alert: He dies. Every single Bhaalspawn in that city dies*, along with everybody except a handful of commoners (*except maybe Viekang, who was not particularly inclined to murder me, so Murder in Baldur's Gate is weird.)

You, a simple peasant from a farming village one day come of age and learn that your absent father was a god, and you are forced to flee forces that are trying to kill you (in this case, your much more powerful half-brother)... it sounds like the start to some kind of fantasy epic, but instead of any fancy destiny you end up in a war torn city surrounded by castoff divine bastards just like you, terrified and unwanted, and then you die, and are forgotten.

And that's what being a Bhaalspawn is!

Whatever grand lies Bhaal tells you in your dreams about how you're special and great power awaits you (if you behave and do his will), your job is: sow death, faith, fear and chaos wherever you roam, strengthen Bhaal's power, and then be a good child and die for Father. No exceptions, save perhaps one, who is explicitly a special prophecy child, and even then is supposed to be doomed by future FR canon because they're still Bhaal's "pawn". There's also Imoen, who might be spared simply by proximity to said prophecy child keeping her alive. Non-game "canon" screwed her over hard. (FR canon and I have a complicated relationship, it must be said. All copies of those books are to be ritualistically burned.)

idk where I'm going with this, I just love how bleak the situation in the city is. No grand destinies, only a discardable pawn to be used, abused and consumed.

...And also that part where Tethyr sends an army to kill you because obviously you are guilty of "crimes against [Tethyr] and, indeed, all of humanity!" by supposedly killing a whole city: They admit they can't prove it, but you're a child of murder, you were born guilty even if you didn't actively do anything.

No, really:

General Jamis Tombelthen: "You are guilty, [Charname]. Of this there is no doubt. And we will not risk your further endangerment of us all. You are a spawn of Bhaal and responsible for the destruction of the city of Saradush*. Your execution has been ordered, [Charname]. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

* I implore you to move with great urgency to intercept the Bhaalspawn before they can do any more damage. Whether or not they are responsible for what occurred in Saradush, we cannot allow them to continue and cannot afford the time for trial... - Tombelthen's orders, courtesy of the Queen of Tethyr

[em-harlsnow]

new fanfic alert!!

summary: Mickey hates working at Old Army, and he hates the uniform, but he doesn't have any other options. Until another option calls him up and offers him a job.

snippet:

“How many times am I gonna have to tell you about that?” 

“Until I stop. Which is never gonna happen.”  Mickey scoffs. 

“How did you find it?”

“You can’t hide something in the bottom drawer, Gallagher. You went to prison. I thought I taught you better than that.” 

“Whatever. You do the next one, I’m gonna mix some more batter.” Ian orders, and Mickey obediently takes over for pan duty. 

“If you’re hidin’ shit that bad, I think you want me to find it.”

“Why would I want you wearing my shit.? My shit.” Ian asks as Mickey moves the pancake onto the stack and Ian adds more batter to the pan.

“Because you like seeing me in your clothes. It’s caveman shit.”

“I don’t like when you steal from me. How is that caveman shit, anyway?” 

“Because it’s like… possessive or something. I don’t fucking know, man, it just is.” Mickey shrugs as he adds more pancakes to the pile. Ian keeps pouring more batter onto the pan, making different shapes. 

“The only thing I’m possessive of is that hoodie.” 

and here's the link tp read more:

I know, I should be working on my WIPs. I swear, more chapters of everything are in the works. I should have been doing my work but I did this instead.

any support is greatly appreciated!!

<33

[postmanlee514]

Okay I’v been thinking about some post-game Rookanis thing since I finished my first playthrough

Spoiler ahead alert!

So here’s my hc: since my Rook is a Shadow Dragon,they will join the rebuilding of Mintharous and Lucanis needs to take the duty of The First Talon. The couple may have a long time couldn’t be able to make time for each other.

And finally the two get their time to discuss their own business such as:

1) Where to live, they can’t be separated in two city forever. Rook probably will be the one to compromise? They do enjoy the city and I think maybe Teia will invite them even before Lucanis asks LOL

2) my Rook is a Necromancer, It’s time to talk about necromancy with Lucanis 😆 I knew Emmerich tried but Hey! This is Rook speaking! Maybe Lucanis will try to understand necromancy?

3) Keeping pets. Lucanis already has a pet snake but how about Rook? Growing up in a military family, maybe they moved around a lot. This time they finally settle down, so keep pets is a good way to provide a sense of stability. But I also think Spite may disagree Lucanis and Rook’ decision Hahaha

4) About wounds healing . My Rook was a foundling and lost their parents years ago,then was Varric who was their nearly-father for like half a year, then was Harding-their longest-standing companion. They can’t be not having trauma in losing someone and be really fear to be abandone. So after all they’ve been through, maybe this is the chance Lucanis will be there for them for a mind therapy ? I would love to see them curing each other. <3

Followed are some of my gripes(No need to read!)

I literally cried for like 2 hours when I saw what Rook experienced when they trapped in Fade.Varric is always my favorite since DA 2, and damn! Varric’s words really help me to continue the game after the Mintharous or Treviso Choice. Shadow Dragons and Neve blamed all of this to Rook (and I was like “Rook is only one person without army and forces how could they be able to save the city? And Minrathous did have far more forces than Treviso has”)and they’ve already messed up the ritual. The self-doubt was about to overwhelm them, but they had to pretend to be optimistic and help everyone in the team dealing their problems.

My Rook has never considered themselves as a leader, they just stood out and begun to take the duty of finishing the job and they tried their best to take care of everyone. In the game,Varric was the only one asked Rook how long has it been since they’ve slept while they’re worrying others’ sleeping.

And the absence of companion banter, didn’t got their option when companion talking about a mage thing,etc…really made me feel unwanted . I hope maybe someday bioware could add some rook’s reaction to companion banter🥲

I mean, at least they should have comments on Romanced Lucanis told Taash how to kill mages and that’s like dancing or seduction …

“I’m right here hearing! Lucanis! ”

English is not my first language so please forgive me if I say something weird 🥲

about my Rook:

[cinebration]

The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Part 2]

You deliver a head to the Darkling.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

Tagged: @don-daygamerz​, @weallhaveadestiny​, @kaqua​, @sinful-wxrld​, @ashdab2611​, @ultarviolence​, @chodingcreature​, @demonenotturno​, @crowssixof​​, @mxacegrey​​, @dreamlandcreations​​, @s-r-reads​​, @byulsrecs​​, @peleksstuff​​, @seraferna​​, @imtherain, @vexedvalerie​​

Warnings: blood, gore

Gif Source: ethanhunt

The report of your success at the Fjerdan border reached the Darkling before you arrived at Kribirsk. Perusing the contents of the dispatch, he felt the distinctive stirring of excitement prickling beneath his skin. Your words from days before still echoed in his ears, fanning long-dormant flames.

“I can be your shadow, the boogeyman with blood on its hands and maw waiting in anticipation of its master’s next command.”

The Grisha in the Second Army followed him, as was their duty to their commander. They would do anything he asked…up to a point. Few were in it for the fight, the thirst for battle and blood. They were there because they had to be, because nationalism united them.

His attempts to create an army centuries before had created boogeymen that had behaved unexpectedly and in undesirable ways, creatures he still desired to draw into his power. That, as yet, was still unattainable.

To have someone offer to be his bloodied anything…

The thrill that coursed through him made his hands tremble. Clenching them into fists, he mastered the emotion, stuffing it down deep within himself. Years of experience cautioned him that you were a beautiful creature designed to ensnare him, right down to the power roiling within you.

No matter. If you were, then learning the secrets of how you were created would be useful. If you weren’t, then you were a prize he couldn’t afford to lose.

What would it be like if he amplified your abilities? What brutal carnage could you wreak?

Consumed with these thoughts, he didn’t hear you glide into his tent. Only a shift in the shadows alerted him to your presence.

It took all of his effort not to snap his head around. With as much composure as he could muster, he turned to face you.

Dried blood marred your kefta, your hands, your face, slivers of bone bristling out of your hair and cloak. Bits of viscera crusted your boots, thick enough not to flake off as you stopped in the center of the space.

From your right hand hung the severed head of a Fjerdan Grisha hunter. His eyes, glazed over in death, were wide from terror.

“Where do you want it?” you asked, your voice low.

The Darkling marveled at your audacity—from the gore on your body to the dangerous edge in your tone. It seemed you were deliberately trying to provoke him, bring him down into a contest of wills.

Leaning against the table behind him, he gripped its edge in both hands, trying to control the twitches in his fingers, and gave the head a cursory glance.

“Outside,” he finally answered.

“On a pole or just…wherever?”

He fought the laugh pulling at his lips. “You traveled for three days like this?”

You didn’t bother glancing down at your ruined kefta. “It sends a message, General.”

“Does it? To whom?”

“Fear is necessary on both sides of a war. I can only do the job I am made for if others, even allies, are in terror of me.”

“The job you are made for.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

The Darkling frowned, mildly nonplussed by the sudden change in conversation.

“I believe in fate,” you continued, twisting your wrist to watch the head spin first one direction, then another. “We are all set on paths whose end we do not know. But I also believe fate is something that we make happen, not merely something that happens to us. I was not born this way. I became this with my own two hands.”

You met the Darkling’s gaze, your expression blank but your eyes blazing. “I made myself for this. I have planned and dreamed and fought my way to here, because I know what my fate is.”

He struggled to speak. “And what is your fate?”

“I will be here at the end.”

A soft stab of fear pricked his chest, startling him. “I have no patience for riddles.”

“In my lifetime, the status quo will change irrevocably. A battle that determines the course of Ravka will mark the end of an era.”

“I don’t need a prophet,” he snarled. “If you’ve come to spout nonsense I have no use for you.”

Your snort enraged him. Shoving away from the table, he stalked across the room to you, shadows following in his wake, the muscle in his jaw vibrating with his anger.

You remained still as he glowered. The lack of fear in your face sent an unpleasant stab through the Darkling’s stomach.

“The truth is,” you said, interrupting the threat rising to his lips, “my fate is inextricably tied to power. I am the right hand of Power.”

Something in your tone smothered the mounting rage within him. You spoke with the words of fanaticism, but the conviction in the depths of your pupils was more than fanatical fervor. For a heartbeat, the Darkling witnessed something he couldn’t name. A chill lodged itself deep in his bones.

You blinked, and it was gone.

“Outside, you said.” Taking a step back, you gestured needlessly to the severed head. “A pole or someplace else? You never said.”

The Darkling stared at you. Power thrummed through you, suddenly muted by your abrupt nonchalance. Covered in gore, the head hanging almost forgotten in your hand, you were the picture of madness, but your eyes were clear and steady.

He couldn’t afford to make you an enemy, he realized with sharp clarity. Not until he truly understood you.

Swiveling crisply on his heel, he returned to the table. “Place it with the corpses. I’m sure you made enough of an impression walking through the camp with it.”

“As you command.”

“You should have left it on a pole back where you took it,” he added, driven by a need to wound you. Displeasure infused his voice.

“You asked for his head, and I brought it,” you answered.

The Darkling glanced over his shoulder at you as your pause swelled to fill the tent.

“The rest,” you finished, “are on stakes to greet the next Fjerdan who dares cross the border.”

The Darkling tore his gaze away from yours, fixing it on the papers before him in a gesture of dismissal. The shadows in the room shifted as you departed, leaving him alone.

He pressed his palms flat against the table, hiding the tremors shaking his arms. He couldn’t determine what emotion caused it. Common sense told him to dispatch you speedily, to sacrifice a tool before it could become a weapon against him.

But he wanted your power.

Indecision warred within him.

The entrance to the tent darkened. “General,” Ivan intoned.

The Darkling straightened, hands clenched into fists. “Ivan, the Bonecrusher will stay in camp. Assign her quarters.”

“The Bonecrusher?” Ivan swallowed thickly, brow furrowing. “Is that wise, sir? No one trusts her, and we—they fear her.”

As the Darkling scrutinized the man’s guarded expression, his indecision faded, crisp clarity returning. “Good.”

[lyxurious]

So you like Luo Yunxi: A drama recommendation list

So you watched "Till the End of the Moon", and all you got is heartbreak, brainworms, and a shiny new lowkey or highkey obsession with Luo Yunxi (perhaps other people from the amazing cast too, but we're focusing on him here)? You want to see more of him, but you don't know where to start? Fear not, for this list is here to hopefully help you out with that.

Here be some (non-spoilery, but might mention if it generally ends well or not) spark notes on all his past dramas with him in the first male lead role, that are currently available with English subs (+ 2 very important supporting roles + 1 bonus). In chronological order, from most to least recent!

Light Chaser Rescue

Type: Modern, rescue missions, human drama, romance

Episodes: 40

Available at: WeTv, YouTube, viki

What's the deal? Jaded and cynical lawyer meets cute and icy doctor lady who is not here for his bs, and discovers the joys of love and most importantly, volunteer rescue work.

On the one hand: Detailed and extremely realistic scenes of all sorts of natural disasters happening. The production team collaborated with a real life team where anyone can volunteer and get training as a rescuer. They built a wholeass glacier for the final episodes and you could never tell it's fake looking at it even on HD. The side characters are mostly likeable (which is something you can't say for every drama), although flawed and human. FL is a cool-headed independent grownup woman who bottles up her feelings like a fine vintage.

On the other: The pacing is rather choppy and makes it feel like they planned out the disaster scenes/rescue missions first and everything else was added later to link said missions together and give the characters stuff to do in between. Since this is a drama and they have a limited cast, the team's abilities are a bit exaggerated at times (they turn up for everything that happens anywhere, doctor FL is a swiss army knife of specialties). Ending feels a bit abrupt.

Watch it if: You enjoy seeing Luo Yunxi suffer physically, you like stories with ordinary people being heroes while also remaining very much ordinary people.

Lie to Love

Type: Modern, romance, office, suspense

Episodes: 32

Available at: WeTV, YouTube

What's the deal? Local woman is convinced her one night stand during a mountain hike killed her father, so she returns after 2 years to go undercover in male nerdy Paris Hilton protagonist's glitzy hotel business and cancel his entire existence. Spoiler alert (but not really because this is actually not even the first 6 eps): he is a good guy and didn't do it and they fall in love and together they set out to uncover the truth and take down his shady uncle.

On the one hand: Objectively speaking, the plot for this is on the better side for a drama of its type. It's got suspense, it's got plot twists, it's got fluff, it's got drama, it's got more communication between the main CP than one would expect on a regular day, misunderstandings don't last long, the nice side characters are likeable, and 2nd ML is doing an incredible job at being a 2-faced creep. LYX is serving many a great business wear look in the 2nd half especially.

On the other: The FL is Cheng Xiao. A severely miscast Cheng Xiao in a role that is core in the plot and on paper, challenging. For fans, winner winner chicken dinner. For the rest of us, it's up to each viewer to decide if overall as a drama, the points in the above section are strong enough to balance this casting out.

Watch it if: You have a thing for men in suits and glasses (that makes two of us), you prefer ignoring the FL in dramas so you can make elaborate headcanons shipping the ML with the psycho stalker 2nd ML or the goofy rockstar 3rd ML instead.

Broker

Type: Modern, office, medical research, suspense, romance

Episodes: 42

Available at: YouTube, viki

What's the deal? Spy is ordered to infiltrate a lab and lowkey honey trap his way into stealing female scientist's multi-million research, is uno reverse carded when she fixes his broken heart and trust in humanity.

On the one hand: The rare case where he is a morally grey character in a modern setting. The other rare case where he gets to do action sequences in a modern setting. There's a shower sex scene (sit down, implied and partially dressed of course, this is still a cdrama), and one where he gets whipped on a table. There is a very badass sidekick girl who is just as broken as him if not worse, and very shippable with the FL's perky and spoiled little sister.

On the other: The premise is cool but sadly, there's way more filler office drama (in the lab) and 2nd CP being a frustrating snoozefest than spy activities. It's a drama that was held up for a long while in censorship limbo, and a considerable chunk of the ML's backstory and scenes were left in the editing room, which unfortunately throws the show off balance by a lot.

Watch it if: You are a diehard Luo Yunxi, Victoria Song or Xu Kaicheng completionist (in which case you have permission to come cry on my shoulder), you find yourself trapped in a cave, the rescue team is 48 hours away, and the only thing in there with you is a device that has no other data on it but all 42 episodes of Broker.

Love is Sweet

Type: Modern, romance, office

Episodes: 36

Available at: iQiyi, YouTube, amazon prime

What's the deal? Local woman applies for a job in huge investment banking company where she runs into her childhood friend -slash- nemesis after 10 years, they both gradually discover time makes people grow and occasionally fall deeply, ridiculously in love.

On the one hand: Sugar and fun and shoujo manga tropes aplenty! God tier CP chemistry! Some of the most epic makeouts to ever slip under the nose of the review committees. Characters that have actual profound growth under the "every romcom ever" cheeky banter. 2nd ML also offers shirtlessness and angsty backstory if you cannot live without those. There's even an adorable and very plot-relevant corgi!

On the other: The tremendous main CP chemistry has made this drama the exception for many who otherwise avoid both modern dramas and romcoms, but if that doesn't carry the show for you, I'm afraid there's not much else to see here. The 2nd CP is fuel for the "2nd CPs are annoying and waste screentime" complaint fire. (although, protip: even on the first watch you can probably skip their scenes without missing anything of value). The tear allergy is a bit of a ridiculous premise, but it's a real thing (who knew!), and it's not addressed much after a point.

Watch it if: You need something sweet and cute to fill the gaping hole Till The End of the Moon left in your chest, you love the tsundere overbearing CEO archetype but you also prefer it when he is more than a dry irredeemable asshole, you love romcoms because you enjoy both the "will they won't they" and the cute "we're an item now" domesticity.

And The Winner is Love

Type: Costume, wuxia, romance

Episodes: 48

Available at: iQiyi, YouTube

What's the deal? Dashing, elegant, fan-wielding dreamboat young master falls in love with girlie burdened with the heavy responsibility of leading a sect with bad rep and protecting a very powerful and thus dangerous cultivation manual. Supposedly.

On the one hand: Luo Yunxi looks like this:

for the whole drama. Every novel writer who ever wrote about a flirty and sophisticated young master whose beauty made flowers bloom along his path and women as well as men fell in love with him at first sight and all that purple prose-y stuff, has actually written about Luo Yunxi as Shangguan Tou whether they were aware of it or not. He is The Archetype and his popularity among bilibili fmv editors is proof. There's some great wire work in the first half. The soundtrack is pretty solid.

On the other: If you're looking for plot, run away and don't look back. I've watched the whole thing and I could not tell you how the story goes. I went in with a "idc about plot, i just want to look at Luo Yunxi in costume for 40 hours" mentality and I still struggled, make of that what you will. Chen Yuqi is the FL, saddled with a poorly written role and a choice of VA who arguably wasn't the best fit for her or the role. Chemistry is passable depending on your standards, but for most of the 2nd half of the drama it takes a nosedive together with the plot. Luo Yunxi got injured while filming this so they had to cut action scenes by a lot, so in the last 3rd or so it's wuxia without the wuxia. It's the only recent case where he also had to be dubbed (covid didn't allow him to get in the studio and do it himself, as he usually does).

Watch it if: You are a yumejoshi and need material to self-insert into a costume drama FL's position, you are more determined to watch lyx look pretty in costume, all else be damned, than Samwise Gamgee was determined to make sure Frodo throws the One Ring in the flames of Mount Doom.

Princess Silver

Type: Costume, court drama, romance, some wuxia elements

Episodes: 58

Available at: YouTube, viki

What's the deal? Princess RongLe wakes up one day with amnesia (no, hear me out) to the news that she is to be sent to another kingdom and marry a prince she's never met for political alliance reasons (no, hear me out!). There, she is faced with unexpected revelations and finds herself looking for the truth while she gets embroiled with the aforementioned haughty prince, a shady general, and her (sometimes a bit too?) caring and overprotective brother.

On the one hand: (mild spoiler alert?) His character ends up stealing the show. FL can act and has good relationships with other female characters (arguably better than with any man in this, even in the chemistry department). Story and plot are quite decent. It's one of those rare cdramas that builds up as it goes instead of deflating in the last stretch.

On the other: LYX is 3rd ML in this, so if he's your main motivation to watch, be prepared for limited screentime, especially in the 2nd half of the drama (until the final 8-10 episodes where it's all about). If you're not into the FL with either 1st or 2nd ML, the first half can be a drag, like, personally I started appreciating this drama for real after episode 25-30.

Watch it if: You are patient, you like getting emotionally sucker-punched, you love a good, earthshaking final plot twist.

Ashes of Love

Type: Costume, xianxia

Episodes: 63 (or 60, depending on the version, content is the same either way though)

Available at: Netflix, YouTube, viki, WeTV, amazon prime

What's the deal? Bottom of the food chain grape fairy who was deprived of the ability to feel romantic love and her life was honestly better and carefree like that, trips and falls into a love triangle with overconfident golden boy Heavenly Prince Phoenix, and his older brother, abused wallflower Heavenly Prince Dragon. Things go very great and not complicated at all from there. :))

On the one hand: Xianxia 101, it hits all the items on the checklist. The lavish costumes, the sprawling sets and world building, the entanglement over multiple lives, mortal arc, immortal arc, demon realm arc. CG that still holds up well for the genre 5 years later. The epic and emotional OST (someone has yet to surpass Sa Ding Ding's 左手指月 for the title of "best cdrama ED song", i don't make the rules). Arguably, The most iconic 2nd ML in a cdrama, responsible for a significant chunk of its long-lasting chokehold on the audience. Even if you've never seen the drama, if you're in the asian media adjacent internet, you've most likely seen this:

On the other: Xianxia 101, a double-sided coin. All the clichés are here, and if you're not here for them you get aboard the struggle bus. The show's views on romantic feelings can be a bit, let's say, old fashioned, even for the genre's standards. If you're not into the main CP, you're in for an uphill battle of frustration. If you're Team Runyu prepare to hate almost everyone for there is no justice in this land. (In AoL one is either Team Runyu or Team Xu Feng, no middle ground, and if you're reading this, especially because you liked lyx as Tantai Jin, I don't see how you could end up Team Xu Feng, so I'm gonna run with this assumption). (in theory you can also be Team No One, but in practice if you're that, sitting through this entire drama must have been as fun as having a tooth pulled out with no anesthesia)

Watch it if: if you're any degree of a lyx fan, period. Runyu is a mandatory class.

Children's Hospital Pediatrician

Type: Modern, medical, romance

Episodes: 42

Available at: YouTube

What's the deal? Aspiring surgeon -slash- frustrating disaster girl makes a huge blunder on her first day of her hospital residency, and can only stay as a pediatrician. She hates it and makes her literal saint of a secret husband's life miserable. We watch as she gets to grow as a person to the detriment of everyone else's mental health. Secondary cast has subplots of various dating entanglements.

On the one hand: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, hmmm..... well... there's a scene where lyx takes off his shirt for a physical exam, if that's a bonus (ep40, 27:13-28:05, you're welcome)? Queen Zheng Li is in it? I am scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

On the other: It's way too long for absolutely no reason, the FL is the most frustrating and irrational baby I've ever seen (which is by no means a low bar), 90% of characters who are not the FL get their development butchered to make her look better, 2/3rds of the cast are incompetent at acting and the other 1/3rd is being wasted in this mess. I am trying to be as objective I can in these, but I've got nothing for this one.

Watch it if: You have chronically low blood pressure that no medication can fix, you have watched literally everything else on the list and having a manic episode where you will chew on the walls if you don't look at Luo Yunxi's face in something you have never seen before, you want to watch some other mid drama, so you want to watch something worse first in order to appreciate the other drama more.

Fox in the Screen

Type: Costume, xianxia

Episodes: 22

Available at: YouTube, viki, amazon prime (as The Screen Foxes)

What's the deal? Orphan girl wins by drunken mistake a magical screen that houses 3 fox demon guys, they help her with her screen shop and also with crossdressing to pass the exam for the position of palace screen painter. She earns a grumpy boyfriend with a tragic past in the meanwhile.

On the one hand: It's short and goes fast, and in all honesty, considering it was made on a budget of 3 paperclips and a piece of gum, the story is much more concise and watchable than I, at least, personally expected. You get to witness the caterpillar stage of lyx on this path to guzhuang drama godhood. If you're one for tragic love stories there is one hiding under the DIY production. White Fox and the prince are a solid ship.

On the other: It is very much made on the aforementioned budget of 3 paperclips and a piece of gum, and it very much shows. Everything is rough, the costumes, the makeup, the editing, the acting for the most part. Having even half an expectation is the wrong way to approach this drama.

Watch it if: you have the heart of a mother watching her kids at the school play and admiring what a great job they are doing or if you are like Marie Kondo and love mess in an affectionate way.

Bonus: PhantaCity

PhantaCity was a tv show back in 2018, whose concept was making short plays and having actors perform them live in a single, do or die take for a studio audience. Luo Yunxi and Wu Jinyan, both with a background in ballet, are paired up in a short musical, acting as the hands of a newly repaired clock. If you ever wanted to see him dance, sing and act all in one thing, don't sleep on this. It's short and beautiful, and the official upload embedded above is subbed in English!

[girlactionfigure]

The Holocaust Whistle-Blower: Jan Karski

He tried to save the Jews of Europe.

Jan Karski was a Polish resistance fighter and diplomat who warned world leaders about the Nazi extermination of European Jews. Tragically, none of the leaders of Allied countries did anything to stop the atrocity – including U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt.

Jan was born in 1914 in Lodz, Poland to a devout Catholic family. His father died when he was a small child, and his mother struggled to provide for her eight children. They lived in a neighborhood of overcrowded tenements where most of the residents were Jewish. Jan attended military school where he trained to be a mounted artillery officer and graduated first in his class.

He then trained to be a diplomat, and between 1935 and 1938 he worked at Polish consulates in Romania, Germany, Switzerland and the UK.  At the beginning of 1939 Jan returned to Poland to work at the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In the fall of that year, World War II started when Germany invaded Poland. Jan – Officer Karski – was called up to lead a unit of the Krakow Cavalry Brigade. On September 10 the Krakow Army was defeated by the Germans in the Battle of Tomaszow Lubelski and Jan was captured as a prisoner of war. He managed to escape and went to Warsaw, where he joined the SZP, the first resistance movement in occupied Europe.

At that time, the Polish Government in Exile, overthrown by the Germans, was based in Paris. Jan organized secret courier missions to transport important information to the exiled Polish leaders. He traveled frequently between France, Great Britain and Poland, at great risk to himself. In July 1940 his luck ran out and he was arrested by the Gestapo while traveling through Czechoslovakia on his way to France. He was imprisoned and tortured so badly that he was transferred to a hospital. Fortunately Polish resistance leaders found out where he was and managed to smuggle him out of the hospital.

Returning to Warsaw, Jan served in the information bureau of the Polish Home Army, the main resistance movement in Poland. He and other Polish resistance leaders were horrified by the Nazi persecution of Polish Jews, and increasingly aware that the Germans planned to exterminate millions of them. Desperate to alert the rest of the world about the destruction of Polish Jewry, they chose Jan to gather evidence and then travel to Paris to report to prime minister Wladyslaw Sikorski, leader of the Polish government in exile.

Jan worked with Jewish resistance leader Leon Feiner, who smuggled him into the Warsaw Ghetto to observe conditions there. Jan later described the experience: “My job was just to walk. And observe. And remember. The odour. The children. Dirty. I saw a man standing with blank eyes. I asked the guide, what is he doing? The guide whispered, ‘He’s just dying.’ I remember degradation, starvation and dead bodies lying on the street. We were walking the streets and my guide kept repeating, ‘Look at it, remember, remember.’ And I did remember. The dirty streets. The stench. Everywhere. Suffocating. Nervousness.”

Jan also visited a transit camp for Jews on their way to death camps. He took photographs of what he saw there and in the ghetto, and carried them out of the country on microfilm. His testimony and pictures formed the first accurate account of the genocide of European Jews. Polish Foreign Minister Edward Raczynski published Jan’s reports in a pamphlet which was widely distributed. Jan traveled to several countries and met with high-level government officials including British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden, but they either didn’t believe him, or they feared the political consequences of helping Jewish refugees.

In July 1943 Jan traveled to the United States, where he personally met with President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the Oval Office. Jan vividly described the Warsaw Ghetto and the concentration camps where Jews were being murdered en masse. After telling his grim tale, Jan expected Roosevelt to be emotionally affected and want to learn more. Instead, Roosevelt displayed no reaction and didn’t ask a single question. The president heard first-hand about the murder of millions of Jews – and saw the evidence – but he refused to help in any way and showed Jan the door. Ironically, the majority of American Jews voted for Roosevelt, and many Jews still revere him.

While in the States, Jan met with other important personages including Jewish Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter. Jan told his story, answered a few questions, and then the great jurist said, “I am unable to believe what you have told me.” Like Roosevelt, he chose to ignore the inconvenient truth of what was happening to the Jews of Europe. A Polish diplomat later confronted Justice Frankfurter and asked if he thought Karski was lying. “I did not say that this young man was lying. I said that I was unable to believe what he told me. There is a difference.” The difference was likely not clear to the millions of European Jews being tortured and murdered while a Jewish Supreme Court justice chose ignorance over a difficult reality.

Jan Karski’s identity was discovered by the Nazi occupiers in Poland, and he was unable to return home. He stayed in Washington DC, and earned his PhD at Georgetown University. After graduating, he began teaching at the Georgetown School of Foreign Service. Jan remained at Georgetown for forty years, teaching generations of American political leaders about East European and international affairs and comparative government. Jan’s students included Bill Clinton and Madeleine Albright. Jan wrote several books about the Holocaust, and gave lectures around the world about the horrors he witnessed, and the tragic inaction of world leaders. He was determined to make sure the Jews of Poland were not forgotten.

Jan said that he had two missions in life. The first was to bear witness to the genocide of the Jews of Europe. The second was to reveal the tragic indifference of Allied leaders.

In 1965, Jan married Pola Nirenska, a Polish Jew who was an acclaimed dancer and choreographer. He adored her, but Pola was scarred by losing 75 (!) members of her extended family in the Holocaust, and suffered from mental health issues. Pola tragically killed herself in 1992.

Jan Karski was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem. He was made an honorary citizen of Israel and received many other awards and honors in Poland, the United States, and Israel. He was nominated for a Nobel Prize. In 2000, Jan Karski was formally recognized as a human rights hero by the UN General Assembly. Soon after, Jan died in Georgetown at age 86. Jan continued to be honored posthumously, and in 2012 President Obama awarded him the country’s highest civilian honor, the Presidential Medal of Freedom. He has been the subject of multiple books, plays and movies. There is a statue of Jan sitting on a bench on Madison Avenue in New York City.

For bearing witness to genocide and speaking truth to power, we honor Jan Karski as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 30

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, ambushed, traitor

It was to distract him, since he was the most highly alert member of the team... which meant that Reed was a bloody traitor.

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

Whumpee's mind was racing. He needed a way out. Fast. Backup would already be on its way, and if Reed stalled them long enough they'd be captured by the remainder of Leader's forces.

"...Was it worth it?" Whumpee growled, not twitching a muscle. "Getting your team killed? Why'd you do it, Reed?" It was Whumpee's turn to play the distraction card. And it worked, as Reed answered.

"We all know Flint's tiny army doesn't stand a real chance against Leader's. And I don't intent to die on a doomed suicide mission fighting what I know I can't win against. So I made a smart move by switching to the winning side and earning my place in it. All it took was offering a little valuable information beforehand to prove I was serious about joining."

Another piece suddenly made a lot more sense. "Flint's recon team... the one that was killed... you tipped Leader's second in command off about it, didn't you? That's how they knew where to ambush them," Whumpee breathed.

"Unfortunately, yes, that was me. But I... wasn't aware they were planning to kill them, though. I thought they'd capture them alive." Reed had the sheer audacity to sound guilty.

But Whumpee finally found his chance and took it. He threw a leg back and swung it to the side, sweeping Reed's feet right out from beneath him.

Reed landed on his side with a startled yelp, and between one heartbeat and the next Whumpee had spun around and pounced on him, wrenching the gun from his hand and sending it skidding across the floor before pinning both of Reed's wrists in one giant hand. He'd always thought his hands were too big, but now he was grateful for it. His hand was just barely large enough to keep Reed's wrists together while he drew one of his serrated daggers with his free one, resting it against the man's neck.

He straddled Reed's legs, keeping them down with his weight as Reed thrashed and tried to wriggle free beneath him. But Whumpee was too big and powerful, about as movable as a boulder.

"Traitor," Whumpee snarled angrily.

"Right back atcha," Reed sneered. "The weapon who turned on those who made him who he is today. Who he owes everything to. You're as guilty of the crime as I am."

Whumpee's mind flashed back to when he'd killed Leader, the look of betrayal on his old handler's face right as he died gurgling on the floor. Then he forced the image from his mind, pressing his blade deeper into Reed's neck, enough to make him flinch. "What is Second in Command's next move?" He demanded.

Reed's eyes widened just a hair at the fury in Whumpee's face, the deadly intent written in every taut line of his powerful body. "I-I don't know," he rasped, struggling uselessly beneath the mountain of weight pressing down on him. "They never told me. My only job was to help them catch Jake's team when they infiltrated this place. They don't trust me enough to share important stuff like that."

"I wonder why," Whumpee laughed bitterly. "But... I believe you. I can tell you're not lying." His eyes were dark and cruel. "...So I don't need you alive anymore."

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