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phantomphangphucker · 6 years ago

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A Life Of Role Playing Weakness - PhannieMay - Day 14 D & D

Summary: What’s a halfa to do when school is on lockdown and everyone’s bored? Games and trickery.

Most of the class groans as they can tell the sun has set by the room becoming near pitch black. Though pretty well everyone’s glad Mr. Lancer got stuck outside of class, otherwise he would have spent the afternoon making them do school work.

Danny, knowing full well no one else can actually see, finds some candles and sneakily lights them with his fingers. Unfortunately, there’s only three but most of the class seems relieved to have them, “took you long enough Fenton”. Rolling his eyes at Kwan, “like you would have been any faster, at least I was actually doing something”. Danny honestly could have found them way faster but that would have been suspicious. Groaning a bit at the window, though the groan was more aimed at the extreme weather outside, that has caused the school lockdown and blackout. Sure he could technically just leave, but due to the schools' security system, all the doors and windows are sealed shut. The only way out would be to phase out and that would be so many levels beyond suspicious.

Clearly, a couple geeks are tired of Star and Lily bickering, “why don’t we play a game? You know, actually get along? For one night?”.

“Oh why would we do that when it’s more fun to annoy you losers?”, Danny rolls his eyes at Todd, sure he’s not as bad as Dash but still.

Apparently, the geek kid, James, isn’t very impressed either, “I’d rather get destroyed by stupid wind while having fun, than getting mocked by some meathead”. Danny’s not really sure how insulting the guy will get him to play games but whatever.

Deciding to interfere, “what game? Ain’t nobody going to play if no one knows what’s up. And if you say truth or dare even I will mock you”.

“Oh like you even know how to mock someone, Fenton. But yeah whatever, spill”, Danny muffles his snickering because he could out mock this guy easily. Half his fights involved mocking the opponent, eighty percent if it was Vlad.

The other geek kid, Tyler, rummages through his bag and pulls out what looks like a board game, “well, someone made a D & D ghost edition. Because this is Amity, got figures and everything”. Tyler is smirking as even Danny knows that anything ghosts gets pretty much every Amity teens attention. And Danny is honestly so down for this too, he will die if there’s a figure like him in this thing.

Flopping on his back as there is indeed a little crystal clear figure that, while mostly featureless, looks suspiciously like Phantom. Finger gun shooting himself in the head before pointing at the board, while still laying on the ground, “ok, I’m in”. Seems everyone else agrees while looking at the collection of ghostly figures.

Unsurprisingly, pretty well only the geeks know anything about this game. And no one’s interested in long explanations. So they just give a quick run down of classes and alignments. But having to pull out the book and read over it quickly for species, since this was an entirely ghosts and humans version.

Danny snickers, “chaotic good undying warlock suits me I’d say”. Really Danny only picked that because of the undying bit, the joke was there so he had to take it. And chaotic good pretty much was him, no way he could call himself lawful. Not when his very existence was against the laws of nature and reality themselves.

James tosses down a shorthand species sheet, “I’m surprised they actually made so many ghost species, so take your pick”.

Species:

Ghost - versatile but never the strongest

Ghoul - aggressive close and personal fighters

Spirit - gentle divine creatures, usually lawful

Spector - sneaky loners, like to appear highly intelligent.

Poltergeist - aggressive powerful fighters, always evil. Large but often invisible.

Whisp - tricksters but powerful with magic, always chaotic good. Small in size

Wraith - protective, unattractive and often feared by others

Banshee - prophetic strong healers

Phantom - selfless guardians who care for others, always good.

Danny obviously wants to pick the Phantom class but apparently, no gets to be that, as James taps on that class and snickers, “considering this is Amity, Phantom isn’t going to be a playable species otherwise half of you guys will pick that”. Danny sticks out his arms, “oh come on, if anyone should get that species it should be the guy with the same first name!”. A few of the other kids snicker and even James shrugs in amusement but, “can’t just let one person pick it. That would be a dick move”. Danny rolls his eyes but is thoroughly amused, seeing as he’s almost about to graduate and literally no one has figured out who exactly he is, he’s kind of stopped caring about going out of his way to hide shit. Heck, he’s tempted to just randomly clue in his classmates through various absurd means. At least now the government can’t even touch him, they wanted to be on “safe footing” with the ghost king even if they still have no clue who exactly that is. All they know is that he’s frequently in the human world and capable of taking the form of a regular human. Danny’s perfectly content to let them think that ability is unique to the Ghost King.

Shaking his head and looking down to the sheet, Whisp and Wraith are the only ones that stand out to him but trickster is much more in line with himself and would be much more amusing. And he’s not really surprised that no one picks regular ghost, “well Whisp it is for me. A chaotic Whispy Warlock that just can not fucking die already”.

“Dude, that’s not what undying means here”

“No shit, let me have my jokes”, besides undying warlocks get their magic from immortals right? Well this character was made by a damn immortal, given creation and thus power from Phantoms immortal ass.

Lily rolls the weird dice in her fingers, “so what? We roll for stat points now?”. While Rex eyes Danny up and down, “you picked the smallest class but you’re the tallest guy here. Did you just pick everything to be funny?”. Danny smirks wide, not why he picked the species but absolutely. Everything about him is practically one big joke, Hell he’s playing a board game with a bunch of regular humans while pretending to be trapped during a storm. He could literally fly through this weather and it would be fun too. He could also stop it if he really wanted to, use his ice to mess with the weather and air currents; but fucking around that much really wasn’t a good idea.

“Yup, roll three dice. Total stat point of three is the worst you could get, eighteen is the highest. Ten or eleven is the average. All the regular human npc’s are tens”, Danny’s not surprised Todd went with Ghoul. He might not be that big of a guy but man could he ever be an aggressive asshole to pretty much everyone. Speaking of asshole, “Fenton, your turn. What? your brain still fried from that weak little shock?”.

Turning to Todd and answering as he throws dice, “you know I underplayed that shit right? Didn’t want to deal with damn doctors, no way anyone would have let me out of going to the hospital if they had known it was closer to four billion than a hundred volts”. Smirking at Todd, “just for reference, a lightning bolt is around one billion. Your wall socket, that I’m sure you rammed forks into for kicks, is about a hundred and twenty”.

“Ok first off, you suck with dice, second how the hell aren’t you dead then?”, James clearly thinks Danny’s bullshitting and the sad thing is, the portal was probably more volts than that. Who knows what the volt readout for the entirety of a dimension colliding inside one tiny body is. Danny finishes rolling as he talks, “I’m not dead? Well, that’s news to me”.

Star elbows him, she’s become oddly friendly even flirty over the past year. Danny’s pretty well positive it’s because of his height and even if he wore baggy clothing pretty well always, if you really looked you could tell he wasn’t scrawny. Star’s got an eye for details so he can’t be too surprised and she’s perfectly fine with dating below her standing, Hell she dated Tucker of all people. “What even happened? Pretty sure you never told anyone��.

Rolling his eyes at her, “no one cared to ask. But if you must know a ghost portal opened up directly on top of me. There’s no real way to know just how much shocked me but I’m pretty sure an entire dimension carries more volts than one lightning bolt”.

Danny’s the only one to notice the straight up shit roll of his last dice as everyone gapes at him. Tyler’s the first to speak up, “you were electrocuted by the ghost zone?! Like all of it?! At once?! You should be a lot more than dead!”. Danny throws his head back and laughs, “what? Dead with a side of extra dead sauce?! Sounds like the perfect breakfast!”. Shaking his head as he continues talking, while catching James staring in bafflement at the dice, “sounds way more edible than those stupid ecto-contaminated Hot Dogs that try to eat you back! Or that damn overcooked turkey that stabbed me with a knife”.

Kwan mouths “what the fuck”, while James points at Danny, “dude, your luck is horrendous. I’m not even sure how you even get the worst stats possible. No wonder a portal opened up on you, I think the universe might actually hate you”, glancing at Danny who has curled up in laughter, “I don’t think it’s quite that funny though”. Danny can’t help but laugh harder, the king of ghosts, the most powerful ghost around, who’s literally worshiped as a god by some; is the weakest and shittiest ghost in this game. Like Boxy could beat this guys ass. That thought makes him laugh even harder. Wiping his eyes a bit and noticing that everyone actually looks slightly concerned know, “trust me, this is utterly hilarious. You just don’t know why! Oh man!”. Wheezing in laughter again, “now watch, the rest of my rolls will be so insanely good that I impossibly succeed at everything my character does”.

Kwan points at him, “with these awful stats you damn well better, otherwise you’re screwed”.

“I think the stats reflect Fenton perfectly. Weak and pathetic!”, Danny really can’t feel insulted because it’s just really funny right now. Todd is clearly not happy that Danny finds this funny instead of insulting, or that Star is mouthing, “are you blind?”, at Todd.

“How can you possibly find being insulted funny?”, comes Rex’s squeaky voice. Danny runs a hand through his hair, “insults are funny when they’re so insanely incorrect that it becomes absurd”.

Todd rolls his eyes at Danny, “you’re a complete weakling and a scaredy cat, just like al-”, Todd cuts himself off as he stares at Danny. Who just tore off his sweater, because this is way too funny. Chances are if he ever gets destroyed, it will be because he couldn’t resist a good joke. Danny smirks a bit as he nonchalantly flexes without doing any dumb poses, because he does have some shame. While everyone just stares at the clearly ripped and heavily scarred weirdest member of the weirdo trio.

“Todd, I could fucking maim you. I could maim the whole damn football team. But that wouldn’t be very good of me, now would it?”, tapping on his character sheet with a sly smirk.

“How the hell do you look like that man? And why don’t you just join the team then? Actually have good social standing?”, Danny can’t really blame Kwan for caring about that sort of thing. After all, being a jock was pretty well the guys' life and he wasn’t burdened with crazy weird responsibilities or power for that matter.

Responding mostly to Todd’s little insults, “I come from a family of ghost hunters, what the hell do you think? That scaredy cat crap is just a cover. Which is rather pointless now, what with graduation coming up and all the teachers not really giving a shit about my crap now”, aggressively pointing his finger at Kwan while the others finish rolling, “I don’t care for sports and my time is better spent elsewhere. Social standing in Highschool means nothing to me”.

Now it’s Tyler’s turn to look incredulously at the stupid powerful halfa, “why are you even telling us this?”.

“Because it’s funny. I picked a jokester species for a reason. I’m a little shit and this is one way I get my kicks. That and no one will believe you if you tell. So it really doesn’t matter. Even if you were believed, it would hardly matter. It’s too late for the school to really do anything and I really am someone of chaos. I will only laugh harder if the whole school starts freaking out”, Danny can tell he’s confusing everyone and that is only making him snickering more. So he takes the chance for first dibs on a figure, a transparent floating skinny man in a hooded robe with his legs crossed. Looks a shit ton like ClockWork, snickering “now if only he had a staff”. This prompts everyone else to realise what he did and to start snatching at figures, while Rex gives him a shy but quizzical look. So Danny decides to be more of a confusing mess to these regular mortals, “he looks like a close friend of mine. And this makes my horrid stats even funnier because my friend is flat out OP. His tricky ass will get a good laugh out of this I’m sure”.

“Uh, humans aren’t really OP, ever, are you friends with a freaking ghost? You’re damn weird enough to be the person who befriends some ghost. And what? You going to talk his ear off about actually hanging out with people other than the two other resident freaks for once?”, Todd’s tone goes from confused questioning to his typical insulting asshole mode. So Danny decides to be a bit of an ass right back, “Todd, my friend is an omniscient borderline god of a ghost. I don’t have to tell him, he already knows and is probably snickering like crazy right now. But of course you don’t believe me, why would you? Which is why he’ll either A, do nothing to make me the butt of a joke. Or B, do something to make you the butt of a joke. That, or he’ll hit me with his staff to do both at once”. Honestly Danny’s kind of looking for approval and pretty well a go-ahead from the master of time here, he’d like to know he’s not majorly fucking up just because he’s having a bit of fun.

Everyone’s staring at him in disbelief and he can tell Todd wants to mock him some more but Danny falling back laughing stops him. Holding the figure, which now has a little tiny glowing CW staff resting across its lap, above his face. Through a laugh, “fucking nice, you enigmatic weirdo”. Sitting back up as he places the figure on the board, “and now he’s got a staff”.

“Nice trick, maybe you can-”, Lily cuts Todd off, “dumb boy, pretty sure he doesn’t carry around mini glowing staff things. No ones that weird”. She’s not wrong, why would someone ever do that anyway? Well, ClockWork might, just to throw them at him. After all, he’s got all the time in the world to mess around, when he can anyway. Just like Danny, though Danny takes way more mess around time.

Tyler shakes his head, “something tells me, we barely know you”. Danny pats Tyler on the shoulder while James actually gets the game started, “so we’re doing this party style, just a dungeon crawl. Get through the city without getting caught by hunters and defeat the ghost king”. This makes Danny cough a bit startled, the goal of this game is for his classmates and him to defeat, himself? Well, he guesses that’s not really a first for him. “Hey, James. Who does this game think the ghost king is?”, everyone looks a bit confused at him. Then James grabs one of the figures, Danny can’t help but laugh at the little knock-off Pariah figure. “Well that’s a damn easy battle currently then! Dude’s locked inside the sarcophagus of forever sleep. So we’re beating up a sleeping man, or releasing him just to fight him. Which is grade A stupid and insane”, waving off their shocked glances, “besides he’s not even the ghost king”.

“Oh and you know who is? We could just swap out if there’s a figure for him. All the figures have set stats for if you’re going to use them as NPC’s”, now Danny’s just flat out interested, because that includes him. Danny motions for the book but James sticks it behind him, “oh Hell no, just tell us who”.

Rolling his eyes, “I’m just going to take the book, dude. I do want I wanna, chaotic and all that”.

“Fenton, he’s literally right across from you. How you plan to do that?”, Todd snickers a bit while James looks smug. Danny decides just fuck it at this point, because really how has no one noticed his crap yet. Using the free-floating ectoplasm in the air to fling the book over Jame’s head and at himself, flipping through it as everyone gapes. “How did you even do that? That’s more than just sleight of hand, holy shit”, Danny blinks at them over the top of the book and snickers, realising none of them actually noticed the slight ghostly glowing. Comparing his and Pariah’s page and damn they made Phantom overpowered. Sure, that’s accurate but, uh, even if everyone had freaky high stats this doesn’t seem winnable. Why the heck put a nearly undefeatable character in a board game? Sure it was accurate to real life but still. Though making Pariah just barely above half Phantoms strength was majorly underestimating the former king. Like insanely so. And did they seriously make a Walker look-alike stronger than Pariah? The tornado “race” too? Putting the book down, “yeah I don’t think we want to do that. The goal here is to actually win right? Not just have everybody’s asses get universally kicked”.

Lily puts her hands on her hips, “just spill already. You satiated your curiosity now do ours”.

Chuckling a bit as he pushes around the figures some, “fine fine, it really should be obvious though”. Smirking as he cups the little knock-off Phantom before slowly placing him at the castle, “our little town hero is a lot busier than he seems”. Literally all of them are grinning, though Star looks a bit confused, “so why do ghosts keep coming here and picking fights with Phantom. If he’s their king shouldn’t they, like, listen to him?”.

“Fighting is how ghosts socialise, know each other, and keep each other from getting rusty. The only way ghosts won't go picking fights with another ghost is if that ghost is hated or extremely annoying to literally everyone. Well, that or just being really dumb and pointless to fight”.

“So what Phantom’s not strong enough to be pointless to fight? Really Fenton”, Danny rolls his eyes at Todd’s unimpressed tone. Shaking his head, “oh the stats this book gives him are accurate. He’s pretty well the most powerful ghost there is. An omnipotent immortal who’s literally worshipped as a god by many other ghosts. All those fights are usually more like sparring matches, he’s having his ghostly fun and keeping in touch with everyone. He’d be so very bored otherwise and the other ghosts wouldn’t want him out of practice in case something happens”.

Todd actually starts laughing at this while James does indeed decide to stick with using knock-off Pariah because damn. Todd points at Danny, “of course Phantom likes hitting and fighting! Regular jock for sure, just with real power”.

“Well I don’t like that. He should be wanting ghosts to not come here, not eagerly, or whatever, awaiting the next fight”, Danny can’t help but jerk from that because dude fuck buddy. He absolutely did look forward to the next fight, fighting and witty batter was his bread and butter. Locking eyes with Tyler, “nearly every ghost awaits their next fight, welcome to ghost nature buddy. Humans go to cafes, ghosts punch each other. Humans show off pictures of their selfies or pets, ghosts show off new weapons by using them on each other. To fight is to socialise. Phantoms one of the few that doesn’t like others in the crossfire though. If ghosts stopped picking fights here, he’d feel unneeded and paranoid. Plus this is his home, ghosts have to come here to see him. Them being here doesn’t mean they’re causing problems”. Tyler still looks unimpressed.

There’s the occasional jokes and pepperings of ghost questions as they play a few turns before Lily has just about enough and finally asks Danny just what the fuck, “how do you even know all this shit? Even your parents, who’ve spent their whole lives researching ghosts, don’t know even half this shit. I would know, I’ve asked”. Danny chuckles, his parents would know this shit if they weren’t so damn biased and actually just asked. Smirking at her, “you learn this stuff by genuinely socialising and being friendly with ghosts. My parents only wish to send them back to the Zone or experiment. Of course, they don’t know”.

“That’s actually kind of sad, still doesn’t answer my main question though. You’re actually fighting ghosts?”, Danny will give her props on being pushy. But he rolls to see if he can avoid this random hunter trap before responding, smirking as it rolls high, “I spar yes, protect the citizens. Toss around witty banter, making Plasmius regret ever meeting me. In general, I’m an OP little shit”, Danny taps on his figure, that’s actually doing well for being an utter weakling, “that’s why this is funny. The strongest most capable person here has the utterly weakest character ever”.

“Capable ghost hunter isn’t a capable ghost, even if you’re a ghost friendly hunter”, Danny can’t help but wheeze. He was just a ghost being a ghost. Half human or not, he was sparing and socialising as a ghost does. Calling him a human hunting ghosts was just so entirely wrong. Smiling with his head in his hand, “I don’t call myself a hunter and neither do they”.

Kwan pushes him playfully, “yeah well, regardless of title, I still can’t believe you even do that. Props man, I guess”.

By the time the party gets to knock-off Pariah, both Lily and some quiet kid named Max have had their characters killed off. Danny’s snickering as his and Tyler’s characters are leading the face off. While James shakes his head and points his hand at the figures, “this is ridiculous even if you had raised your stats the most you possibly could, there’d still be no way to win this”. Danny chuckles because that’s pretty much what the odds were when he did face Pariah. Once again deciding fuck it, “well then let’s make this even more realistic then. I’ll roll to multiply my characters power a hundredfold”. James starts lowkey choking, “what?! How is that realistic?!”. Danny laughs as he rolls, “that’s how Phantom won. Multiplied his power a hundredfold and nearly destroyed himself in the process. This book drastically underestimates Pariah’s power. It took thirteen extremely powerful ancient ghosts just to seal him away, Phantom did it alone. Like the self-sacrificial idiot he is”. Shrugging, “well that and, no one else was even willing to fight Pariah cause he was too damn strong and wasn’t worth fighting”.

Smirking at his die showing a high ass number, while menacingly petting his figure, “having that much power... it’s a burden, isn’t it, child?”. James mouths, “what the fuck”, at both the die and Danny.

While Todd blinks a bit surprised, “Fenton, what? I would never have expected you to sound creepy, threatening, and powerful”. Danny grins wider, “and that’s why no one will believe you about any of this”.

Now, unfortunately, this battle with Pariah requires actually defeating him. No sealing him away, and his character is pathetically weak even at a hundredfold power. He could kick his own ass with his ghost powers completely neutralised. So it really surprised no one that Danny fuckin’ dies.

Snickering down at the figure, “little ragged around the edges, eh, child?”. Before bursting out laughing as the mini staff explodes into purple mist. Todd, Tyler, and Star do wind up surviving and winning though.

“So any other crazy bullshit you feel like pulling. Since we’re officially out of shit to do besides being dicks to each other”, James mutters while lying on the floor. Todd snickers, “I’m cool with that”. Danny rolls his eyes, “now-now, would you act like that in front of Phantom?”. Both Star and Todd shake their heads rapidly, only Todd speaks though, “why the hell would I? That guy’s like super moral, I’d be making a horrible impression”. Danny can’t help but laugh, yeah he’s definitely got strong morals but he’s also a little shit. He steals, pulls pranks, constantly breaks into to pretty much everywhere, and spends most of his time pounding the crap out of someone. Good reasons or no, he’s ain’t a golden boy. Just the good guy who generally plays fast and loose with morality... and mortality. Smirking at Todd, “it’s a little late to change his impression of you, I’d say. You’ve literally punched him in the face, multiple times actually”, Danny sneers mockingly but still humorously, at Todd looking startled, “oh what? Didn’t know Phantom can change into a regular human?”. Throwing his head back and laughing loudly, “funny thing! The town barely knows Phantom”. Danny sighs as his ghost sense goes off and well, surprise surprise, his icy breath also glows. Knowing full well it’s Skulker, who really is more of a threat, he has a bad tendency to abduct people after all.

“What the fuck was that?”, Danny completely ignores Tyler, though he does talk, “the town also barely knows Fenton. So you’re right about that, but looks like I’ve got a job to do. Guess Skulker doesn’t really care about the shit weather, but then again, neither do I. Flying in the wind is hella fun”. Smirking as his toxic green eyes fill the room with an eerie ghostly light, “anyways this has been quite amusing and like I said, I’m a little overpowered shit. And ain’t nobody gonna believe you”. Before transforming and phasing out the window.

“Fenton, Phantom. We are all idiots, holy shit”

End.

#danny phantom #phandom #phanniemay #phanniemay19 #d & d #danny fenton #kwan #oc’s #star #boardgame #reveal #danny’s a little shit #danny fuckin dies #ghost king phantom #danny is op #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick

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ladynonsense · 6 years ago

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A Royal Disgrace (TRR/PM Crossover) Part 9

Catch up on my masterlist

Pairings: Damien x Liam, Liam x Riley, Damien x m!Kai

Rating: PG-13

Summary: About last night...

Words: 1900

Tag List: @hustacks @hopefulmoonobject @brightpinkpeppercorn @perriewinklenerdie @pixieferry @nazariobae @zaffrenotes @ritachacha @h3llostrang3r @choiceslife @blackcoffee85 @wannabemc2 @sleepwalkingelite @debramcg1106 @furiousherringoperatortoad @bobasheebaby @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @jovialyouthmusic

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Damien’s eyes shot open, squinting into the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the window. He blinked several times, trying to get his bearings. Asleep on the couch, naked under his blanket, with his phone resting on his chest. And Riley standing over him, smirking.

“Um, hi. What time is it?” He noticed his balled up pajamas and underwear at his feet, and tried to stealthily cover it with his blanket.

“8:00. Late night? I didn’t even hear you come in.”

He yawned, stretching his arms over his head. Riley stared shamelessly at his chest as he flexed and relaxed. “Eyes are up here, Riles.”

She rolled her eyes. “You could’ve slept with your clothes on.”

“Well at least one of us fell asleep wearing my clothes.” He raised an eyebrow at her, walking around the apartment in one of his t-shirts. As he said it his eyes fixed on the lacy black panties that were peeking out underneath. She turned away from him to walk into the kitchen, swaying her hips a little more than was necessary. “Now whose eyes are wandering, Nazario?”

He grinned, shaking his head. Baggage aside, that old chemistry was still going strong. It was good to see her back to her usual annoying self, instead of the scared, withdrawn woman she’d been the last few times he’d seen her.

“Have you heard anything from Liam?”

Guilt and shame washed over him like a cold bucket of water. “Um, just that he’s OK. His security team is keeping him at the hotel and turning away visitors for now. Bastien gave me a phone number to reach him at if you want.”

She shook her head as she poured herself a bowl of cereal. “Nah, that’s OK. He doesn’t like us to communicate electronically until we know for sure who’s been conspiring against me. Better not to leave any traceable evidence of our relationship.”

“Right. Smart.” He shifted under the blanket, trying to sit up without making himself indecent. He realized his stomach was sticky and cringed. Definitely shouldn’t have fallen asleep without cleaning himself up first.

Riley settled into the chair across from him, digging into her cereal. “So what’s the plan for today?”

He scratched his head, trying to think of an elegant way out of this. Nothing came to mind. “Riley...I’m naked under here.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Completely?”

He cringed. “Completely.”

“But...why?”

“Ugh, can you just turn around or something, please?”

She rolled her eyes and noisily scraped the chair on the floor as she turned it to face the wall. “Pull yourself together, dude.”

“I’m trying.” He frowned as he grabbed his balled-up pajama pants and boxers. Desperate, he used the boxers to wipe the mess off of his stomach and then shoved them down between the couch cushions, then pulled on the pants. “OK. I’m decent.”

She turned the chair back around, scraping the floor just as loudly as before. “If you call that decent, I guess.”

He got up and headed for the bathroom, pausing to kiss Riley’s forehead on the way. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

“Whatever, old man. Fix yourself up; you look like shit.”

“Why do people keep saying that to me?” He murmured to himself as he locked the bathroom door behind him. “...Oh.” He leaned over the sink, studying his face in the mirror. His eyes were red and tired, with dark circles under them aging him badly. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to freshen up, but ‘tired and damp’ was not really an improvement over ‘just tired.’ Sighing, he stripped and hopped into the shower.

He was just massaging the shampoo into his scalp when he heard pounding at the door. Groaning, he turned off the water. “What?”

“Kai won’t stop calling you,” Riley complained through the door. “Hurry up.”

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

Kai was up bright and early, working at Damien’s office doing his favourite thing: pinning pictures up on the big wall.

The night before, he’d gone straight to the office after Damien called him from the ball. Damien had overheard the assassin refer to somebody as ‘Your Grace,’ the traditional address for a duke or duchess in Cordonia, so he’d compiled a list of all of them. Fifteen total duchies, most of them governed by a married couple, left him with twenty-six names. Narrowing it down to only those who had daughters in attendance at the ball brought it down to twelve.

He’d scoured Cordonian gossip websites for the best headshots he could find of all of them, and made full-page colour printouts of each of their faces at the 24-hour copy shop down the road. And now, after a two-hour power nap and a potentially deadly amount of coffee, he was tiling them carefully on the wall, along with images of the daughters in question. His rainbow-coloured yarn, on loan from Nadia, was itching to start making connections.

“You look chipper.”

He hadn’t heard Damien come in over the sound of the ‘Monday Motivation’ playlist he’d been blasting through the tinny computer speakers. “Hey, you! I thought you’d never show.”

Damien ran a hand through his still-damp hair, looking over the wall of photos. “It’s nine a.m., Kai. What’s all this?”

“I’m glad you asked, Detective!” Kai turned back to the wall with a flourish. “One of these rich fucks tried to kill your girl. Is it him?” He pointed dramatically to a photo of a very generic-looking middle-aged man. “Or is it...HER?” He pointed to a photo of a perfectly nice-looking woman. “Maybe this prick? OK honestly I do think it’s this prick.”

Damien stepped closer to read the label on the photo Kai was pointing to. “Duke Karlington. That’s Madeleine’s father. He’s been on my list since day one.”

Kai was practically bouncing with excitement and caffeine. “Of course, right? It makes perfect sense. He wants his daughter to be queen, but the king is like, ‘I don’t want to marry this blond demon!’ so this old Duke is like…”

“Yeah, Kai, I get it. I appreciate the very spot-on impressions, though.”

He bowed dramatically. “Thank you. But yeah. This guy totally did it, right?”

Damien nodded, still studying the wall. “Yeah...yeah, he totally did. But we’ll need proof. The NYPD and LAPD have basically given up on this, now that they’ve got their shooter and the person pulling the strings is almost certainly overseas. We’ll have to coordinate with Liam’s royal guard to nail this guy before this goes any further.”

“Liam,” Kai repeated. “Just your buddy Liam, your casual pal, ordinary dude Liam.”

“Oh, fuck off.” The slight grin on Damien’s face did not go unnoticed. “His Majesty, King Liam of Cordonia. Better?”

He couldn’t help himself. “Is that what you call him in bed?”

“Kai.” Damien flopped into his desk chair and buried his face in his hands, groaning. “You’re the only one who knows about that, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured. But you know you have to tell Riley, right?”

Damien looked pained, but nodded. “That’s a discussion for another time. We need to make sure they’re going after this guy. The king’s guard will have access to evidence that we don’t.”

“Right. So you’re going to see him.”

“Liam? No, I’m going to see Bastien Lykel.”

Kai hated himself for how relieved he was at that. “So what should I do?”

Damien threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze, making him blush. “You should finish this beautiful wall of yours, and make sure we’re not missing something with these other potential suspects.”

He smiled at that, picking up his bag of yarn. “On it. Go get ‘im, boss.”

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

Damien fidgeted nervously in the hotel elevator, unsure what to expect when he got to Liam’s floor. How many low-level guards would he have to sweet-talk to get to Bastien? He plastered on his most charming smile as the doors began to open.

To his surprise, the hallway was deserted. He walked slowly down the corridor, wondering if he was on the wrong floor. Rounding a corner, he finally spotted Bastien and one other guard standing outside of a set of double doors. Bastien looked his way immediately, enough venom in his gaze to stop him dead in his tracks.

“Mr. Lykel…” he began, trying to shake off the sudden nerves. “I’ve got some information…”

He was striding towards him already, holding out a hand to stop him from coming any closer. “Mr. Nazario. I must ask you to leave. The king is not available to you.”

“Right, I know, orange alert and all that. I’m here to see you actually, I brought my files…”

“Let me be clear,” Bastien went on, still staring daggers at him. “The king is not available to you, period. You will not try to contact him again.”

He was dumbstruck. What was happening? “He’s my client…”

“And I will personally ensure you’re paid what you are owed. But you will not hear from His Majesty again.”

Damien was torn between pleading for him to just listen, or telling him off for being an asshole. He settled for just staring blankly ahead, mouth hanging open like a numbskull.

To his surprise, that seemed to work. Bastien’s furious glare softened as he took his elbow and led him into a small sitting area. Without a word he passed him a phone with an audio file loaded up on the screen. Feeling a cold dread settle in his stomach, Damien hit play and held it to his ear.

Breathing, just heavy breathing. And then a familiar voice: “Do you remember how I felt inside you, Damien?”

The phone fell from his hand as the cold dread turned to hot panic. It bounced on the carpet before Bastien slowly retrieved it, not taking his eyes off of Damien.

“You said...the number...it was secure…”

“I was wrong. And now I’m running a skeleton crew while everyone who would have had access to the phone is suspended from duty until I can determine who compromised it.”

“How long is…”

“It’s all there, Mr. Nazario.”

“Why?”

Bastien frowned. “Blackmail, obviously.”

Damien sat down in a daze. His chest was tight and his stomach had turned, his face burning hot with shame. “This is my fault.”

“I told you he was never safe.”

“What do they want?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“I’ll guess: for him to honour his engagement to Madeleine.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Numbly he handed over the folder in his hands. “It’s Duke Godfrey. I can’t prove it, but I’m almost certain.”

Bastien nodded, flipping through the folder’s contents. “I’ll look into it. Thank you.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Damien called after him, his voice shaking. “Could you...just...tell him I’m sorry? I never meant to fuck up his life. I just…” he trailed off, unsure what he could possibly say to make anything better. “I’m just sorry.”

Bastien nodded again, returning to his post in silence.

#choices fan fic #a royal disgrace #trr #perfect match #crossover fic #liam x damien #look I'm sad too but I told you it was a doomed ship from the start #UGH #i hate angst #but I love kai #kai is the light of my life

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mst3kproject · 6 years ago

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504: Secret Agent Super Dragon

Let’s move on to another oft-overlooked subset of MST3K – the Budget Bond films. These are always very bad, but often a lot of fun if you’re in the right kind of mood.

Brian Cooper is Super Dragon, pulled out of retirement to find out who’s distributing poisoned chewing gum to co-eds! Boy, if that doesn’t sound like the setup for a thrilling spy caper, nothing does! The plot seems to revolve around a Dutch student named Christine Bruder, so Cooper goes to Amsterdam looking for her. There, in between fucking his female colleagues and flirting with every woman he sees, he learns that Bruder was part of a plot to smuggle deadly drugs into the United States, hidden in fake Ming vases. An evil conspiracy is planning to dope the free world on a chemical that will cause us to violently attack one another, and then… uh, I don’t know what happens after that, but it’s probably safe to assume it’ll end in the bad guys ruling the world. That’s always the goal.

What’s with that spy movie cliché about the glamorous secret agent who sleeps with every woman he meets? Friends, enemies, co-workers, random waitresses… our suave hero loses no chance to insert Tab A into Slot B. He can’t walk down the street without having women throw themselves at him. This trope has been parodied to hell and back in everything from Austin Powers to The Million Eyes of Sumuru and it’s actually sort of weird to see it played straight, as it is here. As a PSA to my readers: never sleep with a glamorous secret agent. He probably has like nine venereal diseases.

The weirdest thing in the movie is a facet of this trope: it’s the bit where Cooper and Agent Farrell are busily smooching when a man breaks into her apartment and tries to kill them. They fight him off, and he commits suicide so they can’t question him. Cooper then throws his body out the window, turns the soundtrack back on, and the couple just pick up where they left off! Maybe it’s because I’m not a glamorous secret agent but I gotta agree with Tom Servo on this one: I don’t think I could have sex in the same room where I just watched a guy kill himself. It wouldn’t be right, you know?

I will say that this indifference towards death bothers me less here than it did in Master Ninja I, but the characters in Secret Agent Super Dragon have presumably have years of both physical training to kill and psychological coaching to deal with the consequences. Even so, just getting right back to the makeout session before the body’s even had a chance to cool seems unnecessarily callous.

The other trope I notice a lot of in Secret Agent Super Dragon is the death trap. Our hero’s life is threatened repeatedly but always in some contrived way that allows him a chance to escape. The first time he’s tied to a rail so some machine can come along and roll over his head. He gets out in the nick of time and it crushes a can of red paint instead. The second time he’s nailed into a coffin and thrown into the river. He holds his breath and inflates a flotation device. The third time, he’s trapped in a building rigged to explode. His buddy flies in with a helicopter. Why doesn’t anybody just shoot this guy? Villains that stupid don’t deserve to take over the world!

Yet another thing that stands out as remarkably dumb is the cause the charity auction is supposed to support – ‘an International Hospital for Babies with Malnutrition’. Okay, so, imagine you’re somebody whose child is starving, which probably means you’re dirt poor. Instead of sending food to you, these people expect you to bring the baby to a hospital, which may be in another country, so that they can feed the kid there. Is the complete impracticality of this supposed to be our clue that it’s a scam? The script never references that, though. Did somebody just pick a bunch of charitable-sounding words? Was it a bad translation of something that actually made sense in the original language? Are the writers just that stupid? We’ll probably never know.

Beyond that… it’s honestly really hard to say anything deeper about Secret Agent Super Dragon, because this is another movie that’s not very ambitious. It has some vague themes about drugs as the downfall of western civilization, but its characters don’t have appreciable arcs and there’s not much by way of symbolism for me to analyze. All it wants is to keep us mindlessly entertained for an hour and a half – and there’s nothing wrong with that, honestly, but Super Dragon isn’t even any good at it. Trying to watch without Joel and the bots I found myself drifting repeatedly. There’s the charming super-spy, the parade of blandly beautiful women, the evil mastermind with a vague plan to take over the world, the easily-escaped death traps… we’ve done this all before, and Super Dragon doesn’t even use the stereotypes in skillful or interesting ways.

The thing about spy movie tropes is they’re so easy to parody, and have been parodied so many times, that even somebody who doesn’t actually watch spy movies can spot them because we all absorb them through pop-culture osmosis. Playing them straight therefore runs a very serious risk of boring the audience. Of course Agent Farrell is working for the bad guys, because in a story like this, a character like her does – and of course she falls in love with Cooper and betrays her bosses for him. None of this stuff is even really foreshadowed (except that Farrell dyes her hair – can’t trust those unnatural redheads!) but we still know it’s coming because we’ve seen the same shit in fifty other movies. The bad guy wants to cleanse the world so it can be made anew? Been there. The movie wallows in misogyny but in all the same old ways, so I’ve got nothing new to say about it.

Throughout the film people talk about the ‘legendary Super Dragon’ but I don’t think we ever get a reason why Cooper’s so great. Bond films begin with a breathtaking action setpiece to show us that our hero has nifty gadgets and balls of steel – Secret Agent Super Dragon begins with Cooper playing dead by the pool. His most remarkable ability seems to be holding his breath for a really long time, and his gadgeteer, the kleptomaniacal Babyface, makes most of his gadgets out of literal toys. I think this might be a joke about the obvious miniatures some of these movies use… but I’m not sure. All I’m sure of is when that dinosaur waddled into the room I was halfway expecting it to demand the return of the Golden Ninja Warrior.

About the only place where the movie seems to accidentally brush by a real statement is in a moment that resembles a historical reference. Cooper has infiltrated a conspiracy meeting (by wearing a half-mask that leaves his rather distinctive chin fully visible) at which the Big Bad, Mr. Lamas, is delivering an expository monologue: their factory in India is in full production of the drug, which will be shipped to America in phony Ming vases and bring the world to its knees! If you’re going to talk about drugs making and breaking empires, China and India are where it happened.

In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the East India Company fostered opium addiction in China because they wanted cheap tea and because the British government had vague plans, which never came anywhere close to fruition, to add China to their empire. The opium to feed this addiction was grown in India, often by farmers who would rather have been growing actual food but owed too much money to the EIC. This all led to the Opium Wars and a lot of other unpleasantness in which the British Empire came out looking even more like assholes than they usually did. In a story about conquering the world through drug addiction, then, having the drugs created in India and slipped into something Chinese looks like a reference to history repeating itself.

It may also mean something else. Secret Agent Super Dragon is relentlessly white, set mostly in a city in northwestern Europe, where conspiracies of middle-aged white guys drink booze and decide the fate of nations. The actual work that makes this possible, however, is being done by people of colour in the east. Not only does this seem to reference how western nations use other countries as battlegrounds and bargaining chips in their own power struggles, it can also serve as a reminder of something we frequently forget: a lot of what makes our comfortable lives possible comes from other countries, made by people who could never afford to buy it. My eyeglasses, the sweater I’m wearing, and the chair I’m sitting on were all made in China. Our entire economy depends on cheap foreign labor, and I wonder sometimes how much longer that can last before the whole thing falls apart.

Is any of this the movie’s intentional theme or message? I doubt it. The historical reference seems to be just a ‘hey, look how clever we are!’ moment and the rest probably goes no deeper than ‘oh, no, our children are doing drugs!’, which has been on the verge of ending civilization since at least the thirties. Secret Agent Super Dragon is just a dumb trashy Eurospy movie, and not even a very good one. I don’t hate it, but mostly because it’s not worth that kind of effort. The MST3K treatment renders it infinitely more enjoyable, especially when Tom and Crow do Jazz.

Agent Cooper was played by actor Ray Danton, who died in 1992, a year before the episode aired. Probably all for the best. I doubt he’d have been into all those jokes about how his character is perfectly smooth.

#mst3k #reviews #secret agent super dragon #60s

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scarecrowandmrking · 7 years ago

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Scarecrow and Mr. King

"I'll always be here for you."

Jenny Anderson replayed the scene in her mind as she worked to clear the table at the little cafe where she was a waitress after school. Her father's funeral had been a miserable day in every sense of the word. The sky had been overcast and threatening to unleash a hellish downpour upon the small gathering in Grand Hills Cemetery. Lonny Anderson, a mild mannered TV show writer, hadn't exactly been the life of the party. Truth be told, most of his nights had been spent going over endless loops of scenes taken from the various shows he worked on.

Jenny, sitting on her father's lap, watched everything that her father had helped make with a deep sense of pride. That's where she'd first seen him. The man who had held her tight at her father's funeral. The one she thought of now, holding her in a different way and saying those same words.

"Hey, space cadet," a voice spoke from over Jenny's shoulder, nearly making her drop the tray of eggs and bacon she was suppose to bring to the elderly couple at table seven.

"Don't call me that!" Jenny hissed at her best friend, and often partner in crime, Donna Masters. The two had worked together for the past two years. But they'd been friends since high school. The short, plump brunette, being the exact opposite of Jenny - a tall, lithe blonde with hard to comb through curls.

"Yeah, whatever," Donna gazed past her friend to eye the occupant of a booth in the back of the cafe. "Don't look now, but your husband is here."

Jenny spun around, nearly dropping her tray on the floor. "He's not my husband," She snapped.

Donna took the tray away from her. Deftly, she snuck an order into the other woman's hand before she realized what was happening.

"Well, he's your customer now. I'm taking a fucking smoke break."

It took a moment for Jenny to process that she'd just been duped into waiting table for the man who'd starred in most over her nightly fantasies since she was a kid. Sure, she'd seen him almost every day since they lived in the same apartment building. They hung out together and watched movies all the time at her place. But these days she'd taken to anonymously fighting with him online about his various political views. It was a way to vent her frustrations at him for everything she felt but couldn't say. But the vehemence of the back and forth between them had seeped into real life. And she never knew if she wanted to kiss him or punch him in the throat.

Mark was busy typing away on his laptop when Jenny came over. He had his glasses on, something that she never failed to find kind of adorable, reminding her of the character he had played on The Closer. His short blond hair looked tousled, as if he had been working so hard on whatever he was into he hadn't combed it yet. His eyes were slightly narrowed, a rather wolfish looking smirk on his face. And Jenny knew that someone, somewhere was at that moment being accused of being a socialist. Or worse, a strawman.

"Can I maybe get you something, Han Solo, or are you not done with the rebellion yet?"

Mark's head shot up in an instant, piercing blue eyes boring into Jenny's own. His eyes never failed to enthrall or intimidate, a feature she was sure he could turn on and off like a switch. They gazed at her now with a mix of haughty anger and pleasant surprise. His smirk widened a tad. But not a true smile, Jenny noticed. He was in fight mode today- like usual.

"You just don't know how important this stuff is. To all of us. Did you ever read the stuff i sent-"

"Nope." Which was a lie.

"I don't see how you can be so happy not knowing what's going on in the world. Have a little curiosity."

"Maybe we can start on with what you want for breakfast. Then we'll talk about the political beliefs of old dead white guys later." She smiled at the inside joke, knowing that later on that night they would.

"The usual," Mark said curtly. He had wanted to enjoy a stimulating conversation with one of his favorite people. Words had always enthralled him. A way of either hugging or shoving people away. And he felt very much at that moment like he had dived for a hug and been cock punched.

"Are we still on for tonight? Been wanting to see the new Jurassic Park for a while now.” Mark had gone back to his laptop, ignoring Jenny's question so long she was afraid he wouldn't answer it.

"Not tonight. I've got a lot going on,” Jenny heaved a sigh and spun on her heel to stomp off towards the kitchen. She didn't notice how Mark's eyes shot up the second her back was to him. No one looking at the actor would have been able to tell what he was thinking or feeling as his eyes trailed the young woman from his table to the back of the cafe. It was an ability nobody had taught him in acting class. He'd developed it naturally, having to hide his true self in a hard home life. Beneath it all, he wanted to take those defenses down. But the world could be a tough and cruel place. That was the reason he wanted to change it so much. So it wouldn't be so cruel anymore. Like it was for the young. Like it had been for him.

********************************************

"Oh, no you don't, you bastard," Jenny raged at her laptop screen. She wanted to throw the damn thing across her bedroom and into the wall. She'd been sitting upright on her bed, a glass of wine on her nightstand, tapping away on the keyboard for at least the past two hours. She had lured Mark out like usual with a vague question about the state of political affairs. And, like usual, he had come running. Quick with literature references and torrents on the evils of government regulation. He was being particularly grouchy tonight, though. Shooting back with one sentence and one word answers. Which he knew full well would piss her off to distraction.

"There you go talking about my strawman again."

Jenny bit her knuckle and howled with rage as she read Mark's latest missive, usually uttered after she had crafted a perfectly good argument. But, though she was loathe to admit it, she felt herself getting wet too. Mark had always been gentle, almost fatherly towards her. This was a different Mark. One that could be equal parts cunning, condescending when smarted off to and, when need be, harsh and cruel. He was far more exciting than every day easy going Mark. And she loved it.

"Are we back to that again?" Jenny said as she typed away. "Am I the scarecrow and you're the tin man? Or maybe the wizard?"

Mark promptly left the conversation. Jenny sighed. Pop culture references are usually what drove him off. Show biz was his other life and he HATED it when pretend things were brought into political debates. Which is why Jenny used them when she wanted to get off in a hurry.

With a sigh, she drained the last of her wine and lay back in bed. Her mind went back to seeing Mark in the cafe that day. How much she loved his tousled hair and wolfish grin. And how much she wished he was here now. Tucking her in like her father use to do. But then things would change in the fantasy. He would lean in and place a kiss on her forehead. And she would tilt her head up and catch his lips in a chaste kiss. Which he would deepen, quietly whispering her name.

The innocent fantasies soon gave way to the darker ones. Where Jenny got on top of him and rode him until she climaxed against his heaving chest. He would pinch her nipples and bite her neck, driving her orgasm deeper and deeper. Sometimes she would call him daddy and he would call her little girl. It didn't even bother her anymore. It felt natural to call him that. A name of love and protection. And that's what he made her feel. She needed that. Almost as much as she needed him.

**********************************************

Jenny didn't see Mark again until a week after his visit to the cafe. Something seemed to be up with him. She was sure of it. He hadn't texted or called as much as he usually did. And for a while she had feared that he might have fallen in love with someone. Then, out of the blue, he had asked her out to Smokey's, a neat little mom and pop establishment he knew that she loved. She got out of school an hour early to meet up with him. As she waited for him, she played with her laptop, going over the conversation they had had the night before. Jenny smiled, crafting new arguments in her head. New ways to make Mark flabbergasted and miserable.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Jenny let out a muffled scream, painfully twisting her head to catch Mark gazing over her shoulder at what was onscreen. The moment realization dawned of what he was looking at was a terrible sight to behold. At first his mouth gaped open a tad, as if he was looking at something so absurd it couldn't be real. Then his eyes narrowed and the cold glint in them was as cold as any look Lucifer had given anybody on Supernatural. This was the third side of Mark. The one Jenny didn't really like and was slightly afraid of. The coldly intelligent Mark that could out think and outmaneuver you in a split second. The one who felt no remorse for doing so.

"Mark, please"

It was all she got out before he turned and stormed from the restaurant, nearly knocking over a waitress in his wake. She hung her face in her hands. Without knowing she was even doing it, a soft sob of pain and regret left her lips as she cried.

Later that night, Jenny showed up at Mark's apartment door. She couldn't sleep. Not without telling him how she felt and why she had deceived him. She'd emailed, called, texted, and tweeted him with no results. And it hurt like hell.

"Mark. Mark. Just listen to me. I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe me."

The door swept open. He gazed down at her with what she was sure he assumed was an unreadable expression. But, to her surprise, there was a wetness to Mark's eyes she had only seen at her fathers funeral. He had been crying for her? The realization made her feel another layer of self hate and shame. She moved past him into the apartment. He didn't try to stop her.

"Just...Tell me why," he said, closing the door.

She noticed his voice was a little unsteady, too. "I wanted to be closer to you. I like you. For so long." Jenny regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They sounded so high school. Lame. And they didn't go nearly far enough in explaining just what she felt for him. Had felt for him for a long time.

Mark was equal parts shocked and disgusted by this. "We're not close? Everything I've done with you? For you? Tell me how it’s not enough. I want to know how I'm not enough. How this isn't enough."

Without warning, he pulled her up tight against him. She wasn't sure why he had done it. Out of a passionate feeling for her or just to frighten her with his closeness. To intimidate her with his height and physical power. She wasn't even sure he knew. He was gazing down at her, wild eyed. His breath catching in his throat. His arms pinching her at the waist. Her breasts tingled at being up against him like this. Every part of her lighting up at being as close to him as she had imagined many times as shed reached a fevered climax in her bedroom. Thinking of him.

"You know why," She said through gritted teeth. He was pissing her off again. Treating her like she was some sort of child who needed protection. She hated that feeling most of all. And, deep in her belly, the urge arose to smack the shit out of him.

So she did.

Mark pulled back from the blow so that it barely grazed his cheek. But the effect was immediate. In an instant, his mouth came down hard upon hers. His teeth bit at her lips and his tongue slid into her mouth, making her gasp. It wasn't a loving kiss. It was something dark and primal. A powerful force begging for release. She let her hands roam over his body, loving how powerful his body felt beneath her hands. She wanted more. Needed more. Needed him inside of her like she had never needed anything in her life. Her body hurt with the feel of it. Softly, she started whispering his name against his lips.

Mark grabbed her by the hair, roughly pulling her head back to look her in the eyes. "What am I supposed to do with you? Just tell me. Tell me what you want. I'm tired of these fucking games you play."

Jenny's hands trailed down the front of his pants, rubbing his swollen manhood through the fabric. He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, instinctively bucking his hips against her. Jenny planted kisses down his chest, making her way down to kneel at his feet. She took his cock out and licked along his length, enjoying the look of rapture on his face. Expertly, she worked up to near climax multiple times, never letting him go over. Even though he occasionally grabbed her by the head and forced his way deeper into her throat.

With a growl, Mark lifted her up and threw her against the wall. His eyes bored holes into hers as he tore her panties off from underneath her short blue dress. "Tell me you want this," he begged. "Tell me it’s okay. I need to hear you say it."

"Fuck me, daddy." Jenny crushed her mouth against his, writhing her wet center against his length. Mark pulled away from her, an actual grin on his face. The sight of it both amused and infuriated her. As horny as she was, she wasn't in any mood for his jokes.

Mark cocked his head. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me. Want me to repeat it?"

"So, you're into that stuff?"

Jenny moved down onto his cock, taking his whole cock into her in one thrust. "Shut up, Mark," she growled, starting a furious pace for them both. He sank into her, his face nuzzling and biting on her shoulder. His hips moving in rhythm to her own.

"Are you my good little girl?" He asked a moment later. Jenny smiled into his shoulder, partly aroused and sort of laughing about being called a little girl at the ripe old age of twenty. But there was no denying she liked it. She could tell he knew she did, because her pussy grew wetter and clenched around him. She sank her teeth into his neck, eliciting a shocked moan from him. Making him fuck her even harder.

"You take care of me so damn good. Ill always be your little girl."

Again, Mark snickered at the word play. But this time it was more like the delight of someone unwrapping a present at Christmas. "I could learn to get use to this, kid."

Jenny's reply was cut off by the sudden rush of climax cutting off any and all snappy replies. Her fingers clenched in his hair. A howl left her lips as she went over the edge, taking Mark with her. He came long and hard inside of her, the feel of it deliciously hot in her pussy. He pulled out, leaving a trail of cum running down her leg. His body held hers up against the wall. Both breathing hard into each other's necks.

"Jenny, I have to ask you..." Mark whispered in her ear.

"Yes?" she was all ears. She'd just fucked the man she'd been in love with for forever. Whatever he wanted from her, Jenny was sure she could oblige.

"When are you going to read those articles I sent you about strawman?"

Jenny narrowed her eyes, the old stubbornness and rage making her pussy hot again. "On the other side of never. Fuck you, Mark."

He picked her up in his arms then, carrying her away to the bedroom.

"I'm pretty sure you just did," he told her. "and don't think I'm going to be letting you off easy. You know? Someone's been a very bad girl."

#markoneshot markpellegrino markpellegrinofanfiction markpellegrinosmut marksmut spnoneshot supernaturaloneshot supernaturalsmut

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dragnews · 7 years ago

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As Nicaragua Death Toll Grows, Support for Ortega Slips

On Thursday, the Organization of American States said the Nicaraguan government had denied its request to conduct an on-site investigation into the killings. The organization’s Inter-American Commission on Human Rights said it would continue to investigate the deaths, as well as allegations that injured protesters were denied medical care and that the relatives of the those killed had to agree not to file complaints in exchange for receiving their loved one’s bodies.

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Mr. Rivas’s relatives with neighbors in Managua. Credit Daniele Volpe for The New York Times

The uprising began on April 19, led by university students in Managua protesting against an unpopular social security decree that would have forced workers to pay more and retirees to receive less. The students were already worked up over a fire at a nature reserve that the government had failed to control.

The response to the crackdown was intense, and the protests quickly broadened to encompass a much wider set of grievances with the Ortega couple’s rule and the steadily increasing concentration of power in their hands. Even government concessions, including the rescinding of the social security reform, did not quell the unrest.

Protesters turned out around the country, blasting the president’s control of the Supreme Court, the National Assembly and the elections council. The violence escalated when the student protests were met not just by the riot police, but also by swarms of young men in white and pink T-shirts declaring their membership in the Sandinista Youth — a pro-government organization that has been harassing demonstrators and sometimes throwing stones at them. Videos showed the police handing the young men rocks.

The vice president’s office, which controls news media access, did not respond to repeated messages seeking comment. But Bayardo Arce, one of the original Sandinista commanders and a top adviser to Mr. Ortega, acknowledged in an interview with Univision that the police “lost control” during the protests.

Protests even spread to longtime strongholds of Mr. Ortega’s Sandinista movement, with some demanding the president’s resignation and setting fire to government buildings. Two government sympathizers died blowing up an opposition radio station in León, according to the station owner and the Nicaraguan Center for Human Rights. A reporter was shot while recording a Facebook Live segment on Nicaragua’s northern coast, the video showed.

Vilma Núñez, formerly a Sandinista, founded the center, which has chronicled abuses by Mr. Ortega’s government. By her tally, 45 people have died so far in the unrest — 24 students, two police officers, a reporter and 18 others.

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Relatives and friends of Mr. Rivas gathered for a service to commemorate his death. Credit Daniele Volpe for The New York Times

“They didn’t just use the police here,” she said. “They used strike forces.”

“The order was definitely to kill,” Ms. Núñez added, “not to stop the protest.”

Continue reading the main story

Ms. Murillo, who is also vice president, blamed the students for the bloodshed. She said some people were killed by shotguns fired from inside the Polytechnic University, a focal point for the protesters, and accused the opposition of disseminating “fake news” by exaggerating the number of killings.

“Those tiny, petty, mediocre beings, those beings full of hate, still have the nerve to invent dead,” Ms. Murillo said in an address shortly after the unrest erupted, referring to the protesters. “For those crimes, we demand punishment,” she said.

Mr. Ortega was president during the 1980s, when the United States financed a war aimed at ousting him. He agreed to elections in 1990 and lost, but then returned to office in 2007 after he maneuvered changes to an election law that allowed him to take office with less than 50 percent of the vote.

Since then, he has faced international condemnation for chipping away at democracy. In 2008, he was accused of orchestrating rampant voter fraud in municipal elections, which gave him control of cities around the country. He stacked the Supreme Court and used that majority to get rid of the constitutional ban on term limits. He used legal ploys to eliminate opposition parties, and took control of most of the country’s television stations. All of this fed the resentment that boiled over into the current uprising.

Mr. Ortega’s socialist Sandinista Front party said several members of the Sandinista Youth had died in the unrest. The party defended the police, saying they acted prudently because “the destruction of the country could not be allowed.”

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At least 45 people have been killed in the unrest, many of them students. At Polytechnic University in Managua, a focal point of the protests, photos were displayed. Credit Daniele Volpe for The New York Times

Opposition members fear the killings will become another example of impunity in Central America, where a number of governments have never been held to account for crimes over the past several decades.

Now the families of the dead must rely on the police, prosecutors and the judiciary — all firmly under Mr. Ortega’s control — to investigate.

Continue reading the main story

In an annual report, the Permanent Committee on Human Rights showed photos of prominent law enforcement authorities, including the chief of the Supreme Court, waving the black-and-red Sandinista flag.

That, said the group’s leader, Marco Carmona, does not exactly inspire confidence.

“We cannot trust that there will be an objective investigation, a professional investigation, nor can we trust that the judicial authorities are going to be faithful in their application of the law,” said Denis Darce, who runs training projects at Mr. Carmona’s group. “Citizens will be practically defenseless.”

Mr. Bones, the young man who was killed, lived outside Managua and was visiting relatives in the capital when he went missing for several days. His bullet-riddled body suddenly appeared at a hospital morgue near one of the protest sites, where he apparently got caught in the cross-fire.

“They didn’t ask us any questions about him because they already knew how he died. They knew those shots came from them,” his sister, Migdalia Bones, said of the police. “Then a man at the hospital came up to me and whispered: ‘Go to the human rights office.’”

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Protesters occupying the Polytechnic University in Managua patrolled outside the school’s grounds. Credit Daniele Volpe for The New York Times

Because his body did not appear for days after the protests and his family has not made the trek to Managua to file official complaints with human rights agencies, Mr. Bones’s name does not appear on the official list of the dead that rights groups have compiled.

Even as bodies were buried without autopsies, the attorney general’s office held a news conference asking families to file written complaints and present any evidence they had.

“This has been handled in a way that is cruel and perverse,” said Ms. Núñez, the founder of the Nicaraguan Center for Human Rights. Next, she said, the government will start rounding up innocent people so authorities can appear to be working on the cases.

“Now comes the witch hunt,” she said.

The National Assembly, which is controlled by the Sandinista Front party, said it had formed a truth commission. The government Office for the Defense of Human Rights has also created a “victims committee” to record complaints.

On Monday, the government held a “peace and dialogue” rally to prove it has supporters, too, using the motto of the Sandinista Party to promote peace talks led by the Catholic Church.

Continue reading the main story

“Where are these 63 dead? I have seen like 12 or 15. Let’s say there were 20; I haven’t seen them,” said Leonardo Loáisiga, 50, an attendee, referring to one widely cited, unconfirmed death toll. “Show me those 63 dead.”

But the killings have also soured some loyal Sandinistas like Ms. Díaz and the family of 16-year-old Jesner Josué Rivas, who died in the turmoil.

“Nicaragua is being left without university students because the government of Nicaragua is killing them,” said Norlan Rodríguez, whose nephew Jesner died a few blocks from a store that was being looted. “I am a Sandinista, and have been so since I was a little kid. But they killed my boy and I will never give those people my vote again.”

Continue reading the main story

The post As Nicaragua Death Toll Grows, Support for Ortega Slips appeared first on World The News.

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dani-qrt · 7 years ago

Text

As Nicaragua Death Toll Grows, Support for Ortega Slips

Photo

Mr. Rivas’s relatives with neighbors in Managua. Credit Daniele Volpe for The New York Times

Photo

Relatives and friends of Mr. Rivas gathered for a service to commemorate his death. Credit Daniele Volpe for The New York Times

“They didn’t just use the police here,” she said. “They used strike forces.”

“The order was definitely to kill,” Ms. Núñez added, “not to stop the protest.”

Continue reading the main story

Photo

Now the families of the dead must rely on the police, prosecutors and the judiciary — all firmly under Mr. Ortega’s control — to investigate.

Continue reading the main story

That, said the group’s leader, Marco Carmona, does not exactly inspire confidence.

Photo

Protesters occupying the Polytechnic University in Managua patrolled outside the school’s grounds. Credit Daniele Volpe for The New York Times

Even as bodies were buried without autopsies, the attorney general’s office held a news conference asking families to file written complaints and present any evidence they had.

“Now comes the witch hunt,” she said.

On Monday, the government held a “peace and dialogue” rally to prove it has supporters, too, using the motto of the Sandinista Party to promote peace talks led by the Catholic Church.

Continue reading the main story

But the killings have also soured some loyal Sandinistas like Ms. Díaz and the family of 16-year-old Jesner Josué Rivas, who died in the turmoil.

Continue reading the main story

The post As Nicaragua Death Toll Grows, Support for Ortega Slips appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2HPA1do via Online News

#World News #Today News #Daily News #Breaking News #News Headline #Entertainment News #Sports news #Sci-Tech

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deniscollins · 7 years ago

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A Voice of Hate in America’s Heartland

If you owned a welding company, what would you do if informed that one of the welders was a committed organizer for the Traditionalist Worker Party, a Nazi-group, who did podcasts for Radio Aryan, and posted Nazi support material on his Facebook page: (1) do nothing and respect his freedom of speech, (2) speak with him about restricting his political viewpoints, (3) fire him, or (4) something else (if so, what)? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

Tony and Maria Hovater were married this fall. They registered at Target. On their list was a muffin pan, a four-drawer dresser and a pineapple slicer.

Ms. Hovater, 25, was worried about Antifa bashing up the ceremony. Weddings are hard enough to plan for when your fiancé is not an avowed white nationalist.

But Mr. Hovater, in the days leading up to the wedding, was somewhat less anxious. There are times when it can feel toxic to openly identify as a far-right extremist in the Ohio of 2017. But not always. He said the election of President Trump helped open a space for people like him, demonstrating that it is not the end of the world to be attacked as the bigot he surely is: “You can just say, ‘Yeah, so?’ And move on.”

It was a weeknight at Applebee’s in Huber Heights, a suburb of Dayton, a few weeks before the wedding. The couple, who live in nearby New Carlisle, were shoulder to shoulder at a table, young and in love. He was in a plain T-shirt, she in a sleeveless jean jacket. She ordered the boneless wings. Her parents had met him, she said, and approved of the match. The wedding would be small. Some of her best friends were going to be there. “A lot of girls are not really into politics,” she said.

In Ohio, amid the row crops and rolling hills, the Olive Gardens and Steak ’n Shakes, Mr. Hovater’s presence can make hardly a ripple. He is the Nazi sympathizer next door, polite and low-key at a time the old boundaries of accepted political activity can seem alarmingly in flux. Most Americans would be disgusted and baffled by his casually approving remarks about Hitler, disdain for democracy and belief that the races are better off separate. But his tattoos are innocuous pop-culture references: a slice of cherry pie adorns one arm, a homage to the TV show “Twin Peaks.” He says he prefers to spread the gospel of white nationalism with satire. He is a big “Seinfeld” fan.

“I guess it seems weird when talking about these type of things,” he says. “You know, I’m coming at it in a mid-90s, Jewish, New York, observational-humor way.”

Mr. Hovater, 29, is a welder by trade. He is not a star among the resurgent radical American right so much as a committed foot soldier — an organizer, an occasional podcast guest on a website called Radio Aryan, and a self-described “social media villain,” although, in person, his Midwestern manners would please anyone’s mother. In 2015, he helped start the Traditionalist Worker Party, one of the extreme right-wing groups that marched in Charlottesville, Va., in August, and again at a “White Lives Matter” rally last month in Tennessee. The group’s stated mission is to “fight for the interests of White Americans.’’

Its leaders claim to oppose racism, though the Anti-Defamation League says the group “has participated in white supremacist events all over the country.” On its website, a swastika armband goes for $20.

If the Charlottesville rally came as a shock, with hundreds of white Americans marching in support of ideologies many have long considered too vile, dangerous or stupid to enter the political mainstream, it obscured the fact that some in the small, loosely defined alt-right movement are hoping to make those ideas seem less than shocking for the “normies,” or normal people, that its sympathizers have tended to mock online.

And to go from mocking to wooing, the movement will be looking to make use of people like the Hovaters and their trappings of normie life — their fondness for National Public Radio, their four cats, their bridal registry.

“We need to have more families. We need to be able to just be normal,” said Matthew Heimbach, the leader of the Traditionalist Worker Party, in a podcast conversation with Mr. Hovater. Why, he asked self-mockingly, were so many followers “abnormal”?

Mr. Hovater replied: “I mean honestly, it takes people with, like, sort of an odd view of life, at first, to come this way. Because most people are pacified really easy, you know. Like, here’s some money, here’s a nice TV, go watch your sports, you know?”

He added: “The fact that we’re seeing more and more normal people come is because things have gotten so bad. And if they keep getting worse, we’ll keep getting more, just, normal people.”

Flattening the Edges

Mr. Hovater’s face is narrow and punctuated with sharply peaked eyebrows, like a pair of air quotes, and he tends to deliver his favorite adjective, “edgy,” with a flat affect and maximum sarcastic intent. It is a sort of implicit running assertion that the edges of acceptable American political discourse — edges set by previous generations, like the one that fought the Nazis — are laughable.

“I don’t want you to think I’m some ‘edgy’ Republican,” he says, while flatly denouncing the concept of democracy.

“I don’t even think those things should be ‘edgy,’” he says, while defending his assertion that Jews run the worlds of finance and the media, and “appear to be working more in line with their own interests than everybody else’s.”

His political evolution — from vaguely leftist rock musician to ardent libertarian to fascist activist — was largely fueled by the kinds of frustrations that would not seem exotic to most American conservatives. He believes the federal government is too big, the news media is biased, and that affirmative action programs for minorities are fundamentally unfair.

Ask him how he moved so far right, and he declares that public discourse has become “so toxic that there’s no way to effectively lobby for interests that involve white people.” He name-drops Murray Rothbard and Hans-Hermann Hoppe, architects of “anarcho-capitalism,” with its idea that free markets serve as better societal regulators than the state. And he refers to the 2013 science-fiction movie “Pacific Rim,” in which society is attacked by massive monsters that emerge from beneath the Pacific Ocean.

“So the people, they don’t ask the monsters to stop,” he says. “They build a giant robot to try to stop them. And that’s essentially what fascism is. It’s like our version of centrally coming together to try to stop another already centralized force.”

Mr. Hovater grew up on integrated Army bases and attended a mostly white Ohio high school. He did not want for anything. He experienced no scarring racial episodes. His parents, he says, were the kinds of people who “always assume things aren’t going well. But they don’t necessarily know why.”

He is adamant that the races are probably better off separated, but he insists he is not racist. He is a white nationalist, he says, not a white supremacist. There were mixed-race couples at the wedding. Mr. Hovater said he was fine with it.

“That’s their thing, man,” he said.

Online it is uglier. On Facebook, Mr. Hovater posted a picture purporting to show what life would have looked like if Germany had won World War II: a streetscape full of happy white people, a bustling American-style diner and swastikas everywhere.

“What part is supposed to look unappealing?” he wrote.

In an essay lamenting libertarianism’s leftward drift, he wrote: “At this rate I’m sure the presidential candidate they’ll put up in a few cycles will be an overweight, black, crippled dyke with dyslexia.”

After he attended the Charlottesville rally, in which a white nationalist plowed his car into a group of left-wing protesters, killing one of them, Mr. Hovater wrote that he was proud of the comrades who joined him there: “We made history. Hail victory.”

In German, “Hail victory” is “Sieg heil.”

A Growing Movement

Before white nationalism, his world was heavy metal. He played drums in two bands, and his embrace of fascism, on the surface, shares some traits with the hipster’s cooler-than-thou quest for the most extreme of musical subgenres. Online, he and his allies can also give the impression that their movement is one big laugh — an enormous trolling event put on by self-mocking, politically incorrect kids playing around on the ash heap of history.

On the party’s website, the swastika armband is formally listed as a “NSDAP LARP Armband.” NSDAP was the abbreviation for Hitler’s Nazi Party. LARP stands for “Live-Action Role Playing,” a term originally meant to describe fantasy fans who dress up as wizards and warlocks.

But the movement is no joke. The party, Mr. Hovater said, is now approaching 1,000 people. He said that it has held food and school-supply drives in Appalachia. “These are people that the establishment doesn’t care about,” he said.

Marilyn Mayo, a senior research fellow at the Anti-Defamation League’s Center on Extremism, estimated that the Traditionalist Worker Party had a few hundred members at most, while Americans who identify as “alt-right” could number in the tens of thousands.

“It is small in the grand scheme of things, but it’s one of the segments of the white supremacist movement that’s grown over the last two years,” she said.

It was midday at a Panera Bread, and Mr. Hovater was describing his political awakening over a turkey sandwich. He mentioned books by Charles Murray and Pat Buchanan. He talked about his presence on 4chan, the online message board and alt-right breeding ground (“That’s where the scary memes come from,” he deadpanned). He spoke dispassionately about the injustice of affirmative action, about the “malice directed toward white people” in popular media, about how the cartoon comedy “King of the Hill” was the last TV show to portray “a straight white male patriarch” in a positive light.

He declared the widely accepted estimate that six million Jews died in the Holocaust “overblown.” He said that while the Nazi leader Heinrich Himmler wanted to exterminate groups like Slavs and homosexuals, Hitler “was a lot more kind of chill on those subjects.”

“I think he was a guy who really believed in his cause,” he said of Hitler. “He really believed he was fighting for his people and doing what he thought was right.”

He said he wanted to see the United States become “an actually fair, meritocratic society.” Absent that, he would settle for a white ethno-state “where things are fair, because there’s no competing demographics for government power or for resources.”

His fascist ideal, he said, would resemble the early days in the United States, when power was reserved for landowners “and, you know, normies didn’t really have a whole hell of a lot to say.”

His faith in mainstream solutions slipped as he toured the country with one of the metal bands. “I got to see people who were genuinely hurting,” he said. “We played coast to coast, but specifically places in Appalachia, and a lot of the Eastern Seaboard had really been hurt.”

Friendships Made and Lost

In 2012, Mr. Hovater was incensed by the media coverage of the Trayvon Martin shooting, believing the story had been distorted to make a villain of George Zimmerman, the white man who shot the black teenager. By that time, he and Ms. Hovater had been dating for a year or two. She was a small-town girl who had fallen away from the Catholic Church (“It was just really boring”), and once considered herself liberal.

But in the aftermath of the shooting, Ms. Hovater found herself on social media “questioning the official story,” taking Mr. Zimmerman’s side and finding herself blocked by some of her friends. Today, she says, she and Mr. Hovater are “pretty lined up” politically.

As they let their views be known, friends left and friends stayed.

“His views are horrible and repugnant and hate-filled,” said Ethan Reynolds, a Republican and city councilman in New Carlisle, Ohio, who said he had befriended Mr. Hovater without knowing his extremism. “He was an acquaintance I regret knowing.”

Jake Nolan, a guitarist in one of the bands Mr. Hovater played in, stuck with him. “There are people who literally go around Sieg Heiling,” he said. “Then you have the people who just want the right to be proud of their heritage” — people, he said, who are standing up against “what appears to be an increasingly anti-white America.”

Mr. Hovater befriended Mr. Heimbach in February 2015 at the Conservative Political Action Conference. Mr. Heimbach, who two years earlier had founded a White Student Union at Towson University in Maryland, was holding a protest outside the proceedings and praising Vladimir Putin. The pair founded the Traditionalist Worker Party in the spring.

Soon Mr. Hovater was telling people that he would be running for a council seat in his hometown, New Carlisle, population 5,600. The announcement caught the attention of the Southern Poverty Law Center and the heavy metal press. But he never filed papers.

On a recent weekday evening, Mr. Hovater was at home, sautéing minced garlic with chili flakes and waiting for his pasta to boil. The cats were wandering in and out of their tidy little rental house. Books about Mussolini and Hitler shared shelf space with a stack of Nintendo Wii games. A day earlier, a next-door neighbor, whom Mr. Hovater doesn’t know very well, had hung a Confederate flag in front of his house.

“This is kind of brackish territory here,” Mr. Hovater said. “A lot of people consider Cincinnati the most northern Southern city.”

The pasta was ready. Ms. Hovater talked about how frightening it was this summer to watch from home as the Charlottesville rally spun out of control. Mr. Hovater said he was glad the movement had grown.

They spoke about their future — about moving to a bigger place, about their honeymoon, about having kids.

#Freedom of Speech

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