#like any military volunteer

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

finrod deserved better

[betty-bourgeoisie]

I think more college students should try doing essays and projects on blue collar labor issues, if for no other reason than to highlight just how under represented blue collar issues are in the academic spaces

[sgt-tombstone]

Marriage Fraud

John MacTavish and Kyle Garrick had gotten married at 15:00 on a Tuesday afternoon in October. There was little fanfare; the civil ceremony took place in the Register Office closest to base with Price and Gaz’s sister as witnesses. They had signed their names on the dotted lines with a flourish, had kissed each other through crooked, boyish grins, and that had been that.

John MacTavish and Kyle Garrick hadn’t dated for a single day prior to their nuptials, with the exception of a week-long drunken bet during basic that both of them had been too stubborn to back out of, and their engagement had lasted the legally-required 28 days. It was marriage fraud, plain and simple; the two men had met in basic training and had forged a brotherhood in between grueling days and sporadic nights, and then the pact was formed. Both of them had gotten thoroughly sick and tired of living in the barracks and relying on mess hall food and, without any long-term significant others to pop the question to, they had decided to take matters into their own hands. When they both passed SAS selection, both setting new records, it had seemed like a sign.

The marriage pact had been Kyle’s idea, so Johnny had been the one to propose, if his half-slurred, half-asleep suggestion could even be called a proposal, but Gaz had readily agreed and the next morning, they had burst into Price’s office, demanding both his blessing and presence at the ceremony. His eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline and he had nearly choked to death on his cigar smoke, but he had agreed to both nonetheless.

That had been over three years ago.

In the three years since, as they climbed the ranks from Private to Corporal to Sergeant, the topic of their marriage hardly ever came up. They wore their respective rings, both made from recycled bullet casings, on their right hands instead of their left, and they never mentioned it to anyone. If anyone wondered how they had gotten permission to live off base or why they commuted to work more often than not, no one ever thought to ask them, and they never volunteered any answers. They shared their house like roommates, respecting both each other’s privacy and dating lives, which were few and far between. Dating in the military was hard enough without being Spec Ops, so any relationship either of them ever had never lasted long enough for their fake marriage to ever be remotely close to an issue.

And then the 141 was formed.

It was a dream come true for both of them. They had both already been SAS under Price’s command, but the specialization of the task force brought a certain job security that ensured their continued cohabitation. The SAS’s base of operations was in Herefordshire, so that’s where Soap and Gaz had bought their house, but there had always been the threat of relocation to any of the other British Army bases across the world, and there was no guarantee that they would have been transferred together. The 141, however, was a cohesive unit, a permanent placement. Wherever one went, the rest were sure to follow.

The task force also brought Ghost.

At first, Johnny hadn’t given Ghost much thought, especially where his fake marriage was concerned. Ghost didn’t seem the type to concern himself overmuch with the personal details of his teammates, up to and including their sexual orientations, living situations, or marital statuses. He himself lived off base, courtesy of being a commissioned officer rather than enlisted, and never seemed to devote a first thought, much less a second one, to Soap and Gaz’s own off-base housing. More often than not, they were in the field anyway, which limited nearly every avenue of personal conversation and, after nearly four years of their marriage being little more than a technical detail on a form somewhere, both Soap and Gaz often forgot that they were even married in the first place.

So Soap didn’t think much of it when he started flirting with Ghost over the comms. Ghost was a scary son of a bitch, but that had always been his type, and he couldn’t deny that the mask did something for him. Hell, everything about Ghost did something for him. It had started as banter, really, but Soap loved to toe the line, and it was a slippery slope that he was all too eager to throw himself down. What was truly shocking was Ghost’s own willingness to play along. And then the flirting turned into… more. Turned into casual physical touch that Ghost would’ve slit anyone else’s throat for even thinking about initiating, turned into whispered promises in the backs of helos before missions, turned into kisses pressed into gloved knuckles and masked cheeks.

And suddenly, Soap realized that his marriage might be an issue.

His relationship with Ghost, while technically undefined, was by far the most serious and potentially long-lasting relationship he’d had since signing his marriage license. Most of the people he had dated over the years hadn’t been military and had quickly grown tired of the inconsistency, the missed birthdays and anniversaries, the lack of communication while he’d been on mission, and the lack of leave time in general. But not Ghost, because Ghost got it. Half of the time, Ghost was right there in the field with him. There wasn’t any inconsistency with them, no lack of leave time to grumble over, no shortage of communication between them, both in person and over comms. Their relationship worked for exactly the same reasons why his and Gaz’s non-relationship had worked for so long: they both understood.

And suddenly, Soap realized that, after four years of hiding a marriage to his best friend in the world from quite literally everyone he knew, he’d have to fess up. Not only that, he’d have to file for divorce, which was something that neither he nor Gaz had taken into consideration when they had signed their names in the Register Office all those years ago.

It all came to a head when Johnny got injured in the field. Nothing major, just a few broken bones and a hell of a concussion, but he had woken up to Gaz and Ghost sitting on either side of his hospital bed, Gaz’s clear contrition only matched by Ghost’s clear confusion. The first question out his mouth was why Gaz was listed as Soap’s next of kin and emergency contact, which snowballed into a full confession, corroborated by Price when he stuck his head in to check on Soap a few minutes later.

Ghost, after recovering from his initial shock, found the entire situation hilarious and, months later, after both the divorce papers and the new notice of marriage had gone through, took delight in calling himself Johnny’s second husband, which never failed to make any rookie caught eying the sergeant shake in their boots at the thought of what someone like Ghost did to Johnny’s first husband. Soap and Gaz still wore their rings, because they had always been more like friendship bracelets than anything else, and Johnny’s left ring finger was quickly occupied by a silver ring made from one of Simon’s ID Discs.

Gaz was disappointed about having to move back into on-base housing, but it didn’t last long because Price had been waiting for four years for his sergeants to figure their shit out and file for divorce so that he could make his move and he wasn’t about a waste a single second. And if anyone accused them of moving too quickly, well… they were all military men, after all.

[mamayan]

yandere jjk? with noncon(your wish) megumi /gojo/toji

Yandere Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Megumi Fushiguro x Fem! Darling

cw: Not proof read • Gladiator JJK! • Slave girl reader • Dark • Yandere • NSFW • Fem/AFAB Reader • NONCON turned DUBCON • Punishment • Spanking • Darling has hair long enough to pull • Spitting • Oral/Deep Throating • PIV Sex • Anal/Anal Play • Double Penetration • Gangbang • Praise/Degradation • Humiliation • Dumbification • Overstimulation • Dom jjk men • Sub reader • Kinda fluffy? • Manipulation • Sadistic Satoru (kinda)

wc: A lot? Idk like 4k or more, I did half on google doc and half here lol

Porn with no plot, just straight porn.

“Hey, Meg,” it’s bad. This entire day couldn’t be going more horribly wrong.

“Hn?” A soft grunt for someone covered in so much gore.

“Your old man care we’re in his quarters?” The white haired male had his eyes covered by a strange metal band, one usually connected to a helmet. He wore no head gear though, hardly any armor either. A testament to his confidence and strength.

“He doesn’t.” The dark haired male still dripping blood spoke back, but his eyes didn’t leave your cowering form.

“Well then shall we? I’ve been hard since I won my match. Be a shame to waste good meat when it’s offered up like this.” The vile and leering tone of the white haired devil above you only had your blood going icy. The cool wet stone beneath your aching knees and skinned up palms was a stark contrast to your boiling insides. They spoke as if you were akin to the animals kept beneath the Colosseum, as if you were livestock meant for slaughter and not a living person. You should’ve known better, your Master had been so eager to offer up a servant for the great Gladiator Toji upon the man’s request. It seemed odd to not send a more experienced servant… instead your Master sent you. A lesser slave and much more inexperienced… you now realize why after being sent below the arena you were only used to seeing from above.

Gladiators surely have earned their keep. Muscles and bared teeth, the Gladiators are warriors to their core, ready to spill blood and die at any moment.

A soft thing like you? They wanted to chew up and spit out. Swallow whole. Take you apart piece by piece until you knew nothing of your own name or life before. Except you were Toji’s and that meant something. Well, to everyone but the two younger males standing over you. The white haired male seemingly a bit older than the dark, the two close too as the older one leaned against his younger counterpart with a hand on his hip as he examined you behind his metal eye block. You knew who these two males were. Everyone knew who they were.

Satoru and Megumi, you’d only seen them from afar, not wealthy enough to afford to sit closer to the arena floor. Even from afar they left an impression though, at least on your soul.

Demons.

Creatures from hell which have proven unkillable. Megumi being Toji’s son, while Satoru acted as Megumi’s teacher. They ruled the arena, and it’s not a secret that Satoru is a noble’s son who willingly joined the Gladiators after serving in the Imperial military. Megumi too volunteered for his position, while his father stayed employed working off an endless debt due to a gambling addiction the wealthy enjoy feeding. His mountain of owed cash so overflowing it’s rumored he even owes to the Emperor himself.

Yet it didn’t explain why you were here like this. You’d been told indirectly from a stable hand that Toji wished you to clean and wait in his chambers, private unlike lower classed Gladiators. Instead you’d been grabbed and tossed to the floor by Satoru and spoken about before your very eyes. You weren’t a fool. What they, or at least Satoru wanted, was clear enough.

“I-I’m sorry if I offended m-my lords, p-please forgive—,” you were silenced by a hand raising, a slim perfect finger help up against plush pink lips. Satoru’s lips tilted up in amusement as he eyed you behind his shades.

“Nu-uh pretty, you be good and stay silent while we talk, okay?” He spoke to you as one would address a child, not how a man who was quickly untying his leather breaches might. He ignored your trembling form to return his attention to his pupil.

“She’s cuter close up like this, right Meg?” Satoru teased, happy to free his aching hard cock from the tight confines of his pants. He loved the look of fright in your wide doe eyes, a slight tremor to your bottom lip. “I’ve been craving to sink my cock into your little cunt for a while now.” He’s addressing you again, crouching down to get more to your eye level so you caught a flash of bright blue through the metal blocking his eyes. His grin is sadistic and jovial, sharp canines bared aggressively as he jerks his leaking shaft without shame while watching you.

“P-please don’t—hgh!” Your jaw is gripped in an iron lock by Satoru, who still smiles despite the furrow of his brow.

“Thought I said no talkin’? If I need’a say it again…” he leaves the threat open. You can only tearfully nod the best his grip allows, cheeks smushed and lips pursed cutely while your reddened eyes silently ask for mercy this time. His grip softens minutely, “Good girl~” he praises, smile becoming less vicious as he releases you to stand up again.

“Want her first Meg?” Satoru addresses the silent male, who stares down at you with the same intensity he held the moment you’d entered the chambers.

“Yes.” That chills you more than Satoru’s comment, Megumi’s demeanor more dark and strangely concerning as he steps towards you. You have a few options now, and your mind reminds you that if you don’t act now it’s entirely over for you. Your first option is to simply allow it to happen. You’re a slave with no status, and you’ve had your ownership transferred to a Gladiator in eternal debt with the most violent track record. These two before you have a close connection with your new owner, disobeying could mean death.

Then again obedience could mean it too.

You leapt, lucky enough to escape the hand reaching out to grab you as you sprinted for the door. The thick wooden frame made your muscles scream as you yanked it open, and just as your foot stepped through the threshold, you were yanked back by your hair. A sharp scream echoed off the stone walls, your legs kicking out in protest as you fought back wildly.

Megumi needle only one arm to yank you up off your feet and onto the low platform bed his father occasionally used to sleep on. It’s been weeks though since he’s bothered sleeping in his own chambers, more often than not bought home by a noble woman for the evening after matches to warm their bed for a steep price. He rolled his eyes at your dramatics, easily subduing you with a hand circling your neck and slowly decreasing your oxygen and blood flow.

It made you very compliant, much to his lower half’s enjoyment. The little whimpers and weak hands slapping at his chest were akin to a kitten’s attack.

“Let’s see here~” Satoru hums, quick to grip the fabric of your clothing between two hands and tear it down the middle. It was a useless endeavor to attempt to escape, as they chuckle and strip you entirely naked on the bed smelling of dust, sweat, and blood now. Both males haven’t showered, Megumi’s body the most blood soaked even after stripping. The metallic sour tinge to his masculine scent revolting as you turn your head away in disgust.

“Nu-uh~ bad girl, you keep your eyes on us, or I’ll just remove them from your skull. Okay?” It didn’t matter how terrified you were before, the thought of your eyes being removed had them snapping to the male who threatened you. He’d tossed aside his eye piece, letting you see the visibly beautiful face of a God it seemed smiling down at you. In a way he was a God, or at least blessed by one, his strength and power undeniable but wicked and cruel ways no less. One pale slender finger pressed against the side of your face, just under your eye, and Satoru took enjoyment seeing how quickly you froze up. “Be a good girl now, Meg hasn’t had a woman before, so you’ll both get to have your first! Isn’t that romantic?” It wasn’t, at least to you, but the almost dreamy look in the dark eyed male was unmistakable.

Megumi was certainly in a dream it seemed. How could he not be? You were here, beneath him, and completely naked and vulnerable to do as he pleased. Before today he was certain you didn’t know his name, or if you did it was merely from his matches. He knew your name though, said it a thousand times when he gripped his cock and worked himself over, moaning it while he came nearly every morning. He wouldn’t need to touch his cock anymore though. He had you now. Whether he needed to share you with his teacher or father wasn’t bothersome, it meant you had more eyes looking out for you anyway.

Satoru amused himself with scaring you senseless while Megumi parted your trembling thighs, settling his shoulders between them to keep you from closing them again. “Oh fuck,” he breathed, catching Satoru’s attention.

“Look how wet she is…” Megumi couldn’t bring himself to much else but admire your soaked cunt even as you mumbled quiet pleas and prayers.

“Oh? Are you a little pervert Y/N? Do you like the thought that we’re going to fuck you?” Satoru’s relentless, soft lips pressing close to your ear and whispering his intentions and insults against the shell while you writhe at the feeling of something soft and slimy poking through your folds. His tongue, you realize with a jolt of him licking up, grazing your sensitive little clit. Your gasp doesn’t go unnoticed by either male, and soon a wide chiseled chest blankets you as Satoru captures your lips in a heavy kiss and invasion of your mouth. Megumi focuses on your lower mouth though, fingers digging into the fat of your thigh as he struggles to retain his sanity as he loses himself to your taste and the erotic euphoria filling him. Every little wiggle and moan encourages him on where to lick and suck, and eventually his fingers sneak down and into your quivering wet hole.

“Mhm! P-plea—!” Satoru muffles all protest with his mouth, one free hand playing with your chest while you struggle to avoid the building pressure in your lower belly as Megumi relentlessly attacks your nub and hole. He flicks and meanly pinches and pulls your nipples, enjoying how your spine arches up each time he bullies them. He doesn’t let you avoid his kiss, and if you close your mouth he plugs your nose and forces it open again so his tongue can taste you.

It’s too much, and you’re coming much too quickly from their rough attention.

It doesn’t end though, only changes as Megumi lifts up, dark hair slightly limp and falling into his eyes as he softly smiles at you, much like a lover might despite the horrid situation. “So good f’me, think you can do it again for him?” He’s not really asking, as he switches places with Satoru who looks overjoyed and viscous as he stares at your quivering dripping pussy.

“Course she can, just listen.” Satoru laughs, messily rubbing your overly sensitive clit and eliciting a yelp from your swollen lips. The lewd wet noises produced from his heavy petting only increasing the shame building inside you as you tearfully whine and try to twist your hips away. “She’s soaking the bed too. We’re getting everything dirty anyway, let’s just fuck her up as much as possible.” You don’t understand what that means until two fingers sink all the way inside you without warning.

“Oh Gods!” Your short cry is silenced again when Megumi decides to kiss you. His lips more tentative and the taste slightly shocking until you realize you’re tasting yourself on his tongue. Despite all you wish for, it makes you tighten on Satoru’s fingers as he gleefully curls them up inside your gummy walls.

“Think she likes how she tastes.” The devilish comment only makes Megumi groan in response, pulling back slightly to reply. “She tastes fucking delicious.” He murmurs against you, stealing your breath again while your poor cunt is finger fucked by Satoru at a quick and forceful rate. Each thrust of his hand accompanied by a loud squelch as he uses his other hand to ensure you stay spread and still despite the panic striking you.

“Mh! S’too’—ngh!!!” Even as you squirm and cry, neither lets up until you’re breaking this time, orgasm so strong you feel your eyes roll back.

“That’s it pretty girl, cum for me,” Satoru nearly comes with you as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, fluid rapidly forced from the confines of your cunt and out as you squirt for him. It’s a sight for sore eyes, the cute fucked out expression on your face as they force your body to relax and lubricate itself for their pleasure.

You’re too out of it to notice the switch again, Megumi back between your thighs but this time holding his curved thick cock between his fingers. Gripping it, he pulls back the skin hiding his sensitive head, easily slicking the tip up. The bulbous soft head smushing against your clit and folds and dragging up and down as you squeak and tiredly roll your head to look up and down.

It’s too late to truly realize what’s happening until his hips are surging forward and the tight ring of muscle at the opening of your pussy is stretched wide open on his cock for the first time. Your scream is silent, mouth open but no noise leaving. Instead you hear Megumi’s moans, short gasps of pleasure huffed into the humid and heating room as he struggles to work his shaft into your tight canal either trying to suck him further in or force him out. Your contracting muscles and choked gasps only spur him to fuck deeper until you’re filled inch by inch with him.

He bottoms out eventually, your sweaty bodies tinged slightly pink as he rubs against you, smearing blood from the Gladiator he killed today on your skin now.

“Wow~ look at how well you’re taking him, here, I’ll help.” In your shock and daze, you’d nearly forgotten about Satoru. The male happy to lift you up and make you see the enormous cock now swallowed up inside you, filling you almost painfully as you shake. “How’s it feel Meg?” He asks, blue eyes looking at Megumi’s strained expression.

“G-good…” is all he can manage. It���s better than good, more than good will ever be, but it’s all he can choke out without snapping and fucking you roughly.

“Hm~ it’ll feel better if you play with her here,” Satoru guides, his striking blue gaze focused on you with a nearly malevolent intensity as you grit your teeth to attempt to adjust to the intrusion more gracefully. He ruins it though, skilled fingers dancing down your belly and right to where you’re most vulnerable. Your cry isn’t silenced this time as Satoru presses down on the fleshy pearl above your opening. Megumi’s clumsy thrusts have spread you to your limit while Satoru rubs your nub with calculated precision.

“F-forgive me…I-I’m sorry…” both males look to your face now, confusion painting Megumi’s flushed face while Satoru seems enamored.

“How cute~ what’re you apologizing for?” He doesn’t let up. His fingers give you no rest and Megumi’s jerky thrusts seem intent on staying as deeply buried as possible. “Shh, being s’good, relax for me.” Megumi murmurs close to your ear, leaning over you some as Satoru braces you from behind.

It’s too much. You’re clamping down tight around the hot shaft stuffed deep inside, muscles contracting almost painfully around him.

“Gods—fuck, she’s so tight,” he sounds in pain, his nails digging in more harshly into your flesh as Megumi struggles to withhold his orgasm. It’s useless, moments after your own crashes down, he’s spilling into you, thick spurts of cum filling your womb as you groan and lay limp in Satoru’s arms.

Megumi recovers faster than you though, kissing your tired sweaty face as you blearily stare up in a daze.

He finds it cute.

Satoru does too. Happy to simply pull you up under your arms like a rag doll and position over his lap and against his chest.

“I can’t—a-anymore, no more—,”

“Poor thing. Has no one told you it’s good to push your limits? I think you can. Should we see who is right?” Your pleading look is lost on Megumi who merely pats your hair down, face serene as he watches you. Satoru gives you no time to recover before he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you.

“No cryin’ now, I let Meg stretch you out good n’well, I don’t want any tears unless they’re from how good I’m fuckin’ you.” His grin is sinful as he lets gravity sink you on his cock, the low light of the candles on the wall giving the illusion of sunset across his pale pretty features.

“O-oh!” Satoru snickers a laugh as you moan in startled shock. His words not a lie as he stretches you out in a different way. Where Megumi had been thick and curved, Satoru was much longer, hitting so deep it felt like the air was knocked from your lungs. It was enough a surprise to have you holding onto him, making the white haired Gladiator coo at you.

“Look at you~,” he’s not gentle as he bounces you on his cock. “Am I just so deep in this pussy? She seems to like how I fill her out, she’s just gushin’ all over me.” He holds onto the fat of your ass, hands spread wide to help anchor and rock you as he thrusts up. “Stay awake, pretty girl, remember what I told you? Eyes on me.” It’s difficult to concentrate on his husky voice when it seems he’s intent on breaking you, each time his shaft struck deep inside you swore your vision blurred. This wasn’t the slow overwhelming pleasured pain forced on you by Megumi… this was just rough sloppy sex with a maniac. Nevertheless, you do as told as try to keep your eyes open and on Satoru. His gaze didn’t waver like yours, despite the sweat sliding down his cheek, he never lost his arrogant smile or sparkle in his eyes.

A stark contrast to the lax expression you wore, lips parted and wet as you struggle to even swallow as you tearily moan like a whore in a brothel for these Gladiators using you like a sex toy. Your fucked out face and impending orgasm are what send Satoru over the edge. When your soft warm pussy creams around him and your eyes cross, Satoru can’t help but nearly whimper as his balls draw up tight and he fills you up along with Megumi’s earlier load.

The dark haired male seemingly content to watch or occasionally praise and pet sweetly while Satoru savagely used you.

It’s over, it must be over, you think as Satoru pulls out of you slowly with a soft pop, lifting you up and off to the side to lay you down. You can feel their combined releases leak down your thighs, soft hiccups escaping you as you catch your breath and come down from the intense high.

You feel nearly hollow as both men stand and begin loosely dressing, holstering their weapons back into their bodies as they prepare to simply leave.

It hurts worse despite all else.

“Pretty girl looks heartbroken Meg, should we stay?”

“Not when he’s coming back from a match, we need to meet with the Emperor before he goes back to the Palace.” Megumi shakes his head, his gaze softening when it lands on you.

“We’ll be back in a few hours, be good.”

They’re gone after those words, and while your heart filled with fury and humiliation, your eyes burned with sadness and something akin to loneliness. Just as you’d finished wallowing in self pity, ready to pull yourself together again and clean up both yourself and the mess made, the door opens again.

Both of you freeze, though for different reasons.

Toji froze because he’d forgotten he’d had you sent here, and you froze because a monster was standing before you.

Your scream is muffled before it leaves your lips, one single palm covering nearly your entire face as Toji looms over you in his full arena battle armor, the black intricately designed metal dripping crimson as he drops his weapon to the ground with a clang.

“Non’a that shit. Hear me, girl?” You nod weakly to show you listened.

Once he was sure you weren’t planning to scream his ears off more than the crowds already did, he released you and took another look.

Cute and well fucked is his first appraisal. He briefly recalls Megumi telling him his wish to have you, so it’s not strange his kid had jumped on his new slave so quickly. The marks littering you were likely that asshole’s doing, his kid too soft to be anything but be sweet towards the object of his affection. Toji briefly considered getting paid for his services tonight, but he was tired, and you looked fresh enough still.

“They fuck you good?” His question brought a baffled look to your face, amusing him as he begins unfastening his ties and removing his armor. You stay awestruck before him as he slowly sheds his persona in the arena, his laid back rugged appearance quite handsome up close as he towers over you with both height and brawn.

“M-master—,” you would either be killed or sold, there’s no way—

“You think you can handle me too?”

You stand nude before your new master still dripping the cum of his son and peer, and he asks if he can have a turn too?

“Yeah. I think you can.” He answers himself in your state of shock, and despite the sweat and blood coating him, he’s unabashed as he strips naked and corrals you back onto the bed.

“M-master please, I-I need to clean up! A-and sh-should run you a bath!” You were grasping at straws, frantically trying to escape the beastly male now licking his lips with a smirk, the scar in his mouth tugging up. You make the mistake of looking down, only to see the monster he contained beneath his armored belt.

Why was it so big? The girth alone frightened you, his length even longer than Satoru’s too, the veins running along the enormous shaft made your poor slick cunt still dripping cum clench. He’d break you. There’s not a doubt in your mind as you crawl away, his advance never slowing as he chuckles at your display.

“I don’t see why ya can’t clean after, hn?” He descends like a wolf to prey, easily pinning you down on your back, slotting his body between your thighs and forcing them open painfully wide to accommodate his size. “Don’t even need’t prep, still drippin’ huh?” He smiles, lazily grabbing his heavy appendage and lubricating himself through your folds.

“P-please master, it won’t fit—hah!” Your cry of shock only makes him sink faster and deeper into you, pressing and forcing himself into your cunt which protests the weighty thick invasion of the older male above you. He smells like the earth, like soft dirt and grass, metallic like copper, and sweat. Toji watches as your back arches further and further up, the sharp angle not looking entirely pleasant but it pushes your bust up for him to lean over and capture a perky nipple to suckle on, his teeth grazing the tip and groaning as your cunt spasms around him.

“Never understand why women say it won’t fit,” Toji mumbles against your saliva covered tit, strings of it still connected to his mouth as he casually addresses you despite pulling out and making you feel like he’s going to take your insides with it. “Y’can push a baby through here, my cock isn’t as big as that.” Not the point, but you’re too feverish to pay attention any longer as he begins sliding in easier and easier as the combined releases from earlier lube his cock to fuck you.

He sees the strain on your face, the shaking of your thighs and the tears leaking down your cheeks again. Generously, Toji lifts up under both your knees and hoists you higher, holding your lower half up and allowing himself to slide deeper. The girlish squeal you release only has his hips snapping harder, working his cock in as deep as he can, feeling the stress of the day melt in your soft tight pussy. He grunts as you cum, mouth open as drool escapes down your chin, cute wet moans so soft and breathy as you shudder and gasp.

“That feel good?” He smiles, the dopey expression on your face too cute for him not to bend down and capture your lips this time. Sucking and nibbling on your lips till they’re swollen before he delves his tongue into your hot mouth, his tongue taking up too much space until you’re squirming for air. He denies you it, swirling around your own pink appendage while rocking you with each thrust, rolling his hips expertly until your eyes are going crossed and you’re meeting his thrusts with your own. When your hands move to touch him, he restrains them, curling his much larger hands around your own and putting them beside your head while he presses you up and down into a mating press.

“Oh gods,” you can only cry for mercy, begging for more or less you aren’t sure, as he languidly pumps his cock into you until you don’t know up from down.

“No gods here girl, just this fucking tight little cunt y’got here, beggin’ f’another load.” You can’t even shake your head, in fact you find you wouldn’t mind it, the feeling of his hot seed spilling into you. He’s pressed you down so well you can’t even wiggle your hips, only moan and whine waiting for him to speed up, to fuck you harder.

He doesn’t. Just keeps the same steady pace and rhythm, balls slapping your ass at the same time, slimy and wet with all the mixed fluids your cunt has forced out by Toji’s invasion. Toji ignores your nonverbal cues for more, smirk still the same as he even occasionally grinds in deep to watch your eyes widen and lips part. The soft squishy leaking tip of his cock continuously smushing up against the soft barrier of your cervix, ready to spill his load and fill your womb.

“Master~” you begin to lose it completely, arching up as well as you can to press your chest to him, “Harder! Please fuck me! Please, harder please—,” a mindless chant for more, just a little more, to push you into that crest of euphoria where you crave to be again.

Who is he to deny such cute lewd begging?

Toji laughs, grin bared like a wild animal as he leans even more weight down on you before picking up his pace, pounding you into the mattress while your eyes roll back into your skull and you scream your impending orgasm. It hits you so hard you pass out for a moment, vision completely darkening as waves of pleasure engulf you.

Toji spills his load not long after, groaning deep in his throat as he releases as deep into you as possible, hips stilling and locking against your groin to ensure your cunt doesn’t waste a drop.

“Hey,” you’re too out of it, as he taps your cheek and only receives a blissed out smile and clouded vision. Just as he prepares to pull out and give himself a minute before fucking you again, his door opens.

“Boo~! You stretched her poor pussy out with that thing. I wanted to play with it again.” Satoru whines, blue eyes narrowed in childish petulance.

“Shut up, brat.” Toji rolls his eyes, cocking a brow at Megumi who moves silently around to check on you. His small smile at the pretty expression you wore grew, looking so fondly down at you it made Toji’s teeth ache.

“Hey~ Meg, you gonna use her? Otherwise I will~” Satoru begins undressing shamelessly, Toji’s exasperated glower ignored as the white haired male joins them in bed, tapping his hard cock on your puffy slick lips, letting you taste his salty precum.

“Fucking brats.” Despite his words, Toji feels his cock hardening again inside your warmth, giving a few short hard thrusts into your cunt to fully harden. He grips your hips and rolls so you rest on his chest, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass and spreading your cheeks for the two younger males to see.

“She’s got another hole that can be filled.” Toji grunts, beginning a slow a pace sensual pace inside you, more rocking than actual thrusts as you mewl against the hard planes of his chest. Satoru shivers, licking his lips as he brings his face down to where your puckered back entrance rests untouched. He’s unbothered by Toji’s thick cock spreading your pussy open, opening his mouth and letting his tongue prod your ass while you jolt and tremble in Toji’s hold.

“Easy girl, ain’t gonna hurt.” He mumbles, roughly petting your hair while you turn your face away to look back, only to feel fingers gently tangle in your hair.

“Here,” you’re being fed more cock, Megumi’s leaking swollen tip smearing his fluids across your closed lips until they open and he can plunge into your mouth’s warm depths with a moan. Your mind slowly goes blank again, the earlier feeling of panic fading as Satoru plays with your ass, using your own cum as lube and spreading it over the hole before playfully pressing his thumb into the tight space.

You moan around Megumi’s cock, the shaft sinking deeper into your throat while Toji fucks you a little faster, feeling you tighten with Satoru’s intrusion.

They play like that for a while, slowly speeding up before becoming languid again, turning you into a soft wet mess in their hold as Satoru finally lines his cock up with your free hole, groaning loudly as he fails to press inside. A sharp slap to your ass tears you free from your bliss, the pain biting but making the pleasure stand out more as Satoru looks at your hole in irritation. “Hey, sluts should just relax, let me in,” he complains, slapping your ass again and making you do the opposite and tighten.

“Shit, tight fucking pussy,” Toji moans, moving you up and down his shaft faster while Satoru tries again, spitting on his dick lewdly and pressing the tip back at your hole, hips driving forward and finally breeching. “Ngh—!” Satoru nearly cums on the spot, feeling the tight ribbed walls of your ass strangling his cock as he spears you open.

You’re so full it’s unbelievable, head empty and completely blank while feeling two thick cocks open you up while Megumi continues to fuck your mouth.

You can’t say a word, only feel as Satoru sets the pace while Toji helps rock you back and forth. With your hips occupied with Toji’s hands, Satoru instead wraps his long slender fingers around your neck, dragging you away from Megumi, loose enough for you to breathe but tight so he can draw you up against his chest as he drives into your tight sphincter with short jerky thrusts, lips pressed against your ear as he groans low in his throat. Megumi stands, perfect height with you lifted like this to comfortably slip his cock back into your mouth and down your throat. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, the slow clapping of skin and trembling movements, no one wanting this to end too soon while you writhe and jerk in their hold as they use you.

“I think you like being our little whore, huh?” Satoru whispers in your ear like a demon. “Feeling us all fill your filthy holes, making you our pretty slut to fuck however we want.” He’s so deep inside you, hips flush with your ass he stretches you on his cock, the thin skin separating him and Toji continuously stretched and rubbed from inside. A mess of fluids coated you all from below, so much so it was all wet squelching and moans from the languid movements of the gladiators. “Bet you’d like it if we just chained you up to fill all your holes, right Princess?” His condescending tone is lost on you as you feel your lower belly tighten painfully, the fullness becoming more evident as you get closer to your end.

“Don’t tease her,” Megumi huffs, looking fondly at Satoru with a hint of exasperation. “She’s being so good, taking all of us so well,” he feels you swallow around his rod, eyes fluttered closed as he thrusts into your mouth. “We should reward her.”

Toji chuckles, knowing exactly what the two were up to.

“Oh~? How should we reward our little cum Princess then?” You stutter as you feel Toji shift his hand and press down on your belly, body shaking as your eyes watered. Your hands were useless trying to push him away, only feeling his cock twitch and flex inside of you while he smiled.

“She looks close, should help her finish.” Megumi huffs, his own end nearing as you slobber and choke on his cock.

“Hmm~ guess I’ll be nice, this time,” he breathes the last bit in your ear threateningly, but the seductive undertone has you shaking in a way that isn’t from fear. Satoru releases one hand from around your throat to dip down until he can swirl his finger around your swollen sensitive clit. It’s already covered in slick, easily letting him press and grind down, feeling you buck and moan in their grasp beautifully.

“You gonna cum Princess? All over our cocks?” Satoru has you clutched close as he fucks you, helping forcing you down on Toji’s cock while you groan around Megumi’s length. “Cum for us, let us ruin you.” It’s like he’s a prophet for the Gods, because when you do cum, you do feel ruined. Megumi’s hips stutter as you gluck and allow his cock even deeper, his balls drawing tight as he floods your throat with his cum.

Satoru and Toji cum shortly after, grunting and moaning their own finishes while you’re cradled limply against Toji’s chest now, eyes unfocused as you’re filled again and again.

Your dreams provide you with sweet relief, as you’re left unconscious in Megumi’s arms as he cleans you in a warm bath he’s pulled and heated.

“No fun~ she looked cuter covered in cum.” Satoru grins, but his smitten expression isn’t missed by Megumi who shakes his head with a smile.

“She won’t sleep good like that.” Is all he says, gently washing you clean and drying you off to take to bed. The bed Toji hardly ever uses now occupied by four occupants.

Toji watches in silence as you’re laid down, Megumi calmly sliding in while Satoru flatly lays at the bottom of the bed.

“Sure you want her?” Toji asks as the silence descends on them all.

Megumi’s dark gaze flicks up to his father.

“Hmph, acting like you don’t?” He challenged back, only to be met with a smirk and a heavy hand landing on top his head, making Satoru cackle.

You awake clean and warm, with a new pristine silver chain wrapped around your ankle and chained into the stone wall.

Satoru wasn’t kidding.

Dividers by @benkeibear

If you liked this, please reblog!♡ It is what sustains me, well, coffee too but reblogging is the dominant factor—

[deadsetobsessions]

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPT BY @out-of-jams

TOO MANY BEDS

DCXDP, GEN

——

The Wayne foundation was a giant in the corporate world. What made it impressive was that their company was based in Gotham where, despite or perhaps in spite of the frequent rogue attacks and general hostile environment, the Waynes managed to run a tight and efficient ship. Their operations run extremely smoothly.

However, that was not to say there were no mistakes. There were. Wayne Enterprises usually had enough-more than enough- budget to cover such mistakes.

The employees, after all, were humans (though their new CEO, Timothy Drake, might have been a vampire considering how pale he was) and were prone to make mistakes.

Thus, due to the nature of human mistakes, the visiting senior class of Amity Park’s Casper High found themselves in a rather baffling situation.

“Well, we can’t say there’s not enough beds.” Their chaperone-teacher, Mr. Lancer rubbed the back of his bald head.

Before them laid not ten, not twenty, but fifty five twin beds arranged in neat rows in Gotham Academy’s auditorium.

“What is this, the military?” Their other chaperone-teacher, Mr. Falluca, grumbled.

“It’s not like we haven’t slept in worse places.” Sam grimaced. The class collective shuddered as they remembered the junior camping trip from hell.

“Ugh, my hair is going to get frizzy if we sleep here.” Paulina muttered.

“I thought we were getting called here for cheer or something.” Star frowned. Her boyfriend of four years, Kwan, slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to comfort her.

The doors open as a harried Wayne Industries employee ran in.

“I am so, so sorry! This isn’t where we were supposed to have you stay but WE mistook the donation request and sent in beds instead of paying for hotel rooms!” They blurted out, looking panicked. “Your hosting class - we’ll have you meet them outside, maybe?”

“It’s fine, right guys?” Danny spoke up, arms crossed. Tucker hummed at his side, tapping quickly at his

“Yeah, whatever Fentina says,” Dash grumbled. After the reveal of Danny’s identity as Phantom, his hostility and bullying died a quick death. Though, Dash kept the nicknames as they were a hard habit to kick and there weren’t any malicious intent behind it. In fact, Dash quickly became one of Danny’s biggest supporters, hidden behind scowls and general posturing.

“We could just meet in here. Get rid of the bedframes and just have a giant sleepover while you guys get everything sorted out.” Valerie volunteered.

“That’s a great idea!”

The class, coordinated from years of ghost attacks, quickly assembled the giant floor mattress. Gotham Academy’s senior class filed in ten minutes later, gaping at the giant floor mattress(es) before whooping and joining Casper High’s seniors in tumbling around.

——

Danny threw an empty plastic water bottle at Kwan’s head.

“Hey! No PDA on the giant mattress!”

“Yeah, get that love shit out of here!” Someone else hollered.

“There might technically be only one bed, now, but it’s still multiple mattresses!” Stephanie Brown, one of Gotham Academy’s seniors heckled.

“Hey, Danny, it’s your turn for truth or dare!” Tim said.

“Truth.” Danny returned.

“Lameeee.”

“C’mon Fenturd, too chicken to do dare?”

“Danny, that’s so boring,” Sam smirked.

Danny scowled. “Hey, whose side are you on?”

Sam and Tucker grinned and said in unison, “The winning side, duh.”

Tim cut in. “So, what’s the worst thing that’s happened to you?”

Danny groaned. “Camping trip, no contest.”

“Camping trip?”

——

[tacticaldiary]

can you do a ghost x head doctor!reader? kind of that scenario where ghost is like, “i don’t want a regular plain nurse; i want reader 🙄” and reader is like, the head doctor of the medical wing or whatever, and doesn’t usually deal with regular military injuries, but puts up with ghost’s shit anyways? 😋

Superficial Wounds, Deep Devotion

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Fluff; Hurt/Comfort

"Need me to kiss it better?" She quips with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll take anything you prescribe." Comes the smooth answer. It draws out a snort of laughter from her as she turns around with the gauze.

"All you need is to stop scaring away the field medics." She steps in between his legs, wiping down the cut on his shoulder with disinfectant.

Masterlist

"Ghost?" Her head snaps up from the clipboard. "What's wrong with him?" She frowns, pushing down the bubbling panic in her chest.

"He's asking for you to treat him in room Q42."

"Is he bleeding?" The urgency itches just below her skin but her cool professionalism doesn't crack. She doesn't deal with superficial injuries, only the most complex cases. She's seen it all. Mangled faces, guts hanging out, disfigured bodies.

So the fact that they were asking for her-...

Wait.

"Is command asking me to see him?" She says slowly.

The soldier shakes his head. "No ma'am. It was a request from the Lieutenant himself."

She releases a slow exhale, relief tingling. "I'll see to it." She dismisses him with a wave, starting down the hall.

Simon had this...habit of seeking her out. It was a perk of his rank, she supposes, but she'd been the only one to treat him ever since they'd encountered each other way back when she was an on-site combat nurse.

It's impossible to forget seeing him for the first time. That skull mask of his was splattered blood red, a bullet wound in his shoulder as he sat on one of the dusty cots in the emergency tents they'd set up in the middle of the desert.

They'd just clicked.

She ended up treating him again after that, and that's when he started personally requesting her.

It hadn't taken long for the spark between them to explode into something intense and loving. He was the anchor to her stressful life, unshakable and a steady presence. She was his person, one of the only people he trusted with his injuries and his heart, the warmth that let him focus on being better.

Swinging open the door without knocking, the man in question sits there in all his glory in front of her.

Admittedly, the first she stares at is his chest. He's shirtless, a cut that she can tell is superficial and non-fatal from all the way by the door.

"You can come inside." His voice is amused and knowing, the bastard.

"Inviting me into my own house?" She swallows, but listens. The door is kicked shut behind her. The moment it's closed he tugs off his mask, the weary lines of his face much more prominent under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room. "How was your op?" Stopping by the cot he's sitting on to press a quick kiss to his sweaty head, she breezes past him to the medical trolley nearby.

"Fine. Did what we had to." They both know he won't volunteer any more information. Just as she doesn't confide in him with every horrific injury she deals with, he doesn't expose her to the horrific things he has to do. A mutual withholding of information for the peace of mind of both parties.

"Thought you weren't due to come home until tomorrow. I was gonna meet you on the tarmac and everything."

"Surprise." He deadpans, making her snicker.

"You know, for the big bad Ghost you are, you sure need to cause such a fuss about a little cut." Gathering what she needs, she casts him a glance over her shoulder.

"Thought it was your job to make sure I was in the best state possible for deployment?"

She loves this back-and-forth they have. He does too, if the relaxed way he leans back on his arms is anything to go by. It had taken years and years to get to the place they are right now. Years of work, of communication and trust.

"It's my job to take care of the worst, highest profile cases."

"I'd say this is pretty urgent." This playful side of him came out when they were alone.

"Need me to kiss it better?" She quips with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll take anything you prescribe." Comes the smooth answer. It draws out a snort of laughter from her as she turns around with her spoils.

"Can I prescribe you to stop scaring away the field medics?" She steps in between his legs, wiping down the cut on his shoulder with disinfectant. He doesn't wince or cringe or even flinch at the burn, eyes fixed on her face as she works.

"I'm a Lieutenant, I can do what I want."

She pauses, raising an eyebrow. "Are you really pulling rank on me right now?"

He hums, sliding up to hold her hips, tugging her closer. "Don't seem to mind it when we're alone, love." A smirk tugs at his mouth when a flush creeps up the back of her neck. God, he loves that look on her.

"What's gotten into you?" Shaking her head but unable to push down a smile, she works on securing the gauze, taping it down. "Getting clingy, are we now?"

He...well he can't deny it. He doesn't want to tell her the reason for it either, even if she's subtly fishing for answers.

He'd been an inch away from getting shredded by flying shrapnel from a car bomb today.

If Gaz, quick-witted, sharp, Gaz hadn't yelled and yanked him to cover behind a brick wall he would've been embedded with scraps of metal and rusty nails.

Dead, as his namesake.

Ghost wasn't afraid of death. Ghost got up every day ready to not see the sunrise again. Ghost was a cold blooded machine ready to do whatever his orders were.

But Simon wanted to live.

Simon wanted to come home to her. Simon wanted the last thing he saw to be her smile. Simon selfishly wanted her more than any victory his rifle could earn him.

Ghost had been unfazed, Simon had realised the inevitability of the avoided consequence.

Lips press against his bare shoulder. Right, left, and then gently on the gauze. It brings him back to the present, his grip on her tightens for a moment. Her gaze is soft, knowing. Because of course it is. She's the only one who's been able to get into his head like this, been able to crack the code to thoughts he himself doesn't have the key for.

"Any of other glaringly dangerous injuries I need to take a look at?" His eyes follow the smooth line of her neck as she tilts her head towards him. He exhales, shifts, and pulls her closer without warning, banding a strong arm around her.

"Dunno. Think you might have to conduct a comprehensive examination."

She laughs against his lips and goes down with him when he shifts farther up the cot.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(1/09/2023)

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part two | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

-

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff.  Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.     

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him. 

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend.  They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty. 

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks.  “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny.  Felix is far less amused.  This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out.  But so far it has been tedious. 

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time.  For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately.  Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve.  They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance.  He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance.  He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down. 

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell.  More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter.  Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her.  But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working.  Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all. 

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says.  “It’s a train.  There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says.  “We’re supposed to look normal.  Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap.  Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy. 

“That,” he says.  He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor.  This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents.  “Four security officers.  Ex-military.  Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed.  He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat. 

“The hell, man?” Chris says.  “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea?  Ya think that might blow our cover?  Just a bit?” 

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right.  Miroh does not like a public mess.  They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting.  It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far.  He prefers action.  With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat.  He tries not to think about it.  His life is his mission.  Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world.  Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good. 

The Enemy has been dead for two years.  The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard.  He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it.  There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister.  Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless.  That maybe Miroh is wrong.  That maybe some things cannot be saved. 

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap.  He gathers himself and exhales. 

“Fine,” he says.  “How long do you think he will be distracted?  Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says.  “Might as well check.  He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”  

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.  

Felix is not in the mood to argue.  He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris.  They make their way down the aisle.  No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin.  Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury.  It is all deep mahogany and gold trim.  Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy.  The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely. 

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage.  He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data.  Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads.  The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix.  It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage.  Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy. 

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs.  Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein.  These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them.  The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers.  In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room.  “You’re usually a computer whiz.  Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says.  For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans.  Everything except the metadata matches the description.  But that metadata does not lie.      

These files do not belong to Miroh. 

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix.  They look at the files together. 

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks.  “It looks like the right thing.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen.  “Or it should be.  But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh.  But all these files are original.  They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet.  Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him.  He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face. 

“Felix,” Chris says.  “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows.  He looks down at the plans.  The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says.  “We’re just stealing them.  Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says.  “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.   

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says.  “It’s what Miroh does.  It’s what they all do.  You haven’t figured that out yet?  You?” 

Felix, who has done the most assignments.  Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program.  Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers.  Felix does not even know all the questions.  He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain. 

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says.  “Just take the data and we’ll leave.  We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away.  He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says.  “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says.  “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him.  Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way.  He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself.  He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens.  They have no time to react.  In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team. 

Felix knows how to fight.  It is second nature to him.  He should not need to think.

But he does.  He overthinks.  He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away.  Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children.  He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him.  It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away.  Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them.  That distracts Felix too.  Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore. 

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does. 

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train.  The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car.  A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder.  The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing.  He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks. 

But it won’t save him.  He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none.  The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump.  He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard.  Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data.  That is what they are trained to do.  The job is more important than the soldier.  In a crisis, you leave the weak behind. 

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds.  He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency.  He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix.  Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me. 

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence.  He shouts, “Hold on!”  Then he swings himself over the railing.  He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side.  Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing. 

“What are you doing?” Felix asks.  He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks.  He is not sure it will ever slow again.  He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks.  He laughs for some forsaken reason.  “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder.  Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place.   Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says.  “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility.  Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic.  The bag of candy is still in his back pocket.  He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers.  He feels like his world is crashing around him. 

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again.  They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year.  When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too.  They are on their way to their bunks. 

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder.  Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix.  He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself. 

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood.  It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can.  But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh.  She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be.  Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves.  But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say. 

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says.  It comes out as instinctively as a punch.  “I wouldn’t have saved your life.  I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him.  He exhales on a laugh.  Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie. 

“I know, Felix,” he says.  “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back.  I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same.  I did it because it was the right thing to do.” 

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss.  Even his long engrained instincts fail.  He is out of punches. 

Chris just smiles at his confusion.  With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk. 

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged.  He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands.  That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught.  Maybe things exist outside of this place. 

Maybe some things can be saved. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh.  “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed.  He is her bodyguard.  She is an heiress.  Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now.  It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that.  The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested.  Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions.  When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction. 

It is why your father is not happy.  The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands.  Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him.  You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter.  Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable.  Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right. 

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty.  Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy.   It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse.   He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died.  The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children.  It was ripe for picking. 

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind.  This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered.  You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin.  The rest of your team is scattered around the house. 

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations.  Your findings have been on your mind all day.  It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit. 

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says.  “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun.   He places it beside yours.  It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other.  You would certainly never do it around your father.  But Changbin is different.   You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis.  You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward.  You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor.  Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you. 

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say.  “Physical in some capacities, digital in others.  My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us.  That is the part my father is interested in.  That is all he sees.” 

“And what do you see?”  Changbin asks.  His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness. 

“I don’t see anything,” you say.  “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious.  You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one. 

“The security log is missing information,” you say.  “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed.  No breach, no shutdown.  Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system.  Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.” 

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks.  “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply.  “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players.  This family had enemies in every market.  If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now.  Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets.  No interest in even sticking around.  Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other.  Someone professional.  Someone technologically capable.  Someone whose only motivation was escape.” 

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind.  When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say.  “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification.  Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic.  He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long.  It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix. 

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully.  His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else.  “You remember him.  He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”    

That much is true.  You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you.  You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable.  You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines. 

Felix was competent but naïve.  He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal.  To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed. 

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause. 

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask.  “The enemy?”

“Chris.”  Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs.  His smile is wry.  “He asked me about Chris.” 

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer.  After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.   

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly.  He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms.  “Does it matter now?  I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way.  Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now.  The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment.   You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate.  You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered.   The results are the same: the rebellious boy died.  He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction. 

“Chris,” you say.  The name sits heavy on your tongue.  “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts.  It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics.  But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before.  “You know he didn’t even recognize me?  Ah!  The little brat!  I knew him too!  I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there.  Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!” 

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words.  Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye.   He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you.  Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.  

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard.  In truth, he is a good bodyguard.  Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him.  It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his.  Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him.  Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own.  He is probably right.  Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered.  He is a strategist.  He is patient if it means results. 

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience.  You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.  

You find yourself reaching for him.  It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character.  You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours.  You touch it very lightly. 

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely.  You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him.  You rip your hand back and shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory. 

“Nothing,” you say.  “I mean – well.”  You scrub a hand over your face.  The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you. 

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head.  He rubs his face too. 

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before.  “It’s been a long day.”  An understatement.   

Changbin doesn’t argue.  You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest.  You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far.  The one bed has plenty of space.  You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you. 

You wake some time in the middle of the night.  When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you.  You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window.  There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes.  His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted.  His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night. 

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you. 

“Obviously,” you reply.  You push yourself upright.  “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing. 

“You look tired,” you say. 

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh. 

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you.  “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.” 

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle.  Naturally his humour returns at your expense.  He really is the little brother you never had. 

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat.  You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled.  You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other.  He looks out the window and you look at him. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.   

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response.  Then he shakes his head and sighs.  “I don’t know, princess,” he says.  “I don’t think you’ll understand.” 

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right.  You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos.  If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives. 

Your life is anything but normal. 

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident.  “I know who you are.  Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.” 

You swallow your thoughts quickly.  Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone.  It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow.  You look away, up at the sky.  You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life.  Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something.  Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean.  He was right about that.  He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness.  Or so you thought.  All this business with the enemy has changed things.  That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it. 

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?”  Changbin asks.  “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.” 

You look at each other.  He just sighs. 

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says.  “I’ve always been what I am.  Maybe it’s time to stop.” 

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country.  And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are.  It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything. 

“Maybe it does,” he says.  He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face.  “Does it matter?  He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say.  You’re Miroh’s daughter.  Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been.  It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world. 

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter.  He just laughs at your silent but intense stare.  He shakes his head as he looks out the window.  “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason. 

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring. 

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs.  He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence.    It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.  

Your startled eyes find his.  It splits your focus.  You see Changbin right now, older, stronger.  You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow. 

You blink again and it is just him as he is now. 

He drops his hand. 

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says.  “I know.  Ha!  I really know.”  He swings around, planting his feet on the ground.  He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed.  But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry.  You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old.  You realize there has been more than one constant in your life. 

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness. 

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says.   “But also not.  You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same.  We’re just animals to him.  Raised to the slaughter, ha!  But not you.  One way or another, you’re going to be someone.” 

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist.  He looks down at his palm. 

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…” 

He draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line.  You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered. 

“Just… remember me,” he says.  “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh.  I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words.  You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know.  You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor. 

You have always felt very alone.  You learned to thrive in that solitude.  Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless.  You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.  

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone.  Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere.  You both keep your heads down, get the job done.   Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here. 

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night.  When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action.  You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife.  He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm. 

Your eyes meet.  You are unflinching, more resolute than ever.  You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words. 

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it.  His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him. 

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says.  “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.” 

-

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered.  You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership.  Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up.  It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be.  If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all. 

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not.  This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage.  Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation. 

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes.  At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building. 

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk.  “Today’s going to be boring.” 

“Yup,” you say in accord.  There is no way anyone else will be here.  You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined.  With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work. 

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building.  It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless.  Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level.  You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work.  “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep. 

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says.  He takes off his mask to grin at you.  “But I am super good looking.” 

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile.  He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile. 

Eventually he takes a seat.  He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal. 

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes. 

You can hardly blame him.  It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated.  Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping.  Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating.  Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say.  “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action.  Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach.   You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team. 

It happens very fast.  One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want.  The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other. 

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell.  None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents.  You have not had anything near this problem before.   

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles. 

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison.  You nod at each other. 

The message gets passed along the communicators.  There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell.  You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders. 

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks. 

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos. 

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde.  The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions.  It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense. 

These agents belong to the enemy.  The enemy.  It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers.  But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles.  There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf.  It makes no sense. 

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him. 

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says. 

“It’s the enemy,” you say.  “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says. 

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are. 

You watch as several of your officers are taken down.  You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them.  A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf.  Chris.  Felix.  Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you.  You think you will be hearing gunshots for days. 

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin.  “Leave through the roof.  We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs. 

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier.  But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying.  Because that is what will happen.  You should not be bothered by it.  You can train a new security team.  They exist for this exact reason. 

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind.  Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard.  A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake. 

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet.  “You’re better than this!” 

He’s right.  You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight. 

You push through the pain and thunder.  You get your feet back under you.  You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best. 

You slam and bolt the door behind you.  You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing.  Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness.  You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access.   You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in.  You are glad you decided against that. 

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness.  “Put this on.”  He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof. 

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself.  It is second-nature.  You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door.  “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say.  “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.”  You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far.  Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath.  You do not have time to think twice.  It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness. 

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building.  “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!” 

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers.  You grab his hand, stopping him. 

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye.  The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you.  You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax.  Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest.  It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start. 

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says.  “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you.  It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say.  “What the fuck are you thinking?  You—”  

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile.  “This is my job.  Let me do it.” 

“No,” you say, struggling against him.  You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious.  “You can’t be serious!” you shout.  “We’re the same thing!  If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back.  “You’re a Miroh!  You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say.  “It’s me they want anyway!  You put on the harness!  You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply.  The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either. 

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again.  Your focus splits.  You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.  

Then everything changes. 

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears.  You see the colour grey.  It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe.  You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices. 

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger.  Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles.  There is no wind in his hair.  There is no wind anywhere.   He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey.  He says your name.  You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing.  You cannot make out what you are saying.  When you look down, you cannot see your body.  You can only see him.  You can only hear him.    

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey.  You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness.  You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door.  You look there frantically.  Changbin does too.  Then you look at each other. 

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.  

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand.  He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar.  He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance. 

Then he slowly lets go of your hand. 

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says. 

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard.  You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down. 

There is nothing you can do mid-air.  You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once.  You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground.  You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly. 

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly.  You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope.  You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge.  “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line. 

You jump out of the way.  Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground.  The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms.  “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer.  You run over to the body, searching for something.  You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong. 

It does not take you long.  You roll the body over.  Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent.  He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago.  His name was Agent Slump.  You shot him through the shoulder. 

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.  

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion.  You see nothing from this vantage. 

You run back into the building.  You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs.  This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself.  Your father has done this.  Sending fake enemies after you.  Teaching you yet another lesson.  You said you could handle yourself.  You said your security team could protect you.  Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion.  You find yourself blinking back tears.  You cannot remember the last time you cried. 

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step.  Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers.   It echoes in the empty stairwell.  “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say.  “It’s not the enemy.  It’s my father.  It’s Miroh.  Changbin.  Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below.  You stop to listen.  Your vibrating phone makes you jump. 

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell.  This one is not playing a part.  He is in the standard uniform.  There are more officers behind him.  The back-up you called like an idiot. 

You do not go back down.  You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you. 

You no longer know what you are doing.  You do not know where you are going or what you will find.  A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero. 

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere.  You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof.  You try to tell yourself that he is safe.  It was just Miroh.  They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now.  Everything will be fine. 

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine.   Everything has changed. 

You hear the officers behind you.  You look around.  The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump.  It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have.  At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die. 

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath.  You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts.  You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof.  You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain.  You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running.  You open a skylight and drop into the building.  Another empty corridor stretches in front of you. 

You decide your objective it to escape.  You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself.  You can get out of here. 

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in.  Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters.  You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you.  You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything.  When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual. 

You turn around.  You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say.  “Of fucking course it’s you.” 

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become.  Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller.  His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember.  He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask.  He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window.  His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze. 

You do not waste any more breath cursing.  You turn and run. 

You know it is useless but you have to try.  In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip.  You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you.  You manage to rip away after a few good kicks.  It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline.  Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him. 

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below.  You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you.  If you look back, it will slow you down.  You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor. 

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again.  This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat. 

That adrenaline betrays you.  It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you.  You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized.  He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him. 

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper.  It makes him tighten his grip on your throat.  You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.  

You are swiftly joined by the other officers.  You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm.  He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet.  You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths.  It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too. 

You trip for the third time.  Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up.  You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes.  You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions.   You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again. 

Then another officer grabs you.  You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask.  “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says.  “This is for your own good.  You are behaving erratically.  Don’t be scared.  We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers.  I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.” 

You have no more words.  An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you.  Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down.  You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood.  He screams under you until someone rips you off him.   They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy. 

The officer gets to his feet.  Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn.  You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you.  You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it. 

Then you realize it is Chan holding you.  When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you.  He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist. 

Chan says nothing.  He does not need to say anything.   He looks at the officer and the officer swallows. 

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes. 

“We’re leaving,” he says.  “Guard, take your charge.” 

You are looking smugly at the officer.  That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you.  It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.    

They take you to a truck.  It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables.  It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains.  You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it. 

You try and slow your frantic breathing.  You cannot have a breakdown right now.  It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father.  You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains.  You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy. 

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck.  You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you.  All the hairs on your body stand up.  You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity.  He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him.   When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats. 

Chan says nothing.  He never says anything.  On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him.  You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs.  They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work. 

You swallow.  He is not speaking but he is staring.  He does not remove the mask.  You have not seen him without it in years.  He is nothing but a soldier.  An army unto himself. 

Your heart skips another beat.  An idea slowly forms in your mind. 

You are better than average.  Chan is better than you.  You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help.   Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought.  It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try.   You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence.  The worst would probably be a snapped neck. 

You curl your hands behind your back.  The scar on your palm stings.  You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose. 

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say. 

Just like you suspected, he says nothing.  He just stares at you.  The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle.  He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected. 

Your fear turns to frustration.  You heave a breath. 

“Did you hear me?” you ask.  “You’re not a soldier.  You’re a prisoner.  You’re not who you think you are.  Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real.  The real you is in there somewhere.  And the real you—”  The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.” 

Chan stares at you.  That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head.  It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you.  His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression.  You did not know he could make such an expression. 

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.   

He straightens, but he still looks questioning.  It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface.  You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him.  You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters.  More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face. 

“Chan,” you say.  “Chris.  Whatever you want to be called.  If you’re in there, then listen to me, please.  I know you don’t know me.  We hardly knew each other at all growing up.  But we did grow up together.  Miroh is controlling both of us.  He is going to use us to do things.  He—”  You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm.  It brings a tear to your eye. 

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter.  You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say.  “This is bigger than you and me.  I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop.  Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench.  You screw your eyes shut and shake your head.  You want to scream. 

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare.  It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it. 

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked.  There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck.  A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing. 

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you.  An officer opens the door wider and nods to him. 

“Let’s go, guard,” he says. 

Chan gets up.  You watch as he struts past.  He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer.  It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash.  It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you. 

You sit, petrified, confused.  Chan slowly turns.  You blink at him.

He holds out his hand. 

“What?” you say.  It comes out a rasp.  You cannot manage more words.  There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him.  This man has been tortured into compliance.  There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes.   He does not feel anything.  He does not understand anything.  He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand. 

There is nowhere to go but forward.  You get to your feet and shuffle towards him.  He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression.  He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van.  When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around.  A gust of breath whooshes out of you.  You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs. 

Never mind.  He is breaking them with his bare hands.  You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap.  You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking. 

Chan is calm as the other officers approach.  Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs. 

Chan looks at you.  You do not know why or how, but he nods. 

You nod back.

You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight.  It is time to remind them of that. 

-

Your father is in his rooftop garden.  Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite.  He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes.  It balances for him.  The ends always justifies the means. 

You walk into his garden.  It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you.  He does not have time to hide his surprise.   You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten.  You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now. 

“Hello, father,” you say. 

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation.  “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly.  “We’ll talk right here.  Right now.” 

He is holding a watering can.  He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere.  Neither of you look at it.  Your eyes are locked on each other.  You both know what he did today.  He is smart enough to work that out. 

“Where are my men?” he asks. 

“Detained,” you answer.  Chan is holding them off somewhere.  You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later.  You have to solve one problem at a time. 

You have no real plan.  You are making it up as you.  All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you. 

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar.  You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him.  Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other.  Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy. 

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too.   He will not win in a one-on-one fight.  He is smart enough to know that too.  It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back. 

“You’re injured,” he says.  “Go to the infirmary.  We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says. 

“Where is he?” you ask. 

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly.  The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background.  Wind moves through the flowers.  You hear birdsong in the sunshine.   Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point. 

“Who?” your father asks. 

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say.  “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents.  I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers.  No more lies.  No more games.  No more secrets.  Seo Changbin is my best officer.  I want him back.  Tell me where he is.” 

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says.  “His body is more useful than him.  The initial special-ops experiment was a failure.  His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant.  We can try again.  You should want to help me.  You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.” 

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you.  You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys.  You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat. 

You keep your disgust and horror down.  You take another step forward. 

“Give him back to me,” you say.  “Right now.  I told you already.  I’m not playing any games.” 

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny.  His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow.  “This is not like you.  Go to the infirmary.” 

“I’m not asking again,” you say.  “Give him back to me.” 

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer.  You know it will not work.  You know he does not care.  Miroh hates you because you are his daughter.  Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best.  He is scared of himself in you.  You never stood a chance. 

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore. 

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly.  You do not break. 

“Your friend?” he asks.  “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!”  He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say.  “I’m not asking again.” 

You fly at him without further warning.  He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily.  With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight.  After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over.  He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself.  You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard. 

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow. 

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat.  He has kept his gun in the same place for years.  In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat. 

He puts his hand there and finds nothing. 

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand.  You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand. 

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say. 

“Then kill me,” he says. 

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work.  He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself.  You will drop the gun and concede.  Miroh wins.  Miroh always wins. 

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand.  It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm.   You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger. 

You are not sure who is more surprised.  You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood.  You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest.   You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end.  You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards.  If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof. 

When you shoot him, he stumbles.  He falls back.  He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute.  The watering can has emptied.  The wind has gone still.  The whole world seems to stop.  When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter.  It feels very strange that the sun is still shining. 

You walk to the edge of the roof.  You look down.  Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown. 

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  The wind begins to blow again.  You feel it on your face. 

Then you hear a voice.  It nearly makes you jump. 

“What now?” it asks. 

You turn around.  Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath.  He is human somewhere under there.  Deep, deep down.   You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier. 

One problem at a time. 

A few more officers appear on the rooftop.   Chan turns.  You approach him. 

“What now?” you repeat.  You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers.  Chan draws his own and does the same.  You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries.  “Right now,” you say, “we fight.” 

You pull the trigger. 

The fight begins. 

[soracities]

Hi, how do you manage to see children as good? I would like to, but I only see them as inconsiderate and terrifing in a way a military robot would be terrifing. Not evil, because they are wired that way and it's just who they are, but everyone would be better off avoiding them. I've been to therapy because I was bullied, but I didn't change my mind. I kinda feel like it's an elephant in the room and I am right. I'd like to hear the good stories as often as possible tho, maybe sth will change

I'm not coming for you, but with all due respect it's not "just who they are".

Children aren't military robots because they aren't lifeless hunks of machinery incapable of thought or feelings; they are human beings (like you were at that age) who are trying to make sense of the world around them (like you did at that age), and who want to be a part of that world and feel welcome in it (like you did at that age). They are not coded to do the same thing over and over with no input from anyone else, they are not machines singly wired for carnage: they watch, learn, adapt, respond and interact with things around them because these are smaller, younger versions of you and me learning what it means to exist on this planet in the first place with barely any filters, impulse control and absolutely no guidance on how to do this except what the environment around them (parents, friends, family, teachers) tell them is and isn't okay.

I don't believe this is a matter of inherent goodness or lack thereof--I don't believe anyone is inherently good or bad: what I believe is that we are all inherently social creatures who desperately want to be part of our communities and involved with other people. Children are no different. They want to learn, they want to help, they want to figure out where they belong in their little social units and they look to you to tell them where that is because they don't know yet. And if they are in an environment where bullying is okay (either because they were treated horribly and no one did anything or they see and hear others being treated horribly and no one did anything or they treated someone else horribly and no one did anything) than that is what they'll accept.

If you follow your logic that everyone is "better off "avoiding children--what then? How do you expect them to learn right from wrong if no one is volunteering to teach them? How do you expect bullying to stop if no one is taking the time to instill it in them that bullying is not okay? How do you expect them to ever learn to be kind and considerate when everyone around them makes it clear they're not wanted? How do you expect them to learn what any kind of care and responsibility looks like if everyone is avoiding them to begin with? How do you expect them to think for themselves and reach their own conclusions if you treat them all like a monolith? Every single adult is an ex-baby, an ex-child, an ex-teenager--how do you expect decent adults to come into this world if you avoid teaching all three of those?

I'm not saying any of this to dismiss what you went through or undermine the horror and the impact of it, and I genuinely am sorry you were put through so much. But the best way I can answer your question is with full honesty: and I think it is going to be difficult for you to find those "good stories" and be open to them if you are already convinced that you are right because of what happened to you, that children are automatically feral terrors and that everyone else is just pretending otherwise or ignoring the reality. I believe what I believe because I've spent years around kids and seen all sides of them. I know they can say horrible things. But I also know they learnt those horrible things from a careless adult, or another child exposed to a careless adult. Children can be terrifying--but they are terrifying to other children. And that terror is coming from a reactive and limited understanding of the world where so much of what happens to you often feels like it's coming from large, hidden, horrible forces you can't wrap your head around (because you can't, because your head is 8 years old). But the fact is adults are also terrifying to children. And which of those are you now?

I can't speculate on what you went through or how you processed it, but I think it's worth considering that you may still be looking at children through the eyes of the child you once were and the horrible experiences you had. Again, I'm not dismissing that pain--it's real and it happened to you, and I can absolutely understand your feelings and conclusions--but that doesn't mean they equate to objective conclusions or generalization about all children, especially since you were a child: would you look at yourself like something similar to a military robot? Would you want to have felt the adults around you thought it better to stay away from you? And what about the people in your life that you care about most? Can you imagine them when they were children, like you were? Would you think the same thing about them?

If you want to change your mind, you need to put yourself in situations where that opportunity arises without expecting that your belief is the default. If you can, ask teachers what their fondest memories are of teaching--what's the funniest thing they've heard, what's the kindest thing they've seen, what's surprised them most about kids? What have they learnt from kids (because you do learn--you learn all the time). Ask people who love children why they love children, or simply see if you can find discussions on forums where people share those stories. As I said, I've heard and seen kids do some awful things--but those are tiny compared to everything I've seen that is the opposite (boys giggling face to face on a hill, a tiny toddler waving at me on a bus, a child naming a slug that crept in through his window, a 9 year old boy trying to teach me morse code after having known me for 2 minutes despite how long it took me to understand). It might also help if you give yourself the opportunity to learn a little about child psychology--if people's experiences aren't enough for you, then maybe getting insights into how children's actual brains and minds work might. If you're curious, there's a documentary series from 2015 or so that follows 4, 5, and 6 years olds as they play and engage with each other here to try and understand what their world looks like.

Sincerely, I don't mean for any of this to sound harsh and I really hope it doesn't--but at the end of the day there isn't a secret, pure anecodte that will magically make you change your mind. Change isn't passive; it's something you decide to do and actively work on and that includes challenging your own beliefs by providing them with new and wider information. I'm not saying you have to become a kindergarten teacher to do this, or start spending all your time around children. But if we are going to survive in this world and forge any kind of lasting connections we have to be able to offer some amount of grace and understanding to each other and the people in our lives--and that goes doubly for the people who have barely even begun learning to be people at all.

[lolita-lollipop]

Oh, oh! I have an avatar idea/request. I haven't seen the new movie yet but I always loved the idea of maybe a teen reader getting dragged to Pandora with their semi-negligent parents. Like they love their parents but they never have anytime for the reader. Reader gets signed up for the avatar program as a way to keep them entertained and out of the way of their busy scientist/military parents. They don't usually get to leave the base but sometimes they get to go on little excursions not far from it to do test runs and see what their avatar body is capable of and how their age effects things. However, on one of these trips something bad happens and the reader gets separated from the scientists and their escorts and now finds themself lost and scared in the jungle (and possibly unable to return to their human body).

PLATONIC JAKE SULLY (+ a lil sully family) X READER

(A/N I don’t know why I ended up feeling weird this, I think it’s because it reminds me of wattpad days. Kinda long, enjoy)

———————————————————————

Mayday mayday- theres a fire in the engine- the chopper is coming down.

You were always told by your parents to keep quiet, to stay on the sideline as to not hoard any attention that could reflect badly upon them, stay silent, stay obedient. Thats always how it was with them. You knew they loved you, even if they had a hard time showing it, even if it meant they talked to you about ten minutes in a day.

At least you were guaranteed a safe home, food, clothes, and a comfortable life. That is, until you were volunteered (voluntold) by your parents in the avatar program, it was supposedly a test to try the DNA pairing on a younger subject. And your parents had said it would be good for you to see where they work, but you knew that it was just because you were too “needy” in their eyes.

Of course, when you were told that you would be accompanying them on their work trips, you were elated, theyd never invited you before! Then you learned it was on another planet. After a few fights, as always, you ended up agreeing. After all, they said it was safe.

So two months later, a billion tests later, and a new blue humanoid created with your DNA, you had settled into pandora. It was strange to be honest, you were possibly one of the only people on the planet under the age of 21, and not educated as if you were a harvard professor.

Everything was out of bounds, you couldnt ever go to your parents lab, couldnt go outside, couldnt even meet your new blue body. Most of the time you sadly sat, turning into a human statue in your small room with your books. Of course you didnt complain, you never would,

you never did.

Then, you got to integrate yourself into your new body. And your brain, along with your DNA, was finally conjoined. You were wary at first, it was so surreal, after all you were changing bodies. But once you actually did it, you were so glad your parents signed you up.

All of a sudden you were strong, not just strong, but coursing with energy, you felt as if you could fly, or crack boulders in half, it was so surreal. The same feeling you might get as if you were underwater your entire life, and finally got your first breath of fresh air.

You never wanted to leave, never wanted to go back into your cubicle of a bedroom where you could barely breath without feeling inferior. Your legs moved before your mind did, and before you could comprehend, you were standing in the middle of the strange fruit fields with the nurses chasing you down. Your parents would be pussed if they saw you. But at this point? You didnt even care.

You didnt even care

---

As the months passed by your place at the laboratory had been established, you were correct in assuming that you were the youngest here, and that made the research you were contributing to far more interesting. You learned so much about these people, this species.

Primarily, the function of your avatar was completely optimal, you could walk, talk, breathe, and act like all of the others could. There was just one little thing.

Your life was better than it ever was, you didnt even need your parents to love you, you had so many people who already did. 90% of the time you spent beong tested on while doing daily activities. Youd only left the base to go into pandora twice, and that was just to see the land, see the place youd be living for a long time. While it could sometimes be boring, it was far better than your life back home.

After some time, your parents requested that you be taken to a farther laboratories in the mountains, which hurt a lot, but you couldnt say no. they had to transfer yur human, and your navi body. It was so strange to see yourself. Your human self, in other eyes.

So, here you are now. Clutching tight onto the seat of the large helicopter, your human body was encased in an airtight bed, an oxygen mask pressed tightly to your face. Your eyes were practically glued onto your human body, and you were barely able to peel them away, you looked so different when seeing yourself from different eyes, so weak.

It made you sad to know how everybody else saw you. You just stared, at least you got to be away from the two scientists you wished you could call your parents.

In your trance, you hadnt noticed the pilots in the front yelling at eachother, or the scientists rushing around the aircraft seemingly in a panic. It wasnt until the leather seat underneath you began shaking aggressively that you looked up.

There was smoke, but no visible fire, and the aircraft seemed to be dragging, instead of darting swiftly through the air like youd seen all the other planes do, almost like it was too heavy. It slugged, and slowly drifted down.

Panic slowly overtook your senses, you werent sure what was happeningm but by the looks of it, it was very bad. Understanding that you knew absolutely nothing about emergency procedures, You tried to stay put as well as you could, knowing anything you tried to do would just make things worse. But then, a large pop bellowed through the sky, and instead of dragging slowly, the helicopter began to plummit. Then you had to start moving.

Gravity threw you into the other end of the helicopter, and you frantically had to grip at the edge of the opening in attempts to not fly out. THings flew out of the sides, including a few screaming scientists… and the white bed with your human body in it. You watched it fly though the air towards the forest floor with wide eyes, slowly letting your grip slip. In your distraction, you didnt pay any attentuon to the other large objects flying out of the plane.

A large box containing some kind of lab supplies crashed against you, smashing you in the face, and knocking the breath right out of your lungs. And like the rest of the helicopter, you too began falling so abruptly that you couldnt even do anything more than scream. Clutching your head with your hands, you curled up, and just fell.

When you hit the ground, it was pain. And then nothing but black.

----

The flutter of your eyes, the feeling of your fingers against hard dirt, the smell of smoke and burnt flesh wafting in the air. You werent quite conscious, but you werent nececarilly unconscious either. Just there.

When you were finally able to peel your eyes open, there was so much green. Glowing mushrooms strungs across trees, large leaves dripping water, little bugs littered throughout the dirt, white veins growing across your hands and feet. Little glowing bugs that looked like dandelion fuzzthat bounced around across you.

That peace only kept for so long though, and as you realized the depth of your situation, that your helicopter crashed in the middle of a pandora forest, your human body had to be dead so it's amazing that youre even alive right now, and you have no contact to anybody who could save you.

And so, you cried. Unsure of what else to do.

Soft sobs slowly transitioned into rough, ugly crying. Maybe it was the panic, or maybe it was just pent up anxiety being given the oppurtunity, maybe even both. But you cried, without any reguard for what could be watching.

Naturally, as you were face down in the dirt, crying to your hearts content like a baby, you payed no care, nor attent to the sound of hooves traveling your way, or the sight of the native people stampeding towards the disturbance, the noise. They came came to a halt upon seeing you though, covered in seeds from ey-wa. The deity clearly did not want them to harm you, after all, you were just a young girl. Even if you were a human. \

“Call jake.” a womanly voice announced amongst the group in a foreign language, she was loud enough to alert you of their presence. Your head perked up, and in doing so made the pain in your back shiver through in small bursts, a wince left your lips.

You stared at the group in fear with wide eyes, trying to push yourself farther an farther away, which did nothing but unsettle the little white bugs all over you. They floated away towards them, and they stared back with even wider eyes. They werent really sure what to do, usually they would kill any trespassers, but you were protected, so should they grab you and take you back? Or do they leave you alone? They would have to let jake decide.

They stared at you, trying to get close, you stared at them, they muttered in their language, sounding far more than confused. You slowly scooted back, wincing the entire time out of pain. Any attempts to stand up were halted, as the white roots around your feet made the ground slippery, and just made you clumsily fall back down. It was humiliating, like watching a fish flop around out of water.You stayed quiet, you always did.

They all went silent within a few moments though, and the sound of more hooves echoed through the forest around. You didnt know what was happening, but clearly it was important, and you got the impression that it was not good for you. So you clutched the tree next to you, and stretched as far as you could to see what was happening.

And it struck fear in you. One of the largest Na-vi people youve ever seen, at least 10 or 11 feet, with braids that had long strands of silver interlocked, and the piercing green eyes of a hunter. He stared at you, and you stared right back. When he opened his mouth you expected more of that fooreign language, but instead, it was english.

“Why are you here? What happened?” he questioned, dismounting the horse like creature, and pulling out his braid from the connection. He was wearing some kind of beaded shirt, unlike the others,

The Navi around seemed to await every word he spoke. You perked up at the sound of english, happy to find the familiarity, however, youre pretty sure half of the bones in this body were broken, and it just caused you pain. YOure body let out a whimper before you could stop it.

At the noises that left you, the male quirked an eyebrow, and instead of the angry, almost terrifying look that was spread on his face, was a face of concern. You were so young, so small, he very well couldnt hurt you, and you had to be important, eywa wanted you safe, even if the goddess of the land didnt, he felt the need to protect you.

He had many children, and his youngest was soon growing old, and would eventually leave him. You were just so small, and you looked so young, you reminded him of kiri, abandoned, alone. He couldnt leave you.

He began growing closer, catching your gaze and holding it, he put his hands up and put his weapon down. Just trying not to scare you. When he opened his mouth you were expecting that language you couldnt understand, but to your pleasure, it was english.

“How bad are you hurt kid? I saw the smoke, eywa can heal you. I just need you to come with me” he reached his hand towards you, motioning for you to latch on. When you made no motion top grab it, he held your unrelenting gaze, and scooped his arm under your torso, shushing you when you cried out in pain. He held you tightly, tucking you in the knook of his arm. For a moment he seemed distracted, his eyes drawn to the floating white puffs above. What were those anyway?

You held your breath as he remounted the horse, and spoke a few words in that awful language you couldnt understand, with a squeal from the thing you were on top of, it began moving, along with the navi around you. The man gripped you tightly and pressed you close to his chest, one hand on the horse, one around your waist. You winced again, trying to hold back tears, everything hurt.

“It's okay, youll be alright, we can heal you, got it?”, you stayed quiet.

And in nothing but a few moments, It was calm again. Youd never actually met any of the natives, but you had thought it would be far more scary than this, your parents said they would snap and try to kill you. They didnt, in fact, and this man, this navi seemed so human. So kind. You felt so comfortable, he made you feel so comfortable.

The sound of the hooves against the dirt, this mans light breathing against your ear, the warmth soaking from him to you, his hand pressing you close, the way he looked down at you, amking sure you were comfortable. How he seemed to hover, to protect. Like a father should. At least thats what you thought.

You stared at him, and his eyes locked with yours, a small smile flashing at you. It just made him squeeze you tighter, god, it was just so endearing, so adorable how you stared. You looked so much like neytiri.

It only took a few minutes of him holding you for you to fall unconscious, probably because of the excessive blood leaving your system, or the physical attatchment you were already beginning to feel, or the lack of sleep. Either way, you ended up dozing off, and curling closer to him.

---

Once again, you had to peel your eyes open, but this time it wasnt as unpleasant. Instead of a muddy, veiny floor, covered in bugs, in agony. Instead, you were wrapped in some kind of cocoon, on top of a warm blanket or some kind of plant.

There was a woman sitting next to the pod you were in, smashing down some string smelling plant in a bowl. Her eyes were so green, and she was so beautiful. When she noticed you were awake, she put the bowl down, and hovered closer.

“That is my son, nateyam” the woman pointed to you, or more to the thing under you, in which you had previously mistaken for a plant, but instead, which you probably shouldve realized sooner. Was a navi. He looked to be a few years older than you, at least 17 or 18.

You shifted and sat up, trying to exit the cocoon, but to your embarrassment, your foot got caught in the edge, and you flew over, the boy you had been lying on top of grabbed you and hoisted you back up. You shook his hands off and stood up. Now realizing that there were other navi around too, they also looked young, maybe a family?

The man from earlier, who you assumed was their leader of some sort, appeared around behind the woman, and wrapped his arms around her waist with a smile, holding your gaze. You panicked, understanding now that you were with a bunch of strangers, and your parents, if they even cared, probably thought you were dead.

“I- i have to get back- they wont know that im okay-” you croaked out, your voice was hushed, and rough, like youd been screaming for hours on end, you shook nateyams hands off of you, and stood up straight, meeting the woman in the eye, she looked worried.

“Who is they? Do you have family where you live?” the woman answered, clearly she was his wife, or his mate, as they would call it. She had a thick accent, and a strong voice, commanding. So that man, jake, he couldnt be a native, he talked l

“Uh- yeah- i guess. I lived where the labs were. Uh- the humans? They have a building somewhere- i don't know-” you rushed out, not knowing how long youd been gone, they mightve already pronounced you dead. Meaning they wouldnt look for you. The boy behind you hushed you, tryign to calm your panic, and placed a hand on your shoulder. Only for you to shrug it off.

The navi around locked eyes, contemplating their next words. of course they knew where the humans stayed, jake lived there for half a year, they hated them, when they werent burning down their forests, they were killing their animals, their people. They would kill you. You couldnt go back. Even if it meant lying to you.

“There havent been humans on this planet for a long time”

What

What were you supposed to do now?

Where were you supposed to go?

You were stuck.

Oh god.

———————————————————————

Can somebody please comment with an honest opinion- I’m gonna take this down if y’all think it’s bad.

I think I’m being coo coo for cocobonks insecure right now but I need to know.

Thanks for requesting, and for reading! Have a wonderful day!

[alexthetrashyracoon]

any sort of ghost headcanons?

Only a few I have at the top of my head right now

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Simon hates the rain and the feeling of wet clothes sticking to his skin, but he loves petrichor, the smell after rain hit the ground.

He can cook, whatever your heart desires, he just needs a recipe and within the estimated time you’ve got an insanely good looking and tasting dish in front of you.

Simon plays football like a professional player (the European football not American style). And when he’s in the mood for it, you can find him on the nearest football pitch and play with some of the kids living around. Sometimes there are little tournaments and Simon helps the kids that participate win and of course getting better by giving tips and showing tricks.

He’s really work focused and needs a few days to acclimate to being back at home and not on the field. In those few days he follows his strict military routine. He wakes up at five in the morning, goes for a run, prepares a short but nutritious breakfast before checking his to-do list on what is on top.

Simon has a lot of stamina :)

He’s a gentleman who treats his partner with patience, love and kindness and respect and expects the same from them. He’s not scared to speak his opinion and he doesn’t mind a fight once in a while when emotions become too much for both parties, as long as he and his partner find a way to settle without hurting each other.

Simon watches ducks in parks and feeds them with seeds and glares at people who feed them bread.

He volunteers at local shelters. The animals love Simon, but especially the little critters like bunnies, hamsters and even mice and rats.

Simon doesn’t prioritize his work over his partner. He balances his work and love life as best as possible.

Simon hates paperwork. He has an office in his house that looks like someone blew it up and he didn’t bother to clean it up, Price reprimands him constantly for the mess when he comes for a spontaneous visit.

And he organizes get together’s once a month with friends, military and from his civilian life. He’s not the center of attention or the life of a party, but Simon loves to see his friends have fun.

Maybe some of them are a bit too unserious but I don’t know, they make sense in my head and I see Simon Riley as a human instead of just a soldier? I hope that’s what you wanted <3

[txttletale]

Hi! Do you think you could link me to some resources about the problems/ evils of the EU? Would love to find some but it's hard to know what's reliable when I have no base knowledge in this area + you seem very well informed :)

sure. let's start with what the EU does to its own member states--in 2009, the EU bailed the greek government out of severe debt on the condition that they establish brutal austerity measures, cutting public spending and welfare. these measures served to immiserate and destroy the lives of thousands of greek people:

Greek mortality has worsened significantly since the beginning of the century. In 2000, the death rate per 100,000 people was 944.5. By 2016, it had risen to 1174.9, with most of the increase taking place from 2010 onwards.

[forbes]

Since the implementation of the austerity programme, Greece has reduced its ratio of health-care expenditure to GDP to one of the lowest within the EU, with 50% less public hospital funding in 2015 than in 2009. This reduction has left hospitals with a deficit in basic supplies, while consumers are challenged by transient drug shortages.

[the lancet]

The homeless population is thought to have grown by 25 per cent since 2009, now numbering 20,000 people.

[oxfam]

the most brutal treatment, however, the EU of course reserves for migrants from the global south. the EU sets strict migration quotas and uses its member states as weapons against desperate people fleeing across the mediterranean. boats are prevented from landing, migrants that do make it to land are repelled with brutal violence, and refugees are deported back to countries where their lives are in lethal danger. these policies have led to many, many deaths--and the refugees and migrants who do survive are treating fucking inhumanely.

After a perilous journey across the desert, Abdulaziz was locked up in Triq al-Sikka, a grim prison in Tripoli, Libya. Why? Because the EU pays Libyan militias millions of euros to detain anyone deemed a possible migrant to Europe [...] A leaked EU internal memorandum in 2020 acknowledged that capturing migrants was now “a profitable business model” [...] in Triq al-Sikka and other detention centres, “acts of murder, enslavement, torture, rape and other inhumane acts are committed against migrants”, observed a damning UN report.

[the guardian]

Volunteers have logged more than 27,000 deaths by drowning since 1993, often hundreds at a time when large ships capsize. These account for nearly 80% of all the entries.

[the guardian]

Refugees and asylum seekers were punched, slapped, beaten with truncheons, weapons, sticks or branches, by police or border guards who often removed their ID tags or badges, the committee said in its annual report. People on the move were subject to pushbacks, expulsion from European states, either by land or sea, without having asylum claims heard. Victims were also subject to “inhuman and degrading treatment”, such as having bullets fired close to their bodies while they lay on the ground, being pushed into rivers, sometimes with hands tied, or being forced to walk barefoot or even naked across a border.

[the guardian]

In September, Greece opened a refugee camp on the island of Samos that has been described as prison-like. The €38m (£32m) facility for 3,000 asylum seekers has military-grade fencing and CCTV to track people’s movements. Access is controlled by fingerprint, turnstiles and X-rays. A private security company and 50 uniformed officers monitor the camp. It is the first of five that Greece has planned; two more opened in November.

[the guardian]

i could go on. i could cite dozens more similarly brutal news stories about horrific mistreatment, or any of the dozens of people who have killed themselves in the custody of border police under horrific conditions. the EU is a murderous institution that does not care about the lives of refugees and migrants or about the lives of the citizens of any member state that is not pursuing a vicious enough neoliberal political program

[ceilidho]

Ceilidh, I keep thinking about soap and ghost who are absolutely pro omega rights (soap in particular, or at least he’s more vocal about it). Like fuck those old, conservative assholes who think omegas should be seen and not heard, whose only purpose is to lie back, listen to their alpha and take a damn knot when they’re told.

They’ve both worked with omegas that got shit done – civilians AND military operatives, they know better and they’ll damn well shut anyone up who starts spouting that regressive shit.

But their own omega, well that’s a different story. Poor little thing doesn’t know what’s good for her, best if she gets rid of all those silly notions of hers and just let ghost and soap take care of her like they’re s’posed to.

ok in total honesty you almost lost me in the first half because as much as i would love that irl, it doesn't interest me so much in fiction where i want them to be deranged freaks. but you GOT me in that last paragraph.

neither being particularly activistic, but they also don't indulge in the casual omega denigration that some of their colleagues participate in. if an alpha says something shitty while Soap is around, Soap will usually snap back something about how maybe the alpha saying it should take notes from the omega civilian and military operators on base because "at least they're actually proficient at their fucking jobs". he'll genuinely get in fights when his temper flares up just enough - loves sparring when he's taken a particular dislike to someone because it means he has permission to beat the shit out of them.

Ghost doesn't have the patience for verbal fights, but he'll request an immediate transfer of any alpha sergeant or private with the misfortune of thinking that someone of Ghost's stature and size and general look would agree with their primitive beliefs. or he'll riddle them with hard labour and assignments that'll leave them exhausted and broken.

but when it comes to their omega? oh no, she's kept off base in the house they've purchased. they even contemplate retirement after finding her, neither of them comfortable with being away from their omega for extended periods of time. she's taken off her suppressants the second they get her locked up, the two of them helping her work through the withdrawals, getting her nice and relaxed on their knots.

despite the fact that the two of them are alphas, Soap always defers to Ghost, so Ghost is the one that knots her first. Soap gets to work her through the worst of her heats though, stamina letting him go for hours, overstimulating the both of them to the point of pain.

poor girl probably had a job and friends and maybe even volunteered before those two brutes stole her from whatever former life she was living. Soap is so enamoured with her temper tantrums, the way she demands they let her go. pinches her cheeks and coos when she gets worked up to the point of tears. she doesn't understand how they can have so much respect for the omegas in their field while keeping her locked up in their house, but the cognitive dissonance just works for them. their omega is just too soft and breakable to be out in the world (regardless of how tall she is or how she's built, how muscled or tough. to them, she's breakable)

i love writing them as hypocritical assholes :\\\\

[steveyockey]

We started seeing a series of children, preteens mostly, who’d been shot in the head. They’d go on to slowly die, only to be replaced by new victims who’d also been shot in the head, and who would also go on to slowly die. Their families told us one of two stories: the children were playing inside when they were shot by Israeli forces, or they were playing in the street when they were shot by Israeli forces.

As we met Palestinian physicians and nurses working at the hospital, it was clear that they, like their patients, were physically and mentally unwell. Giving anyone a pat on the back dropped your hand between two unpadded shoulder blades and onto an exposed spine. In any given room one found staff members with jaundiced eyes, a sure sign of acute hepatitis A infection in such overcrowded conditions.

Many staff had no sense of urgency and often no empathy, even for children. We were initially taken aback by this, But we quickly learned that our Palestinian health care colleagues were among the most traumatized people in the Strip. Like all Palestinians in Gaza, they had lost family members and their homes. Indeed, almost all of them now lived in and around the hospital with their surviving family. Although they all continued working a full schedule, they had not been paid since October 7; health sector salaries are paid by the Ramallah-based Palestinian Authority and are always cut off during Israeli attacks.

Among the medical staff who survived the assaults on the Shifa and Indonesian Hospitals, many were taken from those hospitals by the Israeli military. They all told us a slightly different version of the same horror story: In captivity, they were barely fed, continuously abused and ultimately dumped naked on the side of a road. Many said they were subjected to mock executions and other forms of mistreatment and torture.

Several staff members told us they were simply waiting to die, and that they hoped Israel would get it over with sooner rather than later.

[dontforgetukraine]

TIFF: And so it continues...

Update to Russians at War Screenings Effectively immediately, TIFF is forced to pause the upcoming screenings of Russians at War on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday as we have been made aware of significant threats to festival operations and public safety. While we stand firm on our statement shared yesterday, this decision has been made in order to ensure the safety of all festival guests, staff, and volunteers. This is an unprecedented move for TIFF. As a cultural institution, we support civil discourse about and through films, including differences of opinion, and we fully support peaceful assembly. However, we have received reports indicating potential activity in the coming days that pose significant risk; given the severity of these concerns, we cannot proceed as planned. This has been an incredibly difficult decision. When we select films, we’re guided by TIFF’s Mission, our Values, and our programming principles. We believe this film has earned a place in our Festival’s lineup, and we are committed to screening it when it is safe to do so. Effectively immediately, TIFF is forced to pause the upcoming screenings of Russians at War on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday as we have been made aware of significant threats to festival operations and public safety. While we stand firm on our statement shared yesterday, this decision has been made in order to ensure the safety of all festival guests, staff, and volunteers. This is an unprecedented move for TIFF. As a cultural institution, we support civil discourse about and through films, including differences of opinion, and we fully support peaceful assembly. However, we have received reports indicating potential activity in the coming days that pose significant risk; given the severity of these concerns, we cannot proceed as planned. This has been an incredibly difficult decision. When we select films, we’re guided by TIFF’s Mission, our Values, and our programming principles. We believe this film has earned a place in our Festival’s lineup, and we are committed to screening it when it is safe to do so.

While it's great this propaganda film was suspended (not cancelled), TIFF still double downed on their original stance.

What's not great is TIFF's insinuation that the supposed threats they received came from protesters and groups from the Ukrainian-Canadian community.

Meanwhile, a spokesperson for the Toronto police had this to say:

Toronto police said TIFF's decision to pause the screenings was "made independently by the event organizers and was not based on any recommendation" from police. "We were aware of the potential for protests and had planned to have officers present to ensure public safety," a police spokesperson wrote in an email. (Source)

So, it smells strongly like TIFF lied about the threats. If there were threats, they should have been reported, and when asked about it the police would hopefully be transparent enough to say they gave the recommendation.

Then there's this. My guess is they can't secure the theater from any sort of disruption, and they see protesting as a threat.

Protest outside media screening Large crowds gathered outside a Tuesday screening for media and industry members to take part in a protest organized by Ukrainian community groups and attended by officials, including Ukrainian Consul General Oleh Nikolenko. Demonstrators handed out pamphlets that criticized the film's attempts to "'humanize' the military of the aggressor country."  TIFF staff did not allow attendees to carry those pamphlets inside, though during the screening at least one woman handed them out to audience members in the theatre. Midway through the film, a man forced his way inside, shouting "You're watching a f--king propaganda film" before he was escorted out by security. (Source)

Meanwhile a statement from the producers of "Russian's at War" was released.

TIFF's decision to pause its screenings of "Russians at War" due to extreme security concerns is heartbreaking for us as filmmakers and Canadian Citizens. Our priority as producers, through this production, has been the safety and security of our courageous director, Anastasia Trofimova, despite her steadfast acceptance of these risks to make her documentary. We had assumed those risks would originate within Russia, not Canada. This is not a win for Canadians, including Ukrainian-Canadians. We condemn Deputy Prime Minister Chrystia Freeland, Ukraine Ambassador to Canada Yuliya Kovaliv, Consul General of Ukraine in Toronto Oleh Nikolenko, the Ukrainian Canadian Congress, Senators Donna Dasko and Stanley Kutcher, MP Yvan Baker (Etobicoke Centre) MPP Christine Hogarth (Etobicoke-Lakeshore) and other political and community "leaders." Their irresponsible, dishonest, and inflammatory public statements have incited the violent hate that has led to TIFF's painful decision to pause its presentation of "Russians at War". This temporary suppression is shockingly unCanadian. We call on Prime Minister Justin Trudeau to fully investigate this affront, from within a sovereign government, to our democratic values and a free media. We are firmly commited to giving Canada the opportunity to watch and reflect upon "Russians at War". We believe reason and truth will prevail. —The producers of "Russians at War" (Source)

Zero self-reflection, as expected.

I find it disgusting when they say "We had assumed those risks would originate within Russia, not Canada" as if what the FSB would do is equivalent to whatever could happen to them in Canada.... As if they'll be treated like how Russia treats Ukrainians, Crimean Tatars, POWs, journalists, political opponents, etc... :)

"Their irresponsible, dishonest, and inflammatory public statements have incited the violent hate..."

Outrage from a people that have currently and historically been victims of Russian propaganda, aggression, racism, and imperialism is not violent hate. People pointing out the propaganda is not hate. The protests at TIFF are not hate. I don't know where the other producers are from, but they sure do play the Russian victim frame of mind well.

Also, the Ukrainian community leaders are not being dishonest, irresponsible, hateful, or inflammatory.

THE PROPAGANDA IS IN YOUR TRAILER.

The people in the film have been MARINATING in it for their ENTIRE LIVES.

---

Even though the film has been suspended, the planned protest for the first public screening will still go on. Rightly so.

UCC Toronto: On Friday, Sept 13 we will meet in front of Scotiabank Theatre at 1:30pm for a peaceful protest against TIFF's decision to screen "Russians at War". This is the first public screening of the film and the director and some of the team will be present.

But some damage has already been done.

Headline of an article by Marsha Lederman reads: "Russians at War is an exceptional documentary and needs to be seen"

I will make a separate post about this article here. I started reading it and there is a line that made me gasp and almost fall over.

To be continued...

---

Please excuse the transcription of the images. I know they make the post longer, but I'm too aware of images on tumblr not loading. :/ Also, screen readers.

[bejeweledblondie]

König Headcannons

A/N: just like Ghost’s headcannon’s I’m taking inspiration from my experiences living on a military base

Warnings: NSFW

König x F! Reader

• König initially first met you while you were volunteering with the United Nations & Doctors Without Borders

• you were administering vaccines to children in the Middle East, & providing medical services to the underprivileged communities

• he was awe of your empathy & kindness towards these children, you treated them like they were your own & took your job super seriously

• KorTac was providing security for the community from potential terrorist attacks, as taking any western countries citizen for ransom seemed enticing

• After a surprise attack on the camp that was set up, he immediately brought you to safety & held you as you sobbed into chest out of fear for your life & all those innocent civilians that caught in the gunfire

• “shhh, schatz it’ll be okay” he whispered to you

• he finally asked you out after months of waiting for the right time

• you were giving him his flu shot when he asked you out

• your first date was in his off post apartment, he had cooked you homemade Austrian food

• his cooking is divine, he always chef’s it up in the kitchen

• you guys moved in only a few months into dating (which seems early but in the military world you’re slacking)

• he proposed with his Oma’s ring

• he also asked your parents over FaceTime for your hand in marriage, they were reluctant but he was very persuasive

• you’d probably wind up working at the hospital on post, & the soldiers that come in 100% know you’ll take care of them

• during Christmas leave both of your families meet in Vienna for Christmas time, I mean cmon Vienna is gorgeous at Christmas

• you two announce your pregnancy at Christmas dinner

• his Oma jumped up & ran over to hug you

• this man’s genes are freakin strong

• you definitely get pregnant with twins

• König is deployed when you find out & you tell him over FaceTime

• he cried pure tears of joy & his whole team celebrated

• due to the fact he’s like a giant he produces large babies

• you’d have to get a c-section for the birth because of it, & König makes it in the last second.

• he still had his hood on & was in his tactical gear scaring the entire nursing staff

• imagine their surprise when he just asks where his wife is

• you have a girl & a boy

• they’d definitely be named after his grandparents

• he sings lullaby’s in Austrian to them to introduce them to his home country’s culture

• he hates leaving for deployments now that they’re born & he definitely became more ruthless on the battlefield due to it

• he 100% would bring the babies to work whenever it was a mandatory fun day or a super relaxed day at work

• these hardened military men would be all over your babies & arguing as to who gets to hold them next

• they’re very well protected & König made sure of that

• he’s a family man at heart & he will do anything to protect them

✨NSFW ✨

• you weren’t very experienced when you met König & when you first saw his cock you were in absolute disbelief a man could be that hung

• you let your intrusive thoughts win & asked if he’d fit inside of you

•it took a lot of foreplay for him to fully fit snug in you

• he definitely would say the most absolutely filthy things in Austrian to you even if you understood them or not

• massive size & breeding kink

• he just loves how small your hands are compared to his cock you need both of them to jerk him off

• when he found out you were pregnant he was elated that his efforts worked out

• loved to see your body change & baby bump grow

• also loved how horny you were as a pregnancy symptom ( it killed him that you’d have to deal with that alone while he was deployed)

• like most military men he too has a collection of your nudes & plenty of videos of him fucking you

• he loves your hips & how wide they are to him it digs deep into the primal instinct of carrying his babies

• König is just as stealthy in bed as he is in on the battlefield

[muffinlovingbirb]

Ranking the Cooking Abilities of Team Laios

Senshi: need I say more? Senshi dedicated his life to food and cuisine.

Falin: Due to how conservative the Touden mom can be, Falin was taught from when she was young how to cook and clean so she can be a good housewife. Because of this, Falin is one of the best chef and often volunteers for cooking duties. Falin's food is very tasty, but no one can replicate her food since she describes her recipes like a grandma (one pinch of salt, etc)

Laios: He feels bad making Falin cook all the time, so he learned how to cook, especially during his military days. Laios can cook nearly anything he found and it'll generally taste good.

Chilchuck: chilchuck is the dad who never cooks at home, but makes the most bombass food whenever he got the chance. His daughters goes wild when he got the time to cook.

Toshiro: he never cooks cause his vassals makes all the food for him, but he's a sensible chef. He carries a cookbook that he follow to the letter. Absolutely struggles if he lacks an ingridient.

Izutsumi: absolutely horrible cook but her biology allows her to eat raw fish and meat. Izutsumi would eventually learn how to cure and prepare different types of meat, but she would not have the patience to cook a lot of food.

Namari: she can't cook. Namari pretty much lives off tavern food and whatever the other cooks for her. Namari mostly helps in prep work like slicing vegetables. Can make instant noodles.

Marcille: Marcille is the type that believed she can bake cookies in 1 minute if she manages to increase the temperature to 5000°f. Banned from the kitchen for absolutely destroying any non-mythril cookwares. Every single pots and pans Marcille owned in scratched to hell and Falin suffers for it (all her eggs is stuck on the pan)

Bonus:

Kabru: grillmaster. Believes that grills and barbecues are great places to bond and chat, so he takes the time to learn how to grill. Kabru owns his own charcoal grill and makes the best burgers and steaks.

Edit: I forgot the kitbty, added izutsumi.