#might do the prime souls next

[whosboo20]

Silly doodles of this anger issues angel

[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

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It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

 Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

[apocllipse]

STRONG - bakugou katsuki

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

SYPNOSIS: you realising how strong your pro hero boyfriend is

CONTENTS: pro hero!bakugou x gn!reader, fluff, size difference, established relationship

AUTHOR'S NOTE: yeah m posting after half a million years, so what? i havent proof read it but i hope you enjoy

thinking about katsuki getting so so big in his prime, like he can probably shield three or four people from his back alone. and you know it, you can see it but you still couldn't wrap your head around the strength of the muscle tower of a boyfriend of yours.

that is until one day when you stand outside of his agency watching him saying something to the receptionist and nodding as a greeting before making his way to the huge glass doors to get outside. you jump a little on your toes as you feel excitement and pure joy rushing in your whole body knowing from this moment till the next sunrise him and his attention is all yours. you can't help but grin widely, your body aches to jump in his arms, to wrap your arms around his neck and to fill his ear from praises of how well he did today no matter what- until his head and body starts feeling light as if he's floating on soft clouds you built from your soft praises.

and so you do just that. as soon as he is out of those ridiculously large glass doors you're sprinting towards him, he spots you instantly like he always does, as if there's a detector of your presence fit inside his head.

he takes two steps forward with his arms wide open and so so inviting for his and only his baby, and he may or may not have let a chuckle rumble out of his chest despite being out in public and right out of his agency at that. and if you will ask him, he won't shy away from telling you that's what you do to him, that it's how his soul lets himself loose before his mind catches up to him.

you make him lose his mind.

and when you finally leap into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck, feet dangling above the ground cause he's just so tall, head going right in the crook of his neck, his muscles toned and you feel him everywhere around you, as if all there is in your little world is him.

you feel him before you hear him.

"hi baby, how are ya doin'?" he asks in his deep voice, as his one hand comes up to brush away the hair strands that had fallen forward in your face while his other is wrapped securely around your waist. and you're looking at him with the same lovesick eyes from years ago when you had fallen for him and he's looking at you with equally sweet eyes that will make anyone from around you guys question if this is the same dynamight whose one look is enough to make anyone rip their own heart out in terror before he does it from his own hands.

he waits for your reply just to watch with a brow raised when your mouth opens and closes itself and your eyes start roaming around his broad chest as you press both your palms against it. with your eyes still stuck staring at his chest you tap two fingers twice against him and as if he's trained, he sets you on the ground carefully still holding onto your waist.

"you okay babe?" he asks once again, brows slightly furrowed as he tries to make out what might have left you speechless like this.

and then oh he gets it.

he gets it when you lick your bottom lip and try to push him back with both your palms laying flat on his chest, you try to make him move, to make him budge from his spot just for him to stand there still and towering over you.

"...wow" you whisper out breathlessly. he smirks before inquiring, "whatcha doin' sweetheart? you want me to let you go hm?" and he knows, he knows what you're doing and how you want anything but for him to let you go but he wants to hear it from you.

"no no suki, don't want you to let go. it's just.." you take a step forward and hold his arm that is encircled around your waist so he holds you to himself closer, "you're so so strong suki- i mean i knew you were! but how did you not move an inch when i threw myself on you?" you ramble out

and now he's smirking all wide showing his sharp canines, "you think im strong baby?"

and it's like a silent request for you to tell him more, to praise him more. you hum as you look up at him, "i do baby. you're so strong and i love it so much" you tell him with your whole chest leaving no room for doubt and you watch how his eyes light up and feel how his chest puffs under your palm. if it wasn't for his brain to still have somewhat of control he would have beamed at you all wide. sure he has been told that a lot of times, hell he hears it after saving lives everyday.

but it's different when it's you telling him that.

you start trailing your palms up and down his chest before pushing once again and he grabs both your palms in one hand chuckling, "what? are ya plannin' to keep tryin' to make me budge?"

"i mean if you'll let me.." you trail off and watch as a smirk spreads across his annoyingly attractive face "try your best sweetheart" he mumbles with a low voice, raising his brows in a challenging manner.

the next few minutes you spent trying to move him with all your body weight, leaning on his left arm and then right arm. trying to shove him forward from behind, so on and so forth. all while he's either chuckling to himself or grinning.

and when you finally get tired he watches you with a little smile as you try to catch your breath

"think i felt myself move a cm if that coun-" a light smack on his peck from you is enough to shut him up and he tries really hard to keep his laugh in as you send him a glare. "'suki, i am tiredd" you whine out slightly pouting at your defeat

katsuki leans down before he takes your face in both of his palms, fingertips gently swiping along the apples of your cheeks and then he presses a really sweet kiss on your lips, you kiss him back immediately and a chuckle rumbles out from his chest. he pulls back and throws you over his shoulder making you squeal

"i get it you're really strong suki" you groan out, acting annoyed but he grins all wide knowing better when he feels you touch his back muscles even when you're upside down.

the next day the internet and both of your social handles break with "pro hero dynamight seen grinning wholeheartedly for the first time" and it's pictures of you trying all the tricks you can master in your head to make him move while he stands there grinning, eyes crinkled at the corner, teeth on display and everything plus of you thrown over his shoulder as he walks with his chest puff and grinning so bright as if he had just won the battle of his life. and in a way he believes he did cause he has you.

you find him on the couch of your shared apartment, scrolling through one of these articles and for the first time you see katsuki going through an article about him without scowling and your heart spreads love, all warm, throughout your body when the same grin from the picture spreads across his face once again as he stares at your pics surfacing the internet.

comment your @ with 'add me' if you wanna be added in my taglist

if you like it, reblog it or you're a pussy /j

[harkonnin]

* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Chapter 1 - Introduction Chapter 2 - Beginnings are such delicate times Chapter 3 - Eclipse Chapter 4 - A Time of Quiet Between the Storms Chapter 5 - Harkonnen Arena *****

You feel a bit better after a good night of sleep. Your throat is still somewhat itching, probably a side effect from the poison. You drink some water to alleviate the discomfort and get up to get dressed. You take out a soft blue tight-fitting dress that goes down to your feet. It’s embellished with a sort of net made from rope around your chest, hands and face. You drape a see-through veil over your head and make your way out.

Your father told you today was going to be a more relaxed day, just experiencing the culture of the Harkonnens. You’re unsure of what that might entail, and you must admit to yourself that your fear of assassination is high. Someone didn’t want you here, it possibly having something to do with Feyd-Rautha. You knew that Giedi Prime was extremely dangerous, but you at least assumed they would let you live for a mere 24 hours before trying anything.

Knowing what you know now, you make your way to your parents’ quarters to meet up with them first, instead of roaming the halls, unsafely. Your father is the first to greet you, happy to see you, but more so happy that you’re willing to go through with whatever happens today. The conversation you had last night weighing heavy on his soul. All of you finally make your way towards the dining hall, a group of servants already waiting for you. There was no food to be seen however, the servants escorted all of you towards another set of hallways.

“You will make your way to the arena first. The Lord Na-Baron has a surprise for you all.”

You looked at Paul, you mouthed the word ‘Arena’, and he shook his head, unknowing what they meant. You had heard vaguely about the gladiator pits before but had no idea what that entailed. After a short while walking you come across a huge door. As the servants open it, the warmth of the outside catches your breath, it’s hot but also slightly dry, chemicals and pollution abundant as you breathe in. You hear a crowd shouting as you make your way outside. The sheer scale of the arena makes you gulp, this wasn’t some small event, this felt like everyone from Giedi Prime was attending.

You get ushered by the servants to sit up front, the black sun harsh and turning everything into black and white. The Baron is sitting comfortably on the other side of the arena, together with a bunch of servants and… not Feyd-Rautha. You wonder where he is, seeing as this was all his idea apparently.

A servant girl sits next to you and whispers into your ear.

“The Lord na-Baron wanted me to give you this, Lady Atreides”.

She hands you a set of binoculars, you nod and say thank you to her, her face perpetually shocked. You wonder if they’ve ever been treated like human beings, it doesn’t seem like it. You shoot up in your seat at the sound of a loud horn, possibly announcing the start of the event. The crowd goes wild. You’ve never experienced something so loud, Caladan was nowhere near as populated as Giedi Prime, and you feel terribly small at the sight of all those people. Insecurity creeps in, the weight of what your father said about duty almost suffocating you. How were these people ever going to accept you?

Paul felt you shift uncomfortably and reached out for your hand. You took his in yours and smiled softly.

“You’ll do great”.

You return the soft smile and let go of his hand, turning back around to watch whatever will happen in front of you. Your stomach turns due to hunger, but also excitement. A dark, strange voice announces the entrance of the gladiator and his opposing enemies.

The huge black doors open to reveal a leather clad Feyd. His dark clothing contrasting his pale white skin. He walks into the arena, determined and confident. His garments swaying in the wind around his waist. He carries two knives, one small and a larger one. He walks towards the Baron and bows. Then he turns towards where your family is seated and makes a spectacle of himself, opening his arms wide and bowing down to one knee. He looks up and makes eye contact with you. No smirk, nothing. It’s the most serious you’ve seen him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you swallow hard, unbeknownst to what is about to happen.

Three other men make their way into the arena, his opponents. They stagger their way over to Feyd, obviously drugged, except for one. A leaner type, much like Feyd, shields the sun from his face as he makes his way over to him, slowly, calculated. The young na-baron manages to attack the two drugged men first, killing them swiftly, your stomach turning at the sight of blood gushing out if their bodies.

You take your binoculars and look at Feyd, barely breaking a sweat. He looked like a rabid dog, his mouth stained black, drool coming out of it. The rumors were true, he was psychotic, an animal, who enjoyed killing more so than anything else. You look at your father, questioning why he would ever force you to marry someone like this. Leto shifts uncomfortably in his seat at your stare, full well knowing what you’re thinking.

You tilt your gaze back to the scene in front of you, as you creep to the edge of your seat. The last opponent tries to strike Feyd, but he manages to dodge him swiftly. This is all very reminiscent of your first meeting with him, although it is obvious he was holding back when he met you. His moves are fast, deadly and calculated with this opponent. He turns off his shield, just for the thrill of it. He turns to face your side of the arena and as he throws his shield pack away, he smiles up at you. The other man tries to strike in this moment of weakness, your eyes widen, and you jump out of your seat to see Feyd turn fast like a snake to block the other man’s attack. You hear him… laugh? Both men are on their backs now, the other man having the upper hand, shoving a knife down mere inches away from Feyd’s face. He laughs at the man’s attempt to kill him and slowly turns his body whilst taking control of the knife. All of a sudden he stops laughing and takes the other man’s head in his hand, he looks at him, seriously, one might say full of respect for the other fighter. He takes the blade off him and stabs him in the chest, holding his body for a second before letting him fall in the white sand.

The sight stirs something in you, you’re reminded of the servant girl, and how she was stabbed in an exact spot. You now realise that you had seen a vision of what Feyd had done in the aftermath of your poisoning. He looks up at you and your family and puts his blade in the air, the crowd goes wild and all you can do is stand up and stare at him. He had barely met you that day, and yet he already showed you what kind of a man he was. Radical, dangerous, but also fiercely loyal and honourable. You slowly sat back down and tried to stop your heart from pounding so hard. You were elated that he won, even if it was at a barbaric display.

*

The show is over, and you get escorted back by the servants into another hall, one where the history of the Harkonnen is displayed. Grand statues of previous Barons grace the wall, and you can’t help but be amazed. You’re in the presence if a major House and it shows, their history reaching far, farther than your own house. Soon you will become a part of this hall, should you accept.

The same servant girl as before catches your eye, she seems to be staring at you. You walk over to her and ask her to explain some more about what you’re seeing. She looks around but you reassure her that it’s ok for her to speak. Considering she’s probably fearing for her life at this point. She looks at you, frowning, as she clears her throat she starts to talk about the previous Barons. You listen intently, the rich history of House Harkonnen being explained in a nutshell.

“The Lord Na-Baron has no statue yet, but we plan on making one soon, after the wedding”.

You look back at her, pondering if you should ask her more about that. About Feyd. You decide that this might be the only time you have power over someone on Giedi Prime who must answer you, so you try to sound calm and collected.

“Can you tell me more about Feyd-Rautha?”

She shifts awkwardly in her spot; you obviously struck a nerve.

“What was he like as a child?”

She looks over at the rest of your family, they seem to be preoccupied with other statues and stories.

You touch her shoulder to assure her that she can speak. You whisper to her. “I won’t tell anyone you told me”.

She looks up at you with big black eyes, afraid. Was Feyd’s childhood that secret? What could’ve been so scary to tell?

“The-the Lord Na-Baron was a difficult child my lady. He… got into a lot of trouble- “

You’re not surprised, seeing as he loved killing for sport. Any child like that would’ve been hard to deal with.

“When his mother… passed away he changed, he had no leash anymore… he kills for pleasure now my lady.”

Something about the way she said it stirred an uneasy feeling inside of you. It’s one thing to think about something but to hear someone say it feels different.

“He was taken from his father by his mother and left for dead, malnourished. The Baron took him in and raised him to be his weapon and successor. It’s only normal how he reacted when his mother showed back up.”

You were trying to put two and two together, Feyd wasn’t a Harkonnen by blood? He was left for dead by his own mother. He took revenge on her. You look at the servant girl’s face as if she could hear all the questions in your head but right as you were about to ask, a door opened, and the man of the hour entered the room.

He looked at you almost immediately, you were holding the servant girl’s shoulder. She ran off and positioned herself against a wall, awaiting orders. You gave her a soft smile before turning back to Feyd.

Having just received a lot of new information, you have no idea what to think of him. A weird form of empathy hit you like a brick wall, never having to imagine what growing up on a hateful planet with a hateful mother must feel like. You start to understand why he is so sadistic, psychotic and unpredictable. He acts more so like a trapped fox than a snake lashing out. You start to see him as a wounded animal with a full set of unresolved past trauma. Not that any of it excuses his behaviour, but it explains it at least.

He walks up to you and stops a few feet away.

“I hope the Lady Atreides enjoyed the display I had prepared for her this morning.”

Its more so a command than a question, and you do your best to show the right amount if respect. You hold his eye contact and smile gracefully.

“It was most exciting, my Lord Na-Baron”.

He eyes you up for a second and offers you his hand, “Come, I wish to discuss something first”.

You look at him questionably but take his offer almost immediately, more so out if fear of what he might do if you don’t act fast enough. He turns to walk away, outside again, and you look at your family in return. Paul assures you in sign language that he has no ill intentions. Feyd picks up on the small interaction between you two.

*

He never lets go of your hand even if you’ve been walking for 10 minutes now. He turns to look at you whilst opening a black door to a balcony overlooking what little of a garden they have at the palace. It was nice, neat but also very private, closed off.

“You look very beautiful today my lady”.

He lets go of your hand and goes to lean with his back against the railing on the balcony. Smooth, you think to yourself. He really knew how to be charming. A blush creeps up on your face but the black sun makes it invisible for anyone to see. Your veil still covering your face.

“You- I was very impressed by you my Lord Na-Baron. –“ you stumble on your words as you continue.

Feyd moves towards you and takes the veil in his hands, flips it over your head and uncovers your face whilst you’re still talking. “Better”, he mutters.

“- I feel like you didn’t hold back today. I almost feel special.”

He’s only a few inches away, his hands making their way back to the railing. He leans back again and tilts his head at you. You move to stand next to him at the railing, inches away from him.

“Special? What makes you say that?” He chuckles, deep and dark. It makes your breath hitch once more. “Our first meeting, you held back”. You face him and give a slight smile.

You straight out accuse him, playfully and he accepts the jab. He moves his left hand towards your shoulder and plays with the rope and round it. The soft touches very different from the story you were told earlier.

“It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to kill someone like you without knowing what kept you up at night now would it-“

He moves his hand to your cheek, the scar still prominent. A mark of his, he brushes it like a medal of honour. You try to control your breathing. He knows what he’s doing and you’re willing to oblige him at this point. You close your eyes for a bit and open them back up to see him staring at your lips.

“Besides, you’ll be my little bird from now on.”

You flinch a little, he notices and stops his movement. He looks back at your eyes, fierce and burning with a defiance at this moment. The Atreides in you seeking meaning to his words. He likes what he sees however, eliciting a smile on his face.

“I will not be caged like some animal.”

He lets go of your face, his mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised. He’s never experienced someone telling him ‘no’ this directly. He respects you for it. If he had to admit it, he’d say that he got all hot and bothered as well.

“And I won’t cage you. Nor will you cage me.”

He speaks up, his face showing no lies. You tilt your head questioning what he means by that.

“I don’t plan on going through with this arrangement, I do not feel like it is necessary yet.”

He says it matter of factly, very dry and it makes you feel a tinge of sadness. You have no good idea why, but it seems like you were already accepting the fact that your future was set. You had already gained a lot of respect and empathy for the man in front of you, so to hear him say that this had been all for nothing, hurt. You slightly lose your cool and collected façade for a second and your eyebrows frown as you look down at your hands. You feel a tear well in your left eye but quickly remove it before he sees.

“I don’t want you to get hurt like before. For both our sakes, it would be safer if we do not. I have no intention of harming you or your family, if you don’t stand in my way.”

He’s logical, calculated. It makes sense. You had been almost assassinated because of the sheer announcement, what would happen if you actually got married. The amount of jealous people on Giedi Prime that could kill you, the other houses, …

“You managed to track down who poisoned me, right? I had a vision whilst I was fighting off the toxins… thank you.”

Feyd looked at you puzzled, ignoring the kind words.

“I thought you were not a Bene Gesserit?”

You look at him, he looks perplexed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not, but my mother taught me a few things here and there. I can’t read or control minds, but I can talk with Paul and my mother. As you can see, I can also fend off poison pretty well.”

He looked at you in awe, he shifted his body to be turned towards you more. He took your right hand in his left and started to play with it. He looked down at your hand covered in the rope and started tugging on it. His movements mimicking a nervous teenager on his first date.

“You amaze me, Lady Atreides. Show me your world before we end our paths together.”

The way he said it seemed so final; it almost made you sad. He picked up on your body language and breathing. Feyd had no sense of personal space however and bridged the gap between you two.

“Make me change my mind” he whispered, his voice deep and gravely.

Mere inches away from your face. You admit he wasn’t that scary up close, not while he was being soft like this with you. A killer in the arena, but seductive outside of it. You were staring into his eyes for a bit too long, and you broke the intense eye contact.

“I will talk to my father about going back to Caladan. I would love for you to join us.”

His eyes linger on your lips, and you feel him releasing your hand. His eyes dart over your face once more, before speaking again.

“Come, Lady Atreides, we shouldn’t keep your family waiting. And maybe while we’re in Caladan you can teach me some of the sign language you speak”.

He really did pick up on the smallest details, like a true predator. The way he said it however made you feel as if he truly wanted to learn, as if he was in awe of the communication you had with your brother and family. If he truly wanted to, you’d be willing to teach him. In exchange for some fighting lessons. Things were looking up, the idea of returning to Caladan made you feel all giddy and nervous. Seeing your friends again and showing Feyd how beautiful your home planet was, you couldn’t wait to get started.

[eatingfireflies]

Had to pull this quote up while talking to a friend about an interpretation I disagreed with, namely: Ratio never sought the gaze of Nous, Margaret was stupid for even interpreting Ratio's character story 3 as him being disappointed about getting invited by the IPC instead etc etc. and his self-deprecating laugh was only because he's so disappointed that he was invited by Capitalism Company despite all his achievements proving his ethics (but do they?)

I disagree, this is Margaret slander. That woman was Ratio's assistant, I doubt she was stupid.

Tell me this man is not bothered by it. Tell me it's not a sore point, even if he's over it by now he was/is bothered enough to actually talk about it.

Honestly I was gonna make a light-hearted joke about Aventurine being that person who shows off his relationship with Ratio, 'He's always like that, please don't mind him ☺️' 'He's the one who understands my way of fighting best ☺️' 'I thought you'd given up on this dream you've never told anyone else about except presumably me because I'm just dropping it in conversation so casually like this ☺️'

But let's talk about that anti-planetary weapon

I hand tinfoil hats to everyone who clicked on read more. Please don't believe anything I say. Especially under here where no one else can see us.

- No mention of what affiliations Ratio had before the invitation from the IPC. If we trust HSR timelines (which we shouldn't but we have nothing else), Ratio was already a full-fledged professor in Veritas Prime University before Aventurine became a Stoneheart. So: before he joined the Intelligentsia Guild, his main affiliation was with the university.

- The anti-planetary weapon was already completed when he received the IPC invitation

- Which still leaves us the question: whom did Ratio develop this weapon for and why?

There's some echoes of Chadwick in there that I think is probably a coincidence but something we might want to keep in mind. Ratio also provides schematics on how to turn the Express into a weapon.

One thing tho: Chadwick was a Genius Society member. Ratio is not.

- Minus the Astral Express weapon (which we do see in action in the Penacony Boss fight ? So like was that connected? 😂), everything else Ratio has done that we know of is mostly about improving people's lives. That anti-planetary weapon is like a blight on his otherwise stellar CV.

- My conclusion: he developed that weapon solely to catch the gaze of Nous. And he failed and it was a moment that felt like selling his soul for one corn chip. The IPC invite was a nail on the coffin: this is what he sold his ethics for.

Like the 'Ofc Ratio laughed because he can't believe the audacity of Capitalism Company asking him to join them when he's completely against everything they stand for'

But my friend, he joined the IPC. He's an IPC delegate. He's married to an IPC superintendent.

Ratio had to give up on the Nous deal and had to go with the next best thing. But Ratio from Story 3 was young and probably still felt some pressure to prove something, or meet expectations. The Ratio we met in 1.6 knows better.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Amazon Alexa is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

If you own an Alexa, you might enjoy its integration with IFTTT, an easy scripting environment that lets you create your own little voice-controlled apps, like "start my Roomba" or "close the garage door." If so, tough shit, Amazon just nuked IFTTT for Alexa:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/25/23931463/ifttt-amazon-alexa-applets-ending-support-integration-automation

Amazon can do this because the Alexa's operating system sits behind a cryptographic lock, and any tool that bypasses that lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that it's literally a crime to provide a rival OS that lets users retain functionality that Amazon no longer supports.

This is the proverbial gun on the mantelpiece, a moral hazard and invitation to mischief that tempts Amazon executives to run a bait-and-switch con where they sell you a gadget with five features and then remotely kill-switch two of them. This is prime directive of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."

So many companies got their business-plan at the Darth Vader MBA. The ability to revoke features after the fact means that companies can fuck around, but never find out. Apple sold millions of tracks via iTunes with the promise of letting you stream them to any other device you owned. After a couple years of this, the company caught some heat from the record labels, so they just pushed an update that killed the feature:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/10/30/apple-to-ipod-owners-eat-shit-and-die-updated/

That gun on the mantelpiece went off all the way back in 2004 and it turns out it was a starter-pistol. Pretty soon, everyone was getting in on the act. If you find an alert on your printer screen demanding that you install a "security update" there's a damned good chance that the "update" is designed to block you from using third-party ink cartridges in a printer that you (sorta) own:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Selling your Tesla? Have fun being poor. The upgrades you spent thousands of dollars on go up in a puff of smoke the minute you trade the car into the dealer, annihilating the resale value of your car at the speed of light:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

Telsa has to detect the ownership transfer first. But once a product is sufficiently cloud-based, they can destroy your property from a distance without any warning or intervention on your part. That's what Adobe did last year, when it literally stole the colors from your Photoshop files, in history's SaaSiest heist caper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

And yet, when we hear about remote killswitches in the news, it's most often as part of a PR blitz for their virtues. Russia's invasion of Ukraine kicked off a new genre of these PR pieces, celebrating the fact that a John Deere dealership was able to remotely brick looted tractors that had been removed to Chechnya:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Today, Deere's PR minions are pitching search-and-replace versions of this story about Israeli tractors that Hamas is said to have looted, which were also remotely bricked.

But the main use of this remote killswitch isn't confounding war-looters: it's preventing farmers from fixing their own tractors without paying rent to John Deere. An even bigger omission from this narrative is the fact that John Deere is objectively Very Bad At Security, which means that the world's fleet of critical agricultural equipment is one breach away from being rendered permanently inert:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

There are plenty of good and honorable people working at big companies, from Adobe to Apple to Deere to Tesla to Amazon. But those people have to convince their colleagues that they should do the right thing. Those debates weigh the expected gains from scammy, immoral behavior against the expected costs.

Without DMCA 1201, Amazon would have to worry that their decision to revoke IFTTT functionality would motivate customers to seek out alternative software for their Alexas. This is a big deal: once a customer learns how to de-Amazon their Alexa, Amazon might never recapture that customer. Such a switch wouldn't have to come from a scrappy startup or a hacker's DIY solution, either. Take away DMCA 1201 and Walmart could step up, offering an alternative Alexa software stack that let you switch your purchases away from Amazon.

Money talks, bullshit walks. In any boardroom argument about whether to shift value away from customers to the company, a credible argument about how the company will suffer a net loss as a result has a better chance of prevailing than an argument that's just about the ethics of such a course of action:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

Inevitably, these killswitches are pitched as a paternalistic tool for protecting customers. An HP rep once told me that they push deceptive security updates to brick third-party ink cartridges so that printer owners aren't tricked into printing out cherished family photos with ink that fades over time. Apple insists that its ability to push iOS updates that revoke functionality is about keeping mobile users safe – not monopolizing repair:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

John Deere's killswitches protect you from looters. Adobe's killswitches let them add valuable functionality to their products. Tesla? Well, Tesla at least is refreshingly honest: "We have a killswitch because fuck you, that's why."

These excuses ring hollow because they conspicuously omit the possibility that you could have the benefits without the harms. Like, your tractor could come with a killswitch that you could bypass, meaning you could brick it at a distance, and still fix it yourself. Same with your phone. Software updates that take away functionality you want can be mitigated with the ability to roll back those updates – and by giving users the ability to apply part of a patch, but not the whole patch.

Cloud computing and software as a service are a choice. "Local first" computing is possible, and desirable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

The cheapest rhetorical trick of the tech sector is the "indivisibility gambit" – the idea that these prix-fixe menus could never be served a la carte. Wanna talk to your friends online? Sorry there's just no way to help you do that without spying on you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

One important argument over smart-speakers was poisoned by this false dichotomy: the debate about accessibility and IoT gadgets. Every IoT privacy or revocation scandal would provoke blanket statements from technically savvy people like, "No one should ever use one of these." The replies would then swiftly follow: "That's an ableist statement: I rely on my automation because I have a disability and I would otherwise be reliant on a caregiver or have to go without."

But the excluded middle here is: "No one should use one of these because they are killswitched. This is especially bad when a smart speaker is an assistive technology, because those applications are too important to leave up to the whims of giant companies that might brick them or revoke their features due to their own commercial imperatives, callousness, or financial straits."

Like the problem with the "bionic eyes" that Second Sight bricked wasn't that they helped visually impaired people see – it was that they couldn't be operated without the company's ongoing support and consent:

https://spectrum.ieee.org/bionic-eye-obsolete

It's perfectly possible to imagine a bionic eye whose software can be maintained by third parties, whose parts and schematics are widely available. The challenge of making this assistive technology fail gracefully isn't technical – it's commercial.

We're meant to believe that no bionic eye company could survive unless they devise their assistive technology such that it fails catastrophically if the business goes under. But it turns out that a bionic eye company can't survive even if they are allowed to do this.

Even if you believe Milton Friedman's Big Lie that a company is legally obligated to "maximize shareholder value," not even Friedman says that you are legally obligated to maximize companies' shareholder value. The fact that a company can make more money by defrauding you by revoking or bricking the things you buy from them doesn't oblige you to stand up for their right to do this.

Indeed, all of this conduct is arguably illegal, under Section 5 of the FTC Act, which prohibits "unfair and deceptive business practices":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

"No one should ever use a smart speaker" lacks nuance. "Anyone who uses a smart speaker should be insulated from unilateral revocations by the manufacturer, both through legal restrictions that bind the manufacturer, and legal rights that empower others to modify our devices to help us," is a much better formulation.

It's only in the land of the Darth Vader MBA that the deal is "take it or leave it." In a good world, we should be able to take the parts that work, and throw away the parts that don't.

(Image: Stock Catalog/https://www.quotecatalog.com, Sam Howzit; CC BY 2.0; modified)

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

[sissylittlefeather]

How the Web Was Woven: The End

A/N: This. This series is my Mona Lisa, my Sistine Chapel, and these final brush strokes literally tore me apart. I poured my soul into this one. If you hate it, please don't tell me. But if you love it, please do because this is my everything. I hope it's enough.

Need to catch up? Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of death, illness, reference to sex, I think that's all.

Word count: ~2.5k

Four and a half years. That's all you have left. It's not enough.

******

The years slip away with Elvis going back and forth every couple of months like he did before. The kids get older, you get older, and Elvis gets older too. Every time he leaves, it tears out another piece of your heart knowing it's getting closer and closer to the last time you'll see him. He's in good spirits every time he visits, but it's hard not to notice his body declining. Making a portal to send him home gets harder and harder, but he still maintains that he's fine. You both know he's not, but what is there to do about it?

And then, before you know it, it's July of 2027, or 1977 for him. John Jessie is 10, Erin Love is 7. Your babies have been replaced with kids and your youthful, vigorous husband is replaced with a man you know is past his prime. He doesn't know it, but you do. He has a little over a month left and you find yourself falling apart at the smallest things. He kisses the back of your hand while you all watch a movie together and you have to get up and go to the bathroom to weep. He sings in the shower and you lay in your bed and rock your body while the tears stream down your cheeks. You drive to dinner with him in the backseat of your minivan between the kids watching a movie on the little screen that comes down from the ceiling of the car and when he laughs you almost have to pull over to keep from crashing as you drive with teary eyes.

He stays with you for a full three weeks because you continue making excuses to keep him around. You need him to help with this or the kids have something going on that he should be there for. In reality, you can't bear the thought of saying goodbye. Because this time you know it's really going to be goodbye. And you can't tell him, so he'll treat it like any other parting. He'll kiss your cheek and say "until next time, honey" like he always does.

But you know there won't be a next time. And the knowing is eating you alive.

In early August, a summer thunderstorm rips through in the middle of the night. Elvis is still there, wrapped around you breathing softly as you lay awake trying not to cry. There's a sharp flash of lightning and not ten seconds later, a crash of thunder tears into the quiet night. You listen for opening doors and sure enough, in less than a minute Erin is in your room and on your bed.

"Daddy!" Elvis sits up and she snuggles into his warmth. He strokes her hair and shushes her gently.

"You're okay, baby girl. Daddy's got you."

John Jessie walks up to the bed cautiously.

"She okay? I just came to check on Erin-" There's another flash of lightning and John Jessie jumps. When the thunder crashes, he crawls into the bed next to you. He might be a big 10-year-old, but you're still his mama. The rain is coming down in torrential waves and you hear hail start to plunk against the windows.

You and Elvis sit with both kids in between you and the power flickers. Erin gasps and John Jessie pats her hand.

"It's okay, sister." Elvis kisses her hair.

"Your brother is right, sweetheart. Nothin' to worry about."

Just then, the power goes out fully.

"Daddy!"

"We're alright. Your mama will go get a candle to light." He looks to you in the dark and you grab your phone and turn the flashlight on. Then, you slide out of bed to find a candle and a lighter. It takes you a minute of fumbling around the house to get what you're looking for. When you make your way back down the hall to the bedroom you pause just outside the door and your heart stops.

He's singing.

In the twilight glow I see

Blue eyes crying in the rain

When we kissed goodbye and parted

I knew we'd never meet again

Love is like a dying ember

And only memories remain

And through the ages I'll remember

Blue eyes crying in the rain

Some day when we meet up yonder

We'll stroll, hand in hand again

In a land that knows no parting

Blue eyes crying in the rain

When he reaches the end of the song, you're on your knees on the floor in the hallway, tears soaking the front of your night shirt, biting your knuckle and trying not to hyperventilate.

How will you survive without him?

You won't. You can't.

The power flicks back on and you hear both kids cheer. You quickly try to pull yourself back together and as you do, you make a decision.

You're not sure how you'll pull it off, or if you even can, but your mind is made up to try.

You walk back into the room and get back in bed with a new determination.

"You okay, honey?" Elvis looks at you curiously. You smile brightly.

"Mhmm! Now, let's get these kids back in their own beds." He shakes his head.

"You're somethin' else, honey. Twenty years together and you still keep me on my toes." He leans over and kisses you softly and then you each take a kid back to their bedroom. When you come back together, you settle into his arms and relax. Tomorrow, you'll think of a plan.

******

The next day comes and goes and so does Elvis. While the kids are at school, you make love and open a portal. You give him the next rendezvous point for the fall, knowing you'll see him before then. As expected, he kisses you and says he'll see you next time. Before he leaves, though, you grab him one last time and pull him into a deep kiss. Memories of every one of your kisses over the last 20 years comes crashing into you and you shake as you hold him, not wanting to let go. You have your plan, but if it doesn't work out, you want your last kiss to be a real one.

"Honey, do you want me to stay?" The portal shimmers behind him.

"Yes. But I know you can't."

"I don't have to go right now. We can make another one later." You look into his eyes, the same eyes that met yours in fear when he first appeared in 2007.

"No. If you don't go now, I'll never let you go."

"Honey, are you sure you're okay?" He doesn't want to leave you if there's something wrong.

"I'll be fine. Now go. I'll see you soon." He smiles softly and kisses your forehead.

"I love you with all of me, y/n. Always have and I always will."

"I love you too, Elvis." He squeezes you tightly one last time and then turns and walks through the portal. When it disappears, you sink to the floor. You have no more tears, so instead you pray. You pray for him, for his body and his soul. You pray for yourself and your kids. And you pray that your plan will work.

******

On August 15th, 1977, at 10:30 pm Elvis arrives at his dentist's office. It's a rather routine appointment, so he doesn't think too much of it. But when he gets back to the room and sees the shimmering portal, he's stunned.

This is not your agreed-upon meetup time or place. Somehow, he's alone in the room, but he knows he doesn't have much time before the dentist comes back. He decides there must be some urgent reason for you to show up here and a pang of worry hits him. Hopefully the kids are alright. The dentist knocks to let him know he's coming back in the room and Elvis takes a breath and walks through the portal, hoping he can get back without the dentist noticing.

"Honey, what the-" and then he sees you. Your eyes are wild and you're chewing on your thumbnail. It looks like you haven't slept in days, because you haven't, and your eyes are puffy and red with the remnants of your last crying spell. He immediately walks to you and wraps his arms around you. "What happened? Is it the kids?"

You lean against him and take in his warmth. You're afraid to move or speak in case something you do upsets him and causes what you're trying to avoid.

"No, it's not the kids. They're fine."

"Then what is-"

"It's you."

"Me? What about me?" You back up and look into his face. How will you tell him?

"You- if..." You trail off, not sure what to say.

"Honey, you're scaring me. You better tell me what's going on right now."

"I have to tell you something. And I need you to trust me. And then you have to make a choice." Your heart is pounding in your chest. You've thought of this moment so many times in the past two weeks and now it's here. The decision to give him a choice was not an easy one, but you know him. Telling him what to do is never the right option.

"Y/n. What the hell are you talking about?"

You take a deep breath, close your eyes and pray silently. Then, you open your eyes and look at him standing in front of you.

"You're going to die tomorrow." It hangs in the air between you like some tangible thing.

"What?" He almost whispers it.

"If you go back, you will die tomorrow. You have to."

"What do you mean, I have to?"

"Because you already did. Look." You hold your phone up to him and show him on Google. Elvis Presley, January 8th, 1935-August 16th, 1977.

He backs away from you and covers his mouth in shock. He shakes his head.

"No. I don't believe it."

"Elvis, why would I lie to you about this?" He looks up at you with tears in his eyes. He searches yours for evidence that this is some kind of cruel trick, but all he finds is sincerity and desperation.

"You said I have to make a choice."

"Yes. If you stay, I can take you to a hospital and we can try to save your life. But you can never go back. You'll be stuck in this timeline forever."

"I'll never see Lisa Marie again."

"No."

"I'll never perform again."

"Not as Elvis Presley, no."

"Elvis Presley is dead."

"Yes. But you could live as John Burrows." He sits down in a chair against the wall.

"That's a hell of a choice, honey."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Maybe if I'm supposed to die..." You nod and turn away from him. Your shoulders quake as your body is wracked with sobs. You don't want to impact his decision, but you can't control the anguish you feel at the thought of losing him. "But maybe you were meant to save me."

You turn back to him, your face shiny with tears. He walks to you and wraps you in his arms like he has so many times before. He presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

"Y/n, you've saved me a hundred times over. You've made my life worth living. Save me one last time."

"You're sure that's what you want?"

"Yes."

******

The dentist rushes out to Ginger in the waiting room.

"Where did he go?"

"Who?"

"Elvis! He's gone!" She stands up and they frantically search the office, the parking lot, and the grounds of the building, but Elvis is nowhere to be found. Ginger calls Vernon in a panic.

"He's gone?"

"Vernon, it's like he disappeared! I don't know what could've happened." Vernon is quiet for a bit.

"Come home. I'll explain everything."

Back at Graceland, Vernon holds a discreet meeting with all of the most important people in Elvis's life. The conversation that occurs has been kept secret forever.

"Elvis is dead. Or, at least, that's what we're going to tell everyone. In 1960, Elvis sat me down once and warned me that this might happen. He said that there was a distinct possibility that he might disappear and never come back. If he did, he made me promise to proceed as if he was dead."

"What if he comes back?" Ginger is hysterical.

"He won't. He assured me he would be gone for good. You know how he is. We have to do what he asked."

Vernon looks around the room carefully.

"Elvis Presley is dead." They all nod in agreement.

"May he rest in peace."

******

The hospital staff think you're crazy when you insist that your husband is going to have a heart attack. Still, they run some tests and detect a good number of things wrong with him. They admit him and are shocked when he does, in fact, have a heart attack. Luckily, because he was already in the hospital, they're able to catch it quickly and stop it from doing too much damage. Still, this begins a health journey that will last the rest of his life.

But that's the important part.

He lives.

The miracles of modern medicine keep him alive well into his 70s. He watches your kids grow up. He cheers louder than anyone at every graduation and cries like a baby when he walks Erin Love down the aisle at her wedding. He even plays with his grandchildren and watches them grow up. He never stops missing Lisa Marie, but he's so grateful for the opportunity to be the dad he always wanted to be for John Jessie and Erin.

The two of you have your fights, like any other married couple, usually about you trying to feed him a heart-healthy diet. At one point he throws a whole baking sheet of salmon into the backyard to prove a point. You want to be mad, so you put your hands on your hips, but when he turns around to face you, you both erupt into laughter. You solve a lot of your problems by laughing together.

And once he's healthier, you spend a lot of time in bed together. Your lovemaking is not nearly as athletic as it used to be, but it's satisfying and you keep things interesting in your own ways.

But one thing has changed. You notice it the first time you have sex after his heart attack. You roll onto your back next to him sweating and breathing heavily and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

"Shhh. Honey, listen."

"What?"

"It's gone." And then you notice. There's no buzzing sound, no shimmery air.

No portal.

He sings quietly.

At last I'm where you want me

Don't you know, that's where I want to be?

I've been round for the last time

Oh, girl, what can I do?

Oh the time the web was woven,

How I fell in love, fell in love with you...

******

The End

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

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @rosepresley68 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11 @noirrose21-blog @deltafalax @tacozebra051

[oddvanilla]

Dhar Mann might've been secretly a "villain" the whole time....

Pt.1 (?)

No, you're not hallucinating. You saw that title correctly. Believe it or not, I have had ridiculous beef for years with the man who many love, and even adore, Dhar Mann. And therefore, I'll be elaborating today on why such a "good person" like him is considered one of my sworn enemies, and why I think you should consider him one too.

Many people, and especially parents, assume that Dhar Mann is a great influence on kids, and a friendly individual. And although for the most part; that can be true, but you need to look at the bigger picture.

"The Dhar Mann Effect" is what I like to call it. A serious, and contagious virus that even the most experienced and hard-working doctors can't find the cure to. "What does the Dhar Mann effect do?" ...You may be asking. Well, great question! The Dhar Mann effect is when you form an addiction and obsession to watching the supposedly "short films" made by no other than Dhar Mann himself. And I'm not talking about a little, silly obsession. I'm talking about serious addictions that can lead into binge watching video after video non-stop. Such things should be taken far way solemnly.

And the prime example is my younger sister. Among many of my Dhar Mann-obsessed friends, I'd say she's the worst case. It started out around 2 years ago, when their substitute teacher played a Dhar Mann video at class (since many students have requested it), and ever since, she got hooked. I knew then that there was no coming back, she reached the "no-return" point.

I'd go as far as saying that it's like drugs to her. She can't survive a day without watching at least 3 videos in one sitting. And yes, that includes re-watching or re-visiting older videos. Trust me, it's deeper than just a "So you see...". My sister can qualify as an iPad kid, now, if I had to say so. And even currently, as I'm writing this, I can hear Jay's voice, One of Dhar Mann's most popular actors— playing from her room. I feel like it's not the same, and those damages may be irreversible. My poor sister can't live her life to the fullest anymore. All she does is wait for the new Dhar Mann video. And while she waits for the next one, she just rewatches his old videos, making sure she knows all the lore.

This is not a "haha" joke, people. This is dead serious. No joke. I'm not crossing my fingers. I'm not what nowadays kids call "capping 🧢". I'm being genuine and I'm typing this with the straightest face ever.

Another issue I have with Dhar Mann is how threatening he appears to me. I can promise you that if you look long enough into his smile, you'll realise it's slightly unsettling. Did you notice his face almost always looks the same in every picture? Well, you're probably not trippin'. That's because he has that same smile in literally every picture I could find of him.

What are the chances he might be a robot? Ready for the day we all fall for his spell and none of us are safe anymore, so he can finally strike? There is something so terrifying about him. Every time I look at that smile, I can't help but shiver a bit of fear. But mostly, I'm quite intimidated by his disturbing behaviour. The way he never fails to stare dead into our souls. That's what I find strange.

But hold up, the theories don't stop... at least not yet! Did you notice the way Dhar Mann ends every single one of his videos with "Hey Dhar Mann fam!" ??? What are the chances that he refers to us as his fam (family) to hide the fact we're probably stuck in his basement? If we're talking lore-wise, I'd say the reason Dhar Mann calls us his fam is the following: We're all chilling at our homes, until one day... A Dhar Mann video comes to our recommendations. By watching the media, you're secretly agreeing to sign an invisible contract that gives ol' Dhar the ability to adopt you. Child or not. And just because you're now part of his fam, doesn't mean he can't trap you into the basement and lock you up with multiple of many victims. The only time he'll ever check on you is when he comes in the basement and greets you with "Hey Dhar Mann Fam!" While feeding you those meaningless videos.

I'll show you a couple of examples, and YOU tell me what these videos could possibly teach kids who barely know what photosynthesis is.

Now, be real, just for a moment, WHY IS THE SECOND VIDEO A GODDAMN SERIES????? ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT ITS A CASUAL THING THAT THE PROTAGONIST EXPERIENCES ON SIMPLE OCCASIONS TO GET JUMPED???

I think another weird part is that Dhar Mann featured another EXTREMELY popular YouTuber named "Mr. Beast" many, many times, but even then— he feels this need to pull out knock off Mr. Beast...ahem ahem....Mr. "feast"...??????

No joke. Just search up "Dhar Mann Mr. Feast" and count how many videos come up. But if you're so lazy to check, it's 4. yea. 4 DAMN VIDEOS ABOUT A MR BEAST RIP OFF. YOU GUYS NEED TO WAKE UP AND REALISE THIS IS A MAN WITH A WIFE AND 2 KIDS.

And back to square one, What's the moral meaning behind this media he displays for the youth?

Not Dhar Mann (a multi millionaire) copying the "NO CHICK-FIL-A SAUCE?" girl???? Smh...

So... Do you think Dhar Mann is really the innocent "moral philosopher" he claims himself as? Or is it deeper than a "Hey Dhar Mann Fam"?. But either way, that's it for today. Thank you all for listening to my Ted Talk.

SORRY GUYS IM HIGH ON VITAMIN GUMMIES (AGAIN) AND LIKE I DO THINK DHAR MANN IS MY SWORN ENEMY BUT LIKE YALL BETTER NOT TAKE THIS /SRS LMAOOOO🙏🙏🙏

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (06)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Teen (series will be explicit) Words: 1.2k Summary: Sleepwalkers

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

He can see her ass.

He doesn’t bother trying not to look. There’s just the two of them in the small room, her stretched out on the bed while he sits with his back to the wall across from her. There’s no blanket to speak of and she’s lying on top of the ancient cot facing away from him. He’s still not sure what happened but she shifted a while ago and the skirt of that little sundress had ridden all the way up to her waist.

He was a saint for not touching her.

It was a few hours til morning yet, she’d let him sleep longer than he actually needed. While he was hefting himself off the bed she had yawned, stretching her arms to the ceiling and making parts of her body do some absolutely fascinating things.

No harm in looking.

His hands move as he keeps one eye on her, an ear turned towards the hallway, waiting for the inevitable footsteps. If someone doesn’t try to rob them tonight he’ll eat his hat. Fingers far too used to the work refill his shotgun shells, checking their weights and deciding if the contents are still any good with barely any input from his brain.

And those damn thighs keep calling to him.

They’re edible, is what they are. Two prime pieces of grade-A meat. Of course he’d stare, his mouth was practically watering.

“It ain’t you,” he mumbles to his cock. “You ain’t had a vote in a long fucking time, ya hear?”

It does not. It twitches in interest as she sighs in her sleep, thighs rubbing together. It’d be the work of a moment to cross to her - hell he wouldn’t even have to get off his knees - set his teeth to those perfectly rounded asscheeks and bite. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to turn those little sighs into moans.

Yeah, his cock was definitely looking to cast a vote.

He felt almost light-headed, hormones his body hadn’t made in decades suddenly swimming in his system. With a hacking cough he takes a hit of chem, hoping it might resettle his balance. It does, a little, enough that his fingers stop twitching her direction.

A floorboard creaks.

The Ghoul cracks his neck, setting his hat to the side and resting the end of the shotgun on his knee. Another creak, then the shuffling of boots outside the door. It opens slowly and he clocks three men standing there, two he recognizes.

“Well now, I was beginning to think y’all weren’t ever gonna show. D’you come to party or just watch?”

The man in front stops suddenly, single eye scanning the room. It’s nearly pitch black, barely any light coming from the hallway either. Ever one for the dramatic, the Ghoul scrapes a match across the floor, letting the flame light up his face before he sets it to the end of a cartridge.

“Now, ordinarily, I might let y’all off with a warning seeing as you’ve only made some regretful decisions thus far. But it seems to me a group of fellas like yourself could only have one reason for breaking into a lady’s bedroom in the middle of the night.” He drops the shell into the shotgun, chambering it one fluid motion. “And I cannot abide that kind of man.”

The shell is a special cocktail of his own, a mix of chemicals and tar that burns hotter than acid and sticks to everything it touches. The effect is quick - no need to burn the place down - but aggressive.

The sound of the blast is deafening in the small room, the screams of the two men the shell explodes onto nearly as bad. Next to him he hears a muffled “What?” before he rolls to his feet and places himself between the wakening woman and the door.

“Does anyone else have something they’d like to add to the conversation?”

The screaming continues, even though the fire has burned out. He can see patches of bone where the mixture ate through face, neck, and arms. Smiling to himself he takes a step forward, gently pushing the trio away and closing the door.

“Y’all should go take care of that, and stop that caterwauling.”

“What happened?”

One strap of that dress of hers has fallen and he reaches out to fix it without even thinking. He can almost hear the scrap of his leather gloves on her skin, too much rough against all that softness.

“Just a group of townies looking to make friends. I disabused them of that notion.”

She looks confused, still blinking away sleep. “You shot them?”

“Look here, when it comes to charming the locals you’ve got me beat by a mile - but when a fella needs to be reminded of his manners a bullet has a more lasting impact.”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “I knew this would happen.”

“You knew they were gonna come up here, and yet you were sleeping there sound as a babe?”

“I knew it was a risk,” she groans again, “kind of comes with the territory.”

“And yet I found you prancing your way through the wasteland alone, looking like that.”

“I’m not alone, I have you.” He barely gets to revel in that statement before she frowns. “And what do you mean, looking like that?”

“Sweetheart, you look like a six course meal in that getup. It’s a wonder no one ain’t gobbled you up already.”

She looks down at herself and purses her lips. “It is a tradeoff.”

“For what?”

Her mouth opens for a moment like she is going to answer then clicks shut. “It’s… thank you. For protecting me.”

For a moment he considers telling her he hadn’t been. That he was just guarding his stuff. Or that it was tit for tat since she had taken the first watch. But it wasn’t true - alive and unharmed included by other people. So instead he simply grumbles, “Don’t say nothing about it.”

Sighing, she lies back on the bed, stuffing her pack under her head with her feet facing the wall. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get back to sleep.”

“Well, if you ain’t gonna use it…” he moves to the cot, shifting her legs so he can stretch out, back propped to the wall.

She snorts, closing her eyes. “Tell me a story.”

“You looking for some once upon a time fairy tale shit?”

“No,” another one of those low laughs, “you’ve been around a while, tell me something that happened… here.”

He considers her for a moment, stretched out next to him. There’s about a dozen better ways to pass the time that he can think of offhand, but quite a few of them require him to be the kind of man he swore never to be. He didn’t have many lines in the sand, but that was one. Faded and brushed over as it was - it weren’t like he had much of a call to use it.

“You ever seen a naked mole rat fuck a Brahmin?”

That laughter would have to be enough.

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[limerenceheart]

ruin me all you want, i don't mind if it's you.

starring - yan! jing yuan

trigger warnings - implied stockholm syndrome and physical violence

i saw a fanart this quote and i liked it so much that i'm turning it into a hsr fic lmao.

you never thought that you would be in this mess. the odd horror story of another person becoming too infatuated with someone else never fazed you a lot.

the thing is you never paid enough attention regarding the ending, it should be logical that cutting off ties should be the ending.

but when feelings are involved, anything could happen.

feelings should never been underestimated and your current predicament is a prime example. living with an acquaintance that offered short accommdation for an exploration trip should just been a simple thing.

absence make the heart grow fonder though and you under evaluated how a certain man like you that much.

he say love, you say obsession but is what the difference? love mean letting someone go but treating someone like a doll trapped in a dollhouse is not love.

obsession is a dangerous thing, clouding the ability of judgement so your pleas to Jing Yuan would always fall on deaf ears.

"stop this nonsense, exploration trips mean facing the unknown which is dangerous. "

"at least with me, you will always be safe even if i'm away."

you felt the second half of his statement, you could roam freely outside but the cloud knights and lower generals would always offer a helping hand.

it was unnerving, almost like jing yuan created a surveillance unit just for you. the general wasn't that impulsive though, unwanted attention was not ideal so he played a charade of being his partner by forcing you to attend a political party with him.

you remember the jealous stares that others shot your way with your arm interlinked with the general at the ballroom but you just wanted to let out a bittersweet laugh.

and when you did, jing yuan asked you what was funny where you snapped and dug your heel into his shoe.

the next day, you made a vow never to make him angry again, the general become a whole another person with rage. the scars still lingered on your arms.

so you decided to give in, you could not beat him so might as well make your life easier. maybe one day, he might change his mind and let you go.

a slim chance.

you still couldn't help but imagine it though.

jing yuan did started interrogating you when your behaviour started changing from no longer rejecting his acts of affection along with actually engaging conversation with him.

it was startling how things just click into place, almost like friends from lovers trope. maybe jing yuan was your soul mate but he was too impatience to win your heart over.

but you no longer care about consent. you would do anything to make your life easier.

so when jing yuan guided you to the bedroom with your hand grasped in his, you broke the silence first.

"ruin me all you want, i don't mind if it's you."

[dravenscroft]

So I make a loooot of shitposts and jokes (mainly because my actual career is writing dark and serious novels and therefore I come to Tumblr to get away from that) but I FINALLY wanted to write a post that sums up my thoughts regarding the Hickey/Tozer dynamic because it fascinates me so much.

I'm putting it under a read more because I know I'm going to ramble.

Okay so first of all, as much as I may like to make jokes about the sex being so good it drove a guy to mutiny, I don't actually believe there was any sexual intimacy between Hickey and Tozer at all. This is mostly because I think post Carnival NOBODY was getting laid, everyone was far too sick and weak and tired for that - do I think in different circumstances it could have happened between them? Possibly, yeah. I definitely see the dynamic as romantic, but in a weird, unspoken, 'whatever the hell they have going on is also way more complicated than that' way.

The main thoughts I have about how and why Tozer ends up locked into in the Worst Situationship Of All Time are mainly due to three factors:

Heather's death and the breakdown of command.

The obvious Oh Shit moment of watching the Tuunbaq devour Collins' soul.

Physical touch.

The first one is the primer, as it were. It sets Tozer up as angry, desperate, and willing to mutiny. It's already become clear by Carnival that command is breaking down, they don't know what to do, and what a soldier needs more than anything is a CLEAR, DECISIVE CHAIN OF COMMAND. Without that, Tozer - who already has some Opinions about the way the marines are being put at additional risk (unionise, king) - has no one to keep him on a leash, for want of a better word. He's a dog trained to kill that suddenly doesn't have a master. He cannot be in command himself. He needs someone above him; he's not a leader.

This builds and builds, but then Heather's death - the loss of any vestige of something that would keep him loyal, since evidently Heather's care would continue under ordinary command - at the hands, essentially, of the very command he's started to doubt...well, that's it. Gun primed.

The discovery of Fairholme's group shatters any remaining hope he may have had, Crozier's reluctance to tell the men only further compounding the 'command is failing' mentality Tozer already has in spades. And there you go - the trigger is pulled.

BANG. Mutiny.

The second major factor comes after he's thrown in his lot with Hickey in a way he can't go back on. He sees Collins' soul sucked from his body by Tuunbaq before his very eyes. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew has been tipped on its head and an existential crisis he definitely didn't expect or need is thrust upon him, but now any decision he might have made to stay with Crozier and co based on this revelation is no longer open to him. The gun is still smoking, there's no way of putting the musket ball back, and now Hickey is his only option.

But maybe that isn't so bad? Because Hickey is providing something command didn't. He seems in control. He seems to know what he's about, what he's doing, and what to do next. He gives clear concise orders. He's taken up the leash command dropped, and Tozer has a master again. He feels like a marine again, like some of his identity has returned to him in a weird, perverse way (and we know Tozer is incredibly proud of being a Royal Marine from his earlier conversations)(not to mention Crozier's remark to Fitzjames about not asking the men to leave bits of themselves behind straight away when leaving the ships; Tozer has already lost bits of himself, when Heather died, and he lost faith in command).

Tozer is NOT willing to do a second mutiny because that would put HIM in charge, stripping him of that identity all over again, and he cannot handle that.

And finally, physical touch - physical touch is one of the things that keeps him chained to Hickey (quite literally by the end). It's perhaps not nearly as much of a factor as the other two, or perhaps an enormous factor, but definitely there. Throughout the earlier episodes we see that Tozer is a pretty tactile guy. Playfully wrestling at the birthday party. Caring for Heather, squeezing his hand to try and get signs of life. This is a man who isn't afraid to touch other men. When Hickey holds his face in That scene, he doesn't appear surprised - a little spooked by the way he leans in suddenly, and Hickey's intensity, but not shocked. Not like it's the first time Hickey has ever touched him. I generally imagine there's a lot of physical intimacy Hickey offers him during the scenes we don't see, because Hickey IS good at recognising things in people most of the time, and I can see him honing in on that need for touch immediately.

I imagine him touching him a lot, sleeping unusually close to him, soothing him, everything to make Tozer feel safe and secure and remind him WHO is meeting those specific needs. He's providing certainty, command, and comfort, three things Tozer desperately needs.

If there WAS any sexual intimacy between the two, I believe it would build off this even further - confuse Tozer about his feelings, make him feel uniquely bonded to Hickey in a way he can't easily undo. Especially as a Royal Marine, essentially a symbol of the warlike 'noble' Empire, with all the corresponding Victorian hangups and ideals, which would no doubt feel incredibly threatened by any attraction to Hickey. Hickey, who, as we know, WANTS to erase this sense of Empire as identity, not because he understands the evils of Empire but because he wants to replace it with his own where he is at the top.

Hickey both offers Tozer his identity back while at the same time trying to reshape it to fit his own empire. And for Tozer that's confusing and conflicting - but it's better than what he had before. Because Tozer, too, cannot see the world through any lens but that of Empire and hierarchy and command - that's the fatal flaw of all these men.

By the end, it seems he's starting to see what a horrible mistake he made - but by then it's far, far too late.

And a dog NEEDS a master.

Tldr; I think Tozer's bond with Hickey stems from both very human needs such as touch and closeness and certainty, but also from a very thematic need to have a place and easily understood identity within the structure of Empire. And there's almost no real way for those two different sorts of needs to coexist without disaster.

(One day I'll go into how I think Hickey gets more from this relationship than a mere henchman, but this isn't the post for it! This is about Solomon)

[misfitmagpie]

Well I will gladly take a look at the fully revealed logo! Though I will say that red-archivist pointed out some good stuff in this post. But we can take a deeper look into certain things!

Also p.s.: You will want to read the giant ramble to the end, because I noticed something as I was finishing, and it puts everything in an interesting context.

As mentioned in that post, the combination of the alchemical symbols for salt, mercury, and sulphur do indeed form the tria prima, the three primes or components of life.

⊖ or salt, which represents the earth and the human body. In alchemy it also symbolises the lower consciousness, self-knowledge, and wisdom.

☿ or mercury I already covered last time, representing the mind, the omnipresent spirit of life, and stood as symbol for intellect, imagination, moral judgement, and the higher mental faculties. The alchemical associations of mercury have a strong connection with the Greek/Roman gods Hermes/Mercury, a messenger god who also acted as a chthonic deity, a psychopomp and god of boundaries to be exact. Which might be relevant, might not. (He was also a shepherd god, just adding that detail)

🜍 or sulphur represents the spirit or soul of all materials and living things. In alchemy it is seen as synonymous with consciousness and the expansion of thought. And is seen as the bridge that connects the body with mind, thus it is seen as the key to understanding the inner workings of the soul and consciousness. It’s interesting to me that the sulphur is in the logo 4 times, connected to the circle that encompasses the salt and mercury symbols, and the chevrons (I’ll get to those in a moment). This could have been purely aesthetic, but they could have also simply opted to have the sulphur symbol instead of one of the chevrons and have pretty much the same effect. Instead they chose the alchemical symbol of the soul, also seen as what ties body and mind together, also an element that is strongly associated with heat and fire, to encompass the body and mind, together with heraldic symbols of protection. It’s an interesting choice which makes me wonder about the mindset of the people who founded this organisation. (Maybe they are the types to believe in purifying fire, or purity of the soul as a way to protect oneself against the horrors out there? Who knows.)

The double ^ are chevrons, a heraldic symbol associated with protection, and meant to represent the roof of a house. Even the name is derived from the French word for “rafter”. It is also used in military or police uniforms to indicate rank or length of service. It is interesting to me that the bottom left chevron is an inverted version of the top right. The inverted version being next to the symbol for mercury or the mind, and the regular next to the symbol for salt or the body. Without it being in full colour, I can’t say much about any particular heraldic or symbolic links that might have. At most I can speculate that maybe it’s hinting at how the mind might not be as safe as the body in such a service, of course that can also be my own knowledge of TMA colouring my interpretation.

The O.I.A.R. in the top banner has been revealed! And it’s nice to get confirmation that I guessed correctly on the R! Personally I am not very good with acronyms, but @emdashingaway correctly guessed that it would be this. In my previous post about The Magnus Protocol logo she pointed out that it might stand for Office of Incident Assessment and Response, which now seems very plausible!

Now the background has some interesting repeating symbols too.

🜏

This is the Leviathan Cross, in alchemy another symbol associated with sulphur (in particular black sulphur) and thus also the soul. However it is worth noting that Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan, has adopted the Leviathan Cross as a symbol of his Church in the 1960s. Though I can’t immediately find much more about it and its origins beyond the alchemical association and the very modern Satanic association. (The name Leviathan strikes me as interesting too, but there is too much that can be said about it, especially for a symbol that just occurs in the background.)

🜇

This is the alchemical symbol for aqua regia (derived from the Latin for “royal water” or “regal water”), it is a mixture of is a mixture of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid, optimally in a molar ratio of 1:3. Historically aqua regia was used in alchemy in the process of attempting to create the philosopher’s stone. It is also used to help dissolve gold and platinum within actual chemistry!

♁

Is the symbol for antimony is associated with the animal nature or wild spirit of man and nature, and it was often symbolised by the wolf.

🜘

This is the symbol for bismuth, while it does get mentioned in alchemical texts, the particular use and associations seem to be unclear. All that I can seem to find is that in early days, it was often confused for tin or lead. And that apparently Miners in the age of alchemy also gave bismuth the name tectum argenti, or “silver being made”. (Also it’s chemical symbol is Bi, which is funny given how apparently some have discovered that they are bi thanks to TMA)

I hope this is visible, but one of the symbols in the background also looks an awful lot like one of the alchemical symbols for tin. It looks like a curved X with circles at the ends of the legs. Tin in alchemy is associated with the planet Jupiter, and is sometimes called the ‘breath of life. ’ It represents the idea that the whole is stronger than the sum of its parts.

⚥

From what I can find, this is not strictly speaking an alchemical symbol. Clearly a combination of the male and female gender symbols (each of which is actually derived from the symbols for Mars and Venus respectively, which do get used in alchemy actually), it is generally seen as a hermaphroditic symbol (using the strict broad biological label here, not referring to intersex, I just want to point that out). But given all of the alchemy references so far, I suspect that it might be referencing the rebis (from the Latin res bina, meaning dual or double matter), the ultimate end product of the alchemical great work. It is sometimes described as the divine hermaphrodite—a reconciliation of spirit and matter, a being of both male and female qualities. A lot can be said about the great work in alchemy, and this post is already long enough honestly.

And lastly…

Take this, flip it upside-down, and you have the shape of the logo in which all these symbols are displayed. This is the symbol for the philosophers’ stone. In alchemy it is an unknown substance sought after by alchemists, said to be capable of turning base metals into precious ones (like gold and silver), can be used to derive an elixir of life, and was even thought to bring about spiritual revitalisation. And it symbolises perfection at its finest, enlightenment, and heavenly bliss.

And while researching this, I also noticed something rather interesting. It might end up not being relevant at all, but I discovered that a famous alchemist was named Albertus Magnus who was born some time before 1200 in the Duchy of Bavaria (the flag and coat of arms of which during the Wittelsbach dynasty sports a rather nice diamond pattern, a bit like the pattern you see within the triangle of the logo). He was a saint with a deep interest in a large variety of topics including logic, theology, botany, geography, astronomy, astrology, alchemy, mineralogy, zoology, physiology, phrenology, justice, law, etc. I recommend potentially checking out the wiki page on Albertus Magnus that I shared earlier if you are interested in knowing more, there is a lot of history there. But it’s interesting that he shares a surname with Jonah Magnus, founder of the Magnus Institute.

Conclusion:

Given all that I have managed to dig up about the symbols within the logo, and the indirectly connected links with suspiciously named historical figures, in particular with the context of there being another Bouchard within the Magnus Protocol, I can’t help but be suspicious of whatever this British civil service is actually getting up to behind the scenes. In particular what they think they might be trying to accomplish using the Fear Entities.

Of course at this point it becomes pure speculation. But I am more than happy to hear everyone’s ideas, speculation, and contributions!

[thatanimewriter]

COWARD.

➳ request: How would Coco and team JNPR react to their mega intimidating and stronger then strong Male S/O, saving Velvet from Cardin's bullying, by comin' out the wood works, and just punching the absolute SOUL outta Cardin like bro's on his knees, holdin' his stomach, eyes wide, struggling to breath and all that, meanwhile the rest of his team are just trying to jump S/O but are failing MISERABLY, like it's watching 3 4-year olds tryin' to jump prime Mike Tyson, and for reference on what S/O looks like, look up Fredrick Jason the boxer manwha in images, pls and thank you :)

➳ character/s: jaune arc, nora valkyrie, pyrrha nikos, lie ren

➳ warnings: mentions of bullying, violence, swearing, mentions of thirsty people (pyrrha)

➳ notes: i don't write for coco, but i can do jnpr :))

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐉𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂.

cheering you from the sidelines because he has tried standing up to cardin before and it went horribly

is probably mildly embarrassed that he's tiny compared to you, but is very much happy that cardin is ALSO tiny compared to you

got slightly worried when the rest of cardin's team tried to gang up on you

but you just waved jaune away with a lil flirty wink and dealt with the issue very chill

jaune was very hot and bothered after cause he couldn't lie, it was kinda attractive-

but afterwards he's so asking you for training sessions so he can get buff like you

he probably recorded the altercation on his scroll just for later entertainment

it was already put on the internet very soon after, if not livestreamed by someone else in the crowd

── 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐄.

she would've joined you if it weren't for ren letting you handle it by yourself

he wants her to preserve some level of her reputation and let you uphold your own as you basically hold cardin away from you with a hand to his forehead

you're clearly not invested in this fight, cause you look very bored this whole time

but you'll let her hit them with her hammer at least once, followed by a hair ruffle and a "that's my girl"

is very proud of you because if you didn't do anything about the bullies, then she would've

laughed her little ass off when the rest of the gang tried to jump you and you didn't have any difficulty

she took a selfie of you guys and the bullies on the floor n you're just smiling with a peace sign

still her favourite photo to this day and she talks about it all the time

── 𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐇𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐒.

very much concerned for how often you might be getting into fights with cardin

but also not that mad because even though she probably doesn't wanna get involved, she'll let you have your fun

you're both such a power couple now because BOTH of you have fought cardin's whole team 1v4 and won

will stand back and watch you as if she doesn't want you to be fighting bullies in the courtyard

but she's proud on the inside and will treat you for dinner later when you win

not super happy that randos on the internet are kinda thirsty for you though

but maybe she'll jump in next time if there is one just so people can back off

and also because she thinks it's probably super cathartic-

── 𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐍.

also doesn't join in, but he won't make any moves to stop you from doing what you gotta do

he's been watching cardin be a bully for a while and is happy with the karma he's getting from you

very much annoyed by the rest of the team trying to get the upper hand, because he's trained with you and failed to do so-

a rare smile on his face when you beat them all to a pulp and will make you pancakes in the morning

special treat for delivering some well-deserved justice for the students

generally discourages you from engaging in petty school fights though, because he'd rather you save your energy

and not use it on useless people who will end up in the dumps on their own anyway

but if it's warranted, then he'll support you from the shadows :))

[blackroseguzzi]

Otherworldly : Part 1

Series based off Honey Kisses 🍯💋

Summery: Winter brings home a friend from college. Kai finds her intoxicating, and the feeling seems to be mutual. Pre-cult Kai Anderson.

Warnings: Intercourse, body parts..all the other warnings that SMUT might have haha

I really hope you guys like part 1! It’s my first time ever really attempting smut.

@evan4ever enjoy!

Kai sat down in his basement, trolling the internet. His mind couldn’t let go of the image of you in the shower.

Did you always shower at your friends houses with the door open? The way the hot water ran down the curves of your body was something he was going to dream about tonight. He would probably jerk off to the same though in the morning…or every morning for a month. He scrolled aimlessly around the internet, attacking some feminist page and insulting woman who were commenting about the harm of gendered bathrooms.

Then he heard footsteps coming down the basement.

“Winter, I told you to knock before you come down here.” Kai hissed.

“She’s asleep.”

Kai’s head shot up at the sound of a female voice that was not his sisters. It was YOU.

“Does she always fall asleep this early?” Your voice was as smooth as butter. Kai ran his hands through his dark brown hair and then moved the laptop from his lap to the coffee table in front of him. Adderall was the only reason he was awake at this hour.

He watched as you slowly made your way over to the couch, sitting in close to him. He could smell the familiar scent of the Dove shampoo he used. A flash of your naked body flooded his mind.

“Yeah, she’s not much of a party animal,” Kai responded, curious to know the reason for her decent down into his headquarters. He wondered if she was going to bring up the fact that he had watched her in the shower.

“Well, I guess not everyone is as feral as I am,” She giggled. The sound shooting through Kai’s body like heart shaped bullets.

“I’m Kai, Winter’s brother,” He debated on holding out his hand, but that felt too formal coming from someone who had just seem this girls pussy.

“I know. Winter talks a lot about you.”

“All good things I hope?” Kai stared into her eyes, feeling that soul sucking connection again.

“Well, she says you're protective, manipulative, and a little….crazy,” She smiled devilishly at him “and in my world I’d say that’s all good things.”

Kai could feel his blood pumping straight to his dick. She snuck in closer, and peaked over at his computer screen, your eyes wandering around the open tab, gathering information on what exactly Kai had been doing before she had come down to his dungeon.

“Ohhh another keyboard crusader.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him “I like to send Crash Safari links to members of pro-life Facebook pages,” She giggled. Oh. He wasn’t expecting that. She was a little bit vile, and that surprised Kai from her sweet girl next door appearance.

She had on a baby blue oversized sweater that dropped down at one shoulder, and he could make out a Lacey white bra strap somewhere beneath her long y/h/c. She had the most perfectly pink lips, and he imagined what the chubbier bottom one felt like in between his teeth.

“You’re a bit different than the friends my sister usually brings home,” Kai leaned back on the couch and studied her face.

“I like Winter. She has something special about her, but I can’t put my finger on it yet..I think she likes me because I write all her Political Methodology papers. Now the teacher looks at her like she’s the Prime Minister of his dick.” You both laughed lightly the air between you getting heavier.

“I still don’t know your name,” Kai stated.

“Y/N, but YOU, Mr. Anderson, can call me whatever you want.”

“Is that so?” Kai raised his eyebrow.

“What was the name you gave me in your mind when you were imagining yourself fucking me in the shower?”

She leaned in so that their faces were barely an inch apart. Kai could hear his heart beating, lustfully. This girl was exhilarating. Where had she been his whole life?

His body moved before his mind and his lips crashed into hers. She moved slower than him, making the urgency in their makeup session wind down to a sensual pace. She wanted him to savor this.

Her lips tasted like honey, and they were just as soft. He snuck is hands under her blue sweater and he cupped her breasts as she snaked her tongue into his mouth to let him know that she was enjoying whatever he was doing.

“I want you to show me what you were thinking about as you watched me,” Her voice was low in his ear. She moved with ease and straddled his waist, grinding her body against his extremely hard dick.

“Well, I can’t do that until you’re completely naked,” Kai responded, squeezing her breasts and she let out a small moan. She lifted her arms, and Kai removed her shirt. Was he dreaming? He had to be dreaming.

She reached behind her back with one hand and with a single motion her bra was now in Kai’s lap between them.

She grabbed his face and continued grinding him while she kissed him. Their tongues intertwined in a perfect simultaneous dance.

“Get up,”She whispered against his lips. She removed herself from his lap and slowly slid down her tight yoga pants. She wasn’t even wearing any underwear. Kai undressed himself far messier then she had. He stumbled a bit at as he wiggled out of his pants. She was looking right at his penis when he finished pulling off his socks. She licked her teeth and Kai’s knees weakened as she knelt before his throbbing cock. Where the fuck had she learned to do that with her mouth? Kai moaned and threw his head back in ecstasy. She kept going faster, grabbing his hands and placing them on her head. This girl wanted him to pull her hair while she was chocking on his dick.

He obliged, happily.

He peaked down at her, and her eyes were staring right back at him. That sent him to another world. He yanked her up by her hair and he smashed his face onto hers again. They finally made it to the bed.

“What do you want from me,” She said breathlessly.

“I want you to ride me until I cum,” Kai plummeted on the bed, watching as she crawled her way on top of him. Her skin was so smooth. She wasn’t the skinniest girl he had ever seen, she had curves in all the right places. He like it though- A man wanted to feel and hold a woman’s body, not bones. She grabbed his dick and guided it inside her, starting off slow and increasing the pace exactly how Kai liked it.

“You like that?” She ran her hands through her hair, arching her back as she did.

Kai could stare at her all day. She looked like a renaissance painting. God, her naked body should be worshipped. She stuck one of his fingers in her mouth and started sucking it.

“I’m going to cum,” Kai chocked out, before releasing himself inside of her. She road it out for a moment and leaned forward, her face inches from his. They didn’t kiss, she just kept moving slowing on top of him. They stared into each other’s eyes like they had when she was in the shower that evening. That soul connecting electric intimacy.

“Did I live up to your expectation, Kai?”She smirked down at him, her face flushed and beads of sweat sprinkled her forehead.

“You exceeded my expectation,” He said in a complete state of pleasure.

He watched as she took in a breath and let out the sexiest moan he had ever heard.

Holy fucking shit. She had just gotten off by hearing how much she had pleased him. He felt her body on top of him release and liberate her orgasm. It was possibly the most tantalizing thing he had ever witnessed.

She finally rolled off of Kai and lay next to him on the bed, both of them staring at the basement ceiling.

“That was..”
“otherworldly,” Kai finished for her. He moved surveyed her delicate side profile as she lay still, and he wondered what she was thinking. 
“You know,” she twisted her head towards him. Looking his facial features over like she was trying to remember every single detail of it down the the small beauty mark on the tip of his nose. She really liked that particular attribute. “You would look so amazing with blue hair.”
She got up quickly, Kai stayed naked and propped himself up on his elbows as he watched her make her way over to her clothes left in a heap on the floor. She bent down, and Kai made a mental note that if they ever fucked again he was going to make sure that was the view he was fucking her in. I mean…Wow.

“Blue? You’re lying,” He let out a huff. He never did much with his hair, especially now that he was always too depressed and drugged up to even comb it.

She finished getting dressed, pushing her feet back into her cute bunny slippers.

“I would never lie to you.” There was that devilish grin again.

She played with her Lacey bra in her hands for a moment before dropping it on his laptop and making her way quietly back up the stairs.

He had a gut feeling you were going to have him wrapped around your finger.

[voidsentprinces]

Azem: Look...I'm JUST saying! Emet-Selch: Yes, I UNDERSTAND you're "JUST SAYING" but we have more PRESSING MATTERS to attend to! Azem: This is far more important. Emet-Selch: It most certainly is fucking NOT! Hythlodaeus: What is going on? Emet-Selch: Azem discovered a bunch of warrior lizard people in the middle of a plainland and now because they broke the Prime Directive. They are worshiping by them as some sort of Creationist God. I, believe the next step is to report to Convocation. Azem: And I believe, we need to settle who the best Powerpuff Girl is. Emet-Selch: I have already told you that it is BLOSSOM! She has the brain! She has the leadership! And she still has the brawn to toss around the baddie of the week while being restrained! As the mind of the operation, the trio would wander aimless without regard. Elidibus: In times of turmoil, it falls once again to the Emissary to mediate such affairs. Emet-Selch: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A BICYCLE! Don't just appear out of nowhere! Elidibus: I know not who this Jesus person is nor why he is committing adultry with a secondary on a bicycle but I make no promises. Now then, if Emet-Selch is so set on Blossom. We shall now open the room for other opinions on the matter. Igeyohrm: Personally, I have been of the mind that Buttercup is the best. But I am sure there are fools who would disagree. Lahabrea: I must agree with my cousin, Buttercup can kick ass and look cool doing it. Without her, the trio would lack decisive action and would be too restrained in the path forward. Hythlodaeus: Personally, I have been a fan Bubbles. She is kind hearted, speaks several languages, as well as speak with all manner of animals and creatures of the land. She is the soul of the group. Without her, Blossom and Buttercup would be at a lost when times are tougher and the world is unfairer towards them. Loghrif: Her speaking with animals also allows her utilize scouting parties and get a lay of the land quicker for when the trio is operating outside their normal jurisdiction. Lahabrea: You are mistaken whom would have time to rely on such an emotional crybaby? Elidibus: Enough, we have two for Buttercup, two for Bubbles, a single vote from Emet-Selch for Blossom. We must now hear upon which Azem has decided to either make or break the decision. Azem: ...personally I thought Mojo Jojo was best gi-- Emet-Selch: OH HERE WE FUCKING GO! Hythlodaeus: LET US LISTEN TO THE SHEPHERDS R-- Lahabrea: TO HELL WITH THEIR REASONINING! Elidibus: Venat, we might require your experti-- Venat: Professor Utonium. Elidibus: ...so about this lizard person religion. Azem: Hades is just mad I now have an entire Steppe named after me. Emet-Selch: I am mad that you almost got me killed by a tribe chieftain. Azem: She just wanted a friendly chat. Emet-Selch: She survived several meteorite spells to the FACE! Azem: Hehehyeah, the Dotharl are great.

[fictionadventurer]

Beauty and the Beast for the WIP game?

My only real attempt at writing poetry before this year happened during a stretch when I tried to write a Beauty and the Beast retelling in verse. I got about two-thirds of the way through before it fizzled out and languished forever unfinished.

When it comes to my recent novel-in-verse obsession, the simplest option would be to take another look at this work and try to finish it. There's a lot of terrible poetry in there, but there are some that are somewhat better than I remember. I can't claim to be a judge of what's good poetry, but some of these are readable, so I'll share some of them here.

The first set of semi-readable poems covers the first meetings between Beauty and the Beast. (These are all numbered, and I'm leaving the numbers in place to better differentiate between separate poems. I think the speaker in most of these is fairly clear from context, but just in case, I'll put the speaker's name in the title, too.)

VI. beauty and beast

he is every nightmare i’ve ever forgotten he is thunder and darkness and death he is fear with fangs he is beastly

she is every dream i’ve never dared for she is roses and sunlight and life she is hope with jewels she is beauty

*

VIII. beauty

the chair creaks when he sits

my knees quake when he speaks

the master laughs when i ask

when i will die

my ears doubt when i hear

my mind reels when i realize

the master wonders when i began

to think he’d kill me

IX. beast

the rules are these you are mistress of this castle the servants will obey your every whim the rooms and all within are yours including me

you will dine with me at dusk we will not speak if you want silence you will look at me and try not to scream

i will not harm a hair of your head i will not cause a moment’s worry you will do whatever you wish except leave

X. beauty

his mercy shatters my world makes it bigger and at the same time smaller

how can i live in a monster’s cage

my life will be long and lonely with him my friend and at the same time jailer

how can i look at a monster’s face

the castle teems with wonders that all belong to him and at the same time me

what do i do with a monster’s love

*

The next set of poems I feel like sharing starts with Beauty finding a portrait in the castle, and then leads into her sharing a dance with Beast that makes her kind of freak out over the fact that she might be falling in love.

XXII. beast

today you found a painting in a long-forgotten room covered in cobwebs and shrouded in dust

there was a reason it was lost

the portrait showed a man with a face like the dawn and eyes like the sea you thought he looked kind

he was young and a fool

you may keep it if you wish or lock it back in darkness it matters not to me i used to see him daily

i doubt i’ll see his face again

*

XXIV. beauty (and beast)

if rooms have souls the ballroom is wise a radiant beauty long past her prime

she treasures the days when she lived and was loved she keeps them and counts them like pearls on a string

(she is not the only one, my dear)

long past midnight in moonlight and hush this sleepwalking girl can glimpse former days

a flash of a gown and a whisper of waltz what glorious balls must this room have beheld

(they were marvelous indeed, my friend)

it seems a shame she grows old alone with nothing but darkness and dust held within

i would dance for her return the spark of life if only we had music and i had a partner

(i will gladly dance with you, my love)

XXV. beast

my dear beauty don’t you know i learned dancing long ago

one step closer take my hand with a waltz you’ll understand

let the music guide your feet in a dance that’s slow and sweet

hand in hand and heart to heart it’s not love but it’s a start

XXVI. beauty

he is hulking beastly

i am small delicate

i should be stumbling crushed

but

we marvelously miraculously dance

and it feels like flying

XXVII. beauty (to the portrait)

man on the wall i may be mad but i must give voice to the storm in my heart and you are the only one near

the master puzzles me i know his home as well as my own but i know so little about him

(is he beast or man or nightmare or dream or captor or friend)

i saw his face and thought him a beast

(but he grows roses and reads poems and has never killed or even raised his voice)

i heard his voice and thought him a monster

(but he spared my life gave me his home and all he owned offered his heart and never once has been anything but gentle)

i watched him dance and thought him a man

(with grace like an angel or a prince and i think that maybe he was not always so lonely and that his heart aches for things lost)

what am i to think do say be feel about him now

and why do these questions always come at midnight

*

The final poem is one that I had completely forgotten about, so I was shocked to find it lurking in the latter sections of the document and showing signs of using some decent imagery. By polishing up the last couple of lines, I've got something that's not half bad as a standalone poem.

This one occurs during an extended period when Beauty is still trying to process her feelings toward Beast and figure out if this is really love or if her feelings are being warped by isolation and close proximity.

XXX. beauty

if this is love it is a dark and grasping love a child stumbling in the night crying for a candle flame and cherishing the smallest spark of light

if this is love it is a bleak and desolate love a skeleton tree in a barren desert windbeaten and scrubbed to bone and bursting into bloom at the first drop of rain

if this is love it is a smoke and mirrors love a sleight of hand or trick of light that takes my broken heart and fools me into thinking he can make it whole