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spandexinspace · 3 months ago

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Davrin talks to Evka and Antoine before deciding that accepting gingerwort tea from strange mages hopefully not lying in ponds is a good idea.

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Despite the lack of a familial relationship and seniority, Davrin can't help but feel like a man going back home to visit his parents when he steps out of the eluvian into the cold Hossberg Wetlands, which as far as sentiments goes is one he knows to under no circumstances bring up in front of Evka, lest she prove him all too right. Still, there is something truly admirable about their stability and leadership amidst all of what the Wardens have been reduced to. Many more great Wardens would be lost without them.

The rundown fortress the Wardens have made their temporary home smells like blight. It's rotten and acrid, the organic smell of frigid swamp water crossed with something not quite of this world. It clings to his sinuses and clothes and stays with him until well after he’s left the wetlands behind, like the sickly grey film the water leaves behind on his boots. Davrin rarely minds the cold, but the wet chill of Hossberg leaves even him longing for a good campfire and an itchy, moth-eaten wool blanket.

As he makes his way through the mess of injured and exhausted Wardens, huddled together in shades of grey and blue surrounded by whatever equipment and personal belongings they managed to scavenge from Weisshaupt, his heart sinks in his chest. They talk in hushed whispers, some coughing wetly or wheezing like they’re already well beyond help. Few bother to look up at him. He knew it was bad, of course he did, but there’s a world of difference between seeing the direct aftermath of it, hearing about it in sparse letters and seeing it with his own two eyes. The order is in shambles. Sick and suffering, surrounded by blight on all sides, singing at the back of his mind. He’d heard plenty of stories about the fifth blight when he first joined, how everything had seemed hopeless then, but it’s hard to imagine that it was ever this bad. The order had recovered then, but he can barely imagine how they’ll do it again. If they’ll even survive that long.

As such, it’s with a heavy heart and a worried mind he enters the inner sanctum of the fortress. Which is perhaps best described less of a sanctum and more as a slightly less open space than the rest of it, with enough walls left standing to almost block out some of the outside chill. Or it would have, were it not for the way Antoine’s macabre blight display dominates the central table, pulsating in their jars like something that should have been put to death a long time ago. Their mere presence is enough to keep the room from ever feeling warm. He’s seen them before, but they appear to have grown in number and size since he last saw them and now make him feel even less at ease. Sometimes he swears they have eyes. Sometimes he swears they look at him.

“Evka,” he says. She turns from the table to face him, vigilance in her movement. "How are you holding up?" On the other side of the table Antoine looks up too, while two other Wardens make themselves scarce, perhaps thankful for the opportunity to escape from the museum of unknown blight horrors.

"Hi, Davrin. We're doing alright," she replies, her voice warm and even despite everything. "We’re still getting settled in, but things are starting to calm down. You and your team were a great help in making sure we even got this far; I can't imagine there'd be much of an order left without you."

Davrin sighs, scratching the back of his neck. "That’s good, at least, though things don’t look great out there. We could have done more. Maybe if I'd been there to talk to the First Warden when Rook first met him..."

"Then perhaps you could have let him make acquaintanceship with the floor earlier?" Antoine asks. "We sent many letter to the First Warden. It seems reason was far beyond him even then."

“He never seemed the type to act like that, but I can’t imagine going through the calling right now would make a man’s life any easier. Who even knows what that’s like.”

Behind the table Antoine squirms, uneasily moving from one foot to the other.

“I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy, but as a Warden he should have known better. What he did remains inexcusable,” Evka says.

"Of course, I just wish we’d been able to aid him.”

“We all do.”

Davrin rubs the bridge of his nose, tries to block out the all too vivid memory of the First Warden. The way he twisted and deformed, bones and muscles and armour snapping loudly under Ghilan'nain’s thrall, turning black with something that was neither ichor nor blood. Grey Wardens don’t have happy endings, but he can imagine few worse than that.

“How about you two, are you doing OK?” he asks, wanting for any distraction but that. “It's one hell of a way to get promoted, I'm not sure I'd wish that on anyone either.”

"We're fine,” Evka says, turning to meet Antoine’s gaze for a second. “We have each other, and most of the remaining Wardens have no desire to vie for leadership right now. I’m sure some of them will grow restless once things start to settle down and they have time to think about politics again, but there’s no saying when that’ll be. For now the order needs to survive, and we know survival.”

"It's mostly Evka's doing, of course. She's never seen a crisis she wouldn't rise to." Davrin isn't sure Antoine ever stops looking at her like she's the centre of the universe, but the look he gives her then seems particularly infatuated. Evka in turn huffs, though with little annoyance. “But don’t worry about us, surely you have your own troubles.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve been trying to track down the griffins and that Gloom Howler. I asked Harding and Neve to check in with their contacts without revealing too much, but they haven’t heard back from any of them. Even Lucanis offered to help out, though I doubt the Crows know much about any of that.”

Antoine rounds the table to come to stand next to Evka. Away from the sick, dull glow of the jars Davrin can see the dark rings under his eyes and the strain in his expression. Not the strain of unfriendliness, but of something else. Stress, perhaps, or worse. “Neither have we. We have sent word to anyone who will have it, but time will have to tell if and when they can get back to us,” he says.

“I’ll keep looking for it then.”

“Ah, but you shouldn’t forget to take some time for yourself as well.”

"The Gloom Howler is still out there."

"And you plan on waltzing around the swamps until you find it? Show up to its lair with bog foot, yes?" Antoine asks, smiling at Davrin now in a way that doesn’t quite seem to reach his wide eyes. There is truth to that, to the foolishness of setting off into the swamps armed only with their total lack of leads and inability to even think of the idea of a plan, but that offers him little comfort. He yearns to do something, not to sit on his hands until they rot off.

"I'll figure something out,” Davrin says, teeth clenched.

"Or, you think about it, we think about it and we'll contact you when we actually have a real lead," Evka interjects. “Make time for yourself, try to recuperate so that you’ll be ready when it actually counts. You’re of no use to anyone if you run yourself ragged over nothing.”

“Oui. Try to bond with Assan, if nothing else. You’ll need that bond when you face the Gloom Howler.”

“He’s with me whenever we’re out.”

“But you’re always fighting, no? Surely he craves more variety than that, something more personal. And perhaps there are others who do too?”

“Others?” Davrin asks, furrowing his brow and crossing his arms.

“One other, specifically, I suppose,” Antoine says, undeterred. "It's important to not neglect those bonds. You never know what might happen out there, so you should make sure to act before it does. It would be a waste to miss out on something enjoyable because an ogre got to you before you thought to mention it.”

Evka shoots Antoine a particularly poignant look. “Just take care of yourself, we’re far from safe yet.”

"Fine, will you two get off my case if I go do something relaxing?" Davrin asks.

"Perhaps for the time being,” Antoine says. Davrin contemplates bringing up the parenting comparison after all. Maybe that—if nothing else—would dissuade them.

"We have to look out for the order, Davrin," Evka adds. "If there ever was a time to lose people to the strain of overwork, it's not now."

“And if we lose the griffins? Again?”

“Then it won’t be because you didn’t look hard enough, trust me. No one cares more for them than you do, but sometimes caring just isn’t enough.” Evka turns her back towards him then, to gaze out over the collection of jars. If he listens closely he can hear them sing. ”Unless we get a handle on this we won’t even be able to worry about things like that soon.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Antoine says, voice lower than before. For the first time since Davrin stepped foot in the room his expression seems to falter, turning to worry as he puts a hand on Ekva’s shoulder. “We always do.”

She sighs and rubs her temples. “We’ll have to. Davrin, please go take care of yourself and Assan. We will reach out as soon as we hear anything new about the griffins or the Gloom Howler. Give Rook our regards and further thanks.”

“I will. Thank you, First Wardens.”

Antoine laughs, though there’s still worry in his expression. “By the stone,” Evka sighs, shaking her head, smiling just a little despite herself.

As Davrin retreats back out between the crumbling walls and into the more open part of the fortress Assan lands next to him like a particularly loud shadow, his claws clicking against the worn stone.

“Would you like to go back to Arlathan, boy?” he asks, ruffling the griffon’s feathery head with one hand. Assan squawks in a way that definitely could be a yes. Or a bid for more food.

#dragon age #dragon age spoilers #sorta #davrin #antoine #evka ivo #this is set before that scene in Davrin's romance #the one with the mushroom tea #because he said evka and antoine gave him the idea

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nehswritesstuffs · 1 year ago

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Peer Review

Something about this sort of scenario seems just so Law to me and I can't really put my finger on it, even after writing it out, so here we are.

3227 words; starts off with a 19yo Law and all the self-righteous fury contained therein (Penguin is 21, Shachi 20, and Bepo 15, for comparison); I’m sure that some people have done something similar but it’s my turn with the football now I guess; may or may not work within canon, idk yet, try not to think about it too much; maybe get an additional editing pass after I sleep idk on that either

Peer Review; Law is sick of watching all of Flevance's contributions go to waste, which leads him to take drastic measures: passing board exams.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Uh… are you sure this is a good idea…?” Penguin wondered. He watched as Law was hunched over the table in the Polar Tang’s mess hall, furiously completing paperwork. His captain did not answer him and that only made him worry more. “Cap…?”

“Ignore him,” Shachi droned from the kitchen. “You’re never going to win.”

“This is not about winning—this is about him being delusional.”

“No, what’s delusional,” Law said, slamming his pen down on the table, “is that these uptight twits playing at doctor think they can just ignore an entire plethora of medical and scientific achievements simply due to the authors getting in the crossfire of a genocide! They know they’re not publishing the truth in these fucking jokes they call medical journals! It’s like peer review means that they just skimmed it over right quick before putting it to press! If they had any shred of ethical acumen these works would be known and referenced!”

“Literally none of us have ever seen you more upset and it’s kind of scary,” Penguin mentioned. “I mean, you’re sounding like you’re about to vomit a thesaurus.”

“What I am about to vomit is the contents of my stomach because they are ignoring my parents’ work!” Law retorted. He gestured over to the wall, where a knife had been Shambled into the metal as it held up a journal that had been stabbed through the center. “I remember reading it! I was there! My parents let me read over it to check for typos! And we’re talking about one of the medical associations that turned me away as a kid!”

“Yeah, and what is passing boards going to do about it?”

“Give me an in.” Law went back to the paperwork, manically filling everything out to the best of his ability. He put together what he hoped was an impressive resume, hoping that it would be enough to convince the licensing committee to allow him to sit the boards without going through all of med school on-island first. If he was pressed, he probably could have figured out how he knew more than the average fourth-year med student by the time he was eight years old…

“Hey everyone! News Coo’s here!”

“Shit!” Law scrambled to sit up and run over to the hatch of the Polar Tang, where Bepo was waiting on the top deck. A News Coo was sitting idly on the railing, resting itself as it stared at the pile of mail in Bepo’s paw. Law took the envelopes from the Mink and began to sort through them, finding one small, discreet letter amongst ad leaflets about a WEJ news subscription and Shachi’s naughty Sora, Warrior of the Sea fan zine.

A letter from the licensing board.

Law shoved the rest of the mail back towards Bepo and tore open the envelope. He read it over three times, with his friends divvying up their own mail in the meantime.

“I got my in,” Law marveled quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He turned towards his crew—his friends—his brothers—and laughed. “I can take the exam!”

“You what…?” Shachi blinked in confusion. “What was all that paperwork for then?”

“Red tape that they want me to come in and fill out, but I already got the jump on them so they can’t pretend like it doesn’t exist.” Law put up a Room and popped the paperwork, a pen, and an envelope to the deck, replacing it with the letter and Shachi’s zine. He ignored the complaints as he put together his response and stuffed it in the envelope, putting it in the News Coo’s bag before the bird took off.

Now, it was off to Lvneel.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“You have an… interesting set of credentials,” the woman at the desk frowned. She let her eyes flit from the papers in front of her to the boy sitting on the other side of her desk. He was trying to not fidget, though it was also apparent that the attempt at looking serious was just something unfortunate his face did. Not only that, he looked so young, even if he did have patchy facial hair filling in on his chin and cheeks. So young and so unsettlingly familiar…

“All worth its weight, I can assure you,” he replied. “The gap I can explain by having worked out in the field, which I’m told is often worth as much as thrice the same amount of time in the classroom.”

“True… but without verification, I can’t really say that this is as solid as you claim, not to mention the fee…” She watched as the boy took some money from his inner jacket pocket and placed it on the table. “A bribe…?”

“All the admissions fees, up front, in your hands, now.” He stared her down as she counted it—not a beri out of place. “There is nothing barring me from taking the exam.”

“You’re feisty—I like you,” she smirked. “You’ll mostly be a pain to the other departments, which to me is honestly enough reason to let you through. You just have to remember something.”

“Anything.”

“Lvneelish people don’t take kindly to being made fools.” The boy froze, seemingly afraid he was caught in some sort of lie, and she chuckled. “I don’t know who you are, Wittman Lars, or where you really came from, but just remember that if you’re going to go through with this, then make it good. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy nodded. He looked cowed, as though he rarely deferred as such. She watched as he bit his lower lip in thought, slipping further away from the headstrong confidence that he had walked in with. “If I pass this exam, I can submit studies and critiques to the Greater Lvneel Medical Journal, right?”

“It would be within your right, yes.” She raised an eyebrow at the boy, who looked much younger in that moment than she was comfortable with. “I won’t ask your reasons, but is that why you are sitting this exam?”

His silence was all the answer she needed.

“Then get out of my office—collect the necessary paperwork on the way out.” She handed him a slip of paper with a stamp on it, which he stared at incredulously… as though he didn’t entirely believe he was holding it. “Exams are in three weeks; a failed exam can be retaken in six months. Not reporting forfeits your right to another chance for a year. Cheating bars you for five years. Any other questions will be answered by the secretaries; now leave.”

It took a moment for the boy’s brain to catch up and he scrambled up from the chair and scurried out of the office like a scared animal unsure of its limbs. She nodded to herself, wondering how many people would see in the boy what she saw—hopefully not too many.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Three weeks?!” Penguin griped. They were in the small rented house they had found on the outskirts of the city, far enough away from the main of Lvneel to not attract too much attention. Shachi was already getting dinner prepped while Bepo was helping Law sort through medical books at the kitchen table. The eldest Heart Pirate had just gotten home with the shopping when Law dropped the news on him.

“That’s when it is; can’t change it,” Law replied. “I’m surprised the registrar let me do any of it at all.”

“This is going to eat into our savings, you know this,” Penguin frowned. Shachi wordlessly took the bag from his hand and procured the seal meat that was going to be the night’s dinner. “We don’t have that much.”

“I thought the haul we got from those Kueni assholes was more than enough to let us coast for half a year in a more central part of town,” Law reminded him. Penguin only folded his arms in response. “Besides, it’ll do us good to be on land for a bit, and the Tang’s not that far away if you want to visit her.”

“She’s a ship, not a woman.”

“Yeah, but same rules apply.” Law opened a Room and moved a fresh stack of books to a nearby shelf. “We’re going to be here long enough for me to sit the exam and get a hold of my certification. If it takes that long, then it’s going to take that long.”

“You’re fucking nuts if you think we’re going to stay under the radar the entire time.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t.” Law handed Bepo a book and pointedly did not look at Penguin. “I think she recognized me.” His crewmates all stopped to stare at him in horror.

“Wait, what?!” Shachi snapped. “Cap, don’t tell me you’re going to get us all busted because of this!”

“We won’t,” Law assured. “They can’t prove anything, not until it’s too late, and once I get my license they can’t strip me of it unless a malpractice suit comes up against me or there’s an injunction, both of which take time.”

“It’s bad enough Bepo’s a bear—don’t apologize Bep—but someone recognizing you?!” Shachi put his hands on his hips while their kid brother whimpered. “We’re literally hundreds of miles from Flevance. Why do you think this lady recognized you?!”

“Just a feeling,” he shrugged. “People travel for work or pleasure; medical tourism was a thing where I grew up; I’ve got a Flevench face—any number of reasons.”

“For fuck’s sake…”

“I told you,” Penguin said, gesturing at Law as though he wanted to add a “see this shit” at the end.

“Then leave,” Law deadpanned. He handed another book to Bepo, who put it in the appropriate stack. “Nothing’s stopping you. The door’s right there.”

“Yeah, but why would we leave Bepo alone with you?” Penguin scoffed. “He needs an adult.”

“I am an adult.”

“Tch; barely.”

“…and whose idea was it to beat the bear up?”

Okay, he had them there, but…!

“Are you going to hang that over us forever?” Shachi groaned.

“As long as I need to.”

“Then I say I should be able to hold my arm over you in retaliation,” Penguin sniffed. Law simply acted as though he hadn’t heard his eldest crewmate, continuing with sorting his study materials. “It still gets tingly, you know.”

“That’s because you probably have carpal tunnel, not because of anything I did,” Law replied dully. “I’d fix it for you if you let me near your arm next time you experience localized paresthesia.”

Penguin and Shachi exchanged an exasperated look before looking at Bepo, who shrugged helplessly. The sooner they could get their captain off this rock, the sooner he’d be less of a dick, they supposed.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

While the crankiness that the Hearts dealt with as Law was studying for his exam was unbearable, the exam itself was even worse. Law sat in the large room with dozens of other applicants; it was warm and stuffy and smelled like burnt coffee and body odor. He was the youngest person in the room by-far, which was something that he knew others noticed. The uncomfortable feeling of eyes on him raked against the young man as he sat at his seat and readied himself alongside all the other candidates. He knew that not only was he not someone who had been through courses with everyone else there, but he looked different—like his father—and there had to be at least a few people in the room aware enough to put two and two together. The Doctors Trafalgar had both done plenty of talks on neighboring islands, after all.

In both an instant and forever, the exam was done. The room was made to put down their pens and Law began to panic, knowing there was too much test left. He put all the papers in order in their folder and handed them in despite his nerves. Before he realized it, the teen was vomiting in the bushes outside of the university hall, Penguin and Shachi holding onto him while Bepo wrung his paws in distress.

“What the fuck has you like this, Cap?” Shachi wondered as Law finished dry-heaving. The younger man was still shaking unsteadily within his grasp.

“I… I couldn’t finish the test,” he croaked, voice raw. “They kept staring at me… and I couldn’t even finish…”

“Maybe they design it so no one finishes?” Bepo offered.

“That doesn’t help,” Law moaned. He stood up and weakly shook off Penguin and Shachi. Neither of them backed away, which he took in stride. “I still just sat an exam I didn’t finish—I always finish my exams.”

“Last time you finished an exam you were ten,” Penguin reminded him.

“Nuns don’t make it easy,” Law reasoned as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Something sat in the pit of his stomach, seeped into his empty stomach and weary heart, and he frowned. Fuck… of all the things… “I don’t think I passed.”

“Can’t you retake it?” Bepo asked.

“In six months,” Law replied, “and I don’t want to stick around that long. We can’t afford it.”

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Penguin assured. “Now, what are we going to have for dinner? I’m fucking starved.”

Law laughed awkwardly as his friends began to discuss their dinner options, thinking that his sitting of the boards exam was cause for celebration. He allowed himself to be dragged along to the celebration, despite not feeling much like partying or eating, and spent the entire rest of the day and into the evening trying to calm himself down the best he could.

‘They know,’ he kept on thinking. He felt hyper-aware of everything—of everyone—as they sat in a pub with food and beer for the rest of the night. Bepo even had his first drink, much to the bear’s disgust, and provided the other two goobers with entertainment that lasted for hours.

“C’mon, Cap,” Shachi chuckled, his words on the verge of slurring. Law had lost count of how many beers any of them had, yet it was not enough for him to not cringe as his crewmate threw his arm over his shoulder and leaned in. “You gotta loosen up at some point tonight.”

“I don’t really feel like it,” Law replied for what was likely the dozenth time. “I don’t even really want to be here.”

“I don’t either,” Bepo squeaked. “I feel sick.”

“You barely finished your pint!” Penguin scolded.

“I’m sorry! It just tastes so gross!”

“Your first few pints are supposed to be gross.”

“I don’t think how it’s supposed to go…”

“Ah, we’ll make a man out of you yet,” Penguin scoffed. He looked at Law over the rim of his mug and shrugged. “Eat something; you look like you’re going to pass out.”

“No.”

“I don’t really think it counts as mutiny if I act for the good of the captain,” he reminded him. Law rolled his eyes and busied himself with one of the whale fritters that were still on the table. “Good. Now, what are we going to do about those bounty hunter-looking types across the room that have been eyeing us for about an hour?”

Okay, it made him feel a little better that it wasn’t just something that had buried its way into only his brain. He watched as both Penguin and Shachi went and stood, the pair deciding to let their captain and navigator sit this one out—they had to take care of the kids somehow, and this was something they definitely knew how to do even when drunk as they were.

Law went and Shambled some takeaway boxes to the table—he was not letting whale fritters, fries, and Flevench-style croquettes go to waste because the idiots got into some trouble.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Three days passed by slowly. Painfully. It almost made Law go completely mad. He sat in their rented house the entire time, pacing the floor. When he wasn’t pacing, he was bouncing his leg as he sat, or tossing and turning on his bed, or just being restless in general. It was enough to make his crew crazy, almost wishing they had waited out the results while on the Polar Tang. In fact, Bepo had to sit on Law in order to keep him from rushing to the door when the mail courier arrived, leaving Penguin to get it and Shachi open the envelope.

It didn’t matter one way or the other—he passed.

…he passed, but with a caveat.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I NEED A STAMP! DOES ANYONE HAVE A STAMP?!”

Law’s shouting fell on deaf ears as the rest of the Hearts rested on the beach of the island they were docked at. He needed just one more to take care of the Coo fee and it seemed as though his reserves had run dry. At least it seemed as though the News Coo was taking advantage of the delay, the bird relaxing in the sun of the Summer Island’s Spring.

“DOES ANYONE HAVE A STAMP?” he repeated, doing his best to allow his voice to carry. No one paid him any heed; there was plenty to do with their time on land that facilitated the accidental ignoring of their captain. Sunbathing, volleyball, splashing in the water, setting up for the night’s big barbecue/bonfire… it was looking as though the crew was going to have a great afternoon on the tiny spit of an island they were resting on.

Except, suddenly, Law opened a Room and swapped his crewmates with a bunch of barnacles that had not yet been scraped off the top overdeck, dropping everyone rather unceremoniously onto the wooden planks.

“Ow! Hey! What’d you do that for?!” Ikkaku snapped.

“Since no one listened to me the first time, I had to resort to drastic measures,” Law reasoned. “Does anyone have a stamp? The Coo’s waiting.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I got it,” Clione griped. He went below deck, returning to the rest of the crew being back on land as he held a postage stamp towards his captain. Law took it and attached it to the front of the thick, buff-colored envelope along with four others before offering it to the News Coo. The bird regarded it sourly before squawking in resignation, allowing Law to put it in his bag. “What’s it about this time, Captain?”

“Vitamin D intake in correlation to heavy metal poisoning’s effects on the Human body,” Law explained as the Coo flapped off. “I needed so many stamps because I included two copies.”

“One by Trafalgar Law about Amber Lead and…?”

“…one by Doctor Wittman Lars about arsenic and mercury,” he admitted. “I don’t think the case study about Jean Bart’s tinea pedis and its correlation to his days in captivity is ready yet; still needs some refining in regards to outlining the causation.”

“The entire world isn’t ready for Jean Bart’s feet; subjecting Lvneel to it is just plain cruel,” Clione shuddered. “The snail photos you had me take still haunt my nightmares.”

“Be glad you weren’t around for the Bed Bugs or Mange Debacle,” Law reminded him. Clione nodded silently in reply—all he wanted from that was the stories and he didn’t even really want those.

#yes I am uploading this at four-thirty in the morning what of it #One Piece #fan fiction #Trafalgar Law #Penguin (One Piece)#Shachi (One Piece)#Bepo #Heart Pirates #is this well-trodden area? probably. do i care? nah not really.#Trafalgar D. Water Law

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men-of-colors · 1 year ago

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Yesterday I finally saw “Barbie”, required watching for both the Woke and the AntiWoke.

Ryan Gosling never looked so buff or Simu Liu so sexy.

But I’m not here to talk about them.

There was something wrong that I could not place my finger on and after getting home I looked at several Barbie-sucks YouTube videos. They all had a point but weren’t quite MY point.

In Barbieland, the Barbies and Kens all live totally separate existences but also get along in perfect harmony. Nobody seems to give a second thought that the Barbies hold all positions of importance, all the way down to the janitors (arguably important because they actually hold a job), while the Kens are LITERALLY just decoration. Genitalia, thus libido per se, does not exist so neither does romance nor drama between the sexes. True, the Kens seem a little frustrated, but they manage while in truth there is nothing substantial going in the Barbies’ lives either.

At Barbie’s dream house, every night is “girl’s night”. Nobody knows what happens to the Kens at night, not even where they supposedly live. Girls hang with girls and boys with boys.

In other words, it’s a queer, queer, queer, queer world. Queer and peaceful and happy. All the fucking time. But of course no one fucks at all. Or ever. All that Ken meat and muscle around and not even a neck rub.

All that changes after Ken has seen the human world where Kens (men) are not just decoration but have this thing called Patriarchy which makes them important. And they have horses. Ken realizes this is what Barbieland needs: Patriarchy!

Ken gets back to B-land before Barbie does and gets to work. In what seems to be the space of a few hours, B-land is totally transformed and all the Kens have seduced the Barbies and are acting like rednecks. With mini-fridges full of beer.

Stereotype-Barbie returns horrified. B-land has become sexualized, and heterosexualized at that!

We’re not in Pleasantville anymore... (Speaking of which, Reese Witherspoon would have been much better as Barbie than Margot Robbie)

The fact that Stereo Barbie is horrified and works hard to get Barbieland back to the way it was (Pleasantville style), is what horrified so many reviewers. But others say that is exactly the point. But again, I’m not going there.

I had another take.

Seeing how in Barbieland, no one goes hungry (they can’t eat), they can beach all day and dance all night, and boys and girls are allowed (meant?) to live separate lives, it seems like a total queer utopia.

So the sudden loss of innocence in the Ken boytoys was particular poignant from

the perspective of a gay kid.

For most queersons, puberty is a time when their whole lives —fantasies and all—are reduced to a shambles, and they spend the next several decades trying to put everything back together again, only in a different grown-up version. There are no blueprints or social guidelines that serve as hints along the way.

So yeah, I understand Barbie’s horror though not for the same reasons. You can never go back to how it was.

What happened after that, well you can go see it yourself and see where you might fit in.

Anyway, I was hoping for some kind of funky version of La La Land mixed in with Pleasantville and the Truman Show, but Barbie was no La La Land. And that’s OK I guess.

You go out and watch it and see for yourself.

#barbie the movie #men in barbie colors #pink underwear #men in pink #hot pink #pink aesthetic #margot robbie #reese witherspoon #pleasantville #barbie and ken

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tokyohousamosimps · 2 years ago

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Snapped!AU because we need more Housamo AUs and I want to write something self-indulgent

I want the MC to go full-on feral. Just fooken snap. I want the loop to restart but the World Representatives notice that MC isn't where they should be. In fact, the MC never even appears anywhere in Tokyo at all. There has absolutely been zero sightings of them. The WR and guilds run around Tokyo to look for the MC and find out what went wrong because how can they restart the loop if the person at the core of it all is missing? Everything in their plan is in shambles and they don't notice as a new group appears and starts pulling the strings from the behind the scenes that cause them a ton of trouble to fix.

Inevitably, the source of this newfound troubles is revealed to be the MC. Or, well, MCs since there's five of them now. All of them are unhinged and highly dangerous. They've completely snapped but the way they show it is different.

MC 1 would probably similar to Azathoth. They purposely cause trouble just for the hell of it. It's likely that they see Tokyo as just one big playground they can go wild in and they do go wild in it. They’re basically a gremlin cat intent on fully causing trouble for no reason.

MC 2 would be a mixture of Junko Enoshima and Toko Fukawa/Genocider Sho, with the rapidly changing moods and personalities but they’d be more on the crybaby side, I’m thinking. They pull on their hair when they're stressed out, which they constantly are.

MC 3 would be the silent/sad type. Kind of like Zabaniyya but more apathetic, like they don't care about anything anymore and would just rather watch everything burn. Their eyes are dull with no light in it and they have that ‘we’re all just going to die anyway, why even bother’ kind of attitude.

MC 4 would be charismatic in nature but they're very fake. The smile they constantly have on their face doesn’t even reach their eyes. They can say the most cruel and unhinged things ever with a serene smile and it’d be the scariest thing anyone has seen. Basically the manipulative type.

MC 5 would be a tyrant. They're cold and blood-thirsty and willing to do any means necessary to get things to go their way. Like Balor but worst. They want to take over Tokyo just to destroy it, maybe.

But it's exactly because these varying personalities why they haven't been able to successfully take over Tokyo. They all have different ideas and beliefs on what they should do that they don't really come to a conclusion. However it's exactly because of this why the other Guilds have a chance to set things right before time runs out and everything goes up in flames.

Salomon's there, too. In fact, he's the reason why the MCs haven't razed Tokyo to the ground yet. He plays the mediator between the MCs and is often the voice of reason but he can only do so much until the MCs stop listening to him to do whatever they want.

Also, the MCs wear slutty villain-esque outfits with boob windows or something, as a treat.

#snapped au #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #tokyo afterschool summoners au #housamo au #headcanon #imagine #scenario #headcanons #imagines #scenarios #mc 1 #mc 2 #mc 3 #mc 4 #mc 5 #lil sal #salomon #i'm giving them different clothes cause lifewonders won't

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the-drifters · 2 years ago

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okay so BEFORE i make my headcanon post about the omens as a whole, i wanna analyze Geist bc he has influenced my headcanons significantly. note that i’m kinda doing this analysis chronologically as opposed to in order of how information is given in-game. I’d also love to have added more screenshots, but that’s tricky to do atm. I’ll probably edit them in later.

Heavy spoilers ahead just in case anyone who hasn’t finished the game yet stumbled upon this. Without further ado:

So, we’re given very little information about what Geist’s first persona (presumably would be called Geist MK-I) was like, but we do get glimpses from Dianthus and Callistephus in chapter 8, and later Geist’s little support robot in the epilogue. Dianthus and the robot say that he was someone who never gave up on trying to solve the problem of Quietus. Callistephus compares Dianthus’s attempts to embrace hope and emotions to Geist’s former behavior.

He was highly determined, and kept trying even as everyone else around him gave up. I like to think he wasn’t unlike Ein when it comes to that. Although, in Geist’s case, it seems that having more and more demands placed on him as he was left to do the work almost entirely alone took its toll. Dianthus states that he became more and more isolated, until he basically went AWOL. He disconnected from the collective consciousness and left for Lost Gaia.

The White Omens state that he was scary because he seemed so inorganic in comparison so them. I’d imagine he gave them a bit of an uncanny valley feeling, seeing that the Seth and the White Omens also look so similar. Even in the sidequest given by Tweedledee, the Seth do mistake him as one of their own.

Despite this, however, I’d like to believe he had become “corrupted” long before his discoveries on Lost Gaia. With all that been placed on him leading up to his disappearance, why WOULDN’T someone break? Seeing The Horrors™ on Lost Gaia probably just broke him even more. He’s a lot like Aria in that regard. They both had to see the world they came to exist at in shambles. Trauma, both physical and psychological, damages and alters the structure of the brain. This makes me think that what the Omens call “corruption” is actually just an allegory for what they believe to be “altered” behavior resulting from damage in their code.

So then Geist MK-II presumably comes into play. A persona not created by a reboot, but rather a combination of severe corruption and a computer virus (which I will elaborate on shortly). We know that the changes between Geist MK-I and MK-II happened very abruptly, as evident by what Dianthus says. According to her, Geist had become this obsessive, volatile person. His support robot says that he became obsessed with biology and evolution because he was forced to confront his limits as AI. Despite this, we also know that he isn’t utterly unhinged, as he retains his intelligence and goes out of his way to ensure Aria is not harmed when he kidnaps her.

Geist states that the Paradise Journal caused a “bug” in his ethical code. I think what he read definitely corrupted him, but I also believe that Gaia could have hidden a trojan horse virus of sorts within it. This is more easily evident in visual cues seen in Geist’s boss fight, but there’s also a lot I can find in his dialogue by reading between the lines.

In Cres’s character story we’re told exposure to Gaia Dust causes a disease called The Quiet (funnily enough, that’s what Quietus means in English), which kills very quickly. Geist, being a robot, is immune to The Quiet, but he’s not immune computer viruses. So, I’d imagine there’s a connection. Plus, it looks like he’s essentially “coughing up” Gaia Dust when using certain attacks in his boss fight. He, along with Harbinger Aria, also seems to utilize the same red energy that Gaia does.

Then there’s the dialogue cues. He swaps back and forth between two ideals:

On one hand, he’s trying to feed the Abels to Quietus in hopes that at least SOME of may develop an immunity, and eventually they will evolve that immunity as a species. He also expresses extreme guilt, likely as a result of believing what he must do is a necessary evil, and because realizing his own limitations meant that there was little more he could do. He goes as far as to label himself a sinner for stealing “their ability to reason” and wanting a REASON to keep fighting. He doesn’t WANT to kill the Abels, but it’s a necessary evil in his mind. I believe he also secretly wanted Ein to kill him if it meant there really would be a better way.

On the other hand, he’s expressing the belief that humans HAVE to die—he’s giving them their “proper death.” Gaia kept trying to kill all humans because she believed they wanted to die. With the latter position, it sounds more like Geist is being forced into carrying out her bidding, but with the former, it seems like he’s trying to fight whatever instructions he’s being force-fed by the virus. When he’s finally stopped, he seems to revert back to the first idea. He’s also surprised that Ein and co. managed to stop him, and they’ve proven themselves worthy of trying to find a solution. I also think that he secretly wanted to die if it meant Ein could find another way, but it’s difficult to prove or deny that. Either way, he gives them his memory chip, and tells them to retrace his steps. Then he drops a random Metal Gear reference and dies immediately afterwards.

Geist ultimately gets rebooted as Geist MK-III. It’s clear that his memories were left intact, unlike Sorbus, an Omen in a sidequest. He’s also been reconnected to the collective consciousness, and presumably wiped of the virus he had. He goes straight back to Lost Gaia and appears to Ein and co. again, much to their surprise. Shrika notes he does seem to be behaving like an entirely different person.

Unlike his past two selves, this time he comes across like he’s rushed and perpetually hopeless. He retains a few traits he had before, mainly his stubbornness and ability to plan ahead. However, there’s some things he says and does that really makes me think there’s more going on within him than he’s even aware of. Particularly, the way he treats some of the party members.

Geist appears to project his feelings onto the others, going as far as to berate them over feeling differently than he does. For example, Dianthus tries to say she hopes there’s a better solution than the Paradise Project, and Geist immediately shuts down her point. He just… nails it into her that her mindset is flawed and dangerous. He’s absolutely not very nice about it, but in his eyes, hope and wishful thinking is what got him into this mess, so why should he adopt that mindset? He’s only trying to protect Dianthus and keep her from making the same mistakes he did. He also calls back to his former self’s obsessiveness and states that hope “consumes your thoughts.”

He also complains about adverse situations, such as Callistephus blocking Dianthus’s signal. Overall, he comes across like he’s very, very miserable. I can’t really blame him, because once again, the weight of everything has fallen onto his shoulders. At the final choice which determines which ending you’ll get, Geist’s attempts to pressure Ein sound very desperate.

Yet, if you get the good ending where Ein wins the debate, his attitude completely changes. He goes from a miserable, self-loathing person to someone who’s affectionate and supportive. He also seems to embrace his past a little bit, as he states that the back and forth conversations with the party make him nostalgic. He’s likely referring to a time when his creators were still awake. He also anonymously expresses how much he loves humans in his final Castle Lewis Times article.

Ultimately, Geist is a beautiful representative of many things: the chosen one who falls from grace, the trolley problem, and humanity’s willpower. Yet, his story is horrifically sad beneath the surface and he doesn’t even realize how much it impacts him. His character development throughout the game leaves me with lots of questions, the most important one being: What would happen if he came to realize how awful what happened to him really was? Would he go mad again? Or would he take a page from humanity’s book and seek support?

#to anyone who reads this: by all means share your thoughts #harvestella #geist #long post

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notexactlyrocketscience · 2 years ago

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TMA ending reflections (and theories about the sequel!)

When I initially listened to the ending, it felt like a good plan (and the prospects of a perfect happy ending) unnecessarily jeopardised. Jon and Martin’s panicked conversation sounded so hopeless and their final decision felt impulsive. Everything was in shambles, and a good outcome was unlikely at this point. The promise of Somewhere Else seemed like an empty euphemism to make certain death more bearable. I was frustrated, and heartbroken.

Now that I've taken a few days to process and distanced myself from the characters' momentary pain, I actually truly believe that what happened at the end was a happy accident instead.

I don’t think I can put it better than the Reddit post already has—The original plan proposed by Annabelle could have had equally (if not worse) disastrous outcomes. Even if it had been canonically executed, knowing the way Jonny and Alex love to write, things would still have been shown to end ambiguously—just less tragically poetic. For the purposes of the narrative, I think they did a great job of ending the series on a climactic, fulfilling (and hopeful!) note that remains faithful to the overall tone of The Magnus Archives. Jon and Martin weren’t exactly planning on doing what they did, but it’s given them a chance at the best and happiest ending that was up for grabs.

And I love that I genuinely don’t feel like I have to be in denial of the canon at all to fully believe in this interpretation, since it was left strictly ambiguous on purpose.

But there’s more!

The Magnus Protocol teaser has a seemingly unharmed (and physically corporeal) Martin surprised to see the familiar tape recorder show up again, long after he’s assumed they’ve stopped listening. This, plus the fact that Jonny and Alex have confirmed they will appear in TMA 2, tells me:

It’s unlikely that Jonny and Alex will appear simply to voice other side-characters, even those with distorted voices. It’s clear from Q&As that they take casting very seriously. I can’t see them double-casting (former) main characters.

So we’ll see Martin again, post-escape from Eyepocalypse. Not just an old S1-to-S5-era never-seen-before Magnus Archives tape found by Alice and Sam. Including formerly unrevealed tapes from TMA would be a really nice touch (and I hope we’ll get that too!), but I’m sure Jonny wouldn’t release that particular teaser if he wasn’t solidly planning on following through in some way. Jonny has always been very serious about giving the audience breadcrumb trails with properly viable clues.

Well … what about post-Eyepocalypse Jon? Well, I think Jon is only going to appear in such a way that either fully retains the ambiguity of the TMA ending, or hints/confirms in some way that he is also alive and unharmed (in whatever avatar or semi-avatar form).

In any case, if post-Eyepocalypse Martin (and maybe Jon) do indeed appear (which seems very likely at this point), it will also be implied or shown that they are, indeed, together—in a non-tragic, romantic, bordering on wholesome way.

I say this because confirming their death or separation after the TMA finale would completely ruin the sanctity of the ending. It’s really neatly tied up and beautiful as it is right now. Answering questions to ambiguous events negatively in sequels (eg having formerly surviving main characters simply as side-characters who die in sequels) is really hard to land properly. It borders on being disrespectful of the investment the audience put into the original. Jonny has always been very receptive and sensitive to these things.

However, showing that characters from a previously ambiguous ending are living their best lives as mysterious side-characters that pop in and out—bamboozling the main characters (but delighting the audience)—is a lot easier to execute favourably. It also keeps from taking attention away from the protagonists and the main plot of the sequel.

So my expectation (read: hope) is that we’re going to see Jon and Martin in our world, where the end of TMA implied that the tapes are, and where I assume The Magnus Protocol is set! They will be happy and together (this may be explicit or implied vaguely, I am not sure how they’d keep that completely ambiguous if the post-Eyepocalypse versions of the characters themselves explicitly appear), and nothing worse than TMA finale will happen to them.

I only have this belief because I have incredible faith in Jonny and Alex as writers! I think they subverted insensitive tropes creatively and did just about everything right in TMA, and I can’t say that about most authors I love. Yes, I do generally want my blorbos to be safe and happy, but the above is not just a culmination of my wishful thinking. Jonny and Alex have already said that they certainly aren’t going to try to overshadow TMA, but I’m also hoping The Magnus Protocol will complement TMA while not really trying to step on TMA’s toes. They didn't have to drop so many JonMartin return hints (or even write JonMartin into TMA 2 at all) but they did. Super excited and optimistic for what's to come!

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sapphires-and-silver-linings · 2 years ago

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The Betrayer | Chapter Three: A Rude Awakening

“Hey now, I got you. I got you.” You heard a familiar voice say.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Violence, Blood, Minor Character Death

Notes: Give it up for chapter 3! This one is literally double the previous one! I had so much fun writing this. I took a LOT of liberties with how things look outside of trials but like... we don't have a lot to go off of lol. I hope you enjoy the character interactions, btw. Made myself blush writing for Chris, but he's my babygirl, so that's to be expected. Carlos made me laugh, Claire and Sheva are queens, Jill and Rebecca are precious, Leon is just a lil guy, and Ada thinks you're sus. I just love these nerds so much.

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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???; ???

Your breath was caught in your throat as you took in the person standing before you.

“Chris?”

There had only been one other time you were this relieved to see him in the entire two years you’d known each other, and that was the day you broke your arm.

Meeting his gaze, you’re taken aback by the emotion on his face. You were usually the crybaby.

Before you knew it, he had picked you up and into his arms, squeezing you like a well-loved teddy bear. You were astounded by the show of affection, never having gotten more than a pat on the back or a hand ruffling through your hair from the man who now held you tightly in his strong embrace.

“Chris, let her breathe,” Jill said, coming up from behind him to greet you.

Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears and you realized your friends must have thought the worst. In their defense, so did you.

As if remembering himself, Chris let you down quickly, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck at the uncharacteristic action. You clutched his bicep in your hand for a moment, laughing.

Was it just you or did he seem… larger somehow? More muscular?

“It’s good to see you too, buddy,” you told him, turning to Jill. “Both of you.”

“We thought…” Chris started but couldn’t seem to finish his words.

“We thought we’d never see you again,” Jill spoke for him as she glanced over at her partner.

You realized she wasn’t wearing her S.T.A.R.S. uniform, which you found odd. Perhaps she had gotten to change since the previous day?

“Same here. I had a hell of a night,” you replied. “I honestly don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

The two friends shared a meaningful look.

“Does that mean you guys did too?”

Chris grimaced. “You could say that. We should probably discuss this later, though. It’s not safe here.”

As they turned to leave you noticed they were both wearing backpacks.

Weird…

Something seemed off, but you couldn’t place it. You just nodded and followed them with shambling steps back down the stairs and into the living room.

To your joy, you were met with Rebecca, her clothes dirty but otherwise no worse for wear. She looked equally happy to see you as she rushed over, gripping your shoulder in one hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, giving her a grin.

“Glad you're okay,” she responded, her brows furrowing as she took in the nasty, now scabbed-over cut on your face and the makeshift splint sticking out of your boot. “Though I think you’ve seen better days.”

“We’ll have to get her seen about later,” declared Chris with his arms crossed. “We’re already running late as it is.”

“Late?” you asked, turning to face him.

You suddenly noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He must not have slept well last night, if at all. You wondered what they had gone through and if it was just as batshit insane as your experience had been.

Before Chris could answer, another figure walked in from the kitchen to stand beside him.

You gawked, completely bewildered by who was in front of you.

“Claire?!” you exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

The last you had heard, Chris’s kid sister was in college a state or two over. Why would she be out in the middle of the Arklay Mountains? During an active investigation, no less!

Well, I don’t think we’re in the mountains anymore.

She and Chris shared a look, not dissimilar to the one he and Jill had a moment ago. You felt like they were hiding something from you. Something important.

“It’s a long story,” is all the information she granted.

“One she’ll gladly tell you once we get back to camp,” Chris added.

“I’m sorry, camp? What camp?” You could feel yourself getting agitated with every passing second. Nothing pissed you off more than when you were purposely kept out of the loop.

Chris sighed and motioned for the group to head towards the door before he wrapped his arm around your waist to pull your weight off your injured ankle, letting you use him as a crutch.

Despite your frustration, you appreciated it, letting him half-carry you out of the dilapidated farmhouse.

“I think it's better if we just show you.”

Your group trudged on for quite some time in relative silence after that.

You could see them searching the trees as they passed, realizing they were checking for markings they had notched into the bark to prevent themselves from getting lost. It was a smart move.

You noticed they were on edge, guessing that perhaps the day was just as unsafe as the night had been.

Speaking of the day…

“What time is it?” you asked Chris in a hushed voice.

He looked down at the watch strapped to his wrist before shifting his eyes to you. “Two-thirty.”

“In the afternoon?!” you questioned, a bit too loudly.

“Shh!” Chris clapped his hand over your mouth and your friends halted immediately, scanning the field you had just entered to make sure you hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention.

After a beat of quiet, save for the rustling wind that cut a little too deep for your liking, you moved onward.

You were embarrassed by the outburst, but the shock of his statement had you reeling a bit despite all you had experienced the day before.

“I’m sorry,” you told them, your voice low again. “It feels way too dark to be mid-afternoon. It seems more like—”

“Dusk?” Claire asked, tipping her head back to glance at you.

Yeah… It’s just really strange.”

“Get used to it,” she replied. “It’s always like that here. Except when it’s pitch black.”

Chris fixed her with a glare. “We really need to stop chatting while we’re out in the open like this.”

His sister rolled her eyes and turned forward, but the rest of the journey was a silent one.

Eventually, you came across a massive stone wall, at least twenty feet high, that seemed to sprawl in an endless curve as the lot of you followed around it.

Already at a loss, you were gobsmacked when you approached a gate, somehow even taller than the structure that it was set into. It was made out of thick sheets of metal that were welded together, with no way to open it in clear sight.

“What the hell is this?” you inquired, eyes wide as you took in the sprawling edifice in front of you.

Before anyone could answer, a deep echoing sound erupted from above.

Vision drawn to the top of the wall, you could make out the vague shape of a person’s head just on the other side, with what you recognized as a large blowing horn pressed to their lips.

Then there was a creaking noise as the giant gate began to slowly open to the left. It reached only a couple of feet when it stopped, and a figure appeared in the narrow opening.

“Good to see you back. We were worried you’d be late,” the man said.

He was wearing a baseball cap, a ballistic vest, and a badge was slung around his neck, though it wasn’t from a police department you’d ever heard of. Before your group was allowed passage through the gate, the man’s gaze landed on you, brows raised.

“And who is this?” he questioned Chris, whose arm was still wrapped around you.

“She’s with us, Tapp,” was all he offered. You gaped up at him, a little startled by his gruff response.

Grumpy much.

The stranger before you, Tapp, only shrugged and let you enter.

After watching the unfamiliar detective turn a crank in order to shut the gate, you glimpsed what was next to him.

It was a makeshift tower built onto a tree that grew near the structure, the trunk almost drooping towards the barrier of layered stones before it swerved back upright.

A nervous-looking man, the one you had seen over the wall, began to climb down the ladder, leaving the horn on the topmost platform. Once he reached the bottom, he made his way to your group, which was now walking toward what you assumed was the camp Chris had mentioned.

He caught up and awkwardly waved at you. “Oh, hey! You must be new here. I’m Dwight. Dwight Fairfield.”

You put on a small smile and were about to give him your name when Chris cut you off, “We can make introductions later, Fairfield. She’s injured.”

Dwight’s eyes widened as he really took notice of you, the gnarly scab across your face, and the way Chris had to hold you to him to keep you standing. “O-Oh, right. Yeah. Well, I’ll just tell the others you’re back, then.”

As you watched the man run up ahead and disappear into the tree line, you turned sharply to Chris. “What is wrong with you?”

He grit his teeth, not meeting your glower. “Look, you’re hurt and we have some things to take care of. We don’t have time to waste.”

You were about to badger him about why the time was so damn important, but were muted when you set foot in a clearing through the thicket.

Before you laid what must have been the “camp”.

It was anything but.

Surrounding the area was an array of different buildings, none of which seemed to correlate with each other. There were wooden cabins and tents scattered about, sure, but there were also shacks, suburban houses, a locked shed, a barn, an apartment building not unlike the one you stumbled upon last night, and what appeared to be a small medical facility.

To the left, near the barn and shed, was a large garden plot with various plants curling up out of the ground.

Back into the clearing, there were chairs and tables and even picnic benches that dotted the campsite, and smack in the middle of it all was a large fire pit. It had logs set around it in a half-circle, probably used as seats, with its flames licking up at the air.

The jumbled mix of structures was possibly the strangest thing you had witnessed so far, and that was saying a lot.

You tried to make sense of what you were looking at, completely awestruck, but were pulled from your thoughts as a large crowd of at least two dozen people began to form out in the open.

Not a single one of them looked familiar, and that made your heart sink as you thought about your fellow S.T.A.R.S. members. You hoped they were safe somewhere.

“Get anything good?” an older man asked as he stepped forward, wearing a suit jacket and jeans. He had sunglasses on and you were reminded of your captain.

Claire, Jill, and Rebecca emptied their backpacks, an assortment of canned goods and random items clanging as they hit the ground. Chris shrugged his off and passed it over for them to do the same.

“Not much this time around. We’ll have to make another supply run in a couple of days,” Jill told him.

The man nodded, a scowl of disappointment on his face, before he glanced up at you. “And who might you be?”

“That’s the new girl I told you about, Ace,” Dwight spoke up, shuffling through the large group to the front.

“I guess now that everyone’s here, I can introduce you, Lucky.” Chris motioned toward you before giving out your real name. The members of the crowd waved, nodded, or offered quiet greetings. Chris added, “I’m sure the rest of you will get acquainted soon enough.”

Some of the group dispersed while others moved to surround you as Chris helped you to a nearby chair.

Rebecca knelt beside you and set her medkit on the ground, quickly getting to work on the cut that adorned your dirty face. It stung as she rubbed it down gently with an alcohol wipe.

Chris stood to the side like some kind of guard dog. It would almost be funny if he wasn’t acting so strange.

“So this is the infamous Lucky.”

The accented voice belonged to a beautiful woman in tactical gear that was approaching you, her dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She had a tattoo on her upper left arm and a chunky beaded necklace resting against her chest. Her brown eyes bore into your own and you could feel a sense of curiosity and pity in her stare.

She strode forward in a confident gait and held her hand out for you, which you shook firmly in your own. “Chris has told me so much about you. You’re even prettier in person.”

She glanced at Chris with a sly grin and he only huffed in response.

What is that about? you thought. Chris had never mentioned this woman before.

She returned her gaze to you. “I’m Sheva.”

“Carlos, but you can just call me ‘handsome’,” a tall man with shaggy hair and a short beard announced, displaying a shit-eating grin.

He was leaning on Jill, who rolled her eyes and swatted at him good-naturedly. You were shocked by how close she let him get. The woman usually liked her space. Clearly, they knew each other.

“I’m Leon,” another man, young with dirty blonde hair and a pretty face, said. He wore an R.P.D. uniform, but you had never seen him in your life. Must have been a new hire.

A woman in a short red dress and tights stood a bit farther from the rest, as if she was only half-invested in the conversation.

“Ada,” she stated as she neared. Her head cocked to the side while she looked at you, as if trying to uncover all your secrets through your expression alone. “Welcome to the Entity’s realm.”

“The what now?”

You flinched in pain as Rebecca pulled off your boot, applying pressure to your swollen ankle as she re-wrapped it with actual bandages in place of the dirty rag. She offered you an apologetic glance but continued to work.

“You didn’t tell her yet?” Sheva turned to Chris, her tone accusing.

You glared at him too. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I was about to. Figured I’d at least give her a moment to get patched up.”

“This oughta be good,” Carlos quipped under his breath.

Rebecca tapped your leg to let you know she was finished and she backed away to stand with the others.

Chris moved to the front of the chair and squatted before you, his large palm pressed to your knee. You only looked at him expectantly.

“As Ada said, we’re in what we call the ‘Entity’s realm’,” he began. “Everyone here has been pulled from their world and we’re now trapped in this place.”

You glanced around at the people in front of you, and then beyond to the camp. So you were right. This was another world you had stumbled into.

You met Chris’s gaze once more. “The fog, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And what exactly is the Entity?”

“We don’t really know what it is, but it’s powerful.”

“Powerful enough to control reality here,” Claire added with a lour. “And force us into trials.”

“Trials...?”

Chris winced. “Every day, around the same time, four of us are chosen to be put in trials. We’re taken to a place somewhat similar to the camp here, where we try to power up the exit gates by repairing generators in order to escape.”

“That’s it?” you asked, confused as to why everyone seemed so grim.

The look on their faces made you dread the answer.

“No,” Ada interjected. “We have to escape through the exit gates while also being hunted by a psychopath. The one trying to kill us gets a weapon or some freakish powers, while we’re only allowed supplies like toolboxes or medkits. The goal is to survive.”

You’re taken aback. This couldn’t be real. She had to be lying to you, right?

“What is this, some kind of supernatural colosseum?" you uttered with a bitter laugh. “This is just a sick joke.”

Chris looked away from you before returning his gaze. He was so clearly exhausted, it made you want to wrap your arms around him and pull him into you. You refrained.

“I wish it was, Lucky,” he whispered, squeezing your knee.

You could only stare at your lap, your mind spinning with the sheer insanity of the situation. You had so many questions but weren’t sure where to start.

Finally, you picked one and pulled your eyes up to the group. “Why is the Entity doing this?”

“We’re not really sure,” answered Leon.

“But we have our theories,” Rebecca amended.

“Go on.”

Carlos stood upright and drew closer to you. “Well, the trials are every day, right? And they usually happen around sundown.”

“Okay…”

“We think the entity sleeps during the day, or at least stays dormant,” Rebecca continued for him. “It stands to reason that—”

“That it’s mealtime,” Ada finished.

“Oh my god,” you murmured. “But why does it need trials? Why can’t it just eat us when it wants to and go on its way? I mean, we’re practically chickens sitting in a coop here, just waiting to be butchered, right? Why does it need someone to kill us for it?”

“We can’t say for sure, but we think it isn’t eating us in a physical sense,” Sheva replied.

“What are you saying?”

Leon explained, “We think it eats our fear. Or our negative emotions in general.”

“Then… Then what happens to the bodies?”

“That’s the thing,” said Carlos. “We don’t actually die. Or, I guess, we don’t stay dead. Whether we survive the trial or not, we end up right back here.”

Your jaw was on the ground. Was this some kind of purgatory?

Or maybe hell.

“Is there only one killer, then?”

“Per trial, yes. But there’s a whole group of them just roaming the land. Why do you think we stay behind these walls?”

“The giant spiders,” you mumbled.

“So you had a run-in with one, I take it.” Carlos’s voice was light in tone, but you could tell there was no real humor in it.

“Yeah. Used all my ammo on it.” You thought about the previous night as you added, “And after it left me alone, I think I may have met one of the killers.”

“What’d they look like?”

“He wore a robe and a long pale mask. Had a voice modulator and a hunting knife. That’s where the cut came from. And I twisted my ankle running from him.”

“Ah, that would be Ghost Face.”

You raised a brow. “How original.”

“How’d you get away if you were injured?” Leon queried.

“Well, the first attempt I used my knife to stab him. For the second one, I pulled back this branch and let it go when he got close. It flung him into a tree and cracked his head open. I—I think I might have killed him.”

The group seemed stunned by your retelling.

“No one’s managed to down a killer before. At least not by themselves,” Carlos mused. “Death doesn’t really mean much here, though, so I’m sure we’ll see him again.”

Jill worried her lip as she looked at you. “Be careful during trials, Lucky. All the killers here are vicious, but he’s particularly nasty. He might have a vendetta against you after taking him out.”

You gulped, thinking about how he was about to plunge his knife right into you had you not injured him initially.

“Must be a lot of firsts. Every other survivor ended up here in the camp when the fog let up. But you were left out wandering in the middle of the night,” deliberated Carlos, his thick brows furrowed. “We sure she’s not a killer too?”

Chris stood abruptly and shoved a finger into the other man’s chest so fast, it made you jump. “Don’t even think about it, Oliveira.”

Carlos scoffed and took a step back. “Hey, I’m just saying it’s weird, is all. No need to get so uptight about it. Yeesh.”

It was too late, though. The demeanors of those who didn’t know you seemed to shift.

Ada eyed you suspiciously. “What happened before the fog took you?”

“Uh, our team was searching for the other members of S.T.A.R.S. out in Raccoon Forest. We’d just landed and were heading toward their downed chopper when the fog rolled up. I tried calling for the others, but no one answered me. I just started running and ended up here.”

“Wasn’t your arm broken?” Leon asked.

How would he even know that?

You supposed one of the others must have mentioned it.

“Yeah, it was, but it somehow healed when I got here. I cut off my cast and tossed it back at the farmhouse. The one they found me in,” you told him, pointing to each person in the crew you had been a part of earlier.

Rebecca jumped in, “I saw it on the ground in the living room. She’s telling the truth.”

You gave her an appreciative nod.

Claire looked pissed. “What we’re not gonna do is start accusing her of shit. We’ve known her for years. She’s not capable of being a killer.”

Ada sneered, “No offense, but this little trio said the same thing about—”

“Enough,” Chris demanded, his jaw tight. He looked at his watch. “We have about half an hour before the next trial starts and we need to give her a rundown in case she’s picked. If it somehow turns out she’s a killer, we can cross that bridge when we get there. ‘Til then, I don’t want any of you starting rumors, do I make myself clear?”

Carlos raised his hands up in defense, Leon let out a huff, and Ada rolled her eyes, but all three of them nodded in agreement.

“Good,” Chris said, turning back to you. “I think we need to give you a crash course on how to handle the trials, then.”

You nodded, still reeling from the argument that just took place, worried you’d be shunned from the camp and forced to survive in those terrifying woods, crawling with things that wanted nothing more than to rip you apart.

The group, save for Ada, seemed to return to normal—or as normal as they could be in a place like this—and offered you tips and advice for how to deal with the trials.

They explained how the generators worked, how you could use pallets to buy yourself time during chases, and that you could vault over ledges or windows to escape being pursued.

They also told you how the killers were supposed to put you on a meat hook to sacrifice you to the Entity, but that they could end you themselves if they wanted.

It was a lot of information to take in at once, as well as just plain horrifying to consider, so you struggled to retain any of it.

Chris could see your mounting panic and placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lucky. New survivors usually aren’t picked right away, and we’ll help you out when the time comes. For now, just try to stay calm.”

“Easier said than done,” you told him, digging your fingernails into your cuticles and ripping off the jagged pieces of skin.

It wasn’t the best nervous habit to have; one Wesker always regarded with disgust.

You felt a pang of concern at the thought of him.

“Hey, Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened to the rest of the team? Are they okay?”

His face fell and he looked to Jill and Rebecca. The two women couldn’t meet your gaze.

“That’s right. You were brought here before…” The rest of the sentence died on his tongue, as if he couldn’t bring himself to tell you. You could feel a pit forming in your stomach, knowing that it wasn’t good news.

“Before what? What happened?!” you implored, grabbing the arm that had dropped from your shoulder.

As he opened his mouth to reply, you felt a sudden and agonizing tug in the back of your mind, as if something had hooked into your skull and was trying to drag you towards the campfire. Dazed by the intrusion, you looked up to find Chris sporting a similar pained expression. The others too.

He frowned. “I’ll tell you later. It’s time for the trial.”

You could feel yourself start to shake, completely unprepared for whatever was about to happen if you were chosen. Between your injury and being overwhelmed with new information, you knew it was unlikely your trial would go well.

At least I won’t die for good, you thought.

It wasn’t as comforting as you hoped it would be.

The entirety of the camp slowly made their way to the center of the clearing, crowding around the fire. A few of the others brought a plethora of items and placed them on the ground. You assumed it was supplies for those who were taken.

The light of the sky was beginning to fade. It happened very quickly—much faster than any approaching nightfall you’d ever witnessed—and soon the world was plunged into darkness, save for the crackling fire and the lanterns that were sprinkled around the campsite.

Everyone stood silently for a few minutes. You swayed slightly on your hurt ankle, holding onto Chris for support. He looked down at you with sympathy alighting his handsome features and gently gripped your forearm in his large hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

You held your breath as you waited.

That torturous tension in your head suddenly broke like a snapped thread, and you heard a couple of the others groan in displeasure.

You almost sighed in relief, but knew that would be unkind.

Thank god it wasn’t me.

Four members of the large crowd stepped forward, Dwight the only one you had been properly introduced to, and sorted through the supplies on the ground. When they finished, a fog began to creep on the side of the fire that was devoid of log benches.

They said their farewells to the group—hugs, back pats, and well-wishes exchanged—and trudged into the black mist.

It seemed to swallow them whole.

After a few moments, it dissipated as quickly as it came, and those chosen for the trial were gone.

Everyone remained quiet as they meandered around the clearing, but no one headed to the buildings or into the trees. You supposed they wanted to stick around until the trial ended.

Chris ushered you to sit on one of the logs, and you appreciated the fire’s warmth as you reached your trembling hands out toward it.

The two of you were silent as you stared into the dancing flames, a morose sort of feeling weighing down like a blanket over the whole encampment.

“How long does it take?” you asked in a hushed tone, turning to look at the man beside you.

“Anywhere from a few minutes to nearly twenty,” he replied, his voice low as he met your gaze.

“Oh,” was all you could manage, unsure of what else to say.

“I think the quickest return to camp was just under two minutes,” he mused. “And the longest was nearly an hour.”

“How come?”

“The faster the time, you can almost guarantee everyone was killed. Longer times usually indicate someone is giving the killer a hard time. Or the killer is toying with them. No trial has ever gone the same.”

“Do you guys… die often?” you ventured, unsure if it was an appropriate thing to even ask. But if you were trapped here like they were, you felt you should know what you were getting into.

He sighed and rubbed his chin. “More than we’d like.”

“At least we come back, right?” you offered, hopeful.

“Sure, it’s nice to know it’s not permanent, but it isn’t pleasant. Every death you experience, you come back… not quite right.” He caught the horrified look on your face and turned to you fully. “I’m sorry, I know that’s not comforting. But it’s something we just push through. We don’t really have a choice but to.”

“Jesus.”

Maybe you were all actually dead and this place really was hell.

But there were kids here, like Rebecca and Claire. Surely, they had done nothing to deserve being stuck in a place like this.

You knew Chris and Jill didn’t. They’ve had to make some tough decisions, but they were good people. Heroes, even.

And you? You’ve fucked up in your life plenty of times, but you tried so very hard to be at least halfway decent. That must count for something, right?

So not hell. You had considered purgatory earlier, but that didn’t seem right, either.

Maybe you were in a coma and this was all just a drug-induced hallucination.

But what could have caused the coma in the first place? You didn’t recall hurting yourself before being nabbed by the fog.

Maybe I ran into a tree.

The thought almost caused a burst of laughter to erupt from your mouth, but you held it in.

This is fucking ridiculous.

About ten minutes passed when the first survivor appeared.

The fog had rolled in fast and then withdrew immediately, like a black ocean wave. It revealed a woman wearing athletic clothes on the ground, unconscious.

“Meg!” another woman had cried, rushing to her side. Her glasses were perched atop her nose and her deep brown dreadlocks were pulled back into a loose ponytail.

Meg awoke with a gasp, grabbing her gut as she bolted upright.

“What happened?” the other woman asked.

Meg took a deep breath and stood. “It was one of the Legion. Stabbed me through instead of putting me on the hook, the bastard.”

“How were the others doing?”

“Not great, Claudette,” she told her. “Everyone was injured when I got downed.”

Claudette gave a sad nod and the two sat on the log farthest from you, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Chris let out a dispirited exhale at Meg’s words but said nothing. You knew he cared deeply for others. It was something he never really expressed, but you could see it in the way he acted; the way he looked at people.

Other than your friends, you couldn’t imagine a better person to be trapped in this hell world with.

Eventually, the other survivors showed up from the fog, all of them except Dwight having been killed by the “Legion”, as they called them.

You noticed that those who were killed sported no wounds despite the gruesome recounting of their deaths. However, Dwight had a nasty gash across his back, cut right through his shirt.

“Why’s he still injured?” you questioned Chris as the group reconvened.

“We try to make it through the trials alive, but any injury we sustain, we’re stuck with until it heals or we get killed in the next one. The only real perk of dying is being fully healed when you get back to camp. Though a particularly ugly death is something you still feel for a while, even if it is just psychological.”

“How… lovely.”

Chris chuckled, “I know, right? Anyway, dinner will be starting soon. You hungry?”

The confusion and anxiety of the day had made you forget just how long you’d gone without eating. Must have been over a day at that point.

As if in response, your stomach growled loudly and you winced. “Does that answer your question?”

He smiled down at you. “Well, it’s my turn to cook, so I’ll head to the kitchen.”

He jutted his chin towards the medical facility over your shoulder and you followed his gaze, presuming it had the biggest kitchen out of the surrounding buildings.

He turned back. “Will you be okay without me?”

“What do you take me for, Redfield? A child? I don’t know if you recall, but I’m older than you by three years. I think I can handle hanging out with a few strangers.”

He rolled his eyes and shoved you playfully. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re a big girl.”

“Damn straight.”

He laughed as he ruffled your hair. His brief air of lightheartedness faded suddenly as his hand fell to gently cup the unmarred side of your face. It was unexpected, but such a tender motion that you couldn’t help leaning into it.

His brown eyes softened as they met with yours, and you thought perhaps he would say something else.

Instead, he only pulled away, heading for the nearby building.

You were left to your own devices.

You scanned the crowd of people milling about, wondering if you should start getting to know any of them, when someone plopped down beside you.

“Shit!” you yelped, jumping out of your skin. “You scared the hell out of me!”

You turned to find Carlos, who only chuckled at your response. “So sorry, chica, I didn’t mean to.”

You shook your head and smiled. “It’s fine. Though I’m surprised you want to talk to me. Didn’t you think I was a killer or something?”

He sighed. “That’s actually why I’m over here. I wanted to say I’m sorry for implying you weren’t one of us. I just thought your situation was weird. But I found out from Jake that you’re not the only survivor who got dumped outside the camp by the fog. It’s just a rarity. So yeah, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me for being suspicious. This place can make you a little jaded.”

“No, I totally get it. I would probably feel the same way. So no harm, no foul. I’m just glad I wasn’t kicked out or burned at the stake or something,” you replied with a giggle.

“Oh jeez, we would never do that,” he said before patting you on the back. “And thanks for accepting my apology. Jill would have reamed my ass if you hadn’t.”

Leon sidled up to you on your other side, offering you a tin mug of water, which you took gratefully. You were as dehydrated as you were hungry.

“For the record, I’m sorry too. If Claire trusts you, so do I,” he told you, looking like a kicked puppy.

You laughed and had to stop yourself from tousling his perfect hair. “You, too, are forgiven.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a boyish grin.

It reminded you of your brother, the thought making you suddenly homesick.

After drinking from the mug a little too quickly and almost choking, you glanced between the two men thoughtfully. You had some questions you wanted answered and you figured now would be your time.

“So, Carlos,” you started, “how do you and Jill know each other so well? I’d say she and I are pretty close, but she’s never mentioned you before. And Leon, how do you know Claire?”

Carlos clicked his tongue in thought. “Ah, that’s a tricky one. It’s a little hard to explain, but everyone here is pulled from different worlds and time periods. You were taken by the Entity in July of 1998. I was taken in September. So was Jill.”

“And so were me and Claire,” Leon added.

You felt like you were given whiplash. “Let me get this straight… The four of you were taken in September, two months after I was? Do you know how insane that sounds?”

“Oh, we know it. But what can you expect from a place like this? Nothing can be normal or sane. Not even us, after a while,” Carlos replied, sweeping his hand out to the surrounding survivors.

“What about Chris and Rebecca?”

The bearded man pondered it for a moment. “I think Rebecca got taken the night before you did. Chris, I’m not fully sure. I think a few years after us. Right, Leon?”

“Two-thousand-three. That’s what he told Claire.”

“And the other two women? Sheva and Ada? They seemed to know you guys too.”

“Sheva is from, like, a decade ahead of us. Apparently, she and Chris were partners, though the Chris we know hasn’t met her yet,” Carlos responded.

Leon supplemented, “I met Ada before I was taken, but this Ada’s from after that point. She never directly told me what year, but probably sometime after Chris.”

God, this is a lot to take in.

“So if you guys are from the future, why were you here before me? How long have you been here?”

The two men shared a look, and Carlos spoke first, “Time just works a little differently here. Sheva and I have been here a few months. Chris and Claire, a bit longer. Ada and Rebecca, about a week.”

“Jill and I were taken roughly a year ago,” Leon expanded.

You shook your head, bewildered. “And you mentioned some of the other survivors are from different worlds? Like, different universes?”

“That’s the assumption, yeah. We all tried to line up our worlds’ history and current events, and a lot of us have completely different answers. Several of us are from the same place, though there are others who came alone. Well, alone as survivors. Some of us showed up at the same time as a killer we know personally. Adds just a bit more flavor for the Entity, I guess,” Carlos explained.

“Okay, I think that’s enough of that. I’m starting to get a headache just trying to make sense of it all,” you told them, scratching your scalp.

“Any more questions that are less of a mindfuck, then?” Carlos asked with a laugh.

“Hmm,” you thought aloud, “I am curious about why you have an R.P.D. uniform on, Leon. I assume you joined later on?”

He sighed. “I actually never got the chance. My first day on the job was when everything in Raccoon City went to shit.”

“Went to shit? In what way?”

Carlos pulled a face. “I think it’s best if we let Chris handle that conversation. Let’s just say a lot happened after the Entity snatched you up.”

Getting information kept from you again annoyed you, but you let it slide. Chris did promise he’d tell you later. You would hold it to him.

“If you’re done with your questions, I got one for you,” proposed Carlos.

“Oh? Well, go ahead.”

“Your friends call you Lucky a lot.”

“That’s not a question but yeah. It’s a nickname Chris gave me.”

“Well, are you? Lucky, I mean.”

You scoffed. Guess it was time to rehash some old wounds. Literally.

“He started calling me Lucky because, in his words, I was ‘lucky to get out by the skin of my teeth’ when a mission went south a couple months ago. It’s a long story.”

Leon looked around the encampment, Chris and another survivor only just now hanging what you assumed was a pot of soup or stew over the fire. “Looks like we have the time.”

You sighed heavily. “Where to even start…”

***

May 22, 1998; Clifton Textile Mill

You and your partner, Joseph, had just arrived at the abandoned mill after tailing the suspected domestic terrorist, Tristan Maxwell, for the last few hours.

S.T.A.R.S. had been put on the case when the man had threatened to bomb Mayor Warren’s home if he didn’t sign off on certain legislation he wanted to be passed in Raccoon City.

Fortunately, he gave the mayor a week to follow his demands, allowing your team the time to track him down and neutralize him in any way deemed necessary.

You had never killed anyone in the entire ten years you had been in law enforcement, so you were unsure of why Wesker would send you on this particular mission.

But you would do your job, no matter what. You weren’t about to disappoint the captain.

You radioed in as you watched the suspect enter the mill from your unmarked van, hidden behind a building next door.

You were picking at your cuticles and Joseph noticed.

“Nervous, I take it?” he asked, amused.

You scowled. “I’m fine.”

“You know, you could just let me handle this. We might have to take him out, and I know that’s not something you’ve done.”

“I appreciate that, Frost. But if it’s required of me, I’m gonna do it.”

You could see the look of pity on his face, and he acted like he was about to say something else when Wesker's voice came over the radio, “Backup is on the way. Proceed with caution. Over.”

“Copy that,” Joseph replied before turning to you. “You ready to rock?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The two of you quickly made your way to the old mill, pressing up on either side of the back entrance with your guns at the ready.

You nodded to each other and Joseph rushed in, you trailing close behind him.

You walked for quite some time, the large building almost labyrinthine in structure.

But then you saw movement to your right, behind one of the machines.

“R.P.D.! Come out with your hands up!” you shouted, pointing your firearm towards it.

It was silent for a moment when a voice called out, “The mayor made a mistake sending you after me. He’s gonna regret that.”

“Or how about you come out of hiding, Maxwell? This might get real ugly for you if you don’t give it up,” Joseph told him.

“Give it up?” You heard a laugh echo through the cavernous room. “I don’t think I will.”

“Then I guess we’re coming for you,” you threatened, turning the corner.

He wasn’t there.

“Not if I get you first.”

It was the only warning you had before shots rang out, ricocheting off the machine next to you.

You and Joseph ducked, finding shelter behind a half wall as the man unloaded his clip in your general direction.

You heard the click of his gun being emptied of bullets and a curse under his breath before he took off running deeper into the mill.

Joseph radioed the captain, “We have shots fired. The perp made a run for it. Over.”

“Wait for backup. Over,” Wesker replied.

You groaned in frustration. “Captain, he’s getting away and he's out of ammo. Permission to pursue. Over.”

“Permission denied. I said to wait for backup. Do not make me repeat myself again. Over.”

You turned to Joseph. “It’s going to take too long for them to get here. He’ll be gone. Let’s get him!”

“No, Captain’s right, it’s better to wait for them. We don’t know if he has more weapons or accomplices. We need to stay here.”

You paused a beat, glancing over the wall towards where Maxwell escaped, weighing your options. It could be dangerous going it alone, but the perp escaping seemed like more of a con to you.

“Fuck it, I’m going after him,” you said finally, leaping over the wall and sprinting in the direction Maxwell had left from.

“Come back here!” Joseph bellowed.

You ignored him and kept running, even as he called your name.

After a few moments, you entered a side door that slammed behind you, Joseph’s voice fading with every step.

If Maxwell didn’t leave, he would have to be here somewhere.

You made your way swiftly through the mill, checking every room as you passed. Not a trace.

Eventually, you made it to the basement, the large area dark despite the light filtering in from the high windows. You slowed your pace, trying to make out if there was a person in the shadows around you.

You reached the back wall, which held nothing but a double door. The narrow glass panes set into it revealed a staircase on the other side, likely leading to the opposite part of the building from where you entered.

You tried to pull it open, but it was chained shut from the outside.

If he couldn’t get out this way, then where was he?

You felt a sudden force crash into you, Maxwell throwing his entire weight into knocking you down.

You hit the floor hard, your gun flying out of your hand and landing somewhere in the dark, your head smacking against the concrete with a painful thunk.

“If you think I’m just gonna give up now, after everything, you have another thing coming,” the man growled above you.

He tried to strangle you with his bare hands, but you broke his grip when you clawed at his face.

He howled in pain and you flipped the two of you over, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and punching him in the mouth.

He attempted to reach for you again, but you easily slipped your combat knife from its sheath and held the sharp blade to his throat. “Nice try.”

To your dismay, he only smiled up at you, teeth slick with his own blood. “I still have the remote detonator, Officer. If you don’t let me go, you can kiss your precious mayor goodbye.”

You looked over at his hand, held out away from you, gripping a small device firmly in his thick fingers.

“The mayor and his family were evacuated from their home. There’s no one to blow up,” you scoffed, calling his bluff.

“Oh, it wasn’t the house that was rigged, Officer,” he said, thumb caressing the button ever so lightly. “It was his briefcase.”

Your eyes widened at his words, realizing that if he detonated the bomb, it could not only kill the mayor and his family, but take out half the hotel he was staying at too.

How should I play this?

If you tried to reach for the detonator, he could easily hit the button or use the movement to flip you over again. If you just stabbed him, he’d still have time to press it.

You knew what you had to do.

“Fine,” you conceded, pulling your knife from his throat and getting up. “You win.”

“Smart girl,” he replied smugly as he stood. “Your cooperation will be noted when—”

You didn't give him the chance to finish his sentence, slicing the arm that held the detonator, quick as lightning.

He screamed as it fell to the floor and you knocked it away with your shoe, sliding it under the boiler nearby.

Relieved that you disarmed him, you didn’t realize fast enough that he swung his fist at your head, striking you as hard as he could. “You little bitch, I’ll fucking kill you!”

Dazed from the first blow, you didn’t have the time or wherewithal to brace yourself as he repeatedly battered every part of your body he could reach.

He yanked the knife out of your hand when you tried to clumsily slash him with it again and tossed it somewhere near your gun.

He then reared back and kicked you in the gut, sending you sprawling to the floor.

He stood over you, but you could barely see him with the swelling of one of your eyes and the blood that seeped from your scalp into the other.

You groaned when he pressed on your forearm with his boot, pawing desperately at it as he applied more and more pressure. “All you fucking pigs think you’re so much better than the rest of us. The truth is, you’re nothing but a moron with a gun. I’m gonna have so much fun breaking you apart!”

With that he leaned down and seized your wrist in both hands, wrenching your forearm up against the full weight of his foot.

Your own screams echoed in the empty basement, drowning out the sound of your radius and ulna snapping in half.

All you could see through the haze was the pool of blood forming beneath your arm as he stepped back to admire his work. “Ooh, that’s a nasty break. But don’t worry, little pig. What I’m about to do is gonna hurt so much worse.”

You whimpered and he circled towards your head, planting his bloodied boot right on your face.

He was going to kill you.

You were going to die here, in agony, alone in a dirty, abandoned basement after defying direct orders from your captain.

“I don’t want to die…” you cried, your voice muffled by the rubber sole pressed firmly against your lips.

“Oh, you poor thing. Don’t worry, you won’t feel it after the third or fourth blow.”

You closed your burning eyes tightly, tears and blood streaming into your ears, bracing yourself for what was about to come.

He lifted his foot to stomp down with all his might onto your skull.

Then suddenly, there was a thundering bang, deafening in the enclosed space.

Your ears were ringing as you felt a hot, sticky liquid and chunks of… something… splash onto your face. The shadow of the man above you shifted and then disappeared completely before his body hit the floor.

A presence knelt beside you, pulling you into their arms before lifting you up in the air. The movement jostled your broken arm, and you could feel the sharp bones as they lanced through your skin.

You shrieked in pain.

“Hey now, I got you. I got you,” you heard a familiar voice say.

“Ch-Chris?” you choked out.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m getting you out of here. Everything will be fine.”

As you began to fade out of consciousness, you heard him say one last thing under his breath:

“Lucky fucking girl.”

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

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aforrestofstuff · 3 years ago

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Chapter 152 Expert Review: The Super-Duper Work From Home Edition!!

I don’t know how to make an intro. I shouldn’t have made that the format for my chapter reviews. I’m working while writing this and some old lady has been on the phone for 10 minutes (so far) telling me about how the undesirables in her neighborhood leave trash everywhere and it’s against company policy to interrupt clients so I’m gonna try and crank this one out before she grows a conscience and hangs up on me.

Legend has it: if you punch Psykos’ watermelon tits, they’ll pop like that one clown bitch from Phoenix Wright.

Murata heard my cry to stop the horny Psychic Sisters covers and decided to make a horny Psychic Cousin-Twice-Removed cover. Which is ironic because I’m pretty sure we haven’t seen Psykos in the manga for like 10 chapters or, in professional terms: 3-5 business years.

She’s hot though. I don’t know how her eyebrows do that. Her brow-bone doubles as her hairline for maximum efficiency!

Local man does the most gaslighting and manipulating and girlbossing in the world by simply just Standing There Menacingly.

I think King’s plot armor is the best thing in the whole series. I hope he never gets found out and this just continues for another ten years because there’s nothing funnier than the cadres shitting themselves over just Some Dude because they think he’s gonna murder everyone with his little Xbox controller hands or something. Help! The white dude with the flannel is gonna fucking end all our shit!

It’s hilarious. He’s a great character. I love him. I want his children. I hope Homeless Emperor goes straight to hell.

Homeless Emperor goes straight to hell.

Putting my face up real close to my computer screen and objectifying the living shit out of Zombieman. I know he’s probably got rocks under his foreskin from tunneling in the ground for 10 straight chapters but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. If I get a bacterial ass infection that nearly kills me, then that’s just what happens baby!! I will die living.

I love the Sanzu River line, although I do think the “flying up to heaven” or whatever one was a bit better. I don’t really know why they changed that but regardless… it’s really funny. Like, I know there’s a chance that this is actually supposed to be a Cool Dramatic moment but I mean… brother you’ve got your dick out and your hand on another man’s throat how am I not supposed to laugh (or get flustered). This is outrageous.

There’s also a chance that, and this is a great interpretation that Kiyoko told me about, Zombieman actually is joking to put Child Emperor at ease. I think that’s actually how we’re supposed to interpret this?? If not, I don’t care; dad joke Zombieman is canon and he always will be. He’s so. He’s so. I want . I want him. He probably tastes like dish soap and smells like the shit sandwich between a horse’s asscheeks but man….

Let’s put all our faith in this One Dude who we’ve never seen fight before and just assume he’s got a major laser death beam for some reason? Saying CE got a brain fart is underestimating it, he straight up had wet brain diarrhea.

This bugs me a bit! Child Emperor definitely has a satellite but doesn’t wanna use it because.. it runs the risk of being hacked? IMO, I think relying on the abilities of one dude, whom you’ve never even seen fight before, is an even bigger risk?? And to top it all off… be hacked by who? The Monster Association is in shambles. All cadres are visibly above ground—fighting or incapacitated,—the leader is also incapacitated(?), and all lower ranks have either died or scattered. The base is in shambles, Tatsumaki spun the earth like some goddamned spaghetti so all electricity has been cut off, and I’m pretty sure even if there was a shit-eating hacker monster or whatever somewhere in the midst of all this with a quintuple monitor setup, they wouldn’t be able to crack shit in the time it’ll take CE to mow down the rest of the combatants above ground.

And even moreso: using the satellite wouldn’t put King at risk. Putting all the weight on his shoulders to eliminate everything above-ground and not even try to lay down suppression fire is a recipe for disaster. A much better plan would’ve been to just use King as a distraction and maybe let him use his whatever hyperbeam (that CE isn’t even sure he has) and then use the satellite as main event to minimize collateral.

Bit of an oversight in my opinion. I think ONE just really needed a reason to get King even deeper in the shit so he had to take some liberties here and have CE make yet another bad “in the moment” decision. It’s not really that big of a deal, but I just think there’s been a lot of missed opportunities to nail home CE’s genius thinking, because so far pretty much all we have to show for his intelligence is his ingenuity. He had to be chosen as leader for a reason. Give him one good decision!! Give him some wisdom!!

Badd canonically has one brain cell 🥰🥰 fucking stupid dumbass shithead 🥰🥰❤️😩😩 I love him so much 🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️ dumb bitch.

I like how he stopped fighting for a second to ask what was wrong with Black Sperm (there’s a joke to be made about Male Tears here). Even when Badd is about to end this guy’s shit, he’s still so empathetic. 🥰🥰

I also love how canonically everyone thinks he’s dumb. He’s not dumb, but that’s just what you fucking get for working full time from age 14 and (supposedly) failing high school. Imagine being this motherfucker. Beating up monsters during your 30-minute lunch break and then going to Algebra 1 smelling like hotdog water and blood.

He’s out here, in City Z:

No water

No bitches

Still got a fresh concussion from getting his shit rocked at the hands of Garou OnePunchMan

Behind on 87 assignments, an oral exam, and a PowerPoint presentation

After abandoning his little sister to *checks notes* find Garou and end his shit. Somehow.

Oh, and by the way Zenko is still chilling in the hospital

He’s still wearing a tucked-in turtleneck and belt after all this.

He also redid his hair. (You can’t fight crime if you ain’t cute!)

I AM SPEED.

Yeah, so I think Black Sperm’s new form is a speed demon. He just looks fast ok! I think we’re setting up for a Flashy Flash confrontation, since (presumably, idk) he and Saitama are still chilling in the Phantom Zone or whatever. If not, I’d love for Garou to reach peak form and throw Platinum Sperm against the wall 97 times. I’m just so tired of this little rat motherfucker. I mean that lovingly. Black Sperm is a funny fucking character.

In conclusion: the lady on the phone didn’t hang up until my Child Emperor mini-rant. It has been twenty-two minutes. I hate this fucking job.

Oh yeah, and uh. Don’t lie on your resume or else a ten year-old is gonna expect you to murder some of earth’s most powerful motherfuckers with just your bare hands and the laser powers you don’t have. That’s all, thanks.

#one punch man #opm #garou #metal bat #Zombieman #meta #child emperor #black sperm #manga spoilers #tatsumaki #homeless emperor #king #Saitama #flashy flash #psykos

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angsty-omi · 3 years ago

Text

tooru oikawa x reader

“i hope that one day i’ll be able to replace you the way you replaced me.”

it’s hard y’know?

hearing his squeaked sneakers and the click of her heels walking down the hallway. hand in hand, confidently striding past you. her strong perfume left a mark after her presence. smelling like coconut... tooru hates coconut. you remembered the time where you tried to switch up your shampoo and tooru immediately noticed when walking into your bedroom. hated it. made you re-shower and scrub extra hard to get that scent away. then the realization hit you like a train. he just hated it on you, but could bare it with her. he liked her so much better, that he could bare the scent he detests.

last week was the last time you called tooru oikawa yours.

after losing to karasuno, the team was in shambles. tears left and right. you waited for tooru to step out of the locker room and prepared to give him affirmations and affections. although, when he walked out there were a bunch of girls already hoarding him. you could almost laugh at the sight. these girls don’t know tooru like you do. they don’t know how he feels, acts, and taste. but you do. thus, you never worried or felt insecure around these fangirls. so, you just waited for tooru to come up to you. you watched him meticulously, as he was taking very long with a certain fan. if you weren’t paying enough attention, you wouldn’t have seen the girl slip her number into his pocket. he didn’t even notice her action, since she used excuses of why she had to touch his jacket. after the whole ordeal, he finally got to you. with you, he could let his guard down. the facade of him being a nice guy to all his fans were taking a toll on him. as he grabbed your hand and found somewhere secluded, he cried in your arms. you held him tight around his neck and your back started to get wet. soothing his back and whispering “i know baby,” were things other girls couldn’t do.

although, after this, tooru changed. you couldn’t figure out why. he started to become obnoxious and rude to kids who weren’t necessarily popular. the final straw was when he was acting this way with you. his girlfriend. the same girl that watched him breakdown on her lap the whole night. the same girl that he wouldn’t let out of his bed to get dressed.

you waited outside the gates to walk with tooru. at the entrance, you saw him with the girl that gave him her number. although tooru was being civil, she kept clinging on to him. viewing this, you felt a slight bubble of jealousy in your stomach. as he walked over to you, the girl immediately walked the other way. he handed you his hand to hold, but you weren’t having it.

“tooru, i don’t like that girl. she makes me feel uncomfortable.” you sternly said while walking.

him beside you, “y/n you’re overreacting. she’s just a friend.” tooru sighed like you always did this.

“do friends cling on your arm? or pinch your cheeks? or giggle at every single thing you do?”

“she’s not like that, i promise.”

“mhm... okay.”

you hear him murmur something under his breath.

“what was that?” you put your hand to your ear, dramatically.

“i said, you should be lucky to even be with me”

“what?”

tooru then rolls his eyes at you.

“did you hear what i said idiot? i said you should be lucky to be with me”

“how am i lucky? you think it’s lucky to only see you on weekends because you’re so consumed with volleyball? huh? is that what you think? and on top of that, seeing the whole female population flirting with you every single game?”

“exactly so you see these girls and you think you’re special?”

at this point, you couldn’t believe your ears, “umm yeah because i’m your girlfriend? i would think so?”

“and you think i couldn’t replace yo-,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping that you didn’t just hear him.

oh but you did. loud and clearly. just then, you abruptly stop your walking. tears riling up your eyes.

“f-f-fine, if that’s what you think, then go ahead replace me. w-we’re done o-o-oikawa.” spewing his surname like he meant nothing to you. your back was facing him, but he knew. he knew you were crying. and yet, he didn’t seem to stop you nor apologize. in oikawa’s whole life, he never won at anything. he lost to a boy that was younger than him, more athletic, and overall a better setter. subconsciously, the only thing he could win was petty arguments like this one. but was it worth it? he’d soon find out weeks later.

in those days, you haven’t reached out to him, so he assumed you were over it and with his pride in the way, he didn’t want other students to know what really happened, so he decided to appear as the winner. the one who broke it off, the savant who moved past his ex and onto a new girl.

and that’s exactly why he did. though his outer appearance looked more happy, his insides were complete opposites. he hated the smell of coconut on her, or how compared to you, she was not funny. at all. she was bland and her humor was like speaking to a millennial on hump days. he couldn’t help but look over at you once in a while to see how you were dealing with the breakup. he couldn’t read you though, your face seemed drained out of pure tiredness, making you seem like an emotionless statue. during class, he noticed that your head hung low while tapping your pen against the table.

his new girl took notice of this, “tooru why do you keep looking at y/n?” she asked jealously.

as if he could not get anymore of a douche, his immediate reaction was, “y/n’s fucking pen tapping is so goddamn annoying, it’s fitting for her i mean look at her.”

you were sick of it. being walked on. being the butt of everyone’s joke. you were a ticking time bomb, and oh- you just exploded.

“well if i’m so goddamn annoying then maybe sob to your little whore the next time you lose a dumb shit of a game you call your livelihood, in which oh yeah! continues to remind you how you will always. be. just. second. best.”

the whole class erupted in laughter. your throat started to burn and his eyes widened in shock. you went too far and you knew it. you thought you would’ve felt good giving him a taste of his own medicine, but you felt guilt and pain. like his heart was yours, and you could feel it cracking.

“oikawa, y/n to the principal’s office now!” the teacher interjected.

as you both waited on the bench in front of the office, your principal decided not to call your parents, and let you both figure it out.

you spoke first, “listen.. for what it’s worth, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for saying all those rude things. i’m sorry for calling you second best. i’m sorry for belittling your passions. i’m sorry for not being a good girlfriend. i’m sorry for not being enough-” your voice started to get shake-y.

“god you just don’t shut up do you?” oikawa chuckled. you smiled a bit in return.

“y/n.. i don’t know where to start. no one has ever seen me so vulnerable, and you being there scared me. i didn’t deserve you, someone like kageyama did. you deserve a winner. i didn’t want to be someone you’d resent or find ‘too sensitive’ so i put myself first and for that i’m sorry. really sorry… and i miss you,” he hesitated for a second before continuing, “could you ever see us together again?”

you were speechless. so speechless you didn’t realize your hand meeting his face. your eyes widened in shock.

“i guess i deserved that.” he clenched his jaw.

“how dare you? how fucking dare you? sure i can forgive you, as a peer. but to start up what we have? what we had? you’re crazy. if you truly thought that i would what? think you’re ‘too sensitive’ then you don’t know me at all. safe to say if this how you react when shit hits the fan i don’t want to know what would’ve happened if we got married.”

his eyes lit up at the word ‘married’. what could’ve been if he’d just allow himself to be vulnerable and not have high standards for himself.

“i will always love you oikawa, but never in that way again. and for that, i’m sorry.” you got up, head held high with your back facing to him. specifically because tears were burning your cheeks. one more minute with him and you would’ve folded and taken him back.

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #oikawa angst #oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #hq oikawa

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years ago

Text

Humans are weird: Merging multiple species into society

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

Across the landing field the ground crews were in frantic motion. Landing pads that had been used as temporary supply dumps were cleared, refugees and civilians were moved up for transport off world, and for the first time in seven months the Galaxian base commander braided his face tentacles.

From his office overlooking the entire compound, Commander Zavar kept watch of the progress from the corner of his eye while his main focus was on the mirror in front of him. Carefully observing his reflection he intertwined the several dozen chest length tentacles that grew just beneath his jaw into elegant patterns.

He hadn’t bothered to for the last few months as the braiding of tentacles was meant to show a sign of respect. A Galaxian with unbraided tentacles was essentially stating that whomever they spoke with they held them in low regard. Zavar hadn’t braided them for some time as he felt no need to show signs of respect to anyone under his command.

It had been months since the landing base was established with the intent to use it as a jumping off point in new offensives. When Zavar had been given command he felt that he would be helping bring an end to this bloody conflict by maintaining such a crucial facility. Yet just as the offensive was about to begin their enemies decided to launch a massive counter offensive on an entirely different continent. In short order the manpower which had been set aside for the Galaxian offensive was pulled away to mount a rapid defense and halt this no enemy offensive.

One by one troop ships stopped coming to his base and requested materials became increasingly diverted to other theaters of the war until finally this once crucial launching point became nothing more than a gas station for passing supply ships.

He grimaced as he made a wrong twist while braiding remembering his degrading morale and the effect it had on those under him. The drive that had once fueled Zavar was sapped away by months of repetitive supply transfers and paperwork, and this soon turned to ever laxening of base discipline among the work crews. When Zavar’s second in command came to him with information that several of the crews had taken an abandoned storage building and had turned it into an entertainment club of sorts, all he did at the time was put on his military cap and take a walk over to it for a drink himself.

That had all changed last night when in the middle of darkness moon Zavar had received an offworld communication from central command. After weeks of careful negotiation the human government they had agreed to join the war effort on the Galaxian side. A substantial force of at least four of their divisions had already arrived in system and would be sending down a battalion of 500 soldiers to further secure and expand Zavar’s base.

Within moment of the calls end Zavar had ordered all of his crews to standby and began issuing orders with renewed fire. As Zavar finished braiding his tentacles and looked out across his base he saw all of the landing pads had been cleared, and with moments to spare.

A loud rumbling could be heard and Zavar could feel the room slowly vibrating as he looked to the clouded skies.

Breaching through the murky grey clouds that had covered the sky for weeks Zavar saw a human landing craft. It was a bulky black mass of metal with a design reminiscent of an overweight bird Zavar thought as it slowly descended towards the base. He was slightly disappointed in the lacking design aesthetics of the human craft, but he had remembered that these transports were designed for carrying large amounts of troops to safe areas rather than enemy held landings. Zavar watched it for a few moments more before leaving his office and making for the landing pads.

It was a short ride from his office to landing pad three were Zavar met his second in command already waiting with a small detachment of honor guard. He exited the vehicle just as the landing craft set down sending gusts of wind out from the engines as they slowly died down.

As Zavar took his place at the head of the honor guard the loading door of the transport popped open with a loud thud and began to lower.

He had heard stories of humans before, how they were great warriors of the highest caliber, that their reflexes were heightened to such a level in the heat of battle they could see an enemy from miles away, that they could lose limbs and heal after a period of time only to forge new ones and return for more combat; truly these beings would bring a swift end to this war.

The ramp finally touched the surface of the landing pad and Zavar could finally see inside of the transport. What he saw rather surprised him however…..

At the top of the ramp stood several ranks of human soldiers dressed in combat gear, but at the head of them was a uniformed Kliptec; their serpent body draped across the decking of the craft.

Zavar cast a side long glance at his second who looked as dumb founded as Zavar was feeling before looking back at the Kliptec. Their upper body was humanoid in shape, yet they bore more hallmarks of a reptile. Scaled skin, slit like eyes, sharpened fingers, and in place of feet was a roughly six foot long tail.

As the Kliptec slithered down the ramp towards Zavar and the front ranks of humans followed Zavar was greeted by further confusion. Mixed in with the humans soldiers Zavar noted several other species not native to the human worlds.

A Draxic casually stomped forward with the ranks appearing to carry some form of heavy weapon casually over their shoulder, a Flinchestet with a communication device glided across the decking as if its limbs could not be bothered to touch the floor, a Valmorian with a red cross painted across their helmet stood alongside a Combra whose face had been ritually scared for the coming battles; but most surprising of all was the towering figure at the very back of the transport.

A hive warrior drone draped in the uniform of humanity. It held no weapon between its claws but Zavar was positive it would have no need of such a device to rip through the lot of them. Some of the honor guard made let out whimper of fear and one even went so far as to start to bring their weapon to bear.

With only a look Zavar’s second command was at the guard’s side and snatched the weapon from his hands in a single motion.

“Be. Calm.” Those two words were all he said to the guard before returning to his place next to Zavar, the weapon he had taken from the guard clutched at his side.

His men looked at their commander with silent awe as they saw Zavar look unphased at the sudden turn of events. Instead of humanity’s reinforcements they appeared to have been given a cavalcade of species that had once fought against humanity. In truth Zavar was deeply concerned about this development, but the one thing keeping him from panicking was his observations of the actual human soldiers present.

Their eyes lacked a sense of fear one would normally experience when coming upon something, or someone, so unnatural to themselves. They were alert and disciplined which was all that Zavar needed to know to reassure him that things were as they should be.

The Kliptec finally slithered in front of Zavar and gave a crisp salute which Zavar returned with a bow of comradery.

“Lt. Colonel Reginal Seth of the 17th Engineer battalion.” the Kliptec said.

“Base Commander Zavar Hatsval,” Zavar replied as he motion to his second, “and my second Xixvil Nog, of the Galaxian expeditionary force.”

“I must admit,” Zavar began as the column of forces began marching past the trio, “when I heard we were getting human reinforcements I was not expecting this.”

Reginal’s sighed and rolled his eyes as if he had heard that same statement a thousand times before.

“Our military allows anyone to enlist so long as they were born within our borders.” he stated as he turned to see his soldiers march by to the storage facilities. “It is an efficient system to use every natural resource available to your advantage, so why limit to a single species military?”

“We do not ask others to fight in our stead.” Xixvil spoke as he watched several humans walk by.

“And how has that turned out for you here?” Reginal said as his serpent mouth twisted to a half grin. “Because from where I am it looks like we’re here to fight in your stead.”

Xixvil’s mouth dropped open in shock before morphing into one of anger while Reginal continued smirking. Zavar thought he was about to see his second lash out when the hive drone he had seen before marched over to them.

It stood easily twice as high as a Galaxian and three times as high as the human soldiers around it. Its collection of eyes were constantly darting around randomly as if trying to observe everything at once while it hovered over the trio. It slowly opened its mouth to reveal rows of sharpened teeth as it surprised Zavar once again.

“Dro…..go…..where?”

In all of his life in the Galaxian military he had never heard of a hive drone capable of speech. In the past the Galaxian’s had fought several wars with the Hive and at every encounter the drone warrior caste was found to be near mindless killing machines without a queen’s control. To hear one speak in a language he could understand, let alone in broken sentences was enough to end the careers of several Galaxian biologists.

“Report to Sgt Morris, Dro.” Reginal said as if the tower beast of flesh and chitin before him was just another average soldier.

The drone’s eyes stopped twitching for a moment as if concentrating before continuing “Morris…..yes…find…Morris….going….now…sir.” It tilted a blade like appendage which took a moment for Zavar to realize it was saluting Reginal which the Kliptec swiftly returned.

“Carry on Dro.”

With that the drone shambled off after the majority of humans who had left the landing zone leaving only a few behind to begin unloading the battalion’s equipment. Reginal turned to them and handed them a data pad. “Once our gear is unloaded we will begin expanding the landing fields by three additional pads. After that we’ll start reinforcing the outer perimeter walls and compound infrastructure.”

Zavar took the data pad and began going over the details while Xixvil continued to watch Dro walk away.

“I do not mean to be rude, but why did you call that drone “Dro”?” Xixvil asked once the drone was far enough away.

Reginal shrugged, an oddly human gesture for such an alien being, before answering “That’s his name; Dro Harris.”

“It was my understanding that hive drones lacked the capacity to develop individuality.” Xixvil continued as he watched the drone in the distance stop in front of a humanoid looking figure before following them into a storage bay.

“Normally they aren’t able to, but humans have this strange ability to impart personalities into beings should they stay around them long enough.”

Both Zavar and Xixvil looked at Reginal dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” they asked, to which Reginal simply nodded.

“One of his parents fought in the human hive wars and took an egg back as a trophy. Turns out it hatched and they decided to raise him as their son.”

“I can’t imagine humans reacted well to a hive drone in their midst.”

To their surprised Reginal shook his head. “From what he’s told me he used to be a successful actor before he enlisted; he was popular in fast food commercials.”

“Now I know you are making things up.” Zavar cut in, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Humans do weird things like this all the time,” Reginal said, “they act distant at first but once they warm up to you the majority of them will welcome you with open arms and treat you like kin.”

He stretched out his arms so Zavar and Xixvil could get a good look at him.

“People assume humans are barbaric isolationist xenophiles, and while it is true there are some of them out there they do not make up the entirety of humanity.”

“There are humans that will sit down with complete strangers and within an hour be closer than brothers with them, humans that will drop everything to come help you even when there is no benefit to themselves, humans that will check up on you just to see if you are alright.”

“It’s weird but at times it’s almost as if humanity has been sick of just knowing only humans and will throw themselves at anything different just so they can experience something new, something exotic and exciting.”

Reginal looked at the two Galaxians as they took in what he had to say and shook his head. He gave a quick salute and then slithered after his men as the heavy equipment began rolling off the transport leaving the Galaxians in the dust.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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electronikmilk · 4 years ago

Text

Papa’s Punishment

alternative title: Accidentally Fucking Around and Finding Out

ive been working on this for so long and im sick of lookin at it

rating: explicit/nsfw

Copia x f reader

contains: dom copia, possible abuse of power, spanking, and pet play.

You had dozed, then awakened to find that you were still bound in Copia's ornate bed-chamber deep within the abbey walls.

No, he wasn't Copia anymore. He was Papa now. And you had to address him as such when he wore the paint. That was what he said when he had his Ghouls drag you into his chamber after you had called him the silly little nickname that the other sisters called him behind his back as a joke. Ratman. It was innocent enough since he was fond of the small rodents, or so you thought. Copia's face had grown dark as soon as you uttered it, and it frightened you enough to fall silent after a fit of giggles. Then he reached out and gripped your chin tight before leaning close to address you.

"Mm. Funny." He said in a way that sounded like he didn't find it funny at all and glared down at you, "It is bold of you to be disrespectful to your Papa when he wears the paint. And that is all I will be to you now. I'm not Copia, not Cardinal, and especially not Ratman. I am Papa, and I will not accept any other title, sister. Perhaps a little lesson is in order so you will remember this."

Before you could say anything, Copia snapped his fingers, and that was when his two Ghouls surrounded you, grabbed you by the arms, and marched down the halls with you in tow. Everyone within the corridors stopped and watched as the Ghouls dragged you along. Two sisters from the convent whispered to each other and turned their gazes away as if they might be taken away at any second too. They knew where you were going, and it was sure as hell somewhere they didn't want to be, for it was a place of great shame and mystery. You let your head drop in humiliation before your peers, not standing the way they saw you. It was a relief when you finally arrived at Copia's chamber and were taken inside. You said nothing to the Ghouls as they fastened leather cuffs around your ankles, then bound your hands over your head with silk rope.

"Sorry, sister," One of them had said. They removed the coif and veil of your habit, then pulled out the pins that held your hair in place so that it fell loose, "We're just following Papa's orders. I'm sure you understand."

All you gave them was a contemptuous look until they left.

You had struggled against your restraints until you eventually gave up, falling asleep despite your buttocks pushing against the hard stone wall behind you. How long had that been? There was no clock or window in the room, so it was hard for you to tell. Perhaps a few hours. Long enough for you to wake up with a sore neck, anyway. The room itself lay in shadow and unbroken stillness. You winced as you turned your head to look around the room. The only illumination offered to you was from a small antique lamp on an ink-stained writing desk in the corner. The dim light threw long uneven shadows on the high arched ceiling above. A king-sized bed sat against the wall opposite you with a canopy bed frame draped with black cloth. It made it look like a dark, cavernous mouth that was ready to swallow you whole. A tall mahogany bookshelf containing several taxidermied rats positioned in various poses stood near the door. You made a face at the furry ornaments. It was definitely Copia's room.

Your stomach growled, and the sound of it in the stillness of the room made it seem more like a lion's roar. How long Copia planned to keep you in here and what his intentions were, you didn't know for sure. You just hoped he wouldn't starve you. The thought sent a sudden jolt of panic through you; your mind flashed images of you left to rot in a cell in the abbey basement. You knew that the cells had been abandoned for centuries, just collecting dust and acting as storage for Yuletide decorations. But Copia had changed since he finally became Papa Emeritus IV. You had always thought him awkward as a Cardinal, sometimes even amusing in his antics, but he was always just that: awkward, no one to be scared of. It was a curious and abrupt transformation; He held his head high now, and his stride was no longer unsure or clumsy. When he wore the paint, he had an air of authority, of strength and pride no one knew he had. He wanted respect, and he demanded it among the clergy with an iron fist. Everyone was to address him as Papa only and woe unto anyone who didn't comply. At first, you had to admit his newfound confidence in his power was something to admire, covet even. That is until the sisters of the order were no longer safe from his wrath, then it became something to be feared. Copia had forgiven slips of the tongue and had given warnings that he said he would only offer once. If it happened again, however, there would be a severe punishment to follow.

Sister Claire was the first to be punished. Claire had always been hotheaded and often butted heads with her superiors for the sake of her own amusement. She had been no different with Copia two months ago. On your way to your weekly duty to clean the chapel, you stumbled upon Copia, two Nameless Ghouls, and Claire in the middle of the empty hall. You seemed to go unnoticed by all four. Curious, you slipped into one of the corridor's alcoves and peeked around the corner, as not to be seen. As you listened closely, you caught the tail end of a heated argument over the state of the abbey's gardens. Claire was on a tirade, ranting about how Copia's lack of dedication to employing a proper gardener made the grounds look like it was in shambles. She had addressed the new Papa as Cardinal several times, much to Copia's irritation. The former Cardinal stood back with folded arms and a frown while the hot-blooded sister babbled on about how this needed attention and how that needed fixing. She addressed him incorrectly the entire time. It amazed you how bullheaded Claire could be.

"Cara," Copia finally interrupted after Claire had called him Cardinal for the fifth time, his voice becoming stern. "I understand that you're upset, but I have made it more than clear that everyone within this church is to call me Papa. And frankly, I will not tolerate your blatant disregard for my rules."

"Don't you 'Cara' me!" Sister Claire shot back, " And I'll call you Papa when I'm damn well good and ready. But until then, I think I'll keep calling you Cardinal, Cardinal."

"Basta! Enough!" Copia shouted suddenly, grabbed Claire by the wrist, and dragged her behind him as he headed further down the hall, luckily away from your direction. "I have been patient with you, sister, with all of you. But no more!"

Claire resisted, trying to wrench from his grasp and yelling at him to let her go. Copia ignored this and tugged her along anyway. When she started cursing and slapping at him, Copia gestured for a Ghoul to take her about the waist and carry her. Claire shrieked like a banshee and kicked her legs in the air when she was lifted. Copia gave the Ghoul a sharp command for them to silence her, and the Ghoul clapped a hand over Claire's mouth, muffling the scream as they hauled her away. You watched the whole display in shock, unable to move or look away. When all four of them disappeared around a corner, you crept out from your hiding place on shaky legs. You quickly made your way to the chapel without encountering anyone else, and it was a relief to you. You tried to put what you saw out of your head, but as you tended to your regular duties, the sound of Claire's screams resonated in your head.

You didn't see Sister Claire again until late into the evening. She seemed no worse for wear, having neither a bruise nor scratch on her. But she was timid, quiet, and obedient, you noticed when Sister Imperator asked her to sweep and wash the floor, which she almost scurried to do. When the other sisters asked her where she had been, Claire just shook her head frantically. Her pretty face grew red, and a look of shame and fear that concerned you twisted her features.

"I can't tell you!" was all she said and nothing more.

It wasn't too long until other insubordinate sisters fell victim to Copia's fury. Each one disappeared into his chambers for hours at a time, and when they were set free, none of them spoke of what they went through. You could only speculate, and what you brewed up in your head terrified you. All manner of dark medieval tortures often raced by: pears of anguish, iron chairs, Spanish donkeys, breast rippers, and thumbscrews. You knew all of that was impossible, however. None of the other sisters had a mark on them when they returned; they barely even a hair out of place, so what kind of punishment was wicked enough to force them all into silence? Whatever it was, you tried so hard to avoid it. You never spoke out of turn, tended to your duties without complaint, you even baked a cake for Copia on his birthday. But despite all your effort, misfortune still befell you over a joke that wasn't even that funny. Your throat tightened as tears began to prickle behind your eyes, and you dreaded what kind of torment waited for you in this dark room.

You were almost lost in your contemplation of it all when you heard the heavy wooden door open. You saw the tall, lean figure of Copia enter the room and close the door behind him, a plate of food in one hand and a blood-red velvet bag in the other. He almost seemed like a specter, dressed in a figure-hugging black suit --the one that you said he looked handsome in to gain his favor. His face was bare of paint, save for his eyes. He had lined them with black, smudged eyeliner, making his mismatched gaze smoldering and intense.

He made his way to you with both items in hand. He stayed back a few feet, the velvet bag swinging slightly at his side. The faint aroma of roasted chicken found your nose, and the delectable smell of it made your mouth water. Copia gazed at you with narrow eyes, his expression unreadable. You lowered your eyes and sucked in a breath, petrified of what was to come. You waited for yelling, cursing, for the food to be thrown at you, anything, but Copia just muttered something under his breath, went to place the plate and bag on the bed, then returned to undo all your restraints. You stood there free with stiff, aching arms. You wanted to stretch them but didn't dare make any movement that Copia might disapprove of. You kept your eyes down, only bringing them up once to see Copia sit on the edge of the bed with the plate in his lap, then darting them back to the floor. You felt the subtle pressure of his gaze on you for what seemed like a long time.

"Come here." Copia finally broke the silence.

You obeyed and took a tentative step forward.

"No." He said sharply, making you freeze, "On your hands and knees. Crawl to me."

Your head jerked up, eyes wide in shocked disbelief. Your breathing hitched, and your heart started to hammer. You hesitated, and Copia frowned at you. He raised his gloved hands and slapped them together once, hard. It sounded like the cracking of a whip in the quiet. "Now, sister."

You let out a little yelp and dropped to your knees. You hurried as you crawled over to Copia, stopping just before his feet. He gave a hum of satisfaction.

"Ah, excellent. You're obedient. That is good, my dear. It will make your ordeal go more smoothly."

Ordeal. The word made you shudder.

"But first, you must be hungry, si? You've been waiting here a long time."

Your stomach let out another grumble. You said nothing. You kept your eyes fixed on the glossy leather of Copa's black shoes as your apprehension deepened. You didn't want to look up at him; all at once, he seemed large, mighty, and terrible, like he could crush you underneath those patent leather soles if he so desired. He could make you suffer, and no one would witness it. It was just you and Copia. You and Papa.

"Say 'yes, Papa' or 'no, Papa,'" Copia said. "And I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be respectful."

"I...I-" You stammered, then you swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself, "Yes, Papa."

"Good girl." He said. "Now, kneel up and look at me."

You did as commanded, and you realized as you looked up at him that you were crying. Through the blur of tears, you saw Copia's hand reach for your face. You flinched a little, then relaxed when you only felt the fingers wipe away your tears and smooth your hair back almost affectionately.

"Oh, come now. I have not been mean just yet, my dear. Don't cry." He soothed, "There will be plenty of time for that later, but if you're well behaved and do what I say, Papa will be gentle with you. Do you understand?"

You nodded, sniffling and letting Copia caress your face. It comforted you, if only a little bit.

"Answer me properly,"

"Yes, Papa. I understand." You said.

"Very good, very good," Copia said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead before letting you eat the slices of succulent chicken breast on the plate with your hands. After you finished, he took a sprig of green grapes and fed them to you one at a time. He watched in obvious amusement when you spat the seeds into your hand and timidly discarded them onto the plate, careful of every move you made. When he got to the last three, he took one and held it up just out of your reach. He smiled when you blinked up at him, confused.

"Up, cara," He said, "Show me a trick."

You bit your lip, blushing, and again, you hesitated. You shook your head before you realized what a mistake it was. Immediately, Copia took the plate, set it aside, and then gathered you up to toss you over his lap so that your legs dangled over the floor. You gasped in surprise and fear when he flipped your skirt to expose your panties. When you felt the sting of his gloved hand spank you hard, you couldn't help but let out a cry. One great slap after another fell on your buttocks, sounding thunderous in your ears. You heard yourself taking in sharp gasps of pain with each strike. His hand seemed solid and heavy like a paddle as it spanked you, over and over, hitting you on the right cheek, then the left, and then covering your thighs with smacks while your ass stung and throbbed. You clenched your teeth to stifle your cries, and when you tried in vain to wiggle away, Copia held you in place and rewarded you with more vigorous blows, swift ones that whipped you like a strap. And soon, you realized you were becoming frantic, tears streaming down your cheeks. You tried to be still, but your body squirmed and writhed of its own accord. Now Copia worked only the backs of your thighs, where the punishing hand lingered and struck hard until you were sure that the flesh there was red and inflamed.

"Papa, please!" You finally wailed and broke into choking sobs.

The blows stopped. You didn't move. You just shut your eyes and wept as Copia's hand now moved along your buttocks languidly. He stroked your thighs as if to soothe them.

"Now, do you see why I ask you to do as I say?" Copia crooned, "I can be cruel, sister. Much more than this, I assure you. The other sisters know what I can do, especially Sister Claire. She knows the worst of it. Lucifer's name, she was like a devil herself, all teeth and claws until I tamed her. The other Papas have spoilt her and the others rotten. Not just the sisters, but the brothers, too, and the priests, the bishops. They all have little to no manners, no respect. So I have to take it upon myself to teach them."

You shook against his legs as he told you this. He rubbed little circles in the small of your back, then he squeezed your buttocks, sending a rush of sensation along your body that made you flush. You thought of poor Sister Claire and what she must have gone through that was enough to break her. Vivid images of whipping belts, heavy wooden paddles, and flesh crisscrossed with angry welts made your stomach sink, so you stopped.

'I have to be good.' You thought. It was better to surrender than suffer the same fate as the others, better to leave with your good reputation with Copia intact. After all, he said he would be gentle if you obeyed, and you decided you would. You hoped he would keep his word, and you let your body slacken in resignation.

"I like to play games with them." Copia continued, "I like to order them around the room, fetching whatever I throw for them because it pleases me or whatever else suits my mood. Sometimes I even strap them down and use the paddle. But I never hurt them, not severely. I happen to be a reasonable man, after all. Oh, but that would be too hard for you, wouldn't it? You're too sweet for the paddle, too soft. It's just a pity you disobey me, call me names. Do you think yourself too good to call me by my proper title, sister? Too good to follow my direction?" His hand tightened threateningly on your thigh, then you felt it leave your skin, and you were terrified he might spank you again.

"No, Papa," You said in a panicked whisper.

"Do I need to punish you like the others?"

"No, Papa. I'll be good, I promise."

"Yes," Copia sighed, his hand now playing with your hair instead of punishing you, "You will be perfect for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Good."

Copia pulled you back up and set you on the floor. You had stopped crying, though your lips still trembled. You knelt there and awaited his command. Again, he took a grape and held it up for you. This time you didn't hesitate to take it from his fingers with your mouth. He held the next one high enough to make you raise yourself up on your heels to get it. He then tossed the last grape into the air, over your head so that it bounced and rolled a few feet away when it hit the floor.

"Fetch, little puppy." He commanded, a smirk playing on his lips.

You obeyed shyly. When you crawled back and dropped it into Copia's open hand, he let out a hearty laugh.

"You're easy to train." He said and popped the fruit into your mouth, "Perhaps I should make you my little pet when we're finished here."

You didn't really want to eat it, but you did anyway, seeds and all. Copia beamed at you, his smile genuinely kind.

"Lovely, my dear." He whispered, his voice low and sweet. Then he gathered you in his arms once more and kissed you deeply. It sent a shock through you, settling into a knot in your stomach that made you shiver against your will. Copia kissed the smoothness of your forehead, kissed your soft hairline, your eyelids, and the tip of your nose. They were tender, gentle, like butterflies that brushed against your skin with their silky wings, and you lifted your head to receive them. He kissed your cheeks, then returned to your parted lips. You let out little sighs as he kissed you despite your fear, which now melted away a little bit as your body seemed to soften all over. Copia moved and rose to stand, pulling you up with him into his embrace. He pulled you closer to his body once you were steady on your feet; his kisses left your face to explore along your jaw and the line of your throat. His slim arms were surprisingly strong as they held you, and his lips were soft. They tickled against the sensitive skin of your neck as they trailed down. His hands started to roam your body, stroking your hips, groping at your ass and the backs of your thighs. It sent delightful shivers along your skin and down your spine. It made you feel weak, dissolving, aroused. Any fear you felt a minute ago faded into a haze of sudden lust. You couldn't stop yourself from throwing your arms around his neck and moaning. The action made the kisses harder, more fervent. When you felt Copia open his mouth to bite you here and there as if to taste you, you whimpered, and your body melted all the more. You felt your breasts against his chest, and you wanted to press them to him harder. You almost did when Copia pulled away, slipping out of your arms. The loss of sensation was nearly gutting.

You stood there dazed, swaying, and taking in uneven breaths. Copia's own breath came heavy and deep as he straightened his clothes to disengage himself. You could see his arousal through the tightness of his pants, and you bit your lip. If only your punishment could be just this, but you knew it wouldn't be. Copia appeared to be fighting to contain himself, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Once he was composed, he let out a quiet laugh. It was almost musical in its softness. Your body burned as you watched him, aroused but at the same time fearful of punishment. You would do anything to please him, to keep him gentle like this, so you waited.

"Pardon me, cara. You gave in much faster than I anticipated, and I almost lost myself." Copia said, catching you in his gaze again. His lips spread slowly into a grin when he observed you flushed with desire. "And still, you wait for my command. I admit I didn't quite expect you to be as obedient as you are, and I would reward you, but I want to play one of my games with you first."

Before you could protest, he took the velvet bag off the bed, opened it, and plunged his hand inside. He pulled out a spiked leather collar that looked like it was meant for a large dog. A black leash was affixed to it. You felt your breath leave you when Copia undid the collar and eyed you with a deliberate leer. You swallowed, then lifted your head so that Copia could fasten it onto you. He shook his head.

"Not yet." He said, "Take off your clothes."

Your face burned as you obeyed. You took a few steps back and hurried to shed your dress, slip, shoes, and stockings, but you hesitated yet again once you were in your bra and panties. You felt so naked already, so vulnerable. You didn't know if you could bear it to be completely nude. You tried to shield yourself by bringing your hands up and wringing them. It did little to conceal you. Seeing this, Copia approached and kissed your temple.

"You can keep them on. Now, my little puppy..." He buckled the collar to fit snuggly around your neck and left the leash dangling between your breasts. "You have been very, very good so far, apart from your little slip of decorum, but I want to see just how obedient you can be. You know a well-trained dog always follows its master's commands, yes?"

An icy prickle crawled up your spine, sending shivers through your arms and making your heart clench in your chest before hammering hard again.

"Yes, Papa..." You said as expected though uncertainty and fear laced your voice. Copia rubbed your shoulders, his hands firm and soothing at the same time. His touch made you feel almost woozy, dreamy even in your unease.

"I will make it simple: Tonight, you're my pet, sister, and I am your master. As your master, I will give you commands, and you will do them as perfectly as possible to please me. Do what I tell you, and you will be rewarded. Disobey, and you will be punished. Ah, don't be afraid; I don't think you will disappoint me much, but..." Then he pressed closer to you, leaning in close to your ear so that you felt his breath caress your skin, "I confess I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy spanking that plump bottom of yours." His hand slid down and grabbed your ass before giving it a playful swat. You blushed. You felt the arousal rise in your core again. It flooded in, threatened to sweep you away in its erotic current, and you lowered your head, overcome by shyness. Copia lifted your chin and shook his head at you again.

"No. None of that." He admonished, "I want you to keep your gaze up and your manner attentive. And don't hide your body. I have been fair enough to let you keep your underwear on. Now let me see you." He took both your wrists and forced them down to your sides, then prodded your shoulders so that you straightened your back. You stood erect and grew embarrassed now that your posture didn't hide you. Copia nodded in approval, "Yes, much better."

His eyes roamed up and down your body, taking every inch of you in. You wanted so desperately to cover your stomach, your chest, to tear off the collar. Of course, you didn't dare any of it. You couldn't imagine what he would do to you if you were foolish enough to disobey him again; you didn't even want to think about it.

For a moment, Copia seemed to be thinking, then he smiled. His eyes gleamed like gems in the lamplight. He took the leash and wrapped it around his hand a few times to make it short.

"Clasp your hands behind your back and keep them there. And open your legs wider." He said, then nudged your feet apart until they lined up with your shoulders. You kept your hands behind your back as commanded. It was worse than keeping your hands at your sides. This position arched your body a little more and forced your breasts out. You felt dreadfully exposed, and what was even more excruciating was having your legs apart. But what could you do other than what was commanded? Could Copia be so cruel as to punish you even if you threw yourself at his feet and begged for his mercy? You weren't sure, and you didn't want to risk it. He would have his way, and there was nothing you could do about it. Then you wondered, did you even mind? The pleasure that had built now ebbed away slightly, but it wasn't far from reaching you again. If Copia touched you, it would surely wash over you again. Part of you wanted to drench yourself in that pleasure, to swim and melt in it completely. A corner in your mind wished with all your might that Copia would let you; the rational part of you recoiled at your desire, it being so undignified and sudden. You tried to let your head drop a little, and immediately Copia pulled the leash up with a quick tug that snapped it back in position.

"I said to keep your head up," He said, his voice low, menacing. His hand didn't drop or loosen the leash, so your head remained up. "I will not tell you again, sister. Now be still and don't move until I tell you to."

Copia gazed down at you with such ferocity that you stood rigid and kept your lips pressed together tight. The new Papa was frightening looking but very handsome in the dim light that made his face angular, his eyes even more smoldering. You marvelled at him for a moment, then with a shock, you felt Copia's free hand on you. You felt his fingers trail down the side of your neck and down to your breasts. He grabbed at your right breast, cupping it as if to feel its weight, then kneaded it slowly until it sent shivers through you. His thumb brushed over your now hardening nipple through the material of your bra. He did the same with your left. He then imprisoned the nipple and squeezed it rhythmically between his fingers before reaching for the other to give it the same treatment. A rush of shameful pleasure shot through you and settled between your legs, making your sex grow warm as if it could also blush, and you held back a moan with great effort. Copia pulled on the leash, making you lean slightly closer to him.

"Kiss me," He whispered. As soon as he commanded, you moved to catch his lips in a deep kiss almost too quickly, still keeping your hands behind your back. Copia sucked at your mouth, then opened it with his tongue as his hand went between your open legs and, without warning, stroked your sex through your panties. You uttered a sharp cry against Copia's lips before you could stop yourself. Your body immediately acknowledged him with a twitch of your hips and a soft discharge of fluids while you struggled to swallow another moan. You squirmed, resisting the urge to close your legs with everything you had. Copia broke away from your lips to kiss your earlobe, then he nibbled at it as his hand continued to stroke you. His fingers moved in slow circles now, pressed harder until they found the sensitive mound of your clitoris through the moistening cloth. You gave a soft, open-mouthed gasp and your hips jerked forward in supplication. You wanted to grind yourself on his fingers, rock your hips for more, but the sheer gracelessness of it seemed too much for you. Besides, you weren't sure if it was something he would approve of or chastise, so you stayed as still as you could, your legs starting to shake under your weight. Copia pulled back and smiled at your flushing face, then pulled the crotch of your panties to the side and glided two of his gloved fingers along the delicate folds of your labia. The fingers teased at the moist lips and continued to massage your clit in more circles, even slower ones that drew out the sensation. Breathy moans spilled from your lips. The pleasure washed through you, mounting and mounting as he worked you. Beneath your ecstasy, you felt a twinge of embarrassment at how quickly you had become wet for him. It was forgotten in an instant once Copia slid a finger inside you, then a second. You shuddered and cried aloud. Your sex quivered at the sudden penetration, and your cry melted into a long, low moan. Copia kissed the corner of your mouth.

"That's it," Copia said softly, pulling his fingers out, then sliding them back in slowly. Then again and again. "Don't resist me. Be a good girl for your Papa."

Your hips moved forward at the sound of his voice. Once so frightening, but now smooth and rich as velvet. He was so close to you now, and for the first time, you could smell his cologne. It was warm, spicy, and delicious to you, almost intoxicating. Your eyes stared through heavy lids at Copia's lips. They were full yet strong, set into a faint smile that struck at a cord of desire in you that made the penetration even more pleasurable. You wanted to kiss and kiss those lips until you had your fill. You felt your sex start to throb, and you began to gasp, but before it became too much for you, Copia dropped the leash, withdrew his fingers, and pushed you back, that seductive little smile still there. You let out a disappointed moan that would have been humiliating had you done it to anyone else.

"That's enough for now," Copia said, "Get down on your knees."

Your mind whirled as you let yourself float down until you sat on your heels on the floor, your legs still slightly apart. Your thighs trembled under you, and your throbbing craved relief. You kept your hands behind your back. You feared that if you let them fall to your sides, you would lose control and throw yourself at Copia in desperation. The only thing you allowed yourself to do was writhe, clasping your hands as tight as possible. You felt the wetness of your sex between your legs, sticky, slick, and hot.

You let out a sigh, looking up at Copia, your lips parted, your body wanting more. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor.

"All fours." He ordered.

You fell onto your hands and knees. You arched your back, your buttocks lifted as if to be presented. Your body tingled in arousal at doing so, knowing that Copia could see you doing it. You wiggled your hips a little bit, and you were shocked at your own boldness.

'Fuck it, I don't care. I don't care.' You thought.

Copia stepped forward, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.

"Good girl," He said, and he crouched down to take a closer look at you, "Does my little puppy want more?"

"Yes, Papa." You said softly, "Please."

"Then I think you should clean up the mess you made." Copia held up the hand that touched you. The gloved fingers were still glistening with your juices. He touched them to your lips, and you took them into your mouth without a thought. You sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl around the digits. The taste of leather and your own fluids mixed with your saliva, and when Copia pulled them away, you swallowed. The flavor lingered, both tantalizing and odd to you.

Copia stood and made an airy gesture to your bottom.

"Wag your hips for me." He said, and he laughed when he saw your face go red, "It's no use being shy now, sister. Unless you want me to take my belt off and make good use of it. You don't want that, do you?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You shook your head.

"That's what I thought. Now, put your face to the floor and swing those hips."

Your face flamed as you lowered it until you all but kissed the floor, your ass high up in the air. You churned your hips and hoped it was pleasing. You felt Copia take the leash from the floor and give it a quick tug.

"Faster. Arch your back more."

You lowered as you were told to do and arched your back almost uncomfortably, your cheek sealed to the floor. A groan escaped you at the touch of the cold stone on your chest. Then in utter submission, any sense of pride, if there was indeed any in the first place, left you, and you wagged your buttocks back and forth like an excited dog wagging its tail for its master. Above you, you heard the creak of the bedsprings as Copia sat. You felt another tug on the leash, and you lifted your head. Copia sat back on the bed with his legs spread apart, the bulge of his erection in full view. Your sex seemed to swell at the sight of it.

"You please me very well, sister," Copia said. He tugged on the leash again to bring you forward. "No more playing. Come here, let Papa reward you."

"Papa..." You whispered. You hurried to him on your hands and knees. You kissed the tops of his shoes on an impulse, then his ankles. Copia didn't protest, so you kissed his knees and dared to run your hands along his inner thighs and kiss them as well. His thighs were rather shapely and solid under his clothes, pleasant to touch. When your hand rubbed over his groin, Copia let out a soft moan. Encouraged, you leaned over and kissed the waist of his pants, still rubbing the bulging sex.

"Undo them." Copia's hand stroked your hair.

You didn't hesitate to undo the button and zipper of his pants. And now you were staring at his cock through his boxers, a small wet spot formed on the dark cloth. Again, you leaned down, placing a little kiss there, then you darted your tongue out and licked it. The hard cock twitched in its prison as if it asked to be free. You looked up at Copia with lustful, inquiring eyes, and you were delighted when he nodded at you.

"Yes, cara. You can touch it."

You pulled the elastic fabric down until his cock sprung free from its confinement. It stood tall and thick. A bead of clear fluid seeped from the tip, and you stared at it, surprised by its length and size. You took it in your hand, stroked it, felt its hardness and warmth. You couldn't help but wonder if the others knew Copia was quite well-endowed. You caressed the shaft up and down, tightening your hand every so often at the base of Copia's cock. Copia moaned as you did so, his head lolling back slightly. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It felt good to know that you gave him pleasure, that you pleased him enough to avoid his wrath and to even reward you. What an honor this must have been! A ripple of relaxation washed over you. You closed your eyes and took the tip of the cock into your mouth, suckling on it before taking it deeper in.

Copia gasped above you and bucked his hips. The action drove the shaft even deeper into your mouth, and you sucked on it hard, bobbing your head with a steady rhythm. It nudged the back of your throat, droplets of salty liquid mixed with the taste of his skin. Copia's thighs shivered, and his breath quickened. You moaned as you continued to push up and down on his cock until his hips started to shake.

"Fuck, sister," Copia grunted, "That's enough!"

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head away. He didn't pull you hard enough to hurt, but you still gasped once you felt the fingers grip your hair. When he released you, he motioned for you to stand. You obeyed.

"Take everything off and lay on the bed." He told you, almost breathless.

The collar was the first to go; you unbuckled it and threw it aside, happy to be rid of the awful thing. You unclasped your bra and let it slip from your shoulders. Though the air was cool on your now naked breasts, your nipples grew hot and erect. A sudden, inexplicable desire to entice Copa came to you as you lowered and stepped out of your panties.

'Do it.' Your lust-clouded mind ordered you, and you did.

When you straightened, you locked eyes with Copia as you ran your hands over your breasts, pushing them together and biting your lip. A dark look flickered across Copia's face, and he stood with a low growl. He snatched your upper arm and yanked you to him.

"You dare tease me in my own room after I've given you an order?" He hissed, then gave a wicked smile, "You must like being punished, sister. But we will save that for another time."

He turned to fling you down onto the bed. You fell back onto the mattress; the sheets and coverlet were soft and plush underneath you. You had little time to enjoy it before Copia descended on you with rough kisses, his hips grinding against yours, his cock prodding at your thigh. His hand grabbed and kneaded your breast hard. But you wanted him so badly that you scarcely noticed how tight his fingers dug into your flesh. He then gave it a cruel slap that drew a loud moan from you. It was an exciting mix of pain and pleasure, and you wanted more.

"Again." You pleaded. You arched your back to offer your chest to him, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. Copia rose from his kisses. It was his turn to lock eyes with you as he lifted his hand and struck you again, just a little bit harder than the first time. You whimpered and squirmed underneath him. Copia positioned and moved his hips so that the shaft of his cock rubbed along your slick pubic lips, grazing your sensitive, engorged clitoris. You strained against him, tried to rock your hips to feel more of that rigid member. Copia looked amused by your torment.

"Tell me what you want." He leaned down again and sucked at your nipples, bit at them playfully with his teeth. Your hands went to cradled his head to you, little sighs and moans leaving you unrestrained.

"Fuck me." You murmured into his hair.

As soon as the words left your mouth, Copia rose, brought his cock to your opening, then drove it into you in one fluid motion. You cried out. Your head fell back, and your body seemed to explode in pleasure. His cock was a thick, piercing thing inside you, bathing in your juices as he drew back and plunged into you. His thrusts were brutal, delivered in almost snapping motions that made the bedsprings creak under you. You heard yourself unleash loud, guttural moans with each solid thrust, wholly overcome by denied passion. Copia buried his face in your neck, his breath making the skin hot as he panted. The agonizing pleasure rose in your core, swelling, ready to erupt in a shower of sparks behind your skull, in your loins. Then all at once, your wet sex tightened around Copia and throbbed violently until you were all but screaming in ecstasy. You clutched Copia while the spasms rolled through you, and you let your legs spread wide, allowing Copia to slam into you unhindered until he also gave a small cry and shuddered above you. Hot, gushing fluid flowed into you and lay you back with your chest heaving in gasps.

Copia pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned on your side to face him; his features were soft-looking, almost angelic in their exhaustion. His eyes drooped closed, his forehead glistened with sweat. You brushed his disheveled hair back, leaned close, and kissed his brow, tasting the saltiness on your lips before pulling away. Copia opened his eyes, gazed at you lovingly, then took you and cradled you to his chest. The fabric of his suit felt luxurious on your naked skin in the afterglow, and you snuggled close to it, sighing. You both stayed that way for a few minutes, with Copia threading his fingers through your hair. You yawned, and your eyes started to feel heavy.

"We can't fall asleep," Copia said, shaking you a bit to rouse you, "I've kept you here long enough, and the other sisters must be out of their minds with worry by now."

"Yes, Papa." You nodded, sat up, and winced a little. Your privates ached from their hard riding. You tried to hide it, only making a slight noise in your throat. It seemed you couldn't fool Copia, however. He also got up and rubbed your lower back, kissing your cheek.

"Was Papa too rough with you, cara?" He asked. You shook your head.

"No, Papa, I'll be fine. It'll pass." You reassured him.

"Alright, but I will have Cirrus check on you later tonight anyway," He patted your hip, "And what happened here must be a secret. You know this, right? Otherwise, I'd have to gag you and march you through the grounds. It's a little, eh, display, you could say, that I've come up with to officially demonstrate my authority to the others. I have yet to put it into practice, and It'd be unfortunate to have you be its first victim."

You bowed your head, not in fear, but again in reassurance.

"Yes, Papa. I won't tell anyone." You said obediently. You crawled out of bed and gathered your clothes. Copia zipped and buttoned up his pants, then stood as well and straightened his hair.

"Good. Now, get dressed and get back to the convent. Tell the Ghouls to run you a bath when you get there. Say it's my orders, and they'll do it."

"Okay." A bath sounded lovely to you as you redressed. If only Copia could join you...

"And sister," Copia's voice came low, playful. You turned, and you saw his eyes gleam at you. Your pulse quickened.

"Yes, Papa?" You asked.

"Don't forget that I said I would save your other punishment for next time." He winked at you, and your heart soared.

"I won't." You smiled.

"Good girl."

You bid him good night, then left his chamber, secretly hoping that that time would be soon.

#the band ghost #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #ghost bc #popia #copia x reader #copia x f reader #lee's writing #its 1:30 am and im screaming bc ive been working on this fic for months lmao

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

Note

A concept from a dream I had: Hisoka wants Chrollo's darling for himself and tries to steal her from him. Darling gets injured in the ensuing fight and has to get patched up afterwards by Machi. Then, a bit of fluff, darling seeks out Chrollo and hugs him for comfort because the whole thing has her a bit shaken. (Love your writing btw, it's super well written and captivating!)

Tunnel Vision. Yan Chrollo x Reader

Warnings: Implied amnesia. Word count: 2.2k. Note: thank you very much!! i made some minor changes, where darling is a member of the phantom troupe, and not yet aware of chrollo’s obsession. i hope you enjoy! i’ve had a lot of ideas for this specific darling with nen abilities and this idea seemed to fit her very well...

Sharp, pointed nails digging into your skin. The sickeningly sweet fragrance of bubblegum blended with metallic blood. Black dots obscuring your vision, the world growing further away with each miserable second. Through labored breathing, a tense dialogue is exchanged between both parties, the ringing from your ears making it impossible to know for sure what they’re saying. Falling in and out of consciousness, you pick up on a few phrases.

“Just admit it, you’re no worse than I am. Look what you did to the poor girl. ♥”

“Maybe so, but that’s inconsequential. Your judgment means nothing.”

...

“Ah… what… a shame, that I didn’t... get to play with her as much as you did--”

“Hmm… to think your voice has never bothered me this much until now. This should silence you permanently.”

“--So you shouldn’t move around much until it fully heals,” Machi instructs, her voice clear and direct. At your lack of immediate response, she frowns, snapping her fingers to pull you from your trance-like state. “Oi, [First]. Are you even listening?”

You blink, her voice cutting through your clouded mind like a knife. “My bad, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Machi sighs and places a hand on her hip. Sapphire eyes glance over your person, not even bothering to hide her intentions, stopping every time she reaches your healed wounds. Even though your inebriated state, you can tell she’s deep in thought. You doubt she’d tell you what’s on her mind if you asked. So you sit there in silence, politely waiting for her to repeat what you missed.

“I could tell. Just take it easy, you’re going to need a few days of rest.” Machi walks to her bag, rustling through its contents. She picks up a bottle of pills and places it on your nightstand. The same medicine that she had given you before treatment, to dull the pain. You fight back the urge to smile at the small gesture. Had you been any other customer of Machi’s, she would’ve left by now without a word, indifferent to your condition. Despite your best efforts, she catches onto your softened expression and clicks her tongue.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she deadpans, shooting you a glare. You give an apologetic smile. “Take one a day until it’s gone.”

“Thank you, Machi. I appreciate it.”

“As you should,” Machi throws her bag over her shoulder and goes to the door. Before she can turn the nob, she turns back at you. “I forgot to mention, but you have a visitor. The boss has been waiting here since he brought you in.”

An unknown emotion stirs in the depths of your soul. Any playful retaliation you had for Machi’s previous comment dies on your tongue, your eyebrows furrowing. Why do you feel troubled by this revelation? You fight back the anxiety that bubbles up in your stomach. There’s no time to linger on this newfound unease, as Chrollo enters the room after exchanging pleasantries with Machi. Despite your efforts to suppress your discomfort, your body does as it pleases, heart palpitating and throat feeling tight.

He shuts the door behind him quietly and leans against the wall.

Chrollo Lucilfer. You consider your relationship to be a strictly professional one -- maybe a touch of reverence on your behalf -- never feeling as friendly with him as with the other members. He stands before you now in casual attire. Jet black hair frames his face, loose and fine, proudly showcasing the unusual tattoo on his forehead. It’s strange to see him without his trademark leather coat. Instead, he wears jeans and a navy blue undershirt. Immediately, you pick up on the bloodstains on his shirt, assuming he had shed his coat before coming in.

He smiles at your staring, not commenting as you glance away. “How are you feeling?”

“The medicine hasn’t worn off, so not too bad,” you struggle to exhale, your breathing ragged. Why does it feel so warm in here all of a sudden? “Machi told me you, uh, carried me here. Thank you. I’m sorry about your shirt… I’ll buy you a replacement.”

Chrollo puts a hand up to stop you. “There’s no need.”

Being one on one with your mysterious boss is as awkward as you imagined it would be. You still don’t know why he’s here. In between jobs, Chrollo would disappear into thin air, untraceable until calling the Troupe back together. So him being the one to find you on the verge of death hasn’t made sense. Machi gave noncommittal answers whenever you brought this up or told you to ask him yourself. Which you intended to at the time, but now that you’re in his intimidating presence, the words die on your tongue before they can begin.

He pushes himself off the wall and sits on the edge of your bed. The proximity feels strangely intimate, your face flushing at how familiar the act seems to him. Chrollo’s close enough now where you can pick up on his rich cologne. Dry wood with hints of leather. The scent increases your heart rate, anxiety at a new peak. You bite your lip and ball your hands into a fist to try and cope with the all-encompassing unease. To appear weak in front of him would be an insult to your tattered pride.

“Machi informed me about your memory,” Chrollo leans forward as if to inspect you. Grey eyes bore deep into your soul, searching for something. “She said you thought it was July when you regained consciousness.”

You swallow thickly at his questioning. How humiliating is this? Whatever it was that had happened to injure you already felt degrading enough. your pride as a competent Nen user in shambles. The most plausible explanation is that Chrollo discovered you after you had lost a fight, but the remaining details are fuzzy at best. Theorizing is all you can do. The unexplained amnesia is frustrating, but it’s only a few months, so you figure it could’ve been worse.

“That’s correct.”

Chrollo closes his eyes, as if in deep reflection. “So that’s how it is. I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re trying to recover, but can I ask a few questions?”

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry if I’m forgetting something important…”

This catches his attention, his posture tensing ever so slightly. You notice how his jaw tightens and assume your guess was correct. Your desire for answers on these missing four months strengthens and you feel hopeful that Chrollo holds some of the answers. It’s frustrating how both Machi and Chrollo seem to know more than you do but are refusing to give solid answers. Maybe they’re being considerate of your health? You’re not so fragile that you need to be coddled by your fellow Troupe members.

Chrollo looks down at you through thick eyelashes. “Do you think that you are?”

“I… I think so, yes.”

He sits silently for a moment, running a hand through his hair and giving a bittersweet smile. “We’re in a relationship.”

Wait, what? This would explain why Chrollo was with you at a time when the Troupe wasn’t gathered and his casual demeanor. Your expression must not be as schooled as you intended, as he gives a humorless chuckle to your wide eyes and parted lips. You… were in a relationship with The Phantom Troupe’s boss? Your boss? When did that happen? How did that happen? Did the others know? Ah, the teasing that would come with that. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive, your eyes work just fine, but the revelation still takes you back. Cheeks burning, you break eye contact and play with your hair. Feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious, you pull your blanket up further to cover your bare shoulders.

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed, [First],” Chrollo chastises with a playful tilt of his head. “I’ve seen all of it many times before.”

He’s not making this easier on you. You’re desperate to move on from the subject and decide to bring up another troublesome topic. Though you have an idea of what the answer will be, you’d still prefer that he’d confirm it for peace of mind.

“I was wondering, boss--” you cut yourself off with an apologetic smile when he furrows his eyebrows, “--I mean, Chrollo, about my Hatsu. I can tell I don’t have it now. Are you ‘borrowing’ it?”

There’s no other plausible explanation. In what other scenarios would you lose a fight that horrendously? You can’t picture anything else, your abilities have been enough to earn you Chrollo’s recognition and subsequent invitation to the Troupe years ago. It’s not uncommon that your boss will ask to borrow other Troupe member’s abilities. Sometime during the months that you’ve forgotten, this must’ve happened, or so you assume.

Chrollo nods his head. “I am, yes. Why do you ask? Would you like it back?”

“It does feel like a part of me is missing,” you admit sheepishly, scratching your cheek. “So, if it isn’t too much trouble…”

“I had to delay the job I borrowed it for due to what happened to you. Is it alright if I hold onto it for just a bit longer?” He’s moving even closer to you now than before. The bed shifts underneath his weight, Chrollo delicately taking your face into his hands. Your mind has trouble scrounging together a comprehensible response. How can you focus when the pads of his thumbs rub soothing circles against your cheek, his deep eyes hypnotizing. You swallow thickly when his pointer finger drags slowly against your bottom lip. Chrollo told you that you’re together, you remind yourself, assuming he has just missed touching you. It’s impossible to not notice the hungry gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, well, in that case, it’s fine.” You only manage to relax when he pulls away from you, content with your response. This has been a draining series of events. Chrollo’s one-sided familiarity isn’t easy to keep up with, you still view him as your boss and he views you as a lover. Sensing your apprehension, he takes your hand in his and places it over your pounding heart.

“Do you feel this?” He hums, to which you nod, speechless at the bold action. “Even if you don’t remember your love for me, your body hasn’t forgotten a thing from our time together.”

Is that what this feeling is? Love? You want to trust him, to take his word for it, but something still doesn’t feel right. Chrollo’s presence has kept you on edge ever since he entered your room. Even now, your skin is covered in goosebumps, hair standing on the back of your neck. What else are you forgetting? This is the question that reverberates in your mind, threatening to consume you entirely. Softly, as not to offend him, you take his hand off you. Chrollo’s expression is unreadable as you do so.

“I’m sorry, Chrollo, I’m just not sure I’m ready for... this yet.” You admit in truth, guilt washing over you at how his flirtatious demeanor changes to a calculating one. This is the version of Chrollo that you’re most familiar with. Your mysterious boss, who coldly issues orders and relishes in thrill of thievery, someone not as personal as he’s been acting like. Chrollo moves back and you’re grateful for the room to gather your bearings.

“Of course,” his aloof tone sends shivers down your spine, a distant gleam in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have every intention of watching over you until you recover. It wouldn’t sit well with me otherwise.”

Chrollo motions to your closet door, which is slightly ajar. Inside you recognize some of his clothes that are hanging next to yours. “And I do live here, but I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight. How does that sound?”

So the two of you were so close that you had invited him to move in? How fast was this relationship going, anyway? It doesn’t feel like you to get that intimate with someone else in such a short time. The way Chrollo phrased it makes it sound like you used to sleep in the same bed too, how embarrassing… God, his comments are going to be the end of you. You need time to think. To let all this information that’s been thrust onto you sink in.

“If it’s not too much for an inconvenience. I feel awful… about forgetting as much as I have. Machi said she didn’t see any notable head injuries, so I can only assume it was a Nen ability.”

“That could be it,” Chrollo responds more flippantly than you expected, standing from your bed. You thought he’d be eager to explore the avenues of returning your memory. Maybe it’s too painful to think about? “You haven’t eaten since this morning, so I’ll get us some dinner. Keep resting up.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for all this trouble.”

Chrollo waves away your apology without concern. He does, however, acknowledge you before leaving your shared bedroom. There’s a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You hope you’re imagining it.

“By the way, [First]... I want you to know this. I’ll have you fall in love with me again. That’s a promise.”

Then he’s gone without another word.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo imagine #chrollo lucilfer imagine #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo imagine #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #elannia #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh imagines #my stuff #answered

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theroyalsims · 3 years ago

Photo

PRINCESS E AND CROWN PRINCE IBRAHIM’S ENGAGEMENT: WHAT WE KNOW SO FAR

Yesterday, Brindleton and the rest fo the world woke up to huge news: Princess E and Crown Prince Ibrahim are engaged!

But aside from two pictures of the couple shared along with the announcement, what do we really know about the engagement? Not much, but keen-eyed online pseudo-sleuths and our best researchers have noted a few things:

1. The photos were quite possibly taken here in Brindleton, and near the Palace, too!

The second photo shared by the couple (see top photo) offered much evidence that the snaps were taken somewhere near the Palace. The spires visible outside the window look suspiciously similar to the spires of the Brindleton Palace, which narrows down the possible locations for the site of the shoot.

Some nearby estates that could have a nice view of the Palace’s roof include the neighbouring Schlewlyn Hall. If “Schlwelyn” rings a bell, it’s because it’s also the family estate of Lady Heather Schlewlyn, a.k.a Princess E’s best friend.

2. Eleanore wore Al-Simahara’s colours.

Her Royal Highness wore an off-shoulder dress in a bright purple hue, which she accessorised with diamonds and her brand new emerald ring. We’re 100% certain that it’s a not-so-subtle nod to the purple-green-and-white Al-Simharan flag.

3. CP Ibrahim was confirmed to have flown into the country earlier this month.

Our research reveals that The Crown Prince was spotted in Brindleton earlier this month. Several patrons also confirm seeing him dining with his friends at a swanky restaurant uptown. His Royal Highness’ party was never seen arriving or leaving the restaurant, leading people to believe that his entire party used the VIP entrance behind the building.

(Above: file photo; Princess E accompanied CP Ibrahim during his visit to Brindleton earlier this year.)

4. Princess Eleanore is no longer in Brindleton.

The controversial Princess was reportedly smuggled out of Brindleton hours before the press release went live. Princess is reportedly en route to a secret destination before heading off to Al-Simhara for what we presume would be their engagement interview.

(Above: file photo; Princess E and CP Ibrahim during their trip to East Henley in Brindleshire.)

5. The Al-Simharan Royal Family is “thrilled” about the couple’s engagement. Brindleton? Not so much.

The Al-Simharan Royals are incredibly happy about the news. King Phillip is said to be thrilled that his son managed to snag such a good wife-to-be. An Al-Simharan royal correspondent shares:

“E ticks all the boxes for King Phillip and the Al-Simharan Royal Family’s “requirements” for a royal fianceé: she’s high born - a Princess, no less; she’s a foreigner; and she knows what it’s like to be a royal. They’d save a ton of money and time with the Princess training because she was already born and raised into that world. The King also sees the engagement as a union between Al-Simhara and Brindleton, so he’s definitely counting it as a win for him, his son, and the entire country. He has never been prouder of Ibrahim.”

The Brindleton Royals, meanwhile, are... uhhh... not as thrilled as their Al-Simharan counterparts, and has treated the world to nothing but radio silence the announcement was made. The Queen is reportedly still in a state of shock and was ordered bed rest, while the rest of the family is angry at Eleanore for her latest “adventure.”

While we’re pretty sure the Palace is currently in shambles and the situation is incredibly tense to say the least, we can’t help but hope for updates -and soon! You can’t just spring this huge news on us Princess E and then leave us hanging! Spill more deets!

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 royals #ts4 royal simblr #royal simblr #simblr #ts4 simblr #ts4 story #ts4 storytelling #ts4 fashion #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 royal family #ts4 royalty #ts4 brindleton bay #the sims 4 #mystory

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shadow-djinni · 3 years ago

Note

Oh, please elaborate!

Alrighty! So, I think we’re all aware that I’m not saying anything remotely new by saying that Voltron has some serious issues with its plot and pacing, particularly after Season 2. That’s, like, extremely well-trodden ground, everyone’s been yelling about it for a bit over three years at this point, everyone has opinions but the consensus is that it’s bad, et cetera, ad nauseum. I don’t need to retread it. However: this is a point I’ve been mulling on for the aforementioned three years, which I’ve never put out on this blog before— mostly because back in ‘19 it would have gotten me murdered, and because in ‘20 and ‘21 I was otherwise occupied.

The thesis, essentially, is this: Seasons 1 and 2 set up Shiro and Allura as the clear lead (or “keystone”) protagonists, and the failure to follow through on that is why Seasons 3-8 felt, oftentimes, like a janky, shambling mess punctuated with moments of “hey, what’s this interesting plot point doing in here?”

(under the cut, because this got long)

What is a “Keystone Protagonist”?

First, a clarification on terminology. Every narrative has characters in it whose functions are irreplaceable, and without whom the narrative just…doesn’t go. These are the movers and shakers, the team leaders, the people who are so intimately intertwined, from the very foundation of their character, with the plotline that removing them causes the plotline to disintegrate entirely. Keystone villains are easily identified— they’re the Big Bad and their second-in-command, and their challengers or successors as applicable.

A keystone protagonist, on the other hand, is most readily identified in a small, focused cast— they’re the Chosen One, frequently the POV character, always the one with the coolest powers or the visceral hook. They’re a little harder to identify in ensembles, but even the most far-flung ensemble has one or two characters who make the plot function, and they’re always the ones most tied to and shaped by the plot.

Looking at Team Voltron, the protagonists with the clearest ties to the main plotline are obvious. An Empire, led by a ruler twisted into cruelty, stretches its grasp across the stars to claim a superweapon hidden from them. A ramshackle group, led by the last surviving daughter of the first nation to fall to them, and an escaped prisoner who has seen the worst cruelties the Empire has to offer, rises to face them. Of the main protagonists, Allura and Shiro have faced the most visceral wounds from the Empire; Allura’s entire culture was destroyed while she slept in stasis, Shiro and his crew were abducted, kept as prisoners, and subjected to violence and torture. None of the other Paladins come anywhere near that kind of connection.

The rest of Season 1, and a majority of Season 2, plays this out exactly as it’s set up. Allura spends most of Season 1 rebounding from her loss and beginning to grow into both her powers as a sacred Altean and her role as a leader of Voltron. Season 2 centers Shiro more strongly, as he battles Zarkon for control of the Black Lion and the fate and future of Voltron. The two of them, together, take up the mantle of leadership— and bear it well, given their lack of experience.

And then the Season 2 finale turned it all on its head, and the rest is history.

The Deal with Keith

Structurally, Keith is interesting. He initially comes across as sort of a stock protagonist— the hotheaded, rebellious one, who needs to learn to actually work with the team— and the most interesting first impression of him is of his bond with Shiro. However, aside from that bond, he has no strong connections to the main plot; he’s solidly middle of the pack, below Allura, Shiro, and Pidge, but above Lance and Hunk— until the Season 2 reveal that he’s part-Galra and connected to a group of rebels who oppose the Empire, which introduces complications to the team dynamic right when they most need to trust each other.

The Blade of Marmora plotline, during which this occurred, is pretty widely acclaimed in fandom. I have no idea what the Paladin fans were doing during this time, but I know Galra fans were excited to have a little complexity to an otherwise monolithically cruel, unscrupulous, and violent antagonistic force. If they’d handled that reveal, and Keith’s new connection to the plot, a little differently, it had the potential to both up the stakes and complicate both the portrayal of the Galra and the protagonists’ morality.

You’ll have to forgive me a lack of links— I can’t remember what interview or interviews this next paragraph’s points came from originally, and frankly I don’t care enough to look it up or I’ll have to start yelling and hitting things instead of writing an analysis. Anyway. The showrunners said, at some point, that their reboot was intended to capture some of their nostalgia for Voltron: Defender of the Universe, and that this was meant to include a first-episode plot point— that Shiro would die (or otherwise be removed from command) and Keith would replace him as the Black Paladin. They pretty clearly accomplished this, to what is widely considered the show’s detriment.

The Breakdown

Three main factors contributed to the plot’s disintegration after Keith was moved into the spotlight. As a protagonist, Keith’s backstory and approach to the plot were unsuited to holding the keystone role; the divisions within the team that appeared during Season 3 and worsened after weakened the narrative focus; and removing Shiro and sidelining Allura unravelled the underlying themes and cut off plot threads set up in the first two seasons.

Keith and Shiro are first introduced to the viewer as close friends, from before the Kerberos mission. It’s heavily implied that Keith’s discipline issue, and subsequent dropping-out, from the Garrison were caused by Shiro’s reported death on Kerberos, his desperation to rescue Shiro in S1E1 The Rise of Voltron, and their subsequent rapport and mutual support and encouragement speak volumes. However, while Shiro spends most of the first two seasons stepping into his role as a leader and striving against Zarkon, Keith spends most of it in the background, until the Galra reveal comes to light.

And herein lies the trouble. Holding the reveal of Keith’s Galra heritage until the second season delays his closest tie to the plot— that he’s related, by blood, to the scourge grinding the universe under its heel— until well after the overall narrative and major players have been established. They could have easily fixed this by showing that hand earlier; having Keith know he’s part Galra from the very start, revealing that sometime after the midpoint of the season, and using Season 2 as part of the blowback from the reveal would have much more effectively established him as one of the leads, and made his background better able to support the plot by bringing it in immediately. Deferring it made it seem less important, especially as the fallout was curtailed by the strike on Central Command in the Season 2 finale rather than being given more time to play out.

Season 2 ends, rather abruptly, with Shiro’s disappearance. We open Season 3 with him gone and Voltron struggling without him, and spend half of the (albeit much shortened) season without him around at all. Keith founders in the new leadership role, and, as we’re shown in Season 4, ditches it as quickly as he can to go work with the Blade of Marmora. Aside from the obvious question— why remove Shiro at all, if only to bring him back and then oust Keith?— this causes other difficulties in balancing the narrative. Between the two of them, at least one is missing for six episodes in Seasons 3 and 4 alone.

As one might expect, this is a major faux pas for an ensemble cast. Removing one or more cast members from the screen, and having them develop elsewhere during that time, undermines the viewer’s attachment to and understanding of the character, in addition to destabilizing the ensemble’s dynamic. Additionally, the tug-of-war on command of Voltron calls things into question for the viewer: who is supposed to be in charge here, and why is it taking them so long to establish that chain of command? And if the group can suffer such a huge loss, and Lion positions be swapped so easily, why the big deal around having the appropriate Paladins? Canon seems disinclined to provide an answer.

This radiates out to the rest of the group as well. The Paladins of Voltron, established within the first two episodes as a group of psychically bonded warriors— a ready set up for a found family or battle-forged companions dynamic— collapses repeatedly as members leave and return. The group keeps fighting within itself for far, far more of its runtime than it should have— a not-insignificant portion of Season 7 is dedicated to how divided the Paladins are, over fifty episodes into the show.

Cut Threads, Loose Themes

The Paladins’ relationship isn’t the only thing to suffer from the power struggle. The first two seasons organize a delicate balance of narrative foils and a solid underlying theme, centered around healing from trauma, which is tossed repeatedly out the window in favor of giant robot fights over the course of the rest of the series.

Looking at the motivations of Seasons 1 and 2’s keystone characters— Allura and Shiro on the side of the protagonists, Zarkon and Haggar on the side of the antagonists— a dichotomy reveals itself. All four are incredibly traumatized characters; Zarkon, Haggar, and Allura by the chain of events that led to the destruction of Daibazaal and Altea, Shiro by the backlash of that event ten millennia later. The difference is this: Allura and Shiro both make strides towards coping with and recovering from that trauma, where Zarkon and Haggar have spent ten thousand years wallowing in grief and anger. The Galra Empire as a whole remains trapped in that moment of cultural trauma as Zarkon lashes out, his efforts fueled by Haggar’s unrelenting support and cruel inventions, unable to move forward from it. Even the Blade of Marmora are trapped by it— despite their best efforts, they still work within the framework of the Empire and are unable to stop the cascade of violence. Allura and Shiro, on the other hand, are both shown coming to terms with the harm they were dealt— Allura by coping with her grief and learning to let go of what was lost and move forward, Shiro by facing what was done to him and what he did and refusing to let it define him.

Laid out, this looks like the set-up for a narrative centered around cultural and personal trauma, one with Shiro and Allura at its core. The parts of later seasons which are most compelling— Lotor and Allura’s dynamic, particularly in Season 5, the parts of Season 7 where the protagonists as a whole must deal with the devastation wrought on Earth— also draw from this narrative around trauma and learning to heal from it.

Unlike Shiro and Allura, Keith’s trauma— around the loss of his parents, and, one would assume, the loss of other members of the Blade— is never explored or played out on-screen. The narrative dances around it at best, or outright removes it at worst, such as by the introduction of his mother, Krolia, in Season 5. This, I suppose, foreshadows in the worst way the ultimate thematic undermining: the restoration of Altea and Daibazaal during the Season 8 finale.

…Anyway. Let’s not get into that.

Let’s talk foils.

I’ve mentioned them twice now, actually— and, for all its flaws, VLD is actually pretty good at drawing parallels between its protagonists and antagonists. As mentioned above, Allura and Shiro serve as direct thematic foils to Zarkon and Haggar, both as pairs and one-on-one. The most obvious comparisons, of course, are Shiro and Zarkon and Allura and Haggar— two Black Paladins, one seeking to use the role to grasp for power and control others, the other using it as a tool to bring peace; two powerful Altean alchemists, one using her abilities to twist and destroy, the other using it to soothe and heal. The parallels work the other way, too: Zarkon and Allura are both leaders devastated by the loss of their people and home, Shiro and Haggar both suffer amnesia and physical alterations from their trauma and have grown around those wounds.

Additionally, Shiro and Allura both have another antagonist foil in Sendak and Lotor, respectively. I’m certain I’ve already delved into Shiro and Sendak’s relationship somewhere on this blog, but I’ll touch on it again briefly. Both seem to be (as portrayed in Season 1) relatively new leaders, both stubborn and tenacious, gifted fighters, and both having suffered massive physical trauma and been augmented afterwards in specifically weaponized ways. Season 1, particularly S1E9 Crystal Venom, frames them as a pair of darkened mirrors— a change of circumstances, and one could readily be the other.

Allura and Lotor are a bit more complicated. Both are the only children of a leader of a member nation of the original Voltron Alliance. Both are driven, charismatic leaders with specific goals, and both are also driven by personal curiosity and a desire for knowledge and power. The divergence is in the details— Allura was beloved by her father and encouraged towards her strengths, while also being sheltered by the peaceful circumstances of her youth; Lotor faced parental disapproval and routine rejection, and his natal environment encouraged stubbornness and often cruelty. This plays out obviously in their approaches to leadership; while Allura is open, honest, and direct, Lotor uses subterfuge and misdirection to hide his intentions.

You notice, of course, that Keith is absent from this discussion. Keith has no narrative parallels to any of the aforementioned villains— he’s not in contact enough with any of them to really compare, not even to Lotor, who was a temporary ally of team Voltron— and quite literally undercuts Shiro’s connection to Sendak in Season 7. He doesn’t contribute anything to any of these dynamics, and the only time he’s present for one, he destroys it.

#asks #vld meta #not quite sure id call this #vld salt #but ill tag it anyway for safety #apologies for the delay; i had a dnd session to run before i could get my meta written up #and in a way that was more...analytical and charitable rather than just bitching #anyway!#really if theyd wanted Keith as a lead they should have established him as BP in the first season rather than establishing Shiro first #and since they established shiro and allura first they should have kept the spotlight there instead of trying to move it #no one is well served by this narrative switchup and im actually still sad about it bc it had the potential to be REALLY GOOD #and it just wasnt

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