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chaoticace2005 · 2 months

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Notice to Stop and Get Some Help

Notice to Cease and Desist

Mr. Vox of VokTek,

Please accept this correspondence as a formal notice to cease and desist all activity related to the Radio Demon.

While the nefarious actions you undertake as a CEO and member of a crime group, which includes but is not limited to mass brainwashing, invasion of privacy, conspiracy, and aiding in abuse, this is Hell so all of that is deemed acceptable by the non-existent law on place.

However, the amount of complaints received involving your continued correspondence, obsession, and harassment of the Radio Demon has made it so we’ve had to adopt a legal system for the sake of this law (so fuck you for making me do all this work.)

Four weeks prior, a Change.org petition with over 18 million signatures arrived on the desk of King Lucifer Morningstar. This, combined with the amount of complaints received involving your continued correspondence, obsession, and harassment of the Radio Demon has made it so we’ve had to adopt a legal system for the sake of this law.

For further specification, because this is Hell and sometimes we need to write this out, here is what you need to know:

1. No fights with the Radio Demon in public spaces or over transmission. (Seriously, this is annoying.)

2. No stealing his hair to make wigs.

3. No forcing your partner to wear aforementioned wigs.

4. No creating or requesting the creation of body pillows with a likeliness to the Radio Demon.

5. No highjacking a broadcast to slander the Radio Demon.

6. Just… no breaking out into song about the Radio Demon. Seriously dude what the fuck.

7. No putting cameras into vicinities of which he resides.

8. No getting other people to do that.

9. No taking over of “the Vees” meetings to complain about the Radio Demon for hours. That time is apparently for bitching about other entities, including an “Angel Dust” (which is a whole separate legal issue that will be further dealt with by Asmodeus, Sin of Lust, as well as Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell.)

10. No requesting your associates to make porn that has likeliness to the Radio Demon.

11. No following the Radio Demon around in public.

12. No grand declarations of love to the Radio Demon (he’s aroace and it makes him uncomfortable.)

13. No calling your partner “Alastor” or “Al” in bed, regardless of how close their nickname may sound to it.

14. No screaming about how the Radio Demon getting injured is “better than sex” (it makes some demons feel inadequate.)

15. No crying about the Radio Demon having “new rivals.”

16. No placing a hit out on a random, bitchy, cannibalistic old lady named Susan. She bites.

17. No jacking off to videos of the Radio Demon being injured.

We, the people of Real Legal Company (a subsection of the Immediate Murder Professionals), are aware that this particular format may not follow the structure of previous legal notices and codes. And to this we say fuck you. It doesn’t fucking matter. This is Hell. We didn’t have any clients to kill and only know legal stuff from movies. And Stolas was too busy to read this over.

Any and all issues with this document are of the result of Moxxie Knolastname and should be taken up with him. NO DON’T WRITE THAT

Anyways, fuck you and maybe get help?

Document dictated by the people of I.M.P

Written by Fizzarolli (cause Blitzø can’t write for shit.)

Forwarded by Asmodeus, Sin of Lust

Approved by Lucifer with the addition that such restrictions do not apply to the King of Hell (which we doubted it would because he’s literally the king??? But anyways if you see Ol’ Lucy harassing the Radio Demon he wants to remind you it’s because he’s king and allowed to.)

Signed by the people.

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writingoddess1125 · 8 months

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Bless you for your perfect Mihawk writing, I am dying <3 if you're still taking requests, may I please request some angst with lots of fluff? Mihawk gets word that his wife was badly injured on a mission, she almost dies, but she's strong so she survives with a deep battle wound? Soft Mihawk gives me life ;-;

I gotcha My Dear!

⚠️ Warning: ⚠️ Mention of Death, Disfigurement

Angst and some fluff

My Heart Lies with You

Ah the Dracule Couple- The best power couple of the ages by most people's standards. Mihawk who was the best swordsmen and you his wife the best stealth killers there was, a couple to be taken incredibly seriously. While you were no Warlord you were the wife of one so got the same privileges as your Husband. Paired with your skill it was a bonus for the world goverment to have you on their side.

It had been a normal mission like all the rest, you two rarely got mission together after getting caught being a little too friendly with each other on a assassination mission. So you went off 4 days ago to do a intel and assassination while Mihawk was sent to cause havoc and destroy a pirate base.

Mihawk was currently mid battle, ripping apart the base with his sword and fighting the worthless goons with ease. He heard the transponder snail go off in his ear and he sighed as he answered.

"I'm a little busy here Garp-" He says in a nonchalant way, cutting down several more people as the base behind him exploded.

"Hawkeye, you need to get here as quickly as possible-" Garp said I'm a rather sharp tone that wasn't fitting of the Vice- Admiral.

Mihawk felt a peg of annoyance go through his body at hearing such a tone from the man- Something was wrong very wrong..

"Fine.. I'll be there with the tide" Mihawk said disconnecting the call, sighing as he decided to stop having fun and get this over with so he could meet with the Garp.

The following morning Garp sat at his desk, nervously tapping his finger on the desk knowing this was not going to be pleasant. He heard the heavy footsteps of the Warlords and pulled out the whiskey, knowing it would be needed. Mihawk walked in, Stepping forward with a deep frown as he watched Garp pour the whiskey.

"You called me here Garp?" Mihawk asked with his normal stoic tone, The Vice-Admiral nodded and held out the whiskey to Mihawk who took it and took a hefty sip.

"Hawkeye- (Y/N) is MIA, there was a surprisingly large battle during her stealth mission and after she informed us she was injured transmission cut and we lost her" Garp said evenly, his eyes trained on Mihawk whose whole body seemed to lock up. The Warlord setting down the glass of whiskey quickly as his mind focused on one thing- his wife.

"Where was her mission?" He demanded, His breathing seeming shallow and unsheathed rage behind his eyes as Garp drank his glass of whiskey.

"Just off Summer Island, a boat has already been prepared to take you within the next hour" Garp said calmly, however Mihawk was already out the door at hearing this. His heart beating in his ears as he heard of this- His wife MIA after being injured.. scared him? He wasn't used to feeling scared like this- You were so skilled and careful, a perfect stealth killer as well as a Pirate he saw equal to himself.

As promised, within the hour Mihawk was sailing to Summer Island. The Marines with him scared as he looked like a pacing tiger, Walking up and down the main docks as his eyes locked onto the direction of his destination. By nightfall they had arrived, seeing a search party was already there. Never having been so greatful that Garp had let their mission be semi close to each other (usually a 2 day boat ride to one another max).

Mihawk looked around at the clear battle that had taken place on the island, anger bubbling in his chest as his mind racing with all the possibilities. He saw the search party still moving through the clearing. They wouldn't find her unless she wanted to be found- she was too good.

Stepping forward he cupped his hand over his lips and gave out two loud whistles sounding like a birds call, he held up a hand to the research party to stop which they did. The forest falling silent for a few moments, Mihawk closing his eyes to focus... after a moment or two a weakened call returned. Mihawk feet moving faster then his brain as he followed the bird call.

The search party backed away as Mihawk trudged forward repeating the bird call again following its echoed call.

Finally he made it to a large pile of fallen trees still scorched from what seemed to he a fire. Without care he began to throw off the glowing logs like they weighed nothing, finally seeing your arm wriggling under a large log he tossed it with all of his strength and fell to his knees quickly.

"I got you My Heart.. I got you" He said softly, his arm sliding under you and he felt the dampness from blood as he slowly lifted you into his arms. You managed to open an eye to see your husband, the taste of ash and dirt on your lips as you tried to give him a soft smile.

"D-Dont look so sa.." You croaked out, but the pain keep you from finishing your words. Mihawk pulling you closer to him and holding your face in his hand, his thumb pushing the dried blood and dirt from your face. Panic filling his features and- he froze. Fear filling his whole body that practically immobilized him-

"Medics Now!" Mihawk ordered loudly, a rush of Marine medics rushing forward to exact you and take you to the boat for attention. The Warlord finally seeing the large open wound on your chest which made his stomach churn- it went from your naval up to the left of your body shredding your skin across your left breast and past your shoulder. If it hadn't been for the grace of whatever Gods were out there or the dirt packed into the wound you would have died for sure.

Mihawk felt his body go cold- watching as the Marines take his wife. At first frozen in his spot before he quickly followed behind quickly, he was silent as they loaded you onto the boat. The medics quick to take you to the infirmary of the ship to provide emergency treatment- Mihawk standing in your room as he watched with unwaving eyes as they gave you oxygen and more to keep you breathing.

As fast as the boat could move it landed on a near by Marine Base to get you into its established hospital. The nurses and medical staff taking you as top priority as they got you into a proper room, Garp meeting Mihawk there as he saw them loading you into a room.

Once several machines were placed on you the loud sirens of the heart monitor sounded which shattered Mihawk- Hearing your heart jump in shock of whatever they were doing before it suddently stopped and flattened. He shoved past the doctors at this and grabbed your hand feeling it turn cold before a doctor could yank him off.

"Code Blue Code Blue we have lost the heart beat" a nurse announced, Another young nurse pushing Mihawk out of the room fully as they began emergency treatment for you. Mihawk had tried to resist at first ready to mow down the nurses but Garp pulled him back into the hallway before he could.

"They have to keep you out to give her the best treatment Hawkeye-" He tried to reason with the Warlord who looked ready to rip Garp apart, but he nodded silently as the older man lead him to a bench to sit down. Hours passed and Mihawk heard nothing... his nerves shot as he sat there trying to mentally figure out what to do- You could take die.. he would be lost if you did.. he mentally couldn't not comprehend the idea.. His face found his hands as he sat there letting his own imagination get the absolute worse of him.

"Mr. Dracule sir?.." The old doctor said softly, pulling the man from his hands as he looked up at the man. His eyes red from either stress or crying- no one was going to ask which, Mihawk stood up fully staring at the doctor.

"So we have your wife stable and alive, she will be making a recovery. While we are unsure of the damage done from the blood loss I can say she is very fortunate" Mihawk gave a sigh in relief, like he could finally take a breath for the first time.

"However there was some... damage due to the injuries" The doctor spoke gently, Mihawks relief was short lived as the doctor went into detail over your injuries. It seemed whatever had caused your injury had shredded the left side of your chest- due to the extent of the injuries they had to give a mastectomy to your left breast as well as remove lots of skin from around the whole wound that could have caused infections heaving what was going to be one hell of a scar.

His heart sank to his stomach at hearing this, but nodded in understanding. Greatful you were just alive. The doctor lead him inside still trying to brace him to see you.

When he saw you- he crumbled.. his heart shattered into tiny peices as he saw you. You were swollen and pale, the machine beeping loudly and monitoring every rise and fall of your chest which was shallow. He shuffled over to the little plastic seat next to your bed and sat there, he looked lost. Like the idea of you like this had never crossed his mind and he couldn't handle it now- he stared at the doctor, pity in the older man's eyes as he saw the devastated Warlord.

"How long will she be like this?.." Mihawk finally said. The doctor swallowing thickly and shook his head.

"Now that is something I can't tell you..." He said, before leaving the room to let Mihawk be with you. The Warlord reaching forward and touching your face softly, his hands shaking as he stared at the cuts and bruises on your face. Pulling away finally as he sat by your side, caressing your free hand carefully.

Hours turned to days.. days turned to weeks and after a month Mihawk had still not left your side, others even trying to convince the man to at least get fresh air but he refused. Unmoving and too stubborn to leave you alone as you recovered in your coma. Till one day-

You opened your eyes, you felt truly awful- your eyes burning at the harsh light. You blinked several times as your eyes adjusted and saw you were in a hospital, the beeping of machines around you finally took notice of them- flowers. So many flowers of every color and stage of wilting were scattered in the room like someone had set them in whatever space was available. A heavy feeling on your chest and hand caught your attention. Lifting your head slightly you could feel heavy gauze around your chest that made it hard to breath- however you assumed the pain medicine thay was for sure in your IV was keeping you from feeling whatever was happening there. However your gaze went to your side to the pressure on your hand, your gaze softening at the sight.

There was you husband, he looked as bad as you felt. His hair was a mess on his head and clearly hadnt been washed in some time, a deep stubble was blending in with his natural facial hair making him look like he was growing a full rugged beard instead of his usual clean look and even though he was passed out with his face pressed into your hand like a puppy waiting for its owner the insane bags under his closed eyes clued you in that he had been exhausted in waiting for you.

Carefully you reach around with your free hand and touch his hair, despite it being a greasy mess you stroke his hair softly. After a few moments of messing with his hair Mihawk head shoots up, his bright yellow eyes as wide as saucers as he stared at you.

"(Y/N).." He breathed out and his cupped your cheek quickly, you can see his eyes watering at seeing you awake. He stood up to place a kiss on your forehead, feeling a tear fall onto your cheek realizing it was from your husband. He pressed the call nurse button quickly.

"They need to check you first okay?..." Mihawk said, almost like he was convincing himself just as much as you. Soon a flood of nurses came in, giving every checkup and look around possible. If you weren't sure before that your situation had been bad then you knew by the end.

It had been a few days since you woke up from the hospital. To say it had been a roller coaster was a understatement, your husband had taken control of your care and recovery almost possessivly. Then his colleges and friends of the past visited the both of you- Even catching who had been assisting in bringing in flowers for you.

From Vice Admiral Garp who brought in a large strawberry cake and some adorable white flowers, Zoro with lovely blue hydrangeas, Perona bring in every type of rose imaginable, Shanks with whatever he could find and even Buggy who would shyly bring sunflowers and leave before getting the ire of Mihawk if the clown tried any stupid jokes.

It took Shanks and Zoro to convince Mihawk to finally go shower and change clothes agreeing to watch over you while he did so. You never did tell him he smelt like ripe ass sitting next to you.

Upon returning in fresh clothes that Perona had brought back you smiled.

"There is my handsome husband" You said with a grin, he smirked at this and took his seat next to you. Shanks and Zoro also glad to see at least most of Mihawk back to his former self- you reaches forward and touched the full beard that graced his features and giggled.

"I never knew you could grow a beard like this" You chimed, he rolled his eyes at your words and gently took your hand from his beard and held it instead.

"Don't get uses to it- once back home I'm shaving" You see Shanks and Zoro smirk at this, Clearly finding it amusing.

You look at the two of them and smile.

"Guys, could you get us something to eat?.. and some tea?" You ask sweetly, Zoro looked confused over this clearly about to question why not call the nurses button bit Shanks got it and patted Zoro shoulder. "Come with me" He said calmly as he lead the green haired man out the room and closing the door behind them. There was a few moments of silence, your hand finding its way to your own gauzed up chest.

"They told you?... right?" You asked softly, wanting to know of he knew about the amputation and the heavy scars on your body. He nodded calmly. You winced at this, feeling... ashamed at this and uncomforble, Giving a forced chuckle-

"Well... no more bikini seasons for me.." You try to make light, even if your bottom lip quivered. Touching that spot on your chest again. Mihawks eyes hardened at this and he gently pulled your hand from your chest and held it tightly. He knew what you were insinuating and it broke his heart all over again.

"(Y/N).. never say that- You are beautiful in every way imaginable. No matter what has been added or taken away... you're beautiful cause.. just cause your here with me" He admitted, staring at you. You felt your eyes grow warm with fresh tears at such thoughtful words.

"Honey.." You whisper softly, giving his hand a gentle tug to come closer to you which he obediently did and kissed you on the lips which you savored. Tears running down your cheeks at his sweet words-

"I love you Mihawk" You whisper softly again his lips, he pulled back ever so slightly and smiled.

"I love you too My Heart"

#x reader #one peice x reader #one peice live action #one piece #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x y/n #dracule mihawk x reader

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stormy-river · 2 months

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Transcripts from the Humanity Hotline 7

As I finished this, I discovered it's been exactly one year since I posted the last Transcript. A lot has happened in that year; I've graduated college :) . I want to thank everyone for the support I've received, and I hope to get back into some of my creative projects and give you guys an opportunity to laugh, and maybe learn something. This one is inspired by a request from @a-romantic-twst from forever ago; I hope it was worth the wait (sorry about that). (It's about periods if anyone's uncomfortable with that and wants to skip this one.)

------

Operator: "Hi, my name is Mindy. How may I help you today?"

Caller: "Hello, Mindy, I am very concerned about one of the humans on my ship."

O: "What seems to be the problem?"

C: "Well, I'm the chief medical officer and this particular human has been on the ship for just over two Earth months now. On two separate occasions during that time, she has requested strong painkillers citing 'Shark Week' as the reason. I looked into what 'Shark Week' is, and found an Earth television special about certain aquatic predators, and I'm unsure how that could cause a human physical pain lightyears from Earth?"

O: "Interesting, is there anything else you can tell me about this human during these events?"

C: "Yes, I've also received reports from other crewmembers around these events that this human is not as outgoing as usual, and shows signs of discomfort with facial expressions and changes in appetite, but does not respond well to the standard psychological protocols for team building and social connection."

O: "What about the timing? You said this has happened twice, correct? How much time was between them?"

C: "Yes, I've documented both with dates. The human requested the painkillers twice, 28 days apart. The crew reported signs of distress for a few days following each request, and two times in the day before the first request."

O: "Alright, I believe your human is using the phrase, "Shark Week" as a euphemism for the start of the menstrual cycle, which is often referred to as a 'period'. To put it simply, one of the female reproductive organs sheds its inner lining roughly once an Earth month, lasting anywhere from a few days to a full week."

C: "Similar to how the Rythyani shed and replace their stomach linings?"

O: "Yes, though the uterus has blood vessels that extend into that lining, so shedding also causes bleeding."

C: "Bleeding? How much blood is lost? Why has she not requested bandages or a transfusion?"

O: "For most, a period is not life-threatening. The amount of blood loss does not require a transfusion to replace, or bandages to stop, though iron deficiency may be a concern for some that can be easily remedied through their diet. Ultimately, your human will know her body and how to handle her cycle best. We learn to deal with periods from a relatively young age. You should have received a human anatomy and physiology textbook when the first human joined your crew. Do you have it?"

C: "Yes, though I do admit I have not yet had the time to read it."

O: "That's alright. The chapter on human reproductive systems goes into more detail about the biology of the menstrual cycle than I can tell you. For the time being, make sure your human knows that she can ask for support if needed, and inform your crew that not all humans will be happy all the time, and they don't need to be. Over time, you will gain a better understanding your humans' patterns. Until then, trust them to express their needs, and talk to them if you have specific concerns. I can give general advice, but they will know themselves best."

C: "Thank you for clearing up the confusion, Mindy, I will look into this and update the protocols as necessary. I have no more questions for you at this time."

O: "You are very welcome, please don't hesitate to call again if something else comes up."

End Transmission

#humanity hotline #humans are space orcs #humans and aliens #humans are weird

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b1rds3ye · 9 months

Note

Hellooo‼️‼️I just stumbled in your blog and I saw the LED mask request thing and I suddenly have brainrot😭😭 it's such a idea idfk i just love it‼️‼️

ANYWAY🤯 reader comes back from a mission, solo or not! Is up to you :] and then they just have a bullet stuck in their mask. Just straight up a bullet stuck, very big cracks on their mask. It can still kind of work, only one side so when they see them reader simply waves while the other half of their LED mask just shows: ':D' as if there wasn't a bullet in their mask.

That's all! I hope you are having a good day, afternoon, or night‼️‼️make sure to stay hydrated because I'm a walking desert☺

THATS SUCH A BITTERSWEET IMAGE THOUGH, I LOVE YOUR BRAIN ANON!!

A part of the operation had to be done solo by you - it needed your specialised skill set and it was too risky sending others with you because stealth was crucial. You succeeded in distracting the enemy. That transmission was half an hour ago.

The 141 never leave their own behind, the extraction point is far enough from enemy territory that they can spare some time to wait for you. Price and Ghost are going through extra logistics, Soap is distracting himself by disassembling and reassembling gear and Gaz is just... watching. Watching for a sign that you are there. And soon enough, amongst the fog of dust kicked up by fallen buildings and bodies, is the silhouette of you. The faint LEDs emanate a light that refract off the dust, creating a halo-like glow where your head should be.

As you approach closer, it is silent. There are no light-hearted quips from you, just the audible crunch of your combat boots against the dry earth. If it weren't for your unmistakable stature and gait, the rest of the 141 would have thought it was an imposter who had stolen your mask.

Johnny only utters a quiet "Jesus..." as the details of your mask come into view. A bullet was now embedded in your mask where the side of your temple would be, a chilling reminder of the clutches of death you narrowly escaped from for now. It shone maliciously against your darkened mask that could only let out the occasional spark and whir of short circuiting.

Every few seconds, there would be a flicker of the LEDs working. It was hard to distinguish with the cracks that splayed across the mask like a web, all stemming from the bullet that had made itself at home millimeters away from your head. An eye was missing, that section of your mask completely disconnected from the software. Broken circuitry had the odd pixel flickering in a false positive in various colours before dying.

But despite the stakes, your mask was smiling.

"You broken?" Gaz asked tentatively.

You pause in comtemplation, perhaps the voice amplifier in your mask was fried or you're just too tired to speak - none of the 141 would blame you for either. Instead, you offer a thumbs up before trudging over to Ghost, his eyes trained on you. You rest your forehead against his shoulder and he responds with a slight grunt, but he surrenders to your tired antics. Tilting your head to the rest of the 141, your broken mask flits to a "z_z".

There's a pat on your back from John, both to comfort and to also make sure you don't fall asleep. His hand settles on your shoulder, strong and ready to haul you to the helicopter.

"Good to have you back, Sergeant. Let's get you - and your mask - patched up."

With some encouragement from Johnny and Kyle, you're coaxed to extraction. As you sit on the ride back on base, you bring a hand to probe the damage of the bullet. The metal is colder than death, so smooth it slipped from your grip like your own life had you conducted in the mission any differently. It seems the rest of the 141 knew exactly what you were thinking as your fingers traced every crack of your visor.

But before they can question you, you retract your hand and sit up straight. You're here and you're alive. Granted a little cracked, your soul a little more jaded than in the few hours prior, but for now the legend of the mask lives on.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #task force 141 x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #anon mail ❤️#/*avery checks the mailbox*/#/*avery actually writes*/#/*cod x masked reader*/

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niqhtlord01 · 4 months

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Humans are weird: When there is no honor to be had

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The Vindi War had been the first intergalactic war humanity had faced while fighting alongside alien allies. Up until then humanity had chosen that while it had made several defensive pacts and alliances over the last several decades with other great powers they would not allow their military forces to be placed under the command of foreign powers. Yet the conflict with the Vindi had escalated to such an extent that human military might was no longer capable of winning the war alone.

So one by one several treaties were called up and the allies humanity had cultivated added their own forces to the progressing war. Things finally seemed to be turning around when the Vindi carried out an assassination against the Cargav leader Tul. The assassin had stowed aboard a Cargav transport as it docked with the flagship of the Cargav contingent and slit Tul’s throat while he was sleeping in his quarters. No one realized the commander was dead until long after the act had been carried out and the assassin had snuck back off the ship.

In the human mindset while the assassination of a leader could cripple a war there were procedures in place to limit the extent of the damage. The chain of command existed so that responsibilities would pass on to the next in command ensure that the human military was never without a leader. Tactics and strategies were taught to all commanders instead of being shared with only the top leaders. Even the diversifying of military branches made it so no one single leader was in command of all forces to allow for flexible reactions to situations.

The Cargav did not have any of this.

In their culture when a war leader was chosen they would be the sole voice of the war until the conflict ended. Their authority was unquestionable and every Cargavan who joined the campaign under their leader swore a blood oath to follow them into the jaws of hell itself if needed.

They had no concept of betrayal or power grabs; no dreams of launching violent coups or misusing military might for personal gain. To the Cargavan’s war was a sacred passage that one would follow for the betterment of all their people. So when Tul died every Cargavan, from lowest orderly to fleet captain felt an overwhelming sense of shame and failure. The death of their leader was seen as the darkest mark of shame their people could obtain and the only way they could undo it was by mass ritual suicide. In that way they would indeed follow their commander into the depths of hell were they could command them once more.

When the human commander Jarvis Lee heard of this he at first did not believe it was a real tradition. He had not done extensive background research on his allies aside from military tactics and could not believe that of the 300,000 Cargavan’s deployed to the campaign all of them would kill themselves.

This reality was finally accepted however when Lee was informed that all Cargavan forces had withdrawn from frontline activities and began donning ceremonial robes. A coalition broadcast soon went out not long after with the Cargavan second in command beginning a death chant of his people.

Realizing that the sudden loss of three hundred thousand allied combatants would cripple the war effort; Lee got on the fastest shuttle and flew directly to the Cargavan flagship after every transmission he sent was blocked.

With every Cargavan in the process of the death ritual Lee met no resistance with boarding the flagship. It took several minutes for Lee to orient himself with the ship’s layout and find the hold the death rite was being carried out in. He sprinted down the winding corridors hoping he would reach there before it was too late. ------------------------------

“Zem zull na, brea ka lu mo. Dea fra muz tah, sen bou nei ru.”

The rhythmic chanting was getting louder as Lee pounded through the alien corridors. His breathing was beyond labored and with each frantic sprint the grey shrouds circling his vision grew thicker; but he could not stop.

He did not care what significance a death ritual held for the Cargavan’s; only that with the sudden loss of the entire Cargavan contingent would mean for the campaign.

After what felt like an eternity Lee stumbled upon the central chamber the rite was being broadcast from. He swiped his access key across the nearby panel but the device merely blinked red and denied him entry. Through the thick metal doors Lee could hear the chanting growing louder and knew he had mere minutes to stop the ceremony but was powerless to get through the doors.

Just as he was about to give up hope he heard the sound of terran boots on deck plates and turned to see his honor guard finally catching up to him.

“Breaching charge, now!” Lee shouted at them.

“Sir?” the leader spoke as he caught his breath, but nonetheless reached down and pulled a small circular device from his belt before handing it to Lee.

Lee snatched the charge from the guard and slapped it on the door as his honor guard slowly began backing away. He spun the activation dial for ten seconds before activating the timer and running back down the corridor. The charge went off just as he turned the corner sending a shower of broken metal, fire, and smoke back after him missing him by mere inches.

Before the smoke had cleared Lee was storming back down the ruined corridor and leaping through the wreckage of what once was the door. Inside he was greeted by the heavy glares of some thousand or so Cargavan’s who had ceased chanting.

They stood gathered in ordered rows like a funeral and at the head of them lay their fallen leader and his second in command standing watch over his corpse with holy blade still in hand.

“YOU DARE!”

The second shouted as he stepped down from his platform and approached Lee. It was only now that it dawned on Lee that he did not actually have a plan on how to stop the ceremony itself. He’d been so focused on just reaching here before it completed that the plan had not fully formed; and now seeing the second in command now coming towards him with eyes full of murderous intent did he push his mind to the limit to concoct a plan. He was just about to open his mouth to address the second when he realized he had never learned their name to begin with. His dealings had always been through Tul and Tul had never introduced his second in command.

Pulling himself up and dusting off his uniform, Lee calmly addressed the gathered Cargavan’s with a voice that filled the entire chamber.

“I came here today to pay my respects to a fallen hero the likes of which will not shine again for generations.” Lee began as he decided to make his gamble. “Yet I am shocked to see his funeral attended by the likes of such cowards.”

The second in command stopped his approach and Lee could see the veins beneath his skin bulging. Lee pressed on knowing he only had one chance to stop the death rite and save his own skin.

“You’re commander is slain from right under your noses, and rather than hunting down the assassin down you all put the blade to your throats.”

Lee walked forward until he was standing before the second in command and looked up at them. They snarled through clenched teeth as they spoke.

“You know nothing of our ways.”

Lee frowned and looked around at the other gathered Cargavan’s.

“I know lazy soldiers when I see them.” Lee remarked. “Has the knife of one assassin cast such fear into you all!?”

He felt hands grabbing his uniform before he saw them and was hoisted into the air like a doll. The second gave an angry roar and threw him down towards the alter where their fallen leader lay. Lee landed heavily, a loud crunching sound informing him of his now broken shoulder, but rallied to his feet quickly.

“And you believe your soldiers would do any differently?” the second challenged as he resumed his death like pace towards Lee, “That they would suffer this injustice to their honor!?”

Lee spat out a glob of blood and looked at the alien, matching his death glare with one of his own. “They would morn my passing and then they would choose a new leader to take my place.” Lee admitted, “But before they did they would scour the worlds of the universe for my killer and bring him before my grave. They would boil the flesh from his body and grind his bones to fertilize the fields of my home, and then cast what remained into the void of oblivion!”

The words stopped the second in his place. No doubt he had not imagined humans capable of such a martial code and this was confirmed by the now interested looks of the surrounding warriors.

“Your leader is dead.” Lee continued as he pointed to Tul, “Yet you would meet him in the after without avenging his death? Did he mean so little to you all?!”

“We die today because he meant everything!” a random Cargavan shouted from the crowd and was met with supportive cheers.

“Then prove it!” Lee countered. “Tul’s enemies still yet live and his killer walks free thinking he has not only slain your leader but all of you as well!”

Lee stepped up on to the platform so everyone gathered could see him. “I ask you now to continue this war until it is won. And when the blood of Tul’s enemies has finally dried upon your blades you may then seek him in the after and present to him the monument of those you have killed in his name and proven your loyalty to him now, and forever!”

Raising his clenched fist high Lee shouted “Who will be Tul’s vengeance!?”

For a death breaking moment there was not a single sound; one could hear a pin drop from across the room. Lee looked over the crowd and debated if he had overplayed his hand when he saw the second raise his hand.

“Vengeance!” they shouted.

One by one the surrounding Cargavan’s began raising their hands as well and shouting the word. Over and over they shouted until the noise deafened Lee and he breathed a sigh of relief. In his eyes the crisis had been averted and the war could continue; little knowing the bloodbath of butchery he had stirred in the hearts of every Cargavan that would push them from noble warriors to genocidal war criminals.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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tomorrowusa · 2 months

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Four years ago today (March 13th), then President Donald Trump got around to declaring a national state of emergency for the COVID-19 pandemic. The administration had been downplaying the danger to the United States for 51 days since the first US infection was confirmed on January 22nd.

From an ABC News article dated 25 February 2020...

CDC warns Americans of 'significant disruption' from coronavirus

Until now, health officials said they'd hoped to prevent community spread in the United States. But following community transmissions in Italy, Iran and South Korea, health officials believe the virus may not be able to be contained at the border and that Americans should prepare for a "significant disruption." This comes in contrast to statements from the Trump administration. Acting Department of Homeland Security Secretary Chad Wolf said Tuesday the threat to the United States from coronavirus "remains low," despite the White House seeking $1.25 billion in emergency funding to combat the virus. Larry Kudlow, director of the National Economic Council, told CNBC’s Kelly Evans on “The Exchange” Tuesday evening, "We have contained the virus very well here in the U.S." [ ... ] House Speaker Nancy Pelosi called the request "long overdue and completely inadequate to the scale of this emergency." She also accused President Trump of leaving "critical positions in charge of managing pandemics at the National Security Council and the Department of Homeland Security vacant." "The president's most recent budget called for slashing funding for the Centers for Disease Control, which is on the front lines of this emergency. And now, he is compounding our vulnerabilities by seeking to ransack funds still needed to keep Ebola in check," Pelosi said in a statement Tuesday morning. "Our state and local governments need serious funding to be ready to respond effectively to any outbreak in the United States. The president should not be raiding money that Congress has appropriated for other life-or-death public health priorities." She added that lawmakers in the House of Representatives "will swiftly advance a strong, strategic funding package that fully addresses the scale and seriousness of this public health crisis." Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer also called the Trump administration's request "too little too late." "That President Trump is trying to steal funds dedicated to fight Ebola -- which is still considered an epidemic in the Democratic Republic of the Congo -- is indicative of his towering incompetence and further proof that he and his administration aren't taking the coronavirus crisis as seriously as they need to be," Schumer said in a statement.

A reminder that Trump had been leaving many positions vacant – part of a Republican strategy to undermine the federal government.

Here's a picture from that ABC piece from a nearly empty restaurant in San Francisco's Chinatown. The screen displays a Trump tweet still downplaying COVID-19 with him seeming more concerned about the effect of the Dow Jones on his re-election bid.

People were not buying Trump's claims but they were buying PPE.

I took this picture at CVS on February 26th that year.

The stock market which Trump in his February tweet claimed looked "very good" was tanking on March 12th – the day before his state of emergency declaration.

Trump succeeded in sending the US economy into recession much faster than George W. Bush did at the end of his term – quite a feat!. (As an aside, every recession in the US since 1981 has been triggered by Republican presidents.)

Of course Trump never stopped trying to downplay the pandemic nor did he ever take responsibility for it. The US ended up with the highest per capita death rate of any technologically advanced country.

Precious time was lost while Trump dawdled. Orange on this map indicates COVID infections while red indicates COVID deaths. At the time Trump declared a state of emergency, the virus had already spread to 49 states.

The United States could have done far better and it had the tools to do so.

The Obama administration had limited the number of US cases of Ebola to under one dozen during that pandemic in the 2010s. Based on their success, they compiled a guide on how the federal government could limit future pandemics.

Obama team left pandemic playbook for Trump administration, officials confirm

Of course Trump ignored it.

Unlike those boxes of nuclear secrets in Trump's bathroom, the Obama pandemic limitation document is not classified. Anybody can read it – even if Trump didn't. This copy comes from the Stanford University Libraries.

TOWARDS EPIDEMIC PREDICTION: FEDERAL EFFORTS AND OPPORTUNITIES IN OUTBREAK MODELING

Feel free to share this post with anybody who still feels nostalgic about the Trump White House years!

#covid-19 #coronavirus #pandemic #public health #donald trump #trump's incompetent response to the pandemic #covid state of emergency #2020 #trump recession #51 days of trump pandemic dawdling #obama pandemic playbook #2010s ebola outbreak #nostalgia for trump administration #republicans #election 2024 #vote blue no matter who

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cuubism · 7 months

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part 3 of hob encountering dream outside their meetings (except there are 4 total parts now, lol)

Something, Hob thinks, somewhere between his third and fourth glass of whiskey, is terribly wrong.

In another life, he thinks, he would have wandered home drunk, morose, aimless, bereft of his strange patron—Dream—and sure he’d screwed it up. If you come, we must be friends. Well, there’s your answer, Hob.

In this life…

Dream gave his word. And… he is so serious, he is so austere, Hob does not think he is the type to break a promise.

I hope you’re alright out there, he thinks as he gets home to his flat, drunk, but not as much as he really wants to be.

Where is he, anyway? Why wouldn’t he show?

Despair over the matter tries to swamp him, but Hob pushes it aside. Dream. He has his name. Maybe he can find him?

He had never tried in the years since their happenstance meeting during the war. Had wanted to, on and off, but had respected his friend’s wishes on the matter. He had a promise to meet again, after all. That was enough for now. They had eternity.

Tomorrow he can go to the library. Maybe he’ll be able to find something in all those books of history and mythology, if his stranger is a god, like to appear there.

It’s a chance.

For days Hob studies, and mulls, and finds very little. His friend’s name is too common a word to easily search, and likewise too obscure to find in any mythology texts. Hob makes little progress, but he thinks on him more and more. Dream is in his mind like a waking nightmare; Hob keeps going back to his little shy smile on their parting outside the cafe.

He wouldn’t just not show up. He wouldn’t.

And then, several weeks into this obsessive spiral, Hob dreams of him.

Hob is sitting across from his friend, the setting vague, dark, he can’t make it out. Dream is cross-legged in a meditative pose, a loose robe draped around him, and he looks… gaunt. Tired. Hob remembers looking like that himself, during the darker periods of his life, but he would never have expected Dream to break his marble composure.

“Hob,” he says, with some surprise. Blinks starry, dark eyes. “You have been thinking on me very intently, indeed.”

“Of course,” Hob says. Wants to reach out to him but senses, somehow, that it wouldn’t be possible. “Where—”

“Time is brief,” interrupts Dream. Hob is not certain he even heard Hob speak; perhaps whatever this is is a one-way transmission, a message. “My power is contained; this is but a spare moment of luck and coincidence. I owe you much for breaking my vow to you—”

You don’t, Hob thinks, you don’t—

“—But instead I must make a request. As… friends.” He speaks the word as something still unfamiliar and rare. “Find Alex Burgess. Find me. Anything you desire, if it is in my power, in return.”

What an absolutely bizarre way of asking for help. Then again, it is his old stranger speaking. Hob should expect no less.

What kind of mess has he gotten himself into that kept him away from their meeting? What kind of mess could such a being get into?

“I will,” Hob swears. “I will. I won’t leave you alone.”

His friend’s gaze bores into his, glittering like the night sky.

“Hob,” he says, voice resonant and echoing, “be cautious.”

Hob wakes, tacky with sweat, shivers running up his spine. Dream, he thinks, scrubbing a hand through the mess of his hair. Dreams. Fuck. Was it real? It must have been. Dreams.

In the manner of dreams, much of the detail is hazing out, leaving only the strange echo of his friend’s voice, his starry eyes, a name to find, and a warning:

Be cautious.

Yeah, fuck that.

Dream never asks for help, at least not from Hob, though Hob privately doubts he asks for it from anyone. He hardly even shares mundane details of his life. Whatever scrape he’s gotten into now, it must be monumentally terrible to push him to do so.

Hob won’t leave him there.

Alex Burgess, his friend had said. That’s not much, but it’s a start.

Hob had found nothing using Dream’s name, but once he has Alex Burgess’s, it’s shockingly easy. He puts the pieces together in less than a week, and finds himself stewing in anger as a result. How had nobody done anything? Granted, nobody knew who his friend was, but as far as he’s managed to gather, plenty of people had seen him over the years. Nobody had stepped up?

Maybe, deep down, Hob is truly just angry with himself. He should have done something. Somehow, someway. For fuck’s sake, Hob had seen his stranger in 1915, less than a year—if the rumors are to be believed—before he disappeared.

Shouldn’t he have known? Somehow? Some time before their scheduled meeting?

Nothing for it now. Nothing for it but to get him back.

For lack of very much ability to make a plan without blueprints or inside knowledge, Hob ends up throwing caution to the wind and simply breaking into the manor. Fuck those people. Hob has killed men before and he will again, and he doesn’t expect to feel sorry about it.

These are not innocent men, after all. And neither is Hob.

But he does heed Dream’s warning to some extent, only out of concern for Dream himself. Hob cannot afford to get knocked out or killed—temporary though it may be—when he has someone to rescue.

To that effect, he leashes his fury long enough to break into the Burgess manor via a side door, rather than simply breaking down the front door as he’d really like to; he holds his anger by the collar long enough to catch a passing guard around the throat and demand, in a terse whisper, where the door to the basement is, and then knock the guard out and shove him into a coat closet; he tempers his rage long enough to crack open the basement door with a key stolen from the guard’s belt, to creep down the stone steps, to step out into the cavernous room.

And then—

—it’s impossible for Hob to hold back his anger then.

But his instincts don’t let him slow long enough to taste it. Hob has not been a soldier for a long time, but the instincts—the instincts never disappear.

He knocks out one guard with the butt of his gun before the man can even grab his own weapon, then he levels it at the other, whose hands vacillate between surrender and fight.

“I would think very hard about what you’re about to do,” Hob growls, and clicks back the hammer on his revolver.

Apparently, whatever unbridled fury the guard sees in Hob’s eyes is more frightening than the punishment his employer will dish out. He raises his hands in surrender, dropping his gun.

Hob stalks over to him and, though the man raises a hand and shouts, “Wait!”, knocks him out cold as well.

He grits his teeth, forcibly loosening his grip on the gun, and then, only then, does he let himself turn properly to Dream.

And his heart fucking… breaks.

Hob’s old stranger has always been a regal person. No matter the era, no matter how grimy the White Horse was when they met, no matter on what street Hob ran into him—he has always carried himself like royalty.

He still does, now, but by God is Burgess trying to break him of it.

Dream sits cross-legged in the same meditative pose as in Hob’s dream, but this time he is unclothed. Hob doubts that he subscribes to the same strict notions of modesty as human society, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still a violation.

Worse still is the cage. Small, tight, exposed on all sides—his friend is such a private person, Hob hadn’t even gotten a name out of him for five hundred years. This is— this is—

It makes him so incredibly angry.

Dream stares at him with wide eyes. He looks from Hob to the downed guards and back, his muscles tense, spine still rigid. He looks… malnourished, and Hob wonders if it’s truly due to lack of food, or more to lack of freedom.

“Hob Gadling,” he finally murmurs, voice muffled through the glass. “You received my message. I was not certain I’d managed enough power to get it through. I had but a short dream in which to try.”

“Yes.” Hob strides across the room to him quickly, steps and voice echoing strangely in the crypt-like, musty cellar. “I heard you.”

“And you came.”

Hob huffs, crouching down by the glass cage, examining it for rivets or seals or anything that could be cracked open. “No need to sound so surprised.”

“You are angry,” says Dream, watching him intently, delicate hands balanced on delicate knees.

“Yeah, not at you, though.” Hob groans in frustration. “Any way to break this thing open other than shooting at it?”

“Break the circle.” He points to the ring of symbols on the floor. “And I will be able to help you.”

Hob drags the sole of his shoe viciously through the paint. It’s so gratifying to watch it scrape off. Dream shudders, eyes falling shut, and then goes taut, each muscle in relief. Strength comes back to him, power shimmers over his skin. Hob lays a hand on the glass and finds it humming at higher and higher frequency, like the air inside is vibrating, suffused with power it can’t contain.

He jumps back just in time.

The glass shatters into a thousand pieces with a high ringing sound and a flash of bright light. Hob covers his eyes.

When he opens them again, Dream is delicately climbing out of the metal frame of the sphere, his power returned, each step measured and controlled. He looks more otherworldly than Hob’s ever seen him, hair standing on end, his gaze sharp and predatory. But his eyes soften when they land on Hob.

Hob rushes over to offer his arm, and Dream grips it for balance as he picks his way through the glass. Once he’s on safer ground, Hob offers him his coat, and Dream wraps it around his bare shoulders, eyes sparkling with a tiny smile like he finds Hob’s attempts at chivalry amusing.

“Are you okay?” Hob asks, then shakes his head. “Stupid question. What do you need, my friend?”

“I am free,” says Dream. Under his usual stoicism there is a hint of awe. “You have done more than enough, Hob. I thank you.”

“At least let me help you get out of here,” Hob says. He’s still worried that Dream might be hurt, or weakened from his imprisonment, even if he’s standing on his own feet now. “Can get you something to eat, or…?”

Dream looks into the distance, as if seeing, or hearing something Hob can’t. “I’m afraid I have much to attend to. My realm calls me. I have been away a long time.”

Because he’s been imprisoned for a long time. Jesus Christ.

Hob doubts he’ll be able to convince Dream to stay, or rest or anything else. His friend is stubborn, and too proud for such things, he thinks. “Still. If you need help with anything…”

“I require my tools,” Dream says, and Hob straightens up. “But I would not task you with such a thing. They are no longer in this manor and I fear there may be danger involved in retrieving them.”

Hey, Hob thinks, with some indignation. I can handle some danger, thanks very much.

“But first, I have other business to attend to,” Dream continues. His eyes flick upward at the sleeping manor inhabitants on the floors above. “You will face no resistance in leaving.” He turns his gaze briefly to Hob, eyes softening in gratitude. “Fare well, Hob. I shall not forget this.”

Then he turns to go, darkness swirling around him.

“Wait!” Hob grabs his arm. Dream looks down at his hand, but doesn’t pull away. “Will you come back? I— I want to make sure you’re alright.”

Dream’s lips tip up in a half smile. “I will be alright once I have returned to my realm, and regathered my tools. But. Very well. I will come to see you, once I have finished that business. Thank you, Hob.”

And then he’s gone from under Hob’s hand, gone into the night, and Hob sighs, alone in the quiet basement. But really, he shouldn’t have expected anything else.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #fishbowl rescue #my writing

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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For the drabble requests…..mechanic Tom Bennet 😌

“That mechanic you go to must be awful,” your father announced as you were about to leave; your face flushed instantly.

“What makes you say that?” you probed cautiously.

“Always got you goin’ back!” he answered. “Makes more problems than he fixes, I think. You should find a new one.”

If only he knew why you’d never find another mechanic; hopefully, he’d never find out.

Tom was wiping his hands with a rag when you stepped into the garage, standing up from kneeling in front of the grill of the car nearby. The click of your heels on the concrete caught his attention, and as soon as he saw you, he gave you a confident smirk. “Transmission again, eh?” he asked sarcastically.

You nodded slightly, eyes running over him— he was covered in grease, most of all on his arms that were displayed beautifully by the white sleeveless shirt. His cover-alls were unzipped and hanging at his hips, sleeves tied like a belt… what was the point of wearing those if they weren’t actually covering him? Shouldn’t a cover-all be covering all?

Whatever, you didn’t care— he looked fucking sexy, and annoyingly, he knew it.

As he approached you, reaching for your waist, you hesitated. “You’re dirty, Tom,” you noticed. “You’ll stain my dress.”

"I think you like me dirty," he replied with a purr, grabbing you roughly and pulling you into him; he took a deep breath by your hair, snarling a little. "You smell so fuckin' good..."

"You smell like motor oil," you giggled.

"Yeah? And I bet it's making you wet already."

Before you could chide him for being so crass (and accurate) he spun you around and shoved you up against the hood of the glossy black car closest to you both. Whimpering but relenting to it, you spread your legs out of instinct.

“Been too fuckin’ long,” he grunted against your neck as he pushed your dress up your thighs and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist. “Should know better than to make me wait so long, love— m’not gonna be all gentle an’ sweet with you now. Know you like it like that.”

A chill ran up your spine as you held tighter onto his shoulders. “S-sorry,” you whimpered, trying to stay quiet knowing the other mechanic was just outside the garage entrance. "I was gonna come sooner, but..."

“Old man’s onto us, isn’t he?” he grinned, seeming almost proud of it even though he should know how bad it would be if you were found out. “That or he’s gonna cave and buy you a new car.”

“We can’t afford tha— oh!”

You interrupted himself as you felt his cock press up to you through his cover-alls and your lace panties— he was so hard already, and the thickness of him always made your head spin.

His hand grabbed your jaw and turned your face towards him for a sudden and rough kiss— he always took complete control of you when he kissed you, and you always let him with no protest at all.

He shoved his cover-alls and boxers out of the way just enough to let his erection bounce free, and hooked a finger in your panties a moment later to pull them to the side. He warned you about his impatience, but it was still all so sudden, and you gasped as he shoved his cock inside you in a moment.

"Fuckin' tight," he noticed with a groan instantly. It was almost too much; you dug your nails into his shoulders and hid your face in his chest as he split you open. You were plenty wet, even without any preparation at all, but he was still big enough for it to sting for the first few thrusts.

As the pain faded, though, you sighed and let your head tilt back; with one arm around your waist, he smiled proudly down at you and lifted his free hand to hold the back of your limp head.

"Missed this, eh? Missed getting fucked so good, I know, m'gonna give ya what y'need."

You were begging him for it already, chanting his name between whimper-y moans. He kept his grip iron-tight on your hips as he drove into you over and over; it wasn't too long before you fell back and laid on the hood, letting each thrust rock your body up and down as you held onto his wrists for some stability.

He grinned down at you with that cocky tilt to his smile, watching your eyes roll back... he even roughly tugged the top of your dress open to grope your tits and watch them bounce, too. "Good girl," he praised with a deep voice, "good fuckin' girl."

"M'gonna— fuck, Tommy," you sobbed.

"I know, I know," he cooed, "can't help it, can ya, love? Go ahead, you can come."

His permission was sort of moot, you were already falling over the edge, back arching up off the car with a loud gasp of his name. He fucked you even harder through it, praising and egging you on, until he couldn't take anymore and spilled inside you.

With his forehead on your shoulder, he slowly caught his breath, leaving stray kisses along your collarbone. "Better go back home soon, love," he whispered, "tell your old man you got a new transmission."

You let out a long sigh. "Can't you hold me a little longer?"

He pecked your cheek. "Okay," he agreed, rubbing your side with his thumb gently. "You can stay as long as you like... if you don't mind Jimmy coming in and seeing you like this."

Groaning, you sat up and collected yourself; he laughed a bit, pulling out quickly so you could get up and put your panties back in place. He watched you proudly, and you knew he was already imagining you having to go about the rest of your day with his come dripping out of you.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he assumed.

"I-I dunno, Tom, we should be a little more discreet..."

He nodded while you pulled your shawl up over your shoulders. "Yeah, we should... but I'll see you tomorrow, won't I?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah, you will."

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett smut #mechanic!tom bennett #ewan mitchell

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