#senator gravel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zarameraki · 5 months

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˖°🦇 ࣪𖤐 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mention of suicide 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 bodyguard x senator’s daughter 𖥔 porn with plot 𖥔 banter 𖥔 sarcastic mmc x fmc who’s tired of his bs 𖥔 neck kissing 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 praise 𖥔 soft toji 𖥔 biting 𖥔 nipple play 𖥔 toji’s not an ass for the first time 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 dirty talking 𖥔 bathtub sex 𖥔 small pillow talk 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 5.9k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this is my first one-shot and of course it had to be about my favourite unhinged man. i promise it’s good, y’all. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

You hated being the senator’s daughter—burdened by the title you never chose. Despite the grandeur that surrounded you, you despised the life you were born into. The opulent dinners, the endless social events, and the constant scrutiny from the public were chains that bound your spirit.

If you had any spirit left to spare.

You yearned for a life of your own, away from the suffocating expectations that came with your father's political stature. You resented the polished façade you had to maintain, the carefully crafted image that hid your true self. The constant presence of the media felt like an unrelenting spotlight, casting darkness over your desire for anonymity.

The large ballroom was ablaze with sparkling lights and the murmur of conversations mingled with the soft strains of a live jazz band. You found herself at the center of attention, a reluctant participant in the grand social affair, unwillingly cornered by a persistent suitor your mother had chosen from the roster. Apparently, his family wealth and business ventures were the most fascinating topics he could think of.

You wore a forced smile and desperately sought a way out of the conversation. Your eyes darted across the room, searching for an escape route.

". . . you see, our corporation has been at the forefront of innovation for decades," the suitor boasted, gesturing expansively with his hands. "We practically built this city. My great-grandfather was a visionary, and my father has expanded our influence globally. I'm destined to take it to even greater heights."

“How wonderful,” you muttered. The suffocating aura of the suitor’s self-importance lingered in the air. Just as he reached out to place a possessive hand on your arm, a deep, graveling voice cut through the conversation.

“Careful,” warned Toji. His eyes, sharp and vigilant, locked onto your suitor’s hand, which froze in mid-air. “Take a step back, and we won’t have a problem.”

The suitor, momentarily taken aback, withdrew his hand with an affected chuckle. "Ah, my apologies. I was only admiring your bracelet. It's exquisite, really."

You shot Toji a glare as you replied, "Thank you for your compliment. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be returning home now. Senatorial matters to attend to, you understand."

His eyes narrowed, and he attempted to regain control of the situation. "But surely, darling, you wouldn't want to miss the grand finale of the evening. There's a surprise performance that my connections secured."

Before you could respond, Toji stepped forward, a stern expression on his face. "The evening is over, Mr. Mahito. She has other obligations to fulfill."

Mr. Mahito, a name you’d forgotten at his ‘hello,’ glared at Toji but wisely chose not to challenge the imposing figure. With a forced smile, he nodded and said, "Of course, I understand. Until next time."

As if.

Toji couldn't help but scoff under his breath, earning a side glance from you. "Does he ever run out of compliments for himself?"

You sighed. "He's harmless, Mr. Zenin. Just trying to impress, that’s all."

"Harmless, maybe, but annoying as fuck."

You eyed Toji with curiosity. "Why the sudden interest in my love life, Mr. Zenin? Jealousy, perhaps?"

He smirked, a rare hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Jealousy? Princess, I guarantee you, I'm far too professional for such bullshit.”

You shot him a playful glance. "You know, if you were a little less broody and a bit more charming, you might have a chance."

His facade cracked, and a genuine smile played on his lips, that scar stealing your attention again. "Charm has its time and place.” He opened the back door of the limousine and nudged you inside. “I prefer to keep you safe."

Toji was insufferable just as he was tall. Dressed in a compressed black t-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and chiseled torso, he exuded an air of quiet intensity. The long, dark tendrils of his hair poked his half-hooded eyes that always carried a mist of amusement. He was a silent guardian who navigated seamlessly between your shadows and the limelight.

You remember the first day your father had introduced your newly assigned bodyguard. All you could do was ogle the devilishly handsome man and pray your father and his security detail didn’t hear you swallow too hard or sit with your legs clenched together.

You appreciated the fact that he was fantastic at his job. At least in the first couple of months. But after you’d started your fourth year at university, Toji practically glued himself to you.

It was like he was your shadow, and you couldn’t escape. You get it, Dad was a senator, and security is essential, but did they have to assign you the clingiest bodyguard on the planet?

You’d gone on a blind date a few weeks back with yet another pretentious finance head, and Toji had himself stationed on the table adjacent to yours. When your date had stepped out to use the bathroom, Toji leaned over the table, and you remember how his biceps had flexed and that infuriating smirk played at his lips.

"Princess," he drawled, using that irritating nickname he's given you. As if being the daughter of a senator automatically made you royalty. "You should smile more. It might help with those lines forming on your forehead."

You hoped he choked on his own smugness.

But then there were those moments when the loneliness crept in, and the isolation became too much to bear. In those moments, his sarcastic banter was a lifeline, a distraction from the weight of your responsibilities. You found yourself craving the very company you claimed to detest.

You caught him smirking as you glanced in the rearview mirror, and for a moment, you forgot about the suffocating expectations, the political games, and the constant surveillance.

It's just you and Toji.

The soft hum of the elevator filled the air as you and Toji stepped into the sleek, mirrored enclosure leading up to your apartment. You looked like you had just stepped out of a battle with a jungle cat. Your eyes, once vibrant, were now shadowed with fatigue, and your normally impeccable hair fell in disarray around your shoulders.

You sighed, the weariness evident. "I can't believe this day. Non-stop meetings, interviews, endless parties, and galas. I feel like I've been running a marathon in heels."

"Well, at least you made it out in one piece, Princess."

You fired him a tired glare. "Don't call me that. You know I hate it."

"Sure thing, Your Highness," he replied, a teasing edge in his voice.

As the elevator smoothly ascended, your legs wobbled, and you swayed slightly. Without thinking, you reached out for support, your hand landing on Toji’s muscular arm. He felt the sudden weight and turned to look at you, eyebrows raised to the roof.

"Whoa there, easy," he said, his voice softer than before.

You blushed an outlandish shade of red. "I'm sorry. I'm just so exhausted. I didn't mean to—"

Toji cut you with a grin, his tone filled with mock concern. "Princess, if you're going to faint, at least do it gracefully. No need to ruin my reputation as the best bodyguard in town."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile played on your lips. "I'm not going to faint. Just a moment of weakness. That’s possible for even women like me, you know."

He chuckled. "Well, weak moments can be dangerous, especially in this line of work. You never know who might take advantage."

The elevator pinged, announcing their arrival at your floor. You straightened up, a renewed sense of determination in your eyes. "Thanks for the concern, tough guy, but I'll manage." You punched in the key code of your apartment door, the security light flashing green. "You can head home now. I’ll be fine from here."

"Oh, absolutely, Princess. But you know the drill—protocol and all. Can't leave the precious cargo unattended until it's safely delivered to its destination."

Your patience was wearing thin as you turned and brushed chests with the jester in black. “Mr. Zenin, for the hundredth time, I don't need an escort to my front door. I can handle myself."

Toji chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "Sure, sure. But what if a rogue pigeon attacks you on your way in? Or a gust of wind blows too hard, and you lose your balance? It's a treacherous world out there."

“We are indoors. There’s no rogue pigeons or a windstorm.”

Toji wore his stubbornness alongside his pride. “Just doin’ my job.”

You sighed, realizing arguing with him was futile. "Fine, come in if it makes you feel better, but then you're leaving."

"Sure," he said, holding the door open with a flourish as you entered the sterile, monochromatic apartment. From the high ceilings to the marble flooring, it was all your mother’s idea. For God’s sake, it was your apartment. You wanted earthly tones, Persian rugs, and a cat. A European tabby. You have wanted it since the day you were born because being an only child was like living in a house full of ghosts.

Your heels hit the floor with a muted thud, and your shawl cascaded down in a haphazard swirl as you brushed it off your shoulders. You sunk into the plush armrest of the couch, sighing deeply as you closed your eyes, attempting to shake off the fatigue that clung to you like a second skin. You were beginning to regret the three glasses of champagne to tune out tonight’s event.

"So, I’m guessing you’ve got another glamorous night in the political arena tomorrow, huh?" Toji asked.

You opened your eyes, your gaze meeting his, and managed a weak smile. "You have no idea. Sometimes, I feel like I'm caught in a never-ending dance of smiles and handshakes."

He pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled toward you. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a decent dance partner. Just not sure about my smile and handshake skills."

You wanted to tell him he had a nice smile, that the scar really added a touch of mystery to him—a mystery that kept you on your toes. He also had really large hands that you found yourself staring at during meetings or drives.

You ran a hand through your hair, loosening a few strands that framed your face. Toji’s eyes lingered on you, a subtle appreciation in his stare. Without thinking, he stepped in front of you, his fingers gently tucking the stray hair behind your ear.

"You've got a talent for getting yourself into these messes, Princess," he remarked, his voice low and intimate. His touch lingered, brushing against your cheek and then down to your neck. Unintentionally, his fingers traced the soft skin.

Your breath caught, the unexpected contact sending a shiver down your spine. You met his eyes, finding a silver of vulnerability in his usually cheeky behavior. For a moment, the air crackled with an unspoken tension. Toji, realizing the accidental breach of boundaries, withdrew his hand, mumbling, "Got a bit carried away there."

Your tired eyes softened with a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. "It's okay, Mr. Zenin. Just . . . let's just chalk it up to exhaustion.”

He straightened up. "Yeah, exhaustion. That's exactly it."

Nodding, you stood from your spot and awkwardly patted his shoulder. “You can see yourself out."

He raised a fascinated brow at the gesture, the scar curling up in a half-smile.

As you made your way upstairs to the bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling of Toji’s calloused fingertips circling from your ear, knuckles softly brushing your cheekbone and down to your neck. The sensation lingered, sending shivers down your spine.

You entered the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth building within you, turning on your bathtub’s faucet. The running water drowned out your racing thoughts as you undressed. Your fingers traced the curves of your body, and your eyes, filled with self-doubt, studied your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The image staring back at you was proof of years of dieting imposed by your mother's relentless pursuit of the perfect political image.

You sighed, shoulders slumping, yet the boulders of burden settled upon them refused to fall. As you raised your head, you caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection behind you. “What the f—” A chill ran down your spine as you turned around, heart pounding.

There, in the doorway, stood Toji, his green gaze fixed on your face.

“What the hell are you doing here?" you demanded, wrapping your arms protectively around your breasts, hand covering your lower region.

Toji’s eyes softened, his usual sarcasm substituted by concern. "I heard you talking to yourself. Thought you might need some company."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That's not an invitation to barge in!"

“I'm your bodyguard, and part of my job is to make sure you're secure, even if it means guarding you in your own bathroom.”

“I'm perfectly safe in my own bathroom. Besides, you're not my babysitter."

Obviously, he ignored you and took a step closer to the tub, his eyes never leaving yours. He turned off the faucet just as the water was at the perfect level. His hand dipped in the steaming water. “Hot.”

“Oh my god, get out!”

“Get in.”

“What?”

“Get your ass in the tub.”

You rolled your eyes but didn't back down. "I'm not getting into that bathtub with you hovering over me like a hawk."

Toji sighed exasperatedly.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by a crack in his patience. "What's so urgent that you can't leave me alone for five minutes?"

He hesitated for a moment before smirking. "I want to wash your hair."

"Wash my hair?" you echoed.

"Yeah. I heard it's the latest trend in personal security."

You shouldn’t have chuckled, but you did anyway. Everything about this situation had blown out of proportion, escalated from zero to a million, and put an interesting mark on your otherwise professional relationship with your bodyguard.

Toji extended his hand, a silent invitation. You were at his beck and call in five seconds, lowering your hands from your bare body, and not once did he check you out. However, the tick in his jaw and the subtle flare of his nostrils easily gave him away. You accepted his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours—his touch was firm yet gentle. You gingerly stepped into the embrace of the steaming water, sinking low until it covered your shoulders.

Toji wet your hair before squeezing a handful of shampoo into his palm, his hands strong yet gentle as he began to work the lather into your hair. His fingers moved in rhythmic circles, massaging your scalp with a skill that spoke of experience. The sensation of his touch, combined with the warm water, created a cocoon of comfort. The tension in your shoulders seemed to melt away, replaced by a strange but welcome calm.

"Seriously, though, why are you doing this?” you asked. “Bodyguards aren't typically known for their hairdressing skills."

Toji flashed a wry grin. "Rumor has it that a well-groomed princess is a happy princess. Plus, it's in the fine print of the bodyguard handbook—section 37, subsection B: 'Haircare Duties.'"

“But I’m not a princess.”

“Not to me,” he murmured.

As the water streamed down your back, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the tranquility of his caretaking. "Mr. Zenin," you whispered, your voice a gentle hum, "this is a side of you I never knew existed."

He chuckled softly, continuing to pour water over your hair. "I wear many hats, Princess. Tonight, I'm just Toji."

Your eyes opened, meeting his gaze. “Toji.”

He paused for a moment, his hands still in your hair. The only sound was the rhythmic patter of lingering water droplets leaving the faucet. You could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle tenseness that hadn't been there before. It was as if the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.

He cleared his throat, a nervous habit you had never noticed before. “First time you’ve said my name.”

Oh.

In a daring move, Toji let his fingers linger on your neck, his touch feather-light. Your breath hitched in your throat, or maybe it was his hand curling around your trachea that stopped it. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours. If he kissed you now, you would never look at your bathtub as a source of taking your own life again. If he kissed you now, you would never look at him the same again. If he kissed you now, you’d drown in it. It would be the only time you willingly would without coming back up for air at the last minute.

Your hand reached up and cupped the back of his head as a green sign. Toji leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. The world seemed to hold its breath as he lingered there for a moment. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, he parted your mouth with his tongue, seeking permission, and you welcomed him wholeheartedly.

But as quick as the kiss happened, the quicker he pulled back.

“Fuck.”

Your heart sunk.

Fuck, indeed.

Confusion and hurt flickered across your face as you struggled to comprehend the sudden twist in your actions. You hadn't considered the consequences, the potential risks that a romantic entanglement could pose to both of you. The weight of your privilege and his responsibility pressed heavily on both of your shoulders. "Toji, I thought . . .”

He suddenly stood, and you reached out with your hand, grazing his arm, frightened that he was going to walk away and leave you wallowing alone in your guilt. "Well, well," he drawled, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sardonic smile. Slowly, he tilted your chin up with a gentle touch. "I never thought I'd see the day when the senator's daughter would be so desperate for her bodyguard's attention."

A flush of embarrassment crept up on your cheeks, and you tried to pull away, but Toji’s grip on your chin remained firm.

“Desperation suits you, Princess," he continued, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite place. "But remember, we're playing with fire here."

"You're one to talk, Mr. Zenin. Who kissed who first?"

His laughter echoed throughout the bathroom. "Touché, sweetheart. Touché."

You lowered your eyes, hugging your knees to your chest. “Whatever. You can leave now.”

“Leave? Not a fucking chance.” Toji’s boisterous laugh made you jump. He started taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. “It’s your turn to wash my hair.”

“W-What?”

He responded by unbuckling his belt and lowering his trousers, leaving him in his boxer briefs. Your hands covered your eyes when he was completely naked and incredibly erect. “What, you’ve never seen a naked man before, Princess?”

“Once,” you mumbled. You weren’t a virgin, a secret only you knew. It was during the first-year of university when you’d hooked up with one of your mother’s best friend’s son. Both your families had high hopes of an engagement, but you were against the idea. Thank goodness for that. He’d lasted about five minutes into the sex before collapsing on top of you. It was a painful disaster.

“You just signed a man’s death wish,” Toji said, settling into the tub with you. The water sloshed around him, cascading over the edges of the tub and creating small puddles on the marble floor.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” you whisper breathlessly.

"Taking a bath? Now, now, sweetheart. Don’t be mean." He reclined against the tub's porcelain edge, the water clinging to the contours of his muscular frame. “Why are you so far away? Come here.”

Your body defied your intentions as it glided away from the corner, moving towards him. His left leg extended while the right one bent, with the cap of his knee emerging from the water. Your small hand cradled it, guiding you closer until you were seated just inches away from his erection.

Toji splashed water over your face, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Toji!”

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” He tilted his head back, accentuating the chiseled contours of his jaw. His chest resonated with laughter. “You’re so pretty when you blush for me.” His large hand slithered to your nape and tugged you forward, claiming your lips in a feverish, powerful kiss, where his teeth pulled your bottom lip and sucked on it. It frustrated you that, once again, he broke away first, leaving you to whimper. “Turn around. On all fours.”

The questions fizzled out on your tongue. “Are you going to . . .”

“Fuck you?” He arched an eyebrow, the damp strands of his hair swaying in sync with the tilt of his head. “Fuck yes.” His lashes lowered, giving his eyes a dangerously dark glint. “Unless you don’t want me—”

“No!” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “No, I never . . . I want you to.”

“To what?”

Oh, he was really a dick. “I . . . want you to fuck . . me.”

He wet his bottom lip. “How do you want me to fuck you, sweet girl?”

Your chest rose and fell in synchrony with the ebb and flow of the situation. “I don’t know. I’ve only had sex once.”

“Baby, there’s a major difference between having sex and being fucked.”

On cue, your legs instinctively clenched in an attempt to find relief. “Are you clean?”

Toji raked his fingers through his hair and made a spinning gesture with his finger. Your body followed the motion, turning away from him and gripping the tub’s edge. “Wanna know a secret, Princess?”

“Uh, sure.”

The heat emanating from his chest pressed against your back. “I got a check-up the day I was assigned to you.” A sentence that visibly made you shudder. Of course, the insufferable bastard had planned this circumstance ahead. “I knew that sooner or later, I’ll have the senator’s daughter naked and needy underneath me. That I’ll have my cock buried deep within the tight walls of her sweet, sweet pussy, as she milks every last bit of my come. That I’ll watch as it drips out her hole and down her soft thighs.” He extended his arm and delicately lifted the drain plug with his fingers, allowing the water to gracefully swirl away from the bathtub. “I jerked off to the thought almost every night.”

“So, you accepted this job just to get a chance to sleep with me?” Your confidence tanked, and your body prepared itself to leave the tub. “Go to hell—”

Toji wrapped his palm around your hair three times, pulling it taut as he drew you back, pressing you firmly against his chest. “I wasn’t finished talking.”

“Let me go!”

“Know what I do when I escort you to your apartment, Princess?” He wasn’t gentle with cuffing his hands around your neck, immediately silencing you. “I wait like a fucking dog outside until you’re asleep. Then, I walk back in, clean up around your kitchen and living room because you’re too tired to do your chores, and after playing your maid, I tuck you into bed. I watch you sleep, even letting you hold onto my hand, until the moon exchanges for the sun. And I’ve been doing this for the past six fucking months.” He jerks your head to the side, his glare cold and cutting. “So, no, Princess, I didn’t accept this damn job to fuck you. This was just a side perk.”

"Oh," was all you could manage to say. The mystery behind the polished kitchen sink, the mugs and dishes neatly stowed away, the meticulously organized closet, and the unexpected peaceful nights of sleep settling within you finally unraveled. The source of your newfound stability, one that encouraged you to gradually wean off your anti-anxiety medication, was none other than your bodyguard who, unbeknownst to you, had been quietly tending to your well-being in the shadows.

Toji's gruff voice murmured near your ear, interrupting your contemplation. "You're mine, not only in body but in soul, sweet girl. No one—absolutely no-fucking-one—gets to lay a finger on you when I'm around. I won't let you out of my sight, not even for a moment."

You nod, curving your cheek and giving him a simple, soft kiss. “Will you wash me afterward?”

“Every time.”

“Will you sleep alongside me?”

“Every night.”

“And day?”

“Every day.”

“You promise?”

Toji didn’t answer, and you didn’t want to push the fantasy any further given your roles.

You’d made up your mind and rested your head back on his shoulder, a smile naturally splaying at your lips. “Don’t hold back, big guy.”

Toji kissed the side of you neck and nudged you forward so you were gripping the tub’s edge once again. His calloused, rough hand ran down your spine and settled on one-half of your ass. “So soft here.” He delivered a forceful slap, firmly grasping the flesh between his nails, stretching your skin taut, then spanking you again and again and again until your pussy was practically salivating for his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so wet already, baby.” He spat on his fingers and slipped through the slit of your soaking pussy, circling your swollen clit in fast motions. “When’s the last time anyone’s fucked this neglected pussy? Made you spread your legs and rubbed your pretty, puffy clit?” You moaned and broke into choppy gasps, pushing your ass closer to his fingers. “Your private tutor didn’t teach you a lesson on patience?”

“Toji, please.”

“Shh. I know, I know.” He mocked your desperation, gathering your hair in his fist. “Let’s see how many fingers my sweet girl can take.” Toji drove in two digits before you could blink, a maniacal chuckle escaping him as he skillfully moved them in and out, savoring the sounds of your pleasure-filled cries. “Yes, baby. Oh, yes. One more, okay?” His ring finger forced itself in, eliciting a groan from both of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He rested his thick fingers inside your warmth for a minute, feeling you clench and suck him in.

“Toji— Too much—”

“Not enough, sweet girl.” He began moving, easily hitting the spot that had your toes curling inwards. “You can take it, baby. I know you can take it.” You proved him by grinding back on his palm. “That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Such a good girl.” The squelching sounds crowded the bathroom, your release seeping out of you without you knowing. You cried out as he relentlessly thrusted his digits, gathering your sticky mess on his fingers and bringing it to your lips. “Taste how sweet you are.”

Your mouth covered his slick, white-coated fingers, tongue wrapping around them and suckling them deep towards the recesses of your throat. The sounds of you gagging made him grunt and sink his fingers ever further before pulling them out abruptly, strings of your saliva and release bridging the space in between.

Toji, with a sly grin, licked his fingers clean, shooting a playful wink at your flushed and flustered demeanor. “Delicious.”

Arm around your waist, Toji easily carried you back and turned you around so you were facing him, straddling his sturdy thighs. A rugged exhale escaped his lips, akin to someone who had endured a grueling day of manual labor. With muscles flexed, he extended his arms on either side, creating a protective barrier around the edge of the tub.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, drinking in your figure.

“Thank you.”

“No, baby. You don’t say “thank you” to me if I compliment you. You say “I know,” and move the fuck on.” He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, cupping the side of your waist. You jumped when he flicked at your stone-hard nipple. “You’re sensitive there, huh?”

You mumbled, “Everywhere.”

“Speak up, sweetheart.”

“Everywhere,” you said with a volume that made him tip his head back and study you through the hooded slit of his eyes. “What you did, with your fingers, it felt good. Really good.”

“I know,” he replied, winking. “Want me to make you feel fucking fantastic, sweet girl?”

You nod, anticipating his next—

“Sit on it,” he said languidly.

“What?”

“Sit on my cock, Princess.”

He truly had a way with his words.

And you had grown accustomed to them.

Rising on your knees, you stumbled forward and aligned yourself on his ramrod erection, white beads of pre-cum leaking from the pink tip. He gripped the base of it, allowing you to sink down on his long, girthy length.

“Shit,” he breathed out, head lulling back.

“You’re—You’re too big.” The words strained out of you as you sought a comfortable position to move in. “Oh, God. Toji, I don’t think—”

He swallows your following words with his lips, cradling your flushed face in his hands. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Get yourself comfortable because, in a minute, I’ll make you forget the word ever existed.”

“Oh, God.”

“Toji, baby. The name’s Toji. Fucking say it.”

“T-Toji . . . ”

He lowered his head and grasped your left breast, fondling it like a stress ball as if his stress levels were beyond the roof. You mewled when he pinched your nipple and stretched it out, heating it between his fingers. His lips latched onto your right breast, cheeks concaving as he sucked hard.

You were a lost cause at that point, watching him nibble the swollen bud between his teeth, giving you that devilish smirk. “Fuck, baby. Your nipple tastes so sweet.” His tongue circled around it, pulling it taught in his mouth. “Maybe I should make you a mother just so I get to taste the milk that’ll leak from them.”

“You’re so dirty,” you whispered, ignoring the sudden film reel of you and Toji and your children gathered around a Christmas tree in an apartment smaller than this, in a life quieter and more private than yours. You needed clinical help.

“I know you’re thinking it.” He released your nipple with a pop and kissed your lips. “Soon, sweetheart.”

Soon?

Toji didn’t allow you to overthink anymore before grappling your ass and raising it high off his cock, until only his tip remained in you. “Hold on tight.”

He pounded you down.

You yelped and stabbed your nails into his shoulders, shouting out, “Fucking hell!” which, obviously, made him burst out laughing, all while ramming you down on his cock, burying himself to the hilt.

“Toji—ah!”

Tears streaked down your cheeks, which he quickly wiped away with his tongue, kissing each eye as if it were your mouth. He thrusted up into you in a staccato rhythm, gripping your nape to keep you steady in place. Your high-pitched whines and empty complaints fueled him to push both of your limits.

“Don’t let this get to your head,” Toji gritted out, a layer of cockiness in his voice, “but I’ve never once fucked anyone in this position.”

Well, that made you feel special, you supposed.

Actually, it made you want to try harder to please him. If you did well tonight, you could try every position in his book. So, you pressed your hands against his pecs and swirled your hips in circles, slowing his thrusts so you could take control. He was fascinated by your body, by your sudden superiority, settling his hands on your waist while you rode him insistently.

“Look at you riding my cock, baby,” Toji muses. “Look at you go. Just like that, come on. I know you can move faster.” He admired the movement of your breasts, the sweat-beads that crystallized on your skin, how your drowsy eyes rolled to the back of your head. You felt his cock twitch uncontrollably within your hot, sticky walls, felt the thick tip of it penetrate the spot that pushed you to the precise of your orgasm.

But your exhaustion caught up to you faster than your climax, causing your body to grow limp and slump against his chest. Toji embraced you, settling one hand on the back of your head and the other on your ass.

“You did well, baby,” he whispered into your hair.

“Don’t lie to me. You didn’t come.”

“Neither did you.”

You nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck, circling your shaky arm around his strong neck. “I’m close, Toji. I’m almost there. I promise.”

That’s all it took for him to drive back up into you, grunting expletives and praises in your ear—fuck, oh, fuck, ah, fuck, such a good girl, my sweet fucking girl, oh, your pussy is so tight, so pretty, made just for my cock—while holding you flush against his sweaty chest. You kissed his temple and clutched his hair, breathing in the scent of your lavender-honey shampoo and his natural musk. He continuously mumbled, “Come on, baby, come on. Come for me. Come on my cock, sweet girl.”

And you did. With a cry that hitched in your throat, with your nails dragging down his shoulder blades, with his teeth sunk into your neck, with your bodies sweat-struck and panting like wild horses.

Toji drew you back and ran a hand on your cheek, brushing away the damp strands sticking to your cheek. “Good?”

You breathed out through your open mouth, the organ inside your chest hammering to break out. “Fan . . . tastic.”

He smiled warmly, not the arrogant-cocky kind you were used to receiving, and pressed his lips to yours. No tongue, nothing. Just a simple, chaste kiss. “Time to wash up, Princess.”

Switching from the tub to the shower stall, you began to wash Toji’s hair with your lavender-honey shampoo. You anticipated his complaints, but all he did was sit silently on the seat, using a loofa to clean your body. He complimented the curves of your figure, even taking a sneaky nip at your breast, then chuckling at your reaction. Like a gentleman, he dried off your wet body, combed through your wet hair as he blow-dried it, and then it was his turn, but of course, he forced you onto his lap while you did.

“How’d you get this scar?” you asked as you two lay in your bed, naked with your limbs tangled with each other. For the past hour, all you’ve done is trace your finger over his brows, his sharp, pointed nose, and his lips. “You don’t have to tell me—”

“Family. That’s all.”

“Okay,” you whispered, snuggling your face under his jaw and wrapping your arm around his torso as far as you can.

“You’re clingy, aren’t ya’?” he teased, hooking your leg over his hip.

“Was I too out of character for you, Mr. Zenin?”

You felt his smile on your crown accompanied. “You’re not a character, Princess. You’re a real person.” His hug around your sore body tightens as if you’re about to escape any minute. “It’s overwhelming how real you are, Y/N.”

“Did you just call me by name?”

He raised a brow, voice laced with charming sarcasm. “Was I too out of character for you, Y/N?”

Your hand cupped his cheek, stroking the scar by his lip. “You’re perfect, Toji.” You kissed the wound, the middle of his lips, and the tip of his nose for a good measure.

“Stop acting cute and sleep, Princess. You’ve got a tea party in the morning.”

Groaning, you decompress in his hold. “Goodnight, Toji.”

“Night, sweet girl. Dream of me.”

“You, too.”

“Always.”

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ladyveronikawrites · 3 months

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LOST IN THE CONCRETE JUNGLE CHAPTER SIX Bad Omens x Star Wars Pairing: Zebastian (Noah Sebastian) x F!Reader

CW: ⚠️‼️THIS CHAPTER TURNS DARK- PLEASE USE YOUR DESCRECTION WHEN READING‼️⚠️ drugging, graphic descripions of murder, post murder fuck, anal sex (male receiving), blood, blood kink

Summary: You are the perfect senator's daughter- next in line to become his aide to learn everything about the Galactic Senate. But on your 21st birthday, your perfect life changes forever when the mysterious masked man you met at the nightclub was not who you thought he was. A/N: POV switching from second to first occurs often in the story. Shout out to my amazing beta team @mysticdoodlez, @roley-poley-foley, and @nerdraging4point0 your insight and cheerleading has been invaluable. Word Count:2k Crossposted: Wattpad & A03 Cast list

Master list

May the Force be with you✨

“Leave me alone!”

You sprint out of the warehouse. It’s all too much. You gasp for air as your legs give out. You cry out at the pain searing through your legs. Your head slumps into your hands as uncontrollable heartbreak consumes you. Your chest heaves against the tops of your knees.

A warm hand on your back startles you. “Go away!” You try to push the body away but they step back from your grasp. When your blurry vision clears, a large figure crouches beside you.

Zebastian.

You scramble to your feet and stumble aimlessly into the dark alley. You can’t see what’s in front of you but it doesn’t bother you. You just need to get away. You stagger further into the alley until your body crashes into something cold and hard. A concrete wall halts your path of despair. You slump back into the wall for stability as its rough texture somehow grounds you.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Zebastian’s voice is low as if he is trying to soothe a scared animal that escaped the Coruscant Zoo. Footsteps crunch against gravel.

“Liar,” you bite out. His footsteps stop.

“I mean you no harm. Not anymore.” Zebastian puts his hands up in defense. “I needed answers.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I needed to know why my father was murdered…” He trails off. He clears his throat. “I’m sure you need answers to…” His voice is soft and sincere.

“I don’t need answers, I need a distraction.” You cut Zebastian off. “I don't want to think right now. I don’t want to think about my father and especially you.”

You bite out the last word and it strikes Zebastian just as you intended. You don’t know what Zebastian wants. One minute he’s trying to hurt you then he’s trying to help you. It’s all too much.

“I can help you with your distraction.” Zebastian makes one step closer to you. Even in the dim light, you can see his jaw clench. His face still surprises you every time you see him without his mask on. He’s strikingly handsome.

“You swaying in tempo with the music.” Your body freezes as he takes another step.

“Bodies pressed against without a care in the world.” You suck in a breath as he closes the distance between you. He slams both of his hands on the wall; caging you in.

“The dancefloor beckons,” Zebstian’s hot breath against your ear sends a shiver down your spine.

You should push him away.

Should decline his invitation.

But you don’t.

The beat consumes you and takes your racing thoughts with it. Despite the dense air and body heat, you can finally breathe. You sink deeper into the bliss as the tempo picks up. Closing your eyes and raising your arms into the air you release all abandon into the void. You are safe. The bodies pressing against you on the dancefloor don’t care who you are. They don’t ask questions. They just want to feel the freedom of music just like you.

A warm arm wraps around your waist followed by a cool metal one. Nash. The memories of him in the alley flood your mind. His metal hand holding you still so Revan can violate you. You should run, but his earthy scent and body heat flood your system making your head spin.

His cybernetic arm pulls you closer to his chest holding you to him as his other hand roams the side of your body. Through the soft fabric of your dress, you can feel the heat emanating from his fingertips. You roll your head back against his firm chest, your body swaying to the beat.

You could get lost here in the Concrete Jungle.

Without warning, Nash grips your wrist with his metal hand and pulls you off the dancefloor. You try to protest but he can’t hear you against the loud music. His hand grips you tighter as you stumble through the crowd. Nash leads you through a dark hallway and up a flight of stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask between pants. He doesn’t answer you, instead abruptly opens a door and pushes you inside. “What the-” you stagger into the room as Nash slams the door shut leaving you in the room.

When you turn from the door you lock eyes with Zebastian. Your breath leaves your lungs as your mouth drops open. He is lounging in a leather chair behind his desk. His feet are propped up on the desk and crossed at the ankles. The top few buttons of his black shirt are popped up and the sleeves are rolled up exposing his tattooed arms, chest, and neck. His hair is slicked back into a small bun with no mask in sight. He looks so different; comfortable, and confident.

“What’s going on? Why am I here?” Your voice comes out more breathy than you would like.

“So many questions,” Zebastian says lowly. “Please sit down.” He gestures to the leather couch. You don’t know why you comply, but you go to the couch.

“It seems like your father has sent his pet to come get you.” Zebastian takes a sip of what looks like wine. Your brows knit together in confusion.

“Pet?” You echo.

Zebastian just chuckles. “Come over here.” Zebastian gestures to the window behind him but you hesitate. He lets out a breath. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

This time you believe him. You make your way to the window behind his desk, tugging at the hem of your dress subconsciously. His intense gaze makes your stomach tie up in knots. Your eyes go wide when you see Mikkah.

“W-what’s he doing here?” You stammer.

Zebastian takes a sip of his wine. “Your father’s dirty work.” Zebastian’s says nonchalantly. “He’s here to come get you.” Your mouth falls open again as your thoughts spiral out of control.

“Do you want to go home?” Zebastian’s unusual question rips you from your thoughts.

“I can’t go home, not after what my father did to me…what Mikkah did to me.” You watch as Mikkah is being dragged down by a group of men.

“Mikkah? What did Mikkah do to you?” Zebastian asks in a low husky tone.

“I-I- can’t say.” That’s all you can muster as you pull yourself away from the chaos.

“Did Mikkah hurt you?” Zebastian says through clenched teeth.

You don’t have the words or the courage to admit what happened to you. You try to turn away from Zebastian, from the embarrassment and shame about to bubble and overflow; but a hand grabs your wrist, freezing you in place. His hold on you is surprisingly gentle but a spark manages to cut through you when you look up at him.

“Stay,” Zebastian says softly. “I will not hurt you and neither will he.”

Lost in your spiraling thoughts you did not hear the door open. When you follow Zebastian’s gaze you find Revan in the doorway. You pull out of Zebastian’s grasp and take a few steps back until you hit the wall. The memories of that night in the alley flash into your mind. Your heartbeat quickens and your shoulders tense.

“You,” You breathe out staring at Revan. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears now.

“He will not hurt you, not ever again.” Zebastian turns to you. “He only did that to you because I asked him to. It was the only way.”

Zebastian buttons up his shirt and grabs his coat and mask from his desk. He makes his way to Revan as he puts on the mask, but stops and turns to you again.

“Go with him, now.” Zebastian’s eyes turn dark and menacing.

You will never understand how quickly he can change from quiet and comforting to stern and dangerous. Before you can probe more, Zebastian storms out the door.

“Would you like a drink before we go?” Revan smiles softly.

When you hesitate he adds, “It’s not tampered with. It’s from Zebastian’s personal stash.” Revan gestures to the bar in the corner of the room.

“I’ll even let you have the expensive wine if you’d like.”

You watch as Revan pours himself a glass of whiskey. It couldn’t hurt to calm the nerves. Could it? You nod your head and Revan pours you a drink. You close your eyes and knock it back quickly. The warm liquid burns the back of your throat making your eyes water but it settles your nerves almost instantly. Revan reaches out his hand for you to take. Reluctantly, you take it.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, gripping your hand tighter. Your brows knit together in confusion, then all at once your vision blurs, and your legs give out.

I slowly descend the dimly lit concrete spiral staircase leading to the basement of the nightclub. Lights flicker on with each step I make. I revel in the sound of slapped skin and grunts of pain. Mikkah should have never stepped his polished boots in my territory.

Mikkah’s screams get louder as I near the bottom of the steps. The Senator is going to pay for meddling in a place he doesn’t belong.

Mikkah is in the center of the room tied to a chair as Nash and Jax flank him. Jax pours water over the hood on Mikkah’s head while Nash lands punishing blows to his bare chest and side with his metal arm. When they hear my approach, Nash goes to perch on an Imperial crate against the wall while Jax brings over the cart of knives.

This is going to be fun. My heartbeat pounds in my chest as I rip off the hood. Mikkah’s eyes go wide and he tugs against his restraints, spurting out muffled pleas through his cloth gag.

I glance over Mikkah’s surprisingly toned chest now marred with red and purpling splotches. He is bigger than I imagined. I watch as his shoulders tense to my gaze. He could have easily held her down with his weight alone.

Anger flashes through me and I can’t stop myself from smashing my fist into his ribs. His ribs crunch against the impact; sending Mikkah screaming and gasping for air.

I turn and snatch a knife from the cart. The blade glints in the low light as I tower over him. I cut the gag and yank it from his mouth. Before Mikkah can spout a syllable I knick his collarbone with the blade. He winces as blood starts to bead at the incision.

“What are you doing here?” I stalk around him watching his shallow breathing. His jaw clenches shut and he glares at me.

“Loth-cat got your tongue?” I chuckle to myself.

I get right up in Mikkah’s face and press the tip of the blade onto the delicate skin of his neck. Mikkah leans his head back as I press the blade harder. Mikkah spits in my face. It takes every ounce of willpower not to slit his throat right then and there.

In one swift motion, I slice off his nipple. Mikkah howls in pain and I dig the tip of the knife in the other nipple.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“T-the senator sent me-.” Mikkah sputters out between shallow breaths. I press deeper. “To get his daughter.”

Mikkah sighs when I remove the knife. Blood is starting to drip down his torso. Mikkah’s eyes gloss over as adrenaline sets in.

“Was she everything you hoped for?” I drag the blade up his torso collecting his blood.

“W-what?” Mikkah stammers.

I plunge the blade into the wound. “The senator’s daughter.” I clamp down on his shoulder with my free hand and twist the blade inside the wound. Mikkah shrieks in agony. “Was her pussy that good?” I step back, examining my handiwork leaving the blade in his body as he processes the pain and the question.

“Y-yes,” Mikkah chokes out.

Before he can finish the word, I yank the blade from his chest and slice his throat.

Blood gushes everywhere, spattering my clothes. This only makes my cock strain harder against my pants.

Fuck.

The light drains from Mikkah’s eyes as his head slumps over. Adrenaline and arousal course through my veins.

The bloody knife slips from my hand as my head begins to clear. I hear footsteps nearby. Jax is getting to work cleaning up the body.

A body shuffles in the corner of my vision. Nash. His eyes are full of primal lust. He loves blood as much as I do. He takes a swig from the flask he keeps in his jacket pocket before loosening his belt.

Our post-murder fuck.

Nash has his boxers and pants around his ankles in an instant. He leans over an Imperial crate for leverage. Fuck the Empire. I unzip my pants and free my hard cock from its confines. Spitting on my hand to add more lubrication to the blood already there, my core ignites with every stroke from my hand.

Without warning, I plunge my throbbing cock into his ass. Nash grunts at the invasion. I grip his hips and drill into him further.

“Fuuuuuck, Zeb,” Nash groans as his walls adjust.

I slowly withdraw from him until it's just the tip. He whimpers with anticipation and it makes my heart skip a beat. I dig my nails deep into his hips, scratching his skin. He pushes against me practically begging for more. I thrust into him without mercy. Clenching my teeth, I fuck him through my orgasm until cum has nowhere else to go but down his thigh. When I pull away from him Nash dutifully drops to his knees to lick and clean my softening cock.

Jax’s monotone voice cuts through the haze of my mind. “It’s finished.” After I’ve adjusted my clothes, I turn to find the basement completely free of any evidence a murder occurred.

“I need a drink,” I say dryly.

tysm for reading❤️🗡️

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#bad omens fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #bad omens au #bad omens galactic au #bad omens mafia au #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #Bad Omens x Star Wars #bad omens x female reader #noah sebastian x female reader #fic: lost in the concrete jungle #ladyveronikawrites #thescarletdaggerforever #cw: minor character death #cw: murder #cw: blood #cw: body horror #cw: blood kink

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radiofreederry · 2 years

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Happy birthday, Howard Zinn! (August 24, 1922)

An incisive gadfly against capitalism and thorn in the side of American militarism, historian and political scientist Howard Zinn was born to a Jewish family in Brooklyn. Growing up in the Great Depression, Zinn found himself drawn to the Communists who championed the rights of workers and minorities, and joined them at political rallies. During one such rally, the police arrived and brutalized those assembled, including Zinn. An earnest antifascist, Zinn enlisted in the Army Air Corps during World War II, but was shaken by his experiences and would come to oppose war in all forms. Educating himself and becoming a professor after the war, he taught for a time at Spelman College in Atlanta before being fired for supporting some of the students' radical activism. He then came to Boston University, where he would teach for 24 years. Zinn was a career activist, organizing with the SNCC during the Civil Rights movement, railing against the Vietnam War and war in general, annotated the copy of the Pentagon Papers read into the Congressional Record by Senator Mike Gravel, and campaigning for alternative perspectives in pedagogy. Zinn wrote A People's History of the United States, a seminal work which is still widely read and discussed to this day. Zinn continued his activism until his death in 2010, spending his last days in strident opposition to American foreign policy and the War on Terror.

"In a world already moving in certain directions, where wealth and power are already distributed in certain ways, neutrality means accepting the way things are now. It is a world of clashing interests – war against peace, nationalism against internationalism, equality against greed, and democracy against elitism – and it seems to me both impossible and undesirable to be neutral in those conflicts."

#birthdays #howard zinn

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s-creations · 6 months

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26 Ways to Feel Mortal - B: Bust

26 Chapters based around experiences that newly arrived Geno experiences while trying to find the Star Pieces.

Fandom: Super Mario & Releated Fandoms, Super Mario RPG Rating: Teen and UP Audiences Relationship: Mario/Geno (Nintendo), Mario/Princess Peach (Nintendo) Additional Tags: Rating for Teen needed for later chapters, but shouldn't be to worrisome, I'll have warnings if I'm worried, Poly relations!, Main characters will always be named, Minor characters will arrive as needed, the chapters are not in a specific order, just meets the needs of the given word, please be aware of spoilers.

Bust: (verb) Come apart or split open. Cause to collapse;defeat.

Stars were never tired. They would work endlessly to categorize the numerous wishes that were created and fulfill them to the best of their ability. Night and day didn’t exist. It was just a sky filled with their kin. Both senate and those of just blinding lights of energy.

It was the second night away from Rose Town that Geno felt exhaustion for the first time.

Jerking away when something touched his arm. Blinking quickly to try and clear up the fogginess. Realization dawned on him that it was just Mario.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”

“Oh…I-I think so? I’m sorry, I’m feeling strange…”

“Strange? Are you sick?” Mallow asked worriedly, “Can Stars get sick?”

“No, I very much doubt so.”

Mario shifted closer. “Do you think you could describe what’s happening?”

“I feel…heavy. More than what I’m used to. My movements feel sluggish, I have a hard time keeping my eyes open, it’s hard to think…” Geno felt a strange sensation bloom in his chest when Mario placed a hand against the puppet’s cheek.

“I would say you don’t feel warm. But you’re wood, so I’m not sure if I’d really be able to tell- whoa!” Mario quickly reached out to hold Geno close. The puppet started to fall forward, eyes barely open. “Whoa, okay… When was the last time you slept?”

“Stars don’t sleep…” Geno replied weakly.

“Maybe they do when they have a physical body. I think right now that’s a different story. Come on, we’re turning in early.”

Mallow whined softly at that, but didn’t further complain as he and Mario laid out the sleeping equipment. Geno eventually brought over to a large blanket. Laid down on his back with his head resting on a contained cloud.

“How’d you get a cloud in here?” Geno asked, voice coming out in a gravel tone. He heard Mario give a small chuckle.

“It’s not a cloud. Just some fluff, it’s a pillow.”

Geno let out a small hum, rolling onto his side to nuzzle into said pillow.

That’s the last he remembered before he fell into a blissful darkness.

______________________

Stars never had a reason to eat. Sustenance was something only viewed as an interesting topic of conversation between them while they worked.

What do you think certain items taste like?

What do you think it feels like to swallow?

Is it as slimy as it looks?

Is it cold?

Warm?

It was an interesting way to pass the time.

Geno couldn’t help but let out another whine as his midsection cramped once more. Arms tightly wrapped around himself in an attempt to alleviate the pain. Mallow paced nervously nearby as Mario quickly dug through their bags.

“Hold on,” Mario replied to Geno’s noise, “Hold on, I almost- got it!”

He pulled out a glass container filled with something Geno did not recognize. Thin strands of something limp covered with a red, chunky liquid.

“W-What is that? Are t-those worms?” The puppet asked nervously.

“No, it’s pasta. Specifically spaghetti,” Mario laughed softly, “It’s better warmed up. But I don’t think you’ll be able to last that long. Come on, let’s get you sat up.”

Geno was not pleased when he was forced to move. Hating how weak he felt, his body even shaking as he leaned against Mario. Watching with barely open eyes as the human easily twirled the fork around said noodles. Bringing up a decent sized bite to Geno’s mouth.

“Open up. I promise, this won’t hurt you.”

Still giving the forkful a concerned look, Geno did as asked.

While the cold feeling was not the best first impression, it was quickly forgotten when Geno fully tasted the flavor from said bite. Eyes widening slightly as he tried to swallow it down. Only for his throat to fight the wad of food bight. The puppet coughing weakly, quickly leaving over and spitting the food back out.

“Eww…” Mallow weakly commented as noodles splattered onto the ground.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Mario spoke softly as he rubbed Geno’s back, “How about we chew this time, yeah? Don’t swallow it right away. Use your teeth to turn it into mush. Then you can swallow. It’s better than it sounds, promise.”

Steadying himself once more, Geno gave a small nod. The second bite was handled much easier. The pair in his stomach slowly disappeared with each mouthful he took.

“Guess you need to add ‘eating’ to your daily list of normal activities.” Mario teased while Geno rolled his eyes.

______________________

Stars don’t feel pain.

They don’t really feel anything.

Gain and loss. Neither of those feelings, these emotions, are felt by Stars.

Emphasis on the negative sensations.

The worst they’d ever had to worry about was the worry over an unfulfilled wish.

Geno hadn’t been paying attention. Honestly, with how normal it had become with daily fighting, he felt at ease. To at ease. Meaning he was unaware of how far his defenses had lowered.

The attack landed squarely on his back. His body seemed to spasm before becoming unresponsive. For some reason, the other members of the party were watching on fearfully.

Geno couldn’t understand why.

He was fine.

Why wouldn’t he?

…Right?

Geno fell to his knees.

Nothing was responding.

Why couldn’t he move?

Why did everything feel…numb?

He saw tears pouring down Mallow’s face.

Was it raining?

Why couldn’t he feel it?

As Geno started to fall forward, Mario moved his direction. Moving slower than what the puppet remembered.

Oh…he felt the pain now.

The world fell black.

“A-Are you sure he’s going to be o-okay?”

“Of course. You saw the items do their job to heal up his wounds. Plus, Geno’s tough.”

“B-But he fell so h-hard. A-And he hasn’t moved for l-like hours. A-And he l-looks dead. A-And-”

Mallow, I need you to take a few deep breaths for me. Okay? Everything’s going to be okay. If needed, we’re near a town and we’ll just take Geno to a doctor.”

“O-Okay…”

Geno’s borrowed body felt heavy. The entire form seemed to pulse with muted pain. Not fully hurt, but he did feel extremely sore.

A low groan emitted from his mouth. Attempting to open his eyes, the process being helped that he was met with the darkened night sky. The sun would have hurt far too much.

Furious footsteps announced the puppet that Mallow was rushing over. Geno letting out a grunt of slight pain as the other wrapped his arms around the puppet.

“You’re okay!” the cloud child cried, “You’re alive!”

“H-Hey Mallow.” Geno attempted a weak reply while shakily patting Mallow’s back.

“Mallow, hey, how about you get a few Mushrooms from my bag. Yeah? I’m sure Geno would like something to help with the pain.” said Mario, joining the other two.

Mallow, smiling behind the tears, sniffed and nodded. Rushing out of Geno’s line of sight with Mario appearing next. With how calm the human sounded, his current state said that he was not feeling as confident as his words sounded. Skin a sickly pale. Shrunken pupils. Geno could even feel Mario’s hand shaking as he helped the puppet sit up.

“How are you feeling?” Mario asked, voice low.

“Okay…I guess? What happened?”

“You were… You took the full force of a pretty strong attack. The annoying…little thing snuck up. I wasn’t paying attention and…” The human let out a slow shaky sigh, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mario…”

“...You just dropped like a rock. I thought…can you die? I never thought I would have to ask a…a Star this. But, I mean, can you?”

“I don’t know? I always assumed I would just be knocked out of this form. It’s borrowed, right? It’s not really mine. So I would just be launched out and I would wait until the toy was fixed.”

“Did that happen now?”

“No… No, I…fell asleep? I mean, I was in a lot of pain and then I remember nothing…”

“Sounds like you passed out. It’s what happens if your body can’t handle the stress put on it.”

“But, it’s not my body. It shouldn’t work like that.” Geno closed his eyes in comfort as Mario’s hands gently massaged his arm.

“This is your body. I think we need a shift in our mind about you. What we need to be aware of and what to keep an eye on. Play it safer, yeah? Be a little more aware. Try and avoid a situation like this as best as possible.”

Geno nodded slowly. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds good.”

#geno smrpg #geno #mario #mallow #princess peach #bowser #s-creations #fanfiction #explorations #pain and angst are my specialty apparently #genario

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justforbooks · 1 year

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Daniel Ellsberg, who has died aged 92, was the most important whistleblower of our times. His 1971 leaking of what became known as the Pentagon Papers showed conclusively that virtually everything the American public had been told by its leaders about the Vietnam war, from its origins to its current conduct, was false.

The leak itself did not end the war, and Ellsberg regretted not having come forward years earlier. He spent the rest of his life as a peace activist, encouraging others on the inside to reveal government malfeasance, and supporting those who did, including the 2003 GCHQ whistleblower Katharine Gun. But his leaks did result in a landmark decision in favour of freedom of the press, and, ironically, led to the downfall of the US president Richard Nixon. It is not unreasonable to set Ellsberg’s leak alongside President John F Kennedy’s assassination as the ground zero of today’s distrust of politics.

Before working on the Pentagon Papers, officially a study titled A History of Decision-Making in Vietnam 1945-68 commissioned from the Rand Corporation research organisation by the secretary of defense Robert McNamara, Ellsberg had spent two years at the US embassy in Saigon, advising on General Edward Lansdale’s “pacification” programme. As he sifted through the material gathered for the report, including evaluations which deemed the war unwinnable, he realised the enormity of the political fraud.

He began copying the documents, with the help of a former Rand colleague Anthony Russo, and in 1971, as the US extended the war with bombings of Laos and Cambodia, resolved to make them public. The chair of the senate foreign relations committee, William Fulbright, turned him down, as did the Washington Post’s editor Ben Bradlee and owner Katharine Graham; Graham was close to the secretary of state Henry Kissinger, who had known Ellsberg at Harvard; he advised her Ellsberg was “unbalanced and emotionally unstable”. Matthew Rhys played Ellsberg in the 2017 film The Post which loosely covers those events.

Neil Sheehan of the New York Times was a reporter Ellsberg admired in Vietnam; Sheehan convinced the Times to take the papers, the first instalment of which revealed that the Gulf of Tonkin incident, the casus belli which launched full-scale US participation in the conflict, had been bogus.

The Nixon administration obtained an injunction prohibiting further publication; the supreme court’s overturning of that injunction, dismissing the idea of “prior restraint”, remains a cornerstone of US journalistic freedom. But leakers themselves were not protected. Ellsberg was hidden by anti-war activists while Mike Gravel, the US senator from Alaska, entered most of the leaked papers into the congressional record, and the Post played catch-up.

Meanwhile Nixon, furious at the leaks, created the so-called “plumbers” covert special investigation unit, to discover if Ellsberg had further material that might affect him directly, and to discredit him. When the plumbers’ bungled break-in at the Watergate offices revealed an earlier burglary of Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office, the ensuing chain of scandal and cover-up eventually forced Nixon’s resignation to avoid impeachment.

Ellsberg grew up the very definition of a true believer in America. Both his father, Harry, a structural engineer, and mother, Adele (nee Charsky), were the children of Russian Jewish immigrants, but had converted to Christian Science. When Daniel, born in Chicago, was six, his father found work in Detroit, building Ford’s massive Willow Run factory.

Daniel won a scholarship to the elite Cranbrook school in the Detroit suburbs; a talented pianist, he practised for four to six hours a day to fulfil his mother’s dream. But in 1946, rushing to Denver for a family gathering, his father fell asleep while driving and rammed into a bridge. His mother and younger sister, Gloria, both died; Daniel recovered from his severe injuries, but ceased playing the piano.

He won a scholarship to Harvard, where he studied economics, edited the college paper, and finished third in his class. Upon graduation he married a Radcliffe student, Carol Cummings, whose father was a colonel in the Marine Corps, and took up a Wilson fellowship for a year’s study at King’s College, Cambridge. In 1954, accepted as a Harvard junior fellow to pursue his doctorate, he instead joined the Marines, becoming a rare first lieutenant given command of a full company.

He returned to Harvard in 1957. His dissertation, Risk, Ambiguity and Decision, contained what is now known as the Ellsberg paradox, which delineated how the preference for well-defined probabilities, over the uncertainty of ambiguity, influences decision-making, especially as it reinforces preconceived ideas. It became an important part of game theory, and Ellsberg went to work for Rand on the Department of Defense’s Command and Control research, much of which was devoted to spit-balling Fail Safe/Dr Strangelove scenarios, as detailed in his 2017 book The Doomsday Machine: Confessions of a Nuclear War Planner.

In 1964 he went to the Department of Defense, as special assistant for international security to McNamara’s number two, John McNaughton, before moving to the State Department and Vietnam. In 1967 he rejoined Rand to work on McNamara’s project, but was increasingly tormented by Kissinger and Nixon’s Vietnam policy; they believed that if the US opened relations with China and entered into a detente with Russia, those countries would pressure North Vietnam to come to the table while the US bombed incessantly.

Ellsberg began joining anti-war campaigners, including the poet Gary Snyder, and was inspired by Randy Kehler, a draft-resister who spoke of welcoming imprisonment for his belief. Ellsberg left Washington for MIT’s Centre for International Studies a year before leaking the papers. His first marriage had ended in divorce; in 1970 he married Patricia Marx, a peace activist.

In June 1971, he surrendered himself to the US attorney in Boston; asked on the courthouse steps how he felt about going to prison, Ellsberg replied: “Wouldn’t you go to prison to end this war?” He became the first civilian charged with violating the 1917 Espionage Act, and faced a maximum sentence of 115 years. The District Court judge William Byrne ruled irrelevant his public-interest defence, that the documents were “illegally classified”, and so it has been for every whistleblower since. But Byrne eventually dismissed the case because of government malfeasance, including the plumbers’ break-ins, as well as Nixon’s wiretapping of Kissinger’s aide Morton Halperin, and John Ehrlichman’s offering Byrne the directorship of the FBI.

In 1974, Ellsberg’s moving interviews were a major part of the Oscar-winning Vietnam documentary Hearts and Minds. In 1978 he was awarded the Gandhi prize by Promoting Enduring Peace. In the next 40 years he was arrested around 50 times at anti-war protests. He likened the weapons of mass destruction excuse for invading Iraq in 2003 to the Gulf of Tonkin affair, and over the years supported leakers who revealed government deceptions, including Edward Snowden, Chelsea Manning and Reality Winner, who was sentenced to five years in prison for leaking a single page from an in-house National Security Agency magazine showing the NSA had concluded Russia interfered in US elections, while the government was maintaining they had not.

He recognised a practical corollary to the Ellsberg paradox: the more secrets you are able to access, the less able you become to act sensibly with them. In 2021, Ellsberg released government memos from 1958, showing that the joint chiefs of staff had prepared a nuclear first-strike against Chinese bases on Quemoy and Matsu during the Taiwan Strait crisis, with a full nuclear attack planned on China should they respond. His point was that little had changed since the Pentagon Papers.

Ellsberg was played by James Spader in the 2003 film The Pentagon Papers, and was the subject of a 2009 documentary, The Most Dangerous Man in America. His memoir, Secrets, appeared in 2003 and in 2021 Risk Ambiguity and Decision was updated as a book, once again challenging the concept of rational decision.

Ellsberg is survived by his wife and their son, Michael, and his son, Robert, and daughter, Mary, from his first marriage.

Daniel Ellsberg, military analyst and political activist, born 7 April 1931; died 16 June 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Daniel Ellsberg #The Pentagon Papers #Vietnam war

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fenrislorsrai · 1 month

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A few days after the release was discovered in June 2017, Stan met with Southcreek and the Oklahoma Corporation Commission, the state’s oil and gas regulatory agency. At the meeting, the company characterized the incident as a “small spill,” the Ledgerwoods later alleged in court. It was unclear how long the leak lasted, but the saltwater plume had already saturated the soil and killed 2 acres of vegetation by the time it broke the surface, according to state oil regulators. Samples analyzed a month later by Oklahoma State University found that the soil’s concentration of chloride, which occurs in the type of salt water injected into the well, had risen to more than 12 times the state’s acceptable level and was “sufficiently high to reduce yield of even salt tolerant crops.” Other tests showed that chloride levels in the family’s water well had spiked to more than five times what the Environmental Protection Agency deems safe. The tests didn’t look for other contaminants like heavy metals that are often left behind by the oil production process. - - Don began traveling 30 miles round-trip to Walmart to buy bottled water. Stan and Tina’s steel pots rusted after being washed, and their 2-year-old great-niece’s skin became irritated and inflamed after repeatedly washing her hands while they potty-trained her. In a text message, the girl’s mother described her hands as looking like they had “a burn.” - - As is common in American oil fields, property rights in this part of Oklahoma often create split estates, where one person owns the land while another owns the underlying minerals, such as oil and gas. The owner of the minerals has a right to drill, even if the landowner would prefer they didn’t. - - But Oklahoma has more than 260,000 unplugged wells — behind only Texas — according to data from energy industry software firm Enverus. To plug and clean up the state’s wells could cost approximately $7.3 billion, according to an analysis of state records. Oklahoma has just $45 million in bonds. The oil industry’s bonds are “shockingly inadequate,” said Peter Morgan, a Sierra Club senior attorney. “It’s clear that abandoning wells and leaving communities and taxpayers to foot the bill to clean them up is baked into the oil and gas industry business model.” At the Capitol in Oklahoma City, which features repurposed oil derricks outside its main entrance, Republican state Rep. Brad Boles has tried for several years to address the shortfall. This year, he introduced a bill to create a tiered bonding system based on the number of wells a company operates, increasing the highest required bond to $150,000. [passed House, did not gt a vote in Senate] - - A stream of trucks rumbled down the Ledgerwoods’ once-quiet gravel road as workers removed enough dirt to fill 750 dump trucks and pumped more than 71,000 gallons from the Ledgerwoods’ water well. But the dangerous concentrations of chloride didn’t change, according to Fox Hollow’s report. - - Progress in the lawsuit was short-lived. In November 2019, shortly after the Ledgerwoods’ attorney sent discovery requests to Wise Oil & Gas, the company filed in a Texas court for voluntary Chapter 7 bankruptcy — a full liquidation of its assets. Company executives acknowledged they declared bankruptcy to avoid legal fees associated with the Ledgerwoods’ suit, according to court records. - - But two months later, Mullin ruled against the Ledgerwoods. He disagreed that Wise Oil & Gas had entered bankruptcy to shed bad investments and dodge cleanup obligations. He blasted the Ledgerwoods for requesting sanctions against the Cocanoughers. “Merely because the Ledgerwood Creditors have been damaged by the saltwater contamination, this does not provide them with an unfettered right to retaliate or lash out against unrelated and far-removed targets, such as the Cocanougher Sanction Targets,” Mullin wrote. If the Ledgerwoods wanted to continue seeking damages against the Cocanoughers and their businesses, they would have to pay the oil company’s attorneys’ fees, about $107,000, Mullin ruled.

It's worth reading the whole article for a breakdown of exactly HOW a company that poisoned a family's well and farm got out of fixing it or paying compensation.

Not as relevant in this particular case, but uncapped out of service wells like this are a major source of methane, an even more potent greenhouse gas than CO2

#oklahoma #bankruptcy laws #oil drilling #environmental law #oil companies

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loquaciousquark · 9 months

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[Fic] Iron Bound [21/25]

Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Fenris/Hawke, Sebastian Word Count: 4.5k this chapter, ~96k total Summary: Fenris, captain of Starkhaven’s White Guard and the dearest friend of that country’s prince, has arrived in the kingdom of Kirkwall with a retinue of noble-born guards and a carriage brimming with lavish gifts. How else to win over the hearts of a suspicious mountain people who would rather break teeth on stone than accept the prince of Starkhaven stealing away their heir princess?

But stone is all they have in their kitchens lately, and gravel in their quarries and ice in their bitter rivers, and Starkhaven sits abreast the richest lea and moorland south of the Minanter.

And Sebastian Vael, the young prince of that country, needs a wife.

—

A CURATED SELECTION FROM A SERIES OF CORRESPONDENCE

Senator Dorian Pavus,

I received your letter this morning. Thanks for writing so quickly, since I know the journey back to Minrathous couldn’t have been easy. I hope you’re at least enjoying the warmer weather.

We appreciate your timely warning regarding D’s whereabouts. Given everything my prince has said, we are a little surprised he’s remained in Tevinter so far, but as long as he’s there, he’s not here. Please keep us apprised of any change.

Your ambassador’s student wants me to say hello for him. Lucky for him, I have just enough room before it’s rolled up for the crows.

Regards, Harding Starkhaven

—

My very dear Harding,

It’s always a pleasure to hear your voice, so to speak. I missed your irrepressible cheer the moment we were out the door of An Taigh Gheal, and this whole journey back I’ve looked forward to our correspondence resuming, even if I have no crows and must resort to regular horses. That sounds like flattery, but alas, it’s sincerely meant. You have no idea how refreshing it is to speak with someone in spycraft who directly speaks their mind without three layers of obfuscation atop it.

—

Links: FF.net, AO3

#dragon age #fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #quark writes

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warsavant · 9 months

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tightly compressed lips bleach lilac as he peeled the bandage’s edge from inflamed skin, inspecting the healing wound splayed across his chest with a concealed wince. certainly bacta sped up the process immensely, the cooling sensation easing the ache beneath, but the injury still proved an inconvenience. footfalls sounded softly, yet his attention did not lift. there was no danger present, and if his memory had not faltered, he recognized the cadence.

presently, his suspicions were confirmed as a human woman stepped into his peripheral vision. ❝ senator. ❞ his greeting remained graveled, heavily curtailed as he dabbed cleaning solution onto the burn. measuring his words, tongue still complying with an unfamiliar language, he paused, crimson gaze lifting. ❝ apologies for my… appearance. ❞ frankly, he had thought he might have privacy in this corner of the lower level, but he could hardly begrudge her presence considering her ownership of the vessel.

luminescent eyes drift past her, the set returning to his lips. he supposed he should be grateful that the jedi had not followed her. he might fail to be cordial with one who understood a language he spoke fluently, especially the one who his ire was aimed. ❝ i presume knight skywalker is now flying the ship? ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ— @alootus ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ

#alootus #ㅤ『 ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪᴛ ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ᴅᴇꜰᴇɴꜱᴇ 』 \ canon era | cedf.#padmé... your husband has done it now...

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tiredassmage · 1 year

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28. feeling for each other in the dark (any ship(s) ! *scuttles away*)

"Please allow 2 business days" I said to myself, and then they kept me up late and I rose early back to back because I couldn't stop vibrating about them.

I hope it pleases the Senate, insert date-appropriate Ides of March joke here because If I don't meme for emotional distress, then what am I????

[touch prompts]

His breath feels loud in his ears, like the utter darkness around them siphons all other possible sound. The only thing that tells him he’s moving at all is the continued contact beneath his feet and the slight shift and give in the rock.

There’s not even a drop of light to glint off the barrel of the pistol he knows is at his thigh or the rifle strapped across his back - the one familiar constant that he can reliably sense.

It’s suffocating.

Allow your body to betray you. Allow your blood to boil and your heart to slow.

Of the many things Cipher Nine could have chosen to forget, Darth Jadus’s presence remained subtle and venomous in his veins like the slow decay of a half-life.

His next step doesn’t meet anything solid, but he barely has time for an extra jolt of nerves before a firm grip wraps around his arm and pulls him back. Tyr’s breath leaves him in a single blow that swallows any potential sound he could have made before his back even connects with an unseen wall.

“I’ve got you.”

He can barely make out Eight’s halo of pale white hair, as the faint glow of the moon and stars behind thick clouds passing - just enough there to give him an illusion, something to cling to and hope is more than a trick of the mind. Tyr gulps for another breath of air. He’s certain he trembles when Eight’s hands carefully move - one against each shoulder to give a careful squeeze.

“Nine?”

Another breath crashes out of him. He fumbles blindly for the other agent’s arms, following until he’s vaguely sure they’re almost squared, or at least that Eight is solid and real beneath his desperately seeking hands.

“Breathe.”

Tyr closes his eyes for a moment before he manages a nod through a thick swallow.

Nine can’t see it, but a faint smile flickers briefly across Eight’s lips. He takes the other agent’s hand. “I’ve got you.”

Eight navigates the shadows like a second home, each step deliberate and confident ahead of his companion’s. Nine’s threaded fingers grip his back like they’re the only lifeline he’s ever known, without fear that he may be leading to slaughter.

There’s places where the path isn’t wide enough for him to press against Nine’s side as beacon, where they must walk before and after, but he doesn’t let go again.

Not until they arrive.

x-x-x-x-x-x-

Everything… hurts.

Everything is dark. Pitch. He barely registers the scorch of ozone and heat disturbing what had been thickly silent air - so empty it’d almost been cloying.

Wait…

Nothingness has returned, but the quiet feels almost… lighter. He grimaces as he rolls to his side, off his back.

Move.

He pushes against the gravel and the dirt, but barely makes it to his knees before he staggers heavily back against the braced hand that didn’t even move from the cave floor.

His free hand goes to his thigh - empty. Holster’s empty. He closes his eyes like that will do anything to ease the way his mind swims and sways.

They’d been… They…

“Eight…” His name nearly catches hoarsely in his throat.

Somehow, the utter shadow swallowing this place didn’t seem so absolute, but there still wasn’t much to see - he still couldn’t see much.

There was only one thing that mattered now though.

“Eight?” One hand idly reaches out, only half-searching for the pistol he assumes must have fallen somewhere nearby.

His eyes are starting to adjust again to the level of pitch black. He’d seen too many Sith hit the ground and keep cackling to-

“Tell me, Cipher Nine… What is he to you..?”

“You first.” Caution guarded his words, his half-closed stance that was tensed and poised to shoot, to draw further arms.

If the answer was anything less than ‘everything’-

You didn’t ask questions of a Sith Lord.

When he can’t find the blaster in a moment, he hauls himself ungracefully to his feet with a grimace, ignoring muscles screaming in aching protest.

He’s not alone. He can’t tell if it’s a desperate plea or a registering lack of the overwhelming presence of the Dark Lord; either way, he gruffly pushes aside the uncertainty.

“It’s… done.” Eight seems to melt out of the shadows. This time, Nine can just make out the faint smile across his lips.

The weight it carries settles almost as heavy as the undeniable dread of the Dark Lord’s presence.

“Mission complete, Cipher Nine.”

“Eight…”

But the relief hits like floodwaters breaking a dam. His steps are hobbled when he closes the distance and Eight tenses briefly in surprise as Nine’s arms close around him, desperation curling his fingers into battered fabric and displaced strands of starlight hair.

“Did he..? Are you..?”

Eight carefully wraps an arm around him.

“I’m-”

“Don’t.” Eight rests his head against Nine’s shoulder and stares into the empty darkness. For now, the hole is gaping, the void echoing and hollow where it had once all but writhed with its raw power and presence.

But the life in his hands now is stained with crimson and maybe a little scorched around the edges. It is vibrant. It is unknown in an entirely different way than the dark. It shakes beneath him from the exertion, from the struggle of living, but no longer with fear.

“We both made our choice.”

Tyr draws back slowly. It’s harder to make him out in the dark without the all-encompassing temper.

But his hands move carefully to take stock - a palm against his cheek, a hand slipping over his shoulder, fingers twisting briefly into the collar of his shirt.

Nine reminds him of Keeper, the old man. Regret sets similarly around their eyes and creases their brows. He had always idly wondered if there could have been anything to the relation beyond the jesting that served to briefly lighten the older man - at least enough to exhale a sigh weary of constant deflection.

He enacts the familiar dance of half-statements and partial truths for now. Give him space. Give them both time.

It was always going to be an end. What path would open beyond that, he could not have said. His part was to lead to the destination, to take a place upon the pyre.

The flames had been theirs. This was his new ash.

But Tyr offers him a tired smile. “I… think I owe you those drinks, at the very least…”

This time, Nine offers out his hand - bloodied knuckles and dusted hands, gloves fraying from the obsidian-sharp edges of their descent.

“Let’s go home, shall we?”

#swtor #answered #once again i feel like words are poor constructs trying to frame that which defies explanation (it's them)#the possibilities were endless and my brain latched here but also the 501+ other things to do #this was just a beginning. this was just an end #chewing on them #ch: tyr #friends ocs #ch: orradiz #ksdlfnlsa its been a while since 2 fictional people made me feel like i have no grasp of language kadfnladsfnlsdf #touch prompts #dot words #the way i'd like to give them everything and i'm being foiled by college lmao

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radiofreederry · 1 year

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Bumper sticker for former Vice President Mike Gravel’a failed 1996 campaign for President.

While Bill Clinton had served loyally as his brother Ted’s Vice President for eight years, former President Robert Kennedy disliked him both personally and politically, and viewed his campaign for the Democratic nomination in 1996 with dismay. Kennedy felt that Clinton’s conservatism posed a threat to the legacy of the New Deal and subsequent programs such as those of the Great Society and his own New Renaissance. He sought to find an heir to the liberal and progressive wings of the Democratic Party to oppose Clinton. His initial choice was Connecticut Senator Paul Newman, who rejected the idea as he felt he was too old. New Jersey Senator Bill Bradley, Minnesota Senator Paul Wellstone, and Ohio Governor Dennis Kucinich were similarly uninterested for various reasons, least of all Clinton’s impressive lead in the polls.

Finally, Kennedy was able to recruit Mike Gravel of Alaska, who had taken over as his Vice President from 1974 to 1977 following George McGovern’s taking responsibility for the Colorado Springs bombing and resigning. Gravel announced his candidacy in September of 1995 and the primary field almost immediately narrowed to himself and Clinton, with former Virginia Governor Douglas Wilder as an also-ran. Gravel ran on a platform of responsible foreign engagement and non-intervention, strengthening of civil rights protections, and finally passing single-payer healthcare; Clinton campaigned on reducing government spending, reforming social programs, and exerting American strength aboard following the USSR’s reformation into the USER. After a bitter and drawn-out primary, Clinton emerged victorious thanks to lopsided wins in the South and Plains states as well as strong support from superdelegates. Rather than extending an olive branch to Gravel’s faction, Clinton snubbed them with his selection of Florida Senator Bob Graham as his running mate, and a resulting drop in liberal support contributed to his loss against New Hampshire governor Steve Merrill in November.

#my universe

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pastelgrungewrecker · 1 year

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Tears Ain’t Comin’

Brace yourself for all will pay Help is on the way

[x]

They took her in manacles, not cuffs. Blood still spattered on her prosthetics and her mouth snarling threats and hatred they took her away as her baby brother, her sunshine kid, was packed into an ambulance his father barely fit into.

Whirl held his son’s hand tight enough to bruise, whispering nothing but apologies as he stared a thousand yards away and tried to wipe away the blood and mess from a face that used to laugh with a little gap-toothed grin.

Quickdraw whimpered, the shock beginning to settle and adrenaline beginning to fade as the roar of the ambulance surrounded him- he could feel it, how fast it moved; but what he’d give to see the lights tracking his vitals.

“I-I c-can’t se-ee; I can’t, Papa I’m trying I can’t see I want M-Mimi! WHERE’S MIMI I NEED MIMI I CAN’T SEE, I CAN’T BREATHE? HELP ME, WHERE’S MIMI I WANT MY SISSA-”

“I know kiddo, she’s comin’ don’t worry-”, Whirl’s hands shook hard enough to rattle their screws and bolts as he cupped his son’s slashed face and tried to calm him from the panic rising over a young spine and shaking a skull into radio static, “She’s on her way she’s just a li’l bit late baby-bird. It’s okay, Papa’s here.”

The wail torn from his son as he strained against the belts holding him on the gurney broke the last dangling shards of Whirl’s heart like stained glass shrapnel in a bombed out church.

=============================================

Mimi sat in the back of the Enforcer shuttle, arms manacled too tight behind her back as she stared unbreakingly into a rearview mirror.

“I need to go the hospital.”, she said flatly, “My baby brother has been hurt. He needs me.”

“I think the fuck not, Mimosa.”, was Magnus snapped reply as his knuckles whited out from his grip on the steering controls, “You unloaded two illegal pistols into a crowd of TEENAGERS.”

“They gouged out my baby brother’s eyes. You are lucky I didn’t do worse. You remember what happened to Getaway, don’t you? When my family got ahold of him.”, she said, her voice never changing.

“You endangered my SONS-”

“YOU endangered your sons, Magsie-boo.”, she suddenly sneered, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten when THEIR words came out of YOUR FUCKING MOUTH. You traitorous bitch of a man.”

He turned his head slightly, “That is in the PAST-”

“It’s mine and my siblings FUTURE because you patsy the piece of shit who helped start it and you know it. What do you think will happen to your boys, now that everyone knows they’re friends with Quickdraw? Will you chain yourself up when they’re hurt for the sake of the law?”

Magnus fell silent.

“I’ll say it again. I need to go to the hospital.”

“No.”

“Then get fucked, Senate-pet.”

“MIMOSA DON’T YOU DARE-”

And the shatter of the window was loud, the crack of the hinges louder. The vehicle swerved and the door dropped loose as she rolled out. The ground was rough, hard like gravel and ice and burned the way blaster fire smelled on an almost forgotten ship.

And she got to her feet, shaking herself off as she heard the screech of a haphazard stop- and she ran.

The binds on her wrists jangled, but her lungs didn’t burn. Her mouth set in a grim line and she ran into the dark as magnus watched her go; his feet like lead as her words echoed and he wondered-

Who else had he betrayed before this?

Her running footsteps were so loud as she turned down familiar alleys and streets; the lights flickering as she passed them at an ever increasing pace. Towards her home, first-

‘I’m on my way, li’l guy.’, she thought to herself as she put on just a little more speed as she saw her backyard’s fence, ‘I just gotta get there, I’m on the way.’

“I promised I’d always be there, QD.”

[He was young, small and scared- He crouched down to hide his height as he passed by the messhall tables of the LL and felt the glare of old Wrecker’s with old bones to pick over and scuttled to her side.

His hand was small where it curled tight to hold onto her shirt first- then the leg of her sweatpants when she stood up. Blaster’s sneer was loud in the flourescent lights and Mimi’s fists were clenched.

“Little shit needs to learn to salute-”

“And big pieces of shit need to be flushed- get facefucked by an airlock stream buddyfucker.”, she snapped back as she gently shepherded her little brother behind her hip.

He slugged her that day- his defense was ‘she was a Wrecker born, she knows how ranks work’ when Rodimus stepped in with a grim frown and raised eyebrows.

Magnus looked away and Mimi swore she’d remember that.]

Her prosthetic feet slammed into the ground hard enough to leave little craterprints behind as she got over the fence and tore around to the garage. She wriggled her limbs- wincing at the pop in her left shoulder as it dislocated and she leaned back. One step, two step. The manacles in from of her and the shift in her bones that sent pain radiating until she got to the vice on the workbench. Chain in the teeth and she leaned to bite down on the rag tied to a handle and she set to work. Slow turns and hard tugs that made tendons scream until the manacle link gave way and her arms went to her sides and she exhaled a swear. She reset her shoulder as she walked to the backdoor keyrack and snatched the keys to a vehicle- studying them for a moment before jogging to what was unfortunately Ratchet’s pride and joy.

“I do his laundry, it’s a fair trade.”, she growled as she got in and settled.

The rumble of an engine firing to life, and the creak of the autodoor folding open.

===========================================

Quickdraw howled again in pain- the doctors sharing terrified looks as they shook their heads.

“We can’t give him any more- we don’t know why it won’t take he should be UNCONSCIOUS from this much-”

Brainstorm bared teeth made of violence and mistreatment as calloused fingers wound into a surgeon’s shirt and the scientists shook him until perfect white teeth clicked like falling stones, “I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING CALL RATCHET, I FUCKING TOLD YOU AND NOW MY BABY IS SUFFERING WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING INCOMPETENT CALL MY HUSBAND RATCHET OR I SWEAR TO YOUR GOD I’LL SEND YOUR PARTS TO A SOLDIER-FACTORY FOR REUSE-”

Whirl sat, in shock, watching his son sob like he was dying and blinking empty eye sockets and thrashing as they tried to remove the remnants of golden eyes.

“Mimi’s comin’.”, rasped the ex-Wrecker, “She’s. She’s gonna be here. She has to, she... We. I. I need her here, I need my Froggy to help I don’t...”

Brainstorm turned, releasing the surgeon he shook like a rattle to bolt to Whirl’s side and hold his face in sudden fear, “hey, hey babe- c’mon, look at me. Look at me sweetheart, c’mon. It’ll. It’ll be alright, I promise-”

“I-I-I...”, Whirl’s voice was shaking, breaking down and Brainstorm felt his heart break with it when Whirl finally pulled away from his thousand yard stare with tears suddenly pouring from eyes that had seen more than hell, “I wan. Froggy. H-Here!”

The sob around the words sent a shockwave through the room.

“W-Where’s. Where’s Ratch, an-nd Percy an’ Drift an’ Cyc, pl-please I. I’m scared honeybee, I’m SCARED Brainstorm my baby boy is hurtin’ it sounds like he’s DYIN’-”

Brainstorm held Whirl tight as he could, feeling tears soak the shirt he wore and heard the sobs muffled by a heartbeat and he turned a golden glare to the medics watching in terror.

“Make. The calls. Or this hospital is up in smoke.”, he said, his voice dangerously calm, “You know my name, you know what I’ve done. Do not for a moment assume I wouldn’t do it again.”

Ratchet was distraught when he finally got the comm. He burst like a thunderstorm, snarling threats and epithets after he threw open the doors and demanded to know why he hadn’t been immediately informed of the chosen medical facility as soon as his son had been loaded up and shipped away.

When the whimpered answer of, “We were informed by the enforcer at the scene to withhold all information as he took in a suspect, and not to release to anyone-”

“THEN BRING ME THE FUCKING HEAD OF MAGNUS HIMSELF GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!”

Magnus winced where he hid- no, GUARDED- the victim’s room. He hfelt more than heard Ratchet’s stomping footsteps before he cleared his throat and looked up; knowing the CMO was taking in the sootmarks and little bandages sprinkkled over the Enforcer’s arms.

“Ratchet, let me explain-”

“No, no explainin’ you insufferable lapdog of God’s Favorite Fuckups. You wanna give an EXPLANATION? You give it to Percy. Drift, you and Cyc are with me.”

Magnus blinked in shock as the three men passed by- shooting him looks of hateful disdain as they disappeared into the room and Ratchet’s bellow silence even the machine alarms.

And Perceptor stood too straight- Spine too strong and eye ice cold as he unbuttoned the cuffs of sleeves and pulled them up to his elbows.

“Start speaking, Enforcer.”, was the soft demand- lined in permafrost and a threat, “Be quick, my patience has run out and my eldest daughter is also missing. Chop-chop lapmutt.”

“She unloaded your old pistols into a crowd of teenagers.”

“Adult actions beget adult consequences. Why did you withhold Quickdraw’s location.”

“I was worried about retaliation-”

“Against wannabee vigilantes who attempted to murder my daughter and my son?”, said Percy, a bitter quirk to his lips, “Fascinating that you still protect criminals when you see fit. Where is my daughter.”

“She...”

“I hope she kicked your skull in, I’d happily take in your boys and husband.”

Magnus twitched, narrowing his eyes.

“She escaped your clutches because you’ve never been very good at your job. Your offhand treatment of the sentiments that led to this are a direct cause of harm to my family. Tell me, Magnus. Do you remember the Wreckers, that mission?”

“Of course I do- especially that day-”

“Wanna see what it was like, Magnus?”

Cold air settled around them it seemed, the exhale of winter- or the gust from a morgue refrigeration unit opening.

“Would you like to experience death, Magnus? I’ve a mind to kill you in this hallway, you know.”, said Perceptor with his expression unchanging. The Sniper from Altihex. Seekerbane. The Deadeye of the Trion, “You serve a man you know betrayed us all- you defended him, allowed him to take his position. You lick the boots of men who’d kill your boys and the supposed love of your life. And now they are going to know about, Magnus. This? There will be questions. And Rodimus hates lying.”

Perceptor laughed like ghosts haunted his vocal chords, laughed like the dead laughed with him like an invisible jury.

“You’ve made a grave error, Magnus. This was beyond an overstep. And if I find out you made any other mistakes, well.”

The smile dropped, the chime of a reticle still capable of targeting coming to life sounded like Primus’s own warning, “Then I will make you your own Garrus 9. However, unlike Overlord- I will be taking far more from you than just the physical.”

“You are threatening an officer-”

“Tell someone then, Magnus. Go on.”

Perceptor pulled out his personal comm device, “Here, use mine. Tell them- and I’ll tell your boys how you sent me and their uncles all into Garrus 9. I’ll tell them all about how you let their carrier’s murderer walk about on their carrier’s ship. How you thought his fear was funny, then annoying.”

“Announce my sins, Magnus of line Ambus- just know I can list yours too.”

Magnus cowed, and Perceptor stared a moment longer before tucking away his personal comm, “That’s what I thought. Try not to botch this investigation, would you? Maybe then I’ll find some forgiveness in me. Maybe.”

“My boys-”

“Are in danger now.”, was the simple answer, “But... not from me. Never from me. Mimi adores the twins, you know that. But the people you protect? The ones you so happily serve? Created this problem. And you allowed the rot to spread all for the sake of comfort. The same shit you’ve always done, haven’t you?”

A scoff of disgust before a sniff, “Like father like son, I suppose.”

And with that razorblade sentence sliding over Magnus’s skin Perceptor took his leave, stepping into the room with that slipstream of arctic frost following him.

Quickdraw sobbed again, feeling hands on his arms and his chest and his head and his face and thrashing against it even as socket’s still leaked clotting blood.

“GIVE ME MY MIMI, GIVE ME MIMI I NEED MIMI I NEED MY SISSA GIVE HER BACK STOP TOUCHING ME I HATE YOU GO AWAY I CAN’T SEE, MIMI I WANT MY MIMI-”

Perceptor sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his son’s hand gently, squeezing twice.

“Quickdraw- it’s Papaceptor.”, his voice was gentle and warm, “Focus on my voice, little sunshine. Focus on my words.”

Quickdraw gulped air as his chest heaved and he sobbed with tears leaking crimson.

“Listen, little one, I know how scary it is- I know.”, he continued as Ratchet’s bellow quieted to a harsh whisper as he directed the other medics and Brainstorm backed tearfully away to watch next to Whirl and Cyclonus.

“Listennn, listen little one, I’m right here- squeeze my hand until the scared stops- just like with Mimi.”

“I c-c-can’t SEE-”

“I know. I’ve been there too little sunshine.”, he whispered gently before looking to Whirl and nodding to call him over, Papa Whirl is here too, he knows how scary it is.”

Perceptor nodded for Whirl to follow his lead. Each held one of Quickdraw’s hands as they removed their respective eye coverings- showing old scars form ancient wounds.

“Reach up, slowly- listen for our breath, listen for our words and let it guide you to touch our faces.”

Quickdraw nodded, sobbing again as a medication pump activated on a timer. He let his hands drift up after they were released, hesitant and scared, and gently patted for his father’s faces. He felt cheekbones, the brush of eyelashes- the scars of lost sight.

“Mimi will be here soon, I know it. I don’t know where she is but I know she will be here.”, murmured Perceptor, “She promised she’d always be there, remember?”

“I wan-nt my MIMI!”, sobbed Quickdraw as his hands dropped to the bed- his face pale from bloodloss, “NO MORE DOCTORS ONLY MY MIMI!”

========================================

She glanced in the rearview, seeing the flicker of lights come to life behind her as she pushed her speed into the red. Leave it to magnus and those Enforcer’s to take her little brother out into the middle of god knows where.

“Fucking hospital d’bootlicker at the corner of hell and handbasket, I swear.”, she hissed to no one- ignoring the swelling in her shoulders and the weight of broken manacle-cuffs on her wrists. The accelerator hit the floor and she whipped around a turn with a screech of tires and laugh as her pursuer sped by with what she knew would be a shocked look on their face. She laughed like her fathers, she laughed like old devils- she gunned it when she saw the lights ahead and couldn’t help but dig in a glovebox for what she knew her father hid in it.

The lighter flick reflected the fire in her eyes as she sped ever faster to where she was needed; wintergreen smoke bleeding out of a slightly open window as she whipped around another corner and bulled the vehicle through a barricade she knew didn’t belong there.

Ratchet looked up when he heard the muster of security, raising both eyebrows before he moved to the window.

“...Perce. Darlin’.”

“Yes?”

“Your daughter stole my car.”

“She does your laundry. Quid pro quo.”

When Mimi exited the vehicle, still managing to park perfectly legally, she looked at the pay-by-hour Enforcers who met her with a deadpan look in her eyes and the flick of something away from her.

“Move or I do you like I did those little wannabe killers. You have to the count of twenty. One...Two...”

Their radios hissed in unison- and Magnus’s voice sounded from them.

“Stand down. I repeat, stand down. Let her through.”, his said softly over the airwaves; and Mimi looked up at wide windows and wondered which room he hid in to see her arrive.

She waved regardless- and saw a shadow move almost too high up to notice.

And with that, she strode in- the rattle of prosthetics like the click of a criminal’s spurs or a hero’s weapon.

“I am Mimi of Kimia- I need to get to my baby brother.”, she said softly when eyes fell on her, “He needs me right now- he’s been hurt badly.”

“Th-The trauma case that just came in. W-With the eyes?”, asked the receptionist as he got to his feet, “With the wavy hair- Enforcer Magnus came in with him and you look suspicious I don’t think-”

“MIMI HE’S IN ROOM 348!”, called a voice from the sea of waiting people. Mimi turned, seeing the bright splash of Rodimus’s hair next to twin puffs of curls she knew too well.

“Forge, Dom what-”

“He’s in room 348, Dad didn’t want us to tell you he said you were going to jail!”, said Forge, breathless and looking like he’d been crying, “I treid to-to tell him he’s wrong you were protecting QD but he wouldn’t listen-”

“He never does kiddo, that’s why old Megadick was on the ship your carrier had.”, she said flatly, hating the the way the words hit the boys like a lead bar and taking in Rodimus’s sudden spark of temper and matching it with her own, “Calm down Padre Prime- at least I’m not listing all of his fuckups; or yours. Hey, boys. Ask your parents why witness statements got Roddy over ther clocked.”

She relished the wince from the Prime before she turned on her heel and stalked to an elevator- shoving her way in and daring someone to snap about it. And then the wait- watching the lights that moved too slow and smooth until finally she could bolt like she had to escape all those hours before. Down halls and glancing at numbers with a precision both inherited and practiced until she skidded to a halt in front of the door she needed- and she heard it.

“I! WANT! MY MIMI! NOW!!”

She shouldered the door open, acid-green eyes bright and hair mussed and smelling of smoke and shuttle fuel and sweat and gunfire.

“I’m here kiddo, I’m right here!”

Quickdraw froze, empty sockets locking onto the source of her voice as she jogged in and Perceptor moved with easy grace to help her sit in his previous position.

“I’m right here, li’l dude. I’m here sunshine-boy. Can you hear me, here gimme your hand-”

Quickdraw’s lips trembled and he tilted his head back- sobbing with no sound as Mimi took her little brother’s hands and put them to her cheeks and her own tears started, “I’m sorry baby-boy, I didn’t wanna be late but stuff got in the way but I’m here now- I’m right here like I always promised I would be-”

“Th-They hurt my EYES I CAN’T SEE-”

“I know, I know, shhhhh- c’mere scoot over c’mon.”

“Mimi, I don’t-”, began Ratchet, but the look she shot him made him shiver and glance at Perceptor, who smiled with no mirth and nodded.

‘She gets it from me.’, went unsaid.

‘It’s her only warning before she lives up to my name.’, was understood.

And Mimi grunted when she settled next to Quickdraw in the wide hospital bed, uncaring of the blood that leaked from his face as he cried with silent sobs and curled into her side- burying his face against her chest before moving so his ear rested over her heartbeat like Perceptor had done for her for many years.

“I’m here kiddo. Sissa is here.”, she whispered, “Let the doctors do doctor stuff, m’kay? Just like when you were little, I’ll be right here and hold your hand; gimme those fingies young’n.”

Quickdraw giggled thickly- full of pain medication and terror and fear and relief and it was Ratchet who sighed- pulling gloves on and muttering about protocol before shaking his head and waving an assistant over.

Quickdraw let his head be turned- letting himself cry out as viscera was carefully trimmed after a needle numbed the area for the twelfth time that night.

Quickdraw held tight to Mimi’s hand, she kissed his temple and hummed a lullaby she taught herself so many years ago- when a little boy in dinosaur pajamas said “Sissa!” in a squeaky voice, lisping on the s and giggling when she wiggled her ears at him with a smile.

“I promised.”, she murmured at the chatter of surgery preparation and room clearing began, “I promised I’d always be there, QD. I’m here now, it’s okay. Go to sleep, and I’ll wake you in the morning when it’s all over.”

“Wiv toas?”, was QD’s slurred request as his body finally stopped fighting sedatives and painkillers and began to slip into drugged sleep.

“Yeah, dino-baby. With french toast and extra syrup and fluffy eggs just the way you like ‘em.”

He dropped away, she carefully extricated herself and then cracked her neck.

“Are you alright?”, asked Perceptor.

“Magnus manacled me. Had to slip my shoulders to get out of it like Dadspin taught me. Where are the other kids. They need me.”

“With Rodimus and the twins.”

“Mm. He’s going to hate me for a bit. May have narced to his boys how shitty parents used to be.”

“A pleasant change from announcing my mistakes.”

“Don’t get used to it.”, she said flatly- emotion drained from her like grace from God as Quickdraw whas wheeled away with Ratchet by his side and tight-lipped in anger, “Someone bring my other kiddos to me- walking hurts. Had to roll out of a moving fucking vehicle and kick free so I could book it home for the car.”

“Far ahead of you.”, said Cyclonus, tucking away his comm, “Rodimus- well, little Dominus the Second is bringing them up.”

“Good.”

The door opened and Chrona was first through- sobbing her apologies in a voice made hoarse from old screams and Mimi folded her into a hug- bundling her and Kiki and Dani into a protective hug made familiar by a world that wore pleasantness as a facade.

“It’s okay, I’m right here now- Just like I promised.”

#pastelwrites #ot6 and then some au #fankids

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onlydevilsleft · 2 years

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@beckheiress

“And do try not to stick your dick in it, Daniel. Shit’s fucked enough already. Thank you. Bye bye, now.” She sang the end into the open line just before hanging up, as if that might make up for the crude way in which she’d talked to...whoever Daniel was. She was not sorry for it. And wouldn’t lose any sleep tonight.

The pad of her index finger came up off the switch hook as a pretty young blonde came in the door of the office. Regardless of whether or not the other female had heard the end of that particularly colorful conversation, Afsaneh Madani, Senator for the great state of Montana, made no attempt to address it. A perfectly manicured eyebrow arched in solitary. A voice like liquid velvet, deep and laid over a smoker’s gravel, with a heavy Indian or Middle Eastern type accent, came back and filled the room. “Well? I am a busy woman and I don’t have all day, darling... Perhaps you’d like to sit and talk about whatever the bloody fuck you’d like to discuss? Any time now. And if not, the least you can do is stop staring at me like you’ve never seen a vulgar brown person before... I understand we’re like unicorns, but now that you’ve seen one...”

#ic #muse | afsaneh #beckheiress

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silvercrownedgift · 2 years

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If Mike Lee wins the senate seat, I am going to eat gravel

#I’ve never stopped being angry about his Captain Moroni comment *and I will carry that rage with me to the grave*

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raisindave · 14 days

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[Chapter 14] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content Warning: Mentions of sex trafficking and allusions to sexual assault.

What made this meeting different from the last early morning meeting with Laswell was that you refused to lose precious sleep in anticipation of whatever shitshow was incoming. If this task is anything like the last one, your future self would curse you for not taking advantage of a good night's rest. The comfort of a temperature-regulated bedroom was a luxury you refused to let pass up. One last trip down your staircase, sweeping your eyes over your home space as if it would be something you'd never see again. Flicking on a lamp to give the illusion that this house wouldn't be empty, you clicked your front door closed once again.

"'Hope I wasn't interrupting." You sighed, smiling politely.

"Not at all," Laswell replied astutely, leaning forward to knit her fingers together, "I'd love to sit and chat, but we are actually in a bit of a time crunch. I'll give you more information when we're in the air. We have a plane waiting for us to leave in twenty minutes. The Mexica-"

She paused, politely waving away a proposed refill of coffee from a harsh-looking waitress who looked like she desperately needed a smoke break. Reassuming her position, Laswell restarted her sentence.

"Mexico. This is highly time-sensitive, and we have to get going right away."

"Okay," You breathed, "What can I expect?"

She paused, rolling your words in her jaw for a moment, eyes flicking back to you as she seemed to have come to a conclusion.

"I'll give you the details when we're in the air," she repeated.

Sitting in the back of the stuffy SUV that was taking you to the supposed plane, you couldn't help but be struck by the encroaching importance of whatever task was due. Laswell was tapping away at a cell phone, you didn't dare try to screen peek, but instead noting the flurrying speed of her thumbs on the glass. The driver was some unknown Joe, so formally dressed for a military operation, the security's aesthetics made you feel like you were on a presidential campaign. Head bobbing from the motion of turning onto a gravel road, you spied a landing strip you'd never previously known existed- shielded by a thick layer of trees.

Chauffeured by more Joes, you stepped directly into a small four-seater jet, occupying the back seat with Laswell, who had just concluded her last message. Only seconds after clicking the seatbelt, the plane kicked into motion, taxiing into takeoff position, craning to get one last glimpse of familiar shrubbery. Mexico. That's not much to go off. Any second now, Laswell will cut into the silence and explain the task at hand. It took for the plane to kick into takeoff, gluing you to the back of your seat, before she even dared to speak. She seemed to find comfort in talking once airborne, the prospect making your stomach knot.

"This is a hostage recovery mission. Washington state Senator Geoff Moss' daughter, Samantha Moss, went to Mexico for her senior prom trip. Didn't make it back." She spoke matter-of-factly, "They got a message from a cartel gang going by the name of the Alianso Cartel. They're demanding $90 million, or they start sending fingertips."

"Wouldn't this be Secret Service or CIA business? It's US politics, what's making it international?" Your brows furrowed, blinking in confusion.

"It would be, but this has Chinese and Russian fingerprints all over it, and the US's enemies associating with the cartel is a relationship the world can't stand to see. On top of that, Mr. Moss is a flight risk with highly sensitive NATO information, and such a contact could jeopardize the upcoming US election."

Her words prickled in your brain, rallying back and forth like a high-stress tennis match. The question that burned in your mind still pinged as unanswered: How would you fit in all this?

"This doesn't have to do with… last time," You tilted your head, implying she fill in the gaps in your dialogue.

"No. We have no indication that this and your last mission are related."

A significant weight you didn't know existed lifted off your chest, though additional questions still left you restless. Hostage situations can last anywhere from ten minutes to months. This one could be a long-haul.

"So, where does a linguist come into this?" You finally indulged your nagging question, twisting your timid fingers under your palm.

"Well," The way she paused before speaking made your heart sink, "Your role is a sensitive one. This whole event is off the record."

Your eyebrows furrowed, locking your eyes onto hers in a silent plea to spill it as she diligently met your gaze. Her hands folded over the papers she held in her lap. Your experience reading through tough exteriors, courtesy of Chucky, made you sure that Laswell was somehow uneasy about sharing this information with you, though her tone would never portray such doubt.

"Our plan is to have you infiltrate an exclusive party being held on the Alianso Cartel's leader Armando Marín's private party yacht. Photos and cross-referenced intel suggest that Senator Moss's daughter will attend this party as Armando's personal companion. A Russian gang affiliate, Aleksandr Ogievich, will also be in attendance, a gang member who's connected to a massive human trafficking ring in Central Asia. Aleksandr has a personal affinity for ladies of the night…"

She paused, though her continuing hand motions implied she was raking through her mind for the appropriate verbiage. Your face softened in realization, though a sense of duty washed over you, willing you to override any emotion. It's just business. You're just a cog.

"Your task is to infiltrate the gathering posing as a Russian escort named Olga Abakumov," She dropped several pieces of stapled paper on your lap, with pictures of your face aligned with the foreign name, along with citizenship documentation and even a birth certificate.

"I'm still not seeing how my skillset falls into this category," You breathed, though as the words slipped from your mouth, you realized your transgression. Laswell was your superior by far, and you were in no position to question her authority. She must have seen your face change and chosen not to chew you out as she was postured like she was planning to.

"Your multilingualism will make it possible to communicate fluently in Russian posing as someone who's lived in Saint Petersburg her whole life," Laswell tapped her finger on your faux birth certificate, "while also being able to identify when key Spanish intel is being shared, and to listen in accordingly. Additionally, Miss Moss speaks English. If we can mark her as being at the scene, you can communicate to her the exfil strategy, and we can effectively get her out of Cartel territory."

You nodded dutifully, feeling surging waves of blooming heat and piercing cold cross your cheeks as you considered her words.

"If a situation arises where you can get Miss Moss alone, her parents have a very particular nickname, 'Squink,' that they call her by, along with a hand motion," Laswell signed a hug across her chest, making an X shape with her forearms. "Communicating these messages to her will let her know that you know her family and are an ally. However, you cannot communicate this to her unless you have definite approval from 141 of exfil, as you can't risk uncovering your position."

Continued nodding followed, and you blinked rapidly as you digested her orders. You continued rerunning Squink and the hand motion in your mind like you had done with countless textbook definitions throughout training, forging them into a lasting memory. Laswell took a moment to breathe, and a softness fell over her tone, though you ensured your outer appearance betrayed no emotion of distress. You were due to be stationed alone in the company of gang members and a violent cartel, each famous for their affinity for transporting young women. It was a genre of terror that you were confident almost none of your comrades could empathize with, though something made you feel like Laswell was an exception. In the end, your other teammates were more than comfortable with putting their lives on the line, often taking a bullet or a knife to the thigh in the name of their cause- even if they didn't understand the end game of their plan. Now, it was your obligation to do the same. But something heavy still sat on your conscience nonetheless.

"We'll be outfitting you with cameras and microphones so we can listen in to every utterance," by the way she spoke, you half expected her to pull you into a hug. "141 will be following in tow in a dingy, ready to infiltrate at a moment's notice. The Coast Guard will also be pursuing with a mothership prepared to drop helicopters in on your location. We also have the support of a small but mighty Mexican Special Forces team."

You tried to swallow the new lump that caught in your throat. The night you indulged in your own bed, slightly wine-drunk and comfy, were precious hours this precious girl had spent in evil's grasp. It made you sick and slightly lightheaded, feeling sticky sweat pool in your palms. You needed to get this girl. She must be terrified. So alone, so confused. You had to sweep these emotions from your mind; for the best chance of saving this woman, you had to eliminate all feelings and handle the task objectively. The emotions can take hold after she's on home soil.

"Understood," you responded plainly, nodding stiffly and meeting her eyes as to communicate your lack of discomfort.

"Even then, we have no reason to believe they'll even leave the dock. Despite owning a multi-million dollar yacht, Mister Marín doesn't seem fond of the ocean." She added, a grin pulling at her cheek, seemingly relieved by your reciprocation.

An uneasy silence fell over the cabin, leaving you to watch the wind wash over curling blue waves from your view out the window. The cabin seemed to feel less small after she relayed the mission to you, like you finally had the opportunity to take in what was around you. A dun-coloured interior of a small but surprisingly modern plane, your pilot seated in the front sitting like a mannequin in his seat, his bulky headset making his silhouette visible from your view of the back of his headrest. At least you had a more thorough understanding of what to expect, and there was no use in worrying about things you couldn't control… yet. You had no right to display any uneasiness about your role when there's a girl out there who's been plucked from her prom trip into the grasp of depravity she could have no capacity of understanding.

"Did you hear I got a promotion?" You huffed, trying to lighten the stiffening aura in the cabin.

"Yes, you received our bouquet, no?" She responded, not looking up from her work.

"It was beautiful. Thank you."

At that moment, yesterday's instance clicked into recognition. She had sent that bouquet, Rhino, all of it. Of course she did. It was all scripted and manicured to make any eyes on you now that you're a hot commodity look the other way. A pang of disappointment surged through you; how foolish you were for thinking an old comrade would genuinely want to visit you. With the speed at which your paperwork returned and your rapid promotion, it all makes sense. Doubt subsided as pride rose in your chest. You swung in the big leagues and hit the ball, at least. Didn't kill the umpire or something. That's a win.

It seemed like no time had passed, occupied by your thoughts and recollecting the fine details of a Saint Petersburg girl's accent. Before you knew it, the proud redwoods of California had been replaced with slick palm fronds. Judging by the fact that the ocean had never left your side for the whole flight, you gathered that you must be landing on the west coast of Mexico, somewhere in south Baja. The landing strip you were aimed towards manifested into view through thick foliage, spotting a handful of people awaiting your landing.

A team of armed soldiers stood in wait under the roof of a small hangar, a distant tank cruising by on the dirt road in the distance. The air was humid, thick and sticky, blurring the horizon of the tarmac in a hazy heat. Everything from the sky to the foliage to the dirt was so much more vibrant, and the rich smell of recent rainfall filled your sinuses. Two men stepped forward, one with pale brown hair and darting eyes, another with an easy smile and a sloping forehead.

"Ah, Sergeant Grant. I hear they call you Cricket," a tall man said with a smooth Mexican accent, waltzing toward you with upturned palms. "My name is Alejandro, and my comrade here is Rudy," he gestured to the other figure in his shadow.

The title of sergeant still read as foreign when it came before your name, and you mindlessly nodded in response, creasing your lips into a smile and accepting his gruff handshake. His handshake was surprisingly gentle, like he was scared to hurt you with his grip. In the motion, you spotted the proud Mexican flag on his shoulder in the exchange. This is the Mexican Special Forces Laswell mentioned.

"Awfully quiet for a linguist," Alejandro teased, patting your shoulder with a gloved palm.

"That's a first," the familiar voice of Soap piped up from behind you, rounding the corner from behind the plane.

Responding to Soap with a cheeky smile and a huff, you returned to Alejandro after swallowing your nerves. The rest of the pack of familiar teammates emerged, calmly striding to your position. They were all fully armed to the teeth in their armour and uniforms, Ghost resting a silky black rifle over his forearms. Ghost must be a sadist to wear that dark mask in this sticky humidity, whatever he's hiding under there couldn't be worth all that trouble- or maybe that's just what he wants you to think. Though Price's hat was shielding his eyes from the harsh afternoon sunlight, he still squinted against its brightness, which Soap concurred. However, Gaz seemed more than comfortable in the searing heat, he almost looked like he could be a tourist if it weren't for the straps and plating of full body armour.

"I'm just refreshing my mind with the Saint Petersburg accent," You responded dutifully, a half-truth. "I'm eager to get started." In reality, your mind spun with the gravity of the mission, having never been the person infiltrating but always the person listening in. You had the skills, training, and combat experience, but it still piqued your nerves in a way no Chinese nuclear warhead plot could.

"Good, Good, Good…" He trailed off, clicking his tongue contentedly as he casually paced away, striking up a conversation with Ghost.

Laswell flicked her papers in a follow me motion, guiding you to a sleek white camper van with the words Honeymoon Tours plastered on its side in swirling calligraphy. The door squealed as you stepped into the crisp air conditioning, finding Graves typing at a clunky laptop at the fold-out table. He didn't even look up to greet you, though it was obvious that he was aware of your proximity.

"Kate, Julian will be expecting her at 16:00, let's get Grant in her fixins." Graves sighed, finally rising and clicking on a projector screen with a detailed map, the legend on the side designating who goes where.

His choice of words got under your skin, creating that lightheaded feeling in your fingertips as you considered your role. After taking a long swig of water from a canteen, Laswell stepped into view, pointing at the grainy projected image with her stack of papers.

"You'll be placed with Julian, the Dolly Manager on Armundo's ship… He gets the girls ready." She flickered her eyes over to you; though her tone might not have said it, her eyes betrayed her stoicism. "Julian is an ally, he'll take care of you. He'll keep several pairs of eyes on you throughout the night…" Another pause. "We have an outfit set for you, it's in there. You can change in the bathroom." Laswell gestured to the master bedroom at the back of the van.

You smiled dutifully, nodding and kicking your heels to turn down the narrow hallway, subconsciously following the exact dutiful compliance as when you were at the pinning ceremony. Laswell's words did nothing to dissuade your whirling mind from humming with trepidation, and you knew that she knew that. After all, on the last mission, Laswell promised you wouldn't see combat, yet you'd been forced to draw your firearm at least four separate times. What truly solidified your resolve was the knowledge that a senator's innocent daughter is likely confused, scared, and hopeless. Flickering thoughts of what might have happened to her since her capture are quickly extinguished so as not to soften your heart. Kindness and compassion aren't what will save this girl from the grip of evil men; it's willing your mind to become a cold, impenetrable machine.

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