#Assault Shuttle

[alphamecha-mkii]

[swtechspecs]

Telgorn Corporation Gamma-Class Assault Shuttle

Source: Imperial Sourcebook (West End Games, 1989)

[idontmindifuforgetme]

The majority of the Palestinian genocide is taking place in Gaza at the moment, but it’s worth mentioning that there are also assaults in the West Bank, which I don’t see highlighted enough. Reportedly Israel has arrested more than 6000 Palestinians in the West Bank, and more than 270 were killed. People are being shuttled from place to place, being separated from their children, thrown into jails with inhumane conditions for long periods of time, and not knowing what they’re exactly charged for or when they’ll see their families next. If you’re a woman, there’s the added treat of being threatened with sexual assault.

Israeli officers confiscate all possessions of those they detain, making it so that the Palestinians jailed are utterly insulated from the world or news. Imagine how nerve-wracking that is for someone who just wants to know that their family is still safe, still alive, still not blown to pieces by an airstrike. It’s grotesque all the lengths Israel goes through to ensure Palestinians never like they’re human, but instead always feel like they’re prey—even when they’re not actively slaughtering them.

[cookinguptales]

oh my god, I might literally throw a party. I might literally buy myself a cake tonight. thank you, thank you, thank you, Pete Buttigieg.

things that have happened to me specifically while flying american:

being asked to stand in a very long line to check my bag before they'd let me have access to a wheelchair

not being picked up by an attendant in time to get to my flight despite arriving over two hours early

being loaded into a broken accessible bathroom. the door wouldn't close all the way so my naked body was visible to people in the terminal.

being refused restroom access at all, sometimes for hours at a time. I'd say that this one happens about 80% of the time when I fly, especially when getting off the plane.

being denied stops for food at the airport as well

being left outside a restroom for over an hour because the attendant straight-up left. I had to TWEET AT THE AIRPORT FOR HELP because I knew being public was the only thing that would work.

being left on plane for over 45 minutes for the same exact reason. once off the plane, I was left at the gate for an additional hour. my parents, waiting for me at baggage, were frantic. a gate agent got into a screaming match with a wheelchair attendant. it was wild.

having a wheelchair attendant harass me about my homosexuality the entire time they took me through the airport; I'd just come from pride and had an identifying t-shirt. I couldn't get away from them or their lectures about being a good christian.

never being collected for a connecting flight, forcing me to walk or miss the flight. I dislocated my shoulder trying to get there.

once I was loaded onto a shuttle but no one bothered UNloading me, so I had to bang on the glass to get passersby's attention

not being preboarded a solid... I'd say 20% of the time. this is important because preboarding means I don't need to stand for an extended period in a narrow aisle behind people putting their things away, and also provides me with additional space to put away my accessibility devices.

once this happened because the wheelchair attendant was late (as usual) and the gate attendant assured me they'd hold the line so the aisle would be clear. once I got down there, they refused to do this and wanted me to stand for 15 minutes, which would have been incredibly painful while holding my bags. I refused to board until the aisle was clear, so they started directing passengers around my wheelchair. it was only after a passenger straight up refused to board and blocked everyone else that the aisle was cleared and I was allowed to board.

I have also had passengers break rules to take me to the bathroom when I was literally weeping at the gate from how badly I needed to pee and how much I did not want to publicly wet myself. thank you to those passengers. (and the ones that yell that I need to be preboarded when they "forget" to do so.)

I've been told to get off the plane because my wheelchair was there, but got off the plane to find out that it wasn't -- and they wouldn't let me back on the plane. they wanted me to walk to baggage, but I couldn't. I sat down on the filthy floor of the bridge and wouldn't move until they brought a wheelchair, no matter how much they yelled at me and threatened me with security. what a fucking mess.

they have given away my seat near the front of the plane before and forced me to walk to the back of the plane. I was openly sobbing from the pain by the time I made it back there.

things that have happened while flying in general (TSA, other airlines, etc.):

(trigger warning for sexual assault)

TSA giving you the most invasive pat-downs you can imagine. if you remain in your wheelchair, often they will run their hands under your thighs, bottom, and genitalia. the weight of your own body means that I have had fingers part my outer labia through my pants. one I started crying during a pat-down because I am a survivor of CSA and they yelled at me then restarted the pat-down from the top.

I have had attendants refuse to help me with my belongings during security, instead insisting that I get out of the chair and do it myself

I have had security make me get out of the chair, then lose the chair until my legs gave out and I sat on the floor, which also got me yelled at

broken accessible bathrooms have happened at MULTIPLE airports.

delta has broken not one but TWO of my personal wheelchairs

once while boarding an attendant (who was already mad at me because I'd refused to walk up the steep tarmac ramp without wheelchair assistance) grabbed my cane while I was using it and I almost fell. I was never notified that this would be a tarmac boarding to begin with.

once, during a different tarmac boarding, they expected us to go down a flight of stairs, despite me being loaded onto the plane via wheelchair. I would not go down the stairs and they had to call for the lift to be brought. it took about a half hour, and the entire time the attendants kept asking me if I really needed it and wouldn't I just go down the stairs? like I was just being a recalcitrant child and not someone who's broken her ankle stepping off a curb before.

honestly the refusal to let me eat and pee is pretty universal, as is wheelchair attendants ghosting me, refusing to talk to me, acting like they're transporting luggage instead of a person, etc.

believe it or not, that is not an exhaustive list. they're just the first examples that come to mind. whenever I fly and it goes completely smoothly, that's more of a shock.

and like... it's dehumanizing. it really is. not being allowed to go to the restroom? having people refuse to talk to you? being abandoned in random hallways?

I'm always in so much pain after I fly, a fact that is generally worsened by poor treatment at the airport, and even the literal dislocations have hurt less than being treated like I'm less of a human person than my fellow passengers.

so uh. rock on, Buttigieg. fine them into fucking oblivion. I'll be cheering you on the whole way.

[acapelladitty]

gross misconduct

Summary - A loss of concentration results in you being caught by Leland Coyle and, in a moment of pure desperation, you make him an offer before he can take what he wants. (6.6k words)

(tw for: extremely dubious consent, electroplay, sadism, physical assault, forced oral (f!receiving), torture, pain, handjobs, clothed sex, forced orgasm, branding, threat)

Link to AO3 ☆ Fic Masterlist ☆ Kofi

You know you're fucked when your strained ears pick up the tell-tale crackle of Coyle's stun baton as it springs to life from the depths of the wide darkness which fill the space you had only recently crept through.

The shuttle had travelled you down to a faintly familiar police station, a building you had only visited a few times before with different groups, but today you had entered the shuttle alone due to Dr. Easterman's recent campaign to place a greater emphasis on reagents completing their tasks without assistance. 'A push to promote independence' is what the staff sold it as and the promise of extra reward was too tempting to ignore.

The generator which you had been so desperately trying to mend was quick to sputter and groan its broken state as you diligently sought out a canister of gas to fill it with before starting work on the breaker switches which covered both sides. The buttons on the left had been easy enough to correct but the ones on the right, which you were currently tinkering with, were giving you hell.

Hell enough that you didn't even hear the approach of the monster pursuing you until it was too late to really do anything about it.

Surprisingly, it's not electricity you feel frying your nerves as you make a panicked attempt to bolt to the safety of the nearby door but the heavy, sharp weight of the stun baton itself as Coyle swings it harshly across your upper shoulders, the force of the blow enough to send you reeling forwards as you scream in mixed pain and fear.

"Think you can touch my shit? We got fucking laws around here you stupid bitch."

Having avoided him so far, the accented syllables are terrifying as he barks them at you – his sudden presence filling the space and closing in around you like a snare. His words burn in your ears as your body connects with the floor, immediately stunning you as the breath flees your lungs and the side of your head bounces off the hard ground in such a way that stars explode across your vision while you wheeze pitifully.

Face pressing into the floor as you struggle with the disorientation, Coyle’s foot is quick to correct your positioning as it connects harshly with your side, pain flaring across your ribs as he flips you on to your back with a brutal kick. Howling at the sharp discomfort, your hands fly to your side as you apply pressure to the aching space and fight for breath. Knowing you're caught with no chance of escape, fight and flight seem to abandon you in favour of freeze, and your watery eyes gaze up at Coyle with unrestrained fear as his stocky frame remains illuminated by the faint light of the generator and the blue crackle of his stun baton.

The wires wrapping around his body give him an odd outline, all stemming from the thick battery which is held against his back to power the baton. He's in the same outfit as ever, the only one anyone has seen him in, with his cops clothing paired by a filthy white shirt and red tie poking free at his neck. His face is almost obscured by both the police cap which sits atop his skull and the dark aviator sunglasses that hide his eyes from sight.

One hand gripping his weapon while the other plucks the thin, glowing cigarette from his mouth, Coyle blows a wide plume of smoke into the air with a satisfied whistle as he brings his foot down on your stomach - pinning you in place with the thick tread of his boot.

"So what are you, huh? A commie whore? One of those do-gooders who flouts the law and thinks they won't get their teeth kicked in for it? You touch my shit, you fry like the rest of them!"

Working himself into a quick frenzy, his movements become more animated as he swings the baton around and fresh ash falls from the cigarette to land against your shorts. His boot presses harder, the pressure making you whine as dull pain radiates from your squashed gut. Coyle peers down, eyes still hidden behind the dark sunglasses which are perched on his nose, but you feel the weight of his gaze as he visibly takes his time in looking you up and down. He’s sizing up his catch and you feel every inch the prey animal you absolutely are.

The trial had already been a total pain in the ass as a wayward giant taking a swing with their jagged club had ripped the lower half of your shirt to shreds like a hot knife scoring through butter. Dried blood coated the exposed area, the club having gouged a thin chunk from your skin which was quickly stemmed by some of the very odd healing liquid which always littered the trials. On top of that, your frayed shorts were just as distressed, grime and wiped oil from the generator staining the light fabric which had already been through a lot.

The overall outfit was less modest than you would have liked, your legs and stomach now exposed with the sleeves of your shirt rolling up past your elbows, but it was all you had until you could earn the means to purchase replacements from the staff or barter with the other reagents.

Not quite ready to die, your panicked flailing and scrambling limbs are quickly frozen into place by the tip of Coyle's stun baton as he presses ithe sharp points into the uncovered flesh of your collarbone. Your heart vibrates in your chest, pure fear of the electric shock to come making your expression wide and eyes squeeze shut in anticipation.

Pain explodes from your chest, your body turning rigid as your scream is caught in your throat. It's like fire, spreading across your skin and tearing apart the muscles while you convulse. However, the raw intensity is over almost as quickly as it starts and your pain-filled pants roar in your ears as you struggle to recover from the assault.

Again and again, fresh points of pure agony spring to life as Coyle gleefully presses the baton to different areas of your skin, sometimes breaking the skin with the sharp edges and sometimes not. Collarbone, arms, stomach, legs, all victims to his weapon as your lungs begin to burn from the screaming that you simply cannot hold back.

"Hrm, fucking waste of a pretty little thing." Coyle comments after a moment of reprieve, using the prongs of the baton to push the opening of your shirt to the side and shamelessly steal a glance at your covered tits. "Almost a crime to have to kill you when my dicks hard and twitching like this."

"I'll fuck you if you let me go."

You surprise yourself with your own offer, the words falling from your lips in a single, desperate blurt – more of a sob than anything - as a hint of hope dares to flash across your thoughts. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Anything would be better than feeling your skin fry and heart explode because of that damned weapon of his.

"Easterman sending in whores for us to play with now? Didn't think the shitbird had it in him. You think I need you to bargain with me? I’m a fucking man of the law. I'll take what I want, when I want, from whatever junkie criminal fuck I want!" Coyle’s anger is obvious, baton alighting as he shocks the air just over your cringing, wide-eyed expression.

"But I'll do what you want." You counter quickly, wrapping a soft hand around the back of his ankle as his foot continues to press into your stomach. "I'll let you fuck me h-however you want, and do what you want. I won't fight it."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Coyle scoffs but his head tilts down at you as he tucks the baton away and continues to peer at you from behind his glasses. “Ain't no fun in a dead fuck. Trust me on that one, whore.”

A memory rises.

One of other reagents leaving the shuttle, fresh from their victory as three of them bounced off to visit the pharmacy and stock up on some items. But not the fourth. A thin woman, hair dark but greying at the temples, left the shuttle with no smile, no joy at whatever similar feedback had been received from her work. Her gaze was empty, despondent, and filled with something which had made your heart ache as she locked eyes with you. A weak smile from your lips had received nothing but a soft wave, one which showcased an obvious burn mark - one branded into her skin by an electric baton - as she shook herself off, stood tall, and limped off to follow her team.

The others whispered, told stories and rumours they had heard about the various prime assets. Gooseberry’s delusions, Franco’s insane perversions, and the similar tales about Coyle were often allowed to fade off into implication as very few were willing to pay lip service to the horrors which each of the monsters had been known to inflict on unfortunate reagents.

And he was a monster. A torturer. A sadist. A murderer. A rapist. A man who used every part of himself to inflict misery on his victims. And here you were, offering up your neck in the hope that he might not bite down as heavily if his prey let him put his mouth there willingly.

Coyle's silence is deafening as he considers his options but it only lasts for a few painful moments, each second making your heart feel like it is going to vibrate free of your chest, before he rolls his shoulders back into a more relaxed stance and hooks his fingers onto his belt.

"But I really ain't had one throw themselves at me like a whore before. Might be nice to relax and blow off some steam fucking something which ain't kicking out like a stubborn mule." Slipping his baton up behind his neck, Coyle blows another puff of smoke high above his head. "Ah, fuck it. Stand up, bitch, and get those hands on the fence so we can get to business."

Unsure you had heard him correctly and taking in a deep, relieved breath as his boot pulls free of your stomach - the sharp discomfort dissipating in an instant to a vague ache - you slowly roll to your front before pushing up onto your knees. Body tensed and expecting a fresh blow of his baton as you struggle to force yourself to your feet, your heart beats frantically as you wait for him to change his mind and cruelly knock you to your ass again.

"I said MOVE!" Unhappy with the wait, Coyle snatches the fabric at the back of your neck and hoists you to your feet - the shirt choking you for an instant as you gasp, sputter, and shakily turn to press your back and fingers into the chain link fence.

"Legs apart, inmate. I'll need to conduct a search and make sure you ain't hiding anything nasty to turn on me with. Try to run or do anything fucking dumb and I'll smack a hole in that pretty head and fuck that instead. Spread 'em."

His hands are rough and careless of your comfort as they slide across your shirt and grope at your tits, thighs, and any other skin which is peeking out from your torn outfit. Under the pretence of a search, you can do nothing but stand there and hold on to the fence like it were a lifeline as humiliation and fear build across your chest.

The search goes on for a full minute, only ending when Coyle slips his hand between your legs and cups roughly at your cunt through the shorts. You keep your legs spread, afraid of what he'll do if you move them, even slightly.

"Hard to get a feel for any contraband when you're so decent." He grumbles before barking out a new order. "Now, strip."

Knowing it was inevitable, you try to stop the shaking of your hands as you slowly drop your fingers to your shorts and slip them free of your ass. Your skin feels like it's burning as you slowly expose more of yourself, lower half now only covered by the thin fabric of your panties.

Shorts in a messy pile on the floor, you move quickly to have your shirt follow but Coyle knocks your hand away as you finish unbuttoning it. His hands are warm and textured as he delves into your bra and pulls your tits free, letting them hang atop the fabric of your bra in the cool air. Satisfied, he grunts at the view before rocking back on his heel and taking a deep inhale of his cigarette as his other hand continues to explore your skin.

This position, with your face just below his own as you stand frozen in place and boxed in by his wider frame, gives you a much closer look at Coyle as you try to focus on anything which wasn't the scarred hands gripping at your flesh hard enough that you knew bruises will soon form.

In another life, he could have been handsome enough as he really did have a cops face. Lined and serious, it was a face which held authority as easily as it could charm, but there was a bestial cruelty in his features. Predatory, sadistic righteousness shone from his gaze and any possible attraction which his features could have generated was quickly stripped away and replaced with cold dread as that righteousness spelled real danger for anyone who stood in his way.

His full beard looks rough and a little unkempt, the dark hair flecked with more than its fair share of grey. The scarring and burns on his face aren't too terrible, not as bad as some of the other monsters you had seen lurking around the trials. The skin bubbled and scarred, the right hand side of his face is a pitted mess which makes you think of pictures of men who had suffered in wars and accidents with similar patches of torn, angry skin.

On a good day, you could squint and pretend that Coyle was just any other guy. A guy you'd made the bad decision to pick up in a bar with a few scars across his face from a work job gone wrong.

But he wasn't that, and all the playing pretend in the world couldn't hide the fact that you'd agreed to fuck this monster in exchange for a vague agreement that he'd let you live. Luckily though, his hat and the shadows which it cast are enough to hide most of his predatory leering and you are thankful for that at least.

Obviously growing bored with his search, Coyle takes a big step forward and smirks as you press your back harder into the chain link fence to keep what little space you had to offer. His hand rises to settle in your hair, pulling your head tight against the fence with a vicious snap of his wrist as his body lays flush against your own. The burn in your scalp is wicked, pain making your mouth tremble as you stand to your tiptoes - desperate to alleviate the strain as your skull throbs.

"You do this for the other assets too? Hmm? Spread your legs for that dickless Italian freak? Let the fat bitch with the mouthy puppet take a ride on you with that drill of hers?"

You can't hide the grimace which stretches your lips thin as you think of the other monsters which haunted the various trials. They were just as horrific, but at least with him you could try to pretend.

"No. I haven’t- well, since-it's been…fuck -"

"Fucking spit it out." Coyle rolls his eyes, his hand tightening in your hair as the stun baton crackled threateningly. "Don't got all fucking day."

"I haven't fucked anyone since I've been stuck in here."

"Lying bitch." Coyle snaps. "That's all you junkies and sluts do back in those cells they keep you in. Ain't nothing to do but sleep, smoke, and fuck anything with a pulse."

"Well, I fucking haven't."

He ignores the snapped denial, once again switching his focus back to your body as a smirk at your outburst curls his mouth. The tip of the stun baton drops to threaten your lower stomach, placed tactfully to prevent any thought of escape, and the crackle of the electric sparks are like small needles of heat as they glance off your skin.

"Mmm, I like a bit of fire. A bit of meat. Really gives me something to work and hold onto while I tear you a new one." His eyes rove across your trembling chest, leering openly as his tongue licks at his cracked lips.

Overcome by a sudden wave of self-conscious fear, the onslaught of it making your throat constrict, you can't stop your hand moving and it quickly shifts to cover your chest - elbow tucking tight against your side to cover as much skin as possible.

You realise your mistake instantly.

Coyle's face twists into uncontrolled rage and a huff of air is the only warning you get before a sharp pain spears through your cheek as the back of his hand glances off your face, quick as a whippet.

"It's by the good grace of the lord that you're not a smoking pile of dead fuck on the floor, waiting to be scraped up by the assholes who run this place." Coyle snarls, his hand snapping around your own and gripping with enough strength to make you whine pathetically as he drags it away from his sight. "Don't make me sorry for being so kind cause I’ll use this stick to fry your holes and then just fuck what's left."

Frozen in place by the very real threat, your head moves of its own accord as you nod and agree with his words without conscious thought; your lips spewing a stream of incomprehensible apologies as you dig your nails into your outer thighs to force them to remain still. Your cheek burns, his backhand slap really showcasing his strength as the area continues to ache even as you nod.

"But you're clean," Coyle continues his tone almost begrudging, "so I think I'll forgive that little slip up. The badge makes people nervous sometimes."

"Thanks." You breath out, not quite sure what for and even less sure that you meant it.

Coyle grins at the apology as his hand drops to his belt once more. Beside his hand, the line of cigarettes holstered within the belt would be comical in any other situation but humour was the furthest thing from your mind as you stare hopelessly at the collar of his stained shirt.

"Now take my cock out and show me why you're so desperate for it."

Biting the back of your tongue as you attempt to steady your breathing and follow through on your earlier offer, you lean forward enough to reach his fly and release his cock. Despite it all, all the terrifying strength and the monstrous sadism, his cock is surprisingly normal as you pull it free. About average length, it wasn't the biggest cock you'd ever seen, but it was certainly the thickest and the slight flare of his cock head appeared a much darker shade than his shaft - the scarce light making any other details too difficult to see.

"What? You holding it so I can take a piss? You forget how to treat an officer of the law? Cause I got a firm hand to help you remember."

Startled by his words, you quickly shake your head and start to slowly pump your hand along his cock. He's already half hard from terrorising you and his dick twitches into your palm, your grip soft and too afraid to squeeze tightly in case it angered him in some way. You stroke along the length, feeling every inch of the velvety skin against your own as it hangs heavy and hot against your palm. But it's dry, too dry to really let you build up any momentum, and your fingers feel uncomfortable against the raw skin.

Releasing him, you see the outrage flair in his face for only a blink until he watches you spit into your hand - the noise vulgar and nasty against the gentle whirr of the generator - and then his lips split into another wide grin as you instantly return to the task at hand. The spit gives some lubrication, allowing your hand to slide more easily along his length as your fingers rub along the sensitive ridge where the shaft meets cockhead. It gains you a low grunt of approval, Coyle's breath visibly sharpening at the extra stimulation and he raises a hand to the chain link fence as he leans in even closer to your trapped positioning.

"You're a talented whore. I like the extra effort," Coyle growls into your ear, "and, hell, I'll even let you choose which hole I fuck cause I like it so much."

Having not even considered that he might demand to fuck your ass or throat, your hand stutters on his cock as fear cleaves at your chest. But you cover it quickly, resuming jerking his now fully hard cock as you struggle to clear your throat of your anxieties and answer him.

"Please, sir, fuck my-"

"Yeah, yeah." Coyle breathes, cutting you off in an instant as he pulls his cock free of your grip with one fluid jerk of his hips and replaces it with his own hand. "I ain't fucking stupid. I know what you want. But let's see if all my being nice is gonna be worth what I'm getting-" Coyle trails off, his other hand gliding past your lower stomach and within the waistband of your panties to weave through the trimmed hair of your cunt - the sensation making him quirk a brow as his teeth visibly clamp around the cigarette between them.

His fingers push past your slit, pressing up against your hole roughly, and you whimper at the stiff intrusion. He's too rough, too fast, and you aren't prepared at all to accept him as he struggles to slide his fingers in any further.

A fact which he notices in an instant.

"I thought you'd be soaked, honey. Ol' Coyle not firing up your juices? Or maybe you just need some help."

"Help?" You stutter out, eyeing the stun baton with open fear as your gaze flicks between it and his leering gaze.

"You think a respectable law bringer like me needs the lightning to keep you in line? Nah, we're gonna have a hell of a time. Just some old-fashioned perversion between a good man and the whore who wants him."

Coyle finishes his little mocking speech by dropping to one knee before you, the sudden shift making you jerk in position and gasp, and his hands are hard against your thighs as he roughly spreads your inner thighs before tearing your panties down. The fabric falls to your knees without protest and your fingers once again lock against the chain link fence which presses into your back.

Unable to do anything, you bite at your lip to save the pathetic noises which threaten to slip free as you feel the heat of Coyle's breath against your cunt. But before you can really dwell too much on what is happening, a scream snaps free of your throat as his blunted teeth sink themselves into the swell of your left inner thigh. The bite is hard, the skin roaring its distress in a dull, lasting ache until Coyle pulls away and refocuses his attention on his main prize.

Coyle's beard is rough and the sensation of it dragging along your cunt is not as unpleasant as it could have been. But any good feeling is cut short in an instant by how insistent and sloppy he is in his immediate fervour. His tongue is messy, forcing itself along your slit before delving into your hole without any focus or thought. This wasn't about bringing pleasure, not real pleasure anyway, it was about control and him forcing you to endure it. Knowing that you had to let him do as he wished.

Having his mouth devouring such an intimate location, one which very few of your previous partners had ever really been allowed, feels somehow worse than anything else he'd already subjected you to - despite the very slight twinge of arousal which traitorously licks up your spine when his nose greedily bumps against your clit as he presses himself tightly against your groin.

It's invasive and humiliating, his tongue leaving no part of you neglected as he uses his mouth to slicken you up and take what he wants. His facial hair burns as it grinds into your most sensitive skin, the friction adding a cruel stimulation that forces your hole to clench around nothing and arousal to continue to steadily grow within your gut.

"Mm, for a condemned whore you sure do taste good. Even better than my second wife. Put out a lot easier too…"

Second wife?

He had been married? More than once? In light of that revelation, you choose to ignore the insult which Coyle had also tacked onto the end of his comments as he pulls away from you and quickly rises to his feet once more. Relief floods you, sweeping across your skin as he quits his assault on your sex, but with it comes renewed anxiety as you know he’s going to want his promised fuck.

"No thanks?" Coyle spits out after a second of staring at you, his fingers striking forward to grip your chin so tightly that you're afraid he's going to rip the skin. "A man gets down on one knee and you don't even show him the proper respect? Didn't peg you for an ungrateful bitch- maybe I should have just fucked you high and dry?"

"Sorry, sir. Thank you." Grovelling the words out in a muttered rush due to the pressure Coyle is keeping on your jaw, you can't help the widening of your eyes as pain-filled tears blur your vision.

"Finally, a little fucking respect around here." Coyle says, the crackle of his baton flashing just to the left of your head as you flinch away in terror. He ignores the flinch and instead mutters a hissing warning as he trails the business end of the baton across your skin, carving a line past your tits and down to your thighs. Running the side of the baton along your slit, he pushes the cold metal up hard into your sex.

"Now, let's see how those cunt juices are firing off."

You grunt as he taps the baton against your slit, every heavy thud more pain than pleasure as it strikes the slightly exposed skin of your clit - the sensation making your knees jerk with every direct hit. It's too much and you bite your lip to keep the noises in your throat clamped up and unable to escape.

Coyle, his face only a few inches away from your own and only just illuminated by the glow of his cigarette, tilts his head as he finally drops your jaw from his inhumane grip.

"I fuck like a man, honey. So, yeah, I see you exercising your right to remain silent but it's just gonna make me want to hurt you more. I want to hear the little canary sing."

He punctuates his final words by grinding the baton into your cunt. Ensuring that the cool metal is wettened by his own saliva and your arousal, he holds the baton there until your whimpers and discomfort have satisfied his sadistic whims before snatching it away and bringing it to your mouth instead.

"Clean it off, bitch."

Humiliated, you press your tongue to the metal as fear that he will press the button and deliver a truly evil shock makes your entire body tremble. Immediately filling your senses, the taste of your own arousal - made acrid by the addition of Coyle's tobacco-stained spit - makes your nose wrinkle but you obediently follow his instructions. Too afraid to put a foot out of line, you work your tongue along the part presented to you until the baton is clean and glistening slightly in the limited light.

Satisfied by your work, Coyle moves so quickly into action that you can't prevent the short yelp of surprise you unleash as he sheaths his baton back in his belt and picks you up by the waist. Airborne for only a blink, you grunt in pain as he slams your back into the nearby generator. Using the crank screen as a makeshift ledge, he balances your ass on it with little effort as his stocky body pins you into place - his rock hard cock pressing insistently at your sex as he grinds himself into your mound.

"Now that I've been all gentlemanly and warmed you up, time to bury this bone and see if it was really worth all the being nice for."

In a single sharp and punishing thrust, he adjusts himself with his hand and sheathes himself inside you so roughly that you feel your back scrape against the generator. Your cry of discomfort, of the stretch and utter sting at his brutal intrusion, only nets you a tilted smirk as Coyle pauses long enough to drink in your distressed appearance. Your nails dig in to the leather of his jacket, the material too thick to allow him any sensation from it but you can feel that he's loving how tight your walls are squeezing him as he holds his cock still.

"Fucking hell, honey. Goddamn tighter than some of those mannequins around here. Or maybe you ain't fucked a real man before. Probably only been with them nancy boys that wouldn’t know what to do with their dick even if it told them."

Unable to catch your breath enough to reply, all you can offer is a discomforting whimper as you pull your legs up and around his waist in a vain attempt to alleviate some of the pressure on your lower half.

He seems fine with it though, and Coyle quickly drops his head to your exposed chest - tits still hanging over your bra as your shirt flutters uselessly around your sides. Pulling you towards him, his mouth makes itself known on your collarbone as his tongue draws a sloppy line across the burn marks which he had delivered earlier with his stun baton - almost as though he's trying to taste the residual electricity as it thrums within your veins. He quick to bite too, his teeth clamping down on whatever skin he can find purchase on as he sucks livid marks into your chest.

Never one to have shied away from a little bit of roughhousing with your pleasure, a sweeping cloud of shame fogs up your mind as you can't help but enjoy the harsh ministrations - every brush of his beard leaving a tickling heat behind which lasts for a few moments. Coyle, his cock rocking slowly back and forth while he adjusts you as he sees fit, is quick to pick up on the attitude shift, a shit-earing grin slipping across his lips as he raises his head from your skin.

"Huh, I think you actually enjoy me pulling on these pigtails of yours. You like it when I hurt you, yeah?" Releasing one of his hands from your waist, he pinches your nipple between textured fingers and the sharp pain makes your back arch and cunt clamp around his cock. "Hrm, I like that a whole lot. Pity I ain't the marrying type these days…" He trails off, mostly to himself, returning his hand to ensuring you were tightly pinned into place and unable to escape him.

Thrusting harshly with every comment, you try to focus on the pleasure which builds as the dull ache of his intrusion begins to fade. His cock is thick, so as much as it stretches you out, it's also brushing your nerves with every rock of his hips - sending thrills of arousal across your gut and shifting your groin as you seek out more and more.

His mouth now shifts its attention to your left tit, mouth greedily sucking your nipple between his lips as the bluntness of his teeth press at the sensitive bud. Moaning, you can't help but slip your hand up from its death grip on his jacket until your fingers find purchase against the back of his neck. It's the first physical contact you've initiated and the heat of his skin on your palm shocks you back into the reality of your situation and what you were allowing to happen.

Arousal, shame, disgust, heat, and something too self-loathing to really pin down pulses through your veins as you admit that, despite it all, you were finding pleasure in this monster. Just another fucked-up fact to add to the other horrors which haunted your broken nights back in the facility. Unable to really fall lower as a sudden shift of despair hollows your gut, you push it deep inside to focus on finishing securing your freedom.

Ignorant to your internal hell as he continues to rut into your body like a beast, Coyle's mouth never stops in its movements. From harsh bites to wild grunts and muttered insults which are lost due to their volume, he's vocal in a way which fills the small space - his only competition being your whimpers and the hum of the generator you are pinned to. Giving a particularly harsh thrust, you can feel the tickle of his dark pubic hair pressing against your groin through the hole of his fly and you stutter out something incomprehensible - the words between a plea and a groan - but he ignores it in favour of lowering his hand to fumble messily at the baton on his belt.

"Ready to ride the lightning, darlin'"?

Shaking your head frantically as you watch him turn the intensity of the baton to full, Coyle places the prongs perfectly at the juncture where his groin connects with your own, ensuring that the shock will connect fully with you both when he presses the button. Fear floods you. His previous shocks had apparently been held a lower setting and the thought of a full-scale taste of the voltage terrifies in a way you never could have anticipated.

"Fuck! No, please- don’t! I'm doing everything you want! Please-" is all you manage to squeal out before pain explodes across your frame.

Your muscles spasm, growing rigid in an instant as your eyes roll back into your skull and heat, like hellfire in a fucked-up handbasket, radiates across your groin to spread across your flesh. It's so intense that you can't even scream, throat and mouth locking into an open position that only allows for a desperate pull of strained oxygen as your brain whites out.

Through it all, heat of another kind makes itself known and you feel Coyle’s orgasm as it burns hot within your cunt, his gasping growls of pleasure rolling across your ears as his higher tolerance for pain allows him to continue his punishing assault on your cunt even as your body twitches and spasms around him.

Despite everything, despite the pain and the abuse you'd endured at his hands since being caught, you cannot prevent the inevitable and your groan as you come is deep and guttural - walls squeezing even more harshly around Coyle's pulsing cock as your desperate body attempts to claw as much pleasure from the pain as it can.

Limbs trembling and twitching from the exhaustion of the electricity, you pretty much can't help but go limp in Coyle's arms as your orgasm ebbs away and you're left with nothing but the residual aches and discomforts of his attention as your feet drop back to the floor. He pulls himself free in a smooth motion, his wilting cock a mess as he tucks it away quickly and steps back from your position.

Your legs feel unsteady as hell and you are thankful for the pressure of the generator as you lean on it heavily for support. Aching, exposed, and grimacing at the feel of his release as it drips free of your abused hole, all you want is a shower and you want it so badly that you could almost feel the desperate tears which threatened to well up in the corner of your eyes.

"Just one more job left to do." Coyle announces, his voice giddy yet almost slurred by his own satiated arousal as he fixed his hat. And without warning he plucks the shortened cigarette from his lips and grinds the stub of it out on the exposed skin of your right inner thigh.

Pain, sharp as a knife and searing in its intensity, flares in the burned skin as a scream pulls itself free of your throat - pain and shock making you writhe in place as he holds you there with a firm hard pressing into your leg until the skin is well and truly branded by the cigarette.

"What the fuck?" You sob out, a tear rolling down your cheek while your fingers drop to gently brush over the abused skin as Coyle releases you and tilts his head to admire his handiwork.

"Hell, just something to remember me by. A little gift to show you what that kinda whoring and public indecency gets you around here. Plus, it lets me keep a tally, one for each time you enjoy a visit with your favourite officer of the law."

Body bending to snatch up your abandoned panties, the simple gesture makes your nerves scream their discomfort and you whimper as you pull the scant fabric back on before quickly sliding your tits back within the bra and fixing the rest of your scant outfit.

Coyle watches with vague interest, his hand cupping his clothed cock as he stands back and hooks his other hand in his belt. "Next time you're gonna be on those knees and I'm gonna fuck that throat bloody. So, make sure you ain't staying away for too long cause ol' Coyle has needs too y'know. I’ll be watching out for you, honey."

Laughing at his own comments as you cringe at the scornful pet name, Coyle's gaze falls on an abandoned brick which lays not too far from his foot. Kicking it towards you with a swipe of his leg, Coyle turns on his heel and disappears back into the darkness - his sadistic needs satiated and not a single fuck given about you or your journey back to the shuttle. As he disappears, you can hear him whistling some tune as it grows fainted and fainter with each passing moment.

Shattered, fucked, abused, and absolutely bone weary, the strength which powers you allows you to hold it together for now as you force your broken body into motion. Limping off to find a barrel to hide in while you await the shuttle picking you up, it's impossible to ignore the smell of burned skin which seems imprinted in your senses.

I'll fuck you if you let me go.

At least your plan had worked and you could live to fight another day.

That had to be worth something.

Right?

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

High Stakes (1) | Yanderes x reader

The sound of your commander’s neck snapping was a lot less gory than you expected. Grateful that the only image you will have attached to this experience was their crumpled body on the floor. The culprit stared apathetically at you—who was bowing in acknowledgment. 

“You. Will be the new commander of this shuttle.”

“Yes Sir.”

There was nothing more to say as your superior angrily stalked out of the room, their cape and the scent of burned flesh left in the remaining breeze. Along with him, your new co-workers rushed after, purposefully avoiding your gaze as they stepped over your old boss. Hearing the air-tight doors seal shut you finally inhaled, delighting in the much-needed breath of air. Forcing yourself to breathe, although the tension in your body was about to be at an all-time high. 

The stakes were monumental. 

They are your life.

______________________________________________________________

After your former boss’s demise, you were able to adapt to your role. Successfully carrying out five years of managing a law-abiding, rebel-free, cargo ship. According to the contract you were demanded to serve for a total of six years before you were allowed to retire. Living frugally with room and board provided by the government you were more than prepared for an early retirement. The stressful atmosphere and sleepless nights were far too much for you to do this as long as the last guy. 

But of course, in your last months, it just wouldn’t be that simple.

“Commander (L/N)! We’ve captured two stowaways in the cargo bay!”

“Not unusual we give them the usual treatment and send them on a prison transport.”

“These two, are the recently caught rebels. Escapees from…his prison.”

“....I see. I’ll confirm their identities shortly.”

There was a 1 in 60% chance that your ship would be an unlucky vessel for trouble-seeking rebels. And with their recession on behalf of the newest supreme officer hard at work, you thought you’d have the privilege of not being in such an unlucky position. Eager for the last thing you hear not to be that dreadful snapping of bones.

You locked your office before heading to the brig. Passing by multiple armed guards marching on patrol. After having learned of the rebel’s presence you doubled the guards, even if you had yet to confirm it was them. Better safe than sorry.

The door opened with a hiss, your lieutenant officer especially red in the face as she turned from the cells. The cells were made of electric titanium, glittering as clear hexagons. An upgrade the new Supreme officer had made—saying even the most powerful rebels were slaves to its power. You were grateful you had them updated. 

“Commander this Rebel Scum, matches the description perfectly,” she huffed handing you the tablet that showed the recently taken mug shots of the prisoners.

The prisoner on the right was a lean fellow but the muscles he displayed were obvious. The tattoo of a prisoner marking his exposed upper shoulder, the sleeveless body shirt fashionably clashing against the tied jumper around his waist. The dull, dirtied gray jumpsuit evidently matched the standard issue for high-value prisoners. He was doing push-ups, seemingly for a while now— he had a darker complexion, sheened with the glow of a measurable amount of sweat. His hair, short and curly, remained unaffected bouncing in tandem with his vertical rhythm. Going up and down and up and down. He spared a look at you, brown eyes housing odd speckled flecks of gold.

This was he. 

Matthew Roche—a Human male, age 25, 210 cm, convicted of conspiracy, Assault of Multiple Officers, Treason, Shipment of Illegal Weaponry, and Sabotage.

Notes: Well-behaved in proximity to Prisoner #600 also known as “Ruu”, atypical human strength; give no utensils or any object that can deal damage with blunt force. 

“Like what you see? I’ve picked a fine man haven’t I?”

The coy and accented voice that rings out is muffled, coming from the adjacent cell. In there is the other convict. Skin a light pink and purple hair so dark you might’ve mistaken it for black, is a smirking fiend. Leaning against the wall closest to the other cell, he has a much shorter build. Barely a shred of muscle on his body and the tattered remains of a red jumpsuit hanging off his shoulders. You recognized that suit. 

“Did you kill and take the suit of one of my mechanics?”

“Ah recognize it do you? I took some creative liberties to maybe match my style a little.”

You didn’t relent, still waiting for him to answer your question. The convict pouted puffing his lips and crossing his arms. Scleras black and pupils red, pretending to squint with fake tears. You didn’t appreciate how long he was taking to answer. The furrowing of your brows, was all your lieutenant needed eagerly grabbing the remote control on the side of the cells. On the little panel connected by a wire to the cells, there was a lock for a key to release and eight buttons meant to depict the levels of electric energy. Your lieutenant eagerly clicked on the third button. Immediately the flash of light goes off, bolts of electricity dancing within the cell. The inmate within writhing in agonizing pain.

“Aaaagh!” 

Matthew banged the clear wall, seemingly unbothered by the numbing agent infused into it in favor of silently demanding she stop. You didn’t need to watch the prisoner writhe anymore, unbelievably feeling guilty for their obvious pain. 

“Yuki, please.”

She didn’t seem all that willing to listen but one look and she turned the effect off. The prisoner slumped into the wall reeling from the pain they were in. Still, they looked up at you with a smirk, with slow agonized breaths.

“I didn’t kill anyone…they’re just…sleeping it off in your oil garage.”

The lieutenant looks at the communicator on her wrist, quickly alerting the coworkers in that department. Next, she pulled up the hidden camera in the garage of the naked employee among the barrels proving that statement to be true. 

“Commander that statement appears to be true. They are still breathing.”

You hum, finally exhaling, and you officially check the tablet. The picture matches the defeated inmate in the cell, still rocking the same wide smile

This was Rumakia Hintoth Yeward colloquially known as “Ruu the Ruthless”-a Diagalos Male, age 134, 145 cm, convicted of Genocide, Murder of Multiple Officers, Treason, Conspiracy, Maiming, Public Indecency, and [REDACTED].

The following notes are also redacted the only words in big letters: NOTIFY SUPREME UPON CONFIRMATION. Sending a look at the recovering Diagolos, there was no doubt this was the rebel they so desperately were after. You’d have to send a call to the Supreme immediately. 

“Commander should I–?”

Turning to Yuki and her concerned face, speaking more than any words. You appreciated her offer, certain your previous authority would have taken it in a heartbeat but you were not him. Patting her on the back, you shook your head; purposely ignoring her worried expression and hand reaching out for you. 

“Prisoners, you’ll be dealt with in a day’s time. Please get your rest.”

The sentiment was a minor courtesy, almost one you made with pity in your heart. For who they were meeting with next would not be so merciful to stop at the third electric shock. You hoped for your crew’s sake the prisoners would be the only ones receiving that kind of attention. 

______________________________________________________________

You could smell the sweat of your crew. Their nervousness was all too palpable to you. You hoped your mask of apathy was of some comfort. Unless any of them spoke out of turn the only one with their head on the chopping block is you. 

“Supreme One, it’s an honor to have you here.”

The new Supreme was younger, the wrinkles on his face few and far between. Tastefully on the side of his mouth; similar to smile lines—though that was unlikely. He was donned in the usual black, the typical cape lying only on his right shoulder. Hands in gray gloves that were curled into fists at his sides.

“The pleasure will be all mine when I have my escapees.”

“Of course.”

With another bow, you walked alongside him. Leading him and his personal army of trained guards to the brig. Along the walk you could feel his burning gaze on…you. As unsettling as it was this was your superior in every way, as far as you know he could do anything he wanted. You wouldn’t be able to stop him anyway.

“I’m surprised,” his voice was smooth and sultry; the kind you would have liked a partner of yours to have if you had the time. “To think they employed someone as young as you. I thought I was the only one.”

You didn’t answer. Only nodded. 

What were you supposed to say?!

Continuing to walk alongside him, your comfort was placed on the prisoners. At the very least any unwanted attention would be siphoned from you to them the second he had the rebels in his grasp. All you needed now was for that to come to pass.

The wail of the alarm made you want to cry. 

Yuki’s voice rang out on the loudspeaker; your stomach further twisting on itself

“T-the ah–the prisoners have escaped! They’re headed for the docking bay, proceed with extreme caution. One is a Diagolos! Act accordingly with the emergency protocols–”

Her struggled warning, made it all too real.

Along with the blaring siren and the red emergency lights, you began to direct your guards. Splitting them off with intentions to funnel the prisoners into airlocks. The plan being if all else failed to jet them into space.

Amid your running mind, you felt a tight grip on your arm. It belonged to the Supreme One, pulling you along as he made his way to the airlock. Leading instead, it amazed you how he’d memorized the outline of a small-time cargo ship under his reign. 

“You come with me!”

You followed the best you could, surprised by the detour he was making. Truly curious as to what he had in mind.

“Sir this isn’t the way to the airlock shouldn’t we–”

“They’re going to split up, you might get one to go that way but you won’t get the other.”

With your help, the Supreme One made it through. Your hand and memorized codes made for an easy route for him to eventually come across a bloodied hallway. The emergency light coated the room in a dim red, terribly lighting the surmountable corpses on the ground. At the end of the hallway was Ruu holding a guard intimately, leaning their body against his knee. From afar it looked as though he was placing a passionate kiss on their neck. But alas the light revealed the exact opposite: where his pink lips were on their neck so were the elongated round fangs sucking the man’s blood and some of his organs out. In an instant the man shriveled up, their body deflating before being tossed to the ground alongside the other corpses. Above him stood Rumakia a bloody and wide smile on his face as he danced over his various meals.

“Well hello there dear Supreme it seems you found my jailer! How lucky am I that the two humans of interest are right in front of me!”

The Supreme One’s stoic face stretches into a smile—a twisted, wicked smile, you’re sure is worthy of a man ruling the government. He unsheathes a sword of light and electricity, illuminating the room much better. 

By now you felt it was time you excused yourself. As willing as you were to take the fall for your crew, dying in the midst of a battle of the most violent beings on the ship was not your forte. You tried to run, turning to where you originally came but were stopped. Like you weighed nothing the Supreme One had pulled you into his chest with his un-moveable grip, holding his electric sword in the opposite hand he started to laugh. 

“Come now, Rumakia! Attack me with my commander,” he’s holding you so tight but you refuse to move the memory of your commander’s crumpled corpse plaguing your mind. 

The irony of your similar fate, you fail to realize the specific way you’ve been pulled into the man behind you. Practically no space between you both; his breath, smelling of ashes tickles the side of your face. His nose sensually runs along your cheek as he taunts the fanged prisoner across from him.

“So lovely! I see why you traveled so far for this lifeblood,” the Supreme dares a lick to your sweating neck, “I can’t wait to enjoy them once I kill you!”

The alien across the way shrieks an ear-piercing howl, their hair widening in tandem. A fact about the Diagolos was that their thirst for blood was at its highest or in times of great stress invoked another ability than great strength—-the use of tendrils. So small and weak they mimic hair like any other species but within a specific set of circumstances their tendrils grow and act as additional limbs. That was exactly what was happening now and for Ruu with lusciously long hair meant a web of extra problems for the Supreme One.

Satisfied, the man holding you lets out a whistle, someone of his personal guard appearing behind him in an instant. With his electric sword cutting at the reaching tendrils, your superior twirls you throwing you into the arms of his guard—that doesn’t release you despite your struggling.

“Take the Commander to my ship. Kill anyone that gets in your way.”

The guard only nods before dragging you away, this time you don’t fight as another shrill cry echoes down the hallway. You let the guard lead you, so you can replay the moments before. It was puzzling to try and imagine what exactly was the competition. It couldn’t be you….could it? It’d be bizarre to believe that a prisoner who’s sustenance was blood traveled across the vast galaxy to find you. More than likely you just happened to have a blood type he was interested in…it had to be.

“Move!”

The aggressive pushing from the guard broke you from your thoughts. Passing by the corpses of the same soldiers you’d sent away made you pause. The guard groaned before lifting you up, carelessly tossing you over their shoulder to trudge over their bodies. Your memories with the people they were replay and you feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. 

A commander should go down with their ship, right?

You attempted to leave, tearfully reciting the exact thing, hoping to appeal to the person behind the mask. And for a moment they pause seemingly taking your ask into consideration.

“Didn’t want to do this.”

They were swift, unsheathing an electric zapper and jamming it into your side. The force of the jab—painful and the electrocution—burning. You're left to writhe with the resounding pain as the guard moves to pick you up again. Securing your limp body on their shoulder they plan to continue on their way.

“H-hey let them go!”

The pain is paralyzing and you struggle to lift your head much further but you recognize the voice. It’s Yuki. Hardly able to look you note the stance she’s in, the growing crimson puddle beneath her, and the way she leans against the wall. She’s hurt. You want to call out to her, but any attempt to get her attention is thwarted by the guard turning around. Forced to look at the blackness of their uniform you feel them chuckle and pull out a weapon. It doesn’t click the way the zapper did. 

It clicks the way guns do.

“With your condition, I doubt you’ll survive this. Not really one to be making demands.”

A shot rings out and she screams. 

She’s not dead but you can smell that familiar smell of burning flesh.

“Any regrets?”

“Just that…I can’t promise you it’ll be any better with them, (Y/n)...but I hope it’s better than with him..”

“What?!” 

You’re moving again despite the aches in your body. You move to look up, finding your poor lieutenant with a ghastly paleness on her face covered in blood. A shot rings out and her final words ring loudly in your ears. 

Who could she mean by they?

She couldn’t possibly mean...?

“What a waste of energy that bi–” your retainer was halted by the baffling sight of a hand sprouting from the front of their chest. Looking down and blankly trying to hold the hand sticking out of him, their mouth fills with blood as the hand retreats. Finally, you’re released, awkwardly catching yourself with aching legs as they descend to the floor. Above them is none other than Matthew.

“You! But why would you—?”

“We have to leave now. Do you need me to carry you?”

The voice that leaves his lips moves something in you, you’ve rarely felt moved before. So consumed with work you never could begin to think of anything romantic with anyone, But hearing his voice and being grabbed by the sturdy hands attached you felt a need like never before. Perhaps it was the electricity, influencing you to lose your inhibitions as you failed to register any of the words coming out of his mouth. Only when his lips stopped moving and he tilted his head did you begin to think maybe you should reply but then you’d have to remember what was said. And that just wasn’t possible.

“What?”

Unlike the guard before he didn’t sigh exasperatedly, just bent down and picked you up. Holding you in that forbidden carry, cradling your back and thighs. Something must be wrong. So very wrong. Despite all your knowledge of the horrors that had been committed by the man holding you, your hands still reached for his face. Squishing what little fat remained of his cheeks and rubbing your thumbs over those delectably plump lips. This felt like there was something terribly wrong. But you also couldn’t stop.

“Have you always been this pretty?”

The stoic face that was oh-so focused on his unannounced mission, looked at you in surprise. Then like the moon coming out on a cloudy day, he smiled. It made this unfamiliar part of you swoon, demanding you lean and nuzzle into the neck of a criminal.

“So sappy, I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time.”

It was Rumakia, even more bloody than you when you had left him, wearing a form-fitting body suit with a cape that dragged on the floor—a trophy from a battle won with your superior no doubt. Skipping over more fallen companions of yours but for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Leaning into the alien’s touch he held your face in his hands, making eye contact with his red eyes. For some reason, you felt significantly hotter. 

“Who would’ve thought our pheromones would take into effect now? During our little coup…but I’m not complaining. I’ve been waiting far too long for this.” 

His kisses were like ice cubes in an intense Earthian Summer, refreshing and addictive. They continued trailing from the corner of your mouth to the veins of your neck, an oddly cool feeling of a sickled tongue going up and down and up—

“W-what’s going on? What’s happening?”

Ruu giggled the clutch on your face trailing to your jaw with a focus on your neck. More kisses and the grazing of something sharp–like the flat side of a blade threatening to turn over any moment. What should have incurred your fear, instead incited your heartbeat to increase in excitement.

“This is what I was after for so long. Letting myself get captured and roughed up when I easily could have massacred them all.”

With not a second wasted Rumakia plunged his fangs into your neck and began to suck at your blood. Feeling your energy drain should have been terrifying, thinking of the guard you saw literally being sucked to death. Instead, you felt a pooling heat below your waist, causing you to uncomfortably shuffle. Ruu was moaning and you felt inclined to join registering how you were being brought to the ground from your elevated state. The light weight of a body being positioned on top of you and those hands fondling every part they could. It felt good but so confusing.

The loss of energy already drained from the stress of the Supreme One’s visit.

The weird heat burning beneath your clothes.

And the inviting touches of the alien above you. 

It was too much. 

And then it stopped.

The only thing remaining was that unbelievable heat as the fangs left your body and you looked up at Ruu. His lips and chin coated in your blood, looking down at you with a dark pink blush overtaking his face. Behind him was Matthew looking upset…but not in the way you would be if anyone was having their life sucked from them in front of you. No, it was more of a pout. Ruu followed your gaze to look at the man, tilting his head.

“I would have liked you to do this on our ship,” he looked around the room, the floor practically covered in corpses—the corpses of your friends and coworkers, “I doubt when they come to their senses they’ll appreciate having their first with you here...among all of them.”

Enjoying your clearer conscious, you agreed with him. But you still had so many questions. 

Ruu scoffed flipping some of his hair off his shoulder, that wide smile returning as he looked at Matthew.

“Hmph so? They don’t get a say anyway, they're my human! Why should I even care what they think about these lessers? If they’ve got the headspace to be thinking about anyone but us than we clearly aren’t satisfying them enough.”

Matthew sighed shaking his head, as he extended his hand to Ruu. Pulling him up and hugging, you once again got to see that rare smile on his face. Sharing a peck between them, Ruu was the one who pulled away easily picking you up and balancing you so that he was cradling you. 

“Come on then let’s get to the ship then! I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

Matthew let out a laugh, taking you from the alien resuming his princess carry. Inviting you to rest on his shoulder as he walked alongside Ruu, casually making conversation about the crew your crew they murdered. 

“Were you the one to get rid of that annoying lieutenant? They were so annoying! Kissing up and then daring to electrocute me just for joking!” 

“I started to but in the end, they proved to be useful.”

“Hmph, I wish I could’ve been there. To see the light fade from her eyes would have been a dream!”

“But you got the Supreme pest, right?”

“I did. That vermin actually touched them, can you believe it? I know he’s half Diagolos and their blood type is nice but the sheer audacity was nauseating.”

“Maybe we can get the rebellion to…thank us.”

“Hm, and that ‘thank you’ can come in the shape of a moon all to ourselves.”

“That’s very unlikely.”

“...Money wouldn’t be too bad, then.”

A wave of exhaustion struck you harder than any you’ve felt. Reluctantly given into sleep fully leaning into Matthew. Eyes closed and your consciousness fading you felt warm lips lovingly brush against your forehead. 

“Rest easy, my love.”

“You’re where you belong.”

______________________________________________________________

Matthew shot a hand straight through the enemy’s head, uncaring of the way it lifelessly flopped in front of him. Moving onto the oncoming soldiers coming around the corner he did the same thing he always did: disarming the obstacles and clearing the path for his clients. Checking over his shoulders he listens to them gush about the information they received with one another. He doesn’t sigh, but he does throw the last obstacle at their feet. Startling them and regaining their attention.

“Time to move. We still have to meet the others at the rendezvous point.”

He was glad he mentioned it, their eyes lit up and they moved a lot quicker. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the predictability, he centers himself. As a human, his ability to sense others wasn’t incredibly complex but if there was anyone he could find in an instant it was his love. With a tad more urgency Matthew runs through the clean and industrial halls of the Grand Empire's Ship. 

Their latest clients weren’t his favorite group to work with, considering it always involved dabbling with the oligarchy regime. But it wasn’t his decision, it was his partner’s. In Matthew’s opinion an incredible privilege for such a bodacious operation. If it wasn’t for the one gift, his love had been given they’d have no allegiance to the ragtag group. 

“Nice to see you all in one piece.”

The familiar voice made Matthew swoon, resisting the urge to smile. Settled to stand behind Rumakia as he spoke with the rebels. All smiles and light speech; Matthew let him do the talking since he didn’t bother sugarcoating anything. 

“Thank you for your help Rumakia sir!”

“You know I’m only here to repay a debt. After this gig, I’ll take my payment and go.”

“Of course. Let’s take the drives and cruise out of here with the trash as our cover!”

Like any other mission the entire group retreats to their ship, floating away with the trash dumped before the enemy ship jettisons back out to space. As they drifted with the debris collectively watched several cargo ships dock. It’s then that Matthew is finally compelled to watch the 5th cargo ship slot into place. 

A sweltering heat made him sweat, his body suit clinging to his skin tighter than before. His heart beating impossibly loud he held his hand over his peck as if to muffle it. Heavy breathing and some unneeded rush of adrenaline drying his mouth. 

“Hey, what a find! That’s the cargo ships transporting the hyperdense generators! Highly explosive and probably what’s fueling their latest weapons….”

“We should circle back and blow those up. If we can impede their operations for only a month that’d help us the most.”

Matthew felt a small hand on his lower back, slightly soothing with Ruu’s cold fingers. It grounded him more than he’d admit to--hearing his voice.

“We wouldn’t mind taking the mission to get on that ship. Say one of those generators might save us another job or two.”

Matthew was amazed at how well Ruu could keep his cool. Of the many conversations they had about their bonding, the Diagolan confided in him what it felt like to first be aware of Matthew. Apparently along with the intense heat, there was an overwhelming need to feed—an animalistic drive to get through all obstacles to get to his mate. Seems like the second time he’d gotten better at managing it. 

“To put you on the ship would be unnecessary but if you were really eager to get one of the generators that can be arranged. There is a transferring of their mechanics from the prison to the cargo ships though that route…”

The rebel trailed off, their face twisting into a grimace that made Matthew worry. It made Ruu impatient.

“OUT WITH IT! *ahem* What about it?”

The rebel’s eyes widened at the intensity before coughing up an answer, “The prison that switches mechanics is from HIS private prison…our records indicate they do more than just monitor your every move.”

Matthew wasn’t against dealing with torture. He’s done that before. It seemed the issue was the time constraint. On a mission with quick timing, he’s sure he could appease Ruu. Sucking his blood and sex would be sufficient, but enduring a prison sentence, torture, and being separated? That would be a feat.

“We’ll do it.”

“Huh?!”

“You heard me, HUMAN! We’ll do it.”

“But the stakes are so high! There’s no guarantee you’ll survive if HE catches wind that you’re after a generator.”

Matthew couldn’t help but agree this could be even more dangerous if that thing knew what they were actually after. And being detained under that one’s supervision could be fatal when it comes to torture.

The stakes were high.

Ruumakia knew this too, his elongating claws scratching into the leather padding of his seat.

“We’ll do it,” Matthew spoke this time, slipping a hand onto the thigh of his lover. 

They had to.

Because you are their life.

Sequel maybe? 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[wokealqaeda]

Denis Muravyov (August 14, 2001 – November 14, 2016) and Katya Vlasova (September 10, 2001 – November 14, 2016) were two 15-year-old teenagers from Pskov, Russia who barricaded themselves in a private house in Strugi Krasnye on the afternoon of November 14, 2016 and opened fire on police officers before committing suicide. They showed the whole event on their social media pages, broadcasting on Periscope and calling themselves the Russian Bonnie and Clyde. The case caused a wide resonance and discussion online.

Denis Muravyev and Katya Vlasova met at school in the spring of 2016. After meeting, Muravyev and Vlasova added each other in VKontakte. The two continued to meet in person and soon began dating.

His mother found out that Denis had a lover by accident. During spring break, her son went to spend the night at a friend's house. It turned out that that evening Denis had gone to Katerina's house for a walk. After that incident, his mother forbade Denis to communicate with Katerina.

On the morning of 11 November, Muravyev took his mother's bank card from her bag, which he used to withdraw money for two tickets for a shuttle bus to Strug Krasnye.

Muravyev and Vlasova ran away from home following a quarrel with their parents. The parents started searching for them and called the police.

On the afternoon of 14 November, the teenagers were found in a dacha house 80 kilometers from Pskov, belonging to the Vlasova's stepfather. There the schoolchildren had been hiding from their parents for three days and planned to “sit out".

The teenagers barricaded themselves in the room, opened the stepfather's safe, which contained weapons. Shortly before that, Denis wounded the girl's mother who had come to the address to look for them.

On Monday, a police car pulled up to the house on Kudryavtsev Street. The teenagers opened fire at her from the second floor window, the police tried to negotiate with the teenagers for several hours, eventually deciding to launch an assault.

Before the suicide, the teenagers posted identical farewell messages to their relatives on their VKontakte pages, accusing them of “destroying their psyche and lives".

[alding-art]

Here we go with the first picture of 2025! And it's a Star Wars!

A scene with Zadina doing a certain stylish power slide on her speeder during some fighting on Corellia. The sun is setting but the fight is still ongoing. She is my Havoc Squad commander in SWTOR and has lost her helmet yet again it seems.

Note I kind of throw together ideas and elements for these to build up some sort of scenario in my mind. And perspective oh my. I get rather bogged down in it if there is more than 1 thing going on in a picture so it's more a case of 'good enough is the enemy of perfection' here. The speeder bike is referenced from a 3D model, as is the assault shuttle in the background. The APC or IFV is my own super boxy creation I threw together, which has appeared in one other pic beforehand. If it had a name it would probably be called a Warthog. Or maybe Brick.

[ribbonsncherries]

The Contract

Warnings: Lots of smut, P in V, Oral (both m and f receiving), BDSM!, Sexual Assault, Stalking, Angst, Alcohol mentions, Dominant and submissive plot, Drug Mentions, Virgin user, mentions of drugs.

Chapter 4

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x inexperienced! User

Summary: When her roommate and work partner gets sick, she is in charge of interviewing famous billionaire businessman Dean Winchester for his new bar's grand opening which leads to a passionate and tumultuous affair where she discovers his dark sexual desires, marked by control and dominance. The one catch? He doesn't do romance.

Based on the trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey.

(4530 Words)

Divider credits: @dollywons, @anitalenia, @selysie

(y/n) had woken up, She felt something warm next to her only to realize when she adjusted her eyes a sleeping Dean. She relaxed on her respective side worrying if she even touched him he might jolt awake. Her thoughts were winding over the memories from last night, the people were right. He is a sex god as people assumed. She quietly got up from bed and put on his dress shirt to cover everything up, she buttoned up the buttons halfway and rolled up her sleeves. As she began walking out the door the bright light made her squint. She looked down her legs to get her face away from the light, when she looked down she saw many Hickeys on her inner thighs. She didn’t even want to think about that. Her heart began racing the more she saw on her lower chest. She took a deep breath, adjusted her eyes to the bright sun, and walked to the kitchen. (y/n) wasn’t much of a cook but she sure knew how to make a “good breakfast” as Jess calls it. 

It took a while for (y/n) to look for the proper things she needed to make the food, like pans, utensils, and all that junk. When she opened the fridge she saw many ingredients for cooking. She smirked knowing she had everything she needed. When gathering all the items she found a radio so she didn’t hesitate to turn it on and lower the volume so Dean wouldn't hear the ruckus going on down in the kitchen. The only thing (y/n) knew from this house was that she was poor. He had so many mechanical uses in the kitchen it felt like deciphering a code. It couldn’t be this complicated. She took her phone and looked up the certain uses for the stove. This stove to her looked like the fucking space shuttle for all she knew. Then she began cooking, cutting up some chilies for spice, and adding some seasonings for that nice flavor. She turned on the radio and began tapping her feet to the beat and swaying her hips softly to the rhythm while humming. 

Dean heard some clattering in the kitchen and the smell of fresh breakfast around the room. He looked to next him and saw the empty side, he silently frowned. Why did he have this sudden urge last night that he was almost looking forward to waking up next to her? He put on some sweatpants and a random shirt he had lying on the floor. He came out of the room and heard some slight clattering and music. “Whole Lotta Love” By Led Zepplin was playing softly around the kitchen, he saw her putting the vegetables in a glass bowl while she was shaking her body softly. Dean smirked and sat down at the kitchen island with his arms resting on the table. She turned around and jumped. “You’re awake?” she asked still a little shocked he suddenly showed up. He smirked and scoffed, “You seem very energetic this mornin’ sweetheart.” He said. “Sorry to intrude, just wanted to make you a nice breakfast.” she smiled hoping he would be okay with it. He nodded while looking up and down her body only wearing his dress shirt with nothing underneath. 

“It’s alright, I don’t really make a lot for myself anyways just diners, especially the ones that look like are hanging on by a thread and looks like it hasn’t been certified by the FDA are the best in town.” He smiled. “So what are you makin’?” 

(y/n) smiled, “Well I’ve just finished making omelets, sausage, and bacon. What did you want?” she asked holding up an empty plate with one hand and a utensil in the other. Dean was almost starstruck, no woman he’s ever had this contract with has ever really done this for him. He smiled with his green eyes and told her he wanted everything. She immediately took note and began serving his plate, Once she put it down in front of him she poured some orange juice in a cup and placed that next to him before she served for herself. As they sat side by side together they never spoke about last night. As amazing as it was she couldn’t say anything. What was she even to say after he basically signed her to be his personal submissive and took her virginity? Thank you?  “How is it?” she asked him while chewing on her bacon. 

“This is delicious,” he said with a full mouth of eggs. She laughed at the scene and used her napkin to wipe some egg off the side of his mouth, “You know for a multi-billionaire you are pretty messy.” she said giggling. When Dean swallowed the rest of his food he smiled. When breakfast was finished and (y/n) was gathering up the dishes Dean stopped her. He took her hand and led her to the bathroom “Let’s get you cleaned up.”. Dean took off his shirt and sweatpants, (y/n) immediately took the signal slowly unbuttoned the shirt she had on, and stepped into the tub of warm water. Dean stepped in behind her as took a clean sponge and began cleaning her back slowly. His hand came upon her waist. Hi shand went lower and lower till his fingers were at her core. She gasped from the sudden sensation, Dean put the sponge down and leaned her against his chest. Her head laid back on his shoulder as his fingers began going in and out of her pussy. Her hand went to his wrist but he immediately grabbed it and pinned her hand behind her. “Oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop. She moaned quietly. He went faster and curled up his fingers to hit her G-spot. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he released his fingers before she was about to cum. He got up from the bathtub and gave her a towel before getting his own. He led her to his bedroom and told her to wait. He went to his closet and opened a drawer. This drawer had cubicles that stored his ties, one particular one struck out. It was a nice grey tie with a few dark blue stripes coming down the tie. He came back to her only a towel wrapped around her. “Do you trust me, Princess?” he said to her roughly. 

“Yes,” she breathed out. He took the towel off her and laid her down on the bed, “Give me your wrists.” he demanded. She did what she was told and tied his tie around her wrists making them bound. He got on top of her and placed her hands above her. He began nipping at her ear down to her collarbone while his other hand was groping her tits. His open mouth kisses went down to her breast and he started sucking her nipple. Her gasps from the sudden pleasure echoed in the room. She began twitching her hands wanting to grab something, his hair or his back. “Be a good girl and stay still,” he whispered in her ear. “Okay.” she moaned out. 

“Dean!” yelled out “Dean get out of bed I know you’re still asleep!” Yelled out women from the distance. (y/n) was confused, “who’s that?” she asked panting as Dean grabbed her wrists and began untying the bound. “Ellen, a family friend,” he said. She began giggling at the situation, “I’m here on your bed naked.” she whispered. Dean smirked at her while he softly threw his shirt and her jeans from last night. “Get dressed,” he said before kissing her forehead. (y/n) quickly threw on a bra and buttoned up the shirt like she did this morning. As she put on her jeans the voices were getting louder. “

Ellen was waiting at the entrance of the penthouse looking for Dean, she knew damn well he was probably sleeping, especially at this hour. “Ah, good morning sleeping beauty.” She joked. Dean smiled and hugged her, “Hey Ellen, what brings you by?” 

“I can’t stop by? Your father’s brains soaked into that pretty head of yours or what?” she said. (y/n) walked out of the hallway and into the room, “Hi.” she smiled politely. Ellen looked almost shocked to see a girl in Dean’s house. “Oh my god…” Back when Dean was a teenager he would hook up with every girl in town whenever he moved schools, but when he became serious about his business and had a reputation to uphold he stopped and hasn’t introduced the Winchester family to any women in years. Not since… 

“I didn’t know you were seein' someone, Dean you dog. And you didn’t say she was pretty.” (y/n)’s smile widened, “Oh thank you so are you.” She said shaking her hand. “Well I really just stopped by 'cause I was in the neighborhood,” Ellen began walking out while Dean followed her. “Well, Sam just got a promotion and we’ll be havin’ a celebratory dinner at your dad’s house. You’re more than welcome to join us.” Ellen said to (y/n). (y/n)’s phone rang in the middle of the conversation, “Go ahead take it, Ellen I’ll walk ya out.” he said gesturing to her phone. (y/n) nodded and mouthed ‘thank you’ before walking into the hallway and answering the phone. “Hello,” she answered. 

“So, you stayed the night, how’d it go?” Jessica responded smugly. (y/n) laughed, “I can’t talk about it right now Jess,” She said, “I’ll call you back ok?” she said before hanging up. As she walked down the hallway, she walked into the room that was ‘hers’ like Dean had mentioned last night. As she sat down on the vanity, took her thumb, and licked her finger, she then began taking away the mascara that was under her eye and began fixing her hair which was still a bit damp from the bath and activities earlier. She saw Dean in the reflection of the mirror. (y/n) kept a straight face as he came up behind her. “Tell me the truth…how many women have been in this room?” she said looking at herself in the mirror. 

“15,” He said, “I can understand if you want out-” 

“I don’t want out.” she clarified. “It’s just, not looking forward to getting smacked and whipped in your red room of pain,” she said quietly looking at him through her reflection. “The room is more about pleasure…I promise. Try to keep an open mind sweetheart.” He took her chin and turned her away from the mirror to face him, “If you agree, then I will be fully devoted to you…no one else. This is what I want And I want it with you.” he said. (y/n) got up from the vanity and began pacing the room from thinking, “But what about sleeping together, we slept in the same bed last night what makes other times so different?” she asked, Dean took a small breath, “Try not to get so beat up with the sleeping arrangements, if you do this you’re gonna want your own room.” He said. (y/n) looked down and scoffed, “Why? Cause I’ll just be used for sex?” she said. Dean pinched between his eyebrows in frustration, “Let’s not talk here, let’s discuss downstairs.” he said taking her arm which she immediately snatched back. “I would like to use the rest of my freedom thank you,” she said before walking away. “Actually no, I want to go home. Take me home.” she smiled before getting her jacket and walking out. Dean secretly smirked. She was feisty, she was not all the way submissive to him. He liked the game she was playing and wanted to play more. 

A couple minutes later Dean took her to the garage. It looked like a parking garage you would find in those shopping malls. It was lined up with beautiful Classic Cars, including the Chevy Impala he drove her in. “All these are yours?” she said in disbelief. “Yes,” he responded. He took her to a 67, Mercury Monterey and opened the door for her, she got in the car and Dean began making the long drive back to (y/n)’s apartment. After a few hours (y/n) was asleep peacefully, Dean looked to his side and found her leaning on the window. So he decided to tell her someplace special. He took her to a small pit stop, He took some hair away from her face and she began moving and opened her eyes. “C’mon, let's go for a walk,” he said. (y/n) stretched out her arms and legs and got out of the car. As they began walking through the small trail she smiled, “Is this the place where you’re gonna kill me or something?” she joked. He didn’t say anything so her smile went down. After a few minutes of quietness she spoke up, “Why did you decide to do this anyways?” she asked. 

Dean became tense, “My father was always controlling of my brother and me. When my mom died he treated us like soldiers when I was 6 and it never stopped, all I wanted for once was to tell him what to do, tell people to do my bidding like he did, He was my father, and I looked up to him. So…apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. No one, not even Sam knows about this part about me” (y/n) was a bit shocked yet afraid. “So he introduced to be a leader? Mr. Sergeant.” she half-joked. Dean chuckled, “I'll tell him you said that.” he said. They stopped walking when they found a small river and a bench. (y/n) sat down on the bench and looked out the view. Dean sat down next to her. “He still sometimes treats me like a mini him, but I’m sure he did it only to protect me and my brother. Listen (y/n), I know this plan is very intimidating I understand.” 

(y/n) looked at him, “I’ve never asked Benny to take anyone in the Helicopter, never had sex in my own bed, and never slept next to anyone…but you.” She looked at him and smiled softly. “Well isn’t that comforting.” she sarcassed. Dean pushed her strands of hair back behind her ear and kissed her lips softly. When they broke apart her eyes were still closed and opened them up slowly for Dean to look at her and kiss her head. He took her hand and led her back on the trail and into the car to take her home. 

An hour later they finally arrived, Dean went to her side, opened the glove box, and took out a yellow file slip filled with a packet. “Here is the contract, read it carefully. E-mail me if you have any questions.” He said. “Dean I already told you my computer is acting all weird.” 

“Just consider it ok. I genuinely hope you say yes,” he said. (y/n) nodded and got out of the car.  “Thanks for everything,” she said. “Later’s darlin’” (y/n) smiled whenever he mimicked it brother. When she opened the door to her apartment. “Alright, and you are all set.” a male voice echoed the apartment. (y/n) immediately walked into the living room and saw a man in a polo shirt on her laptop, “Your roommate let me in.” he smiled 

“I just figured you forgot to tell me someone was coming to fix up your computer, do I look okay?” Jess said. “Wait Jess hold on, I’m sorry I think you may have the wrong apartment,” she said. The man looked into his clipboard “(y/n) (l/n)?” (y/n) looked a little shocked yet confused. “Sign here please,” he asked. She took the pen and signed the paper. “Thank you enjoy,” he said walking out the door, 

“So, another gift. Whatever happened to flowers, teddy bears, and chocolates?” Jessica laughed. “Tell me, I’m dying to hear about last night. And this time let's speed this up because Sam is taking me to dinner in 10 minutes and then we’re seeing a movie” she smiled. “Oh I almost forgot, James called you like three times yesterday and one time this morning.” (y/n) let out a breath.” Hey, you got a package or something?” she asked looking at the yellow folder in her hands (y/n) panicked but kept it smooth. “Oh no, Castiel wanted me to go over a few articles before we publish them so he sent me a sample for this month’s issue,” she said. Jess had a worried look on her face, “That seems like a lot. Want me to help you?” she asked. (y/n) shook her head. “Oh no, no, it’s ok I got it.”Jess smiled, “Well anyways here’s yesterday's mail.” she said gesturing to the small pile of envelopes for (y/n). (y/n) began going through them while Jessica just smirked at her. (y/n) looked up and laughed, “What? Why are you looking at me like that you weirdo.” she said. “I’m going to ignore that insult. But you look different, in a good way,” she said genuinely. The girls turned their heads to the window when they heard a car horn. Jessica went to the window and saw Sam waiting downstairs for her. She smiled and gave him a small air kiss. She immediately got her purse and ran to the door. “I’ll see you later (y/n), I might stay late so don’t hold up,” she said before closing the door. (y/n) saw her laptop on the table and went to it. It was fixed and looked almost brand new. Until she found out it was new, the box for it was underneath her chair. A ping from the laptop went through. It was from Dean. 

Thank you for a very interesting weekend, This laptop is yours and yours only. I’d like you to use it for research. 

 -Dean

(y/n) bit the inside of her cheek trying to think, she began typing back. 

So this is how it’s going to work out? You order me around?” 

After a few minutes, he responded 

Yes, and there’s more, you’ll like it. 

(y/n) smiled to herself. She looked to her side and saw the folder. She pushed the laptop away and opened it. It was a small packet which was the official contract. As she was reading it she got undressed and onto her bed. 

The following are the terms of a binding contract between the dominant and the Submissive. The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the submissive to explore her sensuality and her limits safely. The dominant and the submissive agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. The submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the dominant excepting those hard activities outlined in Hard Limits. The submissive agrees to procure oral contraception from a physician of the dominants’s choosing. The submissive will not enter into sexual relations with anyone other than the dominant. The submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and well-being. The submissive will not excessively drink, smoke, or take any recreational drugs. The submissive shall always conduct herself in a respectful manner to the dominant and she’ll address him only as “sir” or “Mr. Winchester.” or such other title as the dominant may direct. The submissive may not touch the dominant without his express permission to do so. The safeword “yellow” will be used to bring to the attention of the dominant that the submissive is close to her limit. When the safeword “red” is spoken, the dominant’s action will cease completely and immediately 

Does the submissive consent to being restrained, with hands bound in front?

Does the submissive consent to being blindfolded? 

Does the submissive consent to being gagged?

(y/n) put the packet away in the folder, she took a deep breath and decided she would think about it. A few days later she and Jess were cleaning up and packaging boxes in their offices to move to the floor up. “So have you been speaking to your little friend,” Jessica asked. (y/n) smiled, yes I have, it’s been casual mostly.” Jessica smiled, “Well I'm going to the cafe to get us a small break coffee.” (y/n) nodded and took out her phone to text Dean. 

Dean was with his brother and John at a shooting range. He felt the vibrations in his pocket and saw the message, 

“Currently busy packing for that new office. Missing that tie.” Dean smirked and liked the message. But there were no other messages for (y/n) accepting the contract. “Dean let's go!” John ordered. He put his phone away and pulled out his gun to shoot some rounds. 

After a few more days, Dean was in a business meeting and saw no other messages from (y/n). Later that night (y/n) was in bed watching a movie while Jess was out with Sam. 

“I’m not getting any younger. Have you read the contract yet?” (y/n) liked that he was impatient, and thought she would give him a taste of his own medicine. Although she was pleased she wanted to search up more of the submissive stuff. So she looked it up online and saw the many examples. She immediately blushed and closed the laptop.

The next day at work she got a new email. 

“Growing impatient. Have you thought about it?” (y/n) smiled. 

“Yes. It was nice knowing you,” she responded in a teasing manner. When Dean saw the message his jaw clenched.

When (y/n) went home Jessica was gone. She and Sam have been going on so many dates she basically lives with him. (y/n) decided to do a little spring cleaning and clean her room. She was humming a song while she was bringing in a basket full of laundry. Dean came in with a bottle of his own wine brand and two glasses, wearing his regular getup of flannel and jeans But when she turned around she gasped out in fear putting her hand on her chest, “God Dean you scare me. H-how did you even get in here?” she smiled. 

Dean had on an angry look, “It’s been knowing me?” He said in a low voice clearly angry. He put down the cups took her wrists and pulled her close to him. His hands went to her hair and down to her back. “Let me just remind you how nice it was princess,” he said slowly.

He pushed her onto her bed and climbed on top of her. He pulled out the same grey tie. “This is what you wanted, I’ll give you what you want,” he growled. (y/n) put her wrists out for him and tied the tie to her wrists and onto her headboard. He began getting off her and took off her leggings and panties in one go. “Don’t even make a sound,” he said. She looked at him and nodded. He climbed back on her and lifted her shirt up to her face to cover her eyes. He began massaging her tits and kissing her collarbone. He got off her and took off his shirt and pants. He took some wine and drank some before getting back on top of her. He began kissing her roughly before grabbing a piece of ice from an empty wine glass and holding it in his rough hands before putting it in his mouth. He dragged the cold ice from her collarbone to the nipples of her tits. She gasped at the sudden sensation trying to keep quiet like he told her to. He continued dragging it down to her lower stomach before stopping. “Is this nice?” he said. 

Before (y/n) could answer he flipped her like she was nothing, and smacked her ass hard before grabbing her hips and lifting her legs making her arch. He grabbed a condom and ripped it open with his teeth and put it on himself. His rough hands smoothed over the skin of her ass before he inserted his dick through her glistening wet folds. He began going rough, his thrusts were like he promised, it was quick. She moaned out loud but she covered her mouth with the pillow underneath her. Dean fanned out his hand and placed it on her back to push her more into the mattress which made her arch even more from pleasure. “‘M fuck, go harder.” she pleaded. Dean smirked giving her what she wanted, It was almost primal the way he fucked her. The sounds of skin slapping against each other echoed echoing her small bedroom

"fuck, sweetheart," he rasps, voice thick. Her legs were shaking unable to hold onto herself much longer. He was relentless at this pace she begged for. She couldn’t say anything anymore except for broken whimpers and half moans she could barely let out. Dean pulled out, took off the condom, and cummed on her back and her ass. He let out a groan as he saw the ropes of cum land on her lower back. She let out a moan once more as Dean cleaned her up. He flipped her on her back and untied her. 

A few hours later Dean was in her bed at night, their legs were entangled together as his hand was on his chest. They just were looking at each other not making any small talk. It was a comfortable silence. “That was nice.” she smiled. Dean could only smirk and look at the features on her face. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said softly. (y/n) put her hand on his cheek and ran her fingers through his messy hair. Dean put his hand on her wrists and put her hand down. She looked down for a bit. “Sorry,” she whispered. She looked at his chest, it was sweaty from a few minutes ago, besides the flashy tattoo on his peck she saw scars on his body, they looked like burn marks and scratches. “Are you ok?” she asked touching his chest in worry. Before she could even put her full-on hand on him he stopped her. She gasped at the sudden movement. “I’m sorry, is it breaking the rules?” she asked. Dean looked at her softly, “Have you made up your mind yet.” he asked. 

“I-I don’t know yet” he didn’t let her finish, he got up and took her legs off him before getting dressed. “You’re not staying?” she asked covering herself up. “I told you I don’t sleep with anyone.” He said. “I’ll negotiate that.” She responded. Dean smiled and kissed her cheek before walking out the door. When she heard the door closed she immediately sighed and fell back on her bed. She had a plan.

Taglist: @applelovesposts @ladykitana90 @cevansbaby-dove

A/N: First of all, my bad for keeping this chapter hostage. I promise I'm writing it's just lots of stuff going on right now so I've just been putting this off. Forgive me lol. Anyways, yay new chapter, so fun. Hope you guys enjoy this one, and once the first book is finished I will be posting a master list of all my stories so you guys have easy access to find them. bare with me yall. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter let me know if you like it! :)

[theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming]

Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you): Week 3

eventually I'll make myself a banner I am making my way though fics that have been buried in my tumblr likes for a long long time (think over 10 years in some cases...) so you'll see a surplus of Sterek from the olden times in the coming weeks :P

Enjoy!

Sterek: 8 and Buddie: 4

The Key by aussiebee | @aussiebee (2019•GA•7.4K)

Eligible bachelor Derek Hale has announced that whomever can take the key from around his dog's neck will be the person he marries. Stiles Stilinski think this is utterly ridiculous.

Hot Pocket Ratio by ShippersList (2016•M•12.3K)

At the threat of the alpha pack, all Derek wants is to keep his pack safe and alive. As the last resort, he tries summoning a demon to help with fighting the alpha pack. He gets a bit more than he bargained for. Or, the story where the classic demon deal of "Will you pledge your firstborn to me?" takes some unexpected turns.

reGuardless by raisesomehale | @raisesomehale (2015•M•3.4K)

The president had been to the point when he explained to Derek the rules of the job. Stiles was in the room while these rules were recited: Never take your eyes off of him in public. That’s how he liked to dodge his last bodyguards. No more than an arm's length apart. He’s more slippery than you’d think. Escort him to and from appearances. Intervene in any situation that might tarnish the Stilinski image... The list went on and on. As did the games of chicken Stiles initiated to test Derek with these rules.

The Key to Your Heart by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) | @halehathnofury (2020•E���35.6K)

Stiles Stilinski has come to the small town of Beacon Hills to write a feature on Derek Hale, son of Senator Talia Hale and one of the most sought after (and elusive) omegas in the U.S. He's got drive, persistence, charm and a plan to get Derek to give his first and only interview about his cunning plan to have his suitors try to win his hand by managing to get the key to his heart from the alpha of his rescue wolf pack. Stiles is most definitely NOT going to fall in love. Nope, not even a little bit. Dammit.

The Wolf Den by BigBadLittleRed (DonnyPhantom) | @star-shuttle-scout (2015•NR•33.6K)

Stiles Stilinski works for the Sheriff's Department in Beacon Hills County. He considers himself a rather invested young father to his only son, Spencer. He knows everything about the boy, except maybe he doesn't. On a day where Lydia's caught up in work for too long, Stiles has to take his son to a weekly event at the library he knew nothing about. He's especially confused when he finds out it's hosted by a young man his age with rather eccentric style, and a service dog. His name is Derek, the kids call him Dee-Dee.

Promise You'll Look After Him by DiscontentedWinter | @discontentedwinter (2015•M•9.9K) [Less Sterek more Sheriff]

Sheriff Stilinski is used to dealing with victims of violent crime. He knows how to approach kids who've been beaten and sexually assaulted. Except this time it's his son. It's Stiles.

Walking Into Darkness by alenie | @alenie (2014•T•6.3K)

Derek hears Stiles before he sees him. There's anxious, wheezy breathing coming from the next aisle over in the grocery store, accompanied by a racing heart and the smell of unwashed sneakers and hair gel. He turns the corner and Stiles is standing frozen in the dairy aisle, knuckles clenched around the metal of his shopping basket.

The Trouble With Falling by o_hoechyeah (2024•GA•3.6K)

Derek has guarded many souls in his time. He didn’t usually care too much about them. He’d witnessed so many in his lifetime that they hardly seemed unique anymore. Except for him. Stiles. Derek found that he was absolutely taken with the little human.

Five Years by aubrey_writes (2025•M•8.3K)

“It’s yours,” Eddie had finally said, looking down at it for a moment before handing the phone to him. “I… There’s a lot of stuff you might want to go through on there.” Buck frowned, confused, but when he looked down at the screen, he saw it. [250 missed calls][635 unread messages] “Wha–” “A lot of people used it as a… A way to communicate with you while you were gone.” Eddie’s voice was tense. Buck couldn’t stop staring, reading the top message from Eddie over and over again, the only one that he could see. It didn’t make sense. “You don’t have to go through it all but… We missed you, ba– Buck.” Buck slowly looked up from his phone, and there was that look again. Eddie had reached out, the same way he had when Buck came back, fingers brushing across his face gently. Buck wanted to melt into it. He did, later, but in that moment, he had to keep himself together. “I want to.” “Okay,” Eddie’s hand had dropped. Buck’s skin felt cold. “Come get me when you’re done.” OR Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence.

here’s my confession (I’m kind of hooked on you) by donationwayne | @donationwayne (2024•M•115K)

Buck is forced to go on a temporary medical leave after getting crushed by a flight of stairs. In the meantime, he works at dispatch while he recovers. One evening after work, Buck hooks up with a mysterious, hot, family oriented DILF. The following morning he’s mortified and a little love sick after discovering said hook-up aka Eddie Diaz is the newest (temporary) firefighter liaison--poached from a house in El Paso, Texas. Buck navigates becoming best friends and eventually work partners with his ex-hookup. In the meantime, he desperately tries not to fall in love. He fails. Cue: An adorable five year old, prank wars, gay offs, break room gossip, a fake dating plot, firefighting shenanigans, a packed summer of PTA responsibilities, karaoke, and copious amounts of cupcakes and thai food OR tldr: the hot dilf from the bar is my new work partner

Not Doing This Alone by carpediaz | @sofa-king-lame (2025•M•27.4K)

Things flow uncharacteristically seamlessly for Eddie over the following weeks. He eventually manages to only feel the need to check in on Christopher once each shift, twice if he’s on a double. Buck feels like part of the family so fast it makes Eddie’s head spin a little, especially when he comes home and Buck is waiting with a home cooked meal and stories of what he and Christopher got up to that day. or The one where Eddie hires Buck as a nanny for Christopher and has to navigate falling in love with someone he shouldn't want (who definitely wants him in return).

I Feel Like a Person for a Moment of My Life by serenelystrange | @serenelystrange (2025•E•13.3K)

“Must have been the wind,” he says to himself, hurrying over to the garage door and locking it closed before heading back towards the stairs. From the dark hiding spot inside the bed of the pickup truck, a pair of yellow eyes blink slowly, watching him go.

[alphamecha-mkii]

Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge #1 by Will Sliney

[bougiebutchbinch]

Do you think the academy days Starscream used to chase away everyone who also tried to woo Skyfire but did not match up to Starscream's standards of what his shuttle actually deserved

absolutelyyyyyy

did he admit that HE was interested in Skyfire? NO

did he terrorize, bully, and outright assault anyone who dared ask Skyfire out on a date? ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY

[hawkeykirsah]

50 Things I Love About Kaidan Alenko

I love that little smile he gives Shepard in the med bay after Eden Prime.

I love his slip of the tongue on the Citadel in ME1 when he indirectly tells Shepard he thinks she’s beautiful.

I love his dry comments when you take him along groundside in ME1 and his snarky remarks when you talk to him back on the Normandy.

I love how annoyed he looks when Joker interrupts that almost-first kiss in front of the lockers.

I love that tentative smile he gives Shepard at the beginning of ME3.

I love that strut when he comes to Shepard’s aid in the Citadel DLC together with that smirk and the “Looks like you’re having a bad day, Shepard.”, and his smirk after asking the volus to open the gates for them on the Cision Motors skycar lot.

I love the entire Citadel DLC dinner.

I love his “Next time … wake me.”

I love the love and admiration you can see in his eyes when he comes to Shepard’s quarters before the assault on Cerberus headquarters. 

I love his “I lied. I didn’t come here for a quick drink”, and the grin on his face when he carries Shepard toward the bed.

I love how his voice wavers but doesn’t break when you talk to him in London and how he doesn’t care that everybody can see them when he kisses Shepard good-bye. 

I love his “Don’t Kaidan me!” on Mars.

I love how he turns half around and looks over his shoulder when Liara asks Shepard how they manage.

I love his incredulous “Me?” after Shepard tells him he’s always been stubborn.

I love how his voice drops at “ … can be the difference between success and sitting at home in your PJs taking red sand” when you talk to him at Huerta. (I’m certain he’s speaking from experience.)

I love how he places his hand over Shepard’s briefly after they tell him they care about what happens to him.

I love the determination on his face in the elevator during the Coup before he encounters Shepard and their team.

I love that short laugh of relief when Shepard tells him they couldn’t imagine facing the Reapers without him.

I love the moment you walk into the Starboard observation after he rejoins the Normandy and you see him staring into space.

I love how nervous he is on that first date on the Citadel.

I love his “I love you, Shepard. I always have.”

I love how he takes Shepard’s hand and presses it against his cheek.

I love his banter with Tali aboard the geth dreadnought.

I love his worried “Shepard!” when they step on that first mine on Rannoch.

I love how concerned he is while Shepard is in the geth consensus.

I love how he places his hand on Shepard’s shoulder on Mahavid.

I love his “Let’s make sure we never let time just slip by us, okay?” after returning from the mining facility.

I love his “I’m not too crazy about this plan” on Despoina followed by that little nod he gives Shepard after Shepard tells him they’ll be fine.

I love his worried “Never do that again” in the shuttle after Shepard talked to Leviathan and his “You scare the hell out of me with those risky stunts …” back on the Normandy.

I love his “Nah” on Eden Prime after Liara realizes he was joking.

I love his enthusiasm back on the Normandy after finding Javik.

I love his level of snark on Thessia. (”Reaper convention”, all his “… looks like a Prothean” comments at the temple, etc.)

I love his comment about liking a challenge when Shepard tells him Joker has a terrible poker face.

I love his reaction to James “Flawed implant” comment during the party.

I love his “Wow, Shepard. Did you really just say that?” if you side with James at the party.

I love watching him and James doing push-ups (and that Kaidan wins even without Kasumi sitting on James’ back).

I love his “You’re the boss. Except when you’re not. And in that case … find me later”.

I love the wake up-scene after the party.

I love the once over with that predatory smirk he gives a male Shepard in the romance scene.

I love that he wants to be Shepard’s rock and soft place to land.

I love the look on his face when Shepard runs their fingers along his cheekbone and then down to his chest before gently placing them on his chin and giving him a kiss after waking from their nightmare.

I love his “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen” after getting injured during the run for the beam. (Stubborn, remember?)

I love his “I love you, too. Be careful.” (Just rip out my heart and stomp on it why don’t you?)

I love his “And I’m not leaving, either!” at the beginning of ME2. (*cough*stubborn*cough*) 

I love his integrity.

I love his friendship with Ash.

I love seeing him and Shepard remembering Ash’s sacrifice after disarming the bomb on Tuchanka.

I love his “Why can’t it be both? Ow, my heart!” before entering the casino and his disappointed “And here I had this good cop routine all planned” after finding Elijah Khan.

I love his apology for tripping at the Ardat-Yakshi monastery.

I love his shoulders. Seriously. They do things to me.

[graboidmilk]

Being annoying about the Escape

(Sorry for the poor audio I didn't realize I was recording through my headset)

Pessimistic Yapper's opinion under the cut

Lazy. It felt lazy, and noncommitted.

I am not going to sit here and act like video games are easy to make- they are OBJECTIVELY not. They take time, effort, dedication, and care- but those facts do not make it impossible to see that what exists could be better, and should be better.

Here's the thing: this would not bother me nearly as much if it wasn't meant to be what it was. We, as reagents, just fucking escaped a Murkoff facility.

You know, the big boys with their big cocks and guns out ? Those guys ? The guys that will hunt you down and skin your wife and children for so much as blinking at a document that THEY forgot to put away ?

We just ran off into the sun and now we're chilling.

I don't care that it's short or that it's easy- I care that it makes no sense.

"You're gonna get dumped into the one place so ungodly awful that Murkoff doesn't protect or monitor it." To put it bluntly, I don't believe you. That sounds like such an unbelievable cop out- you really expect me to believe that THE Murkoff corporation is willing to carry out these absolutely egregious human experiments like they're the cock of the walk, but they won't guard their literal EVIDENCE DUMP ? Bullshit- no self-respecting capitalist pig would let such incriminating affirmations go unmonitored.

There should have been GUARDS GALORE all the way to that fucking dump. We should've had to FIGHT to get onto that garbage truck- which, how the fuck DID we get there directly from the trial shuttle ? How the fuck did Amelia do that without anyone noticing when security was ONE HUNDRED PERCENT WITHOUT A DOUBT IN MY HEART on red alert ?

We should've escaped through an Amelia-provided opening in an existing trial, we should've had to struggle our way into that garbage truck, we should've had to FIGHT to get into that final dump area with Henrietta, the one area I genuinely believe can be realistically claimed to be unmonitored.

Because the trash itself doesn't need to be monitored, only the surroundings, but they couldn't even do that.

And ah, Henrietta. My one beautiful love in this entire experience- yet, so unbelievably underutilized it just sullied her. She deserved more than that bullshit- and I don't just mean her treatment in-game. I mean her treatment BY the game.

You mean to tell me that this poor woman has been mentioned time and time again, survived a direct assault by a Prime Asset that left her presumed dead, survived off of flesh and trash just for a hope to see her love again, and she does like a bar and a half of health ? And she's slow as shit ? And she's barely even a threat and instead is more of a glorified last minute lore-equivalent to dangling keys in front of a child ?

I don't know what exactly I wanted them to do with Henrietta- I don't. I don't want to get rid of her, but if that's all they were going to use her for, then it might be better off, because she- AS A PLOT DEVICE- deserved better.

And then actually leaving: I don't mind it, really, as a concept- but then we're back to the problem of how the FUCK did Murkoff just LET THIS HAPPEN ? If the level itself were harder I could excuse it. If we SAW Murkoff do fucking ANYTHING to stop us, I could accept it, but we don't. No, we run off into the sun- and sure, maybe we 'never really escape Murkoff,' but that's not good enough for me.

I fully anticipated Amelia to be waiting at the end of the tunnel, Murkoff staff in toe. I FULLY expected Amelia to be a plant- but not by Easterman. I expected her to be sent by Wernicke. I wanted Amelia to be a plant to prove that the trials in their current state were not working. I wanted it to be Murkoff proving a point, and it's that Easterman needed to do better, because not only do reagents want to escape, but they've now proven that they can.

But nope ! Not quite.

Then, you can see me in the video put together pieces to an imaginary puzzle- Radio towers. Arizona desert. Sullivan Knoth confirmed to have already been released and having started Temple Gate. I wanted, more than fucking anything, to see a giant, all-encompassing flash, to know that something, fucking something, would make all of this make sense.

Like of course, little rat, you can escape this experiment- but we have another waiting for you outside.

But that's not what we got, either. We got to run into the sun like we're happy, like that's good enough, and it's not. Not for me, anyways.

I love everything about Outlast- every fucking game- but god, they just... idk. They just really dropped the ball on this one for me.

[fiercynn]

let's talk about the palestinians in israeli prisons

content warning for discussion of police and military violence, torture, and murder of palestinians, including of children, though not in graphic detail

in just the past two weeks, israel’s genocidal ramp-up in violence and surveillance towards palestinian has led to the doubling of the population of palestinians incarcerated in israeli prisons. prior to october 7, 2023, there were approximately 5,200 palestinians incarcerated by israel; by october 21, that number had increased to over 10,000. around 4,000 are gazans who were working in israel with temporary labor permits, and another 1,070 are palestinians arrested in overnight army raids in the occupied west bank and east jerusalem.

imprisoned palestinians are being treated worse than ever; israeli forces and guards are assaulting them, starving them, preventing them from accessing healthcare, cutting off of their water and electricity, and prohibiting them from any contact from their families. the knesset (israeli parliament) even voted this past week to allow prisons to reduce the minimum living space allotted to each detainee because of the rising crush of prisoners, and to allow detainees to be imprisoned without a bed.

but this recent ramp-up in detention and increase in the dehumanization of palestinians should not overshadow the long history of oppression, torture, and murder of palestinians by israeli forces through the criminalization. for a good background and summary, rawan masri and fathi nemer’s piece imprisoning palestine: zionist colonialism through an abolitionist lens for scalawag magazine is an illuminating analysis of how israeli law, policing, and incarceration have worked together to advance zionist colonization of palestine and dispossess palestinians of their land, their rights, and their humanity.

as a result of this history, the following dynamics and outcomes have long existed in israeli policing and incarceration of palestinians:

prior to october 7, one in every five palestinians had been arrested and charged under israeli military occupation; that percentage has only gone up now. while the absolute numbers on incarceration are nowhere near a country like the u.s., the rates of incarceration for palestinians are massively higher even than those of black americans (which is not to downplay the latter; the rates of incarceration for black americans is also fucking ridiculous and horrifying.) for palestinian men, that incarceration rate was as high as 40%. the united nations estimates that approximately one million palestinians have been imprisoned since israel occupied the west bank and gaza in 1967, including tens of thousands of children.

the israeli criminal legal system is anti-black as well, particularly towards afro-palestinians, who are tireless in their fight for palestinian liberation. even black jewish people are impacted by carceral anti-blackness: 40% of minors in the israeli correction system are ethiopian israeli jewish people, although ethiopian israelis make up less than 2% of population. but the racism is even clearer for the tiny community of 350-400 afro-palestinians, who live in a neighborhood in jerusalem that is blockaded at both entrances by israeli police, where they are highly surveilled and face constant police harassment. the majority of their community has been arrested at one point or another, and those who are incarcerated, including youth, are subject to constant rearrests for flimsy reasons. for example, mohammed firawi, an afro-palestinian youth who had been arrested when he was in twelfth grade because he was accused of throwing stones at israeli police, was shuttled around nine israeli prisons before being released five years later. however, he was rearrested two days after his homecoming because he “defied Israeli orders to refrain from celebrating [his release].”

palestinians live under a different (and harsher) system of law than israelis – an inequality so profoundly unjust that it didn’t even exist in south africa’s apartheid system. in the occupied west bank, palestinians are tried under military law for the same crimes that israelis are tried under civilian law. teenagers and adults alike are tried in military courts, where simultaneous arabic interpretation is not provided, so palestinian defendants are only provided summaries at the end of proceedings that can leave out important details. virtually all military cases in the west bank end in convictions – 99.74%, to be exact.

the separate systems of law also mean that palestinians can be held without trial or even being charged. “administrative detention” allows the israeli military to hold prisoners indefinitely on secret information, and is applied almost exclusively to palestinians in the occupied west bank, east jerusalem, and gaza. prior to october 7, there were 1,264 administrative detainees out of the total 5,200 palestinian people incarcerated in israeli jails – almost 25%!

palestinian children detained by the israeli military are subject to physical and psychological torture. since the second intifada in 2000, more than 12,000 palestinian children have been detained by the israeli military, and between 500 and 1000 children are held every year. a save the children report from july 2023 found that 86% of palestinian children report being beaten in israeli military detention. 42% are injured at the point of arrest, and 69% report being strip-searched. they are often interrogated without the presence of a parent or lawyer, and potentially even in a language not understood to them. they are also charged according to their age at the time of sentencing instead of at the time of their alleged offense, allowing for higher charges simply because their trials take a long time.

palestinians are often murdered in prison by security forces, and the bodies of palestinians who die in detention can be kept by israeli forces for the remainder of their sentence. since 1967, approximately 237 palestinian detainees have reportedly been murdered with torture, medical negligence, or execution during arrest or an escape attempt. in late 2022 and early 2023, the united nations special rapporteur on the situation of human rights in the occupied palestinian territories learned that israeli authorities were holding 125 palestinian bodies, including 13 bodies of palestinians who had died in prison, “allegedly as they need to terminate the execution of the sentence”. the bodies of palestinians are even lost or visibly damaged by israeli authorities when they are returned to families.

palestinian prisoners often face exile to gaza even when they are released, regardless of where they were originally from. former prisoners are often separated from their families, who may have difficulty entering gaza, and who may also lose rights simply for being related to a former prisoner. for example, formerly incarcerated palestinian shuaib abu snina was exiled to gaza, and found that his wife and children in jerusalem were raided and arrested by israeli forces using him as as reason. shuaib was forced to divorce his wife because his eldest son was told that israeli forces “will not deal with your [family] as citizens with rights in jerusalem unless your father divorces your mother”.

but even in captivity, palestinians continue to resist and fight for their liberation. incarcerated palestinians engage in mass disobedience even when faced with beatings or solitary confinement from doing so. since at least the 1960s, palestinians have undergone mass and individual hunger strikes; on may 2, 2023, khader adnan, who was being held without trial in administration detention, was martyred after 80 days of hunger strike. incarcerated palestinians also support each other and have earned concessions through their protests, such as increased visitations, better conditions, access to books and political curriculum, and more – though many of these are clearly being violated by the current israeli acceleration in imprisonment.

as rawan masri and fathi nemer conclude for scalawag magazine:

Today, more than ever, it remains crucial to center any discussion about Palestinian liberation through the lens of abolition and a complete rejection of carcerality. In this context, Incarceration is not only related to prisons and prisoners, but touches upon every aspect of our life. From the moment of birth, Palestinians must contend with being criminalized for existing. We are surveilled and censored, our oppression normalized, and our bodies corralled into various open-air and closed prisons. Such tactics have always revealed more about the jailor than the prisoner, and the logics inherent to the carceral apparatus are shared between all oppressive forces. While the goal is to project strength and power, what it divulges instead is fear, insecurity, and self-doubt. Resorting to locking away the inconvenient reminders of a crooked system betrays its weakness, a society unable to function without constructed villains onto which the world's ills can be pinned. It is an attempt to cover the sun with a sieve. [x]

organizations to follow and support:

addameer prisoner support and human rights association

samidoun palestinian prisoner solidarity network

al-haq

adalah legal center for arab minority rights in israel

adalah justice project

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 12

Part (12) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Eh. Decided to go ahead and break it up. Soooo there'll be one more chapter after this to finish this all up.

Warnings: Reference to medical procedures, panic, eye injuries, profanity, blood, mild violence, guilt

WC: 4,234

When wars first begin, there’s a sense of invincibility that drives society forward with resolute conviction. Tempers are freshly stoked, confidence is dangerously high, and the thought of defeat is rejected with little more than passing thoughts. That confidence lends to impulsive and hasty decisions beneath the false hope for a quick and definitive victory, and while that often sees those first few months filled with seemingly unending supplies and warriors and weapons, once that initial surge fades, so to do the funds that enabled it. But the soldiers remain.

Whether boasting the highest quality armor and munitions or left with mere scraps, those forced to fight have no choice but to find a way to make do all the same. Either they adapt or they lose. They die. But more than that, failure means the death of their brothers. It means letting the war drag on even longer, and I don’t doubt that that is a far more powerful motivator to the clones than any loyalty to a people who regard them as faceless machines or to some governing body who tallies their deaths as mere numbers.

Tech would balk at anyone referring to the Marauder as ‘scrap,’ but the simple fact remained that it was meant to be an attack shuttle. The elegant crests of its fins were designed for rapid, ruthless assaults more akin to guerilla warfare, not the grueling battles it’s been forced to endure, but that small vessel was all these men had. The interior was barely the size of a small apartment, and not only had the five of them figured out a way to make it a home, they’d made room for me as well, and, still, they prevailed through mission after mission, often crammed together for days of interspace travel without complaint. Well, without much complaint.

The room that had become their medbay was barely large enough for a couple of beds to lie toe-to-toe. This shuttle wasn’t originally intended to even have a medbay. Any wounded it carried were assumed to be on-board only long enough to reach a proper facility. Reality had proven far less ideal.

I could hear Crosshair’s broken, shuttering breaths hiss through clenched teeth from across the ship as I wrenched my mattress from the metal frame and shoved it into the corner. The drugs I’d given him offered some manner of relief, but whether that relief was in truly easing the pain or simply robbed his mind of the clarity to remember it, I couldn’t say, nor could I let the doubt and guilt of his suffering distract me.

Before the cot had even settled, I was tearing through the cabinets lining the far wall, shoving armfuls of bacta and gauze onto the counters before reaching back for saline bags and IV ports. This room wasn’t meant for multiple patients. This ship wasn’t meant for multiple patients, but I needed them both in here, needed to be able to watch their chests rise and fall lest the panic of not knowing keep me darting from room to room.

Fueled with that fear, I ripped Hunter’s cot from his bed and dragged it back with me, some unrelenting, subconscious thought screaming that he’d be uncomfortable in anyone else’s. It wouldn’t smell right to him; wouldn’t feel right. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t smell; that he wasn’t likely to even wake before we rendezvoused with a flag ship; that he’d never know. I knew he’d only be comfortable in his bed, so his was the mattress I pilfered from the bunkroom to set beside mine before finally letting myself race back to the main cabin.

That young girl followed me step by step, wide eyes studying my every movement, though she managed to never get in the way. Later, I’d wonder over the return of that innocent curiosity despite the nightmare she’d just witnessed, the nightmares she’d suffered firsthand. Later, I’d marvel at how readily she allowed that curiosity to drive her rather than remain cowering as far from the danger and noise and violence as she could get. Later, I’d hate myself for my failure to encourage that curiosity, for not offering some words of reassurance and praise, but my focus was already overwhelmed, veins thrumming with an anxiety that screamed at me to go faster, think harder, shouting that I’d miss something vital and it would be my men who’d pay the price.

Crosshair’s knees were curled listlessly to his chest, torso still rocking with unsteady, strangled gasps as one hand clutched the grate beneath him while the other remained flush against his face, palm pressed firmly to the bandaging over his eyes for what façade of relief that pressure might offer. Before I let myself run to him, my gaze dropped to the monitor beside Hunter, nearly holding my breath as I studied the rhythmic dance illustrating a heartbeat I still struggled to believe was real.

Hand trembling, I yielded beneath that terrified doubt for just a moment, movements shaky as I kneeled between them and reached once more for Hunter’s neck, cursing the way my fingers trembled too violently to feel anything for several seconds, but it was there: that steady thum… thum… thum. Finally, I felt myself inhale, and the euphoria of air filling my lungs lifted a haze I only had the clarity to even recognize once it was gone.

Reassured that Hunter was stable, I turned back to the still weakly writhing sniper, carefully reaching out to touch his shoulder, and my heart sank at how sharply he flinched from me.

“Easy, Cross; it’s me.” I murmured, hand slowly tracing the rigid tendons stretching up toward his neck. That tension didn’t leave him, but he no longer tried to find enough strength to pull away from me. “I’m going to help you to the medbay, okay? Then we’ll get something stronger in you to make the pain stop.” If he heard me, he offered no response, halting breaths still causing his entire body to shake. “Let’s get some of this armor off, first.”

Taut muscles and dazed thoughts left him far from helpful as I tried to gently wrestle him free of the heavy plastoid. His arms were easy enough to strip, but when I began lifting the cuirass free, he reacted violently, lashing out with whatever limb was nearest to me, deaf to my every reassuring murmur and softly spoken promise as whatever nightmares haunting the darkness around him left him panicking in a way my words simply couldn’t breech.

“Crosshair, I know you’re scared, but – ngh! – I… I need you to try to b-breathe.” I had to fight to keep the strain from my voice, but the sudden impact of his elbow to my hip nearly sent me flying, and, panting, I had to take a moment to collect myself. I knew how thoroughly the meds would rob him of a coherency already ruined by the feral panic of suffering beneath such crippling pain for so long, and I could only guess toward the terror of finding himself trapped in a darkness he couldn’t escape; how alone and exposed and defenseless he surely felt upon being so ruthlessly robbed of his sight, but I had to find some way to get through to him before he hurt himself… or me…

“Alright… Cross? Crosshair, it’s just me, baby. It’s -” Before my name could more than rest atop my tongue, he kicked out at me, his heel just catching my stomach with enough force to wrench the air from my lungs, body crashing back with a deafening crack as my head bounced off the hard floor. Some part of me registered a frightened gasp, and I hated the guilt that tiny sound filled me with. Should have been faster… Should have thought ahead and moved the girl somewhere safe, somewhere far away from what wretched truths normally lay hidden behind medbay doors and sterile sheets and promises that loved ones would be fine absent word of the agony they’d suffer first.

Jaw straining open in some futile effort to draw air into lungs burning with suffocation despite how uselessly my diaphragm sputtered beneath my every effort to breathe, I forced myself to move, limbs scrambling for enough purchase to jerk an elbow beneath me, gaze first flickering to the girl watching us with wide eyes, wincing at the way her body tucked into the corner between a crash couch and the far wall, before shifting back to Crosshair. She was safe… but, Maker, there was no hope of her coming out of this unscarred…

Once more… I’d try just once more to reach him before resorting to simply sedating him…

“Cross?” I cringed at the faint wheeze distorting my voice, but it was clear he hadn’t heard me anyway, not really. He sat rolled back on a hip, leg straining to push himself up amidst halfhearted attempts to get a foot beneath him, free hand now held out between us in a threatening fist while the other continued burring against his eyes, chest bucking with rapid, shallow gasps, and I wondered how much of this he’d even remember later.

“Shhh.” The gentle sound was barely audible over how quickly the air hissed between his teeth, lips bared in an enraged snarl that did little to hide the fear so clearly overwhelming him. “Shhh, I’m right here, Cross.” I whispered as my own breathing gradually began to slow. His shoulders tensed, but there was a flicker of hesitation that drew a small huff of relief from me. “I know, I know… but I’m going to help, okay?” The comforting murmur left on a carefully slowed sigh. The words didn’t matter. I just needed him to hear me – to hear the calm in my voice and let it grant him some sliver of reassurance.

“Shhh.” I breathed once more, fingers lightly slipping around his trembling fist, and he so nearly wrenched the limb back, muscles jerking in a violent flinch… but he paused just before actually breaking that contact, and I instantly rewarded him with a smile I could only hope he’d hear in the quiet praises and promises that continued falling softly from my lips.

“That’s it.” I breathed, touch shifting gently over scarred knuckles and taut tendons. “Just take a couple slow breaths with me… We’re gonna get you out of that armor and nestled up in my bed, okay?” My thumbs followed the stiff ridge along the base of his palm in a subtle invitation for him to open his hand. His grip tightened for just a moment, clinging to some fleeting rush of the illusion of safety granted by the rage fueling that lethal instinct to fight back, but then that tension began to fade. It was hesitant, fingers loosening in tentative increments, and locking again for several seconds before opening a bit more.

“Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it?” I murmured fondly, thumbs dragging firmly over what I could of his exposed palm, and my heart jumped at the subtle way his shoulders began to droop. “Could have had you both snuggled up and resting in the damn medbay by now, but you just had to turn into a feral tooka on me.” A tiny, accidental giggle sounded from behind me, and I glanced back to shoot the girl a knowing look as she quickly clasped a hand over her lips. If Crosshair heard it, he was fading too quickly to react, exhaustion a merciless thing as the loss of terror-induced adrenaline left his head sinking toward his chest, torso curling forward as his entire body began to sway.

“Easy.” I murmured as he jerked upright slightly to catch himself. My hand slid up his arm before finally trying once more to pull at his cuirass. “Can you lift your arms for me?” He didn’t respond at first, breath hitching slightly as a weak tremor stole through him, but then he began to obey, movements almost begrudging beneath the clear effort it took. He swayed even more wildly after I’d managed to pull that heavy shell of armor away, and I had to lock an arm around his back to steady him.

Weak… Maker, he was so frightfully weak in that moment, and my heart ached for the disdain he’d surely feel for that weakness were his mind clear enough to recognize it.

“Just hold onto me for a minute, okay?” I whispered, already pulling him flush against me. He didn’t fight the way I guided his arm over my shoulders, legs staggering almost uselessly beneath him as I slowly hauled him upright. Now robbed of that veneer of wrath, he couldn’t mask the depth of a fear that haunted him as he tottered on the very fringes of consciousness, his lithe body draped almost limply over mine, muscles jerking in nervous flinches at even the familiar sounds of the Marauder’s base systems chiming around us, and I found myself desperately hoping he wouldn’t remember this; that he wouldn’t suffer beneath a shame he had no reason to feel for this moment of vulnerability and need as he clung to me during those few minutes it took to stagger to the back of the ship.

The instant I gave the slightest indication for him to lay down, he readily collapsed, body fell heavily against me. I barely managed to guide him into the cot without dropping him. He didn't waste even what minimal effort it would take to reposition himself before fading into whatever empty sleep could be found in the wake of the fresh surge of meds I quickly pressed into his neck.

Getting Hunter to the medbay was no less complicated. Between his preexisting injuries and the damage I’d inflicted in trying to restart his heart, I couldn’t risk carrying him. Much to the girl’s humor, I ended up carefully sliding a blanket beneath him to drag him through the ship. The effort, however, was well worth the relief gleaned from finally seeing them both resting safely atop thin cots, chests rising in tandem beneath the intoxicating cocktail of drugs and blood loss.  

I could only guess toward how long it might take for them to wake. I'd allotted myself more time than was necessary to finish removing their armor, had quickly moved back through the ship to retrieve what bits lay scattered in the cabin to stack it neatly atop the counters, and neither man had yet begun to stir.

In truth, I felt no rush for Hunter to wake, though part of me wouldn’t be able to relax until those intense, calculating eyes opened once more. I didn’t care if he looked at me with anger or indifference or love, so long as he looked at me. And Crosshair… I’d need to replace the damn battery in my scanner from how frequently I was rechecking him; recording and comparing every step of progress in his healing for some indication of whether or not there’d be permanent damage, for some idea of how to answer the inevitable questions he was sure to have when he was alert enough to ask. It likely wouldn’t be long… maybe another hour? Maybe mere minutes… My heart twisted at the thought of trying to force him to leave the thick bandages around his eyes, to force him to continue suffering in that darkness…

I had yet to disconnect the monitor from Hunter, nor could I ignore how frequently my gaze returned to the small screen if only for some tangible proof that his heart was still beating. Both of his arms were attached to fresh IVs rich in medicines and vitamins that I could only hope would be enough to control the bleed still slowly trying to refill his chest cavity and draining from the small port in his side. He was stable… but that was such a delicate balance…

Half a klick… He’d carried Crosshair for nearly half a klick… Of course he’d begun bleeding out again… I’d told him how dangerous physical activity was… but… kriff, what other option had I left for him? He was the only one close enough to provide backup in time… if I’d stayed behind… if I hadn’t intervened… Crosshair wouldn’t have had to wait so long to have his eyes cared for… and Hunter wouldn’t have had to carry him… Maybe something would’ve happened in the field like I’d originally feared, but… even then, he wouldn’t have had to wait on the damn ramp of the Marauder for Force knows how long… He would have had his brothers right there to help him immediately…

My chest jerked with something between a sob and a gasp as the medbay door opened behind me, and I couldn’t bring myself to even try to fight back the depth of guilt and regret and grief upon turning to find Echo, stride freezing the instant he met my eyes. He waited only until my shoulders jerked with another jilted breath before throwing himself toward me, and I instantly reacted in kind, darting forward to bury myself in his embrace.

“It’s my fault!” I hadn’t meant for the words to come out. “I almost got them killed!” His arms locked so tightly around me, I almost couldn’t find air to give voice to the sudden outpour of emotion, and yet I found myself silently begging him to hold me tighter. “This is my fault!”

“No… mesh’la, that’s not true, and you know that.” He pressed in something torn between a gentle murmur and a reprimand, and I shivered slightly at the heat of his breath dancing through my hair.

“I don’t know a damn thing about strategy! And I forced Hunter’s hand, and he…” The words died in a hiccupped gasp, and I pressed myself hard against his chest, finding an odd comfort in the familiar ridges of metal lining his torso.

“Sushir, cyare – listen.” He carefully lowered himself onto a knee, something about the movement seemed odd, but the tenderness of his hand against my cheek pulled my attention back to the soft gold of his eyes. “If you’d stayed here, both you and Crosshair would have been killed.” I couldn’t help but hesitate at that, confusion pulling my brows together, forcing my still choppy breath to quiet that I might better hear him.

“This place was run by a type of strategy droid.” He explained in a mediated calm that quickly robbed me of my panic. “It knew a sniper took out the defenses of the black site. Bringing the senator here, letting us track them – that was all a trap because the karking droid wanted revenge.” It took a long moment for me to truly process his words, body going still as I looked at him with wide eyes. “There’s an entire platoon of dead droids out there from Hunter. If you’d tried to get to Cross on your own, you never would have made it.”

“Tech’s never going to let us forget this.” I don’t know where I managed to find enough humor for even that quick huff, but the quiet, relieved laughter that caught on Echo’s lips left my heart jumping so sharply amidst a pleasant burst of static that, if only for a moment, I was stunned, but, when a weak groan sounded behind me, all thought toward that feeling or the mission or even the rationale behind my guilt was forgotten, attention whipping around to see Crosshair’s leg shifting atop the mattress in a stiff, unsteady motion, fingers twitching against the thin sheet beneath him.

“Kriff – Cross! Okay – alright, I know, I know.” The rushed words left in something just shy of a whisper, fighting to hide the lingering stiffness from my voice as I darted to the narrow space between the cots, hand belatedly reaching up to brush away the tears still staining my cheeks. His lips twitched into a weak scowl, head shifting listlessly to the side before managing a more pointed jerk.

“No, no, no.” I quickly reached out to catch his hand in mine as he began reaching for the bandages, and I wanted to sob anew at the way his chest bucked, entire body going taut. “Listen to me, Crosshair; you need to let them heal first, okay?” His fingers gradually tightened around mine until the entire limb shook, and I found myself wondering if he even realized he was doing it as I waited for the coming questions that I still couldn’t answer; the plea for some reassurance that he’d be okay, but several seconds passed and he didn’t say anything.

“Cross?” I called softly, unsettled by the deep stillness of him, the painfully even cadence of too-deep breaths flowing stiffly through lips now ground into a tight frown.

“… you’ve been crying…” He barely whispered it, and I had to swallow back the threat of that overwhelming emotion all over again, drawing a quick, shaky inhale that did little to keep my voice from breaking.

“It was just… a lot.” I answered as calmly as I could even as I had to blink away the burn of fresh tears flooding my eyes. “But I’m alright.” I dragged my thumb lightly along the edge of his palm.

“The others…” I worried over the tension in his short words, already calculating how soon I could increase his pain meds.

“Echo’s,” I glanced over my shoulder only to find the doorway now empty, and I felt a twinge of guilt at how I’d left him. “He was just here – pretty sure he was checking up on you two.” He suddenly froze, air catching in his throat, and realization dawned on me.

“…he’s… Hunter’s…” He’d been so out of it that I wasn’t sure if my earlier reassurances had reached him, and the guilt that stormed me at letting him think for even a moment longer that his brother was dead threatened to cripple me.

“He’s fine! He’s-he’s right here.” I stammered, scrambling back enough to pull Hunter’s arm across the narrow distance. “Here – feel that?” Movements almost rushed, I pressed Cross’s fingers to his brother’s wrist, and I found myself holding my breath as he felt the steady rhythm of Hunter’s pulse. Neither of us spoke, neither moved; granting that almost desperate relief the moment of reverie and wonder and exhaustion innate in those first few seconds of freedom from a grief that neither of us would have ever recovered from.

It was a subtle thing; the way he let that tension slip away, head just tilting back into the pillow with a barely-there sigh, but he made no effort to pull his hand back, and I could still see the faintest tremble in those long fingers.

“How long until this comes off?” His voice fell back into that familiar grumble so effortlessly; as though the last few minutes had never happened, and I barely managed to stifle the laugh into a breathy chuckle.

“A few days.” I answered quietly. “Maybe sooner depending on how quickly they heal.” He thought over my words for a moment before finally voicing the question I’d been waiting for since first dragging him into the medbay.

“Am I blind?”

“No.” It left my lips before he’d even finished asking, and I waited only a moment before explaining. “I… I don’t know… how well it’ll heal.” I hated how obviously I found myself tripping over my words, and took another breath before trying again, grateful that he hadn’t let himself lash out at the less than satisfying answer. “Your last scan still showed damage to your corneas, but it was already an improvement from before I cleaned and treated them. So, it’s safe to assume they’ll continue to improve.” I could see his forearm tense, but his hand remained unmoving for several more seconds before finally releasing Hunter’s wrist and shifting to drape almost lazily over his stomach.

Moments of silence were no stranger between us. I’d grown to love them, to thrill in the gentle comfort of his presence, the freedom from some need to force unwanted conversation, but there was nothing gentle in that resigned stillness, and I hated how desperate I sounded in my attempt to offer some taste of empty hope.

“I’ll continue scanning you regularly to monitor their progress, and even if there is scarring, there are more steps we can take.” I waited in some vain sense of denial for a sign that he believed me, but, when he offered no reply, I reached for him once more, fingers twining through his absent any further attempts to hide the sense of dread.

“I’m here, Cross… No matter what, I’m right here.” Several seconds passed in that same silence, but then his hand pulsed. It lasted only a second, but it was there, and when I moved to lay beside him atop the too-narrow cot, he didn’t hesitate, arm readily shifting to let me curl into him, my head resting lightly atop his chest. There was no remedy for this; the consuming dread of wretched unknowns that only time might bring to light, but, as long as he let me, I could make sure he didn’t suffer in it alone, and if I found my own comfort in the powerful thrum of his heartbeat dancing beneath my cheek, that was a selfishness I’d forgive myself for later.

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