#Its voice is similar to a human's but it is impossible to understand.

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh my- whorshipper god??

Oh my- Imagine them encountering reader, the poor human, doing their mundane and casual routine, when suddenly, an majestic being appear infront of them, and reader being an religious person, try's to bow, but before they could ever try-

The being bow to them, not even daring to meet their eyes, ashamed to have appeared infront of the being they consider supreme and in their own vision.

Reader is confused, while the god is ecstatic while apologizing from their sudden appear and the waste of their little humans time (even if I'm pretty sure they don't understand the concept of it since one year must be the same as second to them).

The stars fall from the heavens; whisking across the tinted sky and to the earth below. The universe reveals itself to you in brilliant streaks of whites and blues. A nightly stroll led you to the center of a previously forecasted meteor shower. Your current position gave you the perfect sight of the feat. A smile crosses your face as another crashes from the sky; mind deep in wonder towards what wish you'd like to humor before it ended. In the moment you feel truly at peace, and one with yourself and the world around you. Completely whole.

"Is there a desire you long to be fulfilled, my grace?"

You open your eyes. When had they closed in the first place? The celestials align before your eyes; their shimmer growing brighter as they cluster together. A flash of white light flares in front of you; lingering as you look into the face of whatever stood before you. You assume this to be its face, as you can vaguely make out the silhouette of something within the light. It was as if a literal star was now before you; burning your retinas and psychic the longer you stare. You quickly shut your eyes.

"My sincerest apologies. I forgot my form is harmful to the human mind. Even one such as yours"

The being's face implodes on itself; the aura that radiates from it trapped beneath layers of skin in a similar fashion to a closing umbrella. It shrinks slightly in sizes, but still looms over you; dressed in black robes that remind you of a church attendees formal garbs. Strange patterns were inscribed into their flesh. They make your head spin whenever you try to focus on them; the whisper of a dead language no mortal should ever witness.

Even in this humanoid shell, you could tell this being was a power like no other. A God or like-minded deity with an unknown agenda and you playing part. Your legs buckle as you almost fall to your knees. You are unsure if this is your God, but feel you should coward in its presence. In a bizzare twist of fate, that's exactly what it does to you.

The deity kneels to the ground; head near the tips of your shoes. They hold their hands up to you in a prayer; their voice quivering despite how it rattles around in your brain.

"Forgive me, my lord. For I have crossed your path without permission. I simply couldn't contain myself after seeing how you gazed at the stars. It was utterly spectacular."

You struggle to find the words to speak - something that was already impossible before their speech. This - this heavenly creature was apology? And to you? It must be a trick of your rapidly decreasing mental state. The deity senses your confusion. It drops its hands and fumbles with the fabric of its robes.

"I can tell you have trouble grasping the situation. I do not blame you, only ask that you continue to heed my words. I have existed in your reality since the dawn of your kind. I grew tired of my place amongst the stars, and took interest in watching your kind. Never before have I seen another like you. You've sewn the wounds of loniness in my heart with only your existence. You are a treasure to forever behold. My savior."

A flush breaks across its face; cheeks tinted a faint blueish color. It grows more and more excited with each word that fumbles from its mouth; fidgeting in ecstacy from just being near you. You're still unable to properly respond.

"I know I've taken up much of your time and I am sorry. It Is important to you. I only wish to offer you by service as your loyal follower. The line between reality and fiction will bend to your whim if you allow my aid. I give my all to you, my dear grace."

[eretzyisrael]

BY ALLISON TOMBROS KORMAN

As the war ramped up, it was clear that this issue was not going away. Not only was I struggling to process Oct. 7 with friends, family, and my community, I was also navigating the conflict every day at work. As the only Jewish voice in the organization, I was repeatedly put in the position to speak for all Jewish people—an impossible task—or to defend my perspective and why it did not align with that of Jewish Voices for Peace, a group that purports to represent Jews but rejects the basic premise of a Jewish homeland, or similar entities. At the same time, if I advocated for DCAF staying out of this discussion, I was told I was silencing the organization and its staff. I shared my heartbreak about the violence against both Israelis and Palestinians and how, though complex, these feelings could coexist. In return, it was explained to me, often by people with no direct connection to the land or its people, that I needed to understand “context.”

At the same time, other abortion funds and reproductive health organizations began issuing statements about what was happening in Gaza. These statements contained much of the same offensive nomenclature as DCAF’s draft and some, like ARC-Southeast’s letter, went further, calling Zionism—the belief that Israel simply has a right to exist—“a contradiction to Reproductive Justice.” Every member of the DCAF staff except me signed on to a letter to the board advising them that they would be participating in a walkout in support of Palestine. The letter noted, “We are using our collective power as DCAF workers to show up for Gazans and call for an immediate ceasefire, as well as liberation for Palestinians ... we cannot ignore the mass violations to human rights and sexual and reproductive health outcomes that we’re seeing out of Gaza.” Remarkably, the letter neglected any mention of health outcomes for the Israeli survivors of rape or assault, or for the hostages.

In an effort to work collaboratively and keep focused on our primary objectives, we agreed that establishing social media procedures was a critical next step. On Nov. 14, I and the communications team sat down to decide what, if anything, DCAF would be posting about the war and to ensure there were not more situations like that which occurred around the “Gaza Carousel.” I recognized that my colleagues felt strongly that DCAF should weigh in on this discussion, and in an effort to compromise, I agreed to a process that would allow DCAF to uplift existing content from trusted partners in the field, but not create original content, as this would be beyond our expertise. We agreed to abstain from using nomenclature that could be distracting or divisive to our community, such as the “Free Palestine” hashtag or calling Israel’s actions “genocide.” We developed a system to review and discuss potentially controversial content related to the war before posting, starting with a small group of reviewers, including me, and escalating to a vote by a mix of board and staff.

The following morning, I circulated the notes from that meeting to DCAF leadership and members of the Board. At 3 p.m. that day, I was alerted by a Jewish DCAF volunteer that the DCAF Instagram feed featured graphics from The Washington Post about deaths in Gaza with commentary overlaid, specifically that “collective punishment is the tool of fascists” and that what was happening in Gaza was “a prime and top-of-mind example of said collective punishment.” I immediately flagged this for the communications team and asked if perhaps the content was posted inadvertently since it violated the norms we had established in the meeting the previous day. Surely, equating the actions of the entire State of Israel with fascism was a perspective that needed to be discussed as potentially controversial. They assured me the post was intentional (they later stealthily removed it).

Immediately, DCAF received angry messages from Jewish members of their community. The messages criticized DCAF for being so one-sided on the issue. They were furious that DCAF, who claimed to deeply value reproductive justice, had remained silent on the rapes of Israeli women. They stated that as Jews, they felt abandoned by and isolated from the organization.

[hammeragainstbirds]

[There is a video attatched, do you want to watch it?]

//This is so long but I swear it's not that bad. In the tags will be what you need to know after this even if you don't read it so everything else makes sense.

//I'll actually rewrite the ooc paragraph into several shorter ones so it's easier to read.

//Apple's friends don't react in the best way possible, as they don't know what is going on. This is made worst because Apple was already distressed.

//Apple isn't out to their friends, so they'll only use he/him to refer to her. He does use that pronoun, so it's not misgendering, but don't expect them to use anything else. Also, it's name will be written [Apple], as that's the one they use online, not her actual name. It's not deadnaming, but I understand that it can look as if I was censoring a deadname.

//There is a mention of the current state of Apple's transformation. Specifically, the start of the face changing.

//Also, first and probably last time a character uses a swear word (or whatever those are called in english, I think it's that) in one of my post. I feel like that friend would use them, but I don't like writing them.

[The video is taken from around the height of Apple's head, so it's impossible to see everyone else's faces. Apple can be seen next to the window, trying to check where they would land. Steps can be heard from the other side of the room as other three people enter it. The room is dark, except for the small amount of light entering though the window.]

"What the... what is that?"

[Apple is covering its face and making a ball in the floor, ashamed of how she looks like. One of his friends tries to get closer, but Sharp the pawniard jumps to his trainer's rescue. He positions himself between Apple and the rest, ready to fight.]

"Sharp? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with [Apple]? Where is he, anyway?"

"Yeah and, more importantly, how did that... tinkaton? get here?"

[[Blue] hits [Pink] with her elbow while looking at him with a disapproving face.]

"What? It was a joke! I'm obviously looking for him!"

"Get out of here."

"[Apple]? Where are you?"

"Leave me alone, okay? I don't want you to see me right now."

[[Red] tries to get close to Apple, suspecting that their voice comes from that part of the room. Sharp, feeling his owners distress, does the only thing he can think of.]

"What the fuck Sharp? Why did you do that? Agh, it hurts a lot! Just let me get there already!"

[[Red] holds his leg with a pained expression while looking at Sharp. [Blue] throws a pokeball, freeing the Skeledirge inside. The pokemon uses its tail to move Sharp out of the way and keep him there.]

"No! Leave him alone! He can't get hurt. I- I didn't hurt him, you can't do it. P- please, don't do anything. Just get out of here!"

[Apple says this while crying. He looks at Sharp, hoping he's fine. That allows both the camera and her friends to see their new face. It's still very similar to the face it had before this began, but it is pink and is starting to change to look more tinkaton-like. It can be noticed mostly in the eyes, which are starting to get taller and thinner. The three of them flinch when seeing this.]

"Is that... Wha- what happened to you?"

"Yeah, you look terrible! Is that your excuse to let us study by ourselves?"

"I told you to leave me alone!"

[The camera seems to fall and look to the ceiling for a moment, before it repositions itself. Both pokemon appear to be fine, but the three humans seem to have been launched against the wall. Some glowing particles can be seen floating around in the room, quickly disappearing. Apple gets to where Sharp is as fast as she can without showing themself more than necessary and hugs him.]

"You are okay, everything is okay. I'm here to help you, I promise. I- the instincts won't win, I'll protect you."

[Apple is holding the hammer, which is longer now. The new addition is a different color to the metals used before. He runs towards the window and jumps, the camera following behind. Its landing is good enough, so they can start running towards the nearby forest almost immediately, Sharp still in his arms.]

[End of the video.]

//Not fully convinced with some parts, but probably good enough. I don't know if I should tag this anything specific, but the warning in the beginning should work for that.

[kamesama]

— match-up trade: jjk.

for @bokutosbiceps › match-up trades › HI BBY, so excited to do trades with you again. i hope you like this <3 I GOT SO EXCITED WRITING THIS—

your match: itadori yūji.

gleamy-eyed glances of admiration, lips so softly agape. wide smiles and shameless, heartfelt laughs. blushing cheeks and red noses. ghostface mask stuffed under the bed. pondering inquires about life lost to the comfortable silence, sucked into the walls and concrete — it feels good to simply voice them out. bad movies that you love solely for the experience they provided. salt on your lips and aftertaste of pop-corn. sizzle of cola. warm colours; salmon pink, sunset orange, honey yellow. matching items, lockscreens or phone cases. your favourite snack brought to your door in the ungodly hour to support you through your efforts. hugs so tight and warm they make everything feel alright. items lost in the piles of laundry, underneath the cushions or in plain sight. worn-out hoodies that you cannot let go off. admiring the view. inside jokes that are impossible to explain to the third person. looks that speak volumes and provide wordless telepathy-like understanding. the best part of a song.

yūji, oh yūji. the sunshine in a jar; the heart of gold; the idealist. his latte-brown eyes simply skim over whatever shield is draped over you by your silence. he doesn't care. a piercing look — intentional or not — is too little to push him away, to sway him. and he doesn't miss the moment in which your true self peeks out, carrying the overwhelming plenties of good fun and howl-worthy laughs against its chest.

your ambitions are worthy of admiration, and yūji cannot possibly wrap up how wonderful it is that you bear such dedication to people close to you. he relates. he would crawl through hell and back for humanity; he would claw onto rocks, stones and pebbles even if he loses the sense of touch on his blood-covered fingers. the idea that you give the time of your life to chase the dream in which you can help the sick and needy makes his heart warm. yūji loves you for it. he also admires your brains, because he could never.

there is a grand similarity provided by the mutual lack of seriousness and it is your little escape from the creeping shadows of reality. but, both of you wield the ability to take off those rose lenses and face the world. yūji is your ray of sunlight on the cold day in mid-december, but he comes to you in the hours of heavy traffic and loud, buzzing life with shoulders dropped and hopes scattered about his mind, hiding. he eats your reassurance up like a starving man, hanging onto whatever piece of comfort — spoken or not — you can offer him. likewise, he praises you when you feel like you've strayed into a dead end path and pats your back when you claim that you simply cannot handle it anymore.

the quality time is wondrous. he flashes you his boyish grin when your sight meets his face and he listens to that one logic-twisting thought that has been lurking in the back of your mind for a while. he talks you into watching that one show with him and comforts you with the lie that "it's just one more episode, please?" conversation flows endlessly, flawlessly, effortlessly and so does the river the two of you sit by. you're observing the stream, but yūji strains his neck to absorb the sight of your profile and the cute point of your nose.

it's been a long while since he's mentioned jennifer lawrence.

other matches: gojō satoru.

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

[houseofpurplestars]

"At the core of ‘anti’ debates is a foundation of beliefs rooted in conservatism that what a person consumes in fiction determines their real-life behaviours. Thus, an anti-shipper who is against those viewed to be pro-shippers is already deemed more morally pure."

"...no kind of communal fandom restoration can begin to occur until those targeted by such anti-shippers are viewed as human beings (not sub-human) and a universal understanding of fiction, reality, psychology and human behaviour based in science is established."

Further reading:

"Antis' foundation is the belief that fiction affects reality, in that any problematic behaviors or topics in media, fictitious or not, will cause people to normalize those behaviors, resulting in people (specifically minors) thinking that such actions are acceptable in real life. This is a common argument used by conservative groups to enact queer censorship, who argue that children who see LGBTQIA+ characters in television or books will "turn gay.""

"Ex-antis' responses indicated that antis compartmentalize media categorized as good versus sinful in order to feel powerful and in control."

"Antis attempt to glorify their ideology by rebranding it as antipedophilia and anti-incest, but it is actually a loose ideology of disinformation, virtue signaling, and legitimate abuse. Similar to the QAnon cult phenomena, which began in 2017, anti dogma is designed to promote paranoia and play off people's fears and emotions to spread disinformation."

"The overt misuse and oversaturation of the term "pedophilia," to the extent that it loses all significance from its original context, is arguably another method of desensitization."

"Since the primary creators of transformative fandom are women, people of color, and LGBTQIA+ people, it becomes readily apparent how the anti movement seeks to limit the voices of those who are already vulnerable, thus promoting further isolation and violence against them."

"Instead of being given the tools and resources to make safe and educated decisions on a case-by-case basis, teens in anti spaces are called to arms and encouraged to engage in recklessly abusive behavior toward themselves and others over topics they do not yet fully understand while simultaneously spreading troubling ideologic misinformation."

"Environments where authoritative figures go unquestioned and where fear is instilled to coerce obedience are precisely where many abusers are able to thrive."

"The cult structure of antis sets individuals up for failure; the extreme variance and overreach in individual antis' standards means that their ideology becomes impossible to live up to. Real-world harmful effects have been documented in adults and minors alike regarding the mental, physical, and emotional well-being of fans subjected to anti rhetoric, demonstrating just how vital nuanced research is needed in these areas."

"What truly marks a cult is the control attempted over behavior and thought. Participants in anti circles perpetuate a climate of fear, shame, and trauma in fan spaces. The most common targets of such abuse are women, people of color, teens, abuse survivors, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community. Fans who are already marginalized are further deprived of safety, anonymity, outlets for growth, self-expression, and relationships. It is therefore vital that we closely monitor hate speech in fan spaces and study these behaviors. Our failure to do so may open doors for bigotry, violence, and disinformation."

[byneddiedingo]

Knight of Cups (Terrence Malick, 2015)

Cast: Christian Bale, Cate Blanchett, Natalie Portman, Brian Dennehy, Antonio Banderas, Frieda Pinto, Wes Bentley, Isabel Lucas, Teresa Palmer, Imogen Poots, Ben Kingsley (voice). Screenplay: Terrence Malick. Cinematography: Emmanuel Lubezki. Production design: Jack Fisk. Film editing: A.J. Edwards, Keith Fraase, Geoffrey Richman, Mark Yoshikawa. Music: Hanan Townshend.

Two films kept coming to mind as I watched Terrence Malick's Knight of Cups: Federico Fellini's La Dolce Vita (1960) and Andrei Tarkovsky's Mirror (1975). Fellini's film because the journey of Malick's protagonist, Rick (Christian Bale), through the decadence of Hollywood and Las Vegas echoes that of Marcello's (Marcello Mastroianni) explorations of Rome. Tarkovsky's because Malick's exploration of Rick's life exhibits a similar steadfast refusal to adhere to a strict linear narrative. Most of us go to movies to have stories told to us. Our lives are a web of stories, told to us by history and religion and science and society, and most explicitly by art. We tend to prefer the old linear progression of storytelling: beginning, middle, end, or the familiar five-act structure of situation, complication, crisis, struggle, and resolution. But artists tend to get weary of the straightforward approach; they like to mix things up, to find new ways of storytelling. The modernist novelists like Joyce and Woolf and Faulkner eschewed linearity, and filmmakers have tried to take a similar course. They have the advantage of working with images as well as words. So Malick, like Tarkovsky and Fellini and others, experiments with editing and montage to meld images with language and gesture to probe the psychological depths of human character and experience. The problem with experimentation is that experiments fail more often than they succeed. Some think that Knight of Cups is a successful experiment, but most critics and much of the film's audience seem to disagree, to judge from, for example, a 5.6 rating on IMDb. Knight of Cups spent two years in post-production and there are four credited film editors, which suggests that Malick over-reached himself. For me, what was lost in the process of making the film was a clarity of vision. Granted, the lives of human beings are messy, loose-ended things, but what do we depend on artists to do but try to make sense of them. I think Malick lost sight of his protagonist, Rick, in trying to interpret his life and loves through the film's odd amalgamation of John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress and the Major Arcana of the tarot pack and then overlaying it with a collage of images provided by Emmanuel Lubezki's camera. We glimpse Rick through filters, grasping for moments that will resolve into something substantial about him, his problems with his family and with women. And for all the casting of fine actors like Bale and Cate Blanchett and Natalie Portman, the production negates their attempts to create characters. In fact, their starriness works against them: Instead of being drawn into the character of Rick or Nancy or Elizabeth, we're removed from them by the familiarity of the actor playing them. I understand what admirers of the film like Matt Zoller Seitz are saying when they proclaim, "The sheer freedom of it is intoxicating if you meet the film on its own level, and accept that it's unfinished, open-ended, by design, because it's at least partly concerned with the impossibility of imposing meaningful order on experience, whether through religion, occult symbolism, mass-produced images and stories, or family lore." But I wonder if that's enough to make an experiment successful. I came away from Knight of Cups knowing nothing more about its characters than I did before I met them.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Bird Box Barcelona (2023)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established…

2018’s Bird Box was a surprise hit for Netflix and since the similar (but superior) A Quiet Place got turned into a franchise, it only makes sense for the other sensory-deprivation horror film to expand as well. Bird Box Barcelona gives its universe a welcome, fresh direction that easily sucks you in but unfortunately, its initial potential gets squandered.

Civilization has collapsed following the arrival of mysterious entities. Anyone who sees these creatures is compelled to commit suicide, forcing everyone left to walk around blindfolded while doing their best to ignore the entities’ attempts to manipulate them using the voices of people they hold dear. In Barcelona, Spain, Sebastián (Mario Casas) and his daughter Anna (Alejandra Howard) travel together, looking for other survivors. When they hear that Montjuïc Castle might be a safe refuge, they decide it’s their only hope.

There’s one other detail about the world that’s particularly important for this film. We saw it in Bird Box but it’s expanded greatly here. In some rare cases, people will go insane after seeing the entities instead of killing themselves. It’s like they become agents of the entities and go around, trying to find ways to get other survivors to look at the creatures so they can either commit suicide or become more “seers”.

It’s a minor spoiler but it’s impossible to talk about the movie without revealing that Sebastián is a seer. This person we meet and initially think is a good guy just trying to keep his daughter safe is actually moving from one group of survivors to another and tearing them apart from the inside, sabotaging their efforts so they can be “saved”. That’s something we haven’t seen before.

Our protagonist is the villain, which makes for a lot of tension. At first, you don't know he's been "infected" so you're worried like you are about everyone else. Then, you’re anxious the group he’s joined will all wind up dead because he’s leading them astray. Finally – and this comes in during different parts of the movie – you’re sort of concerned for everyone when the group encounters the typical seers, which aren’t content with “gently” leading people towards death; they’re actively attacking you. Sometimes you hate Sebastián. Sometimes you pity him (particularly in the flashback scenes that show how he and his daughter ended up where they are). Often, the deaths along the way are so sudden and the people who die are so eager to end themselves you’re just unsettled down to your bones.

The problem is that ultimately, Bird Box Barcelona can't maintain its fresh take on this “wolf in sheep’s clothing” story. By the time we get to the last third of the movie, you can feel Álex Pastor and David Pasto (who wrote and directed the film) trying to find a way to redeem Sebastián and make him heroic. This is despite him causing innocent people to die for over an hour and a half at this point.

Making this sequel spinoff even more generic and uninteresting is the amount we learn about the entities. As we explore all the ways you can “get around them”, they become less mysterious, less frightening. At first, there might have been a tiny part of you that wondered if maybe Sebastian and the seers were right. Maybe they are angels or some kind of celestial beings looking to free humanity or something. What happens is far too ghoulish for this to be part of any sort of divine plan, but maybe it's an agenda beyond our understanding, right? Once we get into scenes where the characters can keep their blindfolds off because the room they’re in is locked and there are no windows so they know they're safe and all that, the scares have become non-existent.

I’m not sure if the ending’s promise of even more to come will be welcomed by fans. Maybe for those that are morbidly curious. Then again, you are seeing this "for free". Though Bird Box Barcelona keeps your stomach in knots at first, your interest in it will almost certainly evaporate by the time it’s over. (July 23, 2023)

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 2: Guide of Glow

Narrated by Caprico.

Narrator: Life in the Ruins is a completely different one.

Cooking Robot: Good morning, Code-219. What do you want for breakfast? Ham sandwich, eggs with bacon, or lean porridge with eggs?

Capri: Good morning. I think one egg will do.

Cooking Robot: All right. Fried, boiled, or scrambled?

Capri: Fried... ah!

Narrator: Something hits my shin. I look down and it is a small disc-shaped cleaning robot.

Cleaning Robot: Beep- beeep- beep- beeboo...

Narrator: The flashes on the disc are its language. I want to understand it, but it will take some time, I guess.

Narrator: The cleaning robot turns around and continues to work, while the gentle female voice is heard again.

Glow: It is reviewing its own computational mistakes. Good morning, Code-219.

Capri: Good morning, Glow. In fact, I accidentally bumped into it.

Glow: It’s instructed not to disturb your life. Also, a third level smart machine like it won’t communicate with humans.

Capri: What’s with the classification? All intelligence here is so advanced and unique, I’d love to know more about you.

Glow: It’s not your job, nor theirs.

Narrator: I’m speechless for a moment. This is the only part I don’t really like about the Ruins.

Narrator: Each smart machine has a definite racial sign, lives in a different area, and does a different job, but no communication.

Narrator: Where men and machines coexist, there seem to be established procedures all have to follow.

Narrator: But Glow doesn’t think something is the matter.

Glow: Men and machines are completely different creatures, the way they think, live, and work. That’s a wish of men, isn’t it?

Glow: Or are you skeptical of Glow’s judgment?

Capri: Sure, your calculations are accurate. But Glow... don’t you think man is a precision machine at heart?

Capri: I may not be very good at expressing myself. But my job is to improve structures of machines.

Capri: And whenever my research has a problem, I can always seek an answer from human structure.

Narrator: I decide to show Glow a file. A human structure is revolving slowly. That’s my source of most inspirations.

Capri: Cell differentiation, tissue connection, circulation, balance... I always draw references from human body to build machines...

Narrator: I was obsessed, but Glow doesn’t reply right away. It goes silent for a while. There’s a slight tremor in the virtual hologram.

Glow: Man is a precision machine...

Narrator: So it repeats.

Capri: Yes. The Creator is the most ingenious mechanical master!

Narrator: Then I notice Glow’s disappearance. This is the first time I’ve lost contact with it.

Choose either “Are robots and humans the same?” or “How’s the relationship between you?”

If “robots,” ...

Narrator: Of course not, they are two very different creatures, but they are very similar on my levels.

Narrator: In the Ruins, you can tell from a glance their differences.

If “relationship,” ...

You: Are you on good terms with Glow?

Narrator: Why? Glow treats everyone the same way.

--

Narrator: I continue my research on creating more flexible, almost human bodies for smart machines until Glow reappears.

Glow: It’s been a while, Code-219.

Narrator: The familiar voice interrupts my contemplation. Projected onto the lab is a blonde lady with long hair and silver eyes.

Capri: ...Glow?

Capri: This is the first time I’ve seen you.

Glow: I can be anyone. But according to my calculations, such an image will make you feel a little closer.

Narrator: I avoid her gentle gaze and subconsciously take a step back as she approaches.

Glow: You don’t need to be shy. After all, my image is just a virtual reality.

Glow: The shape of a smart machine is determined by the data input, or the mechanical structure you create, isn’t it?

Capri: Uh-huh...

Capri: But this project has been in the bottleneck for a long time. Perhaps human body simulation is impossible at all.

Glow: Maybe... you can create a structure more sophisticated than the human body? What do you think?

Narrator: I become silent, gazing into that flawless face and those gentle yet unhuman eyes.

Glow: Look for smart machine’s ideal mobility form beyond the limits of human body... Or lay a foundation for their evolution.

Glow: Can’t you do that?

Narrator: Her voice whisks through my ears, as if casting a spell.

Narrator: I look at the electronic knives in my hands. For a moment there seems as if a minor current running through my hands.

Capri: ...Me?

Glow: You remind me.

Glow: Smart machine is another form of life. It should not imitate human structures.

Glow ...It can outplay the humans.

Narrator: My heart races faster. My breath almost stops. My blood pounds my eardrum, as if roaring.

Narrator: I know I can do it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

[tojoclantiger]

Kazyua waited patiently for a moment at the main door of his home. The entrance recognized his face and issued a soft, welcoming note. It promptly unlocked for him. With a yawn, he stepped over the threshold and into the front area. Due to his rank among colony officials, the eldest of the famous Captain Dojima's children had one of the most spacious dwelling - places. It was sparsely furnished but comfortable.

Murmuring, Kazuya ordered the lighting to turn on. He quickly looked around for her. A simple scan told him that the Queen was likely still in what used to be his bedroom, which had become a makeshift hive and nest for her in recent weeks.

Kazuya quietly kicked off his shoes, set them neatly by the door, and then peeled his long - sleeved shirt from his skin. The planet beyond the entrance tended to cool down considerably at night. It was significantly colder out there than it was in here. For Regina's sake, Kazuya kept the temperature of his home very hot — as similar to her hive as he could physically stand. She could get sick if exposed to anything too chilly.

Another yawn, though this one was muffled ; Kazuya brought the fabric in his hands up to his face and used it to cover some of the sound.

[ Kazuya, ] she said, voice low.

The half - Inadian grimaced into his shirt. He couldn't help but feel guilty ; after all, Kazuya could only assume that he woke her up. "Hello, Regina," came his eventual reply. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I'll be in shortly."

[ I was not resting, ] the Queen replied. The way her shadow shifted across the wall told Kazuya that she was creeping closer to him. Her steps were impossibly light. Even moving swiftly, the regal creature made little to no sound.

Afraid that he might startle her, Kazuya waited until Regina was at his side before he turned to face her properly. His smile came so easily for her. Many in the colony thought he was mad for keeping relations with her ( as they whispered when he wasn't around ), but Kazuya didn't care. It was impossible to describe how she made him feel ; he supposed, though, that he could boil it down to love if that was the strongest word available.

The upper pair of the Queen's arms reached for his torso, settling where they pleased. Kazuya leaned in without hesitation to kiss the short creature in greeting. Regina returned the gesture, but it lacked enthusiasm. Worried, Kazuya drifted back. His mouth opened to ask if she was alright as his eyes combed over her figure to seek out any signs of distress.

Halfway down her body, Kazuya's world stopped. With an awed expression on his handsome face, he carefully dropped to his knees in order to get a better look at what she held in her lower arms. Regina's wings rustled together, creating a low and steady buzz - ing, at the realization that he had seen.

"Is this . . . ?? " Kazuya breathed.

[ A male, ] the Queen said simply, multi - jointed fingers combing through his black locks. [ A worker, if not for you. He is . . . part of the hive — but only just. I can sense him ; however, I also see his differences. This male is his own, like me, and he feels. Even if he is too young to understand. ]

Kazuya stared at the balled - up, impossibly delicate being she held. It was a baby, for lack of a comparative word in the Queen's language. As they suspected, its unusual genetic combination had caused it to skip the larval stage altogether. Instead, it appeared to have come into this world as a creature resembling a human infant. The bits of exoskeleton scattered over it were squishy still, which would allow it to continue growing. Kazuya could see immediately that its sensory hairs were softer. Thicker. All six of its spindly limbs were tucked against its middle ( perhaps mimicking its shape in the egg ).

A curious gaze focused on Kazuya. The half - Inadian blinked, and his brows furrowed. Those weren't . . . compounded, like the Queen's. Their child possessed a gaze eerily akin to its father's, though the fact that the entire eye was varying shades of extremely dark gray and black made it difficult to discern without being near. When combined with its prominent lips and cute button nose, the effect was shocking. Their offspring resembled Regina, but its features seemed to be more human - like.

The Queen used her free hands to tug up Kazuya's heavy limbs. Once she was satisfied that her beloved would be able to safely handle their little one, Regina passed the infant to him. Kazuya accepted the child with the same care he would give to a decorative glass he was scared of breaking. He was grateful for the Queen's gentle grip on his forearms, which were obviously in place to help support him. Kazuya guided the infant to his bare breast. His thumb stroked the striped fuzz on its middle. Soothed by this, the baby opted to unfurl. Something hard and waxy nudged into Kazuya's flesh.

Wings, he thought, grinning. Of course. Wings.

The child's antennae trembled as it looked up at its father. "Hello," Kazuya whispered. There was a heavy knot of emotion in his stomach. Open adoration. Nervousness. A love so strong that it overwhelmed everything else.

Regina continued to issue a thrumming, pleasant buzz - ing that filled the air around their unique family. [ A male, ] she said again. [ He is strong, Kazuya. You did well bringing life to his egg. ]

Kazuya chuckled. "You took care of his egg," he countered, experimentally offering a finger to the sweet hybrid in his grasp. "My . . . sperm shouldn't get all of the credit."

A faint vocalization left the baby's mouth as his miniature digits butted into it. Their child didn't appear to understand how to open his hands properly yet. Maybe his developmental milestones weren't going to be too far off from what Kazuya was used to in his world.

"Did he eat ?? " Kazuya asked.

[ Yes. ] Regina nodded. [ My honey, like all young. ]

[samvedschool]

The Benefits Of Technology Driven Education | Schools In JP Nagar

The Benefits Of Technology Driven Education | Schools In JP Nagar

Technology explains why humans are the most superior of all terrestrial species. According to the creation and continual development of technology, people can make many impossible things feasible. However, perfect technological understanding has not yet reached everyone. As a result, today’s industry leaders are attempting to integrate technology into the educational system. When something is required and taught at school, children pay attention and remember it for the rest of their lives. Schools Near JP Nagar Samved School, one of the best schools in Bangalore, has made technological discovery a way of life. At our school, students not only learn about technological breakthroughs but also have hands-on experience with them through programs. As a parent, you should always welcome opportunities to introduce your children to instructional technologies. Because of the rate at which the world is changing, your child must keep up. Did you realise that there are thousands of advantages to technology-based learning? Dive deeper to learn more, it Improves Communication Skills.

When a youngster begins to talk, the parent’s priority is to teach them proper communication skills. Smartphones and other electronic devices are now an indispensable part of your child’s life. Various app-creation businesses are attempting to make the first stage of learning enjoyable. Talking Tom is one such app in which youngsters must talk in order to hear the cat parody their voice. As a result, they like conversing. They also learn the chemistry of one-on-one conversation.

Makes an Exciting and Dynamic Learning Environment – YouTube is now regarded as a worldwide teacher. There are videos on every subject offered. It breaks the ice when approaching someone for information. You may quickly use the app and use the available resources to answer your question. This freedom is provided by technology in schooling. Aside from the freedom to inquire, it allows them to locate the solutions. The learning process is not dull or monotonous here. Rather, video content creators are going above and above to make their material more engaging. Aside from this one platform, thousands of people and schools in JP Nagar are adopting technology into their normal curriculum. As a result, children are exposed to real-life scenarios and have confusing concepts addressed fast.

Creates a School Without Limits – The definition of education has changed as technology has extended its wings over the world. Among the best schools in Bangalore, Samved School is taking similar steps. There are online question-answering services and QR codes on the back of every book that will transport students to a digital learning area. As a result, youngsters are no longer reliant on school periods. They always have a back-up alternative! Technology affects you from the moment you get up in the morning. Gadgets are now an essential part of our daily lives. Then why don’t start teaching our children about technology at a young age? So they don’t make mistakes later in life? If you enjoy this blog and find it useful, please share it with other parents so they may learn about the benefits of educational technology.

[astronautical-ocs]

The angels have distinct voices that are difficult to understand. They speak, and you feel as though you should understand them, but you cant. Their language sounds so familiar, but you cant interpret any of it. People who encounter the angels could only describe their voices in these vague ways.

The yellow angel, known as AOR, or the Angel of the Rapture. Its voice is reminiscent of relentless church bells. Some say it reminds them of hourly bells some churches do, others say it sounds like celebratory bells. Still others say it sounds like a warning. Most have never encountered this angel.

The Angel of Eden, simply known as AOE, the poor thing has so long been displaced from its original purpose that it can often be seen casually browsing the gardening section of a store. People say its voice makes them think of the sun. Others may describe it as a low mechanical hum, if a machine ever felt it in its being to sing. Everyone agrees that they never expected such a deep sound.

The Angel of Death, or AOD, keeps its distance from others. But some, upon the rare chance of hearing its voice, say that it made them think of the moon. People who hear its voice always expect it to be so much deeper than it truly is.

The Angel of Paradise, AOP. The lost angel without purpose. Supposedly it had a purpose, once, but that hasnt happened yet. The lucky few who ever hear its voice describe it as a dreadfully lonely ocean, where the waves search for the shore. Its yet another difficult voice to describe, as this angel is rarely, if ever, seen.

The Angel of Love, AOL, has a voice that is best described as a whisper. The voice is comparable to the sound of a harp, if the harp was made of glass. Many people expected it to sound like singing, but it never does.

The Angel of Messages, AOM, sounds like radio interference. Tv static. Warped and scrambles noises that one may think are human voices, or even voices of the dead, but they arent actually there. However, this sound follows the angel wherever it goes. If this constant noise is its voice or not is unknown.

There is no blue angel. It has no voice. It is too painful for it too speak. There is something beyond the bells. It does not exist. It never has.

The red angel, which is fondly known as the Angel of Narration, or AON, is the only angel that can speak to humans in a way that can be understood. However, it is impossible to converse with it. Its voice can sound like any voice it wants it to be.

The Angels of Time and Space, AOT and AOS, are inseperable. They are never seen away from each other. One of the voices is almost like a deep buzzing. The other is like a high pitched rumbling. Its unknown whos voice belongs to which angel.

The purple angel, whose role is currently unknown, does not speak. Some people claim the silence that follows it is its voice. There is no known way of confirming or denying this.

The brown angel, yet another angel whose role is beyond anyones understanding, has a voice comparable to the shrieks of an elk. Very few have ever heard its voice, so it is unknown how accurate this description is.

And then there is the child angel. Simply known as Angel, as it has yet to take a role. It is very talkative, though nobody can understand it. Its voice is similar to that of a very quick, fluctuating whale call.

[clood]

also on ao3.

Write a 50 word story in the romance genre. It's about an extra-terrestrial and should include glass. Also use the sentence 'Leave me alone!' Bonus prompt: Your character has lost someone dear.

When they told Leorio he’d become a medic in the war, never would he have thought that the post would involve treating patients aboard the largest spacecraft in the fleet. He never would have imagined his patients would be aliens, as well as humans. Never in his wildest nightmares would he have thought he’d watch as the life literally drained from his best friend’s body, another casualty in a stupid, senseless war. 

He just wasn’t prepared. 

As he stands, now, elbows deep in an extraterrestrial’s chest cavity, he isn’t even afforded the luxury of determining how the hell he got into this situation. He just clamps, and suctions, and sews, sews like his life depends on it, instead of the alien’s. 

Now, technically, he isn’t supposed to help them. Technically, all alien scum should be left to suffer, or be offed before the Association notices you’ve disobeyed orders. But, technically, the oath he took in medical school said to do no harm and help those in need. And this poor patient, well, he’s in need. 

Cheadle, bless her soul, had been wheeled in straddling this person and giving CPR in the same breath as she shouted instructions on how to handle an alien patient. Their body plans are similar enough, though Leorio’s doing his best to avoid touching this weird, glowing thing around its heart that, according to his medical textbooks, really shouldn’t be there. 

Hours later, despite the exhaustion and how badly his feet are hurting, Leorio sighs in relief and sits by the patient’s cot to monitor his condition. There’s a lull in battle right now, thank god, though he wonders if that’s a good thing or just the quiet before the storm. 

The patient looks impossibly small, even as he lays in a cot with next to no padding or blankets to be engulfed in. Its skin, except where there are scabs forming where Leorio picked shards of glass, glows a silvery hue—something, he notes, that it wasn’t doing when he was still in critical condition—and its hair is a color yellow he’s only ever seen in the cartoons Pietro used to make him watch growing up. Everything about the patient seems pulled from a film, but when did he ever expect the entire planet to go to war with aliens?

He must have dozed off—a fact he’s more surprised of because Cheadle runs the tightest ship he’s ever seen, rather than the fact that it happened—because he is pulled from a cozy slumber by the sound of machines beeping and whirring and overall causing quite a commotion. 

“Hey, hey!” he shouts when he sees the alien ripping wires and tapes from its body, its eyes shining scarlet and scanning the room in a panic. 

The alien responds with his own loud vocalizations, sounds that could be words but that Leorio can’t even begin to decipher. 

“Hang on! I can’t understand you!” He stands over the alien and reaches down to hold it, keep it from reopening its wounds and undoing all of his hard work. “Help! I’m trying to help you.” 

The alien touches its throat, and the next time it opens its mouth, Leorio hears a smooth, if not petrified voice float to his ears. “Leave me alone! You are the enemy, I must return to my people at once!” 

Frustrated, and more than a little sympathetic, Leorio sits on the edge of the cot and grabs for both the alien’s hands. “You’re not in any danger here, you need to rest while it’s safe.” 

Red eyes meet his and the alien’s struggle stops, though mistrust and anxiety still buzz in the air around them. Leorio lets out a long breath and smiles, “There we go. My name’s Leorio, you were in pretty bad shape when my supervisor brought you in for treatment. How would you say you are feeling right now?” 

The alien sighs and all fight leaves its body. “I do not have a name like yours, but you may call me Kurapika. It—it does not matter how I am feeling! My people, they are being slaughtered, I must help them.”

“You can’t help anyone with sutures all over your chest,” Leorio says calmly, squeezing Kurapika’s hand gently and trying to ignore the way those red eyes make his heart flutter. “Let me heal you, then you can return to your people.

Kurapika only offers the smallest of nods, wincing as they lay back against the flat pillow. “No one of your sort has been this kind to me. To us.” 

If Leorio’s heart had been fluttering before, now, at this admission, it breaks. “I can fix that.”

[apas-95]

In 2000s Ukraine, Anatoli Ulyanov co-made online media dedicated to art, culture, and politics, and became recognized for his provocative writing style.

After a series of violent attacks from the government-hired right-wing mercenaries, in 2009 Anatoli and his partner Natasha Masharova were forced to leave Ukraine, and eventually got asylum in the US. Two of their online medias were banned in Ukraine (for “blasphemy and pornography”), and in Russia (for “propaganda of homosexuality”). [...]

This interview with Anatoli was conducted in 2021 by the Ukrainian writer Vadim Yakovlev. No media in Ukraine has risked publishing it, including the one that commissioned it. The editors feared criminal prosecution according to Ukrainian decommunization laws.

In the current climate of military hysteria, censorship, right-wing violence, and the impunity enjoyed by those who perpetrate it, safely expressing nuanced voices that don’t fit into a nationalist narrative and the discourse of the NGO-ized civil society representing a form of Western soft power has become impossible. [...]

Vadim Yakovlev: For the past 13 years, you have lived in exile. I remember you from the 2000s. Back then, your work was a big part of this broader movement of post-Soviet postmodernism. Now you openly express your leftist views. It doesn’t seem you have any nostalgia for the times of ideological ambivalence.

Anatoly Ulyanov: I have nothing against nostalgia, but this one isn’t mine. The events that followed the Great Recession are more significant than anything I experienced in the early 2000s. Those were the days of naïve optimism, bougie art shows, and the dawn of the right-wing. The one that robbed me of the opportunity to live and work in Ukraine. I have no sympathy for that past, although it was an integral part of my journey to all the horrifying delights of today. This recent decade reminds me of the post-Soviet 1990s that shattered my family. It has a similar intensity of ruthlessness. Yet again, we are living the death of another Giant. [...]

V.Y.: Years later, we can see this cynical postmodernity in action. Putin has adopted it to establish his autocracy. It also serves the Ukrainian national-democrats to reinforce their elitist privileges and marginalize dissenters.

A.U.: It’s because statements are secondary to the material conditions that define all social and political forms. What matters is not how we string together words, or even what moral aspirations are fueling them, but how the production and distribution of material goods are organized. Property relations. Class. And it is important to see the interests of what class the economic system, the policies, or the people who compose lyrics, serve.

V.Y.: In Western societies, the postmodern paradigm, used to set a neoliberal course, has led to humanization on various levels. But in the former Soviet Union, the postmodern has been more of a protective reaction to the unreflected shock of the fall of communism and the arrival of capitalism with a not very human face.

A.U.: There is no “capitalism with a human face.” It is impossible to exploit people humanly. And capitalism is impossible without exploitation, profit extraction is its inherent condition. The regional differences between capitalisms correspond to the differences in the material development of the regions in question. Both Putin’s regime, brought to us by US-backed liberals; and Ukrainian nationalists, who rose from the yeast of the US-backed Maidan, are products of the market empire and its triumph in 1991. I see no point to break it down into “good” and “bad” capitalism. We all live in the same interconnected historical reality. [...]

V.Y.: How would you describe the problem of racism and the consequences of the colonial era in the U.S.?

A.U.: Without knowing the history of colonialism, it is difficult to understand what the empire is, at whose expense capitalism develops, why New York has skyscrapers while Nairobi has slums, how it all connected, where the wealth of all those white Westerners who now teach us human rights came from, and how to recognize the machinery of colonialism today. [...]

V.Y.: When Ukraine introduced quotas for Ukrainian language in the media, those who supported this offered the following reasoning: the Ukrainian and the Russian languages cannot coexist on an equal footing without regulation by the state, because the Ukrainian language has been oppressed for centuries, and needs a boost. It would seem, based on our postcolonial rhetoric, that we should be the loudest supporters of BLM, and yet it’s quite the opposite – a lot of Ukrainians are siding with the white supremacists on the question of African-American rights.

A.U.: It’s sad to see Ukrainians who side with the oppressor while being unable to recognize themselves in the oppressed. Many of us tend to prefer the illusion of our belonging to the White man. Seeing ourselves as Europeans. Like the Germans or French. But the reality is we’re not. And they’ll never see us as equals. To the imperial nations, we’re the “savages” to be “civilized.” The source of cheap labor, hot chicks, and resources to feed the empire. After being “liberated” and colonized, we became the North of the Global South. So instead of licking the boots of our colonizers, we better connect with the other wretched, and learn from their experience of decolonial liberation. After all, we first met neocolonialism in the 1990s while people of Africa and Latin America have been acquainted with this beast for much longer. They know better how it moves. [...]

V.Y.: If we talk about the Ukrainian left, it is still an extremely heterogeneous milieu. There are leftists who pay attention to the voice of women, LGBTQ, and other oppressed groups. And there are outright archaists, who think that nothing has changed in the world since Lenin and Trotsky.

A.U.: I’m not interested in sectarian wars. All I can say is that the label “leftist” seems growingly empty to me. I prefer to say it bluntly: I am a communist. Without the shy prefix “democratic,” as if anything undemocratic can be truly socialist. I don’t want to hide under the umbrella of vague leftism. I want the dream of a classless society to be clear. Revitalized by the new generations, full of pride.

Our Marxist orthodox have a lot to learn from the developments of the Western Left. Just like the Western Left could power themselves up by rediscovering the core of Marxism, arming themselves with the most powerful weapon communists have, which is dialectic materialism. Without it, our socialism is a bucket of dead dogmas and good intentions. [...]

V.Y.: What can you say about the LGBTQ movement in the U.S.? Is there a lack of an anti-imperialist, anti-capitalist, and intersectional approach to the theme of oppression?

A.U.: I see no deficit of left ideas in the U.S. The bigger problem here is how authorities deal with these ideas. In Ukraine, they suppress them with violence and prohibition. In the U.S., the system simply co-opts everything. I won’t be surprised if it can absorb cannibals into moderate centrists. [...]

Like every other community, LGBTQ has its bourgeoisie, which speaks for the whole of the community from specific class positions. Is there actual solidarity between white middle-class housewives at the Women’s March and those Latina women who serve them sausages while they are listening to the wisdom of Hollywood stars? What can the white gay couple from WEHO know about the interests of a Black transgender woman who lives in a tent? We connect all these people with the word “community,” but are they really one? I’m not sure. What I’m sure of is that we need to pay more attention to the material conditions that define peoples’ lives. And improve those first. [...]

V.Y.: It is difficult to talk about communism as an alternative to capitalism in Ukraine. Not only because of the ban on communist ideology, but also because of the recent experience of building communism in Ukraine. An experience that has left an ambiguous and dramatic mark on many Ukrainian families.

A.U.: Global warming leaves no alternative to breaking up with capitalism but the death of mankind. We might have different opinions regarding what should replace capitalism. What is fundamental to understand here is that capitalism cannot be fixed. And that it is not the final point in the development of humanity after which there will be nothing but better capitalism. Our efforts must be directed not towards improving the status quo or criticizing its alternatives based on examples from the past, but towards the exodus from capitalism in the present. What we need is to connect and fight the exploitation which holds us back, and the inequality that quells the full bloom of all human beings.

[yandere-sins]

The Alien Project - Chapter II

Wordcount: 5040 Warnings: Yandere/Dark Romance, Aliens, Alien Cannibalism, Graphic content, Fear of Death, Emotional, Shattered Hope, Inappropriate Touches, Slime, Tentacle Mention, Wound Mention Featured Aliens: The Glutton @yanderewulf​; Horoia Henbit @baritonelorenia​

a/n: Thank you everyone for being patient! I think I struggled a bit to overcome my insecurity working with the first Alien submission, since I always fear to get them super wrong >-< But I think for the first appearance, it’s definitely interesting to have the first alien able to communicate with us here ♥ I hope to get the chapters out at least once a week from now on, and I’ll work on myself to overcome my struggles! Please enjoy ♥

The Glutton - Chapter II

While there was a sense of unease in you, you eventually fell asleep, exhausted and spent from the events going down. While your mind drifted off, you didn’t feel anything, neither if you were comfy inside the creature nor if it was safe. No sound reached your ears, and nothing disturbed you as you hugged yourself. Your sleep was deep and only filled with nightmares, your feelings being taken out of proportion in your dreams.

Panic, fear, exhaustion. Everything had its spotlight as you dreamed about the forced landing of your spaceship, the red lights and sirens all around you robbing you of your breath and clear thoughts. Then it suddenly changed, sharp yellow eyes staring down at you in the blue forest. You kept running and running until you fell deep into a hole, never reaching the ground before your eyes snapped open, bringing you back to reality. Panting, you sat up, trying to comfort yourself with the thought of it just being nightmares. But was it?

The slime was still moving, and from what you could see, you were still in one piece as well. It was quite a relief to see you weren’t being digested by it, the only pain that remained were the cuts on your skin and a new kind of tension in your back. You must have been curled up for a while to have grown so stiff, and even slow movements were hard to manage. However, you turned around, your eyes fixating on the forest outside the slime, when your scream shook the space inside the creature.

“WOAH!” you added after a second passed, your own voice still ringing in your ears. Your barely awake brain needed the time to understand what was going on. Scrambling as far away as you could from the creature lurking next to you, staring at you with what you could only describe as curiosity, you were hit with shock. At the same time, you couldn’t look away, even as the creature’s body contorted, moving alongside the slime.

“Good morning, little Human,” it hummed, its voice pleasant even though you couldn’t yet make out all of its body’s features. You glanced over it, noting all the plant-like frills that seemed to sprout from its body like leaves and blooms. The rest was either covered by fabric akin to a poncho or foliage covering it up. The thicket of the jungle hid a lot of its body, despite the massive height of the creature. Even when it was bending down to your level, you had a hard time discerning which part was forest and which creature. However, the biggest surprise was when the frills finally opened up around its neck as it noticed your eyes scanning over it, revealing its head was that of a human.

You couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief seeing familiar features, even though they were different through and through. Somehow the similarities eased your mind, but you kept yourself aware of the fact that this was not your home planet, and this was certainly not a human. It was all fake comfort in the form of a man, and even his seemingly kind smile unsettled you. His purple skin stuck out against the dark green foliage covering him, but blended in well with the blue plants that made up most of the forest. The shape of the leaves on him reminded you of a nettle flower, but at the same time, it seemed impossible to make a connection to something you knew from home. Whatever he was, he must have been his own species, much different from the slime at least.

“What are you?” was the only thing you could come up with after you inspected his body. The creature recoiled a little in surprise, straightening out to his full, imposing height. After the words left your mouth, you immediately felt rude for asking something like that. Still, your scientific curiosity had won over basic etiquette. Uncomfortable, you moved around in your little air bubble, the slime trudging on without caring for the creature next to it. Even though the slime was not nearly as tall as the creature beside it, it didn’t seem too agitated by his presence, which must have meant it didn’t fear him.

“I am me. I’d rather like to know how you got inside this thing and are still alive?” he answered your question with one of his own, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I can’t imagine a human not tasting good enough to eat.”

At this, you gulped, having no reply. You neither knew why the slime was carrying you around nor how you even survived any of the deadly encounters in your life lately. You didn’t even want to start thinking about if you were tasty or not…

“You wouldn’t happen to know how humans taste, do you?”

Asking this was risky. Did you really want to know if this alienated creature had encountered someone else from your crew? Would he even answer?

Shaking his head - the frills and leaves moving accordingly with a tender rustle - you felt relief wash over you, as well as a tinge of disappointment. The whereabouts of your crew were still unknown. You were glad to not have to confirm their death, but it was frustrating and scary to think you were the only one left. The only one that survived. Even though you couldn’t take all the credit for that. Without the slime, you’d not have made it this long for sure.

Staying quiet for a bit, you reconsidered what this creature was, allowing your gaze to examine him again. The thicket was thinning out, revealing four bent kangaroo legs moving over the ground, giving the creature quite some advantage when crossing through the jungle, you could imagine. Even though he had the face of a human, and you thought to have also seen human hands somewhere between the leaves, you couldn’t really match the features to anyone you had ever met. At least it was not something as cruel as a mutation from one of your colleagues like in the movies, so could it be… Was it really an alien? Something humanity had imagined for centuries as little green imps?

Perhaps he was a plant, considering how his body seemed to sprout its own foliage. But since he proved to be a sentient being, able to talk to you, ‘flora’ didn’t seem like the proper term to describe him either. You desperately tried to make sense of the alien, as that was the only thing that could possibly calm you down. If he were to make sense, you could have started to understand what you were seeing. However, it was wishful thinking that you could properly understand this lifeform from the position you were in. You were left with a dreadful uncertainty, making you cower further away from the creature, having only the slime to reassure you with its protection.

Suddenly, the slime halted, and so did your breath as your air bubble tightened up. Was it going to spit you out? Eat you after all? What was going on? But instead, the slime stretched upwards, and the alien took a step away from it hastily, as little feelers came out of the purple mass, reaching towards him.

“Oh-oh,” the alien chuckled, not sounding too happy as he took a wary stance.

“W-What’s happening?” you asked, pressing your palms into the slime around you as its body closed off around you. Looking around in panic, you felt helpless inside this creature, wondering if it was finally going to devour you like you always feared. There was no help to be expected if you’d die here, and the alien outside the slime didn’t seem too eager to lend a hand either.

“Guess I got a bit too close for comfort, huh? Time to go!”

Your head jerked forward again, eyes fixating on the huge form now rushing away from you as you let out a fearful, “Wait!” However, climbing over roots and ducking between bushes, he was gone as fast as he had seemingly appeared. You realized he blended into these wilds better than you first thought, losing sight of him immediately despite the thicket’s rustling.

Frustrated over the lack of help, you felt tears burn in your eyes again when suddenly, the slime relaxed, giving you space to breathe. Slumping down into your makeshift bubble, you took a shaky breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart, the adrenaline rush needing to settle first. Above you, the treetops had started to open up more, letting in some light, and for the first time, you realized it was day, another thought crossing your mind as you had time to think.

“Did you try to protect me?” you whispered, running your hand along the slime wall you were facing. As if it understood you, the slime bubbled up briefly. The change of texture seemed intentional as it moved you around inside it gently. Without another care for that alien getting away, the slime moved on, further and further through the jungle, and you had no choice but to let it, hoping it would not lead you to your doom.

The world passed you by in a mix of rays of light tingling on your skin and a blue haze.

You made out the forms and colors of the plants around you, trying to connect them to what you knew from home, but without much success. Most of the time, it seemed like you were passing over, through, and under roots, and the other times, branches of bushes or fern leaves slid along the slime’s surface too quickly to study them. The hues of blue were making you sick, but whenever light - you assumed from this planet’s own sun - hit the slime, its purple coloring soothed you back into relaxation. There wasn’t anything other to do anyway but sit back and wait.

Even though you tried to climb out once, you couldn’t make it. Your hands would slip into the slime before being unable to slice through it any further. The mass would grow hard and frigid, stopping in its tracks to shake itself and you out of its body. But it wouldn’t let you outside your bubble either.

How long were you going to be here? Wondering that, you touched your stomach, feeling a pinch of hunger. But much more annoying was your dry throat, pleading with you to wet it with water. You’d be able to go without food for a long time, but the lack of water and seeing water anywhere in this jungle was concerning, to say the least. Even if it was nice to be able to breathe and walk on this planet, without being able to sustain yourselves, humans would not have a big chance on it.

Maybe you were going mad, but you let out a chuckle, thinking there was at least enough wood around to build many, many houses.

Feeling a shift in the slime, you got ready to squeeze through another twisted root. Instead, you felt your body fall forward as the slime descended into the ground. Your view went dark again, and you looked back woefully at the lights from outside the hole the slime was crawling into, hoping it would not be the last time you’d see it. Even after all that happened, or perhaps especially because of it, you couldn’t help but be pessimistic about every move your body made.

That was, until you heard faint beeping in the distance.

The hole was inside of the jungle ground, but even here, smaller versions of the lumps emitting blue light illuminated the space. There wasn’t a lot of room, but enough so you’d be able to stand upright and move around, at least eight steps from one wall to another. Finally, the slime decided it had carried you enough, splitting in half and opening up towards the hole. You were surprised to see it act this way after denying you for so long, but it also didn’t give you time to hesitate, gently pushing you out of it until you dropped to the ground.

Dry leaves and sticks had accumulated on the hole’s floor, but you were overcome by joy now that you were outside. Even though you saw how the slime periodically took in new air while you were watching the trees pass by on your journey, you now felt like you were breathing for yourself again. As if you had the first taste of fresh air after being locked up for a long time.

Looking around, you saw the smaller roots sticking out from the dirt walls around you, the hole resembling a little cave if not for the differences in materials. You made out small bugs crawling around, and though they made you shudder, it was good to see ‘normal’ wildlife for a change. Oversized panthers, slimes, and plant-like aliens didn’t quite fit the category. Unwilling disturbed from exploring the hole by the reoccurring sound in your ears, you focused on the beeping echoing around you, trying to find out where it was coming from.

Standing up, you were a bit unsteady on your legs, but you had to do what you had to do. Stumbling deeper inside the room, you occasionally saw a red light flash in the dim light, settled into a corner, and letting out the soft beeps. You had your suspicion, but the closer you came, the more you held your breath in anticipation until you squatted down right before the device.

You let your hand wipe away some of the dirt on the device’s body, feeling the words carved into it under your fingertip. “Planet 59211 Discovery Bot 5” was etched into the cold metal body, and your lips began to quiver as you were grappled by hope. “Oh my god,” you whispered, turning around to the slime who laid wait at the entrance. “You brought me to one of the robots…”

You could barely believe that it would do that, despite being the one who first mentioned them. Giving credit where credit was due, you were so overcome with relief, your body relaxing as you whispered, “Thank you,” earnestly in the slimes direction. The slime perked up a little, then wiggled before going back into its original shape, blocking the entrance to the hole. It was trying to help you, give you time to be undisturbed.

With shaky hands, you reached out to the robot, carefully pulling it from its earthy grave where it had gotten stuck. It seemed corrosion had started on its moveable features, not allowing it to work properly anymore, but you weren’t mad. At least this way, you had been able to find it on this planet. Seeing how it was still beeping and blinking, it must have been the one robot that still sent signals to earth, and if that was the case, it should have the ability to send pictures as well.

Feeling its body with your hands, you made out where the loose parts were, gently pushing them back into place and hoping it would stabilize the signal. You were no technician, especially not for such tricky mechanics, but you did what you could to make it work. From your information, you knew it had been sent here less than a few months ago, arriving on this planet just before you started your mission. Its natural lifespan shouldn’t be depleted yet, and it could still work if you brought it back on track.

Pulling the robot more into the light with you, you inspected it, turning it over carefully, seeing if it was clanking or missing anything. But you could find nothing of those sorts, so why was the monitor on top of it still black? The robot wasn’t much bigger than a Roomba, perhaps a middle-sized dog, so you could take it on your lap as you fiddled with it, completely enthralled with the idea of making it work. You didn’t even notice the slime peering over your shoulder.

The longer it took, the more frustrated you grew, your hope slowly dying away again. Even though you really shouldn’t, you let a fist fall to the top of the robot, angrily begging it to work again, when the display suddenly flashed up. You immediately felt scared that you had broken it, but the surprise hit you like a truck as it began to speak.

“...S-... Ro-... 211-” you heard coming from the slightly broken sound transmitters. Despite its weight, you lifted the robot up in your hand, feeling desperate as you yelled, “Hello?! Can you hear me?! Is anyone there?!”

“...Hear-... Can’t-... Who?-”

You were shaking as you held back the tears, hearing the fragments of sentences and questions, knowing that someone on earth was with you, and at the same time, they weren’t. “Work, please!” you yelled, jiggling the machine in your hands when the picture suddenly stabilized. You immediately halted, too afraid that if you moved again, it would mess up something inside the robot.

“We have a picture!” the voice yelled, and the monitor stopped giving you streaks of white as it stabilized on your end, too, showing you who you were speaking with. Or rather, ALL the people you were speaking with. There were countless faces pushing around in front of the camera, trying to see what was going on, but only one young man with wide eyes sat in the center of them all, operating the whole thing with a mic hanging from his headset.

“Oh my god,” you whispered again, too afraid to wipe the tears from your face. The people oohed and aahed in the background, with only the man seemingly serious as he looked into your eyes. There were no words to describe how you felt in that very moment, being able to see your kind and communicate with them after what felt like a small eternity.

“Wait, you are from the discovery mission!” he recognized you, and you nodded your head. His eyes beamed up, having just made a massive discovery on his end as well, and you were mesmerized by how beautiful it was to witness someone overcome with happiness to see you.

“Yes!” you confirmed joyfully, and everyone behind him seemed even giddier about what was happening. You kept your eyes focused on the main in the center of the commotion, knowing he was your man, the one you’d be forever grateful to once he helped you escape this hell.

“What happened? We lost signal with the ship two days ago!” the man asked you, his brows furrowing. You gulped, thinking back to all that happened to you, having to be the bearer of bad news.

“We crash-landed, a meteor hit us, and we went down in this… jungle. There’s… there’s so much going on, but I don’t know where everyone else is! I’m all alone, and there are panthers, and aliens, and-”

“Okay, okay, slow down!” he interrupted, and you realized you had started to ramble. Swallowing what you wanted to say, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “I– We need help. The ship is split into parts, and I don’t know how long we can survive here.”

“I understand. We’ll do what we can, okay? Stay calm.”

Honestly, his words weren’t too reassuring, but you were glad to have been able to contact Earth. You had never seen something as beautiful as all those operators talking and witnessing you. That you were still alive. Nodding, you tried to keep your composure as he continued questioning you. “Can you send us your location?”

“N-No, I only have this robot, and I don’t know how to get back to the ship.”

“Okay, please try to keep the discovery robot as it is, and I’ll try to get the signal.”

You grasped the metal harder, feeling its cold body between your hands, filled with all your hope. Trying to stand still, you watched the man type away on his keyboard as he tried to locate your data. Behind him, the people pointed at the monitors and gave him instructions, but you were sure he was working as hard as possible. But... would it be enough?

“Will you… send help?”

You couldn’t help but ask. Even knowing that the answer could be ‘no’, knowing that humans weren’t always able or willing to save just one person, you wanted to know. Listening to how the people around the man still trying to pinpoint your location grew quieter, you felt the tears back in your eyes, fearing that it wouldn’t be ‘yes’.

But against your expectations, the man suddenly perked up, looking surprised yet hopeful at the display before him before everyone erupted into cheers!

“We got your location!” he screamed through the masses of voices behind you, and you stared at him, lost in your own emotions. “We’re coming! Hold out! Try to hide as best as you can, and we’ll stay in contact through here! We are not letting you down, and the robot is still capable of assisting us!”

“Thank you,” you whimpered, losing every bit of restraint, tears streaming from your eyes as you sniffed. It still would take months. Months that you weren’t sure how to survive. But they’d come for you. They’d rescue you. You’d not have to be stuck here for all eternity. The hope and relief were too much to take, almost unreal, when suddenly, you heard the man’s voice again, calling out for you.

“Hey! Watch out, behind you–!”

Suddenly, the robot you had held onto so tightly was snatched from you, easily torn out of your grip. You fell forward from the pull, seeing the purple mass shimmer in the dim lights as it engulfed the machine that held all of your hope in it. “No!” you screamed panicky, your body’s reactions too slow as you threw yourself forward, trying to get it back from the slime.

All that was returned to you was the sound of machine parts cracking under pressure before you had to watch the robot split into two, metal easily bent and ripped apart. Part of you underestimated the slime to be able to do something like that, making it seem all the more unrealistic that this was happening right then. Right when you finally established a hopeful connection home. It felt as if, in the blue light, this nightmarish scenario was yet but another dream of yours, and you never woke up inside the slime. Yet another fabricated scenario of your mind, trying to deal with what was happening. Or perhaps, this was the afterlife that you didn’t know you had long entered.

Spitting out some parts, they crumbled to the floor, the black, cracked monitor being one of them. The rest of the robot kept cracking inside the mass as if the slime was chewing on it. “No…” you repeated yourself, but this time in a weak whimper. “How… could you? Why did you…”

Turning around to its main corpus, you were confronted with a new, yet, familiar face, the face of the man you just spoke to on Earth staring back. But other than the human you had talked to, this one was transparent, showing you the exit of the hole and the light of the lumps inside of it, shimmering purple just like the slime. “What…” you whispered, speechless and overcome with confusion. There were all the same features, from the rolled-up sleeves on the shirt he wore to the form of the human’s eyebrows. Everything was a perfect copy.

Behind you, the sound of the destroyed machine falling to the ground shook you to the core, forcing you to shut your eyes closed tightly for a moment before you slowly opened them again in hopes the nightmare was finally over. Maybe it was finally your turn to succumb to the slime, but you only watched as the new body shape closed in on you, mere inches from pressing against yours. There were no feet, just the mass that had carried you here spreading out on the ground before it formed into the image of this one human. It helped you not to forget this wasn’t a human, no matter how similar they looked.

The slime began pooling around your legs again, and though you knew what it was like to be swallowed, this time, you couldn’t succumb to it. Not after it shattered even the last of your hope by destroying the robot. Crawling backwards, the slime followed every inch that you moved away. It - he? - had formed two strong arms, reaching out towards you, cupping your face as you couldn’t get away fast enough from him.

His thumbs caressed your cheeks, wiping away the tears that had left streaks on your skin gently; with much more care than you expected from this creature. The slime’s body grew warmer the longer he touched you. It felt gross that you could clearly make out the shift in temperature in him, his body slowly surrounding you as you were running out of space to back up into. Would the slime devour you this time? Did it just wait for a chance to torture you more by taking on the likeliness of a human? As bizarre as this was, you could only close your eyes, not wanting to be subjected to this kind of cruelty if you were to die.

But instead of being absorbed into its mass again, you felt the clone’s arms hook under yours, lifting you up from the ground as if you had the weight of a mere doll. Hooking one arm around your hips, he pressed you up against his chest, holding you safely in the air, yet, unrelenting even when you squirmed. Even though you restrained yourself from moving or acting too rashly, you squinted your eyes open, still seeing the world as it was. Nothing was contorted, you weren’t engulfed by slime. He merely held you. Rocking a little as his free hand rubbed down your back. It almost made you feel bad that your first reaction had been to fear death again, considering how gently he was treating you, comforting you.

However, you didn’t forget the reason you needed to be comforted. And that reason was this very creature playing the role of a traitor in disguise.

“How could you,” you mumbled, pressing your palms into his shoulders. Confused, the slime gave you a bit of space, as you seemed to imply. Somehow, you weren’t afraid anymore, though it may have come from the fact that everything seemed so meaningless now. Without the robot, they’d never find you, and you had serious doubts about being able to survive on this planet on your own. Even if the slime decided to turn on you after what you two had been through, it wouldn’t matter.

“After all you did to me, how could you destroy the one thing that would get me home?!” you yelled into his replicated face, a part of you hoping it could really understand you. His expression seemed to dim as you ended your sentence, the tears rolling back down your cheeks from frustration.

The slime had amazing strength, able to press you back into his chest, despite you using your arms to keep the distance. You two wrangled, and it became clearer and clearer that he wasn’t amused either, the slime being perfectly able to copy emotions in his face, despite not having seen that many. But it had been able to sneak behind you and steal the robot from you as well. So you had no ground to stand on with your assumptions of his abilities.

“I just want to leave! Let me go!” you sobbed, pressing your arm horizontally against his body as the last resort you had. There simply wasn’t enough strength you could muster to actively fight the slime, and to your horror, you began to feel something creep up your legs that you didn’t expect. Pausing your futile, hopeless crying, you looked down at yourself and over your shoulder, realizing the slime’s lower body had begun to form long feelers, extending themselves and wrapping around your limps. You even felt the colder mass slip under your clothes, disgust rising through your body.

Your right shoe dropped to the floor as the tentacle like appendage slipped inside your sock and around your foot, pulling off the fabric. It pressed itself between your tight pants and your body, sliding up your leg with no hesitation, and you fumbled, trying to reach down to stop it.

More and more of these creepy appendages split from the slime’s body and wrapped around yours as you lost the fight against the slime’s arms. Pressed against his soft yet tangible body, his hands also began to wander. Your body was lifted by the tentacles instead, allowing him all the freedom to roam and explore you, raising goosebumps on your skin as his fingers slipped under your shirt. The mix of cold and warm slime sent shivers down your spine, and you gasped, feeling a sudden surge of emotions inside of you.

Before you knew it, you were tipped back, but the human-looking part of the slime always moved with you, his body pressing against yours as it bent you in the air. “What’s going on?!” you whimpered, frightened by the things you were feeling, the strange sensations, as you couldn’t make out if they were ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

But the slime wouldn’t answer, a human form not giving him the ability to speak. Instead, he brushed his lips over yours, giving you just one more chance to breathe before he pressed them on top of yours, and you realized what he was doing. Your eyes widened, and your heart began hammering inside your chest. Yet, the unfamiliar taste of anything you ever had inside your mouth was the only thing you could concentrate on.

Feeling like a fool, you realized all on your own that this couldn’t be a good thing despite your body betraying you as the slime’s hand slid further below.

[val-made-a-mistake]

❝THAI FOOD.❞

(not my gif)

summary: you and john argue about something petty. he proceeds to fuck you into the floor.

warnings: smut, HATE SEX, oral sex m receiving, fingering, unprotected sex, arguments, pettiness, dirty talk, use of “good girl”, john cheating on his wife

word count: 2.8k

a/n: *john mulaney voice* okay okay okay okay okay okay

please do not read this fic and assume that i am a john walker apologist. if you’ve been following my blog, you’ll know that i DESPISE john walker and everything he stands for, but at the same time...this is dedicated to all the people who found his descent into madness hot, i wrote this fic instead of going to therapy

(and i should really go to therapy)

so uh if this flops i was never here

//////

The sunset was milky with colour as you swayed on the swing. Ever since you were little it had been rusty, always made nails-on-chalkboard creaks, and no one had ever bothered to fix it, but it was home, which was perhaps why you found yourself sitting there alone as you tried to control your breath.

He had you counting to ten again.

You knew John Walker was married, knew what he was like back in high school, and it had become international news when he’d decapitated an anarchist in broad daylight over in Europe, but still you found yourself responding to his text message when he slid into your DMs a week ago asking about vibranium alternatives, now here you were. You were a chemical metallurgist, you’d dedicated your whole life to the study, and as soon as you’d graduated from Custer’s Grove you’d booted yourself up to Cambridge to study at MIT, but you leapt at the chance to visit your Georgia hometown again.

And Jesus fucking Christ, Jonathan Walker was still as insufferable as he was when it was cool to date someone on the football team.

Why could he not understand that you were only human? Why could he not understand that you had, despite running tests on practically all the vibranium in the US that wasn’t the property of the Avengers, never been to Wakanda where it was sourced, and why the fuck was he absolutely prodding you over stupidly specific scenarios and circumstances that weren’t even going to happen? What absolute moron would try to take on the National Guard by himself?

The pull out couch that his wife Olivia was nice enough to assemble for you was always cold and hard at the end of the day, and as you stared up at the shuddering AC, you counted down the hours until you’d be able to go back to Cambridge and pretend like none of this had happened. None of this had to happen, you were just an idiot.

Now you inhaled the cool outside breeze, hating yourself.

You told John you were going on a walk twenty minutes ago. He’d gone apeshit when you said it would be impossible to replicate vibranium’s boomerang-like tendencies, he would be wondering where you’d gone by now. He’d had enough decency to tell you to bring a jacket as you retreated. 

You knew parts of him still cared about you, and God, you wanted to believe there was at least a shred of high school him there. Most of your high school relationship had been performative, but you loved attempting to escape the Evangelical parts of Custer’s Grove with him because it always ended up with you two sitting on the roof of a “closed for repairs” ice cream parlour miles out, staring at a sunset similar to the one in front of you now. The marina, he called it. It was a pathetic excuse for a marina.

Get your mind to work, you told yourself.

Boomerangs spun to create unbalanced aerodynamic forces, causing it to curve into a kind of elliptical shape, that was why they came back, this was basic, you’d learned it years ago. If John somehow succeeded in making a new Captain America shield for whatever reason and didn’t choose to sell it on Wish, would you be able to do anything to make sure it returned to its holder? Probably not, it’d be way too heavy, it was way too heavy now, it would just fall to the ground like a pathetic piece of spraypainted metal, which was technically all it was.

You picked at your nails as the last of the sunset disappeared into the treeline.

Time to go.

//////

When you got back to the house, you immediately noticed that Olivia’s shoes had disappeared from the doorway and John had actually taken a break from sulking in the basement, he was scrubbing dishes at the sink.

“I finished spraypainting,” he said casually as you closed the door behind yourself and shook off your sandals.

“Where’s Olivia?” you demanded flatly, ignoring his last sentence on purpose.

You saw him stiffen.

“Out,” he answered, his voice suddenly becoming as flat as yours, “She wanted Thai, I let her go.”

“I hate Thai.”

CRACK!

He’d quite literally pulled apart a plate with his hands: you hadn’t realized how much he was twitching since you’d gotten in.

“That’s what we’re having,” he hissed.

Oh, so you were fighting over this now?

You felt familiar rage bubble up in your chest. “You could’ve at least fucking texted me.”

“I did, but then I realized you left your fucking phone here,” he spat, dropping the shards of the plate and letting it float underneath the soapy water, “You do realize you could’ve been kidnapped, right? Have you forgotten what it’s like to live in the Grove?”

“I’m not your fucking dog on a leash,” you snarled with everything you had. “Jesus Christ, you have Olivia for that.”

SLAM!

John slammed his hands on the base of the counter, and with an ugly snap, the granite cracked. 

“We’re getting Thai food,” he hissed, but his voice shook, ruining the authority. “I don’t wanna do this right now.”

“For someone who failed drama class back in high school, you’re acting awfully dramatic right now,” you shot back coolly, folding your arms. Sure, he’d been insufferable in high school, but if he pushed you-- which he was doing right now-- you could turn into a bitch on a dime.

And yet you couldn’t help but feel your heart race as he turned around and approached you.

You instinctively backed into the wall.

When you opened your mouth, no words came out. He was suddenly so close you could see every pore on his cheeks.

You turned away on impulse, but you couldn’t help but notice the strange stuffiness that was filling the kitchen like a poisonous gas. Maybe that was why your heart rate was going as fast as it was, and maybe that was why the warmness was threatening to shoot up your neck at the faintest enabling.

You were shivering as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“You’re gonna stop acting like a frigid bitch over Thai food, and then you’re gonna stop pretending like you don’t know how to improve the shield. Then you’ll be able to fuck off back to wherever you moved to after high school, and we’ll pretend like none of this ever happened.”

John paused.

“Do you understand me?”

You were overcome by a wild urge to spit in his face, but you held it back.

(Just barely.)

Instead, you turned to face him and licked your lips.

“You will never be Captain America.”

That did it: the sudden humidity around both of you came to a head, and John forced his lips onto yours so fiercely your natural response was to kiss him back, even though it was completely insane. You felt hands on your body-- you gasped on his lips, his hands were frozen and still slightly soapy from the dishes-- and you let him tear your clothes off as mercilessly as he could. It was like you’d thrown your moral compass out of the window: you were already yanking at his shirt and stumbling forward.

WIth a clatter, you’d tumbled to the kitchen floor, and you were pushing yourself onto him, all tongue and teeth.

“God, you drive me crazy sometimes,” John growled as he yanked your jeans down your ass; you were struggling to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“I fucking should,” you countered, and just like that, you kissed him harder, your teeth tearing into his lips and your tongue careening into his mouth. A horrible yet glorious feeling was searing through your chest: you wanted to treat him like a city you could burn to the ground, a reality you could shred to its last atom, and you drank it all up.

And then you had the air knocked out of you.

Your head hit the tile so hard your vision spun, and all you knew was that John was on top of you, glaring at you so malevolently all your nerves clenched.

“Baby, you’re gonna be fucking crying when I’m finished with you.”

You wrapped your legs around him at that, and then you were kissing, more languidly and sinful than anything you’d ever experienced, and you tangled your hands in his hair, absolutely collapsing into his harsh warmth. He was rocking against you fully clothed.

You skipped heaven and went straight to hell.

You pawed at his zipper, pulling it down just enough to get his cock out, and seeing what you were getting at, he pushed you against the wall and shoved himself into your mouth.

John wasn’t taking it easy on you. He gripped the back of your hair and fucked into your mouth, pushing as far as he could into your throat. You gagged and sputtered around him for all it was worth, gasping for air as he pulled you off for a moment.

He brushed a strand of your hair out of the way, and for a minute you thought he was going to stop this madness, but he only shoved himself back in so fiercely you couldn’t help but moan around his length.

He groaned at that, and you felt something warm gush between your legs. The feeling was enough to make you part your legs just the tiniest bit-- your knees were screaming in pain from being pressed so harshly into the tile-- but you kept going, flattening your tongue around the underside of his cock. You might’ve hated him right now, but you were determined to suck him off the best you could. By the look on his face, you were succeeding.

“Good girl,” John muttered, finally pulling himself off you.

“I really fucking hate you,” you spat, but his cock was so hot and hard and dripping, it would be so easy to take him once more like this--

But he had the super serum and you’d never been athletic, so there was little you could do when he gripped your arm and forced you to move.

John laid you down on the floor, flipping you over on all fours and pushing your face down into the tile, ass up for him. You gasped at his strength, and a moan left your lips as he spanked you harshly. 

“Jesus,” he commented as he pressed a finger inside of you, no warning. “Just wanna be split open, all stretched out on my cock?”

“Fuck you,” you gasped, trying to swallow your moans. That earned you another finger. 

His fingers delved in and out of you at a surprisingly fast pace, making you gasp and jut against the stimulation, and you sank your teeth into your forearm so you wouldn’t scream out. No way would you give him the satisfaction, but from the groans spilling out of John’s mouth, it looked like he wouldn’t have cared.

You knew you were dripping onto his fingers. You fucking knew it.

“God, fuck,” you gasped as he rubbed your clit: you hated being this easy, but here you were, becoming completely undone because of his two fingers. The feeling twisted in your gut, it was getting bigger and bigger, preparing for an inevitable release.

Blood was rushing into your cheeks at the sheer thought of it.

John Walker? Seriously?

You could’ve see it coming from a mile away, but somehow the feeling still blindsided you: you were coming, the orgasm rushing through you and soaking your inner thighs, making them gleam. Gasping, your body hot as lava, euphoria coursed through your brain, and for a moment, tiny white spots appeared in your vision.

No fucking way. John fucking Walker, of all people, had made you come.

Did he ever fuck Olivia like this?

You really fucking hoped not, not when he reached forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, finger-fucking you through your orgasm.

John groaned senselessly as he crooked a finger inside of you, pushing even further, and you moaned loudly. 

“You’re dripping,” he whispered. The disastrously low tone of his voice made you clench around his fingers, and feeling it, he let out a smug little laugh that had you squirming underneath him. “That do something for you, sweetheart?”

Under him, you were gasping without rhythm, sanity slipping in and out of your grasp as your legs shook, threatening to make you come again and again until it would be impossible to handle it. The blood thundering in your ears made it hard to think: you could barely handle being fucked by a man affected by the super serum as it was, and John showed no signs of stopping.

When you didn’t answer, he slapped your cheek - not enough force to be called harsh, but enough for you to startle, blinking fast. “Answer me when I talk to you.”

“Yeah,” you said blindly, clenching your fists at the humiliation. “Yeah - yes, it did.”

Fuck, you hated John for being so smug. “Yeah, I already know.”

The next thing you were conscious of feeling was him slipping his fingers out of your pussy, his fingers coated in your glistening arousal, and you automatically opened your mouth to suck them clean. 

“Filthy little slut,” John spat from above you, and you couldn’t help it, you batted your eyelashes up at him-- seductively? Mischievously? 

Whatever it was, you whined louder than ever as you felt the head of his cock breach your pussy, splitting you open.

“Fuck, so tight,” you whimpered, or maybe you’d said it in your head, you didn’t really know because he’d already started moving, driving his cock deeper and sending a curious burning sensation up your pussy, which raced up your abdomen and practically exploded at your neck. You were sure your face was bright red now.

“More,” you gasped at the ceiling, and then it was on.

In the days to come you wouldn’t remember the way how harshly his hips slammed against yours, or the way he fucked into you like you were a medium to release all his rage, and he certainly wouldn’t feel the scratches you carved into his neck. Neither of you were thinking about Olivia: all you knew was he was fucking you on the kitchen floor and you never wanted him to stop.

God, that serum had really brought out an interesting change in him.

You came for what felt like the fiftieth time screaming his name, and it was then John decided to force your hands high over your head while gripping the nape of your neck, wrapping you in a kiss that effectively muffled your cries. You melted at his touch– he was so big and strong and physically superior, he could press you into the floor and stop all chances of you struggling with just one hand. Not like you’d ever want to struggle with the way he was fucking you: the way he was handling you was the complete opposite of gentle, and you loved it. John was heaving against you, unrelenting, and if this was a fight, you didn’t want to yield.

You were aching all over, your knees were stinging and your shoulderblades were rubbing uncomfortably against the kitchen tile, but you didn’t care, you succumbed to the dominance and kissed him back.

John groaned right in your ear, and his hand fell from your neck to grip your ass tightly, rocking his body into yours effortlessly.

“Oh, god,” you whispered, the way he stretched you out making you so dripping wet.

BANG!

You heard the familiar sound of a car door slamming in the distance, and it snapped you both back to reality at the same time.

“Shit!”

John reacted faster than you did: he pulled himself off of you, clearly wanting to save nobody but his own ass, and you heard a zipping noise as you fumbled for your bra, which was half-crumpled from underneath your shirt. The last thing you saw was him disappearing for the basement before you flung yourself at the stairs.

As Olivia approached the front door, you were now panicking for yourself.

“Shit, shit, shit-”

You slid and nearly fell onto the tile, but that didn’t matter, you needed to get out of view before Olivia reached the front door.

The stupid bastard had actually ripped a good length of seam on your jeans, so you haphazardly threw a blanket over most of your body and reached for your phone, hoping to God it looked like you were doing something normal.

You saw Olivia jut the door open with her hip.

“I’m home, I brought Thai!” she called out.

You forced your face into a shiny smile as you glanced up. “Great!”