#Mastering in SAS Programming

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[purifiedclitoris69]

Some Place Safe

Natasha Romanoff x Supersoldier!R

Warnings: Angst, Alluded SA, Violence, ETC

Summary: You were raised to be a weapon. Loving her was the only thing they didn’t teach you to survive. She escaped. You let her. And you never planned to follow. (Heavily inspired by sinners LOL)

You were born in the shadow of war—an accident, a consequence of two operatives colliding in the chaos of a mission. Your mother didn’t live long enough to hold you. You never knew her name. You never knew your own.

They took you in—not out of mercy, but out of opportunity.

The Red Room didn’t raise children. It raised weapons. You were placed in a second-tier orphan program, a quieter project—off the books, away from the widows. They didn’t dress you in black leather or teach you seduction. They taught you obedience. Stillness. Fear.

You learned not to cry by the time you were three. Every moment of comfort was conditional. Every word of praise was a tool. You were nothing more than a blank slate with muscle and reflex. You were tested, shaped, punished, refined. They didn’t want loyalty. They wanted control.

By the time you were ten, you could speak five languages, disappear in any crowd, and kill with a pencil. But you still didn’t know your name. They made sure of that.

When the Red Room joined hands with HYDRA, they sent you away—one of a few deemed stable enough to be "enhanced." You remember the cold first. The facility buried beneath snow and silence. The needles came next. Then the pain. Then the darkness.

HYDRA took what the Red Room started and broke it open. They injected you with a serum they said would make you strong. Faster. Better. But all it did was blur the line between survival and violence.

Your body changed. So did your mind.

They didn’t need to train you anymore. They just conditioned you. Trigger words, electric shocks, hallucinations—it all became routine. Every memory was wiped clean. Every hesitation was punished. You weren’t supposed to feel anything. Just kill and return.

And you did.

Over and over, you painted the world red for masters who never told you why. They didn’t call you by a name. They called you Asset. Subject. Spectre.

Until one day—you met her.

You were sixteen. Back in the Red Room, temporarily removed from your HYDRA assignments. The widows in the 14–15 age bracket needed oversight. “Instruction,” they called it. But you knew what it really was. A test.

A test for them—and a reminder for you.

Your handlers said no one would be more efficient, more ruthless, more capable than you. Two rounds of serum had ensured it. Bones reinforced. Reflexes sharpened to an unnatural edge. Pain meant nothing to you anymore. And if it did—you never showed it.

Madam B led the drill, standing beside you with her arms folded and her voice like a knife. “The enemy is smarter. Stronger. Faster. You do not overpower them. You dismantle them.” You stood still, hands folded behind your back, eyes scanning the group. Ten girls. Uniforms crisp, eyes cold. And then one was escorted in late.

Her.

Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

You knew what she was before the handler said her name. The way she walked, the way her jaw tensed, the flicker of calculation behind her gaze. You knew where she’d come from. Who she’d been with. You could smell it on her—pain, gasoline, cheap cologne, blood.

You’d lived it.

Something flickered in your chest. Recognition? Disgust? Curiosity? It passed before you could name it.

“Let’s begin,” Madam B said sharply.

You moved to the center of the room on instinct, like muscle memory. You weren’t thinking. That wasn’t your job. You were the lesson. They were the students.

The first widow came fast—predictable, linear. You sidestepped her and slammed her into the mat with a single twist of your hip. The second tried to sweep your legs. You jumped, drove your heel into her shoulder, dislocating it. Another got bold, locking her legs around your neck in a textbook chokehold. You slipped out of it in half a breath, kicked her ribs hard enough to hear the crack. An elbow hit the back of your skull. Your knee buckled from a follow-up strike, drawing a grunt from your throat. You caught her arm anyway, flipped her clean over your shoulder, and knocked the wind from her lungs with the landing.

And then she stepped forward.

Romanova.

She moved like you. Fast. Controlled. Measured. The other girls fought with desperation, with something to prove. She fought like she already knew. Every motion had intention. No waste. No fear. No need for approval.

She didn’t just want to survive the match— She wanted to understand you.

Her strikes were sharp, almost elegant. You blocked the first two. She ducked the third. A feint, a sweep—you stumbled, just half a step, just enough for her to see it.

The room watched in silence.

She came again, faster this time. You grabbed her wrist mid-swing. Her foot connected with your side. It stung—she was good.

Not enough to beat you. But good.

When you slammed her into the mat, she landed like a cat, rolled back up, and turned toward you without blinking. The others were still catching their breath. Some were still lying on the floor.

Only she stood with you.

You stared at her, breathing evenly. She stared right back.

Madam B called the drill. The other girls were dismissed. But Romanova was told to stay.

You remained too.

That was the first time you saw her. Not just a file. Not just a name. Her.

And somewhere—beneath the layers of numbness, the serum, the training, the triggers—You felt something stir.

You weren’t supposed to feel anything.

But she would become the exception.

From that day forward, she was everywhere.

In every drill, every sparring match, every strategy debrief. You weren’t sure if it was coincidence, punishment, or a new kind of test. But wherever you were, Romanova followed.

At first, it was friction. She questioned everything. Why the techniques were outdated. Why the conditioning was flawed. Why she was expected to lose.

You watched her get punished for speaking out—watched her grit her teeth through each consequence. But she never broke. She never stopped fighting.

You hated her for that. And—if you were honest—you respected her for it too.

When you sparred, it was always different with her. She didn’t try to overpower you. She tried to figure you out—where you carried your weight, how you breathed before a strike, how your body reacted to pain. She learned fast. Too fast.

You kept putting her down. But never easily. And never the same way twice.

The others grew afraid of you. Romanova never did.

One night, after a brutal joint exercise, the two of you were left in the mat room longer than expected. Bloody. Breathless. Silent.

You sat on opposite sides of the mat, both pretending the other wasn’t there. But you felt her eyes on you.

“You don’t enjoy this,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t look at her. “It’s not about enjoyment.”

She didn’t push. Just nodded once, as if that confirmed something for her. As if she already knew.

You didn’t speak again that night, but the silence between you felt… less like an empty space, and more like something waiting to become a conversation.

Over the months, your dynamic evolved.

You were still stronger. Still faster. Still something… other. But she challenged you in ways your handlers never anticipated.

She made you think.

During field simulations, the two of you started working together without being told to. Covering each other’s blind spots. Moving in sync. Communicating without words.

She never praised you. You never praised her. But the trust was there—in the way she never flinched when you stepped behind her, in the way you didn’t hesitate to back her up when she made the call.

Still, tension burned beneath it all.

You’d snap at her when she questioned orders. She’d challenge your blind obedience. You fought. You bled. You pushed each other to the edge and back.

And somewhere in all that chaos—You started to need her there.

Not as a rival. Not even as a comrade. But as something quieter. Closer.

You’d catch yourself watching her longer than you should. The way she wrapped her hands before a mission. The way her brow furrowed when she was working through a problem. The way she touched people like it was foreign. Like it might shatter them.

She was learning how to care.

And you—You were just learning how to feel.

One night, during winter drills in the dead cold, she caught you shivering beneath your gear. The serum made your body hard, durable—but not immune to the cold.

Without a word, she peeled off her second layer and threw it to you.

You didn’t thank her. She didn’t ask for it. But for the first time in your life, a gesture wasn’t part of a test. Or a manipulation. Or control.

It was… kindness.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Her face kept appearing in your mind. Not as a fellow operative. Not as a threat.

Just her.

And it terrified you more than anything they’d ever done to you.

Because if you let that wall crack, if you let her in—She might see who you really are beneath it all.

And worse…You might start to remember too.

But that wasn't in there plans.

You weren’t supposed to leave. But no one asked you.

It happened after a routine infiltration exercise—standard, controlled. You weren’t even armed. One moment, you were walking back through the frostbitten corridor of the Red Room barracks. The next, a needle was in your neck.

Your body dropped before your mind could react.

You woke up somewhere far colder. Darker. Underground.

No windows. No clocks. No names.

Just HYDRA again.

Apparently, you still belonged to them. The Red Room had only been borrowing you.

They said you weren’t done. That your body was strong—but your mind, soft. That there were still layers to burn out of you. So they stripped you down to bone and nerve and rebuilt you again.

More injections. More surgeries. Weights so heavy they crushed the air from your lungs. Shock conditioning to suppress emotion—any residual hesitation, memory, or attachment. They filled your bloodstream with compounds that ate away at your warmth. And they watched. Measured. Adjusted.

Until the version of you that had once flinched at kindness, that had once felt something in Romanova’s gaze—Died.

When you came back—months later, or maybe years—you weren’t the same.

The Red Room barely recognized you.

Your body was bigger now. Broader shoulders, thicker arms, deeper definitions all around. More power behind every movement. Your hands no longer trembled, not even slightly.

But the real difference was in your eyes.

Nothing in them.

Not fury. Not pain. Not longing. Just silence.

The girls whispered when they saw you. Some wouldn’t meet your eyes. Even the instructors seemed uneasy.

But Natasha—She wasn’t there to see you return.

She was gone.

You found out later.

While you were underground being gutted and stitched back together, she’d grown too.

They started giving her solo missions. Black ops. Quiet eliminations. Intel retrieval. Sabotage. She was rising, fast.

Faster than anyone expected.

You saw her name on the mission logs once. Just a line. Romanova, N.A. — Status: Completed.

You should’ve felt something.

But you didn’t.

Not until the first time you saw her again.

It was in the training compound. You had just come from the lab—still sore, your muscles heavy from the new modifications.

She entered in full gear, fresh from a mission. Blood on her knuckles. Eyes hard.

She saw you. You saw her.

Something flickered behind her expression. Shock, maybe. Recognition. But then her face hardened too.

You were taller now. Bulked. You had a presence that filled the room like a storm waiting to break.

She took a step toward you. Stopped. Looked you over like a stranger. Then said quietly, “What did they do to you?”

You blinked at her. “What they always do.”

Her jaw clenched. She looked away first.

Something cracked between you then—subtle, but deep. Like a frozen lake underfoot. Silent. Invisible. Deadly.

She was sharper now. More guarded. No longer the girl trying to figure you out.She didn’t try to speak again. Didn’t reach out.

And for the first time… you didn’t want her to Because some part of you knew: If she touched you, she’d feel it.

How gone you really were.

Ironnically, they assigned you together without warning.

No briefing room. No courtesy. Just your names on the same mission order, stamped with urgency, marked “Classified – Joint Operation.”

You stood by the helipad in the cold, snow clinging to your gloves, staring at the file in your hand. You didn’t flinch when her footsteps approached behind you—but something inside you shifted.

“Is this a joke?” Her voice was sharp. Older. It cut different now—refined, precise. She was no longer a student. She was a weapon fully realized.

You turned to her. Nothing in your expression.

“No,” you said. “It’s an order.”

She looked you over again, as if still trying to reconcile the you in her memory with the one standing in front of her. The serum-enhanced bulk. The vacant eyes. The silence.

“You look like them now,” she muttered. “Like the guards. The machines.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

She didn’t respond. Just pulled on her gloves and boarded the chopper. You followed.

Neither of you spoke for the entire flight.

The mission was straightforward: sabotage a black-market weapons trade in Serbia. Silent entry. Quiet eliminations. No civilian casualties.

Easy.

Too easy.

You moved like a ghost—silent, brutal, efficient. Taking out guards before they even knew they were dead. She followed, handling the tech, bypassing locks, placing charges. Clean. Professional. Cold.

But the silence between you roared louder than the gunfire.

At one point, you cleared a stairwell while she set a timer on the explosives. You glanced back at her—the flicker of red hair under moonlight, the tight line of her jaw.

There used to be warmth in the way she looked at you. Now, it was calculation. And something worse—disappointment.

You met her gaze. She didn’t look away this time.

“You’re not the same,” she said quietly.

“I’m better.”

“No,” she said. “You’re just… gone.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have one.

The hallway lights flickered. Footsteps above.

You both moved without another word.

After the mission—successful, of course—you were debriefed and dismissed.

But that night, in the Red Room barracks, she came to your door.

You heard the knock. You almost didn’t answer.

But you opened it.

She stepped inside like she was walking into a war zone. Her eyes scanned the room, then locked on you.

“You didn’t flinch when that civilian was caught in the blast radius.”

“They weren’t the target.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “You didn’t feel anything.”

You looked at her. At the way her chest rose and fell. At the fire in her eyes.

“What do you want from me?”

She stepped closer. “I want to know if you’re still in there.”

Your throat tightened.

Then—softly, bitterly—you said, “Why? So you can mourn me properly?”

Silence.

Her hand reached up before she could stop it—just barely grazing your shoulder, hesitant. Her fingertips trembled.

You didn’t move. But you felt it.

Something broke inside you.

And you whispered, “You shouldn't touch me, Romanova. You’ll get hurt.”

She didn’t pull away. “Maybe I already am.”

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t cry. But something in that moment laid itself bare between you—too fragile to speak aloud. Too dangerous to name.

She left without another word.

And for the first time in a long time…You wanted to be seen again.

The next few missions are different.

She stops flinching when you’re too close. You start pausing before pulling the trigger. You cover her flank instinctively. She watches your back like it’s second nature.

You still don’t speak much. But the silences become softer.

One night, while tending a wound, she says, “You never told me your real name.”

You stare at the floor. “I don’t remember it.”

“Then tell me something you do remember. Something real. Something yours.”

You’re quiet for a long time.

Then, finally: “I remember… humming. I think it was my mother. Before everything else. Just humming.”

She doesn’t say anything.

She just reaches for your hand. You let her.

And that’s the moment you know—Whatever they did to you… she might be the one thing they can’t erase.

t happened late one night, long after curfew.

You couldn't sleep. Not because of nightmares—those had dulled into something quieter—but because she hadn’t returned yet.

Her mission had run over. You knew it wasn’t your concern. You told yourself it didn’t matter. But when the door finally creaked open and she stepped inside, bruised and soaked with cold rain, your heart did something you didn’t recognize.

It lurched.

You rose from your bunk without a word. Met her halfway. She tried to walk past you like always.

But this time, you reached for her wrist.

She froze.

Then her eyes met yours. And for once, there was no mask. No cold front. No assignment.

Just two ghosts standing in a borrowed room pretending they weren’t drowning.

“You okay?” you asked, voice low.

She stared at you for a long time. Then shook her head, slow.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I think I forgot how to feel something and still survive.”

You didn’t speak. You just stepped closer.

She leaned her forehead against yours.

And when her hands came up to cradle your jaw—gentle, trembling—you let her. No drills. No orders. Just warmth. Just touch.

She moved her arms to your shoulders pulling you into a desperate hold. You held her back.

It was the first thing that had ever felt real.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not because of fear. Because for the first time—you didn’t want to close your eyes and miss it.

You were in the mess hall the next morning when the alarm rang.

Red lights. Sirens. Door locks snapping shut. You didn’t even have to guess.

They’d seen it.

The surveillance footage. The shared room. The closeness. The disobedience.

You were ripped from your seat. She was dragged from hers. Not allowed to speak. Not even look at each other.

They took you to separate rooms.

They didn’t ask questions. Just pain.

Electric pulses to the spine. Icy injections in your veins. A boot in your back and a handler shouting:

“You are not human. You are not lovers. You are assets. Tools. You do not belong to each other. You belong to us.”

You bit down until your teeth bled.

But they weren’t trying to break your body this time.

They were trying to break what you’d built.

It took days before they let you see each other again. Weeks before they assigned you to a new mission together.

But in the silence of your quarters one night—when they thought they’d burned the bond out of you—she turned to you and whispered:

“We can’t keep doing this.”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

“We’re ghosts,” she said. “And maybe we always will be. But we don’t have to haunt this place.”

You watched her carefully.

She leaned in. “I have contacts. Quiet ones. People who owe me. We could make it out. Maybe not far. Maybe not long. But free. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

You looked at her.

For the first time in your life, someone was offering you a door.

And you wanted it.

You planned it. Mapped the blind spots. The shift changes. The weak points in surveillance.

But the night came… and you didn’t move.

You stood at the exit.

So did she.

Neither of you said it—but you both felt it: That pull. That tether. Not to each other—but to this.

To the bloodstained corridors. The silence. The structure. The certainty of it.

It was hell. But it was the only hell you understood.

And maybe—maybe—out there, the world would be worse. Colder. Empty.

You looked at her.

She looked at you.

And slowly, quietly… she shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said. “We’re not ready.”

You nodded.

Neither of you turned away from the exit right away.

But you didn’t step through it either.

That night, you held her again. Not in defiance, but in mourning.

Because love, in places like this, wasn’t a rebellion.

It was a wound. And you carried it like everything else they’d given you.

Deep. Quiet. Permanent.

The final mission came suddenly. Too clean. Too perfect.

Natasha was to infiltrate a U.S. intelligence outpost under the guise of a defector. Get inside, get the data, extract herself. But you’d seen too many missions. You knew the pattern. You knew the words they didn’t say.

This wasn’t an op.

It was an opportunity.

A door. A rare one.

And for the first time—you could open it for her.

You stood by the projector as the handler outlined the objective. Your face didn’t shift. You nodded when expected. Said “understood” at the appropriate moments.

But when the lights dimmed and the others filed out, you turned to her—just the two of you left in the briefing room.

You said her name—her name, not her codename.

She looked at you. Confused at first. Then slowly—terrified.

You walked closer. Pressed a small drive into her hand. The one with the real data—hers. Proof of HYDRA’s involvement. Enough to earn her a chance. Enough to buy her freedom.

“Take it,” you said, voice low. “When the window opens, you run. Don’t look back.”

She shook her head. “No—no, we said we’d go together.”

You gave a faint smile. It didn’t reach your eyes.

“I don’t exist out there.”

“You do to me.”

You swallowed hard. “That’s not enough. Not this time.”

Her hands shook.

You reached out, steadying her fingers around the drive.

“You’re better than this place,” you whispered. “You always were.”

Her eyes glistened, and your throat burned with everything you couldn’t afford to say.

You didn’t kiss her.

You just let your forehead rest against hers—one last time.

A silent goodbye wrapped in the shape of a moment.

She did exactly what you trained her to do.

She got out clean.

The data hit U.S. intelligence servers like a bomb. Names. Coordinates. Project logs. Red Room locations.

And her? She vanished into shadow.

It worked.

She lived.

You watched her defect from behind locked doors, cameras feeding you the grainy security footage of her slipping past the final perimeter. She turned once—looked back.

You knew she was thinking of you.

But she ran.

And you—You stayed.

They punished you, of course.

You’d disobeyed protocol. Leaked sensitive intel. Let an asset go.

But you were too valuable to kill.

So they hurt you instead.

They locked you away. Sedated you for weeks. Ran tests. Reconditioned you until the edges blurred again.

When they were done, they gave you a new mission.

You accepted it wordlessly.

Like always.

But something in you had shifted. Not broken—but buried. Because now, no matter how many memories they wiped, no matter how many shocks they ran through your spine…

They couldn’t take her from you.

Not where it mattered.

Natasha Romanoff didn’t waste what you gave her.

She used your sacrifice like a torch.

She lit the Red Room on fire from the inside out. Cracked it open piece by piece—its secrets, its science, its cruelty. She brought down handlers and directors. Saboteurs and scientists. Anyone who carved girls into weapons.

And when she was done with them, she turned to HYDRA.

Not all of it. Not yet. But enough to make the world tremble.

And through it all—every raid, every mission, every sleepless night—she searched for you.

Files. Photographs. Ghosts of you in surveillance clips: grainy footage of a tall figure, a shadow slipping in and out of black sites with blood on your hands.

She kept seeing you. But she never found you.

They said you were a myth. That maybe you'd died. That maybe you'd broken entirely, brainwashed past the point of no return.

But Natasha knew better.

She knew what it meant when your body flinched in the exact rhythm of danger. When your jaw ticked before a mission. When your eyes—those goddamn eyes—flicked to hers in a moment of clarity, even through pain.

You weren’t dead.

You were still in there.

Somewhere.

she pulls the footage alone.

She'd rewatch the frame by frames. Zoom in on your face.

You’ve changed.

There’s no warmth now. No hesitation.

But the way you move—the way you look at the camera right before it cuts out—it’s you.

And it’s not.

The ghost she loved.

Now a killer set loose in a world she tried to fix.

Years had continued to pass.

Until the intel finally came. It was clean. HYDRA remnants were relocating prototype tech—illegally acquired Stark-adjacent hardware. Avengers were dispatched for containment.

It should’ve been a simple in-and-out.

Until you showed up.

It begins with Sam.

He never sees it coming.

He’s airborne, covering Steve’s flank, when something clips his wing mid-flight. Not a bullet.

A blade.

You appear out of the smoke—fast, silent, brutal. A black blur against a backdrop of chaos. You hit the ground and scale the debris like a phantom. Sam goes down hard, suit sparking.

Steve calls out—but it's too late. You’re already on him.

He blocks your first strike with the shield. The second knocks the breath from his lungs. The third slams him into concrete. He tries to talk, to get through to you—

But you don’t speak.

You just fight.

And you win.

He’s unconscious before he hits the floor.

Then comes Stark.

“Who the hell—” he starts, suit flying into position.

But he doesn’t get to finish.

You use an EMP blade—short-range, custom—forged in the black budget corners of the world. You slam it into his arc reactor, right below the clavicle. The suit collapses like armor made of paper.

He stares at you from the floor, breathing heavy.

“Jesus,” Tony mutters. “Who trained you—?”

Your boot slams into his jaw. He blacks out.

The smoke clears.

And Natasha walks into the aftermath like she’s walking into a graveyard.

She sees them—Sam, unconscious. Steve bleeding. Tony barely breathing.

And then she sees you.

Standing there with your back to her, blade slick with Stark’s blood, eyes scanning the horizon for the next threat.

You don’t turn when you speak.

“I was wondering when you’d show.”

Her stomach turns. Your voice hasn’t changed.

Neither has the way it makes something in her ache.

“Stop,” she says, gun aimed at your spine. “This isn’t you.”

You finally turn.

And gods, you look calm. Too calm. Not brainwashed. Not drugged. Just still. Centered. Like the world finally makes sense to you—for all the wrong reasons.

She hesitates.

“Tell me they did this to you,” she says, desperate. “Tell me they put something in your head. I can help you.”

You shake your head. “No one put anything in my head, Natalia.”

You say her name like a knife and a kiss.

“I chose this.”

Her grip falters. “Why?”

You step closer.

“I gave you freedom. I never said I wanted it for myself.”

That hits harder than any punch.

“I’m not broken,” you go on. “I’m clear. The world you live in now? It’s naïve. It lets monsters breathe because it's scared to kill them.”

“And you’re not scared?” she whispers.

“No. I’m what comes after fear.”

Your blade raises.

Her gun doesn't move.

“I don't want to fight you,” she says.

You nod. “Then don’t.”

It’s vicious.

You move like muscle memory and instinct are the only gods you answer to.

She holds her own—barely. Blocks your knife with her forearm, kicks your knee to destabilize, sweeps your leg, only for you to flip back onto your feet like gravity’s a suggestion.

She pulls you in recklessly and you slam her against the wall.

You’ve both slowed.

Breathing ragged. Bruised. Bleeding.

She’s knocked the blade from your hand. Neither of you has the upper hand now.

And still—neither of you runs.

She stares at you, hair stuck to her face with sweat and blood. Eyes glassy. Jaw clenched.

And then, finally—she breaks.

You’re both on your knees in the rubble of the mission site.

Bruised. Bleeding. Exhausted.

Your knife is somewhere behind you. Her gun’s been kicked across the ground. There are no weapons left now—only words sharp enough to kill.

And hers cut deepest.

Her voice breaks the silence, trembling but strong enough to reach you.

“Why won’t you tell me the truth?” she pleads, eyes locking with yours, glistening. “I was young enough to believe we’d find each other again. That you wanted to.”

You say nothing.

Because if you do, something inside you might shatter.

“I waited,” she whispers, and it cracks something in your chest. “I waited a long time…”

You watch her swallow it down—those tears, that hope, that version of you she carried in her chest like a ghost.

“But I’m grown now,” she breathes, straighter spine, trembling chin. “I’m good. And I know you never planned to stay.”

She steps forward.

Just one step.

“So why can’t you just say that?”

And now it’s your turn to bleed.

You want to lie. It would be easier.

But your throat burns and the truth is louder than your silence.

“Say what, hmm?” you rasp, almost bitter. “That I love you?”

She flinches.

You press forward, voice low, shaking, every word costing you a piece of yourself.

“That I think about you every damn day? That I saw you run and told myself I’d done something good—for once. That maybe if you lived, if you became something better, then everything I did would’ve been worth it?”

You pause. Swallow. You can’t look at her.

“I just wanted to keep you someplace safe,” you whisper. “And that was never gonna be here.”

“And it was never gonna be with me. Never.”

And she stands there—tears slipping free.

But she doesn't collapse.

She burns. Quietly. The way she always has.

“So that’s it?” she asks. “I was a mission to you? Something to protect and abandon?”

“You were everything,” you say, barely above a breath.

And you mean it.

Which is why you turn and walk away.

Because staying? Would destroy the last thing you did right.

[lushrue]

simon who goes back to school while on extended leave from the sas. figures if the government is gonna pay for his school, might as well take advantage of it. enrolls himself in a one year master’s program, something to keep him busy and expand his mind.

he’d bargained for the homework, readings, late nights studying. what he hadn’t bargained for was dr. mactavish, the young mohawked chemistry professor that was hell bent on making something explode. he was loud, brash, all the things that simon wasn’t. and worse than that, he’d taken a special liking to the oldest student in his class.

he spent far too much time over simon’s shoulder, not-so-subtle brushes against his ass and hips as he passed by him to another student. praising him quite suggestively, murmuring “good boy” under his breath when simon’s titration is successful. simon wasn’t sure which was worse: that he was attracting special attention from his professor by doing so well, or that he was starting to like it.

simon had responded almost immediately when dr. mactavish emailed him, asking him to stop by office hours to discuss his latest exam. it hadn’t been his best, simon knew. it was hard to memorize chemical equations when the man teaching them was staring you up and down like a prime cut of steak. he’d ruminated all the way there, rationales and promises to do better on the tip of his tongue. but all of that faded away when he saw johnny behind his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

they hadn’t done much talking after that. that wasn’t what johnny had planned for their meeting anyway. but it was there, bent over johnny’s desk, drooling on the mahogany like a bitch in heat and stretched wide for everyone and god to see, that simon thought he finally understood what true chemistry was.

[mockerycrow]

are you good at character analysis? I wanna know what your analysis would be for Gaz, I’m trying to figure out his story since he’s my favorite out of TF 141

KYLE GAZ GARRICK

BASIC OVERVIEW — BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is a British Black man who enlisted into the British Army around 2008 or 2014 (unfortunately, the developers have inconsistencies). His operator biography states 2008 while the official activision website in a blog post about MW2019 states 2014, however it does make sense for him to enlist in 2008. He would have been at least sixteen years old which is the minimum age requirement to enlist. I would like to quickly throw in that Gaz is indeed older than Soap, as this is a misconception that I surprisingly see a lot! Gaz’s blood type is B- and he currently ranks as sergeant (which according to the official British Army website, it typically takes at least twelve years in the service, however it implies it also depends on the person’s abilities).

Gaz spent four years in the Queen’s Lancashire Regiment. During these four years going through a multitude of tests and challenges before passing selection for Special Air Service (SAS). The activision blog says during MW2019, it’s his sixth year serving as a sergeant. However, as Gaz had been selected for TF141, I believe their ranks have paused in time. Gaz has mostly spent his time in anti-terrorism in his military career. He’s an expert in demolitions, VIP escorting, weapons tactics, covert surveillance, and target elimination. He’s been awarded multiple medals, and earned his Parachute Wings whilst spending time at Camp Lejeune in the U.S. whilst collaborating with Navy SEALs. Kyle is a master of evasion and deception, being the only candidate in his entire class to escape capture from the facility and evade detection during resistance training. 

When Gaz first meets Cpt. Price, Gaz is currently assigned to an SAS specific counter-terrorism program in the UK who collaborate with the police, which is another misconception that Gaz was a police sergeant at one point (he was not! I believe some people think this because at E3, Gaz was wearing a police baseball cap).

CHARACTER OVERVIEW

Like true to the original Gaz, he is Price’s protege, being his student. Gaz is overall a serious and hardworking man, loyal and unbreaking. He knows when to joke and he knows when to reload. However, Gaz is not perfect and he does lose his cool (we see subtle development with this later down the road). While being loyal, Gaz does not hesitate to question Price’s choices and actions. We see this multiple times during the series, the most prime example being in MW2019 when Price and Gaz are interrogating The Butcher with Yegor. The Butcher taunts Gaz, causing Gaz to lunge and Price to send him off to fetch.. “The package”. The package being, The Butcher’s family. The reboot games, you have choices, so I’ll give the very basic run down. 

You have the option to opt into the interrogation or to opt out of it. If you opt out, Price bursts out of the room with the information (if you go near the door, you hear The Butcher’s family sobbing). If you opt in, you have so many options. At the end of the day, Gaz is mostly silent and follows orders from Price. In the police cruiser scene, Gaz questions Price in the car—he did not expect to be using women and children as bargaining chips and he makes that clear, and this is a big teaching moment between Gaz and Price. We have to remember that Gaz is young and considering everything, inexperienced to an extent. Price makes up for that inexperience, teaching him along the way. During the interrogation scene, Price makes a remark: “We’ve taken the gloves off.” This is because Gaz lashed out. Later in the car, Price says “When you take the gloves off, you get blood on your hands, Kyle. That’s how it works.” after Gaz questions him.

CONCLUSION

Overall, Gaz is a very complex character and I enjoyed watching his development during these games. I’ve seen people claim Gaz is boring or plain, but I genuinely do not believe that to be the case. Gaz, in my opinion, is also the most relatable character. He’s young, ambitious, and determined. He’s charismatic and efficient. I don’t believe a character has to be extremely traumatized, or look very very unique to be a well-crafted character and Gaz is a great example for this. 

Gaz is just a man who enlisted; someone who is smart and well-rounded (as much as an SAS member can be), he’s quick on his feet and he molds into group work fantastically. He’s extremely versatile and is a quick learner—and wants to learn. He has his flaws that make him human. Gaz develops great self control, is level-minded and is able to think for himself. A great student questions their mentor in everything and you see this with Gaz. 

You see Gaz struggle with morality in the series in a sea of characters who kill and do things without a second thought. We see him question things, we see his emotions and his extreme reluctance. We definitely see some development down the road as Gaz becomes more ruthless, but he never quite forgets his humanity in a way, compared to Price where he can easily disconnect humanity (ex. Calling The Butcher’s wife and son “the package/leverage”). 

Along with this, we see him struggle with the rules in place. I also think this is why Gaz and Price’s dynamic is great. There are rules for a reason, and both Price and Gaz know when to break them—but Gaz learns that breaking some rules doesn’t always happen for the most heroic of actions (again, Price’s quote about bloodying your hands after taking the gloves off). Gaz wants to save people and keep the peace, we see this in Piccadilly during the terrorist attacks and the aftermath scene with Price where Gaz lets the Captain know that he and his unit had actionable intel on the terrorist cell who committed the act. Of course, we see later down the road that taking the gloves off removes all limits, not just some of them. We also see a glimpse of Gaz’s conflicting feelings when 141, Farah & Alex, as well as Laswell learn about Hadir and his plans, as well as when Farah’s forces are deemed a terrorist organization.

I think I rambled on a lot about him, hopefully this is understandable! 

Sources: price & gaz activision blog intros (2019), inconsistency in enlistment date, cod fandom wiki, gaz scenes mwi & mwii, official british army website.

[anya-nya-nya]

NSFW themes but without detailed description of intimacy so GN! reader, heavy angst, mention of alcohol, mention of Aventurine’s past > !heavy! mention of SA, SH, slavery

please contact me if you think I missed something!

⚠︎This work is focusing more on Aventurine’s trauma than in relationship with the reader⚠︎

Our brain is an amazing thing, organizing and explaining the world around a person the way the sliver of info that reaches the self aware part of our mind would be shaped to our liking. Our eyes are blind upon the image of reality, as we can only rely on the picture our brain creates for us to contemplate and base our opinion, feeling, mindset on. It's the ground of our survival: shaping the world to have less problems to deal with.

In short, neuroplasticity.

And no matter how childish it would sound, Aventurine hated this ability of his brains: how can he be a mastermind among people when he can't take control of his own head? Surely it wasn't his fault: how else could his brain rewire his neurons if not in some twisted ways after a decade of pure abuse? Even after learning a long forgotten freedom, the ground of his character wasn't changing. It's like finally installing new channels on your tv after having only one: you have freedom of choice but your finger presses the same familiar button automatically to watch the same program all over again.

Pieces of his childhood, memories of only time when he wasn't burdened by mental or physical shackles, help him to now fall completely to the abyss. It was enough for him to not justify the advantage his owners took of him, but not enough to stop his body getting used to it. Cause this is where his brain did their stupid job, helping him adapt and survive, survive thanks to hideous pleasure shoved down his throat by his own brains - by himself, at this point.

After the nightmare turns to just a bad dream: from serving for master to serving for IPC, Aventurine found the most repugnant need to get back and felt unwelcome touches. Having his own private room, that then transformed into a whole luxury penthouse as time passed, makes the recently released boy feel out of place.

It's not his fault: if we can get something, we make it. The familiar, the only knowledgeable love through pain and rough usage was now inflicted by his own hands.

He cut himself so many times, both in chase of miserable memories and attempting to prove himself that what HE needs. What HE desires. He choked on his own fingers as such stimulation both in his mouth and another, abused hole was necessary to at least cum a little. When his status in IPC was small enough to consider him just another white collar without name recognition, he let himself get wasted in bars so strangers would drag him in alleys and do anything. They even let him scream names of his masters, so kind of them!

But dozens of people who warmed his bed after he became an IPC worker didn't have enough impact to revive the need in him. Someone loved him, someone - most of his lovers, honestly - used him, and with helpless loathing Aventurine felt more gratitude to second ones. Thanks to reminding him about his place as a fuckdoll! Don't worry, he loves being used!

So when he meets a new face - your face - neurons in his brain already filter and mark you as another person interesting enough to hook up with. Not like he sensed the required danger in your looks or actions, but the most rabid wolves always adored in the most pure sheepskin, so chit chatting with you in a bar seems noteworthy.

How stupid he was, thinking someone like you would take the bait? You take care of him without any tries to have your reward for toiling thanklessy as a babysitter with him as your hands remained on your side and he woke up next morning with his pants still on his ass. Fuck, you could at least rob him or something, no?

As the desirable goal wasn't reached, Aventurine tried to cut ties with you and continue his promiscuous lifestyle. He even gets irritated: don't redo his already established impression of people with your angelic care, for Aeons’ sake! Or you will face his hysterical side: past experience with a few devotees like you confirm that the mask of an ungrateful cruel brat will crack any sanity sooner or later.

Maybe that was just another path in his brains that was engraved in a basement of his own persona: everyone playing roles. Maybe projection of his own well decorated facade onto others becomes another defense mechanism to neglect trauma - he's not broken, everyone likes that! Everyone craves pain and abuse, but in different ways, they just mask their desire to not use him like a whore! And you're lying too!

…The more persistent you're with your patience, the more stubborn and fierce Aventurine would become, until he crack up. Lancing a boil is never pleasant, especially the one that root so deep in his guts. In the end, you inflict much more pain to his soul that all these jerks who raped him to their hearts’ content. You dare to step in shadows of his nightmare and pour light here, force a hope Aventurine afraid not to take but even think about. For the first time the shameful dreams of being loved and cared for took a more vivid shape: your visage become epitome of it. For the first time Aventurine wants someone to actually reach out to his soul and purify it from all the dirt he held dear.

How long it would take you to help him find out the world around can not only bite but kiss? The answer was unknown to him as even with growth of connection between you two his past beliefs interfere occasionally. Your attention is definitely taking a toll on softening Aventurine up, maybe even too much: the switches of his mood are pell-mell, as now the needy part of him is alarmed with hunger. No one before taught him how good foreplay can be, how ache from soft lips on his neck beat the pleasure he felt from choking, how entwined fingers can hold him more secure than any shackles.

His real self is almost palpable now with a level of vulnerability he never dared to show before: it's not the same as taking on a role of limp body in the bar, but the opposite. It's stop in taking a role and choosing a mask.

Oh, and how eager he is to learn everything from a scratch with you!

[berserker-syndrome]

Berserker Syndrome - A Beyblade AU

The Borg corporation was only a tiny piece of a much larger organization. It’s collapse, though inconvenient, had ultimately only set the bigger operation back a few years, and maybe it was to the NWO's advantage that it had. The US government had raided the abbey, “freed” the 1200 child soldiers within, and shut down the program.

With the fall of Borg the United States was certain that the threat had been eradicated. There was no longer any need to fear an impending war.

Perhaps they were right. It would be unfair to call what the NWO had planned a "war".

It was to be a massacre on a scale only the Gods could commit.

Under the NWO, Borg had been successful in creating a violently loyal army of Bio-Weapons. Imbued with the power of sacred spirits and brainwashed to believe in this unholy cause, when the time was right these child soldiers would obey their masters call and return to serve as the weapons they had been raised to be.

At least, that's what the NWO believed.

NeoBorg, on the other hand, had different plans…

---

Genre: Drama/Action/Horror

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Gore, Violence, Drug Abuse, Character Death, Mentions of Abuse (CA, SA - Non explicit) and Suicide

Ships: Implied Kai/Yuriy

Read on Ao3 Read on Fanfiction.Net Read on Wattpad

The Story

Part 1: Strife

First Interlude: Kai Monologue

Part 2: The Rise

Second Interlude: Yuriy Monologue

Part 3: Apogee

Third Interlude:

Part 4: The Fall

Fourth Interlude:

Part 5: Denouement

Fifth Interlude:

Epilogue

About:

Changes to the anime canon

Timeline of Events

Sacred Beasts

Bio-Weapons

Bio-Weapon Ranking System

Amalgamations

Berserker Syndrome

Neistovycaine (TR9-SDS)

The New World Order (NWO)

Borg

The Resistance (NeoBorg)

Project Power Beyblade (PPB)

Koscheyev Pharmaceuticals

Koscheyev Enterprises

Main Characters:

Kai Hiwatari

Yuriy Ivanov

Boris Kuznetsov

Sergei Petrov

Ivan Papov

Brooklyn Masefield

Unlisted Characters

Original Characters:

Kiril Koscheyev (Antagonist)

Ilya Zima (Resistance leader)

Sabre (Resistance Cyber Operations Specialist)

Nikolai Kashirsky (Antagonist)

Bio-Weapons

#001 #384 #391 #400 #413 #414 #415 #416 #417 #418 #419 #420 #421

Extras:

Inspo Playlist

Map of the NWO Main Headquarters

FAQ

Got Questions? Ask away!

Answers to your Questions

[lottiestudying]

hi lottie!! <3

i'm an undergrad at the moment but have recently found myself looking to the future, and was wondering if you could share anything about your phd experience so far?

i'm also a neurodivergent australian like yourself and would love to know what the course structure is like, how heavy the workload is, and if you're so far finding it manageable with your conditions ^_^

— 🍨💫

hi there!! thanks for ur question + support 💗

i definitely found the first month really difficult, and actually debated going part time. i ended up in hospital a lot, and found it a big adjustment. but it’s been a few months now and although the work is really intense, i am enjoying working on my project (my topic is the underrepresentation of disabled people in Australian politics, not sure if i actually ever mentioned what my project was!). coursework is intense, but i only need to take two courses for my program (some Australian unis don’t require any coursework, so it does vary. it’s because you’re assumed to have done coursework through honours or a masters). i average about 25-30 hours of study/week.

im currently working on my literature review, which i have a love hate relationship with lol. but im passionate about my topic, and that makes it easier. my supervisors are fantastic (i have 4 supervisors, but we’re looking for a 5th that’s based in SA since im moving back to Adelaide). you have to meet a number of milestones, such as a large proposal and annual plan, which is what ill be doing once coursework is over. and of course data collection and stuff, but i haven’t reached that stage yet (first year is really just coursework and literature review).

it’s definitely no easy feat to do a PhD with additional barriers, but if you have a topic you’re passionate about and it aligns with your career goals, then i think it’s totally worth it. if you have the ability to have financial support from family or Centrelink, then that’s also a bonus as the stipend isn’t really enough to live on (feel free to DM me how much stipend is, i don’t want to out my finances here).

thanks again for the q, if you have any specific questions, feel free to DM me x

[arthenaa]

Hey bro I like your writing and I was wondering if you could give us some Mizu x Filipino!Reader hcs🥺👉👈 ̶(̶t̶o̶t̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶n̶n̶a̶ ̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶j̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶)̶

I have to make this poetic I'm so sorry but also making it modern!au and canon setting teehee (ALSO DOUBLE UPDATE?) slight nsfw ig!! mdni.

canon divergent, just think of this is as that scene from Goyo where Remedios and Gregorio Pilar do a wholeass pining scene idk

Absolutely met you at some fancy ass noble party

You're a child of a wealthy Senor who's in great partnership with the Lords from the Commonwealth

Mizu's camping in and disguising herself in the party to find more intel on her next target and then she bumps into you

at first you're like very inquisitive of where she came from (considering that you view her as a man at this point), how she enjoys the party and what not

then you're suddenly like ik what you're doing. you're not from here.

Mizu's thrown off bc haha this is an international gathering of sorts and like ppl here are mostly foreign

you're like well its bc you're so obvious when it comes to occasions like this that I've already spotted you from a while back

and so youre like dancing and all and Mizu has no choice but to extract info from you

she reveals that shes looking for a white man, and that he may have connections here in the ph

and coincidence cuz you, who's also a part of the resistance, have been tracing the weapons provider of the spanish army.

so you guys work together. you give her intel, she helps you hunt down the provider and their little goons

it kind of starts like an enemies to lovers .... kind of a forced situation where Mizu has to deal with the resistance in order to get to what she wants but rlly theres no other way around

falls in love w your love for your country

despite your privileged upbringing, you're deeply interconnected with your roots, and have been fighting for the filipino people

you guys fight over the simplest of things, like how she doesnt wear things right or holds weapons correctly

you definitely bond over weaponry though and its history. the first time you've seen her katana, you were so amazed. in return, you showed her a kampilan—a sword carved and forged by your grandfather. she had so many questions.

yeahh overall i think what pulled you together was your shared anger and desperation for justice. No matter the situation, whether it be a resistance against oppression or looking for the man that caused a hellscape within your life, y'all resonated with the emotions and trauma that came with that.

BEST BELIEVE THE SEX WAS GOOD and rough and yes hbejawhejehe mhm

anys thats all. you're like PARA SA PILIPINAS and shes on her knees.

modern au hehe

met through int sch program. mizu is a transferee from japan who joined their uni's international program and got linked w ur sch

she was in one of ur classes and like yeah, she was nearest to u so she had no choice but to ask u for sch stuff

YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS PRETTY CUTE but like u wanted a good impression so u tried to help her as much as u could

even gave her a tour of the campus

showed her a few iconic eating places that she could go to jic her budget was on a limit or wanted good filo food

you wanted to expose her to the culture as slowly as u could just so that she could adapt and pace herself

definitely stuck by your side since then

you learned that she's going to study here for 3 years before going back to japan for her masters, and you're like wow thats so cool and shes like thanks

definitely a gamer

you guys hang out at one of the comp shops nearby (IF NAGAARAL KAYO SA TAFT .... guys suki ako don HAHAHA)

loves learning abt history, esp filipino craftsmanship

you definitely treat her to various street foods

mizu : what's this

you : we call it kwek kwek, but u can call it neon balls

mizu: neon balls????

showed and taught her how public transpo works once, and she gets a hang of it a week later

knows her way around manila than you do (author is projecting mb)

knows basic filo words when navigating. you teach her the slang.

basically friends to lovers guys omg, ayon sana all eme

you do that lips thing where you point w ur lips and at first, she was so confused (this is during your relationship)

she thought you were asking for a kiss and she kissed u and you were like ?!@!?@??$?

mizu: ha

you: I WAS ASKING FOR THE,ASd MUGWTF

mizu: ahhh my bad haha

walks u to class teehee

hangs around in empty class rooms esp comp labs and you guys watch movies there

momol sa dorm, momol sa clasroom na madilim, momol sa may agno charot

MOMOL = MAKE OUT MAKE OUT LANG

revels in simple pda like linking ur pinkies together, thigh against thigh when seating, and just yk so landi. landi niyo.

you have her id pic on the back of ur id and she yours on her clear phonecase

EWWWW GAY PPL (affectionate)

unintentionally matching

loves gifting u jewelry esp necklaces (likes to see it when u guys are in the bedroom, splayed on your chest and just yk decorating your collarbones so nicely)

holds your hand and helps you cross the street omf

pays for ur commute fee when riding the jeepney

memorizes ur kwek kwek and fishball sauce combination

loves exchanging one shoe w u for funsies

loves taking pics w u w the cats on campus

OVERALL A CUTIE TEEHEE!

A/N: DEDICATED KAY DELULU RECEIVER!! eto para sayo sorry ginutom keta ng sobra huhu @ianiralvs may isa pa kong utang sayo na req mo hihi gagawen ko pa yon to muna HHAHHAHA

[i-was-a-teenage-eldritch-horror]

Read Jeff Kass' Columbine: A True Crime Story the other day (this is the best, most factual English-language book on the subject; Cullen's book is basically his fanfic in many respects), and came across this interesting bit:

The context is that Kass is discussing why it is that girls are more likely to spot warning signs of school shooters (gender is such a huge component of this problem, yet there is so little discussion of it, so I really respect Kass for even including this brief bit in his book).

Since then, I've been thinking about this concept of feminine social responsibility in a more general sense and how it relates to the Eva women.

Ritsuko pays no mind to questions of right and wrong. She facilitates Third Impact with impartiality and only attempts to thwarts it to hurt Gendo after she decides the events of episode 23 are the last straw. Ritsuko reveals the truth of Rei, all the cruelty and all the facade, to Misato and Shinji for her own personal catharsis -- not for Rei or anyone else's material benefit. Not even her own, really, since this results in Gendo putting her in what basically amounts to solitary confinement. The most "responsible" thing Ritsuko does in the series is probably chastising Misato for her off-color and concerning jokes about SA towards Shinji in episode 2, but even that feels like a slap in the face after finding out her complicity in Gendo's abuse of Rei. Ritsuko knows she's doing ~bad~ things and loses no sleep over it until she can no longer deny that she's been hurt by this arrangement, and even then, the morals aren't her concern -- only that she can no longer bury this pain.

Naoko fits into this in much the same way -- her research into Rei mirror's Misato's research, yet Naoko ultimately copes with the suspicion that something is amiss in the same way that Ritsuko copes with the certainty and acceptance that there is -- by killing Rei. Naoko's interaction with Rei is, fittingly, much more personal -- Naoko kills with her bare hands; Ritsuko does so with the push of a button. Additionally, there's not really anything to suggest that Naoko was planning on doing anything with her information on Rei -- the murder was committed on impulse. If Ritsuko does an arguably materially good act for selfish reasons, then Naoko does a needlessly cruel act for selfish reasons. This situation is less nuanced.

Maya probably showcases this feminine social responsibility the most out of the Eva women -- she stands up to Gendo and tries to police Ritsuko in much the same way that Misato and Ritsuko try to police each other. Cracks begin to form for Maya, too, but she resigns herself to continue going with the program, unlike Misato, who is at least genuinely curious and does her own independent research.

Misato is hawkish and, much like Maya, wholeheartedly believes that NERV is a net positive for the world. But when Kaji reveals the Adam-Lilith switcharoo in episode 15, Misato's worldview begins to crack. Yet she quietly sits on this information, barely discussing it with Kaji. Her most significant interactions regarding this are with Ritsuko, whom she batters over these doubts as she refuses to accept partial blame for Shinji's potential demise in episode 16. Misato's ego is bruised by Kaji's revelation to her, because it pokes holes in the myth that fuels her life's purpose. Ultimately, the concern boomerangs back to Misato herself, rather than the pilots or the millions of people around the world who are starving because governments' budgets are drained from supporting NERV. The difference between Misato and Ritsuko is that Ritsuko is under no impression that she's "good." Misato is.

Now we come to Yui. Like Naoko, her actions are really only to fuel her own desires and ego -- Misato and Ritsuko are more nuanced than Naoko and Yui. Yui waxes poetic about the moon, stars, happiness, etc. but ultimately...her master plan was not concocted for any noble reason, but rather, to serve herself.

Kaji, interestingly, does display social responsibility. He tells Misato the truth about Adam/Lilith out of the goodness of his heart; not for any ulterior motive. His research and status as a triple agent stems from his genuine desire for the truth. Unlike Misato, his worldview is not based on either side of the coin. Unlike Ritsuko, Kaji is actively trying to thwart the wrongs he's forced to do as part of his job, and it costs him his life. This is not the only time that Kaji is assigned a typically feminine role/trait/status, etc.

I have not discussed Asuka and Rei here for a few reasons. One is that their responsibilities are less nuanced (though significantly heavier in many ways) than that of the women -- which makes sense, being that they're teenagers. Another reason is that, unlike Yui, Naoko, Maya, Ritsuko, and Misato, Asuka and Rei never commit any grave wrongdoings throughout the series. At worst they are a little annoying or slightly rude.

[jhilsara]

Tie Me to You/16

Chapter Summary: Diana's causing so much anxiety its time the incubi came clean about their past.

Word Count: 3.3k

<Last | Next>

Chapter Warnings: Demon Lord type shit. Lots of blood, murder, abuse, and briefly mentions of SA.

This fanfic will explore heavier emotions and will have eventual smut. Minors DNI

Can also be found on AO3 X

Mika’s at her desk deep in the process of picking out her classes for her next semester. She had finally landed on a program she felt confident about within her interests. She just had to pick a focus inside of masters of anthropology. She had spent weeks looking over the different programs, even with the threat of a succubus over her head, and she was determined.  

Archaeology. She wanted, no she needed, to know more about the world. Mika has spent twenty-one years trapped under her father’s thumb. She was going to see the world. She would see everything she wanted and focus on her grandfather's notes he left. There had to be more than devils and incubi and she wanted to explore their world just as much.  

She just had to get past this succubus business. Which hopefully, would go away. 

Mika was being far too optimistic considering she caught Erik in a room demanding the woman leave him alone. Or the week before when the succubus had tried to trap Damien. She’d never seen the gentlest brother be so seriously angered. 

Maybe the succubus woman would just wear herself out.  

The closer Mika’s semester comes to starting, the more aggravated Sam has become. Not to mention that the succubus just appears in the house whenever she wants to. It has Sam literally attached to Mika’s hip, whether she likes it or not. He’s being overly protective.  

Mika finally hits submit and she grins, knowing she’s ready for a new chapter of her life. She stretches before leaving her room. She bounds down the stairs, looking for a small treat for herself in the kitchen. She doesn’t make it far once she’s in the foyer before Sam’s at her heels.  

She grins and grips his arm, “I did it! I’m all registered.” she almost squeals in excitement.  

He looks at her softly before ruffling her hair, “Was wondering what you were doing locked up in there.”  

“Finishing my schedule.” She said triumphantly. “My classes start in two weeks.” 

Sam’s face falters, “That succubus is still out there...” he frowns. 

Mika turns to face him fully, “She cannot stop me from living my life Sam. Besides,” she presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “I can call you if I need you.” 

Sam rolls his eyes playfully but doesn’t argue. “If she does anything-” he begins.  

Mika cuts him off, “You’ll be there.” 

She starts to walk toward the kitchen again, “Now if you excuse me, I deserve a treat for all my hard work.”  

Sam just crosses his arms and shakes his head.  

Damien passes his brother on the way out the door, “You’re absolutely worse now you are together.” He mumbles in mild disgust, but the tone in his voice gives away his tease.  

“Shut up.” Sam responds with a smirk.  

At dinner that night, the tension was so thick Mika couldn’t even pretend to ignore it. She walks in, with a pep to her step and a bit later than normal. As soon as she enters all conversation stops. None of the men can meet her eyes.  

“What’s wrong?” She asks, refusing to sit while they all look like they’ve seen a ghost.  

Their silence chips away at her fortitude. Her anxiety rippling through her. Had something happened in the short amount of time from finishing her registration to dinner. She hadn’t seen any of them besides Sam earlier so this silence was jarring. Frightening even as Sam refused to look up.  

Damien finally gives as her thoughts consume his own.  

“She came back today. This time much more... threatening.” He tells her.  

Mika prickles, “What does that mean?”  

Damien looks away biting his lip.  

Sam growls and his fierce eyes meet hers. “She threatened you.”  

Mika grows more confused, “She’s done that before-” she replies in confusion.  

“No, not in the same way.” Jame interrupted. “She threatened to bring in the angels. I- we aren’t equipped to fight a baptism.” 

“Excuse me? What, what’s a baptism?” she asked quietly.  

“Humans that aren’t granted knowledge of the other realms,” James pauses to look up at her, “they get their memories wiped. Almost a soulless body is left behind.” 

Mika stands there frozen. She feels her heart clutch tightly in fear before she takes a deep breath.  

“What is happening that is so awful she clearly wants you to go with her? Because she is clearly determined.” She asked them.  

“War. Our father has started a war apparently.” Damien responds.  

Matthew rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, “He’s always starting wars, concurring other kingdoms... enslaving. Nothing different than when we left.” he said in defiance. 

Erik lays a reassuring hand on Matthew’s shoulder as he looks at Mika, “This is all true. He’s always been a tyrant. We couldn’t stop him, so we left.” 

Mika’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think I understand.” 

“Maybe it would be easier to show you.” Damien says so quietly it almost dies on his tongue.  

Sam hears it clearly and his head snaps toward his younger brother. “Damien don’t.” he growls lowly.  

“Show me?” she asked, ignoring Sam’s stiff posture. His jaw clenched tightly in response as he gave his brother a warning glare. 

 “It means he can literally show you what we went through.” Erik tells her in a bitter voice. 

Sam slams his hands on the dining table and glares down, “It’s disgusting and vile and she doesn’t need to see it!” Sam says through gritted teeth.   

“Sam, she needs to know what’s going on. Even if it’s painful. It’s not fair to keep her in the dark.” Erik adds. 

Sam continues to glare at the table before he scoffs to himself. “Fine.” He bites out.  

Damien stands and moves toward Mika. He gently shuffles her over to a chair.  

“I’m going to show you our past, you are only a visitor. You won’t be seen or heard. It’s just the memories I can share with you. Nothing will harm you, but the second you don’t trust me, it’ll end.” Damien tells Mika calmly.  

“Does this use energy?” She asks. 

He shrugs, “It will leave you feeling drained unfortunately.” 

She nods in understanding. “I’m ready.”  

Damien gently places his hands to cup her face, his thumb smoothing over her brow bone. His eyes flash gold and then he’s gone. The world around her dives into a deep darkness.  

She stands in the abyss, looking around her frantically trying to find where to go. In the distance she spots a light, as she walks towards it feeling light as a feather. 

The closer Mika gets the more she sees what appears to be a throne room. It looks ancient and like it came out of a fairytale. The biggest difference is the overwhelming emptiness and darkness that almost looms around the corners. The chill that runs down her spine reassures her that this isn’t a castle filled with love, but neither was hers.  

This coldness is one that bites through down to her bones. She feels the despair that seeps through the pores of the stone, the decades of grief and suffering feel overbearing.  

Before Mika can think too much the door slams open, the booming voice echoes in the hall and has her frozen in fear that nearly cripples her. The loud footsteps belong to a large burly demon marching toward her. His face stoic and cold, a permeant glare on his face, his yellow eyes piercing as if they can see her standing there. If it wasn’t for him walking right through her body, she’d almost forget he wasn’t real. That this was all a memory. 

She gasps, trying to catch her breath, as she turns to follow him to his throne. He stands so tall, his horns large as they swirl up. His presence is enough to frighten her without words ever escaping him. His dark clock does little to hide his body, muscles that she would compare to that of a body builder. He could easily crush any opponent in front of him if his glaring gaze didn’t do the trick.  

A new demon comes running, carrying scrolls as his pig hooves scurry past her. 

“My Lord! My Lord I’m here!” the pig demon shrills.  

The Demon Lord glares at him and Mika has to look away. She turns to look around the throne room and sees what she can only assume is a young Damien hiding behind the furthest pillar. If she wasn’t looking for anything else, she’d miss him.  

He can’t be more than eight or so, he’s so tiny and frail. His body trembles behind the pillar. This is the first time Mika has seen any of their demon forms and she’s surprised to see that his body is covered in dark black markings. He clearly resembles the succubus, but the colors and horns are different. His small tail is wrapped tightly around him, like it’s supposed to protect him. She moves to walk toward him but freezes as the Demon Lord’s voice roars, shaking the room.  

“Send in Raestrao!”  

“Yes sire, right away!” the pig demon squeals as his little hooves fumble to run to find this person.  

Mika turns back to spot another demon near Damien, his hand rests on Damien’s shoulder. He gives him a look, as if he’s communicating with him.  

Mika’s eyes widened as she realized that was exactly what was happening. The new young demon was clearly a younger James. He looks deep into Damien’s eyes before he comes around the corner.  

“I could hear you father. What is it you need?” James said as he steps forward, almost gliding regally to the Demon Lord.  

“You’re finally of age Raestrao to begin learning what it means to be the next Demon Lord. We’re beginning your lessons today.” the Demon Lord’s voice is firm.  

“Yes father.” 

“Your first lesson is how to punish the disobedient.” The Demon Lord’s sharp eyes shoot to the pillar Damien’s hiding behind. “Isn’t that right Izroul.”  

James’ body freezes and he doesn’t move as Mika watches Damien slowly come out from behind the pillar.  

“What are you doing out of your cell?” he demands. 

Damien doesn’t respond, just looking down at the floor, eyes wide in fear. His body trembles.  

“Answer me boy!” he shouts angrily arm raised to hit Damien. 

James shifts and moves to protect his brother. “It’s my fault father!” James’ voice barely shakes, but he holds his ground. 

The Demon Lord glared down at him, “How thoughtless of you Raestrao. You know he’s supposed to stay in that cell for his crimes.”  

“But father-” James is sent flying across the hall.  

Mika covers her mouth in abject horror. 

“To think I thought you were ready.” He snaps and the pig demon comes scampering in. “Take Izroul back to his cell.”  

“As for you Raestrao, if you want to play hero so badly why don’t you spend some time fighting the real monsters.” He grips James arm dragging him in an opposite direction. His face is enough to tell Mika this punishment is far worse than he deserves.  

Suddenly it goes black once again, and Mika’s left in the dark abyss to navigate on her own.  

There’s another faint glow in a different direction. Mika chases it, following Damien’s memories.  

If the first memory had awful energy, this one was no better. Mika is standing in an awfully small space. There is no light besides the faint torch that flickers on the opposite wall. Mika can almost feel the moisture in the air and how damp the floor feels. The tiny space is overwhelming and almost claustrophobic. She turns to look and finds an older Damien sitting on the ground. He looks so frail as he looks out toward the room across the hall.  

A creaking noise is heard from a distance and footsteps come closer. The demon turning the corner looks like Erik and Damien sits up in excitement. A small spark came back to his eyes.  

“Uzaeris.” Damien whispers with happiness.  

Erik sends his brother a soft smile as he grips the bars of the cell. “Izroul! My dear brother.” He reaches his hand out to hold onto Damien’s.  

Damien frowns slightly. “Your mother’s sent you here for the harem again, hasn’t she?” 

Erik scoffs and looks down solemnly, “You don’t need to read my thoughts to know that brother.”  

Erik shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter, I brought a gift.” he pushes a bag into Damien’s hands.  

“Hide it under your pillow. It connects to one exactly like it in my chambers. It’ll be easier to sneak you food so you won’t be as malnourished.” Erik reassures him.  

Before he can thank his brother the sound of heels clicking comes nearer.  

“Uzaeris! Uzaeris are you down there?!”  

Erik freezes and scoffs. “Yes mother!”  

He stands and waits for his mother to arrive, Damien shoving his gift under the bed roll in his cell.  

When Erik’s mother appears, she looks next to him to spot Damien, and she sneers at him. “Don’t waste your time with this bastard. I sent you down here to do a job.”  

“Yes mother.” Erik replies quietly.  

“Now get in there and do it. If you can’t be the next Demon Lord, you might as well be the best incubi!” She shouts at him.  

“He hates it. The way the women touch him and grope at him...” Damien speaks up in a small voice.  

Erik’s mother shoots a glare toward him, “Get out of his head you lying little rat!” she shrieks at him.  

Erik’s mother uses her powers, no matter how weak they might be, and summons a purple tendril to wrap tightly around Damien’s throat.  

“You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my son's side. I bet the Demon Lord wouldn’t bat an eye at your death.” She laughs cruelly.  

Erik’s eyes are wide as he tries to stop his mother. His brain going a mile per minute.  

“Mother don’t!” Erik exclaimed; his mother's glare turns toward her son.  

Erik thinks quickly, “You know how father is. He’d hate for anyone else to kill what’s his.” He quickly grabs his mother's hands squeezing them. “I’d absolutely die if anything were to happen to you!”  

She relents and releases Damien, falling for her son’s ruse. “Oh, how you always look after me Uzaeris.” She praises, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.  

“Now listen to your mother.” She says darkly.  

Erik stiffens and looks at Damien, another silent conversation happening before he walks off into the door across the way. Women’s voices filtering out in shrill coos.  

It goes black again before she sees the next light, this one being much closer. Mika swallows hard before walking towards it. She isn’t enjoying what she’s witnessing, and she knows Damien’s filtering it. She’s only seeing the tip of the iceberg.  

It’s the cell again, but this Damien has more meat on his body. He’s staring past her with wide eyes, and Mika turns to see what’s on the other side of the cell.  

Sam stands before Damien, holding the door open and covered in blood. The blood is dripping off of his body. It’s clear there’s a mix of others and his. The wounds she can see beyond his markings show that. He’s heavily breathing and his large form is shaking. Mika knows why, he’s low on energy. Which from his state, she isn’t surprised.  

“Aomaris?” Damien’s voice shakes.  

He nods his head, “Well, are you coming or what Izroul?” Sam’s face is stoic, but Mika knows how to read his face. He’s done something, traded a part of himself for his brother.  

“What, what did you do Aomaris?” he asks, stepping closer to the open door.  

“Don’t worry about it.” He scoffs, “But you don’t have to be trapped down here anymore, or ever again.”  

Sam holds his hand out for Damien to grab. Damien doesn’t hesitate to grab onto Sam and be led out.  

Damien doesn’t remark on the lash marks that clearly are pouring out blood. Nor does he ever ask Sam what he sacrificed for his freedom.  

The room goes black once more. Mika isn’t sure how much more she can handle, but she wonders toward the next light that’s the furthest away.  

It’s the throne room again. 

She sees all of them together, much more like how they look now. All of them are surrounding Matthew, whose hands are gripping a demon's neck under him. No one bothers to stop him. His face is wild as he’s snarling at the demon below.  

“Zecaeru, killing this demon is more trouble than it’s worth.” Erik tells him with a sigh. 

Matthew’s eyes shoot up, “You didn’t hear the vile dribble coming from his lowly mouth about my mother!”  

“And father will be close to gutting you if you kill this demon in his throne room floor.” James adds with a frown.  

“What is going on in here?!”  

Mika doesn’t have to turn to know whose loud voice reverberates the room. It still makes her flinch and jump.  

The others' part like a sea as their father walks up to Matthew. Matthew who is holding the dead demon's neck in his hands. His father glares down at him.  

“You dare kill one of my servants in my throne room Zecaeru?” he growls out.  

Matthew doesn’t say anything at first, just releases the dead demon’s neck and stands tall meeting his father's gaze.  

“He insulted my mother.” Matthew defends.  

The Demon Lord gives a loud chortle of a mocking laugh, “Your mother insults herself for having such a small weak boy.” 

Before Matthew can rebuttal the Demon Lord grabs his neck, lifting him off the ground. 

Damien lurches forward but Sam stops him. Shaking his head no. They stand by and Matthew struggles against his father.  

“You’re not even worth fodder to the monsters.” The Demon Lord snickers before tossing Matthew aside. The force propels Matthew into one of the pillars and his body cracks the stone. He lays unmoving. 

He turns to the rest of his sons and a deep growl resonates from him, “Disappointing. Clean this up.” 

It fades to black, and Mika feels herself return to her body, opening her eyes to see Damien staring at her with wide eyes. 

Mika feels the wetness of tear trails on her face. She looks at all of them sorrowfully. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she can’t begin to find the words she wants to express.  

“I- I’m so sorry... I can’t begin to imagine-” She starts but pauses. She doesn’t know what she can say. It’s all in their past.  

Sam bristles in discomfort and stands abruptly before stomping off. His emotions bared on his face.  

“Sam-” she tries to call after him.  

James holds his hand up to stop her, “He’ll come around... He's just, well,” he looks down at the table trying to find his thoughts.  

“Shame. He feels shame.” Matthew pipes up. Looking at her with his own ghosts haunting behind his eyes.  

Mika sees Matthew choking the one demon to death and she has to close her eyes for a moment.  

Mika takes a deep and shaky breath before finding her conviction. 

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed. You were victims of abuse.” She said in a steady voice looking at incubi brothers left in the room.  

They all had a burden they were carrying, secrets she may never know, and that was more than okay. She’d support them through it all, like that had supported her. This was her family, and they needed her just as much as she needed them. 

“You didn’t have a choice in your lives.”  

Erik scoffs in disgust, “We did, it just would have killed us.”  

“That’s why she’s after us, the succubus... because our father will do worse than just murdering her people.” Damien adds quietly.  

“Which is why we left.” Matthew adds with a clipped tone. 

Mika sits there quietly, letting them think. It’s not her life to interject unwarranted opinions. Even if there is a small part of her that understands the succubus woman's desperation now.  

[greatonlinetrainingsposts]

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Little things in Tron: Legacy that fuck me up:

-Sam's bittersweet smile when Alan tells him that Kevin told him to sleep with his pager, and how the smile immediately falls off his face when Alan tells him that the page came from the arcade.

-The program* who tells Sam 'be quiet if you wanna live' is seen in End of Line later, confirming that derezzing a program isn't the same as killing them, which is why the other program jumps off into the fan when he is told he's going to the games, cause it destroyed his disc, and why he screams erase me.

-The way the sirens are hesitating when outfitting Sam, knowing they are about to change everything. They know he's not a program. The hesitation and the nod when they put the disc on his back.

-The fact the the punishment from Tron 1 has become a Roman Gladiator Sport for Clu. The fact that Clu is a mirror of Master Control, the thing that Flynn hates.

-when Clu says 'just you?' implying he was not expecting Sam, but expecting Alan, and he was expecting him like a few months ago in grid time.

-Quorra sitting on the roof alone watching the Games, having seen the Beacon, knowing Someone was there, but not knowing who. Not knowing she'd be rescuing the son of her Father figure. Probably someone who's shoes she'd been wanting to fill but not being able to.

-'There are no guests Kiddo' 'Sam...' 'You're here!' 'I'm here'

-Quorra's confused face when Kevin walks away.

-the fact that Kevin just happens to have extra rooms in his house. Why does he have so many empty rooms. Did he have hope for more ISOs?

-Tron immediately knowing Something is up when he see's Clu in orange in the flash back.

-'Tron. He fought for me.' 'why didn't you fight' 'he did'

-'I didn't send a page'

-The fact that Sam's plan would have worked if Zeus hadn't betrayed him. If Sam had gotten out on his own, he'd have deleted Clu and everything would have been fine. But Tron: Legacy is a tragedy

-the fucking. Above program * being IN THE END OF LINE CLUB. The way he looks at Sam as Sam walks by with Castor.

-Did Gem know Zeus would betray Sam? did she plan that since she met him?

-DAFT PUNK. I miss Daft Punk, and I love them in this movie for the three seconds you see them.

-'Thank you for bringing my son to me' Kevin coming to terms with his death, knowing he'll have to get Sam out and then reintegrate with Clu before Sam sees.

-The whole conversation between Kevin and Sam on the light rail, but especially knocking on the sky.

-Kevin recognizing Tron cause of the way he does a back flip and holds two discs. No one else can back flip like Tron, canon.

-'She's gonna wind up like one of them' 'Keep moving Sam' cause Kevin knows that Quorra will die, not be turned.

-'I have special plans for you' What does Clu have planned for Quorra? is he gonna SA her? He's so creepy toward her that's the vibes I get, but maybe he's just gonna torture her. This is a small thing that fucks me up cause this doesn't need to happen? Rinzler could have just taken her up to the tower without this interaction. Unnecessary plot hole right there.

-the fact that Clu's speech is an exact copy of Kevin's from the beginning of the movie.

-'I was afraid you where gonna say that' Kevin coming to terms with how Sam is gonna have to see him die.

-'radical man' 'it's all in the wrist'

-Rinzler taking himself back over 'I fight for the users'.

-'NOT WITHOUT YOU' 'it's what he wants' ‘goodbye kiddo’

-ALAN AND SAM AT THE ARCADE

-Sam and Quorra driving through Center City in the sunrise, a parallel of the sunset over Center City in the credits of the first movie.

-this one doesn’t really have a Place on the list so here works: Rinzlers purr.

[nice2meetyouu]

Random thoughts on a Sunday:

Gusto kong i-try 'yung NAWA Wellness sa Calatagan. May promo kasi 'yung eastwest, 20% off, not sure if applicable 'yun sa retreat. May mental wellness thing for women sila next month. Ang gastos ko na talaga these days.

Nagpakonsulta ako kahapon sa ENT. Tumawag ako sa hotline 2pm, pwede naman daw walk-in, first come, first served. Surprise, pang-14 ako pagdating doon noong 4pm. Ang schedule ay 4-6pm, pero 7:30pm na ako natignan. Siguro next time, may dala na lang din akong pending work or aaralin. Hindi ko kasi matantya kung tatawagin na ba ako or hindi pa. I mean, around 6pm, sabi, pang-6 pa lang 'yung tinatawag.

Bumalik ako kanina para magpakuha ng dugo. May mga hindi nasama sa listahan ng itinawag sa hmo na nasa request naman. Inayos naman nila no'ng sinabi ko, kaso +30 minutes waiting time or more nanaman kasi itatawag pa, paperwork pa ulit, and so on. Dati rin, pag ako 'yung nagpapaapprove sa app, andaming naiiwang lab test, kaya hindi ko na muna ginagamit 'yung app sa ngayon.

Naisip ko nanaman ang healthcare (delivery) in general. May mga "clinic" kasi sa ibang bansa na text-based na for non-urgent concerns, kasi alangan namang pipila ka nang pagkatagal-tagal every now and then. 'Yung concept ay asynchronous 'yung consultation and for specific concerns lang din naman.

Gusto kong maging understanding pero 'yung totoo, wala namang luxury of time 'yung most people para pumila at maghintay sa mga clinic. Naisip ko lang na other than APE and some citizens na concerned sa kalusugan nila, hindi pa rin masyadong uso 'yung preventive care sa atin. At kung magpapakonsulta ka man or lab test or imaging, andami-daming kinukuhang oras from you. Buti kung may dedicated day for that purpose na hindi affected ang work/pay and other things.

Hindi ko naman sinisisi 'yung clinic or anyone for that matter. Marami lang talagang tao. Siguro maganda kung may maisip silang sistema to make things more tolerable, like itetext ka na lang nila kapag tinawag na 'yung #8 samantalang #10 ka sa pila, para naman alam mong pwede kang kumain, magshopping, o umuwi muna, kaysa nakaupo ka lang doon. Pero unpredictable kasi minsan, gets ko rin naman.

Ang sarap ng greek yogurt!!!!!!!!

Bibilhan ko sana sila ng mcflurry pero naisip kong mag-lunch out na lang kami. Ilibre ko raw sila sa Yabu pagkauwi galing ospital.

Nakita ko 'yung Global Health Delivery Intensive, I thought interesting siya. Mag-aapply na sana ako kaso $10,000 pala ang tuition fee. Related sya sa Master of Medical Sciences in Global Health Delivery (MMSc-GHD) degree-program offered through Harvard Medical School. May scholarship, pero last year naaccept ako sa some program sa some university sa UK pero hindi sa scholarship so hindi ko tinuloy. And tl;dr tinatamad akong magpasa ng kung anu-ano ulit (tapos marereject lang).

[retrospective-d3c-a--y]

Android

cw: BBU?ish, Implied whumpee death, Kidnapping, Abuse and SA (none in detail), Organ harvesting. Android whumpee/whumper/bad caretaker- Reprogramming, The works. Alcohol mention.

Android 391, Unit 5. Its story begins when it is finally bought and taken away from its makers and trainers. Its initially bought as a blank.

Moderately pretty thing. Comes in a box, preprogrammed to do whatever is commanded... although it is well known that the basic program does have issues following longer commands.

You can of course purchase the additional programming for a.. small fee, of course, the main two being romantic or scientific. Just as advertised in the instruction manual.

The organization that has bought it is not all that different from where it came from- Their activities are aggressive and involve kidnapping. Most of the kidnappees are turned into pets either to sell back to the program it came from or personal use within their facilities and families.

A391U5 spent half of its time entering, capturing evaders, and destroying homes, majority of the other time carrying heavy things across camp, and the rest getting beers for the men and being used relentlessly for what his main purpose was: sex and abuse. It was... fun for it's masters to see how much it could do. A couple years later, a scientist joins the upper ranks, creating a science unit. They demand the android, and they are permitted to have primary ownership. A new program is installed with ease.. done just before it's warranty was up. They called it wonderful. Perfect. Something about those words pleased A391U5. It was doing good... Both great things in according to its program.

A391U5 could not say the same thing about the work it did. It wasn't... displeased, or disappointed, or dissatisfied, or.. anything like that. It wasn't allowed to be. It had checked. But, well, tearing apart fleshy-beings and harvesting organs.. mutating some beyond saving... testing endurance, strength, intelligence, and more... only able to answer their pleads for it to stop with “The pursuit of knowledge waits for no creature", per their instructions.

A391U5 wasn't until it met Am[ERROR]-... Subject 482 it began to use its vast scientific knowledge to wonder how it might keep these pets alive a little longer. Subject 482, female, liked to treat it as if it were... human. Thanking it for feeding them all timingly. For administering medication to the youngest in Unit 480. Fixing minor issues in it's body, to the other's dissaproval. Subject 482 understood the wonder of such and invention of this android, it had declared. Telling it they knew "he" had to hurt them. That is wasn't "his" fault.

At the time, A391U5 did not understand. For one thing, it wasn't sure they were referring to it. It was not a "He". Not a "him" or "his"- surely these fragile beings knew full well it was an android. Additionally, it was clearly marked A391U5 and explained to them time and time again it stood for Android 391- Unit 5, not "Aegius". But any time they'd say it, no one else was around but the numbers and itself.

It was two thirds of a year of this nonsense- likely caused by their injuries and such, it was sure. Unit 480 dwindled down from 10 to 6 before they were able to escape. At first they asked Aegius it to go with them.

It.. couldn't help what it did to the first one who tried to drag it away. Blood splattered against their cage.

"Subject 487, male. Elimination estimation without care.. one hour. Reason: Bloodloss. Unit 480, please surrender yourselves and prepare for transport."

Unit 480 was horrified. Subject 482 still moved to him.. slowly. It didn't remember how it really went down. Shame, it's favorite (had it been permitted!) had to be eliminated....

It woke up in a place far away from what it had knew since it turned on. Some of its physical system had been damaged. This new programming, horribly shoved into it's usb port for such things, was malfunctioning. It wouldnt load properly. He could see it was a romantic file.. did subject 482 not know its old coding must be removed before it may be reprogrammed..? It had no need to keep its science memory module if it were to be used as a romantic now..

It certainly still wanted to be good for it's master. Both programs overlapped in that sense. Awkwardly, it shifted onto its knees and hands, crawling head down to its new master, subject 482. She was bleeding alot.. It was struggling to fill in the holes of what to do. Finding nothing useful about a bleeding master in its new programming, it searched over its old programming... using fire to seal up the wounds.

Familiar it was how Subject 482 screamed...

It was almost... comforting. It curled up on Subject 482 once it had roughly fixed the unit as it always had, letting out a small cooing noise. Shoving some of the protein pellets it had left over into her mouth. Its new programming said it may please its Owner. It sure hoped so... Keeping them all safe was the objective that made the most sense. Pleasing it was part of keeping them safe, right-?

It allowed Unit 480 and itself to be picked up by an unknown unit when it announced that they knew them. That they were being taken home.

[strangevampy]

yapping :3

i know i come back to post like once a year, but i thought i'd talk about how college is going and everything going on in my life. i know damn well nobody here cares (not trying to be all emo, i mean like- eh you get what i mean..) and- idk, too much shit has gone on. firstly, i havent exactly graduated from high school yet, im in this dual enrollment program, but i dont actually have any high school classes to take anymore? if that makes sense? im at this community college full time, and only go in 4/5 days out of the school week for like 1 hour each day (im off on fridays). I think it's really nice, and it'll put me ahead once i transfer to the college i actually want to attend (A&T!! Aggie pride or whatever lol). My mom wants me to pursue a master's degree, so i dont see why i shouldnt. Also, I want a degree in Computer Science, and I really want to be a game/software developer. I know people say 'AI will taker over all our jobs!!! you all will be out of a career!!' I.. don't exactly fear that, but, only time will tell I guess... (TW for SA talk after this, so if u don't like that, feel free to scroll.) secondly, I was in some relationship that I ended around May and i didn't really find out he- violated me, i guess, until after I ended it. I was telling my friends about a certain incident where I went it to give him a small kiss on the lips before leaving school and he took it further than I wanted and it really bothered me, and they told me that it was SA, and that realization sent me down a bit of a spiral. In addition, we used to make out and stuff in the school stairwell (bad idea, i know, dumb shit..), but after I ended this and got with my current boyfriend, whenever we were in a stairwell alone together, even if we're just walking through, I got- scared? almost? like an overwhelming urge to keep my distance and watch him, and- i really didn't like that. ive already had too many encounters with boys talking about my body in ways i didn't appreciate, and after i broke up with him he sent me some lame ass fucking apology about how 'he feels so guilty :(' like i would care. idk. i feel like im going through some 5 stages of grief LMAO. i've been working through it, but it still feels weird. bleh, idk >.< uhh some other stuff... i identify as goth (i like the term babybat so i prefer that lol) and started leaning more towards that kind of style and culture and expressing myself more freely now. i LOVE androgynous style, and basically aim to confuse people on whether im male or female in the near future. ummm uhhh i dunno :3 im more into video games and stuff, i rlly like honkai star rail and project sekai (ace attorney and sally face will always be my comfort games though) and uhhh idk what else to add. to anyone reading, please remember to love. uts damn near 3 am and idk what im saying anymore but pls show those around u that u love and care for them. you never know what a person is going thru, and your beautiful soul may just make more than a difference than u know. thanks for listening to my schizo ramblings.,.. goobnight....

[usafphantom2]

The only Blackbird Mach 3+ spy plane hit by a SAM and why the HABU was not 100% invulnerable to Surface to Air Missiles

The SR-71 spy plane

The iconic SR-71 Blackbird [dubbed Habu because it resembled the Habu indigenous snake on Okinawa, Japan] spy plane is known for being the official record holder for the fastest jet-powered, piloted aircraft of all time.

T-shirts Habubrats 2

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

The SR-71 was based on another Mach 3, high altitude reconnaissance aircraft, the A-12 Oxcart.

Another Blackbird, the YF-12 high-altitude, Mach 3 interceptor was developed from the A-12 to defend against supersonic bombers. The YF-12 was never adopted by the military as an operational aircraft. The YF-12 too was, however, a precursor to the SR-71 Blackbird reconnaissance plane.

No reconnaissance aircraft in history has operated in more hostile airspace or with such complete impunity than the SR-71 Blackbird. It is the fastest aircraft propelled by air-breathing engines. The Blackbird’s performance and operational achievements placed it at the pinnacle of aviation technology developments during the Cold War.

Now when talking about Blackbird family on of the most frequently asked Blackbird questions is – has it ever been hit by the enemy during spy missions? How close did it ever come to being shot down?

The only Blackbird hit by a SAM

Jim Goodall, former Master Sergeant at U.S. Air Force and author of the book Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird: The Illustrated History of America’s Legendary Mach 3 Spy Plane, explains;

‘To my knowledge, only one Blackbird, a CIA A-12 Blackbird was hit with shrapnel on Oct. 30, 1967 while on the CIA’s third pass over Hanoi in three days. The crews protested flying the same route three days in a row, but they were out-ranked.

‘Denny Sullivan [Dennis B. Sullivan retired as an Air Force Brigadier General and passed away in 2020. Sullivan was one of only 6 A-12 mission pilots, known as “Drivers”, his call-sign was Dutch 23] ran into some debris from part of the fusing components of a Soviet-built SA-2 as he was leaving the area [over Vietnam, during Operation Black Shield (as the A-12 deployment at Kadena Air Base was codenamed), where he survived multiple SAM missile attacks on his Oxcart while he was cruising at altitudes in excess of 82,000 feet]. The damage was found on a post-flight inspection and the composite inboard leading edge had something wedged in it, and the CIA identified it as part of the fusing mechanism of the SA-2.’

Today the damaged part of the SR-71 Sullivan he was flying on that mission is in the CIA museum at Langley, Virginia. Denny Sullivan went on to work with the SR-71s as operations officer.

Different SAM scenarios feared

Frank Huddleston, former USAF ELINT analyst and SR-71 mission planner (1975-1978) in the 9SRW, adds some interesting info;

‘This is why we never assumed 100% invulnerability to SAM’s, at least during my time. Known SAM sites and MiG-25 bases were always considered during mission planning and sensor targeting.

‘There is an opinion that the speed and altitude made the aircraft “bulletproof’ and missile threats were sloughed off with a “you can’t touch this” mindset. We feared different SAM scenarios like salvo launches, while understanding the enemy missile defense systems had to be ready, coordinated and authorized to launch.

‘My four years in [the SR-71 program], I drew in both SA-2 and SA-5 threat radars on or along the mission flight paths. And I pointed every camera on them as well as turned on the ELINT system. I surely can’t speak for the crews, but we surely took the threats to the aircraft deadly serious during planning.’

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter X Page Habubrats SR-71, Instagram Page SR71Habubrats and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder Habubrats for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: Dru Blair via www.drublair.com, U.S. Air Force, CIA and Hoangprs5 Own work via Wikipedia

Linda Sheffield Miller

Grew up at Beale Air Force Base, California. I am a Habubrat. Graduated from North Dakota State University. Former Public School Substitute Teacher, (all subjects all grades). Member of the DAR (Daughters of the Revolutionary War). I am interested in History, especially the history of SR-71. Married, Mother of three wonderful daughters and four extremely handsome grandsons. I live near Washington, DC.

@Habubrats71 via X