#beyond the gates target | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bhaalble · 10 months

Text

Back on my Wyll script doctor because I was talking about it with a friend. Specifically imagining a version of Wyll's big Character Choice that felt like it had some actual teeth.

Imagine a world where instead of a cartoon evil hot lady Mizora and Wyll's relationship actually had some complexity to it and like. some genuine push and pull which gives him temptation to stay. I just keep thinking about this 17 year old who his whole life wanted more than anything to be a hero, who got his chance to do something heroic and selfless and save the city from certain doom, and his reward is getting kicked out because he did it the "wrong way".

Imagine if instead of forcing his silence, Mizora instead comforted him. How unbelievably cruel of your father! Well...since you've nowhere else to go, why not stick with me? We make a pretty good team, as it turns out, and I can get you a whole list of monsters who need killing. Plenty of devils and demons loose in your world targetting all sorts of innocents. Our interests can keep aligning, and you get a place to sleep when you need it.

Wyll makes his peace with it, because he has nothing and no one. And Mizora's not GOOD maybe, not by Ulder Ravengard's definition. But she's fun. She delights in his growth. And she does certainly keep direct him at greater evils, devils who really do need killing. And if she spies on his every waking moment, well, she worries. If she sends him after the occasional innocent, well, she had people who she has to answer to as well. She's a devil, how much can he fault her for her nature? She's always seemed like she knew where the line was...

Karlach (and the player) express their doubts, of course, but for act one at least he's defensive. Yes, she punished him and he hates it and its miserable but....he was in breach of contract! She's NEVER gone outside its bounds, she's always stuck very closely to their agreement. Wyll, who wants so badly to trust others and believe everyone has the chance for good, can't find it in him to believe the worst even of a devil.

And Mizora is FOND of Wyll, loves him even in her way. As a cherished pet, as a trusted tool, as a best-laid plan. Never enough to choose his own well-being over her own agenda, never enough to see him as his own person. He's her little project, the long shot noble brat she gambled on when Tiamat decided to get too big for her britches. And it paid off! Wyll always pays off, currying her all the favor from Zariel she so desperately craves. And who are you, or anyone, to come between them? She's treated him well. As she's quick to remind him, she wanted him when no one else did, aided him while the rest of his city slept snug in their beds. And if Ulder Ravengard didn't want a son with a whiff of infernal, then do you REALLY think he'd want you with lovely horns and Avernus in your blood?

You discover his father's been taken. Beyond igniting a lot of old feelings, it brings up a question of succession. Of course, Florrick isnt giving up on him, but if not...there aren't currently any likely candidates to take over the Flaming Fists. Not trustworthy ones. Florrick will take the position, but everyone knows in the back of his mind Ulder never really stopped planning for it to be Wyll. With the city in chaos and a cult army on the rise, they may need an answer sooner rather than later. Wyll feels the call of the Gate, but knows just as well that Mizora wouldn't want him to return in such an official capacity.

For the first time ever the leash starts to chafe in a way he can't keep pushing through.

Act 2 rolls around. Mizora sends up the Warlock signal. After potentially some encouragement from the player, Wyll (NOT THE PLAYER. I DONT KNOW WHY ITS THE PLAYER IN THE GAME ITS WEIRD) hesitantly proposes that maybe, if he does this....they can do a renegotiation of his contract. Not break it, he assures her quickly! Just....reopen the terms, take a looks at the agreement. Maybe discuss an exit ramp? After all....I mean, neither of us truly thought I'd be doing this forever, did we?

Based on Mizora's reaction. Yeah she did.

But fine. She agrees. And Wyll's not mad that it turns out you're rescuing her, not a nameless "operative" for Zariel. He would've done that on his own had she asked. Its the fact that she apparently didn't feel like being honest, that she let him fret and worry about potentially handing Zariel back some runaway for basically no reason. Its the fact that she came here to check in on the cult that abducted his FATHER just to see if Zariel could make any use of them. And its the fact that she seems surprised and annoyed that ANY of this bothers him.

All this builds, of course, to the final confrontation. The basic elements are the same. Mizora outside the coronation (this time needling at Wyll, "I'll be at camp if you're not too high and mighty to consort with the likes of me anymore"), Ulder tadpoled and fighting it. Mizora makes her offer. I can end the contract now, and you're free to go running after daddy (who won't want you btw! not like I do!). You'll lose all your powers, all my aid, all those juicy quests to chase down the greatest monsters in the hells. Take on your father's job and settle in for a life of misery and compromise and only doing as much good as the nobles will let you. Or: pledge yourself to me, eternally. I'll give you a boatload of new powers and eternal life to boot, so long as you serve as my sword and shield.

From there I think three endings branch out, and with it three classes for Wyll. If he stays with Mizora, accepts a relationship where he will never be an equal or a free agent in exchange for the affirmation he wants so badly from his father, he remains a Warlock, with some juiced stats and extra spell slots, along with shiny new gear. If he pledges to follow in his father's footsteps, he instead becomes an Oath of Devotion paladin, pledging himself in service to Tyr, if with a sense of doomed finality. The Blade of Frontiers is officially retired, and along with it any identity he has outside of being his father's son. Or the third path, break the contract without taking his father's role. He will look for his father, yes, but whether or not you find him he's going back to his roots, travelling around to do some good in the world (as the Blade of Frontiers) or kicking ass in the Hells with Karlach (as the Blade of Avernus). In this timeline he becomes a fighter, with a default preference for Eldritch Knight.

What's important: if he breaks his contract then Mizora is NOT hanging around camp. She will leave in a fury, accidentally bound by her own word to withdraw her influence completely if he breaks his contract. She may still approach the player some night to sleep with the player, framed for high approval/romanced players and her trying to take something back from Wyll. But Wyll will have to learn how to define himself without her breathing down his neck, without keeping her happy dominating his every thought. Its nervewracking, and even lonesome at times...but its freedom. And, perhaps, that's worth a little bit of lonesomeness.

#long post #again i want to be clear because i think wyll fans are a little understandably defensive of him #this is not about wanting wyll to be a bad person #its about wanting him to have an arc that parallels the rest of the companions #and be more firmly centered on HIS feelings and choices #ive done my best to preserve wylls canon temperament here #just give the circumstances more teeeth #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #wyll ravengard #mizora #ulder ravengard

1K notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

How the kleptocrats and oligarchs hunt civil society groups to the ends of the Earth

It's a great time to be an oligarch! If you have accumulated a great fortune and wish to put whatever great crime lies behind it behind you, there is an army of fixers, lickspittles, thugs, reputation-launderers, procurers, henchmen, and other enablers who have turnkey solutions for laundering your reputation and keeping the unwashed from building a guillotine outside the gates of your compound.

The field of International Relations has studied the enemies of the Klept in detail: the Transnational Activist Network is a well-documented phenomenon. But far more poorly understood is the Transnational Uncivil Society Network, who will polish any turd of sufficient wealth to a high, professional gloss.

These TUSNs are the subject of a new, timely scholarly paper by Alexander Cooley, John Heathershaw and Ricard Soares de Oliveira: "Transnational Uncivil Society Networks: kleptocracy’s global fightback against liberal activism," published in last month's European Journal of International Relations:

https://ora.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid:5e5a3052-c693-4991-a7cc-bc2b47134467/download_file?file_format=application%2Fpdf&safe_filename=Cooley_et_al_2023_transnational_uncivil_society.pdf&type_of_work=Journal+article

The authors document how a collection of institutions – some coercive, others organized around good works – allow kleptocrats to take power, keep power, and use power. This includes "wealth managers, company providers, accounting firms, and international bankers" who create the complex financial structures that obscure the klept's wealth. It also includes "second citizenship managers and lawyers" that facilitate the klept's transnational nature, both to provide access to un-looted, prosperous places to visit, and boltholes to escape to in the face of coup or reform. It includes the real-estate brokers and other asset facilitators, who turn whole precincts of the world's greatest cities into empty safe-deposit boxes in the sky, while ensuring that footlose criminal elites always have a penthouse to perch in when they take a break from the desiccated husks they've drained dry back home.

Of course, it also includes the PR managers and philanthropic ventures that allow the klept to launder their reputation, to make themselves synonymous with good deeds rather than mass murder. Think here of how the Sacklers used charity to turn their family name into a synonym for culture and fine art, rather than death by opioid overdose:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Beyond providing comfort to "Politically Exposed Persons" and "High Net-Worth Individuals," TUSNs are concerned with neutralizing TANs. Activists in these transnational networks play an inside-outside game: in-country activists will recruit peers abroad to bring attention to the crimes of their local kleptocrats. These overseas partners target the klept in the places they go to play and spend, spoiling their fun – and if they succeed in getting corrupt leaders censured abroad, then in-country activists can leverage that bad press to fight the klept at home.

To fight this "Boomerang Effect," TUSNs seek to burnish corrupt officials' reputations abroad, getting their names on humanitarian prizes, beloved sports teams, cultural institutions and great universities. They seek to capture international governance institutions that might wrong-foot kleptocrats, co-opting them to enable and even celebrate looters.

When it comes to elite philanthropy, TUSNs are necessarily selective. Kleptocrats' foundations don't fund anti-kleptocratic groups – they stick to "education, public health, the environment and the arts." These domains steer clear of human rights questions that might implicate their benefactors. Russian oligarchs love children's charities and disability rights – provided they don't target the Russian state.

If charitable giving is reputation laundering's carrot, then "reputation management" is the laundry's stick. Think of organized copyfraudsters who clone websites that have criticized their clients, then backdate the articles, then accuse the originals of infringing copyright in order to get them de-listed from Google or taken offline altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#dark-ops

Reputation managers also spend a lot of time in court. In the UK – the world's leader in libel tourism, thanks to a legal system designed to let posh monsters sue muckraking journalists into silence – Russian oligarchs have perfected the art of forcing their critics to shut up and go away:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/04/londongrad/#enablers

Indeed, London is a one-stop shop for the global klept, a place were forelock-tugging Renfields will buy you a Mayfair mansion under cover of a numbered company, sue your critics into silence, funnel your money into an anonymous Channel Islands account:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

They'll sell you whole galleriesworth of "fine art" that you can have relocated to a climate-controlled container in a Swiss or Irish freeport:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/14/poesy-the-monster-slayer/#moneylab

They'll give your thick-as-pigshit progeny a PhD and never check to see whether he wrote his thesis himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LSE%E2%80%93Gaddafi_affair

Then they'll hook you up with a cyber-arms dealer to hunt your enemies by capturing their devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/27/gas-on-the-fire/#a-safe-place-for-dangerous-ideas

But don't let Brexit stop you from shopping for bargains on the continent. The Golden Passports of the EU – available in a variety of flavors, from Maltese to Cypriot to Portuguese – offer the discerning failson access to the luxury good shops and fleshpots of 27 advanced economies, making it a favorite of the Khmer Riche – the junior klept of Cambodia's ruling faction:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

But golden passports are for amateurs. Skilled klepts travel on diplomatic passports, which offer the twin benefits of free movement and consequence-free criminality, thanks to diplomatic immunity. The former Kazakh dictator's son-in-law enjoyed a freewheeling diplomatic life in Vienna; one daughters of the dictator of Tajikistan had a jolly time as an envoy to DC; another, to London (where else?).

All this globetrotting serves a second purpose: when rival elites seize power back home and force the old guard into exile, those ex-monsters can show up in the lands they called their second homes and apply for asylum. It turns out that even bomb-the-boats UK will welcome any asylum seeker who enters via the private jet terminal at City Airport (to be fair, these "refugees" have extensive properties in Zone 1 and country places in the Home Counties, so they won't need housing).

This stuff works. After Kazakh state goons murdered at least 14 protesters at a Zhanaozen oil facility in 2011, human rights groups around the world took up the cause. But they were effectively neutralized by TUSNs, with former UK PM Tony Blair writing on behalf of the Kazakh government to the EU condemning any kind of international investigation into the mass killings (add "former Prime Ministers" to the list of commodities for sale in the UK to sufficiently well-resourced murderer).

The authors close their paper with two case-studies. The first is of the daughters of Uzbek dictator Islam Karimov, Gulnara and Lola. And President Karimov was indeed a dictator: he trapped his population within his borders, forced them to use unconvertible scrip in place of money, and ordered the murder of hundreds of peaceful protesters, plunging the country into international isolation.

But while Uzbeks were sealed within their borders, Gulnara Karimov became an international player, running a complex network of businesses that mixed the products of the nation's oilfields with her family's fortune. She solicited – and received – bribes from Teliasonera, MTS and Vimpelcom, who were all vying for the contract to provide service in Uzbekistan. All told, she extracted more than $1b in bribes, laundering them through Latvia, Hong Kong and New York. She acquired real-estate in France and Switzerland, and her spree continued until her father collaborated with Uzbek security to seize her assets and place her under house-arrest.

Lola Karimova-Tillyaeva was Gulnara's estranged younger sister. She and her husband Timur Tillyaev ran the Dubai-based SecureTrade, which did extensive business with "opaque Scottish Limited Partnerships," laundering more than $127m in a single year to offshore accounts in the UAE and Switzerland. They acquired many luxe assets – a jet, a Californian villa, and an LA perfumier.

Lola styled herself as the face of the Karimovas abroad, a "philanthropist and cultural ambassador." She was a UNESCO ambassador and commissioned works of monumental art – and also sued the shit out of news outlets that reported factual matters about her family repressive activity at home. She organized AIDS charities in the name of Uzbekistan – even as her father was imprisoning a writer for publishing a book explaining how to have safer sex.

The second case-study is on Isabel dos Santos, "Africa's richest woman," daughter of Angolan dictator Jose Eduardo dos Santos. Isabel's vast fortune stemmed from her personal capture of vast swathes of the third-largest economy in Africa: "telecommunications, banking, diamonds, real estate and cement, among many others." Isabel enjoyed seemingly limitless access to state credit and co-investment, and was given first crack at newly deregulated industries. Foreign firms that invested in Angola were required to "partner" with Isabel's businesses.

Isabel claimed to be a "self-made woman" – a claim credulously parroted by the western press, including the FT. She used her homegrown fortune to become a major player abroad, especially in Portugal, where she was represented by the leading Portuguese law-firm PLMJ. Her enablers are who's who of corruption-loving lickspittles: McKinsey, Ernst and Young, Boston Consulting Group, and the Spanish BigLaw firm Uri Menendez.

Isabel cultivated a public facade of philanthropic giving and public spirited activism, serving as head of the Angolan Red Cross. She attended Davos and spoke at the LSE (she was also invited to Oxford, but her invitation was subsequently rescinded). On social media, she dismissed critics of her wealth and corruption as "colonialists," decrying their "racism" and "prejudice."

Isabel dos Santos's corrupt sources of wealth were finally, irrefutably exposed through the Luanda Leaks, in which the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists mapped the network of "top banks, management consultants and legal firms that were central to dos Santos’s operations."

Both case studies shed light on the network of brilliant, driven enablers and procurers without whom the world's greatest monsters would falter. It's a rare window on a secretive world, one that is poorly understood even by its inhabitants. As Michael Mechanic wrote in Jackpot, his 2021 book on vast, intergenerational fortunes, the winners of the lucky orifice lottery often lack any real understanding of how The Money is structured, grown and protected:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

This point was reiterated by Abigail Disney, in a brave piece on what it's like to grow up subject to the oversight of these millionaires who babysit the children of billionaires:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

This is an important contribution to the literature. We naturally focus on the ultrawealthy individuals whose reputations and fortunes are the subject of so much attention, but without the TUSNs, they would be largely helpless.

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/24/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Colin (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palace_of_Westminster_from_the_dome_on_Methodist_Central_Hall_(cropped).jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

2K notes · View notes

sayruq · 6 months

Text

For weeks in southern Gaza during a recent visit, I collected stories of women admitted to hospital, each of them there to recover from what they call “war wounds”. But it’s not a war, because only one side has an actual army. Only one side is a state with full military wares. These victims were mothers, wives and babies, whose slight bodies were pierced, torn, broken and burned. Their deeper injuries aren’t visible, until they open up about their lives over the past five months. Initially, they relay the broadbrush strokes: A bomb struck their homes, they were pulled from the rubble, they had severe injuries, family members were martyred, and the situation was terrible. That is the extent of what they have ever said about unimaginable horrors they endured and continue to endure. But I probe for details. What were you doing moments before? What was the first thing you saw, the first thing you heard? What did it smell like? Was it dark or light outside?I nudge them to zoom into the molecular structure of every fact – the gravel in the mouth, dust in the lungs; the weight of something; the warm liquid running down the back; the twisted finger seen but not felt; the moment of realisation; the waiting to be rescued and the fear that no one will come; the ringing in the ears; the strange thoughts; the things that moved and the things that could not; the expectation of death and the wish that it be quick; the longing for life. In the months or weeks since one of the world’s most powerful militaries targeted their lives, they had yet to visit, much less verbalise the minutiae of this genocide. As they venture beyond the outlines of their stories, their eyes darken and sometimes they begin to shiver. The slightest unexpected sound startles them. Tears pool and tears might fall, but only a few allow themselves to cry. Few let the horrors in their minds through the gates. It is not for some superhuman strength. Quite the opposite. They are numbed in a way, as if they’ve yet to comprehend the enormity of what they have endured and continue to endure.

The writer spoke to several women in Southern Gaza about the horrors they're still enduring

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #palestinian women #gaza genocide #genocide

435 notes · View notes

torawro · 10 days

Text

WHEN BLADES CLASH, SO DO HEARTS. ( r. z. )

roronoa zoro & bounty hunter!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman who is on the thicker / curvier side but you do not have to imagine it that way ! you are free to imagine the reader how you wish. canon divergent au (lowkey implied post-timeskip -> zoro is still a bounty hunter and never became a pirate). bc it's canon divergent, zoro will have both eyes (i know, i know). mentions and descriptions of alcohol consumption. canon-typical violence (i.e., mentions of weapons). light(ish) descriptions of blood & injuries. so much [sexual] tension between reader and zoro that it's palpable. contains sexually explicit content including smut (descriptions of it from an omniscient pov). gets kinda poetic at the end but y’all already knew that was coming. somewhat proofread.

word count ━━ ! 4.8k

notes ━━ ! my first published one piece fic on my blog . . . you'd think the first one would be about law since my current theme revolves around him but alas, this swordsman was prominent in my mind…i did lose motivation at some point but i still pushed through. this fic was originally something i drafted up to serve as the prologue for a much longer fic i'm writing (no hints, sorry < 3). and i thought writing this purely for contextual purposes would help with that longer story, but in the process it just turned into something else all on its own skskkskks so this is a modified version of that blurb. obvs this is also my first time officially writing for zoro so i’m a little nervous and to be honest, i’m not sure if i even like how this turned out…..regardless, i hope i portrayed him well enough (pls be gentle with me) >< also wanna dedicate this fic to naj, a mutual of mine who became a friend, but unfortunately deactivated her blog some time ago. she's been helping me with this drabble and the longer story i plan to write and i really appreciate her. reblogs + commentary are GREATLY appreciated ♡!!!

SHAKING OFF THE GRAVELLY SAND that haphazardly clung to the fabric of your pants, with little effort and practiced precision, you swiftly returned a large metal rod back into a black carrying bag before swinging the straps over your right shoulder. Rolling your arms to relieve some of the tension that resided in them proved to be a little painful, leading you to conclude that you most likely pulled a muscle somewhere when fighting the unknown men who had just attacked you.

Said men were now lying unconscious on the ground, hardly breathing and within an inch of their lives.

You didn’t kill them ━no, of course not ━ that would be a fruitless endeavor. Besides, you were well aware that your energy would be well-spent elsewhere, like searching for the next poor soul that had a bounty looming over their head. You were like a hunting dog, the scent of your next target set in front of you by the wanted posters littered around in each city or island you traveled to. Much like how the grim reaper awaited in the shadow of someone who stood inches away from the gates of death, you too would bide your time until the right moment to strike.

You took pride in the fact that the glint of your weapon would be the last thing that reflected in the eyes of your target.

The end result of your fight, if you could even call it that, was as chilling as the evening breeze that was brought forth by the wading waves of the ocean. You have made your mark on the flesh of these men, reopening some old wounds and creating new ones that would certainly scar forever. On levels of the skin and of the spirit.

With a heavy sigh, you adjusted your bag again as you walked towards the cluster of little lights nestled beyond the trees, within them existed this main island’s largest town. Your facial muscles didn’t so much as twitch as the pointed heel of your boots dug into the skin of your unconscious assailants— thinking nothing of their drowsy, muffled grunts of pain or the stark contrast between stepping over doughy bodies versus stepping on the hard earth.

The waxing crescent moon only slightly illuminated the dirt road as you made your way to the populated village, occasionally swatting away a fly or two. Soon enough, the mouth of the semi-dense woods opened up to reveal a wide gravel road. Across the opening was a bridge that stood over a flowing stream, and beyond that was the town. It was a cluster of buildings of varying heights lined up neatly street by street.

Lamps hung on every corner, street pole and ledge that would allow it, bathing all that rested under them in a pale yellow glow. It was quite pretty at night if you were being honest; and judging by its looks and atmosphere, you were sure that they’d have a nice inn around somewhere.

But first, a drink. And some food, you added as an afterthought, but mostly a drink. Your body could use a bit of external help to unwind after spending the last few days at sea.

It didn’t take you all that long to find out where the town’s bar was located, and you wasted no time ascending the steps that led to the double swinging doors. The clacking of your boots against the wooden floors upon entering the establishment were more or less drowned out by the chatter of the rugged-looking individuals who more or less made themselves at home.

And yet, despite the dozens of conversations that bounced off the walls of the tavern, the stares of everyone whose line of vision you crossed seemed to be louder. Much louder than any fit of raucous laughter or profane shout that surrounded you.

Your ears were even able to pluck out a few conversations. Hushed inquiries of familiarity, musings of what could possibly be in that bag dangling on your back, how the pants you wore emphasized the fat of your ass just right━ all things you let roll off your back and pretended not to hear.

If it weren’t for your more reserved nature, you would have slashed that the throat of the man who made that salacious comment the moment it left his dried lips.

You took a random seat at the bar, not really paying attention to who sat on either side of you. Placing the cowboy-style hat you wore next to you and your belongings at your feet, you patiently awaited for the bartender to make her way down to where you sat.

As you waited, you crossed your legs, one fleshy thigh over the other, absentmindedly twirling one of the bulky silver rings that encased your middle finger as you wondered what drink you were in the mood for today.

It wasn’t until several moments later, when your body and mind stilled enough, that you’d take notice.

Something felt . . . weird. ‘Off’ was probably a better word for the strange weight that suspended itself over your muscles. Whatever it was, whatever feeling or presence you sensed, it had your fingers twitching towards your bag laying idly against the table. And it only continued to linger in the air as the minutes dragged by.

The sound of the barkeep’s voice pulled you back into the plane of reality and away from the realm of your overactive mind. “What’ll ya be having tonight, honey?” She was an older woman, probably around the age of fifty but looked much younger, had deeply tanned skin, and peppered black and white hair that was pulled into a bun and rested at the base of her neck.

“Hmmm . . . whatever your best cocktail is, I’ll just have that.”

With a nod and an amused smile at you allowing her to have free reign, the barkeep turned around, set a shaker aside, and got to work preparing a drink of her choice to serve to you.

Then, something flashed in your peripheral vision.

It was so fleeting that you could have easily dismissed it as nothing had you not been on somewhat high alert already. It flickered in the reflection of the metal canisters that sat along the back wall of the bar. And whatever it was managed to startle you enough to jump start the pulse in your chest into a panicked overdrive so fierce that you heard it in your ears.

The frantic beating of your heart never showed on your face, however━ your expression remained neutral. It needed to be for a woman in your line of work. Perhaps especially because you were a woman in your line of work.

Without any warning or indication, the cold sensation of polished steel licked and nipped at the warmth residing in your neck. The sharpened end of a blade rested on the jugular of your throat, pressed firmly enough that if you moved forward even a little bit, a stain from your blood would surely blossom on the katana.

“You…” a deep male voice spoke, sounding rough and rugged all around its edges. The rest of the pub seemed to fall silent at the man’s utterance of that one word, rather than his blatant display of threatening you with a sword. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes were the only thing that moved. Slowly, with a frosty gleam underlining your gaze, your eyes landed on the sword’s master, his name immediately flashing in your mind. His reputation as a bounty hunter sent a chill down the spines of both marines and pirates alike. Residents all over the four seas feared his name, and his name alone could cause people to question if the threads of their lives would be severed by the piercing edge of his sword.

“Roronoa Zoro….” Your tone was leveled and held an air of disinterest as you talked. You spoke as if you were tasting the very syllables of his name, taking the time to roll each combination of letters against your tongue. They tumbled from your lips with a smoothness you weren’t entirely opposed to━ it was almost pleasant, if you were being honest with yourself.

A practice you didn't normally engage in.

Upon identifying the swordsman aloud, a short wave of hushed gasps from the customers surrounding you filled the air. With speeds that almost seemed abnormal, the long metal pole resting in your black bag suddenly ended up in your grasp, one end of it hovering several inches away from Roronoa's neck; such speeds even caught the mint-haired swordsman off guard. “Getting a drink, of course. Isn’t it obvious?”

Before he could even part his lips to reply, the piercing shing! of steely iron being brandished cut through the thick tension that settled in between you. A long and heavily curved blade abruptly emerged from the blackened rod in your right hand, and oh so conveniently arced around Roronoa's neck, momentarily silencing him.

The weapon you carried was a scythe, one with a retractable blade meant to disarm your opponent’s perception and therefore hinder their judgment. A scythe that was reminiscent of the tool Death used to carry out his grisly duties of executing souls and dragging them to hell.

In this position with the scythe’s blade practically wrapped around his throat, if need be you could swiftly behead him, or at least mutilate him; judging by how quickly he unsheathed his katana, his reflexes were pretty sharp. Still, the potential ease of killing Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro— in addition to the mild bewilderment reflecting in his eyes and the patrons’ silent gasps once they pieced together who you were— caused your lips to tick upwards, but your countenance remained otherwise stoic.

“And I’m assuming you’re here for the same reason. That, or you just couldn’t get enough of me during our last battle, and you tracked me down for more.”

Your previously dry tone had somehow morphed into one with an airy lilt, followed by a quiet chuckle that bubbled in your chest when you saw Roronoa's brows twitch and deepen with ire at your subtly teasing words.

You were referring to the last time you saw the swordsman on some obscure island that took root in the Grand Line; an island whose name currently escaped your memory. With you being a bounty hunter as well, your job was the only reason why your paths have crossed so often, and why you have come to know Roronoa on a more personal level such as this. Each time your gazes clashed, it would always result in an inevitable battle, which indirectly fanned the flames of an unspoken competition between the two of you.

If his current expression was anything to go by, this bar may very well be your next battlefield. “You lost that fight, remember?” He emphasized his point by digging the sharp edge of his blade a little further into your neck, the increased pressure causing your eyebrow to all but twitch, “Or did I hit you too hard last time we fought, and now you’re suffering from long-term memory loss?”

The edges of an insufferable smirk curled at Roronoa's lips— one that conveyed his confidence in his abilities and matched the glint in his eyes that began to grow hungry for a brawl. And now, the corners of your own lips broke into a small, amused smile— or perhaps it would be more accurately referred to as a sneer— and you responded by mirroring his earlier movements.

Pressing the sharp end of your scythe into the back of his neck, the blade was met with the resistance of the corded muscle residing there, and your gaze eagerly drank in the brief glimmer of pain that was but a ripple across his arrogant expression.

“I didn’t lose that fight. It was a draw, at best. Seems like you must not remember the excessive blood loss on your end. But anyhow, tell me something pirate hunter…” You uncrossed your legs to stand up and took one step closer towards Roronoa, careful not to let his sword further nick your skin even though it was already dangerously close to you, “How many bounties have you collected since we last saw each other? Three? Two? One?”

Your voice descended further into a teasing whisper, and Roronoa's indignation only grew with each number you hurled at him.

The samurai didn’t take your tone lightly, and perceived your step forward as something of a challenge, one that his nerves and heart and bones pleasantly vibrated to the sound of. So he too took a step forward, away from the piercing curve of your scythe that hung behind him like a shadow.

Roronoa was a little taller than you were, so meeting his gaze meant angling your neck upwards whilst he simultaneously moved his face an inch closer to yours. “You think you’re hot shit, huh? Try five, sweetheart.”

Your nostrils flared involuntarily at his bold claim, and something . . . something warm prickled underneath your skin at his referral to you as sweetheart. For some reason, that word━ especially coming from his lips━ was a bit harder to ignore compared to other comments about you from this bar's patrons. And what they said was far more conflicting than a simple term of endearment; even if the 'endearment' in question was so obviously meant to be condescending.

“Is that right? You think you're such a badass, don't you?"

"That's 'cause I am."

Roronoa's mocking sneer was punctuated with a step forward into your space this time; any closer and the front of your clothes might graze each other. The swordsman pushed the boundaries once more by adding a little more force onto the grip of his katana, enough to finally break the bonds of your umber tinted skin.

A barely decipherable noise of amusement and veneration rumbled in his chest when your blood dripped on the length of his sword, but your reaction was nothing more than an involuntary clench in your facial muscles.

"Yeah?" You questioned him with a glare and a tilt of your head in the direction of his blade that uncomfortably sat at the opening of your skin. The tightness in your voice was meant to goad him, but it also contained the sparks of a challenge━ and of something else you didn't want to identify━ that ignited in the pit of your stomach with an increasing amount of fervor.

"Yeah." His voice descended a little lower into a place that killed the next sentence on the tip of your tongue.

Your eyes then narrowed as you held Roronoa's taupe gaze, his overconfident words floated in the silent air between you like a speck of smoldering ash, ready to burst into something more intense and fierce the moment it touched the ground.

Then you shifted your cold gaze elsewhere, opting to let it lazily roam around the room. Everyone was staring at the both of you with uneasy expressions and anxious stares. You could tell that even at the slightest movement from either you or the swordsman would cause the panic bubbling beneath their skin to flood forth in waves.

If there was one thing about you, you preferred to be to discreet. It made your job a whole lot easier, and more enjoyable in the long run.

A hummed vibrated behind your plump lips and your glare returned to his. "Let's take this outside, swordsman. I'd hate to ruin this nice lady's establishment with scuff marks and your blood."

Roronoa huffed a scoff, the amused smirk from before uncurled into something more animalistic. "That's funny. But sure, I'm down. When I defeat you and spill your blood on the ground, it'll make perfect fertilizer for those little plants I saw outside."

You huffed at his cocky attitude and accompanied it with a roll of your eyes. Your stare pierced him for a moment longer before you rescinding it, along with your scythe that was still outstretched towards him. The mint haired swordsman followed suit after another beat or so.

"That's about as likely as a fish growing legs and walking on land." Your voice was thick with sarcasm as you fished out a cotton pouch from your bag; it was small in size, but heavy with Berry. As you slipped out a couple of bills to pay for the drink that sat idly forgotten at your seat, another hand forcefully placed several bills down on the counter.

That hand belonged to Roronoa. You had to force yourself from letting your irises linger too long, or else you'd start thinking about how rugged, calloused, and veiny it looked.

With a newfound general annoyance at both him and yourself, you proceeded to present the bills to the bartender, who looked as if she was one muscle twitch away from ducking under the table behind the counter. You offered something similar to a sympathetic smile to assuage whatever she was feeling.

"Don't bother." Roronoa called out.

When you turned around to greet his voice, he was sheathing the sword that he previously drawn and made his way to the entrance of the pub.

"What are you talking about?" As you inquired, the swordsman still allowed his back to face you, hardly pausing to properly address you.

"I said, don't bother." he repeated in a stern tone, as if that was going to elucidate exactly what he meant, "Now come on. I'm itching to cut you down so I can go lay down."

And without adding anything further, Roronoa eventually exited the bar and disappeared behind the doors.

You were starting to lose count of how many times you narrowed your eyes at the green-haired man, but your stare━ both equal parts vexed and confused━ rested on the doors he had just walked through as if glaring at them long or hard enough would summon him again.

With a sigh, you turned back to the thin stack of Berry he left on the table, eyeing it suspiciously. You weren't sure what he ordered or how much of it, but it look like quite a bit of money he'd just randomly tossed next to you.

Was he insinuating . . . . that he paid for both of your drinks? Could this be what he meant when he told you not to bother, because he already covered it? Such a gratuitous act of kindness, something seemingly so simple caused that weird fluttering to bounce against the walls of your stomach again.

Picking up your bag, you continued to poke and dissect his actions in an attempt find meaning in them as you tipped the barkeep, once more ignoring the stares of nearly every person in that building as you left.

The moment your heeled boots dug themselves into the ground, your peripheral vision was bombarded with something being swung in your direction at high speeds. Before you could even process what it was, you instinctively leapt out of the way, your neck jerking backwards to further avoid the object.

A grunt filled your ears, already knowing the origin of the sound. "Nice reflexes."

You exhaled an exasperated breath of air, turning your gaze to meet that of the mint-haired swordsman who had begun to unsheathe a second sword out of the three scabbards hanging from his hip.

"Can I at least breathe first? Set my stuff down perhaps?" You asked wryly, almost unimpressed, but you didn't waste any time removing the straps of your bag to set it down on a nearby barrel, still cursing the pirate hunter under your breath all the same.

"Didn't know you were that eager to eat dirt." The familiar hiss of your scythe's blade erecting from the rod sent a pleasurable chill up your arms. You held your weapon tightly at your side, your grasp around its length tightening ever still when Roronoa began to square his stance. Even when you were several feet away from him, you could still clearly see the crease in his brows becoming more prominent; he began to resemble some kind of beast.

But that glimmer in his eyes held no real fire in them━ at least not the one that would lead to anger; one could even say it was one of wild excitement. The swordsman already knew his thirst for a worthwhile fight would be sufficiently quenched once more.

"Shut up." With a grunt, Roronoa pushed off the balls of his feet to launch himself into a powerful sprint towards you. It was clear he wanted to close as much distance between the two of you as quickly as possible. His movements were reminiscent of his brief display of swordplay earlier in the bar, where he was one swipe away from slitting your throat.

He was fast, but the gritty and often dangerous nature of your job honed your reflexes to be faster.

Your spine bended as you briskly leaned backwards to dodge the double swipe of Roronoa's katanas. The sound of the sharp blades cutting through the very air around you. With it only inches away from your nose, it was enough to replace the blood pumping through your veins with pure adrenaline.

Using the momentum from your quick dodge, you allowed your back to curve into a bridge and kicked upwards into a backflip to move out of the way━ the corners of your lips twitched into a satisfied grin when you felt your foot collide with his jaw and chin.

Once you were upright again, you wasted no time lunging forward in a sprint, you body much lower to the ground than Roronoa's was. Your plan was to slash his legs to throw him off balance, but that plan quickly evaporated like smoke due to his quick recovery and immediate realization of what you were doing.

"Tch." Your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth in annoyance when the swordsman was able to leap in the air in time to avoid your attack. He was high enough that you had to crane your neck to see. With that much height, the next blow was sure to be one with quite a bit of force behind it.

"Two-Swords Style, Nigiri...." The swordsman's orotund voice descended far from where he was suspended in midair, and you braced yourself for his next attack, "....Tower Climb Return!"

The following clash of piercing steel against metallic iron was deafening, swallowing up any other noise that reverberated around you. The sheer impact of Roronoa's attack created a thin ring of dust that encircled both your figures and violently buzzed against the pole of your scythe.

You gritted your teeth to remain footed into the ground, but the force was too much, and that shit-eating grin nearly unfurling at his lips was too annoying. It shook the steadiness in your legs and caused you to tumble back by several yards. By steeling your thighs and calves you willed yourself not to fall, huffing with effort and frustration.

It hadn't even been that long since you've last fought Roronoa, could he really have made noticeable improvements in a short amount of time?

Regardless of the answer, you weren't about to allow him the chance to prove himself.

The both of you then darted at each other again, your motions a bit more cutthroat this time, and a newborn determination to strike down the pirate hunter further fed the burning adrenaline that coursed through your body.

Reaching your arm backwards, you performed a horizontal slash that Roronoa parried almost instantly. With effortless control and graceful dexterity, you reached both arms behind your back and twirled your scythe between your fingers, shifting the weapon from one hand to the other, and attempted to cut him again.

He blocked that attack as well, the tip of the blade just inches away from his left eye. You saw something moving fast in your peripheral vision, and immediately jumped backwards to avoid the katana that was about to release your intestines from the confines of your stomach.

It was always a pain fighting Roronoa because he wielded multiple swords at once, which means battles with him were more drawn out than they needed to be.

You lunged at him once more, and began to administer a barrage of horizontal, vertical and diagonal slashes in rapid succession. Your constant switching from one hand to the other, in addition to its length and the impressive control you exerted over your limbs, you were able to create a variety of fluid, long and short-range attack patterns, barely allowing Roronoa enough time to parry.

The moss-haired swordsman was keeping up with the relentless flurry of your attacks quite well━ for a short while at least. Roronoa lost himself in his own inner monologue of searching for an opening wide enough to immobilize you, and before long, a red cut blossomed on his semi-exposed chest, the injury lazily drooling blood.

The amount of cuts both deep and shallow began to increase, tearing his skin asunder under the weight of your blows. Your scythe repeatedly made contact with the elongated ha of his katana as well as his tanned flesh, but it wasn't enough to deter him completely.

It should have been though, but the many encounters you've had with Roronoa reminded you that he was no ordinary man.

Within that bombardment of the numerous slices and projectile slashes of your scythe Roronoa had found a millisecond of respite, and used that brief pause to leap backwards and put some distance in between you two.

You weren't able to hear the aching cry from the muscles in your arms until after you halted your attack, but the adrenaline flickering in your gaze still raced around your irises unceasingly. Roronoa's own gaze was hard and unyielding, glistening with something you couldn't discern from where you stood. But even so, your body somehow knew to feel like malleable putty under his stare; it's as if it was instinctual.

And again your blades clashed against one another, a steady rhythm rose from the cacophony of noises that were generated from your battle with the swordsman. Your laborious breaths became synchronized with each other, heavy and full of effort. The thin splatters of blood became homogeneous with each other as the both of you took turns cracking each other's skin open. Your limbs moved about and against his in a deft fashion and every nerve in your body reacted to his.

So much so, you didn't even realize when it happened.

Your duel with Roronoa had been in the forefront of your mind entirely that you hadn't actively processed the moment when your ragged breaths turned to breathy pants. Nor did you realize the moment it was no longer a scythe and katanas clashing, but wet lips and warm extremities instead. That same glint that shimmered in your eyes all evening never faded even then; it still twinkled through the murky mist of lust that clouded yours and Roronoa's vision.

Whenever your eyes collided with that of Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro, an inescapable battle would always ensue━ it was tried and true, and it felt more like a promise. It was also true, although not externally expressed, that your fight with the mint-haired man was one that neither of you even wanted to evade.

With each brawl you learned something new about Roronoa, and you were repeatedly met with the reality and veracity of his skills, his reputation full-force. And when your brawl eventually led to the languid but hungry removal of each other's clothes, you learned more about Zoro, and the emotions hiding underneath his taut and rugged body. This learning curve was both all-consuming and tenderhearted, and you couldn't help but shiver at the fact you were the only one who could witness it.

And what good is a fight if he didn't learn from and about his opponent as well? Each new thing he unearthed about you was an incentive to further indulge your soft and fleshy curves, and observe how they seamlessly molded with firm, corded muscle. Completely unexpected, Zoro had become utterly fascinated with the warmth that resided under your icy, expressionless glare.

And when Zoro peeled back a new layer, when his lips hovered over an uncharted area of your skin━ hot, breathy, filled with groans of expletives intertwined with your name━ when the grip of his calloused fingers and his heavy cock simultaneously dug deeper into you, one leg dangling haphazardly off his shoulder, when your bodies meshed just like that, you moaned━ you knew you didn't want to stop fighting with him.

Again and again and again with each thrust, each roll of his hips, each sightless grope of your body, you knew you would gladly continue participating in this unspoken competition. You'd proudly don cuts and bruises if it meant you and you alone could have Roronoa Zoro like this. You'd keep at it with enthusiasm if it meant that your hearts would always collide so wholly with each other, not being able to tell where his ended and yours began.

( # ) @icy-spicy @godjo @tetzoro @triangularz @pookiesatoru

#໒꒱ newborn stand ─ sosa’s filez #one piece #op fanfic #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece x reader #one piece zoro #one piece smut #black fem reader #zoro x black reader #zoro x female reader #roronoa zoro smut #op smut #one piece x black!reader #zoro x black fem reader #wow it feels so weird posting after a long while that i almost forgot how to do this LMAO

132 notes · View notes

maxwell-grant · 3 days

Text

The Penguin: Episode 1 Breakdown

Thank you Lauren LeFranc, Mike Marino, Colin Farrell and Matt Reeves, we owe you the world for this, good God. It's finally here everyone and I've decided I'm gonna give each episode it's own post/breakdown of thoughts, because hahaha holy shit you guys this is beyond what I even dreamed of, and we're gonna be covering this for a while I think. I've worked out enough madness about this out of my system by talking with friends and I can't seem to be able to work on anything else till I get this done, so let's do it.

Bottom line: This isn't even just a must-watch if you like the Penguin or if you like The Batman, this is something I'd recommend to just about anyone in a heartbeat, something I can point to when people ask "why do you like The Penguin so much" and, instead of the elaborate nerd ramble that usually turns them off, I can just tell them to watch this. A friend of mine (who already loves Batman and digs the Penguin quite a bit) even told me as much, that he's starting to get why I love the character so much, and truly, is there a better feeling than this? Well, there is, and it's watching the show. Let's dig into this first episode:

Right upfront I'm gonna say that this doesn't really seem to be the Sopranos rip-off that people have been calling it before release, although there are definitely Sopranos comparisons to make here. I've spent the past months finally watching The Sopranos in order to get the comparison and definitely want to talk about those comparisons after I finish it (and this show ends). This thing aims to stand on it's own legs as a crime show and it's smashing out of the gate with an extremely promising first episode.

So this just casually opens with the reveal that all along, there was a second rich Gotham the whole time that was completely unaffected by everything we saw in the movie, already throwing a great twist on the events of that movie, and further reinforcing how fucking full of shit The Riddler was. All we saw Batman and the others deal with in the movie was just affecting the poorer parts of the city. All Eddie did was drown rats, and make life worse for the people already in the bottom, while never even getting close to targeting the systemic rot that ruined his life. He retains ideological worshippers in subways obsessed with the corruption of the city without doing anything to actually improve it, and because of him, the streets of Gotham are waterlogged shitholes while the rich Falcone suburbs are doing just fine, peachy even.

I said a while back that, in spite of having about 6 scenes/10 minutes of Penguin runtime, The Batman managed to squeeze impeccably controlled Penguin Trademark Scenes, and this show opens with the last one they didn't get to then: Penguin killing someone for making fun of him. In the movie, he tries doing that with Falcone and is beaten to the punch, so here he gets to actually do it to disastrous consequences.

Fucking adore that the inciting incident of the show is based on the fallout of Oswald killing someone for making fun of him. He pours his heart about the dream he lives his life for, his new boss makes fun of him for being an embarassment to their profession and then he does the most typical Penguin thing by killing him for it and laughing afterwards. And then he realizes how badly he fucked up, and then we get a fucking perfect titledrop with his musical theme, the exact moment we finish The Batman and enter The Penguin.

God it is so fucking cool how the make-up/lighting, the scar across his face, makes it look like he's got a genuine beak from certain angles, how they're able to achieve that effect without giving him a more literal beak for a nose. Everytime they talk about the character, Reeves and Farrell always emphasize how integral the make-up was to them figuring out what to do with Oz, how little they knew what to make of his six scenes until Marino created their monster and suddenly everything fell into place. Mike Marino fully deserves co-credit for the creation of Oz.

Pretty amusing that Victor, as designed to be Penguin's Robin, has exactly the same origin as Jason Todd, a poor street kid trying to steal the hubcaps off the Penguinmobile (I'm sure this bodes very well for his odds at survival), as is the way in which Oz goes on about his recruitment. He press-gangs this kid at gunpoint to help him bury a body arguing with himself and eventually the kid why shouldn't he just kill him to be safe, while trying to impress the kid with his car and air freshener and later that bullshit about "What, you think I hire any schmuck off the street?". From the tile drop onwards, he's doing everything on the fly while also spinning long-term plans set in motion as soon as he's on screen, he's taking this kid in out of sympathy and because he enjoys a power dynamic over someone weaker than him and because he very much needs someone to help him get stuff done. I'm extremely interested in exploring Penguin having a mentorship dynamic and I'm beyond curious as to what happens with Victor from this point onwards, but that poor kid is in for a terrible fucking time.

Found it very funny how much he half-asses the murder threat to Victor. Like it's his first time actually doing it and he's trying to be serious, but not too scary because he's already seeing himself in the poor kid with a stutter and wants the kid to think he's also a cool guy like he wants everyone to think he's a cool guy. I also think having Victor as the POV helps to sell moments like these, because it's still terrifying to him. Even as we follow their stories, these power players of Gotham are still big scary monsters to people caught in the dregs and Victor helps to reinforce that.

I enjoy Oz being friends with sex workers and drag queens off the street as much as I enjoy Oz being depicted as the kind of guy who deludes himself into thinking the prostitute he's with actually likes him, Lauren and Farrell launched into a bit about in on the podcast and I'm curious to see what's going on with him and Eve here.

Lots of perfect funny little character moments across the whole thing. Oz insulted by the idea of taking extra pickles off a poor kid's dirty mouth, but with zero hesitation whatsoever for picking jewelry off his boss' corpse. Dude is governed by principles even as he actively has to break them to survive.

"Technically it's plum." "He is the - or was the - new kingpin", "He's got nurse-like qualities." The show is not overtly trying to get you to find Penguin likeable as much as it wants you to find him engaging - making you think he's likeable is Colin Farrell's job and he's masterful at it, definitely a lot more matured within the character compared to the movie.

If there's anything in particular I'm thankful for regarding Gotham (well okay Gotham led directly to Telltale Penguin which was the basis for this one, so really I do have a lot more to be thankful with Gotham), it's the decision to give him a legit waddle via the broken foot, but the way they incorporate it here with the club foot does so much for him, so much as a modern day reinvention of The Penguin. Adds so much to why he's never been a serious candidate for mob leadership, why he kinda had to spend all his time in the Lounge, why he actually needs someone to help him run affairs, why he has such a gaping ego wound and is so murderously angry at people making fun of him / calling him a goddamn penguin, adds so much validation and so much darkness and nuance to Oswald's overwhelming anger and bitterness over how the world treats him (and so much power should he opt to reclaim it, in turn). It's the kind of thing that frankly feels like it should have always been part of the character, like what all the previous versions were itching closer to or trying to get at. Of course this is a guy gets called a penguin and he hates it badly enough to murder people over it, of course.

This gets to really highlight how differently Oz acts depending on who he's with. Traditionally, one of my favorite things about The Penguin, and one of the things that puts him above the other villains, is that, due to his position, he has to interact with a lot more people than the other Bat-villains. He has to manage a lot more relationships and dynamics, he has to play peacekeeper and puppetmaster. he's the only one in the United Underworld who's regularly interacting with and recruiting other villains to do business with. He's the guy who you pin stuff on like the Gangland Guardians, Team Penguin, doing betting pools with the Rogues taking cover in his Lounge while Joker War is happening, having to rig games to keep good standing with Maxie Zeus and Frenchy Blake in Batman Audio Adventures, and so on. So I greatly enjoy this beat here of him talking about how makes himself smaller before the Falcones, and that moment of him adjusting his outfit and practicing expressions in the mirror before meeting with them. How he contorts himself is present in all of his relationships, and retroactively adds to the way he carries himself in The Batman.

It seems that Oz is functionally regarded as the Paulie Walnuts of the Falcones: useful muscle, loyal for the most part and amusing to keep around, but largely an unstable self-serving dumb asskisser kept where he belongs, a liability if not kept on a short leash. I think the show does a good job of highlighting all the reasons why Oz has never been seriously regarded as a viable option for a boss, even putting aside his disability. He is a fundamentally embarassing person for these serious respectable criminals to be around and of course, the joke is ultimately on them..

Of course, there is only two people in the show who actually know what he's capable of, Francis Cobb and Sofia Falcone, said to be the central relationships defining the show moving forward. Both of them also a defining commonality with Oswald, being people who are looked down on and dehumanized, and characters who are underestimated until it's time to bear their fangs.

Extremely invested in where they're going with Sofia Falcone, Cristine Milioti's been killing it, and will in fact not stop killing it. What a perfect villain for Penguin they've set up with her, someone who has his Kryptonite: she does not underestimate him. Although we know in advance that Oz is going to live and be in the next movie, the question here isn't even so much who's going to win the gang war, and rather how much damage these two freaks will do to the city until Batman gets back. In many ways, Sofia represents the shape of things to come just as much as he does.

She is this embodiment of both the pristine unfathomable wealth and privilege and power that he both detests and strives for, as well as this brutal new breed of madness and violence attacking the streets that he has to survive against and make deals with (and is himself very much a part of, however he denies it). She is Falcone's legacy in every way that matters, both a Kingpin of Gotham whose existence creates the oppressive conditions under which a Batman or a Riddler are created, as well as the Arkham Rogue, the larger-than-life sadist with a tragic origin and a signature torture-murder method and an embarassing name for the papers.

Even the fact that she is The Hangman, and Carmine was defined around his penchant for brutally strangling women - regardless of whether or not she did the crimes that got her in Arkham, she's become this larger-than-life themed expression of a violent obsession in a way that sets her up as every bit the Batman villain that The Penguin is. The two champions of the two Gothams, duking it out in this new world The Batman and The Riddler made, The Penguin vs The Hangman.

I am so glad Lauren LeFranc made the call for binning Alberto in the first five minutes so the rest of the show can focus on Sofia and make a real character out of her in a way nobody's ever really done before, every step of the way so far LeFranc has been perfectly on the ball about where to take these characters and their conflict. And speaking of those,

I feel very confident in saying that this is the first time anyone's ever really had something worth doing with Oswald's mother as a character in her own right and not just a source of anguish for Penguin (Gotham was almost onto something with Gertrude, but not nearly enough). When it comes to Penguin origin stories, my favorite's always been the Pre-Crisis one, where he's poor and bullied but happy with his mom and birds until she dies and the government seizes everything he has, which doesn't necessarily involve her much. But here? Francine Cobb is a real character in what little time we get to know her, and what a character she is. We quickly understand the role she's playing in Oz's life, not just as his mom and person he loves and strives to protect, but the person who's sculpting him into the man he's going to become.

She is vulnerable and she does need meds and she's not quite all there, and Penguin's need to care for her is visible in other actions of his. But then they turn it around by showing how strong and demanding she is, how she is fiercely ambitious and pushing him to be something he would otherwise not be, how much she loves him and sees greatness in him. She knows he's a people pleaser, she knows how to push his buttons, and she wants him to be more, so of course he's going to be more, because he lives to please his mom.

Related to this is this absolute bullseye of a summation of The Penguin, that Lauren LeFranc delivered in the podcast: "Perhaps his greatest fear is that love is transactional. And that yet, everything he does, every decision he makes, is as if that's true. As if "love is transactional" is a truth he abides by". Oswald's conception of power is being loved and revered like Rex Calabrese, and the love he wants most in all the world is the one from his mother. So in turn this, and all extensions of it, drive him to greater and darker lengths.

He doesn't have that ambition quite down yet, it's his mom that does. She who's pushing him to take over the city and not just be a guy scraping by for survival. He's smart and ambitious and extremely good at slipping out of trouble, but she's pushing him to be the guy who will be taking the city by the horns because that's what he has to be for their sake. Her legacy to her son is nurturing him having that dog in him that will make him the supervillain who picks fights with Vengeance. She is the force that's turning Oswald into The Goddamn Penguin and I can't wait to see how she's developed.

Of course he reprimands Victor in that scene for lacking ambition, who do you think he gets it from?

Really love what they've done with Sal Maroni in here so far. I like adaptations that take these throwaway Batman backstory gangsters and make something out of them, in this case, with Clancy Brown lending his power and voice and reputation as The Grand Boss of Villainy to play the last Respectable Gangster of Gotham, this intimidating principled old tiger who's inversely proportional to how much of a petty and scummy piece of shit Carmine Falcone was. Extremely a guy I'd want to see playing a hand in the creation of Two-Face. Just as crucial is the fact that he is the one who gets the most effortlessly outplayed by Oz here, because this is The Penguin Show: no room for traditional or respectable gangsters anymore, their purpose is to be crapped all over by our wacko birdman.

There's a lot about this that re-contextualizes his behavior in The Batman and the one I'm gonna point out is: even though he can't be sure his plan didn't completely go to shit, he is still keeping his wits and not being terribly scared about being beaten up and tortured and staring down the scariest Falcone with a gun shoved in his throat. But he craps his pants at the sight of the Batmobile. He gets pain, he gets indignity, but he doesn't get Vengeance, what kind of sick freak would come up with the stuff that guy does. A gun in his mouth and Falcone torture is just Tuesday, but a car that wants to eat his soul is some psycho shit he's just not ready to deal with.

It is the delicious tasty fucking irony that Oswald thinks Vengeance is this weird freak who doesn't play or bend to any rules and is here to fuck up everything, just like the madman who flooded the city, and thinks of himself in turn as a justifiable guy standing for the respectable old-fashioned empathetic way of doing things, instead of the exact same thing that Riddler and Batman are. Only Sofia gets what he really is, the same thing as her, and that's why she is the arch-enemy / the biggest thing he's gotta defeat in life for now.

God, how fucking PERFECT it is that he gets caught and tortured because he, after stabbing out a man's eye and causing him to get run over by a schoolbus, stops to wave at the kids in that schoolbus while covered in blood. Just the Rex Calabrese of it all, the self-image, this guy who's both a mean nasty son of a bitch and also a real bleeding heart softie and in ways that ruin his life and allow him to slip and wriggle his way out of shit he has no right to, as demonstrated by the finale.

Thinking about Sofia chastizing Oz saying he thinks she is a toy to play with, while rattling off the ways in which she owns him and everything he has, all the ridiculous little accessories her daddy let him play him, and he in turn is a ridiculous little accessory for the family she is twisting until it breaks. Perfect fucking villain for him. Can't wait to see how badly these two are gonna burn Gotham.

I knew deep in my heart that all I wanted out of a Penguin show, the thing that I simply needed to have in it, was Penguin pulling a heist set-up in advance, and it fucking delivered. He doesn't even complain at Victor for being late, because if anything, getting captured and tortured while the car crashed was even better for him. No, he complains at Victor for not being sufficiently gruesome with the body. See, unlike other cowardly anti-hero reinventions of Bat-villains, the show never wants you to forget that Oz is a weird freak and a disgusting piece of shit, even if he is a very likeable and even aspirational one. Only by the most random stroke of fate it wasn't Victor that he fed to the wolves at that moment, that he sees himself in the kid isn't exactly ensuring that he's gonna make out of this in one piece.

Mr. Vengeance gets Nirvana, and Mr. Boniface gets Dolly Parton, perfect credits.

In conclusion: Out of everything they could have done following the thunderous success of The Batman and it's ensuing influence over the DCU, out of all the offers Reeves must have gotten to helm their new universe after delivering a megahit reinvention of their breadwinner blockbuster character, Matt Reeves went "Nah, I listened to my crew, and what we really want to do is 8 hours of television about the waddling freak who's in my movie for 10 minutes", and he and his crew deserve the world for that. I dreamed as a kid of getting to make a big Penguin story or show, a wild impossible idea that would never actually happen, and now it's here and it's better than anything I'd ever imagined.

I'm fit to burst with joy and riding a high of no longer having to hunt for scraps and washing away decades of put-downs for the character and enjoying a Penguin renaissance like one I never imagined happening. I am extremely not an unbiased reviewer here, this show rules and I've waited for it since I was a kid and it's here, drink it the fuck in cause it's only the beginning.

#dc comics #dc #the penguin #penguin #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobb #hbo #max #the penguin hbo #matt reeves #lauren lefranc #mike marino #colin farrell

88 notes · View notes

edelgarfield · 9 months

Text

gods i haven't seen this parallel drawn before but it is something that drives me insane

everyone knows gortash was sold to raphael by his parents and one can only imagine the awful things he went through. and like i don't think it's too far of a stretch to think that abuse plays a heavy role in what led him to bane, how do you avoid being owned and used for other people's gain? by being the one with all the power and bringing them under your heel.

which is the exact same logic that drives astarion towards ascension. hells, the rite is a contract with mephistopheles, raphael's DAD.

imo gortash is a glimpse of exactly what lies in ascended astarion's future. he's the most powerful man in baldur's gate but he's completely alone. he's sold out and alienated every single person that ever cared about him, his power is the very thing that keeps him from ever being able to trust anyone else, all his allies are transactional and based on mutual gain, and one slip up means a knife in his back. durge, seemingly the one person he genuinely cared about, was taken from him because of the power they held. their affection for him put a target on both of their backs. he had all the power he could ever want and it did nothing to save the person he cared about most.

by the time you meet him, he is far far far too gone imo. i'm not even sure whether he cares about how isolated he is, or if he sees it for the weakness it is. if there was ever a time to convince him to choose another path, it is long gone, now he's too entrenched in his own schemes, that even if he WANTED to change (unlikely), it would spell his death.

if you don't ally with him, his isolation is the very thing that kills him; he believes he has no need of flesh and blood allies bc he has an army of tin soldiers to keep him safe. but once you take out the steel watch he's practically defenseless. he's the most powerful man in Baldur's gate, but you can literally just stroll up to his office and kill him on his own turf and no one comes to his aid. if you do ally with him, it's his ambition that puts the final nail in his coffin, his means to dominate the world turns on him and spells his doom.

and this is exactly what we begin to see happen with ascended astarion. his obsession with power and need for control makes him turn a genuine partnership based on love & mutual respect into one based on control. from party banter, we see pretty much all the companions immediately turn on him. these are people who genuinely cared for him & fought for his freedom, but after watching him ascend they wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. and he doesn't even care! he's so entrenched in his own misanthropic worldview that he only sees the power he's gained & not everything it cost him. the cost of ascension isnt just 7000 souls, it's 7000 souls and the love of every single person who could have ever cared for him.

if astarion ascends how long until he bites off more than he can handle? how long until his enemies realize the best way to get to him is through you? how long until all his allies turn on him? (if you choose to control the absolute, the answer is somewhere between a few days and a few weeks). all the power in the world can't protect you from your own hubris and astarion has it in spades.

whether you view durgetash & durgestarion platonically or romantically I see it as two opposing narratives held together with Durge as the lynchpin. durgetash is abt being doomed by that narrative, two people who genuinely cared for each other but were the wrong people at the wrong time to save either of them. had they met earlier, if one of them had been slightly less entrenched in their roles, perhaps they could have been saved, they could have lived and had something real.

& durgestarion is the opposite, had they met any earlier, they would have brought each other to ruin. two doomed people, once beyond saving, meeting at the perfect time and finding the strength in each other to break their chains, to choose a path for themselves. where before durge failed to save gortash (& every person they ever cared for) they can save astarion now (& all their other companions).

& the real tragedy is by the very constraints of the narrative, you cannot save them both. if durgetash hasn't been the people they were, Astarion would never have his chance at freedom, he would've been consumed in cazador's ritual with no one to mourn him. but in order to orchestrate the events that allow astarion his chance at freedom, gortash is long past the point of no return. it takes MULTIPLE extremely unlikely events and literal divine intervention to free Durge from Bhaal's clutches. The chance of the same happening for Gortash is infinitesimally small.

it's abt the cruelty and chaos of the world, how fate, destiny, and chance intersect to either bind us or set us free. it's abt second chances, walking through the ruins of your past mistakes & choosing to build something from the rubble, it's abt how love & loss are two sides of the same coin, how sometimes the only choice available is to love, & that love won't save you, but it's there and it leaves its mark.

thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #enver gortash #durgestarion #durgetash #bg3 spoilers

188 notes · View notes

jpitha · 2 years

Text

A Matter of Scale

The issue with the humans is that it's a matter of scale. Deathworlder or not, a single human - while intimidating - isn't that dangerous.

All of them is another story.

We had thought us the pinnacle of evolution. A species beyond compare. Why would we think otherwise? with our hard carapaces, sharp vision, and powerful weapons, the small furry forest creatures that called themselves 'K'laxi' were no match. They had only a small handful of planets colonized and a scant dozen starbases between them. They had a toy empire of only themselves. We took their own warp gates and started attacking them slowly, methodically. They presented no threat, so we saw no need to hurry.

Occasionally, our scouts heard of another species that was friendly with the K'laxi, calling themselves Humanity. We only heard descriptions from captured K'laxi. Taller than they were, no fur, bipedal, mammalian species from a world larger and wetter than their own. Supposedly they had massive strength and a strong constitution. Some had said that they were deathworlders, but we know that was just propaganda. Deathworlds looked nice from a distance, but were inhospitable to sapient life.

Everyone knows this.

We weren't worried about the humans. Just another species to subjugate. After we crush the K'laxi, we'll move on to them.

Since everyone uses the gate system, we are able to attack with complete surprise. It was different at this planet though. This planet was a small, lighter world like the others, but also had a strange starbase at a Lagrange point. It was very large and not of K'laxi design. Much heavier looking, it was made of huge rings interlocking in a spiral shape. An officer guessed it must be a human starbase. Assuming we found the humans laughable military, we turned to attack the starbase after locking the gate.

As we approached the starbase, two small ships detached from it and ran headlong towards us! Our commander laughed, thinking it was a suicide run and ordered everyone to attack. The two ships dodged and juked around the missiles and energy weapons we fired. They used small shaped charges which slid the ship out of the way of our missiles at the last second and were able to withstand the relentless fire of our weapons.

A few minutes after the attack started, both ships did something that surprised all of our analysts. With missiles and shots all around them, they both generated wormholes and left the system.

They escaped.

Our scientists knew about wormhole generation, but everyone knew it was much too dangerous for sapients to use! It was a death sentence. At best, you could send goods through it, but the energy costs were enormous. Better to just use the warp gates.

Still not understanding the monumental mistake we had made, we turned back towards the starbase. The distraction of the ships leaving bought time and it had begun to change. The concentric rings of the starbase had slid together and moved around, revealing massive batteries of anti-ship weapons, missile racks containing hundreds of missiles and the rings had become like thick armor.

The battle was very difficult. We lost many ships to the missiles and fire from the starbase, but we reached the docking ring, forced our way on and began to sweep the station, attacking everyone we met and claiming it for our own.

The humans fought back.

In one report, a single human female held off more than two dozen warriors by attacking with makeshift weapons while her K'laxi colleagues ran to escape ships. She was killed, but not before she took out 10 of our finest warriors.

In another, two human security agents held an entire platoon of warriors off while more K'laxi and Human adults and children escaped. Their human firearms subjected our warriors to withering fire while the humans just stared blankly, firing and changing targets. When they ran out of ammunition, they took their rifles, and started swinging them like clubs into whoever was left. Our shots almost did nothing! They'd take a hit, wince, and continue to fight. They were finally killed by a heavy weapon platform that was brought in.

Still more used surprise and trickery. They would hide in the common areas and throw trash and junk to make it sound like they were somewhere else. We'd turn and they'd attack our backs.

It took more than a week to take the station and in that time, the humans helped nearly all the K'laxi onto escape ships which streaked towards the planet.

As they retreated, the humans denied us use of their own weapons and devices. They'd destroy them, they'd trap them to explode, they would ruin computers and servers and even the star base's AI itself fought us. It would slam pressure doors down when we walked under them, it would randomly expose parts of the starbase to vacuum, blowing warriors out into space.

We could take the starbase, but could not hold it.

Less than 3 days after we declared the station taken, there was a massive spike of energy, and more than one thousand human ships linked into space though their infernal wormholes. All different sizes, all a riot of garish colors including 3 'dreadnoughts' that were easily three times the size of the already huge starbase.

However, instead of attacking immediately they sent out a signal.

"It's done. Stop fighting now. Save yourselves."

Fleet Command puzzled over the message for hours. Some minor commanders figured it was some kind of trick and rushed the human flotilla. One of the dreadnoughts fired once and the ship was just...gone.

At that, Fleet Command declared the cause hopeless, and ordered us to stand down and surrender.

And then something amazing happened. The Humans came on board, first in their polished black pressure suits with their massive rifles, and then, with no armor and no pressure suit, their commanders came aboard. They wanted to meet and see what we needed. "What?" We cried. "You could destroy us with a whisper. Why are you trying to help us?"

"We are offering to help you because you need help."

They had learned about the trouble we had back on our homeworld, how we were in the process of ruining our home with industry and pollution and with a wry smile they said "Yeah, we had that problem a while back too. We can help."

With humans, it's a matter of scale.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are warriors #humans are humane #sci fi writing #writing #humans are space australians

1K notes · View notes

staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

Text

Fool's Errand Pt 1

Part (1) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Back to some good, ol' whump here. Minor ptsd, blood, broken nose, needles, profanity

WC: 3,183

“Damn it, get down!!”

“I am! Any lower and I'll need a kriffing shovel!” I snapped back, tempted to mute him just to hear myself think.

“I’ve got eyes on her, Cross; just focus on finding us a way in!” Even Echo's voice held the faintest rush of unease.

We'd known this wouldn't be easy. They'd caught someone – some big-name politician I hadn't made much effort to remember, but the Republic deemed them important enough to send us behind enemy lines to get them back.

The Marauder lay hidden nearly a dozen klicks away, nestled amidst brambles and fallen logs until even I struggled to notice it. We’d stolen a pair of Separatist transports to approach the black ops site without raising much suspicion and split up to search the compound faster. Tech and Wrecker infiltrated the northern side, Echo and I came in from the south, and Hunter was on his own along the crumbling remains of the eastern wall with Crosshair posted in the nearby tree line. He’d violently opposed my going in, but we had no means of knowing what kind of state our target would be in when we found them.

The politician was the least of my concerns, though. I’d been on edge since entering those transports. The ping of the metal walkways against our boots, the hum of the engine, even the color of the walls… it was just too similar. But were weren't on Agamar, and I hated how softly the others were stepping around me. I hated even more the undeniable knowledge that I needed them to.

That tension hadn’t lessened as we reached the Separatist black site. It looked abandoned; scarce buildings in such a perfect state of intentional disarray as to almost promise nothing but ancient debris and decades of dust lay within, but Tech's scans confirmed massive power fluctuations underground. It wasn't a huge compound, but it didn't need to be. Barely a half dozen structures remained standing, skeletal framework partially hidden by an overgrowth we now used to our own advantage as we crawled through the dense brush, thorns somehow numerous enough and sharp enough to occasionally find purchase in the slim crescents of skin left unprotected between sections of armor.

Echo and I had just finished sweeping through the second building in search of an entrance to the lower level when the site’s defenses suddenly roared to life. Numerous turrets burst from the soil that, mere seconds prior has shown no trace of anything beyond untouched wilds, and we’d just managed to hide behind a partially caved-in room before being noticed.

I could hear dozens of gears whirring to life just beyond our dilapidated shelter, the harsh crunch of leaves and branches breaking beneath heavy, metallic feet. Droids were flooding the site. We were pinned down by the turrets. And Hunter wasn’t answering his com.

“Can we make it to the next structure?” Echo asked, voice forced into a whisper.

“Not yet.” There was a long moment of silence, and I could feel myself tensing more with each passing second, legs coiled beneath me. “Now!” We were moving before the hushed order fell silent, both crouched so low that we were practically crawling, one hand occasionally darting to the ground in a gate more natural to some forest dwelling beast, but our awkward appearance didn't matter. The half dozen droids mere meters to our right posed little threat in and of themselves, but revealing our presence now might cause untold numbers to swarm. If they had Hunter, our only hope to free him was to keep ourselves hidden.

My legs burned from the effort of keeping up with Echo. He moved as though he’d been born for such things, body stalking preternaturally through tall grass and biting bramble effortlessly, but I still found myself watching him, worried I'd note some hint of a falter in his stride, but whatever strain the motion surely wrought upon his residual limbs was a torture to which he was far too accustomed to show amidst the threat lingering over us.

“Down!” We dropped harshly to the ground, and my every instinct balked at the helpless position. Mere seconds passed before the almost musical chorus of shifting counterweights and metallic limbs raced through the foliage just feet ahead of us. Droidekas. The nervous tension dancing beneath my skin turned to dread in an instant, ice bursting through my chest in a rush of panic. I didn't want to notice the way Echo glanced back toward me, the depth of concern that tiny movement conveyed. The droid presence was no longer a simple annoyance. We were in danger.

Was Crosshair switching between com channels to warn Tech and Wrecker lest their chatter create a lethal distraction? Were they balancing the risk of striking first versus continuing what felt like a doomed plight to remain unnoticed? My lungs ached from the effort of controlling each breath, body eager to fall into the too tempting frenzy of fear.

Echo’s hand flared out, signaling me to move around his left flank before readying his pistol, attention trained toward the sound of machinery falling into formation. I knew at least fifteen meters still lay between us and the next building; knew that he was purposefully placing himself between me and the enemy units; that, even among this squad of elites, Echo was the most capable soldier I could hope to have guarding my back, but, still, I had to grind my teeth against useless objections, abhorred at the very thought of letting him act either as distraction or delay if we were seen.

That fear surged anew at every shuffle of leaves and snap of twigs as I crawled forward, stealing one final glance just as I passed him. He couldn’t see the plea in my eyes, the order begging to scream from lips carefully trapped between ground teeth that he not put himself in danger, but he didn’t have to. With the smallest movement, he looked toward me in kind and offered the faintest nod, and that tiny gesture was enough to push me on.

He waited until several feet separated us before he started after me, and something about that, about knowing he was following just behind me granted me a confidence I had no right feeling, determination numbing me to the burn in my arms as I hauled myself through an undergrowth that showed no sign of the wear it ought to have from the abuse of concealing a Separatist base.

When the ridge of a tattered roof finally jutted above the line of greenery, I couldn’t restrain the deep sigh of relief, but I had to remind myself that any façade of safety feigned by the crumbling walls granted only a fool’s comfort and forced myself to pause just shy of the entrance. Echo didn’t stop until he was nearly flush against my side, and we both waited with bated breath.

“Tech and Wrecker found an entrance. If you don’t find one in there, stay hidden until they report back.” Crosshair’s voice fell into a carefully detached hum. I wanted to respond, to offer some reassurance, but we couldn’t risk even that, so I merely watched in silence as Echo took point once more, waiting for his signal before following him into the derelict structure.

Once, it stood a couple stories high, brick walls more akin to a school than a prison, but there was no sign of such possibilities within any longer. Nature had reclaimed the half-dozen rooms and interconnecting hallways long ago. Ferns draped through shattered windows, and mounds of dirt collected in the corners reached halfway to the ceilings. There was no broken furniture nor remnants of belongings hidden amidst the rubble, and I found myself wondering if it had ever been anything more than this. Had the Separatists built it solely to be abandoned; its fate preordained to ruin from the start purely to act as camouflage for what horrors lay below? I wanted to hate them for it but knew it was fueled by naivety; knew that far more had been wasted for less in this war on both sides and that even more would be lost before there would be any hope of armistice.

Only after Echo stood did I move to regain my footing as well, body still hunched forward in that instinctive drive to hide as we searched each room in turn. When he paused in what must have been the central chamber, attention trained in the corner just to the right of the doorway, I stepped back toward the hall, carefully watching for any signs of encroaching danger, my own pistols at the ready.

“We’re heading in.” Echo stated seconds before the hiss of an airlock screamed through the tense silence.

“Copy.” Crosshair replied shortly. He hated this. I knew he hated this: being forced to wait behind as we tread beyond his sight, beyond his reach should something go wrong, and my heart ached knowing there was no comfort I could offer as I turned to follow his brother down the narrow porthole into what was surely a maze of identical passages designed to be inescapable.

No veneer of color was granted to bare metal walls and exposed purlins overhead, and what few lights flickered within granted only fleeting glimpses of the lifeless passageways. This place was not created for comfort. Every detail was made through cruel intent to rob those trapped here of even the thought of warmth, and I couldn’t force the memory of that filth-stained cell from my mind; the scent of stale moisture and blood and rot.

My stride must have faltered; my pace slowed or breath hitched. Something drew Echo’s attention back to me, and shame sank into my gut like something rancid and squirming, and I couldn’t find the strength to push it back in time to dismiss it entirely.

“You alright?” He whispered it, body leaning carefully over mine as though he could hide me from the nightmare surrounding us, and I hated the fact that I couldn’t bring myself to answer him directly.

“Let’s just get Hunter and the damn politician, and get out of here.” I nearly growled. He hesitated a moment longer, and I wanted to yell; to shout that there wasn’t time for this, to berate myself for causing even this short delay, shoulders pulling back with a determination fueled by the rage I felt toward myself for my weakness. He drew a slow breath before wrenching his focus back toward the long hallway, and a shaky sigh of relief escaped me.

I wouldn’t have noticed the port had Echo not stopped suddenly beside it, needing only to shoot a quick look for me to take watch as he plugged himself in. There was no cover here, nowhere we could hide if a patrol came upon us, and each second we lingered stoked the anxious certainty that we were moments from being found, but I didn’t waver, attention shifting between the direction we’d come from and the path ahead.

“Tech, Wrecker; looks like the target’s in the far west corner. Are you guys near there?”

“We are.” Tech responded quickly. “Have you located Hunter?”

“No, but we’ll head east and see what we can find.” My heart dropped at Echo’s response, and I fought to convince myself that that didn’t mean they didn’t have him; that didn’t mean he was…

Echo disconnected from the port, and I forced myself back to attention. He didn’t say anything more before continuing forward at a quick trot, weapon held loosely before him. Our footsteps boomed around us, mocking our every attempt at quiet. We slowed at every intersection, carefully searching down each hall before crossing. It was a perfect grid, an even number of paces separating each corner for what felt like eternity.

I heard it first. It was wet. An occasional crunch of metal against meat. I knew that sound. I knew the heat of abused flesh swelling beneath the assault; knew they would kill him long before he talked.

My hand was reaching for him before consciously acknowledging the movement; a quick tap on Echo’s shoulder singling him to stop. He needed only to pause before he heard it, too, and I watched his body tense as he reached the same conclusion I had, breath quickening beneath a flare of rage and dread. Without a word, we took off toward the wretched sound. There was a rhythm to it. Two strikes and a pause. Two strikes. Pause. I couldn’t hear what they asked in those fleeting seconds between, but my mind wouldn’t let it remain quiet long enough to wonder.

Who ordered the hit?

I swallowed back the bile that tasted too akin to rancid water.

We barely slowed at crossings now, nearly sprinting through the underground base.

Who placed the bombs?

Two strikes. I could hear him cough in the brief silence that followed, heard the splatter of liquid against metal and knew it was blood.

Echo looked over his shoulder to catch my gaze, to make sure I was ready, before tearing through the door. An alarm blared. The lights flashed a deep red that paled beneath the blue of our blaster fire filling the small cell. His armor was gone, blacks torn where they’d snagged on metal fists. I didn’t count them, nor did I need my overlay’s targeting system as Echo and I stormed the room, both strafing the enemy units in a frenzied rush.

I vaguely noticed the lethal elegance of the man beside me as he dove between a pair of B2s, rolling to his feet behind them, pistol already raised and firing before he’d come to a stop. I ducked to the side just as another droid raised its arm, the wall behind me hissing as metal melted beneath the powerful, crimson shots. It didn’t get the chance to fire again, and I watched with eager satisfaction as the towering machine fell heavily to the floor.

It took mere seconds. I didn’t have time to find a new target before Echo felled the few remaining enemies, sparing only a fleeting thought toward a figure among the metal corpses that was far too soft to belong among the droids, nor did I pause to wonder if it had been my shot or Echo’s that claimed their life. Whoever they were, I was too happy to leave them to rot among the destruction they sowed, attention training instead on Hunter.

Already, Echo was working to sever the bounds securing his wrists to the metal slab behind him, and I rushed forward to catch him as his first arm fell free, wincing at the stifled groan my touch drew from him.

“T… took yuh… long ‘nough.” He slurred, jaw barely moving around the strained words.

“Not our fault you let yourself get caught at a kriffing black site.” Echo retorted, already working on his other wrist.

“S… st’nned m…” His reply broke into an agonizing flurry of coughs, thick drops of crimson smearing across my chest plate.

“Alright, enough – you can make all the excuses you want after I patch you up,” I interrupted, a gentle warning in my hushed voice, “For now, just try to slow your breathing and stay awake, alright?” His head shifted toward me in silent consent, and my worry spiked. He was barely recognizable from the sickeningly wrong angle of his nose, and already his eyes were nearly swollen shut. His ribs were far worse off, however. I could see the heavy bruising through tears in his shirt, could hear the rattle in his every hitched, shallow breath.

“I presume the alarm indicates that you’ve found Hunter?” Tech asked just as the other shackle clicked open. Hunter fell against me with a choked grunt, and I tried not to imagine the pain shooting through his torso.

“Easy; just sit back.” I murmured softly, carefully guiding him to the ground.

“Yeah. He’s hurt, but Doc’s with him.” Echo responded, already treading back toward the door to watch for incoming troops. He paused briefly at the figure lying amongst the droids, but I didn’t see what he did, attention devoted to helping the wheezing man before me.

“Hunter, I want you to focus on me for a bit, okay?” My voice left in a whisper void of the urgency with which I dug through my bag. He hummed some manner of a reply, but I couldn’t make out anything akin to actual speech.

“We located the prisoner, but… it seems we were only given a portion of the information regarding this mission.” I had to stifle a surge of frustration that I could hear mirrored in Tech’s clipped statement as my scanner buzzed to life.

“Great.” Echo groaned.

“We’ll rendezvous at the Marauder and discuss how to proceed. Crosshair, is-” He was interrupted by a violent shockwave tearing through the base.

“That… wasn’t me.” Wrecker said hesitantly after a moment of tense silence.

“All clear.” I nearly scoffed at the haughty pride in Crosshair’s voice before returning my attention to the scan results, stomach twisting as I read over his injuries.

“Looks like you’re gonna live, Sarg.” I managed to tease softly despite my own dread, earning a groan heavy with mock disappointment. “You’re going to be pissing blood for a week, though.” He let out an even less thrilled grunt that drew a quiet chuckle from me. “How about I get some pain killers in you, and you let me help you back to the ship?” His eyelids shifted but weren’t able to fully open. Still, he offered no objection when I laid an autoinjector against his neck, and my worry grew at how quickly his body went limp.

“How is he?” Echo asked, voice tense as he walked back toward us. My gaze caught on a sack thrown over his shoulder. “His armor.” He explained, much to my relief. They hadn’t had him long, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that they wouldn’t have had time to dispose of it, but it was still a stroke of luck that he was able to find it so easily.

“He’ll be alright… but we should hurry.” Even through our opaque visors, I knew he felt the intensity with which I held his gaze, that he understood the truth behind my carefully even reply. He gave a small nod and dropped to a knee at Hunter’s other side.

“Hey, brother, think you can hold on to me?” My lips pulled into a small smile at the gentleness of Echo’s deep voice, the care in his movements as he eased Hunter’s arm over his shoulders. I threw my bag back on and followed suit with his other arm.

“Mmm… m’alri’.” His dismissal faded into a barely audible mumble as we pulled him upright, head slumping toward his chest.

“Those drugs won’t last long.” I warned quietly. Again, Echo responded with a short nod, and, together, we began the lock trek back toward an exit I doubted I’d ever find without him.

Next Chapter

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings

@manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base

@daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan

@drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy

@mooncommlink @isthereanechoinhere96 @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh

@blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep

@amorfista @wanderneverlost @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil

@roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl @captainrex89

@waytoooldforthis78 @msmeredithrose @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @anythingandeveythingstarwars

@littlefeatherr @thegreatpipster @melonmochii @totallyunidentified @mickeyp03

@hipwell @echos_pile_of_bones

84 notes · View notes

bon2bonn · 8 months

Text

Breakeven

0-0

Mafia!Charles leclerc X Mafia!reader

° Ex!lestappen X reader , ex!Charles leclerc X ex!max verstappen , ex!max verstappen X ex!reader .

Words count : 1.3k

Warnings : violence, guns , grammar, death, not proof read.

*did I get sidetracked/distracted again and started yet another fic that I daydreamed about in a sleep deprived haze ? YEP! I sure did . do I regret it now ? Heck no! . will I regret it later for indulging my mind by writing it instead of focusing on my already full WIP list? Absolutely! . So enjoy🍷!

Charles leaned his back against her side tilting his head on her chest , his hair is tussled and his frown gone as he closed his eyes in content, her arm draped over his shoulder from the back , as her hand rested over his heart with one of his holding onto it as he slept .

Their joined hands raising and falling with every breath he took and his posture calm a relaxed, A major contrast from his usually tense and guarded self . Her other hand rested on Max's hand that he let her hold , tracing over his scared hand as she followed the lines and raised tissue on the back of it , his head resting on her shoulder with hers leaning over his .

All three basking in the cool wind as it breathed around them the place is a small piece of heaven with overgrown trees and wild flowers scattering around and disappearing beyond the treelines , tucked away from the main court where the main families meet to for business .

They Found it years ago and run to whenever they got the chance , taking a fresh breath of air was a rare occurrence as their families increased their responsibilities with every passing day , yet they cherished these fleeting moments even if short and spent in silence, still very precious to them .

She closed her eyes , enjoying the stolen moment of peace , Max's voice cuts through the peaceful haze " Mijn liefje , you have to wake up " . She frowned at his words, but kept her eyes closed " but I want to stay here , with you " she felt him hold her hand gently , lifting it up to place a delicate kiss on the back of it , leaving behind a a tingling sensation that turned into a scorching pain causing her to wince , he whispered in a far away voice " but you know that this isn't real " , she tried to argue back but her words got caught in her throat . And as she strained her hearing she couldn't hear the sound of bustling leaves above them anymore as it fades into a steady ticking bounced around her head before it stopped with the loud ringing of the church bell from the other side of the block . Snapping her awake from the beautifully haunting daydreams that kept plaguing her days .

Moving away from the wall she was leaning on , fighting the urge to scratch at the back of her tightly wrapped hand as she crouched down , readjusting her coms before leaning down into position , sight set on the moving cars as she counted three moving ahead towards the gates, another one barked not far from the front entrance across the street, and another going around for the past hour or so appearing irregularly without a specific timing but not close enough to draw attention, a surveillance team of sorts.

Clicking her coms on as she followed the van one block before it turned a corner and out of sight " Marv , surveillance is heading your way 10 seconds east " the line clicked and the voice answered back " copy that " . Another line connected as she fixed her aim at the last car as it stopped before the gate but no one got out " Jinx here, the back is cleared, no setbacks here , sirens are in position and ready to go " she acknowledged with a "copy that " , swiftly shooting the tires of the the target's car as a precaution , forcing them to get him out eventually to ensure his safety.

Counting her side tasks for the day , the first car had at least three armed guards the , second had 4 armed who posed as a diversion to cover the third which had two armed guards one personal bodyguard along with the target .

She took down the first two guards injuring the third as they stepped out, another one from the second car and three more as they tried to shoot back at her place in the rooftop. Leaving the best for last when two more guards emerged from the said car . She ducked as the last guard aimed at her head , missing twice before he ran out of ammo. She took him out with one shot , Leaving the target with no protection for now .

The silence was defining as she head down the stairs , gun loaded and ready . she called through her Comms " we're on the move, start phase 2, sirens , lock and move " , they answered in confirmation starting their own tasks at hand .

While she approached the car slowly , she found the target first , unarmed and trembling as he babbled on trying to bargain himself out " I'll give you whatever you want, how much ?! 5 million , 9 I'll give you 12 please! Whatever you want!!" As he kept frantically pleading his guard sneaked up on her , trying to grab her by the neck , but was met with a kick and a bullet to the leg caughting him off guard, he stumbled back but grabbed a hold of her ankle dragging her down with him , she rolled away aiming for his head but he took cover with the car door , the target was screaming as bullets kept shooting towards him with one barley taking his ear as he ducked , she groaned as she threw her now empty gun , taking out another one but the bastard kicked it out of her hand , she took a deep breath " you asked for it " she charged at him ducking last second swiping his feet , making him fall face first before pinning him down with both arms pulled behind his back with her knee centered between his shoulders blades , putting pressure down while pulling hard enough until two loud pops were heard , the guard screamed along with the target who held his arms in fear , watching in horror as she now held her fallen gun to the back of the guard's head shooting once before she stood up turning to him .

He tried to scoot back shaking the door beside him in attempt to flee his death , she got in slowly , sitting beside him in a bored manner shutting the door behind her with a swift move, he stilled as she finally looked at him with sharp eyes , feeling cold chills running through his bones he attempted to plead again " I'll give everything you want! Please spare me!" She shook her head as she leaned back into the seat , keeping him cornered as she spoke in a cold voice " you seem to forget our values Mr Matthew , we don't spare traitors , nor do we bargain with death" he shouted at her cursing as he couldn't escape his fate " you're a wretched girl you'll rott in hell! Where you belong !!!!" She gave him a sinister smile as she leaned in close to whisper in his ear " then tell the devil I'm coming for his throne while you're down there" wiping the grin off her face as she shot a final bullet before she got out , closing the door swiftly behind her as she walked away and down the street , clicking her coms back on she updated " target is terminated , Marv status?" stopping by a white van , getting in as she got a response " all clear here , heading out " she looked at the flowing data on the screens before her " copy that " turning to the driver she signalled for him to drive before she reconnect one last time " sirens , your status?" An answer sounds out immediately " targets secured, no casualties, heading out now " satisfied with the results she call out " regrouping in 10 " everyone called back " copy" before she turned off her earpiece, letting the monitor on as they drove back in silence , she filtered through the files in search for what they needed , humming quitely before she stilled with wide eyes in astonishment as she finally came across what she was looking for , smiling devilishly at the screen " Oh , it seems like you've dug yourself a deep hole Mr Ralph , and I'll make sure to bury you in it " .

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #Charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #mafia au #f1 au!#f1 mafia!au #mafia!Charles leclerc #mafia!Max Verstappen #mafia!reader #ex!lestappen #ex!Max Verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #ex!lestappen x reader #lestappen

162 notes · View notes

anto-pops · 1 year

Text

Mallowsweet Muses PART 2 - Sebastian Sallow/Ominis Gaunt/Female! Reader

Summary: Ominis knew he was being unreasonable. He knew he was acting like a petulant child and taking out his frustrations on Sebastian purely because he was an easy target. But Merlin– his trousers were tight. There had been one goal in his mind when he came down here, and now that he’d been interrupted, his composure was slipping. He was being intentionally cruel on the off chance Sebastian would let him leave as a result.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit content, F/M/M, polyamory themes

Full fic can be found here on Ao3! Part 1 of Mallowsweet Muses can be read here on Tumblr. Part 3 now complete!

Ominis was ready to throw himself in the lake and let the Kraken have away with him.

It had been an entire week since his unintentional bout of eavesdropping in the vivarium. One week since he had listened to you give sloppy head to Sebastian and heard the depraved comments he whispered in your ear, before he had shamelessly fucked you over the table. All with him laying not five feet away. His mind hadn’t stopped reeling from it since, and maintaining his aloof facade had proven to be more difficult than he’d originally thought.

Hell, he’d been so preoccupied with controlling his raging boner after the fact that he’d barely been able to pretend to be pissed about his Herbology notes.

Since then, he’d spent an increasing amount of time separated from the two of you. Not because he was mad– far from it, in fact– but because he was confused beyond belief at his own reaction to the whole thing.

He liked it. All of it; your muffled moaning against Sebastian’s hand, and the wet sound of him pumping into you. The almost silent scrape of the wooden table against the floor had made Sebastian’s slow and steady pace easy to keep track of, and the man’s own lust-filled groans had lit a fire in Ominis’ gut that had yet to lessen, much less disappear.

Sighing in frustration, he let go of his magical hold on his dictation quill, the feather falling to the table silently. His head tipped forward to slam down on his notebook, the dull thud echoing through the sparsely populated library around him. Ominis had managed to find a cozier corner on the second level, far from the activity that overtook the main floor, and he had been here for the better part of two hours trying to distract himself before his mind had started to wander.

Right back to you and Sebastian. His cock twitched in his pants then, demanding attention.

He groaned, “Damn it.”

Common decency overpowered his baser urges, and with a hurried flick of his wand Ominis charmed away his books and quill, stuffing his hand down his tight trousers to quickly readjust himself into a somewhat more comfortable position before he was peeling out of the library. The dorms were out of the question– too many students were likely holed up there for the weekend, and the possibility of running into Sebastian was too great. Silently praying that the two of you had gone on a date somewhere far away, he made his way to the Undercroft.

As the iron gate rose, Ominis went rigid like a deer, already about to flee as the sound of Sebastian’s voice mid-conversation registered from somewhere inside.

“I’m not sure, but he wasn’t in the dorms this morning. Imelda pretty much confirmed he was in the Great Hall early though.”

“So he’s avoiding us–” you said, before the screaming gears of the gate cut you off, drawing your attention to the entryway. Ominis could only assume as much, considering it had suddenly gone deathly silent.

You barely had time to catch a glimpse of the red glow from Ominis’ wand before he was pivoting on his heel and making a break for the exit. “Ominis, wait!”

Sebastian shot up instantly as he followed your gaze, watching with a mixture of anger and confusion as his best friend fled down the hall as quick as his legs would carry him. All week he had been trying to figure out what the hell could have caused Ominis to draw so far into himself– to the point where he would be actively avoiding his two closest companions– only to come up empty handed, everytime. The man’s ability to maintain a straight face was impressive most days, but Sebastian had grown tired of it after the third night in a row of being blown off by Ominis to ‘study’.

Who the fuck studied at midnight? Not Ominis Gaunt, that’s for damn sure. He was indisputably intelligent, but he never cut his sleep short to slave over books. Sebastian knew him too well to believe any of his half-assed excuses.

“Accio!” Sebastian expertly cast the spell as Ominis turned to escape up the stairs. It caught the material of his robe and summoned him backwards down the hall, indignant shouts and curses flying off his lips as he was unceremoniously dragged across the stone floor before coming to stop in front of you.

“Are you out of your mind, Sebastian?! What the hell is wrong with you?” Ominis shot to his feet with a piercing scowl, hurriedly adjusting his robes and smoothing out the material of his trousers.

Sebastian’s eyes darkened with obvious anger, his fist clenching around his wand as he gestured wildly. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?! Hiding from us all week and then sprinting to get away just now? Start talking.”

“It’s none of your concern. How dare you presume to yank me around like some common dog– not everyone likes being at your beck and call all the time, you know.”

The brunette recoiled like he’d been slapped, but all you could do was watch with wide-eyed shock as the two men’s bickering devolved into a full blown argument.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? Where is this coming from, Ominis? What did I do to piss you off so bad? Things were fine a week ago then out of nowhere you’re acting all uptight and avoiding us like the plague.”

“I wasn’t pissed until about ten seconds ago, you pompous ass! And who says I need to spend every waking moment with you? I’m allowed to have time for myself. Get off your high horse, and if you ever do something like that to me again, I’ll transfigure you into a roach and step on you.”

Ominis knew he was being unreasonable. He knew he was acting like a petulant child and taking out his frustrations on Sebastian purely because he was an easy target. But Merlin– his trousers were tight. There had been one goal in his mind when he came down here, and now that he’d been interrupted, his composure was slipping. He was being intentionally cruel on the off chance Sebastian would let him leave as a result.

“Every waking moment? What the hell, Ominis– if this is some last ditch attempt at graduating friendless, you’re going to have to do better than that– you’re not leaving until you come clean about whatever fucking resentments you’ve clearly got bottled up.”

“I said it’s none of your business. Now if you’re finished using me for target practice, I’ll be going–”

“Did I do something?” Your timid voice from somewhere to his left was like a punch to the gut, making him halt his movements. “If I did, I’m sorry. I know we’ve all been stressed because of our O.W.L.s, but if I said something last week or did something to offend you, I really am sorry, Ominis.”

Dammit. This was the worst case scenario for more reasons than one. Sebastian being pissed with him was one thing, but having you believe he was upset because of you, was unacceptable. The angel on his shoulder was smacking him for being so immature and cursing him for putting that watery tone in your voice.

You and Sebastian watched dumbfounded as Ominis threw his hands into his hair and raked the neat strands into an unkempt mess. Suffice it to say, you’d never seen him so frazzled; Ominis was normally the picture of groomed elegance on every day ending in ‘Y’, and as your eyes roamed over his disheveled form, you took in his flushed cheeks and the shaky rise and fall of his chest. When he pushed his hair back from his face, the action caused his robe to fall open further, and you couldn’t help but notice the painfully obvious bulge in his trousers.

Oh, wow.

Ominis hissed through clenched teeth, “Sweet fucking Merlin– I’m not angry with you– either of you. I’m just confused about something right now and it isn’t anything I want to bring you two into, so please, just drop it and let me leave.”

Sebastian looked exasperated. “Confused about what? Since when are we keeping secrets from one another? I thought we were past that, let us help you, Ominis.”

You started to interject, “Sebastian–”

“You can’t help me with this! For fuck’s sake— I heard you last week, alright?!”

The declaration bounced off the walls of the Undercroft, silencing you and Sebastian both as a brilliant red hue swept across Ominis’ otherwise pale cheeks. Sebastian’s mouth fell open, and you found your own cheeks warming aggressively as you cast a panicked look at him.

Sebastian’s genuine shock lasted for all of two seconds before he was schooling his expression into something less petrified, and you followed the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You… heard us? In the vivarium?”

Ominis exhaled roughly, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet in a combined attempt to calm the fuck down and to alleviate the mounting pressure between his legs. “Yes.”

“And you’re confused about what part of that, exactly?”

His crude remark pulled an affronted gasp from your throat, but before you could tell him to keep his mouth shut and at least try to be understanding, Ominis was replying evenly, “I’m confused as to why I liked it.”

Maybe you had imagined it, but you could have sworn the sound Sebastian made at the back of his throat was one of interest. When you looked over to him, you found his gaze trained on the tenting fabric of Ominis’ trousers, a curious glint reflecting in his eyes. Part of your mind was still reeling from embarrassment at the entire situation, but another far more shameless part of you was enthralled by your boyfriend’s reaction to his best friend’s confession.

Frankly, you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little intrigued by Ominis’ words too.

“What about it did you like?” Sebastian asked, his voice noticeably rougher than before, and you and Ominis both had physical reactions to it. While you seemed to melt at the sound, instantly enticed by whatever dirty thoughts raced through his head, Ominis tensed, visibly mulling over whether answering was worthwhile.

“Sebastian,” you injected yourself into the moment, drawing his attention back to you. The smoldering expression on his face was promising, but for Ominis’ sake, you tried to give the kind-hearted Slytherin an out. “Don’t make him any more uncomfortable than he already is.”

“I– it’s fine,” Ominis muttered, angling his head in the direction of your voice. “Does it make you uncomfortable? That I overheard the two of you?”

Did it? While the initial embarrassment was impossible to deny, there was a very big, very brazen part of you that liked the idea of having an audience. After all, hadn’t you and Sebastian both teased one another with the threat of Ominis catching you? That day in the vivarium certainly hadn’t been the first time. Suddenly your mind was flooded with fantasies of Sebastian’s hands gripping your hips, digging into the skin there to pull you back on his cock with brutal precision, before pistoning you forward to swallow around Ominis’ equally hard member.

Oh, Merlin.

Sebastian seemed to lean in closer in anticipation of your response. Heat rose to your cheeks as your gaze flickered down to the ground in an attempt to hide the growing interest on your face. “No. I don’t mind that you listened.”

“Nor do I,” Sebastian added, and when your wide-eyed stare landed back on him, there was pure mischief etched into his expression. “I kind of wish you’d said something back then, to be completely honest with you.”

Ominis reeled back a step, his blush amplifying tenfold as his grip on his wand blanched his knuckles white. “Whatever you’re playing at, stop it. I feel bad enough that I let myself behave so boorishly without your jesting. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you both, I’ll get over it, but now you know, so please excuse me–”

“What did you like about it?” you echoed Sebastian’s earlier question, your own curiosity driven by the lust-fueled fantasies that whipped through your mind, and Ominis’ mouth hung open in silent shock. “Please, tell me. I want to know.”

“What’s the matter with you two? I’ve been ripping my hair out all week while fighting the worst urges of my life because I feel too ashamed to jerk off to the memory of what I heard– and now that you both know, you want feedback?”

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed, Ominis. If anything, we’re the ones who should be apologizing,” Sebastian threw out, his tone genuine. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression I’d be angry with you over something like this. You’re my best friend– I trust you more than anyone– and if it had to be someone in this blasted school that had to hear us, I’m glad it was you.”

“Let us make it up to you,” your sultry voice came from directly in front of him this time, and Ominis’ breath caught somewhere in his throat. Nothing about the way you were speaking implied that ‘making it up to him’ wouldn’t involve his cock. For the first time since entering the Undercroft, Ominis let his hand drift south to his achingly hard member, squeezing it softly through his trousers.

Merlin’s beard– was he actually considering this? Interestingly enough, Sebastian had yet to voice his displeasure at the thought of his girlfriend handling another man’s cock– and Ominis decided that had to be the strangest thing about this whole thing. Where was the possessive, alpha-male persona Sebastian so frequently displayed when other men approached you? He was the last person Ominis imagined to be okay with sharing, so to speak.

“Why are you doing this?” It was a vague question, but one he needed to voice all the same. He needed to know this wasn’t some sick, convoluted game the two of you were conspiring to play at his expense.

“You’re clearly in a predicament, and if you really did listen for as long as you say you did, you already know she can help with that.” Sebastian purred the statement, the low growl in his voice causing the slick to build between your legs, and even Ominis couldn’t suppress his shaky exhale.

“How are you so okay with this? I can’t– I don’t want to make things awkward– I can just as easily take care of this myself.”

Your hands came to rest just above Ominis’ sternum, and he jumped at the sudden contact, his heart thrumming wildly beneath your palms. His lips parted around a small gasp as you wandered lower to the waistband of his trousers, nimble fingers dancing between the fabric and his smooth skin. “Do you really think we haven’t thought about including you before? Where do you think the dirty fantasies of you catching us came from?”

Ominis’ mind went blank for a split second when the tip of your finger gently brushed across the head of his cock through his undergarments. He hissed, “You’re telling me you’ve wanted me to walk in on you before?”

It was Sebastian who spoke next, his voice heavily laden with arousal as he watched his best friend fall apart at your touch. “Hell yeah, we’ve wanted you to join in too. Trust me Ominis, we’re more than okay with bringing you into the mix. I’ve kinda been dreaming about it for a while now.”

It was a rare treat, getting to see this side of Ominis. Sebastian could recall walking in on him jerking off once when they were younger while spending their summer in Feldcroft. The blonde boy had been spread wide on his bed, hair mused and face bright red, with one hand furiously jacking his impressively long and uncut cock while the other cradled his tight balls. The memory had stayed with Sebastian all these years, and he sincerely hoped Ominis was still as vocal now as he had been then, because his broken moans from that day had continued to haunt Sebastian with enough sleepless nights to last a lifetime.

Rational thinking failed to triumph as Ominis let himself relax into your touch, his shoulders dropping slightly when your palm came to lay flat against his cock. Your fingers pressed lightly, ghosting over the throbbing head and drawing a needy sigh from him. Sebastian moved quickly so that he was behind Ominis and wrapped his arms around the man’s slender waist, tugging him securely against his chest before his hands started to explore.

Ominis gasped at the sudden feeling, but Sebastian’s firm hold prevented him from arching away, and even if he could, you were still leaning against his front, working him into a frenzy with featherlight touches that threatened to make him combust. He was sandwiched between the two of you, effectively at the mercy of his two closest companions.

“A-Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” Sebastian murmured into the crook of Ominis’ neck, and you gave the blonde’s cock one more affectionate squeeze before you were sinking to your knees in front of him in silent confirmation. “So tell us then; what did you like most about what you heard last week?”

It was impossible for Ominis to decide on one thing in particular when he felt your fingers move to unfasten the button on his waistband. The scrape of your nails over his hip bones was positively tantalizing as you swiftly tugged his trousers down to his knees. Sebastian’s broad hands slid under his shirt, trailing along Ominis’ bare torso as he gripped at whatever skin he could. When he grazed his thumb over one of Ominis’ nipples, the taller man’s breath hitched, and you watched in awe as his cock twitched against the cotton prison of his briefs.

“Fuck– I don’t know, I liked all of it,” he fought back a whine as your hands abandoned his swollen cock to slide up the sensitive skin at the back of his legs, dragging your nails softly as you went. The muscles in his stomach tensed, and he shuddered, “I liked the sounds.”

“What did it sound like?” Sebastian whispered, and when you peered up to steal a glance at him, you were pleased to find him watching you with hooded eyes over Ominis’ shoulder. The look was primal and hungry, and so at odds with the bewildered expression that Ominis bore.

Those milky blue irises pinched shut as Ominis willed himself to maintain his composure, his eagerness to have your mouth around him revealing itself in the form of his shallow panting. “It sounded wet, and sloppy. I liked listening to her choke around you, it was–”

He was cut off by a guttural moan when your hands finally returned to his front, your fingers catching in the elastic of his briefs before you were sliding the attire away oh-so-slowly.

When Ominis’ cock sprung free, he sighed with relief at the same time you licked your lips, and Sebastian was already committing the entire scene to memory because fuck– this was hot. His best friend was leaning against him while his girlfriend prepared to stuff her beautiful mouth with his equally stunning cock, and all the while, Sebastian’s own erection was standing at attention between the shapely curve of Ominis’ ass.

He really hoped he wouldn’t cum in his pants before getting a chance to see everything play out.

“Is that what you want?” You asked Ominis from your kneeled position before him. When you took his shaft in your hands to give him a testing pump, he bucked his hips eagerly to meet your touch, and a wicked smile broke out across your face that nearly brought Sebastian to his own knees.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I want that. I want all of it– your mouth and Sebastian’s hands– whatever you’ll give me, please.”

Sebastian couldn’t fight the desperate roll of hips as he ground his now solid cock against Ominis at the request, and the bold movement had the man arching his back to press harder against Sebastian while simultaneously angling his hips to grant you easier access to his leaking member. You obliged, convinced that he had waited for this long enough, and wrapped your lips around the head to give him a toe curling suck.

Ominis’ head fell back against Sebastian’s shoulder with a broken cry, his knees already trembling on either side of you— and it was a good thing Sebastian was holding him upright because you were positive he would have collapsed otherwise. Spurred on by his heady gasps, you pushed forward more, hollowing your cheeks around Ominis’ impressive length before you pressed your tongue against the sensitive underside of the head.

“Fuck– damn, that’s perfect–” he moaned his praises into empty air, the hair on his arms standing on end when he felt Sebastian crane his neck to place wet, teasing kisses along the curve of his jaw. He sucked and bit at the skin there, the sensation bringing Ominis to new heights at the same time you began bobbing your head on his cock in a steady rhythm.

There was nothing in this world that could have prepared Ominis for any of this. To go from sulking around the castle for days, to suddenly being wrapped in Sebastian’s arms with him sucking bruises into the column of his neck; all the while, you were holding your mouth fast to his cock, drawing wanton moans and breathless gasps from his lips with each stroke of your skillful tongue. It was like his wildest fantasies come to life– and for once, he refused to give a shit about the repercussions.

With a low moan, Ominis surrendered to the feelings overtaking his limp form, allowing his fingers to slide into your hair before fisting against your scalp to pull you harder onto his shaft. You were prepared for him, suppressing a gag as you allowed Ominis to stuff more of himself in your mouth, and you hummed around his pulsing cock as you brought your hands up to stroke what you couldn’t fit.

You began to suck him off like that, watching intently through your lashes as Ominis writhed under your attention and arched against Sebastian, his stomach tightening and tensing in time with each steady dip of your head. The hand he didn’t have fisted in your hair was gripping at Sebastian’s forearm for support as his hips rolled brainlessly into the even tempo of your mouth. Maybe you were crazy for thinking so, but Ominis looked rather pretty as he fell apart. He was noisy, too, gasping soft praises and breathless moans whenever the head of his cock brushed the back of your throat, and his fingers tightened in your hair at the feeling.

“You two look so fucking good right now, you have no idea.” Sebastian had paused his ministrations against Ominis’ positively wrecked neck to watch you hungrily through his hooded eyes. Your idea then was easier said than done, but you did your best to weasel one of your hands behind the curve of Ominis’ ass to grab at Sebastian’s own neglected member. Your efforts were rewarded with an unsteady groan from the freckled man, and you grinned around Ominis’ cock as Sebastian’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as you began pressing and stroking him through his trousers.

With Ominis in the way and the added difficulty of the angle, you didn’t think you were doing much to help Sebastian with his predicament. But from his perspective your eagerness to please, coupled with the rushed manner you palmed at his cock through his trousers, was more than enough to make his head spin with arousal. His hips jerked against Ominis’ backside, causing the slender man to jolt forward, and the force of Sebastian’s thrust in turn pushed Ominis further down your throat.

“Mmph–” your eyes squeezed shut, a few tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes at the intrusion, but by some miracle you didn’t choke. Instead you relaxed your throat more so you could accommodate as much of Ominis as possible, and when your nose nearly nestled against the collection of sparse hair below his navel, you heard a long string of profanities fall from the blonde man’s soft lips.

“Fuck, she’s taking you so well, Ominis– she’s drooling all over your cock, it looks fucking incredible–”

Sebastian was rutting shamelessly against Ominis, taking full advantage of your hand and the smooth expanse of his friend’s ass to chase his own pleasure. It was quite possibly the raunchiest thing you’d ever seen; both of your companions desperately crumbling above you as you worked to please them in any way you could. Your jaw started to ache around Ominis’ cock and you slowed your pace slightly, but not before your clever tongue was quickly picking up its movements to compensate.

At the same time you hollowed your cheeks and swallowed around Ominis, his fingers tightened painfully in your hair as his hips bucked against your chin. “Fuck, wait, p-pull– pull back–”

You would do no such thing.

Your hands abandoned Sebastian’s cock to grip the backs of Ominis’ thighs again, holding him firm against your parted lips as your tongue cunningly flattened along the underside of his shaft before curling along the base. The filthy, wet sounds coming from your mouth intermingled with Ominis’ shaky breaths in the air around him, and Sebastian dropped one of his arms to shamelessly stuff his hand down his pants to pick up where you had left off. It was an awkward position to get off in, but Merlin– he was desperate for some reprieve.

Sebastian tugged Ominis closer to him, boldly rutting against the other man’s body while his fist furiously assaulted the pre-cum soaked head, keening moans spilling from his freckled lips as he brought himself closer to his release. Ominis shook against Sebastian as you hummed around his cock, the vibrations finally sending him clean over the edge with a hoarse, drawn out cry of your name, and he was frantically holding you to him as he shot thick ropes of cum down your throat.

It was almost greedy, the way you drank down everything he gave you. Ominis was boneless in Sebastian’s arms as you continued to work your tongue over him, milking him dry before you were pulling off his softening cock with a sinful lick of your lips. The sight of your glazed over eyes combined with Ominis’ trembling weight pressed against him was more than enough, and Sebastian dug his teeth into the alabaster skin of his friend’s shoulder as he came all over his hand

“Fuck,” Ominis rasped as he felt Sebastian buck against him, looking like the epitome of a wet dream.

His usually neat hair was beyond mused, falling into his sweat-slick face as his head hung between his shoulders. Sebastian’s arm moved with the rapid rise and fall of Ominis’ chest, and the sight of your boyfriend shaking with pleasure while wrapped around Ominis’ lithe form had you tilting your head to the side to gauge his condition.

Safe to say, Sebastian looked seconds away from dropping to the ground with Ominis in his ironclad grip. The poor man was barely holding it together– his face was flushed, bottom lip red and swollen from him incessantly working it between his teeth, and although Ominis concealed the majority of his lower half, you knew Sebastian had to be riding out the prolonged high of his own orgasm– all from watching you suck off his best friend from over his shoulder. He caught you staring a second later, narrowing his eyes when he spied the smug look on your face. “Find something funny down there?”

Your hands were lazily stroking Ominis’ bare thighs, pulling a contented sigh from the blonde as you grinned diabolically at Sebastian. “Just enjoying the view. You look… pleased.”

“That’s a word for it,” Sebastian mused, gingerly lowering himself and Ominis to the ground, and once the safety of the stone floor was beneath his knees, his arms slid away from the slender man. Ominis sagged limply against Sebastian with an airy groan, his chest still heaving as he willed his brain to start functioning again. “Damn, I think you killed him, darling.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, feeling mighty proud of yourself, all things considered. Your voice was still a little rough as you asked, “You alright, Ominis?”

He slurred the first half of his sentence, but the second bit sounded a little like, “–fuckin superb,” which earned a laugh from both you and Sebastian. Then, Ominis was fidgeting slightly, effectively grinding his ass against Sebastian’s sensitive length still pressed against him, and the brunette hissed through clenched teeth.

“I already made a mess of these trousers, Gaunt. Proceed with caution.”

It was a real treat getting to watch Ominis’ fucked out expression sober up instantaneously following Sebastian’s statement. His blue eyes widened comically, and his hips slowly twitched back to feel the blatant wet patch between the brunette’s legs.

“D-Damn– that’s– I’m sorry,” Ominis fumbled for words as he attempted to sit forward, but Sebastian was having none of it, and quickly wound his strong arms across Ominis’ waist to keep him in place.

Sebastian pressed a hot, tender kiss to Ominis’ pulse, stilling the blonde’s attempts at escaping as you closed the space between you and the boys. You cupped your hands under the sharp curve of Ominis’ jaw to angle his parted lips to yours, and before he could register what was happening, you were there, banishing any lingering tension from his body with your lips. It was soft and delicate, yet demanding and urgent, all at once. Ominis sighed against your mouth and let his slender fingers come to wind in your hair once again, tugging you against him quickly, and he felt Sebastian reach around his shoulder to put his hands on you as well.

“Don’t apologize,” you murmured in between heated kisses before pulling away entirely to stare down at him. “It’s a pleasure having you with us, Ominis… we should do this again.”

Sebastian shot you a look of agreement over Ominis’ love-bitten shoulder, and his eyes darkened as he groaned softly from beneath you. “Can ‘again’ be right now?”

Your brows shot up into your hairline, “Are you even capable of that right now?”

Ominis roused further from his post-coital state at Sebastian’s suggestion and pushed himself upright. “Do you not want to?”

“Merlin’s beard, of course I want to. Trust me– I have a few ideas on the subject, believe it or not. I’m just making sure he isn’t spouting false promises–”

“False promises?” Sebastian chimed in indignantly from behind Ominis, and the glint that reflected in his eyes was one that guaranteed trouble. “I can promise you this, darling. You haven’t come yet, and after all that hard work, I’m sure Ominis would be thrilled to assist me in getting you off. Wouldn’t you, Ominis?”

“As long as you’ll have me,” he murmured, voice husky. “I’d love nothing more than to return the favor– you won’t end up waiting a week for it, either.”

A laugh burst from you at the same time Ominis was tugging you back towards his lips, delving his tongue into your mouth to taste more of you, and Sebastian made a keening sound deep in his throat.

“Seriously Ominis, say something next time. To think we could have done this last weekend if you’d just spoken up.”

Any retorts he could have mustered fell away at the feeling of Sebastian’s hands trailing up his shirt, and when you deepened your kiss with him, Ominis decided that if this was standard practice for being honest, he would make more of an effort to voice exactly what he was thinking in the future.

After all, his fantasies couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. With a brief adjustment period, and maybe a few butterbeers, Ominis was certain he could get used to this sort of treatment.

#sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow smut #ominis gaunt smut #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow oneshot #ominis gaunt oneshot #dont look at the tags its a mess in here #f/m/m #sebinis #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt #my writing

677 notes · View notes

skaruresonic · 2 months

Text

"Yes, Woolie, you can win any argument if you just change what words mean."

Apologies for bringing up an old debate, but I feel the need to clarify my stance on this topic. Twitter character limits will not allow the space needed for explanation.

There's a reason I mentioned the Erazor Djinn and not Shahra. It's because, unlike the Erazor Djinn, Shahra has done nothing wrong. Sonic helps her because he wants to, not because she's earned it by performing regret to a "sufficient" degree.

"The concept of freedom and redemption is neutral."

No, it isn't. That's a culturally Christian view. Some cultures emphasize rehabilitation instead, which differs from redemption.

Not to mention that morality is, to some extent, culturally defined and will vary on that basis.

"Some people deserve it and some people don't."

Yeah, no, I have Problems(tm) with this mindset.

The reason the idea that anyone particularly "deserves" anything - in this case, punishment for crime - doesn't sit right with me is because some external force must define the crime and impose the punishment. I take umbrage with the very idea that we must relent the onus of our problem-solving to an authority, which is naive at best and dangerous at worst.

In other words, at some point you must defer complex moral decisions to an authority. Historically, these punitive frameworks rarely serve justice and usually leverage their power to target the oppressed.

At best, the "criminals deserve to be punished for hurting people" mindset assumes the just world fallacy is true. Good people ought to be rewarded, but more importantly, bad people ought to be punished. On top of other potential pitfalls and opportunities for abuse, this fallacy assumes victims can never exploit their own hurt, real or fabricated, to facilitate oppression.

What this results in, more often than not, is a culture of anxiety that stunts one's moral growth. People become afraid to speak out, make the normal range of mistakes expected of being human, and sometimes even do the right thing upon pain of being branded a Criminal(tm) onto whom punishment is justified and equally little grace afforded. And since "bad people" and "criminals" are categories upon which cruelty for catharsis' sake is considered more justified than rehabilitation or justice for victims, this system can, has been, and will be exploited.

This is why humans rights exist and are called human rights, not "fuck up hard enough and get your humanity revoked" rights.

At worst, it can feed into an authoritarian mindset that paves the way for fascism: dominant cultures enforcing their bigotry through institutionalized violence. "Undeserving" is a severely loaded term especially given this context and this risk.

The wording of "But the fact [Shahra] wishes to make things right for herself and ultimately regretted her mistakes shows that she is more deserving of redemption and freedom than Erazor" implicitly frames her as someone who, under Sonic's supposed moral authority, must be screened or vetted. It risks lumping abuse victim with abuser. If she did nothing wrong, only suffered being a victim of circumstance, why must she "earn" Sonic's grace where the Erazor Djinn does not?

What did she do that would require punishment otherwise if Sonic had found her regret wanting? Lie out of necessity? How could he deign to exercise the authority to punish her for such a thing?

Add the fact that she defers to Sonic as the master of the ring, and this whole power dynamic becomes horribly problematic incredibly fast. That Sonic insists on seeing Shahra as not only an equal but a friend is the whole point the game was attempting to make about their dynamic. It would have been beyond fucked for him to have exploited his power over her in such a manner, and I'm glad the game explicitly avoided that implication right out of the gate. Shut that shit down before it even had a chance to start.

Ironically enough, we see this framework fail when IDW!Sonic is confronted with an abuse victim in the form of Surge. He callously treats her with the same flippant disdain as with other irredeemable villains (barring Eggman, but we'll get to that in a second) even though Surge makes it clear that she's suffering.

The fact that his solution is not to listen to her, but to instead preach his values and say "I'll just kick your ass until you magically start Acting Right(tm)," as if hurting people who are already in pain ever taught them a lesson other than "never trust anyone," means IDW!Sonic is less interested in harm reduction than in appearing "good" and merciful. He winds up reinforcing his status as the moral authority of this world, which is ironic for a character who supposedly values freedom for all.

But maybe not.

Freedom includes the freedom to fuck up, yes. And what I'm certain IDW!Sonic meant to add was the caveat "...but not freedom from consequences." However, his selective hypocrisy in who deserves what and when is so obvious that it winds up warping the message into "Do what Sonic tells you or suffer the consequences he decides are fit."

Again, this loops back around to my original assertion that the "what you deserve" mindset is authoritarian. Who is Sonic to establish himself as the arbiter of freedom?

At least in SatSR, when he condemns the Erazor Djinn to the lamp, it's for pragmatic reasons as much as it is for moral considerations---perhaps the former even more so than the latter.

Sonic knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that letting the Djinn go free will result in the events of the game happening again. Shahra has told him that the Djinn abused his power once before, and he's seen the evidence for abusing it a second time throughout the course of the game. To say nothing of how the Erazor Djinn basically hammered the nail in his own coffin through his callous disregard of Shahra.

The Djinn's actions determine his fate. If we left it at "he's just a scumbag," that reduces him to an identity that may or may not be permanent and shifts focus away from his choices.

Likewise, Shahra is not a good person simply because she regrets her mistakes hard enough, but rather, Sonic knows her hand was forced because she winds up doing the right thing in the end, even at a high personal cost.

Hence Sonic takes concrete steps, such as tossing the lamp down a furnace where no one would be inclined to look for it or even accidentally stumble upon it again, to diminish the threat the Erazor Djinn presents.

It must be emphasized that he also makes an equal effort to comfort a grieving Shahra. Not because she's a good person who "deserves" comfort after all she's been through, but because it is a good thing to alleviate suffering. Also because Shahra is his friend, and Sonic doesn't need a reason to want to help out a friend.

What concrete steps has IDW!Sonic taken to reduce the harm his villains present?

1.) Convinced Shadow to step down from killing Mr. Tinker by leveraging Shadow's traumatic past against him, rather than argue that Mr. Tinker should be given a chance to live as his own person.

2.) Made a promise to check up on Mr. Tinker to make sure things continued to go smoothly, only to later break that promise by assuming Eggman will remain Mr. Tinker forever with no real evidence.

3.) Decided to let Metal Sonic go regardless of Tails' warnings, on the reasoning that Metal was his own person whose autonomy needed to be respected (despite Metal admitting that he essentially had no free will in a previous issue, and despite Tails later pointing out that Metal remained dangerous as he still had his jet engine and claws). Eggman even calls Sonic out on this, explaining that Metal is programmed to obey his master. Yet Sonic still gets chuffed at Metal for having "chosen wrongly."

4.) On top of exacerbating the metal virus and nearly destroying the world for personal gain, Zavok killed people in the Zeti hunt arc and very graphically threatened to flay Sonic alive while storming Restoration HQ. Yet he's shuttled back to the Lost Hex without any real guarantee that he won't do it again.

5.) Nothing against Starline, except to eulogize his death as "big oof," despite having told Surge that he (Sonic) was willing to give even him (Starline) a second chance.

6.) Eulogized Surge with "That's the real problem with freedom: you can't stop people from making the wrong choice."

38 notes · View notes

northgazaupdates · 6 months

Text

11 April 2024

Journalist Wadea Abu Alsaoud documents absolute devastation from the IOF attack on Feras Market in Zaytoun. Much of the market was destroyed, and many people in the area were severely wounded or killed by the bomb impact and the shrapnel. Al-Ahli Baptist Hospital is now full beyond capacity with the injured and martyred from the attack. Instagram user hagarhesham28 provides English translations for both videos.

Video 1

In front of Maamadani (Baptist) Hospital, at the gate near Maamadani Hospital. As you can see we're trying to document the scenes. This is a martyr. This is a new crime to be added to the occupation's crimes…on the second day of blessed Eid Al-Fitr. As you can see, this is a martyr, and these people got out of the rubble. I swear I don't know what happened. There are more martyrs who we will come back and get out, as well as injuries whom people delivered near the hospital. It's very catastrophic, however, we're trying to document the scene and convey it to you. We're trying to extract this leg. Let the world see how cruel, criminal and arrogant this occupation is…targeting (innocent) people. Human shreds are scattered... On the second day of Eid.

Video 2

In this Eid, your kids wore new clothes, while our kids wore (funeral) shrouds. As you can see this girl, and these children are the target for the Israeli occupation. On the second day of this blessed Eid, your kids, O Arabs, wore new clothes, while our kids are wearing shrouds.

WARNING: THE LINK VIDEOS ARE EXTREMELY GRAPHIC AND UPSETTING! VIEWER DISCRETION STRONGLY ADVISED!

74 notes · View notes

vampiric-hunger · 7 months

Text

⊱─ 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟: 𝕔𝕙.𝟙 - 𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕥 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion x f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, TW: mentions of childhood sexual abuse, general sexual abuse and mentions of sexual slavery (all of those happened in the past AA is not doing this to reader). PIV, creampie, blood drinking.

➺ 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: you're skilled, driven and most importantly - ambitious. but even as someone in your position, a trained assassin and a leader of your own Guild, you still lend yourself to jobs that are of importance. even if those jobs sometimes mean attending parties. tonight - it's a masquerade and you're bored out of your mind, until the man who hired you to protect him leaves you alone, at the mercy of a stranger who suddenly took a keen interest in you.

this is a 7 chapter fic exploring Ascended Astarion through a lens of 7 deadly sins.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 4,129

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: as voted by my readers - here's Ascended Astarion and my take on 7 deadly sins that i looked at through his character. enjoy! <3

➺ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: [link]

Another boring party, another boring masquerade.

Your eyes sweep over the crowd but nothing seems unusual for the time being. People dancing, people chatting, people drinking. Most of them you recognize even behind their masks. Simple mannerisms, voices or even who they are spending time with tells you more than they probably would want to let on. It’s not hard for you to tell who’s who. After all, you worked for so many of them already.

Tonight you work as a guard for especially paranoid noble. Normally you don’t let yourself get hired for tasks, you have your whole Guild of experienced thieves and assassins to do all the minor and major works, but when the richest of Baldur’s Gate want your services specifically – you comply. Not only they pay handsomely, you also make connections among the patriars that do pay off in a long run.

No, you’re no Nine-fingers Keane, not yet at least, but you have gathered a respectable resume of deeds that are well known in the underbelly of Baldur’s Gate. You have a goal and that goal is simple – to control every Guild by taking over and uniting them. You’ve been working for years to make this happen and you built yourself from the ground up. Just like you escaped slavery in Hells, so will you become what you want to be – the ultimate ruler of Guilds of this godsdamned city that betrayed you before.

But you won’t let these thoughts distract you, not tonight. Not that you expect anything to happen in the first place. It’s a masquerade after all, who would even target the patriar you’re accompanying is beyond you. He’s a man who is scared to step on anyone’s toes, let alone anyone’s who could be a danger to him. Alas, he hired you and he’s paying so well you couldn’t refuse the offer. So now you’re here, in your best dress, with a domino mask on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. And, of course, couple daggers hidden under your dress. You are always prepared.

The patriar in question, one exalted Lord Goldbrith, is by your side and chatting with gusto to a young man. You suspect he brought you here not only to guard his life, but perhaps to help him disperse the rumors surrounding his sexuality. Not that most would judge in the first place, nobles and patriars probably are the most relaxed people when it comes to sexual liberty. However, Goldbrith’s issue is that his father wants an heir and if your little ‘prince’ over there leaves no such possibility by admitting that he’s not interested in women, well… then he risks losing the inheritance. And you’re not sure this man knows how to tie his own shoes, being pampered like a child all his life.

You almost roll your eyes, thinking how this is the worst some people have to deal with. No, they will never know what it is to be molested by their father and brother, no, they won’t know what it is to be sold to a brothel as a ten-year old and used. No, they won’t know what it’s like to be sold to Hells only to continue being a slave of desires of others just as you have been up here. You don’t scowl, but when you look at these spoiled men and women you feel disgust and anger.

No, stop, inhale… exhale. Your past is your past, but you’re stronger now, better. And you will have Baldur’s Gate by the throat eventually. You just have to be patient, have to spread your connections wider and have as many people indebted to you as possible. So that you can use them when the right time comes.

Again you inhale and slowly exhale, calming yourself. When you become the Guild Leader of Baldur’s Gate then each and every person in this room will have to treat you with respect. And most of them already do because you have made a name for yourself in these past years, for what it counts.

“Dearest, do you mind if I accompany this fine gentleman to the restroom? He says he cannot find it.” Lord Goldbrith is now talking to you, making you snap out of your bitter thoughts, and you look at him.

“Alone?” you ask and the man now seems flustered.

“Yes. There’s no need for you to come along, I think I will be perfectly safe. And it’s not far, if something happens - I’ll shout for you.” a nervous smile, intertwined fingers, yes, you know exactly what he’s going to be doing with this so-called fine gentleman. After all, he hired you to protect him and if he temporarily doesn’t need it…

“Very well, find me when you return, I shouldn’t stray too far.” you respond and Goldbrith pats your hand holding the glass of wine.

“I’ll be fine. Go, dance, mingle. Seems this event is quite safe for me.”

Sure it is, you think to yourself. You see his anxious desire to depart immediately from your company and you have no reason to hold him. He paid you already, after all.

“Of course, Lord Goldbrith.” you nod again and a smile of relief forms underneath his mask, you can see it in how the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“I’ll find you when I’m back.” his hand leaves yours and you watch Goldbrith navigate the crowd with his newest boy toy.

You can’t help but smile to yourself. At least he’ll be happy tonight and it won’t harm you to assure others he’s here with you if anybody asks. When you are paid so handsomely - you will tell people the sky is brown and grass is red.

“I saw your companion leave. Curious to ask why.” a voice you don’t recognize asks for your attention.

You turn to see a man standing close to your left side. His silver hair is immaculate with flowing locks and the domino mask that he’s wearing is bejeweled with what like looks actual gems. Behind the mask you see red piercing eyes. The man smiles and it’s more of a smug smirk than a heartfelt expression. It looks so natural on him that you are sure this is his default expression. A dangerous smile. A smile that spells ruin for those who scorn him; you’ve seen smiles like this before.

“If you’re curious, why don’t you follow him and ask yourself?” you lift your glass to your lips and take a sip, keeping your eyes on him.

“I’m not in a habit of following men.” elf responds, his tone of voice is cocky and the implication of his words is clear - he’s the one who leads and not the one who follows.

Problem is, you don’t recognize him. Even with the mask on, you can tell that he’s a man of beauty, surely you must’ve heard of him even if you haven’t met him. But this is a masquerade, people don’t share names until midnight and there’s still couple hours left on the clock for that. You think how you can get his name out of him but your thoughts get interrupted because this mystery man steps even closer to you and glances at your glass.

“More wine, my dear?”

Tsk. How much you despise nobles thinking they can use pet names on you. But you bite your tongue.

“I can serve myself if needed.” you step back from him and see his curious eyes examine your masked face. What does he even want?

Your gaze snaps down the moment you see him reach out. His fingers bear silver rings, some of them have gems, you recognize each and every one of those gems even before he steps closer again just to take your hand in his slender, manicured fingers.

“I thought maybe you could grant me a dance since your partner seems to be busy with a gentleman.” a pointed tone that his words carry tell you everything – he knows about the arrangement you have with Lord Goldbrith. How - you have not even a slightest idea, but he knows.

Except you’re not concerned that he knows, instead you notice his warm and soft touch when he raises your hand and leans down to meet it with his lips. Something that should be only a small peck gets prolonged and it’s as if he’s testing you because his eyes meet yours while his lips are still on your hand. It’s a long moment. Too long to be appropriate but you don’t pull your hand away.

“A dance? Perhaps I can do that.” you answer and offer the mysterious white-haired man a smile. He smiles too and straightens his back but keeps holding your hand.

“Wonderful. I think a waltz is about to start.” he says in a voice like honey. He’s interested in you, you can tell that much.

So maybe you could use him, just to relieve some pressure. It doesn’t have to be serious, these types of trysts never are. And you have been with couple other patriars like this before. Sneaking away from the main room, finding an empty study or an unused stairwell, quickly satisfying your needs and his without any need to talk about it afterwards. No strings attached, just pure carnal lust being gratified with a willing partner. This handsome elf could become this type of partner, if only for tonight.

You nod to him and put away your goblet to a nearby table, then feel him tug at your hand. You follow him to the ballroom and instead of staying at the edges of the dance floor as not to interrupt other twirling couples, this noble leads you right to the center. You don’t shy away when there’s attention placed on you, but tonight you are on the job and you would prefer if you weren’t noticed. Nonetheless, once more you let him do as he pleases and don’t pull your hand from his firm grasp or don’t try to hide away.

If he wants a dance with everyone watching – you will give him that dance.

When people part giving him and yourself the way to the center of the floor, this mysterious man finally stops and looks at you with a smirk. Even with the mask covering half his face you can see confidence, no, arrogance etched in every expression he makes. You don’t mind that. Something about arrogant men always intrigued you. Maybe because you too are full of pride, and you think that if only these men knew what you’re capable of, they wouldn’t be so self-assured around you. It gives your ego a boost, feeding your own arrogance, making you almost fearless no matter the situation, no matter the opponent or, just like in this case, no matter the partner. A dancing partner, at that, at least for now.

The man pauses, the music stops for a moment while musicians adjust for the upcoming tune and he steps closer, now pulling you closer with practiced ease. His hand on your lower back push you against his chest and you raise your eyebrows even though he cannot see it because of your own mask. Waltz is not danced chest to chest but it looks like he doesn’t care about etiquette or social manners. You don’t mind that at all, you like a man who knows what he’s doing.

And then the music starts again.

Your partner eases into the music with grace, his steps are easy, fluid and you follow him with as much grace as you can. It’s not your first waltz but he’s obviously a better dancer than you can ever hope to be.

“You know people are watching, right?” you say to the elf, bringing attention to how close he’s holding you and he scoffs arrogantly.

“We’re beautiful together, of course they are watching.” his hand on your lower back pushes slightly harder and you nearly lose your step.

A cocky grin on his face tells you that it was intentional. You smirk back to him because you know what he’s doing or at least trying to do. He’s sparring, trying to establish himself as superior to you in this setting. Maybe he’s trying to show that he’s superior over everyone in this ballroom. You’re not sure nor you care.

“I would like to know your name, darling.” your dancing noble says again when you don’t reply quick enough and you slightly smile, he’s getting impatient.

“It’s a masquerade, Lord. My name’s a mystery just as yours.” your reply rewards you with a chuckle that you feel reverberating from his chest against yours.

“Very well.” the man says and you can feel his fingers give yours a short squeeze. “But I will want to see what’s behind that mask once midnight strikes.” again his eyes pierce into yours and for just a split second the world around you melts away.

The chatter and laughter of patriars disappears, the music is all you hear. You feel the fabric of your dress brush against your legs and his as you both spin in motion to the rhythm of waltz. His hand so warm on yours, so warm even through your dress on your back. At last it feels like you both dance with the grace of gods themselves as he leads your steps. And you realize that you don’t want to wait until midnight to rip his mask off and see what’s underneath.

Yes, he will serve well to satisfy your lust, to help you take off the edge. You smile to him.

“Maybe we don’t have to wait for midnight after all.” you tell him and see a flash of surprise that turns into smugness. You also realize that waltz is coming to an end, perfect timing.

Before the elf replies the music tapers off and you step back from him despite his attempt to keep your body close to his, then you do a proper curtsey in thanks for the dance. Mystery man bows too, one hand behind him, but his eyes never leaving yours.

After you both stand tall again, you turn from him and walk off, sensing rather than knowing that he’s following. No one seems to be paying attention anymore, now that your dance is over and another one begins, and you weave through the crowd with easy expertise of an assassin. Passing unnoticed and uninterrupted. But you do quickly glance back to the spot where you were standing earlier, to check if Lord Goldbrith returned but seeing no sign of a man you turn your attention to the hallway for which you are aiming.

Soon enough you turn a corner but don’t get far before you feel yourself being pulled back by your wrist. You stop and look behind you only to see that the elf indeed has followed you. He tugs at your arm just like he did when leading you to the middle of a ballroom and you smirk, pressing your palms against his chest to soften the impact of your body against his.

He leans closer, his lips seeking yours yet you push away from him, seeing questions in his eyes, but instead of answering you grab his hand and make him trail after you in hurried footsteps. To your relief the elf doesn’t utter a word and you pass couple of doors before you stop and push at the third one, hoping that this room is potentially unoccupied, since you assumed the first two would be. That’s how it usually goes during these types of noble parties.

Yes, the room is empty and the silver-haired man follows you inside hurriedly, pushing the door closed behind him. When you stop he stops too and you release his hand, turning to him. For a moment you look each other in the eyes, you feel your heart beating heavy and fast in your chest. And then both of you step to each other at the same time as if you both heard a silent permission.

He grabs at your mask and you grab at his, pulling them away from your faces just a split second before your lips meet. You kiss him almost harshly, your desire taking control of you and he responds with same passion, pushing his tongue into your mouth in an instant. The masks drop to the floor and he steps forwards with you, pushing you backwards with his hands on your hips and your arms around his neck, until you bump into the bookshelf behind you.

Elf’s hands begin clawing at your dress, lifting the skirts up in a hurry and your hands blindly find their way to the buttons of his pants. The kiss is deep, the wine you taste on his tongue is even better than one from a glass. For a moment your tongue catches on his fang but you don’t have the time to wonder what’s that about. No, this moment is about getting and giving in equal measure.

The kiss breaks for a moment, you feel elf’s breath on your mouth and gasp softly when you feel his fingertips trace the outline of your underwear. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with intense lust-filled gaze, at the same time you finally manage to slip your hand into his pants. As you reach down, his precum stains your fingers and you smirk, palming his hard erection.

But your smile gets wiped off your face as the handsome elf pulls at the hem of your panties and slides two fingers down your slit, dipping just the tips of them into your core. He exhales with obvious lust and removes his hand, grabbing your hips as if preparing to lift you. You don’t waste time and you free his cock out of its confines. The moment you do that, the man lifts you by the hips. Immediately you wrap your legs around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders for purchase. Without delay you feel your panties being pulled to the side and smooth tip of elf’s erection pressing against your soaked cunt.

No words are needed and no time is wasted. He thrusts into you with force and you moan, throwing your head back from the pleasure of him filling you and stretching you in most wonderful way. You quickly bite your lip down, trying to silence any forthcoming cries but you are not successful because when he starts pumping - it’s hard and demanding.

The room fills with pants and groans and you close your eyes, feeling the man’s lips on your neck, kissing and tasting your skin with his tongue. You whine with each snap of his hips, with each claim of his to your body, and you let go of his shoulders, your fingers reach over your head and to your sides, looking for a shelf to grasp onto, but for a while you only find the spines of books, pulling at them and making them drop to the floor with silent thuds.

Then your eyes snap open as pain briefly shoots through your shoulder but you immediately realize what’s going on. Of course he’s a vampire. The crimson eyes, the fangs, strange you didn’t realize it earlier. You let your eyelids drop as the vampire sucks on your blood while relentlessly pounding into you at the same time, and you have to clench your teeth to prevent yourself from shouting into the ceiling. It’s not your first time sleeping with a vampire so you’re not afraid, if anything it gives you a thrill of danger that you never get from other patriars in such short-term arrangements.

You feel the fangs leave your neck and a greedy tongue laps at the bite marks left behind while you finally manage to grasp onto the shelves, clinging for your dear life. You crane your head and look at the elf, seeing that his eyes are on you, then he catches your lips in a scorching kiss, his teeth tugging at your bottom one and you mewl at that, it’s harder and harder for you to keep silent as your pleasure begins to build. Your partner in this quick tryst pounds himself so religiously into you that you are beginning to feel sore already and that only adds to the pleasure.

For a moment the elf just keep thrusting while biting on your lower lip and when you look at him he keeps an eye contact with you, but then his teeth part and he presses his face to the side of your neck that doesn’t have his fresh bite mark. You hear him gasp for air and you know he’s close too. You release the shelf with one hand to tangle your fingers into his hair, grasping firmly just before you close your eyes again and let go.

A deep thrust, another one, then another one - your mewls follow each other of them and your mind swims just before your orgasm overwhelms your senses. You don’t know how loud you are or how hard you are gripping vampire’s hair, all you know is pleasure and his cock pushing you to your limits. You don’t even know how long the waves of pleasure rip through you, making your cunt clench on his shaft so deliciously, as if on a quest to milk him sooner than he wishes. You hear him grunt something, a word, maybe two, you’re not sure and it doesn’t matter.

When your bliss begins subsiding and your mind starts to clear you find yourself still being fucked. You whimper, sore and satisfied, but pull at elf’s hair, making him look at you. His face is sweaty, his teeth are clenched, showcasing his fangs, and you see that he’s close. You heavily kiss him but he doesn’t respond. Instead he grunts against your mouth and then moans, his thrusts becoming erratic at the same moment as he begins spilling himself deep inside of you. You slide your tongue against his teeth, your eyes heavy-lidded from your own pleasure and additional satisfaction seeing that he seems to be enjoying this too, like it’s a compliment to you. And then his hips finally stop, his grip on your hips is slippery and he’s digging his fingers into your flesh, leaving bruises for the future.

The elf opens his eyes to look at you, he’s utterly out of breath but you don’t let him say anything, you just kiss him again and he responds, albeit less energetically now. You had a moment to recover while he just rode out his orgasm to the fullest. With a smirk you lean your head back and push at him slightly, making him set you on the floor. The white-haired man looks disheveled and you most likely look the same, but you just smirk to him, taking in his appearance, the messy hair, the open pants and his softening erection, still leaking last drops of cum. A wonderful view and a state that you like seeing men in.

With sweaty palms you smoothen out skirts of your dress and pick up your domino mask from the floor, then give him a wink, walking out of the room. You don’t see the look the man gives you: one of shock and partial anger that you’re leaving without another word. As if he’s realizing it is you who used him and not the other way around. Your arrogance leaves him stumped. But you finally know who he is: Lord Astarion Ancunin.

With a satisfied grin you walk back to the ballroom, trying to ignore your underwear that’s getting soaked with his seed and your own arousal, but you know he won’t follow you right now, most likely too insulted that you used him to get relief. You put on your mask again and enter the ballroom, immediately seeing Lord Goldbrith impatiently tapping his foot at the same spot where he stood last before leaving with a young gentleman. When you approach him he looks irritated.

“Let’s leave.” he demands and you raise your eyebrows but you don’t argue. If you can leave early and go home to wash up that’s all the better. After all, the moment Lord Goldbrith is in his carriage your job is done and you won’t argue against a short night.

“As you say.” you nod and Goldbrith curtly nods in response, then marches towards the main exit.

You follow him but give one more glance behind you before you leave the room. You notice white curls and a crimson-eyed intense, angry gaze in your direction just before dancing couples hide all of it away.

You smirk to yourself. You have a suspicion you will meet him again.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #ascended astarion #lord astarion #ascended starion smut #ascended astarion x female reader #ascended astarion x reader #female reader #astarion x reader #x reader #astarion smut #reader insert #my fics

80 notes · View notes