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vivwritescrappythings · 7 months

Text

Unfair

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

an au about Joel attending a wedding simply inspired by Pedro's slutty little fit at the SAG awards.

part 2

tw: age gap (late 20s/late 40s), fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, alcohol, she/her pronouns, reader has hair long enough to twist around her finger, Joel is probably poorly written in this, and this whole thing is a little poorly written.

word count: 7.2k

MDNI

masterlist

–

Your mom was smiling as you zipped her into her gown, the chiffon and lace dress gorgeous on her as you fastened the eyelet closed at the top of the bodice. You could feel the lens of the photographer’s camera trained on you both, the woman having been with you the entire morning to document the process of the bridal party getting ready.

The photographer was fluttering around the room, taking candid photos of you all making small talk and toasting mimosas. The posed photos had been earlier that morning, you all wearing your matching silk robes with your names screen-printed on the back. You didn’t know how much had been spent on the whole production–but it certainly wasn’t cheap. But, to see your mom glowing and her wide smile all morning, every penny must have been more than worth it.

Before you realized, you all wore dresses and bouquets of white flowers with magnificent greenery were being thrust in your hands. The wedding planner was ushering everyone out onto the stone walkway to the barn, women finally meeting men just outside the farmhouse turned wedding venue. The best man looked vaguely familiar to you as you placed your hand in the crook of his elbow to walk down the aisle, he must have been Shawn's eldest brother.

The officiant droned: he just repeated the same platitudes of what it means to love one another and be good spouses. You tried to stay focused, your eyes inevitably wandering. The ceremony space was picturesque: southern live oaks casting shadows in the late autumn sun as they married in front of the barn. It really couldn’t get more Texas than that, especially when you counted the number of cowboy hats in the crowd.

You could feel someone staring at you for the better part of the ceremony, making you glance out of the corner of your eye as you tried to find the source. Every fiber of you wanted to turn and look in earnest, but you knew that you’d ruin the photos as soon as your body twisted and your happy, grinning face wasn’t facing the bride and groom on the best day of their lives.

Your grip tightened around the bouquet in your hands as your skin crawled, your focus so jarred that you almost missed your cue to walk out. The cheers and clapping woke you from your reverie before the best man had to. Grasping him by the elbow, you walked back up the aisle between the celebrating wedding guests, the feeling of being watched now fading to the background.

—

When you finally made it to the renovated barn, you were starving and in desperate need of a drink. The photos had run long, the photographers getting you all in a variety of line ups and poses. It was almost time for the plated dinner to begin, guests settling at assigned tables after a cocktail hour and the live band playing quiet music in the corner of the half-inside half-outside space that would eventually serve as the dance floor.

The orange lighting from string lights along the ceiling was soft, mismatched Edison bulbs hanging along zigzagged wires from wooden rafters. It painted the guests and decor in gold tones, making everything look sepia like an old photo.

With your double shot vodka tonic in hand, you found your name written in gold calligraphy on the seating chart. Your mom and her new husband were sitting together at a small table at the front of the room, a faux-neon sign behind them that displayed his last name. Well, their last name now.

You were at one of the front tables, the ivory table cloth nearly brushing the shiny wooden floor as you plucked your name card off your plate and sat down. There were only a few people you knew at the wedding, neighbors from the neighborhood you grew up in and a handful of your mother’s coworkers. But, they were seated elsewhere.

Some of the seats on the opposite side of the sprawling white and green centerpiece were occupied with strangers in flamboyant cowboy hats and boots, an obvious sign they were from out of town. You smiled politely as you sat down, taking a long sip of your drink as you checked your phone for the moment of downtime.

“This seat taken?” A deep, twangy voice made your gaze cut away from the screen and up to the right. You were immediately dumbstruck by how handsome the man was, his umber colored eyes reminding you of the sunlight hitting the tree trunks during the ceremony. A few of his dark brown curls were falling on his tanned forehead, the rest of his hair loosely pushed back.

You floundered for a moment, lips parting and no words coming out of your mouth. Finally you caught up, blinking a few times. The place card in front of the ornate gold and white place setting next to yours was your saving grace. “Well, uh, if you’re Joel M., the seat is all yours,” you said, looking back up at him.

God, you hoped he was Joel.

He smiled, the lines on his face becoming a bit more defined as he extended a hand toward you. “Joel Miller, nice to meet you…” he trailed off, waiting for your assistance.

You slipped your hand into his, his calloused palm engulfing yours as he shook it politely. You introduced yourself, neck craned back so you could look him in the eye. He released your hand and sat down, setting the glass he was holding next to yours on the table cloth.

“So how do you know the couple?” Joel asked you, his gaze dragging over you. You tried not to squirm under the weight of it, your face feeling hot as you set your phone face-down on the table. The way he looked at you made you feel like a bug caught under a microscope.

“The bride is my mom,” you said, fiddling with the elegantly folded cloth napkins for a moment. You glanced at her briefly, watching her giggle at something Shawn had said.

Joel nodded, a huff of a laugh following. “No shit, so you’re the stepdaughter?” he asked, an eyebrow raised as a smirk lifted the corner of his lip. One of your eyebrows lifted of its own volition, his reaction catching you off guard.

“Do I have a reputation?” A sip of your drink helped wet your dry tongue, your eyes trained on him over the rim of your glass. There was a spike of anxiety in your chest, the temporary fear that he’d heard something bad about you filling your mind. You held your glass in your hand as you crossed your legs at the ankle, waiting for his response.

Joel paused to take a drink, a hand scrubbing over his beard as he looked back at you. He shook his head, waving a hand in a way that was meant to be placating. “Shawn told me about you, said you just moved back to town a few months ago.”

“Um, yeah, actually. Moved back from Denver,” you said, bashful that the subject of you even came up. You hadn’t realized that you were important enough in Shawn’s life to mention, especially to his friends. Of course, there wasn’t animosity between the two of you, just what you assumed was limited interest. Most men didn't bother to learn too much about their adult stepchildren.

You were both leaning forward as you spoke, the music and chatter of the other guests making the barn a little too loud to hear one another clearly at a distance. He was looking down at his drink, giving you an opportunity to study his profile. Joel was easily twenty years your senior, the dark beard on his jawline threaded through with patches of silver hair.

“So—“ Joel started, getting cut off by the shuffle of the last people to their seats and an arm thrust between the two of you. The waiters serving the plated dinner made you sit upright in your chair, the soft fabric of your dress fluttering as you put some space between Joel and yourself.

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took the first bite of your food, a sigh escaping you as your eyelashes batted against your cheeks. Conversation floated around your head, you caught polite questions about Joel’s construction business and half-assed replies.

For some reason your mother had put you at a table full of Shawn’s friends, maybe in an attempt to help you get to know him better.

“So you’re a contractor?” you asked after your hunger had been satiated. You’d gotten a refill on your drink from one of the waiters, nursing a fresh vodka tonic as you looked at Joel.

He chewed his steak methodically, nodding as he turned slightly to look at you. “Been building houses for years, my brother, Tommy, works with me,” Joel said after he swallowed, taking his cloth napkin off his wide thigh to wipe the corner of his mouth.

“Do you like it?” you asked after a moment of contemplation, tilting your head to one side as you looked at him.

There was something about him that kept you smiling, your lips curved like a bow as you sipped your drink from the straw. You studied his features while you could, his aquiline nose and his full lower lip intriguing. Way too intriguing for someone who was your stepfather’s friend.

“Pays the bills, keeps the roof over me and Sarah’s heads.” Joel finished his plate, picking up his drink and leaning back in his seat.

Sarah? Your eyes dropped to his left hand, not seeing a ring on any of the fingers. Not even a tan line. He noticed it, making your face burn as he chuckled. “Sarah? Your…”

“Daughter,” he cut in helpfully. Daughter, he had a daughter. You exhaled, relieved. But, did he have a wife? No ring, never mentioned her. He would’ve brought her up by now. She would've attended the wedding with him. You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment, taking a breath as you rationalized.

Your mouth opened to ask another question when glasses were chimed and dinner was cleared away. Champagne flutes were passed around, and to your horror you realized it was time for your toast. You stood in a fluid motion, adjusting your gown and your hair before heading toward the microphone next to the table with the bride and groom.

–

You spent the rest of the night getting drunk. Champagne became cocktails and cocktails became shots–all with your mother and new stepfather and family and friends from your childhood. Tipsiness made you remove your heels, kicking them off to the side to a forgotten corner as your aching feet pressed against the polished floor.

The dance floor was cramped, the band having transitioned partway through the night to someone’s phone with a playlist hooked up to the speakers. You watched your mom laugh as she was spun around by her new husband, making you smile as you nursed your glass of wine.

“You lost something.” Joel approached, pointing to your strappy heels with a lazy finger.

You grinned, your teeth digging into your lower lip for a moment as you looked up at him. “Looks like you did, too–a few things actually,” you said, nodding toward his shucked suit jacket and tie. The top few buttons of his white shirt were open, revealing just enough of his tanned chest to feel dangerous. He was more disheveled than before, a chilled beer bottle held loosely in his fingers and his cheeks flushed.

Joel chuckled, taking a step closer to you as he took a long drink from his beer. You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, taking a sip of your red wine in tandem.

There was something about this man that had you all kinds of flustered, a giddy lightness in your chest when he focused his attention on you. “So why aren’t you out there dancing?” Joel asked, his warm eyes surveying the dance floor before returning.

You shook your head, a demure smile and a shrug. “Never was much of a dancer.” The last time you really danced was wasted at a frat party in college, the lights low and the music making the house shake. Far from a respectable barn wedding, and definitely not your mother’s respectable barn wedding.

“That’s a shame,” Joel smiled at you, pressing just a bit closer, “a pretty girl like you should be out there.”

You were surprised by the compliment, nearly choking on your wine as your eyebrows lifted. Joel was smirking, his whole body leaning toward yours. You were warm to the touch, your entire face burning under his attentions. It felt like you were in high school again, pining after some older boy that you assumed would never look at you twice–but here he was, looking.

“Do you always flirt with your friend’s stepdaughters?” you asked, hoping to come off as hard to get. Realistically, he already had you in the palm of his hand.

Joel pursed his lips, something mischievous flashing in his dark eyes for a moment. “Just the ones that look like you,” he said, his deep voice low. It was almost too quiet to hear over the music, making you shift forward so you could hear him better.

“Joel.” It would've been chastising if it wasn’t for your bright smile. He exuded an easy confidence that was magnetic, it had your nerves on fire as you selfishly hoped that he would do more than just flirt with you. Your gaze was on his lips for a moment, taking in the lines of his full bottom lip and tidy mustache before meeting his eyes again.

“The couple is getting ready to leave!” You both looked toward the door and watched the wedding planner usher guests out the barn doors. Sparklers were thrust in everyone’s hands, the photographer already positioned at the end of the walkway near the rented white Rolls Royce.

Joel’s hand found the small of your back, warm through the thin fabric of your dress as he guided you toward the door. The wedding planner handed him two sparklers, the long kind that wobbled under their own weight.

The guests had divided into two lines, waiters lighting sparklers on either side of the column created. Joel handed you one as you stood at his side, your bare feet on the warm concrete. You held it out from your body, focused on the bright sizzle of the sparks as they made their way down the lines of powder.

Your mother and Shawn walked through the column of sparklers on cue, laughing and smiling while holding hands. They looked so happy. You could hardly imagine being that happy with someone.

She broke off for a moment to embrace you, making Joel thoughtfully pluck the sparkler out of your fingers so you didn’t burn her.

Tears pushed at your eyelids, overwhelming joy for your mother finally breaking free of your chest. You whispered ‘I love you’s into one another’s ears and pressed kisses to cheeks as you clung to each other. The photographer’s camera was shuttering nearby, catching every intimate moment.

Finally you let her go, tearful and smiling as Shawn pulled her toward the car that would take them to their hotel. Joel’s large hand found the curve of your waist, bringing you to his side as you watched your mother get into the car.

You were tipsy enough to allow it.

He was warm, smelling like cigar smoke and whiskey and cologne. You both were quiet as you watched the car pull away, your shoulders fitting in the space between his arm and torso.

“You wanna help me find my jacket? Think I left it around back when I was smoking a cigar with Shawn,” Joel murmured into your hair. His fingers pressed into your waist, his breath on your neck.

It was enough to distract you. You blinked your tears away, fingertips brushing at the corners of your eyes to make sure your makeup was still intact. “Sure,” you whispered, looking up at him after you’d composed yourself.

Your heart skipped a beat when Joel took your hand, tugging you along with him down the path on the outside of the barn. Both of you were tipsy, giggling and stumbling a bit over the paving stones that had been set in the tall grass. The lights faded behind you, the dim glow through the high windows of the barn and the solitary strand of Edison bulbs between the trees just enough to navigate by.

It all happened so fast, you didn’t even know who initiated it. Joel’s calloused hands were cupping your cheeks and jaw, tilting your head up as your lips met his. He tasted like whiskey and the sweet wedding cake, making you sigh into the kiss as your fingers twisted in his shirt and pulled him close.

You had to stand on your tip toes to kiss him properly, a few soft laughs escaping the both of you when the hard cartilage of your noses bumped and teeth clashed.

He took steps forward until your shoulder blades pressed against the side of the barn. Joel crowded you in, one hand leaving your cheek to brace against the wood behind your waist as he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip. You could feel him smiling.

You always found French kissing to be weird, never knowing quite what to do with your tongue. Whenever a guy had initiated it you managed to cut it off quickly, moving on to some other method of making out to spare yourself the embarrassment of letting your tongue sit there like a dead fish.

Of course you’d seen people do it, always seeming like a lot more licking each other than kissing. Nevertheless, the second time Joel ran his tongue along the seam of your lips you found yourself parting them for him.

Suddenly, you understood. Joel’s tongue massaged over yours as he groaned softly. You wanted him to consume you, letting him take control as he explored your mouth. He tilted your head back more, leaning over you with his full height. You flicked your tongue along his, spine arching toward him in an attempt to get closer.

The horn of the hotel shuttle startled you as you broke apart, chests heaving and your lipstick smeared onto Joel’s mouth.

“You staying at the same hotel as everyone else?” Joel asked, nosing at your hairline as his hands roamed over your dress. He bunched it in his fists, raising the hem above your calves and wrinkling the fabric.

“I am,” you breathed, twisting your fingers in his thick curls.

Joel smiled against your earlobe, nipping at it. “Wanna continue this in my room? Got a king size bed and everything,” he drawled, pulling back to look down at you. There was a sparkle in his eyes, his smile was breathtaking.

You wiped your lipstick off his bottom lip with your thumb, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “You sure?” you asked, folding your arms over your chest in a form of protection from Joel’s possible rejection.

He offered, but there was still a part of you that was worried.

He furrowed his brow, a smile still on his face as he looked down at you in the dark. “'Course I’m sure. Go get your shoes, baby, and I’ll see you on the shuttle.” Joel spun you toward the nearest door to the barn, lightly smacking your ass go get you moving.

You yelped, swatting at his hand with a glare.

“Go on, before I ruin that pretty dress of yours in the dirt out here,” he told you, a smirk on his face as he nodded his chin toward the door. You rolled your eyes, acquiescing to his instructions.

—

It took Joel no time to get you down the hall from the packed elevator and to his room. He clumsily tapped his keycard against the sensor, stamping kisses along the side of your neck as you giggled in the cage of his arms.

Finally he got it to unlock, tightening an arm around your waist as he pushed the door open. Joel took wide, staggered steps on either side of your body as he ushered you inside.

As soon as the door snapped shut he was already lifting the bottom of your dress, kisses turning into bites on the curve of your neck. “Jo-el,” you whined through giggles as you grabbed the forearm he’d locked around your waist.

“Unfair that you’re this fucking pretty,” he mumbled, making your face heat up as you tried to protest. Joel shushed you by grabbing a handful of the meat of your thigh, groaning in your ear.

“How’s it unfair?” you managed to ask, your head spinning from the overwhelming presence of Joel. His rough, calloused hands were groping at your soft flesh, his lips sucking marks on your neck like you were teenagers.

The room was relatively untouched, his open suitcase on the stand near the large windows on the far side of the room. The curtains were slightly open, moonlight filtering in. “S’unfair that I didn’t meet you sooner,” Joel said, scraping his blunt teeth over the sensitive spot just under your earlobe. You shivered in his arms.

He separated from you just enough to shuck his suit jacket that he had haphazardly put on for the shuttle, tossing it on the little sofa in the room. You turned after stepping out of your heels, linking your hands behind Joel’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss.

Joel smiled into it, his hands grabbing your waist and holding you flush against his body. “You still wanna do this?” His fingers moved to your spine and played with the zipper on the back of your dress, looking down at you as he waited for your answer. "Don't want you to feel pressured or anything."

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be,” you murmured, carding your fingers in his thick curls.

Joel just groaned, pressing you flush against him as he captured you in another needy kiss. He pulled the zipper of your dress down in one fluid motion, making a shiver prickle up the length of your spine.

“Let me see ya, baby,” he said against your mouth, pulling the thick straps of your dress down your arms.

You let the fabric pool at your feet, your sheer, skin-colored bra and panties leaving little to the imagination. A wave of insecurity flashed over you, your skin suddenly feeling stretched too tight over your body as your face and neck heated up.

You were too aware of the parts of yourself that you didn’t like: the dimpled flesh on the outside of your thighs and the hairs you hadn’t plucked away because the wedding was the last place you thought you’d find a one night stand. A wobbly smile formed, your instinct making you bury your face in Joel’s neck to hide.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear his praise. His massive hands ran down your sides, thumbing at the mesh of your bra and panties before he started moving you backwards.

Your calves hit the bed, making you squawk in an unflattering way as Joel lowered you to the mattress. “You’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, his lips trailing down your neck until he was kissing and sucking at your sternum. He nudged your knees apart with his free hand, his other forearm planted on the mattress to hold his weight off of you. He slotted himself in the space between your thighs as his tongue laved over your nipple through the mesh fabric of your bra.

The noise that came out of your throat was embarrassing. Your breath turned into a strangled moan, eyebrows pinching together. The sensation only made your arousal increase tenfold, spine already arching to press your tit against his mouth.

Joel chuckled, soft brown eyes ticking up to look at your face. “That sensitive?” he said, more of a statement than a question. You found yourself nodding anyway. He thumbed at your other nipple, making it bud against the thin fabric and pulling another whine from your throat. He snickered.

“Don’t tease,” you huffed, wiggling your hips and lightly squeezing his sides with your knees.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Joel muttered, a smile stretching on his lips as he rolled the pad of his thumb over your nipple again. He placed kisses along your stomach, making you suck in the soft flesh on reflex. His coarse facial hair tickled your skin, making you giggle a bit as he continued to work his way down your form.

“Just wanna taste ya, okay?” Joel asked, his broad shoulders between your spread thighs. His thick fingers hooked into your panties, manipulating your legs so he could pull them off and toss them somewhere in the room. He pressed your legs apart before you could snap them shut, a seed of worry taking root in your mind as you looked down at him.

You’d never been so self-conscious during a hook-up before, but for some reason Joel felt different. Your thoughts were preoccupied on how you looked from his vantage point, if you smelled alright and if anything looked weird.

“Been wanting to taste you all night, ever since I saw you standing up there during that damn ceremony.”

He spread you apart with his thumbs, eyes focused on your already wet pussy as a smirk stretched across his features. He just stared, making you want to crawl back into yourself. Then the feeling of his tongue on your clit makes you forget your worries, your face scrunching as you moaned. Joel hooked your leg over his shoulder, your heel pressing against his back as he pushed your thighs even further apart.

You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been so soaked before, sticky arousal practically gushing out of you. Joel’s wide tongue licked long stripes up your cunt, careful to practically gulp down everything that he could. He was groaning as he ate you out, his big hands digging into your waist to pull you closer. The coarse hair of his beard was rough against the soft skin of your inner thighs

“Oh–oh god, Joel,” you sighed, propping yourself up on an elbow so you could look at him.

Your thighs were quaking, pressing against his ears as your hips twitched. Joel’s dark eyes were hazy and half lidded as he lapped over your clit, working with a focus you’d never experienced with any other man. He looked beautiful between your legs, belly-down on the mattress and still dressed in his button down shirt and slacks.

One of his hands left your hip, snaking up your stomach to reach blindly until he cupped your breast. He pulled at the cup of your bra, revealing your peaked nipple. The bud was immediately pinched between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your back as you let out another whine of his name.

Joel dipped down to shove his searing tongue inside of you as his nose bumped into the swollen bead of your clit. A bolt of lightning ricocheted up your spine, a gasp leaving you. It felt so good you could almost cry, your chest heaving and hips clumsily grinding toward his mouth. You were already starting to tremble, pleasure sparking in the pit of your stomach as he mouthed at you.

And then he pulled back.

“Joel!” you yelped, starting to sit up as your gaze hardened into a glare. Your pussy clenched around nothing, neglected and empty with an interrupted orgasm.

He huffed a laugh, looking down at you as he knelt on the bed in front of you. “You’re right, baby, that’s my name,” he teased, his voice deep and smokey.

He grabbed you roughly by the hips, pulling so you fell to your back again. “You fucker–” Joel cut you off by pressing the backs of your knees until you were bent in half, a brief show of just how strong he was. His calloused hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, readjusting you again so the small of your back was propped up against his quads. You’d never been in this angle before, your pussy the highest point of your body as he pushed his forearms against your thighs to keep you still.

Joel’s hot breath washed over your cunt before he delved back into it, greedy as he started sucking on your clit. With the way you were contorted, you were completely helpless, any attempt to move your hips just made your thighs push uselessly against his arms. You were soaking, your arousal dripping down to your asshole as you whimpered pathetically.

He went at a leisurely pace, taking his time to tongue at you and lick long stripes from your perineum to your clit. Your hands were clenching in the white comforter on the hotel bed, your chest heaving. There was something about being completely at his mercy that made your head spin.

You wanted to be greedy, take everything he would give you; but, Joel was in no rush, languidly pressing his face into your pussy despite your best efforts to get him to speed up.

It was overwhelming in all the right ways, your head spinning as you watched Joel lick at you like he wanted to consume every part of you. Joel cupped your breast in a hand, strumming his thumb lightly over your nipple to keep it stimulated as you gasped.

You were delirious by the time he sunk two fingers into you, almost making you scream. Joel took a few breaths, his pink lips swollen and shiny with your arousal as he studied your expression. You could hardly think straight, strings of curses mixed with his name falling from your lips as you panted like a bitch in heat.

The squelching sound of his fingers lazily pumping into your pussy filled the hotel room, loud enough to make your cheeks burn. You wetted your lips, trying to catch your breath beneath Joel.

“So fucking tight around my fingers,” Joel mumbled, the words muffled and wet because he didn’t pull away. It didn’t even feel like he was talking to you, communing with your pussy instead. The praise went directly to your head, making you tighten around his fingers. You threaded a hand in his hair, keeping his mouth pressed against you. “Tastes just as good as I expected.”

“Oh… oh my god,” you breathed, your climax building toward its precipice.

Joel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just barely speeding up the rhythm of his fingers fucking into you. His thumb on your nipple followed suit, matching the motion as tears filled your eyes. Your fingers threaded into his curls, your brows furrowed as you pulled on his hair. He grunted against you, not letting up as he worked you up toward the edge.

When you came it was a whole body event. Your legs trembled, hips burning from the awkward angle Joel had bent you into. Your back arched, breath pausing in your chest. Your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucked tight and feeling every inch of them inside you. The pleasure was white-hot as it coursed through you, leaving your nerves buzzing and your ears ringing as your body went limp.

“So pretty when you come,” Joel said, his thick fingers still deep inside you.

You were almost nonverbal, your response a delirious sob as you looked up at Joel with watery eyes. He caressed your cheek, gently stroking your jaw and thumb wiping over your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it out of reflex, the motion making his expression soften for a moment.

Then he started to massage the spongy spot inside of your dripping pussy, making your eyes roll back. “Too sensitive,” you whined, grabbing onto his forearm in a weak attempt to stop him.

“Trust me, baby, I’ve got you,” he said in that syrupy tone, gaze still locked on your face as you squirmed. He took his hand away from your cheek, holding one of your legs to keep you still as he fucked his fingers into you. “You can do one more for me, right?”

The need to please him made you nod, taking in a deep and shaky breath. You couldn’t do anything but take it, your mouth dropping open and your back arching. The overstimulation made you tremble, your whole body squirming. Breaths kept huffing out of you, your brows pinched tight as you tried to relax. It was hard to think straight, hell, it was hard to even breathe.

Joel pulled his fingers out of you for a moment to strum over your swollen clit, only touching you with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. He continued until you were straining against him, moaning and sobbing his name. It was like he was carved from stone, hardly giving you any leeway as he kept you in place. The pressure in you built faster this time, it was almost embarrassing how quick he was able to get you to the edge.

“Joel, Joel, Joel–ohmygod,” you gasped, reaching for purchase against his thigh. His dress pants were soft under your fingers as you squeezed, your body practically vibrating.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured soothingly, pressing a wet kiss to the back of your thigh as his fingers hooked back into you.

Joel fucked you on them at a ruthless pace as his thumb rolled over the crest of your sex, your mouth opening in a wordless cry as you fell into your second orgasm of the night. You were completely lost, your eyes squeezed shut as your muscles spasmed against the restraint of Joel’s arms. White noise filled your mind, your body melting against Joel’s thighs and the bed as your legs fell open even further.

He rubbed along the seam of your cunt soothingly, calloused fingers working you through the aftershocks. Your eyes were completely hazed when you looked up at him, splayed on the bed like every bone had been pulled from your body. He looked positively giddy, his wet fingers smearing on your thigh as he rubbed your legs in an effort to help you come back to yourself.

Joel let you off of him, returning your spine to the mattress as he leaned over you to give you a kiss. You hummed into it, smelling and tasting your salty-sweet slick on his lips and facial hair. “Please fuck me,” you begged between presses of his mouth, desperation easy to hear in your tone.

“‘Course I will, baby,” he said, getting off the bed to quickly undress himself. You shakily sat up, unclipping your bra at your back and tossing it aside.

Joel was impressive, his body rippled with muscles beneath a layer of fat that told you he was eating well. Your gaze dragged down him, mouth watering as you finally saw his cock. It was big, the same tanned tone of his skin with a flushed tip. It jutted from a patch of trimmed, dark hair that was accentuated by the happy trail beneath his navel. You swallowed thickly, pussy clenching at the thought of him fucking you into the mattress.

You kissed him eagerly as he got back on the bed, part of you so desperate to please him. Joel was older than you, so much more experienced, you just wanted him to like you.

He grunted, curling a hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. His other hand traveled down your body, massaging your hip with his thumb. You were putty in his hands, your own arms in a loop around his neck.

“Lay down,” Joel mumbled against the hinge of your jaw, nipping at the bone. You whimpered, fingers digging into the broad muscle of his shoulders as you complied. Joel ran a hand over you, sliding it down the valley between your breasts and over your soft stomach.

The backs of your thighs were pressed against his quads as he took himself in his hand, sliding the blunt head of his cock along your pussy. You clenched around nothing, desperate and wanting. “Joel, please.”

You couldn’t take waiting anymore.

He smirked, notching himself at your entrance and obliging you. Joel pressed and pressed and pressed until his hips were completely snug against yours. He split you in half across the width of his cock, moving slow to give you some time to adjust. It felt like he’d consumed all of the extra space in your body, you even felt him in your throat.

You breathed brokenly, back arched and hips twitching as you struggled to find a comfortable position. You weren’t a virgin–weren’t anything close to it, really–but it felt just as overwhelming as your first time.

Joel bent over you, his elbows on either side of your head carrying his weight as he ground his hips against yours. His forehead pressed into your shoulder, a heated groan rumbling from his chest. It was hard to make sense of things, rattled breaths filling your chest as your mind whirred uselessly. He peppered kisses over your face, his lips wet and warm as he showered you in affection.

Then he moved his hips, the roll of them slow and syrupy and making you nearly choke. You grabbed at his biceps, an attempt to anchor yourself to him as he started to rut his hips into yours. He made room for himself with every press of his cock, molding you to the shape of him.

Joel collected your leg with a rough hand, pushing your knee toward your chest. He let it come to rest in the curve of his elbow, palm pressed flat to the comforter as he spread you open wider. Your hips protested as he splayed you apart, the discomfort easily taking a backseat to your pleasure.

You keened, mouth falling open as he sank even deeper inside of you. Your breaths came out in little mewls, matching Joel’s grunts as you met each thrust with a weak roll of your hips. His lips were at your throat, sucking more marks into the skin and his facial hair scratching against you. “Goddamn, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby,” Joel groaned into the curve of your neck, still keeping an even rhythm

You let out a breathy laugh–you felt the same way about him. He lifted himself to get a better look at you, dark brown eyes as warm as the summer sun as his gaze drifted all the way down to where his cock was buried in you. He grunted at the sight, pupils dilating like drops of ink in water.

His free hand lifted off its elbow, his weight shifting to one side so he could wet the pad of his thumb with a lick of his tongue. You were making sounds you couldn’t control, each thrust pushing a small gasp from your throat. Then, Joel dropped his hand to your lower abdomen, gently tracing the curve of your belly down into the soft thatch of hair you hadn’t bothered to shave.

A calloused thumb found your clit, swirling over it with a confident pressure in a way that made your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Joel was pounding into the spot that made you see stars, merciless in his pace. “Joel… oh god…”

You could feel the flutter of your orgasm starting, your legs trembled against his arm and the curve of his waist. You chanted his name like a prayer, overstimulated tears starting to squeeze out of the corners of your eyes and roll into your hairline. He just soldiered on, grinding his thumb over your clit as he worked you higher and higher toward the edge.

A rattling gasp escaped your throat as you pulsed around Joel, your brows pinching and your body stiffening beneath his. You could feel the release from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head, your nails digging into his thick biceps as the flickering pleasure turned into a full on forest fire. You leaned up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down onto the mattress with you as you held him close.

“Fuck,” Joel moaned into your neck. His thrusts became sloppy fast, his discipline gone to the wayside now that he made you come on his cock. You felt him twitch inside you, his breath coming out in hot huffs against the curve of your shoulder. His hand grabbed your hip, pulling you down to match his frantic thrusts as he moaned your name into your skin.

You wanted to pull his head away from you so you could see how his face looked when he finished. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, his hips grinding tight to yours as he came inside of you. You moaned with him, the feeling of being filled up by him satiating a need you didn’t know you had as you dragged your blunt nails on his scalp.

Joel finally collapsed, the weight of his body pressing down on you as you combed your fingers through his hair. His hips were cradled by your legs, sweat slicking your skin wherever it was pressed together. You breathed against one another, pulling each other close as you basked in the afterglow.

You were sharing the same air, pressing loose kisses to each other's warm skin as you melted into each other for an unknown amount of time. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours.

“We should clean up,” you finally breathed, able to come back to yourself.

Joel nodded against your neck, you felt it more than you saw it. You giggled after he didn’t move, still leaving you helpless and pinned beneath him. He seemed to make himself even more comfortable, arms constricting around you and face nuzzling closer to your throat.

“Joel,” you chastised, lightly shoving at his shoulder. It was half-hearted and meaningless–you were more than content to stay here all night if you had to.

“I like how you say that, Joel,” he said, mimicking your voice in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. It made you laugh, throwing your head back against the comforter as you shook it.

He hissed, pulling away from you just enough to prop himself up on an elbow. “You clench around me like a fucking vise when you laugh like that, baby,” Joel muttered, swirling his fingertips over your skin. He didn’t move to pull out of you quite yet, the two of you relishing in the intimacy of your embrace.

A slow smirk crossed his face, his dark eyes flickering back up to meet yours. “Plus, what’s the point of cleaning up if I’m not done with you yet?”

–

Needless to say, you were sneaking out of his room when the dregs of sunlight started streaming through the hotel room windows, sore and exhausted, with his phone number typed into your phone and his hickeys all over your skin.

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us #reader insert #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #tlou hbo #pedro pascal sag awards #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x fem!reader

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wintermoth · 10 months

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So I just saw The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and i gotta say, they did a damn good job.

But I'm not altogether happy with how much they changed the Games from how they played out in the book. I get needing to condense them for runtime and I get needing to change certain things like having cameras in the tunnels. The 10th Games were literally bursts of activity followed by hours upon hours of nothing because they couldn't see underground.

But it's the progression of events, the kill order & swapping of kills, and the omission of events which bothers me. Rest under the cut cos Long Post.

First of all: the Bloodbath. In the book, there is no Bloodbath. The kids literally grabbed supplies and hauled ASS to safety. You know. Like terrified children would. I personally think it was a mistake having the Bloodbath at all but I'm guessing some studio execs pulled rank on this one. >_>

Weaponizing the drones was something which...should've only worked once but whatever.

Coral getting properly fleshed out to be the main antagonist in the arena? Cool shit. They combined various aspects of other characters like Treech (7) and Teslee (3) into her. It gives us someone to root against and, narratively, I understand why they did it. She wasn't someone who'd trained her whole life like, say, Cato. She was just a kid who was doing what she thought she had to to get home. She was a bully, yeah, but not a villain.

Dill dying to the poison instead of her illness...um okay? This one I really don't get. IMO Lucy Gray seeing little Wovey die to the poison as she did in the books would've been much harder on her and the audience considering earlier events. Deadass, I think it was their way of dealing with the Reaper Problem - more on this in a minute Wovey's death was a cheap attempt at shock value and, surprise, no one was shocked. EVERYONE knew that container was bad news--audience, capitol, tributes--except perhaps Wovey herself. We'll blame the trauma.

And as for Lucy Gray herself, of her three book kills, one was removed entirely, and two were changed. The first being Dill instead of Wovey. The second being the way in which she killed Treerch. She was supposed to use a snake mutt as a weapon which she'd protected and hidden in her dress--which served as both a callback to her Reaping with the mayor's daughter.....and a premonition of what would eventually happen in the woods outside 12. And she was supposed to outwit/outmaneuver Reaper, which was removed entirely.

So, Reaper Ash. Big guy from District 11. The Thresh of these games. It's like they didn't know what to do with him. They dedicated his little screen time before the Games to making it clear he was 100% That Bitch and there were several lines (most from Lucky) indicating he was a strong contender. One of a handful of instances of Checkov's Gun, a rule of writing which states if you're going to call attention to a detail, it better fucking be important.

Allow me to summarize book events for those of you who don't know: The night before the Games, he apologizes to the surviving tributes for having to kill them and Jessup, who has rabies, spits in his eye. At the start of the Games, he was one of the few to run to get weapons at the start and was ready to fight, but everyone else was gone. So he heads out to hunt them down. Reaper was the only one proactively looking for a fight. Later, Reaper finds Dill down in the tunnels and carries her out into the open and lays her down in the sun because she's dying already and he's not going to kill her. He leaves her to her own devices and moves on. The next time we see him, he mercifully lets Lucy Gray flee from him. Afterwards, he strikes up an agreement with Lamina, the girl from 7, who's cleverly holed up high off the ground, and shows himself to pragmatic, fair, and good to his word.

Lamina warns him of oncoming tributes and he flees. When he eventually returns, he finds her and another murdered. Incensed, he begins assembling his morgue. During this, he uses part of a Capitol flag to make himself a cape, which makes him happy. The next day, he added Wovey to his morgue. When the Snakes are released into the arena, he is out of the line of fire, up in the stands, and survives.

By now, though, the rabies is really starting to affect him. He continues to obsessively add to and protect his morgue. On the last day, when Lucy Gray tries to add the third place tribute to it, he scares her off. But it's just them now and he doesn't even try to kill her. All he cares about is maintaining the morgue and keeping their bodies covered. He is eventually run ragged by Lucy Gray, who knows he's sick, and meets his end by drinking a poisoned puddle. He crawls to his morgue and dies. Lucy Gray wins.

In the movie, there's a Bloodbath and kids start killing each other, and he's right in there with them. We see him throw down ONLY to defend Dill. Then they just kinda....disappear. And they stay disappeared throughout everything which follows. None of his moments with the other tributes occur. When they emerge, Dill is significantly ahead of him--which tbh makes little sense since, as her protector, he reasonably should've gone out first to ensure it's safe--and dies by drinking poison. He is devastated and screams dramatically. He then begins to make his morgue and offend the capitol by disrespecting the flag before making a big dramatic speech to the cameras daring them to punish him. He apparently stays by his morgue for the rest of the day and when the snake mutts get dropped into the arena, he is keenly aware of the danger. He warns Wovey away, though she doesn't listen. He is almost immediately engulfed by the snakes. He holds still, sits up straight and tall, closes his eyes, then falls forward dead, followed swiftly by the remaining tributes except Lucy Gray.

So, that being said.

Book Reaper's story is a young man who expected to win and was prepared to do it, only for his degenerating mind to focus on protecting the dignity of the murdered children around him. His death was ignoble.

Movie Reaper's story is a young man who expected to win and was prepared to do it, but was also determined to protect his weak district partner with his life, and upon losing her, presents the Capitol both middle fingers. His death was ignoble.

I get why they cut the rabies plotline for the movie. It definitely saved time.....and it REALLY wouldn't look good if the filmmakers had both black guys die of rabies. Just saying. What bothers me about his movie story is just how unfulfilling it was. Going back to Checkov's Gun, he was supposed to be a Threat. And then he just. Wasn't. All for a over-dramatic and tbh unnecessary moment of glory.

so yeah that's my two cents.

anyway go see the movie.

#Hunger Games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #spoilers for tbosas #Lucy Gray Baird #Reaper Ash #Moon as something to say

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mariacallous · 11 days

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On March 11, Syrian farmer Ali Ahmad Barakat was driving a tractor to his fields in the fertile rebel-held lands of the Al-Ghab plain, just a few miles away from the front line with Assadist forces. For years, Al-Ghab’s farmers had refused to let the violence scare them away from working their fields.

But Barakat was about to become the next victim of a terrifying new Syrian Army-piloted weapon: a dirt-cheap, kit-built suicide drone.

Attacking civilians with drones isn’t new, but until recently, the vast majority of these attacks were carried out by more expensive long- and medium-range drones specifically designed for military purposes—characteristics that limited them to a small number of actors worldwide.

Armed groups such as the Islamic State began to experiment with small, cheap, off-the-shelf and custom-built drones in the 2010s, taking advantage of the consumer drone boom, but their attacks were largely focused on military targets and objectives.

Now, the picture has changed.

Small, inexpensive drones have become an indispensable tool on modern battlefields, as combatants come up with ever more creative ways to use these tiny flying robots. Inspired by these tactics, some fighters in conflicts from Myanmar to Syria are starting to use drone warfare techniques recently refined in the Russo-Ukrainian War, such as the use of tiny and ultra-fast suicide drones crafted from cheap hobby racing kits, as well as consumer camera drones rigged to drop explosives, to target, kill, and terrorize civilians.

And we don’t know how to stop them.

Since Russia first invaded Ukraine in early 2022, I’ve been monitoring the crucial role of small drone technology in the conflict, motivated by the hope that better understanding drone warfare tactics might make it easier to protect civilians from their dangers.

This March, the Syrian White Helmets civil defense group contacted me. According to their information (which has been published in a recent report), more and more civilians in the rebel-held front-line areas were getting attacked with small suicide drones. According to a number of sources, Russian military specialists had recently begun training Syrian Army forces to use both first-person-view (FPV) suicide drones and anti-drone guns. Russia’s drone warfare techniques were beginning to spread.

The attacks have shocked even hardened medics. One White Helmets volunteer, Ali Obied, was in the first group of medical workers to arrive on the scene after Barakat was killed. “When we reached the site, we saw how the suicide drone attacked the driver directly—it killed him and slaughtered him into pieces. We collected the pieces of the driver one by one,” he said. They were forced to withdraw quickly from the scene when, over a walkie-talkie, a spotter informed them that other drones were hovering nearby.

Another volunteer, Walid Abdeen, responded to an attack on April 16 that hit multiple civilian cars and a public market, injuring five people. He was confident that a suicide drone was the culprit, an observation backed up by other witnesses who saw the drone in the air before impact. “When suicide drones explode, nothing remains from it, just small pieces—but the sound of the drone is the same as those drones used by journalists,” Abdeen said.

The volunteers agreed that this similarity to peaceful drones was a problem. “It’s difficult for civilians to differentiate between them in the sky, and all of a sudden, they attack someone—a house, a center, or a car,” said Ismail Alabdullah, a media coordinator and volunteer for the White Helmets.

“Those drones, if they want to kill someone who is walking to his school, or even the White Helmets, if they’re returning to their [medical] centers—the drones can find individuals, attack the centers, kill directly,” Alabdullah added. “We have experience with mortars, rockets, and artillery shelling attacks. But this new weapon is incredibly dangerous because it is so precise and cheap to develop.”

White Helmets representatives say dozens of these FPV drone attacks are happening each week. Thanks to the terror spread by these relentless attacks, civilians who have hung on in Syria’s border regions for years are finally beginning to leave.

These drone-powered mechanisms for spreading mass civilian terror aren’t restricted to Syria: They are also on the rise in Ukraine. Targeted attacks by Russian drones on Ukrainian civilians rose dramatically this summer. And while top U.N. officials condemned this uptick in attacks to the Security Council in March, the onslaught shows no signs of stopping.

From July 1 to 21 alone, I collected 34 separate cases of alleged attacks on Ukrainian civilians by Russian drones, drawing from open-source information posted by official sources in the Ukrainian government. As in Syria, most attacks in Ukraine seem to be taking place near the front lines, where relatively short-range FPV racing and consumer drones can reach, and with the same goal of spreading terror.

On July 2nd, a Ukrainian woman was reportedly injured by an FPV drone while she stood in her backyard in Berislava. Days later, on July 11th, authorities reported that two female volunteers were injured after a Russian FPV drone hit a humanitarian aid delivery point in Stanislav. Then, on July 18th, Kherson Oblast’s governor reported that a 74-year-old man in Oleksandrivka was killed by a Russian drone attack – one of a number of older civilian victims.

Some attacks have hit moving civilian vehicles, including minibuses and personal cars—and a number of clearly marked humanitarian and medical vehicles. On Jan. 26, Ukrainian media reported that a Russian FPV drone had attacked a marked car belonging to an aid worker working with a NGO connected to the U.N. Refugee Agency’s humanitarian mission, destroying the car. A journalist who was riding in the vehicle said that it was “very likely that the operator could see the labels on the car.”

Later, on May 29, a Russian drone attack killed a Ukrainian ambulance driver and seriously injured his wife (who had been riding in the vehicle). Soon after, on June 8, Oleksandr Prokudin, the governor of Kherson oblast, reported that after a spate of shelling in the vicinity of Bilozerka, a Russian drone had attacked an ambulance that arrived on the scene to help, injuring the driver.

The tactic has spread beyond Ukraine and Syria. In Gaza, Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor reports that Israel has increasingly turned to small quadcopters to attack civilians and journalists, while Palestinian sources in Rafah told AFP in June that they lived in fear of “quadcopter drones, which mercilessly target anyone walking.” Israel has long used consumer-type quadcopters and racing drones for military purposes, including to drop tear gas on protesters in Gaza in 2018 and to counter so-called fire balloons sent from Gaza during the same period.

In Myanmar, rebel groups fighting the military junta have become adept at using small, cheap consumer and custom-built drones for both intelligence-gathering and for attacks. In recent months, Myanmar’s junta has begun to catch up: In September and October 2023, villagers in the Sagaing region said they were repeatedly attacked by bomb-dropping regime drones.

In another incident this July, the Insecurity Insight NGO reported that armed Myanmar military drones attacked a health center in the Sagaing region, killing a midwife, her two-year-old child, and at least five patients affiliated with the local resistance forces, as well as injuring at least 15. The patients who were killed reportedly had been injured in an earlier military drone attack, and had been seeking care for their injuries at the time

Mexico’s drug cartels, too, have become frequent users of consumer and DIY drones in recent years, both for smuggling and for terrorism. Like Bashar al-Assad’s forces, the cartels appear to view these sudden, shocking drone attacks as an effective way to terrorize civilians into ceding strategically valuable territory. In May 2023, more than 600 people were reportedly displaced from communities in Mexico’s Guerrero state due to cartel drone attacks, and attacks since then in the state have reportedly killed civilians and targeted local schools.

These tactics are spreading, and there is little guidance for civilians, including journalists and aid workers, on how to deal with them. Most existing writing on the subject is geared toward attacks from larger, more powerful, and stealthier long-range military drones.

Thankfully, there are some things the international community can start doing today.

National and international bodies and organizations concerned with civilian protection, such as the United Nations and the International Committee of the Red Cross, should come together to strategize around how best to protect people from small drone attacks. These groups should loudly condemn the terrorist attacks and investigate possible violations of international humanitarian law—as well as sponsoring the research and reporting needed to better understand the problem.

Russia’s war in Ukraine has led to the rapid development of new technologies for detecting drone radio signals in the air, new tools for electronically disabling drones, and a wide variety of other basic drone defense tactics (including the revelation that you can hide from thermal sensors by throwing a yoga mat over your head). Perhaps some of these tools and tactics could be adopted for civilian use.

Finally, we need more collective clarity around the legality of attacks on civilians with small drones under international humanitarian law as well as the legality of civilian efforts to defend themselves. Currently, interpretation of the law doesn’t adequately account for tiny flying robots in combat. As I wrote with my colleague Ossama A. Zaqqout in 2018 (and again in 2022), the presence of identical-looking small drones in the airspace over today’s conflicts makes it very hard for people on the ground to tell whose drone is whose.

Under international humanitarian law’s principle of distinction, combatants must distinguish themselves from civilians—but unlike manned aircraft, drones are too small to carry marks visible from the ground, and they can’t respond to radio checks. We need better solutions to avoid these cases of mistaken identity.

There’s also uncertainty around how humanitarian law might apply to civilian efforts to anticipate—and defend themselves against—drone attacks. Will civilians lose their noncombatant status if they use counterterrorism tools against small drones? Do civilians lose protection if they monitor radio waves for armed drone presence and report that information to combatants—or if they post that information online in a public place?

As is the case with so many other novel consumer technologies, we’ve swiftly figured out how to use drones both to help humanity and to hurt it. But civilians aren’t doomed to be easy targets—as long as we summon the international will to find ways to protect them.

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sadsongsandstories · 5 months

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Snow is the original songbird

I have just started reading the book of BOSBAS after watching, and absolutely loving, the movie. The shift to snows perspective is fascinating, and makes one thing extremely clear: snow was always a songbird, long before he met Lucy grey Baird.

And I mean this metaphorically of course

Even though the title sets up a dichotomy, where we assume snow is the snake and lucy grey the bird, the book makes sure to subvert this idea whenever possible.

When we first meet snow, he is performing. He plays the role of the rich, secure noble, clinging to his supposed status as the last major resource he has. Among his classmates he recites his lines and puts on a face, complete with a cheap costume. His life has effectively become a performance, masquerading as the royalty he yearns to be.

As a character it's his greatest strength.

Then we meet Lucy grey, our supposed songbird, who immediately used a literal snake as her weopon against someone she hates. Her most powerful moment, of course, is one of song, spilling her voice and transfixing the world the country.

Throughout the first and second parts, they must both act, with snow playing the part of the mentor and noble, and Lucy Grey playing the fighter. Both in front of the cameras and his classmates, Snow continues to act, while Lucy Grey must become a snake of sorts to survive. It's the games, and one must strike or be struck. And so snow offers his venom, with the literal poison and drone strikes.

Their victory is through the deception of a snake, and the literal snakes in the arena, and the performance of a songbird.

It is in the third part, however, where the two characters seperate into their true forms

Because the truth is, while they each use the skills of songbirds and snakes, at their core it is in their motivations that these characters seperate.

Lucy grey Baird is a true songbird, which becomes clear in the third part, where she returns home to perform for district 12, happily and freely and without wanting anything more than to share her voice. In the capital, she performs for the cameras and the crowd, but only as a means of survival. It is back home where she is free, and free to shed her scales and return to her songbird nature.

She is content

Snow, however, is driven by the vengefulness and insatiable desire of a snake. He tries, and gets tantalisingly close, to running away and having a free happy songful life with Lucy grey, but is repeatedly held back by his need to strike. It's the natural response of a snake, of course: to strike when one feels threatened.

So he strikes at his friend, by selling him out to the capital (using songbirds mind you), he strikes at highbottom (using literal poison), and he almost strikes at Lucy grey, but not before she can strike him first (using a literal snake once again).

And then taunting him with songbirds

Because the tragedy of the ending is that they were so close, they could have run away together and been happy. But in truth, it was never an option. She was a songbird and he was a snake. It was never meant to be. To be together would violate each of their natures. They might have been able to work together throughout, growing to care and love for one another, sharing their skills and doing what it takes to survive, but when the dust settles and they are each free, there is no denying the impossibility of their unity.

Which is why, and if you've made it this far, thank you for staying with me, I promise I'm making a point here, snow is wrong about his final conclusion on the games as a reflection of reality. It might appear like we are all songbirds and snakes both, with the desire to manipulate, perform, decieve and betray, but that is not truth.

Lucy grey proves that.

While snow might not realise it, there are people with pure songbird natures: giving and kind and gentle, loving life more than power. These are people who solve porblems not by striking back, but by sharing their voice, opening their lips to utter compassion, shielding others beneath their wings.

That's why his empire falls: because he assumes that everyone is like him.

Snakes only see snakes in others

In hunger games, the participants all hold hands, Katniss and Peeta violate the games by sticking together, caring for one another in a system designed for killers

In catching fire, the parading of the victors, meant to inspire jealousy and hate, instead rallies support especially in 11

And in Mockingjay, it is katniss' voice that rallies the people and inspires them to rise against the capital, singing aloud with both her own voice,

And the song of one Lucy Grey Baird, transcending time to offer her own spirit to the cause

Katniss is a songbird, as is Peeta, and Prim and Finnick and so many others beside them

Gale is a snake, coin is a snake, snow is a snake

In a way, all of hunger games is a ballad of songbirds and snakes, not of THE songbird and THE snake, because in truth it's far more complicated than that. Inside each of us is a songbird and a snake, and the one which we choose to embrace will shape the future we are destined to share.

It's fear or love all over again

Which do you prefer?

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #katniss everdeen #cages or wings #the hunger games

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hollowtakami · 6 months

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FOR THE GREATER GOOD

CONTENT: heavy angst, hurt w/ no comfort, implied ptsd/anxiety attack, corrupt hpsc, references to child abuse, power imbalance + implied beatings

WORD COUNT: 1130

AUTHOR NOTE: this is a very heavy (vent) fic - please do not read if you know this will trigger you (will be tagging this as nsfw on my masterlist bcs of its content). be safe, remember that you’re loved.

REBLOGS/COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED :)

Keigo hunched down onto the sofa, his skin finally remembering what its fabric felt like. Sinking into the plushness of the cushions, the avian sighed.

His eyes closed before he could stare at the ceiling. Instead, he’d stare at the abyss inside of him for hours.

He could hear his own breathing. Laboured, short. His chest felt heavy, the blood that circulated his body, nothing more than erroneous liquid.

His wings were made up of a few tattered secondaries and coverts, his primary feathers would need days to recover. His clothes stuck to him like a leech, the glue of his own sweat making his skin crawl.

A vibration in his trouser pocket brought him back to life. Keigo shot up, picking out his phone with a swift hand, his eyes strained by the painful white of the screen’s light.

The smartphone rang in his hand, shaking just like him. Keigo answered and felt himself sweating a little more.

“Hell-“

“Hawks. You’re needed for a last minute patrol.” A gruel voice barked out an order from the other end of the line.

“Madame President,” Keigo swallowed the spite stuck to his tongue, “With all due respect , you did just dismiss me, and I’m sure there are other heroes available to fill in for me!”

He did his best to spoil his voice with sunshine, but was met with nothing but silence.

His fluffy eyebrows furrowed at how loud the emptiness felt, not a single drone of white noise came from the other end.

“Madame-“

“You’re to report to my office immediately, Hawks,”

The call declined and the phone lay dead in his hand. Keigo’s fingers tightened around its frame, threatening to crack - whether the phone or his fingers would crack first, he wasn’t sure.

Tattered feathers sharpened in fear and Keigo’s face fell white. He had exhausted his body all day, fighting back whatever force the world threw at him. From the crack of dawn until the rest of the world fell asleep, he zipped around the city.

All for the greater good, he was always told.

And now, he was being told to report to his superior for - no doubt - a rather harsh scolding.

Peeling his clammy body from the sofa, Keigo made his way to his apartment’s door, leaving behind his jacket that he’d slung over a chair. His boots echoed footsteps and bounced them off the empty walls. Not looking back, not bothering to take in what he could of the only place he wasn’t watched.

They’d have cameras in here by the time he got back, anyway.

Walking down the street, Keigo was met with a black sky. Clouds hid away the beauty of the stars, the moon crying behind their mist. His feet slid across the pavement, too tired to put one in front of the other with the grace of a hero.

Keigo could fly and be there in a moment, but he’d sold his soul for a bit of cheap praise from people he knew couldn’t give a shit about him.

He’d reach the entrance of the HPSC eventually, the skyscraper sticking out of the gum of the ground like an ugly tooth. Greeting the receptionist telling her he’d been called for, he smiled with his teeth and trudged towards the nearest elevator and punched the button that would fly him up to Madame President’s office.

He stood still the whole ride, the eye of a camera burning into the back of his head - probably gawking at the laughable sight of his wings.

So much for the Winged Hero, Keigo thought.

Keigo went on autopilot as he sauntered through the empty floor of office cubicles until he reached the windowless room that was the sanctuary of his superior.

Bracing himself with a silent, short breath, Keigo rapped his knuckle on the door.

“Enter,” a low voice beckoned him forward.

Keigo pulled the door handle and slowly extended his arm inwards, met with the light of the office. The avian closed the door behind him and felt his wings shiver when he heard it auto-lock.

“Sit down, Hawks,” Madame President gestured to a lonely chair in front of her desk, smiling with hidden malice.

Keigo obeyed, lowering himself down and making sure he didn’t slouch.

“You asked for me?” He dared to speak.

“I don’t like attitude, Hawks,” Madame spoke, blunt as ever, “When a handler orders you to do something, you are expected to do it,”

Keigo felt his blood run cold at her words. She didn’t bother to blanket her intentions. He would be lectured, and then sanctioned. For the greater good.

“I understand, Madame,” Keigo squeaked, eyes down like a sheepish puppy.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

Keigo pinned his eyes to hers and didn’t dare break eye contact for a second. For a moment, he was a child again; a huddle of skin and bones on the floor as his father kicked in his stomach for leaving the house.

“Yes, Madame,” his voice barely scratched its way up his throat.

“For your outlandish behaviour against a handler, I’m sure you’re aware you will need to be sanctioned,” Madame President repeated Keigo’s thoughts.

The avian nodded, the corners of his lips quivering into a meek smile. His feathers ruffled, his heart threatening to burst from his chest.

Keigo felt sick.

For the greater good, his mind barked at him.

The days of his ‘special program’ ran through his mind. That poor boy, he had no idea what kind of machine they were going to turn him into. They were gentle at first, using blanketed words to coax him forward to their goal.

They used to be gentle to that baby bird. When it was time to pick through his pin feathers, they only tore them out.

“Follow me to the rehabilitation hall, Hawks.”

“Yes, Madame President.”

His superior ushered Keigo to the room he remembered all too well, watching him with the eyes in the back of her head.

The walk was quick, Keigo blinked and he was already locked in with the same man he’d known from his boyhood.

“Hawks.” He spat at the avian.

Hawks didn’t say anything. Like a whimpering dog, he inched forward to the man, awaiting his sanction.

The first punch was always the worst.

But, it was for the greater good.

When it was all over, they’d half-ass bandaging him up and covering up his bruises with makeup.

For the greater good, a hero must always look his best.

A hero must always obey his handler, no matter what. That’s what they’d told Keigo Takami when he was a little boy, right before they’d tell him that everything from this point onward;

For the greater good.

#<3 #keigo takami #boku no hero academia #mha hawks #my hero academia hawks #takami keigo #hawks #hawks imagines #hawks angst #hero public safety commission #mha angst #bnha angst #hawks my hero academia #heavy angst #keigo takami imagine #keigo takami headcanons #hawks headcanons #hawks mha #angst

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sreepadamangaraj · 1 year

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youtube

In this webinar, join DSLRPros EVP Randall Warnas and DJI Enterprise Solutions Engineer Kyle Miller as they discuss everything about the Mavic 3 Enterprise Series. Thank you for watching this video, webinar excerpt DJI Mavic 3 enterprise series safety features and data security, Dronefly.

#aircraft structures #best drone reviews #webinar excerpt #dronefly webinar excerpt #small drones with cameras #cheap drones with camera #best drone with camera #the best drones #Youtube

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makemoneyonline0019 · 11 months

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#best cheap drone #best beginner drone #best budget drones 2023 #best beginner drones2023 #best drones #drones #drone home inspection #drone #dji drone #best camera drone

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beautification-tales · 8 months

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Rhoda vs. Stella

As Rhoda sat in front of her small television set, the news anchor's voice droned on and on about the heroic feats from the amazing Stella. She'd saved a bunch of people from a collapsing building, apparently. Rhoda couldn't help but let out a little sigh. "Another day, another news segment all about Stella," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible even to her own ears. The room was dark and dank, the only light filtering in through the curtain-covered window, and the air smelled stale, like old socks and cheap perfume. It was the kind of place you'd expect to find a character in a particularly depressing Russian novel, not a twenty-seven-year-old woman like Rhoda.

She flipped through the channels, hoping to find something else to watch, anything else, but it was as if Stella had taken over the entire television network. Every channel was showing replays of her latest heroic exploits, interviews with people who had met her, or experts discussing her superpowers. Rhoda scowled, growing increasingly frustrated. "Come on," she grumbled, "there's got to be something else going on in the world besides that self-centered brat."

Just then, the news anchor switched to a live feed from the scene of the rescue. There was the Superheroine Stella herself, perched atop a pile of rubble, a group of grateful citizens crowding around her. Beside her, an attractive male witness was raving about how beautiful she was, how her every move was grace under pressure, how she'd saved his life and the lives of countless others. The camera lingered on her perfect features, her sculpted physique, her glowing skin. Rhoda gritted her teeth, feeling a familiar mix of anger and envy rise up inside her.

As the male witness continued to gush, Stella winked at him coyly before taking flight, soaring effortlessly into the sky, leaving the stunned crowd in her wake. Rhoda turned off the television, unable to stand another second of the nauseating spectacle. She rose from the dusty old couch, stretching her stiff limbs, and glanced around the room, taking in the clutter and the peeling paint. There was a time when she'd thought this was all she'd ever have, but now, hearing about Stella everyday just made her feel worse.

With a sigh, she headed down the narrow hallway to the bathroom, her movements listless and slow. As she reached the bathroom door, she paused, taking a deep breath and steeling herself. She hated the bathroom, with its small, dingy mirror and its drab, institutional colors. It made her feel even more invisible than she already did. But there was no avoiding it; she needed to wash her face.

Rhoda splashed her face with cold water, trying to wake herself up. She scrubbed her face vigorously, wishing she could scrub away the feelings of inadequacy and self-pity that seemed to cling to her like a second skin. Finally, she reached up and put on her glasses, taking a step back to survey herself in the mirror. Her short brown hair looked dull, her face framed by the round, wire-rimmed spectacles. She looked... ordinary.

Her thoughts drifted back to Tim, her cute coworker at the local coffee shop. They'd worked together for over a year now, and she'd been harboring a secret crush on him for almost as long. He was tall and handsome, with a killer smile and a witty sense of humor. He was always nice to her, but she suspected he didn't see her as anything more than a friend. It didn't help that every time she'd tried to make a move, she'd chickened out at the last minute, leaving her feeling even more pathetic than usual.

"You're just jealous," she muttered to herself, trying to convince herself it was true. Maybe she could learn to be more like Stella, to be more confident, more outgoing. Maybe then Tim would notice her. But then again, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. After all, Stella was a superhero, not a real person. It was one thing to admire her from afar, but trying to emulate her was setting herself up for disappointment.

She sighed, running her hands through her damp hair. There had to be another way. Maybe if she could find some kind of outlet for her own unique talents, something that made her feel special. Something that didn't involve trying to be someone she wasn't. She glanced back at the mirror, hoping for some sort of inspiration, some glimmer of an idea. But all she saw was her own reflection, looking back at her with tired, resigned eyes.

And then, suddenly, there she was. Stella. Not the news anchor, not the image on the television screen, but the real Stella, standing beside her in the mirror. Her perfect features were marred by a frown, and there was a curious expression in her eyes. "Why are you so jealous of me?" she asked softly.

Rhoda started, then turned to face Stella. "I'm not jealous," she said defensively. "I just wish people would see me for who I am, not just some stupid superhero."

Stella raised an eyebrow. "And who do you think you are?" she asked, her voice soft but steady. "You're just a shy quiet invisible girl. You can’t possibly compete with me. And maybe people would notice you if you weren’t so pathetic."

Rhoda felt a sting of hurt at Stella's words, but she knew there was some truth to them. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. "I know I'm not perfect," she said, "but I have my own strengths. I can be kind, and caring, and I'm good at my job. I just wish people would see that."

Stella studied her for a moment before speaking. "You know what they say about nice girls?" she asked quietly. "They finish last. You have to stand up for yourself, Rhoda. You can't keep playing the victim, waiting for someone to notice you. You saw the news! Everyone is talking about me…about us!”

Rhoda felt a spark of anger ignite in her chest. "Us?" she asked incredulously. "You mean me and you? I'm not like you, Stella. I don't have powers. I don’t wear a white leotard.I'm just an ordinary girl trying to make her way through life."

Stella stepped closer, her expression softening. "But you do have a power, Rhoda. You have the power to make a difference. You have the power to choose how you want to use your gifts. You could be me, using your abilities to help people. Or you could keep hiding behind your glasses and your shyness, content to be invisible."

Rhoda felt her resolve wavering. She knew that Stella was right, that she did have a choice. But it was so much easier to just go along with things, to be the quiet one in the background. "I don't know if I could ever be like you," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I mean, did you see how you flirted with that guy on the news?”

Stella smiled, a small, wistful expression. "Yes, I did," she replied. "And I enjoyed it. I like having the power to make men swoon.” Stella flexed her right arm bicep triumphantly. “You’re such a prude Rhoda. Did you see how tall he was? Did you see how… big he was?”

Rhoda felt her cheeks flush crimson, but she didn't back down. "Well, I'm not interested in using my abilities like that," she said, her voice steady. "I want to use them for something more important."

Stella raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" she asked, her tone challenging. "You think you can change the world, Rhoda? You're just one person. And even if you could, so what? You'd still be stuck in this life, living in the shadow of someone like me. Stop fighting what you are! What you’re meant to be just let me out. Let me play!”

Rhoda felt a surge of determination rise within her. "I can make a difference," she insisted, her voice firm. "I don't have to be like you to matter. I can be plain old me to help people without showboating." She paused, meeting Stella's gaze unflinchingly. "And I won't let you control me anymore. I'm going to be who I want to be."

With renewed confidence, Rhoda turned and strode back into the living room. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, and began to pace around the room. Her thoughts raced as she tried to formulate a plan. She knew that she couldn't continue to live in Stella's shadow, but she also didn't want to give in to her dark desires that Stella represented.

She stopped in front of the TV, her eyes glued to the screen as she watched the news. Another building was ablaze, and she could feel Stella's energy coursing through her veins, begging to be let loose. The reporter spoke of the destruction and the chaos, but Rhoda couldn't help but focus on the people.

Rhoda could hear Stella within her screaming for release. Rhoda felt as if she had no choice as she took the gold ring off her necklace and placed it on her ring finger.

The change was instantaneous. Her body began to stretch and contort, her bones popping and cracking as her muscles grew and her skin stretched. Her height increased as her spine lengthened, her hands and feet elongated to fit her new larger frame. Her hair turned long and blond and her eyes glowed with an ethereal light. The large sweater and sweatpants disappeared as a white leotard and white gloves appeared on her body. The old sneakers replaced with white matching boots as her impressive legs and arms were bare.

Stella's arrogant grin spread across Rhoda's face as she stepped out from behind the couch. She flexed her bicep enjoying the show, her muscles rippling with power. Her voice was deep and confident as she spoke, "Oh, don't worry, Rhoda. I'll take it from here."

She walked gracefully towards the burning building, her long strides effortlessly carrying her across the distance. People gasped in awe as they beheld her stunning beauty and unearthly strength. Stella reached the building and without hesitation, ripped the burning doors off their hinges. The flames licked at her skin, but she seemed unbothered.

With her enhanced senses, she could see inside the building, feel the heat and sense the panic of the trapped people. She moved through the smoke like a ghost, rescuing one person after another with ease. Her gloved hands were gentle yet firm as she helped the terrified occupants out of the inferno. The firefighters, impressed by her abilities, watched in silence as she worked.

The fire grew more intense as she continued her rescue efforts, but she seemed unbothered. She could feel the flames licking at her skin, but they did not harm her. She was in control. She was unstoppable. She was Stella.

“That is everyone in the building chief!” Stella proclaimed as she flashed her gorgeous smile.

The firefighters rushed forward to help her tend to the last of the survivors, their expressions a mix of awe and respect. They had never seen anything like it. A woman, a mere mortal, who had single-handedly saved everyone in that building without even breaking a sweat.

As they worked together, the crowd around them began to swell. News crews rushed to the scene, their cameras capturing every moment of Stella's heroics. She was a goddess among mortals, a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos.

The reporter from earlier pushed his way through the throng, microphone in hand. "Stella!" he exclaimed, his voice full of awe. "Is it true? Were these attacks on the buildings meant to draw you out?"

Stella's eyes narrowed, her expression growing cold. "I cannot speak for those who would commit such heinous acts," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "All I know is that when I heard the cries for help, I could not turn a blind eye. I had to do something." She turned back to the firefighters, her expression softening. "You all have my gratitude for your bravery and your service."

Stella walked away as she levitated off the ground about to fly home. Stella hovered in the clouds as she refused to give Rhoda control again. She was free and she wanted to have fun. “It’s time to show Rhoda that it’s more fun being me.”

She flew to the coffee shop where Tim was closing up. She slowly landed giving Tim an amazing view of her body.

"Oh my god, is that Stella? She's here?" Tim asked one of his coworkers.

"Yeah, it's her," the coworker replied, eyes wide with surprise and admiration. "So you think she wants coffee? ."

Stella looked at Tim with a playful grin, "Why yes, I wanted a cup but it looks like you’re just closing." She glided over to Tim, her movements graceful and fluid.

"Oh, uh, hi Stella," Tim stammered, his heart racing. "I mean, we're not really supposed to have anyone in here after hours, but I could, I mean, make you a cup really quick if you'd like."

Stella smiled at his nervousness, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, that's so sweet of you, Tim. But don't worry about it. You've got to close up, right?" She glanced over her shoulder at the coworker, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes.

“You… you know my name?” Tim asked in shock, feeling even more flustered.

Stella laughed, the sound melodic and pleasant. "Of course I do, silly. You still have your nameplate on.” Stella was relieved at how quickly she covered for herself.

Tim turned a shade of red that was almost as vibrant as Stella's hair. "Oh... uh... right. Well, you know, if you change your mind..." he trailed off, not quite sure how to continue.

Stella gently grabbed Tim’s shirt as she lowered his head slightly into a kiss. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest as she pushed her powerful frame into his body. She could feel Tim melting into her as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. Stella felt his stiffness in his crotch as she slowly broke off the embrace.

"That's for being such a cutie," she whispered huskily, running her fingers through his hair.

Stella took a step back, giving Tim a moment to catch his breath. "I'm serious, Tim. If you ever need anything, just call me, okay?" She leaned in close, their noses almost touching. "And if you ever want another kiss like that... just find me. I'll be waiting."

With one final wink, Stella lifted off the ground, her arms spreading wide as she glided gracefully out of the street and into the night. The coworker stared after her, his mouth hanging open.

Back in the apartment, Stella floated to the bathroom mirror. She stared at her reflection, admiring the yellow fire in her eyes. She had never felt so alive, so free. It was as if she had shed a layer of skin, revealing the confident, powerful woman she was meant to be.

"Hello, Stella," Rhoda's voice said softly, her tone devoid of any of the condescension it once held. "You had your fun, now give me my body back."

Stella turned around slowly, her eyes narrowing as she studied her former self. "And why would I do that?" she purred, her voice a sultry purr. "I'm having too much fun being me." She lifted her chin defiantly, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Rhoda's eyes widened in surprise. She had never expected Stella to react like this. "But you don't understand, Stella. I need my body back. I have things I need to do, people who depend on me."

Stella's yellow eyes glinted with mischief. "Oh really? And what about me, Rhoda? Don't I deserve to enjoy being in this body for a little while longer? After all, it's not like you were using it to its full potential." She stepped closer, invading Rhoda's personal space. "I can promise you, Rhoda. If you let me keep being you... well, you might just find that you like it."

With that, Stella slipped her hands under her top, cupping her breasts in her hands. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of them, the softness against her palms. She gently massaged her nipples, watching with satisfaction as they hardened under her touch. Then, slowly, she lowered her hand to feel her warm wet slit.

Rhoda watched, shocked and aroused, as Stella began to explore her own body. She felt a wave of desire course through her, an urgency that she hadn't experienced in years. She had forgotten what it was like to feel so alive, so present in her own skin.

As Stella's fingers found their way to her clit, Rhoda gasped, arching her back involuntarily. The sensation was almost too much to bear. She felt herself growing wetter, hotter, more and more eager for release. "Oh god, Stella," she breathed, her voice shaking. "What are you doing?”

Stella looked up at her, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "What does it look like I'm doing?" She gave her a sultry wink. "I'm enjoying myself." And with that, she circled her finger around her clit, harder and faster, until they were moaning in unison.

“Just give in Rhoda. Let me finally be your true self. I can give you everything you want. Tim practically came in his pants just from kissing us.” Rhoda gasped at the thought. “No more being invisible, no more boring routine. Please Rhoda … fuck it feels so good.”

Stella's words reverberated in Rhoda's mind as she felt Stella's fingers expertly tease her body. She had never experienced such pleasure, such raw desire. It was as if a dam had been broken, releasing a torrent of emotion and lust that she hadn't known was there. She wanted this, she needed this.

Rhoda moaned in ecstasy as she screamed in unison with her superhuman side “I am Stella!”

#beautification #transformation #breast expansion #f2f transformation #bimboification #musclegrowth #superheroines #slutification

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seanpatrickcain · 1 year

Note

🌤️

🌤️ Share your favorite mechanic from a game you’re working on.

from ask game for ttrpg projects

BEFORE THE START is my new card-based storytelling toolkit & standalone ttrpg.

Players can use the cards in many different ways. One of my favorites is to create a prologue -- a series of short little scenes that build to the BIG EVENT that launches a campaign.

(As an example, let's say that the big event is a catastrophic earthquake that will level a city.)

After loosely sketching out that event, each player receives a hand of cards.

Black cards invite the player to narrate a small moment focused on their character. Yellow cards invite the player to foreshadow the big event. When a player takes a turn, they can play a black card, a yellow card, or both.

I want to talk about these yellow cards.

When a player plays a yellow card with a black card, they incorporate foreshadowing elements into their character's scene.

Let’s stick with our earthquake example. The player is developing the character of Dee, who works as a custodian at the city’s premier art museum.

“It’s night. Dee is hard at work cleaning the museum after all the visitors have left. We’re in an grand foyer, lit by an enormous antique chandelier that hangs in the center of the space. We hear the drone of a commercial floor scrubber as Dee steers it around the tile floor. Shadows start to shift, ever so subtly, and we hear the tinkling of glass. Dee shuts down the scrubber and looks up to watch the chandelier sway, the hundreds of lights in a kaleidoscopic dance. Her eyes are wide, and she’s smiling, but her expression stars to shift to concern as the movement of the chandelier becomes more violent, the swaying more extreme.”

When a player chooses to play a yellow card by itself, the spotlight shifts away from the character. The player can focus on the setting, develop details about the situation, and even introduce a new NPC.

Continuing our example:

“We see a seismograph’s pen scrawling peaks and valleys across a rolling sheet of paper. Each movement gets more chaotic, more extreme. In front of the device, in a cheap rolling chair, is a white-coated scientist, totally asleep, an empty coffee mug dangling from her fingers. The lights in the lab flicker and go out. And now we’re overlooking the entire city as waves of blackouts roll through neighborhoods. Sudden darkness from the windows of apartment buildings. Street lights. Neon signs from late night cafes. Digital billboards attached to skyscrapers. When the entire city is dark, we can see starlight in the night sky.”

I’m always excited to see how fast new players “get” how to emply these foreshadowing cards. The storytelling becomes dynamic, the camera is swift and shifty, and we get to discover more about this big event that’s going to launch our story.

----

So yeah, that’s a little bit about BEFORE THE START, which I’ll be releasing in September.

Ask me more ttrpg project questions!

#indie ttrpgs #ttrpgs #ttrpg #tabletop #game design #game development

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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This day in history

On THURSDAY (June 20) I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On FRIDAY (June 21) I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

#20yrsago Why Microsoft should get out of DRM https://craphound.com/msftdrm.txt

#20yrsago Fark posts 1,000,000th link, Web surrenders https://www.fark.com/comments/1000000/Birds-learn-how-to-open-doors-at-Home-Depot-Finally-they-can-make-that-deck-for-birdhouse-In-other-news-this-is-1000000th-link

#15yrsago Vancouver cops affirm your right to take pictures https://web.archive.org/web/20090618134523/http://www.news1130.com/news/local/more.jsp?content=20090617_112051_8240

#15yrsago UK cop: ‘War on terror means no pictures of police vans in disabled parking spots’ https://shkspr.mobi/blog/2009/06/police-camera-action/

#15yrsago British cops stop and hassle thousands to “balance racial statistics” https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2009/jun/17/stop-search-terror-law-met

#15yrsago Mind Over Ship: David Marusek’s hyperfuturistic, hyperimaginative soap-opera https://memex.craphound.com/2009/06/17/mind-over-ship-david-maruseks-hyperfuturistic-hyperimaginative-soap-opera/

#15yrsago Bozeman, Montana requires job applicants to hand over all social network logins and passwords for background checks https://web.archive.org/web/20090621103931/montanasnewsstation.com/Global/story.asp?S=10551414&nav=menu227_3

#15yrsago Canadian cops want to wiretap the net https://web.archive.org/web/20090618223330/http://www.calgaryherald.com/Technology/Feds+give+cops+Internet+snooping+powers/1706191/story.html

#10yrsago Copyright trolls cut and run at suggestion that they’re a front for disgraced firm Guardaley https://www.techdirt.com/2014/06/16/once-again-as-details-questionable-copyright-trolling-practices-come-to-light-troll-desperately-tries-to-run-away/

#10yrsago London police’s secret “domestic extremist” list includes people who sketch protests https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/jun/16/domestic-extremist-metropolitan-police-spying-elected-politician

#10yrsago Riot control drone that fires paintballs, pepper-spray and rubber bullets at protesters https://www.defenceweb.co.za/aerospace/aerospace-aerospace/desert-wolf-unveils-riot-control-drone/

#10yrsago Seattle paid $17.5K to “manage” online rep of public utility CEO https://web.archive.org/web/20140623210450/http://seattletimes.com/html/localnews/2023849447_citylightbrandxml.html

#10yrsago Oligopolistic America: anti-competitive, unequal, and deliberate https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/how-america-became-uncompetitive-and-unequal/2014/06/13/a690ad94-ec00-11e3-b98c-72cef4a00499_story.html?hpid=z3

#5yrsago Structural Separation: antitrust’s tried-and-true weapon for monopolists who bottleneck markets https://memex.craphound.com/2019/06/17/structural-separation-antitrusts-tried-and-true-weapon-for-monopolists-who-bottleneck-markets/

#5yrsago Fox News poll has Trump losing to Sanders, Biden, Warren, Harris, or Buttigieg https://www.commondreams.org/news/2019/06/16/fox-news-poll-bernie-sanders-would-beat-trump-9-points

#5yrsago Traverse City, MI braves the wrath of telcoms lobbyists, pushes ahead with municipal fiber network https://upnorthlive.com/news/local/traverse-city-light-and-power-approves-fiber-optic-internet

#5yrsago After Hong Kong’s leaders delay plan to render dissidents to mainland China, 2,000,000 Hong Kongers march and demand resignations https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-china-48655634

#5yrsago The UK government gave away cheap money for property purchase deposits, which the wealthy abused, driving up property prices and leaving UK taxpayers exposed https://wolfstreet.com/2019/06/13/uk-government-blew-billions-on-help-to-buy-scheme-that-enriched-home-builders-and-drove-up-home-prices-taxpayers-on-the-hook-when-prices-sink-new-report-warns/

#1yrago Pizzaburgers https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/17/pizzaburgers/

#pluralistic

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elendiliel · 1 year

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Hello and Goodbye

Another long one, I'm afraid. (Again, I can repost in chunks if that's better, and it's on AO3 here.)

As usual, inspiration credits to @justawannabearchaeologist's "TFP Wheeljack in TFA" series; I also adopted and transplanted a concept from @itsstrangelypermanent's The Clone Wars fic medical logs. Both are highly recommended.

---

How did I get here? Knock Out wondered to himself. He knew the literal answer to that, of course – he and the rest of Team Prime, Ratchet included, had driven out from the Hall of Records in the centre of Iacon (their HQ now that the former Nemesis, renamed the Justice, had limped back from the Well of All Sparks to the derelict shipyards outside the ruined capital for proper repairs, along with the Iron Will) to the city’s boundary in response to long-range scans picking up a small but unfriendly-looking army of some kind approaching. The first returning refugees from their once-devastated world were just days away from making landfall; this was probably some last-ditch attempt to take control of Cybertron before they arrived by one of the two fugitive Decepticons still on-planet, Starscream or Shockwave. The Autobots couldn’t allow that, but nor would they use Vehicons as blaster fodder. The work crews and the few remaining prisoners were all safely out of Iacon or sheltered by the Justice, while Team Prime dealt with the invasion force.

That was all reasonable, to an Autobot at least, and in accordance with their Code. What Knock Out had been asking himself for weeks was just how he had found himself fighting for both sides in Cybertron’s aeons-long civil war, a technically loyal Decepticon valued for his skills for almost all of it – but accepted, even befriended, by the Autobots at the end. He had, probably less casually than he intended, asked his young colleague Glitch that a little while previously, but she hadn’t been helpful. “Life sends us hairpin bends from time to time,” she’d said. “All we can do is take them – or crash.” She would know; a faulty space-bridge had sent her from her own universe to his some months before. But for a historian’s sparkling, she was remarkably uninterested in the recent past. What a person had been or done seldom mattered to her, unless she could use those data to predict their future. The present was far more important.

In that present, the enemy was within optical range at last – barely more than a smudge on the horizon still, but closing rapidly. And within the range of Wheeljack’s new camera-drone, already zooming towards the invaders to get a better look at them. Knock Out had been surprised to discover that the Wrecker could build things that didn’t blow up. He was not surprised to find that Glitch had hacked the drone’s feed and was streaming it on her built-in datapad. The newspark was a data addict with a poor grasp of the idea of boundaries. At least it let him see the opposition (just about) even from his place near one end of the thin multicoloured line, beside his diminutive fellow medic.

“Starscream or Shockwave?” he asked her as the drone cycled through its various settings. The soldiers looked like Vehicons, all grounders, but they moved too stiffly, too mechanically. And there was no sign of a spark in any of them. Low-level clones, or just automata? “They’re both into cloning.”

She chewed the upper edge of her synth for a few seconds. “If I had any money, I think it’d be on Screamer. An army of cheap knockoffs is more his style. And I’ll say one thing for this Shockwave – he has an amount of backstrut, unless retreat is logical. Which this whole plan isn’t. And if it were, he’d be with his troops, not lurking at a safe distance.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” he agreed. “Apart from all that, some of these mecha have been put together the wrong way. Say what you like about Shockwave – he’s a perfectionist.”

“Not the only one around here,” she said with her best attempt at a teasing grin. He didn’t have time to respond to that before Ultra Magnus asked Wheeljack for his analysis.

“Just sparkless robots. Not sure there’s much going on upstairs, even. I’m guessing they’ve only been programmed to march and shoot. I don’t like the look of those blasters, though.”

“Seconded on all counts,” Glitch called, not looking up from an X-ray of a robot’s CPU. The engineer and demolitions expert was right; it didn’t look any more complicated than a typical Earth computer. Less, if anything. Starscream – if it was him – clearly preferred quantity to quality. And maybe he didn’t have access to better technology. How had he even got hold of that much? Had he found one of Shockwave’s abandoned labs?

Hopefully, there would be time to find that out later. Knock Out’s immediate priority was survival. The drones were within weapons range; Bumblebee’s and Glitch’s shields held back the incoming fire as the other Autobots picked off the front ranks of robots, but they just kept coming. Close-quarters combat was inevitable. Luckily, that was the Aston Martin’s forte. And his temporary partner’s.

Tactically, it wouldn’t normally make much sense for two medics to be paired up; usually, they had combatant partners or relied on their whole unit and their own offensive capabilities. But Glitch had been trained to fight before she even applied to Protihex Medical Mechanical, and she had both a dedicated shield mod and built-in magnets that could also be used as a shield. And Knock Out trusted her, maybe not more than he did the rest of the team, but at a deeper level – the level of his circuits and spark, perhaps, not just his processor. She, of course, trusted everyone unless she were given reason not to. Besides, three medics were more than enough for a twelve-‘bot unit.

As the Autobots engaged the drones in hand-to-hand combat, Knock Out realised it was the first time he’d been in a full-scale battle since Breakdown had joined with the Allspark. He wondered for a sparkbeat what his late partner would have made of the tiny femme who had, in a logistical sense, taken his place. He’d probably have liked her; everyone did. And if he could see them from the Well, Knock Out hoped he was glad someone was doing his old job. It wasn’t the same, of course; like Knock Out himself, Glitch relied on speed and precision, her laser scalpel finding weak spots in the robots’ frames, her EMP generator overloading their processors, her magnets disabling blasters with a certain understated efficiency, quite unlike Breakdown’s brute strength. But the sense of safety even in the midst of chaos was painfully familiar. She would protect him to the best of her ability, and vice versa.

He had to protect her when she stopped dead, thankfully during a momentary pause in their part of the battle, and raised a hand to her comm circuits. The comm was on speaker by default, so Knock Out could hear an unfamiliar, young-sounding Cybertronian voice say, “Glitch, if you can hear me, we’re coming to get you.”

The field-tech’s face was a picture of joy, chased by alarm, as she replied. “Bee? Stars, it’s good to hear you – but your timing couldn’t be much worse. It’s still not safe…”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” another stranger’s voice, this one maybe a little older, calm and pleasant, broke in. “If you’re in trouble, we’re going to help.”

Glitch’s back had straightened even further, and her tone was significantly more respectful as she responded, “Sir, I strongly advise…”

“You’re breaking up.” The second voice cut her off again. “Must be the space-bridge. We’ll see you soon.”

Glitch lowered her hand from her comm; the transmission must have ended. Her expression was a mix of exasperation and excitement even as she rejoined the fight. “Of all the… I didn’t think he’d stoop to that trick.”

“Who was it?”

“Backup,” she said cryptically, moments before a blue-green orb of light faded into life high above their heads. All the Autobots, even the very youngest, were too well-trained to be distracted by it – even when three vessels emerged from what had to be a strange kind of space-bridge. Two small jets, one blue, one orange, flanking a red and yellow battleship, all bearing the Autobrand. Reinforcements.

As the jets broke off to strafe the enemy ranks with wind and flame (rather enthusiastically; the orange one came close to scorching Smokescreen), the battleship touched down behind the Autobots and a landing ramp unfolded, allowing the strangest group of alt-modes Knock Out had ever seen to drive, walk or fly out. A blue and orange monster truck was in the lead, closely followed by a red and blue fire-truck cab. There was a red and white ambulance, a green APC, a yellow hatchback with black accents, a sweet white sports car and a pink car that didn’t look like anything Knock Out had seen on Earth. Behind them were what appeared to be two robotic versions of ancient Earth reptiles (a similar, aerial ‘bot hovered above them) and, bringing up the rear and trying not to be noticed (which was fine by Knock Out), a giant spider. That could only be Glitch’s home team.

One by one, as their ship took off again (“Who’s flying?” “He flies himself. That’s Omega Supreme.”), the newcomers – apart from the reptile-‘bots – transformed into an equally motley assortment of root modes, ranging in size from a little taller than Glitch (the hatchback) to a bit bigger than Wheeljack (the APC), wielding an astonishing variety of weapons. At least the monster truck’s hammer, the ambulance’s magnets (that had to be the other Ratchet) and the APC’s wrecking ball (Bulkhead, definitely) were vaguely familiar. But why did the Optimus-coloured fire truck have an axe? Were those laser swords the pink femme had just drawn? And what were the hatchback’s and sports car’s weapons?

“Stars,” Glitch groaned as the blue and orange mech tried to give the order to transform and roll out, only to be reminded by the mini-Optimus that they had transformed. “I suppose he had to come along, but honestly…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Sentinel flipping Prime’s the matter. Sentinel Magnus, possibly, if Ultra’s resigned or joined with the Allspark while I’ve been here. The one with the spectacular chin.” The monster truck with the hammer. “Steer clear. Uh-oh, here comes trouble…” Someone was calling her comm again. A bossy, arrogant someone. “Field-tech Glitch, sitrep, stat.”

“No time. I’ll explain later, but for now, just wallop anything with the Deceptibrand. The enemy consists of sparkless drones that make Blackout look like Mainframe – maybe Perceptor – so don’t hold back.” As she spoke, she had been working on her datapad. “I’ve patched you guys into the other Autobots’ comms, so you can coordinate directly, not through me.” She shut off the connection before her superior could yell at her and turned her attention to the battle once more.

Knock Out had lost himself in the rhythm of combat when a nearly-unfamiliar voice shouted, “Get away from my partner, Decepti-creep!”

He looked down to see a small yellow mech pointing a pair of electrical weapons straight at his spark chamber, and raised his hands in something like surrender. “Easy! I’m on your side!”

“Believe it or not, that’s correct,” Glitch said, turning to see what was going on. Her whole face lit up as she set eyes on the newcomer. “And it’s good to see you, Bee.” She had struggled even with the common greeting; her mouth opened slightly and closed a few times, words failing her yet again.

“You don’t have to say anything,” “Bee” assured her, his eyes just as full of joy above his battle mask. “I know. And it’s good to see you, too.”

“By the Allspark,” Knock Out sighed. “Now I’ve got a couple of lovesick newbuilds on my hands. Aren’t you even going to introduce us?”

Glitch shook herself awake and tore her eyes from her other partner. “Sorry. Bee, Knock Out. Knock Out, Bumblebee. My partner and one of my oldest friends.” And her boyfriend, she didn’t have to say.

“Yes, yes, nice to meet you. Now are we going to fight, or are you two lovebots going to get us all killed?” The only answer Knock Out received was a pair of identical glares as the smaller mecha returned their attention to the enemy.

“Your aim’s improved,” mini-Bumblebee said as Glitch took down another robot with an EMP to the head.

“Thanks. So’s yours.” “Bee” was pretty good with those spark projectors. “But it’s not going to be quite enough.” Knock Out could just see her mischievous grin. Flirting, at a time like this, not as a weapon? “Fight up close; seize the moment and stay in it.”

“It’s either that or meet the business end of a bayonet.” Continuing a quotation? “I’ve missed this.”

“So have I.” Glitch’s smile was outright flirtatious. Seriously? “But not as much as I’ve missed you.”

Knock Out wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or relieved when the press of frames parted Glitch and new-Bumblebee from him despite everyone’s best efforts. On the one hand, he was in more danger without a partner; on the other, those two were getting unbearably cute. As more drones than he was confident handling alone surrounded him, he was definitely leaning towards “alarmed”.

His alarm didn’t lessen when two of the robots were swept away by the force of an unseen ally’s attack. The drones were pinned to the ground by organic-looking webbing, which stirred up memories he really did not want in the middle of a battle. Conditioned instincts allowed him to dispatch most of his remaining assailants with his saw and electrostaff, but when he turned to see a spider-form femme stabbing a robot with her front legs, rational thought and movement briefly became things that happened to other people. It’s not her. It can’t be. Soundwave sent her away. How would she…

“A “thank you” wouldn’t go amiss,” the femme said in a voice that was definitely not Airachnid’s. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh, nothing.” Now that Knock Out had been pulled back to reality, he didn’t know how he could ever have mistaken the ‘bot for his partner’s killer. Her face, framed by a black and gold helmet, was completely different, as was her colour scheme, purple, black and gold with a patch of unpainted alloy on her chestplate. A fairly accomplished cut-and-paste repair, he thought. She only had two visible extra legs (the final pair must be stashed away somewhere), and her arachnid features were smoother, more organic-looking. He had to suppress a shudder when he realised they were organic. How is that possible? “I thought you were someone else for a moment, that’s all.”

“Oh, just that. I thought you were freaking out about my organic half. A lot of ‘bots are squeamish about it. I’ve learned not to mind.” Now that was a mildly depressing idea, however much Knock Out might dislike organic lifeforms in general. “Pit, I couldn’t stand it for quite some time. And there’ll be Unicron to pay when Sentinel finds out I stowed away – he’s even less keen on it.” She cut herself off in mid-life history, if Knock Out were any judge. “Seen Glitch, by the way? Bumblebee went to find her, but I haven’t heard from either of them since.”

“He did, but we were separated. I think they stayed together, though. In every sense.”

“They’ll be fine, then. And I think we’d better pair up for the time being – in the combat sense, of course.” She all but smirked at him. “We ex-‘Cons have to stick together.” At that moment, hacking his way through waves of drones, the spider-‘bot – Elita – webbing or stabbing any robot in range, Knock Out couldn’t agree more.

***

Even with heavily armed war-‘bots all around, Bumblebee found himself grinning like an idiot behind his battle mask. After months of waiting and hoping, just taking one solar-cycle at a time, he’d finally found Glitch, alive and, at least for the moment, well. She might have a few new scars, a collection of new friends and some awesome new skills, but she was still very much the same ‘bot, and they made just as good a team as ever.

It was ridiculous how much he’d missed her. Her disappearance had been like having a component removed – not one he needed to survive, but one that allowed him to be fully functional. Music had become a minefield; the most random songs could, and did, remind him of her. He’d even lost interest in video games for a while. Her favourite sci-fi shows had been a no-go area; he hadn’t wanted to be ahead of her when she returned, for one thing. (He’d never given up hope that she would return, though there had been some close calls. Being able to talk to her, if only for a few cycles and despite the fact that she had clearly been in danger, had rekindled that hope just in time.) But that time was almost certainly about to be over, and he couldn’t be happier about it. And judging by the look in her optics when she first saw him, though she probably couldn’t find the right words even inside her processor, he was sure she felt the same.

“Need a medic over here!” Bumblebee was pulled out of his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice over the comm. “Arcee’s down.”

As he covered her, Glitch checked what looked like a life-sign map on her datapad. “I’m nearest. Coming, partner?”

“You bet!” Following her lead, he transformed and drove between the drones that still surrounded them towards the casualty. He could outpace her easily with his turbo-boosters, but they weren’t ideal in such a crowded place. And he didn’t know exactly where they were going, whereas she did. Hold on – Arcee? But she’s over – oh, right, another Arcee. This is going to get confusing…

A cycle or two later, they arrived at their destination, a temporarily clear patch in the middle of the battlefield. A tall black and yellow mech stood guard over a smaller femme, her plating a little darker than the blue liquid spilling from a wound to her thigh. (Energon, apparently. Bumblebee wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the idea of ‘bots bleeding even from not-critical injuries; Glitch had admitted that she’d freaked out at first, and that that had nearly got her killed.)

“I’ll take it from here,” Glitch told the mech. She removed her shield from her arm and held it out to Bumblebee. “Remember how to use this?”

“Of course.” He remembered everything to do with her.

“Good.” All business, as ever. She knelt beside the blue femme – Arcee – and got to work, beginning a running commentary on what she was doing, while Bumblebee headed over to join the black and yellow mech, braced to cover his partner and her patient.

“Hey,” the mech greeted him. “You’re the other Bumblebee, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” Other Bumblebee? That had to be his counterpart. Glitch had mentioned that there was another Bumblebee on the team that had adopted her.

“All good, I hope,” he shot back, deflecting an incoming laser. Had Glitch upgraded the shield? He wouldn’t put it past her.

His alternate tilted his head this way and that a little. “Mostly.” He hadn’t really expected anything else. Glitch could be brutally honest, and didn’t exactly have a lot of filters.

“And all true,” she put in. Bumblebee glanced back to check on her. Up until that moment, he’d thought “forgetting how to vent” was an expression or exaggeration. It definitely wasn’t. Frag, she was beautiful when she was working. Not just her face, and certainly not just her chassis. Even with her plating smeared with the weird blue Energon, she radiated calm, confidence, and above all compassion, in a way that made her seem the most alive person on the field. She was doing what she had been protoformed to do, and he knew she’d fought so hard to be able to do it. He was lucky to have her. (And she was lucky to have him, part of him thought.)

“I know it’s hard,” the other Bumblebee said, “but try to keep your eyes on the enemy and not on your sweetspark. You can look at her all you want when we survive this.”

“Right. Of course.” Bumblebee tore his optics from his partner and refocused his attention on the battle. That was what was important.

“Nice stingers, by the way,” his counterpart commented as Bumblebee shut down another robot. “Is that how you got your name?”

“…Kind of.” Not the original reason, exactly, but one he’d adopted after Glitch hacked a Science Guild database to look up the real meanings of her fellow cadets’ names. Bumblebees seemed like cool, friendly little guys. And they were valued despite their small size. He’d been a lot happier about his name after that, as Bulkhead had been happy to learn that a bulkhead was a key structural and defensive feature of a ship, not just an insult. (Wasp had been less happy to find out that he shared a name with a type of insect regarded as a necessary pest at best and a parasite at worst. Where was Waspinator now? Elita claimed he’d been fine when she left him, but that was a while back.)

As he and his alternate traded banter back and forth, and traded shots with the enemy, he caught himself wondering how the rest of the team were doing. They’ll be fine. They have to be.

***

Ratchet had long since decided that if he never saw another battlefield, it would be too soon. And yet, there he was, carving a path through a crowd of Decepti-drones with his magnets, doing his best to stay close to the young ‘bots in case they needed him. They weren’t making that easy. Bumblebee had run off in search of Glitch almost right away, and Prime could never resist a chance to get into trouble. At least there were other, more experienced Autobots around; he’d caught sight of Bulkhead swinging that confounded wrecking ball with his usual abandon beside a much larger green mech, presumably his counterpart, and an even taller blue and white ‘bot – Ultra Magnus? – flattening a drone before it could take a pot-shot at Arcee. But they were still all badly outnumbered.

Especially the other red and white mech with sparkbeat decals on his shoulders and arms whom Ratchet had just spotted. He was holding his own against a cluster of automata he could see, but had no attention to spare for the two about to sneak up on him. Ratchet did, and dispatched them with a pair of magnetic pulses. They’re just robots. Like those blasted police drones back in Detroit.

“Thank you,” the other medibot said, having finished off his final attacker (for the moment). “Ratchet.”

“Don’t mention it – Ratchet.” That could only be his alternate. But the field-tech wasn’t in the mood to try to forge any sort of connection or find common ground beyond the obvious. “What in the Pit were you doing so far from the others, with no-one to watch your backplate? Don’t you have a partner?” Ratchet himself never really had – not a long-term one, at least. On mop-up operations, like the one on the Hydrax Plateau, he tended to drive solo, as he did in peacetime. The ‘bots who volunteered or were assigned to him as partners for actual battles didn’t last – they always requested transfers or were reassigned, invalided out or, very rarely and despite his best efforts, killed. None of them had been quite right. (If his first meeting with Arcee had gone differently, maybe… Well, no point going down that road now.) But this older version of himself, a combat medic in an ongoing war, should have had somebot. Or stayed nearer the rest of his unit.

“Not at present,” other-Ratchet replied stiffly. Ah. There was a story there, the kind they were surely both familiar with. It could wait, but the battle couldn’t.

“In that case, I guess we’d better stick together for now. The young ‘bots are going to need both of us in good working order by the end of this, I suspect.”

“That would be acceptable.” Slag, where had the mech grown up? He was worse than Glitch. As the pair of medics rejoined the battle, that gave Ratchet an idea. “I hope my student hasn’t given you too much trouble.”

“Quite the reverse,” his counterpart assured him. “She’s helped to take care of my team, even when – I couldn’t.” Another story there. That one, too, could wait.

“Sounds about right.” Despite himself, Ratchet smiled at the thought of his young padawan. Not having her around had been – difficult. He hadn’t realised how much he’d come to rely on her presence, let alone her skills. He could still look after all his teammates on his own, and help Elita with the research the two femmes had been working on, but – it hadn’t been anywhere near the same.

She wasn’t quite the same any more, he had a feeling, and at least one of the changes was positive. He’d heard her answer the call for a medic, quickly, calmly and without hesitation, just as he’d been trying to teach her. Several months in that reality had accelerated the process, it seemed. He was sure he’d be proud of the ‘bot she had become; he just wished it hadn’t taken a slagging war for that to happen so fast.

“Fliers inbound, bearing three-two-seven and closing fast,” an unfamiliar voice said over the comm network. A mech, with a peculiar accent Ratchet thought humans might call “Texan”. “We could sure do with some air support.”

“Jetfire! Jetstorm! Intercept those fliers!” Sentinel barked. To his credit, the young flybots actually listened, breaking off their assault on the rear ranks of the enemy and flanking Omega Supreme once more as he flew towards the new threat, placing himself in even greater danger without hesitation. Ratchet had been the one to teach him to do that, but it still hurt to see it, especially after everything his old friend had been through recently. Swoop was quick to join them, as, unfortunately, was Prime.

Young idiot, Ratchet thought. Sure, he’s darn good with his mods on the ground, and not too bad in the air these solar-cycles, but what’re grappling hooks and an axe going to do against that many natural fliers when he’s got to manage the jetpack as well? Prime’s victory over Megatron had laid most of Ratchet’s misgivings about his jetpack to rest, but it still made him uncomfortable at times. (And integrating it with his alt-mode had been a major processor-ache.) Optimus was a good kid, but he tended to jump into situations bumper-first, far more often than was ideal for Ratchet’s oil pressure. There had to be some way the field-tech could help him.

As he racked his CPU for a solution, he caught sight of his alternate’s expression as he watched the young commander take to the skies. It was the look of someone finding an old picture of a lost friend – sorrow and remembered joy combined. Ratchet realised he hadn’t seen another red and blue mech among the other Autobots, even though Glitch had told Bumblebee there was another Optimus Prime in that universe. Ah.

“So that’s your Optimus,” the other Ratchet murmured. “I see why Glitch was so good at managing ours.” The past tense confirmed the field-tech’s suspicions, but he let the subject drop – for the present.

“The ancient art of officer-wrangling. Something every medibot should know.” And speaking of officers… As his counterpart agreed with him, Ratchet’s optic fell on that cyber-clown Sentinel, inexpertly waving the Magnus Hammer around. Now he had an idea.

***

As the ground fell away, Optimus took the opportunity to survey the battle below him from a new perspective. The difference between his team (plus Sentinel and the Dinobots) and the resident Autobots was glaringly obvious when viewed from above – not just in size and construction, or even in choice of weapons. (Autobots using blasters? Now that was a strange concept.) The other mecha, with the possible exception of the bright red one now paired with Elita, had so clearly been fighting together for, in some cases, centuries if not millennia. They knew one another’s and their own strengths and weaknesses, and acted accordingly; even ridiculously outnumbered, they held a loose formation that could have come from an Academy textbook. His own ‘bots were scattered around rather less neatly, though most had found their way to a more experienced partner. The Bulkheads were fighting side by side, as were the Ratchets, judging by the other mechs’ colour schemes. Jazz and Arcee had teamed up with a white mech Optimus didn’t immediately recognise. Sentinel, of course, was ploughing through the enemy by himself, as were Grimlock and Snarl, but Optimus was pleased to see that Bumblebee and Glitch were reunited once more and still an ideal partnership.

Bumblebee had, naturally, been hit hardest by his sweetspark’s disappearance, but it hadn’t been easy for any of them to get used to her sudden absence. Even with Bulkhead spending more and more time on Earth, the Plant had been far too quiet without her. No duets sung at top volume until somebot – usually Ratchet or Elita – ran out of patience, no heated Ninja Gladiator tournaments, no sci-fi marathons – and no fire alarms or small explosions in her lab. No long, rambling conversations deep into the night. Fewer sparring sessions in which the teachers learned almost as much as the student. Still, months later, he wasn’t used to it. And, with any luck, he wouldn’t have to be much longer.

Although if he didn’t stay sharp, he wouldn’t be used to anything any more. The flying drones were as stupid and sparkless as the ones on the ground, but they were just as much of a threat. Omega Supreme carved a great swathe through the flock of fliers, and the Jet twins and Swoop mopped up many of the others, but that still left plenty for Optimus to take on – trying his best to use his axe or his grapplers without losing his balance, and regretting another hasty decision.

“Prime!” Ratchet called over comms. “Catch!” Before Optimus could reply, the Magnus Hammer soared towards him, borne aloft by two familiar arcs of pink energy. He caught it instinctively, his servos and pistons remembering its weight and power even better than his processor did. Now there was a weapon he could use in that situation.

Wielding the ancient hammer, whether as a blunt instrument or to control the elements, grew a little easier every time. As always, as he sent drone after drone flying, he had the sense that it was co-operating with him, not just being operated like any other tool. And it seemed, bizarrely, to like him at last. Knowing Sentinel, I can’t say I’m surprised.

But even that wasn’t quite enough; like their land-based counterparts, the fliers just kept coming, forcing the Autobot air support back until they were over the ground battle.

“Glitch, can you thin the flock out a bit?” someone – someone with a very commanding presence – asked over comms. One of the classic blunders, Optimus thought, imagining the tiny field-tech solving the problem she had been posed, head tilted to one side, optics flickering as her processor worked at a rate of gigaflops. He asked a question rather than giving her an order.

“Yes,” came the answer.

“Then do it.” No irritation at being taken literally. The questioner had known how she would interpret his words.

“Wilco.” Optimus didn’t have time to wonder how the small grounder would manage that before he saw her, driving up one of the robots, jumping off its shoulder, transforming in midair and landing in root mode on a flier’s back. A swift slash with her laser scalpel sent it spiralling to Cybertron as she jumped to another flier, then another, disabling each one with her usual elegance and efficiency. (And never lingering long enough to realise how high up she was.)

Unfortunately, Jetfire and Jetstorm were also on typical form – displaying more power than sense. Optimus only just managed to call out a warning before Jetfire accidentally tried to flame her; she brought her magnetic shield up with maybe a nanoklik to spare. “Throttle back, you idiot!” he heard from behind a wall of fire. “I’m on your side!”

“Sorry,” Jetfire called back, already darting away. But the damage was done; her timing was badly off as she tried to continue. A few fliers later, she missed her footing by centimetres and ended up clinging to her next victim’s wing, struggling to climb up onto its back.

She won’t make it, Optimus realised. She was strong for her size, but tired from the ground battle. And a fall from that height could do some serious damage. A sweep of the Magnus Hammer and a well-placed tornado bought him enough space, and therefore time, that he could use his grappling hook to pull her to safety, but not without taking a servo off his main weapon. Could his jetpack take their combined weight, even if he could balance it properly?

“Autobot in danger.” Omega Supreme took the decision from him, coming back round – still in ship mode – and extending a manipulator arm ready to catch his mentor’s other student. She looked to her commander – asking for permission to abandon her task, he was pretty sure – then, when he nodded, managed to let herself fall into the Sentinel’s waiting servo. She was safe.

Or as safe as any of them were. The ground battle was going the Autobots’ way, but the fliers were a different matter. Optimus knew what he had to do. “Omega, Jetfire, Jetstorm, fall back; everyone else, take as much cover as you can. I’ve got an idea.” Omega Supreme did as he was ordered, setting Glitch down, transforming and landing on his peds, but the others didn’t take a blind bit of notice.

“Get out of there, numb-nodes!” For once, Optimus was glad of Sentinel’s more abrasive command style; it was what the flier twins needed. They darted off to a safe distance, leaving Optimus almost alone with the drones. “Swoop, you too. I don’t want to fry you by accident.” The pterano-‘bot cawed in assent and glided away to rejoin his fellow Dinobots.

Now or never. Optimus had used the Magnus Hammer to control the wind, to an extent, but he hadn’t unlocked its more impressive capabilities. Unless he did, though, the Autobots could well lose the battle, and quite possibly their lives. He had to go further than ever before.

Reaching out to the legendary weapon as he had when facing the Lugnuts Supreme, trusting it to help him, he raised it as high as he could, then brought it down handle-first as though to strike the ground, and called down the power of the storm.

Much to his surprise, it actually worked. Lightning stabbed down from the suddenly clouded sky, striking every one of the drones and sending them crashing to Cybertron below – and narrowly missing the Autobot. Once he could see again, he looked down to find that Omega Supreme had sheltered most of his team and their allies; he had some spectacular dents on his back, but they were probably superficial. Ratchet, Glitch and another mech had protected the others. The grounder drones hadn’t been so lucky; many had been crushed by their fellow robots, and the rest would be easy to destroy.

But their troubles weren’t quite over. Before Optimus could land, his radar picked up another flier, closing in too fast for comfort. “Anyone know what that might be?”

“Hold on.” He wouldn’t be surprised to find that Glitch had hacked his radar display, and honestly he didn’t mind. Not where she was concerned. “Oh, nuts and bolts. Starscream.”

Still alive in that reality, clearly, and probably even more dangerous. Optimus would be offline on his peds if he were on the ground, but he braced himself for combat all the same. Jetfire and Jetstorm were quick to join him; Omega tried, but Ratchet managed to persuade him to hang back for the moment. Optimus could picture the others priming weapons, ready to try to shoot the Decepticon down. If that’s even possible.

“Second contact,” the Texan-sounding ‘bot from earlier reported. “Also coming in fast.”

“Another problem?” Optimus was already too tired for this.

“Going by his trajectory,” Glitch told him, “only for Screamer.” She was right; the two fliers were on a collision course. Optimus could just see them approaching each other, the jet that was apparently Starscream trying and failing to avoid the other, less identifiable craft, who transformed into a huge, heavily armoured mech moments before impact, the better to steer his opponent away. And he heard, very clearly, the mech’s roar of, “What part of “the Decepticons are no more” do you not understand?”

“Who on Cybertron was that?” Sentinel demanded.

“Megatron,” Glitch said casually. “Very long story very short, he’s retired.”

That was a story Optimus definitely wanted to hear. Later. The skies were clear at last, and the ground battle was over; he landed as neatly as he could and passed the Magnus Hammer back to Sentinel, who glared briefly at him, then at Ratchet – until he saw the other, taller Ratchet, still cleaning blue Energon from his built-in scalpel blades, standing beside his counterpart, and very sensibly looked around for an easier target. Unfortunately, he found one. Elita.

“What are you doing here, mutant freak?” He glared down at his former sweetspark, who gave as good as she got.

“Trying to save a few Autobot circuits. As you could see if that chin weren’t in the way, I’m not with the Decepticons any longer. I haven’t been for orbital cycles.” Elita had had the Deceptibrand removed by Ratchet and Glitch soon after returning to Detroit, but wasn’t ready to take the Autobrand again – yet.

“I’ll vouch for her.” Glitch had put herself between the belligerent Prime and the irritated techno-organic, fixing the former with her sixty-megawatt glare. “Per regulations, on finding Elita severely injured, I treated her wounds as best I could and brought her back to Detroit for further care. And as her attending medibot, I decided that informing Cybertron of her return would be detrimental to her wellbeing. To the best of my knowledge, she has no further loyalty to the Decepticons, but she has been a major asset to Team Detroit.” Her words were exactly what Optimus would have expected from her, but the confidence in them was new. When he had last seen her, she would have been terrified of speaking out of turn so boldly to her acting Magnus’ face, and hidden that fear too well. But she wasn’t hiding anything. Optimus even saw her hand moving in one of her default “stims” (her thumb running back and forth across the tips of her other digits), not an anxious one. She had probably seen worse since leaving Detroit than one angry superior officer.

“I second that,” he put in, moving to her side. “Elita was a Decepticon, but she was an Autobot before that, one of us. She only changed sides because she wouldn’t be safe on Cybertron.” And because she felt abandoned by the Autobots, but Sentinel knew that all too well. “She’s a valued member of my team, and if you want to change that, you’ll have to go through all of us.”

Sentinel was purple with outrage. “I’ll bust you both back to protoform for this! I am still your Magnus, and…”

“Not here.” One of the biggest Autobots Optimus had ever seen had come up behind Elita. A blue and white mech over two mechanometres taller than Bulkhead, holding an Energon-coated golden war hammer Sentinel would probably struggle to lift. “That title has no meaning in this universe. You cannot take action against anyone here, and if you are wise, Sentinel, you will take none when you return. I have fought alongside Field-tech Glitch many times, and there is surely no more loyal Autobot in any reality. From what I have heard and seen, the same can be said of young Optimus, and while Elita’s path through life may have been… unconventional, it was an article of faith with my former commander that every sentient being possesses the capacity for change. I believe she has changed for the better, and will continue to do so. Besides, Glitch’s actions, as she has said, were in strict accordance with both the spirit and the letter of your own Autobot Code. You cannot discipline her or Optimus merely because you disagree with their decision.”

As Sentinel spluttered and tried to think of a reply, Elita turned to the newcomer. “Thanks, big guy. What’s your name?”

“I am Ultra Magnus.” Optimus should have guessed that. He should also have straightened up and saluted, but he was just too tired. “Commander of the Wreckers.” The huge mech paused. “And second-in-command to Optimus Prime.”

He must have known. He must have known the effect that revelation would have on his audience. There was no way Glitch wouldn’t have told him that in their universe, “Prime” was a lesser rank than “Magnus”. And yet he just dropped that bombshell, then strode away to check on his troops (including a white mech with green and red accents who had been watching the whole exchange), leaving Elita wide-opticed with amazement and Sentinel as slack-jawed as his chin allowed. Optimus didn’t compile it either, but he’d have time to figure everything out later. He had a question he wanted to ask Glitch. “So there is another Optimus Prime here?” Bumblebee had said that there was, but Optimus hadn’t seen him yet.

“There – was.” The young femme’s gaze dropped to the ground as her face fell.

Oh.

Remembering their first meeting, Optimus knelt down so that she could look him in the optic if she wanted and reached out to touch two digits to her chestplate, over her spark chamber, then to his. I share your grief, the gesture was meant to say.

“Thank you.” Glitch managed a smile as she met his optics for a few nanokliks.

“What happened? If you’re ready to talk about it,” he added hurriedly. She was, it seemed.

“Long story short, to protect the Allspark he had to merge it with his own spark.” Like Prowl. “He survived long enough to say goodbye, but – he had to return the Allspark to the Well, and go with it.”

His counterpart had sacrificed himself for Cybertron’s future. Optimus had some catching up to do. If Ratchet and Glitch let him, which was unlikely.

“She’s grown up a bit,” Elita commented as Glitch excused herself and headed off to do her job. She was right. Optimus had seen new scars on the younger femme’s arm, a new hardness in her optics as she confronted Sentinel, a new sharpness to her movements in battle. For a few moments, he feared that her time in a still-war-torn universe had damaged her beyond repair. But then he noticed the way her face both softened and lit up as she caught sight of Bumblebee, chatting away to a black and yellow mech and a blue femme, and relaxed. At spark, she was still the same ‘bot who would cover and stand up for her fellow cadets, and take on other trainees’ shifts in med school – and call in some of those favours to attend a stranger’s funeral. Who managed to talk Professor Princess out of doing any further damage, and stayed up all night after falling into a research wormhole. Who kept the flowers Bumblebee gave her alive as long as she could, and bought him pot plants known to attract bees. Who fed the birds nesting in Prowl’s tree, and removed spiders from the Plant without harming them. One of the gentlest ‘bots Optimus had ever met, as well as one of the bravest. She’ll be fine. Especially with Bumblebee by her side.

***

Here came one of Glitch’s least favourite parts of her job, almost as bad as datawork. The part where she was running on fumes and at least halfway to a shutdown or meltdown but still had to keep going, checking for injuries (and double-checking certain ‘bots, not naming any sports cars in particular) and tending to those she found. And, on that day, greeting her original teammates and honorary teammates, and making any introductions that were necessary. That part made everything else worthwhile.

Bulk, of course, swept her into an armour-denting hug the moment he set optics on her, and she did her best to return it. Arcee, surprisingly, did the same (less exuberantly), though they didn’t really know each other. (They did, however, have a certain red and white mech in common.) Her mentor and sensei were never very physically affectionate, but they were just as happy to see her as she was to see them; Ratchet commented on her upgraded mods, and Jazz on the Tokyo accent she’d picked up practising her Japanese with Miko. The most unexpected greeting came from Grimlock, the leader of the Dinobots, who usually didn’t even work with the Autobots. (Had Sentinel known they were coming beforehand, or had they stowed away?)

“Cycle-Lady strong now,” he said, resting his head on her shoulder. “Like Dinobot.”

“Thank you,” she replied, resisting the impulse to stroke him with difficulty. Dinobots not pets. “But Dinobots still rule.”

“Dinobots rule,” Grimlock agreed before lumbering away to assert his dominance over Fire Jet-‘Bot and leaving her to get on with her work.

At long last, everybot had been checked over and patched up and she was free to seek out her partner. Despite being deep in conversation with Bumblebee and ‘Cee still, and despite her soundless way of moving, he turned towards her while she was a couple of mechanometres away; her spark skipped a beat when he smiled at her, and accelerated to a hum as he pulled her into a tight hug.

“We won,” was all she could say.

“We won,” he echoed, then met her halfway as she leaned in to kiss him.

Stars, that was worth the long months without him. For a servoful of nanokliks that might have been an eternity, they were flying through the heavens, faster than light, stars and planets passing by in so many blurs. She didn’t want that moment ever to end, but as all things must, it did.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said, resting his forehead against hers, his arms still around her and vice versa.

“I can’t promise that.” She caught ‘Cee’s optic for a nanoklik, and remembered another promise, one her friend had extorted a few months previously. If you still care for each other when you see him again – life’s too short not to say how you feel. “But what I can promise you, I will. If you’ll accept it.”

Bee took a moment to figure out what she meant – then his face was lit by a smile that melted her circuits. “Of course I will.” The smile became a trifle mischievous. “Maybe it’s a good thing we can’t have human food. You’d probably have proposed with a mug of cocoa.”

Deliriously happy (and exhausted) as she was, it took her a moment to work out the reference. Doctor Who. “The Aztecs”. The Doctor accidentally becoming engaged to Cameca, much to Ian’s amusement. Bee did pay attention even to the slower episodes, after all. “Probably.”

He kissed her again, just as passionately as before (passion she did her best to return), breaking away only when they both realised they had an audience. The rest of Team Detroit and Team Prime had clustered around to congratulate them on their engagement, and Glitch had never wanted to disappear so badly in all her life. Even Bee seemed to have had enough after a while.

They were saved by the bell, or rather by Optimus’ timer alarm. “I told Sari to reopen the space-bridge in five cycles’ time, so that we could get home. Are you – ready to come back?” Boss-‘Bot must have seen that Team Prime had become as much her family as Team Detroit was, and their universe another home. It wasn’t a trivial calculation.

“Yes,” she concluded. “Especially now.” She cast a glance at Bee, which nearly derailed her train of thought. “But – could Sari come here for a bit? I want to show you around first. Not just here,” she added quickly. Cybertron had been made habitable by the Omega Lock, but it was still a wreck. “Our Earth base, as well.”

Optimus had to check with Sentinel, who was still his commanding officer, but a stern look from Magnus silenced any potential opposition from that quarter. “I don’t see why not.”

Glitch savoured every moment as the party headed back into Iacon, but she already knew she wouldn’t be leaving that universe forever. She had friends, family, homes in both realities, and wasn’t ready to give any of them up. Besides, she could see other interdimensional friendships forming around her. Bulk and Bulkhead had hit it off splendidly, Arcee and Wheeljack were talking nineteen to the dozen (what did that phrase mean?), with occasional input from Jazz, and even the Ratchets seemed to be getting along. In their respective ways. It was definitely a day for “hello” as well as “goodbye”.

---

By the way, this isn't the end of this AU, but while I work on the next one a scrap(let) of feedback never goes amiss.

#transformers prime #transformers animated #fanfic #autobot oc #tfp knockout #tfp wheeljack #tfa bumblebee #tfa elita one #tfp bumblebee #tfa ratchet #tfp ratchet #tfa optimus prime #tfa sentinel prime #tfp ultra magnus #misplaced medic au

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