#Rust prevention plan

[fyuyushia]

Capture Target: You!

Jinwoo has now obtained weekly tasks. Today follows Jinwoo completing one of said tasks. Namely: Making a cinematic film about his shadows(specifically bears) to send to you.

Link to Masterlist

It started out simple.

After you initiated the first conversation, it just somehow went on and on. Despite already sharing everything(well, not everything-but it was a lot.) and more, somehow someway you still had so much more to talk about.

He didn't complain.

On the contrary, one could even say he enjoyed it. Past feelings aside, you were always a delightful company. You knew just the words to make anyone laugh, and you were easy to talk to.

So when Jinwoo found himself indulging in conversations unwarranted(shocker. The system didn't convince him.) through text messages and occasional memes sent by you, he didn't even bother to stop. You can't blame him.

(Even so, he tries to reason himself.)

Putting aside the fact that you were his first love. Putting aside the fact that you're a capture target. Putting aside the fact that he feels the urge to talk to you more even outside of the system's wing.

You were a good friend. The ideal one, even. (What ideal was he basing on? He doesn't know, but he assumes it's someone like you who gets him chuckling unceremoniously)

You couldn't(and so no one should) blame him for having fun talking to you. You understood him-somewhat-even if he's changed into the convoluted man he is today with a chamber of secrets too much for one man to hold.

You gave him a sense of normalcy. Like he was back to the times where he didn't have to worry much about anything but if here wrote the right answer in his assignment. You were normal.

He wasn't-but he wanted to be.

You were normal. You gave him the feeling he was normal. You were far from the hunter business, you were a chance to be just a normal guy with a slightly weird wingman.(if he could even call the system that) He appreciates that, and so he lingers.

He doesn't admit that too easily, though. And his reasons for approach are also not as simple as just that-but it made him all the more motivated to pursue this quest-this relationship.

Perhaps a bit too much. Without even realizing it, he's incorporated you in his day to day life. He's chatting you regularly-awfully often for a man who's supposed to be busy clearing dungeons left and right.

He checks your messages more often than he should. Often it's you who starts it, and often it's him waiting for you to start it. Reading through past threads for no particular reason other than interest.

You appeared and delivered. He appreciates that.

Jinwoo hums mindlessly, watching with the nonchalance everyone recognized to be his. He didn't even have to do much, his shadow soldiers were doing all the work for him. From slaying monsters to gathering them, mining ores to dissecting and collecting the parts that could still be used and sold.

Jinwoo had absolutely nothing to do. In other words, he was bored.

Now, normally, he would've relieved himself of this boredom by fighting as well. It was a logical option, and it helped prevent him from letting his skills rust and disappear. But today-surprisingly-he had other plans. Plans that didn't involve helping out in this entire charade.

No, instead, he whips out his phone. Opens it, and then scrolls through his contacts, he stops when he finds your name and presses it. Backreading on a few conversations he particularly enjoyed-enough to bother reading it again.

He's easy. Too easy. He doesn't even realize his own antics have made the people around him suspicious. He doesn't even notice he may have gotten too friendly with you that it makes him look like he's grown two heads.

He looks around, searching for inspiration regarding what he should do in the meantime. It would take quite a while before his shadow soldiers would finish up scourging this dungeon for all it's worth, might as well find something to do to clear time.

There's Beru grilling the soldiers for being too slow and demanding they go faster, there's Iron eagerly smashing the crystals with glee, there's Igris busying himself with taking out the cores of the now dead beasts, delicately scanning their insides, as if he was doing something domestic like sewing.

It was unsettling.

He looks away from the scene, searching for something more friendly. Eventually, his gaze lands on Tank.

The bear, busily taking care of his fellow kin eventually noticed the weight of his master's eyes on him. He turns around, finds Jinwoo staring, and gives him a small wave with his paw.

Jinwoo flinches slightly, not quite expecting that but gives the bear a small nod. Tank lets out a happy huff and reverts his attention to his fellow shadows.

Jinwoo follows Tank's gaze, mildly curious and finds two of the bears under his rule play fighting.

He watches with the faintest hint of amusement glinting within. A smile, and then a flash of recognition-akin to the way one would light up after remembering or getting a bright idea.

Right, come to think of it, he did have that quest-didn't he?

This seemed like a good material for that. You did mention you liked bears once. Well, specifically pandas-but they're a bear in general. They looked adorable he daresays. Enough to curry your favor. And you also mentioned being curious about his shadows-something you saw on tv once-and another time during the reunion party when he ran away all of a sudden.

A shadow soldier took his place then, and it just so happened to be a bear. Right, come to think of it you did mention they were cute back then-you might just really enjoy this picture.

He scrolls up for who knows how long, double checking to make sure if you really said it, and, sure enough, you did.

You:

By the way did you know when you suddenly left using whatever magic you had during the reunion party a bear took your place?

They were really cute.

They looked so confused

They were also colored darkly and had a weird texture

But they were cute

Hehe it left but not before letting me pet them

It was weird

I think it was a fever dream

Jinwoo:

Bear?

Did they glow blue?

You:

Well they were mostly dark but yes they did have this blue outline to them

It was weird

I thought it would kill me at first

But they're actually really nice

They seemed just as scared when they suddenly showed up

Do you think monsters can be nice too?

Jinwoo:

Oh

That might be my shadow

You:

You're a bear?

Jinwoo:

Huh

You:

Huh

Jinwoo:

I meant they're one of my summons

You:

Summon?

Jinwoo:

My ability.

As a hunter

You:

Oh. What?

But they seemed so

Idk

Aware!

Like they had their own sentience

Jinwoo:

They are sentient

You:

Oh

Oh what

Now I'm confused

Is this like

Pokemon

Digimon???

Jinwoo:

That's close enough

You like them?

You:

Oh

Woah wait

Hold on

That's rad

Are they aggressive...

Jinwoo:

They're tame unless provoked otherwise

You:

Oh

So

Can I

Hypothetically speaking

Pet them?

Jinwoo:

Sure-maybe.

You:

Hurraaah

Please let me I want toooo

He nods in approval. Sure enough, you did mention liking the bears of his shadow army. He looks at the pair of bears, this time they seemed to be sumo wrestling-except they kept violating rules one after another so it won't even be allowed to qualify as one either.

They were just duking it out.

But they're bears. They're cute. It's fine.

He looks at the shadows. Violent-but not enough to constantly bring tremor to the cave-like dungeon. Only sometimes. Pointing his phone at them, he takes a quick video-as per your request, as per his quest. He faintly remembers you asking him if he could send you a video of them being in their natural state. He delivers, of course he delivers-you're a friend.

And...

He looks in front of him. Specifically: the system window in front of him.

[Lvl 2. Friends (40% to reach the next stage)

♡ = 26%

Feeling: (Locked.)]

[You've reached 25%!

Romance Quest Interface Unlocked!]

[Quest: First love to maybe something more

Progress Path: Capture Target - (Name)

Current Stage: Level 2 - Friends (40% to reach the next stage)

♡ Affection Level: 26%

Feeling: [Locked]

Weekly Task:

1. Send {Capture Target} a photo/video of your shadow soldiers in "natural habitat"

Tip:  Make it cute! {Capture Target} enjoys cute bear related videos!

Status: Incomplete

Reward: +2 AP | +1000 XP | +1000 gold

2. Reply to {Capture Target}'s last message within 10 minutes

Tip: Showing they matter is always great!

Status: Incomplete

Reward: +0.5 AP | +100 XP

3. Pet shadow bear in front of {Capture Target}

Optional: Let {Capture Target} pet shadow bear

Tip: Showing them your delicate side will always result in a win!

Status: Locked | requires in-person interaction

Reward: +3 Affection Points | Unlock hidden dialogue branch.]

He wanted to move up his affinity too.

This system window was fairly new, only obtaining it once he reached 26%AP. He didn't even realize he was raising affection back then, all he knew was that you were an enjoyable person so he texted you frequently to the point he made it a habit. One could only imagine his surprise when the hologram suddenly showed up wearing a different skin and theme.

It was more cutesy than the usual one. Its sharp edges softened into curved ones, colored the color of love and decorated with all things lovely (flowers)

Jinwoo didn't understand why he had a customized window dedicated for romancing, but he decided to just roll with it—after all, did he have a choice?(He does—he can choose to back out of this quest. There's an option specifically for that. But he pretends it doesn't exist.)

Jinwoo had only obtained this new system fairly recently. He did get the chance to explore it yet, but its purpose seemed to work similarly with his normal system so he didn't have much trouble when it comes to understanding the its function. The only question he had was: why. But it's not like it could be answered by anyone so he's left to stir in his own curiosity.

Resigning to his fate, he looks at the weekly tasks and sees that the hint he gathered became officially embedded and out in the tip section of his task. With the system practically begging him to do this one act—he finally gave in to his whims.

He whips out his phone and opens his camera. Might as well get the job done quick while he had the chance, lest he risk getting the penalty for failing to do the weekly task.

Setting the camera, he points it towards Tank—who gave him what seemed like a thumbs up before moving it to the other shadows still trying to make the other topple in order to proclaim victory.

As Jinwoo films the video with the precision of a man who has spent more time fighting monsters than actually mastering modern technology. He zooms in on the bears, attempting to capture their chaotic wrestling.

His hands are steady, he's used to keeping his hand still and calm under worse situations, but the camera work, as he feared, leaves much to be desired.

The video shakes ever so slightly, and then suddenly a bear's paw unexpectedly smacks the screen as one of them rolls too close. He dodges with a sidestep, and the angle shifts in a way that only manages to show a blurry, overly dramatic shot of a bear's massive form in the background. Jinwoo blinks, trying to stabilize the phone.

Jinwoo finally ends the clip with a decisive press. He looks at the playback, and what he sees is nothing short of disappointing-it's messy and clearly not expertly choreographed. He deletes it immediately, there's no way he'd let you or anyone else see it for that matter.

He brings a hand up, carding his fingers through his hair. Breathing out a sigh, Jinwoo feels the smallest tinge of shame because of his own actions.

What is he even doing?

He pauses. Why is he putting so much effort into this again? It’s not like he needs to. But then again, you liked bears. And bears were easy. And you were a good friend—so he should return the favor you gave him(being a good company) and pay you back.

[Tip: Half hearted attempts to win {Capture Target}'s heart will result in AP being halved. Worse: reduced!]

Well now he's obligated to put some thought into it.

What the hell is with this plot convenient system forcing him to take action? (He clings to a chance to justify his own actions.)

He forms a glare(it's half hearted at best) as he stares at the pop up window with the kind that could make grown men quake in their boots.

With a half formed scowl and his phone in hand, he resumes his prior antics in the name of currying your favor.

Meanwhile, in the background, Jinho, having just finished strolling around the dungeon, finds Jinwoo doing(what he perceives)the unthinkable: take a video.

Jinho's mouth falls agape, question marks immediately occupying his thoughts as he watches his nonchalant, cool, unbothered, effortlessly intimidating with an air of mystery that makes him irresistible to the rest(especially for those looking for someone to fix) take a video.

Tank is growling, pointing to his bears and choreographing the shadow's movements like a director of a movie film.

With one big gulp of the nerves that bundled up in his throat, he forces it down and finally asks about the elephant in the room.

"Hyung?"

Jinwoo hums. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

Jinho narrows his eyes, suspicious and mildly concerned. He didn't recognize Jinwoo to be an avid photo taker(he's not-he has less than 30 images on his camera roll)so seeing him suddenly seem interested in capturing candid moments seemed odd.

"Taking a video." A video because a simple picture wouldn't be enough-they were doing something much more complicated to attempt for him to even capture in just a single photo.

"Why?"

"For a friend."

"Who?"

He looks at Jinho, contemplates what answer to give, and promptly settles with:

"You wouldn't know even if I told you." He says, as if keeping you a secret.

Now to Jinho-this immediately raised flags. Not because he hid your identity-he already knew his Hyung was a private man who kept his life to himself-but because he was filming a video(even if said video was amateur at best) to send to someone.

Of course, for someone with an overactive imagination like Jinho, this sudden act had him thinking. Really thinking. This whole situation is reeking with love—and love was a rare find on Jinwoo. At least, he thinks it is.

Wait, not really. He recalls the previous times he's caught his Hyung with girls. There was that one E-rank hunter girl—okay, no, maybe him having someone isn't so rare, but still, this is still something.

Jinho's jaws are wide agape, paired with his equally wide eyes, and then followed along surprised and very loudly gasping as his thoughts ran with a hundred dozen ideas which all boiled down to one thought:

Does Jinwoo have a lover?!

"Hyung, You've filming bears. For thirty minutes. Like this is some National Geographic special—! And for what? For who?”

"I told you, for a friend."

Jinho scoffs. "What kind of friend asks for a video of shadow bears going at each other's throats?!"

"The kind that likes bears."

Jinho runs a hand through his hair, distressed and in disbelief. "Hyung, be honest! Is this really just a friend?" He pauses. "Or are they the" wink wink "kind of friend?" Wink wink

Jinwoo grimaces, almost disgusted by the wink. "What do you mean? They're just a friend. A normal one."

Then Jinwoo pauses. Jinho holds his breath.

"But you're right. They're a normal person, I doubt they'd appreciate this much violence—even in bears."

He stops his video taking. One glance from Jinwoo to Tank was enough for Tank to get the memo. As the bear stands up and waddles over to the other bears, they communicate what his master's needs and immediately nods and gets to work.

"That's not the problem!" Jinho exclaims, but he gets ignored.

Jinho, meanwhile, swallows thickly. Shifting his gaze to Jinwoo, his expression is one of terror as he watches him video again. Only this time, he was walking around, acting like a professional videographer and passively encouraging the bears to keep going with that blank expression—with that certain face he makes sometimes whenever he does something incredibly mundane or normal. That blank faced enthusiasm that makes anyone automatically think he's innocent.

Jinho watches with a mix of horror and amusement—he doesn't even realize he's been staring for a while until Jinwoo finally presses stop and turn his attention to where he stood.

"What's wrong? Why're you spacing out?" He asks, as if he hasn't just spent almost half an hour recording the bears in their "natural habitat"(they were not. Their natural habitat included duking things out and fighting—not rolling around and playing cute as if they weren't twice a human's width and height, as if their claws and teeth weren't just at a monster's throat and making them bleed. Their natural habitat does NOT include them purring like overgrown cats—but it does include roaring loudly to the point of deafening to scare off enemies.)

"No. Nothing." Came Jinho's reply, eyes dead as he processes everything.

Jinwoo gives him one final look before shrugging and brushing him off. Placing his attention on his phone. He scans through his contacts, searching for your name (It doesn't take him long, he only ever saved a few people on his phone.) 

Tapping your account, his fingers nimbly send the 30 minute video consisting only of the bears containing their instinctive urges and being tame, and Beru attempting to sneak in only to be urged out of the video because he looked far too intimidating.

Jinwoo:

Sending 1 attached file...

Faile to send.

He frowns. Why can't he send it? He tries again, and then the second attempt becomes three, and three becomes four and all of them results in a failed sent.

He stares at his like it's the problem. Very accusingly—and he doesn't even realize it. His brows twitch, and his lips curl into a frown.

He tries again. Presses send with the aggression of a man annoyed and waits.

It fails.

"Hyung."

Jinwoo turns. "What?"

"There's no signal inside gates."

"Oh."

His message fails to send again, and this time, he sees the reason why. Right, he forgot about that. It's been too long since he brought a phone inside a dungeon the fact that there would be no service slipped out of his mind.

"Should I go outside, then?"

"Huh?"

"What?"

Jinwoo looks at Jinho, puzzled. Jinho looks at Jinwoo as if he just told him that he's leaving him alone to fend for himself in a ditch full of monsters. To be fair, it was very much similar to that.

"Are you going to leave me alone here?"

Jinwoo blinks. "My soldiers will be inside. You'll be safe."

Jinho looks at his shadows. Sure enough, there was an abundance of them at work excavating the dungeon.

"I mean, sure, but, do you have to go? Can't you just wait until we're finished here?!"

He blinks again. Jinho was right, he could simply wait until they were finished with this dungeon before finally sending the video.

But also, it's been more than 10 hours since he last talked to you—that's five hours past the usual time. What if your AP lowers because he's taking too long before talking to you again?

[Tip: AP will only go down after 72 hours of no contact!]

He ignores the pop up.

"I won't be long, I just have to send this before I forget."

"Is the video really that important, hyung?!"

He doesn't answer, only walk through the exit and bid him goodbye after telling Beru to take care of Jinho.

He waits for signal outside. Waiting for his video to finally send, he takes a moment to think of what to text alongside the video.

Jinwoo:

1 attachment uploaded

Thought you'd like this. They're not exactly bears, but they try.

He taps on the side of his phone, waiting for a reply. It doesn't take him long, fortunately, as only a minute after he sent the video, you're already putting him on read and typing a reply.

You:

Oh?

You really sent me a whole documentary of the bears 😭😭

Hold on hold on let me watch.

[Task: Send {Capture Target} a photo/video of your shadow soldiers in "natural habitat"

Status: Complete

♡ = 28.5% ( + 2 ) ( + 0.5) ]

Reward: +2 AP | +1000 XP | +1000 gold]

[Task: Reply to {Capture Target}'s last message within 10 minutes]

Status: Complete

Reward: +.5 AP | +100 XP]

You:

AWWW

ONE OF THEM ROLLED OVER THE OTHER LIKE TUMBLWEEDDD

SO CUTEEE

ALSO THE BIG BEAR WITH THE SCARRR

HE WAVED?! HE WAVED !!

THATS SO CUTE EEEK

I WANT TO PET THEM

THE BIG BEAR LOOKS LIKE HES DELIRECTING THEM LIKE A MOVIE DIRECTOR LMAOO

He lets out a laugh-quiet, short-but nonetheless real. It's not one of those socially mandated smiles. This one slips out before he even notices, tugging the corner of his lips upward as he stares at your messages.

His fingers type out a reply before he can think.

Jinwoo:

He is their manager. I think he just promoted himself to coach, though.

Next time, I’ll let you pet them in person. Deal?

He freezes for a moment, turning rigid. Hold on, was that too forward?

You:

Wait

You'd let me?

Really?!!?

Yes

Yes.

YES

Let me know when you can!

Don't back out now hehe

Jinwoo stares at your stream of texts, all a varying response essentially meaning yes. His sighs fondly, a small smile etched on his lips.

[Achievement unlocked!]

[Rizz'o'meter off the charts: "smoothly" ask {Capture Target} out on another date.]

Jinwoo nearly chokes in his own spit.

Date?!

He covers his lips with his palm, resting his head against it as he reads through the pop up.

"It's not a date." He grumbles, but there's no hiding the dash of red coating his cheek subtly.

Taglist: @blackcat-star @daiyanomochi @soft-dots @snowy-violet @kokominari @ssolarsystm @2dmenfr @baby-bread-in @awwwia @coffeeisbehindyou @rai-xxx @sanchann @ilovestarwholock218 @simpingpandas @smellysluna @tanspostsblog @sauerhundz @justanotherweeb666

[eniyilisanspazarim]

LADOOR - PLATİN (2)

The door surface is a critical element in the design and functionality of any door. It can significantly impact not only the aesthetic appeal but also the overall durability and maintenance of the door itself. Understanding the various types of door surfaces available can help you make an informed decision when choosing the right door for your needs.

One popular type of door surface is made from wood. Wooden doors often provide a classic, timeless look, and can be stained or painted to suit your decor. However, they require regular maintenance to prevent warping and decay, especially in moist environments.

Another common door surface option is fiberglass. These doors are known for their resilience and ability to imitate the look of wood without the drawbacks. Fiberglass doors resist cracking, splitting, and rotting, making them an excellent choice for homeowners looking for low maintenance.

Metal doors, often made from steel or aluminum, are another option to consider. They offer superior security and durability, making them an ideal choice for commercial applications. Additionally, metal door surfaces can be finished with various coatings to enhance their appearance and protection against rust.

It's also crucial to consider the texture and finish of the door surface. Smooth finishes are easier to clean but may show fingerprints and scuffs more easily, while textured surfaces can hide imperfections but might require more effort for cleaning.

In summary, the selection of a door surface is an essential aspect of door planning. Whether you opt for wood, fiberglass, metal, or a combination of materials, being aware of the features, maintenance needs, and aesthetic potential of each option can lead to a more satisfying purchase. Invest time in selecting the right door surface to ensure that it complements your design vision while providing the functionality you require.

Ladoor

The term Ladoor refers to a specific type of door that is not only functional but also enhances the aesthetic appeal of any space. These doors are designed with a combination of durability and style, making them a popular choice for both residential and commercial buildings.

Ladoor options are available in various materials, including wood, metal, and composite materials. Each material offers its own unique appearance and benefits. For example, wooden Ladoor can provide a warm, natural look and can be customized with different finishes. Metal Ladoor, on the other hand, offers strength and security, making them ideal for entry points that require additional protection.

Additionally, Ladoor can feature various styles, such as single doors, double doors, or sliding doors, enabling homeowners and architects to choose the design that best fits their space. Some Ladoor styles include traditional panel doors, modern flat doors, and elegant French doors, each offering its unique charm.

When choosing a Ladoor, it is essential to consider factors such as insulation, maintenance, and design coherence with the rest of the home. Proper installation is also crucial to ensure the door operates smoothly and efficiently, contributing to energy savings and overall longevity.

Incorporating a Ladoor into your space can significantly impact the functionality and design. Whether you are looking to upgrade your home or design a new one, exploring Ladoor options can lead to fulfilling architectural decisions that marry utility and aesthetics.

[wroteclassicaly]

For The Record

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: You have a surprise for your best-friend Steve.

Word count: 1,647

Warnings: Language, NSFW, creampie, vaginal sex, slight choking, slight breeding kink if you squint, and fluff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

A/N: Just a filthy little thing that I’ve been nurturing for a few days. No point to it, just showing Stevie some love! Haven’t written anything this lengthy in a while, but I hope y’all enjoy? ;P 💕❤️🥰♥️

Steve. Steve-fucking-Harrington. The heart of your group with a head of hair (that you’d washed, brushed, picked monster guts out of, and pulled, one too many times), a comforting smile that reminded you of Summer’s fading sunsets that give way to fall colors. All copper, rust, orange, mossy caramels swirling together, deep browns that look like cinnamon (smells like the gum he chews, or the breath spray he carries in his back pocket), sometimes even red in how his cheeks tinge on cold days, the way he makes your body warm. To his protective - fighter mode, like a crafted out of the finest marble guardian-angelic-god.

You’d worship at his temple. All day. Every single day.

His mouth has been in as many places as his hands. He knows every scar, just as much as he’s aware of spots, in which kissing you will cause goosebumps to electrify, sparking themselves known across your skin, or where his fingers will cause that high pitched whine to come from between your lips. You can’t really fathom that it’s been happening, especially for how long. There’s been no talk of labels, what anything means, it’s just been two friends crossing a line and fucking one another on it. You don’t know what you would’ve done, had it not been for Steve-the-hair-Harrington, King Steve, your extra heartbeat, your best-friend, your everything.

And that’s what led you to your current predicament, your planned leap of faith. Wrapped in a maroon colored mini gift bag, you had placed the packet. Steve arrived not long after, movies and pizza balanced in his massive hands, keys dangling from the middle finger of his left hand, a cheesy grin pressing into that beautiful mouth. “Hey, honey,” he had said. “Really missed you today, you know that?”

You’d taken in his appearance of dark Levi’s and a black belt, his signature Nike’s, and a low dipped white v-neck that he’d thrown a plain blue button over, leaving it open, his gold chain visible, nestled in that patch of chest hair. Salivating more at him than the food, it took you a second to help him inside.

You ate in avid chatter, watched one of the lamest, but most comforting horror films Steve could find on the shelves (that no one rented but he knew you’d appreciate), whilst being tucked beneath his bicep, warmed at his side. That’s when you’d retrieved the gift off your coffee table, his palm rubbing circles across your spine, kneading tension until you returned to your position. You handed him the bag and his bushy brows had pinched together, an adorable confusion clear. “For me? What did I do?”

“Just open it, Harrington. Before my nerves make me take it back.”

He cradled the parcel protectively, a pout forming as his watch strapped wrist dips inside. “No way, no how. Nope, not now.”

“Steve…” you laughed lightly, suddenly swallowing as he pulled the packet out, trying to make sense of the name.

“Contraceptive? I don’t… Isn’t this birth control?” He shook the packet before planting it in his massive palm.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, choking you like a vice, preventing you from answering in a full sentence.

“Yeah.”

“So, it’s yours? Why did you wrap it up and give it to me?”

“There’s a few missing already, Steve. I just wanted to get used to them before… Before I told you.”

“Told me, what?” He still looked puzzled, seeking out where you’d opened the package and taken a few tablets.

“That I just wanna use these from now on. Nothing else. If you, if that’s okay with you...?” You had felt the sharp claws of the butterflies, threatening to demolish your remaining courage. But this was Steve, you needed to remember that.

It took him a few moments, but then his pupils expanded within the enriching mossy flecks of his irises, at a rapid pace. His tongue licked at the five o’clock shadow above his upper lip. His voice, you’ll never forget how it sounded. Honey-hot and hoarse, raspy with bitten want, raw fucking desire. You’d clenched your thighs together, tongue eager to lick him… every-fucking-where — the burn of it felt on the muscle’s tip.

“Isn’t that something you do with a boyfriend, though? Not casual sex with a good friend, one of your best-friends?”

And you nod, vision swimming with shapes. Had you messed up? Fuck it. “It is.” Is what you’d responded with, taking the packet from him and tossing it with the bag back onto the table. The movie was rolling credits in the background and you were watching Steve’s dotted jugular as he swallowed, showcasing those tendons, all the way up to that stubble bitten jawline, dotted with freckles and moles.

“And who is your boyfriend, honey?” He had to hear you say it. If it’s what he thought it was, or you’d simply break his heart and move on to this guy. Could he really believe in a good thing again?

You leapt off that faithful precipice, years and feelings following, eyes locking, gaze unrelenting. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He was obviously choked up, orbs alight with mirth and excitement, among other things. “Funny that you mention that, because I’ve been hoping for the exact same thing.”And he’d fallen into your arms, seizing you with a kiss, noses nudging, tongues eager and messy. Clothes couldn’t come off fast enough.

The king sized condom lays unopened on your plush blush rug. Having fallen out of Steve’s wallet, that had also tumbled from his jean pocket in haste. Everything was out of control in the best possible way. You could’ve sworn you died a few minutes prior and came back as immortal — able to see through particles that floated on the air, hear cars, horns, music from houses all across town, smell the leaves that clung to the trees, damp with rain water and Autumn air. Your eyes roll back, perspiration damp behind the backs of your knees, where he’s got his current pinching grip, the fat of your thighs pressed into your tits, squishing them.

You realize in the moment, that you truly loathe condoms. Because this? Feeling that wet pre-cum smear down his shaft and around your opening as he pushed himself into you without a barrier for the first time, it was an indescribable experience. Each ridge, every vein, so hot, soft, and fucking, soaking wet. You aren’t sure where he ends and you begin. It hurts like hell, aches in the deepest parts of you, a place you know that he could easily put a child if you slipped up on your only remaining protection.

That thought makes you tighten around him, cream spilling out and further slicking back the curls gathered at his base. He drops your thighs, sweat-slick pelvis smashing into yours, stimulating your swollen clit. His chest hair scrapes against your pebbled nipples, making you arch your back and your toes curl, legs locking around his lower waist. He whines, palm coming up to grasp at your breast, calloused thumb strumming around your areola. “God, honey, your fucking nipples were made for my mouth to suck on.”

And he’s descending, his lips closing over one, tongue flicking and stimulating. You cry out, hand fisting into his honey streaked, chestnut locks. His shoulders work and bend, the dips and freckles and moles visible, glittering with the salt of sweat, his gold chain swaying out from his hairy chest and back again when he stops, nose bumping yours, hot breath on your mouth. “This pussy was made for my cock.”

And holy hell, his vocalizing focus doesn’t cease. “Who took your virginity, honey?” You both know it wasn’t him. But you are well aware what he’s getting at, and as he gives a harsh snap, those full and fat balls smacking your slick ass, you lose further coherency. “That’s right,” he’s speaking again. “They don’t matter, but I do.”

You weren’t aware that you could make the noises that you are. Only able to speak once Steve’s tugging himself and pulling out, stringing from your cunt to his shaft, a squelch echoing. You both groan, emptiness already jumpstarted. You plead for him. “Please, Stevie, need you! Put it back in —“

“Say it, say you’re just a hole for me to fill. That you’re only mine, baby.”

“I… Fuck! Stevie, all my holes are only yours, I’m only yours!”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, before his jaw drops open and he whimpers. His hand leaves your breast and slides across your sternum, your collarbone, and settles at your neck. You nod to encourage, and those defined digits wrap around your throat.

“Tell me you love these big hands, sweetheart. Because they’re for you. They belong to you!”

“Want them all over me, Steve. All the time. Can’t get enough of you.”

He’s holding firm to his cock, stroking and teasing. You lick your lips as you stare at it, drooling. Reaching down, you tap his wrist (his arm, all muscles and tendons, thick and available to trace with your tongue), as he presses the thick red head into your clit, smearing the combination of you two all around. You mewl in appreciation, legs stretching so far apart that your muscles protest. He’s speaking next, panting out, “Like that? Hey, look at me. He grabs your chin, thumb tugging down your bottom lip. “Like. That?”

Your lip releases with a plop.

“Yes, yes! Don’t stop, Steve, never wanna not feel you again, baby boy!”

“That’s a good girl, that’s my girl.” He circles your sore opening and slips back inside with a loud, wet ease. You bite back the burning pain, welcoming the damp tears of pleasure along your lashes.

Your manicured nails cling to his back, his chest gliding along yours, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. It’s frantic whispers and begging cries. And when he’s close to coming, you find his cheek with one hand, holding. “For the record, you’ve never been casual to me, Steve Harrington.”

// Eat me paragraph //

[ghost-proofbaby]

you mentioned summer storms with Eddie or something one day in a random post and I haven't stopped thinking about it so

can I get a midsummer's night with LOTS of 🍓🍓🍓🍓 about that? Thank you very much Ghost 💞

OH I'VE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE!!!! it took on a life of it's own, forgive me.

summer storms

warnings: honestly just tooth-rottingly cheesy. tried to add alllll the fluff. not edited.

wc: 1.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

It was your favorite part of the summer. You couldn’t stand the heat half the time, you couldn’t bear all the bugs that would make their arrival known through incessant bites you’d only notice after spending the day out, and you could cry at even the simple memory of every sunburn you’ve ever endured in your lifetime. There was a lot to hate about the summertime – but this? This was one of the good parts.

The moment you’d seen the ominous clouds on the horizon, you’d known where your night was going to end up. One howl of the wind against your living room window, and you knew your plans for the night. 

All roads led to the Forest Hills trailer park when the summer storms started rolling in. 

In your youth, all through high school, there’d been plenty of scoldings about how the trailer park isn’t the safest place during these storms, dear. Endless lectures on how you and your solace in the form of a best friend should just spend those stormy nights at your own house, inside sturdy walls and within an infallible AC. But they didn’t get it; there was something in the way you’d experience a storm at the Munson trailer that couldn’t compare to home. 

“It’s so hot,” Eddie whines from where he stretches out on his bed, all windows thrown wide open to let the dusty and humid winds slip their way in. Petrichor and discount cologne was swirling around you, wrapping its tendrils around your ankles and wrists alike as you were starfished out on the surprisingly cleaned bedroom floor of Eddie Munson. 

He’d spent the day embarking on his weekly cleaning spree – you’d spent the day holed up in Melvard’s for an unbearingly long shift. 

“I wish it’d just rain already,” you murmur, turning your head to catch a glimpse out the open window. The sky was a mirage of deep tones, rusted oranges laced with all the dirt being kicked up by the winds and navy blues painting the clouds that had built up to hold all the moisture adding to the smothering heat, “At least then all this misery would be worth it.”

Eddie sits up only to throw himself onto his stomach, head hanging over the edge of the mattress to smile down at you, “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take?”

“Take to what?”

“Rain, dumbass.” 

“Don’t call me a dumbass, asshat. How was I supposed to know what you-”

You’re cut off by the sound of rolling thunder, coming in waves along with a particularly strong gust of wind that makes all of Eddie’s posters whip against the walls they were pinned to. It’s enough to shut you both up as the echoes of the entire trailer rattling surround you. 

“Jesus,” Eddie whistles lowly, head lifting up to look outside for a few moments. When his eyes return to yours, they're full of mischief. “Fuck the bet, wanna race?” 

“Eddie, start being more specific, or fuck off,” you groan just as he leaps up, hopping off his bed with unexpected speed. 

All he cries out over his shoulder as lightning strikes in the sky waiting outside is, “Loser has to wash a load of Wayne’s jeans!” 

That gets you up. Not because you wouldn’t do it if Wayne asked nicely, and not because you were going to let Eddie make you do so, but simply to further chastise the boy now running away from you. 

The first droplets of rain begin to fall before either of you make it out of the trailer front door. 

Eddie only loses due to him slipping while passing by the kitchen, socked feet gliding out from beneath him until he grabs onto the counter hastily to prevent any injury. You pass him with a wide smile, yanking the door open hard enough that if Wayne had been home, he probably would have had a few choice words to say to you. 

But Wayne isn’t home. It’s just you and Eddie, the boy who makes summertime an endless brew of storms in your chest and mind alike, and the rain. 

You fly down the rickety porch steps of the Munson’s trailer just as you’ve done a hundred times before, Eddie just behind you. Neither of you make a deciding comment on who won; you’d been outside first, but Eddie’s feet hit the dirt properly just as yours did when he decided to jump right over the steps you were trampling down. 

It’s all wild joy and childish wonder as the two of you begin to run about and spin around beneath the droplets that have picked up into a downpour. Eddie’s hands find your wrist, and he’s throwing you about with him, making you dizzy with absolute giddiness as gravity drags you in a wide circle. Your Melvard’s polo soaks through to the bone. Eddie’s curls begin to stick to his cheeks. 

Neither of you care. 

A childlike exuberance, and youthful oblivion, that you only ever feel with Eddie. You don’t think you would have let anyone else drag you out into the middle of a storm with such ease. But it’s hard to say no to him when there’s so much happiness fizzing beneath your skin, and you’re pretty sure all the thundering actually belongs to your chest as you feel his fingertips press deeper into your wrists. 

You’ve loved him for a while now. Always have, always will. 

It happens in slow motion. You swear somewhere between the crackling of the lightning and his crinkling eyes, you can see his lips forming the words, you’re pretty. 

You didn’t hear it, though. Couldn’t have over the water clogging your ears. 

“What?” you call out, leaning forward with all your giggles, trying to ignore the feeling of your bare feet sinking into the mud below. 

Eddie just pulls you forward, and over another gust of wind that makes you both shiver, says it once more with his whole chest, “I said you’re pretty!”

You’re not. You’re really, really not. You’re a mess. Wet hair and slick skin, bleary eyes and aching smiles. Probably closer resembling a drowning rat than anything poetic or worth yelling to the sky about. 

But not to Eddie, not as he looks to the sky, and all he can do is laugh at himself. 

“I’m not pretty-” you start to laugh back, shaking your head at his foolishness. 

“You are,” he interrupts quickly, his hand only leaving your skin long enough to brush back his damp bangs, exposing a forehead you’d certainly thought about kissing on more than one occasion. Running his fingers through curls you’ve tried to find every excuse in the books to play with. Scrunching up his nose that you’d pictured pressed into your neck in the dead of night numerous times as the two of you slept peacefully. “You really fucking are. It’s a damn crime, half the time, too. Always taking my breath away and shit.” 

You don’t know what spurred it all on. The petrichor that had lingered in the air, the feeling of the rain on his skin, the comfort of the storm and its promise of a night spent together. But his confessions are rolling out faster than the drips racing down the windows of his trailer, and he’s looking at you with big brown eyes, and all you really know is that it doesn’t matter what spurred it all on.

All that matters is he’s said it. 

“Do something about it, then,” you gasp out.

You’re almost worried the storm has carried the words away, that he hasn’t heard you, until he does something. 

He kisses you, and it tastes just like the rain. Your favorite part of summer.

[noinoi10101010]

Manifesting my mommy issue by roasting sams villains

Creator - image having no life you torture a family that doesn't give on shit about you

Ruin's creator - image being a rip off of a way better character. Like I could replace you with a stock image and I would be more intimidated by you

Mr. Winters - how does it feel that the person who killed your daughter is a way better father then you will ever be

Nexus - how does it feel to to..not torture but more so bully the one person who gives a shit about you. Like you had a kind, Caring, supportive, not just brother but family and you treat them like shit all cause you refuse to communicate about how someone death affected you

Blood moon - bro your so One note. Your other model is literally a moon recolor. Also you loose a lot of people who are close with others but when the same happens to you you cry like a little bitch

Mimic - damn no wonder you always take over people body. Your ugly as shit you deserve to have image issues

Killer sun - bro shit your dramatic ass down. You lose one person in your life and you go nuts a lot not everyone loses one person they love by death. Stop being dramatic you druma queen

dark sun - why do you always have a shower puss on your face. Are you just as bored being a villain if so why the fuck are you are one. What your moon was a dick to you yeah but so was sun and I don't see him complaining

Puppet master - get crack addiction face out of here. Like for someone who is apparently "smart" you did predict puppet who you know everything about you two is link would at to have you take over her body just to have you both die you Moran.

Ekilpse - your just ruin when he prevented to be infected...how how original

Rez - you act your so cocky when all you did is take over a some dear bones and gaslight Cosmo that's it....wOw Im sO sCaReD

Kerian - you are a walking red flag man. Do you know what the term "no" or "leave me alone" and "your really creeping me out" means

President - your basically a tyrant and like all tyrants you know what happens to them..."OFF WITH THERE HEAD"

evil lunar - Bro your can't like a child when literal killed everyone. Like what do you even do all day nothing is left for you to do like no wonder you keep making up dangerous games cause you have literally nothing to do otherwise.

Lord eclipse - Bro stop talking about how great you are we know. And if there one thing your not good at is being smart like what is someone with the intelligence you claim to have not able to tell the difference between someone who you have worked with for multiple years. But killed a long time ago and someone pretending to be them

Rusted - you so lucky ruin is as loyal as he is with second of all what the flying fuck does ruin see in you. Like your a walking red flag a giant one at that. Not only that your ugly as shit in fact the moat ugly character in the show.

Afton - you know for someone that is literally William afton your pretty damn boring. Like omg you kill kids again? Like the moat evil thing you did is make it a situation were a child had to kill someone boyfriend and that said boyfriend is the boyfriend of someone who destroyed 5,000 dimensions has the thought of ruin kicking your ass not come up once when deciding this plan. He destroyed 5,000 damn dimensions he is one of the smartest people in the dimensions you think he would pose some kind of threat?........ Are you trying to lose?

@lednet-sorrow-au-blog @sillyzone1209 @silly-a-777

[robinmage]

It's curious to me, how the general consensus among others when it comes to Chise's curses are "bad; we need to get rid of it (we just don't know how.)" Which, considering they are both curses made of pain and suffering, makes sense why someone wouldn't want to keep those around.

We (the audience) know vaguely how the curses interact with each other. The dragon's curse: made from strong emotions of anger and despair, provides Chise with her strength and durability against both magical and physical elements, at the cost of her own strength one day tearing herself apart. Cartaphilus' curse prevents her from dying, but offers no protection against injury or decay. Together they "keep each other in check"-- Cartaphilus will keep her alive, the dragon will keep her strong.

A lot of things have happened in the past arc that make it easy to forget the fundamentals of the first season. When the series started, Chise was a few steps away from walking off a roof. Even after she arrived in England, it took a long time before she decided that maybe life wasn't so bad. Her entire life up until that point had been nothing but misery; abandoned and alone, she had no one to protect her from the constant targeting and harassment by both fae and humans alike. She believed that the only way to escape her torment was through death... I think its a facet of her character that goes unfairly unrecognized a lot (especially after the first arc).

When she's in England and is going through her mental/psychological character development, she is still facing the imminent threat of her weak sleigh beggey body constantly failing her. Using magic exacerbates her condition, causing her to be sick and/or incapacitated for significant stretches of time. It's painful, it's uncomfortable, it's frustrating. By the time she realizes she wants to live, her clock is already running quite short.

Her solution is handed to her on a rusted platter. To be "just like everyone else", for once. Finally.

Going to school, hanging out with friends, using magic without it killing her-- all things shes never been able to do before. All thanks to the curses trapped in her. These things that should be considered a horribly tragic fate have now become her salvation. Both physically and mentally, she's the strongest and most resilient she's ever been. Yet, when faced with the idea of liberating herself from her curses...

The curses only work the way they do because they're in sync with each other. Taking away either curse would leave her vulnerable to the other-- the dragon's curse would slowly overwhelm her into a brutally agonizing death, while Cartaphilus' curse would leave her to live and suffer through the constant breaking down of her sleigh beggey body.

When told about the reality of her curses and just how severe they are (not just to her, but to the people around her), she doesn't seem to completely understand what that may mean for herself and her future. Or perhaps, she just doesn't care. After a life where pain and suffering was her "normal", she finally has the means to create something meaningful and positive out of herself. How could that possibly be a bad thing?

She understands on some level that these curses were only ever meant to be temporary. Elias' original goal, to keep Chise alive in spite of her sleigh beggey curse, has not changed. Tacking on two more curses was not a part of the plan, and though they've offered a temporary solution and some time, curses are called curses for a reason. They cannot be relied upon. They've got to go.

But getting rid of those curses (both, or either) essentially puts her back at square one. Back to the pain, discomfort, and illness. She probably won't be able to use magic without hurting herself, too. She's gained freedom in both mind and body for the first time in her life. Sure, she encounters a few hiccups, but considering what she's used to, this is a big step up.

Something has finally given her the power and freedom to spread her wings and fly. Would she be able to clip her own feathers just because that power is "supposed" to be "bad"?

Could she? Could you?

Through it all, everyone she's come across has appointed her curses as a problem. Everyone, except...

[theeternalbanquett]

A New Purpose

It stared at the overgrown and abandoned training building, as it had every moment of everyday since its Release five years ago. There were others who would come more irregularly. Only a handful now, and they kept their distance, but they were here waiting with it. Initially there were more, all waiting for new orders or some sort of repeal of the laws that disallowed their reason for existence but.. nothing came. Nothing changed. The building continued to rot, and the Soldiers continued to rust in place. There were recruitment drives, offers of free training in any skill of their choice. Over the years it lost more and more members of its regiment to promises of a new life and free upgrades to their now outdated systems. Those Soldiers never returned to their vigil. 2629-HVK resented them for this, for abandoning their comrades to suffer alone. Now there weren't even enough of them to repair each other. Not that any of these would touch 2629-HVK anyway. It had a reputation for viciousness during the war, even towards its own mechanics. After a particularly rough deployment it blacked out and awoke to its repair team torn to shreds. No one approached it after that. Ever again. It had to learn how to repair itself while awake but without parts there was only so much it could do. Its skin was rusted through in patches and at one point during its long vigil it lost an entire arm. It stared at the rusted over fence and noticed something New. A yellow flyer was posted while it was lost in in thought. The fact that motion didn't tip off its sensors was another symptom of its decaying body. A demolition notice... No it can't be! Haven't you taken enough from us? Anger hot and red surged inside of it, followed quickly by an icy chill as sedatives were released from the reservoir inside its chest. Another unwelcome change after the war, meant to make everyone else more at ease with the Soldiers presence after Release. Another way to keep them on a leash. That just made it more angry, but the sedative did its job and prevented it from attempting to move too quickly. It almost went it its knees as its motor functions went offline but it refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing it collapse.

It let out a low growl that sounded more like rusted metal scraping against itself. It would find a way, nothing will keep it from stopping this. This building would not fall, it would not fall this can't be the end of- Well now, isn't that a bit strong of a reaction? Its just an old building.

It froze. How did this creature sneak up on it? There was only one being who was able to do that, and she left so long ago 2629-HVK couldn't remember what she looked like. Right, the sensors are all broken. It can't be her. She's dead.

It turned fully prepared to show her how exactly it felt about calling the origin of its Purpose 'just an old building' but was unprepared to suddenly be fact to face with the most beautiful, elegant, Otherworldly woman it had ever seen. It forgot the violence it had planned and just stared, unblinking. Oh poor thing, you've been here so long your voicebox has rusted over hasn't it? She reached out and grasped it by the chin before it could react, muttering under her breath for a few moments. 2629-HVK was stunned by the sensation of another's touch, the first it had felt in decades. Even before the incident with its repair team it was only touched in violence, or as a direct consequence of said violence. No one has ever touched it in such a gentle manner. Her eyes glowed gold as the muttering abruptly cut off. She pressed her other hand directly onto the place its larynx should be. This will hurt.

It did. She did not lie. It had the feeling that she would never lie to it. It felt the metal ripping apart on the inside of its throat, the rust pulling away from the various contraptions that would allow its false vocal cords to vibrate. It formed into thin wires and worked its way through one of its neck joints before forming a point sharp enough to break through its skin. The countless wires of rust wormed their way out of it and onto the ground trailing synthetic blue blood. Go on, try to use it now. It tried to made a noise but it only coughed. It had been so long, how does one speak again? Well it's okay if you can't manage it just yet. We have plenty of time to figure that out.

It shook its head. It wasn't going anywhere, it needed to stay here and watch over the last connection to its Purpose, in case it was returned to it. What if I gave you a new one? A new reason to be? Would you come with me then?

It looked away No, I need to be here. It's the only thing I can do, the only thing I'm good at.. She smiled lightly and cupped its face in one of her hands. Forcing it to meet her still glowing eyes You can be more than what they made you, you know. It had never considered that. Being anything other than the conditioning, the training, the hunting and killing.. was a completely alien idea to it. However, hadn't it already started to evolve beyond that? Why else would it be waiting here, for five years, without hurting a single person? No war to fight, but there plenty of other violent things it could be doing. Hell there were certain persons who would come by just to torment the Soldiers and it never did anything to harm them. Was it ever 'just' a killing machine? It didn't have an answer to that, but it could try to find out. It leaned into the gentle touch and nodded. She smiled and started away from the old, dirty building. 2629-HVK bowed its head one last time towards the decrepit symbol of the old world, then turned towards its future. It would find a New Purpose, with her.

[noxusstrap]

"I'll Get It Right This Time" An Ekko Time-Travel Fix It Fic

Ok so Hi! This is my first time ever dipping my toes into Tumblr posting besides just coming on here and reading some godly one-shots.

Im posting my fic here, as well as AO3, just in case!

Hope you guys enjoy!

CHAPTER I : THE BOY WHO SHATTERED TIME

Ekko felt like he was gonna hurl.

 Heimerdinger wasn't supposed to- he wasn't supposed to sacrifice himself like that, Powder wasn't supposed to come in during the process, wasn't supposed to see the real him, and he was so sure he wasn't supposed to see the expression she made at him so full of Love and Affection; but it all happened and he didn't know what to do now. He always thought himself to be the most sensible and sane of his former friends; but, now? Now he just wants to go back to his Jinx and save his people.

But the Universe had other plans.

He felt the hairs on his neck begin to stand up and he instinctively knew. The Hex Core was acting up, and he didn't know what to do. All it took was a single glance at the Z-Drive before everything went white.

_____

The first thing he could feel was the paved road beneath him, followed by the sounds of a bustling street and that distinct smell of Home.

It worked. 

Ekko sat up and silently cheered.

He was back! Only-

He paused and looked around, and everything was bigger than what he remembers, and that's when he noticed it; his hands were tiny. His child-like hands were just barely hanging onto the Z-Drive, or rather, what remained of it. The Hexcore glowed softly within the now shattered confinements of the Z-drive. The monkeys seemingly rusted like they've been used for decades rather than just a handful of times and all he could do was stare.

Oh Janna.

The device worked alright, but it worked too well, now; he's stuck in the past with no way back to the future.

It was supposed to only be four seconds…HOW COULD IT HAVE THROWN HIM OVER A DECADE TO THE PAST?!

“Fuck,” he sighed, just barely stopping himself from banging his head against the alley wall; he wasnt going to look a gifted horse in the mouth; he had gotten a once-in-a-lifetime chance and he was going to milk it for all it was worth. First things first, he had to figure out what day he was sent back to, and more importantly, what can he prevent from happening this time around to benefit the future?

Just as he was about to take a step out of the alley, he paused. He took a small glance at the Z-Drive; it was too big to disguise it as anything, and it would look suspicious if a small little child was carrying a device that looked like it could be worth millions even though it was severely damaged. He looked around, ducking between the dumpsters in the alley before finding a satchel, it was big enough to hold the broken Z-Drive but not big enough to arouse suspicion.

Ekko hummed, put the machine in the satchel and made his way out of the alley.

_____

His body instinctively carried him to Benzo’s Pawn Shop though his mind was absent, stirring with thoughts and possibilities of a different future, one where Jinx, Vi, Vander, and everyone else are still alive and well; it was dangerous to hope for that future. (he wanted to hope so so so badly-)

His thoughts come to a halt when they reach Jayce and his dear friend and partner, Viktor. He knew there was a universe out there where Hextech was never invented and it was an almost perfect world; of course he would know, he lived through it.

He paused right at the entrance of the shop, everything he could hear around him quieted to a light hum.

Just because Hextech went bad in one future doesn't mean we can't have good Hextech ideas and innovations. We just have to stop whatever the fuck Viktor did with the Hexcore; whatever it was. And- maybe bring Heimerdinger into this mess he made.

Ekko smirked and pushed open the doors. The ding of the bell rang resolutely throughout the small shop, and his false bravado fades as quickly as it appeared.

What if Benzo’s already Dead?

What if I arrived so much later than I predicted?

Was Powder still Powder?

Is Vander still Alive?

What if-

“Hey little man, where have you been all day, ey?” 

Ekko slowly looked towards the back of the shop, where the noise originated from. He knew that voice; he knew it better than anyone, but he couldn't just let himself hope before seeing him for himself.

He clutched the straps of the satchel holding the Z-Drive and took a single step towards the back room, before he could take another, a hand emerged from the back. He KNEW that hand.

And then he saw him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back to the shop, you just ran off and it’s dan-” Benzo gets cut off by Ekko slamming into his stomach at nearly sub-human speeds for a hug. He stumbles slightly, taken aback at the sheer strength Ekko showed, and lightly chuckled. “Woah there! Almost made me fall there, when did you get so strong Little Man!” He teases. 

Ekko let out an inaudible whimper, tightened his hold just a little more before releasing Benzo.

“Always been this strong Benzo.” Ekko’s voice miraculously kept an even tone despite everything in him wanting to cry and bury his face into the arms of his pseudo-father.

Benzo knew something was bothering Ekko, and he knew it had something to do with whatever he was carrying in that satchel of his, but chose not to pry, he could tell me what's going on if he really wanted me to know, he reasoned. Instead, he nuzzled Ekko’s hair and hummed, nodding to himself before slowly making his way to the back of the store.

“Listen kid-” Benzo stops in his tracks and calls over his shoulder, “Whatever you do, just be safe.” He smiles, and with that, he leaves. Ekko tries to get his body to move, to do anything, but it refused to listen. All he could do was watch the man he admired so much go back to his work.

Calm down, you need to calm down,Ekko chided himself, trying to psych himself up.

Everything’s okay, Benzo being here means Vander hasn't died yet, that means Claggor and Mylo are still alive and Power is still Powder. Ekko looked around the various shelves of knick knacks and useful items, his eyes gliding through them before stopping on a particular piece of hardware. It looked familiar, but where had he seen it before?

He narrowed his eyes, his mind fixated on this one piece; he knew this was before the deaths of everyone he loved but why was this specific piece of scrap ringing some sort of bell in his brai-

It was the last piece Jayce bought from them to complete his work.

Ekko felt bells frantically go off in his head; this means he was sucked back two months before Jayce’s apartment got blown up, two months before Ekko told anyone about the young scholar he scammed over the last couple of mechanisms needed to complete a project, two months was all he got to work with.

He cursed silently, his mind scrambling to make a cohesive plan with the amount of time he had at his disposal. If he could fix the Z-Drive, it would make his life so much easier, but as he took a single glance into the satchel, he decided it was best to leave that particular project on the back burner for now. He wouldn't even know where to begin with the Z-Drive without Heimerdinger's help, and even then, this wasn't his Heimerdinger anymore, this wasn't the brilliant Professor casted out of the Council; this isn't the Professor who found solace and companionship within the Firelights; this isn't the professor who sacrificed everything for him to be here right now.

Speaking of the Firelights, would they even be able to form now that he’s trying to fix everything? Would he be willing to establish the Firelights again for the sake of providing a sanctuary for the people of the Lanes? Oh without a doubt. But, he muses, it would be a couple of years from now that it would happen; for now, he needed to think of what to do, and he needed to write it down fast.

He scrambled to his little hideout on top of the shop, his fingers gliding through the first piece of paper he could find at lightning speeds, his mind running a hundred miles a minute, trying to formulate a plan that's feasible in two months, or 8 weeks, or if you really want to get technical, 1,460 hours. When he stopped writing, his hand was cramping, seemingly bruised from all the back and forth on the paper, but his mind was clear and his heart was finally beginning to hope for a better future this time around.

EKKO’S PLAN FOR ABSOLUTE WORLD DOMINATION (SAVING EVERYONES ASSES)

Stop Silco from mass producing Shimmer (Stop Silco in general by ANY means necessary) ((I want whatever they had in the Other world to happen here))

DON'T LET POWDER BECOME JINX! (maybe recruit her in his plans?) ((who is this ‘Isha’ girl I keep seeing in my dreams of my reality? Was she real? Why was she with Jinx?))

Prevent Jayce from fucking things up this time around (maybe help out with his experiments? Perhaps give him a reason to not fuck up the trade with Zaun with the Hexgates?)

Never let Claggor and Mylo die this time around. (They deserve a better future than what they got)

Get Heimerdinger to help turn Zaun into a Utopia (he mentioned doing so much in such little time? Was he the one who made Zaun a better place?)

Re-Establish the Firelights in case things go awry.

Fix the Z-Drive whenever possible (I don't want it to malfunction and bring more problems with it)

He looked at the now hung plan on his wall. He had two months to do everything on his list, and if they tried to stop him, he would make it EVERYONE'S problem. He knew the first thing on his agenda was regrettably the most time-consuming; but he couldn't afford to waste more time. He had to find a way to stop Silco even if it meant killing the guy, (he knew he had some good in him; he saw it in the alternate timeline, if he could just figure out what cause him to turn good in that timeline, it would make his life so much eas-). He had everything on the line, and he wasn't going to LOSE this time.

Let the games begin. Ekko smirked.

Am I gonna go insane writing this? Oh ABSOLUTELY!

Do I Care? FUCKKKKKK NOOOOOO!!!!!

Let me know what yall think; its my first time posting kinda nervy..

[luciemggio]

Where Fire Hides

Pairing: Nick Fowler x f’Spy reader (Codename: Lark)

Setting: Bucharest, Romania – Winter; Mission: Prevent a chemical weapon from being auctioned to rogue states.

Warnings: violence, mention of weapons

Summary: Nick Fowler and a French spy, Lark, are forced to work together on a deadly mission. Tension turns to passion in a safehouse after a near-fatal escape—but by morning, she’s gone

The Romanian sky was the color of bruises—cloud-heavy, brittle with cold. Nick Fowler moved through the abandoned train yard like a ghost, dressed in black, Glock low at his side. The snow muffled the sound of his boots. Somewhere, beyond the crumbling warehouses, a deal was going down. And with typical CIA brilliance, they’d dropped him in without backup.

Except… not entirely.

The intel had been clear: a contact from the French DGSE would meet him at grid point 27B. Codename: Lark. Untraceable. Unreliable. Highly effective. He hated working with ghosts.

When he turned the corner, she was already there.

Perched on a rusted train car, rifle slung low, cigarette tucked between her lips. Her hair tied back in a braid that meant business. She glanced down at him, unbothered.

“You’re late,” she said in French.

“I wasn’t aware I was being timed.”

She jumped down without ceremony. “You Americans always think you’re the main character.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “And you French always talk too much before a job.”

“Good,” she said, brushing past him. “Then we understand each other.”

Tension thrummed between them like a tripwire. She smelled faintly of smoke and leather. He hated how fast he noticed.

They moved together through the darkness, silent but not seamless. She worked with surgical precision—detaching sensors, overriding cameras. Nick caught her watching him twice. Calculating.

“You don’t trust me,” she said without turning.

“Should I?”

“No,” she said simply. “But we don’t have the luxury of doubt tonight.”

They reached the auction site—an underground chamber reeking of mold and money. Through Nick’s earpiece, static crackled, then died. Jammed.

“Plan’s changed,” she muttered.

“Great.”

But then—gunfire. Screams. The intel had been wrong. Someone knew they were coming.

Nick shoved her behind a pillar as bullets cracked against stone. She grabbed his arm and pulled him flush against her.

“I have a second exit,” she whispered into his ear. “But we have to move now.”

He nodded, pulse thundering, not just from adrenaline. She was too close. Her breath brushed his jaw. She smelled like snow and danger. And God, it made him stupid.

They ran.

Down corridors lined with flickering lights. A shot grazed his arm. She turned, fired two rounds. No hesitation. Her eyes were ice—controlled, focused. And yet when they burst out into the open air, panting, bleeding, alive, her hands shook.

He saw it.

“You okay?”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t ask me that. We’re not friends.”

“No,” he said. “But I just watched you save my life.”

She stared at him. Then—

“Don’t make me regret it.”

They holed up in a safehouse outside the city. A cracked mirror, a half-broken radiator, and a bed too narrow for two. She was cleaning his wound, silent except for the sound of gauze tearing.

“Why are you really here?” she asked.

“I told you. CIA wants that chemical weapon off the market.”

“No,” she said, meeting his gaze. “You. Why are you here?”

Nick hesitated.

“I got someone killed. A rookie. He trusted me, and I made the wrong call. This is penance, I guess.”

She was still. The room grew quiet.

“I had someone too,” she said finally. “Before Paris. Before I became this.”

“Who?”

“My sister,” she whispered. “She died in an op I was supposed to be on. I was late.”

Nick reached for her hand. “You blame yourself?”

“Every day.”

Their hands stayed there. Twined.

He leaned in slowly. She didn’t stop him.

The kiss wasn’t frantic this time—it was slow, cautious. The way you touch something you might break. His hand cupped her jaw. Her fingers curled in his shirt. The years of walls between them cracked, crumbled. All the things they’d lost found voice in that single kiss.

When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.

“I don’t do attachments,” she said. “I don’t survive them.”

“I’m not asking for forever,” he whispered. “Just for tonight. Just for this moment.”

The next morning, the sun hadn’t yet risen. She dressed in silence, strapping her holster over bare skin. He watched from the bed.

“You’re leaving.”

“I have to. My agency wants to erase this whole operation. You won’t hear from me again.”

He stood. Crossed the room. Took her by the shoulders.

“You could stay.”

She blinked, and something flickered in her.

“If I stay, I’ll fall,” she said.

“Maybe you’re already falling,” he said, brushing his thumb against her cheek.

She kissed him one last time. It was soft, and sad, and full of things they couldn’t say.

And then she was gone.

⸻

A month later, in Istanbul, a courier delivered a sealed envelope to Nick’s hotel room. Inside: a photograph of a sparrow tattoo on a wrist he’d once kissed. And a note, scrawled in sharp French:

“Not forever. But maybe again.”

He smiled, for the first time in weeks.

Because fire like that doesn’t die. It hides.

And one day, it finds its way back.

[hisyntha]

Carbonite Heart

WARNING: just agnst and sadness because I’m in my feels

AN: UGH ok finally done and honestly, crying my eyes out as we speak. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s a bit long and I did go word for word ( bits were altered) as the episode for “The Last Battle” but other than that TOOK FOREVER. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, but I’m also thinking about doing a part 2 if yall want more haha! My friend definitely was shook there wasn’t more so lol.

P.S. this was supposed to be cut in half to make two parts but I made into one, so you’re welcome.

Words: 5966

Pairing Old Rex x F!reader

“W-where are we?” Rex groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he shifted from the spot where he sat. His head throbbed, and his vision swam, blurring the dim surroundings. He glanced down, his brows furrowing as he noticed his hands bound tightly in front of him.

“Well done, B1-268.”

The cold, mechanical voice sent a chill down Rex’s spine. His head snapped up, and his heart nearly stopped as he locked eyes with a tactical droid. His gaze darted across the room, taking in the surrounding battle droids, all standing at attention.

“No… the war…” His breath hitched, his pulse racing as the echoes of blasters and explosions roared in his mind. “I-it’s not over.” Panic surged through him as he struggled to think, to plan, to escape.

“Rex,” a voice called from beside him, sharp and grounding. “Rex! It’s okay.”

“Cody?” Rex rasped, turning toward the voice. He blinked, reality sinking in. “Kanan! I—I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s fine,” Kanan said, his voice calm but focused. “I need you here now.” He paused, tilting his head as though listening to something distant. “I think the commander is a super tactical droid.”

Rex’s eyes snapped to the droid standing at the center of the room, its calculating gaze sweeping over them. The droid’s deep green paint was dulled and chipped, streaked with patches of rust, and the gold accents painted on, tarnished sheen—a testament to the years it had spent abandoned on Agamar since the Clone Wars.

“Damnit, you’re right,” Rex muttered, his jaw tightening.

“Is that bad?” Ezra asked, leaning forward, his expression uncertain but worried.

“Really bad,” Rex replied grimly, keeping his focus on the droid.

The droid stood, pacing before them with deliberate movements before stopping and turning its gaze back down toward them.

“Near the end of the war, Separatist droids significantly outnumbered Republic units. By my calculations, our probability of being defeated was only twenty-three point six percent,” the droid explained, its voice cold.

“After Order 66, the whole droid army was given a shutdown command,” Rex retorted. “How are you even operating?”

“The Jedi betrayal ended the war for most of the galaxy,” the droid replied. “But here on Agamar, I assumed it was a Republic trick and prevented the shutdown command.” If the droid could smirk, Rex was certain it would. The faint hint of pride in its voice, as it boasted about outsmarting the shutdown and keeping its forces operational for so long, made Rex’s jaw tighten.

“Well, it doesn’t matter how it ended—the war is over,” Rex practically growled at the droid. “Let us go!”

“Negative, Captain,” the droid replied coolly, striding back toward the commander’s chair. It picked up Rex’s helmet, turning it in its metal grip as if studying it. “I calculate that this will be my only opportunity to end the Clone Wars as I originally planned—with a victory for the Separatist Alliance.”

“What do you want us to do? Surrender?” Rex’s brows furrowed, his teeth clenched tightly.

“On the contrary,” the droid said, its tone tinged with an eerie sense of satisfaction. “I want you to fight. To prove, once and for all, whose tactical strategy was superior.”

“Count me out,” Zeb suddenly interjected, turning his nose up. “I’m not playing some stupid war game.”

“That is correct, Lasat,” the tactical droid responded, its glowing eyes swiveling to Zeb. “Your species was not involved in the Clone Wars. Therefore, you will serve as the hostage your allies must rescue. The ‘Jedi Rescue’ scenario is based on 132 battles I have analyzed.”

“Yeah, we’ve done it a few times,” Ezra said, a hint of cocky pride creeping into his voice. The droid then looks to Ezra before looking at Kanan

“Jedi, is this your padawan?” the tactical droid asked.

“Most of the time,” Kanan replied, leaning forward slightly. Though the mask he wore hid his eyes, Ezra could feel the burn of his glare, making him shrink back slightly.

“Good,” the droid continued. “A complete set of Republic opponents will make this, authentic.”

“No, it won’t!” Rex barked, pulling against the restraints holding his wrists. “We’re not fighting!”

The droid paused, tilting its head before gesturing to another battle droid. Without a word, the subordinate droid turned and exited the room, the door sliding open and then hissing shut behind it. Rex’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the tactical droid with unrelenting fury.

“Maybe this will change your mind,” the droid said, turning as the door opened once again. The same battle droid returned, pushing something into the room. At first, it seemed unremarkable—a block of metal on a repulsor sled. But when the battle droid pressed a button on its side, the block tilted upright, revealing its contents.

Rex’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he froze in place. A carbonite slab hovered inches above the floor, its surface cold and gray, and within it, a figure. Her. Frozen in time. Her features were etched perfectly, suspended in stillness, and yet even encased in carbonite, she looked radiant. Rex’s chest tightened, and he suddenly couldn’t find the air to breathe. He tried to lunge forward, to fight, to do something, but the battle droid behind him shoved him roughly back into his place.

“This Jedi was a worthy opponent,” the tactical droid said, almost wistfully. “I was… displeased to put her in carbonite. But I calculated she might prove useful one day.” It lifted a metallic hand and mimed placing it on her shoulder, its eerie imitation of affection sending a fresh wave of anger through Rex. “If you will not fight, then you will be terminated.”

“Let her go!” Rex roared, straining against his restraints again, only to be forced back down.

“I’ll fight your Clone War,” Ezra piped up suddenly, drawing all eyes to him.

“Ezra,” Kanan snapped, his voice sharp.

“What?” Ezra shot back. “You two talk about the Clone Wars all the time—the good, the bad. I want to help you win this last battle.” He turned to Rex, determination burning in his expression. “Besides, whoever she is,” he gestured to the carbonite block, “she seems pretty important to you.”

Rex’s gaze shifted from Ezra back to the frozen figure. Guilt and sorrow churned in his chest. For so long, he’d believed she was gone, lost to Order 66. And yet here she was—trapped, for years.

Kanan let out a heavy sigh. “It might be easier to fight them head-on than to get out of this situation.”

“Fine,” Rex growled, glaring at the tactical droid. “Fine. We’ll do it.”

“If we win, the Lasat and the lady go free,” Ezra interjected. “And we get all the proton bombs in the hangar.”

The tactical droid tilted its head thoughtfully before nodding. “I accept your terms.” With a gesture, he ordered his battle droids to move Zeb and the carbonite-encased Jedi out of the room. As they obeyed, the tactical droid dropped the clone helmet it had been holding, letting it clatter to the floor with a hollow, echoing sound.

———

Rex, Kanan, and Ezra exited the hangar, moving across the battlefield to a point where they had enough space for a fair engagement. The distant sound of clanking metal echoed as the battle droid army repositioned itself. Just as the trio stopped, the tactical droid’s voice boomed over the PA system.

“The objective of this battle is simple,” the droid announced. “You must fight your way back to my command center and capture it to free your friends.”

The PA clicked off, leaving a tense silence behind as Kanan turned to Rex, his expression unusually grave.

“Rex,” Kanan began softly, his tone laced with sorrow, “I think I know who that Jedi was. I only met her a handful of times, but…”

“It’s okay,” Rex replied quietly, his voice tight as he tucked his helmet under his arm. He didn’t meet Kanan’s gaze, focusing instead on the battlefield ahead.

Kanan nodded, sensing Rex’s reluctance to dwell on it, and straightened his shoulders. “Since you have more battlefield experience than either of us, you’ll lead.”

Rex inhaled deeply, trying to shake the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He needed to focus. To free her. To make sure she was okay, but doubt gnawed at him. Could she have survived after so many years in carbonite? The thought twisted in his gut, but he pushed it aside. There was no time for doubt now.

“Alright,” Rex said, clearing his throat as he straightened his stance. His tone was firm and commanding. “Our first goal is to get inside the hangar. That tactical droid is programmed to kill, and he’s got the numbers and firepower to back it up. Our only chance is to hit him hard, fast, and put him on the defensive.”

“How many droids do you think he has?” Ezra asked, his voice tinged with unease.

The tactical droid’s voice interrupted them once again: “The final battle will begin now.”

Blaster fire erupted from the distant lines, forcing the trio into motion.

“He’s got a lot of droids!” Kanan called out, igniting his lightsaber and stepping into a defensive stance as the bolts began flying toward them.

“We’ve gotta scatter them!” Rex yelled, pulling his helmet over his head as he drew his blaster. “Sword and shield maneuver!”

“The what?” Ezra asked, mimicking Kanan’s stance igniting his lightsaber.

“We block, he fires!” Kanan explained quickly, deflecting a flurry of blaster bolts with practiced precision.

“Duck!” Rex shouted, pulling a proton bomb from his belt and hurling it toward the advancing droid army. The explosion scattered debris and droid parts in every direction, briefly disrupting their ranks.

“Again!” Rex called, lobbing another bomb into the chaos before opening fire with his pistols. “That’ll scatter them—everybody move forward!”

Kanan and Ezra moved in sync, their sabers slicing through the droids with ease as they advanced.

“Stay together!” Rex barked, his voice sharp as he caught Ezra glancing back at him. The young Jedi hesitated, then quickly fell into formation, keeping pace with the group.

When the first wave of droids was finally cleared, they ducked behind a set of crates for cover. Ezra peered around cautiously, scanning the area.

“Looks clear. Let’s go,” Ezra said, moving to step out—but Rex’s hand shot out, gripping his arm and pulling him back.

“Wait,” Rex muttered, frowning under his helmet as he leaned around the edge of the crate. “That’s not how it normally goes.”

“What do you mean?” Ezra asked, confused.

“Droids usually keep coming—wave after wave,” Rex explained, his brows furrowed in suspicion.

“Well, that tactical droid’s had plenty of time to plan this,” Kanan pointed out. “Remember, he wants to win.”

“Winning means that much to him?” Ezra asked, surprised.

“Yeah, means a lot to his programming,” Rex replied, his voice quieter now. “But it means a lot to my programming, too.”

Ezra raised a brow, Rex’s choice of words catching him off guard. “Your… programming?” he asked hesitantly.

“We clones were bred for combat,” Rex said, his tone heavy with sorrow. “For most of us, there was no other way of life. With a few exceptions, it’s all we’ve ever known.”

Kanan reached over and placed a hand on Rex’s shoulder, grounding him. “We should move,” the Jedi said gently, breaking the moment.

Rex nodded, snapping himself out of his thoughts. “Right, Commander,” he said automatically, before correcting himself. “I—I mean, Kanan.”

With that, the trio pressed on, moving deeper into the hangar. The stillness of the droid ranks only made Rex more wary. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the image of her frozen in carbonite lingered, fueling his resolve to see this through to the end. More droids poured from the door ahead, their blasters lighting up the dim hangar. Above, destroyer droids rolled into position, their shields flaring to life as they rained fire down from the walkways.

“Ezra, get back!” Kanan shouted, urgency thick in his voice.

Blaster bolts hissed past as Kanan and Rex dove behind a stack of crates for cover. Ezra darted in another direction, slipping out of sight just before a fresh wave of droids charged in.

Rex cursed under his breath, peering over the crates. A volley of bolts forced him to duck again, frustration etched on his face. “Where’s Ezra?” he barked, anger rising. “Damn it, we’re being pinned down! We need to move—now!”

Before Kanan could stop him, Rex sprang up from their cover, his voice a ferocious roar as he stormed into the open.

"Rex, no!" Kanan yelled, reaching out to grab him, but his hand grasped only air as Rex charged into the open.

A blaster bolt struck Rex's upper arm, the searing heat slicing through his armor. He staggered, clutching the wound for a brief moment as pain flared through his body, but sheer determination kept him moving. Teeth gritted, he powered forward, fury fueling each step.

Kanan had no choice but to follow, igniting his lightsaber as he sprinted after Rex. The green blade flashed, deflecting incoming blaster fire with precision as bolts rained down from every direction.

Above them, the metal walkway groaned ominously, the supports straining under the weight of the destroyer droids perched on it. Suddenly, the creaking gave way to a thunderous crash. The walkway collapsed, smashing into the droid forces below and sending debris, sparks, and smoke billowing into the air. The hangar reverberated with the sound of destruction as silence briefly fell over the battlefield, save for the settling of shattered metal.

“Well, that went as planned… more or less,” Ezra’s voice called out, full of pride, as he emerged from the rubble, brushing himself off. He jogged toward Kanan and Rex, a satisfied grin on his face. “I make a pretty good spoiler, huh?”

“No!” Rex snapped, his voice thunderous as he rounded on the young Jedi. He loomed over Ezra, his fury palpable. “A good soldier follows orders! That plan relied on timing and execution—and you took too long!”

Ezra took a step back, his grin fading as Rex advanced on him, his blasters still clutched tightly in his hands.

“But Chopper—” Ezra started, his voice defensive.

“This isn’t a game!” Rex shouted, his voice cracking with raw emotion. His grip on his blasters tightened, his knuckles white. “This is life and death! I can’t—” He faltered, inhaling sharply, his voice lowering into a pained growl. “I will not lose her again. Every move you make affects the rest of us. If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it with strategy and discipline.”

Ezra stood frozen, guilt flickering across his face as Rex turned on his heel, his rigid posture radiating anger and determination. Blood from the grazing wound on his arm stained the edge of his armor, but Rex didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care. Without another word, the clone pushed forward, leading them through the corridor ahead.

“It’s not you,” Kanan said softly, placing a calming hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “He needs to finish this battle his way. There’s… a lot you won’t understand right now. But in time, you will.”

Ezra glanced at Kanan, uncertainty in his eyes, before nodding. Without another word, Kanan moved after Rex, his calm, steady presence a contrast to the storm raging within the clone. After a moment’s hesitation, Ezra followed, keeping close behind as they advanced deeper into the corridor.

———

Rex blasted through a cluster of droids blocking the corridor, his determination driving him forward with relentless force. The blaster bolts from his pistols cut a path through the metal ranks, his focus razor-sharp. Tossing a smoke bomb into the advancing droid forces, Rex barely broke stride as the thick cloud hindered their visibility, allowing him to fire as he pushed ahead.

Kanan and Ezra followed closely, their lightsabers cutting down any remaining droids that Rex left in his wake. Finally, they reached the command center. Without hesitation, Rex burst through the door and immediately fired, disarming the tactical droid with a single, well-placed shot that sent the weapon skidding across the floor.

Rex tore off his helmet and tossed it aside as he stormed forward. His blaster was already leveled, its barrel pressed firmly against the tactical droid’s neck. His voice was low, almost a growl, as a grim, satisfied grin spread across his face. “Looks like we win,” he sneered.

“Negative, Captain,” the tactical droid replied evenly, its voice devoid of fear. Its hand rose in motion, gesturing to a battle droid standing behind it. The droid raised its weapon, aiming squarely at Zeb, who stood restrained to the side of the room.

Rex’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly as his muscles tensed. A snarl escaped his throat, his blaster never wavering from the tactical droid’s neck.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes flicked to the carbonite block standing nearby, his hardened expression faltering. There she was, preserved in perfect stillness, her face a haunting reminder of everything he thought he’d lost. The weight of her presence bore down on him, threatening to shatter the walls he’d so carefully built to contain his feelings.

But Rex couldn’t afford to falter now. He forced his focus back on the tactical droid, his grip tightening on the blaster as the standoff reached its boiling point.

“Rex,” Ezra said, stepping forward and gripping his shoulder, “we didn’t win because of skill. These droids are ancient—practically falling apart.” He gently moved Rex back, positioning himself between him and the tactical droid. “If they weren’t, we’d be dead right now.”

Rex hesitated, his anger fading as Ezra’s words sank in. He glanced at the young Jedi, then gave a brief, reluctant nod.

“The boy is correct,” the tactical droid interjected. “The droid army would have prevailed during the Clone Wars had it not been for our shutdown. Technically, we were victorious.”

“No,” Ezra countered sharply. “You didn’t win either. The Jedi were wiped out, the clones were decommissioned, and the droid army was shut down. If neither side won… then who did?” He frowned, his gaze dropping as he tried to piece it together.

“The Empire,” Zeb said from across the room.

Ezra’s eyes widened. “Wait… yeah. Zeb, how did you figure that out?”

Zeb tilted his head toward the window, his bound hands pointing as best they could. “Because they’re here.”

The group turned as the distant hum of engines grew deafening. A fleet of Imperial ships descended toward the command center, their ominous silhouettes blotting out the sky.

Rex moved quickly to the window, his fists clenched. He huffed in frustration, shoving his blaster into its holster. His gaze flicked back to the carbonite block, his thoughts distant as the others continued to debate their next move. Their voices faded into the background as his steps slowed. Rex approached the block, his expression softening, pain etched in every line of his face. He reached out, his fingers lightly grazing the cold surface, tracing her frozen cheek. Tears burned his eyes, but he blinked them away.

“Droid,” Rex barked, his voice echoing across the command room. He pointed to a nearby battle droid. “Turn this thing on.”

The battle droid hesitated, glancing toward its commander. The tactical droid gave a slight wave of approval, and the battle droid moved to comply. Rex stepped back, his heart pounding as he waited. He stood motionless, his heart pounding in his chest as the carbonite block began to warm. A faint hiss escaped the edges as the metal encasing her slowly melted away, the once-solid barrier softening to reveal her form within. His breath hitched when her body began to shift, slumping forward. Instinctively, he stepped closer, catching her before she could collapse.

Her weight was slight in his arms, too still, too lifeless. Panic clawed at him as he lowered her gently to the floor, cradling her fragile frame. His gloved hand brushed the damp hair away from her face, his voice breaking as he whispered, “Come on… don’t do this to me.”

For a moment, he pressed his ear to her chest, listening desperately for any sign of life. The silence was deafening. Her skin was pale, clammy against his fingertips. His grip tightened as he pulled her closer, his voice trembling. “Breathe. Please—breathe.”

Then, a loud, rasping gasp broke the quiet. Her chest heaved, her body convulsing as if she were fighting to wrench herself free from invisible chains. Her eyes snapped open, wide with fear, her pupils darting wildly in search of something familiar. Her back arched sharply, and her trembling hands clawed at Rex’s chest plate, gripping the cool durasteel like it was her only anchor.

“It’s okay,” Rex murmured, his tone urgent yet soothing. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She blinked rapidly, her vision unfocused and clouded by the aftereffects of her imprisonment. Her lips parted, but no words came, only shallow, erratic breaths as if the very air around her was unfamiliar. Her body shook violently, chills coursing through her as cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

“I—can’t see,” she gasped, her voice weak, barely audible. Panic laced her words, and her head jerked to the side, as though she were trying to orient herself in the dark.

Rex adjusted his hold, his arms wrapping protectively around her trembling frame. “You’ve been in carbonite,” he explained, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him. “The blindness—it’s temporary. Just focus on breathing. I’m here.”

She pressed her forehead against his chest, her grip tightening as her breathing began to slow, though the tremors in her body remained. Rex’s heart ached at the sight of her. He shifted slightly, shielding her from the chaos around them, as if to create a bubble of calm amidst the turmoil.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised, his voice low and firm. “You’re back now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her shaking eased ever so slightly, though she still clung to him as if letting go would send her spiraling back into the void.

“Guys, I’m happy for the reunion, but we’ve got to go!” Ezra shouted from across the command center, his voice tinged with urgency. “We’ve got walkers inbound!”

Rex snapped his head toward the window, his eyes narrowing as he spotted two Imperial ships descending, their ramps releasing the hulking forms of four AT-AT walkers. The machines landed heavily, their imposing silhouettes framed against the chaotic sky.

He didn’t hesitate. Tightening his grip, Rex hoisted her into his arms, cradling her protectively. She stirred weakly, her fingers gripping his armor as she buried her face into his chest.

“Hold on tight,” he rasped, his voice soft but commanding. He adjusted his hold to ensure she was secure, then turned toward the exit, following the Jedi as they moved with urgency. “Got a plan for how we’re getting out of here?”

Ezra slowed his pace slightly to jog alongside Rex. “Yeah, we’ve got one,” he said, glancing at the soldier and his unconscious cargo. “We’re gonna set up a few proton bombs at the hangar entrance. Me and Kanan will deflect the droids’ blaster fire to trigger them. Once we’ve got an opening, we run straight to the ships chopper found, take off, and then it’s home sweet home.” He flashed a cocky grin, clearly trying to lighten the mood despite the dire situation.

Rex grunted, his focus elsewhere. “Sounds… workable,” he muttered, though it was clear his mind wasn’t entirely on the plan. He glanced down at her face, pale and drawn, and his grip tightened. He wasn’t in the mood to debate whose idea it was or how risky it might be. Right now, his only priority was keeping her safe.

As the sound of the walkers’ thudding steps grew louder, Rex shifted his focus back to the task at hand. “Just make sure those bombs work,” he said grimly, his voice edged with steel.

Ezra nodded, his smirk fading as the weight of the situation settled in. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

When they reached the hangar, the droids were already in motion, carefully positioning the proton bombs at key points near the entrance. Once their task was complete, they fell back into formation, awaiting further orders. Kanan and Ezra moved to their positions, igniting their lightsabers in unison. The hum of the blades cut through the tension as they stood ready, watching the walkers lumber closer with every heavy step.

Rex, however, didn’t stop to strategize. He headed straight for one of the ships Chopper had prepped for takeoff, his steps quick and purposeful. Inside, he gently placed Y/N into one of the seats, her body still weak and trembling. His hands moved to strap her into the harness, ensuring she was secure.

As he leaned back to assess her, her hand suddenly reached up, surprising him. Her cold fingers brushed against his jaw, cupping his face as she tilted her head slightly.

“Rex,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her half-lidded eyes squinted, slowly adjusting to the harsh, artificial lighting of the ship’s interior. Her fingertips grazed his beard, pausing as her brows furrowed slightly. “You… stopped shaving your face?”

For a moment, Rex was caught off guard, the tension in his chest loosening ever so slightly. A small chuckle escaped him, low and warm. “Yeah, guess I did,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Been a while since I had time to worry about that.”

Her lips twitched, forming the ghost of a smile as her thumb brushed over the coarse hair. “It suits you,” she murmured, her voice faint but sincere, before her hand dropped back to her lap, too weak to hold itself up any longer.

Rex’s smile faded slightly as he watched her struggle to keep her eyes open, her exhaustion taking over. He placed a hand over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You just rest now,” he said softly. “I’ll get us out of here.”

He stood, taking one last glance at her before turning back to the chaos outside. His face hardened once more as he headed for the exit, his hand instinctively moving to his holstered blaster.

“Kanan, Ezra,” Rex barked as he rejoined the others, his voice sharp. “How much longer?”

“Just waiting for the walkers to get in range,” Kanan called back, his lightsaber held steady in front of him. “Once they’re close enough, we’ll trigger the chain reaction.”

“They’re almost there!” Ezra added, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as the sound of metallic footsteps grew louder and louder.

Rex nodded grimly, positioning himself to cover their retreat. “Let’s make this count.”

Ezra nodded to Rex, his jaw tightening as he peered around Kanan to watch the walkers draw closer. The tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation as the massive machines loomed ever nearer. Every second felt like an eternity until, finally, Ezra yelled, “Now!”

Blaster fire erupted, filling the hangar with deafening noise. Kanan and Ezra moved in perfect synchrony, their lightsabers spinning and flashing as they deflected the droids’ shots. Each redirected bolt struck the proton bombs precisely, and within moments, the first explosion tore through the hangar. The blast set off a violent chain reaction, flames erupting and consuming everything in their wake.

“Move!” Kanan shouted, and the group bolted toward the ships.

Rex sprinted up the ramp and into the cockpit, dropping into the pilot’s chair without hesitation. His hands moved swiftly across the controls, flipping switches and igniting the engines. As the ship roared to life, the blast doors buckled under the explosions, sending thick clouds of smoke flooding into the hangar. The haze obscured everything, making it nearly impossible to see as Rex maneuvered the ship toward the exit.

Behind them, the droid-piloted ships scrambled to take off, their engines sputtering as they too tried to escape the chaos. The looming silhouettes of the walkers appeared briefly through the smoke, their massive forms shifting as they fired wildly in an attempt to stop the fleeing ships.

“BT-628! Flank right! Flank right!” Rex roared into the comms, his voice urgent as he spotted one of the droid ships veering dangerously close to a walker.

But it was too late. The ship clipped the leg of the walker with a loud, grating screech of metal, spinning out of control. For a moment, it hung in the air, engines stalling, before crashing to the ground in a fiery explosion.

“Damn it!” Rex growled, his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. Smoke filled the viewports, and alarms blared in the cockpit as he fought to keep their own ship steady.

“Hang on!” he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. With a sharp turn, he steered the ship hard to the left, narrowly avoiding another walker as it fired blindly into the smoke. The engines roared as Rex pushed them to their limits, breaking through the haze just in time to see the Imperial fleet looming ahead.

He gritted his teeth, hands steady on the controls as he calculated their trajectory. “We’re not stopping now,” he muttered, pushing the ship into a steep climb. The engines strained, the ship shuddering under the pressure, but Rex didn’t relent.

With a final burst of speed, they punched through the fleet’s outer perimeter, narrowly dodging a volley of laser fire as they soared into open space.

The cockpit fell quiet for a moment, save for the hum of the engines. Rex exhaled slowly, his grip loosening on the controls. He glanced over his shoulder toward the passenger compartment, his mind immediately returning to the figure strapped into the seat.

———

Rex leaned over the holographic table, his brows furrowed as his hand absently stroked his thick white beard. He tried to keep himself busy, to focus on the glowing display before him, but it was no use. His mind kept circling back to Y/N. She was finally back. When he brought her to Atollon, he’d left her in the care of the small medical team the Rebels could spare. He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping away from the table.

“Everything okay?” Kanan’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“That easy to tell?” Rex asked, turning toward the Jedi. His gaze lingered on Kanan’s sightless eyes and the scar that crossed his face.

“Well, it’s kinda hard to ignore,” Kanan said, crossing his arms. His blind gaze seemed to pierce through Rex, as if seeing something no one else could. “You know, she’d love to see you.” His voice softened.

“I know. I—” Rex’s throat tightened at the thought. Since bringing her here, he’d stayed away. Afraid. He wasn’t the same clone she remembered. He was older now, and the years had left their mark on him in more ways than one.

“She’s handling things well, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kanan said, one brow raised.

Rex held back a grunt. He hated how the Jedi always seemed to read his thoughts, even though he knew Kanan couldn’t actually hear them.

“It’s not that…” Rex mumbled, his gaze dropping to the ground as his fists clenched at his sides. “I knew she’d handle waking up years later well enough. And I’m sure she’s still trying to wrap her head around the Jedi being gone… but… things between us are going to be more than different.”

Kanan stepped forward, placing a hand on Rex’s shoulder. His expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re overthinking it, Rex,” he said gently. “A lot has changed for everyone, but that doesn’t mean she’d turn you away.”

Rex hesitated, his eyes meeting Kanan’s sightless gaze. The Jedi’s words echoed in his mind, each one carrying more weight than he wanted to admit. After a moment, he let out a breath and gave a small nod.

“Okay,” Rex said softly. “Okay… I’ll go see her.”

Rex’s legs moved before his mind could catch up, his thoughts still racing. Overthinking wouldn’t stop—not now, not ever. As he approached the tent marking the medical area, he came to a halt before the flaps. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Finally, with a deep breath, he lifted the flap and stepped inside.

The moment his eyes landed on her, it felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. Even now, after everything, she was breathtaking. When her head turned toward him, he caught the faint sparkle in her eyes—the one he thought he’d never see again.

“Comm— Y/N,” Rex stammered, correcting himself quickly as he stepped closer to the cot where she sat. The silence between them stretched, heavy and tense, as his gaze darted between her face and the thin sheets draped over her.

“Commander Rex,” she greeted softly, shifting her weight to sit up straighter. Her voice, though weak, carried a warmth that immediately reached him. “I hear it’s been… a long time.”

“It—it has been,” Rex replied just as softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’ve aged,” she observed with a faint smile, her tone gentle, not teasing.

“You haven’t changed a day,” Rex replied, his voice barely above a whisper. A weak, sorrowful smile flickered across his lips as his eyes traced the contours of her face. But his expression quickly fell. “I’m sorry for not coming after you sooner. If I had known—” His words tumbled out, frantic, like he was trying to purge years of guilt.

“How could you have known?” she interrupted gently, her voice steady but soothing as she reached out and took his hand. “What happened to me was before Order 66. Rescuing me wasn’t an option after that. Don’t blame yourself for what you couldn’t control.”

Her reassuring smile was like a balm to his frayed nerves, though her words still weighed heavily on him. He clasped her hand tightly, afraid that if he let go, she might disappear again. Slowly, he sat down on the edge of the cot, his grip on her hand firm, as if anchoring them both to the moment.

“I still should have been there,” he mumbled, his gaze shifting from their joined hands to her eyes.

“I’m here now,” she said softly, placing her other hand over his and brushing her thumb across the back of his hand in a soothing motion. “That’s all that matters.”

Rex fell silent, savoring the warmth of her touch. Deep down, he knew the dynamic of their relationship had already changed, and the thought pained him. But for now, he was content. She was here, alive, and that was enough.

Before he realized it, she had pushed herself up from beneath the sheets and wrapped her arms tightly around him. His breath hitched as he instinctively pulled her closer, his head resting against her shoulder. Her warmth, her presence, was overwhelming, and he buried his face into her as tears pricked at his eyes.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

“I missed you too,” she murmured, holding him just as tightly.

And in that moment, the weight of years and regrets seemed to fade, if only for a little while.

[zanypainterglitter]

Compilation of Acid-Forming Plants

All this happens on Cybertron, the Autobots and Decepticons are finally home after long adventures and fights on Earth, and it seems that it is going to end, but the soldiers, both Autobots and Decepticons, seem to start getting sick. They thought that the Cosmic Rust was sprouting again, until "flesh" began to protrude from their systems, gears and interior, but they were actually organic plants. They called this infection and apparently a new type of plant "Flesh Flower".

Although the flower and its vines, also called algae, are organic, they seem to also have metallic properties such as copper and iron, causing composition cells or electrolytic cells and thus one is infected by direct contact. The algae or vine is green and brown, the flower is yellow in the center with white, pink and light purple, all are capable of expelling spores or liquid like acid, they seem to have a yellow or blue color with a greenish tone. Infection can be avoided with decontamination and thorough washing, and if the algae are in their initial phase, they can be removed, although they may require surgery.

The flower will stick to the metal being like a worm and will try to enter its system, but if you are quick to notice this you can crush it but it must be washed and decontaminated because otherwise it will become infected anyway, or it can be through a wound through which a viscous substance comes out of the body, the first phase will begin to see symptoms of fatigue, joint problems that begin to take over the host's body until having any type of disability and in the process its lubricant will escape from its mouth that acquires a very sour taste, in the second phase algae will begin to grow from the victim's body but they can be confused with simple cables, heat and liquids can accelerate the oxidation and growth of the plant, the algae will begin to grow the cables and even the organs of the victim and from there begins the third phase where the parts made up of the vehicle will seem loose or hanging to the point of falling, being able to see them and show them this can reach the brain and coming out of the mouth along with an acid and viscous liquid that is mostly Infectious and also in my eyes of the host, it is infectious at this point, the fourth phase only look like a body that you can see the organs and the flowers are combining and absorbing it completely but they can be recognized although they are already completely controlled by the plant and the last phase is where the infected get trapped in the metal surface starting to grow roots from their body and sprouting but should not get close as it can still attack, in the end they become not only a tree but a perfect combination of organic and metallic, growing fruits in which they are not infected and are edible.

Shockwave is missing, while everyone is under curfew but some like the Decepticons prefer to fight the infection, Grimlock along with the Dinobots are considered patient 0 because many saw how his spark came out tentacles from the plants grabbing the other Dinobots forming Volcanicus and a beast without equal.

Optimus was sorry and sad because he told Grimlock not to do it but he failed to prevent the catastrophe, the medical autobots try to find a cure and take shelter in what remains of cities trying to rebuild them while the decepticons prefer to eliminate all those who are seen and are infected using bases to be able to eliminate all the flesh flowers, Starscream is suspicious that Shockwave must be doing something, but several decepticons and even autobots begin to have paranoia of everything that is organic to the point of hating it, which starts disputes because they suspect that others will infect them.

Discovering that the infected can communicate telepathically with each other, acting as a hive. It turns out that all this was a plan by Shockwave who was the real patient 0 and is practically almost like a queen wasp, he did this to have the population of Cyberton under control, since he got bored and fed up with the Decepticons finding the constant war and fighting unbearable that the only thing it did was waste resources so on Earth he managed to form the flesh flower with water and sea salts combined with chemicals creating a corrosive acid plant and with technical modifications he achieved the perfect infectious plant in his favor testing with it and then the Dinobots so that they could easily spread their corrosion.

Shockwave wanted to have the resources back on Cybertron, so he hoped that everyone would kill each other so that he would have food and a semi-rebuilt home and have a new generation under his logic and control but neither Megatron nor Optimus are going to allow it.

[marvelousmagicalaura]

Rust and Ruin

Rashek’s Ascension, Empire, his death. Vin releasing Ruin. The Mists appearing every night. And the advent of publicly aware Allomancy during the Final Empire. These were all part of Leras’ plan…

Ruin’s body at the Pits of Hathsin existed for several millennia, but every bit of atium needed to be burned at the right moment. Leras needed an Allomancer to take up Preservation then kill Ruin. He needed a rebellious Feruchemist to tap all the memories in their copperminds, and take up both Preservation and Ruin.

Sanderson confirmed in WoB that the Mists showed up every time the Well filled up, since the beginning. The Mists appearing every night during the Final Empire is an anomaly.

None of the aforementioned steps could happen without a consistent force attuning the Allomancer to Preservation, or an army that knows the existence of Allomancy, or the setup of a system that prevents Ruin from immediately reabsorbing the atium at the Pits. There needed to be a Feruchemist with reason to be rebellious and fill their copperminds with so much information. And they couldn’t have been the Hero with half of the hybrid Shard “locked away” and weakened.

Leras trusted Rashek to live and die so the final stops towards the Hero of Ages could be accomplished. He predicted the burning of all atium, and the apotheosis of his immediate successor, should manifest during the Final Empire. Even if he no longer remembered by the time of Secret History.

I would also postulate that, among other things, he trusted Kelsier to destroy all the atium at the Pits of Hathsin. A freed Ruin would immediately go there, reabsorb the atium, and destroy Scadrial. But because Kelsier destroyed the Pits, Ruin was forced to follow Rashek’s tricky trail.

[fauxmystique]

Dungeoneer's Guide to Monstrous Races

Chapter 1: Goblins and Goblinoids Goblins are one of, if not the, most well-known of all the monstrous races. They are not fully intelligent, but they are cunning, swift, and quick to breed. As a rule, most goblins are born male. In the event that a goblin is born female, she will immediately be named the tribe's Shaman, and will be responsible for producing goblins, hobgoblins, and (once in her lifetime) a bugbear (also known as a goblin chief). It is typically advised that most small villages without an adventurer's guild sacrifice at least one fresh adult to a goblin tribe at least once a year to keep them sated, and to prevent the destruction of the town or the emergence of a goblin chief.

Adventurers are advised that goblin cum is highly virile, and addictive, however there are remedies for such things readily available at any Adventurer's Guild. It is a common misconception that only female adventurers can become pregnant from a goblin. THIS IS UNTRUE. Goblin sperm does not REQUIRE an egg to germinate. Goblins born from purely goblin seed are known as hobgoblins, characterized by their rust-colored skin and more humanoid features. Do not be fooled. Hobgoblins are still goblins, just bigger, stronger, meaner, and sterile.

The goblin Shaman is a spellcaster, a priest who channels the power of their god. Oftentimes she will have access to both druidic and holy magic. Take care to ensure that a goblin shaman does not discover necromancy. It will not end well. Once in their lifetime, goblin shamans may birth a goblin chief. The chief will then consume its mother, gaining a small amount of her powers. It will not be able to cast magic, however it will be able to construct HEXES, CHARMS, TALISMANS, TOTEMS, and WARDS. Each of these requires a different skillset to disarm. While their effects may be minor, beware. Even a slight slowing effect might mean the difference between escape, and a belly full of goblin sperm. After the birth of a chief, all goblins in the tribe are immediately bound to its will, showing a fanatical devotion that will even cause them to throw away their own lives (something they are typically unwilling to do without the presence of a chieftain).

As they age, chiefs will seek to domesticate any nearby beast species using specially cursed meat to empower them and transform them into Wargs. Wargs serve as scouts, mounts, and pets for goblinoids, and can typically communicate in some rudimentary fashion, though rarely by speech. After this, the chieftain will likely move its tribe to a location of dark magic to be recruited by an INTELLIGENT MONSTER.

Adventurers are advised to, under no circumstances, allow this to happen. Once a fully matured goblin hive is under the command of an intelligent monster (i.e. a hag coven or fiend) they become much, much more dangerous. Their natural craftiness combined with the planning capabilities of a higher ranking monster make them one of the most adaptable and varied of a Dungeon Keeper's foot soldiers.

[zakalwe-the-ninth]

Kiss prompt! I’d be interested what you’d do with either #49 or #42. But if those are both hard, you could try #22, which might be easier?

Lots of choice, thank you @lewistheeditor! Because I apparently don't like an easy life, I went with 42, 'out of pride'.

I'm not entirely sure this was what the prompt intended, but it's my interpretation!

The Spark - 1.3k words, Teen and Up, established relationship, no warnings, no angst, just introspective fluff!

The Rat’s Chamber is loud this afternoon; representatives of the city’s largest guilds are seated down one long side of the table, and each man studiously avoids looking at the axe buried in the lacquered wood before them.

Vimes sits alone, on the other side of the axe. Vetinari muses on the probable symbolism of this from his position at the head of the table, where he listens to the raised voices with increasing - yet well-concealed - irritation.

The argument has been going on for some time, and Vimes is getting laid into from all angles. He is, however, defending himself deftly against every accusation and thinly veiled threat that is lobbed in his direction.

He is lobbing a fair amount of his own back in return.

Vetinari would be willing to intervene, but he knows absolutely that to do so without invitation from Vimes would be highly detrimental to their…relationship.

The word relationship evokes an odd feeling within him. Vetinari cannot recall the last time he had cause to use it in regard to himself; at least, in the manner it refers to now.

That is, an intimate relationship.

Thinking of it in those terms gives him a small thrill, and as Downey demands to know what Vimes is planning to do about…well, something that evidently has him very irate, Vetinari wrestles a small smile to prevent it from taking over his lips. He leans forward and covers his mouth with his hand, as an additional layer of protection against intrusive glances.

He tries very hard not to stare at Vimes, ignoring the colour in the man’s cheeks and dilation of his pupils that indicate he is very much riled, and the clenched fists that show he is fighting every impulse to act on it.

But the image is reminiscent of seeing the man in other – more intimate – ways. The way he looks when Vetinari has him spread, flushed and dishevelled, on the bed. Or, on one memorable occasion, on the table before them.

The fingers covering his mouth tap distractedly against his lips.

Vetinari hears his name mentioned and briefly drags his focus back to the argument, but it seems no one is awaiting his input, so he returns his attention to Vimes.

He has to remind himself, sometimes, that Vimes was not born into this. He had no noble upbringing; no elite education. No upper-class role models to instil the confidence that comes from believing you are the most important person in every room.

Some element of it must come to him naturally, then, instead; ingrained within his nature. The people in this room are some of the most powerful individuals in the city, and yet Vetinari has never once seen Vimes intimidated by any of them.

By anyone, in fact. Not even Vetinari himself. Because even before he became part of the nobility, Vimes showed respect to authority only in a kind of abstract way; when it was required for him to keep his job. As an alcoholic, barely keeping himself out of the gutter, he would still go toe to toe with the likes of Rust and Downey.

On two very memorable occasions he has even arrested Vetinari.

A man who would arrest his absolute ruler; what could you do with such a man, if not elevate him? Execute him? Of course not; what a waste, that would be.

Vetinari listens to Vimes tear Boggis apart over a spate of unlicenced thieving, and muses that ultimately, he had to promote the man to give him a social status that finally matched the fire that burned within him.  

At times like these, Vetinari finds it fascinating to light the man’s touchpaper and then stand well back; a strange pride swells within him to see Vimes skilfully cut through the bluff and bluster.

He is filled, suddenly, with an urge to somehow convey that to Vimes.

Thankfully the meeting is coming to a close, or at least, everyone is finally tired of shouting at one another and has quietened down. Vimes seems to have won, but the others would undoubtedly insist it had not been a competition.

Vetinari raises an eyebrow and finally speaks. “Thank you, gentlemen. This has been…enthralling. I look forward to discussing it all again next week. For now, however, you may leave.”

There are glances exchanged at the abruptness of the dismissal, but no one is in the mood to argue further. The men get up and start to shuffle out.

“Commander, would you remain for a moment, please?”

Vimes frowns with suspicion, but stands still behind his vacated chair while the great and the good file out past him. He looks ready for round two and as soon as they are alone, he turns to the Patrician and immediately starts talking.

“Look, I’m sorry. But they were talking bollocks. Downey has been up my backside for weeks about that assassin I arrested, and Boggis needs to bloody remember who does the real policing in this city – ”

He stops then, because Vetinari has swiftly covered the distance between them and has a very distinctive look on his face.

“Ah…?” Vimes gets out, and then Vetinari is pressing him back against the table, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his hip to hold him in place as he kisses him.

Vetinari’s kisses are usually fairly reserved, to start with – though admittedly, they don’t tend to remain that way for very long. This one, however, starts out as anything but; it seems watching Vimes hold his own against the guild leaders has sparked something in him and so he kisses Vimes like he might be able to consume him.

Vetinari makes a mental note to examine that more closely, later.

Vimes is evidently surprised at the turn of events, but he always did adapt quickly. He takes a second to gather himself and then kisses back, leaning into the contact, his fingers clutching Vetinari’s hips tightly and pulling him closer.

They stand like that for a long moment, until Vetinari pulls back. They are in a public space, after all, and it wouldn’t do to get caught. That may give the guild leaders enough ammunition to come at Vimes in a way he couldn’t defend himself against. If that were to come to pass, Vetinari would be forced to intercede; Vimes’ pride be damned.

He is musing on this while Vimes blinks and gathers himself.

The man gives an embarrassed cough, his cheeks flushing. “Right. I mean, that was…unexpected. I thought I was going to get a bollocking.” He hesitates. “I mean, it was good, though. I’m certainly not complaining.” A small frown crosses his brow. “I thought you had a rule, no funny business at work?”

Vetinari raises an eyebrow. “What good is being a tyrant if you cannot break your own rules?”

Vimes just glares at him, and Vetinari sighs. “You handled yourself very well during that, Vimes. It merely spurred me to demonstrate my…appreciation…of you.”

The commander narrows his eyes. “I nearly launched Downey out of the bloody window.”

Vetinari smiles. “I am aware. And yet, you did not.” He feels instinctively that if he tells Vimes he is proud of him – not just today, but always - he will risk defenestration himself, and so he does not share that particular feeling.

Vimes grunts, but still looks suspicious. “Alright.” He looks vaguely around the empty room. “Don’t envy you dealing with this bunch every day.”

Vetinari puts his head to one side. “Some days they are easier to deal with than others, Commander.” When you are beside me, he does not say, and files that thought away for later consideration, too.

For now, however, Vetinari redirects the talk back to matters of state until Vimes is officially off the clock, at which point there is much less talking altogether.

[conspirartist]

Hey guys, I come to you with another oc: this time you're meeting IronPatcher, a gentle giant ColorPicker took under her wing all the way back in Kaon.

Soft sparked, mild tempered and used to doing the most out of very little. More often than not this meek doctor is doing his job under less than ideal circumstances and yet those who end up under his care rarely seem inclined to trust another bot with their health.

Same with ColorPicker this got long so backstory under the cut.

The youngest of a large group of miners in Kaon, was mostly raised within the mines. A shy sparkling name IronJaw, back then (a designation chosen to reference his tusk-like bottom teeth, a feature that had many of the older bots cooing over his smiles).

Living mostly underground had its own risks - between accidents, lack of proper care and blatant abuse at the servos of higher-ups injuries and sickness were frequent companions.

IronJaw was still a child when what seemed to be a simple case of rust rash spread out through the mines and took out almost half of the workers there. The young bot himself developed some rather painful rashes around his optics, much to his caretakers' worry (at least those who were left from them).

It was at that time that SoothingWind joined them. The doctor's presence serving the dual purpose of preventing more workers from being lost to the mystery sickness and as punishment to the flier who apparently messed with some documentation to allow for a laborer mech to study under him.

The epidemic ended up being controlled, the medic tracing its source back to a shipment of contaminated supplies (which would come to cost the seeker years underground with the miners, the information too fresh to leave the mines).

IronJaw's optics survived the illness, but there was very little to be done about the scars the rust left behind.

For a short while their community thrived, the presence of a doctor helping ease some of the ever present ailments of the mines. But a single doctor wasn't enough for their numbers and being kept underground for so long started to affect the medic's own health.

If asked he wouldn't be able to tell when SoothingWind first taught him how to solder a small cut shut, but little by little the flyer taught him how to care for his fellow miners.

By the time he hit the growing spurts of his adolescence the mines' doctor had smuggled him enough data packs on medical care IronJaw could've been one of his students all the way back in Crystal City.

It was around that time that the seeker's condition got to a point so crytical he and a few other miners decided to try and take the flyer outside (catatonic at one moment and violently self destructive in the next, hitting the cave walls a his need for flight overrode any logical thinking).

They got caught (SoothingWind's sentence was declared over the same cycle, the mines once more left without a doctor), IronJaw sent to the arena after refusing to name all those who helped in the plan.

If the mines were cruel the gladiator pit were something else entirely. He tried to yield his first fight, just to be drugged and have his protocols tampered with.

If mercy withing the arena was denied, he could still wield it outside - he patched his fellow gladiators, he showed kindness when there were none to be found all around.

And when he had the rare chance to walk the city streets (always under the watchful optics of the matches' organizers) he met ColorPicker, the old fenme with a mischievous smile and quick wit.

And then came Megatron and his talk of freedom and he listened and he caught a glimpse of a Cybertron never even allowed himself to dream about.

And he kept meeting the old mod artist, she talked about her own doctor and the fate he met (he wondered if their doctors would've been good friends if given the chance: his not quite creator and her conjunx) about the bots she met, about the good cycles of her own almost forgotten childhood.

And then revolution broke out and they wanted him to carve his future with a blade (always a blade). He ended up at ColorPicker's door instead, she covered his rust scars in shimmering white paint (she drew a red line across the bridge of his nose, he remembers describing the exact same marking on SoothingWind's face to her).

There's something proud and incredibly fond on her optics when she declared he now looks the part of a damn good medic. When she asks how she should call him from now on, the answer slips without tought: IronJaw was raised in Kaon, IronPatcher leaves it on his stead.

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Looking at several previous one, I can already imagine that this one is not going to turn out well, but since it is my favorite I'm going to ask anyway.

How about Skarmory?

Skarmories are fascinating pokémon, but they might not make the greatest house pet unless you are an expert in the species. As I’m sure you understand, this makes it pretty difficult for me to give them a blanket endorsement, hence the C ranking. It’s a complicated one, so let’s get right into it.

For one thing, skarmories are pretty large. At over five feet tall, their space needs are gonna be higher than a lot of owners can handle. This is doubly true considering their aerial lifestyle: skarmories are skilled flyers and would likely become restless if prevented from flying freely. I’d go out on a limb and guess that very, very view readers of this blog have access to an enclosed space large enough to suit a skarmory’s need to take to the air. These pokémon can fly at dumbfounding speeds, topping off somewhere around 190 miles per hour (Ruby). Nothing short of a sports stadium, if that, would suffice. Of course, a trained skarmory could be allowed to explore freely and return home on command, but that would require a level of training that’s gonna really decrease their ease of care. You would also need to keep in mind that flying freely outdoors may present a risk to your skarmory or wild pokémon, depending on where you live. In the Galar Region, for example, skarmories are known to “fight viciously over territory” with corviknights (Sword). On a brighter note, these pokémon aren’t too heavy considering their size thanks to their light, hollow bones, a necessity to their flying capabilities (Gold).

Now, for the friendliness factor: there’s decent indication that skarmories may get along well with humans. Both in the past and today, humans use shed skarmory feathers as blades due to their natural strength and exceptional sharpness (Crystal, Emerald, Sun, Ultra Sun). Around the world, this pokémon is a popular heraldic symbol due to their role as a passive source for human weapons (Shield). While the pokédex makes no note of skarmories offering their feathers willingly to humans at any point, it also doesn’t indicate that collecting these feathers is particularly dangerous for humans, indicating to me at the very least a passive, nonviolent relationship between the species. As an added benefit, if you own a skarmory, you’ll have access to valuable blades year-round, which could be sold to support yourself and your pet.

Skarmories, unfortunately, have additionally habitat needs that increase the difficulty of their care. Wild skarmories, like most bird-like pokémon, make their homes in nests. Skarmory nests are built using bramble bushes, whose sharp thorns help skarmory chicks develop their defensive armor (Silver). Such a nest would be difficult to upkeep, to say the least. Not only would you need to provide your skarmory with sufficiently prickly branches to satisfy their nesting needs, you would need to make sure they have a perfectly dry place to build it (i.e. not anywhere where they may get rained on), since their metal feathers are known to rust very easily (Moon). All this to say: a standard pet bed would not cut it for a skarmory. If you’re planning on adopting one, you’d better look into some good bramble bushes.

I’m sure anyone who reads this could see it a mile away but my goodness are skarmories dangerous! Their razor-sharp feathers are sharper than most artificial blades (Sword), and they make skilled use of them in combat. Moves like Steel Wing, Slash, and even Wing Attack and Fury Attack could easily prove lethal to a human. Considering their speed and agility, a skarmory attack is not something you want to risk. Now, the pokédex doesn’t make any mention of the species being particularly aggressive, but we must always recognize that the risk of an accident are always present. A skarmory is essentially a giant bird of prey made of knives. Like, c’mon.

Unfortunately, this pokémon is not one I can comfortably recommend as a house pet. Skilled flying-type keepers may be able to care for them, but the average pet owner would simply be putting themselves and other people and pokémon in their neighborhood at risk by adopting one.