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wholelottatransbians · 3 months

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Okay... you gave me string..

Yume can onlyy empower three people flat with crisis mode empowerments

power ups for the power ups version A (moment of awakening Joint training excercise and in order of first time seen) the quirk awakening gives her empowered, 2 extra abilities besides their quirk, the one from the staff and the "crisis move"

Uraraka (one of the two girls who were at her traianing team for the JTA): her costume gains a Jet pack and her helemet becomes a tiara who looks like Saturn rings, obtains a second line of ruffles on her skirt and the staff is a hammer with aside looking like an representation of earth, and the other a moonstone, the staff ability is mamss modification, capable of modifiying the mass of anything she points or sees (the effect is doubled if both), her new ability is the capacity to create "gravity areas" from an area where gravity goes horizontal, to "technicly" fly, she obtained this ability after she was buried with midoriya in an assault between Rule (yui) and Phantom thief (Monoma), she went fully feral on both their reckless asses.

Midoriya (as a test in middle of the battle while trying to distract herself from the MASACRE Ochako was inflicting to Monoma ass...ets): her wings look like half angelical half demonic (the angelical black and the demonic white) and her tiara is a mix of gems surrounding an emerald, she gains a hair makeover (her hair becomes like a curly sailor Venus) her staff is a gigant pencil/moon staff from sailor moon, her staff ability is "write" which she can use to write on people new abilities for them which last as long as she holds the transformation, her new ability is basically AfO but she can't use the abilities she takes, only swap them between teammates, when she goes back normal the abilities become normal again.

Hagakure (before her tesst and approved by Aizawa in order to provide "a bigger challnge" to the 1-B team (who wanted to test their mettle against this new power of midoriya) ) her wings look like solid light feathers and her tiara is a big star with a gold band, her dress growns into a bellow knee size and becomes a one piece, her staff is actually a bow, her bow power is ALL the lasers (omni directional lasers, freezing beams, heat beams, beams that cut corners chocolate beams) but she needs to charge it into an arrow (the more esotecric the more time) in order to shoot them, her new ability is a "mute field", like her invisibility, it makes anything around her soundless if she so desires, it does not work in reverse.

Mina ashido (a day later in the heroic lessons in a battle simulation against Bakugo, kirishima Todoroki and Kaminari, "Suposidly it was 'test their ability to fight against superior enemies' but Midoriya was ''accidentally' put with a girl) her wings become extraterrestrial wings (like claws which shouldn't fly but they DO) and her dress becomes a little more "R-Rated" (ashido own volition, Midoriya was supper embarrased for that change) and obtains a bow in her waist, her staff is a Pink orb with a furred staff whichch opens in a sakura like pattern when using her staff power, her staff power is that as long as the staff touches the ground, Ashido can transform it into any kind of liquid in an area of 30 meters, but mainly acids, if the staff leaves the ground the ground becomes solid again, Mina can choose how much and in what direction it spreads, her new power is acid control, she can control her acid like another limb, this includes the acids from her staff power.

Momo (in the middle of an training set betwee Fat GUm and Ryukyu (her mentor) to test their abilities against pro hero Miruko (originally it was against sidekids, but miruko got in the middle), they hoped that the power boost would save them, they were wrong): her knightly oufit becomes Artoria Pendragon oufit in fate grand order (her Lily version) and her helmet becomes a crown, her wings are incredibly realistic robot wings the sstaff is basically the banner "luminose eternelle" from fate, her staff power is technomancy, she can create technology from any material nearby that she imagines, her new power is the capacity to "absorb" and "upgrade" herself with any inorganic material nearby, she returns to normal (mostly)after the time of the transformation.

Tsuyu (in a fight between Tsuyu and Midoriya against a minor villian who has a time stop quirk) she doesn't develop wings actually but membrenes between her fingers, her outfit growns lilies and her tiara is a lily tiara like those of the owl house Groom tiara Luz and Amity obtained,her staff is a simple golden staff with a lily on top, the staff power is "dive", as long as tsuyu holds it, she can swim trhough anything like if it was water, her new power is a multiplier which makes her 50% stronger faster and smarter.

Himiko (in a more profesional test made by the faculty (i hope im not messing with the wrong AU) in which she jirou and Midnnight were empowered) her wings are made of crystalized blood (you know those crystals of frozed blood? that is the look) which looks like Elizabeth Balthory wings in fate, in fact her dress is the same as Elizabeth, her tiara is a black iron tiara without any ornnaments, her staff is a naginata with a red blade, her staff power is "grow" which can grow to any size and ALSO feed itself from blood Himiko's enemies spill which fuels her transform quirk, her new ower is "blood mist" which allows her to transform into a cloud of bloody mist which is inmune to any damage, she can reorm at any time.

Jirou (like himiko) her jacket grows into a kimono with Punk colors (look at P-U-N-K cardss in YGO), her wingss are invisible as they are basically sound and her tiara is more a headband which is a heaadphone for music, her staff is a microphone stand, her staff power is "compelling music" which makes her voice hypnotic, is stronger the less strong willed the target, her new power is sound canon: she can send sound waves from her hands to her enemies.

BONUS

Midnight (like Jirou and Himiko) most of her outfits were censored but the one she ended choosing was a skintight dress which showed her midriff and earrings f the jewels she normally has in her normal hero outfit, her staff is a whip, her tiara is a Orchid (see flower arrangement meaning for Orchids, one of them is "passion) her wings were somnambulist vapour, her staff power is that she instantly knocks ot anyone she touches with her whip, her new power is he ability to make Somnambulist gas appear from any place nea her ignoring fabrics it must be 10 meters near her.

Okay, I've been chewing on this ask for a little bit (because it's a lot of ask, jeebus), and I feel the need to clear something up:

The Joint Training Exercise is far too early for something like this.

I never got around to power scaling the Empowered forms, but think of all of them being around top 20 Heroes level. Even weaker Quirks like Mushroom or Small Attraction can do some serious damage with the power boost, not to mention ones like Zero Gravity or Acid. So, hypothetically, a Crisis power up would be saved for a big bad stronger than All for One (as Empowered!Midoriya could easily match him), and probably just be for Midoriya.

None of these are bad ideas persay, but they are a bit... much. Like, completely different aesthetics and powersets. Don't hate them, but not something I'd do.

#asks #for love and justice #you were right tho #himiko was not experimented on in any of my aus

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inkfamy · 1 year

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Saturated Sunlight - Chapter 5

Pairings: Bluestreak/Sunstreaker

Continuity: G1

The shattering crack of rifle fire is swallowed into the empty vastness of the desert. Bluestreak doesn’t seem to notice the kickback that drives the butt hard into his shoulder, already sliding the bolt action to drop the spent shell and lining up the next shot. Sunstreaker can barely make out the target, set over two kilometres away, even when he squints down a pair of binoculars, but he doesn’t need to see to know Bluestreak will have hit the mark.

The relentless sun beats against their armour and heat rises in blurry coils that shimmer in the air. Sunstreaker knows he should give in to the flickering temperature warnings his systems send and let his armour loosen, try to use some of the air movement to cool down, but he’s loath to let the awful Earth particles have any more access to his protoform.

Earth’s sand, Sunstreaker reckons, is probably the worst substance the planet has to offer. It’s like it was fashioned by the hand of the Unmaker himself; miniscule particles of hell that wiggle deep into joints and under cables and crunch there for the next month. The feeling of the wind dancing the particles over and under his plate is a constant assault on his senses.

Bluestreak, though, doesn’t seem to be bothered by the dirt, or the flurries of grit that slosh in waves over his armour. Laid flat on his front, practically nestled into the sun bleached scrub, the mech Sunstreaker has come to think of as Sniper Bluestreak is at the fore. Optic pressed to his rifle’s scope, the Praxian’s usual vibrant liveliness is tightly controlled even just for the firing range.

Continue reading on AO3 (or below)

After over a month of back-to-back patrols, guard duties, and whatever mundane tasks one of the officers could think up, Sunstreaker is content to lounge back and do nothing, watching with idle interest as Bluestreak excels at his craft, even if it means sitting in the hot sun and disgusting sand. He’s always held a captivated interest in seeing someone perfectly carry out a task, and the sniper’s smooth motions and laser focus sing like a symphony of skill.

He trails admiring optics over Bluestreak’s prone form, noting the prepared tension that coils like a snake ready to pounce. The difference in his own frontliner build to those who tended to be out of the melee fighting always strikes him as stark: thinner plate, half the thickness of his own, exposed joints, areas where the protoform is practically unguarded. It’s hard not to automatically weigh up the weak spots and the places where a carefully aimed strike could send a mech crashing to the floor.

One weakness stands out much more than the rest.

“Why do you raise your doors up when you’re shooting?” he asks.

Bluestreak twists to look back at Sunstreaker, a flash of one blue optic peering over his pauldron.

“My doors?” he asks, voice mirroring Sunstreaker’s own curiosity.

Sunstreaker shrugs, motioning to the Praxian’s distinctive doors, angled up almost perpendicular to his back. “You raise your doors up and out from your body when you’re shooting. I’ve seen Prowl and Smokescreen on the range and in battle, and neither of them do it. Doesn’t it make it easier for someone to spot your position?”

Bluestreak’s optics flicker, and for a moment Sunstreaker is worried he might have inadvertently said something offensive, or that maybe the grey mech took the question as criticism, but then he pushes himself up from his position, rolling to sit, and that beautiful smile beams across his face like clouds parting for the sun.

And just like that, Sniper Bluestreak melts away and the friendly, open animated Bluestreak returns.

“Oh, you noticed? You know, no one’s ever asked me that before. I didn’t think anyone really paid attention to that kind of thing,” Bluestreak adjusts his rifle in his lap, deliberately flattening his doors back to their usual resting position. “It’s nothing much. After I was accepted into the marksman training program, I wanted to have the best shooting in the ranks, and I heard that Wheeljack was experimenting with neural net tech, so I went to see him and we discussed it and he drew up a bunch of different ideas - you know, software for more accurate targeting and sharper optical vision and that kind of thing - and we played around with a bunch of different ideas and eventually I persuaded him to run additional sensory circuits up my doors.”

He flexes one grey door back from his body, then up and down in demonstration.

Sunstreaker doesn’t follow. He watches the door as it moves, apparently with the same range of mobility as the other Praxians on base.

“Extra sensory circuits… for what?” he asks.

Bluestreak nods, gesturing up with one servo. “You know, like fliers have through their wings? It means I can sense air currents and pressure, so I can adjust for wind speed or other atmospheric conditions when I’m shooting. It took point five-eight millimetres off my shot groupings and point six percent more on-target shots. But I have to spread them up and wide to feel the air properly.”

Sunstreaker sits in stunned silence for a moment, processing this incredible piece of information. He casts thoughtful optics over the still-raised door, Bluestreak’s cheery expression, the hard lines of his plate blurring in the dancing heat of the sun.

“You had a flyer neural net added to your frame for half a millimetre better accuracy?”

Bluestreak smiles, and his frame hums pleasure and pride. “Precision,” he corrects, “but yeah.”

Sunstreaker spends an interesting servoful of seconds revising his estimations of the sniper. He’s already long since grown to like the mech’s breathtaking honesty, the liveliness apparent in his frame when he talks, the way his optics glow with genuine delight when someone truly pays attention to the spill of words from his vocaliser. Before they even met he’d known that Bluestreak was the best marksman in the army, and it was quickly apparent once they were both assigned to the Ark that the mech was dedicated to his craft in a way that surpassed most other Autobots - it was impossible for him to have risen to such a recognised position otherwise - but the commitment needed to go through such extensive modifications just to gain the slightest edge.

He asks the question slowly, already seeing the vague outline of the answer in his mind, “Why?”

An unusually cold expression ghosts across Bluestreak’s features, and his servos unconsciously tighten around his rifle. He half turns his helm back towards the distant targets, but his optics are focused on something only he can see.

The soldier’s voice is flat when he finally answers, “Because I have to be good enough to shoot a seeker out of the sky.”

Sunstreaker’s optics fix on the long body of the rifle. Even while he’s sitting up and paying no attention to the weapon, Bluestreak’s grip is professional. His pale grey fingers rip mindlessly against a tiny scrape in the rifle’s paint, and Sunstreaker knows that by tomorrow the gun will be maintained and polished back to pristine condition.

Bluestreak’s optics have a far off look, and a tiny frown mars his features. Something in Sunstreaker’s spark twists at the expression, and he curses himself for letting the topic move to a subject that could steal the sniper’s smile.

The Praxian has dashed into the twins’ habsuite two more times since the night they found him staggering down the corridor. Each terrified huff of the mech’s venting system and the strutless weakness of his panicked body plays in Sunstreaker’s memory banks like a bad dream. Each time he wishes he could do anything to make things better, and each time all he’s been able to offer is the safety of the warriors’ room and quiet reassurance until the episode passes.

Sideswipe would have some clever and charming thing to say, something that would lighten the mood and bring the smile back to Bluestreak’s face. All Sunstreaker can do is sit in awkward silence, casting around for something else to say. For a brief moment he considers sending a quick comm to his twin, but thinking of the teasing later when they’re alone quickly puts paid to that idea.

He glances over to the far off distance where the targets are set up. Usually Bluestreak likes to inspect the targets to assess his own skills, though Sunstreaker has never been able to see anything less than startling accuracy.

Making up his mind, he pushes himself to his pedes, and holds a servo out to Bluestreak.

“Race you to the targets?” he offers, the attempt at some levity sounding weak to his own audials.

But Bluestreak looks up at him with bright optics, and when he reaches out to take Sunstreaker’s servo the smile is blooming back across his face.

-o0o-

“Maybe a quick timeout?” Bluestreak pants out the question before he can lose his nerve again, stumbling slightly as Sunstreaker hauls him upright. An odd expression flits across the warrior’s face before his features school to their usual disinterested aloofness, and Bluestreak can’t stop the words from flooding through his vocaliser, “I hope that’s okay, it’s not that I’m not enjoying sparring but it’s just that I think you’re a lot better at it than me and I could do with quickly grabbing some coolant and haha ha, standing upright for more than a minute.”

He manages to stifle the flow, cringing as a nervous half-smile-half-grimace sets itself across his lips, and realises with a start he’s still holding on to Sunstreaker’s arm. He lets go sharply, optics flicking to check whether his grip has left any marks on the perfectly polished plate.

Sunstreaker’s optics flash again with that hint of a strange expression, but then it’s gone and he’s rolling back his shoulders as though stretching off after a difficult task, a move Bluestreak thinks might be meant to soothe because he definitely hasn’t presented much of a challenge in any of their many sparring matches.

“Sure,” comes the cool reply. Brilliantly blue optics track across Bluestreak’s face, then the scuffs and dust on his plate. “We can stop for the day, if you want.”

It’s an easy out, and Bluestreak knows that he could just accept the excuse and put an end to being sent flying to the floor for the day. Sunstreaker would probably even unquestioningly lay off their daily sparring again, going back to training against the other frontliners without any malice.

Except –

Except that would be like failing. Bluestreak would always live with the grating knowledge that his friend had invited him into an area of his life, and he had quit because it was hard.

But it is hard.He’s certain that Sunstreaker isn’t trying to hurt him, that there’s no malice or resentment in the daily routine of easily flipping him into the training hangar floor, but the purpose evades him.

What connection could there be between the gentle and calm mech who had held him close during his most recent night terror, and the one eagerly catching him in an arm bar?

Sunstreaker’s posture is expectant, waiting for Bluestreak to politely accept the offer and leave. The sniper sees the future laid ahead, where he awkwardly latches on to the dismissal, goes sit on the sidelines until Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are done with their sparring for the day, and waits for them to head to the rec room where he can accompany them again.

Where some tiny, invisible thing between him and the yellow warrior vanishes.

“Just a couple minutes’ break,” he pushes the words out before the silence speaks on his behalf. “You could, uh, have a quick match with Ironhide? I’ll be back when you’re done.”

Sunstreaker pins him with an unreadable stare for a moment, then nods and turns away towards where Sideswipe, Ironhide, and Brawn are gathered in a rowdy group.

Bluestreak quickly retreats to snatch a cube of coolant, flopping down onto a bench away from the rest of the Autobots with a heavy ex-vent. On the far side of the hangar, Sideswipe throws an arm around his twin in greeting, earning a disgruntled scowl as Sunstreaker shrugs off the contact.

“Findin’ it rough, Blue?”

The voice, unexpectedly close, sends Bluestreak automatically jerking up from his seat, sloshing coolant over his pedes and whirling around, already reaching for a weapon.

Lounging across the next bench, stretched out like a cat in the sun, Jazz gives him a lazy smile and a hand wave that might be somewhat related to a salute. Bluestreak untenses, feeling sheepish at the soft hiss of his armour unlocking. He glances around, as though Jazz’s sudden appearance might explain itself, but the hangar corner is quiet and the black and white mech looks like he’s been idling in his position for a while.

“You found my hiding spot,” the commander drawls, making no attempt to straighten himself. “I’ve been watching all the training.”

Jazz doesn’t look like he’s been watching anything, a blank datapad tucked under his hip and – yes, Bluestreak is sure that’s a cube of engex edged under the bench.

“Sorry, Jazz,” he looks across the hangar for another quiet spot. “I didn’t um, see you? Somehow? Sorry to bother you.”

“No worries,” Jazz says, and before Bluestreak can pick another bench to make for, “why don’t you sit down? I saw Sunstreaker’s been handin’ your aft to you for a bit.”

The comment wedges itself into a tender spot, and before Bluestreak’s processor has much input his spark is dumping him back onto the bench, turning to the third in command plaintively.

“Do you think he’s mad at me?” he frets, fiddling with the now empty coolant cube. “Just, we’ve been training together a lot and everything seems okay but then he wants to spar and he just knocks me down, but if he was mad he wouldn’t be normal the rest of the time, right?”

Jazz’s visor is a cool abyss of blank blue, his mouth quirked in a lopsided grin that shows a tiny hint of a pointed denta, and he offers a shrug, the movement somehow smooth and lazy.

“Do you think he's mad at you?”

Bluestreak turns the glass around and around in his hands, the worry that’s been curled in the back of his processor for the last few days unfurling and worming its way into his fuel tank. Heat floods through his chest and his engine feels like it might stall, nervous, anxious energy jolting through his body. He can’t help but cant forwards towards Jazz, doors clenching back from his body in anxiety.

“I don’t know!” he whispers, the worry surging up from his fuel tanks to his vocaliser. “Everything seemed fine earlier when we were on the firing range and we raced to the target and everything was normal but whenever we spar he knocks me down so fast and then he helps me up but he has this look like he’s waiting for me to do something but I don’t know what.”

Jazz nods his head pensively, pursing his lips in a thoughtful expression. Bluestreak expects him to wave off the situation as down to Sunstreaker’s personality, or tell him to go and find out for himself, but Jazz’s answer is unexpected enough to bring all the stresses chasing round Bluestreak’s processor to a crashing stop.

“Do you think you could knock him down?”

“I don’t –” Bluestreak starts to say that he’s no match for a warrior, but there’s a faint hum to Jazz’s EM field that doesn’t invite excuses. He pauses, staring into that soft smile and unreadable blue visor, and his targeting software can’t help but track the tiny motions of Jazz’s finger as he idly traces it along the edge of the bench.

He doesn’t think he could bring any of the warriors down to the ground, if he’s completely honest with himself, but no one in the Autobot ranks has made it this far in the war without being at least minimally proven in any field of combat. His combat training in the marksman program was all about getting out of range of a warrior’s servos, and finding enough space to bring the rifle into play; keep back, stay alive. Ideally don’t be stupid enough to have a warrior within melee range of your position.

A tiny voice in his spark, curling in shame, wonders if part of the draw of the rifle was to be far away from the real fighting.

Jazz breaks his reverie, indicating back over his black and white shoulder to where the frontliners stand, loud and bold. From this far away Bluestreak can’t quite make out their conversation, but Sunstreaker’s frown is stark and the other mechs are laughing.

“They’re giving ole Sunstreaker a tough time for picking on a mech who ain’t a fighter,” Jazz supplies, and Bluestreak wonders how Jazz can even tell that the frontliners are still standing together without turning to look, “no offence meant, you know, it’s just how they see the world. They think he should stick to his own.”

Bluestreak gives a small grimace in response.

“Of course, the frontliners usually don’t bother training with mechs they don’t think are worth fighting,” Jazz continues, stretching one arm up and out from his body as far as he can and rotating his wrist in a long stretch. “Like right now, Brawn is meant to be paired off with Smokescreen – dunno what Smokey’s managed to do to get on the wrong side of Prowl this time – but he’s gonna ignore the rota and step up with Sideswipe instead, much more fun.”

Bluestreak’s optics flicker between Jazz and the frontliners; the black and white mech is still sitting with his back to the hangar, visor fixed on his companion.

“How do you –” Bluestreak starts, but Jazz puts a finger to his lips and cants his helm back towards the group. The figures of Brawn and Sideswipe detach, striding out to the training area. Bluestreak looks sharply at Jazz, but all he gets in return is a knowing smile that simply says I told you so.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says miserably, watching the two mechs square up. “Are you saying Sunstreaker’s just wasting time with me?”

Jazz snorts, the sound driving a needle into Bluestreak’s spark. The hurt must show on his face, because the smaller mech quickly offers him a gentle fistbump to the knee. The tingle of their EM fields meeting from such close contact sends a wash of light affection playing over Bluestreak’s plate.

“I’m saying he wouldn’t be sparing with you every day if he thought you weren’t worth training with,” Jazz clarifies soothingly.

Bluestreak’s optics follow the careful dance of Sideswipe and Brawn, weighing up one another’s movements as they feel out their plan for attack. In an instant Brawn flips forward, putting himself low on the ground to sweep towards Sideswipe’s legs. It’s a move Bluestreak knows would have had him flat on his back in an instant, but somehow Sideswipe easily responds with a flip of his own, arching himself over the minibot and twisting on one hand to deliver a punishing kick.

“I don’t really know if I am – worth training with, I mean,” he sighs, optics fixing back on Jazz and his body sagging with the weight of inadequacy.

“Yeah?” Jazz leans back, helm supported on one fist. “You don’t know how you’d take one of them down?”

“I don’t want to hurt any of them,” Bluestreak mumbles, scuffing his pede against the floor and aware of how churlish he sounds.

“Humour me,” Jazz shrugs, “how about an enemy warrior?”

Bluestreak mutters the reply sullenly, the answer obvious to his mind, “From five kilometres away.”

To his surprise Jazz laughs, and the amusement sings through the third in command’s field, catching Bluestreak with its lightness.

“Alright, you got your strengths and it’s not easy meeting them on their home turf,” the mech concedes with a nod, “but I know you’ve been out in battle with a warrior up on your position, how’d you get outta that?”

With a huff Bluestreak watches the two warriors scuffle, unfocussed on either and idly tracking their movements, letting his targeting software ping at the edges of their armour where hints of protoform, joints, and cables reveal themselves in the tiniest flashes.

“How would you take down a frontliner?” he asks dully, more sullen question than one seeking advice; he’s seen Jazz training, and knows the smaller mech can flip rings around a larger opponent.

“I’m faster,” Jazz replies without any hesitation, a dangerous grin curling across his mouth and his visor tilting in a way that sends shadows swooping across his face, “flip behind them and then slice out the hydraulics in the back of the legs, hit them with an EMP to disorient and shoot them in the back of the helm before they know what’s happening.”

Bluestreak stares at the third in command for a moment, but good humour is playing through Jazz’s EM field and his smile is as friendly as ever, a weird contrast to the brutality of his words. He shrugs self-consciously, but submits to the game “I’d target the weak points in the joints, open distance between us, get myself space to – oh!”

“There you go,” Jazz’s grin is rewarding, encouraging, “they want to get their servos on you to do some damage, you gotta keep yourself from playing how they want, and playing into your strengths.”

It’s almost exactly the same information that had been drilled into him so hard through his training, and it’s only Jazz’s light reminder that finally clicks the two pieces together. He focuses his attention back on the sparring duo, pressing themselves close to one another to try and overpower, and he forces himself to think of how he would deal with an enemy warrior on his position in the field.

“But isn’t sparring meant to be practising melee fighting?” he asks slowly, unsure of how the puzzle pieces fit into his problem.

Jazz shrugs again, pointing – still without looking, and Bluestreak can’t quite let go of his curiosity over that – away from Brawn and Sideswipe, to where Blurr and Hound occupy a space over towards the edge of the hangar. They spar playfully, Blurr even laughing as the speedster zips around Hound, and the scout turns sharply with an outstretched servo. After a few moments of watching, Bluestreak realises they’re playing tag.

“It’s practising whatever fighting style is going to keep you alive,” Jazz supplies, as Bluestreak tracks the game. “Probably handy for Sunstreaker to train on trying to catch out a gunner – might be handy for you to work out how you’re gonna fight off a warrior who slips past your sights.”

A curl of excitement unfurls in Bluestreak’s spark, the realisation chasing away his gloom. He’s been trying to meet Sunstreaker in strength, copying – and failing – the tactics of the frontliners. But working to his own strengths…

But the excitement is quickly snuffed out, the worry invading back like an oppressive cloud.

“But I don’t want to hurt Sunstreaker,” he sighs, slumping back again, “and I…” he hesitates, then whispers the concern he doesn’t want to house, “I don’t want him to hurt me.”

Jazz’s helm tilts thoughtfully. “Do you think Sunstreaker would let you hurt him, even if you wanted to?”

Bluestreak thinks of the sturdy plate, Sunstreaker’s glowing pride after a battle well fought.

“No,” he murmurs, and realises it’s the truth.

Jazz nods, that lazy smile ghosting across his lips again. “And do you think Sunstreaker would hurt you?”

With a pang Bluestreak thinks of a shouted jibe, and Sunstreaker’s fingers denting the rec room table, of the yellow figure propped by him in king of the castle, watching out for threats, of a servo clasping his, steady EM field meshing with his and the feel of a calm pulse under his fingers.

Immediately guilt crawls through his spark at the idea he’d ever entertained the thought. “No – I know he wouldn’t.”

Jazz’s visor is bright, and he stretches himself comfortably over the bench again, rolling onto his back and focussing up on the ceiling.

“Then you’ve already got an advantage over most of the base,” he laughs, hands curling in the air in a strange gesture Bluestreak doesn’t understand. “I tell you what,” Jazz turns his helm to flash a glance at the Praxian, “I’ll bet you 2 duty shifts you can score a win on Sunstreaker – and double or nothing he won’t even be mad.”

Bluestreak buzzes upright, suddenly energised. He starts off towards the yellow figure on the far side of the hangar, then pauses and throws back a “thanks!” to Jazz. The black and white mech grins and waves goodbye, and Bluestreak jogs across the space, calling to Sunstreaker before he’s halfway across. The yellow warrior meets him with a mildly surprised look, optics flicking from Bluestreak to the corner where Jazz lounges.

“I’m, um, ready to go again – if you are,” Bluestreak huffs, trying to ignore the confidence draining out through his pedes now that he’s close to the intimidating bulk of the warrior. A few steps away, Ironhide casts a curious look at the two of them.

Sunstreaker steps forward, making for a free space, but then tilts his head to Bluestreak, that odd, wary look crossing his face again. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Bluestreak has to ride the energy before he chickens out, quickly making his way to the free sparring ring.

Sunstreaker’s face flickers with a nanosecond of surprise, but he follows and there’s a keenness to his form as he takes his stance.

“Are you ready?” Sunstreaker asks, his familiar starting question.

Bluestreak nods, forcing enthusiasm up and worry down. He focuses on Jazz’s advice.

This time, when Sunstreaker closes the distance between them with frightening speed, Bluestreak doesn’t move to block or try to grapple. He lets his targeting pings guide him, quickstepping back from Sunstreaker’s reach and twisting away. There’s something that might be a small flicker of surprise in the yellow warrior’s optics, but he adjusts quickly. Bluestreak falls for a feint, and finds himself caged against the edge of the edge of the ring.

Sunstreaker gives him that apologetic look, the one that says he knows Bluestreak’s done his best, but things are going the same way they always do, and he shifts fast and inexorable to catch Bluestreak’s arm with his own.

Bluestreak doesn’t make his usual attempt to flinch away, or try to resist the pull on his arm.

Their plating meets with a force that reverberates through his frame, Sunstreaker’s arm looped through his and the warrior’s pauldron locked against Bluestreak’s own. He’s ready for the heave when it comes, but this time he doesn’t try to resist or brace against Sunstreaker. He waits for the dizzying moment when the warrior has Bluestreak’s full weight, and the shift as Sunstreaker moves to throw him.

There his targeting systems ping, and in that nanosecond of weightlessness, when both of them are starting to fall, Bluestreak suddenly throws his weight hard, bringing his free arm up to deliver a viscous elbow into the transformation seam on Sunstreaker’s shoulder.

The warrior grunts, grip loosening just enough for Bluestreak to snatch his arm free, but he’s already falling with Sunstreaker, rolling down the yellow mech’s back.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his processor, there’s a wince as he sees long grey scratches in the painstakingly polished plate.

They land with a crash and Bluestreak finds himself in a tangle of limbs, but the failed throw doesn’t slow Sunstreaker down at all, and neither does landing hard on his front. Before Bluestreak can untangle himself, Sunstreaker twists – how he moves so fast and fluid from such an awkward position, Bluestreak can’t tell – and yellow legs lock with his own. Sharply Sunstreaker sits up, jerking his hips to the side, and Bluestreak finds himself flipped onto his front, legs still tangled together with the warrior’s.

Bad, this is bad. The whole point was to keep out of hand-to-hand with Sunstreaker, and now Bluestreak is down on the ground in a wrestling match. With an effort, he forces down the self-doubt, venting hard and awkwardly squinting past the bulk of his own chest to eye the tangle. His body says trapped trapped trapped but the cool logic of his targeting systems overrides it. Snapping his own hips back, he rolls hard, yanking his legs against Sunstreaker’s, just enough to force enough space for him to pull one leg free. He feels more than sees the joint extend, and delivers a sharp kick that pulls another grunt from Sunstreaker.

Find some space, create some distance. It’s a mad scramble across the floor, Sunstreaker fast and as content to grapple on the ground as standing. Bluestreak’s processor is a whirl as he tries to force distance, tries to force Sunstreaker to overextend his reach and open himself to a sharp jab to a vulnerable joint.

It only takes a few moments for Sunstreaker to realise the game, and his mouth firms in a grim smile. The vulnerabilities become rarer, harder to spot and even harder to take advantage of – but the warrior’s refusal to stretch out too far gives Bluestreak the thing he’s been trying to find: space.

Somehow in a blur of wriggling and worming his way backwards – he can definitely hear someone laughing, somewhere off to the side – he manages to hike a pede up onto Sunstreaker’s pauldron and kick hard enough to let him roll himself back, and send Sunstreaker toppling back the other way. Optics fixed on the warrior’s yellow mass, he sees Sunstreaker easily turn the momentum into a swinging movement that returns him to his feet.

But Bluestreak doesn’t try to rise. He lets himself fall back onto the sand, hard enough to hitch his engine, but all the time he needs to draw his rifle and nestle it into the crook of his shoulder is a couple of seconds.

Sunstreaker rises fully to his feet, only to turn and find a rifle aimed at his face.

The warrior freezes, those pale blue optics staring straight into Bluestreak’s as though the gun isn’t between them. Fans whirring from the exertion, Bluestreak has a brief, panicstricken moment of worry that he’s cheated, broken the rules, and that Sunstreaker is going to be furious.

“Cheating!” Sideswipe’s voice calls from somewhere off to the side, and though humour laces the red warrior’s words they stick in Bluestreak’s spark like his own conscience.

Ironhide’s deep tones call out at the same time, “You’re dead, Sunstreaker!” and then the old mech roars a laugh.

Somewhere there’s a smattering applause, and a woop of approval, but Bluestreak only has optics for the yellow mech who looks down at him, optics burning with something he doesn’t recognise, mouth forming that small, secret smile that so rarely graces his handsome face.

Sunstreaker rolls his helm to cast his gaze over to his brother with a withering look. “No rules on the battlefield, Sides.”

Sideswipe’s expression is dangerous, and his optics glimmer with something known only between the twins when he replies, “All’s fair in love and war, eh Sunny?”

Sunstreaker pulls a face, ignoring his brother and turning his attention back to Bluestreak, still braced against the floor with his rifle raised.

The warrior’s expression is amused, and he closes the distance between them, hand raising in its familiar offer of assistance. Bluestreak lets the rifle drop, and takes the hand, the same ending to their sparring match as usual as Sunstreaker hauls him up off the training hangar floor.

But this time when their hands meet, Bluestreak can feel triumph blazing through Sunstreaker’s field like the rising sun.

His transferred joy is tempered by the realisation he owes Jazz four duty shifts.

#my fic #saturated sunlight #bluestreak/sunstreaker #maccadam #transformers

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agentsquirrelsgotrobots · 1 year

Text

"~Engex and cygarettes, well versed in etiquette, extraordinarily known~"

The tiny being sang like an angel, his sweet high soprano voice sounding like the tinkle of piano keys as he took the runaway decepticon by surprise. The big, burly bot was frozen in fear. The singer was a high soprano. The alto must be around here somewhere.

"~he's a killer-"

There he was! All he had to do was-

"queeeEEENN!" "QUEEeeeennn!"

The two bots harmonized perfectly, and the decepticon traitor's head exploded.

"That was beautiful, Darkmount! Our lessons have been paying off. I still think that little earth ditty isn't as grand as the classic melodies I have been teaching you, but I can see why you find the simple harmonies of earth music fun."

"Perfect for a perfect duet." Cody chirped, shaking out his new limbs. His first and only frame upgrade as a microcon had come in, and he was rushed to Soundwave for some strategic reformatting once his plates settled. His legs, which could switch between digigrade and antigrade limbs, had been given advanced shock absorption upgrades and little kickstands that helped him stop quickly and turn on a dime, along with making hand and foot holds when climbing flat surfaces, and grip onto textured ones. He could now ride on Tarn's tank treads in root mode without risking him going splat.

"I wanna keep singing. No powers, just for fun."

"Ah! You remember being Heatwave's canary then?"

Knowing what to do to make Tarn happy, Cody nodded.

"Well then, I guess you can continue to lead the ditty while we walk to where Kaon and Vos are tracking the next victim. "

Cody picked up where they left off.

"Gunpowder, gelatine-"

"Ion cannons with a laser beam!"

The two bots didn't harmonize that time, the two of them belting the line, just barely holding back from using their outlier ability.

"Guaranteed to blow your mind!"

"Ba da da da da da da da da da! Anytime!"

Tarn easily dipped into baritone while Cody shot as high as he could go without his powers. It still shook the few panes of glass still inside their frames of the abandoned buildings around them. Cody spotted the victim, and after signaling to Tarn, got permission to go chase.

He shot off after his target, bouncing off of pieces of rubble. Running felt good.

"~Recommended at the price~" Cody cut through his victim's achillies before they could even look down.

"~Insatiable an appetite~" Cody dodged the falling bot, watching them try and fail to lift themselves out of the dirt.

"~waNNAAAA TRY!" The victim's head exploded, and Tarn's hand picked up Cody by the scruff and brought him up to his mask.

"Darkmount, what did I say about getting ahead of yourself?" Tarn's tone was stern but playful. He was still proud of his former human pet for killing a bot many times his size using just his outlier ability. Especially using those high notes that he had worked so hard to teach him. Tarn tucked Darkmount into the hollow in the middle of his chest plate, and as he came to expect, Darkmount turned on a rainbow colored children's cartoon and dung into his subspace for one of the many energon treats Soundwave had showered him with when he was reformatted.

Tarn suspected that Soundwave had given Darkmount an entire bag just because he knew Tarn didn't let him normally have sweets. At least, none that he didn't steal or buy for himself.

"The rest of the devote got the last two, so how about some microcon cuddles, and then some ill-advised co-sleeping?"

Darkmount chirped, and snuggled into the back corner of the hollow, pressing his audial into the metal in order to hear Tarn's spark beat.

"I will take that as a yes."

#mtmte tarn #The Gods have found us (Megatron help us all)#Darkmount returnsssssss #tfrb cody #transformers rescue bots #humans to transformers #this is not a one shot #Darkmount au

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artcallednaturalviews · 4 months

Text

In Tha Code My roof I wanted in Morse code Land beam take all up The household Not a Gaza Ukraine That bowl in the code My feet I land in Worldly affairs Air sea laser in obliteration The home landscape So not That bowl in the codes My eyes glazed in donuts The world is round it’s really 3D That center they left out My Earth is flat Irregardless I live in my city I don’t watch a Worldly Not Gaza Ukraine That bowl in code So not That bowl in the codes What Riddle? Go be co medic! Stoop that bleeding Before the happenings Roof tiles made before agro for painting My knee pops for sound A refrigerator speaks In tha code Oh laying pretty short haired My reflection in the window Oh ah seer held breathes in smoldering airs In tha code My not my so my not go in My not my so my not go in My not my so my not go in My not my so my not go in Aug that plastic written underneath is or may not be acceptable The receptacle only wants A doomed or all domed Rump T holds to dumpty’s The code The code In tha code Oily oh I love Non as did spores Presidentially former Spoon Surgeon Find a fish My not my so my not go in To release back into wild This artcalled landed Find a fish My not my so my not go in To release back into wild This artcalled landed See from tops The codes See from tops The codes Apply there? My not my so my not go in No need to mix when American It maybe a twist off Kershaw speed safe The codes hold know matter! The beaten rods you feel Cap for free the mind thinks less Pay here Due tell hear la duchess Me ladies never had to My cavity needs cleansing Douche Tha douche Toiletten Flush a has been, leave more without breathing light In tha codes!? Coolest is near! Babe clear I found a code in caps Non capped little less than “cheers” What side you on? In tha codes! Those French lay me Codex They fries love me as Codixian Within a code My not my so my not go in

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havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong · 3 years

Text

An Aside -- Beyond the World's End

"If, by some one-in-a-million chance, she is able to deepen her bond with her Master, that Master will gain immense power.

But it should be kept in mind that she is utterly different from humans, and is something abnormal.

Her compassion, her love -- is not meant to co-exist with humanity."

I find myself in a cave.

It's horribly dark, in here. Glancing down to my hands, they're already shaking. I can hear the faint movements of water about me -- the sounds of crashing waves, softly, from beyond the stone walls.

I find even breathing to be a struggle. As though there's something in the air that weaves its way into my lungs -- suffocating me.

...I take a breath in -- met with the horrid iron-like stench of blood.

Not met with anything else -- merely that, and that exclusively.

Blinking, I find my eyes burning, ever-so-slightly.

But even as my vision grew blurrier with time, even then, I could spot something moving --

--slithering--

--from the shadows.

"...Master."

...A familiar, deep, steely voice.

'Gorgon.' At a glance, and that alone, I knew full well where I stood.

Not as an ally, anymore. In this world -- a dream, I so believed -- I were now a victim.

More aptly --

"...Even you end up here. As had the others before you -- heroes seeking salvation from me, for the sake of the world. The world, and its people."

...The slithering grows closer. A face bows to meet me -- piercing purple eyes meeting my own in a piercing stare.

Even now, I already feel my limbs grow stiff.

"You are no fool, Master. And in this land here, you have your chance to play the hero. To bring me down -- realize what a mistake you've made. What a Pandora's Box you have opened by letting me free on this world." A blade drops at my feet. It's rusted, yet sharp -- a dual-ended longsword. My limbs free -- I pick it up, in a moment, as though I had no other option.

"...I propose upon you my mercy, Master. I have tolerated you enough to grant you this much. So make your decision." The woman slithers backwards, only a couple of paces.

"Face me, and defeat me -- and when your world is at peace, you will find no threat from me to destroy it all over again."

A smirk danced across her face, as the snakes gathered.

"Fail, and I will destroy it all. You included. My feast will be everlasting, dear Master -- you have never been an exception to this."

And not waiting for an answer --

--A laser fired down, scorching the Earth beneath me. Jumping leftwards, holding the blade's flat end in front of me, another blast razed the place my feet once stood on -- barely scrambling to land, I found myself met with another blast, jumping backwards to narrowly avoid its impact.

"You keep running, Master. Do you view yourself as incapable of defeating me?"

Her grin fades, only for a moment -- another blast, just as I took a hasty footstep right, setting aflame where I then stood.

"You know that answer as well as I do, Gorgon..!"

Another step left -- and with it, another place on the cave floor that now left itself a charred mess. The lady approaches, snapping her fingers -- another blast, forcing me to dodge forwards.

"You will have to make a strike eventually, Master. Do you desire to die without even inflicting a scratch on your killer?"

The stench in the air stifles my breath -- I cough, and she meets that with a beam I only barely step out of the way to avoid.

In front of me, only a step away, lay the Servant herself -- up close, her arms crossed, furrowing her brow. Her grin faltered, for a moment.

"...Master."

"--Damnit, this isn't..."

"If you do not kill me, I will kill you. If you cannot kill me, someone else will. Do you see what this means for you, Master?" Her hand reaches out -- towards me. My heartrate spikes -- despite the stuffiness of the air, I take a sharp breath in.

"You must kill me to stand a chance. You must defeat me to even have a hope of succeeding."

...And was she wrong?

As I stand there, this beast ready to annihilate me where I stand -- I realize.

I stand no chance.

If I cannot defeat Gorgon -- neither could I defeat anything else.

Even in our first meeting -- in Babylonia, that time ago -- I found her only the preparation for something far stronger than she could ever hope to be.

And in comparison -- the threats were sure to grow stronger than even the Beast herself.

...The woman's eyes slid down -- her mouth opening.

"...I shall curse you -- as you have cursed me. So melt away, in P--"

...In a moment, I found my wits.

That Mystic Code -- it shone, in a moment, and at that -- I found a rush.

Of yet-unseen strength -- a glimpse of the willpower I perhaps should've always had.

My vision went blank -- those seconds passed in hours, in years.

Each movement, each twitch --

--as I stabbed the blade directly, in one fell swoop--

--into the ground.

"--Master..?!"

It was a dream.

This, all within it -- was a dream.

Her desires to end the world remained. That, I was sure of.

And yet, her words spoke of something beneath what she'd said.

To defeat an opponent --

--...I didn't have to kill them.

She was far larger. But with that momentary burst, I threw myself headlong into her stomach -- winding her, preventing her from uttering the True Name of Pandemonium Cetus.

I tossed my arms around her -- using what little strength I had, tumbling to the ground, taking her by surprise -- taking her with me.

The Servant coughed, wincing slightly -- a moment taken glancing about, attempting to gather her bearings.

To decipher what happened.

"...Master. You are aware that you have lost."

"...I'm not a hero, Gorgon."

...The woman's eyes widened, the slightest bit.

"...I am weak. Worthless, even. I know I can't beat you in straight combat. Not alone. And... Despite it all..." ...I breathed out a soft sigh. Squeezed my eyes shut.

"...I know full well what you may do, when the end is in sight. That you might end everything, and me alongside it. It's probably the same for a lot of people here."

"...Master..?" "...Perhaps I'm selfish. --No... I am. I know that much. What I know of the world outside Chaldea isn't much... Only how cruel it is."

...I can hear her breathing. Slowly, shaking breaths.

"...This world can be made better. No matter what... Until the day that I end up here, at your hands, I..."

...

"...I want to be safe. Me, and those people that remain with kindness. Our close ones... Those few people who remain innocent."

"...And the rest, Master?" "...They can burn, for all I care."

...

"...You fool... I try to teach you a lesson, and yet you remain, saying things like that."

...I can hear a chuckle, from her. A hand rests itself on the back of my head.

"...I will kill you last, Master."

...Opening my eyes, just for a moment, I find myself met with a soft smile. The eyes of a predator -- staring me down, finding within me... something. A glint of recognition in her eyes -- the hand on my head, pushing me slightly forwards.

"...Yes. I will kill you last... And gently, indeed."

#mastersona #gudasona #l o r e #cadenceloreposting #gorgon #aside #this takes place pre-carcosa #dw #gorgon catalyst also

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hrtiu · 3 years

Note

Boba/Fennec prompt: Boba really likes Fennec's hair (or her fingers, or some other, very specific part of her body, whatever you like) and can't stop touching/admiring/playing with it, and she goes from confused that he cares so much about that part to irritated that he Won't Leave Her Alone to embarrassed that he's paying so much frakking attention to her ((to realizing she likes it)) to secretly being endeared by his cuteness. Bonus points if she blushes a lot because of all this and he likes that too ;)

Thanks for the prompt! I think I ended up with something probably a bit angstier than you were thinking, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it! AO3 link.

Every morning Fennec Shand sat down in front of her burnished chromium mirror and did her hair. She started with the main braid down the center of her head, then wove together three smaller braids to either side. Once she’d tied off each individual braid, she plaited all seven together into a dark, twisting tail that reached almost to her waist. Then she took a long string of orange-red fiber and threaded it between the braids at the top of her head, tying them down and securing her bangs as flat against her scalp as possible.

“Why do you always have your hair like that?” Boba asked one morning when she came down for breakfast in Old Jabba’s palace.

“I don’t know. Why is your hair always like that?” Fennec said, helping herself to a generous slice of bantha bacon.

Boba let out a gruff laugh and shook his head. “It must take forever.”

Fennec stabbed her bacon with unnecessary force. “I don’t do it when I’m on an assignment, and beyond that I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

Boba didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Fennec wondered if maybe he was going to apologize. If he did she’d probably die of shock.

“Hmm,” he grunted, then returned his attention to his breakfast.

It was the reaction Fennec expected, but she found herself both relieved and annoyed. Shaking the contradictory emotions away, she finished her breakfast.

---

Living on Tatooine wasn’t all enforcing Boba’s will and collecting tribute. Boba was a benevolent warlord, and Fennec especially enjoyed being a part of his more generous impulses.

Most recently he’d bequeathed a chunk of his land to a tribe of Tuskens who’d cooperated well with him in the past. The Tuskens saw it as Boba returning the land to them, but regardless, they were going to be its permanent, uncontested tenants. Most of the Tusken Raiders Fennec had met seemed to enjoy their nomadic lifestyle, but this tribe was interested in putting down roots—so long as they could do it on their terms. As a show of good faith, Boba was donating three large moisture vaporators and a system for water storage to the village, and Fennec had been looking forward to the day of their installation for months.

Tribespeople clustered around the massive spires dug into the packed earth beneath the dunes, talking amongst themselves and asking questions to the mechanic who’d come up from Mos Eisley to install the thing. The poor translator Boba had dragged along was working doubletime to sort through the confusion.

Fennec stood next to Boba above the dug-out space, just a little outside of the cluster of activity. She wasn’t here to do much besides reinforce Boba’s involvement in the donation of the generators, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless. A small child whose face wrapping kept coming untucked approached the vaporator and turned the spigot, screeching in delight when clean water poured onto her outstretched hands. Fennec couldn’t help but smile.

A group of young Tusken women approached them, their hoods draped over their faces and ornamental collars jangling against their cloaks as they walked. They thanked Boba in sign language, and he signed back his appreciation with short, stilted hand motions. They giggled at his discomfort with their language, and Boba’s scarred face reddened.

“Great,” he grumbled to Fennec. “I knew that protocol droid wasn’t teaching me right.”

“Calm down,” Fennec said, resting a hand on Boba’s arm. “You’re doing fine. Just let them enjoy themselves.”

Boba frowned, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned into her touch, and Fennec felt light and warm.

The girls turned their attention to Fennec, and her contentment turned to unease. One of them pointed to Fennec’s braid and made a twisting motion with her hands, bringing her fingers together as her wrist turned. The other nodded in agreement, adding in a few giggles for good measure.

“Oh, um…” Fennec stuttered, unsure how to respond.

“They’re saying it’s pretty,” the translator from Mos Eisley said, hurrying up the steep hill towards them. “She says your hair is pretty.”

“Ah,” Fennec said. Heat rose in her cheeks, and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Boba snorted and smirked at her, and she shot him a quick glare before smiling back at the girls. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

The translator signed Fennec’s response back to them, and they nodded and made gestures of thanks to Boba and Fennec before retreating back to where their tribe clustered around the vaporators.

“So they’re allowed to talk about your hair, but I’m not?” Boba asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” Fennec said, already heading for the steep slope that would take her down to the rest of the tribespeople. They’d be eating dinner soon, and it wouldn’t do for her and Boba to be late to the table.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t need to make sense,” Fennec said. “It’s just what I want.”

Boba rolled his eyes but followed Fennec down the slope, his steps awkward and careful on the slippery sand.

“Always what you want,” she thought she heard him mutter under his breath, but that could have been the whisper of the winds against the sand.

---

“Shand! We’re going to be late!” Boba yelled at Fennec through the thick door of her room.

His booming voice startled her, and one of her fingers slipped before she was able to tie off the last of her individual braids. “Dammit,” she muttered. “I’m coming!”

“I’m not going to look weak in front of Kanjiklub because you couldn’t stop fiddling with your hair,” he said.

The corners of Fennec’s mouth turned downwards and she saw her own eyes flash in the mirror. “We’re not going to be late. Calm down.”

His boots thudded heavily against the floor as he paced back and forth in front of her door. Fennec’s frown morphed into a full-blown scowl and she made sure to take extra care to get her braid right, taking her time with each knot. Boba needed to learn patience, and he needed to learn that she wasn’t some massiff he could train to do his bidding.

She finished up the braid then moved on to weaving the orange thread around each cord, laser-focused on her task but unhurried in execution.

Boba’s fist pounded on the door once more. “If you don’t hurry it up I’m going to cut off that damned braid myself!”

Fennec froze. She pressed her lips together and stood from her chair, leaving her hair weaving half-finished. She stalked to her bed, pulling her boots and coat off as she did so, then fell into her thick, fluffy blankets.

“...Fen?” Boba asked through the door, though this time his voice was softer—almost chastened.

Fennec held her wrist comm up to her mouth and messaged Dilick Wa, the other bounty hunter Boba kept on retainer at the palace.

“Wa? You there?” she said.

“Yep. What’s up?”

“Meet Boba on the landing pad. You’ll be going with him to meet Kanjiklub tonight.”

“...But weren’t you going-?”

“Just do it.”

She shut off the coms.

---

Lights flickered by for every floor they sank underground, each beam illuminating the red-tan-and-white of Boba’s scarred features. Normally Fennec didn’t like being underground, but on Florrum she might be willing to make an exception. Relief from the unrelenting heat and sulfur-infused dust was worth the loss of adequate sniper perches, in her opinion.

“So,” Boba said. “Arawat Ragistar. Anything else you can you tell me about him?”

Fennec forced a shrug. “Like I said: he’s an assassin. He has plenty of other skills, too. He’s tricky and dangerous, but in general he’ll stick to his word if you pin him to specific commitments.”

Boba nodded slowly. “How is he as a business partner?”

“Wouldn’t know. I only knew him as an assassin.” A heavy pause filled the space between them, and several more floors passed in silence.

“He’s a real bastard,” Fennec said, and she wondered if it was some strange trick of the senses that made her voice sound several decades younger to her ears.

“I know you don’t like him, but we need good connections on Florrum.”

“I know.”

The lift slowly came to a stop, and Fennec tensed as the doors opened. A shiny protocol droid welcomed them into the bare, utilitarian bunker that served as Arawat’s headquarters, and they followed it through a series of round vault-style doors. The final door was bigger than the rest, and it opened on a broad audience chamber, at the end of which sat a sleight, waspish Sullustan. Her old mentor.

“The great Boba Fett!” Arawat said, throwing his arm wide, “Welcome! And Little Fennec, you’ve come back home!”

Fennec nodded her head in response, biting back a bitter response. That was what he was fishing for, after all.

“Arawat Ragistar, thank you for having me,” Boba said, moving to sit in the plush chairs across from Arwat’s restrained setup. “You’re not an easy man to find.”

“Of course not,” Arawat said. “What good assassin would be easy to find? Isn’t that right, Little Fennec?”

Fennec pursed her lips. “Right.”

“We’re interested in bringing some of our import routes through Florrum,” Boba said. “It could be profitable for the both of us.”

“Now Fennec Shand, on the other hand. That’s a name I’ve heard of,” Arawat said, as if he hadn’t heard Boba at all. “‘Best assassin in the galaxy,’ I’ve heard. Of course, if anything I’d taught her had sunken in, she’d know that the best assassin is the one you’ve never heard of.”

Boba’s jaw clicked—a tiny motion Fennec doubted most anyone else would notice. “I’m not sure how that’s relevant to our arrangement.”

Arawat leaned forward over his knees and threaded his fingers together, and Fennec’s own stone face stared back at her in the mirror reflection of his shiny black eyes.

“It’s vanity, you know? Pure vanity,” he said, his voice silky smooth. “Like that hair. Do you know how many times I told her to cut it? There is no tactical advantage to long hair—not a single one. The only reason to keep it is vanity, pure and simple. ”

Fennec stared back at him, refusing to look away. Boba had fallen silent at her side, but she hardly noticed him any more in her peripheral vision. She was back 35 years in the past, her reflexes sharp and her body lean, but her spirit broken.

“Couldn’t quite get all the Chandrila out of her after all-”

“We’re through here,” Boba cut Arawat off, standing to his feet.

Arawat finally turned his attention to Boba, his jowls flapping excitedly around his cheeks. “What? But we were-”

“We’ll bring our goods through some other way. Thank you.”

Boba turned to leave and Fennec followed after him, her jumbled thoughts struggling to right themselves as she kept up with his assertive pace. The protocol droid started leading them back, but Boba brushed past him, retracing their steps to the lift with ease. Arawat didn’t follow.

The lift opened for them and Fennec followed Boba in, holding her tongue until the doors sealed shut.

“Are you crazy? We need his cooperation,” Fennec hissed as the lift zoomed upwards. Her eyes darted to the corners of the lift, searching for the holo cameras she knew must be somewhere.

Boba bristled. “I’m Boba Fett. I don’t need anybody except-” He shut his mouth. “We don’t need anybody.”

The lights from the lift illuminated his face at regular intervals, but the open emotion he’d shown down below was gone. Back was his stoic warrior’s face, the one she’d grown to respect but couldn’t fully trust.

“Fine,” Fennec said after a weighty pause. “Mustafar should work, anyway.”

“Mustafar?” Boba asked incredulously.

“Just get a few heat-resistant vehicles and you’re golden. That hostile environment is its own security.”

Boba grunted in agreement, and the lift continued upward. They fell into a companionable silence, and though the tension in Fennec’s shoulders gradually fell, she still ran her fingers nervously up and down the end of her braid.

---

The last time Fennec had been to Naboo it had been for a hit. The beauty of the planet hadn’t been lost on her at the time, but the elegant promenades and magnificent waterfalls didn’t look quite the same through a scope. This time she and Boba were here for a business deal and she had a chance to truly appreciate Theed’s splendor.

She leaned against the stone balustrade bordering the balcony and closed her eyes, letting the faint mist from a nearby waterfall gather on her face. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, but they were the comforting, familiar gait of her partner, and she paid them no heed.

“Hiram agreed to our terms,” Boba said from her side. “Production can start next month.”

“Hmmmm,” Fennec hummed. “Sounds good.” They’d thought negotiations would last longer. That gave them three whole days to relax before their shuttle was scheduled to depart.

The breathtaking vista before them occupied all of Fennec’s thoughts. In the distance threads of water laced their way down verdant green cliff sides, and elegant copper-colored buildings stood above the cliffs like sentinels on watch. The waterfall closest to their villa roared as thousands of gallons toppled over the edge every second, and Fennec could feel the power of it through her feet and into her bones. She closed her eyes in appreciation. Beauty and power—the ultimate combination.

Boba leaned on the balustrade next to her, bringing him into her orbit. “I ordered dinner,” he said.

Fennec hummed again. Dinner in their private villa overlooking the waterfalls sounded perfect.

Boba stepped to the side then his warm breadth was at Fennec’s back, enveloping her like a thick cloak. She tensed, her instincts screaming at her to bolt. But maybe this time, she didn’t want to run away.

With a sigh Boba rested his chin on Fennec’s shoulder and his hot breath tickled at the loose strands of hair that had escaped their bindings by her ear. She shivered.

Boba leaned further into her and rested his cheek against the side of her head. He took a long, slow breath in and turned his face more towards her, his nose catching slightly against her braids as he moved his head up and down in what could only be described as a nuzzle.

Fennec’s breath caught in her throat. “Boba…”

“Easy,” he murmured. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Fennec couldn’t help a soft snort at that. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Maybe,” he said, his breath heavy and thick in her ear. “But I don’t usually have a chance to relax and enjoy it.”

His hands slid up to her arms and he pulled her gently backwards, stepping behind them until he reached a plush daybed set near the back of the balcony. He sat down and she went with him, allowing herself to be tugged into his lap.

She didn’t think. She just let her senses bask in his warmth, in his sturdy, fierce presence. She reclined against his front, her ear pressed up to his unarmored chest. His heartbeat thudded clear and strong against her cheek—a steady, constant presence she was only just realizing how much she cherished. He rested his chin on top of her head and held her loosely around the waist.

Water tumbled over the cliffs of Theed and time passed, but Fennec didn’t notice either. All she felt was an unfamiliar sense of peace and security. Maybe, after all these years, she wasn’t broken after all.

“...We could always extend our stay,” Boba said, his voice a gravelly rumble through his chest.

“Hmmm.” Fennec closed her eyes and let her fingers cling to the fabric of his tunic.

“Or visit other planets. Maybe even go to Chandrila.”

The distant blare of alarm bells sounded in Fennec’s mind, but she did her best to ignore them. It was nothing. She was fine. She was at peace, and she trusted Boba.

“I’ve never been there before,” Boba continued. “You could show me around.”

The alarm bells shrieked, and the peace shattered.

Fennec hauled herself out of Boba’s lap. She stepped back to the edge of the balcony and ordered herself not to look back. It was colder now, but the chill was familiar. “We should leave as we planned. I need to check in with our supplier in Mos Eisley.”

“Fen, come on-”

“I think I’ll call it a night.” There was a courtyard of space between her room and Fett’s, but maybe she’d stay someplace else for the night.

Boba got to his feet and followed her across the balcony, but he made no move to touch her. “You wear Chandrilan braids every day. You can’t tell me you hate the place-”

Fennec rounded on him. “I may be in your service, but that does not mean I have to tell you anything about my personal life.”

Boba grabbed her by the wrist, the snarl he usually reserved for his enemies rising to his lips. “Shand, can we leave the carbonite bitch act behind for once?”

Fennec wrenched her arm from his grasp and shoved him back. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

She whirled around and fled the balcony, making first for her room before turning instead towards the villa’s entrance. How far away could she get for the night? It might be an interesting challenge to see.

---

She came back the next morning. She was a professional, and she trusted Boba to understand the line he’d crossed. And just as she’d expected, he didn’t mention anything about the previous night’s blowup. Two days later they returned to Tatooine, and life continued the same as ever.

Boba’s business ventures on Tatooine were actually fairly legitimate. He built up the local economy, gave loans to entrepreneurial spirits, increased imports and exports exponentially, cracked down vigorously on (unsanctioned) crime, and generally made the miserable ball of dirt and sand that was Tatooine a more tolerable place to exist. That being said, nobody could be successful in the Outer Rim while working completely above board.

Which was why it came as no surprise when the Hutts sent assassins after him for co-opting a chunk of their spice territory.

Fennec squeezed off another round from her perch on one of the palace’s domes and allowed herself a smirk of satisfaction as the target dropped.

“Last intruder down,” she said into her comm.

“Good job,” Boba said from his safe room below. “Let’s give it a half hour to see if anyone else crops up. Then regroup in my study.”

“Copy that.”

Fennec waited patiently in her perch, her sharp eyes staring through the scope for any sign of additional assailants. She was reasonably confident she’d dispatched them all, though, given the size of their transport and typical Pyke Syndicate strategies. Fennec snorted to herself. The Hutts must be really strapped for cash if they were resorting to hiring Pykes.

After the allotted time had passed with no sign of other hostiles, Fennec climbed down from her perch and made her way to Boba’s rooms. Boba was neither sentimental nor high-maintenance, but the comforts of the past few years had led to him accumulating a certain amount of personal belongings to display in his quarters. Mandalorian relics, his father’s old helmet, a Clone Wars-era DC-17—that sort of thing. Fennec walked past his mementos and met him at his armchair near the back of the study.

“All clear?” he asked, looking up from a datapad streaming updates from his security system.

“As far as I can tell. Hutt enforcement really isn’t what it used to be,” she said.

“Not the only thing around here that’s getting rusty, it seems,” a soft voice hissed behind her ear.

Fennec’s eyes widened and she twisted around, but before she could move a cold, slimy hand had her by the hair and a vibroblade pressed up against her gut.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Arawat’s hateful voice whispered near her ear. “Little Fen still has so much to learn. What did I tell you about our work? The best assassins are unseen.”

Fennec’s heart seized in her chest and with each breath her stomach pressed against the vibroblade. For now it was cutting through her coat, but soon enough it would be her skin.

“You might want to rethink your position,” Boba said, slowly rising to his feet. “There are two of us and only one of you. One way or another, you’re not getting out of here alive.”

“Ah haha, the mighty Boba Fett. You know, if you were your father I would be afraid right now. Old Jango wouldn’t hesitate to let a subordinate die to get ahead in a fight. But you’re not like that, are you?” Arawat said. With each word his fleshy jowls slid along Fennec’s neck, making her skin crawl.

Boba bared his teeth and the divots and crevasses of his scars almost turned his expression inhuman. “Care to test that theory?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Arawat said. “Put your weapons down, or I’ll gut her like a fish.” The blade pressed further into her stomach, drawing the tiniest sliver of blood.

Boba met Fennec’s gaze, and an understanding passed between them. Something Fennec had always known somewhere in the back of her mind came to the forefront, and she set her jaw. She trusted Boba. She trusted him more than she’d ever trusted another living person. She trusted him more than she trusted herself.

She didn’t know what he was going to do, but something in his eyes told her to prepare. She slowed her breathing, diminishing the blade’s contact with her flesh, and moved her hand just the slightest distance closer to the vibroblade she always kept tucked into her belt.

Boba moved to disarm himself, one hand going slowly for his blaster while the other stayed up and opened for Arawat to see. Then the thrusters of his jetpack activated, and he barreled right into Arawat and Fennec.

For several chaotic, terrifying moments, Fennec’s world was a tangle of clattering metal, unidentified limbs, and confused violence. Somehow, Arawat managed to maintain his vice like grip on her braid, and while momentum threatened to pull them apart, Arawat held onto her hair with a vicious tenacity. When they landed in a heap on the other side of the room, he yanked her to him again. Boba made a lunge for Arawat’s blade, but he wasn’t going to be fast enough. Fennec needed to get away. As she was, she was a liability.

She pulled the vibroblade from her belt and cut behind her, severing the thick braid right at the base of her skull. She flung herself away from her old teacher, and by the time she looked back Boba had already shot the Sullustant in the chest.

Arawat Ragistar was dead, and she and Boba Fett were both alive. It was a win.

She lay panting on the floor, her heart racing and blood still oozing from her side. As the adrenaline faded, her awareness tunnelled on the length of coiled black hair still hanging from Arawat’s limp hand where he slumped against the wall.

Strong arms pulled her to her feet and inspected the cut to her side, but Fennec hardly noticed.

“Hey,” Boba’s gruff voice cut through the haze. “Go see Pershing and get this stitched up. Then get some rest.”

She nodded numbly, then went to do as ordered.

---

Pershing gave her a few stitches, then added a thick bacta patch for good measure. Fennec didn’t feel anything, and Pershing’s complaints about not being a medical doctor and his demotion to glorified nurse slid easily in and out of her ears. Eventually he was done and her feet found their way back up to her rooms. She shut herself inside and sat down at her desk, her head feeling strange and floaty without the familiar weight of her braid.

Fennec stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face unchanged but somehow unrecognizable in its new frame. A soft knock sounded at the door, and she didn’t bother to shout the intruder off.

Careful footsteps sounded around her room, and Boba’s mangled face appeared above her in the mirror, the softness of his expression completely incongruous with his scarred visage.

Slowly, gently, without a word, he reached for her hair. He ran his fingers through their short, chopped length, sifting the strands carefully from side to side.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Fennec stared into his eyes through the reflection of the mirror, her body frozen in ice. Leaving her plenty of time to protest, Boba’s calloused fingers gathered up several hanks of hair from the crown of her head and started braiding. She’d never let anyone see her process before, but that didn’t stop him.

She barely had enough hair to reach the nape of her neck, but still he braided a short rope down the center of her head, then three smaller ones on each side. Then he picked the orange thread up from her desk and wove it between each braid, the extra support of the thread maintaining the seven braids’ integrity despite their length.

The last person to braid her hair for her had been her mother. Fennec could still remember the feeling of her thin, deft fingers in her hair, could still hear the sound of her soft, gentle voice cooing at her while she worked. She couldn’t remember her mother’s face, couldn’t remember her name, could hardly recall even the vaguest impression of what Chandrila was like. This memory was all she had left.

Fennec’s shoulders shook, and with a start she lifted a hand to her cheek and realized she was crying. The braids now completed, Boba let his hands fall to her shoulders, where their generous warmth helped hold her together.

Boba turned her chair around to face him and knelt down in front of her, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “It will grow back. But even before then, you’ll still be beautiful.”

She turned around in her chair and slid her arms around him, burying her face into his stomach. He sank down to the floor and pulled her down with him, holding her and murmuring unintelligible sweet nothings as he stroked her hair.

“I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” she said, her voice raspy with tears.

“I’ll never let anyone see,” Boba said. “I’ll close my own eyes if it will help.”

Fennec chuckled, her body shaking against Boba’s solid torso. “No, I think it’s alright for you. But only you.”

“Hmmm,” Boba hummed. “It’s a deal, then.”

Fennec rolled over onto her back, then tugged Boba on top of her. “It’s a deal.” She threaded her fingers together behind his neck and pulled him down to her.

#bobannec #bobannec plague #boba fett x fennec shand #the mandalorian #writing #star wars #fennec shand #boba fett #ask #prompt

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bahbahhh · 2 years

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@zelinkweekofficial

also on A03

Suggest Listening - Lindsey Stirling ft. Amy Lee - Love Goes On and On

Set in the same story as The Killing Moon. You don’t need to read it but there is context you will miss out on because I take canon and set it on fire. An expansion of a tiny memory sliver in Chapter 7.

Happy Zelink week, y'all.

----

Burning embers flurry around them in the wind. It is almost beautiful.

Guardians swarm over the field; spiders on a web of earth torn up. He can smell smoke and rain. The taste of his own metal is in his mouth. Zelda stands behind him. He can feel her shivering with adrenaline, her hands on his back, trying desperately to peel him up from the ground.

How many hours had it been since he pulled her from the Spring? Where the last thread of restraint he had snapped under the weight of her sorrow? When destiny clicked into place with a kiss?

She’s still in that ridiculous gown. It folds around him like a burial shroud.

When her strength fails, she begins pleading with him in a hushed whisper. “Link, save yourself. Go! I’ll be fine! Don’t worry about me!”

Too much blood pools in his mouth. He gags, leaning on the Sword so he can remain upright. He won’t waste breath telling her to leave him.

They are standing in a shared grave if he can’t figure out how to get them across the field. If he can-

Link looks up through a curtain of wet hair. In the distance their destination, Fort Hateno, is under siege. The stronghold is on fire, a burning Cheshire smile cracked wide on the horizon. A skywatcher whips around violently and crashes into the barrier, exposing part of the bailey and the garrison like a nerve. Guardians begin to scale the wall.

His entire body throbs, electricity shooting between damage points until he has a map of the carnage. Parts of him are missing. Entire pieces carved out by blasts from red lasers that trailed them relentlessly all the way from Hyrule Field.

He won’t make it out of the swamp.

There is nowhere left to run.

A stalker emerges through the blackness in front of them. Flushed with corruption, gears chittering. A blue eye fixes on Link and bulges triumphantly. Link is certain one of his legs is broken by the way it screams at him to ease the weight of his body off it as he rises, but he rises anyway, pushing himself up as a shield - his last shattered a mile ago - in front Zelda.

It lifts high on six metal legs over the rubble. A laser beams out and marks the center of Link’s chest. He can’t even lift the Sword.

“No!”

A star falls from the heavens in front of him. Blinding, golden light. The entire world bleaches whiter than white and then snaps back like a rubber band with Zelda at the center. The Guardians around them immediately power down, folding in on their legs under the weight of lifeless casting shells. Energy burns off them and disappears into the sky with a sudden gust of wind. As brilliantly as she burned, she fades in an instant, balking at her hands in front of her.

The sight of it takes the last of his strength.

“No, no!”

He doesn’t remember falling but he’s flat on the earth when she reaches him, gathering him up against her. Link is so proud. He wants to tell her he is so fucking proud of her but he’s unraveling quickly in her arms. The tide pulls more of him away with every wave.

Zelda's speaking mostly to herself, rattling off a prayer of feeble assurances, trying to figure out how to plug the holes in his body with her Power. She tells him he's going to be fine, that she's right with him, that she loves him. He sighs in relief, the breath rattling in his throat. With her Power awakened, she is the sun and all the stars in living flesh.

If only he could stay and witness her exhume the bones of the Kingdom that doubted her.

Tears splatter on his face. Goddess, she’s warmer than the rain. Through the cracks he begins to split and look at her with different eyes.

(He’s floating away on a Red Lion in the sea.)

Link can feel her trying to pour gold into him.

(He’s on all fours, head bowed, confined to the atavistic form of Twilight's curse.)

Her Power rolls off him and spills onto the earth. She commands him not to leave her.

(The air smells like sulfur and burning flesh. Hylia’s Realm has been torn open at the seams, a festering pool of black rot remains. Evil’s thumbprint. A glimpse of the world He promises to build. Link can feel a shiver of courage stretch over his skin, the invisible net he cannot escape. It strains and begins to pull him toward his soul’s destiny. He braces himself over the gaping mouth of Hate. Over his shoulder he can see her, glowing dimly where she fell. Nearly soulless. Fading. He’s her only chance.)

He looks at her.

(They stand face to face in the sky. She’s holding an ocarina with both hands and he only realizes what she is doing just as she moves to do it. A flute song fills his ears, drowns the words in his throat. Beams of light surround him. They start to dance and spin, her image dissolving into the blue. He strains against the force pulling him skyward, desperately committing every detail of her to memory.)

She’s looking at him. A thousand goodbyes on his useless tongue. He starts to move his hands, fingers spelling her name in the language that is theirs alone.

He looks at her forever. She's the last thing he ever sees.

#zelink week 2022

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hasmerlindoneanythingwrong · 3 years

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Because @hasbedidoneanythingbad inspired me to do so, I am going to have a go at my take for the Lady of the Lake as a Fanservant. While most servants are pretty accurate representations of their mythological or historical self (or whatever their source might be, who am I to discriminate?), I tend to take it more easy and consider the source a kind of inspiration, at best. That said.... eat up the mess I made!!!

༶ ═════════════

Fanservant #1:

Caster - Vivian

Vivian, the Lady of the Lake of Arthurian legends, was an important benefactor to King Arthur of Britain, granting him the legendary sword Excalibur after the Sword of Selection Caliburn was damaged in combat. She is also known under the names of Nimuë and Ninianne. Once the unfortunate lover and pupil of the great Merlin, she became the one to seal him away for all eternity, after they parted their ways in an event that is still shrouded in mystery. For her to become an independent entity that is inscribed as a spirit in the Throne of Heroes, the circumstances about her disappearance short after imprisoning Merlin on Avalon must be solved first.

Appearance:

Though obviously not a human herself, she appears as a humanoid entity, but seems to be at least partially made out of clear and self-illuminating water. Sometimes she‘s completely made out of water, sometimes she does have a normal body, this woman can‘t make up her mind. At least not when it‘s about appearances. No matter what her body consists of, Vivian is a rather shy and petite appearing woman with sky-blue hair that covers her whole back and even the ground behind her, as well as almost emotionless grey eyes. Her mature and pure body is concealed by a shroud of pale light and a waterlike veil, that she wears like a dress. Even though she appears kinda on the revealing side, she has in now way on Earth a revealing personality.

Personality:

As a fairy born on the Reverse Side of the World from the soul of the World itself, possessing divinity as a Divided Spirit, Vivian embodies pure and undisrupted kindness and appears as the mother figure of many heroes throughout history. Those include King Arthur, whom she was the selfproclaimed protector of after deeming him worthy to receive Excalibur, the divine sword she was tasked to protect. She did also raise Lancelot as her son after the death of his father and prepared him to be a knight on the Kings side. But even though she has a kind and forgiving nature, a troublesome past with a certain Flower Mage has left her cautious of her surroundings. She tends to keep to herself, even after being summoned, and doesn‘t engage in conversation much, but answers to those who seem troubled by consoling them thorougly and providing advise and wisdom. While doing her best to avert the lustful eyes directed at her body, sometimes her past self takes over her kind soul, punishing indecent behavior with motherly force. This turns into extreme overprotective and somewhat aggressive motherly love, especially for the Child Servants and everyone she claims as her family. Which wouldn‘t be too many. In short, she has a very calming presence, that radiates peace and serenity, as long as it is certain she does not need to punish anyone for their horny thoughts.

FGO Skillset:

Active Skills:

Skill 1 – Kindhearted Charisma A+

Just another Charisma skill, buffing all allies attack by 20% for three turns and applying an one-time evade status on everyone. This one does not expire until it‘s used up.

Skill 2 – Llyn Ogwen Sealing Technique A

A special and unique sealing method incapable to hold anyone hostage but the strongest of mages. Vivian developed this spell out of spite and fear to imprison Merlin on Avalon for all eternity, until one day she may forgive him and release him from the hell of eternal life. If only she hadn't disappeared before his salvation.

Used in combat this skill heals the party for up to 3000 HP and seals the enemies NP for one turn.

Skill 3 – Lake of Chalk and Legends EX

Once born in the warm embrace of the World itself, Vivian found herself burdened. Fate ruled her as the one carrying Excalibur to the godless side of the World in order to choose who would be worthy enough to change history, only for her to hide behind the illusion of a lake as white as chalk, waiting for the worthy hero to appear.

This skill grants the party a 50% damage resist status for three turns, as well as applying a three turn 20% defense buff on Servants that are hit by enemy attacks. These defense buffs can stack up indefinitely, theoretically.

Passive Skills:

Territory Creation B+

Item Construction EX

Divinity C

Fae Eyes EX

Noble Phantasm:

Protected from Gods and Demons alike by the True Pillar of Light - Brocéliande Rhongomyniad

„Stranded between the border of worlds, chosen by fate to be envied by heaven and hell alike. Light and dark reunited, for a moment in eternity. Listen to my voice, as it is the voice of the World, and thou shall bear witness to the birth of a new hero. Tonight, the moon will shine upon us from the sky above and the ocean hidden on the far end of the world.“

Born from within the Soul of the World and tasked to witness both Humanity and the mysterious Reverse Side of the World, Vivian draws her power directly from the authority over Rhongomyniad, the pillar of light that seperates both sides to keep the world stable. While being able to harness this authority to not only grant the destructive power of the nearly indestructible anchor of the planet in form of the Holy Lance, by using her Noble Phantasm she decides to use the immense powerhouse of an overpowered Deus Ex Machina weapon directly from the tower between worlds itself. By concentrating her magical circuits to open a gateway between worlds, she summons a fraction of Rhongomyniad's power as a blinding image of the pillar itself to cast a protective veil as some kind of blessing over herself and her allies. Makes you wonder if a Divine Construct is needed to break through a veil created by a Divine Construct...

Using the Noble Phantasm grants her allies debuff immunity and buff removal immunity for three turns, as well as immunity to all incoming damage from three enemy attacks except for enemies with the Threat to Humanity trait. It also removes all debuffs and status ailments, and with each removed debuff/ailment the corresponding ally receives 50% NP generation, 100% star generation, 1000 max HP and 1000 additional flat damage for three turns, as well as 20% NP gauge.

Sword of Promised Victory - Excalibur

„Awaken again and rain down light from far beyond eternity. My heart beats together with the world.“

Just like Arturia, Vivian is able to harness the power of the Sword of Promised Victory by channeling a fraction of the power imbued in the Pillar of Light into the sword and the beam it produces from its tip, cutting through everything in its way in the process. If she were to use this Noble Phantasm, it would be much stronger and more destructive as when it is used by Arturia. Luckily she is not in possession of the sword right now, so no firing her laser anytime soon.

But if she would, it would have the exact same effect and strength as Arturias Noble Phantasm in FGO, just to balance things out. In another context than FGO it would be even more devastating than we‘re used to.

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Tags:

@justchibistuff @hasbedidoneanythingbad @has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong @hasquetzdoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong

#fgo #fate series #fate grand order #fanservant #arthurian fantasy #arthurian literature #matter of britain #fate #lady of the lake #nimue #oc #my ocs #fan servant #servant #ocs on tumblr #original character #my writing #vivian

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mysticstronomy · 3 years

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WHAT IS MEANT BY A FLAT UNIVERSE??

Blog#110

Saturday, July 31st ,2021

Welcome back,

First, we need to define what we mean by flat. The screen you're reading this on is obviously flat (I hope), and you know that the Earth is curved (I hope). But how can we quantify that mathematically? Such an exercise might be useful if we want to go around measuring the shape of the whole entire universe.

One answer lies in parallel lines. If you start drawing two parallel lines on your paper and let them continue on, they'll stay perfectly parallel forever (or at least until you run out of paper). That was essentially the definition of a parallel line for a couple thousand years, so we should be good.

Let's repeat the exercise on the surface of the Earth. Start at the equator and draw a couple parallel lines, each pointing directly north. As the lines continue, they never turn left or right but still end up intersecting at the North Pole. The curvature of the Earth itself caused these initially parallel lines to end up not-so-parallel. Ergo, the Earth is curved.

The opposite of the Earth's curved shape is a saddle: on that surface, lines that start out parallel end up spreading apart from each other (in swanky mathematical circles this is known as "ultraparallel"). So there you have it: You can measure the "flatness" of a structure just by watching how parallel lines behave. In our 3D universe, we could watch beams of light: If, say, two lasers started out perfectly parallel, then their long-term behavior would tell us important things.

Remember that measuring the shape of the universe is a question for cosmology, the study of the entire universe. And in cosmology, nobody cares about you. Or me. Or solar systems. Or black holes. Or galaxies. In cosmology we care about the universe only at the very largest scales; small-scale bumps and wiggles are not important for this question.

The universe has all sorts of deformations in space-time where it varies from the perfectly flat. Any place where there's mass or energy, there's a corresponding bending of space-time — that's General Relativity 101. So a couple light beams would naturally collide inside a wandering black hole, or bend along weird angles after encountering a galaxy or two.

But average all those small-scale effects out and look at the big picture. When we examine very old light — say, the cosmic microwave background — that has been traveling the universe for more than 13.8 billion years, we get a true sense of the universe's shape. And the answer, as far as we can tell, to within an incredibly small margin of uncertainty, is that the universe is flat.

Have you ever asked yourself if there's a difference between a cylinder and a sphere? More than likely not, but it's never too late to try new things.

Take out your piece of paper with two parallel lines on it. Go ahead, dig it out of the trash. Wrap one end around to meet the other, making a cylinder. Carefully observe the parallel lines — they remain parallel, don't they? That's because cylinders are flat.

You heard it here first: Cylinders are flat.

There's an important distinction between geometry, the behavior of parallel lines, and topology, the way a space can get all twisted up. While the geometry of the universe is very well measured (again, it's flat), the topology is not. And here's a bonus fact: not only can we not determine the topology of the universe from observations, but there are also no laws of physics that predict or restrict the topology.

With your 2D piece of paper, you can connect the ends a few different ways. Connect one of the dimensions normally and you have a cylinder. Flip one edge over before connecting and you've made a Mobius strip. Connect two dimensions, the top to the bottom and one side to the other, and you have a torus (aka a donut).

In our 3D universe, there are lots of options — 18 known ones, to be precise. Mobius strips, Klein bottles and Hantzsche-Wendt space manifolds are all non-trivial topologies that share something in common: if you travel far enough in one direction, you come back to where you started. In the case of flipped dimensions, when you come back to your starting point, you'll find yourself upside down without having tried to do so at all.

Of course we've looked to see if our universe is connected like this; we don't see any copies of galaxies, and we don't see the cosmic microwave background intersecting itself. If the universe is pretzeled-up, it's on scales far, far larger than what we can observe.

SOURCE: www.space.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, August 4th, 2021)

“HUBBLE SNAPS GORGEOUS PHOTO OF DISTANT GALAXY CASTING A SHADOW??”

#Astronomy #astrophysics #astrophotography #astronomylover #astronomyclub #astronomyfacts #spacecraft #outer space #space #alternate universe #Parallel Universe #how will the universe end #white universe

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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The Tattoo (Part Two)

Part One | Part Two

Not as much as I wanted to write, but I’m tired, so it is what it is. Hopefully some more tomorrow :D

For @vegetacide because it is her fault.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 @i-am-chidorixblossom and @vegetacide for various read throughs and encouragement.

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

“Virgil!”

There were two voices and he knew both of them, but he was barely keeping his feet. His good shoulder hit what had to be the elevator doors and someone grabbed at him to stop him from falling.

Unfortunately, they grabbed the wrong arm.

“Don’t!” He desperately stumbled away, stepping back into the elevator and curling up in one of the corners.

God.

His breathing was harsh and loud in his ears.

His stomach rolled over and he found himself swallowing yet again.

Pull it together…

Another breath...

Opening his eyes and peering up revealed exactly what he expected. IR responder Gordon Tracy inspecting him with laser beam eyes and Dr Sally Tracy frowning enough to crush him with her eyebrows.

“Virgil? What’s wrong?” It was said by his grandmother but the expression on Gordon’s face was punctuation.

There was no getting out of this.

Another swallow.

He uncurled and straightened as two pairs of concerned eyes tracked his every move.

“I had a bit of an accident.”

“Well, that much is obvious.” Gordon was not impressed.

Grandma reached out and touched his little brother’s arm. “Virgil, what happened? You are obviously seriously injured.”

“I fell and dislocated my shoulder.” His eyes were held by his grandmother.

“And?” Gordon knew him too damn well.

“Broken wrist.”

Grandma stepped forward, grabbing Gordon and taking him with her. It removed the both of them from the elevator door sensors and she turned to hit the controls.

The infirmary level lit up.

Virgil would have wilted, but it would have hurt too much.

Grandma didn’t say anything the entire trip down. Admittedly, it wasn’t a long trip, only a matter of seconds, but it took forever.

He was in so much shit.

The doors opened again and his grandmother stepped back, gesturing he exit the car.

He really wished she would say something.

But she didn’t, so he levered himself off the elevator wall and took the steps needed to get himself to the infirmary. His arm dangled and screamed at him the entire way. By the time he reached a bed he had to grip it to prevent himself from falling flat on his face.

“C’mon, Virg, let’s get you up there.” Gordon carefully lowered the bed and guided him onto it. His butt hit the mattress and he was hard put to stay upright, but he had to. He had to look his grandmother in the eye and answer for his own stupidity.

“Lie down, Virgil.” Responder Gordon was firm, but not firm enough.

“Grandma?”

There must have been something in his voice because her whole body language changed. It softened and she reached out, her hand brushing the side of his good arm. “Honey, lie down.”

It helped more than any demand could have.

He wasn’t forgiven, but he was loved.

-o-o-o-

Sally Tracy loved her boys more than life itself, but there were times they baffled her beyond comprehension.

Virgil was her sensible boy. She could trust him to keep a calm head and corral his brothers if necessary. She felt just that touch closer to Virgil, more a case of mutual understanding, than she had with her other boys, including her son. But every now and then even Virgil proved exactly how Tracy he was.

How much of an idiot.

“Honey, lie down.” It was obvious he was in a lot of pain and her heart hurt for him. Why he hadn’t called for help? She had no idea any more than she did the time she found Scott trying to stitch himself up. Or the time she discovered John melting away quietly in his room so feverish she was surprised he hadn’t lit it on fire. Gordon was a little more sensible, likely due to his medical history, but there was the incident with the clam. As for Alan, she just ticked all the boxes above as the teenager was notorious for following his brothers off their respective cliffs and laughing while jumping.

But Virgil, her sweet Virgil…it was almost a betrayal of her trust in him. The surety that he would act in his and his brothers’ best interests.

Why hadn’t he reported the injury?

How did he get hurt?

She raised the head of the bed and gently nudged him to relax against it. Her hand landed on his chest and she could feel the tension in his body through the flannel of his shirt.

Part of her, deep down, hidden under the professional and the grandmother, wanted to cry at the pain in those tight muscles.

But instead she began undoing buttons.

His eyes followed her every movement, his healthy hand reaching up to help.

“Gordon, find me a laser scalpel. I’m going to have to cut his shirt off.”

Virgil’s expression wilted. Well, there was no choice. He would just have to buy a new one.

She moved further down and unbuckled the safety harness. He must have been working on his ‘bird.

She brushed away his hand as he again tried to help her. “Rest, Virgil. I’ve got this.”

His expression immediately tightened up and she realised he was embarrassed.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my boy. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Grandma…”

A tug and she was able to pull the harness loose. She handed it to Gordon who stashed it on a chair before handing her the laser scalpel.

“Now, honey, you are going to tell me exactly what happened so I know how to treat you.”

His eyes immediately darted to Gordon and with some concern she realised there was fear in his gaze.

What on Earth had happened? What was he afraid of?

Gordon’s expression grew quizzical.

Virgil looked like he was facing a firing squad.

She got an inkling of Virgil’s reasoning. Perhaps his embarrassment had a more solid foundation.

“Gordon, could you please wait outside?”

The aquanaut jumped, his eyes darting at her. “Grandma?”

“Go and notify your father and Scott about this while I speak to Virgil.”

Carnelian eyes darted back and forth between brother and grandmother and she could tell he was reluctant to leave. Her bet was it was concern about his brother, but also an insatiable curiosity as to what had happened.

She could understand that.

“Please, Gordon.”

That did it. Gordon grabbed at Virgil’s leg and squeezed gently. “Okay, Grandma.” But his eyes pinned his brother where he sat. There was no doubt Gordon was going to find out what happened come hell or highwater. And then he would probably instigate both considering how much fear was in Virgil’s eyes.

The moment the aquanaut left the room, she turned back to Virgil. “Honey, tell me what happened?”

-o-o-o-

End Part Two.

Part Three

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Sally Tracy #Grandma Tracy #Gordon Tracy

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sweetiepie08 · 4 years

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RebelZ Chapter 8

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn, @agentpinerulesall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list feel free to message me. Also, if you’re on the tag list and you changed your name, please just let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

[-]

The problem with back-seat space travel was, Dib decided, you couldn’t really tell where you were going. This was especially concerning with Zim at the helm. In fact, leaving Earth with Zim, having to rely on Zim to get home, was probably not the smartest move in the first place. But he did manage to get them to Ecore. The first leg of their mission was complete. All that was left was to go home. That should be the easy part.

However, Zim was concerningly quiet since the ship took off from Ecore. There was no scolding Gir, no boasting of his pilot skills, and not even a peep about whatever Kristlotch had said in the temple. Tak was able to explain the basics. Krislotch told them the secret history of the Control Brains, called rebellion hopeless, and insulted Zim multiple times. Perhaps Zim was just stewing over it. But, if that was all, why did he feel this crushing tension?

Something on the console beeped and Zim scrolled through a sea of Irken text, eyes darting between Dib and Tak. He hadn’t used the voice command system, which was especially odd. From what Dib learned operating Tak’s ship, voice commands was the standard for Irken tech. Zim had to have switched it off manually. The question was, why?

“Hey Zim,” Tak snapped, “that was Zorgad 16.”

Zim kept his eyes straight ahead. “So?”

“So we’re going the wrong way.”

“I know exactly where we’re going,” Zim countered.

“Clearly you don’t. Keep going this way and we’ll…” Her eyes grew wide as some horror dawned on her. “You scum!” she screamed, launching herself at him. “You traitor!”

“It is you who are the traitor!” Zim declared, barely holding her off.

Dib’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “Zim, what did you do?”

“Gir!” Zim commanded. “Hide and seek! Now!”

“Okie Dokie!” Gir’s robot arms wrapped around Dib and Tak and threw them in the back of the ship with the cargo. “You hide!”

Before they could recover, a metal door slid down, blocking them off from the cockpit. On the other side, they heard Zim command Gir to count to 1 million.

Tak let out an enraged scream and pounded on the door. “Coward! Liar! Boot-licking little worm!”

Dib let his face drop into his hands. “I should have seen this coming. I’ve fallen for his schmoopy act before.”

“No, I should have.” Tak punched the door one more time before leaning her forehead against it. “When I discovered the truth, my first thought was of freeing my people. For that, I was branded traitor and my life clock went off. His never did. That is only possible if he was still loyal to the empire.”

“Can’t you blast through the door with your lasers?” Dib suggested.

A digital monocle popped out of the mechanism on her head and covered her eye. She examined the door for a moment before letting out a sigh. “If I set it powerful enough to penetrate the metal, it’ll also pass through the windshield, exposing us to vacuum space.” Defeated, she leaned her back against the door and slid down to the floor.

“So,” Dib said, sitting down beside her, “what now?”

[-]

Some time later, the ship approached the Massive. They noticed the change in gravity as a tractor beam grabbed hold of the Voot and sucked the ship onboard. They heard voices talking outside. One was certainly Zim, but Dib couldn’t make out what was being said. A few minutes later, the doors to the cargo hold opened and Irken soldiers dragged them out.

Dib found himself surrounded by tech he could only dream of, though the situation left him little room to marvel. The hanger held space craft so strange, he couldn’t being to imagine how they worked. The soldiers held weapons he’d never seen before. And above them all loomed the Tallest, living up to their title.

“Hmm… Urth humans really are tall,” the Purple one observed. “Not as tall as us of course but…” Dib assumed the reason for this one’s perfect English was that it was, in a way, talking to him.

“Yes and, as reported, dumb,” Zim added, “as evidenced by the fact he fell for my cunning trap. And, of course, I brought the traitor, Tak, as promised.”

“Yes, these two truly must be dumb if they fell for your plans,” the Red one said. Dib waited for Zim to react, but nothing happened. Unbelievable. Did Zim really not notice the insult, or did he just not care?

“Good work, Zim,” the Red one went on. “We knew we could count on you to bring in the traitor.”

Zim nodded solemnly. “Yes, she tried to sway my loyalty with her treasonous lies, but I never bought them for a second.”

Tak let out a growl and jumped to her feet. “Zim, you know damn well I never-AH!” One of the guards struck her with an electrified weapon, sending her back to the floor.

“And still she persists. Tragic.” Zim tsked and shook his head. “Now, about my reward?”

“Oh yeah, right,” the red one said. “We’ve got a party set up for you in the main snack hall.

Seriously? “You sold us out for a party?” Dib seethed, moving to get up. “You egotistical son of a-AH!” He was also hit by the same weapon, forcing him back to his knees.

Zim snickered and stood above him. “Zim is son to no one but the empire, Dib-stink.”

“Alright then,” the Purple one chimed in. “Now that everything’s settles, let’s execute these prisoners and get this party over with.”

“Wait!” Zim shouted. Everyone stopped and looked at him while Dib raised an eyebrow. What was he doing? “My Tallest, I humbly request to keep these two prisoners alive as trophies for my party.”

“But then we execute them after?” The purple one asked.

Zim nodded. “Oh yes, sure, of course.”

The Red one shrugged. “Okay, fair enough. Stick those two in a cage in the main snack hall until after the party.”

“Excellent!” A wide grin appeared on Zim’s face. “Gir, come with me,” he said, starting down the hall. “We must begin preparing my special punch.”

[-]

In short order, Dib and Tak were placed in a cage and forced to watch as Irkens mingled amongst themselves. They all took to it with the enthusiasm of the scientists in Membrane Labs attending the annual, mandatory, holiday party. They wore forced, uncomfortable smiles and attempted small talk. Every one of them looked like they were counting the seconds until they could drop the charade and return to their normal lives.

Suddenly, Zim’s robot popped up in Dib’s field of vision. “Want some punch?!” Gir shrieked, shoving a cup of purple liquid in Dib’s face. “It’ll make you sick!”

Dib cringed as he looked in the cup. “Uh… no thanks.”

“Gir! Get away from there!” Zim shouted, stomping up toward them. He grabbed the cup out of the robot’s hands and began pushing him away. “Humans and traitors don’t get punch,” he tossed over his shoulder as they walked off.

Dib watching Zim head up to the high table at the front of the room and sit down with his Tallest. Much like his dad at those holiday parties, these two were likely the ones who least wanted to be there.

Dib gave the bars another pathetic shake before giving up and turning to Tak. “So, you got any ideas?”

“What’s the point?” she asked, laying flat on the ground.

“Uh, the point is, if we don’t get out of here, we both die.”

“Is dying a prisoner any worse than living as a mindless slave?” She sighed and turned her head to look at the crowd. “Look at them all, human. They don’t even know what they lack. Every one of them is going to die serving the empire and none of them will be thanked or even remembered. Hundreds will be sent to their deaths and hundreds more will take their place. The smeeteries will replace them as fast as they’re killed off. That thing doesn’t care about sacrificing its own food because it can always make more. Kristlotch was right. It is hopeless.”

“You know, sometimes I feel like my people are slaves too,” Dib said, sitting down next to her. “Not to a hive mind parasite, but to other things. The media, corporate greed…”

“I know. I specifically targeted that flaw in my first conquest plan.”

“Right…” Dib rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about how well that almost worked. “Anyway, sometimes I think Zim is right. Humans stink.”

Tak shrugged half-heartedly. “Eh, Irkens are particularly sensitive to smell. You probably smell fine for a human.”

“No, I meant metaphorically,” Dib went on. “Anyway, my point is, just because humans stink now, it doesn’t mean I should give upon them. It’s one of the reasons I want to prove aliens exist so bad. I want people to know what’s out there. I want them to be a little better, a little smarter. I want them to stop worrying about petty problems and work together to improve the world. If they do, who knows? Maybe we can actually join this greater universal stage.”

Tak’s face stayed impassive as she considered his words. “Dib…” she began, sitting up, “not all humans stink.”

He smiled. “And not all Irkens are mindless slaves.”

“No…” Her eyes narrowed and the Tak he knew returned. “And none should be. Dib,” she said, jumping to her feet, “we’re breaking out of here.”

“Great!” he said, jumping up as well. “What’s the plan?”

“I…” she paused and her enthusiasm melted away, “need to think about it.” She sat back down on the floor, but her schmoop was gone. She sat with her back straight and one hand on her chin, thinking, plotting.

They were interrupted by a clinking sound from the high table. They looked to see the Red Tallest flicking the side of his glass with one long finger. “Alright everyone, Zim wants to give a toast with his punch. Everyone get a glass so we can get this over with.”

Gir handed out cups of punch to every Irken in the room.

“Did everyone get one?” Zim asked accepting one cup from Gir. The robot nodded. “Excellent!”

Dib shook the bars and let out a groan. “If only I knew what he was saying.”

Tak sighed, tapped her PAK, and a small microchip floated into her hands. She then reached up and shoved it into Dib’s ear.

“Ow, what was that?” Dib said, rubbing his ear.

“Back-up universal translator,” she explained with a groan. “I’m speaking Irken. You hear better now?”

“Yeah, why didn’t you do that earlier?”

“You didn’t bring it up.”

Dib shrugged, conceding her point, and they turned their attention back to the crowd.

“Come on,” the Red Tallest sighed, impatiently tapping his cup. “Make your speech so we can end this party and get back to important things.”

“Right.” Zim cleared his throat. “Friends, I stand before you today proof of what a true Irken can accomplish. Genius, ingenuity, ambition, these are the things that make an Irken great. With these an Irken can become whatever they want and crush their enemies. To victory!”

“To victory!” the crowd answered back and drank.

Dib kept his eyes glued to Zim though the speech. When Zim lifted his cup to his lips, Dib’s eyes went wide.

“Tak did you see that?” he whispered.

“What?”

“It's Zim. He didn't drink?”

“How can you possibly know that from all the way over here?

“He didn't tip his cup back far and he didn't swallow.” Dib explained. “And look.”

Zim's eyes scanned the crowd and he quickly checked something on his wrist.

“Is he checking the time? Look at him. He's up to something.”

Tak only responded with a skeptical look.

Dib sighed. “Listen, if I can be considered an expert on anything, it's obsessing over Zim, and you may not guess it from the everything-about-him, but he can be cunning when he wants to be.”

Tak got up and joined him at the bars. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Zim’s expression. “If you're right about this,” she mused, “then the question is, why does he want to be?”

The Irkens lowered their now empty cups, except for Zim who still held him onto his. “Yes, Irk is mighty and prosperous,” he went on, tapping a sharply clawed finger against his cup. “It's such a shame Spek couldn't share in our prosperity.”

“Spek?” Dib turn to Tak. “What's a Spek?”

Tak could only shrug. Dib looked back over at the crowd. They looked just as confused as he felt.

“Spek?” the Purple Tallest mumbled to the Red. “I don't remember any Spek.”

“Spek!” Zim shouted throwing, his cup down and jumping on the table. “The smeet who died in the Death Melee because of your attempt to have me killed! It wasn't your first attempt either. You sent me on my mission to Urth, hoping I’d get lost in the vastness of space.”

“Zim…” The Red Tallest said in a warning tone.

“You sent me to hobo 13 and bet on which drill would kill me.”

“Zim that's…”

“You lied to me about the true nature of the Death Melee so I would die for your entertainment. You gave me a smeet, one who hadn't even seen his first cycle yet, as my partner, just to lower my chances of survival. Do you deny it?”

“Enough, Zim!” the Red Tallest roared. “You can't speak to us like this!”

“I can! I am!”

“Remember you are speaking to your Tallest,” the Purple one shouted back.

“I have no tallest!” Zim declared proudly. “I don't take orders from you anymore, and I haven't since the Death Melee! For 0.3 cycles, I've dreamed of nothing but my vengeance and I shall have it!”

The Purple Tallest laughed. “Ha! Vengeance? Look around you. You're surrounded by the top tier of the Irken Armada. How exactly do you plan on getting past them?”

“Aww, too bad Zim,” the Red Tallest said with a mocking pout. “Looks like you failed, just like you always do. Your vengeance is over before it's even begun.”

Zim looked down on the device on his wrist. He smirked and looked up at his Tallest with the cold fury in his eyes. “My vengeance has already begun.”

At that moment, a General dropped to the floor and began convulsing. More and more Irkens followed him. Zim’s smirk grew with each new body that hit the floor. Finally, the Tallest started convulsing as well.

“You won't get away with this,” The Red one choked out before collapsing on the floor.

He flashed a wicked grin. “Oh, I think I just did.”

Zim’s pack legs deployed as he jumped off the table. He scuttled over to the cage and, after hitting a few buttons, freed Dib and Tak. “Follow me,” he yelled and led them out of the snacking hall.

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viking-raider · 5 years

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Lessons Learned *One Shot*

Summary: You try to do a dangerous stunt on a frozen lake, while you and Henry are filming, Nomis (also known as Night Hunter), and it causes Henry to deliver the first punishment in your specific kind of relationship.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,885

Inspiration: a request from an Anon (x)

A/N: in the possible event that Tumblr does their asshole-ness and flag this post I posted it HERE on Ao3!

------

“Oh, fuck.”

Was all you could think of seeing the look on Henry's face as he stood in front of you. It was a kaleidoscope of emotion, ranging from shock, surprise, amusement, and finally, anger. It was the last one that made your knees impossibly weak, because Henry was a down to earth, easy-going and all around teddy bear; so pissing him off took some work, and when he finally was, you understood the intensity he put into his roles. He looked like he had turned on Superman's laser eye beams. You licked your lips, and tried to stay standing. The pair of you had been dating for three years, and for the last year you'd been experimenting with him. Finding out you both had a similar Dominant and submissive kink fantasy, you'd agreed to try it out. It was only in play when you were both privately at home in London, where no one could bother you about it, or find out about it in general. But, none of that scared you, well, the look did and the angering him did, as well. It was the prospect of finding out what Henry would do to you, for your first punishment since starting.

“What were you thinking?” he asked you, his accent thickening with his irritation.

You opened your mouth to answer that, but he cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“That was rhetorical.” he told you. “Do you know how crazy it was for you to do that? You could have gotten hurt.” His voice broke a teeny bit at that. “Especially after, not only the director telling you not too, I told you not too.”

“We weren't in the house, Henry!” you snapped, despite trying to keep your mouth shut so you didn't make the situation even worse for yourself. “I don't have to listen to you, if I don't want too.” you added, and knew that was the cherry on the sundae.

Fuck. You thought again.

Henry's eyes grew wide with the audacity of your words and mounting anger. “Is that so?” he asked, his already deep voice almost reaching Geralt deepness. If it was any other situation, you'd be wetter than a flood zone. “That wasn't rhetorical.” he told you, crossing his arms tighter over his chest.

You stood there a moment, licking and chewing on your lip, trying to come up with a response that wouldn't get you into anymore trouble, than you were in already. “Fuck.” was still all you could come up with, so you went with it.

“Hm, fuck, indeed.” Henry agreed, pressing his lips into a flat angry line and nodded his head. “You know what this means, right?” he asked, you could swear you saw a glint of excitement in his blue eyes.

You pursed your lips and nodded your head, there was no fighting this. Well, there was, if you used the safe word and stopped him in his tracks before he could get going on whatever it was he was going to do to you. Will, was the safe word you'd agreed on a year before. It had to do with his middle name, William. He figured it would be personal enough to him, that if you ended up using it, he would recall himself instantly. To stop whatever he was doing or about to do, and understand you weren't comfortable enough with it, or he'd gone too far in someway. You had never used it, so far, and it felt like invoking it on the first punishment with him, was a cowardly cop-out.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, not meeting his eye.

Henry chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought it over. There was several things he could possibly do to you as punishment. Sit you in a corner, send you to bed without dinner, take your phone and laptop from you, make you run a mile...up hill, not let you sleep with him for week; so many options. But, neither seemed to get across the absolute horror, fear and worry as he watched you pull that stunt, deemed to dangerous, for the filming of Nomis.

“You could have drowned, y/n.” He whispered, quietly, startling you even more.

“I knew the ice wouldn't break, Henry.” you whispered back, afraid to use your normal voice, as if, doing so would break Henry more than that ice would have.

“You didn't know that.” he answered, his voice coming back as well as, with what you realized now, was frightened anger. “You just went out there and winged it.” he shook with anger. “That ice could have broken under your feet and you could have drowned before we were able to save you, or gotten hypothermia, or at the very least, a serious case of pneumonia. You could have died!” he barked, making your heart stop.

You dropped your eyes to the floor, unable to see that heart wrenching anger and fear in his face and eyes. “You're right, Henry. I didn't know, and I went out there anyway.” you mumbled. “I just wanted to prove I could do it, and didn't care about the consequences, of not only my actions, but, of how it would affect you as well.” you confessed. “And I deserve whatever punishment, you give me.”

“You're damn right you do.” he said, in a shaky voice.

Finally settling on a punishment, Henry sat down on the couch and motioned you to stand in front of him. Resigning yourself, you moved to stand where he motioned you too, trying to keep your breathing under control. He reached out, unbuttoned and unzipped your skin tight skinny jeans and yanked them down your legs, followed by your underwear. Letting you step out of them as they pooled around your feet, Henry moved you to stand beside him before pulling you carefully over his thighs. You gulped loudly realizing he was going to spank you as punishment, it made him chuckle hearing you gulp.

“You know, what I'm going to do?” he asked you, needlessly, but wanted the amusement of hearing you say it.

“Yeah.” You nodded, bracing your hands on the floor.

“Well?” he pressed, lightly caressing your butt and dipping a quick hand between your legs, and laughing again feeling how wet you were. “What is it, that I'm going to do to you, y/n?” he asked, pinching one cheek, making you squeak.

“You're going to spank me.” you told him, voice cracking.

“Very good, so you are capable of listening.” he teased you, pinching the other cheek. “I don't want to hear you, while I do spank you. Is that understood? You do, and I will prolong it.” he explained, rubbing his palm over the red pinch mark.

“Understood, Henry.” you answered, biting into your lip, and waited for him to start.

Taking a deep breath, for more dramatic affect than really anything else, the first slap came across your ass. Your eyes rolled at the eye watering sting. You weren't a big woman, about the size of one of Henry's legs. So, his broad hand covered a good amount of real estate on your backside. He slapped your butt again, paused to rub it gently, easing a tiny bit of the pain away, before doing it again. Your bottom lip throbbed as you clamped down on it, trying desperately to keep quiet as the punishment continued, and tears dripped down your face. It felt like he'd been disciplining you for hours, but from your spot across his lap, you could see the clock on the kitchen wall, it had only been less than three minutes.

“Stop tensing.” he warned you, feeling your back muscles as his free hand rested on your lower back. “It'll only hurt more.” he explained, pausing to rub away the last two spanks. “Good girl.” he praised you, feeling you relax again.

With one more resounding slap, Henry rested his hand on your red and heated butt, squeezing it lightly, and chuckled feeling you shiver. He grabbed your arm and sat you up, so you stood up on your knees by him on the floor. He looked at your wet and red face, and equally red and dripping eyes, brushing away stray strands of hair from your face, affectionately.

“Come here.” he whispered, moving back on the couch, so his back rested against the cushions. You crawled into his lap, and he wrapped his arms around you, gaping his legs, so your sore butt sat comfortably between them. Your hot face pressed into his neck, as he rested his bearded cheek against the top of your head. “Listen to me, y/n, right now.” he whispered into your hair, before resting his hand on your chin. He pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and gently removed it from between your teeth, rubbing at the angry teeth marks on it.

“I am.” you hiccuped, twisting the black long sleeve of his soft cashmere sweater.

“Good girl.” Henry smiled, rubbing his nose in your hair, inhaling light rose scent from your shampoo, and rubbing your back, gently. “Now, that you've learned your lesson.” he told you, carding his fingers through your hair. “We're going to come to a new agreement about the D and s aspect of our relationship.” he explained, resting his fingers under your chin and tipping your head back to look at him, making sure you understood how serious he was. “While we will keep it largely in the privacy our home, and maybe our hotel rooms and trailers, that when I tell you not to do something, specifically. No matter where we might be, or who might might be around, that you will obey me.”

“Well,” you sniffled, looking him in those impossible blue eyes, with tiny bit of brown in his left one. “How am I supposed to know the difference between you telling me not to do something, and you telling me not to do something?” you asked him, curiously.

“Hm.” Henry grunted, pressing his lips together as he thought about it. “Well, we use my middle name as the safe word, so you can use it to tell me to stop doing something, or to warn me about it. So, why don't I use your middle name to tell you when I actually mean something. Like, me telling you not to fucking try that stunt on a frozen lake, again.” he suggested, looking back at you.

“That's more than fair.” You agreed with him, wiping your face on your arm.

“Good. So, we're in agreement, then?” he asked, gently swiping his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the rest of your unshed tears.

“I agree.” You nodded, sucking on your bottom lip.

“Very good.” Henry smiled at you, brushing both his hands through your hair, cradling the back of your head in one hand and kissed you, soundly on the lips. “You were such a good girl, during your punishment.” he commended you, in the kiss.

You blushed against his lips. “I always try to behave for you, Daddy.” you whispered back, grinning wildly, and making him laugh.

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill/You #anon request #Viking-Raider Fics #Lesson Learned (fic)#Superman #Clark Kent #Walter Marshell #Nomis #Night Hunter #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #The Witcher #Witcher #Mature

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playernumberv · 4 years

Text

Marvel’s Avengers (PS4) Mini-Review

There’s a lot to like about Marvel’s Avengers. Coming from the cultural phenomenon that was the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the video-game equivalent of the Avengers had an overwhelming amount of expectations to live up to, and at least where the story is concerned, Marvel’s Avengers actually does live up to those expectations—kinda. The story is surprisingly competent, offering an alternative interpretation of the characters we know and love so well that actually respects the source material and feels authentic. Kamala Khan in particular is perhaps the writing team’s best move—seen through her eyes, the story is uplifted with a touch of cheeriness, joy, and playfulness that makes it genuinely refreshing and enjoyable, and she’s an absolutely lovable character comparable perhaps to how Tom Holland’s Spider-Man was like in the movies. The voice performances, while not quite on the level of their cinematic counterparts, are nevertheless surprisingly decent and serviceable. I’m sure they would have done an even better job with the story if this were a single-player narrative-focused game, but whatever is there is nevertheless pretty great.

Character design is excellent as well. Each Avenger feels unique and distinctive to play, with very well-designed skillsets and progression trees of their own. Playing as Iron Man is exhilarating and genuinely feels like I’m a superhero with a superpowered technological suit and numerous weaponry choices such as lasers, beams, and rockets. Calling forth Hulkbuster is also ultra badass, and as a huge Iron Man fan, suffice it to say that I had to suppress a lot of screams and squeals from pure excitement. Playing as Hulk feels like playing as a big green man who indiscriminately smashes, playing as Thor feels like playing as the God Of Thunder, and playing as Captain America feels like playing as a super-powered soldier. I had been worried that each character would feel too similar to each other, but this is not the case at all—there’s also a tonne of customization options that make each character even more nuanced and fun to play. Whoever was in charge of the character design in this game surely deserves a raise. This is by far the best video-game versions of these characters that have ever been made, and I genuinely enjoyed the sheer thrill and excitement of embodying these heroes I love so much from the movies.

All that good, however, is squandered by the game’s horrendous live-service angle (whoever decided to take the game in this direction needs to be fired), along with an entire array of bugs, glitches, and other issues that have no business being in a full-priced launch game. The loot-based mechanics with a huge focus on meaningless gear and resources are repulsive and unenjoyable. The menu and UI is a total mess. Missions as well as level design are extremely shallow and boring. The game is broken in a lot of ways, with so much lack of polish ranging from ones that flat out break the game to more trivial but nevertheless annoying ones, like grammatical or spelling errors, wrong subtitles, etc. I could go on and on and on about all the things about the game that are broken, and I don’t think I’d be done even after a few hours. “Good isn’t a thing you are, it’s a thing you do.” For a game that repeats this quote over and over, it sure doesn’t live up to it. Marvel’s Avengers sure does a lot of good, but all that is offset by the overwhelming amount of bad it also does. It’s a true pity that our best entrance into a video-game version of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes also happens to be Earth’s most broken and poorly-designed video-game, and it’s a true pity that we probably won’t ever—not for decades, at least—see the Avengers truly shine in a proper, narrative-driven single-player videogame.

Gameplay score: B- Storyline score: A- Characters score: A Aesthetics score: A- Enjoyment score: B

Overall Marvel’s Avengers score: 69/100

#marvel's avengers #avengers #marvel #ps4 #sony #playstation #gaming #review #games

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gerudoheiress · 5 years

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Nightmares

Wild looked around him. He was all alone and surrounded by a flat expanse of wild grass. With no trees or structures to be seen, his anxiety kicked into high gear: there was nowhere to hide. He spun around. Hyrule castle, swarming with an aura of malice, was dead ahead. No… Hadn’t he already fought this battle? Hadn’t he already won this war? But no, Zelda was still trapped inside, and he had to get to her. He reached for his sword and shield but there was… nothing. He looked at himself. On his body were the rags from the shrine of resurrection. He was completely vulnerable. What is happening? Swimming in confusion, he cast about him for something—anything—to defend himself with.

Suddenly, every hair on his body stood on end. From across the field, a faint but rapid rhythmic beeping triggered every flight or fight instinct in his body.

Run.

He serpentined across the grass, all too aware of the hot laser on his back. He heard the beeping quicken, and his eyes flew, looking for something to shield him, but he was absolutely without options. Right as the guardian fired, he dove to the side, suffering some burns but still alive. His lungs were straining, but he picked himself up to keep running. He couldn’t stop, but he couldn’t run forever. The guardian fired again, missing him entirely due to a well-timed change in direction. He could feel himself fading fast; his feet slowed and he tripped. This time, the guardian beam hit his arm, searing through it. He yelled in pain, wanting to clutch the burn but knowing it’d be worse if he touched it.

This was it. He’d failed. He’d failed fast and finally. The guardian was just feet from him now, and he stopped running, accepting what couldn’t be changed. He stood as tall as he could, terrified but trying to meet death with a brave face. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing it’d be quick.

“Link, NO!” a voice shouted, echoing inside his mind the same way the voices of the other champions would. The unmistakable sound of a shield guard came from right in front of him. Wild’s eyes flashed open. The Guardian was stunned, and standing between him and the metal monster was a middle-aged man dressed in the garb of the royal guard. He held a elegant sword and shield, signifying his rank in the royal army. He had dark blond hair and kind eyes. He stood in front of Wild, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Link, it’s going to be okay. I’m so proud, you’ve done so well.” Behind the man, the guardian was retargeting them. Wild raised his hand to warn, but the man pulled him into a hug, protecting him with his body right as the guardian shot, point blank.

“FATHER––!” Wild bolted awake, drenched in sweat, his bedding kicked away. His shout made the entire group bolt from their sleep—some instinctively reached for their weapons. Faces of shock, concern, drowsiness, and fear all stared at him as he tried to choke down his panicked breathing. He brought a trembling hand to his eyes, and felt the dampness around his eyelashes.

“I’m so—I’m sorry,” his voice was hoarse. He stumbled to standing and began running toward the edge of the clearing where they’d set up camp. He needed to get away, needed to be alone, he was so embarrassed and the leftover adrenaline from his dream made his skin crawl.

“Wild, wait!” He heard Twilight shout behind him, but he only sped up. Once he passed the tree line, he allowed a pained sob to escape from deep within his chest. He clutched his head, Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember him? Tears were falling, blurring his vision terribly. His foot got caught on an exposed root, throwing him to the ground. He didn’t try to get back up. The noise had startled the nocturnal wild life, and he heard hoofs race away from him as he lay on the damp earth, sobs shaking his body. He’s my father...It’s not fair that I can’t remember him! The cool seeped into him from the ground. He couldn’t even know for certain if who he saw in his dream was someone he used to know or an idea—an archetype—that his imagination had filled in the blanks for. It was infuriating and depressing and there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Old habits of self-enforced stoicism kicked in, and he forced his breathing to even and his tears to stop. A decrescendo of sniffles left him thinking, I’m never going to hear the end of it from Legend. He knew he couldn’t stay away indefinitely, but he dreaded having to answer any questions and the looks of concern he knew were waiting for him back at camp. You’re weak, even in your dreams, He thought cruelly at himself. Standing without bothering to dust himself off, he shuffled slowly back to the edge of the forest.

Sitting at the edge of the clearing was Twilight in wolf form. Wild couldn’t suppress the pang of annoyance that the privacy he held sacred was being violated. But stronger than his annoyance was his gratitude for someone who cared. Cared enough to give him the time and space to come back of his own accord, but nevertheless stayed close to him. Wild sighed, breath still shaky, and walked to the wolf. When Twilight noticed him, no words were said. He got to his feet, shook himself off, and padded alongside him quietly back to camp.

Time was still awake, the rest had fallen back asleep. Wild stepped to him as Twilight took up a place next to Wild’s sleeping covers.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance.”

“None of that. You okay?” It was said flatly, without pity, but with a softness that came from empathy and recognition. Wild nodded once, avoiding the seeking gaze of Time’s good eye. Time sighed and placed his hands on his shoulders. Patting his arm, he extended,

“Take your time. We’re here for you when you’re ready.” Wild nodded again, then returned to his spot next to Twilight. He glanced sideways into his companion’s eyes and saw all the questions as clearly as if he had asked them out loud. He shook his head and pushed the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“It might have been a memory. It might have been a dream. It was probably a little of both. I can’t know though, that’s the worst part, I will just never know what’s real and what I’m making up in my mind. I hate it, Twi.” Wild stopped himself there. Tears wouldn’t be far behind if he kept up like this and he had already woken the group once tonight. He inhaled deeply and laid down with an arm over his eyes. He heard the clinking of Twilight’s arm cuff and felt the warmth of the wolf press against him. Twilight wouldn’t make him talk, but he wouldn’t let him pull away. Because he cares, Wild reminded himself. He removed his arm and looked at the wolf who was looking at him. He sat up and hugged his friend to him, tightening his grip softly around handfuls of fur.

“Thank you for being there when I... when I can’t do it.” Twilight huffed and shook his head gently. Wild didn’t extract himself from Twilight so much as rearrange. He soon fell asleep with his arm over his friend. Twilight’s comforting and steady presence seemed to be the only reliable way to sleep anymore. But for tonight, he needed him, and Twilight let himself be needed.

———

This fic was inspired by this excerpt from the @linkeduniverse archives, with the drama dialed up to, like, an eleven. Because we have no chill.

#loz #linkeduniverse #linked universe #link #hero #hero of the wild #hero of time #hero of twilight #fic #fanfic #legend of zelda #mild angst #but we all like a little angst

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