#She made a dent in the planet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marlynnofmany · 3 months

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Mystery Colors

Our first delivery after a bit of shore leave at the local space station, and it was a stealth mission. The client didn't say why they needed this delivery to be handed over without catching the attention of the authority figures at their work site, but they were paying extra for it. I wasn't part of the conversation. I don't know what other details Captain Sunlight got from them to make sure this was a safe risk on our account. But she was always smart about that sort of thing, and at any rate, she assured us all that we didn't need to worry. Flying in to an unpopulated area out of sight of the main science installation would be fine.

We trusted that, but we were curious. And since the client was human, the rest of my crewmates volunteered me for the delivery in hopes of wheedling out some tactful details.

I didn't object. I wanted to know too.

So I got into my exo suit, checking all the seams and settings even though the safety gear was inspected regularly. This planet wasn’t even all that dangerous according to the readings — it was mostly terraformed to an acceptable standard, though the air wasn’t quite up to standard levels yet — but this felt like a good time to be careful. I wasn’t likely to be entrusted with any secrets if I passed out from lack of oxygen.

Paint was waiting for me with the box. “We’re almost there!” she said, scaly tail swishing behind her. “Best of luck!”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the box and wondering for the umpteenth time what was inside it. The logos were all from a megastore at the space station. Zhee had picked it up, and it was already sealed when he signed for it as official intermediary courier. The person at the checkout counter hadn’t known what it held either.

The engines made their usual landing hum. Since our ship had good landing gear and reliable artificial gravity, it would have been easy to miss otherwise. Paint scuttled out of the way while I walked toward the exit. Blip and Blop peeked around a corner, frills waving in curiosity. Zhee was parked in a cross hallway, not trying to hide.

He tapped one bug leg on the floor and said, “I hope to hear any juicy secrets first.”

Before I could answer that, Mur scooted by in a quiet slap of tentacles and put in, “I’ll be in the cockpit to see if Wio can eavesdrop with the sensors.”

I left Zhee to grumble about it and threaten to tattle on Mur for bothering the pilots. We all knew Zhee was just jealous that he was too big to perch in an out-of-the-way corner. At least he wasn’t Trrili’s size; she barely fit in the cockpit at all.

The door panel said the airlock was engaged, and the air outside was as expected. I stepped through the first door with the box held tight, letting it close behind me with a shush of air that drowned out the bickering in the hallway.

The outside door opened to let in bright sunlight, alien air, and distinctly less gravity. I didn’t notice that last until I stepped out onto the ramp and nearly made a fool of myself. Caught my balance, though. I tried not to leave finger-shaped dents in the box as I hopped awkwardly down the ramp and mentally kicked myself for not reading the briefing more thoroughly. I’d been focused on the air and hadn’t noticed that the gravity was lower than I was used to.

No time to worry about that now, though: a pair of human shapes in bright red exo suits were approaching from the edge of the flat rocky area. A metal roof visible over the boulders behind them was probably their own shuttle. Everything else in sight was rocks in a range of gray-to-orange colors. A hill in the distance held tinges of green that could have been plants.

“Hello!” said the human who was one step ahead of the other. She sounded a little younger than me. Her face wasn’t visible through the reflective visor. So clandestine. “Thank you for being prompt.”

I said, “We aim to please,” and managed to stop moving without smashing into either of them. They had clearly been working here long enough to get a feel for the gravity. “Here is your package,” I said as I handed it over, “And here is the payment tablet,” I added once my hands were free. I unhooked it from my waistband and passed it to the second human.

The first was busy ripping the box open like a kid with an anticipated present.

“Oh good, it’s the right kind!” she said in relief. She set the box on the dusty ground and pulled out something that I recognized as a turbo cleaning wand, the kind usually marketed towards the parents of small children. I’d seen artists use them too, both for cleanup and for making some neat inverted-color murals.

Not wanting to sound like I was doing more than making conversation, I said, “I’ve heard those are good ones.”

“They’re definitely the fastest,” the human said. “Lemme just see if they work on this particular ink.” She opened a thigh pocket with a rip of velcro, and took out what looked like a chunk of tile with deep pink scribbles on it.

The other human finished with the payment tablet and handed it back. “They’d better work,” he said. “If not, we’re toast.”

“How come?” I asked with concern in my voice, hoping that wasn’t too much.

I shouldn’t have worried. The first human activated the wand and wiped the tile clean in one swift pass, then laughed with clear relief. “Saved! We should have just enough time to get everything before the inspectors arrive. Now we just have to hope Julian didn’t leave any more of his rude notes somewhere we haven’t found. The shopping lists and tally marks would be bad enough, but his stuff would get all three of us canned immediately.”

I looked in the direction of the large encampment I’d seen from space. “Are you working this whole place alone?”

She laughed and put the tile back in her pocket. “Oh no, we’re just the only humans here. Everybody else is a Waterwill. Did you know those guys can’t see the color magenta?”

“Really!” I said. This was news to me.

She pulled a pen out of a different pocket. “These are completely invisible if you write on a pale surface. Which has been handy for keeping track of specimens when we feel lazy, and leaving each other notes by the door..”

“…But Julian took it a bit too far,” added the other guy. “With this gravity, he jumps and writes insults on the ceiling.”

“Ah,” I said. “I see why that might not go over well with inspectors. Who are not Waterwills, I take it?”

“Nope,” said the first human as she stowed the wand back in the box then picked the whole thing up. “But they’re not coming until tomorrow, so we should be able to clean it all away in time. Even if we have to do some quiet climbing around in the middle of the night.”

“Hey, what’s that?” the other human interrupted, reaching for something else in the box. He came up with a bundle of green cloth.

“Oh!” said the first. “That’s for Julian. I’m going to say it was at the bottom of the last food shipment as an error.”

When the guy unfolded it, the cloth proved to be a T-shirt patterned in green specks of multiple shades. The side toward me had black text that said “The Best.”

But the two humans were laughing about something on the back. When they saw my confusion, the guy turned it around.

Among all those green dots were a series of orange ones that spelled out “I’m colorblind! And also an asshole.”

The first human explained to me, “Julian is actually red-green colorblind. The magenta pens were for his benefit originally, since they don’t blend with the green ones like red does, and sometimes we need to chart things in color-coding. But—”

“But the Waterwills can’t see it at all,” the second continued. “So they were retired. Officially.”

“I see,” I said. “Well. Best of luck in cleaning up his messes!”

“Thank you!” they chorused. Once the shirt was stuffed into the bottom of the box and the lid was safely shut, they gave me a wave and bounded across the low-gravity rocks toward their waiting shuttle.

I made my awkward way back up the ramp to where my alien coworkers were waiting. I was considering an impromptu color vision test for them, just to see if something bright and obvious to me was invisible someone else onboard.

But then I realized that it would lead to a contest for smell-vision, and I was absolutely rubbish at that.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#my writing #The Token Human #science fiction #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #time for more fun and games with #color vision #colorblindness #aliens

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alltheirdamn · 10 months

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A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!Reader)

CHAPTER 1

Summary: when you discover a bounty has been put on your head, your future and freedom are on the line. Warnings: mentions of death, drugs, weapons, angst, language (future smut, don't worry) Word Count: 6.5k A/N/: this is my first time dropping any sort of writing into the world, so pls be kind & i hope you'll stick around for the rest of the fic <3

Swiping greased hands over your work smock, you looked towards the horizon to see the Twin Suns dipping below the rolling sand dunes. The work day was over, yet you felt you barely made a dent in the new land speeder your parents had bought. You were accustomed to working with older models of land speeders, preferring the engine types over the newer models. The new models were made for looks rather than efficiency, and you didn’t understand how the citizens of Mos Eisley could afford them.

Composed of a ship hangar and various piles of scrap parts, the junkyard overlooked the southern border of the city, your own home barren and abysmal due to years of decline in business. It was rare your parents got business, and if it was… it usually wasn’t the best clientele. You had your run-ins with smugglers, pirates, and crime bosses, and every time, you worried for your family’s safety. It was only you and your parents, after all— you had no one else to call home.

As you tidied your workbench, stowing away the tools, scrap metals, and loose wires, you heard an unfamiliar buzz of speed bikes approaching the junkyard. It was unusual to get clients this late, let alone any visitors. Your family was nearly invisible to the citygoers, barely knowing one or two vendors on the streets that sold food.

In a haze of dust and dirt, the men made laps around the junkyard, their voices loud and violent as they called out for your parents. Heart thudding in your throat, you rushed to the small home tucked in the dunes, frantic to find your parents.

You hadn’t realized your father was already at the front entrance, sniper rifle in his grasp.

“Kono Halcard!” One of the front men yelled, his speeder coming to a halt in front of your father.

You watched from afar as your father stood tall and strong, his suntanned skin glowing in the golden hour of the falling suns. Time had aged his skin whitened his hair, but he was still a force of nature. He had lived in Tatooine his whole life, as had you, and he was no stranger to the scum that roamed the planet. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted your mother, Mana, peering behind the windows of your home. She was not so much the fighter as your father.

But you were your father's daughter.

Grabbing the hidden blade on your work belt, you followed the trail up to the front entrance, watching the wind kick the billows of dust into tornados of sand as the men’s bikes stopped behind their very vocal leader.

“We want nothing to do with you, Jissard,” your father’s voice was stern.

Jissard, which you assumed was his last name, was a hateful-looking man. He was human, at least from what you could discern, as he stood several feet taller than your father, wearing a tattered tunic and worn leather coat. Most of his face was covered by a low-brimmed hat, the same color beige as the sand surrounding you, but you could still glimpse his piercing yellow eyes. The look of them alone forced your spine straight, nerves electrifying within every inch of your body.

The men behind him wore the same type of clothes– all worn, all dirty. It was obvious from the looks of them that they were a band of spice traders, the residual of the drugs lingering on their fingers and skin. They dismounted their speeders, flanking Jissard on either side, their hands resting carefully on their concealed blasters. You shifted your weight, your grip tightening around the handle of your blade.

“Oh, Kono,” Jissard drawled, a thick accent falling off his tongue. “You’re a few payments behind, aren’t you?”

“I owe you nothing. I paid the Pyke’s back in full nearly three months ago.” Your father straightened his spine; the rifle still lifted at eye level towards the traders.

“If you had, I wouldn’t be here, my friend,” Jissard grinned, revealing a row of rotting teeth. It was a menacing grin, one meant to elicit fear.

It didn’t elicit it from your father, but it did from you.

“Ah, and I take it this is your daughter, no?” Jissard continued, glancing in your direction.

The handle of your blade was cutting into your palm now, your pulse thudding in your ears. You stepped forward, aligning yourself with your father, exchanging a weary glance between one another. He wasn’t shocked you were beside him, but you caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes. A fading sentiment of, I’m sorry, as you gathered the unspoken secrets of your family’s business. You had an inkling that crime would one day touch your family, yet you hadn’t expected it to be already seeping into the foundations around you. How long had your father been mixed up with the Pyke’s? Had this been the reason for the junkyard's business to decline? Either way, you were seeing the truth come to light, but you wouldn’t back away from a fight.

Not when it came to family.

“She does not concern you,” he was firm, words gritted through clenched teeth.

Jissard smiled again, dipping his hat towards you as a gesture of hello.

“Kesi Jissard,” he smiled, “ I’m a friend of your father's here.”

“I wouldn’t exactly label us friends,” your father sneered.

He cocked the rifle back, the sound of it echoing around you. He was done playing Kesi’s games, yet Kesi hadn’t had his fill. The men behind him drew their blasters, your father becoming the target for every weapon. You exposed the blade behind your back, a minor threat you knew wouldn’t do much. Kesi noticed the slight reflection of metal in the fading suns, a small smirk pointed in your direction. It made your stomach churn, seeing the way he welcomed the threat. He wasn’t afraid of you, and you had yet to understand why you were so afraid of him.

You just were.

“I’m not here to collect bodies,” Kesi tossed his attention back to your father, “I would like to settle this as civil as possible. Unless you force my hand, Kono.”

“I don’t think you people know what civil means,” your father bit.

Kessi stepped forward, cocking his head to the side to gesture his men forward. The look of ‘civility’ shot past his eyes, replaced by something far more menacing. His hand grazed over his own blaster, eyes flickering between you and your father. In the distance, you could hear a familiar voice shouting, this one of your mother.

“Ah, Mana,” Kesi smiled, rotting teeth exposed across dirtied skin, “So kind of you to join us. We were just discussing some matters of business.”

Your mother joined your father, her hands twisting together in an anxious manner. There was an expression of fear on her face…yet she held her breath as if she anticipated the worst.

“We have no business with you traders,” she spewed.

It was the first time you had ever seen your mother speak in such a violent manner. She was always coolheaded, kind, and extremely closed off to strangers. She made no part of any business deals the junkyard had and kept herself in the shadows where she felt safest. But now, it was your family against him, his men, and ultimately… the Pykes.

Kesi slanted his head to the side, watching your mother and father with silent regard. The men behind him were growing agitated as they swayed from side to side, their weapons still raised towards your parents. The knife you bared down in your grip was feeling all too heavy; the concept of having to defend yourself grew more likely. You silently begged your father just to comply, to give Kesi whatever he wanted, and to move on as usual. If they were to go broke, they would still be alive.

Maybe.

“Listen, Kono,” Kesi sighed heavily, tightening the brim of his hat over his eyes, “I don’t like wasting my time. So, either you pay up, or we can take payment in a different form.”

His gaze shot to you, shadowed eyes tracing the outline of your body until your skin crawled from disgust. Every vile and unnameable thing washed over your mind– the countless things he could do to you. You pleaded internally to your father, hoping he would just give in and do as Kesi asked.

But your father, like you, was stubborn to the end.

“Fuck you,” your father spat.

Without another word, his gun was aimed at Kesi’s head, the rifle shooting forward yet somehow suspending itself in time. The sequence of events grew hazy as you watched from the ground on which you fell. You didn’t register that your father had pushed you back or that Kesi’s men struck down your mom in several shots; her body lay lifeless on the sands of Tatooine. The sound of your father's cries delayed in your mind as you watched him crumple over, a gaping shot tearing apart his chest. They were gone. Both of them. And you had been too dazed to react, the knife having been lost from your hand in the midst of the attack.

All you could see were the remnants of your parents in the wreckage of brutality Kesi had left them in. Broken sobs erupted from your chest, screams that did not make it past your lips, and yet the world continued moving. Kesi’s men grabbed you, yanking you to your feet as you struggled to breathe. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from your parents, their eyes staring absently at the sky as it faded to darkness. Everything in your world had gone dark.

Everything was gone.

“I guess I’ll settle for you as my payment,” Kesi smirked.

___________________________________________________

Eyes slamming open, the nightmare jarred you enough to catapult you upwards from your sleeping position. This had been the third night in a row you had dreamt of that night, the third night you were reminded of all you had lost. Rubbing your eyes aggressively, you felt the start of tears pooling over your knuckles as you dug into the skin of your eyelids. Sounds of airspeeders and taxis whizzed by in hushed vibrations, the windows of your hotel room shaking ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be very noticeable to anyone else, but you were acutely aware of every sound around you. You were always holding your breath as if the past lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike and kill.

It had been four standard months since you arrived in the lower levels of Coruscant– four months since you had found an escape route from Kesi. It had taken nearly a year to arrange a meticulous plan that stripped you from his grasp, and you had pulled it off. Gathering—stealing—enough credits to buy your way off world, you took refuge in a hidden identity and made a new life in the capital. The hotel room was temporary, at least until you ran out of credits—or luck. But getting credits was easy now that you learned the ways of the underground. Rich men traveled to the lower levels looking for drugs or prostitutes, and you knew the best spots in the city to track them down. Some small talk, maybe a few drinks, and it was easy for you to card your hand into their pockets and stash away credits while they remained distracted.

Eager to leave the darkness— and the past— you gathered yourself and threw on your heavy jacket, tossing the hood over your head. Strapped to your thigh, you kept your vibroblade, the last thing you kept from all the years under Kesi’s hold. It had been your protection against aggressive clients, yet you never had the courage to use it. They were aggressive, but there was never enough strength or freedom to fight back. Freedom was something you never knew.

Finding your way through the streets, you ventured into one of the run-down playrooms in the center of town. Through a cloud of smoke, you found small groups of men hunched over drinks as they played sabacc fervently. Some turned to scrutinize you as you walked in, but you kept your head low, finding your way toward the bar. Nerves didn’t get to you, but a drink could help suffocate the lingering memories. Nursing your drink, you felt the warmth of someone sliding beside you, their hand tracing your arm. It was enough to tense all the muscles in your body, your free hand coasting down to graze the blade on your thigh.

“Are you the entertainment for the night?” The voice asked.

Concealing your amusement, you turned to him, pushing down the hood of your coat. The man had a devilish grin that was both unwelcoming and horrendous. You had no interest in entertaining him. Downing the rest of your drink, you shoved away from the bar, walking towards an open booth to watch the games.

And he followed.

“C’mon princess,” he crooned, sitting across from you, “Don’t gotta be stubborn.”

“I suggest you leave me alone before I slice open your stomach.” You spat.

He leaned back, clearly alarmed, and stood without another word. But it was as he left something else caught your eye.

A shadow, but reflective, tore your focus away from the games. Whatever it was, the shine alone was enough to stall every player, their motions slowing as they observed the stranger. Walking in the entrance was a bounty hunter clad in shiny armor, his helmet trained on you.

Your initial reaction was to run, but as you took in his silhouette, you narrowed your gaze on the blaster at his hip. Returning your gaze back to his helmet, he cocked his head to the side and slid a hand down to rest on the handle of the blaster.

An invitation to run.

A warning if you did.

Neither sounded appealing.

You sunk further into the cushions of the booth, pulling your hood up over your head. It wasn’t lost on you that he had already scoped you out, but to your wishful thinking, you hoped he was in the playroom looking for a bounty. Why would he be looking for you? A better question: who wanted you? A chill ran up your spine as you considered all the possibilities of why he’d be after you: theft, assault, spice smuggling. Worse of them all… Kesi had placed a high price on your head.

But you would never return to him.

You would fight for freedom, even if it cost you everything.

The bounty hunter stalked towards you, his steps calculated and slow as if he expected you to run. Your fingers twitched against the blade on your thigh, assessing your options.

You could run, fight, or die, and none of them sounded appealing as he grew closer, but you had to make a decision.

And option one it was.

You shoved out of the booth, booking past the game tables and towards the back door. The hood on your coat fell down onto your shoulders as you pushed your body into a full sprint, weaving through the smoke and crowds. The back door opened into a hazy alleyway, and you took off to the left. People stared at you strangely as you belined through the throng of citygoers, shoving through the crowds with curses falling off your lips.

“Fucking move!” You huffed, your feet padding against the asphalt.

Distance sounds of running caught your attention, and you made the mistake of looking back to see the hunter closing the gap between crowded bodies. You pushed yourself harder, your body aching but persistent from the adrenaline rush. You’d had your fair share of spice before, but nothing compared to the rush of being hunted down. Never did you think your freedom would come to this.

A wall of bodies formed before you, onlookers enraptured in a daze of street performers. Their blissful unawareness would cost you your life, and you reached for your blade at the same moment a gloved hand wound around your bicep in a vice. You swiveled to meet the hunter face to face—well, face to helmet— and slashed the blade against the armor. It did nothing to the metal, not even a single scrape. The bounty hunter huffed, amused, and caught your wrist with his free hand. Your skin pinched between his leathered fingers, and you winced as his grip tightened.

“Let me fucking go!” You yelled, jostling against his hold.

But he was firm, and the sounds of the crowd began to flood your ears as you attempted to break away.

“…a Mandalorian…”

“Look at the beskar…”

“Have you ever… seen one?”

A Mandalorian?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This wasn’t just an average bounty hunter. This was a skilled and deadly one, and you just happened to be in his grasp. You had heard stories of them while under Kesi’s control; some spice traders talked about how ruthless and dangerous they were. They were sworn to Mandalore, and they had no moral duty to anything but.

The Mandalorian drew your body closer, his helmet dipping close to your ear.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” His voice was warm and smooth and threatened to buckle your legs under you. “Your choice.”

Reeling back, you slammed a foot into the center of his boot, only for him to spin you around and pin you against his body.

“Wrong choice,” he growled.

He twisted your arms back, clasping cold binders around your wrists. Shoving you forward, he guided you through the crowds of bodies, his hand tight around your elbow. You twisted your head to look back, seeing his helmet set in a firm line and his fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade.

Fuck, this wasn’t how you expected your night to go.

The Mandalorian’s gunship sat on the city's outskirts, parked in a docking bay surrounded by other speeders and racers. A few docking employees strolled about the platforms, barely paying attention to your struggle against the beskar-clad body behind you. You had attempted several times to rip yourself from his grasp, only to be met by a hard shove forward and a few sharp words.

(Words that flooded your bloodstream like a liquid drug.)

The ramp lowered with a hiss, and your feet stumbled up the metal flooring as the Mandalorian pushed you into the dark cargo hold of his ship. You barely had time to register your surroundings as he led you toward a carbonite chamber. Your heart sputtered erratically the closer you got, and you fought against him harder.

“Please,” you begged, dragging your feet as far as he’d let you.

“Enough,” he barked.

Pressing you against the wall with one hand, the Mandalorian used the other to punch in a code to the freezing chamber. The metal doors opened with an expulsion of cold gas, the air sending shockwaves over your skin. As he reached for your shirt to drag you towards the chamber, you let out a series of pleas in hopes of stopping him.

“You can’t!” You cried, tears stinging your eyes as you pulled away from his grasp. “Please, I swear I’ll do anything! Just don’t put me in there. Maker, please.”

He hesitated a moment, his helmet assessing you.

“I’ll do anything, okay?” You heaved in a breath. “I don’t know who wants me, but please!”

A beat of silence passed as he considered your confession. Tears flowed freely over your face, the shiny beskar blurring as you tried to blink them away. Everything was becoming too hazy, too much. Maker, how did you end up here?

Your body ached from the chase, your wrists burned under the friction of the binders, and the cold air from the chamber beside you was enough to fog your mind. You were teetering on the edge of passing out or dropping dead. It was becoming all too hard to breathe, and you began to gasp for air, sucking lung-fulls in to help ease the pain vibrating through your nerves.

“Just…” You panted. “…Please.”

Your body slumped against the wall, your head hitting the metal sharply, and the world around you blackened.

Mando had his fair share of interesting bounties, but an unconscious girl on the floor of his ship had never been one of them. Her head lulled to the side; her body crumpled against the metal ground. He had checked for a pulse, thankful there was one, and let her lay comfortably on the ground. He couldn’t just toss her into the carbonite chamber when she was unconscious. The gas would be all too powerful on weak lungs, and she would die instantly once the metal encased her. And it wasn’t a part of the bounty to bring her in dead. Nor did he particularly relish in killing women— beautiful ones at that.

It had struck him curious that someone as beautiful as her would wind up in the hands of a bounty hunter. Her face on the holopuck had initially been a shock, and he wondered if he had received the right bounty to begin with. But Greef Karga had assured him it was correct, and the bounty price on her head was high. Too high not to pass it up.

Mando wasn't ‘soft’ by any means. He was used to the brutality and violence that surrounded his lifestyle. He welcomed the silence after a kill and the isolation of the Razor Crest between hunts. Alone. That’s all he had ever known, and nothing would make him give that up.

But, maker, her soft breathing wasn’t helping his cause.

He forfeited all options and made the decision to leave her sleeping on the floor. He’d set the nav to Tatooine and reassess later. Once in hyperspace, she would have nowhere to go, and when she finally woke up, then he’d put her into the chamber. That was his plan.

At least for now.

Mando sat in the cockpit alone, his hand flipping her blade in fluid motions. She was a fighter, he knew that much, and cunning. Her first instinct was to run, but she put up just as much of a fight. Usually, he’d be annoyed by a bounty that fought, but for her to fight that hard… It gave him a pause. And her pleading for help? Maker, he wondered what made her into a big enough criminal for a bounty puck. But she had to have done something to catch the eye of a hunter, let alone a hunter like him.

He tossed her blade up in the air, catching it and flipping it back up for several minutes. Her face danced around his mind the longer he thought about her, and he gave in to climbing down into the cargo hold to check on her.

As he climbed the ladder, he heard rustling between the cargo crates in the corner. She had tucked herself between them, making her body look smaller and more frail than before. She looked utterly helpless— like a scared child— and something in his chest tightened.

“Are you going to kill me?” She whispered, her eyes barely visible in the dim lighting.

His helmet moved side to side slowly as he approached her. Her arms were still bound behind her back, tightly cuffed in bindings, but her small frame fit snugly into the corner against the metal walls. Crouching down, Mando held out a hand to her.

“I’ll take the restraints off,” he offered. “But only if you promise not to cause a problem. I’m not opposed to putting you in carbonite for the rest of the flight.”

She nodded fiercely, twisting her body so that her hands were toward him. Rough hands clicked the lock open on the bindings, and Mando watched as she rubbed the skin of her wrists fervently. Still, she shrunk away from him, pulling her knees to her chest. Her slender arms wrapped around her legs, tucking them closer to her body as she shivered against the bitter cold from traveling hyperspace.

She stared at him wide-eyed and afraid. Every bounty feared him; his beskar was a telltale sign of danger. But something about her fear didn’t sit quite right with him.

Only a few more hours, he told himself. Then she’d be off his hands, and he’d be a few credits richer.

“Do you know who put the bounty on me?” She asked, her voice small. She had been so fierce and loud earlier, but it was apparent she had accepted defeat.

“No,” he said truthfully. He didn’t offer much, but it was enough.

She exhaled, eyes floating around the cargo hold and avoiding the heavy stare from behind his visor.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Fuck. He didn’t want to hear that.

Mando had nothing to respond with, nothing that could console her. He turned from her crouched body and turned back towards the cockpit. The further a distance he could put between them, the better.

She was dangerous.

“No.”

His statement was final, not allowing you to seek answers that you could cling to. The unknown was worse than knowing because there were endless outcomes you could face. You had wronged so many people, a trace of your selfishness scattered across the galaxy. You allowed yourself to lose control of the greed– finding comfort in taking from those undeserving. Too many people had taken what they wanted from you, leaving an emptiness inside you that was insatiable and never fulfilled; you only wanted to do the same to them in return. You could spend eternity trying to find ways to fill the void within you, but you wondered if it was ever enough.

“I’m afraid,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

The Mandalorian remained motionless and then turned suddenly back towards the cockpit, silence filling the space between you. A sigh left your lips, and you closed your eyes, hoping to slip away from the moments that pulled you closer to an unknown fate.

You awoke to a distant beeping from the cockpit; you were nearing the coordinates the Mandalorian had punched in hours ago. Unsure of your actions, you climbed the ladder up, peeking into the cockpit to see where he was taking you. It wasn’t until your eyes adjusted to the dimness around you that you realized what planet you were flying towards. Tatooine.

The last place you expected to be taken to, and certainly the worst possible outcome of being captured. You knew exactly what– no, who– awaited you on Tatooine. If you had given up on pleading before, you regained the strength now, taking this as your last chance to save yourself.

“I can’t go back to Tatooine,” you blurted out. The Mandalorian whipped his head around, glaring at you through the visor of his helmet.

Without a response, he leaned forward in the chair, guiding the ship into a descent into the atmosphere of the desert planet. The lower it descended, the higher fear crept up inside you until it clouded all senses. He wouldn’t care what became of you; you were a pile of credits waiting to be collected. If he knew your name, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the reward and the allegiance to his creed. You may not know him well, but you knew enough about the Mandalorian creed to know everything now was hopeless.

The endless expanse of beige sand came into view, the winds drawing it into waves amongst the dunes. The ship flew further into the terrain, coming to a halt on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. It had been only a few standard years since you had been taken from your home, vowing never to return. Now you were back, existing among the ghosts and regrets of the past.

The gunship touched down onto the rolling sands of Mos Eisley, the ramp opening slowly, giving way to the heat from outside. It flooded through the ship, a light sweat breaking out on the nape of your neck. The Mandalorian rose to his feet, his armored body turning your way. He reached down, grabbing your wrists, easing your body down the ladder. There was no inclination of emotions from his body, the rise and fall of his breastplate the only evidence that he was indeed a living creature.

Creature he was as he pulled you down the stairs, leading you through the cargo hold that was littered with mindless tokens he had picked up along his trails of bounties. The ramp exposed you to the brightness of the sand, your eyes quickly squinting against the landscape. You drug your feet against the metal, hoping to stall your exile from all human existence. If you were certain of anything, your fate was not too far off.

Below the binary suns stood two dark figures, their faces hidden by brimmed hats. The hats were enough of a giveaway to know who they were… and exactly why you dreaded stepping foot on the planet. Your body halted, feet firmly set against the sand, body paralyzed. The Mandalorian slid his hand under the crook of your elbow, urging you forward in silence. He didn’t flinch when you tried to hit him, wrists falling against hard beskar.

“Please,” you begged, tears brimming your eyes. “You can’t give me to them.”

He remained wordless, only nudging your body forward once more. You mustered up enough energy to fight his hold, spinning to face him fully. His helmet slowly rolled to the side, studying your face as tears fell onto your cheeks. Desperation kicked in, your mind reeling with any offer you could give him.

“Please,” your voice was weak, “Kill me.”

He made no reaction to your words, so you tried again.

“Keep me. I’ll do anything you ask. Just keep me from them. You can have me!”

The Mandalorian hesitated a moment, a beat passing before he reacted. The reaction was the exact opposite of what you had hoped; your body pulled further away from the ship… and closer to the figures standing firm within the sand. Tears dried against your cheeks as the warmth of the air burned your skin, leaving your eyes red and dry. The faces of the men came into view as they lifted their heads and exposed their dirtied faces.

“Mando!” One exclaimed. He was the taller of the two, yellow skin nearly blending into the background behind him, purple eyes piercing you below his hat. You knew him as Jado, an employee of your former employer. “Your efficiency is commendable. She is precious cargo for our boss, and he thanks you for your work.”

The other man, whom you knew as Gaff, tossed a satchel of credits at the Mandalorian’s feet. He didn’t break his gaze from the two men, caring very little of the reward now in his possession.

“Please,” you spoke once more. His helmet turned to you slowly, and you hoped he could see life fading from your irises.

“Alright, come on,” Jado spit out your name, ripping you from the Mandalorian’s hold. The bounty hunter freed your wrists from his grasp, only for them to be tugged forward by Jado’s dirt-covered hands. His hands were caked in dirt, traces of spice crusted under his fingernails. The metal restraints you had worn only a few hours ago were now replaced by their own bindings, ones made from rough rope that scratched your skin enough to bleed.

“Kesi will be very happy to see you,” Jado said sarcastically.

Your head turned back to watch the Mandalorian– now understood as Mando– fade into the distance. The shine of his beskar glinted in the harsh sun, splintering into fractures of metal and weapons. The nerves within your body sparked in anger, anger from knowing he brought you to your ultimate fate. You knew it was his job; you were merely a bounty fit for a large reward, but you wanted to believe he was still a man under the layers of armor. A man who battled empathy far beyond the bounds of his creed.

Jado situated your body on the speeder, hauling his own body behind yours. You were all too aware of his body pressed against your back. The heat radiating from his mouth and onto your neck began to nauseate you. Glancing over, you saw Gaff straddle his own speeder, nodding once at Jado– an urge to begin moving. Gaff followed behind Jado’s speeder, the sound of its engine muffling your ears until they grew deaf. Mos Eisley was exactly as you had left it: crawling with slimy criminals and reeking of sour booze. As your heart pounded heavier against your ribs, you watched as each cantina and spaceport drifted out of view. With each passing moment, you grew dreadfully close to Kesi’s junkyard and closer to your death.

The junkyard was littered with newer ship parts; bolts and metal plates scattered the ground. The familiar workstation that sat vacant in the corner caught your eye. It had been your workstation, at least back when your family owned the yard. Now, it was in the possession of Kesi Jissard, one of the most feared spice traders in the galaxy. The same man that forced you into the trading world, baiting you to sell and trade on the promise of freedom. But freedom never came. Not until you found a way to buy it.

The slow rhythm of hands clapping echoed around the empty ship hanger. Your head was on a swivel, eyes wildly searching for the origin of the sound. Emerging from the shadows, Kesi continued to clap, an evil smirk creasing his yellow-tinted skin.

Kesi spoke your name, his thick accent cutting the silence. “I’ve missed you.”

You bit your tongue, suppressing the urge to talk back, knowing it would only lead to more suffering. Kesi had a short temper, usually satiated by bruising skin and smoking blasters. But when you didn’t respond, he stepped forward, reaching for your jaw. His grip was bruising as he wagged your head back and forth.

“You’ve caused me a lot of damage,” he spoke slowly as if every syllable was a drop of poison on your skin. “I’m in debt for thousands of credits, and because you decided to run, I had to spend even more just to hunt you down.”

“You could have let me keep running,” you said, words muffled from his hold on your chin.

Kesi’s dark eyes widened, glistening with premeditated thoughts of harm. He squeezed your chin and pulled away with such force that it left your head falling backward.

“You’ve missed out on a lot of work,” he mused, pacing between you and the workstation aside from you. “There will be a lot of clients happy to see your return.”

“I’d rather die,” you spat, stepping forward. Where you found the courage, you don’t know.

“Trust me,” Kesi chuckled, “I would love to kill you. But you’re far more valuable alive than dead. You’re of more use to me when you’re breathing and working.”

Kesi turned away from you, searching through the remnants of the workstation. With his large body blocking the view of what he found, your heart lurched with uncertainty. He clicked his tongue in satisfaction, holding a black bag up to the dim light of the station lamp. Your heart plummeted into your stomach, nausea coursing up through your esophagus. Turning to you, Kesi donned a broad grin, evil basking in the stretch of his lips against his cheeks.

“We’ve got a new product on the market now,” he began, walking towards you again.

You stumbled as you took a step back, knowing you wouldn’t be able to go much further without someone snatching you and dragging you right back.

Kesi continued, “Since you’re going to sell it for me, you might as well try it.”

You watched as he unraveled the string of the bag, a smaller wrapped bag falling into his hands. The spice was an unusual color compared to the rest; its pigment was closer to black than the usual beige-brown you had been used to selling. Your pulse was rising alarmingly, and you wondered if Kesi could see the fear seeping from your eyes. The fear fell in waves of quiet tears, your lips wavering but never making a noise.

“Why don’t you sit?” he insisted, yanking you by the elbow to the workman's chair by the desk.

All you could do was comply, regardless of the nagging that pricked your brain in sharp pinpoints. You wished you had the strength to fight him. You wished you had the words to beg for a different outcome.

You wished the Mandalorian had listened to your pleas.

But the Mandalorian was gone and a richer man now, too. And here you were, helpless once more and three steps back from freedom.

The second your ass hit the seat of the chair, Kesi was wrapping a hand around your wrists, pinning you against the wooden material. With the free hand he had, Kesi dipped a finger into the powdered substance, lifting it to your lips.

“C’mon princess,” he hissed, “Open that pretty mouth of yours.”

You made no effort to open your mouth, your jaw locked and refusing to fall slack. Kesi’s mood changed into a slow-burning anger, his fingers bruising your skin. You squirmed against the seat, looking around the workstation for anything capable of substantial harm. The desk was nearly clean, sans a few miscellaneous tokens and scrap spice containers.

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

Kesi’s removed his hand from your wrists, only to deliver the most jarring slap across your cheek. It sent your head reeling, leaving you little time to recover. Your mouth fell open, groaning at the severity of the hit, and the surmounting pain replaced every emotion stirring within you. He took your vulnerability as an opportunity, his spice-covered finger slipping onto your tongue.

You hadn’t tasted spice in years. It was not something you enjoyed recreationally, nor did you enjoy selling. In a professional setting, spice was seen as a delicacy for some of the richer citizens in the lower rim. Spice was well sought out, and if you had access to the right employers, spice production would be endless.

But as the product dissolved on your tongue, it didn’t take long for the effects to begin to form. Words from Kesi’s lips grew into jumbles, falling on deaf ears. Your vision began blurring, too, and soon enough, all of your senses were paralyzed. It was as if you were watching from the furthest part of your brain, floating away from the controls inside your body. Becoming all too aware of the heaviness of your body, you slowly felt your shoulders slump over, your body weight no longer supported in the chair. Eyes fluttering shut, you wondered if another side effect of the spice was hallucinations.

Because you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of shiny metal walking into the junkyard.

#mando #mando x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #star wars fanfiction #mando x you

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moonlight-tmd · 3 months

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Reading back on this post-

Do you think Wasp and Bee would be friends in Shattered Glass?

I mean, normal Wasp and Bee are enemies, Wasp was an asshole and bullied Bee relentlessly until Longarm set him up as a spy and he was arrested. I imagine Shattered Glass Wasp was kind and nice, even befriended Bee. Wasp saw Bee getting pushed around by this big jerk Bulkhead and decided to step in. Bulkhead just huffed and decided to not waste energy on those puny things.

Wasp helped Bee patch up his dents. "Us little ones need to stick together." He said when Bee was confused as to why anyone would help someone like him. Wasp was friendly, he cared about Bee and made sure that other jerks stayed away from him.

Ironhide also helped- normal Ironhide only followed Wasp's orders before he was arrested and Iron could relax and stopped picking on bots like Wasp did. Shattered Glass Ironhide is the same, except he sticks with Wasp purely because they're friends, not out of fear of bullying. He helps Wasp fend off jerks from Bee and the little trio has a place in the camp. They even introduced this weird new guy Longarm to the group.

(I suppose Bee is white and black, Ironhide is light green and Wasp neon yellow. Longarm is black with lavender details)

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Rumours of a Decepticon in the camp spread and all leads pointed to Longarm. None of them believed it of course.. but the officers seemed to think otherwise. Wasp took it upon himself to save his friend and revealed that he was a spy, not Longarm. He was taken and locked up, leaving Shockwave in a cloud of guilt. Not long after Bee got caught up in some other issues and was forced to serve in a repair crew with Bulkhead. Longarm stayed with Ironhide and continued his tasks, althought much more careful so no one else will suffer. They both graduated and got put in different departments in Elite Guard.

Speaking of- Sentines is surprisingly not that awful. He's very likable in fact. Sure he's stern and makes everyone stick to the rules and given tasks but he's genuinely trying to help. I guess in the Prime Duo, he's the pushoever instead of Optimus.

Wasp spend years in stockades, his hopeful attitude was slowly drowned in the abuse of the guards and insanity of fellow prisoners. One night however a break-out happened, he was on the run with few other prisoners. He almost made it out but then he got shot square in the chassis, his vision flahsed black and he thought it was the end of him. But to his surprise he woke up in medbay being treated by a weird bug femme. Turns out some Decepticon snatched him after he got shot and took him along to the Decepticon ship. The femme's name was Blackarachnia; she got Wasp in critical condition, his frame was gradually destroying itself because of something in the blaster shot. Her only way ti save him was to perform an overhaul procedure and turn him into an techno-organic. Wasp was confused and scared- his mind wasn't faring any better, but eventually he got used to this new form. He got aquainted with few other Decepticons, Blitzwing, Lugnut and Starscream. All of them were accepting and evencommented on how cool he looked. And of course, he met Shockwave himself. Waspinator couldn't believe when Longarm made an appearance, he apologised over and over again for Wasp's fate. Waspinator however wasn't all that angry, sure he was angry a little but seeing how Shockwave is helping all those who suffered unfairly he forgave him. Soon enough he regained secret contact with Ironhide, who got in kahoots with Shockwave and helped him smuggle data to the cons.

Waspinator decided to take his opportunity and search for Bee. He and the other Decepticons go look for Megatron and end up on a planet Earth. And bumo into the same blasted Autobot crew that attacked Nemesis and is now terrorizing the organic race. But that wasn't as important. Bee was there. Oh, how he was worried about him...

Once when the Autobots were investigating some suspicious activity, Waspinator jumped out and kidnapped Bee. Once he found a safe location to land bee immediately tried to defend himself. He was so scared,.. but stopped shooting once Waspinator started speaking to him. It was an odd speech pattern but still understandable; Waspinator was Wasp and he came to save Bee. Bee couldn't believe what he was seeing- that was Wasp? What happened- doesn't matter, he was so happy to know his friend was here. Bee told him about what's been happening since he was put in the team- How mean everyone was and how he found a friend in one of the organics that the team tolerated only because of her weird in-build healing tech. He told him about Longarm finding him and helping as much as he could. And about Sentinel- the mech was the kindest of the officers back at boot camp, it was a relief hearing that he did his best to help Bee in this abusive situation, although Optimus never allowed him to interact much with his possesions team.

They managed to share one last hug before Prowl jumped them and dragged Bee away. Waspinator was a lone hunter- he wanted to save Bee without needing to drag the other cons into this, he'd be very close to snatching Bee away for good but the Autobots are always one step ahead of him, keeping their slave tightly in their grasp. Except one time... He was so close, he almost escaped... ut their shots were faster. Waspinator was shot down, Bee was forcing himself to not cry as he saw his dear friend fall and crash.

Waspinator was gone for a long time, everyone though he was dead- but his stubbornness was too much. He pulled himself from the brink of death and tried once more- except this time he didn't have to fight. Blackarachnia took him in again and he woke up to Bee's sweet voice quietly talking to him. Turns out Longarm upheld his part of the promise and rescued Bee upon finding him imprisoned in the underground of the Autobot's base. Also this weird organic with superpowers came along with him- she turned out to be techno-organic too.

From then on, aside from Blitzwing and Shockwave, Bee has Waspinator as a scary guardian- and Waspinator definitelly uses his form to give Bee "scary dog privillages". Decepticons may not be much agressive normally but Waspinator WILL throw hands if someone ever as much as mumbles something behind Bee's back. (he has very good hearing, you don't wanna test him.)

#maccadam #tfa #tfa bumblebee #tfa au #shattered glass #tfa wasp #tfa ironhide #tfa longarm #tfa sentinel prime

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froot-batty · 1 year

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next batch of designs are done! gotham city sirens time >:) blurbs about them under the cut, along with explanations of flags and neurodivergencies!

Pamela Isley came from a rural flower farm a long ways from Gotham. Her parents let her run wild from a very young age, and one of her favorite places on their property to go was the pond, deep in the woods, where everything grew just a bit too tall and nothing looked quite as it should've. Pamela didn't know that this pond was actually highly polluted by the dumping of experimental chemicals from a nearby "research" laboratory. She thought being able to communicate with the plants - the Green, she called it - was completely normal.

...Until the people from that laboratory heard about the mysterious girl helping the plants grow stranger. They came to Pamela's parents to ask if it would be possible to study it, and they, not realizing what exactly that meant, agreed. They whisked it away to a facility in Gotham, where Pamela would end up never seeing it's parents again.

She was kept there for the rest of her childhood and into her adulthood, being experimented on until she twisted into the plant beast that she is today. When she escaped, it came after years of hiding the true strength of her powers, so she could build them up enough to turn the facility to rubble.

(It is AroAce, Agender, and Intersex)

Harleen Quinzel always had trouble controlling her impulses. Coming from a very wealthy, very upper-crust family, any step out of line was harshly corrected by either of her parents. As a child she didn't know any better, but after years and years of repression coming from her family, she eventually clammed up and tried to fit into their perfect little mold. This included going to medical school, though she did at least get to pick something she was genuinely passionate about - psychology.

Harley was finally living on their own by the time they started working at Arkham, though they'd not yet broken out of that mental control their parents still had over them. Being in Arkham was like being on an alien planet. They had come from a world where everyone was fake, and Arkham seemed so...real. Talking with their patients opened their mind up even further. Even if what they did was violent, or utterly nonsensical to everyone else, insanity seemed like it was a sort of freedom that Harley never had.

This was compounded by it meeting the Joker. He saw that piece of it that wanted, desperately, to get free, and through their sessions he was able to get into it's head and...push it over the edge, so to speak.

(Harley and the Joker are not explicitly romantically involved in this, I should mention. They've got a weird queerplatonic thing going on. Also they're not toxic they're BFFs forever)

(They are Pansexual, Genderfluid, and have ADHD and Borderline Personality Disorder)

Selina Kyle grew up like an alley cat on the streets of Gotham. With two addict parents in the Narrows who cared very little about her, she was virtually homeless, with how little time she spent at home and how much she spent wandering the dangerous streets. It was in the Narrows that she met one of her closest childhood friends, Harvey Dent, and through him, the elusive Bruce Wayne.

The three of them were thick as thieves all through her childhood, though began to drift away when college time came around. Bruce had up and left the moment he turned 18 without any real warning to the two of them, and Harvey was off to college to try and become a lawyer. This left Selina all alone, once again.

But she had made a pact to herself. She didn't want to live on the streets of Gotham forever. She had started pickpocketing from a very young age, so she would just expand her skills - become Gotham's cat burglar. It started out as only a way to pay her bills, but she found she grew addicted to the feeling of it; the freedom of being able to slip into wherever she wanted and make some poor, rich fool a million dollars short. It was a sort of revenge for her (and the regular cash flow didn't hurt).

She was surprised when Bruce came back to Gotham and tried to reconnect with her. They hadn't talked in over a decade, but they found themselves reconnecting with surprising ease. Their close friendship would drive Harvey mad with jealousy, but neither of them realized that until it was too late.

The scar on her face is from Harvey's attempt on her life, after he became Two-Face.

(She is a Lesbian)

#SORRY THE BLURBS ARE SO FUCKIGN LONG #i debated putting them in separate posts but eh. im too lazy. just putting them here #frootverse #rogues gallery #pamela isley #poison ivy #harley quinn #selina kyle #catwoman #gotham city sirens #batman #my art #rogue design

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elli3sgf · 2 years

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★ boxer!ellie headcanons

first post ever :o these r balls but i was bored n wanted to post something so . . .

— boxer!ellie x reader (gf)

lowercase intended

★ ellie is an infamous bare-knuckle boxer, in some dingy, underground fight club within jackson.

★ of course the first rule of any fight club, is don’t talk about said fight club. and that applied to you too - a pretty girl like you should never be mixed up in a mess like that, therefore she had no plans on telling you anything about it.

★ she’d persistently lie and tell you the cuts and bruises littered across her face and hands were from patrol - you believed her of course, it made sense.

★ that was until cat, who was also a part of the same hobby, had accidentally ran her mouth and you flew straight back to ellie to interrogate her on the matter.

★ at first she’d try to deny it.

. . . “the fuck are you talking about?”

. . . “cat told me, ellie.”

. . . “cat’s a cunt.. and a liar.”

★ but you quickly learned the truth after doing some snooping. you weren’t mad she kept it from you, although you were beyond worried for her, this ‘hobby’ was far from safe.

★ ellie totally banned you from attending her brawls despite your pleas to go with her, to make sure she’d be okay, clean her up if need be. she wouldn’t let you see her like that.

★ because with you, and only you, ellie was gentle. to others, not so much. she was snappy, short-tempered, blunt, easily frustrated. but never with you - she had the biggest soft spot for you.

. . . “sweet girl”

. . . “hey pretty”

. . . “baby”

★ when she wasn’t getting caught up in her bad habit, she would often find herself painting or drawing, usually stuff for you. she loveddd the way your eyes would light up when she handed you one of her sketches or silly doodles, signed with a <3

★ she also loved space, planets, stars. no one would have guessed that asshole ellie williams would be into that, nor would she tell anyone, only you knew.

. . . she told the stars about you

★ she has the worst swearing habit, not only because of her short-temper, but because the words were naturally ingrained into her vocabulary.

★ of course ellie is strong. toned muscles, abs and all. she used that to her advantage around you, never letting you do any hefty work.

. . . “ellie. i’m perfectly capable of moving a couple bricks.”

★ even after a not so victorious fight or a shitty day, she’s still so gentle and patient with you, never letting a loss and her consequential frustration affect her tone with you.

★ she'd sometimes come home late, early hours in the morning and see you passed out on her couch after you'd attempted to stay awake until she came back. you didn't live together though you spent a lot of time at her house and that's what you'd been doing that day, before she'd had to leave for a couple hours. when she got back, she'd pick you up and lightly lift you onto her bed, gently brushing loose strands of hair from your face and admiring your pretty features.

★ she is incredibly protective of you. if a dude looks a you the wrong way, she can’t keep her mouth closed.

. . .“the fuck are you staring at, prick, huh?”

★ if somebody touches you, tries to hurt you, she sees red. she’ll have them on the floor beating the absolute shit out of them.

. . .”don’t you ever lay a fucking finger on her ever the fuck again. that clear? or do i need to dent your thick skull you fucker.”

★ since you couldn’t go to a fight with ellie, you still made yourself as useful as possible. as much as you hated her habit, you still made sure to take care of her as best as you could.

★ you’d have her sit on the edge of her bathtub, and slot yourself between her legs, her hands rested on the back of your thighs. you would blot her face with a dampened cloth, while she would run her hands up and down your thighs, then up to the curve of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles on your skin, loving the way your heart would quicken and your cheeks would heat up, painted with a pretty pink.

★ beneath that cold, sharp exterior on display for everyone else, ellie was so unbelievably in love with you. most people ‘round jackson believed she was far from capable of loving.

if only they knew her like you do.

#ellie williams #ellie williams hcs #ellie williams headcanons #tlou #the last of us #boxer!ellie #lesbian #ellie x reader #ellie

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hubristicassholefight · 6 months

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Round 1 Part 1a

John Gaius (The Locked Tomb) vs Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche (Evilious Chronicles)

Propaganda below the cut (Spoiler Warning!)

John Gaius

when you're introduced to him, the main character knows that this is God and she is unworthy. jod asks her to call him teacher and more or less plays with her sense of authority and reality throughout the whole second book, up to and including hiring a friend to kill her and then acting shocked when he actually does try to kill her. harrow the ninth ends with his saint/old friends turning against him and trying to kill him for the way he's been manipulating them. (it doesn't work and he spends the next book as a background character somewhere else, but from what you see, he's lonely and miserable and about to destroy the world and start over again and wipe everybody's memories so they forget his mistakes and forgive him) the third book has a series of flashbacks where he describes how believing he was right and everybody else was wrong ended up triggering a nuclear bomb that ended humanity, then resurrected only what he wanted to live. he literally plays god for years and every time somebody sees his tricks he wipes their memories and starts again so they still love him. there's probably going to be a lot more propaganda so for the 'brought low' part I'll point out that the last book still isn't out yet and I cannot imagine it ends happily for him

Destroyed the world and killed all his friends, and it STILL didn't put a dent in his ego.

was gifted necromancy by the earth in order to save her; subsequently killed the entire solar system out of spite. wiped all of his friends' memories, made half of them metaphysically eat the other half, then let the remaining half die fighting the planets' ghosts. also he turned the earth into a full-sized barbie and she hates him for it. he's depressed as fuck about it now

Riliane

A fourteen year old tyrant princess, possessed by the demon of pride. She taxes and starves her kingdom in order to give herself the fanciest feasts and parties. She executes people over the tiniest issues, even threatening her own twin brother with death for not letting her win a game (she didn't remember that he is her brother). She starts a war and massacres the women of another nation because her fiance broke off their engagement to pursue a peasant girl. She is THE Daughter of Evil.

#john gaius #riliane lucifen d'autriche #the locked tomb #evilious chronicles #vocaloid #official #poll #round 1 #hubristic assholes tourney #round 1 part 1a

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ragdolls-and-such · 11 months

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WHATS UP GUYS. H2G2 SWAP AU

alright so! roles and explanations and stuff. pretty please do not complain about how uncreative my names are for these guys i did Not want to think about it too hard. i just like my sillies + that is all Anyway lets go !!!

this is ford dent and he's having a really interesting time rn. guy who is just ITCHING to be up in the stars exploring all that madness gets beamed up into the air with his bestie and then realizes "hey i didnt realize Peril would be part of the equation. why's there so much of That" so basically he's in a constant state of conflict between the "this is cool as shit" and the "GET ME OUT BEFORE I DIE"

next up is arthur prefect (yes i know that ruins the car joke. forgive me). arthur left betelgeuse and was headed towards Somewhere for vacation. he ended up making a wrong turn, crash-landing on earth, and having to figure things out from there. unlike canon ford, he has Not researched anything in space, he just knows about it in passing, so he's just as clueless as his ford.

simply "zaphod." that's it. a personality prototype from the sirius cybernetics corporation, built to be as optimistic and friendly as possible, ended up almost completely oblivious to or uncaring of danger, and SO VERY FULL OF HIMSELF. everyone fuckin hates him basically but every time canon marvin's horrible tragedy occurs to him, he thinks to himself "well at least I'M here. at least i have Me." and slowly the feeling starts to fade as he realizes no one actually gives a shit about him as he's like. rotting away, half-sun-melted. fun stuff :)

TRILLIAN BEEBLEBROX WHO I LOVE SO DEARLY. former genius, still Sort Of a genius, maybe? she wanted to become president of the galaxy So badly. she wanted to make the milky way a better place and knew Exactly how she was going to do it. she worked relentlessly to be elected and . lost the election. realizing that the thing that kept her from being elected WAS the exact thing that made her Want to be elected in the first place - her genuine honesty and care for people - she just went "fuck it, i hate it here," and corkscrewed her brain. Ironically, ended up getting elected afterwards, because she became more "fun" as a result of this.

finally, marvin mcmillan. human teenager, about 17 years old, and was dragged along to a party by his friends. ended up meeting trillian there, who he immediately recognized as an alien (thanks to her constant bragging about it...) and he begged her to be taken away from this god awful planet. she basically unofficially adopted him but instead of adoption its more like . what do you call it when its a wine aunt + a weird angsty nephew.

that's all <3 hope you enjoyed

#my art #h2g2 #hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #uhh shit how do i tag them. um.#swap au #au #just gonna tag them normal i guess????#even if its not accurate #arthur dent #ford prefect #trillian astra #zaphod beeblebrox #marvin the paranoid android

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justpearlysworld · 10 months

Note

Hi. I just found your blog. Price's writings made my day (well, night but meh).

Could I have a jealous Rudy or Price (or both if possible)? Like someone is flirting with the reader or something. It's a plus if there's nsfw at the end. Just if you're alright with it, of course.

Have a good day and have fun!

Thanks🖤🖤🖤

~🐈‍⬛

sorry about the wait!! sidenote, i’m going to do this in two parts b/c i’ve been slacking and i’ll never get it done if i do one whole part😭 thank you for your request! 🐻‍❄️

note: this was the dress i had in mind for the reader

MDNI!

(cw!! swearing, violence ,man in the story gets handsy w reader, f!reader)

jealous!price showing reader that she’s his (part 1)

a favorite past time of the crew is to go out for drinks following a mission. maybe it’s a way to celebrate a job well done, or simply a break after a mission that may have gone south.

nevertheless, you loved going out with your boys! it was much nicer to get closer to them more personally than professionally.

not only was it a time to celebrate with friends, but it was also time that you could be spending with john!

john. he was your other half. your partner in crime. your everything. not a day went by that you didn’t thank your lucky stars to be in the planet with him another day

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

“love? we’re heading out in 5. are you almost ready?”

you smile at the sound of your man’s voice and turn around. you gaze at him, adoringly as you make your way over to him.

“i am! you look so handsome today, might have to fend off some people tonight if you step out like that”

price lets out a hearty laugh and grips your waist. you throw your arms around his neck and meet his lips in sweet kiss.

“easy for you to say. you look so fucking beautiful love. we could just skip out on drinks and you could left me fuck you”

you blush and go in for another kiss. he leans in but you fake him out. you slip out of his grip and walk towards the door.

“not tonight handsome. maybe if you’re good” you let out a giggle

“little minx” he states with a jokingly-annoyed scowl.

you two make your way out the door and to the exit of the base. just behind the doors, kyle, johnny, and simon wait for you guys.

you wave at the boys sweetly and smile.

“are we ready to go?”

“ ‘ave been! we’ve been waitin’ on you two!” soap spoke with a smirk.

you roll your eyes playfully and shake your head.

“well we’re here now! let’s go!”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

the boys had set up shop at one of the high tables near the bar. soap had gone off to order a round for the whole table while the rest of you settled in.

you took the seat next to price and in between gaz. simon and johnny sat opposite you guys.

“back with the y’re drinks!” announced soap

you giggled at his tone and took your bottle. soap raised his bottle and extended his arm towards the center of the table.

“for making it back another day. cheers!”

you all clink your bottles in agreement and drink.

after about 10 minutes, gaz had called for another round and went up to retrieve the drinks.

“hey baby? i need to use the restroom i’ll be back in a second,” you said to john. he nodded and turned back to continue his conversation with soap.

you stood up and smoothed your dress out and made your way to the bathroom.

as you were walking, you could hear some comments being made about you by a few men seated at the bar. you let disgust run through on your face but you opted to not make a big deal about it. you entered the restroom and did your business. you washed your hands and touched up your hair as well. you smoothed your dress out one more time an dented the restroom.

before even taking two steps out of the room, you’re cornered by a tall man. ( who is not as tall as your man) you gaz up at his eyes and look away from him.

“excuse me.” you say as you try to slip past him

“no, excuse me, pretty lady. couldn’t help but notice the way your pretty ass looked while you walked by.” he put on a smirk and puffed his chest out to look more muscular.

you try and take a step back to widen the distance but he took another step forward. you frowned and stared at him blankly.

“i’m in a relationship. please leave me alone.”

“where is he? i don’t see a man.” you feel anger surge inside yourself but once again, choose to stay as calm as possible

“i don’t need to explain myself to you. move out of my way please.”

“what kind of man is he to let you walk around outside by yourself? much less wear this pretty little number?” he let his hands fall on your shoulder and trail down your exposed collarbone.

from a distance, gaz could see you speaking with someone, albeit not voluntarily. you looked uncomfortable and your eyes kept darting around everywhere but the man.

gaz tapped price on the back. price holds his hand up to continue listening to soap but gaz taps him again. price turns his head to give gaz a piece of his mind but stops when he sees the expression gaz is sporting. gaz points at the altercation between you and the man and price looks on.

“captain, you should probably do something about that.”

price turns to see you trying to escape this guys grasp. he quickly stands up and stomps his way over to the scene.

you had enough and tried hitting the man but he caught your hands.

“you don’t need to be such a bitch, you know? men don’t like bitchy women.”

before you could make another move, price is behind this guy. he rips his hands off of you and pushes the man into the wall.

“who the bloody hell do you think you are?

the man sizes him up but sees the obvious height and build difference. he steps back and hold his hands up in defense.

“hey man, i was just talking to her. nothing bad!”

“bullshit. i saw you touch her.”

the man backs up into the corner and looks for some sort of response.

“give me one reason why i shouldn’t cave your skull in right now.”

john was fuming. his fists clenched in rage and he started to close in on the man.

you grip his bicep and pull him back a little bit.

“john, it’s not worth it. can we please just leave?”

before the the situation could truly fizzle out, price quickly turned around and punched the man square in the face. the force of the punch had knocked the man’s body back into the wall. his nose began bleeding as well.

patrons around the bar had witnessed the incident and had silenced. gaz, soap, and ghost had crowded you two.

“holy hell capt’n! really gave it to ‘im” soap looked like he was holding back a laugh.

your turned to him and narrowed your eyes.

“don’t encourage him.”

you tugged price again but he remained unmoving. he crouched down and spoke to the poor bastard one-on-one.

“learn to keep your hands off what’s not yours.”

#modern warfare 2 #x reader #call of duty #reader insert #pearlyswords^~^#john price x reader smut #john price x reader #🐈‍⬛nonnie<3

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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

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fear of the water (i.)

Spider-verse/Subnautica Crossover Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Spider!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: animal cruelty, animal injury, it's a water planet and the fish are very sick and wild, disease, illness, blood, body horror, tentacles (kinda) A/N: this is going to be two parts because i got caught up playing subnautica while doing "research" for this LMAO (ii.)

It starts with a fish.

A single, blue-hued fish no bigger than his fist with a small yellow beak and two massive yellow eyes to match.

One minute he’s talking to Lyla, trying to determine why his watch has been showing him encrypted messages, and the next, the lab is illuminated in orange, and a wet plop echoes across the room.

Miguel stares as the fish slaps against the polished floor. It stares back at him with its large, blinking eye as its pointed tailfin worms against the ground. Thin tube-like organs stretch its body, one from the top of its head and one from the bottom. Three holes run along the side of its small body in place of gills. The water that drips from its slimy, scaleless skin is almost clear and glistens light blue under the lights.

“Should we help it?” Lyla asks, materializing next to the fish to poke at the tube-like organ on the fish’s head.

Miguel looks up, dark eyes searching for the portal that allowed this fish in here. There’s nothing there, no sign of where this fish came from.

“Set up a tank for it,” Miguel says, eyes dropping back down to the struggling fish. Lyla nods, giving the fish one last look before disappearing. Miguel watches it wrestle against the ground for two long seconds before carefully sliding a hand under it and picking it up. It’s cold to the touch but seems to calm as the warmth from his hands sink into its body.

The struggling stops, and, for a moment, Miguel thinks the fish has finally died in his hands.

The fish blinks, the bright yellow of its eye flashing a bright, sickly green as it snaps its head to the right and sinks its beak into the meat of Miguel’s palm.

It’s no more than a light pinch, not even enough to tear his skin, but it startles him enough that he almost drops it. The fish lets go, settling back down into his hands.

“Got a tank!” He turns back to his desk, Lyla beaming at him from where she sits on the edge of a desktop aquarium filled with water. Miguel hums his thanks, dropping the fish into the tank.

It sinks directly to the bottom of the tank, landing on the glass with a dull thud.

It sits there for ten seconds before it blinks, the holes in its body flexing as they filter in water. The fish springs to life, shooting through the water to explore its new environment.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Lyla asks, swirling her hand on the water's surface. The fish follows along, trying to nudge at her hand.

“You pick,” Miguel says non-committally, thumb running across the small, dented bite on his hand. “I need to run some tests.”

That night, he dreams only of water.

Unable to move, he stands on a beach made of pale sand and trees with bulbous fruit that glows at night. He’s forced to look out over an endless ocean of pitch-black waves crashing over each other as a giant red moon circles the star-littered sky.

Fish leap out of the water in front of him, splashing in the pitch-black depths and staring back at him with big eyes of bioluminescent yellow.

A sense of calmness washes over him, a strange, unfamiliar feeling of peace.

It does not last long.

The sound of hundreds of rocks grinding together echoes behind him, the fish darting back beneath the water and scattering. He can’t turn, limbs refusing his commands, and he’s forced to listen to the low electric hum that buzzes into his bones.

A horn blows once. Twice.

A flock of strange birds fly overhead, desperate to escape it.

He hears the buzz again, like something powering up, before the heat of a titanic explosion blasts against his back. It feels as if his eardrums burst with the blast as the sky rains metal and bodies.

Miguel is forced to watch a spaceship bigger than buildings crash into the water and slowly sink into its inky depth until nothing remains but floating debris, destroyed life pods, and not a survivor in sight.

The waves still, and the water before him bubbles and bubbles and bubbles.

Fish rise to the surface in droves, unmoving and covered in glowing green pustules that pop and bleed into the water.

There’s a wailing from the water, something screaming in fear and desperation and heartbreak. It grows louder and louder until the ground beneath him quakes so violently it sends him face-first into the sickly green water.

He wakes before he hits the ground, limbs unusually stiff with the taste of iron on his tongue as sweat drips from his body.

He heads straight to the lab, not bothering to get dressed, and finds the fish waiting, staring at him with those bright, yellow eyes.

The fish is alien; that much is clear.

It’s not from any universe known to him, Lyla, or Margo. They poke and prod at the thing, trying not to comment on how it seems to want them to. Tests are run over and over and over.

Everything comes back inconclusive.

Miguel follows this routine for a week. The fish plagues his days while the dreams haunt his nights. With each passing day, he feels worse, limbs growing heavier, brain throbbing against his skull at all hours. The lack of answers frustrates him to oblivion. The mystery of this stupid fish vexes him in ways he wouldn’t have considered.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, his brain and body running ragged by the week’s end.

If he could get the flu, Miguel would’ve thought that’s what he had when he awoke in the middle of the night exactly eight days after the fish landed on his doorstep.

He stumbles from his bed, body screaming in protest as fever burns through him. His vision blurs, a swirl of greens, blues, and purples, and his mind is flooded with images of those deep, dark waters.

The fish. He has to see the fish.

Miguel staggers to his lab, half-dressed and nearly delusional. He thinks he hears Lyla’s voice in the distance, but he doesn’t see her anywhere, mind focused only on getting to the fish.

The door to his lab slides open, and the fish floats in the center of the tank, staring right at him.

Anger and frustration take over as Miguel forces himself to his desk, shoving his hand into the tank to grab onto the unmoving fish. He yanks it from the water, ready to throw it with all of his strength.

“ꜱᴛᴏᴘ.”

His body tenses, eyes darting around the room for the source of the voice.

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ...ꜱᴇᴇᴋ...”

The voice echoes all around him, echoing in and outside of his mind.

“ᴡᴀɴᴛ...ʜᴇʟᴘ.”

It sounds like it’s coming from…

Miguel stares down at the fish in his iron grip. It gazes back unblinking, tinges of green swirling around its massive eyes.

“...ʏᴏᴜ.”

The fish’s skin erupts, dozens of glowing green pustules rising from its slimy flesh and bursting onto Miguel’s. It burns like acid eating away at his skin, and Miguel screams, dropping the fish back into the tank.

His arm twitches and bends involuntarily, the bright green mucus-like liquid sliding up his arm and sinking into his muscles. His legs collapse beneath him as he scrubs furiously at his arm, desperately trying to stop the trail of green climbing up to his shoulders.

The fish shoots around the tank, slamming itself into the glass.

The infection reaches Miguel’s neck. Like ice stabbing into his veins, it drags up his neck and wraps around his vocal cords. The pain keeps sound from escaping as he lets out a silent scream.

The fish crushes its beak against the bottom of the tank. Dim, yellow blood drifts from its beak as it turns and slams its right eye against the glass.

Miguel can feel it climbing up his neck and into his jaw. He tastes it in the back of his throat, bile and iron.

The fish’s eye swells shut, a green blister forming on its eyelid almost instantly, growing and growing until it ruptures.

Miguel feels it pressing against his eyes as if they’re about to burst from his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut, and his vision is flooded with swirls of blue of purple.

Glass shatters in front of him, and Miguel peels his eyes open to find the tank on the floor. The fish lays before him, half-melted into a pile of bright green goo.

A spiral of purple crosses his vision and whirls to form the vague outline of a person.

“ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ...ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ɴᴏᴡ.”

The voice reverberates inside his head, the person reaches toward him, and the world fades around him.

He’s on the beach again.

The waters crash around him, sliding up the sand to caress his bare feet.

Miguel stares out over the endless ocean, but something’s different this time. Sunlight reflects off the calm waters, a soft breeze blows against his hair, and small grains of sand drift into his face. He grimaces, turning to roll onto his back.

A palm-like tree with round fruit rests over him, and a bird covered in white feathers edged in black stares down at him.

Is this…another dream?

The bird caws—a sound similar to a gull, but higher pitched—spreading its wings wide to reveal a glowing green undercarriage. The bird takes off; its wings connect the bend to its body as it flaps through the air like a manta ray swims in the ocean.

Miguel pushes himself to sit up, groaning at the ache in his body. His body…

He startles—flashes of the half-melted fish crossing his mind—looking over his skin for any signs of the bright green infection that had spread up his arm.

He looks fine, only a small dent where the fish had bitten him. He leans back in the sand, taking in his surroundings.

The sand is almost soft beneath him, the breeze carrying the faintest scent of salt. If he closed his eyes, he could picture himself on a regular beach back home.

Something squeaks beside him, and Miguel nearly jumps when he opens his eyes to find a flat, blue eyeball on four pointed limbs skittering toward him. Instincts take over as the creature leaps, small mandibles aiming for him, and he lands a solid punch to its front left leg. The creature shrieks when it lands, skittering away with a noticeable limp.

Not a dream, then.

Miguel watches the creature run up the beach, heading toward the mountain in the center of the island he’s on, where it disappears into a cave twice as tall as him.

The cave could be a good shelter if more of those things aren’t inside.

He’ll need to find something for food and a way to make a fire.

“Lyla,” he calls, but no one answers. It dawns on him that he’s actually stuck here, on this strange island, in only a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

To the right, the beach ends at a large formation of rocks, and to the left, it disappears into a steep drop-off into the ocean.

The only way he can go is forward, so that’s what he does.

The cave leads deep into the mountain. Thankfully there are plenty of holes in the mountainside to let light in and allow him to see. He finds more of those cave crawlers, but they give him a wide berth after he kicks the first two into the cave walls.

He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s meant to be looking for until he trips over it.

It’s warm but hard enough to nearly break his foot when he stumbles on it: a black cable inscribed with symbols that ebb with glowing green symbols. Half of it is buried in the rocky ground, but it’s wide enough that he’d have a hard time fitting his arms around it.

The cable runs along the mountain floor, trailing up a small hill and leading back outside. Miguel follows it, focusing more on the symbols than what lies ahead.

Momentarily blinded by the sunlight, he shields his eyes, waiting for them to adjust.

When the spots in his vision finally clear, his jaw nearly drops at the sight before him.

The ocean stretches out before him, never-ending and glittering black. On the right, the burnt-out carcass of a massive spaceship sits above the surface, still smoldering as the waves lap at its exterior. On the left, the cable runs to a large cubic tower made of the same material, an arch at its base glowing with a green so bright it’s hard to look at.

Miguel’s vision swims with blue and purple before that same silhouette takes form again.

“ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” the voice in his head speaks, something in his chest pulling him toward the tower.

“Who are you?” he asks, swatting at the silhouette. His hand passes through, and the figure disperses into the air. Miguel scoffs. Of course, they’d disappear instead of giving him answers.

Left with no other choice, he carefully follows the mountain path down to where a metal bridge leads from the beach to the tower. With the same strange symbols carved into the bridge, Miguel cautiously sets one foot on its surface.

It hums to life, the symbols glowing green beneath his foot. It’s oddly warm, much like the sun-warmed sands of the beach. Nothing else happens, though, and it’s enough for him to decide it’s safe to cross.

The bridge hums as he makes his way across. The arch swirls with green semi-transparent energy, and something on the other side calls to him.

Miguel reaches a hand forward, a brief moment of hesitance before he commits and steps through.

The world around him twists and distorts, a distant wailing vibrating across his ears. His limbs grow too heavy, his mind slipping into a limbo of pain and peace.

There’s a moment where Miguel thinks this may be the end.

But as soon as it comes, it stops, and Miguel is left standing in a pitch-black room on the edge of a glowing blue pool.

He steps back, and the entire room pulses with glowing green symbols before fading into darkness. He looks to the pool, a sudden tightness in his chest followed by the absolute yearning to jump in.

“—ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” the voice calls, and he doesn’t know if the echo in the room is in his head.

He listens to its beckoning, one deep breath before diving into the luminous water.

A mistake, he soon realizes.

His muscles tense as soon as he hits the water, locking in place as he slowly sinks down to a platform suspended by chains. He’s in some kind of large chamber, one that looks similar to a well-decorated aquarium. He catches glimpses of schools of fish swimming below the platform as he sinks to it, along with various colorful and glowing flora.

He lands on the platform feet first, something keeping him standing as he struggles against its invisible hold.

He needs to get out. He needs to swim to the surface.

Miguel’s lungs constrict painfully.

He needs air.

A deep groan echoes across the chamber, and Miguel feels the water shift around him, nearly pulling him off his feet.

He’s not alone here.

Something else is in this chamber with him.

Something big.

A dark, spindly limb slithers onto the platform and up the chain to his right. It’s halfway up the chain when a second limb begins curling around the chain to his left. Two more move up onto the platform and anchor themselves on either side of him. Far too big to wrap around his arms, they settle atop his shoulders to keep him anchored in one spot.

Brilliant purple lights flash down the dark skin of these limbs, beautiful swirling patterns that almost distract from the way Miguel’s lungs scream at him.

Skin swirling with flashing purple lights, a creature rises onto the platform before him.

You look human-ish, standing on two legs with two arms and hands clasped in front of you. You’re wearing a black suit that clings to your body and covers every inch of your skin except your hands and feet. What Miguel can see of your skin glows with purple veins that match the blinking patterns of the limbs on his shoulders. He notices they connect to your back, as do the two wrapped around the chains, keeping you hovering just above the platform.

You stare at him, blinking with all four of your glowing purple eyes, head tilted almost curiously.

You glide forward, and Miguel takes note of the other four limbs stretching from your back and draping over the platform's edge. One of them wiggles, twitching slightly before he feels a sharp pinch to the back of his neck.

He inhales, lungs burning as they fill with water. His body feels as if it’s on fire, nerves vibrating as his fingers and toes begin to turn purple.

You blink, at the pain disappears. Limbs loose and back in his control, Miguel chokes and lifts a hand to his neck. He inhales again, and the burn is slight as his lungs adjust and his body changes.

You give him a moment to adjust, watching the realization dawn on him as he inhales and exhales again with ease.

When he finally meets your gaze, your eyes widen, purple lights dancing across your long limbs.

“You are not what I expected,” your voice echoes in his head, clear as day.

“Who are you?” he asks in his mind, harsher than he means to, but not used to the sudden mental connection.

“I am what you seek,” you answer.

“What?” he scoffs.

“Many have tried, and all have failed,” you continue. Miguel narrows his eyes. Your voice sounds…strained like you’re purposely pitching it lower.

“Are you gonna start making sense or—”

“Others came here once,” you muse, looking at the chambers around you solemnly.

“Did you kidnap them too?”

“They built—what?” You stutter, voice losing its low pitch as you turn to him in surprise. “Kidnap? I didn’t kidnap you.”

“No? What would you call it?” Miguel rolls his eyes, frowning down at one of the arms on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, and it slithers to your side.

“No? You came here,” you say, confusion laced in your voice.

“After you left me stranded on the beach,” he scoffs.

“That’s not—” The other limb slides from his shoulder as you glide away from him, picking at the purple veins in your palms. Your brows knit together, eyes focused on the ground. You drift back and forth as if pacing, your voice soft like your words are only meant for you to hear, “You called to me. That’s how I found you, because of the connection, the infect—.”

You stop, turning swiftly to him.

“Where did you come from?”

Miguel takes a step back as you rush forward.

“Shouldn’t you know? You brought me here after your fish melted,” he frowns.

“My fish?” One of your extra limbs reaches up to rub at the side of your temple. He lets you think, watching your face intently. You pick at your palms, wincing when you break skin. The lights on your body flash green before returning to their normal purple, and you both look down to watch yellow blood drift up from your palm. Your eyes widen, slowly lifting to meet his gaze with a worry that sets him on edge.

“How long ago were you infected?” Your voice is soft, almost pitying, and somehow that makes him angrier.

“Infected?” Miguel asks, making no attempt to hide his irritation. You turn your palm upwards, slowly holding it out to him. He can see that small cut in your skin, or rather, the neon green blister that’s taken its place.

“The others brought it here,” you murmur. “They came looking for a cure, but��it didn’t work. They…did something—something unforgivable—and in the following conflict, the virus got out. Everything from here to beyond the Crater was ravaged.”

He doesn’t understand most of what you’re saying, but there’s a sense of loss in your voice that he finds a small part of himself empathizing with.

“I’ve been trying to fix it,” you murmur, looking at him wide-eyed. “But the virus limits my reach to those who carry it.”

You catch the tensing of his jaw and the quick glance down at his hand. You reach for him, slowly and carefully, like one would approach a wild animal. You grab his hand with your unmarked one, lifting it so you can examine his palm.

It’s small, but there’s no mistaking the green edges of the dent in his palm, glowing brighter beneath the water.

“How long ago was this?” you ask, thumb gently grazing the green mark.

“A week,” Miguel answers tightly, pulling his hand out of your grasp.

Your glowing gaze meets his dark one, “Then you don’t have much time left.” You turn your back to him, revealing the bare expanse of your back and the masses of green veins and blisters that gather around where your extra limbs attach. You head toward the edge of the platform. “Come. It’ll be easier to explain…not here.”

He doesn’t move, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t take me back home and explain there?”

You stop just at the platform's edge, extra limbs unwinding themselves from the chains as you look at him over your shoulder.

“No one can leave until a cure is found,” you speak, calm and distant. “I cannot change what they’ve put into place. You either follow me or die here. Your choice.”

Miguel lets your words sink in, eyes falling to the bite on his hand. He looks back up at you with a reluctant sigh and gives you a single nod.

You nod, turning back and diving off the edge of the platform, disappearing into the chamber below.

Miguel steps up to the edge, peering into the darkness below to see your bioluminescent limbs carrying you along the chamber floor like a glowing spider. He takes a deep breath, letting the water filter through his lungs, before stepping off the platform.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderverse fics #moth writes #tw: animal cruelty #tw: animal injury #tw: disease #tw: illness

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k7l4d4 · 4 months

Text

K Reviews and Rants: Murder Drones! Episode 1

Hello all. Today, I embark on a new adventure! I could, technically, be continuing Miraculous Ladybug... but I decided I'd rather do something that doesn't risk me getting an aneurysm at thinking how much it's gone down hill. So, instead, I'm going to review stuff you can find for free online before moving on to other stuff.

Now, Murder Drones, at a first glance, is a fairly tongue in cheek dark parody of various horror genres, centered around the titular drones. But, many secrets lie in waiting... well, this should be fun!

Onto the review. As always, warnings for any profanity on my part.

Okay, not even two minutes in, and this is pretty interesting.

The basic concept "humans end up wiping themselves out on a planet they colonized and the robots left behind form their own civilization, but humans get mad about it so they decide to send other robots to deal with it" is solid. The opening scene is also very tongue in cheek, given that it's literally listed as a file labeled "Exposition." Near the end of the two minute mark, it transitions to a punk-looking robot with a female sounding voice giving a... less then well made presentation.

Said female robot, Uzi going by the closed captions, is complaining about how passive the Workers are being regarding their enemies. Which, given that they are reliant on three big doors, is a valid concern; no matter how durable they are, eventually the Murder Drones are gonna get past them... either by figuring out how to break them, or by breaking the areas AROUND them.

Also, I really, REALLY hope that Uzi didn't use actual blueprints in that presentation, because it's never good when stuff like that is easily accessible in such dangerous circumstances.

Apparently Uzi's answer to the eventual conflict is to make a railgun... and brought it to class. Working or not working, that's insanely dangerous... and it's hilarious how the principle is just looking on like "okay." It's hysterical to me how nonchalant he is about it. But Uzi cackling maniacally while powering up the railgun... yeah, bad sign. She's not alright in the head.

... I'm dying of laughter. The project was a word problem... about buying watermelons. Not even getting into how dumb of a project that is for homework, what's even stupider is how is it even POSSIBLE Uzi misinterpreted it THAT BADLY!? Like, this is the kind of scene that always has me hoping "I hope this sets the tone going forward." It's just hysterical.

One exploding railgun, a dented door, and now we are in the nurse's office. Why would robots even have that? Plus, more tongue in cheek jokes plastered across the wall. I gotta give props on the background details, even if they are just one-off jokes, taking the time to put them in is really cool.

Wow, some bitchy robot cheerleaders made a "joke" about how Uzi was still alive. That's totally fine and not at all disgusting. Ugh...

Really confused on why Uzi has an icepack on her face... is it to cool down her circuits or something?

Oh, new robot dude just walked in. I can't tell if his comments on some guy named Chad's "classic toxic masculinity never ending up being problematic" is just being tongue in cheek or robots being weird about making connections or something. Either way, it's funny from the perspective of making fun of old high school movies and tv show cliches.

O-kay, looks like Uzi's more unpopular than I thought... and really hammering home the "self aware up to a point" idea here, given the "angsty teen" comments. Oh, and apparently her dad's a big deal for making the doors, so Uzi's family name is... Doorman. I wish I was making that up.

Uzi asks why Thad's in the nurse's office, making a joke about testosterone... which goes over Thad's head. Kinda curious myself, since he clearly intended to go there but didn't know UZI was there. It's a bit weird that the question's unanswered.

With the reason behind Thad being at the nurse going unanswered, he questions Uzi about the railgun, and Uzi explains that she's gonna sneak out to get the last part she needs... with Thad having a very good point on why she does that, while also making a reference to how it sounds like she's dealing with some emotional repression (I feel your pain, Uzi, I feel your pain).

Like, for real, WHY would she need to go specifically to the Murder Drone's lair to get the last part she needs? Couldn't she go, I dunno, anywhere else? Like, the things are hunting Workers like her, that doesn't mean they have an abundance of parts she'd need to make her railgun. ...Please don't tell me she's secretly suicidal, please...

Ha! The alarm's built into her head.

Uzi dramatically suiting up... before acting like every stereotypical teen ever in trying to swipe her parents' keys before leaving.

Okay, there's a big vent between the doors. While the whole "crawling through vents" thing is a hollywood invention, it's a genuine security risk when your enemies have missiles, are robots, and can fly. Oh, and Uzi immediately got caught by Khan while sneaking out, I guess. That's also something.

Khan just laughs off the idea of Uzi having a boyfriend. Dick move, Khan, Dick move.

Then Uzi manages to convince him she wants to get into doors like him, and he falls for it instantly. It's totally hilarious. Also, it kinda looks like Khan DOES want to bond with Uzi... but he's got a very limited understanding of how to do so. I don't think he's all there either, given he talked to one of his doors like it's a puppy dog.

...Okay, Khan needs therapy over having had to basically mercy kill Uzi's mom. Like, immediately.

Yeesh, getting a proper look at things outside of the compound, this place looks like shit. I've got no clue if it looked nicer after the Workers took over and just went to hell after the Murder Drones attacked, but... yeah, it's bad.

Okay, so... when Uzi said she "planned to go to the Murder Drones' Lair." She didn't just mean "around the corpse spire," she meant "into" it. ...The 'secretly suicidal' idea is looking more and more likely.

Huh, she actually found stuff other then murdered Worker parts. I'm surprised.

...And one of the Murder Drones is apparently back from a hunt and enjoying a "snack." Uzi, you should probably be reconsidering your life choices right now... and it spotted her. Yup, she's dead.

She got her fighting skills from pirated anime? This is believable, as she is a robot and thus can do shit that would break a human body.

And while it might've cost her an acid-injected hand, we finally get to see the Railgun go off!! ...Fuck that is both awesome and terrifying, AND SHE MADE THIS IN A CLOSED OFF OUTPOST!? Uzi is scary, and anyone who thinks she isn't is in denial.

Hurray, she killed one of the monsters and oh fuck they can regenerate their heads!! FUCK!!!

And she slapped it with a dismembered arm.

Huh, this Nazi-dressed robot's blinking headlight looks a bit off. Also, he's a sweetheart. WHO THOUGHT MAKING THE ROBOTIC MURDER MACHINE A SWEETHEART WAS A GOOD IDEA?!? Don't these people know that giving one of the vicious killers a heart of gold is guaranteed to make them turn on you!?

Huh, I guess his regeneration busted one of his sensors. So... Uzi's safe. For now.

Okay, we learned two things; one, they are called Disassembly Drones, and two, this guy's name is Serial Designation N. He is a puppo of adorableness that I wish to protect, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't need the help in that regard.

Please, N, stop talking. You are making it hard to remember you are a brutal murderer designed to kill everyone Uzi knows!

N is surprisingly chill at having lost three hours of time. Okay, so he's not just sweet, he's stupid as well; that does reduce the odds of him attempting a heel-face turn, the dumb ones tend to take the longest to realize they are on the wrong side.

ANd it looks like the acid is neutralized by the Disassembly Drone's saliva... what weirdo thought that was a good design choice!? Also, the way Uzi goes "we are never talking about this" is such a vibe.

N decides to give the scoop on the other two members:

First is V, who is... psychotic. That's literally the only word to describe it, she just comes off as insane and sadistic for the sake of being sadistic. She also might have some memory issues if she hasn't figured out who N is by this point.

Second is J, the leader. She seems, by all accounts, to be an ultra-aggressive, fanatically loyal corporate jackboot. On the other hand, everything about her screams to me "SHIP HER WITH UZI!!" So I shall. It's toxic, but it is a good poison to endure.

Uzi describes the device in the Murder Drone's base as a spaceship, N as a one use missile (since they weren't taught how to land). They are, technically speaking, both right. Ships need fuel, so unless Uzi could scrounge up enough to transport them off the planet, AND scavenge all the components needed to repair it, it'd be better served breaking it down for parts and coming up with a new design entirely.

Also, the fact that Uzi, a violently unstable Drone with a chip on her shoulder about her people being left to slaughter, is thinking about getting off the planet... yeah, that's a warning sign about her intentions right there.

N's reasoning for continuing the slaughter, aside from the very creepy vibes that imply he and the rest are addicted to Worker Oil (VAMPIRE VIBES!!!) and the pragmatic reason that they need to do so to avoid overheating and dying... it fits him as a character, but also kind of highlights that he's not mentally suited for all this stuff, and makes me question who thought including him in this was a good idea. Although given he's lasted this long, he's definitely not harmless.

Uzi then hits the nail on the head; the Disassembly Drones have no guarantee that they won't be scrapped themselves once their mission is done... but given that J probably wouldn't care given how much of a fanatic she comes off as, and V is too insane to probably process the idea, N might be swayed... given time, at least.

Okay, Uzi apparently has enough survival instincts to run for it when she realized that the other two, non-malfunctioning Murder Drones are back. Good on her!

I'm honestly surprised that V didn't just attack Uzi the second she saw her, given her personality. Of course, said personality might be WHY she's not attacking; her mind probably doesn't think in traditional processes regarding priorities. Still, it's weird that she didn't go for the kill given how brutal she is.

Huh, the Disassembly Drones can reboot each other using slaps. That's... an interesting design choice.

And N, now able to actually remember and process the data his sensors were feeding him, instantly goes to get rid of Uzi's railgun, out of concern of what it would do to his squad. WHY IS HE SO WHOLESOME!? Then again, he's chasing Uzi back to the Doors, and Uzi has the master key and is absolutely slower then him... yeah, we're probably gonna be seeing N's dangerous side in a moment or two.

And now the Worker Defense Force are dropping death flags. I gotta say, I genuinely do like the tongue-in-cheek nature of this; like, they are being incredibly obvious they are dropping death flags, but the show is making it so clear that these folks know about tropes, even subconsciously, that it makes this morbidly funny.

Uzi tries to close the door... too late.

Yeah... N prying open those massive doors using nothing but his bare hands (clawed though they may be), is super terrifying, and I am unashamed to admit it. I would be pissing myself if I was there in person.

Yup, still N. Even when he has to remind himself he's planning to kill everyone there, he's just such a sweetheart. WHY!? WHY WOULD YOU GIVE US SUCH A SWEET HEART YOU CRUEL WORLD!?

And this... this is the slaughter I was dreading was coming. Seeing just how brutally N is killing them all, I'm severely disturbed. Like, this is horrific even WITH the Drones, if they were people, animated or not...? Yeah, this would be a gore fest.

Hey, Khan got the pack of cards! ...How long does it take to get a fresh pack of playing cards?

N continues to be a sweetheart even while planning to murder someone he had a nice time with.

...There is no way Khan is going to shoot. The dude is screaming PTSD attacks. Also, I'm surprised N is taking so long in killing Uzi, enough time to do nothing as Khan slowly backs away and closes the doors and raises the alarm. Seriously, what is it about Uzi that is holding the Murder Drones back!?

V claiming to have been trying to get past the doors for months isn't really as vast a length of time as it sounds. V doesn't seem the type to really understand the idea of trying different tactics; odds are she just kept blasting at it in the hopes she'd eventually get through.

Hey look, N is starting to show doubts about their mission! I guess seeing a PTSD-driven coward of a father abandon his daughter to die would do that. Unfortunately, he's trying that on the literal fanatic who has made it clear that even if she's willing to be civil when he does a good job, she will KILL him if he proves himself too much of a liability. We can all guess where this is going.

Honestly, given how fanatic she is for the company, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if J believes her own speech about putting N down being for his own good... and the way she describes their mission being that the Workers are corrupted, as well as how Uzi seems strangely protected from immediate murdering... maybe there's more going on with this?

But yeah, J is being a total dick to N. Bad J. Uzi will make you sleep on the couch for this!

Okay, so Uzi's alive, and is now forced to work with N in order to save her outpost. Honestly, I can get it; even if N's nice, he's been knowingly and willingly complicit in the slaughter of her people... but she's at least willing to work with him. They give me very "Dumbass Big Bro/Smartass Little Sis" vibes.

Hey, it's Thad again! Honestly curious how he's alive, since neither of the Murder Drones on the attack seem the type to let someone survive a hit from them if they aren't in a position to instantly kill them at point blank range. It's odd. Maybe Thad's weird in whatever way Uzi is, but less? Or maybe Uzi's a vector for some kind of virus...?

Wow, N is standing up to himself! THAT'S A MIRACLE!!!

Wow, Uzi making N fight his crush? That's cold. Oooh, maybe it's the battle of future lovers!? /j (Yes, I know there's no chance in hell that Uzi gets with J, but my dream lives on in my heart!!)

Really surprised J just stood there while Uzi chucked a pen at her head hard enough to rupture one of her eye things. Seriously, what is it about Uzi that makes Murder Drones be dumb!?

Huh, even in the middle of a fight, J can't help but be a Corporate shill.

N, having an emotional conflict about having to battle your crush should wait until she's NOT blasting missiles at you.

Hey, N managed to beat V via gross-out tactics! It's less disgusting then normal! Helps that he's a robot, but still, using licking as a distraction to get free to assist an ally is valid.

Okay, so in addition to being a shill, J's also the type to plan her monologue's in advance. I approve! Oh, and she got stabbed by her own nanite tail stinger thing, and in a place she can't use her saliva to neutralize... and she uses business terms in place of cursing. I knew she was a shill, but MAN is she a shill!!!

Uzi claimed she would fire if J said one more buzzword... but given the grin on her face, she was gonna do it anyway... which I think J realized. And now J is nothing but arms and her lower torso... given that the Murder Drones can regenerate, they should probably get those parts in some kind of storage/isolation/prison thing or whatever.

Now, this would be the part where the rebel outcast, having saved their people from danger, is now accepted as a hero... but instead, seeing as Uzi is rightfully pissed off at Khan for leaving her for dead, she decides to leave and banish herself. Also, I think her head might be a bit scrambled if she thought that anyone would banish her; yeah, she lead the Murder Drones to them, but she also saved all their lives and (possibly) took one of the Murder Drones down for good. That's HUGE.

And now Uzi reveals her big plan; kill all humans in revenge, laughing maniacally, while some weird symbol appears in her eye. Huh... looks like that whole "we're here because the Workers are corrupted" bit might not have been full of baloney after all! And more Murder Drones are on their way... that's not good.

I gotta say, this was awesome. Not as funny as I'd hoped, but so far, I think it's balancing the tongue in cheek referential and meta humor with the ongoing actions well enough. Looking forward to more!!

#murder drones #serial designation n #serial designation v #uzi doorman #serial designation j #glitch studios #reaction #show review

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bones4thecats · 1 month

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Hi can I have seperate scenarios in this request where Captain Ginyu, Burter, and Cui, just so happen to meet Emo! F! Human! Reader in the Namek Saga while she's with Bulma and the gang or even somehow gets seperated with the group on accident. If you still have the time when you see this request.

(Hope that the request isn't too much for you.)

DBZ w/ F-Emo-Human! S/O Headcanons

Characters: Captain Ginyu, Burter, and Cui Requester: @silkyshulks A/N: I decided to just do this with them having an S/O that was a powerful human (and emo) that also served with Frieza as one of his highest-ranking helpers (specifically a Regent, or a right-hand). It just made more sense to me. That and I haven't watched the Namek Saga in quite a while and need to re-watch DBZ here soon... But anyways, hope you like this and have a glamorous rest of your day/night, Silkyshulks! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of possibly child abuse (nothing to bad though) and fighting (??) ⚠️

What I based the Reader's appearance on: Outfit - Makeup - Marks

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Captain Ginyu ═══════════════════════════╝

💟 When Ginyu first met you, he was surprised with how powerful you were within Frieza's army. Despite being a mere human, you had a lot of power, enough that prompted the tyrant to promote you to his Regent, in other words his main second-in-command

💟 You held your position highly, using it against any other soldier who tried to put you down. And it didn't help that you always looked emotionless and cold whenever you walked around

💟 Ginyu and you had a surprisingly healthy bond, and that always shined when you served together. He would be busy getting his team to practice their poses and train whilst you were delivering orders to them from Frieza, much of it being their schedule and where they were needed

💟 While he normally gets busy, he does enjoy having some time to relax with you. It mainly consists of you silently sitting on his lap as you would draw on his skin with your temporary markers, he did have a reputation after all

💟 Ginyu also gets confused when you would spend quite a bit of time perfecting your makeup for that day, though it normally was the same eyeliner, and how you would make sure your outfit was perfected. But, he was a warrior, so who was he to judge?

💟 Unlike what many other members of the Frieza Force believe, Ginyu is a very good partner, whether you're married or not. He always finds time for you and he listens, even as he trains, his ears are open for your meek rants

💟 He has offered you a place in the Ginyu Force, but you just turned him down, saying your place belonged delivering news and defending your fearsome Lord. And while Ginyu was dead-set on getting you to join, when he saw you smoke another powerful fighter, he lightened up

💟 Not because he feared you... psh! Why would he fear his S/O? It's a lie, he fears your anger like he fears Frieza's

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Burter ════════════════════════════════╝

🌀 You two had a rockier start than the others. Burter is literally described as 'very arrogant, boastful, and tends to talk down to his opponents', and when he saw how blank you looked, he made his thoughts on you obvious

🌀 As a fellow strong warrior, though you stayed out of the field for quite a while, you merely raised your hand, showing off your spider-web markings. He cocked his head as you blasted him, resulting in him flying backwards and into the wall, making a dent as the now-dazed fighter groaned in pain

🌀 Unfortunately for you, Frieza needed your skills of manipulation and physical attacks to take over another planet, so he sent you and Burter together while the rest of the Ginyu Force went to another part of the planet - despite their annoyance of not being able to do their poses correctly -

🌀 It was after that mission that the Blue Hurricane then began to seek you out more, wanting to train. You would just roll your eyes before walking away to find Zarbon to speak too. And that was how his emotions emerged, watching you speak to Zarbon happily while you would naturally stare into Burter's soul before leaving

🌀 While it took a while, and when I say a while I mean a while, to finally ask you out, he was surprised with how different you were in private. You always seemed so done with everyone and cold, but you really cared about the few close-individuals you had, including this certain blue alien

🌀 Burter doesn't seem like he would, but I can see him enjoying watching you gather your outfits, whether they were formal-looking or not, and seeing you put on your makeup and basically style yourself up. It was kind of like a therapy for him in a way

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Cui ══════════════════════════════════╝

🐟 Cui and you met early on in your services under Frieza, and he was extremely jealous that you, a mere human, a being he could squash with one blast, was promoted to be the Emperor's right-hand!

🐟 And, in all honesty, he was intimidated by you as much as the next soldier. The way you looked just scared him. You always looked so glum and ready to kill, and the way you would dress and decorate your face freaked him out. He was used to others looking odd, but this was a level he had never encountered in his life!

🐟 The only reason he had ever spoke to you was because Frieza had demanded Cui to deliver a message to you and get the findings you came up with. And while he was acting like a pissed-off child who was just told they couldn't get a lollipop by their parents at first, he did eventually begin to see how gentle you truly were underneath your dark-look

🐟 You proved that true when, instead of insulting or yelling at the tiny-and-very-young alien who brought you files, you just pat them on their head and told them to go to your chambers and grab themselves a plush from your bottom drawer. He watched the child run off with a gleeful smile on their face while you continued typing an encrypted message to Frieza's father, King Cold

🐟 Cui called your name and couldn't help but ask you a question that nagged at him for the past few minutes of silence;

"Why were you so kind to that child? Normally higher-ranked authorities just push them around."

"I condemn those who would offend a lower-ranked soldier, nonetheless a child, for no reason. It's a show of how pathetic and weak they truly are, regardless of placements in this hierarchy."

🐟 Cui just nodded and grabbed the finished files you handed him before rushing out of the room and towards the main office of your leader. One question nagging in his mind; why was his stomach churning at the thought of you treating a child... especially one that looked like both of you... so kindly?

🐟 He was going to need to speak to the medic afterwards

#Dragon Ball #Dragon Ball Z #DBZ #DBZ Villains #Dragon Ball x Reader #Dragon Ball Z x Reader #DBZ x Reader #DBZ Villains x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Human! Reader #Captain Ginyu #Captain Ginyu x Reader #DBZ Burter #DBZ Burter x Reader #DBZ Cui #DBZ Cui x Reader

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marlynnofmany · 10 months

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Small-Scale Comedy

A lot of the time when our little courier ship makes deliveries to alien planets, the captain will send someone of the customer’s species for the hand-off. It puts them at ease to see a familiar face and all that. Usually. Other times, the customer is of a notoriously egotistical species, likely to feel affronted if the delivery person has a shinier exoskeleton than they do.

Guess which today was.

“Good greetings,” Mur said, looking up at the insectlike bundle of limbs that loomed over him. Our customer for today was colored in white and the palest pinks, edging into more vivid red at the ends of her legs, and the blades of her pincher arms. She looked like a murderous flower.

And while we had two perfectly eligible Mesmers back on the ship, one of whom I’d accompanied on similar deliveries before, Captain Sunlight had decided to send in two of the squishiest crewmates instead.

Mur lifted the package with half of his tentacles, using the rest to hold himself up at a respectable height. I stood behind him with the payment tablet. I tried to stand very still.

Instead of grabbing the box or offering to pay, the customer called imperiously for someone to come open it for her. We were indoors, in what I’d thought was an empty room aside from all the tables molded from the same brown clay as the walls, and the copious amounts of junk on them. (Buildings here were made of the classiest mud I’d seen in a while, with burnished tabletops and patterned walls. But the mess of scientific equipment and photography supplies was much less classy.)

One of the locals scurried out from one of the many holes in the wall that I’d honestly thought were decoration, but now that I thought about it, there had been a balcony at about that height outside. No need for elaborate doorways when you’re shaped like a centipede.

Yeah, our customer was a large bug person spending time among smaller bug people. This was a comparison that was probably only amusing to me, so I kept it to myself. I’m getting good at that.

The centiperson — no idea what they’re actually called — scuttled over and took the box from Mur. This looked like a risky operation to me, and I had my hands out to catch it just in case the leg-sized whatever toppled over backward, but everything went fine. Their many top legs clung to the box while that long body curled into an S, and their bottom legs skittered over to set the box on a table. Then the centiperson manipulated the combination lock with some very skilled little leggies, and opened the box.

The Mesmer swooped in to pull out a sheet of what looked like tiny stickers, muttering and inspecting it for flaws. When I was starting to wonder if Mur or I should remind her that she still needed to pay for the delivery, she handed it off to the centiperson, whose many legs handled it with more dexterity than her little wrist fingers could. Mesmer pincher arms are excellent at doing damage, but not great for detail work.

“Right, yes, money,” she said, turning back toward us. “Put those on the three in the test chamber!” That part was for her assistant, who was already climbing up onto a table full of terarriums and lightboxes. “Tell me they’re doing better!”

I held out the payment tablet. She grabbed it with a pincher and typed in her information, making me glad for the thick rubber casing on the edges. We could have used a metal case for it, but Zhee had demonstrated how easy those were to dent by crushing one with his own pinchers. It had turned out like a work of art.

“They are healthy,” reported the small voice of the centiperson. “I have applied the cameras.”

“And?” demanded the Mesmer, striding over without giving the tablet back. “Show me!” She peered down into a white-sided box that currently had a lot of lights aimed at it.

Before I could ask, something happened in the box to make the Mesmer exclaim in frustration and lift the tablet skyward. Mur made a noise, worried just like I was that she was about to smash it.

But instead she just stalked back over and thrust it into my hands. “Here. Either of you know much about animals?”

I, with my veterinarian training, had to answer, “Yes.” Mur was pointing at me with multiple tentacles.

“Good. Tell me what is wrong with these animals.”

I found myself ushered over none too gently, while the centiperson moved aside and the Mesmer spoke at length about the videography work she had come here to do.

“The final thing I need is a point-of-view recording from one of these, and I have acquired the absolute smallest of camera tabs, and I am starting to worry that the local population is diseased.”

“Why?” I asked uneasily. The white box held three tiny whatevers, each smaller than my last finger joint, as brown as the walls. They had froglike hopping legs, though none seemed interested in going anywhere. Their faces were pointed like bird beaks, and an itty-bitty camera tab sat on each head like a tiny hat.

“Their jumping is impaired,” the Mesmer said from above me. I made a mental note not to turn around quickly. “And I know that it’s not the cameras throwing them off; those have the molecular weight of smoke. I’m more concerned that something is wrong with all of the creatures here. None of the ones we’ve caught can land on their feet.”

To demonstrate, she stuck a pincher blade into the box, which made the three not-frogs scatter.

Wow, she’s not kidding, I thought as they landed on everything but their feet. They scrambled upright quickly enough, but that was some spectacular tiny pratfalls.

From right next to me, Mur asked, “Is there a disease that causes that?” He’d climbed onto the table himself, and was watching with interest.

“It’s possible,” I said. The centiperson was observing in silence, and I asked, “Are they always like this?”

“Yes.” The answer came quickly, in a flat voice that suggested this conversation had happened before.

The Mesmer waved a pincher arm, folded this time. “The entire population may be suffering from something, either a creeping illness or a low-level poison.”

“It could be,” I said slowly, watching the centiperson turn their head toward the ceiling in what looked an awful lot like exasperation. “Or these animals could be built like a small animal on my planet, with a similar problem.”

I had all their attention now.

“What problem?” demanded the Mesmer.

“Their inner ear is too small to work properly,” I said, gesturing toward the side of my own head. “The part that senses which direction gravity is pulling. It has fluid that needs to slosh around, but the channel isn’t big enough to do it.”

There was silence for a heartbeat, then Mur said “Wow,” and the Mesmer said, “WHAT?”

The centiperson just said, “That makes sense.”

“An entire species can be like that??” exclaimed the Mesmer, stepping back to where she could gesture without hitting anything.

“We did tell you,” said the centiperson.

“I thought it was toxins!”

The centiperson looked at me. “The common name for them is ‘headhoppers.’”

“I thought they had a habit of jumping onto people’s heads!”

Not replying to that, the centiperson produced a little hand net from the far side of the table, and deftly scooped up the tiny not-frogs. They really were about the size of Pumpkin Toadlets, just not bright orange, or fully frog-shaped. Once these had their tiny camera-hats removed, they tumbled willingly into a terrarium full of plants.

“Well,” Mur said, “That’s interesting.” He hopped to the floor with a splat.

The Mesmer was complaining to the world at large that fate was cruel and she’d never get the recording she wanted.

I looked to the local. “Are there any similar animals that are a little bigger?”

“YES.”

“Did you already tell her that?”

“Also yes.”

The Mesmer whined, “They’re nocturnal.”

“Flashlights exist.”

I stepped away from the table, careful to bring the tablet with me. “I’m pretty sure you can come up with a workaround. You should listen to your local expert here; sounds like there’s a wealth of information ready and waiting.”

The centiperson spread many legs and looked skyward, which looked grateful to me. The Mesmer grumbled but didn’t say no.

Already halfway out the door, Mur said, “Good luck with everything!”

I echoed the sentiment and followed him with a wave. The centiperson waved back: a rolling motion along one side that looked especially jaunty. The Mesmer’s arm motion was more of an “Ah, whatever,” but I’d take it.

“So tell me more,” Mur said as we walked back to the ship. “The tiny animals on your planet land on their faces every time? How are they still alive?”

“Well, they’re too small to really get hurt by it,” I said with a shrug. “And I’ve heard it said that any predator is probably laughing too hard to eat them.”

“Yup, that’s definitely it. Your planet sounds hilarious. I’d love to visit someday.”

“You should!” I said. “It’s a great place. Though you know what other animal jumps like that? Fleas.”

“What’s fleas?”

“Oh, let me tell you about fleas.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #writblr #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #eiad #faithful viewers from several days ago may recognize the inspiration for this one #'gee that should go in a story' I said #and then I wrote a completely different version than what I originally had in mind #I may even write the first idea at some point #but for now: have some fun animal facts #look up the Pumpkin Toadlet #they are hilarious #frogs #and frog-adjacent entities

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celandeline · 8 months

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Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (5)

On the chessboard in front of us, Venetia’s winning by a mile, which is how I know she isn’t really paying attention. It’s simply her way - whenever we’ve played games like this in the past, when she is focused on the board, she overthinks. When something else is on her mind, and she’s operating on instinct, she dominates. So maybe today, the day that Felix’s friend Oliver is supposed to arrive, was a bad day to challenge her to a chess match.

Head propped up on my hand, I move one of my knights to take her pawn. “Your move.”

Venetia’s eyes scan over the board, and she quickly moves one of her bishops, taking the knight that I just placed, and putting my king in danger. “Check.”

I lean back in my chair and groan. I’ve only got a handful of pieces left on the board, and I’ve barely made a dent in her troop. Begrudgingly, I shift my king one space to the side.

Across the table, Venetia laughs.

“What, laughing at my misery already V?” I frown petulantly. “At least save it until you’ve actually won the game.”

“No, no…” She giggles again. “Are you listening to Mum and Pamela?”

The room that we’re sitting in - the globe room, Venetia said - is connected to the library through a small archway, letting the voices of the rest of the family’s chatter drift over to us. I tune into the conversation as Venetia giggles again.

Elspeth’s voice is casual. “Well, I mean, they probably don’t have rehab in Liverpool.”

“No, gosh, no.” Pamela uses the same conversational tone to agree. “No, I can’t imagine they do.”

Venetia grins as I widen my eyes. The sheer absurdity of it - that in all of Liverpool, there couldn’t possibly be one rehab center - and the fact that they’re talking about it so casually, they can’t be joking, both makes me want to laugh and roll my eyes. Just how rich are these people?

Elspeth sighs. “Everybody just goes to ruin, I suppose.”

A moment of silence passes, and then Pamela’s soft voice breaks through again. “Where is Liverpool?”

“What?!” I say, keeping my voice low enough that only Venetia will hear.

“I know,” She says, leaning forward across the chess table. “I love Mum, I really do, but I swear she has a knack for befriending the most daft people on the fucking planet.”

I laugh, and move my last remaining rook to take one of her knights. The fact that she’s exempted her mother from that category just adds another layer of humor to the whole thing, and I don’t bother fighting back my grin.

Venetia pores over the board for a minute before moving her other knight with deft fingers, knocking out one of my bishops. I sigh, resting my elbow back on the edge of the table to prop my head up in my hand again. There’s no way I’m coming back from this.

From the library, Farleigh’s voice catches my attention. “It’s called Prescot.”

“Oh, it’ll be some awful slum.” Pamela says, pity dripping from her voice.

“Mm.” Elspeth agrees. “Some sort of hovel-ish squat. And both his parents were dealing. God, and his mother’s a drunk. I mean, babies can be really affected. Traumatized.”

“Oh, they come out drunk.” Pamela adds, sounding grave.

“Is that right that he had to put his fingers down his mother’s throat to make her sick?” Elspeth asks.

I don’t catch the answer to her question, because I’m suddenly aware of a pair of eyes on me. I look up to see Venetia gazing out into the hall, a slow smile spreading over her face. She breathes out a laugh, and I turn my head to follow her eyes.

A short boy stands in the hall just outside the library, his blue plaid shirt buttoned up all the way to the top. There’s an air of meekness about him, and everything about the way he’s styled himself reeks of insecurity. His eyes flick between Venetia and I, seemingly unsure of who to settle on. I make the decision for him, and turn back to look at Venetia, a grin playing at the corner of my lips.

Oliver disappears, and from the library, Farleigh’s voice booms.

“And here he is now! We were just talking about you!”

Venetia rises from her seat, and I follow her lead, a knowing smile on my face. If there’s one thing I’ve come to know about Venetia, it’s that she likes her men pathetic. The sort of boys that have never really been on the receiving end of female attention before, and once they get a taste, would bend over backwards to get their fix. He’s just her type.

She rolls her eyes at my look. “Stop.”

“I didn’t even say anything.” I say, teasing.

“I know what you were thinking - and I’m not going to! It’ll upset Felix.” She says, giving me a knowing look before turning to walk into the library.

“Sure.” I drawl, following her in. Maybe not now, but in a few weeks, when we’re all bored out of our minds and it’s unbearably hot? I’m sure her resolve will break.

Elspeth is giving Oliver the same once over that she gave me when we walk into the library. “Has Venetia seen you yet? Oh my god, she’ll die. She’s been draping herself about the house all day hoping you’ll come across her.”

Venetia rolls her eyes as she plops down on the sofa, patting the arm next to her. I perch there, and she leans against me, resting her head against my thighs.

Behind us, Farleigh snickers from behind his laptop. “As it were.”

James ambles over to shake Oliver’s hand, and Venetia shifts, turning her head to shoot a look at Farleigh. “Stop it. I’m not going to.”

Farleigh raises his hands, placating but teasing all the same. “I never said you were.”

“I did.” I say, grinning down at Venetia. “But I’ve since been told I’m wrong.” I pick up a few strands of her hair and start braiding them together across my lap.

Elspeth pulls Oliver with her back to the couch, placing him between herself and Pamela. I watch his eyes nervously dart around the room as I work on Venetia’s hair and a twinge of sympathy hits me. He and I are in the same boat, in a way. I was doing the same just a few days ago.

“Pamela, darling, can you go and find Annie and ask about tea?” Elspeth asks.

It takes Pamela a moment to register the question. “Yeah.” She says, hesitantly rising from the couch. “Yeah. Who, which…which ones that?”

“You’ll find her darling. Annie.”

Pamela takes a step towards the hall. “Where-?”

Elspeth’s grin tightens. “You’ll work it out darling.”

Almost steeling herself, Pamela says, “Okay. I’m going to work it out.”

James glances away from the television for a moment. “Kitchen.”

“Off you pop.” Elspeth says.

Pamela lingers for a moment, and then steps out into the hall, muttering under her breath. “Ah, the kitchen. Kitchen. So, Annie in the kitchen... Annie in the kitchen.”

I finish off my braid and begin working on another as Elspeth lets out a long sigh. “Poor dear Pamela. She's been staying with us while she gets back on her feet. She's had an awful

time this year. Hideous. But oh! Oliver- so have you! God, I'm so sorry to hear about your father.

How utterly, utterly tragic. I've lost so many friends to addiction. So, so many dear, dear friends.

It's the root of Poor Pamela's horrors too I'm afraid.”

Farleigh doesn’t look up from his laptop as he adds, “And the only interesting thing

about her.”

“Farleigh!” Elspeth shoots him a look over her shoulder. I resist the urge to snicker, lest I be given the same stare, but Venetia catches my eye and a little laugh slips out of my lips. She grins as well, lips pressed together.

Elspeth turns back to Oliver. “No, she is rather dull actually. But she's so beautiful. You have to admit she's very beautiful. But it's only ever really been a curse. I mean, the men Oliver. You wouldn't believe it. The latest one is some ghastly Russian billionaire. Malignantly ugly, of

course. She's been holed up here for months hiding from him.”

It’s largely the same conversation that I had with Elspeth when Venetia and I arrived, so I find myself tuning out, more focused on making little braids all throughout Venetia’s hair than Elspeth’s explanation of poor dear Pamela. Still, as Elspeth talks, I can’t help but feel that little twinge of anxiety that’s becoming more familiar the longer I’m here. The importance placed on Pamela’s beauty - the black-tie dinners every night that have me poring through Venetia’s closet - the casual way that Elspeth talks about addiction and tragedy - it’s all a reminder that I don’t fit in here. That I’m really just here for Venetia’s entertainment.

I start another braid in her hair, and try not to think about it too much.

< previous part | next part >

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egg-emperor · 1 year

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can you imagine how metal must have felt about being left to rot on little planet by Eggy? A year all alone on another planet😭.

Poor Metal, immediately after his first failure after the race with Sonic he learned the hard way how disposable he was to Eggman when he was abandoned by him. And that emphasis of him being "left alone" in the Sonic 4 bio too, damn

I wonder if he woke up at any point even briefly for that to hit him. And worse is the next time he awakened again was by Eggman zapping him and immediately demanding him to go after Sonic. Must've made him realize it's the only way he's worth coming back for in Eggman's eyes is when he can be useful in his plans

Could be some of the reasons why he ends up betraying him more than once, alongside all the other poor treatment he's bound to be given by him that we don't get to see!

And it's not even the only time, like when Eggman kicked him and left him alone throughout the harsh weather for weeks

He even seemed to appear to be too depressed to get up, not even after being discovered by Amy, almost letting a tree fall on him, and he didn't fight back when she hit him with her hammer and still didn't want to even stand as he kept letting himself fall back down

Amy felt more for Metal there than Eggman ever has and will

and that was the point of the short, Amy feeling bad and showing kindness to an enemy in a way that even his creator doesn't

And even when Eggman takes him in only when he's delivered to his front door, he neglects the damage done to him (aside from a half assed band-aid on his dented in head lol) and uses him as a foot rest and goes to sleep. What an asshole!

Not to mention him also abandoning Metal after his betrayal in Heroes. But this is proof that it isn't just when he betrays him, even if Metal is loyal and gives it his all, Eggman will still easily discard him the moment he disappoints him enough and doesn't see further use in him.

#asks #dr eggman #eggman #dr robotnik #dr. eggman #metal sonic #eggdad #amy rose #my post #hits

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sullustangin · 9 months

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SWTOR Secret Santa 2023

This is for @levedor-legacy for the SWTOR Secret Santa 2023 – thank you @frauleiiin for running this!

Here’s a Life Day story starring “a deadly can of Arizona Iced Tea,” the Himbolorian himself, Orriel Devero.

Orriel stared at the Galactic Trade Network.

…Math was hard.

Life Day was one of Orriel’s favorite holidays of the year. He knew it was expensive, so he made it point to pick up a few extra bounties. He even did some of the silly ones that really didn’t require a bounty hounter, but hey, if they were willing pay to see him get mauled by an agitated loth cat stuck in a tree, Orriel would do it.

He went to scratch his head, but then he remembered that he still had his helmet on – always did on Vaiken. The problem was the Life Day sales. Were they really sales? Or had the prices been jacked up a few weeks before and now there was a ‘sale’? Orriel wasn’t a genius, but he was streetwise enough to know a few tricks people used to boost sales.

Sale or not, credits came in on the regular – Orriel was a damn good bounty hunter. Hell, he was the Grand Champion of the Great Hunt. That said, Gault was the one who tracked the credits and investments, and Mako made sure all those credits continued to exist for Orriel – not Gault.

Somehow, though, whenever Life Day rolled around, Orriel felt uneasy about whether he’d have enough. Anxiety wasn’t his thing but… he wanted to get it right for everyone.

…well, almost everyone. Orriel still wasn’t sure what to do about the newest crewmember. It probably hadn’t been the best idea to pick up a new crewmember from Belsavis, the Pub’s secret prison planet. At the time, Orriel had needed a hand, and he never really knew how to end a contract with someone…

Ok, so he did, but that was going to be a mess for 2V to clean up, and even droids deserved Life Day. And Skadge seemed like one of those guys that would always turn up again, even if he was dumped on an abandoned asteroid. Fortunately, he kept mostly to himself underdecks. He had little interest in the other members of the crew.

It wasn’t just the new crewmember that had Orriel worried about the finances for Life Day gifts. There was Mako.

…she was his best gal. His only gal, if he was really honest. He wanted to get something special, but… whenever he looked at the ads for rings and stuff like that, none of the women were like Mako. They didn’t have dirt and oil under their nails, and they definitely didn’t seem to know their way around a blaster or a kolto probe. In the type of work they did, a ring that could get dented, broken, or have the stone fall out was no good. Or it could get stuck on her finger and have to be chopped off – Mandos liked women with scars and battle wounds, but Orriel was pretty sure Mako wanted to keep all of her fingers, regardless of how hot he thought it was.

A group gift from the entire crew was considered, to play it safe… but Orriel wanted it to be from him – just him. Advice for personal gifts to girls was also not probably going to be found on-ship; the only person he knew that had a girlfriend in the past was Gault, and that apparently didn’t end well for her.

“Orriel! Su'cuy, vod!” Orriel turned at Torian’s greeting.

“You got everything you needed?” Orriel asked.

“Had a plan. Carried it out. Easy enough,” Torian replied.

“Ori’jate.” Orriel eyed the GTN kiosk. “…did you get a gift for everyone?”

“Yeah. Having trouble?”

Orriel nodded. “No idea what to get for someone who makes the ship run. How do you express how much you appreciate them?”

Torian sagely nodded. Then he told him, “Explosives.”

Orriel stared at Torian. “Seriously?”

“Don’t overcomplicate things,” Torian advised him. “I know we buy Blizz ordinance weekly, but sometimes ‘more’ of a person’s favorite things is exactly what they want.”

Oh. Orriel touched his hand to his helmet. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then he stopped, and slowly, surely, he had a thought. “Torian, did we keep the scraps around from when we recast my helmet?”

“Think so. Have to check the cargo bay.”

“Great. Grab a crate of iced tea from the station cantina, and I’ll meet you back at the ship.”

Somehow, accidentally, Skadge was left at Vaiken. Somehow, for unknown reasons, none of his messages were getting through the main comm boards.

Blizz told Orriel that he’d fix it … after Life Day. “Blizz need to fix engine room. New guy messy. No system!” Orriel had been completely unaware of any system of organization created by Blizz, but he took the little guy’s word for it.

Torian had been right; Blizz just wanted more explosives, and he was happy as a droid in an oil bath. “Thanks, Boss!”

Gault, as usual, had printed “GIFT CARDS OR CREDITS” across the top of his LIFE DAY GIFT LIST. He had plastered numerous copies of the list to the interior of the windshield of the Mantis, so Orriel would get the hint this year. He did.

Torian’s gift was one that that Orriel took some pride in. He’d managed to source some spare parts for Torian’s antique techstaff; it’d been passed down on his mother’s side for centuries. Techstaffs themselves hadn’t evolved very much, but that particular model had been discontinued way, way before Torian was born. Orriel knew a guy who knew a guy, and the well-packaged crate had arrived well ahead of Life Day.

Torian hadn’t said much – never did. But Orriel didn’t miss how those blue eyes sparkled at the sight of the parts and then how quickly he’d disappeared off to the ship’s worktable.

Orriel smiled at the small pile of gifts on the dashboard. He wasn’t that hard to shop for: give him gas canisters and cartridges, a vibroknife, and explosives, and he was happy.

That said, Mako had done the best: she got him a new weapons rack that latched into both of his closet doors. When the door was opened, it expanded out to its full size, but when the door closed, it got all nice and compact. Mako was the absolute best.

And when the chrono clicked over and Gault came up to the cockpit, it was time for Mako to get her gift.

Gault clapped his shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Orriel gave Gault a quizzical look, then he headed below to the crew quarters. Mako, being the only girl on the ship, got her own little partition, and that’s where he found her, scrolling through the Holonet on her datapad. She immediately looked up when Orriel leaned in her doorway and gave him a smile. “Hey.”

“Thanks for weapons rack. How’d you get it in there?”

Mako got up from her bunk and walked past him into the hallway. “Blizz says we need to do duct maintenance. Really dusty in there, and the last thing you want is any mouse – droid or otherwise – nesting in there.” Mako tossed a teasing grin over her shoulder as she made her way toward the big viewport.

“Blizz is awesome,” Orriel said, as he followed her. “He seemed really, really happy with all the ordnance.”

“I don’t want to hear it when one of you blows your hand off.” Mako rolled her eyes, but he knew she was teasing him.

And that was his opening. “Yeah, and see, that’s why I didn’t get you a ring. Hand blown off, no more ring!”

Mako looked at him as if he was nuts.

“You’d still be cute, but I didn’t want you risk losing anything because of our line of work – statistically more likely to get injure—” Orriel trailed off at she continued to stare at him like he'd grown a tail.

Ok, probably not the best idea to talk about casualty statistics with her on Life Day right before giving her a present. “But I still want to give you something you can wear, all the time.” He tapped his armor’s chest pocket, and the hydraulics hissed open. “So I’m always with you.”

Her face immediately went soft at those words.

Carefully, Orriel fished the chain out of his pocket. He held it up to dangle between him and Mako. The ring threaded upon it spun and reflected the light of some nearby sun shining through the viewport.

Mako stepped forward, her eyes large, to gently cup the bottom of the chain in her hand, letting Orriel hang onto it for now. “It….it’s green. And the ring– pink –” She stared at it a moment longer. “It’s from your armor?” she whispered.

Orriel nodded, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, ruffling up his red hair. “When Torian and I recast my helmet, we saved the scraps and the shavings for patches, but then…you.” He rested his hand on the back of his neck for a few moments before gesturing toward her. I—Listen, I don’t know how you feel about the big, big long term – but you should know –”

“Shut up” was the only warning Orriel had before Mako pounced on him, sending the armored figure clattering to the floor, still valiantly holding up the necklace –

Which was soon snatched away and quickly worn.

It was a most excellent Life Day.

#swtor #swtor secret santa 2023 #oc: orriel devero #levedor legacy #bounty hunter oc #torian cadera #mako #blizz

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