#ZERO ZERO ZERO FIVE FROM A ROCKET SHIP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pareidoliaonthemove · 4 months

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The Pitch

Deep in space the rocket ship powered forward, a small blue star, millions of miles behind it, its place of origin: Earth.

Before it, and steadily growing larger was its destination: Mars. The Red Planet, glowing against the endless darkness of the universe.

From the cockpit of the rocket ship Mars pushed the endless tracts of space from the view port, and the two astronauts, flicking switches and pushing buttons on the massively complicated control panels, activated the powerful rocket motors to send their ship roaring into the alien atmosphere.

From the base of rocket red flames belched smoke as the engines battled against the planets gravity. Winds laden with red dust were diverted for the first time by the hand of man.

Over the radio, one of the astronauts counted down, “Fifty feet … Forty-five … Forty feet …” The red sands of Mars moved, slightly at first, and then greater gouts of dust were kicked up as the rocket ship bore down on the surface. “Ten feet … Nine … Eight … Seven … Six … Five … Four … Three … Two … One … Touchdown! We have Touchdown!”

A softer voice, faint and crackly with the distance from the Earth was heard. “Congratulations, Lander. Everything here checks out, you are Go for disembark.”

“Roger, Control. Lander is Go for disembark.”

On the side of the rocket, a small door opens, a swirl of dust obscures the opening, and clears to show an astronaut, silhouetted by the internal lights. Ponderously he climbs down the ladder, turns and pauses, before striding out to place the first human foot on the Red Planet. “Another step in Humanity’s great journey of exploration.”

Soon after the second astronaut follows, and both start moving across the desolate landscape. Suddenly one wave to the other. “Over here, I’ve found them!”

The other joins his crewmate, and one uses a grabber to pick up an object. He holds it up to examine it, before declaring: “No distance is too far … to get a Mars Bar!”

The film paused on the smiling face of the astronaut framed in his helmet behind the Mars Bar held bottom left of the screen. The lights in the small conference room come up, and the three advertising people beamed widely, unnaturally white teeth gleaming in the artificial light.

“Of course, Mr Tracy, in the real film you will be the ‘lead’ astronaut; the first out of the rocket to recreate your first steps, and the one to speak the tag line. Captain Taylor, you will be the second astronaut, the one who ‘finds’ the Mars Bar.”

Captain Lee Taylor glanced across at his openly horrified friend and beyond him, Lucille Tracy, was clearly a woman who had just witnessed a train wreck.

He smirked. Those two were current out of commission, so it was down to good ol’ Lee to sort things out.

“Well, Lizzy,” he began, ignoring the woman’s hiss of irritation and muttered “Jessie”; “I’m sure it’ll be a whizz bang job for your company. Sell ‘em candies by the truck load.”

The two advertising executives and the representative for Mars company all brightened. Clearly, they agreed, and thought he was going to sign up for his role.

“But there’s one little problem, and it ain’t so little, when ya really get down to it.”

‘Lizzy’s’ colleague frowned. “A problem?”

“Yup. Th’ Space Agency ‘owns’ that line.” Blank stares. “Y’know ‘Another step…’ blah blah blah. They own it. Can’t use it for advertising without their permission.” An exaggerated frown. “An’ I’m pretty sure they already turned you down for a – whaddya call it again? Oh yeah – a ‘public relations collaboration’ way back when the mission was on.”

Jeff goraned. “They wanted us eating the damned things on live tv from the space ship, and on Mars.”

Lee snorted. “Even if the agency hadn’t nixed that idea, I’da done it. An’ so woulda th’ rest a the crew.” He indicated Jeff with a thumb. “Chocolate upsets his guts in zero-g. Weren’t no way in hell we were gonna breathe that stink all th’ way t’ Mars an’ back.”

Jeff glared at him. “I’m not that bad, Lee.”

Lee smirked at him. “The hell you aren’t, Jeff. We got back from that first equipment drop at Alphie, the techs spent two dang weeks pulling that ship apart, ‘cause it smelled so bad in there, they thought a skunk musta got in an’ died!”

Lucy giggled from behind her hands, and watched the pitch team turn slowly green at the thought. The argument beside her was starting to heat up, so she cleared her throat. Loudly.

Jeff and Lee immediately quieted down and turned back to her. Typical. People thought she was the mother of four kids, with one on the way. In truth, she was the (very) pregnant mother of five kids, with a nephew who randomly landed on her doorstep.

She turned her attention back to the advertising team. “As Lee pointed out, you’d have to do an extraordinary amount of work to get the rights to use that line for advertising purposes. There’s also the matter of Jeff and Lee’s binding contracts: they cannot participate in any activity that may be mistaken as being approved by the Space Agency without their express sign off. I sincerely doubt that you would be able to get them to agree to this advertising campaign.”

She glanced at Jeff, who took up the ball. “As you know, I have left the Space Agency, in favour of running my own business. I have to consider Tracy Engineering Industries, and how any public appearances may affect its interests. I’m afraid I cannot see how participating in your advertising campaign would benefit my company.”

Lee chimed in, “And you were sayin’ you’d banned chocolate from the house cause that was all young … uh … Jason? Jamie?”

“John.” It was sighed.

“Yeah, that’s the one! How he was refusin’ ta eat anything but chocolate.”

Jeff looked evenly at the three people across the table from him, and controlled a flash of guilt. They were deflated, and looked like he’d kicked their puppy. Which, he supposed, he had.

“I am terribly sorry, gentleman, ma’am; I thank you for your kind offer–”

“We could rework the line! Change it! And we could put your company logo on the rocket! Double-up on the advertising!” The company representative blurted out the idea, and the other two, immediately started muttering together, apparently trying to figure out an acceptable alternative for the words the Space Agency’s public relations team had sent two years writing.

Jeff paused, considering. Three hopeful faces were again watching him.

A glance either side of him, seeking input from Lucy and Lee, settled the matter.

“As I said, I … that is we thank you for your kind offer, but we will not be accepting.”

It took some time to extract themselves from the room, and more time to be allowed to depart the building, but finally Jeff stepped out onto the pavement with his wife and his best friend on either side of him.

He wrapped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and turned to Lee. “Now tell the truth, did you really want to do that ad?”

Lee shrugged. “Woulda been fun. But th’ Agency would nevera gone for it. Sayin’ no here an’ now saved everyone a whole lotta wasted time.” He punched Jeff. “Anyways, what I said wouldnta mattered. They was only after you. Whole thing lived or died on your say so. Th’ big damn hero with the big damn dimples.”

Lee ducked the swiped hand easily. “I don’t have dimples, Lee,” Jeff muttered.

Lucy smirked. “At least, not on your face.”

She disentangled herself from her husband as both men gaped at her in shock.

“Lucy!” that was Jeff.

Lee’s reaction was much more entertaining. “Oh, god, no! Dammit, Lucy, too much information! Don’t need to know nothin’ about his rear end other than if it’s loaded for gas attack! Oh, god. That’s it! You’re gonna find me some brain bleach to clean that outta my mind.”

Laughing, the three of them stepped out from the shelter of the building, set on enjoying a rare afternoon with no responsibilities.

Just three friends enjoying life.

Notes:

I found this old tv advertisement for Mars Bars on YouTube. And then I started thinking.

It’s a dangerous thing for me to do.

Also, the fart joke crept in there and hijacked the end. Sorry about that.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the TOS or CGI Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

Oh, and Mars Bars were DEFINITELY harmed in the making of this fic!

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #fanfic #my fanfic #jeff tracy #lee taylor #lucille tracy #mars bars

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theoperativeif · 6 months

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Admiral Elia Short Story

Below is one of the first short stories I ever wrote for The Operative for my patreon. It is about an early event in Elia Anderson's career, at this time the Empreza was a small cruiser. Its namesake would years later be adopted by the Admiral's new flagship. I hope you lovely readers enjoy it. <3

Imperial Year 195, Deep in Commonwealth Space

The blue of the Farris Nebula glimmered through the bridge screens of the Jay-class light cruiser, the UEG Empreza, bathing the dark interior in its brilliance. Officers stood in rigid silence, the quiet, notable clicks from the sensor operator cutting through the silence. The young man slowly adjusted the computer's settings, the glow of the screen further lighting up his face.

He looked scared, Captain Anderson noted from behind him. She made a mental note to encourage growth in him. It had been thirty weeks since they had been dispatched into Commonwealth space, and they had nothing to show for it yet. Neither had the three other light cruisers. Elia couldn’t see them on the sensors but she knew they were there, just as she was, waiting.

Several hours after their trap was set, something appeared. A convoy, most likely from the nearby farming planet of Frumentum. Slowly, one after the other, the ships' unique signatures appeared. The front half of the signature denoted the ship class, followed by its version, and then the unique part of the signature, true only to this ship.

Click.

“Piranha-class escort destroyer number five,” the operator noted, another click indicating its distinct signature was recorded. “That brings the escort to a total of six ships.”

Elia frowned, leaning forward and tapping the display of the sixth ship. “What is that?” she asked. Her parents had drilled nearly every commonly used ship class signature into her, many late nights spent over authentic military data from her father’s time in command. This one, she didn’t recognize.

Click. Click. Click.

The young man looked over the database for several minutes before finally marking it as new. New class, new version, and new ship. But it didn’t matter; she would make sure to ruin this new prize.

“Let's name it target zero,” Elia said, her eyes slowly working their way over the initial scans of the ship as she pondered the ship's complement. “Weapons,” Elia said, glancing over at Weapons Officer Orlov, “get me a solution for the Mark Twos on that big whale in the back, regular sevens for our regular targets.” The doctrine under a pack ambush was very simple; being the farthest ship in the formation, they would take the back two targets, both of them hopefully being transports bringing in war materials.

“Captain.”

“Yes?” Elia looked back at the young man, who was frowning at the screen.

“The back transport, it’s different from the rest. Look at the signature right there.” Elia squinted at the long signature, noticing the gap, thin as a piece of paper but still there. “Modified civilian liner, most likely a converted troop transport,” Elia mused, gesturing to Orlov. “Get me another missile ready for that one.”

Elia waited patiently, her eyes admiring the interior of the Empreza. It was a dark, cramped space; consoles took up most of the room, with long boxes nearly extending all the way to the ceiling. Bright viewscreens were their only sight of what lay beyond the hull plating. Looking down at the young man seated below her, Elia finally addressed him by name.

“Mr. Hyatt, where did you learn your signatures?”

“Onboard the Giuliano, Ma’am.” He looked up at her nervously.

“Ah, Captain Ceres’ craft. A lot less cramped,” Elia said, giving the console the lightest kick to accentuate her point before noting his unease. “You did fine. Stay on those signatures and the sensors. It’s about to kick off.”

“Captain, solutions completed, rockets ready to fire,” Orlov said gruffly, turning a dial before looking to her.

Elia took a long breath, adjusting her uniform slightly before glancing down at the stopwatch clutched in her hand. Beyond old school, but she didn’t care; up on the view screen, a synced countdown was slowly dwindling lower and lower. When it reached zero, the pack would all fire off their rockets then withdraw. Each Jay-class was fast; they would elude any short-term pursuit, and no captain would be crazy enough to pursue a pack off into the darkness.

The countdown hit zero as Elia gestured to Orlov. “Fire.”

Silence followed as the sensors lit up, picking up their missiles launching into view, then more as the other members of their little hunting pack also fired. She watched as the blips soared off, inching closer and closer to the edge of range. At the farthest edge of their range, the convoy slowly plowed along.

Finally, one of the escort ships for the convoy spotted the missiles. The map lit up as streaks of light shot out onto the screen. Flak guns, decoys, and other countermeasures were all fired off, some forming long lines across the screen.

Two of them, a Piranha-class and the newer warship, turned to place themselves between the convoy and the missiles.

"That would cost them," Elia thought, watching as one of the Mark Two missiles was destroyed by hardpoint fire. "Damn."

Watching the second, Elia tensed as that one was also destroyed, but quickly breathed a sigh of relief as the smaller and more nimble Mark Seven missiles dodged around the ships, slamming into a regular freighter as well as the modified transport in the back. The two ships exploded, debris flying outward in all directions.

"Perfect hits," Elia thought as her bridge crew gave a quick cheer.

The extra missile she had launched was also shot down.

“Alright, set course for the rendezvous coordinates, full speed.”

The Empreza lurched as its engines roared to life, the ship making a speedy turn as three blips representing the rest of the pack also appeared, each making a similar move.

The two escorts that had been closest were still moving towards them but at vastly reduced speeds, obviously wary of unnoticed ships still waiting to destroy them. The Piranha-class veered off, leaving Target Zero slowly following before coming to a near stop.

They had hesitated, realizing it was fruitless; if they pursued, the pack would separate them and destroy them from ambush.

“Excellent job on those solutions, Orlov,” Elia said, the man bowing his head before looking over to young Mr. Hyatt.

“Good work, kid.”

The young man beamed with the praise as the Empreza made its escape towards a nearby planet’s ring. And like that, the combat had lasted only a few minutes, such was the way of the pack. It certainly wasn’t her style, but if it worked and kept them all alive, why not?

Planet 30349

Eight hours later…

“A job well done, Captain Ducote,” Elia congratulated the superior officer. He was a man many years her senior, who commanded The Iliad. Ducote was a strange man, one mired in the swamps of rumors and hyperbole. It was said that the only reason he was even out here was due to an encounter with a Governor's wife. Other stories suggested cowardliness. She was partial to the latter, as he had often ordered a withdrawal before combat even began.

“Yes, I suppose it is satisfactory. Three ships destroyed, my compliments to your crew, Anderson,” he said, nodding his head.

The pack was positioned just above the planet's ring; the Iliad had to conduct repairs on its missile launchers, which had been damaged while approaching the ring.

Captains Poulder of the Kulan and Reyes of the Gius were also present on the screen, both waiting to report their ships' status to Ducote.

While they were discussing, Elia excused herself, walking over to Mr. Hyatt with a coffee firmly in her hands. She took in the lovely smell of it before taking a sip. She relied on the stuff; it kept her awake through days of no sleep, and it also kept some of the hunger pains away. There was no time to eat during battle. Speaking of which, she wondered what the cook would whip up for her.

Dismissing the sensor operator, she called for the next shift to take the officer stations. She swayed slightly, her stomach and legs having a competition to see which one could cause her more pain. "Traitorous body parts," she thought, "I would remove them for mutiny." She laughed to herself, glancing over at the communications officer.

“Please have Mr. Elroy prepare me something. I haven’t eaten since...” She stopped herself, trying to remember when she last ate; the days ran together at this point. “Never mind, have him kindly send it to my quarters. Mr. Kelce, you have the bridge.”

Waiting for the confirmation, she turned and walked off the bridge, making her way through the maze of tight corridors to her cabin. Calmly retrieving her key, she opened the door.

Her cabin was not much bigger than the nearby officer rooms, the only exception being she didn’t have to share it with another officer from an opposite shift. She ducked into the doorway, closing and locking the door behind her. Her cabin had a small desk on the right with a computer and a chair, which took up the entire center floor. Her bunk was on the left with a small curtain separating the room in half that could be drawn.

Sighing, she pushed the chair back before sitting on the stiff bed, slowly pulling her boots off before setting them aside for a moment. Her feet objected as she stood up again, grabbing the chair and looking over her messages. Most were general updates from either the other captains in the pack or a general note from The Admiralty they had received when they last connected to a network outpost's signal. Then two messages caught her eye, one in particular making her burst into a wide smile.

But business first. She read over the lines slowly, frowning and then reading them over again.

“Warning for all pack commanders: Several packs destroyed along zones four and five. Use extreme caution if assigned to those zones.

Rachael Hernandez, Rear Admiral”

Fourth Fleet Command

They were in zone six, but right along the border with zone five. Surely Ducote and the others had seen this; she guessed that they had deemed it as not applying to them. Maybe the Commander sought to make a point to his superiors about his delicate position. Forwarding it to the Captains again, Elia finally got to the other message, this one far less formal.

“I think I found a house for us. It's back in the old district, just outside the Nikko Park. When you get back, I can arrange for us to go look at it. My ship should still be in dock when you return, so we will have lots of time together. Maybe go to that restaurant Muldoon is always raving about. I swear he somehow finds some of the best food around. But anyway, I am hoping every day for your safety, my love. I know you can take on the world at your leisure, but my heart can’t handle that every day. So please, be careful.

P.S. I tried some more of that special coffee you like; it still sucks.

Sincerely yours always,

J.R.”

Elia smiled, looking over at the picture on her desk. A thin woman dressed in a stark blue long coat stood with a smile on her face, her lips a brilliant red, and her hazel eyes filling the world with warmth. She would definitely look forward to some time for them soon. She leaned back in her chair until the headrest bumped the wall, closing her eyes, she imagined them walking the paths of the national park, the peace and quiet, the beauty, and more.

“Captain Anderson to the bridge.”

Elia shot from her seat, instantly turning to look at the time. She had dozed off, but it had only been thirty minutes. What could be happening? Putting on her boots before rushing out the door, she passed Mr. Elroy, the tray of food in his hand. She snatched the brand-new cup of coffee off his tray. “Sorry,” she muttered, not hearing his annoyed reply as she rushed to the bridge.

Entering, she quickly noticed the sensor operator was still where she had last seen him; she frowned, also noticing the Captains still all on the screen.

“Mr. Hyatt, you were supposed to be relieved.”

“Yes, Captain, but something was bugging me about that mystery ship, and Chief Mate Kelce said it would be ok.”

She cast a tired glance back towards the Chief Mate who gestured back to the young man. “Go on, what about it?”

The man paused, switching through several screens before freezing, his eyes planted on the screen.

“Well?”

Click. Click.

Elia froze at the familiar sound, quickly looking down. Beyond the debris that made up the ring, a single signal pinged in and out; the barest flicker of a signature made its way towards them, fast.

“Battle stations!” Elia called out, the lights inside quickly turning low and red as the crew rushed to their stations, an alarm blaring.

“Battle stations,” the other Captains echoed without question.

“Signature approaching, could be a transport,” Captain Ducote confirmed, also bent over his sensor operator’s console. “I'm arming missiles, fan out and have countermeasures ready.”

“What does the signature match?” Elia asked, looking at Mr. Hyatt.

“Captain, it's Target Zero. Closing fast, opposite the ring, then us.”

Elia was shocked, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead before looking over to the other Captains still on the screens. They had all been communicating actively; they would be lighting up like lights on that ship's sensors, but there shouldn’t have been a ship anywhere close to here, let alone one they left in the dust. This was all wrong.

“At least it won’t be able to fire until it's past the debris field, maybe we—” Reyes was silenced as his ship's alarms blared, as did the others, as a missile appeared from the debris field, heading straight towards Reyes.

In just a couple of seconds, Reyes's screen shook as his ship was tossed by the explosion, sparks flying up from a console near him. “Fire the moment the solution is locked! Damage report?”

“We took a hit between sections two and—” The screen winked out as suddenly Elia was nearly thrown from her standing position; the Empreza shook and groaned as debris slammed into it.

“Screens,” Elia ordered as the Captains all disappeared, replaced with a view of the carcass of the ship next to them.

Behind it, a large black mass, about two times the size of her ship, barreled through, and then at point-blank range fired an array of missiles and cannon fire into the pack. Elia noted four cannons on it as it passed. It screamed by the three remaining ships, its first barrage of missiles missing by mere feet.

“All weapons to local controls! Get us on that bastard's tail!”

Chaff shimmered in the view screens as well as decoy beacons launched from the ships. The Empreza chased behind Zero while the other two fanned out, their cannons slowly turning towards the ship. Elia watched as her gunners took experimental shots at the craft now barreling away from them.

“Helmsman, I want you to keep us behind him, missile control ready our Mark Twos.”

Elia started her watch as the missiles were prepared, the ship still speeding away from them. Seconds dragged to minutes as the ship quickly outpaced them with shocking speed. It was faster than them; as it neared the outer sensor range, it suddenly began to flicker before vanishing.

Silence blanketed the bridge in its false hope, as everyone stared at their screens, waiting for the return of the alarms. The red lights slowly flashed in the background, bathing Elia’s vision in a tinted form of hell.

“Well, Mr. Hyatt, kindly relay your original idea to me,” Elia said, crossing her arms.

“When we first recorded it, we were keeping constant contact with its signature, but when we engaged them, the signature changed. It was nearly unnoticeable, but our sensors caught it; for barely a second, our Target Zero was a match for an unknown cruiser spotted at the front lines.” He pointed to an after-action report by a heavy cruiser captain who had been engaged by a small but deadly opponent. The heavy cruiser drove it off but not before it had wiped out its destroyer escorts.

“Send that to Captain Ducote, and slow us down,” Elia said, looking uneasily at the screens. If we can break contact, we may be able to make a run for a jump point, she thought.

After a few more tense minutes, Captain Ducote’s face appeared on the screen, his face unreadable. “Anderson, you and Poulder cover the Iliad’s withdrawal. We are making our way to the jump site now; we will wait for you there.”

Elia tensed, waiting just a moment too long. “Yes, Sir.” The screen blinked out as the dot representing the Iliad began to turn, heading for the coordinates to the jump point to take them back to Imperial space. She looked over at the sensor console with a questioning look.

“Uh, I am not reading any damage from here, Captain,” the man replied, looking down.

Click.

It was back already; the dot representing Target Zero was barreling towards them, from out of nowhere, it just seemed to appear there.

“Cannons to local controls again, helm, bring us to an intercept course, weapons, I want solutions this time, Orlov.”

She pulled out her watch, eyes glued to the two dots on the screen now screaming towards each other.

They were both closing so fast that the cannons began firing just as the missile solutions gave the green light.

“Fire and adjust course, take us,” Elia paused, scanning through star charts, her finger settling on a portion of the planetary rings that held larger asteroids and debris. She selected it, watching as the helmsman adjusted the course before she even finished the order. “There.”

The ship shook again, the hull pinging as several shells skimmed off its armor. Then one hit, its fuse detonating so close to the hull that sparks flared outward.

Elia watched as two missiles soared out at the ship. It rolled slowly before making an evasive turn, its turrets trying to take down the missiles. Suddenly, a shot from the Empreza hit home, causing a small but noticeable detonation beneath the hull.

Both missiles, unfortunately, failed to score hits, but it had at least disrupted the ship's course.

At least one hit, then. She watched as Poulder's ship mirrored her ship's course; it soon loosed its own set of missiles which streamed past them. And like that, they were once again in a chase. Zero slowly made its wide turn to try and avoid the additional torpedoes.

Then one hit. Just behind where she assumed the bridge was, there was a large explosion on the screen. The bridge began to cheer, but Elia silenced them. It wasn’t over.

Click.

The dark shape emerged, damage to some of its plating evident, but still under its own power, and still barreling down on them.

“Time to the ring?”

“Thirty minutes.”

The chase to the ring was relatively calm, save for one exchange of missiles. The three ships maintained distance from one another as the ring slowly began to fill the view screen. Even though they had just been sitting above it earlier, it really was a marvel. Everything from debris to asteroids and even moonlets all spun and slowly moved along the enormous planetary ring. It also gave the two running ships time to coordinate; to her surprise, Poulder was receptive to her idea.

“Find me a larger asteroid, one that can fit our profiles.”

After a few seconds, an image of a large asteroid filled the screen. Time to arrival: ten minutes. “Fire off another missile, this time use a MIRV; that should get him to move.”

Elia watched as the missile sped off towards Zero. When it had closed the distance, the missile exploded outward, and eight separate warheads shot out. Target Zero banked hard, the ship barely dodging warheads as it fell further behind. Good.

“Poulder, are you going to be ready?” Elia asked.

“Yes, helm is ready.”

“Let's do it then. Commence maneuver.”

Poulder's ship banked upwards, climbing slightly above the debris. The Empreza, on the other hand, plunged straight past the enormous asteroid before diving hard. Holding onto the railing, Admiral Anderson felt uneasy. Which target would they pick? If they picked her ship…

She gritted her teeth, shaking off doubts; she would still win. Turning and gesturing to Orlov, she gave the orders, “Arm everything we have; if he comes around that corner, I want every goddamn missile to launch and every hardpoint to fire.”

Engines slowed as the Empreza was slowly turned around, facing back up at the empty void above them. Then they waited.

“Seal off nonessential compartments,” Elia said before staring at the dot representing Poulder's ship. It pinged, slowly but surely relaying the enemy's position; it was coming for her, fast.

“Captain,” Chief Kelce said, offering a mask and oxygen supply.

“Thank you,” she said, watching as each crew member donned a similar-looking apparatus. There would be no guarantees of air after this fight.

It took five minutes for the dot to reach where they had been before they began the maneuver.

“Fire!” Elia ordered, the crew responding as one. Missile after missile was let loose, soaring out into empty space. Just for a second, the dot almost seemed to stop, her heart skipping before seeing the black shape plunging over the edge and dipping downward, like falling from a waterfall.

She had them.

Missiles struck home, its turrets unable to react to them all in time. Metal glowed red-hot as explosion after explosion struck the ship, crumpling armor.

“Close and stick with her!” she ordered the Empreza, which flipped over with impressive speed, quickly laying into the side of the black ship. Shot after shot either skipped off like stones on a lake or erupted into tiny little pockets of light before vanishing.

The bridge rocked as return fire was received, warnings blared in deafening howls as the ship groaned and shuddered.

“Damage?” Elia asked, looking down at her own screen, red sections of her ship popping out as several sections were torn open to the cold embrace of space.

“We are venting, sealing off affected sections now,” came the response.

Growling, Elia glanced over at Poulder's position. His ship had circled around, firing off its guns from extreme range. It got closer and closer before letting loose everything it had. Timing was crucial; she had saved two missiles for this.

“Fire,” she said gravely, watching more and more sections of her ship glow red.

After a small delay, the missiles launched from close range, from completely different angles to Poulder’s missiles.

Elia watched as noticeably fewer hardpoints fired up at the new batch of missiles, maybe she had disabled some of them. The missiles struck, all of them. A colossal explosion cascaded throughout Target Zero before ripping the ship in two, sending half spinning off into the debris field.

The bridge bucked like a wild animal. If Elia’s boots hadn’t been planted, she would have been thrown into the air, though her legs shot spikes of pain through her.

Shrapnel shot through the bridge, tearing metal and flesh equally as Target Zero’s carcass delivered one last blow. Alarms went silent as the atmosphere vented, leaving Elia in silence.

She breathed slowly, not feeling any pain. She patted herself down before glancing around. Bodies hung like mannequins, blood pumping out in streams as their hearts fought a losing battle.

Some survivors fought to try and fix damaged oxygen masks, ultimately going still as they lost consciousness.

She didn’t look where the sensor operator, Mr. Hyatt, had just been sitting alive earlier, nor did she look at her weapons officer. Instead, she turned to the terrified helmsman as her comms sprung to life, connecting with those still alive on the bridge. “Take us to the jump point, make sure Poulder and the Kulan follow.” She slowly moved to her chair, finally sitting. For just a moment, her whole body roared, biting and stabbing her all over with pains she didn’t know possible, but she ignored them, silenced them to the best of her ability as she contacted engineering. “Report.”

“Best we can get from her is half power, Captain. We will have to limp there or else risk not being able to jump at all.”

“Acknowledged,” she replied, leaning back for a moment, her back racking her with pain.

The helmsman slowly but surely guided them out of the ring. The dot representing Poulder's ship slowly followed alongside them. Silence reigned for the remainder of the trip to the jump point. The bodies stayed exactly where they were, most sections of her ship had been isolated, pockets of loyal crew working in those confined spaces to keep the Empreza limping. Elia thought of Rounet, oh what she would trade to be out of this silent hell and in her arms.

It took them hours to reach the jump point. Ducote and the Iliad had not waited for them. Instead, the Kulan and Empreza, two wounded but very much alive ships of war, jumped into Imperial space and limped their way to safety. Elia quietly sat on the bridge, copying each and every sensor and comms recording from the ship's computer and storing it on a private drive before slipping the tiny disk into her pocket.

Her weariness and pain gave way to anger as she thought of the Iliad slipping away without a scratch. But Ducote’s cowardice was something she could use, something she would use. Her expression turned into a smile as she stared out into space. Yet another rung on the ladder to climb.

Several Months Later...

Captain Anderson stood quietly in front of the large screen in her living room, her eyes scanning the news slowly passing by before switching to a different channel and lowering the volume to almost a whisper.

“This just in, the Imperial Navy has released statements saying the body of Captain Ducote was found in his office this morning with a single gunshot wound to the head. This comes just days after recordings of a recent incident involving the Captain were leaked to the press. Authorities believe that—”

Elia shut off the screen, sipping a small cup of coffee as the bedroom door opened. Jeanne stepped into the room wearing her blue evening gown, earning an eager glance from Elia, who blushed as her wife noticed the look with a raised eyebrow.

“What was that on the news?” Jeanne asked, smiling warmly before hugging Elia and planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Nothing,” Elia said, looking out the windows towards the twinkling night sky. She had plans for both of them, plans that no one would interfere with.

#if: the operative #the operative #the operative short story #writing #patreon short story #short story #interactive fiction #lore

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kayzero · 6 months

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Rhizomes, A Brief History (Part 2)

spoilers for zero escape: virtue’s last reward below the cut

……

The Rhizome Project was named for the shape that the facilities would take, twisted metal moon-bases that would burrow into the surface from their origin point in the center of a crater. The project was announced to the public mid-2027, with the shuttle serving as proof of concept, Rhizome-1, launching November that same year. In February of ‘28, it was announced that Rhizome-1 was fully constructed, and that going forward, each succeeding Rhizome would take even less time to build.

You remembered the memes going around about how astronauts could make an entire colony livable for five families plus the construction team on the moon in less time than it took a crew to put up a single building down on Earth; having been on the moon for just over a week, you just thought that there was nothing else for the astronauts to focus on.

Due to the success and apparent speed of the Rhizome’s construction, more shuttles carrying the wealthiest and most influential families of the world went up to colonize the moon—one every month from May to November. Naturally, when Radical-6 grew from a few isolated incidents into a full-blown global epidemic, a horde of reactionary upper-class families started clamoring for their turn to abandon Earth to its fate and colonize the moon. There were so many of them that the project leaders had to allocate more resources to both the spacefare from the planet to the moon and the actual construction of the Rhizomes, all so they could raise the number of families colonizing the moon in a single Rhizome from five to nine, not including the ship operators and facility’s construction crew.

You had no idea how Akane managed to secure this base. There were actually so many problems with it that it made your head hurt. First of all, the Rhizome Project was headed by the United Nations. The first eight shuttle launches all carried the families of a few ambassadors to protect them from kidnapping attempts for the purpose of extortion. And that was another thing, the naming convention would suggest that this base, Rhizome-9, was the base that was set to launch in December ‘28, which would explain the gap between Rhizome-8 and the Radical-6 panic launches, except it doesn’t make any sense!

You knew intellectually that Crash Keys had to have some great amount of monetary and political resources at their disposal—rocket launches weren’t exactly cheap, and unauthorized rocket launches sure were a great way to get shot down by literally any military organization paying attention, and rockets usually demanded a lot of attention. But you did manage to successfully launch, and on the very last day it was possible—the powderized debris polluting the atmosphere was thick enough that any spacecraft trying to fly through would get every one of their engines clogged, and every person on board would die in a horrible crash.

But you hadn’t put together that the unfinished Rhizome that your ship landed by was a Rhizome Rhizome. Nine upper-middle class families all pooling their money together couldn’t afford the seats for a single family on one of those ships at the prices your research had detailed.

……

#…and the second is a snippet from 22-Sigma’s POV in Foretold #I won’t give context as to why he’s thinking about this; you don’t WANT context #young sigma is a gross person #sigma klim #vlr spoilers #vlr #zwg #zero escape

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atanx · 9 months

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Hello and welcome to my meltdown about Subnautica's timeline!

Okay; for context: I'm writing a fic in which Ryley Robinson, my blorbiest of blorbos, hitch-hikes a ride with Robin to escape Alterra (Robin doesn't know this). And I, in ignorance, set this to take place five years after their departure from 4546B.

And then I looked on the wiki and found out that apparently Below Zero is set two years after Subnautica??? I went like 'huh, guess I'm canon-divergencing harder than I thought' and went to construct my timeline in-between the games in detail like any normal person writing gay subnautica fanfiction, and WHAT I DISCOVERED WILL SHOCK YOU!!!

(Disclaimer: the two years figure is from the Wiki and I couldn't find a source for it. So either someone invented it or the devs didn't pay attention to their own lore.)

In this essay I will explain why it is impossible that Below Zero takes place two years after the end of Subnautica!

The Aurora was at 4546B to install a phasegate in that part of space, something that would have been a really big deal because it would have made a far-away part of the universe accessible. They weren't able to, because of giant gun.

The Aurora will travel from spacedock on the edge of Alterra space, making hundreds of consecutive phasegate jumps through nine different trans-gov authorities, and arrive on the far side of the Ariadne Arm in three months' time. From there the command crew will pilot the ship beyond the final phasegate, arriving in the next solar system approximately 18 months later.

~ Databank entry: “Alterra Launches the Aurora”

So in total, the Aurora took 21 months, almost two years, to arrive at 4546B. And Alterra sent the rocket because they could only meet Ryley halfway. Let's say that 'halfway' is halfway from the last phasegate. So logically, since the Aurora launched from the edge of Alterra space, Alterra's rescue ships would also need to make those hundreds of phasegate jumps, which took the Aurora three months. I'm going to assume that the rescue ships are smaller than the Aurora and thus possibly faster, taking 2 months for the jumps.

Then, with a faster ship, they would maybe only need 14 months where the Aurora took 18. Half of that makes 7 months, for a total of 9 months at the earliest when they could meet up with Ryley. Since the Neptune would also need about 7 months to get to the halfway-point (yes, this means Ryley had to spend 7 months cooped up in that small-ass rocket. Best have brought enough rations when leaving 4546B!), this assumes that Ryley only took two months to cure themselves and build the rocket. If they took any longer, you'd have to add that time on top of everything.

So at 9 months, Ryley meets the rescue ships. I'm going to say that the post-credit cutscene was PDA-generated bs and Ryley was very much allowed to come aboard although they owe Alterra 'a trillion credits'. Since I doubt Alterra would send high-ranking personnel into the ass of space where a kilometre-long capital ship, top technology, got fucking obliterated, Ryley only gets interrogated 9 months later, when they have been brought back to Alterra space.

We're at 18 months now.

Now, let's say Alterra goes like 'Huh, interesting planet and cured plague, shut-off gun! Let's investigate!'. The journey back to 4546B takes at least 16 more months if the ship is fast as fuck, so I'm going to push that up to 18 months since a ship loaded with materials and scientific equipment would need to be larger and thus slower. Since the non-realised construction of the phasegate was a multi-trillion credit investment (source: same databank entry as cited above), I'm going to propose that Alterra doesn't care about a small, far-away planet enough to risk bankrupting themselves for another phasegate, no matter how mineral-rich it is on the surface. They're interested in studying any remnants of Kharaa and also claiming the planet symbolically by staying there for an extended period of time and 'setting up base'.

We are at a total of 36 months. Which is three years. Three years and Alterra has just barely arrived at 4546B again.

How did the game arrive at two years??? Even if Ryley were questioned the second they step foot on the rescue ship, and Alterra immediately launches the crew that'll be stationed in Sector Zero, that makes 9+18 months, which is 27! More than two years and the crew has just arrived!

And then the story of Below Zero is also too complex to have taken place in a matter of days, so I would give it at least a few months, maybe like 4, which makes 31. And then Robin will have to undertake that same long journey, although she might not have to start all the way back in Alterra space, but it would take her 5 months at least!! And that's three years again!

The timeline doesn't even add up if a phasegate is constructed. Because let's say that along with the rescue ships, a ship capable of carrying all the materials and equipment necessary of phasegate construction is sent off. It would need to be of a similar calibre to the Aurora and would also take like 21 months to arrive at 4546B. From the same databank entry I've already mentioned like twice, we know that construction (for the Aurora), would take 6 months. So it would take this new ship at least that long, too, for a total of... 27 months! More than two years! Again! And this is also the earliest possible point that the research crew can arrive. So in the end, if we give the events of the story a couple of months, we are at 31 months again, and a couple of months for Robin to arrive, three years!

Now, there is one concern I want to address: the Sunbeam. "If it would take the rescue ships 16 months to arrive at 4546B, how come the Sunbeam arrives pretty early in a playthrough?", you might ask.

And fret not, for I have come up with a solution! We know that the closest phasegate from 4546B is 18 months by Aurora away. However, this says nothing about space-stations without phasegates. Quinn says that they're from a small trans-gov in Andromeda. Now, we don't know where Andromeda is located and what its relation to the Ariadne Arm, which 4546B is situated in, is, but since it's a trans-gov we do know that they own and operate at least one phasegate. It would make sense for that to be the closest, 18 months away from the Ariadne Arm. However, the Sunbeam could have been in the area delivering cargo to a space station without a phasegate.

The Ariadne Arm itself, is supposedly uninhabited, seeing as the databank entry claims the construction of the phasegate will expand inhabited space, but this could be an exaggeration or 4546B might simply not be too far into the uninhabited Ariadne Arm. Or both!

In conclusion, while it is possible to invent a plausbile explanation for the presence of the Sunbeam, there is no plausible explanation for Below Zero being able to take place just two years after Ryley's escape (that I could come up with). The only thing I can think of is that maybe the Mongolians or some other trans-gov built a spacegate in the vicinity, eliminating the 6 months construction time in the phasegate calculation, but this is somewhat of a stretch, since the earliest with that is 25 months. Now this figure would look quite good, but it doesn't account for the fact that the Mongolians wouldn't have built a phasegate right in front of 4546B, because if they had, they would have claimed the planet, and as we can see through the Alterra domination of it, they didn't. So there is inevitably some travel time which adds up to those 25 months. Not to mention that with relatively high likelihood, the new phasegate wouldn't be accessible through the last phasegate before 4546B, since everything we have seen implies that phasegates form tunnels, with two making a pair and having sole access to each other.

In the end, I think my figure of 5 years, 60 months, is much more realistic. It gives ample time for research proceedings and relationship development within the research crew, as we have seen exists. With this calculation, it takes Robin maybe (since she is traveling on a small, lightweight and fast ship) 14 months to get to 4546B, and from Lil asking her kids to send her art, we know that a form of fast-ish digital communication probably exists (although messages are probably inspected and need approval before send-off, meaning the reason we only get Sam's messages on entry to 4546B might be that some simply weren't sent), so she could have left immediately after learning of Sam's death. It taking this much time also explains how calm she is in the game: she's had a lot of time to process.

That brings us up to 50 months, leaving a 10 month window for any research crew bonding. This actually looks rather tight considering Alterra shipped an investigator to 4546B, but said investigator might have left shortly before Robin arrived, so that gives a larger time frame for her.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk! :D

#subnautica #below zero #that moment when all you wanna do is construct a timeline to explain your increasing canon-divergence #and suddenly you realise canon doesn't make sense #did i overthink this? probably! but eh!#i made this entire rant into a post because i realised that this is kind of too long for an author's note if i ever publish the fic #so this is a thing to like link to like 'hey! if u wanna know the behind the scenes here it is!'#atanx.txt #also if im missing anything feel free to tell me and correct me and such! i havent put too much effort into researching this so its possibl #:P

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circusgoth-dotcom · 1 year

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In This Still Life, Heart Beats Up Love

Ship: Charles Lee Ray x Ash Englund (Rockstar AU)

Word Count: 898

Summary: An edgier piece depicting a typical scene out of the band's life. CWs for implied intercourse and general suggestiveness, smoking and drug mentions, questionable relationships (specifically Chucky and Tiffany's).

Tag List: @canongf

Ash’s breath came hard as he trembled against the bathroom wall, only being able to half focus on drying himself off as Charles examined himself in the foggy mirror.

“Chucky, you gotta stop being so rough with me before a show, I’m not gonna be able to remember any of the lyrics,” he half-heartedly complained as he groped the floor for his clothes.

“Eh, they won’t care. To them you’re just a pretty face, right?” Charles responded, smirking at the bite mark on his shoulder. “Besides, you know I only go zero to sixty in three seconds and there isn’t any in between.” He chuckled somewhat sadistically as he turned and picked up his husband’s clothes for him, shoving them into his hands and kissing his puffy lips roughly.

“Yeah, you fuck like a Corvette. Real classy.”

“I love it when you snark at me, makes me wanna go again,” Charles snarled lustfully and attacked Ash’s already tender neck, making him squeal and shy away, putting a hand on his chest.

“Chucky, stop, we’re already late to sound check,” he reminded with a breathy laugh before pulling on his clothes.

“Jesus, you’re right, what am I thinking.” Charles shook his head and picked up his own clothes, grumbling slightly to himself before leaning against the sink counter. “Why don’t we just cancel and lock Tiffany and Eddie out of the room tonight?”

“Absolutely not, our fans paid good money to see us tonight! Put your pants on and let’s go.” Ash pushed out of the bathroom, walking into the main hotel room and onto a scene of Tiffany and Eddie making out on the couch. “Oops.” Speaking with no remorse, he kept the door open long enough for Charles to see.

“HEY!”

The two sprang apart as if touched with hot pokers. Charles made himself decent in the blink of an eye, though his pants and shirt remained unbuttoned and dishevelled as he entered the room, grabbing his switchblade from the TV stand and pointing it angrily at his “best friend.”

“Caputo, get the fuck out of here. So help me Christ if you don’t get your ass down to the lobby and tell our chauffer that we’ll be down in five minutes, if you don’t get up off that goddamn couch--”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Eddie shot off like a rocket, terrified, and let the door bang shut behind him.

“And you,” the knife was directed at Tiffany, quivering slightly in Charles’ hand. “We’ll get to you later... holy shit, this is a new low, ain’t it?”

The knife flashed as the blade flipped back into the handle and was pocketed. Tiffany shifted on the couch, shrugging.

“We were bored, you know I’m not really into him. What took you two so long, anyway, I thought you were just going to...?” She trailed off as she eyed the fresh hickeys on Ash’s neck and folded her arms. “You’re a real hypocrite, you know that, Chuck?”

Charles made an uncaring sound as he buttoned his pants and shirt. “I am a rockstar, a key part of that is fucking like you’ll die tomorrow.” He shoved a pair of sunglasses on his face and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and sticking it in his mouth before handing the box to Ash. “Try it sometime. Ash, lighter.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes as she stood from the couch while Ash fished in his pocket for his lighter, taking a cigarette for himself from the box before sharing the lighter with his husband. They both knew Tiffany would only sleep with the one she loved- Charles, for better or for worse.

“Alright, I’m getting sick of looking at you and our manager’s going to be pissed if we wait any longer,” as Tiffany went to open the door, Charles sped ahead and opened it for her.

“After you, toots.”

“Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

The grins they flashed at each other emanated something far beyond devotion or mutual hatred. Charles continued to grin at her long after she had passed him by and entered the hall, soon followed by Ash.

“So, are we doing coke in the bathroom before or after the show?” Charles muttered to Ash as they followed Tiffany down to the lobby.

“Definitely before, I want to get this shit show over with as soon as possible.”

“Fucking agreed, babydoll.”

“Can’t we go to a fun city next? Like Vegas,” Ash blew smoke into the air, grinning, “or Miami.”

“You think it’s fun, risking getting shot at?” Charles turned and grabbed their forearm, making them stop as he caressed their temple with his opposite hand, his cigarette dangling precariously between his knuckles. “You really are fucked in the head, aren’t you, sweetheart?~” To the sane, Charles’ words would’ve sounded harsh, but for Ash, he was speaking in the sweetest, most honeyed tone he could muster.

“Well, it beats being sober.”

The two cracked up as Tiffany turned ahead and made an exasperated sound.

“Hurry up!!” She yelled. “I’m not holding the elevator doors for you!”

“You heard the lady,” Charles sighed and lightly swatted at his partner’s rear, “get a move on. We’re coming!”

Ash laughed again and they quickly joined Tiffany in the elevator. Neither of them would remember that night- which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence -once they reached the venue, but the fond feelings lingered.

#self shipping #self shipping community #self ship au #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #canon x s/i #canon x self insert #fictional other #f/o #circus scripts #🌈Foul-Mouthed Little Fucker🌈#🌈🎸.s/i [Rockstar AU]

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man-down-in-hatchet-town · 1 year

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Pulp Musicals Theory: MAIA Artwork as Foreshadowing And Character

Okay, so in between my real life and the First Wedding Ever, I suddenly had a huge realization about the art used for the Pulp Musical MAIA broadcast. Guys, the different items in the room specifically represent the characters and episodes of Pulp! I may be the last one to figure this out (I seriously can't explain why I've never thought to really look at the MAIA drawing before) but damn if I don't think the whole story has been right in front of us this entire time. Full theory under the cut!

Okay so here is a screenshot of the main MAIA drawing, with all the non-MAIA items of interest circled.

Numbers 1, 2, and 3--an issue of The Sun, a pair of bricks, and a model ghost ship, respectively--obviously represent the first three episodes in order. Numbers 4 and 5 are pretty obvious as well, a giant vase of roses for Rose Stratford, and a portrait of the historical figure Margaret Cavendish for, well, the character named Margaret Cavendish (I reverse google image searched the drawing and it turns out its from the real Cavendish's book).

So that's three of our episodes, two of our main quartet, and four symbols yet unaccounted for. It's safe to assume that two of those objects are for Samuel and John, leaving the other two as clues to upcoming episodes (also, could this be confirmation for us non-patreon-people that Pulp is gonna be five episodes long? I feel like I remember Matt Dahan saying something somewhere about five episodes, so it seems likely to me).

If I were a betting woman, I'd say that the Globe is most likely for Sir John "and the Earth" Herschel himself. And Samuel is most likely symbolized by the green statuette beside the vase of roses ("Samuel, as always, stands beside her"). What I can't figure out, though, is just how the little green figure represents him. Here's a blown-up image:

He's a little green fellow with a large silly hat that has something blue sticking out of the top, what looks like some sort of pack slung over his back, something else I can't identify in his arms, and maybe even a blue beard? Honestly up close, he looks kinda' like either a Pharaoh or a dog. Anyone have any ideas just what this is? This is the one part of the riddle I just can't figure out and it's driving me up the wall.

And that brings us to the crack in the wall and the rocket ship, which could perhaps symbolize the last two episodes (assuming, of course, that the crack doesn't somehow symbolize Samuel... we've just gone from Zero Fears to One Fear, folks). The rocket ship seems like a fun grand finale, and proves that our Quartet will definitely be time-traveling further into the future (!!!!!!!!!!!) (most likely into a pulpy Jetsons-esque far future of 2189 or something of the sort) (!!!!!!!!!!!). But I could honestly see the crack being the final episode as well. A little bit ago, @its-short-for-jackalope and I started tossing around the idea that the Gate that Margaret must one day go through is hidden within the Moon itself. After all, Margaret has always felt connected to the Moon, and it would be a fun way to tie the overall story back into Rose and Samuel jump-starting everything with the claim that there's something alien on the lunar surface. So when I pointed out that the various features of the room were clues to episodes and characters, Jack suggested that the crack could be representative of the Gate (maybe a literal crack hidden inside of the moon, anyone?). And we know Margaret confronting the Gate is likely to be a massive climatic moment at the end of the story, though I suppose they could pass through at the end of Episode 4 and have to survive on the other side--in a rocket ship--for all of Episode 5.

Alternatively, maybe whatever happens to Margaret in Episode 3 could trigger memories of the Gate that manifest in her starting to hallucinate cracks in places, such as walls, where there aren't any? And she spends Episode 4 decoding these visions until reaching the realization that they have to go to outer space in episode 5. (Though why she won't be able to simply zap them there like the Traveler after unlocking the secrets to her powers is anyone's guess).

Either way, assuming the crack does stand for the Gate, episodes 4 and 5 will likely deal with the discovery of the Gate and also the process of getting there/going through. And I'm excited to come back to this drawing after Ghosts of Antikythera to see if there's anything more I can glean...

#Pulp Musicals #Pulp Musicals Theory #Pulp Musicals Episode 3: The Ghosts of Antikythera #The Ghosts of Antikythera #The Great Moon Hoax #The Brick Satellite #Samuel Stratford #Rose Stratford #Margaret Cavendish #Sir John Herschel

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thedryswan · 2 years

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After yesterday's rather gloomy ficlet, here's a slightly more cheerful one...

___

It was dark when Jeff woke, no surprise since his body clock was all over the place, and resisting the reflex to open his eyes, he rolled over. His bed felt a bit more comfortable than usual. It had been a good dream.

The meteorite his ship rested on had been rocked by tremors recently and cursory inspection confirmed that it would soon break up entirely.

He had gone for a walk, more like a hop and a bounce given the varying gravity, just to check a few of the more worrying fissures in the rock. The one which concerned him most was definitely worse. Returning to the wreck of the Zero X, his home now for over 8 years, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Odd, he thought, he was sure he had closed it. Looking around, he saw a figure standing at the edge of the meteorite with his back to him. Taking a couple of steps towards the tall stranger, the rock began to give way. Running as fast as gravity allowed, his heart skipped a beat as the man vanished, falling into the void.

Jeff grabbed his grapple gun, jumped over the edge, fired behind him without looking - hoping his aim was true - and caught the stranger's wrist.

Impossible. It couldn't possibly be him. Scott? Here in deep space?

Reeling the grapple in, he hauled both of them back to safety, his muscles complaining.

Scott, if it really was him, blinked at his father as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. At that moment, the rock beneath their feet gave a huge shake and the remains of Zero X disappeared.

"Time to get out of here." said the young man. He even sounded like Scott.

They flew through space, propelled by jet pack, towards a hulking great ship, parts of which looked familiar.

The man who looked eerily like his son called to John, strange coincidence, his middle son was called John, asking him to open the doors and prepare the med bay.

Scott guided them up into the belly of the ship and Jeff wondered if these really were the Thunderbirds. If so, the little yellow submarine Scott clung to to steady themselves looked different to his recollection.

"You can take your helmet off now Dad."

The lights were considerably brighter than his eyes were used to but he did as instructed, his attention caught by the arrival of four more young men in blue flight suits.

"Boys?" he asked, wondering if they were his sons and if they were real. He had to remind himself that he had been away for the best part of a decade so his pre-teen boys probably were young men by now.

Doubts about their reality were vanquished when the smallest, in a suit of blue and red, launched himself towards him, knocking the helmet from his hand and grasping him around the waist. Thankful for zero gravity - he would have been knocked off his feet otherwise, he opened his arms as the others flew towards him, wrapping arms around him and each other. For some strange reason, the Scott look-alike hung back a moment. Jeff reached out to him, if he was going to have an imaginary hug with his sons, he wanted a hug with all five.

A siren sounded.

Well, that was his morning alarm clock. Time to say goodbye to the dream and inspect the meteorite.

Sitting up, he opened his eyes. This wasn't the Zero X, this was his room on Tracy Island!

Jumping out of bed, he ran to the balcony doors, flung them open and looked out. There was a breeze, the moon suddenly slid out from behind thick clouds and shone on the ocean surface. He could hear the sound of waves lapping on the beach far below. Even his most vivid dreams weren't this realistic.

Hurrying to his door, he yanked it open walked out and looked down. There, in the sunken lounge, holographic John was briefing Scott and a sleepy, possibly grumpy, Virgil on the latest rescue mission.

Returning to the balcony, Jeff gently lowered himself onto the soft recliner, watching as first a rocket, then a large green transporter launched into the night.

It wasn't a dream after all. He was alive and home.

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theneverendingbacklogblog · 1 year

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Thoughts on Dead Space Remake.

From the Evil Assholes (EA) that brought you (closing a famous and renowned studio) and Star Wars Battlefront 2s PR nightmare, EA has produced a stellar remake of its beloved horror Dead Space, without any unnecessary multiplayer or micro transactions tacked on, (As of writing this 22/2/23), which I now publish five months later.

Dead Space looks amazing, with an updated engine, and textures to match the powerhouse units of 2023, the USG Ishimura has never looked better, and never been more traumatizing to stay alive in. Isaac has also received a facelift, modelled to look like his voice actor Gunner Wright. Several roles have also been recast, Hammond and Daniels, with the new actors smashing their roles out of obit.

The story still follows the originals faithfully, albeit with several characters more fleshed out, several new side quests which give more time for side characters to shine. Isaac also drops his strong silent act, and instead comments on the scenario that he finds himself in, making the game feel a lot more natural, for instance Issac swears if he runs out of ammo, or if the player decides to spam the stomp button repeatedly. Neat!

The game is a technical masterpiece, the player can travel around the ship, and backtrack at their leisure, something the original did not allow, when I returned to previous areas, I found Necromorphs who I had killed, lying in the same position from hours before, next to ammo or pieces of the environment I used to kill them.

The games lighting and sound is something to be cheered about, I haven’t felt a more tense atmosphere in a horror game as of late. Hearing Nercomorphs in the walls, and far off in the distance creates a stellar atmosphere dripping with fear of what’s outside the range of my flashlight. Taking away that lighting and leaving the areas in pitch darkness, with the player only being able to use their torchlight to see, is another added mechanic that is a chef’s kiss.

Frustrating elements have been removed, such a transporting a huge spoiler through an area, instead, the player must survive a gauntlet before moving on to the next story beat. As well as the old gravity moving mechanic, instead of having to aim and jump spot to spot, Isaac can use his rocket jets in Zero G, a mechanic that feels fun to use, and could have been a disaster if the programmers didn’t get it right.

All in all, Dead Space 2023 is a game that should delight new players, and make old players rejoice. Gameplay feels fresh, and fun. A fresh face lift has brought this game back to life much like the Necromorphs in the game, it’s a solid horror, with fantastic action thrown in. I have high hopes for a Dead Space 2 Remake. If you are a fan of sci fi horror, this game is highly recommended.

#the never-ending backlog blog #dead space remake #Dead Space #Horror Games #games of 2023

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raymondshields · 2 years

Note

for the series ask - Pokemon

we throwing curveballs in this house

So we are! This is going to be entirely on Sinnoh, Ranger / Sky, and the movies up to the end of Gen4, because that's all I've ever actually played / watched. :p

❤ Favorite Male: So I really wish this was the last one, not the first one, because [sighs] Commander Saturn. I want to say Sven, I really do, but no, it's fucking Saturn. Why? Because when I was in third grade me and Paige both loved Saturn, but he was such a gay twink that all of our stories focused on humiliating him because neither of us were old enough to simply decide this man should get pegged. So he has a special place in my heart. The gayest, most useless fucking twink in all of Sinnoh. ❤ Favorite Female: May and Dawn, at the same time. Don't make me choose. If I had to, I'd probably go with May because she had a Blaziken, but I love them both. I don't have much to say on them, other than I wish they'd come back, but I love them. ❤ Favorite Pairing: Everyone's expecting me to say Team Rocket. Fair. But no. I think Ash, Roark, and Paul (tragically anime-only) should kiss. I remember very little of Paul other than he was the brooding rival where Barry was an idiot, and he was pretty. Now, if we're doing the OG Pokemon shipping, Absol/Lucario. This is because I am an Absol and Faolan is a Lucario. Obviously. ❤ Least Favorite Character: Barry, Alberto, and Sven's Luxray. Barry was annoying and I wish the rival in Sinnoh was Paul. Alberto is Barry but worse, but also he was weird towards Alice so fuck that guy. (Iirc, Alice was engaged to him via arranged marriage, but also fuck that guy.) Sven's Luxray can get fucked because she was between me and Sven and I'm sorry, if you didn't want me to hold that grudge for three thousand some-odd years, you'd get Out Of My Way And Let Me Fuck Your Ranger. Jfc. Fuck that Luxray. ❤ Who’s most like me: Well, me. I'm in a Special Mission in Shadows of Almia, alongside Ryan the Umbreon. Obviously. But not what you were asking, so... I have no idea, actually. Pokemon doesn't really flesh out its characters, so that's not easy to identify. Actually, on second thought, the Metagross trainer girl from the Deoxys movie, and her buddy with the Blaziken. Combine them into one person and that's probably the closest you'll get to me as a Pokemon trainer. Although if I went back as a human, I'd be a Ranger. (Although if I went back at all, you'd assume I'd go back to being an Absol.) ❤ Most attractive: Sven, Sir Aaron, and Riley. I think you can sense a pattern here on both my taste in men and my taste in Pokemon cosplayers. Sven, for reasons I think I've already explained. Sir Aaron was kind of a dick, honestly, but he was also hot. Riley is Sir Aaron but more autistic and also not a dick, so I mean, high five bro. ❤ Three more characters that I like: Oh, hmmm. Cyrus is really good, so is Butler from the Jirachi movie. Entei from the Entei movie was amazing. Arceus from his own movie made me cry like a bitch because he reminded me so much of Vicers. Giratina, also from his own movie, was such a mood. Zero, same movie, was such an incel I couldn't help but love him. The side character trainers from the Deoxys movie were all collectively good. But a special goddamn shoutout to Palkia's voice actor in Rise of Darkrai, because I don't fuckin know how they did it, but Palkia speaks like a Californian surfer guy, and that's the funniest fucking thing this Absol has ever heard.

[ask game here]

#asks #ask games #dorksmithery #thank you!!! :O

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ilopisara · 10 months

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12.12. 20:00 | Ilo Pisara vs KiipelinKiekko 2 - 3

Alright, let's break down this travesty of a hockey game. Ilo Pisara faced off against KiipelinKiekko and it was like watching a bunch of blindfolded toddlers trying to pin the tail on the donkey—except the donkey was actually an ice rink, and there were no tails in sight. Firstly, Teppo Winnipeg—you managed to snag one past their netminder; good job! But with only four shots? That’s not exactly making it rain rubber now is it? You're supposed to be a Puck Moving Defenseman, not a puck hoarding miser! Yuri Tarde... oh boy. With 14 giveaways you were more generous than grandma at Christmas—but guess what? We’re not giving out presents here! And those six shots with zero goals—I've seen better aim from stormtroopers! Jani Saari – another sniper who apparently thinks sniping means hitting everything but the back of the net. Five shots and just one goal isn't going to cut it unless we're playing darts—and even then I'd bet on my grandmother over you lot. "VETOJA HYVÄT HERRAT!" Do I need to spell that out for you all?! It means SHOOT THE DARN PUCK! Eighteen measly attempts at goal are about as intimidating as a kitten's meow during feeding time. And history lesson folks: remember our previous games where we actually won? Yeah, that requires scoring more than your opponent—not rocket science! So shape up or ship out because if this continues, our future looks bleaker than an empty keg at Oktoberfest. Next practice session will have more targets than a carnival shooting gallery—be ready!

#nhl24

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jayhorsestar · 1 year

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re.miss 'dove pic, silver nails 'coach, and golden buckle on a black leather purse, sort of reply to 'mariaisabel pic of the gold ring and diamonds 'coco-chanel, vs the pink leather purse magnetic clasp and buckle logo in gold 'coco-chanel. ystdy, on a thursday. both are heavy pics. and several layers, and 'dove seemed even deeper. and w/ relay to PART 2 of 'Purple Hearts which might never be scheduled because apparently 'galitzine was trying negotiating like a jew, or an irish, and him from UK, not born in the USA (royalties eligible). and 'cameron was trying to say just like acting 'i need to have all sort of hashes onto my globally owned servers GSK Corp. London, playing UK fella w/ money. which 'dove added 'sometimes he just wasn't.. sort of smiling to sex affairs records of youth and past. so in view of JUNTAH jobs and retirement estimated shadow 60 yrs+ according to RO Law, sometimes cloth placed upon moto-bikes tyres keep those warm b4 racing, or cloth placed on horses back, keep them warm b4 races, or cloth placed on-top rocket engine bells to cover up against dusty railroad in Baikonur, Kazakhstan (horizontal travel). or leather gloves worn when driving the GT car, or cloth placed onto USNAVY Virginia class USSN submarines when in dry-dock, or drawn sketches of cruises ship never mentioning the minus 3 and minus 4 decks, where deck zero is water level, the port pier level. so never revealing the five or four shaped propeller, and subs a seven type single shaft propeller. the more blades, the chiller the water, the more dense, the lesser speed, the more torque, thus Miami Cigarettes speed boats, usually three blades props only. that CLOTH could be a Luis Vuitton wine (champagne) bag. the way Luis Vuitton begun its journey. a branded wine bag for a region certified sparkling wine called Champagne. Hollywood Studios could not offer all its actors and writers the warranties of JUNTAH 401(k) jobs, w/ all the papertrail of a Labor chamber and hustle of unemployment aid. several indeed, yet not all. a NATION could not PROTECT art and movies and cinema and fantasies to such a fine degree as ALL artists would had been shadowed at JUNTAH for 60+ years of career, and to the minimum wage at California GDP. and mebbe was partly also a SECRET, in the past, not to reveal the ARMY of STUNT takers. those STUNT makers were definitely seen by JUNTAH just like FEMA and fighting fires in HAITI, or POLAND sending out to GREECE convoy of firefighting squads for forest fires (ie.2019-2020). Emmerich Liptak our old gardener friend of HH Hamburg now in Swiss, was doing such jobs back during late 70s early 80s, filming stunts at Buftea studios, Bucharest north. so becoming a MILLIONAIRE at HOLLYWOOD, should had always been seen as JUNTAH reserved its right to waive any claims over that ACTOR career, and allow so instead of an ESTIMATED shadow 60+ yrs scheme, the 'LET-GO, and fella choice over living his life as a COACH seat on a plane, or a BUSINESS class seat on same plane. from BANK interest paid, and perhaps added several forfeit cash from certain investment into trust funds, or assimilated 'commodities. even gambling and speculating, to a certain point of assuming risks. longer or shorter retirement happy life. that be the GOLD ring C-C of 'mariaisabel agains pink purse of European Union approach, which never seemed to say OK, I LET YOU DECIDE YOUR OWN LIFE. YOU WERE BORN FREE. and that be also 'dove cameron relay, only multi-layered, silver wedding, gold wedding, MTV cosmonaut vs Hollywood Oscar, coach nails vs gold buckle (his word, his tongue). m

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the-firebird69 · 2 years

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There is nothing left of their areas at all and we are following through here and going after people who are threatening him including John remillard and partners and to kill them were tired of them.

Huge numbers of idiots are on the way to our location Giant are headed out no humongous arms bear and brought to bear no giant crowds are protesting nope. Hundreds and hundreds of them running around no not really four or five possibly it's more like the truth.

So you see you should not mess around with us are you will be dead

That was about 2000 pockets all around the world that had rockets in them and some of the area nearby was incinerated it was not and allowing them to build missiles especially nearby you will be incinerated. It's a small area each missile destroyed four city blocks but a lot of people died and not all of them were morlock. We are now going after John remillard who thinks he was threatening the mail and other things to try and have the action work and we are going to make him pay for it we also have several things planned for them cuz they're so pleasant and they're going to leave here is the first thing I'm very soon

Their areas are reduced to practically nothing they're an infinitely small percentage of the population and they are shrinking to zero they are in the upper Midwest and then northern areas of the middle areas and they are in about eight of those areas only and they have significant numbers there in total about $8 million octillion and they're in the middle areas a little bit it's not considered an area it's small there's another million octillion most of which is the Midwest and they're out there now doing Tommy boy and to do stupid things and drag them out and they thought they were more and there's very few people out there of theirs and a lot of them are getting beat up because of what they're trying to do and because of who and what they are they're staying there and they're not welcome there it is the beginning of the movie series today start with these couple movies Tommy boy and planes trains and automobiles. It is a huge huge deal what these movies are about and what they do gigantic the numbers of people are tuning into what they're doing. Not only are they pulling people out of there but they're trying to get things out of there and they're threatening us and we will defend ourselves and stop them but they're taking things out and bring them North and they're trying to use them to pursue power ships and other things. It is an important event and while they're at it they have other card rate with them that are doing other things at the same time. And they're varied from getting chips ready to take and to moving out weaponry for specific purpose mostly to secure the upper Midwest at this time for them to stay in because they ruin every other place they were in. Fairilly soon they're going to figure out that we're not going to try and do that from it'll be forced out.

Hera

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strawwritesfic · 3 years

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Peter Quill x Female!Guardian!Reader: Recipe for Disaster

Summary: One part malevolent water god, two parts angry boyfriend, mixed with enough chlorinated water to fill a pool. Shaken, not stirred. Add one bored raccoon as garnish. Wah-lah! One thoroughly ruined vacation.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (sexual references, bad language, crude humor, and boobs; outfit shaming; religion insulting; god killing; the reader is a jealous girlfriend; post-Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2; implied Drax/Mantis; past one sided!Peter/Gamora referenced)

Fic Trade Prompt: “I just want 2 things: a peach bellini slush and for you to get the hell out of my face.“

Notes: This thing got rewritten about five different times, each with a different idea. You can tell. It’s not the most cohesive story I’ve ever written, but I think the character voices are very strong, so I’m posting it anyway!

Recipe for Disaster

Peter Quill was not one to balk about having sex with his girlfriend. The two of you had done it in zero gravity, underground while the planet’s crust above was being blown to smithereens, even in the Milano while being shot at. Yes, you and Peter certainly had an interesting and varied sex life. You normally didn’t complain—until now, that was. After all the tantrums, all the exploding ships, all the guts (so many guts), sometimes a girl needed some time off. Sometimes a girl needed to be pampered. Sometimes what a girl needed most on her vacation from destroying monsters with her bare hands and having sex in life-and-death situations was…a vacation.

Wearing your swimsuit and sunglasses to breakfast had perhaps not been your brightest idea if you wanted people to quit paying you attention. Gamora’s incredulous gaze was the first to meet yours as you and Peter walked hand in hand to where you had all agreed to eat that day, which was outside since Rocket had been exiled from the hotel. The rest of the team—minus Drax— had already started eating and plowed through more than three-fourths of the buffet table, judging by the remains littering the picnic blanket’s surface and the ground nearby.

Gamora managed to tear her eyes away from your chest without saying anything for once. Mantis was not so lucky. Looking around to see what Gamora was gaping at, her own gaze fell upon your all-but-exposed breasts and didn’t move even when she tried for a shy, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Peter answered cheerfully—and for him, you supposed it was. He hadn’t wound up taking forty-five minutes to shower because his significant other had kept interrupting.

Too annoyed with your boyfriend to communicate with anyone else, you shook off his hand and lowered yourself onto the edge of the blanket to admire the view. Both of the planet’s suns shone brightly in the sky. The smell of pool chemicals drifted through the air along with the sound of several different species of children screeching at play. It was the perfect day for pool lounging, if you were allowed to lounge at all.

“So,” Peter said through a mouthful of some green breakfast mash, “what’s the plan for today?”

You did not like the sound of this at all. Plans generally did not involve sitting by the pool all day. Rocket and the tallish, lanky Groot, however, perked up immediately, their attention drawn away from the massive bazooka they’d brought outside with them.

“I am Groot?” asked the latter. Rocket caught his eye.

“You got that right, pal,” he said. “There better be some kind of plan today.”

Peter swallowed thickly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am Groot.”

“I thought that was the point of a vacation,” Mantis said.

“There’s a difference between being relaxed and being bored,” said Gamora, as she spread some vegetable-based gunk on a biscuit. “Frankly, I can’t stand another day of sitting around doing nothing while Peter and [Name] are locked up in the room.”

“Nothing can be very good for the psyche,” Mantis said, finally wrenching her eyes away from your chest when you looked straight at her. “I’ve been able to sense a lot of stress from everyone lately.”

“Probably because we haven’t killed anyone in over a week,” Rocket piped up.

You rolled your eyes, and Rocket saw. Before a fight could break out in earnest, Peter interrupted:

“That’s a good point, Rocket.”

You gaped at him. “No, it’s not. We are not murdering someone here just to de-stress Rocket!” Not to mention that murdering anyone would cut into the downtime you had yet to enjoy.

“I never said anything about murdering anyone here. Or even murdering a someone.”

“I am Groot?” asked Groot.

“Yeah, the emphasis on ‘someone’ is suspicious. You thinking about murdering some beastie somewhere else?” Rocket asked. “Like, off planet? ‘Cause believe you me, I’m not about to be picky.

“No, it’s on-planet,” Peter said with a shake of his head. “I heard some of the locals talking about it while we were at the bar last night. Apparently it usually doesn’t spend so much time close to the coast. It’s causing problems. A sea monster. Giant jellyfish just offshore.”

“Venomous and scary?”

“Probably.”

“I am Groot?”

“Most definitely.”

“Kill streak up to the high heavens?”

“I didn’t hear them say a number, but—”

“I’m in.” Rocket sat back with his tiny arms folded across his chest as though that put an end to the matter.

“Do you even know what jellyfish is?” you asked.

Gamora had other things on her mind: “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“[Name] told me not to!” Peter said.

As expected, this news caused an uproar of protest at your behavior. Groot might have even come close to speaking a swear word you could understand. Scowling, you waited for the noise to die down before attempting to explain.

“It’s not a job,” you said, throwing a dirty look in Peter’s direction. “In fact, if any of you had bothered to do any research before we stopped here, you’d know that giant jellyfish is considered a deity. No matter how close it gets, no one wants it dead. If anything, we’d have to pay them to do anything about it.”

“I am Groot!”

“I’d pay ‘em, too! If I don’t get something to entertain myself, I’m likely to start causing trouble. Or maybe if Miss Snootypants over here has a problem with real entertainment, she can start paying me not to murder her.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Your eyes narrowed in Peter’s direction. He was the one in charge of this lot, not you. All he seemed inclined to do was get them riled up.

It took so little to rile up Groot these days, too. Much more of this and he was likely to start whipping someone around with his hands. Seeing as you were Groot’s favorite target for that sort of behavior, you rather hoped your boyfriend might start taking matters into his own hands.

Luckily, Peter got the silent message—or so you thought. He made a show of finishing what was left on his plate, but then all he said was, “So?”

“So…what?” Gamora asked.

Mantis nodded vigorously by her side.

“So are we doing it or not?” Peter asked.

“Sounds fine to me,” Gamora’s eyes flicked once in your direction, “although you might want to check what your girlfriend is wearing.”

You looked down at the bikini top that covered your so-called “naughty bits,” then glared back at her. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“It’s not an ‘outfit.’”

“I am wearing a bikini.”

“To breakfast?” she asked coldly. It couldn’t be more clear that while Mantis might enjoy your cleavage, Gamora thought it ought to be covered whenever possible.

You tossed your head. “I’m wearing shorts, too.”

“I’d hardly call those shorts.”

“I’m covered enough that only you and Mantis have gawked at me,” you snarled, though you felt somewhat guilty over turning Mantis that particular shade of cherry. She’d been mostly alone for so long that she couldn’t help but be a bundle of nerves and social failure. You weren’t even being honest about the number of people doing the gawking, either.

Gamora rolled her eyes this time. “Fine. If you want to fight a giant jelly beast in nothing but a flimsy bra and some panties, be my guest. Maybe you’ll get an arm bit off. You can’t fight and look like a stripper at the same time.”

This, you felt, was going a little far. Your clothing was skimpy, but you weren’t going anywhere but the pool after breakfast (unless Peter had his way for a third day in row). Just because Gamora always felt the need to be battle-ready didn’t mean the rest of you shared her deep-seated paranoia. Besides, it wasn’t like looking like a stripper was a bad thing. It just meant you had a harder time keeping Peter’s hands where you could see them.

By then, you and Gamora were inches from each other’s faces. Mantis’ dark eyes darted worriedly between you both. Groot and Rocket whispered to each other—taking bets on which one of you would be first to render the other unconscious, you’d hazard a guess. Peter only looked delighted, his breakfast entirely forgotten in the light of a possible catfight between his girlfriend and a girl he’d once hoped to be his girlfriend.

As though you were about to give any of them the satisfaction. You took a deep breath and settled back onto the ground as you snatched a piece of fruit from one of the nearby plates.

“I can do both,” you said primly.

“Not well,” Gamora muttered.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m not dressed for battle. We aren’t going into battle.”

“What? Why not?” Rocket cried.

“Because no one is offering to pay us! You think that concierge is going to thank you for killing something he regularly makes sacrifices to?”

“I am Groot!” Groot interjected.

“Right,” said Rocket. “What concierge? Ain’t no concierge gonna get me to respect his idiotic religion. Not after he got a bunch of bellboys chasing me away from the buffet table when I’m far from the hairiest person here!”

Sadly, this was true. And after living with Rocket the past few months, you had a good idea of just how hairy he was. You did feel that he was missing the point, though.

“Exactly. So who cares if the thing is causing problems? There’s no point helping someone like that. Besides, the poor thing isn’t hurting anyone. It’s just hanging out at the beach.”

“It ripped a swimmer’s head off!” Peter said incredulously.

You threw down the remains of your fruit and looked him dead in the eye. “So it’s a malevolent deity. What, they don’t have those where you come from?”

“That’s not what I—”

“We’re already broke after we had to pay for all the repairs for the ship. Repairs, which, may I remind you, aren’t even finished?”

“But still—”

“Do you really want to spend your vacation doing work for free?”

“Who died and made you Queen of the Guardians?” Rocket demanded.

Peter continued to look at you for a few seconds longer, then sighed. “Forget it, guys.”

“What?”

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah, you’re right, Groot. She did steal Quill’s balls.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I have very plentiful balls.”

“Prove it!”

Peter stood up, hands already moving to yank down his pants.

You pulled him back onto the ground. “We aren’t fighting anything today,” you told Rocket. “End of story.”

“Excuse me, Princess.”

“You are excused.”

Now that that was settled, you could hear the pool calling your name. You needed a tan that would last until your next break before the end of the week. With the crisis of possible god killing averted for now, sunbathing was next on the agenda. No word of goodbye left your lips as you stood to leave. Rocket was not far after.

“Well, if you lot are going to sit around trying to get a head start on decomposing, Groot and I got business matters of a serious nature to attend to,” he called as he scurried toward the hotel entrance.

Peter perked up considerably. “Business?”

Rocket waved him away with a laugh. “Not your kinda business, choirboy. Now, run along after sweetums before she steals something more crucial than your dick.”

“Rocket!”

But Rocket and Groot were gone, leaving Peter at the picnic blanket with Gamora and Mantis. He looked imploring at you. You looked away. Why couldn’t he just take the goddamn hint? Vacations were for doing nothing—not doing your boyfriend and certainly not doing work.

“So where’s Drax, anyway?” Peter asked when no new subject was put up by those remaining.

“Sleeping,” Mantis answered promptly. “He discovered the bar last night, and—”

“Say no more.” Peter winced. “Guess we better go check on the guy.”

“Since [Name] is so insistent that she stay away from this creature, perhaps she should go try to wake Drax up,” Gamora suggested. “The three of us can go scope out this…jamfish.”

“Jellyfish,” you said, “and we already decided not to kill it.”

“Looking is not the same as killing.”

“That’s a fine idea,” you said, your tone icy, “but seeing as Peter is my boyfriend, and not yours, I think he should come with me to check on Drax.”

Gamora rolled her eyes once more at this childish behavior. You felt a vague pang of guilt. She had always made it clear that she had no romantic attraction toward Peter herself. What was harder to forget was your boyfriend’s penchant for green-skinned space babes, especially when you were going to refuse to sleep with him and Gamora was as gorgeous as ever. Before you could even begin in the general direction of an apology, she got up from her seat and brushed past you.

“I’ll go make sure he isn’t suffocating in his own vomit. Heavens know I do it often enough for you, Peter.”

“Hey, [Name] takes care of my vomit now.”

“At least we all have that going for us. Come on, Mantis.”

Mantis pursed her lips, looked nervously between you, Gamora, and Peter, and stood up to hurry after Gamora’s rapidly retreating back. Well, that had worked better than you had planned it. Time with Peter and no need to get a second look at Drax’s unusual throw up. You were magnanimous enough to wait for Peter to catch up with you before moving on, but his trying to take your hand resulted in you shaking him off.

“You’re mad at me,” he said.

“Finally caught on, have you?”

“For what?”

If he hadn’t figured out that you wanted some quiet time without worrying that he was going to shack up with the first female-presenting being he spotted, you weren’t going to tell him. Not a word on the matter left your lips. After several seconds of silent walking, he tried again:

“You know, you don’t have to make me look like a…” He cut himself off.

Marching past the front desk (an act that earned you a suspicious look from the man at the counter, who no doubt thought you were trying to smuggle Rocket into the building by hiding him where the sun don’t shine), you lifted an eyebrow at Peter inquisitively.

“Like a what?” you asked, though you knew wouldn’t like the answer.

Peter sighed. “Like a…a pussy.”

This drew you to a complete stop. He nearly trod on your sandaled feet, not that either of you noticed.

“What’s wrong with having a pussy? I thought you liked mine.”

“I do! I just don’t want to be one.”

“Me suggesting you not give into Rocket’s insane demands makes you a pussy?”

“No! But not letting the rest of the guys do what they want—”

You interrupted him with a groan and a tossing upward of your hands. “I’m so sorry that I don’t want us to kill something important and get run off our eighth planet to date. Those Sovereign are still after us, but sure. Let’s go back into space before the Milano is ready so we can get blasted into nothingness by a bunch of gold-skinned children!”

Peter only stared at you. Faint heat born of anger rose into your cheeks. Not only was Peter acting like you were wrong to tell them to leave the jellyfish alone, but you were actively driving him away from the one moment you had with him alone and he wasn’t trying to remove your top. Suddenly your throat felt very right. Thank the (non-jellyfish) Gods Gamora wasn’t here to see and Peter had the emotional reading abilities of a hat.

“If you didn’t agree with me, you shouldn’t have pretended you did,” you said somewhat hoarsely.

“It’s not that I don’t agree with you,” Peter said. “It’s just the way you went about it made me look kinda…dickless.”

“Everyone knows you’ve got a dick, Peter. You’re not exactly shy about reminding us.”

Unwilling to discuss this any further, you spun around to stalk to the pool. Peter could go off and kill as many deities as he wanted. At the absolute least, this would keep him away from your sunning time for a few hours. With Drax unconscious, killing anything would take at least that long.

Huffing and muttering to yourself under your breath, you found a pool chair outside only a few feet away from the crystalline water. The last thing you expected to find when you finished applying suntan lotion and settled in on your back was Peter perched on the empty chair beside yours.

“What?” you asked.

“Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without her asking him ‘what’?”

You eyed him suspiciously. Peter was dressed in his usual duds: heavy Ravager coat, funky t-shirt, thick-toed boots. He expected to be going after a jellyfish at some point today, at any rate. Certainly he wasn’t dressed to spend the entire day by the pool.

“You really plan to just hang out here with me all day?”

“Well, maybe not all day. Once you spent some time outside, I was hoping—”

“I’ve spent the past three days cooped up inside with you. Today is a ‘me’ day. No monsters. No slime. No sex.”

“Okay,” he said, oblivious to your eyes sliding shut in your attempt to ignore him, “I know you said no monsters, but I really think it would be best for the rest of the team if we took care of that thing out there. It’d calm everyone down. And everyone at the hotel would be a lot safer.”

You snuggled exaggeratedly into your sunbeam. “It can’t hurt us here. Unless you’re suggesting it’s going to grow legs and walk to the pool.”

“It could!”

“Peter, sweetheart?” you asked as you lifted your sunglasses off your nose.

“Yeah?”

You sat up to give his cheek a lazy pat. “If you bring up this job of yours one more time, I am going to murder you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Peter didn’t look altogether certain about that, though. Probably had something to do with the time you’d broken his jaw during a rough night of sex. If you’d done that on accident, who knew what you could do on purpose?

Smiling with satisfaction, you turned over to let the dual suns above warm your back. “Maybe not. But I will refuse to screw you for a couple of weeks, so you’d better think real hard about little Peter before you say anything else.”

He didn’t. “I don’t see why we can’t spend an hour doing that. It’ll hardly cut into your tanning time at all.”

“If it’s so important to you, why don’t you go on with me?”

“Oh, come on. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” By this, Peter meant a fight just wouldn’t be as much fun if he couldn’t expect some clothing damage on your part that left you half-naked at the end. Apparently your bikini wasn’t cutting it.

“The answer is no. And the answer to sleeping with you today is no. We came on vacation to relax.”

“Sex is relaxing!”

“Maybe for you.”

“Guess Rocket is right about you stealing my dick,” he muttered.

Unfortunately for him, you heard, and you could stand it no longer. Between Rocket and Groot’s antics (and general banning by the hotel staff), Gamora’s snide remarks, and Drax getting drunk enough to almost drown once a day, this vacation was turning out to be no fun at all. Peter refusing to let you spend one day without physical activity was only the icing on the proverbial cake.

“If you want to go play with your friends, fine,” you snapped. “I don’t care. Just leave me in peace. I can stay here when you lot are chased off, and you can prove to the rest of them that you’re the one that wears the pants in this relationship.”

Normally, this would cause Peter to say something humorous about preferring that neither of you wear pants. But he didn’t. You’d crossed some invisible line, and now he simply watched you, his jaw slowly setting in that way of his that always showed that he was angry. You didn’t back down. A moment later, he stood from his pool chair with a faint, “fine,” then strode back inside, muttering something about “big and plentiful balls” all the while.

Your teeth found your lower lip; your intestines did a jig. If you valued your relationship, you would go after him and apologize. It wasn’t his fault things had gone so badly. Who cared about your tan or how often you had sex when—

“Cannonball!”

An enormous splash surged up from the water. Right before the waved crashed into you, you spotted the tell-tale gray-and-red skin that belonged to none other than Drax. Apparently he had not suffocated as Gamora had feared.

You spat out a mouthful of pool water just in time to see his head surface, his usual manic grin in place.

“Mantis!” he called. “Come in! If you are underwater, no one will see how hideous you look in your bathing suit.”

Oh, Gods. He had brought a friend. Mantis appeared in your field of vision. She had changed into pool wear, and, despite what Drax claimed, looked as annoyingly adorable as usual in a sparkly green one piece. She hesitated at the edge of the pool, but this did not cause him to pause. He swam closer to grab her ankle.

“Quick, before you cause someone to go blind.”

Mantis tried to protest. You heard the beginnings of a word at least, before Drax gave her leg a massive pull so that she toppled, screaming, into the water. Lucky for her, the water was deep and Drax’s stunt didn’t snap her neck. Unlucky for you, the resulting splash doused you a second time.

“Drax!” you shouted over the sound of his wild laughter.

“What?”

Oh, so he knew you were there, did he? You frowned. “Can you not play quite so rough?”

“What is the matter with the nature of my playing? You are the one who insists vacation are all play and no work.”

“You’re making a mess,” you snapped, wishing you hadn’t gone to the trouble of putting on makeup that morning. Waterproof or not, it was surely smeared all over your face by then. “Besides, there are children around. You and Mantis could really hurt someone.”

Drax regarded you for a minute or so, treading water as he did. Then he announced, “Rocket is right about you. You are an enormous piece of soggy bedclothes.”

“It’s ‘wet blanket,’” you snarled.

“Why on Terra would you be a blanket?” Before you could even attempt to explain, he turned to someone else. “Gamora! Though your appearance is not likely to cause widespread panic in this place, you are free to join us.”

“I don’t swim,” came Gamora’s voice from beside you.

You started and twisted around to find her next to the chair Peter had vacated. As usual, she was glaring at you.

“Suit yourself,” said Drax. “Come, Mantis. Let us see if you can play fetch.”

“Play fetch?”

“It is a thing pets do, I’m told.”

“Oh! Then I must be very good at it already!”

“I doubt it.”

Their voices faded away, presumably as they swam through water and children to a more distant corner of the pool. Not wanting a dagger in your back, you didn’t take your eyes off Gamora to check. So long as those two were away from you, you didn’t really care where else they went.

“Where’s Peter?” Gamora asked once you were alone.

“No idea,” you answered.

“He came here with you.”

“And he left here without me. Why do you want to know?”

This time, Gamora didn’t even bother to roll her eyes. “If he’s gone, what are you still doing here?”

“Tanning. Trying to, anyway.”

“Don’t you and Peter usually hole up in the room and mate?”

“I have better things to do today.”

One thing Gamora didn’t need to know was that you and Peter might be having a fight. He was an attractive man, after all. Who knew when she could change her mind about dating him and snap him up when you weren’t looking?

“I suppose sitting around is that better thing?” She didn’t wait for you to answer. “I should be grateful. Perhaps he’ll actually get something productive done.”

“He gets plenty of productive things done.”

“Not since he started dating you.”

“Hey—”

“I do not care about what sex you do or do not do with Peter,” she cut in. “Do you really plan to sit here all day?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what he sees in you.”

“Neither do I.”

Gamora’s tense body unwound slowly as she shook her head. “We’re still stuck here for the next couple of days. Maybe there’s somewhere I can practice with my sword.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!”

She did. Then it occurred to you that you were too proud to beg her to stay just to keep you company. Gamora wasn’t even good company most of the time.

“Lend me some credits for the bar? I left mine in the room.”

“Go back to the room and get some.”

“I can’t. I left my room key, too,” you lied. “My shorts aren’t really big enough for pockets.”

Gamora lifted her eyes to the sky. This was leading up to an “I told you so,” you just knew it. But instead of saying as much (even though she had), she said, “If you are upset with Peter, you should talk to him. Don’t avoid him or play games that make you look like an idiot.”

She walked away, leaving you feeling half-annoyed, half-dejected. Though you’d made up the bit about wanting a drink on the spot, now getting drunk didn’t sound too bad. Doing so might even make this disaster of a vacation more appealing. To do that, you really did need credits. A peach Bellini slush (or ten) would be worth encountering Peter—though doing so risked you getting holed up in that room, just as Gamora had said.

Reluctant to leave your prime spot by the pool, you rose to your feet and sluggishly gathered your few possessions. As you pulled your shorts back on, you heard a familiar voice shout, “Look out!”

A sharp pain struck you square in the back of your head. Stars popped in front of your eyes. Your knees buckled. You were out before you hit the cement.

It wasn’t long after that that you felt a hard throbbing bring you back to reality. The suns had barely had time to scorch your shoulder blades. Sweat stuck to your back and…your hand?

“She’s waking up,” Mantis whispered.

You ripped your hand out of hers to sit up with a groan, rubbing the new knot on your skull. Through the fireworks still flashing before you, you could see the blurred outline of Mantis and Drax against the sky.

“Are you all right?” Drax asked.

“No, I’m not all right!” you shouted, so loudly that Mantis jumped backward. “You guys could have killed me!”

“It is not our fault your head is so soft.”

“You shouldn’t be throwing around—what is this?” You cast about through the wreckage of your fall until you found a hard lump hidden in your towel. Digging it out revealed—“a grenade! You shouldn’t be throwing Rocket’s grenades around a public place! Or any place we aren’t trying to blow something up!”

“It’s perfectly safe. We did not pull the pin.”

“I don’t care. You two are going to make someone dead.”

Mantis gasped.

Drax glanced at her. “This would not happen if you were not so abysmal at fetch,” he told her.

“I’m sorry,” she said tearfully.

Drax placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You only need more practice. Perhaps one day you will be slightly less abysmal.”

Though this news appeared to perk Mantis up, you weren’t about to have them continue playing fetch with explosives on your watch.

“I don’t care how much practice either of you needs. You aren’t playing with this anymore.” You set the grenade gingerly aside. “And you’re leaving the pool.”

“Says who?” Drax asked.

“Says me.”

“For what reason?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to find someone to throw you out.”

To your surprise, Drax didn’t argue. With a careless shrug, he straightened. “Fine. We will go elsewhere. Somewhere where there are fewer trees going straight in the mud.”

“It’s ‘stick in the mud!’” you hurled after him.

Mantis threw you one last miserable look before she followed Drax back into the hotel.

Groaning, you sank back onto your chair. What a day this was turning out to be. You’d driven away the only member of your team that liked you, chased Peter off with your bitchy attitude, and got Gamora and Drax to leave simply because they found you too boring to tolerate. At least now you had the pool to yourself…several dozen children and their families notwithstanding. This tan had better be spectacular.

Your recent head injury made the journey to the room to hash things out with your boyfriend less appealing than ever. You’d hate to pass out mid-screaming match.

Once you’d made sure Rocket’s grenade was carefully stowed underneath a towel under your chair, you settled back in, stomach pressed into the chair. Maybe now you could finally get some rest and relaxation on this vacation.

Soon, it was only you and the rest of the well-behaved hotel guests for you to concern yourself with. Children continued to shriek and laugh in the shallows on the opposite end of the pool. Their parents spoke quietly to one another in voices you didn’t bother to pick out from the crowd. Ice in glasses clinked; bottles hissed as they were cracked open. Your muscles finally started to unwind beneath the searing heat of the planet’s suns.

This was a proper vacation. You could have fallen asleep right there and then. You would have fallen asleep right there and then, had your ears not picked up on the faint scratching of tiny nails against the ground.

Your loosened muscles tensed up once more. Not here. Not now. It took considerable will-power to force air in regular intervals in and out of your lungs. Not once did you open your eyes.

You were picking up on Gamora’s paranoia, that was all. Rocket was not the only small mammalian creature in the region. That noise might have come from anyone or anything. Besides, either way, Rocket’s behavior was not your responsibility. He was a full-grown raccoon. It was about time he started looking after himself.

The scrabbling noise disappeared into the distance, allowing your breathing to lengthen and slow naturally. You had worried for nothing—or so you thought, until an enormous tumult of explosions, screams, and shattering glasses came from the direction of the pool bar. You stifled a moan into the mesh beneath your face.

‘Please don’t come over here. I had nothing to do with it. Leave me alone,’ you thought desperately.

Yes, the hotel staff had seen you in Rocket’s company before he’d been thrown out, but that didn’t mean you were with him. Judging by the shouting and rattling, the hotel staff had the situation handled just fine without your help. No need for you to get up and bother with it. If you acted like you didn’t know him, maybe no one would suspect that you did.

Someone behind you cleared their throat.

With a sinking heart, you rolled over. Looming above you stood the grimacing hotel manager. He held a squirming and swearing Rocket up by the scruff of his neck. Just beyond them, two other men in hotel security uniforms had Groot handcuffed. You did your best to appear bewildered by this all-too-common scene.

“Yes?” you asked.

The manager’s stormy features did not budge. “This…thing,” he thrust Rocket at you, “has completely destroyed our outdoor bar.”

You squinted at the raccoon in question, then widened your eyes innocently at the man holding him. “That’s a real shame. I had my heart set on getting a peach Bellini later.”

“It says it was an accident.”

Accident your shapely ass. Why couldn’t this guy just get to the point already? He acted like he didn’t have a real job to get to. Rocket shouldn’t have resorted to blowing the bar up, but he had just as much right to be there as any other guest, even if he did look like a rodent on steroids.

“It was an accident,” Rocket protested. “[Name], come on. You gonna let this moron manhandle me like this?”

The manager did not so much as look at Rocket while he spoke, nor did he acknowledge Rocket’s speaking at all. “It also says it knows you. Of course, if we cannot find the vermin’s caretakers—”

“I am not vermin!”

“I am Groot!” Groot added.

No one acknowledged him either.

“—he and his friend here will have to be taken to a more secure facility. Someone must pay for damages, and I doubt this…creature has the necessary credits.”

Rocket bared his teeth at you in what he clearly believed to be a winning smile. You did not return the gesture. That rat! He and Groot must have spent all their ill-gotten Sovereign gains on grenades and bazookas. Now they thought you were going to bail them out? Fat chance.

“I’ve never seen this thing before I came to this facility,” you said coldly. “When I met it, I thought your staff was already getting rid of its kind.”

“Its kind?!” Rocket cried just as Groot said, “I am Groot!”

The hotel manager continued to watch you a moment longer. Whether he knew you were lying or not, he apparently didn’t want to prolong the argument (or get rid of a paying customer who wasn’t breaking everything in sight), because he turned with a faint, “very well,” before marching off with Rocket kicking and shouting in his grip.

“You bitch! You stone-hearted bitch! I’ll get you for this!”

Groot threw you a very dirty look as his captors dragged him off, too. “I am Groot,” he said seriously.

“Don’t tell her what we’re going to do!” Rocket said. “Her expecting it is the opposite of what we want! Jeez, you were smarter when you were a baby!”

You waved goodbye. Whatever happened to those two, there was no doubt in your mind they’d be back to enact their vengeance shortly. There wasn’t a prison yet built that could keep Rocket in, and with Groot’s bad temper these days, the security team might not get far enough to throw either of them in prison to begin with.

On second thought, peering through the glass doors through which they’d disappeared, you wondered if you ought to run after. Someone should probably warn the people of this planet of Groot’s temper.

Nah. Served them right for treating Rocket like an animal. If anyone was team pet, it was Mantis, and you didn’t see anyone attempting to remove her from the premises. Rocket getting in a real fight might calm him down, too, without the need to kill any local water gods. Win-win.

Your conscience cleared, you got back to work on tanning your stomach and chest. Best to take advantage of this quiet time while it lasted. Peter wasn’t talking to you; Gamora hated your guts on a good day; Drax and Mantis were causing trouble out of sight; and Rocket and Groot were out of your hair for once. It looked as though you’d be headed home by yourself after this vacation. The very least you could do was look good when you got there. The rest of the women in prison might be intimidated by your gorgeous appearance long enough to leave you the hell alone.

The heat of the day dulled to just below sweltering as the suns inched down in tandem toward the horizon. You shifted only as long as it took to apply a fresh coat of tanning lotion. The more time that passed, the more you relaxed. It seemed that your “friends” had finally got the point. Rocket’s mess had even spooked off most of the families with which you’d had to share the pool earlier in the day.

You should have known. You should have known they weren’t playing quietly out of sight and well away from each other. If you had known, you would have expected the echoes of gunshots and screams drifting from the beach. You didn’t, though, and it took several seconds of cacophony worming its way into your aching, sun-warmed skull before you noticed it. Your eyes popped open.

They weren’t.

They were. No sooner had you sat bolt upright than did some worse noise fill the air: a strange, watery shriek that grew louder and louder.

You stood. A monstrous jellyfish the size of the Milano itself sailed over the hotel roof to land with a resounding crash in the water. The resulting tidal wave swelled up so large and powerful that you couldn’t react before it caught you up and slammed you against a wall. Your head injury from before throbbed all the more.

A few seconds of listening to panicked pool goers screech passed before you could catch your breath. So rattled were you that you could only stumble across the cracked, wet cement in the general direction of the being that had caused all this destruction. When you found Peter—or any other member of these so-called “Guardians of Everything But Decent Vacations”—you were going to rend them limb from limb.

What malevolent deity from your home planet you’d angered, you didn’t know, but they had repaid you in absolute chaos. Forget Rocket blowing up the bar. Through the spinning world around you, you caught brief glimpses of crying children, broken bricks, and failing tentacles. Whichever of your friends had done this (if they all hadn’t been involved), they had managed what they’d been threatening to do ever since the busted ship had landed: ruined your vacation.

Just as you thought this, one of those flailing tentacles landed on your shoulder. Pain seared through the skin there as the venomous limb groped lower.

No, you realized, your friends weren’t ruining your vacation. This thing was.

You saw red. Unthinking, you wrapped both hands around the tentacle and ripped it from your chest. The jellyfish made a sound like a scream, trying to retract itself from your burning palms. If it hadn’t felt good on your breast, it definitely didn’t feel good on your hands. But you weren’t about to let go. Ruin your downtime, would it?

“I,” you heaved its gelatinous body forward, “don’t,” it whimpered as it scraped against the edge of the now-empty pool, “think,” why was a jellyfish so damned heavy?, “so!”

With a final burst of effort, you yanked it free of the pool. It sailed upward. You gave the tentacle in your grip a tremendous tug. For something with no visible mouth, that beast sure made a lot of noise when you ripped out its writhing limb. It didn’t have long to make noise, though. Once it got within arm’s length, you threw your entire body at it fist first. Your knuckles met thin, gooey skin for half a second then—

—the entire creature burst.

Jellyfish goo and venomous arms flew from where you’d made contact. Closing your eyes did nothing to prevent you getting a face full of guts. Again you found yourself spitting out liquid, but this time it was thick and sour and made your tongue spark.

By the time you’d opened your eyes, the remaining onlookers had fallen silent. They, just like you and your surroundings, were covered in jellyfish innards. Only then did you remember the natives here believed what you’d just blown up was a god, regardless of how much it might have pissed you off.

“Oops?” you said into the ringing silence.

Not a single being laughed.

Time to skedaddle. Without bothering to go back for Rocket’s grenade, you walked backward to the doors into the still mostly intact hotel. Your back did not meet glass, but a warm body.

“Miss.”

You whirled to face the concierge. Whatever he opened his mouth to say, you never found out. A rush of footsteps filled the air, followed by a familiar roar, and then two strong arms lifted you into the air.

“That,” warm lips on your forehead, “was,” warm lips on your lips, “amazing!”

Peter finally backed off enough that you could see his face. You wanted to say something, but there wasn’t any time. He had you back on your feet and his tongue back in your mouth in a matter of milliseconds. Knowing the concierge remained nearby didn’t exactly have you in a hurry to get Peter to stop. In fact, you were almost disappointed when he broke away to breathe.

“What did I say about killing local gods?” you asked, if only to see him flush.

“I know, but—well, it was worth it. I’m sorry if I ruined your vacation, but that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you—”

You interrupted by hitching your finger through the collar of his shirt. “I just want two things,” you answered. “A peach Bellini slush and for you to get out of my face.”

Crestfallen, Peter attempted to take a step away.

You pulled him back. “Not you. You,” you twisted your head toward the google-eyed concierge, “can run along and get me that slush, or your establishment will be dealing with a lot more than collateral damage from guests having to rescue other guests.”

He did not hesitate to scuttle off.

“On second thought,” said Peter, “that might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You should work topless more often.”

You looked down. That damn jellyfish hadn’t just groped you! It had torn off your top! A sound of incoherent rage escaped your mouth, but you dropped your hand to grab Peter’s to tug him after you down the hall.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Only if you don’t help me relieve some of this tension I’ve got going on.”

“We’re gonna have sex? That’s not normally the sound you make when we’re gonna have sex.”

“It is this time,” you answered, tossing him onto the nearest couch. Peter’s hands immediately found your hips after you positioned yourself on top of him. Something, however, seemed to be bothering him:

“But what about your drink?”

“You can buy me one later, at the next place we stop. It’ll take him a few minutes to get a real security force back here.” You kissed him slowly, slipping your hand under his shirt to scrape your fingernails up his bare chest. “You’ve got until then to make me forget that lounging at the pool was the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

Peter, being Peter, was more than happy to oblige. You couldn’t even work up a real tantrum as you and the rest of the team sailed away in the cheapest shuttle you could find. Apparently rest and relaxation was easier to come by doing your job than it was taking a break from that job.

Your only regret was that, in the end, you never did get that peach Bellini slush.

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