#at least tech is still dead thank fuck

[lamaenthel]

torn between glee at finally getting an action episode and exasperation, because besides what I'm calling the asked-and-answered trope (aka the trope where the writers want something to happen even if it causes a giant plot hole and they "resolve" the conflict by having one character ask the other why X happened and they answer it with a single sentence and never revisit it ["why did i never see you on kamino?" "I was needed elsewhere" {what the fuck}]) my second least favorite trope is "well, that's not exactly true" followed by a character admitting they kept information vital to the plot secret for flimsy ass reasons. Because ykw, even if Cross was deadset about never going back to Tantiss to help the clones still being mercilessly tortured and experimented on by Dr Demagol Space Mengele (and I thought we resolved the reg prejudice during the Mayday arc?? but what do I know I guess) there's no reason to not pass that information onto Rex and Echo??? Bro you want to retire with your baby daughtersis in Space Hawaii then do it, you don't need to hold this information close to your chest. Literally just don't tell Omega if you're worried about her involving herself. She's like 14 it's fine you can lie to teenagers

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Full Baby Back Guarantee Not Included (dp x dc)

“Look, lady. It was a joke, ok? I don’t actually want your newborn baby,” Danny said as he held up his hands trying to back away from the woman with a bundle of blankets in her arms.

“We made a deal, you can’t back out now,”  The woman said as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Your kind can’t break their words.”

“My kind?” Danny exclaimed incredulously, because what the hell was she on. “Lady, you are delusional.”

Then his eyes caught on the awkward way the woman was holding onto the bundle and he frowned.

“Wait a second.” The halfa’s eyes went big. “Is that even your kid?!” his voice turning into a shriek at the end. “Did you kidnap some random child?”

“It’s my sister’s,” the woman cut him off coldly. “She and the father are both dead.” That was pretty awful, Danny thought as he winced. But then she turned to look blankly at him.

“Nobody will look for her.”

Dear skies above, he was supposed to be the ghost here, why was he the one getting chills.

“Holy fuck,” the halfa let out softly. 

He had to get that baby away from that psychopath.

“What is it you want again?” Danny asked faintly.

“Make me the new chief operating officer,” the woman answered.

“What?” The halfa choked out.

“They’re giving the position to Shwartz this monday. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen,” she continued evenly as if she wasn’t currently selling a baby in exchange for a fucking promotion.

“Yeah sure, deal,” Danny answered, eager to get away from her as soon as possible. 

“Give me your word,” she insisted.

“I give my word, I swear,” the halfa said. “Gimme the kid and you’ll get your job.”

The woman looked at him for a second before seemingly being satisfied. 

She extended the bundle of blankets towards him and handed him the swaddle baby. As soon as the kid was in his arms, Danny zipped away, fully intent on never seeing the woman again. He sure as hell was not getting her that promotion. Not that he would’ve been able to, what the hell, lady? At least research better before making a deal for your sister's baby!

Though in retrospect, it was a good thing she hadn't.

As Danny flew over a few buildings, he thanked the ancients the woman hadn’t had any ghost restraining tech, and only the summoning ritual. Which was a thing he had not been aware existed but he he would have to circle back to that because, right now, he had a whole ass baby nestled in his arms.

What the hell was his life.

Danny slowed down the flight once he felt he had put enough distance between them and the psycho and landed on a nice patch of green next to a road. He looked around and took notice that they’d gotten out of whatever that city had been, or at least the more populated part. He gave a quick look for people or cameras around before de-transforming. If he was spotted with a baby in his arms, his human look would help his chance of not getting shot.

The halfa started walking away from the road and towards the green vegetation. Still walking, he took a deep breath before looking down at the baby.

“You ok, kid?” Danny asked softly as their small (so so tiny!) face twitched in their sleep. “Oh you’re sleepy, huh?” he murmured gently. “Sleep tight sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Then he secured the blankets around the baby again, making sure none of the wind was reaching her. It was probably a her? The blankets were pink but he couldn’t know for sure since the psycho had only called her an it. Danny felt his lips curl. And as the night replayed in his mind, he felt the weight of the situation settle down on him.

Ancients what was he going to do?

He couldn’t pull up in Amity with a baby in his arms and no explanation of how he got her. He’d be arrested for kidnapping, which was technically absolutely what he was doing. But then again he couldn't just give that baby back to her aunt.

“What are you doing here?” came a voice from ahead of him.

Danny startled out of his thoughts to find himself facing an older man in a suit with a severe look on his face. The halfa instinctively brought the baby closer to his chest and the movement drew the older man’s eyes towards it.

Danny could see the realization of what it was he was holding settle and the man's face softened. He sighed deeply as his gaze went back up to meet the halfa’s.

“Despite what the media fancy printing, Wayne manor is not actually an orphanage.”

Danny had no idea what he was talking about so he just stayed silent and did his best not to look like someone who kidnapped babies.

The older man took the silence in stride. “If you need some help, there are programs to help young people in your situation,” he continued delicately.

Danny frowned as he tried to figure out what the guy meant by that before his eyes grew wide. “I’m not her dad!” He cried.

“I see,” the man said evenly as he looked back down at the bundle. Danny held her closer in response. “I see,” the guy repeated with a slight change in his voice.

The two held each other’s gaze for a moment before the older man sighed again. 

“Shall we continue this inside? It is getting windy and we wouldn’t want the little one to suffer, would we?” The man offered in a soothing tone.

Danny hesitated but one look at the kid’s face that had grown pink from the cold decided him.

“Ok,” Danny said. “Lead the way.”

And with that the three of them started  across the grassy lawn.

[hey-foreieys]

Do you think Vox is nostalgic when he hears Alastor?

Not from whatever past in hell they might have, but from being alive? Alastor walks around talking, not just in the accent, but with the same distortion that a radio from Vox's childhood would've had, using the slang from the time period.

And yeah there's overlap in early-mid century entertainment, but Alastor stays in 1933. He doesn't move on, he's quite literally plucked right out of his time and just meanders around the new technology and culture more recent sinners bring down with them.

Some 20-odd years go by and Vox fucking dies and wakes up in Hell. Sleazy TV host gets his ironic punishment in the form of having a clunky actual television set in place of his head. You get the idea.

So Vox is going about his business newly-dead and in Actual Hell and he comes across somebody that's near literally a walking radio show like the ones he listened to as a kid. 24/7, this guy does not let his act fall a single time. He's confident, always smiling, and always on. And Vox admires that; he KNOWS how much work it is to put on that sort of persona, it's exhausting. But this "Alastor" guy? He never drops it. Not once. At the very least, never that anyone has ever seen.

We only have vague inclinations on what happens next. Alastor and Vox were familiar on some level, enough that Vox has a clear, uncorrupted photo of Alastor. We know Vox had propositioned some kind of partnership to Alastor, which he declined. This could have been anytime in the last 70 or so years, long before the other Vees. We don't know if this was a simple "no thank you" or a drawn out and humiliating "how dare you," we just know it's a touchy subject for Vox.

Anyway. It's the 21st century. Vox is proudly the face of new tech and innovation. Embracing the future and ready to exploit it. TVs, computers, smart phones, drones, whatever; he wants to put his name on it.

But there's still a tiny part of Vox that sticks with him. Some hundred year old memory of a little boy sitting on the floor trying to listen to music and stories and news through the crackle of static from the radio. Thinking that maybe, one day, he might be the one telling stories and news. Now there's a walking, talking, physical embodiment of that memory.

And Vox sits with the knowledge that the walking memory hates him.

[eoieopda]

FORCE QUIT // EPISODE II: THE PROFESSOR

until now, hyunjin's never met a problem that subterfuge and violence couldn't solve.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader | series masterlist (2/4) | prev. episode | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — secret relationship, star-crossed lovers ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: angst + smut word count: 10.6k rating: 18+ — minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + recon!hyunjin, corporate defector!reader, hyunjin’s pov, minor time skips, hyunjin is a Charmer™️, reader is a fugitive, shower sex, brief nipple play + fingering, implied unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab & uses she/her pronouns; has had cybernetic modifications (similar to plastic surgery + prosthesis) to change her appearance; current and prior hair/eye colors are described but they’re artificial(!!); reader is shorter than hyunjin and can be/is lifted by him. ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review. a/n 1: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly! a/n 2: the smut isn’t long or particularly explicit because the plot is more important, sorry!

One of Hyunjin’s earliest memories is of his halmoni looking him dead in the face and calling him a phantom. 

Cruel as it may have been, the superstition was justified. Even as a kid, Hyunjin existed in blind spots, floating through walls and picking up on all the whispers he was never supposed to hear. Never seen or spoken to, he was ever-present, nonetheless; and worse than that, he was seemingly omniscient, too. 

Who the fuck wouldn’t be afraid of him?

Funnily enough, his halmoni is now the one haunting him. Careening into his late twenties, Hyunjin can still hear the slight rasp of her voice echoing in his ears, reminding him that he’s still stuck beyond some fucking veil. He may have the same beating heart and a pair of operable lungs he’s always had, but biology doesn’t change the facts.

For all intents and purposes, Hwang Hyunjin is a ghost.

As is usually the case, Hyunjin stands unnoticed in the doorway of the Hub with his expectant arms crossed. His gaze alternates between the face of his watch and that of Bang Chan, who sits completely unaware at his desk on the opposite side of the room. This game is one that Hyunjin’s been playing for years now, as sad as that is.

How long can he exist in plain sight without anybody plainly seeing him?

At least twelve minutes and seven seconds, according to his watch. 

In all the time that his reconnaissance man’s been standing there, anticipating a reason for being summoned in the first place, Chan hasn’t looked up once. Whatever he’s preoccupied with involves furiously typing away at the screen in front of him and continuing to ignore the untouched coffee near his elbow. Like this meeting, that room-temperature Americano seems to be on the list of things Chan can’t find space for in his short-term memory. 

It’s for the best, really. 

Chan’s stress is baked into his hunched posture, and it’s so palpable that Hyunjin can feel it from the doorway. Adding caffeine to his system now may make him implode, setting off some cataclysm that can’t be stopped. That’s not a loss the Black Screen is capable of surviving, now or ever. And frankly, Hyunjin is maxed out on hauntings as it is.

Speaking of…

He glances down at his watch again, confirming that two more minutes have slipped by in silence. Though he’d love to see an organic end to his game, Hyunjin doesn’t have all night. With a forlorn sigh, he frowns and quips, “Maybe I should wear a bell.”

The Black Screen’s de facto leader all but jumps out of his skin, which is a reaction Hyunjin may never get tired of. There are a million practical benefits to his incomparable stealth, but this is far and away the best of them: scaring the piss out of people simply because he can.

To his credit, Chan doesn’t get angry the way most people do when they’re caught off-guard. His panic leaves him quickly, giving way to the patient smile he always manages to find. That expression is a wonder, as far as Hyunjin is concerned, given the massive burden Chan has undertaken at such a young age. It’s the sort of demeanor that Hyunjin’s only ever seen on overworked single fathers and, in a way, Chan is. 

Except instead of adoring kids, he’s got a battalion of strays with a collective death wish, a severe caffeine dependency, and prematurely grey hairs popping up at his temples.

Pity.

“That’d kind of defeat the point, wouldn’t it?” Chan rubs his hand sheepishly over the nape of his neck to cover his embarrassment. As he does, he chuckles, “You’re an asset because you’re so fucking difficult to keep track of.”

Hyunjin appreciates the acknowledgment — he is an asset — but he’s never been good at accepting praise, so he merely shrugs and removes his frame from the door’s.

Crossing now to the disaster Chan calls a workspace, Hyunjin can’t help but marvel at the changes the room has undergone in just a few short years. It’s still hideous, having been a foreman’s office in a past life, but their low-rent war room is finally starting to live up to its name. 

The Hub.

Mitochondria of their haphazard little cell.

Along the southernmost wall, the hastily boarded-up windows have since been formally blown out and built over by people actually qualified to handle the task — not by teenage anarchists wielding hammers, as was the case with the first attempt. In their place, various monitors take up the bulk of the surface area. Each one emits enough light to make the overhead fluorescents redundant, leaving them to go unused.

Hyunjin has to smother a laugh every time he glances between the two corners of that wall. One contains a station so immaculate that it feels illegal to glance at it with an unclear head. A fucking miracle, considering that it belongs to the most scatter-brained netrunner he’s ever met. Her various gadgets are meticulously stored and labeled, nary a wire out of place. 

Maybe, he thinks, Spider is compensating for all that internal chaos with external organization. 

The polar opposite occupies the other corner: Bang Chan’s stable mind and the goddamn mess of everything that feeds it. A fucking disaster belonging to the one person best equipped to prevent them.

If Hyunjin didn’t know to expect him there, he wouldn’t have seen Chan’s head peeking out from the certifiable mountain range of files. Schematics, dossiers, and maps clutter every surface to a suffocating degree, and yet there sits Chan, still breathing. Still typing away, as if the conversation they just had has already been deleted from his brain.

“You the only one keeping office hours these days?” Hyunjin wonders, gesturing vaguely to the quiet that threatens to swallow them.

Bang Chan’s scoff is the only indication Hyunjin gets that he was heard at all. It’s enough for him; the sound seems twice as loud without the others around to drown it out. To fill the void, he hums to himself, biding his time until he gets what he came for.

Wandering aimlessly around the room, his eyes trail over what little scenery he has left to take in — what would’ve constituted work stations, if the people they belonged to cared to use them. 

Next to Spider’s vast assortment of equipment sits Minho’s desk, although the only thing on said desk are his knife-carved initials, an empty bottle of soju, and a broken pair of brass knuckles. Directly across from his anarchy, there used to be stations for the Black Screens’ weapon-smith, Seungmin, and mechanic, Jeongin — but both scrapped their respective shit for spare parts, to no one’s surprise. The only hint of their former presence there is carpeting that’s been ripped to shit and a few screws, too stripped to be of any use.

Hyunjin picks up one of them as he passes, firing it off with his non-dominant hand towards the trash can several meters away. It lands with a thunk against the existing garbage. He glances again at Chan, who has swapped out typing for massaging his temples. As usual, Hyunjin’s scores go unseen.

“Been at it long?” Hyunjin asks. 

Chan actually looks up at him this time, blinking slowly while his brain catches up to the conversation. 

“That eye strain doesn’t normally hit you until the six-hour mark.”

Chan nods. There’s a small smile on his lips that looks appreciative —  like he’s grateful to be known so well. He gestures to the table at the center of the room and says, “Almost finished, man. You can sit if you want to.”

Table is a bit of a reach, Hyunjin thinks as he approaches it. That Formica monstrosity is held together by duct tape and sheer force of will. It’ll buckle if anyone around it blinks too forcefully. 

Despite how truly heinous it is, he has a soft spot for everything that broken piece of furniture represents: all-nighters spent huddled over plans to un-fuck a state they had no part in destroying, long-forgotten family meals — at tables far nicer than this — sacrificed for a calling that beckoned them to leave home and never look back. 

His own bed may be a stranger to him, but there’s a permanent imprint of his ass in his designated folding chair. It’s likely the closest thing to a home that he’ll ever know. When he lowers himself into it now, it groans under his weight despite him not weighing much at all. His arms cross nonchalantly and his legs do, too. 

If he’s going to keep waiting, he’s going to be comfortable.

And he does wait.

And waits, and waits, and waits —

“Sorry about that,” Chan states abruptly, several minutes later. 

Unlike Chan, Hyunjin isn’t easily surprised. He doesn’t flinch at the sudden sound of Chan’s voice. He waves dismissively instead, knowing full well that the leader wouldn’t waste his time on purpose. With a quick nod towards the chair at the head of the table, he invites Chan to join him; but Chan shakes his head, opting to stand nearby as he stretches his arms overhead. 

Yawning through his words, he attempts to explain, “Been sitting all fucking day. My back is killing me.”

“Did you eat?” Hyunjin asks, catching the eldest off-guard once again. 

The only response he gets is a grimace, so he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for the dalgona he managed to get his hands on. It only breaks his heart a little bit to toss it over to Chan, who lights up like a roman candle the second he sees it.

It’s always the little reminders of home that hit the hardest, isn’t it?

Chan rips open the packet the moment he catches it and freezes when the plastic wrapping no longer obstructs his view. There’s no humor to be found in his dry laugh, and Hyunjin understands why that is as soon as Chan holds up the snack. Dead center, there’s an outline of an umbrella pressed into the toffee. 

“Speaking of Ulsan…” Chan sighs, all joy extinguished. Snapping it clean in half, he tosses a portion back to Hyunjin, who’s eager to sink his teeth into it for more reasons than one. Through his own mouthful, Chan mumbles, “Have you picked up any intel on this trial they’re running? I can’t even find a name —”

Hyunjin interrupts with a nod. “The Bliss Beta.”

His tone is casual because this shit is old news by now. More than that, he doesn’t want Chan to burn energy he doesn’t have on a spiral he doesn’t need to make. Someday, people will finally realize that Hyunjin is ten steps ahead of them. 

Today, unfortunately, is not that day.

Chan simply gawks at him.

“I swung by Scraps’ apartment building last week to grab her shit, and I heard some drunks talking about it on the sidewalk outside,” Hyunjin states with a shrug. “I nicked a flier from one of their pockets on my way back here.”

“You know, you could’ve just talked to them,” Chan frowns disapprovingly. “You catch more flies with honey, or whatever.”

Leave it to Bang Chan to whine about prosocial behavior when he’s barely left the factory at any point in the ten years they’ve been holed up inside it. 

Effectively a recluse, the only two people he’s spoken to outside of the Black Screen — Felix, a decade ago, and Changbin, most recently — were mere seconds away from joining up. And if that isn’t enough to disqualify his hot take, Hyunjin would like to note for the record that Chan founded — and actively leads — what’s been deemed a “terrorist organization” by the general public. 

That has fuck all to do with honey — just subterfuge, violence, and a dream.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes but keeps the bulk of his exasperation to himself. After all, calling Chan a hypocrite won’t make him get to the point any faster. 

“Eavesdropping got me nowhere. I’m not sure what I could’ve possibly gained from inhaling that liquor off their breath beyond a drunk and disorderly of my own.” 

Before Chan can get a word in, Hyunjin continues his report. 

“They’re marketing this beta exclusively in low-income neighborhoods, but there’s no indication of what these people are signing up for — only the amount of cash they’ll get if they consent to participate in the R&D.”

“So, we still don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Chan mutters dejectedly. 

He stares off to the side as the gears in his brain turn; however, he doesn’t stay stuck for long. In a matter of moments, he begins to pace the length of the table, getting more worked up with every step. “Spider said their tech is a brick wall. It’s going to take a while for her to break through, if she even can.”

Hyunjin means it, so he says it with his whole chest: “She can.”

In the time he’s known her, Spider hasn’t met a code she can’t break. No person has ever been successful in keeping her out — up to and including Lee Minho, who has a cement-lined sarcophagus where his heart should be. If she doesn’t find a crack to slip through, she’ll fucking make one. She always does.

Trust like this is hard to come by in the life they’ve all chosen, but she’s earned Hyunjin’s. 

She deserves Chan’s, too.

Brow furrowed, Chan looks back at Hyunjin. There’s something in his expression that he’s attempting to keep to himself — something he’s not allowing himself to say. Whatever he’s withholding, the fact that he’s concealing anything makes the hair on the back of Hyunjin’s neck stand up. A long, tense pause fills the space between them. 

Hyunjin knows it’s hypocritical, getting frustrated by someone else’s refusal to open up. Someone who plays everything close to the chest shouldn’t be allowed to hate it when others do the same around him; but he does, and he’s seconds away from demanding that Chan spit it out already.

Chan must see it coming, so he intervenes to keep the younger man’s annoyance from boiling over. Gently lowering the temperature, he asks, “Hyunjin, do you have any contacts on the inside?”

The fact that Chan’s asking at all tells Hyunjin that the answer is already known. 

Still, the head of reconnaissance looks his leader dead in the eye and responds flatly, without hesitation.

“No.”

Hyunjin is only ever able to make his way to you in the dead of night. 

Though the location frequently changes, the preparation never does. He lays awake until he knows for sure that the rest of the compound is down for the night. When all he hears is snoring, he drags himself out of the bed he can never seem to sleep in. 

Once he’s on his feet, whatever he’s wearing is quickly replaced with something that won’t stick out: nondescript black clothing, shoes with the tread and size label worn down beyond recognition, hood up, mask on.

You once joked that he looked like a jewel thief, all shrouded in darkness, and you were sort of right. Unfortunately for Hyunjin, there’s a fatal flaw in that comparison. He has to leave his prize behind every single time, doomed to return home empty-handed.

Tonight won’t be any different.

The front door rattles too loudly for his liking, creates a risk of questions being asked that he doesn’t want to answer, so Hyunjin utilizes the fire escape that abuts the westernmost wall of the factory. The late October air has left the metal rungs of that ladder so cold that they circle back to burning, but it doesn’t slow him down. Nothing ever does when it comes to you. 

If anything, the pain drives him to pick up the pace. Him and his stinging palms make short work of the obstacle. Just as quickly, he hits the ground running towards the freestanding garage that sits to the east of the factory. Once he reaches it, panting slightly, he sets to work, going through the same old motions.

It doesn’t take long for Hyunjin to swap out his motorcycle’s license plate. He’s done it so many times by now that the task no longer requires conscious thought; just muscle memory and the desperation he feels to move as quickly as possible in order to reach you faster. The old plate hits the floor with a clang that’s still ringing out when he finishes affixing the new series of numbers to the back of his bike.

All these precautions are tedious bullshit, but failing to go through the motions is a surefire way to get the attention of private police. Simply put, Hyunjin doesn’t have the spare energy it would take to kill and bury whichever poor fucker attempts to cite him; nor does he have the heart to keep you waiting even longer than you have been.

Fuck. 

How long has it been?

Suddenly rushing, he slings one, lean leg over the side of his bike and grabs the handlebars.

Too long.

The terrain is a thousand times harder to navigate in the dark, all divots and ditches along the winding side roads. Still, the threat of losing control of his ride is far less severe than that of betraying the compound’s location; or worse, the Black Screen’s presence anywhere, at all.

So, like always, Hyunjin stomachs the barely-sufferable thrashing and keeps the headlamp off until he makes it to the main road. Even then, he flies a kilometer or so into pitch black before he feels comfortable enough to light the way.

He doesn’t know how many kilometers he’s driven in total just to keep you, but if he had to guess, he’s cracked quadruple digits.

Worth it.

You can’t stay in one place for long enough to put down roots. The time you do stay put varies, never following a pattern. Daegu for eight weeks, then to Anyang for three, Namyangju for five…

Busan, he thinks to himself as he reaches the expressway. 

Busan was the last place he held you, a month or so ago. Some shitty little apartment near the docks, where the ceiling leaked over your bed and made a fucking mess of things. Nothing could be done to fix it without calling too much attention to you, but it didn’t matter; he fucked you on the living room floor, and you slept like a baby against his chest, bed be damned.

He hasn’t felt rested since.

The drive from Changwon to Busan takes thirty-five minutes, if Hyunjin recalls correctly — he always does — and it burns him up to know that the trip would take half that time if he could drive as fast as his heart races. 

But he can’t. 

He won’t, not when a traffic stop could ruin both your lives. It feels like crawling, abiding by limits. 

And fuck, he’s sick to death of those.

As he drives, the rubble eventually gives way to a proper cityscape. The neon signs of Busan bleed out into the dark, so hazy in the smog that the words themselves are lost. It’s only color — sharp reds and blues — not substance that offsets the inky black. The massive buildings that those signs are affixed to stab upwards into the sky until their tops disappear, like they don’t ever stop at all. 

Still, despite the seemingly endless interiors around him, Hyunjin sees houseless people everywhere he looks. It’d be more comfortable to look away as he winds down side streets to your last known location, but he doesn’t. Even though he has nothing else to give them, he can spare the courtesy of acknowledging that they exist. 

Nobody else does.

Every time he raises a hand off the handlebars to wave at someone, they wave right back. Just for a second, he forgets that the city isn’t always unkind. It’s a feeling he’d bottle if he could, the little glimmer of hope.

When Hyunjin reaches the docks, he parks his bike behind a boat house and heads on foot from there. Up the sidewalk, around the block to the back entrance to your apartment. The rational half of his brain knows you won’t still be there; the lovesick half doesn’t care. It signals his heart to beat faster with every step, damn close to breaking through his chest when he picks the lock and pushes the door open.

The four flights of stairs between him and your place are taken two steps at a time, not only due to his eagerness but the shitty construction. Even the steps he deems safe enough to touch creak beneath his weight, like they’re screaming at him for the intrusion. He ignores it, and soon enough, he’s outside your door.

This time, Hyunjin doesn’t need to pick the lock. Your door is open. Everything that used to be behind it is gone.

He presses his palm against the center of his chest, glances down, and mutters, “Told you so.”

With you and your few earthly possessions absent, he’s left to a scavenger hunt — finding some hint of where you’ve gone next. You’re far more creative than he is, which makes this part even harder. 

As bitter as the necessity makes him, he’s thankful for the amount of times he’s had to do it. Practice has made him the tiniest bit smarter. Now, he spots the empty bottle sitting on a windowsill, and he doesn’t immediately assume that it’s trash. 

Hyunjin jogs over to it and picks it up, grinning instantly. 

“Gyeongju beopju,” he murmurs as reads the label aloud. Then, knowing full fucking well that you can’t hear him, he says it anyway, “You beautiful genius.”

Only one question remains, and it’s the hardest one to solve: where in Gyeongju?

For good reason, you can’t leave an address floating around. That fact doesn’t appease the frustration creeping up from his stomach, transforming into a groan on its way out of his mouth. With an exasperated breath, he lets his hand drop, though he maintains his grip on the bottle. It’s damn near inaudible, but there’s a muffled sound within it as it jostles in his grip.

The fuck?

Seeing no other option, Hyunjin screws off the cap. On the inner part of that metal, he finds a strip of double-sided tape and nothing else; whatever you stuck to it must’ve been shaken loose. 

Beautiful, perfect genius. 

He tilts the bottle upside down with his free hand ready to catch what falls: a ripped-up piece of paper, rolled up like a scroll. There, written in your neat script, is a lead — 8793 & 2441, which he assumes designates the street address and apartment number. Directly below those, you’ve written “red”, which he doesn’t know what the fuck to make of.

One way or another, he’ll figure it out.

The race to Gyeongju swallowed another hour of his time. Midway through the second leg of his never-ending journey, the sky opened up. Rain came down in sheets so strong that he almost gave up, which isn’t a decision he would’ve made lightly. He didn’t — thank god — because the downpour started to peter out around the time he crossed the city limits.

Now, idling off to the side of the road in the city’s center, he’s soaked and thoroughly chilled to the bone, but at least he can see. 

Capitalizing on his newly unobstructed vision, Hyunjin fishes his mobile out from the zippered pocket of his jacket. The leather glove adorning his right hand is shoved back into that empty space. He rapidly thumbs through applications, eyes scanning just as fast until he locates the navigation. To avoid any unwanted attention, he keeps the screen confined to the glass, rather than projecting it into the space in front of him.

A quick search through the city’s most recent map gives him three locations with “8793” as the street number. One possibility is ruled out immediately when he zooms in on the satellite image and finds a vacant lot. The two remaining results both appear to be high-rise apartment buildings, both of which could be this month’s pit stop. Notably, neither building is red, nor does the color feature in either of the street names.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. 

Once again, he swaps his mobile and glove, then hastily stuffs his fingers back into the latter. With a sigh, he sinks back down onto his bike and makes to leave for the nearest of the two possibilities. It’s not until he reaches the intersection that the realization hits him.

You live your life on the outskirts. 

There’s simply no way that you’d pick a place so close to downtown.

Disregarding the blaring horns and shouted obscenities, he makes an illegal turn to reposition himself on the opposite side of the road. It’s for the best that no one he cut off can hear him laughing over the roar of his engine. All their rage is drowned out by the screech of his tires as he peels the fuck out of there.

Five more minutes slip away while he speeds off to the northeast side of town. Thankfully, when he locates what he presumes is your building, your final hint begins to make some fucking sense. 

Around the block sits a bar with boarded up windows, tiny fragments of glass still littering the sidewalk where a break-in must’ve occurred at some point in the recent past. On a hunch, Hyunjin looks up at the street lights framing the exterior of The Red Door. His suspicion is confirmed immediately.

The CCTV cameras covering the area were smashed to shit, along with the bar’s windows.

You were giving him a safe place to park. Damn near throwing his bike down in the process, he stumbles off to your building, muttering as he goes, “Beautiful, perfect, considerate genius.”

Hyunjin ages forty years in the time it takes the elevator to drag him up to the twenty-fourth floor. 

When he finally steps out and the doors close again behind him, force of habit checks for any people or cameras that may have eyes on him. Finding none, he whirls back around to face the closed, metal doors behind him. Frozen fingers tug at the black, cloth mask that sits over his mouth and nose until his face is fully visible. 

It’s reckless and melodramatic — he’ll openly admit to being both of those things — but he needs to see it to believe that he still looks as young as he did when he entered the car in the first place. Oh, thank god. Drenched and windswept as he may be, he finds some amount of solace in the absence of wrinkles.

With the mask secured again over his features, he heads off in the direction of apartment 2441, praying to anyone listening that he didn’t fuck this all up along the way. His brain can’t hold a candle to yours; and this certainly wouldn’t be the first time that he got so caught up in thinking like you that he missed the mark completely.

After wandering down a hallway far fucking longer than it seems, he reaches the door he’s been seeking. Despite the anxious fluttering in his stomach, Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate; he immediately lifts his arm to grab hold of the knob. It pulls away before he can even wrap his hand around it, leaving him frozen on the doorstep with his pulse hammering in his ears.

Transfixed, he watches the splinter of light on the floor grow wider until his curiosity wins out. A quick glance upward reveals an occupant he’s never laid eyes on before, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to study them fully. Through the narrow gap, fingers far warmer than his own encircle his wrist and pull him through the opening. Behind him, the door closes again so quietly that his stumbling drowns out the sound.

Opting to ignore his surroundings for the time being, Hyunjin tilts his head curiously to the side and stares straight ahead. No matter how many times his gaze sweeps over the person in front of him, he finds absolutely nothing familiar. 

Not the irises, not the hair, not even the bone structure.

He arches an eyebrow. “Impressive timing, opening the door before anyone even knocks.”

“Were you planning on knocking?” His expression is reflected right back at him. “Since when is that a thing you do?”

Grinning wolfishly, he turns his wrist to capture the hand still holding onto him. All it takes is a gentle tug to eliminate the distance. As if it’s a reflex, two hands reach up to the mask obscuring the lower half of his face, carefully ushering the fabric down until it pools around his neck.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

Nobody manages to notice him when he’s standing in the same room, let alone through a door with no peephole. His measured steps never make a sound, either, which makes it all the more insane that his presence was sensed before he intentionally gave himself away.

Arms loop around his neck and pull him closer as feet push up on tiptoe. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

Hyunjin’s answer — that he would know you anywhere, that he could find you in the dark with touch alone — is eerily close to the one he receives.

“A sixth sense,” you chirp. 

Though everything else about you has changed since he last saw you, that voice is the common denominator. It strikes a chord deep in his chest, plucking his heartstrings masterfully in a way only you can. The sound is so much better when it’s not looping hopelessly in his head; when it slips through lips finally close enough to kiss.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

There’s no word Hyunjin can think of to describe the desperation behind his movements — at least, not in any language he’s ever heard. He lifts and you jump, and your fingers are threading through his hair with an identical, insatiable need to be closer before your body even settles fully in his arms. Like your legs around his waist, your mouth opens up for him, sighing softly into his when your lips crash together.

He can hardly catch his breath, but he doesn’t give a shit. Air in his lungs isn’t worth half as much as your tongue licking into his mouth. Gripping the soft flesh of your thighs and letting your weight warm his palms is more than enough to keep him alive. Hyunjin clings to you, and it hits him then — so forceful and sudden that it almost knocks a tear loose:

He’s not a ghost when he’s with you.

Clinging to him as closely as you are, you notice the way he shivers. Every article of clothing on him is rain-drenched and chilled to the touch; his eagerness doesn’t make him tremble any less.

You break the kiss. A concerned frown takes his place on your lips. “Cold?”

He nods, bumping the tip of his nose against yours affectionately in the process, silently begging for you to kiss him again. You lean away and leave him no choice but to frown, too, albeit much less cutely than you.

You’re quick to soothe. You glance over your right shoulder towards a hallway he can’t see the end of. When you turn your head back around to him, a coy smile lights up the dark.

“A hot shower might help,” you suggest. You tilt your head to the side, as if there’s anything either of you really need to consider here. “What do you think?”

Hyunjin thinks carrying you off towards the bathroom answers your question well enough.

With how feverishly you kiss him, he’s effectively flying blind, moving as quickly as he can while trying not to stumble. He has to keep one arm off you, extended, to prevent a collision; but he eventually reaches his destination. A measured kick opens the half-closed door far enough to move your bodies through it.

The same arm that guided him to the bathroom swipes uselessly over the wall in an attempt to find the light switch without turning his head. You seem to sense his struggle, pulling away kiss-bitten to handle the task yourself.

It’s then that Hyunjin truly gets to drink in the sight of you, radiant despite the flickering fluorescent overhead. 

It’s then that his heart truly starts hammering away in his chest, pumping so eagerly that he finds it hard to hear you say, “You need to let me go.”

He knows you’re referring to his hold on you now, which keeps you from reaching down to the shower handle. Those words sting, nonetheless.

“We’ve got a good thirty minutes’ worth of hot water.” You slip through his hands and immediately push up onto your toes to kiss him again, like you know exactly where his train of thought has gone. “Then, I’ve got a warm bed under a leak-free ceiling.”

For how long, though?

Hyunjin shakes his head to knock those thoughts out of the way. He refuses to spend another second thinking about anything else. For now, he’s here. 

He’s with you — beautiful, considerate, genius you — and you’re glancing over your shoulder at him as you check the water’s temperature on the back of your hand, smiling with your eyes alone. With a built-in fondness that never changes, even if the eyes themselves do.

“Coming?” You chirp. You flick water at him to wake him from the trance he’d fallen into while watching you.

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows quickly then drops them, eyes sweeping over your body and making you shiver on instinct. “At least once.”

You want to roll your eyes — he knows you do — but you’re too flustered. You’re always so easy to play with. So shy that you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth when you reach out to help him shrug his jacket off his shoulders. 

With a muffled thud, wet leather hits dry tile. Shirts, shoes, and all the rest of the tangible barriers between you fall by the wayside. The two of you resettle within the steam of the shower, and his hands revel in your softness the second they can. 

He kisses an apology into your bare shoulder for the shock his cold fingers press into your waist. Yours, perfectly warm, thread through his already wet hair. 

Somehow, it’s your touch that sparks a shiver.

“Missed you.” Your eyes flutter shut as his lips travel nearer to your neck. “I still do,” you amend, breathless by the time his mouth reaches your pulse point. How a heartbeat can feel like home, he’ll never know. “I’m never not missing you.”

Hyunjin’s palms follow the curves of your waist down to your hips, grip solid as he pulls you flush against his chest, kissing up the column of your neck until your head tips back. You’re in the perfect position to gaze up at him when your eyelids finally find the strength to stay open.

“Have I ever told you what I think about?” He murmurs. His hands dip further down to caress your perfect ass, massaging the flesh with both hands until he works a quiet whine out of you. “When I want you but can’t have you?”

Your pupils dilate so fast that it’s almost comical. Hyunjin lets a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He lets his eyes drift, too, so he can watch rivulets of warm water streak down your chest. Halfway to hypnotized, he speaks in a low, reverent tone:

“Think about holding you so close that I can feel your nipples start to peak.”

Experimentally, he raises his hand and flicks his thumb over one. It glides easily — slippery when wet — and you love the sensation, judging by the way you gasp.

When he moves towards you, you seem to anticipate where he’s headed next. You inch backwards until your spine rests against the shower wall, shivering slightly against the chill.

“I picture you writhing in my arms, pinned to a wall just like this one.” Left palm flat against the tile near your head, he cages you in, tilting his head down so that his forehead touches yours. “Your fingernails pressing crescents into my shoulders, your legs wrapped around me.”

You whimper, right on cue, when his right hand drops.

“Spilling all those sweet little sounds of yours right into my ear.”

The knuckle of his index finger traces a straight line down, down, down your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat because he keeps going, finds you with his fingertips, wet and wanting.

“Hyunjin,” you plead, voice barely loud enough to overpower the drum of water landing at your feet.

He ducks his head, lips now close enough to your ear that they touch while he whispers, “Will you let me?”

You gasp when Hyunjin’s middle finger begins to swirl over your clit.

“Can I show you?”

Though he’s better at hiding it than you, his ministrations have him fucked up, too. His cock hangs heavy in the minimal space between you; his whole body begs for yours and yet, when you nod, he limits himself to one digit. Your arousal coats that finger like gloss in the second before it slips inside of you.

You’re boneless, but you manage to wobble off from the bathroom towards your bedroom, nonetheless. As you do, you pull your half-damp hair up into a crooked knot at the top of your head, unintentionally leaving tendrils behind. They cling to the wetness of your shoulders, not budging a millimeter despite your movement.

Hyunjin pads along behind you, and he can’t help but smirk. You clung to his shoulders the exact same way, only letting go when the hot water and your shaking legs gave out simultaneously. 

Like you can sense his smugness, you look back at him. You don’t call him out the way he expects. Instead, you smile sheepishly. “It’s bleeding, isn’t it?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “It’s what?” Frantically, his wide eyes dart across your exposed skin for some injury he must’ve missed. Something he must’ve caused. There are old scars, sure, but nothing fresh to tip him off. “Is what — ?”

“The dye!” You amend quickly, gesturing over your shoulder. 

This clears up his panic but not his confusion. 

Chuckling softly, you turn back around with a shake of your head and continue your steps towards the dresser at the far side of your room. Your explanation continues as you go. 

There’s no condescension in your expression or tone  — there never is — but Hyunjin thinks it’d be warranted. You know more than he could ever hope to about a million different things, all of which he’d willingly pay tuition costs to learn about.

It’s simple, it’s sweet, and it’s effective. 

“Hot water opens up the cuticle of the strand and flushes the color out. Red molecules don’t penetrate as deeply — they’re the biggest — so they wash out super easily, unfortunately.”

You frown again and tug open the middle drawer, mumbling about your poor white towels while you root through your limited selection of clothing.

He’s so fond of you that he really might drop dead, so he jokes his way around it, doesn’t speak the quiet part out loud.

“Shit. You spoil me, Professor.” Hyunjin whistles, genuinely impressed and only slightly devilish. The unexpected noise prompts you to look up at him again with startled eyes. “First, the shower sex, now a chemistry lesson —”

He has to cut himself off to catch the sweatpants you hurl at him. The interruption doesn’t wipe the teasing look off his face, though; and it certainly doesn’t distract from the flustered look on yours. You try like hell to hide his effect on you, but it only gets worse when he swaps out the towel hanging low on his hips for the clothes you’ve given him.

After shooting you an impish grin, Hyunjin twirls around, if only for the split second it takes him to drop himself into your bed. And fuck, just like every other time, he wonders how either of you ever manage to leave it. Here in your sheets, it’s all weightless — your joint baggage, the world’s expectations, the thousand things neither one of you can say out loud.

“Must be sore from the drive,” you hum. “Tired, too.”

Hyunjin can’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

The urge he feels to close his eyes and bury his face in pillows that smell like you is overwhelming. That familiar floral perfume of yours calms him so quickly and completely that he could fall asleep in an instant. Really, that’s exactly what he’d do if the clock wasn’t running, but it is, and he knows better than to waste the limited time he gets to spend staring up at you.

So, he just says, “I’ve never felt better,” because all of these things can be true at once.

You’re too focused to notice him watching you, but Hyunjin doesn’t mind. While you rummage around for the shorts that pair with your short-sleeved, button-up pajama top, he commits the current state of you to memory. 

It feels like a moral duty, filling up his brain with as many mental snapshots as possible. After all, this version of you will be gone the next time he sees you. You and all your iterations deserve to be remembered, even if Hyunjin is the only one alive who can do it. Unfortunately, there’s a blank space in his scrapbook. A piece of your story he’ll never be able to speak to, and it comes right at the start of it.

One of fate’s cruelest twists is that he didn’t get to meet you — the original, anyways — before your survival became contingent on reinvention. By the time he stumbled into your life, you’d already done your best to destroy all the evidence of who you used to be; burned up your past with a box of matches until no trace was left. 

And even if photos did still exist of who you used to be, it’d be too dangerous for you to possess them. For over a year now, you’ve been running from your past, hopping from city to city and modifying your appearance with every move.

As physically and mentally taxing as those procedures must be, they’re necessary. A single slip-up would cash in that price on your head. Considering the role you used to occupy, that would be a massive payout. It’s a safe assumption to make that the interest only compounds further with every day you evade them.

To Hyunjin’s knowledge, you’re the only Ulsan defector to last this long on the outside. It’s virtually impossible for ex-employees to escape at all with their memories still intact; even less likely that they’ll evade the bounty hunters that come next. After that, it’s only a matter of time — not if, but when they’re discovered — until Ulsan’s retention team comes calling. Their luck runs out then, if they ever had any to begin with. 

Worse, their subsequent deaths aren’t even a blip on the general public’s radar.

Absolutely nobody bats a fucking eye at deaths by “natural causes”. And thanks to iron-clad non-disclosure agreements, nobody knows that the trail of corpses are connected in the first place. By design, the string that ties their bodies back to a common employer is invisible.

Knowing what life would be like otherwise, most don’t even attempt to flee. Understandably, they give in to the cleanse when their employment is terminated, one way or another. They live the rest of their lives without so much of an echo of their time at Ulsan.

You’ve been slipping him intel about the corporate experience since he met you, but Hyunjin has never asked about yours. Speaking any of it out loud feels like a summoning spell. Like saying that name in the mirror three times will invite your demons in.

“I miss the blue, I think.”

Hyunjin props himself up on his elbow, frowning. You finish buttoning that soft, silk top of yours and shuffle over to join him, melting into his side the second your body slips under the comforter. 

He counters, “The red looks just as good,” and kisses the top of your head to emphasize his point. 

You wiggle enough to look up at him with your nose scrunched thoughtfully. “I thought you liked the black best.”

This time, there’s a tiny bit of crookedness in the bridge of your nose like it’s been broken before and didn’t quite heal right. That attention to detail — creating lived-in features that haven’t actually been lived in — is probably why you’ve lasted this long. Anyone else that goes under the knife as often as you tends to seek perfection, not realism. 

Funny how the choice that sets you apart is what lets you blend in.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, looks you dead in your newly hazel eyes, and he says nothing about the fact that they were most recently green. “I like them all best.”

This, like any compliment, immediately makes you shy. Before he can blink, your face is buried in the crook of his neck, warming him from the outside in. You mumble something against his skin that he can’t quite catch. You must know it, too, because you reposition yourself to free up your mouth.

“You’ve finally stopped shivering,” you note before leaving a solitary, soft kiss on the side of his throat. 

He nods to the best of his ability. “Sufficiently thawed.”

You glance up at him at the same moment that he looks down at you. It’s written all over your face — don’t you dare — but Hyunjin always does, doesn’t he? And he always will, so long as your eyes keep going wide like this.

“Can’t say it was the steam that did it, though. I think you fucked the chill right out of me.”

The tiny groan you let go of gets lost under the playful smack of your hand against his chest. You put no pressure behind it whatsoever — he didn’t feel a thing — but he gasps, nonetheless. His head crashes back against the pillows; his eyes fall shut. And because he’s a little shit before he is anything else, he goes slack-jawed, tongue hanging limply from the corner of his mouth.

“You might be the most dramatic person that’s ever lived. You know that, right?”

His reply comes like a death rattle. It’s automatic, it’s ominous, and there’s no taking it back now:

“Truly unfortunate that you have to be loved by me, of all people.”

That admission has been a long time coming, but Hyunjin has tried to hold it back for the same reason you have. For the same reason you don’t say it back now, even though he feels it seep into every other word. Calling this what it is — love — is a promise neither one of you can keep. 

It’s the worst thing he could’ve said to you because he can’t act on it; and it might be the worst thing you’ve ever heard, so you just return to your spot, nuzzled into his neck.

“Tell me what I’ve missed.” You deflect, lips tickling against the spot just below his ear. “What are you all up to?”

Hyunjin used to wonder why you wanted to know every mundane detail about his and his comrades’ daily lives — boredom with your own or genuine interest? Now, he doesn’t bother splitting hairs. It’s both, and he has no fucking business passing judgment. Without a community of your own, you deserve whatever pieces of his that he can give.

“Well,” Hyunjin sighs, fingertips drawing nonsense shapes on your back. With his prints burned off, they glide especially smoothly over the silky fabric of your pajama top. Yet another bonus. “Got some new blood right after I saw you last. One of them was a childhood friend of Felix’s, and she’s — uhh — a little rough around the edges.”

Your little chuckle makes him shiver.

“He loves her, though — like, truly, madly, deeply loves her — so, I think he’s uniquely capable of refining her enough to be useful.” He pauses for a moment to consider whether or not he wants to say it. In the end, he can’t stop himself. “It’s nice to see him happy. That shit’s so rare, living the way we do. He deserves it.”

“Hyunjin, so do you.”

This time, he doesn’t say what he wants to. 

He doesn't ask you to run away with him, knowing damn well that it’s even more dangerous to try than to stay. Neither of you would willingly leave loose ends, anyway. There’s too much left to be done, and all of it comes before his own happiness. It always has.

He doesn’t ask you to come back with him, either.  As much as he wants to offer up the Black Screen to keep you safe, there’s no guarantee that they could. You’d only turn him down if he tried, remind him that your proximity makes the target on their heads even bigger. Hyunjin suspects that this isn’t your only fear, however. 

Trust is a luxury you can’t afford; and it’d cost a lot of it for an ex-corp to cross the line in the sand. If you did, you’d be walking into a collective hell-bent on destroying the entity you used to associate with — into a factory full of mercenary anarchists, not many of whom make the best listeners. Your story might fall on deaf ears; or worse, breed suspicion about your motives.

It’s all fucked, top to bottom.

After another pause, Hyunjin responds with a truth so unattainable that it feels like a lie. “Someday,” he murmurs. “When this is all over.”

If that time ever comes.

“Are you close?” Your question surprises him because you almost sound hopeful, which isn’t a word he’d ever previously thought to associate with either of you. You mistake his stunned silence for misunderstanding, so you clarify, “To a plan, I guess.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say next, so he takes your hand from where it rests on his stomach and pulls it up to his lips. They brush over your knuckles slowly, a failed attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He’s never — not once — asked you about Ulsan. It’s the last thing he wants to do, tearing away from the limited time he gets to exist with you out of context, but he can’t think of any other way around it now. 

What if this is the only way to someday?

When he stalls, you excavate yourself from his side and prop yourself up on one elbow to assess him. It’s more concern than anything else, the gentle way in which you look at him. If only it didn’t make him feel more guilty. If only it didn’t cause his question to stick in his throat on its way out, forcing him to clear it.

“Have you ever heard of the Bliss Beta?” 

It must stun you to hear it because you freeze solid. 

Fuck. 

He shouldn’t have done this. He shouldn’t have brought it up, should’ve kept his fucking mouth shut, but it only spills out faster:

“Ulsan is running some clandestine clinical trials for something called the Bliss Beta. It’s —”

“— I know what it is,” you interrupt quietly.

“You do?”

You pause. There’s something unreadable in your expression that he’d normally guess after; you don’t give him the opportunity. You state it slowly. Cautiously. “I made it.”

Hyunjin is the frozen one now.

If he could make himself move, he might leave and never look back. But some persistent part of him refuses to run, refuses to accept that you truly had anything to do with the horror show wreaking havoc in neighborhoods just like this one. 

If you did — if Hyunjin can force himself to swallow that truth — then he may as well fall off the grid right here and now. There would be no coming back from that, not for him.

Please tell me you’re still the person I think you are.

“It’s also what made me leave,” you explain softly. “What they wanted to do with it, I mean.” 

Hyunjin’s hand is still limp around yours, so you take yours back into your lap. For a moment, you say nothing, only fidgeting with the rings around your fingers. When you finally do speak, your voice is so quiet that he has to strain to hear it, even sitting as close to you as he is. 

“Ulsan was putting all its resources into cyberware, but none into addressing the side-effects. I was naive enough to think that I could change that.” You shake your head, letting out a humorless laugh. “I applied in the first place because I wanted to find a way to treat cyberpsychosis. All of these people are replacing every single part of their biological bodies with extremely powerful, inorganic materials…”

Your voice trails off at the end as a grimace takes over. Even though your features are different now, that subdued look of utter hopelessness in your eyes is the same. He could pick it out of a lineup if he had to.

“It’s such a slippery slope, Hyunjin.” You exhale, voice tinged with a sadness he can’t fully understand. “When you fuck with a person’s reality to that extent, that recklessly, and add in the kind of omnipotence that comes with all of these modifications... They lose themselves in it.”

The sort of people you’re talking about feature heavily on the news due to the horrendous acts of violence they’re caught committing, but no network dares to show the kind of empathy for them that you currently are. They only show the squads of WraithCo. goons it takes to neutralize them — a sterile, media term for “shot like a dog in the street”. Try as he might, Hyunjin can’t recall a single one of these stories that doesn’t end in state-sanctioned murder.

He looks up from your hands in your lap to your face, seemingly catching you by surprise. To his surprise, your eyes are swimming. 

In all the time he’s known you, you’ve never cried — not about the state of the world or the shitty cards you’ve been dealt, time and time again. Until now, Hyunjin wasn’t sure if you could cry. It always seemed safe to assume that you’d either given up or forgotten how. Modified your way around the process, maybe. Cut the flow to the faucet in the course of your renovations.

Reflexively, he takes your hand back in his and squeezes once to ground you. Maybe it’s stupid, but he prays that some part of you will light up the way it normally does when you have the opportunity to educate him about something new. 

His favorite teacher, the best there is.

“What did you design, Professor?” Hyunjin asks.

Please work.

You crack the world’s tiniest smile at the nickname — one you’ve always rolled your eyes at — and it’s enough for him. There’s a sliver of excitement in your voice again, too. 

Proof of life.

“So…” You suck in a breath, like you’ll miss more than a few as you ramble. “The problem is mechanical, even if it presents as psychiatric, right? You can’t rely on psychotropic medication to soothe a brain that’s gone haywire in a literal sense. The solution is hidden within the problem itself, you know?”

You pause and glance over at him for some confirmation that he’s following. He’s doing his fucking best, but this shit is so far outside of his wheelhouse. You take the borderline grimace he gives you and run with it, gesturing wildly with your free hand while you talk.

“I designed a chip to be inserted here —” You reach over and run your fingertip over the small, titanium datashard slot behind his right ear. 

Most people use this port to store and share data in the same way its distant predecessor — the universal serial bus — was used, generations ago. Having started out as a military exclusive, this tech weaved its way into the corporate sectors following the war. From there, it trickled down to civilian populations, who primarily use it for media consumption.

Of course, the run-off always lands in the gutter. Edge runners and their neighbors in the underbelly swap maps, schematics, and the like, passing intel from person to person without leaving an easily discoverable paper trail. Money, too, that’ll never cross paths with a bank or an audit.

Their more tech-literate counterparts — net runners and back alley doctors, for example — pad their ill-gotten income by peddling programmed datashards. Ones that enhance hacking capabilities or bolster combat prowess, as if the recipient is main-lining skills; no practice necessary. 

Hyunjin, to the contrary, doesn’t use his shard slot at all. He’s never been adept at this tech shit, and he can’t be fucking bothered to learn.

“— with the goal of de-stimulating the frontal lobe.” You move your hand to brush your fingertips gently across his forehead. 

Your touch is gone too soon. 

Pausing for a moment, your shoulders and the corners of your mouth droop downwards. Dejected, you sound almost apologetic when you eventually say, “Not a perfect fix, by any means. I just figured that if you can mute some of the noise that’s overriding these people’s true personalities, you can negate the impulse to —”

“— Peel people apart like perilla leaves,” Hyunjin mutters darkly. He’s nowhere near as tactful as you are, so he sees no use in trying. “And if they’re not not doing that, then it’s less likely that —”

Looking now at him, you chirp, “The last thing they see in this life is their own brain smeared on the sidewalk, yes.”

Hyunjin stares at you with his jaw hanging open, absolutely shaken to his core that something like that, something he would say, just came out of your mouth. Flabbergasted is too weak a word; his whole goddamn world has been upended. And he doesn’t know or care what it says about him as a person that he wants to kiss you more now than he ever has before.

Seemingly unaware of the way you just broke his brain, your gaze shifts back down to your joined hands. You go quiet again, smile slipping away as you fade in real time. He fucking hates it. Hates that reality always finds a way to creep back in, even though it’s never once been welcome here. 

It’s heavy. 

It hurts.

“It could’ve been great.”

Hyunjin knows you’re talking about your project, but that’s not all he hears. 

You could’ve been great if this world wasn’t anything like it is. Instead, your genius is tucked away in one shithole apartment after another. 

You could’ve been great together, but the time and place are all wrong. 

It all could’ve been great, but it isn’t.

He’s at a loss for words now, so he simply nods.

“I don’t know what I expected, signing on to work for Nam Yeongsun,” you admit quietly. “I don’t know why I thought he’d be any different than the rest of them.”

Them, meaning the other fundamentalist, venture capitalists hiding democracy behind a paywall. 

Your assessment is mostly correct. The only thing that sets Ulsan’s Chief Executive Officer apart is his mastery of dog-whistle politics. Charming demagogue that he is, he’s the best at what he does — subtly reinforcing prejudices that dwell below the surface.

“He took what I created and perverted it.” 

Hyunjin’s no stranger to your fiercely passionate side, but he’s never seen a simmering rage quite like this one. 

You spit it out like it’s poison: “Nam is trying to eradicate what he deems to be unproductive traits, as if you can bug fix poverty and addiction.”

A wave of nausea crashes over Hyunjin so forcefully that his palms start to sweat.

The targeted advertisements in low-income areas.  

The promise of cash for participation without any explanation.

Oh, fuck.

“He’s hijacking people,” Hyunjin croaks, struggling to breathe. “That thing you said about the frontal lobe,” he mutters before swallowing hard. “They’re losing themselves, aren’t they?”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” The tears in your eyes threaten to spill over. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t make a difference; your voice still shakes, trembling alongside your hands. “But if they’ve made it all the way to human trials, that means they’ve actually figured out a way to do it.”

Hyunjin is torn between wanting to scream, faint, and vomit. None of them could adequately purge him of the gnawing sense of doom that swirls in his gut; there’s no quick fix, if a fix even exists at all.

But the boulder is already flying downhill at breakneck speed, and he can’t stop it. Throwing his body in front of it won’t make a difference. That feeling of abject helplessness only swells when you glance at him sideways and up the ante.

“Hyunjin, that’s not the worst of it.”

He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to ask and shoulder the burden of knowing, but refusing to bear witness to the truth is what made this state the way it is. Hyunjin doesn’t have a choice.

“What could possibly be worse than that?”

“Nam’s charge has always been to eradicate societal ills. He wants abstention, whether it’s drugs or antisocial behavior — forced, if it can’t be willful.” Your voice gets weaker, the more you say, but you don’t stop. “If he really found a way to dig his fingers into the brains of undesirable people, he’ll never stop at one form of abstinence.”

“You're talking about eugenics, right?” He struggles to swallow the bile rising in his throat.

“If this beta makes it out of the trial phase, I’m talking about classicide.”

The ride back to the compound breaks Hyunjin’s heart every time he has to make it. With how tight he grips the handlebars now, his fingers might break, too, but he doesn’t give a shit. All he can think about is the small, metal datashard in his pocket, and the look on your face when you’d handed it to him.

“You have to give this to Spider, Hyunjin. Nobody else. Do you understand?”

Every part of that exchange had been a plea. You’d pulled the tech out of a locked box in your nightstand and transferred it to his palm with a desperation in your eyes that he’d never seen before — from anyone. You’d closed his fingers around it and kept your hands over his, holding him tight, and he made the mistake of asking why.

In hindsight, Hyunjin wishes he hadn’t.

“The encryption. If someone doesn’t peel back the security correctly, layer by layer, it’ll flag your location.”

If he’d kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have to know why you clung to him the way that you did, looking at him like it was the last time you’d ever get to do it.

“Everything I know about the beta is on that shard — the program, the lab’s coordinates, its security, and its vulnerabilities.” 

Your voice broke then. 

“They’ll know the source of the information as soon as you access it, but they cannot find out where you are when you do.”

When he felt the weight of your words, Hyunjin refused to accept them for what they were: a sacrifice. Ulsan’s retention team, who currently has no idea you’re still in the peninsula — still alive — will tear the New Republic apart to find you, and when they do —

He kept repeating that there had to be another way to prevent this rollout, that he’d find one, he promised; but you touched his cheek, and he knew:

The only way to Ulsan is through you.

On his way out the door, you’d stopped him with one hand around his wrist. Kissed him hard, cheeks tear-stained, and tried your best to get the rest out through a tightening throat.

“Hyunjin,” you’d whispered, then your voice trailed off. 

All the time you’d both spent swallowing it down made it too difficult to vocalize, but Hyunjin still heard it in all that quiet. He took the baton from you then, speaking just as softly, just as sure. “I know,” he promised. “I love you, too.”

And now, as he races back to the compound with your death sentence in his pocket, Hyunjin knows something else for certain:

When you’re gone, you’ll haunt him, too.

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet @ldysmfrst @obeythemasters @moni-logues

wanna be tagged for future uploads? sign up here.

[oh-three]

TBB S3E7:

TBB S3E7:

There's the Teth trailer shot.

Ahhh, Mr. Assassin's looking a bit worse for wear.

Ayyy, escape route!

Lmaooo, Rex relying on Echo for backup, as if our guy's not booked on getting Gregor. Really does have a full schedule, doesn't he?

Glad to see that Wolffe's still in there. And being his usual self.

Ooh, the assassin's got no comms.

LMAO, the assassin just fucking jumped down there, like, "hey, I'm not letting you finish what I was told to do."

Rex, your flashlight 😭

SMART MOVE, CROSS.

They're gonna get shot down, aren't they.

"Don't worry, she only bites half of the time." 🤣

Yepppppp, and there's that. Saw that one coming. No way it was that easy.

Me trying to decide if it's Rex or the Batch that has a habit of crashing, or whether it's just them being together:

Wolffe really does hate the assassin right about now. Which, fair, he's literally doing things the exact opposite of them. That would be annoying for anybody.

"You're as bad as Hunter." / "Oh, I'm much worse." LMAO. Cross is in full dad mode and fully aware of it, and now he's turned it into a whole thing. I love him. These boys can't not compete about anything.

Howzer reluctantly admitting that this Crosshair is different from the Crosshair that he blames for getting his squad killed. 👏

"The operative's gone rogue." Saw that coming, too. I want to say it's further confirmation toward it being Tech, but that voice was definitely a modulated reg's.

Wolffe, your team sucks.

Nemeccccc 😭

"I'll draw his fire. Get to the rendezvous." Brainwashed sniper vs malfunctioning sniper 😬

WHOA, WHAT THE HELL.

LOOK, I KNEW THIS SEEMED LIKE A BIT OF A SACRIFICE PLAY, BUT I WAS NOT EXPECTING HIM TO THROW THEM INTO THE FUCKING WATERFALL.

Oh, thank god, he survived that. We're still short a couple of Cross trailer shots.

Howzer saving Cross from going over the second waterfall and actually drowning (holy fuck, a drowning attempt in Star Wars) despite his reservations toward him. 😭

"Wolffe?" / "Rex?" Ayyy, mutual shock.

Wolffe just putting his blasters away and going, "I thought you were dead." 😭

WOLFFE, FAIR TRIALS DON'T EXIST FOR CLONES IN THE EMPIRE.

"As your brother, I'm asking you to do the right thing." 😭

TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, ECHO.

Ayyy, Wolffe telling the men to stand down because he can see the truth in Rex's words, and he can't keep going forward without at least looking into it.

"But, sir, they're traitors." / "Perhaps. But they're clones. We owe them that." The way they all just accept to respect their fellow clones despite the sides of the newfound war they're in 😭

THE ASSASSIN LIVED. HE'S GOT PLOT ARMOR. TECH, IS THAT YOU.

"Rex, you can't win this fight. The Empire is too strong." 😭

Dark-toned Omega theme.

Fuckkk, I want to watch another episode. Is it next week yet.

[theosb0rnway]

Just finished the Bad Batch finale and HOLY SHIT IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

THEY ALL LIVED!!! HOLY SHIT THEY ALL LIVED I CAN'T BELIEVE IT--

So um.... yeah Tech's still not dead to me, CX-2 is alive, everything is fine, we'll see him soon, it's fine-

Crosshair GOT HIS HAND CUT OFFFF- Not the biggest Crosshair fan but I still feel so bad.... BYT AT LEAST HE MADE THE SHOT AND SAVED OMEGA AND HE GETS A HAPPY ENDING NOW

Speaking of happy endings, THEY ALL GET TO GROW OLD!!!! I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY FOR THAT, I'M SO GRATEFUL THEY GET TO LIVE THAT PEACEFUL LIFE THEY WANTED, EVEN IF WE DIDN’T GET TO SEE IT

GONKY'S ALIVE AND WELL, THANK THE FORCE

Emerie helped the kids escape I'm so glad they all made it too AND THE KIDS LOOKED SO CUTE ON PABU WITH MOX, DEKE, AND STAK

ECHO'S STILL ALIVE AND HELPING THE CLONES FIGHT, HELL YEAH

They rescued the clones!!!! I'm SO FUCKING HAPPY they did

HEMLOCK AND RAMPART ARE FUCKING DEAD, LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO

Rampart was a double-crossing son of a bitch and he got what he deserved. Rest in peace, Nala Se. You may not have always been on the right side, but you died doing the right thing.

Did I mention that I don't think Tech is dead?

The CXs were SO COOL I wish we got to see more of them!!!

DID I MENTION THAT I DON'T THINK TECH IS DEAD?!? (I'm not losing hope guys, I'm not-)

The Zillo beast absolutely RIPPING UP TANTISS was fucking FANTASTIC and I love it and it was VERY VERY MUCH DESERVED

Baryn is me, I need loud destructive noises to fall asleep LOL (this is why I can only fall asleep to FNAF songs in my ears-)

Seeing grown up Omega made me cry, and I love that older Hunter looks like pretty much every older Hunter fanart ever drawn-

Wish we could have seen older Wrecker and Crosshair, and GIVE ME SCENES OF BOTH OF THEM HEALING, PLEASE- (Crosshair did not eat on screen the ENTIRE SEASON I don't like that at ALL.)

Overall, I thought the finale was a solid 9 1/2 out of 10, the only thing that could have made it better was a CX-2 is Tech reveal, but... I mean I got everything else, so I'm not entirely disappointed.

I'm still staying VERY MUCH a part of this fandom, sorry not sorry to my followers who came for the Ninja Turtles and got Star Wars copy-paste men instead-

As I mentioned, I do have a Bad Batch project coming out soon, and I guess I could call it a fix-it now... but yeah, I'm not done with Star Wars and at this point in my life, I really don't think I'm leaving this fandom any time soon. Yes, it has some issues, as all fandoms do, but it's where I fit best at the moment. I'll still be posting other stuff, but Star Wars and the Scream franchise are my main fandoms for now.

Thank you to the cast and crew of this WONDERFUL show, you did it again, Star Wars. (*puts TBB in my top 3 TV shows of all time*)

And thanks to all my friends here on Tumblr who helped me get into this show and traded theories and so much more! (Also special thanks to @atyourdinosaurs for all of your love, theories, and ideas [and for inspiring my new project], and to @casp1an-sea and @thecoffeelorian for being two amazing friends I made from this fandom!)

We had a great run, guys. It's a honor to love this show and to be here for its final moments. Here's to more Star Wars and to more Bad Batch content in the future.

-Oz

[maxdurden]

share your buddy dawn hcs pretty please..

OKAY, buddy hcs (or at least some of them, i am trying to be so normal you can’t imagine. this guy lives in my head rent free)

a lot of my hcs about buddy also involve his family, just because the family stratification that happens in southern evangelical families is SO fascinating to me.

SO: buddy is a southern grandma’s boy. if you’ve lived in the south you know this guy. his grandma helped raise him, he calls his grandma ‘mimi’ and, to his grandma, he’s essentially the second coming of christ, he can do NO wrong in her eyes. buddy and pamela dawn have the kind of enmeshed relationship that would simply blow your mind

as an addendum to this: buddy dawn calls his grandma ‘mimi’ and his grandpa ‘pawpaw.’ if you are his friend, the whole family will invite you to participate in this naming tradition. this will make you uncomfortable but there’s no way out of it without seeming rude (this is a struggle i know well as a yank living in the south)

on the topic of pamela dawn, i think she’s like such a Matriarch, at least as much as one can be in that kind of misogynistic social system. i think she clings to what power she can grab and is incredibly vindictive (but never direct) about it. i think she was probably just as enmeshed and close with buddy’s dad (think #boymom) and probably HATED buddy’s mom, regardless of how good of a mom/person she was

we don’t know a lot about buddy’s parents, but my vibe is that they’re dead. if they weren’t, it doesn’t make sense to me that they would let bobby and pamela move away with their son (there are other hcs i’ve heard on this topic that are equally interesting, such as buddy’s mom and dad having a different idea of sol/helio worship and being pushed out of the family). my vibe is that they died on a mission trip. this explains why bobby didn’t just revivify them, but it also adds to the themes of legacy and family name that buddy has to contend with. like imagine if your grandpa is The Sol Televangelist Of All Time and your parents were martyred on a mission to the mountains of chaos?? oh the crushing pressure of familial expectations (and helio didn’t even choose you as his chosen one)

buddy’s legal name is robert. this one has no real evidence (in fact i feel like it’s likely that there’s no more to his name, at least canonically, than just buddy), but it makes sense to me that a man like bobby dawn would be obsessed with passing down his name and legacy. so i think it’s likely that his dad was also named robert (maybe called robbie or rob)

OR

buddy’s name is specifically NOT robert, and that’s exactly why he got the nickname buddy. this hc is a bit more convoluted, but here’s the gist: imagine buddy’s mom didn’t name him robert despite all the familial pressure to do so. of course there’s nothing bobby or pamela can really do, but they can give this kid a nickname that’ll stick for the rest of his life. plus, buddy has always seemed like a kind of condescending nickname to me and i think that would piss off his mom even more (which tbf is what i think pamela’s goal would be). but, if buddy’s legal name isn’t robert, i don’t have any super strong contenders for what his legal name would be

(i could get into a whole thing about hcs i have about his parents good god)

i think buddy grew up listening to his grandparents' old records! this means he was raised on old gospel and old country and that’s still the majority of his music taste (it doesn’t help that he’s not allowed access to most tech, especially tech from solace, so the influences he’s pulling from are relatively limited)

this is already. so. long. so i’m going to stop myself now lmao. but thank you for asking!!!!! i ALWAYS have thoughts about this fucking guy so thank you for the ask!!!!!!

[ladyvelvette]

I'm Craving for vox x gn!Child reader Angst because No one ever writes one.

I want vox to accidentally Yells at at them revealing their insecurities to the people in the room. Then reader cries Then goes to stay in their room for a couple weeks. And the rest is yours to write.

(I have bad english.)

OMGGGGG- THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME MOTIVATION TO WRITE AHHH!!!! Ofc <3 (Literally marry me/j I love writing angst!!!!) I hope this is to ur liking!!! ^^ Sorry for it being a bit late + bad grammar, I woke up at 6am and started writing this Summary: Vox, during a meeting with the other Vees, forgets to include you in the conversation, leaving you bored and in need of stimulation. You try and interject a few times-- causing the overlord to yell at you, Making you run off and stay in your room for a week. Warnings: Vox is his own warning, Vox using his hypnotizing powers.

Vox + Gn! Child Reader

You sat in your chair, right next to Vox in his meeting room. He was currently explaining business deals to the other two Vee's, However, You were incredibly bored! How could he simply leave you to sit there without at least giving you something to watch or play? So! You did what you thought was best, Interrupting him...mid-sentence. "Uhm....Mister.Vox-?" Vox looked down at you and glared, giving you a silent warning. You knew better than to interrupt him. The tech overlord continued on with his meeting, Velvette and Valentino briefly chiming in to add something to the conversation, for once. You were growing more and more bored, So why not join the conversation? You stood up and made your way up to Vox's lap, Causing the overlord to pause and look at you with a grimace. "I think you guys should play with me! That's what you can do." You sat up, mimicking Vox's way of sitting. Vox grumbled and picked you up, harshly placing you down on the floor and slamming his clawed hands onto the table in front of him. "GOD DAMMIT, (Name)! Can you STOP inter--ZZT--upting me?! You're being annoying-! You're embarassing me and all that I stand for. SHUT--ZZZZT--UP" the overlord glitched at the volume being suddenly raised. Tears threatened to spill, welding up in your eyes. You ran off and to your room, leaving the overlords to feel sort-of badly.

You were in your room, curled up in the soft blankets the tech overlord had gifted you when you first arrived. You understood why he got mad, however, it didn't mask the hurt and anger you felt towards the one adult you felt you could trust.

There was a brief knock on your door, before none other than the CEO of Voxtek, Vox, walked inside."Hey, Sparky- If I can even still call you that-" He clasped his claws together and sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled, But it isn't a reason to stay in your room for a week straight-" You looked up from your bed, tears still streaming down your cheeks. You couldn't believe he's trying to fault you for feeling emotions. "You yelled at me! I was just trying to feel included-!" You yelled, he was deserving of that treatment, after all. Vox frowned, walking over to sit on the edge of your bed. "Listen. I understand you're angry, but for fucks sake- You can't just- Interrupt me when i'm speaking to my colleagues. You embarrassed me, (Name.)" He explained, A face of irritation making its way onto his screen. You frowned and crossed your arms, refusing to speak to him. He couldn't actually expect you to forgive him could he? Vox grumbled and looked you dead in the eyes, the insides of his eye swirled. He wasn't opposed to using these methods to get you to listen, It was your fault, In his opinion, He liked you better when you were hypnotized. The overlord smiled gently, "C'mere, little one, It'll be okay.." He held his arms out, causing you to crawl over and flop into them, sniffling sadly. You cuddled close to him and mumbled sweet apologies for your actions. Vox just confirmed that it was okay, as long as you didn't do it again, rubbing your back and grinning to himself.

HEYY!!! So- I haven't written fanfics since 2020-- So this is my first one in a long while! Lemme know how I did :)

[snippy-tano]

I have a soft Tech request that I think we all desperately need.

Reader is in college and is staying up late to finish assignments in the library and Tech comes looking for them and sits with them once he is told that they'll be there for a while. He just pulls out a little trinket from his belt and fiddles with it while they work

You're absolutely right Pro, we need soft Tech in these trying times.

I hope you don't mind, but I made this more of a modern-AU. it was really the only way it made sense to me in my head and I thought it would be fun because I haven't done of those before. I really hope you like it!

please send me more tech requests! i'm emotionally distraught still and it helps!

((also fun fact, the bit I mention in the fic about a comically slow elevator is based a little in reality from my last year of undergrad and when I liked in an apartment building on campus and the elevator was so fucking slow. like. think of the slowest elevator you've ever been in and this one was slower by like two whole minutes))

masterlist is here!

taglist is here!

tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life; @marvel-starwars-nerd; @mackstrut; @dissapointingpancake; @ahsokatano-thetogruta; @welcometothepedroverse; @fractiouskat; @mandaloriandin; @bantha-shit; @badbatch-simp24; @katelynnwrites; @s1st3r; @leotatombs; @torchbearerkyle; @rain-on-kamino; @the-navistar-carol; @bombshe77; @arctrooper69; @social-mockingbird; @littlebluebatbrat; @get-wr3ckered; @techissuperior; @dangraccoon;

------------------------------------------------------

Chilly Nights

It was late in the library, the only others who remained were in a position probably similar to yours. 

A student nearby was buried within a mountain of books, looking just as haggard as you felt. Another was fast asleep, snoring softly among a mess of papers. There was another who was weaving in and out of the rows and rows of books clutching a small note in their hand, clearly lost and confused. 

You took another sip of your long since cold coffee, not even tasting how bitter it had become. You adjusted the noise-canceling headphones on your head and picked up your pen once again. 

It was so dead in the library that you never expected anyone to approach you, at least that was until you felt a soft tap on your shoulder. Your reaction was a little over-the-top, but you were beyond sleep deprived and totally not paying attention. Your pen went flying as you jerked in your seat, heart pounding. Your headphones slipped off your ears and you turned abruptly in your chair to see Tech standing beside you, not looking the least bit phased by your reaction. 

“Apologizes. I did not mean to startle you.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, reaching up to take off your headphones. “It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“You were not responding to my messages and I determined you would likely be in the library.” He said, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I was correct.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah you were. Thanks for coming to check on me, but I’m going to have to stay here for a bit. I have a lot left to do and I know I won’t get anything done in my apartment.” 

“Ah. I see. Then I am sorry for bothering you.”

“Don’t. It’s okay really. I’m sorry I can’t leave with you.”

“It is quite alright. Let me know when you decide to leave and when you arrive home.” Tech said and you nodded. 

“I will. I promise. Thank you Tech.” You said with a smile and he nodded once before turning and walking away. 

You let out a sigh before turning back to your table. You picked up your pen off the floor and replaced the headphones over your ears, playing the next song. Without much more fanfare, you got back to work. 

Seeing Tech had been a surprise, but it did seem to help your productivity. His presence, though brief, was enough to jump-start you and help you refocus. It still took a few hours, but you managed to finish everything you had hoped to accomplish and then some. It was right at the moment that your eyes started to burn from exhaustion that you finally decided to call it a night, noticing it was way past midnight. 

You tugged your headphones off before stretching your arms above your head, wincing at the sound of your joints popping from lack of use. 

“You should really see a doctor about that.” 

A voice once again had you jumping on your seat. You spun to see Tech sitting at the end of your table, a few small trinkets spread out in front of him. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, staring at him. 

He didn’t even look up, just picked up a screwdriver and continued fiddling. “It is late and you should not walk back alone.”

“Did you leave?”

“No.”

You blinked. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I am aware.” Tech said, ever the conversationalist. 

Your shoulders deflated as you sighed. “Thank you for staying, it was sweet of you.”

“It was no bother. I had a few things I wanted to accomplish and the library has adequate lighting. Besides, I believe Wrecker already to be asleep and I did not want to disturb him.” Tech replied and you smiled softly at the mention of Tech’s much larger brother. 

“Well, give me a few minutes to pack up and we can go.” You said and Tech only nodded, continuing to work on the small piece of machinery in his hands.

You watched him work for a moment before begrudgingly beginning to pack up your things. It didn’t take long and by the time you finished, Tech had tucked away his small device and shouldered his own backpack. You pushed in your chair and followed his retreating back as you walked through the silent library. You waved to the student on duty at the front desk as you left and they gave you a tired wave back. 

The doors opened and you were hit with the chill air outside. You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets and picked up your pace to match Tech’s long strides as you turned to head to your apartment.

The walk was largely quiet, which was fine with you. Usually silence was something you did not like, but for some reason with Tech you never really seemed to mind. Campus was just as quiet, you could see the occasional student or group of students walking, but for the most part, it was just the two of you. 

It was calming. 

Far sooner than you would have liked, you reached your apartment building. You turned to say goodbye to Tech, but froze as you watched him walk up the steps to your building and place his hand on the door. He turned back to you when it was clear you weren’t following. 

“Are you going to unlock the door?” He asked and you quickly moved to scan your ID at the door. There was a click and Tech opened the door for you, following after you stepped inside. He waited with you at the hilariously slow elevator and waited as it began its crawl up to your floor. He also walked with you up to your door, waiting as you unlocked it. 

“You didn’t have to walk me to my door Tech.” You said and he shifted on his feet, adjusting his glasses. 

“I was merely confirming that you did in fact make it home. I will take my leave now. Goodnight.”

He gave you a nod before turning to leave, you reached forward and caught his wrist. 

“Wait!” You said too loudly, wincing and hoping you didn’t disturb anyone else. Tech didn’t move and you quickly released his wrist. “Thank you for walking me home. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Tech looked back at you, meeting your gaze as a wave of warmth filled your entire body. “Yes. I will message you. Goodnight.”

This time you let him go, watching as he walked to the elevator and stepped inside as no one else had called it yet. You gave him another smile before opening your door and disappearing inside. You shut the door behind you and let out a breath, smiling. 

Tech truly was a sweetheart. 

And you’d find some way to thank him, but for now, the warm feeling he left behind would keep you company for the remainder of the night. 

[woodsfae]

Babylon 5 S03E20 And the Rock Cried Out, No Hiding Place previous episode - table of contents

It's kinda wild how much b5 is exactly to my tastes. Take this (and many other!) episode titles for example. Pretentious? Maybe. Poetic? Certainly. Full of allusion? Definitely. Makes me get shivers? Absolutely.  They even give me things to complain about. I'm well settled into complaining loudly about Londo bullshit.

Last episode's beverage (for data point purposes) was straight tequila with pepsi chaser. The hangover was vile and I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep for three hours. Today's beverage - Bitterroot Brewing Co "Dirt Church" ipa. It's alright for an IPA.

"Z MINUS 14 DAYS"

I see we've moved several letters on from "t."

Yeah!! It's another Susan Ivanova personal log episode. The telepaths they've recruited are being dispersed. Sheridan is tired, and Franklin is still pacing the halls. 

All the telepaths are being accompanied by a single Narn bodyguard. Fingers crossed for some of those bodyguards to start developing some telepathy of their own after spending a long time in close quarters with a telepath!!

Londo thinks it's time to "take care of" G'Kar?? FUCK OFF.  He wants G'Kar tricked back to Narn and executed. Thanks to the previous flashbacks, I am well aware that this plot won't play out with G'Kar's actual death. But I still want to strangle Londo. Can I isekai into B5 just long enough to goddamn murder that man?? 

Religious Theo of the religious group whatevever is being highlighted this episode. In theory I appreciate how diverse B5 is, religiously speaking. In practice....ehhh. At least when it comes to people quoting the KJV and referring to "the lord" every other sentence. 

Sheridan does look rough. And there's Delenn!!! Pretty in pink. 

"[Ivanova] said you were carrying on cranky. I looked up cranky, it said grouchy. I looked up grouchy, it said crochetly. No wonder you have such an eccentric culture. None of your words have their own meaning!" 

LOL!! Delenn is so cute. Also, very seriously, I apologize to every person who needs to learn English as an adult. It's a mess. 

Once I saw a gif of Delenn propping herself up on a elbow in bed with Sheridan and I have been FERAL to see that scene ever since. Maybe today will be the episode? Delenn climbs in bed with Sheridan to make him sleep??

Na'Toth might be alive. Or her name might simply be a trap for G'Kar. I don't think Londo's plan is going to work out. If he didn't go back to Narn for literally every other Narnuan, I'm not sure he'd go back for his aide who is probably dead. Also I 100% have more faith in Vir than this. Idk where he got them, but he has a surprisingly well-developed set of morals and empathy. 

Vir: "I won't. I won't go. I won't do it."

VIR BABY. Just say you'll do it, then go and collude and G'Kar. Londo is unhinged, threatening to have Vir's family stripped naked and whipped through the streets of Centaur's capital. What a fuck. He ought to be directing his energies towards getting back Lord Whatshisface who killed Adira on behalf of the Shadows. Refa. The show reminds me in a timely manner. 

Speaking of Refa, he's giving very desperate vibes. Trying too hard to suck up, and that puts blood in the water for the sharks to scent!!

Well. Hopefully even if Vir gives into Londo's threat and tries to trick G'Kar, his obvious nerves give away that something's wrong. 

Back to Londo and the Centauri court shenanigans. Londo is, undeniably, good at putting on the type of political front that works well on Centaur. 

Susan's blowout is so good every day I have to assume it's part of the high-tech auto-dryer when you step out of the shower...or something. Because there's no way that SUSAN IVANOVA is spending twenty minutes every day achieving the most ideal blowout that has ever been hair-dried into existence. 

OK I like the religious cabal a bit better now that I know they're smuggling up-to-date information about Earth politics into Bably 5. 

GODDANG IT. G'Kar is trying to sneak back onto Narn. Well. At least I know he lives to die another day. 

Vir, I am disappointed in. 

Centaur attack on Vir!! He lives to become Emperor another day as well. Stakes drop considerably when you know certain characters' ultimate fates. 

You know who I'd love to see again? AUNT PROPHETESS! Majel!! 

Lord Refa's eyebrows deserve their own acting credit. 

oooh, Centauri telepathy attack!! 

Poor Vir. If only he had been able to keep his position on Minbar. He looked less stressed-out when he was spending most of his time surrounded by a tranquil environment. 

The Baptist pastor is hanging out with Sheridan, who is struggling to relax enough to fall asleep while also doing paperwork. Maybe. don't do paperwork while getting ready for bed. Which the pastor is also bringing up, more delicately than I would. 

the Pastor: DELEGATE IDIOT.

OK he can stay. He is speaking common sense. 

"When youre worry tank gets full people stop coming to you, because they don't want to add to it." 

Smart. "figure out how to relax or your people will stop reading you in in an attempt to protect you." 

"Z MINUS 13 DAYS"

Zha'ha'dum minus 13 days?? 

G'Kar made it to Narn. There's climate change from the orbital bombardment. Constant wind, particulate coming down from the upper atmosphere, poor air quality. And I doubt they had recovered from the previous Centauri occupation, and possibly not even the Shadows' occupation before that! 

Emperor Cartagia is going to be traveling to B5: that seems like a significant security risk! Maybe he'll get nerfed and we'll see the glorious ascension on Emperor Londo. 

Refa's plot is to capture G'Kar instead of letting Londo do it. Fingers crossed for neither of them getting that glory. 

Delenn says there's no pattern to the Shadows' attacks. The lack of pattern is probably the point - all over the place and unpredictable so the united forces are spread as thin and widely as possible. And the tactical data sorta supports that! They haven't attacked anything in the center of the sector, so refugees are going there. And Sheridan is picking this up now, too. They could nail all the refugees at once. 

"I think this is as much about terror as it is about territory." 

Yeah. 

Hm, Delenn is horrified by Sheridan saying he needs to think like them to beat them. Unless she has a really compelling argument against it, I'm going to have to disagree. How can you counter a tactic unless you understand it? 

Londo just knocked out a Centauri guard with a punch to rescue Vir. He gets no points from me, because he put Vir in that position. 

Unfortunately G'Kar won't get to kill Londo for quite a few years, but maybe he and the resistance will get to kill Refa and his goon squad instead. 

Damn it, Londo was two steps ahead of Refa this whole time. f.ucking annoying. Well. all Centauri warmongering genocidal politics are annoying. Refa being personally in charge of the bombardment of Narn is backfiring on his right now. 

Oh so this means that Vir was an unwitting stooge in the plot all along, and that's extra scummy, considering it resulted in Vir being mindraped and made to believe he'd just given up his mentor and employer. Very very cutthroat politics. No wonder Londo didn't name the embarassment he was planning to remove on behalf of the emperor to prove House Mollari's value. 

Baptist Pastor brought a gospel singer along with him, lol. That's very on brand. And super fucking amusing juxtaposition between her music and Refa being pursued and killed. "There's no hiding place down here." Refa being beaten to death. 

Buuuut as much as I dislike Londo, I am a fan of the person responsible for untold suffering and death getting a tiny fraction of that delivered back to them. So...annoyingly... *sigh* go Londo...

It's so fucking funny that Londo had the ability to slip refa the other half of the two-part poison all along but instead he had him beaten to death for political purposes. 

Vir is angry, but probably not enough to make him break from Londo entirely. 

Delenn has a surprise for Sheridan - "the White Star was never intended to be one of a kind, only the first..." and now there's a whole fleet. 

Hm. As far as first kisses on screen go, that one was pretty dated. I'm happy for them, but the "smear your face against the other person's face" is a style I'm glad has mostly gone away. It doesn't look very pleasant, hahah. 

Mrs Sheridan, I presume?

[factorialsotherfandoms]

So um I wrote about xcom!Chayanne yesterday and I don't have the energy to do his whole rescue and I'm not in the mood to hurt him as much as something before that would need, but also idk about you but **I** need some follow up from that. Get the baby a hug.

TW: badly injured child, referenced child abuse, hospital setting, talk about a child very nearly dying (in the past)

Philza knew it wasn't good - he'd seen the poor kid pass out, for fuck's sake - but he had not quite realised how bad it was. He hadn't been working with the sort of tech the infirmary has, too focused on keeping the two kids alive to think about the implications of their injuries.

The tablet Doctor Ruiz hands him, though... One kid - the one currently curled up with Roier as they both sleep off their injuries - he knew about. The broken bones about match what he predicted, looking at the poor sod. There's a worrying amount of head trauma, yes, but bar an inability to talk the kid had seemed alert and aware. Bit hard to tell with children, but he'll hopefully be fine.

It's the second he worries about; he had not even realised the kid was injured until he passed out in Missa's arms and, fuck, Philza doesn't think he'll ever be able to forgive himself for that. The scars, the cuts... the last of their splash potions hadn't woken him, but had at least closed up the wounds and bought some colour back to the kid's cheeks.

He'd known it was bad, he had, he swears, but this... The scar pattern, the slightly sticky marks on his chest, the breaks in his ribs... Not just current ones, either, but on the x-rays he can see evidence of them having been broken before. Similar places, too.

There are other scans, too, ones of a sort that Philza does not understand. They show the child's organs, presumably damage to them, but he really wouldn't know.

They still don't scare him as much as the x-rays of his ribs, if only because he only understands the latter; he flicks back to them, and stares in horror.

"Is that...?" he hands the tablet back to her - he isn't a doctor, he could be wrong, he just picks shit up here and there.

Her face is grim as she nods.

"Fucking hell," he breathes the word out; it makes a lot of sense, now, why she had insisted on this boy being on a bed alone, surrounded by wires and monitors instead of letting Missa hold him. "Do we know what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," she says, folding her arms around the tablet and clinging to it. "If I had to guess, shock from one of the scarring injuries. His biology is... Strange, though - human blood is compatible, at least, and his vitals are stable. I have no idea if they are /good/, but they are stable."

"Will he be okay?" he asks.

"I..." it's never a good thing when the doctor fucking hesitates to answer that question. "If he heals like a human and my guess is correct? Yes. If not, it is outside my expertise."

Philza takes a deep breath, calms himself, and nods, "thanks for the update."

She nods, "I'll get started on the reports; I just thought you'd like to know."

"Oh I fucking hate it," he replies. "But it's better than not knowing; you handle the reports, I'll keep an eye on the kid."

She nods, and vanishes.

And, fuck, how is he going to tell Missa? The man's already attached, and it's not an easy thing to tell someone - 'oh, yeah, that kid we rescued? His heart stopped recently enough his ribs have barely started healing from being broken during CPR, and he still had gunk from a fucking heart monitor on him. Also? Not the first time it's happened'.

Philza runs his hands over his face and, fuck, he wishes he had made that bitch /suffer/. For all her talk of honour, she'd done her fucking best to murder a /child/.

It's too late now, already dead under Jaiden's knife, but fuck he wants her to suffer more. The kids are, what, ten? Something like that?

And don't try tell him that it wasn't the Assassin - Philza /knows/ swords, and hers are a perfect match for the scars and wounds littered all over the poor boy's skin.

Given the chance to fight her again, he'd rip her apart with his bare fucking hands. Or, let Cellbit do it at least. He does have more the talent for it these days.

But, there's not much to be done, not now. The Assassin is dead, and the kid is in an actual fucking infirmary. Jaiden and Roier both need to stay, to the concern and delight of the other little boy, while after getting patched up Missa and Philza elected to stay with this one. Cellbit's off somewhere - probably struggling to pull things from the archive with one arm in a cast - and Etoiles elected to get some fucking sleep.

It seems like a good idea.

Philza doesn't think he can, not without nightmares of a little boy bleeding to death, alone and scared, in a prison cell.

Or stabbed again - Missa did say both boys had tried to fight the Assassin; for all Philza admires their persistence, fighting back on the wounds they have, he's fucking terrified for them.

And, thinking of Missa, the man is waking up. Philza turns his attention there, watching him get up.

"Hey Missa," he smiles over, but he knows it looks thin.

He gets a smile back, as Missa scoots himself up to sitting.

The smile falls as soon as Missa lays eyes on the kid in the bed.

"How is he?"

"He had to be resuscitated."

Philza realises his mistake as he sees absolute terror consume Missa's features, and a terrified whine.

"Not today!" he clarifies, quickly, loudly. "Jesus fuck, I would have woken you if it was today. Sorry, sorry - recently, though, his ribs are still fucked up. Maybe a few days ago? Week at most?"

The whine turns from terror to heartbreak, Missa scrambling over with his too-long limbs. He picks up the boy's hand, clinging to it and muttering rapidly in Spanish.

Philza doesn't try to translate, not when the kid is obviously the one addressed - if anyone at all.

"Fuck, Missa, it wasn't even the first time either. Doc says he'll be fine so long as he heals like a human - and he's got human blood and human organs so we should be okay - but, fucking hell mate, I just..."

What does Philza even say? He permits the words to vanish into Missa's whine.

He reaches across, resting his hand atop Missa's. It takes the man a little bit to stop whining and ask "do we know why?"

"Not really," Philza feels his grimace. "We're hoping shock from the other injuries. It's bad, but now they're healed or healing... Easiest shit to fix, out of the options. Can't see anything else, doesn't mean there isn't."

There's another pained noise from Missa. Philza reaches up, absently wiping at his tears as he looks away to the boy's face. It takes a bit for Missa to collect himself up, clinging to the boy's hand and brushing his hair from his face.

"He's safe now?" Missa asks.

"He's safe," Philza confirms. "And once he's better, we'll find somewhere safe for him to stay."

It's a long shot, but they have some ideas of places safer than an airship full of the government's most wanted, at least.

Missa's fussing also seems to have awoken the boy; Missa startles, and turns to him, and when Philza's eyes follow he sees the little red flames in place of eyes watching them both.

Missa speaks something soothing in Spanish; Philza is still too furious to speak calmly enough for an injured and probably scared child.

The boy tries to sit up, only to flinch; Philza catches him, and helps him back down. Across the room he catches Doctor Ruiz's eye - she just gestures for him to go ahead and returns to her paperwork.

"Hey now," he tries to be gentle, but his voice is not really having it. "Lay back down. Your friend is just over there, see?"

The kid turns his head, and does relax a little when he spots the other boy. He still does not speak, glancing around but always returning to Philza and Missa.

"You're safe here," Missa promises. "Philza and I won't let anyone hurt you."

The kid glances between them; Philza tries to back Missa up with a nod.

He looks... confused, more than anything, glancing back at the other child, then at the adults. It takes a little bit, before he raises his arms and...

"Oh..." Philza whispers.

Missa leans down first, doing his best to avoid any of the wires or tubes surrounding the boy.

Philza follows a bit later, putting one arm across Missa's back and, with a lack of space, brushes a the child's hair with the other.

"We fucked her up," Philza promises. "She won't be hurting anyone again."

The boy does not stay awake long, his body brutalised and exhausted. Within moments of the hug starting he has fallen back asleep. Both Philza and Missa are reluctant to let go, but know that they must.

Missa sings lullabys, the music keeping Philza more to the present. He does not have much of a singing voice, so he fetches blankets instead, hoping the pressure will be comforting to the boy.

"He just wanted a hug," Missa's voice is broken. "Phil, Phil, he just- just a hug..."

Philza's own heart is a ruin, too; he opens his own arms up, and gestures Missa over. He wraps his friend in his arms, lets him cry into his shoulder.

If he also cries into Missa's hair, then it is his secret to tell.

[cheezitthefuzz]

ive never watched star trek before but i wanted to watch the haha funniy lizard thing everyone was talking about

commentary that makes no sense to anyone but me time

wow he looks really... mildly disappointed at being dead. "aw man, I'm dead? what a bummer"

i saw "The Doctor" in the credits and got fuckign whiplash, like, "was this a crossover episode and nobody mentioned that"

ah, him being dead was a simulation/training thing, that explains it

man they're kinda assholes to this... waiter? i think?

well that was a lot of scifi tech jargon that somehow seemed almost understandable, i'm impressed

ah, so it's nukes. they're talking about nukes here.

OH MY GOD THE WAY THEY WAKE HIM UP IS FUCKING HILARIOUS

damn 16 minutes in and still no lizards, where's my lizards

holy shit i thought that guy was the main character

nope hes fucking dead now

WHAT THE FUCK

HES. ALIVE????????

those last 4 lines also apply to the bible

JESUS FUCK IS THAT HIS TONGUE

oh lord hes slimy now

is he gonna become the lizards

36 minutes in and there's still no lizards

its only a 45 minute episode

am i watching the wrong episode

YOOOOOOO

LIZARD

THEYRE FCUKING LIZARDS NOW

no way. did they just kill the lizards. without a second thought.

please for the love of god tell me that was a stunner or smth.

LIZARD BABIES??

AND THE HUMANY LOOKIN GUYS JUST ORPHANED THEM

HUMANOIDS ARE FGUCKING ASSHOLES

oh thank god it was a stun thing

still

they turned the lizards back into humans >:(((

at least they left the baby lizards in the pond or whatever

[thenixkat]

also the protag of Kaiju no. 8's name is Kafka which is extremely on the nose

ok i'm watching the first ep

so human civilizations have been fighting kaiju since the 14th century at least. And their really advanced tech is made from kaiju bits another neat design. just a big fat lizard from the sea. Nice coloring and girth

yeah def cleaning up the dead giant monsters would certainly be an important industry we're just like a min in but I can see why folks would be interested in a series that's just about post-kaiju battle cleanup. like that's very interesting

Mc to injured coworker: Don't forget to file a claim for worker's comp

also Kafka is 32 yrs old i'm with Kafka how the fuck does management expect that to get cleaned up by the end of the week? that is a dead animal the size of a city block with its guts splattered across another city block, that shit should take no less than a month to clean

clean yer fucking room

you could have who knows what growing in those beer cans

listen i dont have a foot to stand on about dishes but like, dont put trash in the sink damnit

local 32 year old doesnt like his job and feels like he failed to achieve his dreams

edgy teenager that just joined the clean-up crew and assigned to Kafka to teach him the ropes damn near calls Kafka a loser for giving up on making it into the kaiju fighting forces like damn kid i feel like, as someone who basically shovels shit for a living you get used to gross work. Like, I don't enjoy scraping up bloody dog diarrhea and it smells god awful but I'm not about to be gagging or not able to eat my lunch cause of it. And i've only been shoveling shit for 3 yrs. Man been in monster clean up for how long and still gagging after chainsawing giant intestines really? yeah actually the monster clean-up stuff is neat. I could see a slice-of-life story of a monster cleanup crew just as a whole series

local teen a bit more grateful after making it through a whole day of cleaning shit. Is a lot nicer still calls his ass a quitter damn mfers just having a conversation at the end of the day at their workplace and a kaiju shows up to try and eat a bitch out of nowhere

people with anxiety must have shit bad in this world local 32 yr old impresses teen by saving his fucking life

and being level headed in situation and distracting the monster while telling the kid to get to safety and call the fucking authorities imagine living in a world where natural disasters have teeth and the ability to chase you with intent to devour man oh hey jumping through a glass window causes injuries local teenager comes back to help and does save the mc from getting ate but like, child, uh, you are both bite sized to that spider thing

sir you have broken bones and lacerations and very much bleeding. Pls stay down.

I know the tiger thing is probably supposed to be cool but like… dont keep tigers as pets. or use them as attack animals at yer work place that could go south really fast pls there's bound to be injured civilians

local teenager trying to be nonchalant in saying thanks and that the old dude was kinda cool and made good calls just a bug here

staring at this man while he's having a moment with his new friend the bug (psychically to Kafka): Found You

does that… get elaborated on? I feel like that's something that should get elaborated on

also here's a theory: bug's been searching for Kafka, I have to assume he's not been as injured and bleeding everywhere to the extent that he did today and it followed the scent of his blood to him. Like I have to assume it was looking for him for a reason and that he's compatible with being turned into a kaiju and keeping his original mind and personality intact for a reason as well it forced itself down his throat

that's a thing

and now everyone is freaking out

fucking buff Donnie Darko is still a letdown compared to the literal dragonfly ok that was funny. but uh forced to deepthroat a bug kaiju at least the size of a macaw and length of a small python

outside of the thrashing and gagging as it whent down and he transformed, dude took it rather well. Didnt even throw up this lady really just owns a tiger that lives in her apartment outside of fighting monsters for work. That is not good tiger keeping

just cause yer a bad ass monster slayer doesnt mean you should have a pet tiger who lives in yer appartment when yer off work that you just let walk around unrestrained. That's bad for the tiger, its bad for you, and its bad for bystanders

[bubble-popping]

day seven is gonna be a tumblr-exclusive since it's not quite long enough to put on ao3 imo and it's part of a longer au i've written

enjoy some hurt/comfort and dorks in love (they don't know it yet)

This was his fault. He should've been quicker. He shouldn't have let Dream out of his sight. If only he wasn't such an idiot.

Dream was dying and it was all his fault.

Techno sighed heavily as he rested his head against his clasped hands, posture slumped forward in his seat. His leg bounced involuntarily, gaze fixed on the old wood floor but not seeing a thing. That moment just kept replaying in his mind. Teeth sinking into Dream's shoulder, the bellow of pain, raw fear in his eyes that Techno couldn't take away. He failed at the one thing he promised to always do. The pact they'd formed together, to protect and watch out for each other, and he failed.

That whole run was a mistake, a waste of ammo, a waste of energy. It had been his idea, and fate decided his punishment would be losing the only person he had left.

It should've been him. It should've fucking been him.

He wasn't sure how long he waited, much less what exactly he waited for. Perhaps the awful groaning of an Infected, or the familiar scent of a rotting corpse. But, it wasn't either of those that had him jumping to his feet.

"Techno...?" A raspy, muffled voice came from within the room. He knew Dream told him to wait at least an hour, just to be sure, but he was tired of sitting around doing nothing.

Techno opened the door just enough to peer inside. Dream still laid in the same position on the bed Techno had put him in, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Dream? Ya good, man?"

"Can you... can you get me some water?" He asked, sounding out of breath.

"Yeah, of course, man." Techno left to retrieve one of their canteens from the reserves they'd built up since, obviously, their most recent food run hadn't been successful.

When he returned, Dream had managed to pull himself up into a sit, leaning against the headboard. His skin was flushed and sweaty, eyes glazed over, and hair mussed. He took the offered container and, after a small thanks, promptly downed it all.

Techno sat at the edge of the bed, placing the canteen on the nightstand when Dream handed it back to him. "How ya feelin'?"

With a cringe, Dream croaked, "Like shit... but, not dead. Yet, anyway."

"Every person that we've seen so far, Dream, turned almost instantly."

"We can't be sure... What if it's just... really slow for me?"

"And what if you're immune? I'm tryna be optimistic here, man."

"Immune? You really did... watch too many movies..."

"I'm serious. Think about it, Dream. People who get bit turn in literal seconds. It's been almost an hour later and you're still you."

"Yeah, me with the worst fever I've ever had..."

"It's better that turnin', man. Anythin' is better than that." Techno slipped his hand in Dream's, rubbing soothingly over his knuckles.

Dream simply hummed in response, eyes slipping closed. "Hey, Tech?"

"Yeah?"

"What if we're the only ones left?" Dream reopened his eyes, seemingly more aware now as he looked to his companion.

"Don't talk like that, man. We're gonna find your family and they'll be okay."

"But what if they aren't? What if it's just you and me?"

Techno exhaled softly, contemplating how to phrase his response. "If that's true, then... honestly, Dream, there's no one else I'd rather spend the apocalypse with."

Dream gave a small smile and huffed a laugh. "I knew you were a sap..."

"Only because of you, nerd." He watched Dream's eyelids flutter again, clearly struggling to remain open. "You should get some rest, Dream."

"I know... Will you, could you stay? Just until I fall asleep..."

"Yeah, man. I'll be right here, long as ya need me to." Techno smiled and Dream reciprocated.

Even if Dream was immune, it still was too close a call. Techno couldn't let something like this happen again. He would never make the same mistake twice.

[shadesofmauve]

How many people does it take to make the space guns go?

Word brain is dead so I've been beating my head against my Alliance SR2 org chart again. I rediscovered @sheepishwolfy's post suggesting that the SR1 had about 60 crew (down from initial estimate of 150), because of heavy computerization. My org chart had been sitting at 89, (my initial estimate was about 100). But now I'm trying to figure out what some of these people actually do.

First, I'm assuming the Alliance (unlike noted fuck-ups Cerberus), requires human eyes on systems. Not some poor sod watching every screen at every minute, but someone around who's trained on the system and is awake. I also assume three 8-hour watches because even the US Navy has finally had to admit that just works better for most people.

SO. GUNZ.

1: Javelin Disruptor Torpedoes

The Javelin is an experimental close-assault weapon consisting of paired disruptor torpedo tubes bolted or magnetically "slung" onto the ship's exterior armored hull.

and

Resembling old-fashioned submarine torpedo tubes, Javelin torpedoes come packed in individual sealed tubes filled with compressed, inert gas. Opening the front of the tube causes escaping gases to push the torpedo into the vacuum

So the javelin system is externally mounted, like a modern fighter's missiles, not stored-and-loaded from the inside like a sub's torpedoes. Each comes with it's own cold-launch system. Anything the weapons techs do with javelins is digital and at a distance. Targeting, choosing delays, etc.

Sexy sexy spaceship with torpedoes in her armpits.

2: Thanix cannons

[Soveriegn's] massive element zero core powered an electromagnetic field suspending a liquid iron-uranium-tungsten alloy that shaped into armor-piercing projectiles when fired. The jet of molten metal, accelerated to a fraction of the speed of light, destroys targets by impact force and irresistible heat.

and

It uses an electromagnetic field to shape and accelerate a stream of superheated molten metal to relativistic velocities

I'm choosing to say this is still a rail gun — now with increased power, dual 'barrels', and Special Scary molten projectile — because:

"It uses an electromagnetic field... to accelerate..." is exactly how the mass accelerator cannon (rail gun) works

Rail guns are cool

The entry also says they are "a retractable battery of cannons mounted beneath the Normandy's main hull", but this is stupid text and I've elected to ignore it. We see it fire from the nose, and we see Garrus in the main battery. That thing is integral to the ship and runs half it's length at minimum*.

But what do people have to do to run it? Presumably not much! There has to be some kind of maintenance, an eye on whether it overheats, etc, but you aim it by aiming the ship. (For which I thank Bioware daily, because space combat is SO much more fun to write when you dogfight than when you use ship-seeking missiles).

So after thinking through this stuff, I'm scaling my weapons teams drastically down. I think the same hands work with both systems. In combat they're more concerned with the javelins, which can be programmed and have a firing delay, with an eye on Thanix performance in case it needs to be shut down. Joker aims (and often fires) the Thanix.

Physical problems CAN'T be solved in combat: the Thanix will be too hot, and the javelins are outside. More hands don't help that! Tweaks and fixes have to happen outside of combat, and if they need more people they can wake 'em up.

And speaking of 'tweaks':

Garrus is constantly calibrating the Thanix cannon because he's in a petty war with the human gunnery crew. No one argues, they just set it their way. He sees it and sets it back his way. While he's sleeping they change it again.

After determining from the gunnery chief that it makes no practical difference, Shepard allows the incredibly passive aggressive calibrations war to continue, because she's tired of dealing with other people's shit and at least it's keeping Garrus occupied.

*Both the drive core and the central elevator shaft prevent it from taking up the 90% the codex suggests is standard for mass accelerators. It either ends in the battery, at about 45%, or at the elevator, at about 69%.**

**Nice.

[sword-and-lance]

so I DID say I was gonna make my own post and here goes, rambling stream-of-consciousness nonsense below

for real though so many people just never grow out of being a hateful dipshit and it shows and ffs I am so Very Tired Of It

like us furries are just off doing our own shit for funsies but noooooo that's Not Acceptable ya know, because it's weird because Well I Don't Get It And That's The Only Metric That Matters Right, and you don't want to be WEIRD do you

never mind that this is exactly the line of thinking that got wielded against my autistic ass on the regular to the point I still have multiple neuroses on it thank you VERY fucking much but 'oh no I don't actively hate autistic people so I can't possibly be bigoted right'

never mind that this is exactly the like of thinking that STILL GETS wielded against my aromantic ass on the regular to the point I have very much had to become viciously defensive of it at the drop of a hat almost more than I'm actually allowed to love being it

hell it gets wielded against my bisexual ass too for that matter lmao that's just not as large a chunk of my identity as the aro stuff

like y'all KNOW this "they are Weird and therefore Bad and Wrong" impulse is exactly where bigot shit of all stripes comes from right

RIGHT?

y'all have got to let go of the "I don't understand it therefore it is Wrong and Laughingstock and No One Should Do It" impulse you gotta or you're gonna fall down a hole that's real goddamn hard to climb back out of

speaking from experience as someone who has had to and tbh probably still is climbing out of many fucking holes

and yes that above paragraph for absolute certainty isn't just covering furry shit! it also includes stuff like kink including whatever one(s) YOU don't like, people get crankin' to the weirdest shit and forks are found in the kitchen come ON NOW if everyone involved is a consenting adult then get the fuck over yourself and just don't look and go looking for shit you don't like

you don't have to "get" something to at least give it and the people involved in it some fucking basic respect

it ain't none of your business

so fucking mind your own

"but Dae you're one of The Good Furries who works in STEM and tech and--" and I will still fucking bite you for going after the Weird ""Degenerate"" (eurgh) Ones because you're being a bigot-ass to them and no one should have to EARN the right to not be bigot-ed at you asshole

and I ain't even gonna get into how y'all treat otherkin and therians and etc or I'm gonna start biting

and I am especially ain't even gonna get into how y'all treat disabled and chronically-ill people or I'm gonna start spraying blood like the world's angriest hornytoad lizard I know a terrifying number of people actually want me and like 70% of my social circle dead, I get to see this shit every single day, thanks!