#rectangle cruiser

[marlynnofmany]

Rainy Day Eggs

The last delivery our ship made was to a dry planet with too much wind. I’d say it was nice to be somewhere with moisture in the air again, but this was a lot of rain. And while I can appreciate the scent of petrichor and the sound of raindrops on the roof as much as the next Earthling, our current setup was a smidge inconvenient.

Paint asked, “Are you sure we don’t want to use the cargo bay instead?” She peeked past my elbow through the personnel door. “I feel like a wet floor there is less of a slipping hazard.”

“Maybe, but the awning doesn’t fit,” I told her, pointing up at the portable thing that came with this spaceport’s landing pad. It was made for single-person entrances, a hovering pink rectangle tethered to the ground with some kind of localized tractor beam. It stuck to the ship nicely, and hadn’t let so much as a drop sneak past to drip down my shirt, but it wouldn’t have fit over the cargo bay entrance.

“I thought we were going to use one of the bigger landing pads,” Paint said, surprise on her lizardy face as she looked out at the spaceport. “I know our ship is on the small side, but this spot looks tiny!”

“It is,” I said. “That douchnozzle over there sniped our spot.” I pointed at the sporty red single-person cruiser that was currently hogging a courier space. I’d heard Wio swear from the cockpit when she had to adjust our approach because the jerk zipped in front of us. I’d seen the nice big awning crumple down to fit his jerkmobile. After we’d landed in a spot almost too small for us, I’d seen him stroll away with fancy clothes and a force field umbrella, and he hadn’t come back yet.

He was a human, too. Not that I was bitter about any of that.

Paint huffed. “How rude! Well at least we have the comfort of knowing that the kind of person to do that is likely to make their own life harder every day.”

“You’re right on that count,” I agreed. “I can just imagine how much his food gets spit in when he eats at restaurants.”

This concept was a new one as far as Paint was concerned, and we spent the next few minutes before our client arrived talking about unsanitary food sabotage. (She wasn’t a fan. Can’t say I blame her.)

The birdlike cargo of the day was making quiet cooing noises from its cage as the client approached: a slender Frillian who’d come prepared with a bubble-shielded hover cart. I greeted him and handled the electronic payment while Paint gave the cargo one last look over. The coos turned to anxious warbles.

I wanted to call them chickens, and I’m still not convinced that I’m far off, but while their speckled feathers reminded me of the Aracaunas I’d had as a kid, these guys had scaly jaws instead of beaks. Feathery little velociraptors, all puffed up into anxious feather-orbs and looking ready to bite.

I was grateful for both the cage and the awning.

“Here you go,” I said, passing over the cage with extreme care. It barely fit through the door. Luckily the dino-chickens were light, even when they flapped and hissed. The client got them onto the cart with practiced ease. I tried not to show how relieved I was. That cage going sideways to smash open on the rainy ground would have been disastrous.

“Oh wait!” Paint said from behind me. “What about the eggs?”

“Right, I forgot about those,” I said, turning to grab the bowl she held out, which I’d set in the hallway next to the cage. Three speckled eggs rolled merrily as I held it out to the client. “Do you want these? They laid them on the way here, though they don’t seem interested in caring for them.”

He was busy strapping the cage down. “No thanks! They’re not fertilized. Just toss ‘em in your bio-recycler or whatever. Have a great day!” A fresh wave of rain pounded down between us.

“All right, thank you!” I waved goodbye and stepped back inside the ship, closing the hatch. With the rain shut out, the silence felt loud.

“I’ll mop up the water,” Paint volunteered. She pointed at where a spray of raindrops had managed to blow in on the wind. “Watch your step.”

“Thanks.” I held the bowl of rolling eggs in one hand, and the payment tablet in the other. I stepped carefully.

“And make sure you sanitize that bowl!”

“Oh, I will,” I said. “But before I just throw these away, I think it’s time for a rousing game of ‘who thinks these are food?’”

Paint regarded me with a mix of skepticism and disgust. “Really?”

I grinned at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll have Eggskin scan them first.”

“You do that!”

Still grinning, I put away the tablet and did that. Eggskin was in the medical bay, which was next to the kitchen, which was convenient, because Eggskin was in charge of both. They were the most knowledgeable cook/medic I’d ever met.

They didn’t make any fun expressions when I handed over the bowl, not so much as lifting a scaly browridge. They just set to scanning and analyzing like the professional lizardy alien they were.

(I still haven’t told them that the color of their scales reminds me of boogers, and I don’t ever plan to.)

The machine dinged. Eggskin tapped a few buttons, cross-referencing something on the intelligent species database.

“You can’t eat these,” they declared.

“What? Why not?” I was honestly shocked. Humanity’s omnivorous nature had made me used to being the one who could eat everybody’s food.

“There is a significant level of a toxin that would cause vomiting and worse,” Eggskin informed me. “Looks like your people call it tremetol.”

That made a memory ding. “Wait, like the kind from white snakeroot? The kind cows eat, and gives people milk sickness?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Eggskin said drily. “In my personal opinion, all milk is likely to cause sickness, but you’re welcome to your mammal tendencies. Just don’t eat these.”

“Aw, man,” I said. “Is it poisonous to everybody?”

“Let me check.” Eggskin brought up another species. “Looks like Mesmers aren’t affected.”

A voice from the doorway asked, “By what?” and I realized the quiet clicking noises had been Zhee’s feet. His big bug eyes peered in with some very nosy curiosity for someone without a nose.

I said, “By a toxin in the eggs that our animal cargo laid.”

Zhee tilted his head. “Good to know that something I don’t plan to touch will not harm me.”

Eggskin said, “The conversation was about eating them.”

“Ew.” He tilted his head at a more extreme angle and raised his pincher arms as if in defense. “Why?”

I sighed. “Apparently they’re poisonous to some of us.”

“Oh no,” Zhee deadpanned. “What a loss.”

Eggskin asked, “Want me to dispose of them?”

“I guess so,” I said. “Looks like all they’re good for is egging houses. Or spaceships.” I paused to think. “I wonder if they’d do the same kind of damage to the exterior that they do to car paint. It’d get washed away by the rain today anyway.”

“Spaceships like a certain red piece of excrement?” Zhee angled his long body sideways to let someone pass. “The captain would likely deem that unwise.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Captain Sunlight beat me to it.

“Unwise is one word for it,” she said as she stepped into view and paused instead of passing. Her scaly yellow face wore a scowl. “But that’s the same egghole who nearly sideswiped Kamm’s ship last week; I just checked. Now, we’re about to take off, but if the door happens to open and close before we do, I will be conveniently looking the other way.” She made eye contact, then strolled off toward the cockpit.

Zhee and Eggskin looked at me. I looked at them. Then I grabbed the bowl of eggs and legged it toward the hatch.

As the crewmember with the best throwing arm, and the same species as the egghole in question, it was only fitting that I deliver the karma.

~~~

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

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

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

[aurorawritesromance]

WHAT REMAINS UNSPOKEN [CH2]

ALL CHAPTERS HERE.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ WHATEVER THIS ISN'T // ELIAS ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

I think about her when I shouldn’t.

Steam curling off her skin, towel wrapped low on her hips, slowly slipping. My eyes trace the line of her spine like it’s something I’ve studied a hundred times in silence and only now admit I know by heart. She’s not looking at me. That’s part of it. No performance. No reaction. Just her, quiet in her own body, letting the heat from the shower drip down her legs. I step up behind her. Not touching—yet. I feel the warmth rolling off her. I want to desperately press my mouth to the curve of her gentle shoulder and taste skin. Tell her that this—her, calm and unguarded and real—is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever wanted.

And then I’m blinking, hands on the wheel, music low and the taste of guilt already bleeding into the back of my throat. I roll the window down an inch and let the cold slap me clear.

Usually, I enjoy driving through the mist-slick roads just past dawn, windshield streaked with last night’s rain, sky still clinging to the kind of gray that never quite becomes day. The trees on either side of the highway drip steadily onto the asphalt, branches heavy, bent low. The road hums beneath the tires, steady and numbing while a random radio station plays blues and soft drums. Background noise for guilt. She’s not in the car, of course. That doesn’t stop anything.

My hand rests on the gearshift, fingers flexed just slightly, like maybe I’m imagining hers resting over mine. The heat of it. Her weight, her quiet. Her hair still damp from the shower, curling slightly where the ends meet her breasts. Bare shoulders. Soft skin. The kind of softness no one would expect from her.

I’ve seen her clean a Glock without blinking. Tear through a scene with surgical focus. That mouth of hers is sharp enough to draw blood without ever raising her voice. I wonder what it would feel like to trace the curves of her body slowly, without hurry, without permission, without fear of being caught.

Not when I’m working. I'm a professional, after all. I shouldn’t want her. Not like that.

She’s my partner. She’s married. She’s grieving something I’ll never fully understand.

But I do want her.

Ahead, the precinct comes into view—concrete and brick, its windows still dark at places. A gray rectangle of poured concrete and weather-warped brick, tucked at the edge of town where the strip malls start to thin. One of the floodlights above the entrance flickers every few seconds, never quite broken, never quite working. The building looks tired. Not rundown, just used, like it’s held more stories than it can remember. The flag outside is still soaked from yesterday's rain, its edges snapping softly in the wind, whispering something no one wants to hear. A single cruiser idles out front, exhaust curling like smoke. I pull into my usual spot and kill the engine. For a second, I sit there, hand still on the keys, eyes unfocused. Her voice is in my head, the way she said no when I asked if she was ready last night. Simple. Flat. Honest. None of us is ever ready for what this job brings, though.

I wanted to reach for her hand and say "you’re not alone". But I didn’t. I never do.

I breathe out slowly, open the door, and let the morning bite down on my skin, wind cutting through my coat. My shoes crunch over wet gravel. I grab the coffee tray from the passenger seat and cross the lot like I haven’t just spent ten minutes driving through her in my mind.

Inside, the air smells like damp paper and burnt coffee. The front desk is empty, save for a half-finished report and a Styrofoam cup bleeding ring-shaped stains into the paper. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz in syncopated rhythms while the heating vents hiss just loud enough to remind you they’re working, though not very well. Everything in here is a little too gray. Voices murmur down the hall—low, unhurried. A copier clicks in the far room, spitting out pages one slow sheet at a time. I shift the coffee tray in my hands and move toward the bullpen.

I spot her before she sees me. Dalia’s sitting at her desk, leaning slightly forward, sleeves rolled, pen in hand. Her hair is tied back tight into a ponytail. Her jacket hangs off the back of her chair, and there’s a file open in front of her that she’s not flipping through anymore. She’s staring but not at anything specific, just into the space between the facts.

I pull in a breath and smile—natural, familiar. Shoulders relaxed. Voice calibrated to “colleague.” This is what I do. This is who I am. The partner. The good one. The safe space.

“Brought caffeine,” I say, stepping in. She blinks once then looks up at me unhurriedly. The expression doesn’t shift much but the tightness in her jaw softens. Barely. I pretend that’s enough.

She doesn’t smile, but she rarely does this early. I set the cup on the edge of her desk, careful not to shift the papers beneath her hand. Her fingers brush the cup.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, turning back to the file, but not fully. Her body stays half-open toward me, like she hasn’t decided whether to talk about the case now or later. I think about saying something—about the spiral, the stitching, anything. But her pen starts moving again, and the moment’s gone.

The hallway past her desk is cooler, narrower. I quietly pass the break room, silently nodding at the people trickling in. The air changes the deeper in I go, less movement, less noise. More weight.

The evidence room waits at the end, behind a door that sticks at the top left corner. I nudge it open with my shoulder, careful not to spill my coffee and step inside.

Let the silence have me.

The incident board in the back room is half-lit, half-forgotten, yellow bulbs overhead doing more humming than shining. There’s a water stain in the corner ceiling tile that’s been spreading since spring. I’ve mentioned it twice. No one cares. I set the coffee down on the edge of the desk and lean over the evidence spread. Photos. Scene maps. Paperwork with too many blank spaces. The woman’s image looks worse in print. It's somehow less real, grainier, more like a stage prop than a human being. I shake my head at the dark thought.

The dress shows stark in the flash, while the ribbon in her braid gleams faintly, like someone thought to brush it out before tying it. I flip to the hands. The stitching’s rougher than I remember, thick thread pulled tight. Whoever did it wasn’t trying to make it pretty—they were trying to make it stay. One hand darker, one lighter. Neither hers. Neither recent, either. The skin tone already fading at the knuckles, the nails dull and hollow. The murderer must have kept it preserved for some time.

Then, I study the spiral again. In the close-up, you can see where the ash dragged against the floor grain. There’s definitely weight behind the lines. The smear ends mid-curve, like the chalk ran out—or like the point was never to finish it at all. Hard to guess what the intent was here.

I scan the rest of the report. Victim: unknown. No ID. No hits on prints. No missing persons match. The body is twenty to thirty, give or take, no recent trauma outside the stitching: wasn’t beaten, wasn’t choked. No blood, no signs of fight. Whoever posed her didn’t kill her with force.

It makes my skin itch.

I sit back and glance at the corkboard. Empty pins scatter like abandoned thoughts, photos from last night pinned center.

“Not the first,” I whisper into the empty room. I pull a file from the stack at the back of the desk. I keep coming back to an old case... One of mine, back when I was newer and slower and still said "maybe" too often.

A girl found in an abandoned church just outside state lines. She wasn’t posed like this but there was an occult mark near the altar. Deep down I know it's a long stretch to connect these two cases and perhaps it's just my ego trying to do the good old two birds, one stone. It's been bothering me though because back then it was dismissed as graffiti. A kid playing with matches. The whole case got buried in budget paperwork and dead-end interviews. But I remember it. I remember all the unsolved ones.

I flip through the photos. The spiral’s not identical, but close enough to linger. It isn’t complete either, just the first two curves. Similar thickness. Possibly same material?

I'm reaching. This isn’t proof. But it’s something.

I sit down on a swivel chair and scoot over to my laptop. The screen lights up and I squint at the digital database, searching archived crime scene markings. Half an hour later, nothing conclusive—but a handful of cases that tug. Marks dismissed. Scrawls misfiled. All incomplete, all in places that shouldn’t have been touched for years.

There’s a knock—light, habitual.

Dalia.

I don’t turn around. The door creaks open slowly and I feel her pause in the doorway, hear the rustle of her sleeves as she crosses her arms.

“Tell me you've got something,” she says. “Anything?”

I hear the click of her bootheel against the floor behind me. “Similar to a case I caught four years ago. Abandoned church. Spiral in chalk on the altar. We thought it was a prank.”

She leans forward enough for the scent of her shampoo to reach me—faint citrus. “The spiral?”

I meet her eyes, finally. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

She studies me. Or maybe she’s reading something behind me. Her jaw tenses slightly, that familiar tick.

“I’ll pull the autopsy report when it comes in,” she says. “We’ll build from there.”

She turns before I can ask anything else.

And she’s gone.

By the time I catch up to her back in the main floor, she’s already sitting. Her desk looks the same—papers spread, pen resting diagonally across the corner—but something in the air has changed. Her posture’s wrong. Stiff. Like she’s waiting for something she doesn’t want to deal with, hand hovering over the file.

I don’t think. “Let's investigate the church.”

Her hand freezes. The file stays where it is. She doesn’t look up at first, just exhales slowly through her nose, the way she does when she’s disappointed in the universe.

“It’s out of jurisdiction,” she says flatly.

“It’s still a body.”

“A four years old one.”

“The method—” I stop myself. Adjust. “It’s not nothing, Dalia.”

Her head suddenly snaps to me. It’s not anger, not even frustration. It’s the expression she saves for when she’s trying not to say something she knows she’ll regret. Her eyes are sharper than usual, but not brighter. Exhausted.

“You’re seeing ghosts,” she says. “We’ve got enough of the real ones to deal with.”

I step closer, lean on her desk with both hands. “Maybe. But what if I’m not?”

She blinks. Once. Slow. Then turns back to her desk like that’s the end of the conversation. She picks up a page, skims it without reading. I see her fingers tremble once. Just slightly. She definitely hasn’t slept. I know the signs, the morning jitters of too much caffeine. The way her shoulders hold tension too high. The way she’s still wearing the same white shirt from yesterday.

Her phone rings. She answers with the kind of clipped professionalism she saves for people she doesn’t want to speak to. A pause. A long "hmm". Another pause.

“Autopsy’s delayed,” she mutters, barely glancing up. “Power outage at the lab. Systems are fine but they’re prioritizing cases they can actually close.”

I make a weak attempt at levity. “Guess dead bodies aren’t getting warmer anytime soon.”

She doesn’t even look at me for that one. Should I be embarrassed for that one? Weirdly, I don't care.

Dalia is gathering another handful of papers, flipping too fast to actually read them, jaw’s locked, muscles ticking.

I try again. Last push. “Just say yes. We go, we check it, we come back. Worst case, it’s nothing. Best case... it’s something.”

She slaps the file closed a little too hard. The sound makes a nearby rookie jump in his chair. I'm stunned, but try my best not to show it.

“Why?” she snaps, voice low but sharp. “So you can drag this through mud and pull symbols out of coffee stains?”

I blink. She doesn’t raise her voice, not really. But it’s enough to draw attention.

“I’m not chasing ghosts, Wexler. I’m not patching old theories together just to feel like we’re getting somewhere.”

Wexler.

“I didn’t say you were,” I reply, calm, even. “I’m saying Isee something. And I think it matters.”

Dalia picks up the file again, shoves it into the crook of her arm. “You want to drive four hours for a wall scrawl? Fine. But don’t expect me to play make-believe when we get there.”

She stands and walks off. Fast. Purposeful. Shoulders high, spine straight—but her hands are clenched and white-knuckled. Her boots strike the tile too hard.

I stay where I am.

CHAPTER 3 >>

[golden-masquerade]

Chapter 1 - Tumbler

Under readmore for length

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR AI TRAINING OR SCRAPING

Chapter 1 - Tumbler

Nicholas began to stir from sleep as he felt the cold steel of the ceiling pressed against his cheek again. His eyes opened and he tried to turn his head, only to find his entire body was pressed onto the ceiling again as well. The indoor lights of the space cruiser were turned off, which was the only natural thing about his current situation. He turned his head and part of his body gently, so as not to launch his entire being into the other side of the room. His light brown eyes took a second to adjust to the dark, hoping to make out what kind of obstacle course his room had become. He could hear his steel coffee mug clinking into the wall, and his blanket was rustling in the middle of the room. His other items were floating somewhere he couldn't immediately see and hear, so this was going to be yet another late night adventure.

With careful practice, Nicolas pushed himself from the wall and let his body float to the direction of the door. He put one hand out in front of him to catch his blanket billowing in the middle of the room and toss it behind him. Something thin and plastic bounced off his dirty blond hair, probably his toothbrush. Then something harder smacked him in the face, a sharp corner scratching just below his eye, most likely the tube of toothpaste. As his eyes finally adjusted during his journey across the room, he spied a large, dark rectangle floating just in front of the door, and he was ready for it. Carefully pushing his suitcase aside, he braced himself as his head and chest collided with the steel bedroom door, then quickly pressed the button lock to open it before he drifted back into the room. With just as reflexing speed, he grabbed onto the door frame as the steel ship door retreated into the wall with a quiet swish, and pushed himself into the hallway beyond, hurdling further into the ship to fix this mess.

Moving through zero gravity was something most trained for when traveling through outer space, though Nicolas was only under the impression it was during emergencies or power outages. Many spaceships these days, even the older models, were able to maintain a gravity module that easily mimicked Earth, even when there were emergencies or power outages. He was completely unprepared for how often he would find himself without gravity traveling on one of the best ships money could buy. The module wouldn't have failed due to power failure or any other accident. Someone had turned it off.

Nicolas reached the nearest electric panel to his room, which just sat before the entrance to the east wing. While it was still dark from the lights turned off, the windows to his right and left reflected some light from space. The distant light of stars and a moon passing just below them. The soft glow outside was enough to see by, but to keep the distant hallway beyond pitch black. In the least, there was no loose debris floating in the zero gravity, which should make turning things back to normal easier.

But just as he opened the panel door, a flash of white passed by the corner of his eye and he froze. It went down the hall, but peeking past the hallway entrance he couldn't see anything. It looked and felt like a ghost, a spectral spirit, a flickering figment of his imagination, but it was quite real. It was in here with him, and he wasn't sure what to expect next. Anything could happen on this strange starship, and it was a struggle to mentally prepare for the unexpected.

But he did know one thing: it wasn't a ghost or specter he saw, and it wasn't alone.

Soon, it came into view, and Nicolas couldn't help but freeze and stare. Despite the dark of the hallway, the moonlight below seemed to make the figure glow a bright white. Her delicate figure was draped in a flowing white silk gown, her face seemed hidden in the glow but the shape was perfect, her long and straight hair billowed around her head and seemed to reach for the ceiling, her body was petite but perfect in shape. And her movements, gracefully waving her arms about her, toes pointed with perfect practice, gliding through the air as if she was a mermaid in the sea or a fairy among the flower petals, easily hypnotizing any who witnessed.

And then, she flittered away, disappearing into a part of the wing Nicolas couldn't see from his position. He waited, keeping an eye out for the figure again, only to spy it from a completely different direction, dancing through the air with practiced playfulness. The figure was soon joined by another, perfect in body and grace, and the two came together in a deep embrace, twisting in the air for a couple of rotations before separating and swerving to another part of the wing. They reappeared again, tumbling and twisting after each other, like birds in flight or fish in a school, in graceful chase and play, in an improvised dance within zero gravity.

Nicolas let them have one last display when they caught up to each other in the center of the hallway. Swirling in the air like a pinwheel, cheek to opposite cheek, hair swishing wide behind them like halos. Their faces were hidden in the glow of moonlight, washing out their expressions completely, but Nicolas could see them in his imagination. Smiling their perfect playful smiles, pink but perfect eyes agleam in mischief, drowned out in the glow of their perfect complexions of pale but perfect skin. It was a display Nicolas had seen many times, but now he started to wonder with a fantastical display like this if the pair were putting on a show for each other in private, or if they somehow suspected he was watching.

But his awe at the moonlight dance was ebbed into his previous irritation, and he quickly switched on the gravity, turning on the lights for good measure. The twins dropped to the ground on their backsides, everything in Nicolas's room behind him crashed back to the floor, and the illusion was broken.

He watched the twins gather themselves, lifting their long, white strands of perfect hair to look up at Nicolas in astonishment. There was no point telling the two apart, they both perfectly mirrored each other in every physical way, except below the belt. Nicolas didn't even bother trying to identify them now that he had their attention, and his statement to them was made in exasperation after failed explanations and all of his patience spent.

"It's three. In. The fucking! Morning!"

Both twins blinked in unison before barking two completely different statements at the same time.

"To you!" "Um, actually, in space…"

Nicolas didn't bother to entertain them further, he turned in a huff, leaving the pair watching the back of his red and white checkerboard pajamas stomp out of the wing and back to his room.

Both gave a sigh, not bothering to get up from their sore rumps, one leaning her head on the other's.

"Maybe we should buy a ship with separate gravity wells, brother."

"Maybe the guest should buy a ship with separate gravity wells, sister."

Luxury Class Star Cruiser - Calibos

Crew - 3

Primary Mission - Locate missing Pony Express freighters

Secondary Mission - Transport survivors to Earth

Elapsed Time - 1135 Days

You wouldn't understand

One way Revi differed from her twin brother was in energy level; she preferred to skip and prance and twirl and dance wherever she went. She wore pants with long, flared legs that mimicked a skirt, which she loved to swish around and twirl in. Walking the halls of the Calibos was no different, even with the gravity set to normal. As much as she preferred floating and swimming through the air with naturally talented grace, it was morning which meant it was time to go to work. She gave a couple of pirouette turns before straightening herself in front of the cockpit door, then took in a couple of motivating breaths as she pressed her finger to the lock.

She was only slightly more serious when it came to her true passion in life.

The lock accepted her fingerprint, and she stepped into the cockpit as screens of every size and shape stared back at her. The luxury starship had come equipped with ten standard computer monitors, including a hyper-definition seventy inch central monitor with a perfect view outside the ship, simulating a windshield. But Revi and her brother, bred to be technical geniuses, decided to make their own modifications to the most important room of the ship. Both had outfitted computers, signal jammers, signal enhancers, electric sensors, artificial intelligence nodes and even scouting drone ports as well as cameras of every make and design within the inside and outside walls of the cockpit, making it a technophile's dream and nightmare all at once.

"Good morning, my sparrows!" She called to the monitors, taking a seat in the piloting chair on the right.

"Good morning, Revi!" The monitors answered one by one, after Revi began typing inputs within their consoles.

"It is currently seven hundred hours!" One monitor announced.

"The ship is at one hundred percent health, and inside is pleasant and bright!" Another reported.

"There was a rogue asteroid we passed at twenty two hundred hours," another chimed in, "but we steered well clear of it!"

"Lots of messages came in from home!" The smallest one chirped. "Would you like me to read any of them for you, Revi?"

"No thanks." Revi answered. "Did any of the doves find anything?"

"Let me check." The smallest monitor offered. "Give me three minutes and twenty six seconds to answer!"

"Okay." She accepted. "And how are we doing on supplies?"

"Fuselage is at eighty percent," a monitor next to her hip listed, "the oxygen purifier is running at ninety-five percent efficiency to provide constant oxygen, the water purifier is currently working on schedule to provide clean running water for the morning and evening bath, food supply will remain steady for another nine months and ten days, and all emergency supplies remain at one hundred percent filled."

Naturally everything was in tip-top shape; the twins had resupplied at the Titan space station last week. They even accounted for Nicolas this time.

"And how is the view outside?" She asked the ten monitors that were once the main view port monitor.

"Absolutely fabulous!" All ten cheered at the same time. "Nothing but darkness and stars until we reach the asteroid belt! We did pass under Callisto last night and it was so beautiful!"

"Oh, I know, I saw it." Revi chuckled, tucking some strands of white hair past her ear. "All of you are doing such a good job this entire trip, I'll run a memory enhancer tonight."

"Oh, that does sound wonderful!" The navigational computer chirped in appreciation. "You take such good care of us, Revi!"

"What can I say?" Revi chuckled to her gaggle of computers. "You all speak my first language."

"I just heard back from the doves!" The smallest monitor answered right on time. "All but one is returning to roost. Dove #3 found an energy signature 51 AU away in the middle belt, coming into orbit with Celes."

"What kind of energy signature?" Revi asked. "Can you call the doves for me?"

"Yes I can!" The monitor answered. "It's an energy reading of 145 over 210!"

Revi immediately knew what this meant. All playful banter stopped. It was now truly time to get to work.

"Alright everyone, set a safe course for the energy signature. It's time to bring another pour soul home."

The ship's navigational computers agreed.

"We will arrive at the destination in ten hours." The computer announced.

"And we'll get there safe and sound!" The auto-pilot promised.

"I've already calculated the proper energy consumption to budget for new hardware." The energy saving module reported back.

"You all work so hard." Revi smiled gently to the menagerie of monitors before her. "I'm so happy I can count on you."

"We'll focus on our jobs so you can focus on yours!" The monitors chimed in at the same time. "Now, get ready to show everyone how brilliant you are!"

Revi agreed. Once again, she can bring home another lost Pony Express freighter.

Nicolas had discovered something last week that he did his best to take advantage of: the twins were nearly impossible to control when they were together. But when separated by at least two rooms, interacting one-on-one was much more bearable. Together, it was near impossible to tell the two apart, looking exactly alike and even acting in sync with instinctive perfection. But dealing with them as individuals did help to see small differences in each.

As Revi had gone to the cockpit to read emails and check for energy signatures in the vastness of space, Regi had joined Nicolas in the kitchen for coffee. The other twin was much more reserved in energy, both in movement and in interaction. Nicolas had already brewed Regi a pot of his favorite morning blend, with a lump of sugar and a spoonful of goat's milk. The other twin had just tied back his long white hair with a spare red handkerchief before pouring his coffee into a mug.

"Pancakes or waffles?" Nicolas offered from the other side of the kitchen, putting in the mixing packets for the food processor.

"Pancakes." Regi answered, putting the mug to his nose to smell the morning brew. "I have a feeling it's going to be a short morning." His sister preferred pancakes anyway.

Nicolas dropped the two bags into the plastic cylinder of the processor and closed the lid tight before pressing the mix button. It really was amazing how far space fairing technology had come. In comparison, larger companies, budget travel agencies, and even Nicolas's branch of the law firm only supplied artificial ingredients for food processing. And while the food from said packets looked impressive, the taste was always poor and killed appetites faster than it filled stomachs. However, the twins could afford real food and fresh ingredients for space fairing meals, as well as the means to package them securely. As soon everything was mixed, he added the syrup and butter packets into the mixture before pressing the process button.

"You sure you and your sister aren't psychically connected?" Nicolas joked again, getting some plates ready to serve.

Regi threw his head back to down the cup of coffee, as though it was a stein of beer, before setting it back on the counter with a satisfied, but hot breath of relief.

"Don't need to be." Regi insisted, running out of his own patience. "We're just two halves of one person, as intended."

Nicolas looked over Regi again as the other poured another cup of coffee. The twins, controversial in their existence alone, were made to be completely perfect. To not compliment each other but be each other in every way. And yet, it was only when they were apart would their differences be noticed. How Regi hunched his back, how he ran a hand through his hair the opposite direction, how he turned his head to listen rather than the corner of the eye, even his favorite foods and drinks. Even his sister Revi had her own differences away from her brother, how she was grumpier and walked on the balls of her feet, how she'd click her tongue in disapproval when she spoke, how she would bat her eyes quickly to signal that she wasn't listening to a conversation, even her favorite foods and drinks.

It was only when they were together that the troublesome entity of the Lekapenos Twins came out to play.

"Was the last report typed up and sent?" Nicolas asked finally, as Regi seasoned his coffee.

"Yeah, typed up hour ago." Regi nodded, putting the mug to his nose again. "Still need to proofread it before sending it."

"Alright, I'll give it a look." Nicolas offered, once the food processor gave some happy chimes in completion. "I still can't get over how fast the two of you work. Even if you didn't get any sleep last night."

"We slept." Regi growled. "You're the one who couldn't sleep." He downed his second cup of coffee with vigor as Nicolas brought three plates of pancakes out of the processor, topped with thick syrup and large squares of butter. Nicolas decided not to argue this as he set the table behind them. Regi was right. As always.

The doors from the hallway opened, and in flounced Revi, taking a couple of bouncing steps towards her brother. Nicolas watched with weariness as Regi seemed to naturally perk up while pouring his next cup of coffee, all traces of irritation and exhaustion disappearing in the blink of an eye. Revi rest her chin on her brother's left shoulder to peek at what he was doing, and as soon as he set the coffee pot down, she gracefully plucked it up and gathered her own coffee mug to pour herself a brew. Both twins gathered their coffee seasoning of choice, sugar and goat milk, and moved with practiced precision to put a single lump in each other's coffee and a single spoonful of goat's milk, mixing it with their spoon three times before lifting the mug to each other's lips to take a long, calm drink.

Nicolas remembered seeing his stomach turn at the first sight of it, but now he had grown painfully used to it.

The twins turned their heads to the table to see pancakes getting cold without them, so they turned and took energetic steps towards their seats and sat with a shared smile on their faces.

"We'll be having another workday soon!" Revi chirped, picking up the readied fork and butter knife. "There was a signal near Ceres 50 AU away! We're en route now!"

"Oh, so soon?" Nicholas asked, plucking up his own silverware. "We still need to proofread the last report before sending it off. But we can go pick this one up while we do that."

Both twins nodded twice in approval.

"So, shall we make a bet?" Revi proposed with a small smile. "What do you think happened to this one?"

Nicolas stared at her, fork and knife in mid cut of his short stack. Regi didn't skip a beat.

"The last ship had such a harrowing story, I don't think any other could top it." Regi chirped in contemplation. "Safer to bet on survivors."

"Oh, I agree." Revi giggled. "I bet on no survivors."

"I bet on everyone surviving." Regi wagered. "It's been a while since we've seen one of those, I think we're past due."

"That is true, we haven't seen a happy ending in a while." Revi agreed. The twins turned to look at their passenger to give his feedback. "Nicolas, want to play?"

Nicolas was still frozen in disbelief. He had seen and heard many words, displays, theories and skill sets during his time on the Calibos, and somehow there was always something taking him by surprise every day. Setting his fork and knife down, feeling his blood cool and drain from his face, he looked between the twins one by one.

Again, they both looked the same in facial structure, skin complexion, hair volume, and body shape. They had the same smile, playful gleam in their eyes and posture as they sat. They way they held their utensils, and even how they had cut into their pancakes. Both were completely and absolutely identical in every way. In body and mind. In make and function. Both were created to be perfect in every way.

But didn't Regi have his hair tied back with a red bandanna? Looking between the two of them as they tilted their heads to the right, Nicolas could see the red bandanna was missing. What happened to it?

"He's staring at us again, sister." Regi chirped.

"Can you hear him, brother?" Revi chirped back. "Is he saying anything to you?"

"Just the usual." Regi assured. "That we are so very strange to him."

"Boring." Revi huffed. "He should think something else for a change."

Nicolas looked between the two, now noticing how much time had passed in between their bouts without empathy.

"I…" he croaked, looking down at his pancakes for a moment before looking back up to the twins. They moved their heads to tilt to the left as they watched him speak.

"I think… there will be one survivor this time." He looked between the two of them as he took in an uncertain breath, if the air around the three of them changed. "…what should we wager?"

"Oh!" Revi jolted with the return to topic. Regi did so as well at the same time, as she continued, both of their demeanor's looking a bit gloomier. "Our Nicolas, always going for the safe bets, how utterly dull."

"But we should make a wager, sister." Regi groaned, as both twins straightened up and began cutting into their pancakes.

"Cookies." Revi decided, making sure her slice of short stack had the most melted butter on it. "The ones with the rainbow sprinkles."

"Such a safe wager." Regi sighed, as both twins took a second to stare at the food on the forks, so Regi could finish talking. "Then, the one who's right wins the tin. Deal, Nicholas?"

"Deal." Nicolas decided, letting the twins finally eat in peace. Each bite exactly as large as the other, each chew of food with the same bite pressure the same amount of times. His food was getting cold as well, and the conversation was over, so the three ate in silence.

They would soon be arriving at another lost freighter needing justice. Nicholas needed to readjust to the silence as much as he could.

Upon arriving at the destination, everyone gathered in the cockpit to watch Revi work her magic. Sitting in the pilot chair, quickly and accurately typing vast strings of commands to each program and module, her eyes flickered back and forth to each screen, processing information that blinked for half a second at a time. Both Regi and Nicholas learned by now to not interrupt her when she was like this. The vast amount of "conversations" she was having with each individual computer at once required her complete concentration.

Regi sat in the copilot's chair, watching the ten facing monitors in front of them to see what the outside cameras were looking at. Before them was yet another Pony Express Long Haul Space Freighter, but this one was exceptionally damaged. Most of the outside walls had visible foam in the cracks, with the cockpit and engine port completely covered inside and out. It was impossible to tell which of these asteroids floating far and away was responsible for it, as this ship was being pulled into Celes's own orbit. It did seem obvious from the outside what had happened, but what happened inside had to be determined the old fashioned way.

After a moment, Revi had the outside spotlights turned on and carefully steered the ship closer to the wreckage, still in complete silence. Nicolas, standing by Regi's chair, looked to the top of the ship where one of the scout drones had embedded itself into the top of the wreckage's hull. It gave off a steady fading red light, acting as a beacon as well as an indication of it's current battery life. As strange as the twins were, their ingenuity and innovation continued to amaze. And to think that these little contraptions could provide a long dead ship battery with power and circulate oxygen through the air. To Revi, it was probably a small task to make such devices, but to Nicolas and the entire tech community on Earth, every single one of her innovations were miracles of science.

"All finished!" Revi announced. "The ship is prepped and ready for boarding." She turned to look up at Nicholas as she spoke next. "The damage is extensive, but it seems like the power from the cryostasis chambers kept the gravity module going and the oxygen feed cycling. But, perhaps we should dawn PPE just in case?"

"I like that idea." Nicholas approved, then he looked to Regi with a small smile. "And hey, a working gravity well means nothing was moved out of place this whole time, and should make your job easier."

"Of course." Regi gave a nod of the head, exactly as Revi did. "So when can we go in?"

"As soon as we're docked." Revi answered with a sing-song tone. "Suit up, gentlemen. I'll join you shortly."

Nicholas watched the outside lights search the wreckage hull for any identifying markers. Just in the corner of the large painted Pony Express logo, the vehicle number and name of the ship could be seen:

Type-F Freighter 0926WO Class C

Tulpar

Project Afterburn is live! The first two chapters are up on ao3 for ao3 members!

Long versions of both chapters to be posted here shortly.

[intelligentliving]

French motorcycle maker Voxan announced in April 2019 that six-time motorcycle racing world champion Max Biaggi would attempt to set a new world speed record on its electric motorcycle. That attempt was scheduled to happen this year, but it was canceled due to COVID-19. Now, Voxan has announced a new...

[dw-writes]

Can I get a request for a John Kennex x Reader? Soulmate Au or maybe even that fate keeps throwing them together? You're freaking amazing BTW *Hugs*

SCREAMS YES??? I LOVE SOULMATE AUS SO MUCH!!!!!! And, I mean, look at him!! What a cutie. What a fucking smartass. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS!!!!! Also @writerdee1701 here is some John Kennex!! ( @outside-the-government i think ive seen you reblog Kennex stuff but if not!! i’m sorry!)

A soulmate wasn’t something you wanted. You had sat and suffered and cried over thinking that you had one only to lose it because it wasn’t real and for what? Because the world – the universe? – told you that you were supposed to have a soulmate? Because the moment you turned eighteen the first words your soulmate was meant to say to you appeared on your arm?

No way.

So, after months of intensive therapy and accepting a new job in a city on the opposite side of the country, you did what any sane-but-majorly-depressed person would do: you got the tattoo covered.

You brushed your thumb over the healed black band that encircled your left arm, smiling to yourself – your sister, bless her, had suggested adding flowers, and your tattoo artist had been more than happy to include blooming flowers all around the band, even going so far as to outline them in UV ink, so that you could see the pieces that would be covered by the band itself. You tugged the sleeve of your shirt down to your wrist as you walked into the building, ready for another day at work – another case, another job well done.

You sighed and nodded at your MX-43 as you sat at your desk.

“Don’t look so excited to be here.” You looked up at the voice and felt your lips curl in a smile. John Kennex returned it and held out a second cup of coffee. You took with a grateful grin. “Dunno if you heard, but we’re workin’ a case together today,” he said, leaning on your desk.

You arched an eyebrow as you took a slow sip from your cup. It was just how you liked it, and it warmed you from the inside out. “Again?” you finally asked after another deep drink. He nodded. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost say we were partners,” you teased.

“I think the captain likes our closure rate,” he pointed out.

“Uh, you mean my closure rate,” you said as you drained your cup and stood, “You just happen to be along for the ride.”

“Oh?” he challenged.

You nodded and grabbed your things from your desk. “Yeah.”

“Those sound like fighting words,” he remarked.

You hummed. “If they were fighting words, I’d say you were there to look pretty, but that’s Dorian’s job!” you chirped. You wrinkled your nose. “You do give good hugs though, so, there’s that.” You patted his chest as you walked past him. “Let’s go!”

Captain Maldonado leaned out of her office as you and John walked past her with a shout of, “Masks!” Both of you lifted your hands and waved over your shoulders.

You didn’t mind sitting in the back of John’s cruiser with your MX, rubbing your thumb over your tattoo as Dorian and your MX rattled off the particulars of the case. You felt eyes on your face throughout the ride but didn’t look up to meet them. When John pulled up to the crime scene, he waved Dorian ahead with your MX and grabbed your arm before you walked past. It took you a moment to look up and, when you did, he was frowning.

“Where are you?” he whispered. You opened your mouth. He shook his head. “Don’t say here, or thinking about the case,” he murmured, “You didn’t hear a word Dorian said on the way here.”

You sighed. “My sister found her soulmate,” you said as you waved towards the bright light line of the ticker tape. John shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked with you. “It’s funny, she’s been living next door to him for a year while teaching in Scotland, and she didn’t know it was him until she ran into him in the hall during laundry day. He had a bird on his shoulder, this big thing, she sent me a picture of it, actually.” You adjusted your mask and pulled out your phone, opening the picture. It was side by side with another photo, one of a bird with its wing in a splint.

John nodded at it. “What’s that?” he asked.

You smiled to yourself. “Before she left, we found a bird in our building parking lot. It had a broken wing, and Maria, she’s got this huge soft spot for birds, so we took it to the vet and they walked us through how to take care of it.”

“And it’s the same bird her soulmate has tattooed, right?” he asked.

“How, how, how does it know that?” you asked, stopped short of the crime scene. You scratched at your arm through your sleeve. “She got her mark when she turned eighteen just like everyone else, and it was a, a, a set of card suits to a losing hand of poker, which turned out to be the exact same hand that Richard had when he lost a bet that ended up with him applying to college to be a teacher.” You shook your head. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

John’s eyebrows were arched high when you finally looked at him. You ran your fingers behind your ears to adjust your mask while he carefully pulled his off and scratched his chin. “If it makes you feel better,” he said with one of those crooked, amused smiles of his, “I don’t understand it either.”

“No, it doesn’t make me feel better, John, because no one understands it,” you shot back, puffing your cheeks. You turned on your heel and stalked towards the dead body and Dorian and your MX were patiently waiting for you by.

“I’m just trying to make you feel better!” he shouted after your retreating form.

“A for effort!” you shouted back.

The case was a bust in terms of being complicated – the body was a mess, but there was a phone left behind, and a tagged post from the victim with someone else, a boyfriend, who confessed the moment he saw you rolling up to his apartment by shouting out of his window and jumping from it. He wound up with a broken leg and was sitting for sentencing.

John paused at a desk in the bullpen when the two of you returned. You glanced back quickly to find him talking with Valerie, and smiled, pulling off your mask. Dorian followed after you as you wandered back to your desk.

“What’s your mark?” he asked when you sat down.

You glanced up from setting your mask in the UV sanitizer. “That’s…” You leaned back and cleared your throat. “That’s a little out of the blue for you, D.” You shook your head, then picked up your keyboard and started to type out your report. “What, uh, what gives?”

“Saw you and John talking about soulmates earlier,” he said as he pulled up a chair. When you glanced up, he smirked. “I can read lips,” he answered.

You gently tossed your keyboard away from you and sighed. Your eyes drifted across the bullpen. John’s smile still hadn’t faded. “Do you know Chromes don’t have soulmate marks?” you commented.

“No, no, I didn’t know that,” Dorian replied.

You nodded, “Mhmm.” Then, scrubbed your hands over your face, you tilted your head back over the back of your chair. “Something about the way that the changing of genetic make-up eliminates whatever code is programed in us that makes the soulmate tattoos.” You dropped your hands. “He could pick Valerie and no one would argue about it.”

“You’re jealous,” Dorian replied.

“Not jealous,” you shot back.

Dorian adjusted his feet and leaned closer. “So, what’s your mark?” he asked again.

You wrinkled your nose and sat up, pulling your keyboard back to you. Dorian continued to stare. You turned your arm over and yanked up your sleeve. He took your wrist to turn your arm out more. “I got it covered up,” you said, stroking your thumb over a spot in the middle of the black band. “I kinda had a melt down after my mark appeared, and when I finally started to really believe that a soulmate doesn’t make a person, I got it covered.”

“So, what was it?” he asked again. He pushed your thumb aside and brushed his fingers over the band. As he did so, you felt eyes land on you. You set your cheek on your fist. The lights on the side of Dorian’s face lit up. “I see UV ink,” he said as he continued to trace the tattoo, “Flowers?”

“Moonflowers,” you answered with a shrug, “They only bloom once and in very specific conditions.”

“Like a soulmate,” he added with a smile. He looked back down at the band. “Is that a rectangle?”

You pulled your arm back and tugged the sleeve down. “Yeah,” you said. You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat. “Yeah, just a rectangle.”

“No, there was something else—”

“Everything okay here?” You and Dorian looked up. John stood in front of your desk, glancing between the two of you with a concerned frown. You scratched your neck and nodded, motioning to your screen. Dorian stood and pushed the chair back where it belonged. “You sure?” John asked you.

You nodded again. “Yeah.” You sat back, adjusting the keyboard in front of you. “I’m gonna stay and finish this report. I’ll send it in for the both of us, okay?”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” You smiled. “Get outta here.”

He hesitated by your desk, knocking his knuckles against it. “Let me know if you need help, okay?” he murmured.

You stared at him. “John—”

“I’m goin’,” he sighed.

You fished around in your bag and pulled out a set of wireless headphones, then synced it up to your phone, and got to work. Valerie left with a man you didn’t recognize, and Richard walked out after her a few hours later. Captain Maldonado left shortly after them. The lights dimmed and the MX’s headed off to the elevators that took them down to the basement. You stretched your arms above your head and groaned, then tugged the sleeves of your shirt up and twisted around in your seat.

Someone pulled your headphone off. You jumped. John stepped back, holding his hands up. The set dangled from his fingers.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said with an amused smile.

“Why are you still here?” you sighed, rubbing your face. You flopped back into your seat and turned to your computer. John pulled up a chair. He set the headphones down after powering them off, then slid a glass over to you. You stared at it.

“It’s bourbon,” he said with a nod to the glass. You turned your chair slowly until you faced him. “Thought you could use it.”

You picked it up. “You thought right,” you slowly said. He held up his glass. You clinked your own against it with a smile.

As John took a slow drink, he pointed at your arm. You turned it out towards him. “Dorian said it was a moonflower?”

You stopped, the glass to your lips. “Why?” you hesitantly asked.

He stared at your tattoo for a long time. Then, he gulped down the rest of his bourbon and pulled up his sleeve. On the outside of his bicep was a simple rectangle. He turned his arm out and showed you the inside of his arm. The outline of a familiar flower stared back at you. You practically threw your glass onto the desk and slid to the edge of your seat. You traced the flower with a faint touch.

“It was on my leg,” he said after a long stretch of silence. You bit your lip. “Nurse in the ICU was nice enough to draw it better for me after about a hundred ugly little sketches.” You gasped out a laugh, dazed at the fact that it was there, right in front of you. “So, what’s in the rectangle?” he asked.

You glanced up, too engrossed in the fact that your flower was tattooed on his skin. The flower you had thought a good representation of a soulmate - something you made, that was unique, that only appeared after certain conditions were met. You shook your head faintly, and whispered, “The name Reginald in your shitty handwriting.”

“You knew?” he asked.

You licked your lips and hesitantly pulled your hands back. “I dunno, I didn’t know for sure, I hadn’t seen the handwriting since I got it covered up, I—”

John cupped your face in his hands, cutting your sentence off. He leaned in, paused, then closed the gap between you both in a surprisingly soft kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed.

Soulmate or not, you couldn’t believe that he returned your feelings. You gripped the front of his shirt and kissed him back.

[kyberconfessions]

Omega Squadron - Clones

Please don't use them. These are mine and I created them and I love them.

Do not steal. Thank you.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Delta - Commander CC -7767

Stoic, kind, quiet, always has his arms crossed. Completely and utterly in love with his General. But knows she loves another. Still loves her. Will still give his life for her. Will follow his general to the ends of the earth. Protective of his team and family. Fuck you, you're not Omega. Really, really loves tea and meditation. Will meditate long into the day with Chidori and Maul. He doesn't have the connection to the force they have, but being able to clear his mind and have a moment of silence is more than enough. Best friends with Captain Rex of the 501st and Commander Cody of the 212nd. Will frequent 79s with them when they're all planetside and complain, er discuss, about their Generals and the crazy situations they put themselves into.

Has military cropped hair with one side shaved and the GAR symbol tattoo'd. Small smattering of grey at his temples. Not a fan of it, but his General said it made him look distinguished, so he kept it. Has one line on his chest and neck for each member of his squad in their company purple.

large scar across the bridge of his nose. Not from the war, but from breaking up a fight in 79s and getting a glass slammed into his face.

Jedi symbol tattood on inside of left wrist, keeps it hidden.

Donner - Communications CT - 4459

Prankster, always cracking jokes, knows that making someone laugh can usually help alleviate the pain they're feeling. Enjoys fried foods, thinks of others, always has the biggest and most genuine smile. Really loves those scented oils he got from naboo, especially the cardamom.

Long hair on top, undercut buzzed on bottom. Wears hair in topknot. Two tattooed rectangles under right eye, three lines shaved into left eyebrow, black out tattoo on entire right arm. May or may not have been involved in the '79s Incident'.

Niner - sniper CT-9999

Gentle. The most gentle man in the entire GAR. so very kind. Will give all of his food rations away to street urchins, just so they know someone cares for them. Has tried to adopt lothcats multiple times, but a stern glare from Delta usually has him putting it back.

Amazing shot. Will be the first to volunteer for whatever mission his General has. Always tries to talk down situations. Prefers to use his words over his fists. But will finish fights if he has too. Heart is to big for war, will sit and let you cry on his shoulder if its needed. Gives the best hugs. Best friends with Donner.

Regular military issued hair cut, nothing fancy, no facial tattoos, has the republic gear on his entire left shoulder, chest, deltoid, trapezius, and into his back. Still sees everything with wonder and big eyes.

Bama - Medic CT-3524

No nonsense guy, will call you out for making stupid mistakes. Dry bedside manner. Oh? You've got a hunk of shrapnel lodged in your side? Here, let him rip it out if you all the while telling you how stupid you were for standing to close to a bomb. Can and will drug Delta if he thinks he's not sleeping enough.

Had to learn a lot about Zabrak anatomy when Maul was added to the team.

'Two hearts! Why the kriff does he have two hearts?!'

Will drink everyone under the table. Once ran into a dangerous warzone to grab a kid who had wandered from the alleys.

Shaved head, sometimes sports a few days old shadow, but likes to keep it clean. Black out tattoos on both arms, completely covered. Wears a necklace with the Republic Gear. Has heteochromia from an injury sustained on Geonosis. Basically one normal colored eye and one almost completely black eye (can still see fine and doesn't want a stupid kriffing implant.)

Familial grump.

Ares - Weapons Specialist ARC-8599

CONTRABAND EXTRAORDINAIRE. You want something, he can get it! Correlian wine? Easy. Sabaac game from the Palace of Naboo? Childs play. Religious regalia from the Chiss? Please, find me something hard.

loves his gun. Named it Mesh'la. Yeah its Mando'a. Fuck off. can and will shoot every weapon in the GAR. Usually is the one laying down heavy fire so his brothers can maneuver or escape. Can curse you out in 6 different languages. Was the first to accept Maul into their ranks.

'So what if he was a sith? We've all done stuff we're not proud of. Who are we to judge? The General trusts him and thats all that matters to me.'

loves working out. Will workout every chance he gets. "Mesh'la isn't the only big gun I've got! BAM!" MASSIVE FLIRT.

Has a more stylized version of the military cut, bottom fades into the top with a longer section on top towards the front. Two red bands on upper right arm, Omega symbol branded into chest. Not tattoo'd, branded. Bama had a field day cursing him out in Mando'a and applying bacta patches.

Nero - pilot CT-1966

Great pilot, best pilot, can fly around the best of those clankers. Not very smart. Look, don't expect him to be able to recite Alderaani Poetry, but has read every manual for every cruiser this side of the galaxy. Really wants to do the Kessel run, Delta told him no. Rrreeeaaallly wants to though. Donner and Ares may sneak him off with one of the y wings, see if they can do some damage. Has a crush on the Civilian Auxiliary that helps fuel their ship. Stumbles over words, very shy, turns hot faced and wide eyed when Ares flirts for him. Boy is pretty and has a good heart, but definitely will not become a Senator any time soon. Everyone thinks he and Maul are best friends, when really he's absolutely terrified of the red and black Zabrak and can't physically speak when he's around. Maul on the other hand finds Nero's silence and calm demeanor relaxing and enjoys watching space go by, so he will sit with Nero as they go through hyperspace. So Maul sits up with him in copilot chair and Nero sweats bullets and internally screams the entire time.

Buzzcut and intricate pattern shaved in, swears its a map into Wild Space, Bama told him it looks like he list a fight with his clippers.

Soul patch and checkerboard diamond tattoos on left forearm GAR symbol on left calf.

[spacebookettes]

A Robot Sent from the Past

S.H.E. System Hologram Explorer

In a solar system far far away, a bright flash of pink lightning. A fully clothed grey haired athletic humanoid stood up at the bottom of an ocean. A sphere of force field kept the water at bay. SHE looked around, hands met humanoid hips, in a huff.

SHE walked for miles along the bottom of the ocean; passing simple early lifeform growths in pastel colours, mouthless anaemic white worms with slight glittered fronds, hot bubbling acid pink gasses flowing. Annoyed at the lack of dry land.

Eventually the ocean shallowed. Eventually a coastline. Eventually sunshine. SHE looked up toward the sun hazy sky, this wasn’t the right sky. Only short spiky red plant likes covered the rocky surfaces. This isn’t the right land. SHE had been expecting a rendezvous of sorts. With the force field humanoid hands SHE crushed some rock, and kept crushing until enough ore could be gathered and a hot forcefield processing of a small amount of metal. Other metals found, components fashioned. A homing beacon constructed.

A gang of space bikers roared into the hazy atmosphere. SHE had manufactured a shot gun weapon. Only one space bike roared away from the hazy atmosphered planet.

A long journey long ago to a small blue planet. Some cave people were dusting and preening a humongous black monolith that occasionally sang to them. SHE landed, the cave people scattered and watched from behind prehistoric boulders. SHE clasped a forcefield humanoid fist and shattered the humongous monolith. The pieces screamed and reformed into a giant curvy voluptuous lactatious black humanoid liquid form. An alien language was spoken between the two humanoids and once more a spherical forcefield was created, this time humongous; that the black liquid form decanted themselves into. With the black sphere keeping pace SHE sat on the space bike and they ascended the blue atmosphere bound for who knows where.

The end

By Peter Stringer

The RockStar

The RockStar made her way through the market, the galactic markets . Star marketeers selling rocket booty. But a secret RockStar was secretly moving through the Moebius people, a mission.

The great universal pandemic had left a hole in the governance of the universe. The normal ‘harmony' that pervaded the universe had been somewhat decimated, and the Moebius people knew it. The rocket bootyneers had been alot more ‘adventurous'. Now chaos threatened Everything.

The Rock stars had always been a network of secret passers, their roles as entertainers had meant they managed to cross the universe unchallenged. They could go places others couldn’t ... their cargo could go places others couldn’t. So things could be smuggled to the right wrong people. But one RockStar, one huge RockStar had a problem. And it’s not easy for one huge RockStar with a secret problem to find a uncompromised solution.

Art if not interupted with adverts could be mind-blowing

Were the lyrics of the RockStars first song, enshrined in a smallish Original piece of a clear plasticised rectangle. The RockStar was trying to get this particular rectangle to a particular Moebius person, a crocodilian Moebius person. Urgently.

A suitable disguise had been secretly, personally, fashioned. As even The RockStar's people could not be ‘troubled’ by the responsibilities or a secret agent Rock Star. She hurriedly, expertly, navigated the oddly, glitterly, amorphously, shaped rocket booty pursued by who knows what in raggedly dark concealing robes. The moebius people also made Moebius extra animated brewed-up robo lifeformesques. And if they ever found out that Rock stars were helping the wrong right people, the universe may become intolerable. A totalistic, militaristic, force powered by uncompromising dark enhanced soul-likes, controlled by the Moebius power hungry. For in this universe power had not been delegated to the artificial intelligences, not the Moebius peoples of this universe freed from Power and all it’s corruptions.

The RockStar had a plan, she must cause some distraction and stow away the plasticised rectangle and return to her luxurious safety. She ran full on into a crystalline assortment of the delicate control panels of some ancient space cruiser. In the resulting crash of crystalline pieces she deposited the rectangle. Perhaps fate will dispose or someone will have to pay a visit to the market.

The RockStar easily reached the safety of fame, the assailants had fallen back, unsure what had happened and how to proceed.

The signal was sent, but the right ‘people' had been watching and were already enlightened. The right people also had uncompromising enhanced soul-forms. All races must be run.

The End

By Peter Stringer

The SuperModels

Five super models run the world...

A marshy bog land of petrified wood, rare ducks and grassy undergrowth funk. For miles. In the centre is a short stumpy tower, with mud-like walls sandy grey, miserable looking. A warm glow in the top windows.

A gathering of the leaders of the four corners of the globe and one super model security chief. No one would suspect the true rulers of a small blue planet.

Cindy looked down at her crystal tumbler of expensive alcohol glumly. Helena was hurriedly gesturing and talking. Two more super models were deciding as well. These women had slowly secretly taken control of all the power systems. And now decided all. A small alarm was heard from the security room next door. Kate went to look. She checked a screen and came back into the main room. We have a small crew of seven visitors, in the marshes. I’ll tool up Kate said.

A small hatch opened up somewhere in the swampland. Out climbed wet suited, highly armed models. They had see in the dark glasses, not made by Channel. Quickly spreading out behind an advancing group of lightly armed wet footed men. Kate signalled ‘do not engage until we hear why they are here' the models followed silently. The men dressed as duck hunters, were not duck hunters; they stopped close to the tower, silence.

A duck squawk was heard in the distance, a hint of the fake about it.

British accents came from the men. One model with a small dish shaped hearing scope on her ear was listening. The words were being relayed to small screens on each of the models arms.

Back in the tower the 4 remaining SuperModels were also tooling up. On a large screen the relayed words were appearing.

The lack of pollution and optimal nutrition of the past had created super humans, never aging, supernatural charm and ruthless attitudes.

Naomi mouthed the words she read on the giant screen.

Claudia looked down the barrel of an advanced super gun. She looked to the screen.

“if we can just gain control of the tower, hold hostage the empresses, we will have the power to create the third British Empire. WOOOOOSH

Kate returned to the top of the tower. Cindy looked at her with sparkling eyes, ‘we have a new challenger’. Kate went into the security room. Tapped on a screen, CANCEL UKIP, a red X flashed through the words, a blueprint of a government building... ‘i will take charge of this particular challenge to our Super position' said Cindy, one hand rising with a Taser.

The End

By Peter Stringer

[depthofpixels]

Loading Screens - A Tutorial

@aphroditesimler01official was sweet enough to ask for a tutorial, so boom, here we go. Note: My audio is a little shitty, so I typed up a written tutorial, too. ( I had plans to do so anyway, but this was lucky due to the horrid audio. )

Programs Needed

Sims4Studio

S4PE

JPEXS

Any photo editor. I used photoshop cc

Instance Number

432D1D2ADDFFC6D8

Misc

PSD to make the process a little faster.

Written Tutorial Below

In Sims4Studio, make a empty package (the option to do so is under “tools”).

Open “Game File Cruiser” under tools. Paste the Instance Number, above, in the corresponding spot and then click on the “All” button.

After doing so, click on the GFX file and then click “Add To Current Package”. Close out of the game file cruiser.

Export the GFX file from your package. (It will export as a binary, don’t worry.) You can close S4S now, you won’t need it again.

In JPEXS, open your binary file.

Expand the “Shapes” category and click on “Defineshape (11)” This will be the image we have to replace to make the loading screen whatever we want.

Now, go into your photo editor and make a new photo with the canvas size of  “1080px x 1080px.” ( You can actually make it whatever you want, but I like the HD look. But, you do you, boo. It does HAVE to be a square, though).

Make it whatever color you want. (If you want to make a loading screen with a pattern, scroll down.)

Now save it as a ong.

Back in JPEXS, right click on “Defineshape (11)” and select “Replace...”. Replace it with your new image.

To make sure it looks correct, expand the “Sprites” categorey and click on “Definesprite (54)” This is how it should look in game.

If everything looks correct, click on small little flash icon ( It should look like a piece of paper with a red “F” on it with [0] next to it ) and click on save as on the upper task bar. Save it to whatever you want.

In S4PE, open your package file.

Right click on the GFX file and click replace.

Replace it.

Save the package

Now, go in game and check to make sure everything is correct. Good? Yay!

That’s about it!

Make a loading screen with a pattern:

This process is more or less the exact same. The only difference is that you should have the canvas size to be “2160px x 1080px” It should be a wide rectangle, not a long one. (Like a hotdog) After adding in your pattern, flatted the image and resize it to “1080px x 1080px”. It should now be a square and your pattern to should appear squished. Import it in to JPEXS to make sure it looks correct.

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Happenstance 8/10

Rated T    2.7K     ao3     ffnet - can’t get it to post there right now.            ch1        ch2       ch3       ch4       ch5      ch6     ch7 

A/N: Posting a little earlier in the evening because we are headed out to the Las Vegas Strip. Thanks to all you lovelies who have let me know what you think of the stories. Thanks @hookedonapirate for all your help!

“Good morning, could we see Officer Humbert or Officer Booth?” Emma asked.

Killian and Emma had risen early to head to the police station. Killian had promised her Neal wouldn’t be up and stalking them at six in the morning. He also made sure to keep an eye out as they were on their way to the station. As much as he’d assured Emma they were safe, he wasn’t stupid enough to be complacent about the fact that Neal was seriously dangerous. This was the third time he’d hurt Emma, and although he’d prefer to handle this the old fashioned way and just kick Neal’s ass, he knew the right thing to do was let law enforcement handle it.

“Can I ask what this is concerning?” the young officer at the front desk asked.

“We’d like to make a report,” Killian said.

The young officer made a quick phone call then hung up. “Follow me.” He led them down the hall to a private room. “Humbert and Booth will be right with you.”

Once the officers were in the room, Emma and Killian told them everything from the very beginning of Neal’s escalating behavior. From the assault at the party, to the false report about Felix’s watch, which they already knew about, to the brick through Ruth’s storm door, to him breaking in to her room last night. They told the officers about the bag that Neal wanted her to retrieve.   

“What’s in the bag?” Humbert asked.

“I have no idea.”

“We received an anonymous tip this morning regarding this same locker. We have two officers set up there now waiting for someone to pick up what’s supposed to be over 3.4 million dollars worth of Audemars Piguet watches.”

“Son of a bitch,” Killian muttered. “He was going to set you up for his own thievery. I’ll bet that’s the type of watch Felix planted in my room. Either way is a win for Neal, you go to prison, or you evade the setup and he gets the watches.

The two officers shared a look of interest and before Emma could blink she was embroiled in a sting operation.

~~~

With as much confidence as she could muster with a wire taped between her breasts, Emma trudged up the steps to Neal’s front door and knocked.

“What the-” Neal stood looking baffled for just a moment before hardening his gaze.

“What? Surprised to see me?”

“You got my bag?”

“Yeah.” Emma removed the backpack from her shoulders and shoved it in his direction.

“I have no idea how you did it, but I don’t care. I got what I need, and you… you can keep your shitty life here in Storybrooke.”

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, and I really don’t care. Don’t ever bother me again, I’m done with you Neal.”

“What I’ve gotten myself into?” he laughed. “What I’ve gotten myself into honey, is the millionaire lifestyle. You see this?” Neal opened the bag and extracted a diamond covered watch. “The contents of this bag are worth over three million dollars, and it’s all mine.”

Emma smirked, she’d already gotten him to say more than necessary to guarantee an arrest, but it was almost too easy to get him to insinuate himself. “You’re an idiot.”

“Screw you, at least I’m rich.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she hopped down the steps. “Whatever you say, Neal.”

As soon as she was clear from the porch the small tactical team of officers swarmed the property. As she crossed the street to where Killian was waiting by the undercover squad car they’d arrived in, they could hear Neal proclaiming his innocence, swearing the watches were part of his father’s laundering scheme, and that he was just a pawn in his father’s shady business dealings.

“Well done, Swan. With any luck you just took down father and son.”

Emma rested against his body, the adrenaline was wearing off and she felt shaky now that the ordeal was over. “I just hope we never have to deal with either of them again.”

Killian held her close, rubbing a comforting hand up and down her back. “We won’t,” he murmured, hoping that his words were true.  

Neal and his father were both escorted toward a waiting police cruiser, and since they’d agreed to go willingly once Gold got his son to shut his mouth, they weren’t put in cuffs.

“You will pay for this, little girl,” Robert Gold seethed at Emma as he walked past.

Although Emma stayed quiet, she stood her ground, not shying away from his menacing words. Killian tightened his grip on her as a way to reign in the anger coursing through him.

“When I get out,” Neal hissed, “I will make you sorry. Both of you.” He looked between Killian and Emma, sneering, “You two deserve each other, you’re both unloved and unwanted.”

In an instant Killian had left Emma’s side and he was in Neal’s face. “Emma and I have all we need, just the two of us. I bet that kills you, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck you, Jones,” Neal fumed as he pushed Killian.

That was all it took, all the provocation Killian needed. He saw red, just as he had that night he had beaten Gold. He cocked his arm back before swinging with all his might. A stomach-turning crunch sounded as Killian’s fist met with the bone of Neal’s left cheek and nose.

The force propelled Neal backwards and he swung uselessly, trying to hit Killian back. Killian surged forward again, poised to land another punch when, unlike the time he’d lost control with Gold, a voice called to him. An angelic voice that pulled him right out of the haze of fury that blinded him.

“Killian, stop!” He felt her small hands on his shoulders, pulling at him, and he turned around to look for her soothing gaze. When his eyes met hers, everything but the love he knew they shared fled his body.

“I want to press charges!” Neal shouted as Humbert and Booth subdued him.  

“Press charges for what?” Humbert asked sardonically.

“That bastard assaulted me! He broke my nose.”

The two men studied Neal, whose nose, mouth, chin and shirt were bloodied by his obviously broken nose.

“Did you see that?” Humbert asked his partner.

“Nope,” Booth answered shaking his head. “You see anything?”

“Nope,” Humbert confirmed.

“You two will be hearing from my attorney,” Gold threatened.

“Who are you going to sue? Your son tripped. Isn’t that right, Officer Humbert?” Booth asked, chuckling as he shoved Gold into the back of another police cruiser.

“Sounds about right, partner.”

Humbert and Booth took Emma and Killian back to Ingrid’s where they explained to her everything that had transpired over the last twenty-four hours.  

“Emma, I’m so proud of you,” Ingrid told her with tears in her eyes. “You did the right thing.”

“Thanks, Ingrid.” Emma hugged the woman tightly. “I’m okay though, there’s no need to cry.”

“Oh, I know,” she sniffled. “That’s not why I’m crying.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing, I was just worried when you showed up with the police. It sounds like quite the ordeal you went through.”

Emma let go of Ingrid and took Killian’s hand in her own. “Killian was there through it all.”

“I’m glad you two have each other.” Ingrid placed her hand on top of their joined ones and smiled, a smile that said she knew they were special to each other.

“Me too,” Killian said, “and we have you as well.”

Emma beamed at them both. “Almost like a family, huh?”

“Ruth Nolan wants you to give her a call when you have a chance,” Ingrid murmured, tears welling up in her eyes once more.

Emma frowned at the abrupt change of topic, perhaps Ingrid didn’t see it as such, which wouldn’t be anything new for Emma. No one had ever really thought of her as family, not even the people that were supposed to. “Okay.”

~~~

“I just got off the phone with Ruth, she wants us to come over for dinner,” Emma told Killian as she sat down next to him on the stairs of the back porch.

“And what did you say?”

“I told her I’d be there, and I would check if you were available.”

Killian chuckled. “I’m not taking my eyes off you for a moment.”

“I’d despair if you did,” she flirted bumping her shoulder against his.

Throwing his arm around her shoulder, Killian pulled her close. “Hahaha, Swan. At the risk of sounding stalkery, I don’t want to let you out of my sight until this whole situation is handled and they are officially behind bars.”

“Is stalkery even a word?”

“Beside the point, love.” He stood up from the stairs and offered Emma his hand. “Come, let’s go to dinner.”

Taking his hand and not letting it go, they walked to Ruth’s discussing the possible outcomes of the days events. Emma prayed Neal would receive a long sentence. When they arrived at the Nolan household the atmosphere was positively charged. They all sat down to another of Ruth’s savory home cooked meals and their hosts were ridiculously giddy.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Emma asked as all three of them chewed with smile on their faces. There hadn’t even been a trial yet, were they really this ecstatic over an arrest?

“Whatever do you mean, Emma?” David asked with the biggest, dopiest grin on his face.

“I mean I can barely see your eyes you are smiling so hard. All of you for that matter.” She looked to Killian who seemed as perplexed as her. “It’s not just me right? These three have definitely hit the lottery or something?”

“Aye love, something is definitely amiss.”

Ruth wrung her hands together and abruptly stood from the table. “I was going to wait till after dinner, but I just can’t.” She looked to David who gave her a nod. Ruth pulled an envelope from the pocket of her pants and slid it across the table to Emma.

“What’s this? Did you actually hit the lottery? Is this a check?” Emma laughed nervously as the suspense over the contents of the white rectangle began to take hold in her gut. She looked between the two Nolans who were a united ball of potential energy, and the Nolan-to-be, who had tears in her eyes, and then back to the envelope. She was almost afraid to open it at this point. What the hell was going on?

“Open it lass,” Killian whispered, “before they explode.”

Emma tore open the envelope and pulled out a single piece of paper. Unfolding it, she read the document from top to bottom silently. Tears clouded her vision as she looked between the letter and the people surrounding her. “Is this… is this for real?”

Ruth nodded her head as her own tears spilled over, and a choked sob broke from Emma’s throat. “How? I mean…” She didn’t know what to say, where to begin, how to act. Handing the letter to her confused boyfriend, Emma slumped against him and cried a mixture of happy and sad tears. Happy for the news that she had family, an actual blood relative. Sad as the memories of forgetting her brother’s name and being separated from him came flooding back into her consciousness.

“I’m sorry, Emma!” Ruth pleaded. “Did I overstep?”

“No,” Emma sobbed. “No, I just… I’m so sorry David, I forgot.” She paused to take a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. “I forgot your name, by the time they gave me back, I forgot.”

Killian quickly scanned the paper as he held a shaking Emma in his arms. Once he finished, he set the paper down with a smile as wide as the rest of them upon his face, and he pulled her into a full embrace. “You have a brother, Swan. I am so happy for you.”

Emma felt silly for falling apart, this should be a purely happy moment. She relaxed against Killian and listened to his soothing voice, allowing him to calm her frayed nerves. Once she’d had a moment to reign in the hundreds of thoughts swirling around in her mind, she straightened herself from Killian’s embrace to face her family. “How did you find out?”

“Well, when David was old enough I asked him if he wanted to do one of those ancestry DNA tests to see about finding any relatives. We knew it wouldn’t necessarily mean meeting his parents, but maybe he might find cousins or aunts and uncles. I know it wasn’t my place, but I thought you might want the same opportunity. When you were here on New Year’s Eve, I may have swiped some samples from you for the test kit.”

Emma gaped at Ruth, then laughed as she imagined Ruth going through the dishes like a detective after having two officers of the law in her home that same night. “I can’t believe with all that happened that night, you were still able to pull this off.”

“Imagine my shock when three years after submitting David’s test kit, a hit finally came back. I think I screamed, cried, and laughed when I read the results that the match was for another test kit I had submitted… yours, Emma. A 100% match, fraternal twins.”

David leaned across the table and steepled his hands beneath his chin as he looked between Emma and Killian with the utmost seriousness painted upon his face. “So, I think it’s time you and I discuss your intentions toward my sister.”

The whole table burst into laughter when Killian told David to take a hike.

“Seriously though,” David said, standing up and walking around the table, “give me a hug, sis.”

Emma stood up and let herself be enveloped in the comfort of his grasp, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, we were kids, and we have each other now.”

There was not a dry eye in the Nolan home as the twins held each other in a healing embrace. When they separated a flurry of discussion followed, physical traits the two shared, similarities in their personalities, and of course the topic of alpha twin came up. Ruth brought out a cake decorated with iced strands of DNA and a message that read #related #twin life, that had Emma laughing and crying at the same time.

The evening progressed as would any evening spent among loving family, and Emma was in heaven. For the hundredth time, the thought, I have family, skittered through her mind, and with each time a stinging of tears pricked her eyes. As David and Mary Margaret discussed plans of where they were going to live after graduation, a thought occurred to Emma.

“Ruth, did you tell Ingrid about the DNA results?”

Reaching across to take Emma’s hand, Ruth nodded her head. “I did, I figured she would want to know that one of her youth had family in the area. You know our home is open to you, Emma. Both of you,” Ruth added, reaching across to take Killian’s hand as well.

“That’s a very generous offer Mrs. Nolan-”

“I’ve told you before, Killian, call me Ruth.”

“You are too kind, Ruth.”

Emma glanced at Killian and knew that he would feel the same way she did. No wonder Ingrid had been so worked up today. Emma took Killian’s free hand in her empty hand, and squeezed Ruth’s gently with her other. “As much as your offer means to me,” Emma started, “us, Ingrid is the best thing that happened to me growing up. She was the first person to actually care about me and not treat me like a meal ticket, she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family up until tonight.”

“I understand completely,” Ruth said with a smile. “Just know, that offer stands for as long as I’m around.”  

“Thank you,” Emma and Killian said in unison.

“We should probably get going,” Emma added. “I have something I need to take care of tonight.” She stood up and hugged Ruth tightly. “Thank you, Ruth, thank you for doing this. If it wasn’t for you I never would have known I have family.”

“You’re welcome, sweet girl.” Ruth kissed her on the cheek before letting her go.

@laschatzi @spartanguard @hollyethecurious@winterbaby89 @kmomof4@resident-of-storybrooke @artistic-writer@jennjenn615@snowbellewells@xhookswenchx@ultraluckycatnd @emeraldwitches @nikkiemms @galadriel26@roseyflush   @a-faekindagirl@ @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @effulgentcolors@onceuponaprincessworld @captainswan-shipper88@andiirivera@teamhook@tiganasummertree @deathbycaptainswan@kday426@sherlockianwhovian@mayquita@captswanis4vr @welllpthisishappening@princesseslikepirates @officerrogers@therooksshiningknight@thisisforcs@freechoicedreamer

[ericarule-blog]

Toyota Land Cruiser Customer's Guide

First manufacturing Toyota 4x4 energy, geared up with a B-series engine and also a three-speed transmission. Makes use of a grille with 9 upright slots, normally has no doors, has headlights installed behind steel guards on level fenders. Similar in look to early Jeeps, yet bigger. Assigned Land Cruiser name in 1954. 1951 - 1955

Land Cruiser (20 Collection).

Basic 20 Series car is an utility 4x4 outfitted with a soft or metal top.Land Cruiser BJ25s were outfitted with B-series engines,FJ25s with F-series engines.Both feature a grille with four horizontal slots between the headlights and use square, upright designing that means what the timeless FJ40 will certainly resemble.Readily available in several kinds,consisting of as a long wheelbase with a soft top (BJ28),fire truck (FJ24JA) and a hardtop with lengthy wheelbase (FJ28V).1955 - 1960.

Land Cruiser (40 Collection).

The timeless Land Cruiser 40 Series in its FJ40 kind,with its looks and also unified percentages.2 doors with a hard or soft top, folding windshield,F-series engine and two-speed transfer instance.The roofs of the hardtops are repainted white,and all hardtops had wrap-around rear windows. instead of straight grille slots,the grille contains a mesh aspect in between the two headlights.Square turn signals were placed atop each front fender.Available in numerous types,including a somewhat longer wheelbase permanent top (FJ45V) as well as a pick-up (FJ45).

Land Cruiser (55 Series).

A long-wheelbase four-door energy wagon with 40-Series running equipment. Designing remains really square-edged,but down-sloping front fenders with vestigial level tops somewhat integrated into the front clip. Square directional signal were placed atop the front fenders.Carburetor air intake grilles are high above,and also somewhat aft of, the front wheel wells.Hood is a lot more a flat panel than was the 40 Series hood.Grille includes horizontal ports between the fronts lights. The taillights are high-mounted as well as rectangle-shaped.The interior is much more complete and also incorporated than previously, with a cushioned dash top.1967 - 1979.

Land Cruiser (60 Series).

Land Cruiser wagon,the logical extension of the 55 Series,remains square for outstanding application of space however the sides are softer and also more rounded.The grille includes four horizontal bars as well as 5 horizontal slots.Fenders are completely incorporated into front clip.The front turn signals are incorporated right into the front fascia,immediately outboard of each headlight.Rear directional signal are rectangle-shaped and also upright,inset right into the body's sheet steel just over the rear bumper.The back door can be a single lift gateway,a solitary swing-out or a pair of swing-outs.Interior is currently styled,with an automotive-type dash.1980 -1989.

Land Cruiser (70 Collection).

Square-bodied Land Cruiser energy 4x4 two-door with steel doors as well as leading, inclined windscreen. The front-clip designing continues to be much like that of the 40 Series. The grille can be mesh or can include three horizontal bars.Both have three extra straight ports in a solitary line under the grille.Front turn signals are square with triangular white lens aspects underneath,as well as are fastened to the vertical edge of the front clip above the fenders and just outboard of each headlight.The top can be hard or soft.The doors are hard,with roll-up home windows.Taillights are long, upright rectangular shapes inset reduced right into the back bodywork.Rear doors are paired swing-outs.Windscreens of some armed forces versions will fold up atop hood. Available in several kinds,including a pickup (FJ75P) and a four-door,long wheelbase energy wagon (FJ77HV).1984 -present.

Land Cruiser (80 Collection).

Land Cruiser wagon with upright,rounded designing.Hood has a wide power lump, front fenders reveal character lines that mean the 55 Collection 'front fenders as well as stream the length of the car's body.Front fenders are fully incorporated right into the front clip and have sheet metal flares.Turn signals are thin,straight systems installed just below headlights. Grille is egg-crate mesh in between rectangular fronts lights. Back doors can be either swing-out side-openers or a tailgate/lift gate mix.Taillights are vertical rectangular shapes inset into the bodywork simply over the rear bumper.The interior is currently very contemporary,tending toward high-end, with a control panel inset under a curved brow in very early (broad) as well as late (much less large) styles. Springs are currently coils,as opposed to leafs,at each corner.1990 - 1997.

Land Cruiser (90 Series).

Called the Prado and developed from the 70 Series,the very first Land Cruiser to utilize independent front suspension.Was not marketed in the U.S.in this iteration.90 Series is somewhat smaller sized than 60 Collection and 80 Series,as well as offered with 2 or 4 doors.Grille is made up of 11 vertical bars in between styled headlamps,with additional air conditioning slots below the grille,in the bumper.1993 - 2001.

Land Cruiser (100 Collection).

Land Cruiser wagon with a high greenhouse, independent front suspension and 4.7 L V8. Some variations sold outside the U.S. get a solid front axle (101 Series). Power lump on large,flat hood much less obvious than formerly; front fenders reveal unique sheet-metal flare. Grille contains three horizontal bars in between incorporated and styled headlamps. An extra narrow straight air conditioning consumption is located listed below the grille, in the front bumper. A bump strip runs size of body below belt-line. Noticable flare around back wheel wells. Back door is a lift-gate. Taillights are huge ribbed systems that are partially built right into the lift gate and also twist around the rear edges of the vehicle to be noticeable from the side as well as from the rear. The dashboard is very modern with a cockpit console under its very own eyebrow and with HVAC as well as sound controls, as well as several Air Conditioning vents, in a different central panel. 100 Collection is offered just as a four-door. 1998 - 2007.

Land Cruiser (120 Series).

In 2002 the Land Cruiser Prado was revised as 120 Collection Prado,or in some markets, just the Land Cruiser.Seen in the United States as the Lexus GX 470.Body has 60 percent extra torsional strength as well as extremely advanced electronic grip controls for enhanced off-as well as on-road efficiency,lower noise and also far better quality. Center of mass was reduced, making sure far better stability.Along with a Torsen limited-slip main differential,Energetic Grip Control and also Vehicle Security Control offer superior movement on practically any kind of surface.2002 - Present.

FJ Cruiser (120 Collection).

Toyota's 2007 FJ Cruiser uses the 120 Collection frameworks layout created in 2002 as well as more enhanced in 2005 for this application.Optimization consists of increased fuel-tank clearance,32-inch tires and even more suspension articulation than on various other versions of the 120 Series.It includes a wide,flat hood with rounded sides as well as a mesh grille between two round white headlights,per FJ40.Flat,upright windshield, roof covering,wrap-around back home windows,brief front/rear overhangs,angular wheel openings,off-center back license plate,all per FJ40. 2006 as a 2007 version.

Land Cruiser (200 Collection).

A high-end 4x4 with fine-tuned, upright bodywork as well as styling for excellent area usage.A broad,flat hood contains character lines,as well as moves right into the beltline as well as into the horizontal,four-slatted grille - a theme that echoes the 60 Collection Used Toyota Land Cruiser For Sale In Europe - and also unitized straight headlights.Fender bulges and a three-dimensional rocker mark the vehicle's side facet,and a rear liftgate which contains part of the 200 Collection' taillights notes the back.Integrated bumper covers coincide shade as the bodywork.Power is provided by 3UR-FE 5.7 L DOHC engine as well as a six-speed automatic transmission.The full time four-wheel drive system includes an advanced traction-control system as well as a two-speed transfer case with a Torsen center differential with locking function.Inside includes three rows of seats with locations for eight guests.Instruments are included under a control panel eyebrow and also HEATING AND COOLING,sound and also offered navigation controls lie in a center binnacle.200 Collection readily available just as a four-door.2007 to present.

[squiddybeifong]

A Page Turner

Fun fact: if you go to @ravensflockofrobins and search Bette’s name, there’s one (1) post at the time I’m posting this. And it’s not even a shippy thing rip this drowning paper boat

--

She didn’t know what compelled her to take a quick vacation, exactly.

Maybe it was the lack of crime. Maybe it was the disgustingly scorching heat that summer brought. Maybe it was that she needed a break before she accidentally zapped the TV and the horrid romance movie that Starfire was playing.

Whatever the reason, Raven made up her mind. opened her eyes and moved Silkie off her lap, teleporting to her room. She considered her options and started a particular spell, one that she’d admittedly used many times before. One of the few (very few, incredibly miniscule) perks of being Trigon’s daughter: interdimensional travel.

Sliding through the dimensions as easily as flipping pages of a book, a particular timeline called to her. It smelled of bookstores and crumpled daisies and Raven blinked as she stepped into this particular universe.

The Golden Age, she reminded herself, taking in the not-so-golden scenery around her. The world around her was the sheer definition of nostalgia: the colors muted in the most charming of ways, the whimsy of the backgrounds (she simply took the buildings fading into space at the edges as a perk), the blocked off rectangles where additions would be written.

Surely more of a comic book feel than the animated life she knew, but it felt right.

What didn’t feel right was the lack of yellow. Sure, some of the stores had signs with bold letters the color of pineapple flesh. And, yeah, the lemon paint job on some of the cars was impressive. But aside from the sprinkling of pollen from the just barely blooming flowers, Golden Age Gotham wasn’t the most golden of scenes.

Honestly, with such a heavy title this ‘golden age’ was falling flat.

Raven pulled her cloak around herself and sunk into the shadows, casually setting out to explore. She avoided the areas she already knew and delved into the thick of the city, grateful that their emotions didn’t press on her as strongly as her own dimension’s did. Food vendors, students clamoring on the sidewalks as they got the most of that wonderful time between school being let out and their parents calling them in for dinner, even some rats who scurried out from the sewers, all but sunbathing as they dragged dropped pieces of food and cigarette buds back to their hovels.

Not too different from the Gotham Raven knew, but she still stayed hidden, watching all that she could. A pout involuntarily curled her lips at the sight of her favorite pretzel food-truck, replaced with a dual newspaper and ‘shoe polishing on the go!’ stand.

There was a simultaneous groan from all the kids as a clock rang, their disappointment mingling with the adults’ sighs of relief.

Raven felt the muted mix of their emotions, her lips quirking up at how similar people were in their complaints, dimensionally different or not: “Man I can’t wait to get home,” a mustached man breathed as he observed his freshly polished loafers and tucked the afternoon paper under his arm; “What? You’re betting on the Yankees? Get outta here, ya freakin’ jag!” an incredulous teen cried at his friend, shoving his shoulder in horrified disbelief; “I swear, Debbie, all he ever says is ‘Aspic’s lookin’ good as you.’ Not tasty, or even pretty, but good! That carrot cake looks good but my aspics are gorgeous. The nerve of that man!” a big-haired woman bemoaned to her pencil skirt-clad companion.

Raven’s head tilted in confusion; what was aspic?

Before she could dwell on whatever food trends she obviously wasn’t privy to, the Bat symbol lit up the sky. At its appearance the crowd seemed to hustle home even quicker, the conversations muting to a murmur as the clouds darkened over Gotham.

The symbol was bright against the sky; one flicker, only a simple fix if this dimension was the same as her home. Raven hummed at the sight and melted even further into the inked on shadows, following the panels as she landed just beyond a bank.

An explosion sounded halfway across the city.

Half of the officers hesitated and the other half jumped into their cruisers, speeding towards the pillar of smoke. The rest glanced among themselves and followed. Raven frowned at them; it was probably a diversion.

Sure enough, she felt the giddy nerves of the bank robbers inside a few seconds later. The Titan laid her cheek in her fist and merely watched as they scrambled about, her head turning as she felt Batman’s unmistakable aura enter the page. A brow raised at the youth of his visible face, then her eyes widened to a comical size.

Oh. Oh.

The demoness froze in her spot, watching as Batman went gliding over the rooftops. But Robin wasn’t by his side. Neither was either of the Batgirls that she knew. No, this one must have been one she’d never met. Surprisingly, she didn’t display the Bat symbol on her chest at all; in fact, her crimsons and emeralds were a stark contrast to the rest of the comic, but her fit was odd.

Not quite made for being Batgirl, but inexplicably belonging in this golden age. How odd.

But her hair…

Raven swallowed the air in her throat. Well, that certainly answered why this place was the golden age.

Admonishing herself at the beginnings of a schoolyard crush that she could feel starting, Raven shifted in her spot. This wasn’t her dimension, she could potentially indulge with screwing everything up, right?

So, despite wanting to keep a low profile as she watched them fight, the empath turned into a bird and phased in just behind them, watching as this Batgirl fought. Not quite as endlessly sarcastic as Steph, not as eagerly critical as Babs, not as intense or skilled as Cass, but as excited as any Batgirl for the ability to fight alongside the Batman.

She didn’t even seemed fazed when bolded words popped up in unison with their punched and kicks. Both she and this Batman slid along the BAM!s, BIFF!s, POW!s, and WHAM!s that described their attacks without any hesitation, and within a few pages all the bank robbers were apprehended.

The blonde nodded at the police as they cuffed the men, tossing her pine cape over her shoulders. “Aw, too bad Robin missed this,” Batgirl grinned up at the cloaked vigilante, her bright smile making Raven’s heart flutter.

“We should team up more often, Batman!”

He glanced down at his sidekick for this fight, “Batwoman needs you far more than I do.”

The rejection didn’t deter her, although her grin did falter. Her hands went to her hips, “Then at least until Robin’s arm heals up. You shouldn’t have to fight alone.”

The dark knight’s head tilted in silent agreement.. “Hmmm, very well.” His masked eyes took in the groaning bodies and the sound of approaching police sirens, “Go continue patrol while I find out what these robbers know about that explosion.”

“On it!” She gave him a salute and sprinted off, a flash of blonde hair and christmas colors. She got a block away without trouble, her eyes glancing at the police as they zoomed by and her fingers curling into fists as she noted a bird following her.

Batgirl frowned. She zig-zagged through the panels but no amount of speed lines or ducking into the fading buildings stopped the little avian. So, the Gothamite dove just behind the city’s library. The secluded setting made the bird sloppy and the hero tossed two smoking batarangs, leaping and pinning the raven in place. There was a shift like one page flipping to the next and the bird’s eyes turned red. Batgirl gasped and jumped back, her fists up in a fighting stance as the bird morphed into a woman.

Blue eyes blinked, skeptical and amazed at the plum cloak and stunning lilac eyes. No, not a woman. A teenage girl, just about her own age. But Batgirl didn’t let this mystery girl’s looks perplex her for too long; she immediately sized Raven up, carefully watching how the shadows followed her every move.

This little excursion certainly wasn’t going to plan but something in the Gothamite’s face made the demoness decide to be honest, consequences be damned. A sigh escaped, then she awkwardly met the blonde’s gaze, “Uh, hello. I’m Raven.”

A stormy glare was her answer, then a terse introduction, “Bat-Girl.”

They both jumped as the Bat’s comm blared out. The empath let out a sigh, her words a bit strained, “I promise I’m not a threat.”

Bat-Girl narrowed her eyes and took out her comm. She kept the mystic out of the screen’s view as she nodded at Batman’s instructions. She noted how Raven paused as she quickly gave Batman her report, her stoic features blanching at the sound of the hero’s voice.

Raven bit back a shudder at how young the dark knight was, Certainly not quite to the point of being the gruff, sandpapery tough guy that he was in her dimension. For the first time Raven wondered if the Golden Age was on the same age basis as her reality was.

Bat-Girl signed off and tucked her comm away, muffling the one link back to the BatCave under three layers of pockets. Raven shook her head at the familiar sight, quietly musing to herself, “Figures Bruce would still be so obsessive this early on.”

She just barely dodged the kick Bat-Girl aimed her way, strands of black magic swirling around them and pinning the mortal to the bricks. Raven stayed out of arms’ reach and narrowed her eyes at the hero, trying not to spend any time taking too much stock in how defined her bare forearms were.

Refocusing, amethyst eyes searched the vigilante’s face. Raven crossed her arms over her chest, making sure that her magic didn’t squeeze the blonde to the point of discomfort. “Does Robin exist?”

A derisive snort was her answer, “You mean birds?”

“I mean Dick Grayson.”

Bat-Girl’s eyes glared behind her mask, the muscles in her arm twitching. Raven took that as an invitation to speak, “I’m a part of his team.”

“In the future?”

Raven shrugged, “Something like that.” She considered pulling back but the pulse of Bat-Girl’s emotions kept her close. The demoness raised a brow, “You don’t seem too surprised.”

“This is the golden age,” Her voice raised half a pitch as she let out an exasperated laugh, shifting under the tendril of magic pressed painfully snug to her throat. “We still get a narrator during our fights sometimes.”

She looked her animated visitor over, “Didn’t think Richie would team up with a…” She paused, taking a moment to consider just what kind of powers described Raven. “A spirit of some sort--no…” Her lips spread as she guessed, “A demon?”

“You’re perceptive.”

Blue eyes rolled but Bat-Girl didn’t stop the cocky grin from brightening her face, nonchalant to the hold she was in, “And you aren’t a threat.”

“I’m not.” The shadows that held her slunk away, “Dick and I are heroes in our dimension.”

She could feel the concern seeping out of the heroine, but still the blonde let out a sigh and rolled her fingers. If this Raven character really was a teammate of Richie’s, then perhaps she could let her guard down just a little. Although Batwoman and Batman would be disappointed in how quickly she was trusting this pretty face.

Bat-Girl rolled her jaw, “Well in this dimension I’m Bette. Bette Kane.”

Recognition lit up amethyst eyes but Raven didn’t speak and Bette didn’t question her. In fact, the not-yet retconned hero seemed to be opening up to the prospect of Raven being in her dimension, if just for a visit.

So the empath decided to test her luck. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, “Would you mind showing me around, Bette? I’m not used to having to turn the page.”

“Pfft,” Bat-Girl snorted and Raven got the impression that she realized her words weren’t a metaphor. Instead, the teen readjusted her mask and motioned for Raven to follow, “Already got one sack of feathers to look after.”

“Well this one can take care of herself just fine.”

Her sleeved shoulders straightened at Raven’s words, affronted at the mere idea of not helping someone she could, “Doesn’t mean you should.”

“Spoken like a true bird, Miss Kane.”

Bette raised a brow, the movement moving her mask. But Raven didn’t explain and she shrugged, “Anywhere you want to see?”

“Anyplace with you there is fine with me.”

Bat-Girl ran a tongue over her teeth at the demon’s shameless attempt at flirting, trying and failing to keep a straight (hah!) face. An idea came to mind and her eyes lit up, watching as Raven’s gaze flicked to her mouth.

“You’re okay with other birds, right?”  

When the superpowered teen merely shrugged she continued, “There’s a bunch of nests over on the gates around Wedgwood Museum. Gotham Academy’s music class has been holding their practices out in front.”

Raven smirked at that, “Taking advantage of tourist season?”

“Hey, tubas are expensive!” The blonde chuckled as she motioned for the Titan to follow her, the two of them easily gliding past the stiff backgrounds. Bette grinned at her flying guest as a flick of magic kept her grapple hook from falling out of a crumbling rooftop.

The sound of music got louder as they neared the gated house. Violet eyes shut as she tried to place where she’d heard that jazzy tune before, her attention on Bat-Girl as she murmured, “But they’ve really been getting better. Sometimes I like to listen in, feed some birds when crime is pretty low.” 

Raven clicked her tongue at that. “Well I have some free time for a picnic, if you’d want.”

She glanced at Bette from the corner of her eye and felt that urge to be honest curl in her stomach again. A breath quickly escaped her before she was reminded of Batman’s instructions, “I read ahead. Apparently the robbers bought off the Riddler for a few of his bombs. Just a classic distraction case so they could get away clean.”

Bat-Girl tilted her head as Wedgwood came into view, lengthening her grappling hook until she skipped onto the ground. The two made their way towards the house in silence as Bette mused over her words, the mage’s shadows mingling with the tree’s shade to keep them from being spotted by any civilians.

“A picnic does sound nice,” Bette aimed a lazy smile Raven’s way, fiddling with the green triangles that adorned the ends of her sleeves. A gasp escaped as a disk of black magic appeared under her feet, lifting them up and levitating up to the large tree that hung just outside of Wedgewood’s gates.

Bat-Girl leaned against the mystic’s shoulder as they got settled just beyond the tree’s branches, hidden by the tulip tree’s waxy leaves. The tuba-heavy refrain started up again and Raven let herself get comfortable, clinging to the calming nerves that washed out of Bette. Her eyes slid open at the wave of nervousness and she turned to the Gothamite, “Is something wrong?”

She started to pull away, horrified that she might have made Bette uncomfortable. Bat-Girl’s hand wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from going too far. The blonde licked her lips, her words coming out faster than normal, “No, this is okay. But do you have to go after this?”

“Yeah, it’s probably getting late back at the Tower.” The cloaked teen sighed, sliding her hand down until her palm pressed against Bette’s. She weakly smiled, a lilt in her voice, “But I can always come back.”

Bette squeezed their hands, “Just to see me?”

“Just to see you.”

“Hmm,” Bat-Girl felt her smile widen as she guessed, “Perks of being a demon?”

She felt a heat curl up her face as Raven’s eyes flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again, “Something like that.”

[alcearosea-sims]

Anise Cottage

This is a furnished cottage built in Willow Creek. It is laden with CC and has 2-3 bedrooms, a basement laundry room, an empty shed in the backyard, and a couple planter boxes. Heavily inspired by the black hole we all know as Pinterest.

CC List:

From Peacemaker:

Trimmed Shacked Side Shingles/Shacked Side Shingles

Splashback Glass Tiles- Offset Bar Tile

Classic Wall Set: Greyscale and Neutrals/Yellowgreen and Green/Orange and Yellow

Black and White Hexagon Tiles

From Plumbob Tea Society:

Cottage Garden: Woody’s Wood//Plant Jug//Cottage Windowbox//Rocky’s Rocks//Hose//Baby Bluebells//Mason Jar Candle//Mason Jar Candle Short//My Raised Garden

Rustic Romance: Freshly Folded Dining Chair

From Mutske:

Window Wicklow Middle Single 2x1

Window Wicklow Middle 1x1

Window Wicklow Privat-Dormer Single 2x1

Window Wicklow Attic Single 2x1

Window Wicklow Attic 1x1

Window Wicklow Counter Single 2x1

Window Wicklow Counter 1x1

Arch Wicklow 1x1

Arch Wicklow 2x1

Arch Wicklow Single 2x1

Fana Window Counter Small Open Single 2x1

Fana Window Counter Small Single 2x1

From Plasticbox:

Mega Budget Extra DeLite Door One & Two Tile

Small Wild Plant

From BrazenLotus:

Brindleton Bay Liberated Items

Succulent Square Table

Get Together Liberated Plants by Porphyria’s Sims

****This next bit is CC I used for the interior (you do not need any of this if you are going to furnish the house yourself); it is an EXORBITANT amount of CC but here we go:

From Aroundthesims:

Diner Set: Straw Dispenser//Maple Syrup and Sugar

Baking: Canister//Jar

Ikea Like Wall Rack Plant//Stool//Wall Rack Utensils

Ikea Like Table Ingatorp Closed

La Friperie Dress Rack//Mirror

Ikea Bedroom Hemnes Small Dresser

Backpack #1

Make Up Bag

Ikea Postcard Herborist v2

Vintage Radio

From Plumbob Tea Society:

Cottage Garden

Rustic Romance

Tea Tin

From Budgie2Budgie

Marmalade

Books

Industrial Age Posters

Record Store Ads//Vinyls

Botanic Garden Posters

Vintage Signs

From Litttlecakes

Laundry Seperates

Happy Flags

Polaroids

Instant Wall Stickers//Retrotunes Poster

Books in a Tray//Oblong Pumpkin

Japan Art Set

From Plasticbox:

Missionary Day Bed

The Missionary Bed- Double

From SaudadeSims:

Crosley Cruiser Portable Turntable

Urban Outfitters Rugs 2x3/3x4

Minimalist Drapes Plain Recolors

From Peacemaker:

Grove Furniture Collection Single Bed Mattress

Mid Century Abode- Lux Bedding V2

Shaker Kitchen: Timer//Solid Painted Counter//Refridgerator Nook//Cabinets

Mid-Century Eclectic: Danish Bedside Light//Moth Orchid//Genie Lamp

Bayside Bedroom Set: Table Lamp//Cherry Blossom Vase//Shielded Lamp 02

Oasis Chic Dining Wine Bottle Candle Lantern

Myra Living Throw Pillow

Hampton’s Retreat: Panoramic Seaside Print//Dresser//Bedside Table//Seaside Prints//Monsteria//Ornate Mirror

Hampton’s Hideaway: Model Sailboat//Rectangle Mantle Clock//Porcelain Birds//Leaning Mirror//Treacle Console Table//Cutaway 2 Seat Sofa//Coffee Table//Tripod Floor Lamp//Verre Candlesticks

Kingston Dining: Curvaceous Mirror//Monsteria Vase//Botanical Wonders//Double Framed Canvas//Flowers in a Row

Hampton’s Getaway Mirror

*Built on 30x20 lot Daisy Hovel in Willow Creek*

Place using bb.moveobjects on. I used the following packs to build this lot: Cats & Dogs, City Living, Get Together, Get to Work, Jungle Adventure, Parenthood, Vampires, Dine Out, Spa Day, Outdoor Retreat, Laundry Day, Toddler Stuff, Vintage Glamour, Backyard Stuff, Romantic Garden, Movie Hangout, Spooky Stuff, Cool Kitchen, and Perfect Patio. Feel free to let me know if anything is weird! Download from the gallery (Origin ID: alcearoseasims) or from dropbox:

download(sfs)

[chthonicdivinebard]

I knew she’d be back. Maybe it was something in her eyes, like the old books used to say. A fire. A glow. A wild and far-off look. But I think it was the lack of credits in her account. I doubt she’d seen many fires for her eyes to reflect in space.

She slammed her overpacked sling bag onto the counter. “Fine. I’ll sell it.” A few pieces of junk fell out of open pockets. I eyed the large zipper threatening to burst and sighed. “But you better make it worth my while. I need off this cruiser. Like last star cycle,” she added.

I cleared off the junk that had landed on my desk. “Show it to me again.” I kept my tone brisk. She didn’t need to know I was doing her a favor. Ancient space tech didn’t fetch the prices they used to, especially when it was found by some random junk rat.

Clouds of dirt and dust emitted from the bag as she rummaged through it. The main pocket had unzipped with the whine of a dying animal. I almost felt sorry for the poor thing. She muttered to herself before pulling it out- a small, ice blue rectangle wrapped in a primitive charging cable.

I took it gingerly between my thumb and forefinger. The cable cracked as I unwrapped, and I could see where the plastic casing had been hit in the past. I couldn’t do anything if it didn’t work. I flipped open the rectangle, revealing two screens and buttons with the labels long worn off. The screens were in surprisingly good shape.

“You didn’t happen to find any cartridges, did you? I need to verify that this is still in working condition.” While she renewed her search through the bag, I pulled out a conversion cable from my desk drawer. The gaming device, easily recognizable now that I had reveled the buttons, was 21st century Jorthan. It functioned by plugging two metal prongs into an electrical source and storing charge in a primitive lithium battery. “How did our ancestors ever make it off the ground?” I asked.

“Ancestors?” She passed me a handful of cartridges, each missing its label. They would have to be tested for their contents. If there were any save files, I could potentially get a museum interested. They would even be willing to pay if the game was completed by its past owner. I slid one cartridge into its corresponding slot on the device. Then I plugged in the charging cable.

After a few tense moments of hand wringing from across the counter, a cheerful chime emitted from the device. The name of the manufacturer appeared in bright colors before the menu loaded. I looked over my glasses to see the junker give a little jump of excitement.

Closing the lid, I took stock of the situation. Five cartridges, an original charging cable, and the limited edition device design (according to my vague recollections) could actually provide her with a neat little profit. “Five thousand credits,” I declared. “No more, no less. Unless you have more cartridges.” I eyed the bag again. I was going to have to ask X9Y7 to deep clean the counter tonight. How she got past the static detectors was beyond me.

Her jaw dropped, and she took a step back into a waiting Jarkuuthian. His nasal ridges quivered in irritation. I shot him a sympathetic look. “Five thousand credits! I mean,” she cleared her throat. “Are you sure there isn’t more you could offer?” She started to zip up her bag hurriedly. Five thousand would do more than buy her a ticket to another ship. It would feed and house her for a month.

“Not unless you have more cartridges. Even then, the cable and case are damaged. The cartridges no longer have labels...” I picked up the device to check for the stylus. Miracle of miracles, it was still fitted into a pocket on the side of the device. “The stylus is a bonus,” I admitted, throwing her a bone. “I’ll had another two hundred for the stylus.”

She nodded. “I think that’s only fair.” Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I pulled up her account on the holo-screen. The credits transferred instantly.

“There. Five thousand and two hundred credits. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

She shook her head and hurried off towards the West Terminal. I watched wistfully as she ran through the crowd and then disappeared. “Good luck, kid,” I whispered. The telltale trilling of Jarkuuthian impatience broke me from my reverie. I waved him up. “Next!”

[haddonfieldproject]

1️⃣1️⃣

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.1.11 HALLOWEEN NIGHT

Haddonfield, Illinois

Cammie's eyelids were just beginning to fall when she heard the sound of a car door outside. She looked to the television, there was a commercial on the screen, a trailer for a new show that was supposed to be debuting tonight.

“Due to the delays in this World Series Game Seven, the premier of Season of the Witch will debut next Friday night at 8/7 Central!” The announcer's deep voice boomed.

Cammie slid out of her seat, causing the office chair upon which she sat to give a rusty squeak upon being delivered from her tiny albeit husky frame. Cammie threw  a fearful glance to the old man in the room beside her. He stared blankly at the screen with his piercing blue eyes, mouth ajar, the little oxygen tank behind his chair making puff puff sounds. Cammie heard approaching the approaching steps of what sounded like boots on the driveway pavers. She sidled on over to the window across the room and pulled back a white sheer curtain. She spread two thick slats of blinds and peered out.

The window faced out unto Matthew Street and she had a decent view of the driveway and the church across the street. A black police cruiser sat parked at the end of the driveway, headlights on, engine purring. Two officers were approaching. One of them was a short and chunky Caucasian woman. Curly black hair stuck out from her tan shiny billed hat. The other was a fat man with the complexion of cream cheese. He wore a hideous fumanchu on his face, his bulbous midsection looking ready to pop a few buttons on his khaki uniform. The man cop whistled as he got a look at the house and opened his mouth to say something but just then the female cop's radio crackled.

“One-Nine-Seven-Four seeking One-Nine-Two-Five do you copy?”

The woman cop pushed a button on the receiver mounted to her shoulder and said, “I hear you One-Nine-Seven-Four, go ahead Andy. Over.”

The two officers locked eyes, only for a moment before the radio crackled again.

“Yeah, uh, I was just wondering if you guys were seeing anything over there? Over.”

The two cops both sighed, as if in relief.

“Negative.” The woman replied, “Quiet as a mouse over here. We're still going door to door. Over.”

The male cop pulled a stick of gum out of his pocket, offered a piece to the woman, who refused, and then put a piece into his mouth.

“Yeah, we're en route to a 911 call over here off Orange and 9th, checking out a possible B&E, 66 says caller sounded young and was frantic. Over.”

“At least somebody's getting some action.” The male cop grumbled.

“Well you guys be careful and keep us posted. Over.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

Cammie watched as they approached the front door. She had to crane her neck to see, but she had a pretty good unobstructed view of the front stoop.

Chelsea Keane poured over her social media feed, which was dominated mostly by pictures of her friend's endeavors Trick-Or-Treating with their children. She scrolled past a nice parade of Disney Princesses, comic book super heroes, and the occasional vampire and Frankenstein. The movie had ended around twenty minutes or so ago and they had moved downstairs from the home theater to the living room. A fire burned cozily in the gas fireplace, warming Chelsea's feet as she propped them up on the edge of the loveseat, her head propped with a pillow on the opposite side, her body sprawled across the whole piece of furniture.

Josh sat on the edge of the larger couch watching the baseball game on the big screen TV as Penny dozed against the side of the sofa, her feet propped up in his lap which he rubbed half-hazardously, most of his focus on the game, which was just now returning from a commercial break. He was leaning forward to the glass coffee table in front of him, reaching for an aluminum can of Coke when the doorbell rang.

Chelsea let her phone fall face down on her chest. “What the hell?” She breathed.

Josh put the can to his lips, “Probably more Trick-Or-Treaters.”

Chelsea gripped her phone and swung her legs out to stand up. The bones in her back popped like a geriatric as she gained her feet. “It's too late for anymore Trick-Or-Treating.” She groaned as she walked toward the door.

🎃

Dylan's waterbed was a queen sized plastic bladder which set inside a mahogany frame atop a large plywood base. The plywood base was essentially a hollow rectangle, the corners of which were held together by simple bronze brackets and screws. A few summers ago however, Dylan had taken to rearranging his room, to accommodate more bird cages, and had basically drug his bed from one side of the room to the other.

Aside from begin extremely fortunate the whole thing hadn't collapsed on top of him, he had managed to bust the brackets off of one of the corners at the foot of the bed. The whole plywood base now leaned precariously to one side toward the far wall. In fact, if not for the weight of the mahogany frame pressing against the wall, holding itself up, the base itself would undoubtedly collapse. Dylan didn't know this, and neither did his mother, who, even when she did have time for him, was not someone you would consider, handy around the house, or even, noticeable about such things.

Dylan could, and did often, easily pull back the piece of plywood at the foot of the bed, revealing an opening about four feet wide. Most of the time he stashed candy in there, a few times he had even crawled in there himself and pretended he was in a secret cave or a submarine or even an underground base. One time he had even stashed one of the dirty magazines his mother kept in the room upstairs, so he could get a look at some of the pictures of the men and women inside with no clothes on, but he was horrified to find that pictures of his own mother occupied most of the space inside of the magazine. That moment had pretty much turned Dylan Rawls off of pornography forever.

This time, he had something much bigger to stash under his waterbed.

In the first few seconds after stabbing the little girl, he had done nothing but stare at her. His eyes narrow like slits, his tongue out in a gesture of complete focus and concentration. He towered over the little girl and watched her tiny body, waiting for any sign of movement, at which he would bring the knife down again. But then, a very strange thing happened—at least strange for him. He fancied later that all the great killers on TV and in the movies probably wouldn't think it was strange. They were so used to killing all the time, they were probably used to all the ins and outs of it.

The girl made a noise.

It was kind of a cross between a sigh and a snore. A strange guttural exhale that passed out of her tiny frame and into the quiet stillness of the bedroom.

Dylan's eyes widened, not excessively for he had been squinting, they just sort of..evened out to their normal shape. His face took on the very definition of a cold, blank, stare and he cocked his head to one side, relaxing his arm, and letting the knife fall toward his hip. He stood looking like that for a moment, mesmerized. It was if the very life of the little girl had passed out of her and into..

Into what?

The room?

Space?

Heaven?

As he pondered this, he was jarred back to reality by a strange muffled..

WAP...WAP...WAP

He looked down and noticed that the little pocket knife he was holding was dripping blood unto the area rug.

He was horrified.

He wasn't horrified at the fact that he had murdered a beautiful little creature that now lay broken and bleeding on the floor before him. That had of course been a necessary thing, after all, the damned thing just wouldn't stop that crazy twitching, knowing full well how much it was freaking Dylan out.

No.

He was horrified that there was BLOOD on his carpet.

He looked it over.

There was in fact a lot of blood. He didn't know how much blood exactly he should have expected, again, he was new to this whole stabbing people with knives business, but there was definitely a lot of blood, everywhere.

Dylan's horror morphed into terror.

Again, not at the deed. The deed was done and what was done was done after all. You couldn't take it back, you just move on and learn from it, anyway, that's what his mother would say.

Terror in knowing that the blood would give away what had transpired here.

The blood would get him caught.

As long as no one found Maddie Keane, no one really had to know what Dylan Rawls had done now did they? It was nobody's business. Dylan didn't have to spend the rest of his days locked up in Juvie or wherever they put child killers, as interesting as a place like that sounded to him. No. Nobody had to find Maddie Keane. She could just go missing.

That would be even better, he smiled to himself. If she just went missing, her mommy wouldn't have to know that she was even dead. She would just think she ran away and not knowing what ever happened to her would be better than knowing what did happen to her, wouldn't it?

Dylan was proud of the conclusions he had drawn.

And, he thought, I have just the best hiding place in the world. No one would ever look under that bed, and I still have the bracket and screws for it in a drawer somewhere. I could fix it and seal it up like it's supposed to be and no one would ever know. It should be fixed anyway, it shouldn't be leaning like that anyway. It's probably dangerous.

He nodded to himself and looked over the scene. Most of the blood was on the rug, pooling underneath the girl, spreading out in a fan from under her little body.

All I have to do is wrap her up in the rug, he figured. Wrap her up and slide her underneath. The rest I can clean up off the tile with a few paper towels.

Dylan walked around the body of Maddie Keane, gripped the side of the rug upon which she lay, and lifted. It was just then that he heard the doorbell downstairs.

“Hello ma'am, I'm Officer Danielle Rattner and this is Officer Joe Wallace of the Warren County Police Department and we just want to ask you a few questions, it will just take a second of your time.”

Chelsea frowned and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand nervously. “Um..I'm sorry, what's this about?”

The female cop in front of her smiled. “It's nothing big really ma'am, we just want you to be aware that we have reason to believe a few dangerous individuals may be in the area and we just want you to be on the safe side.”

“What? Who?” Chelsea shook her head. She was pretty sure he buzz from the joint she had smoked earlier was long gone but seeing two uniformed officers on the front step sure ratcheted up the paranoia a notch.

The male cop passed her a piece of paper. There were two men, both very similar looking, one was older than the other and the younger of the two had a gap in his front teeth. “Have you seen these men?”

Chelsea took the picture, looked at it, and then smiled. “Oh shit, is this a prank?” She asked. “I saw these guys on the news this morning.”

The female cop, Officer Rattner shook her head. “'Fraid not ma'am. We have reason to believe that the Chumway Brothers are in the vicinity of Warren County as we speak and we are asking everyone to be vigilant and just be on their lookout for these two very dangerous individuals.”

“Oh shit,” Chelsea breathed, trying to remember what she had heard about them on the news that morning but remembering nothing. But if it made the news it must have been bad, she thought.

“Okay,” she replied, gripping the door to close it, “I'll keep an eye out.”

“One more thing ma'am.” Officer Rattner held out her hand to stop her. “We have one more dangerous person on the loose, an escaped patient from a psychiatric facility nearby.”

Now this Chelsea did remember in detail, but only because the story was so improbable that she couldn't believe it. “Are you talking about Michael Myers?” She asked, “That guy who killed everybody when he was a kid?”

The male officer nodded. “Yes ma'am.”

“You guys haven't caught him yet?” Chelsea asked.

The woman's radio crackled. The voice that came through sounded an octave too high. Tense and earnest.

“One-Nine-Seven-Four seeking One-Nine-Two-Five do you copy?!”

Officer Rattner smiled. “Excuse me.” She said and turned, walking back down the driveway toward Matthew Street.

Officer Wallace continued, “We have not apprehended the suspect yet, no. We have reason to believe he may be wearing a blue jumpsuit. He's very tall, large build.”

“I'm here Andy, what's up?” Officer Rattner could be heard from the end of the driveway.

“So he's not a kid anymore?” Chelsea laughed.

“We need assistance at the corner of Orange and 9th! We have a stabbing victim and attempted home invasion. Sheriff Brackett is also en-route, he wants all available units to meet him there! Over!” Squawked Officer Rattner's radio.

“No I'm afraid he's not.” Officer Wallace chuckled.

“Ok, we'll be right there. Over and Out. Hey Joe!” Officer Rattner called from the end of the driveway.

Joe turned. “Yeah?”

“We gotta go, something going down in Orange Grove.” she replied.

Joe sighed, “Goodnight miss.”

Chelsea smiled and shut the door.

She walked back into the living room and stood in the doorway, temporarily lost in thought.

Her son Josh didn't look up from the television when he asked, “Who was that at the door?”

Chelsea didn't answer.

Josh looked at her, “Mom?”

Chelsea blinked and shook her head. “Oh..nobody. Where's the kids?”

It had been difficult, but Dylan had managed to roll the body of little Maddie Keane up inside the rug and fit her into the opening under his waterbed. The rug was too long for it all to fit straight in, and he found that he was unable to put the piece of plywood at the foot of the bed back into place. So he had crawled in under the bed and slid the rug with the young girl inside sideways. After this, the piece of wood fit back snugly. He didn't attach the brackets now however, figuring he could just do that later.

After this was accomplished he had set about cleaning the rest of the drops of blood from the tile floor using a bottle of Windex and most of the roll of paper towels he kept next to the bird cages. Luckily, very little of the blood had fallen into the grout of the tile and what had mattered little because the grout on the floor was black anyway, so it was hard to see unless you knew where to look. Dylan tossed the bloody knife and the bloody paper-towels into his waste basket and then pulled the trash bag out of the can and stuffed that under the bed as well. He kept a box of trash bags under one of the bird cages and was applying a new bag to the can when there was knock on the door.

🔪

Chelsea Keane opened it without an invitation.

“Wow,” Chelsea exclaimed, “Cleaning our room?”

“Yes!” Dylan barked, immediately ashamed of how his voice cracked as he answered. He sounded overly excited.

“It smells so clean in here.” said Chelsea smiling at him.

“That's the Windex.” Dylan replied.

“Uh huh,” Chelsea smiled. “Where's the girls?”

“I don't know where Cammie is.” Dylan answered.

“Well where is Maddie?” Chelsea asked, frowning.

Dylan shrugged.

“I thought she was playing with you.”

“We were playing the Wii,” Dylan answered, “But I didn't want to play anymore.”

Chelsea turned and left without a word.

Dylan felt like he could finally breathe again.

As the police officers walked back to their vehicle, Cammie climbed back up in the office chair and turned to the old man.

Same expression...or lack thereof.

Half opened eyes, half opened mouth, looking at the game, but even at Cammie's young age, she wondered in some abstract way if he was really seeing the game.

“Welcome back to Wrigley Field as we move into the bottom of the seventh inning, the White Sox have a 2-0 lead on their cross town rivals in this decisive Game Seven of the World Series. And the Cubs will bring a new pitcher into the ballgame now...”

The door to the little room burst open, flooding the room with light.

“Maddie?” Chelsea Keane called, her face haggard in the soft light of the television, her eyes were wide. They fixed on Cammie in the chair.

“What are you doing in here?” She asked, “Come out of there this instant. Who told you to go in there?”

Cammie hopped out of the chair at once and filed out into the hallway with her babysitter.

“Why were you in that room?” Chelsea asked the girl as she closed the door behind her. “Where's Maddie?”

“I don't know.” Cammie replied, her eyes growing cloudy.

“Why were you in there?” Chelsea asked again, growing impatient.

“They said I couldn't play with them.” Cammie said, her face breaking.

“Who said?” Chelsea asked.

“Dylan. He said that fat girls couldn't play.” A tear spilled out of the chubby little girl's left eye and dripped down her pink cheek.

Chelsea rolled her eyes and fumed. “Well, where is Maddie?” She asked.

“I don't know.” Cammie answered.

Josh Keane appeared at the end of the hallway. Penny was up and standing behind him, her hair disheveled. She yawned, covering her mouth.

“What's going on mom?” Josh asked.

“I can't find Maddie.” Chelsea said.

“Well let's look for her. This house is huge.”

The four of them stepped back out into the living room. Dylan had made his way down the stairs. As the group walked passed him, he plopped unto the end of the couch where Josh had been sitting, and picked up the remote for the television. Cammie sat down beside him, although, not too close beside him, she slid to the other end of the piece of furniture.

“You two check upstairs, and I'll check the pool hall...oh my god, the pool!” Chelsea exclaimed and jerked open one of the sliding glass doors.

Cammie watched worriedly as the woman practically leaped outside and the other two teenager bounded up the stairs. Then he turned to Dylan.

Dylan payed them no attention, he giggled at the television where Spongebob Squarepants was trying to figure out how to save his friend Patrick the Starfish who was currently buried up to his neck---if starfish had necks---in sand.

NEXT>>

[multi-fandom-writers]

(Written by Admin Jad)

"Finished!" yelled Edward as he placed the last domino piece in its position. Mikey and Kaz - who were both playing video games at the time - turned to face Edward.

"Wow, Ed." Kaz said half-heartedly, followed by sarcasm. "That's amazing... " He removed his headphones from his ears. The headphones left a red mark around his ears, just neighbor the sideburns of his blonde hair.

"Behold, my art!" said Ed as he tipped the first piece over. The domino pieces spread around Ed's bedroom started tipping over in a chain reaction. The ebony colored plastic rectangles made a satisfying 'tick' noise with each peace that fell over. When the final piece was finally knocked over, Ed turned to face his two friends, hoping for some praise. But the two already returned their attention to the screen. "You could at least pretend to be interested!" Ed stood up and stomped his foot.

"Sorry," Mikey said. "I don't lie." He laughed and high-fived Kaz.

"Nothing personal, Ed, we're just not -" Kaz wanted to stand up and place a hand on Ed's shoulder. However, his legs - which fell asleep - failed him. He started tipping over. He tried to hang on to Mikey, but he ended up dragging him down with him. As a last resort, he grabbed on to Ed. The three of them tumbled to the floor, and over the painful pile of dominoes. A series of cursing filled the room.

"Why did you pull us down with you?!" yelled Ed. He rubbed his back in pain. The other two did the same.

"If I fall, we all do! First rule of the Bro Code!" he explained.

Mikey raised a finger. "Isn't the first rule: bros before -" He didn't finish that sentence. The bedroom door was kicked open. An angry woman holding a bar of soap held her hands at her waist. Her face held an angry and stern expression.

"M-mom!" stuttered Ed.

"There will be no cursing in this house!" For the remainder of the evening, the three teens had their mouths scrubbed with a bar of soap over and over.

<~>

"From now on, we're hanging out at my place." said Kaz as soon as he boarded the school bus. He spoke without context, so everyone except Mikey and Ed were confused.

"You got dominoes?" asked Ed, perking up at the voice of his friend. Kaz rolled his eyes and sat next to the pair at the very back of the bus. The three vividly discussed video games and anime throughout the bus ride, occasionally yelling some unintelligible words.

They arrived at the school, suddenly overcome with a feeling of dread and remorse. They fought the urge to leave. A banner hanged over the green double doors. 'School Pep Week!" it read, accompanied by the picture of a roaring lion; the school's mascot.

Coming inside, the three saw flyers taped to every locker in sight, with cheerleaders parading through the halls. "This is dumb." said Mikey. "And useless." He fiddled with a fidget spinner in his left hand, which completely undermined his entire argument.

While ridiculing the school event, a leg shot out from behind a corner, tripping Ed in the process. He landed flat on his face. "Oops. Sorry about that Eddy." said a voice. A tall individual, nearly twice the size of Ed, appeared. He wore a red letterman jacket in addition to a menacing grin.

"Ed, you're bleeding!" warned Mikey. He pointed to the blood slowly streaming from Ed's nostrils. The tall individual saw this as an opportunity. He took out a crumpled napkin from his pants pocket and wiped the blood off Ed's nose. He then proceeded to shove it up the nostril, making Ed yelp in pain. The yelp of pain alerted another individual just around the corner.

"Simon Evans!" yelled the principal. "For the love of God All Mighty, stop it with these shenanigans or so help me, I'll have you expelled!" he warned.

"Won't happen again, sir." said Simon. A cold sweat ran across his cheek. Once the authority figure was out of sight, Simon shoved Ed into the wall. "See you around, Eddy." Even when entering the sea of students, the letterman still stood out.

"You ok?" asked Kaz, offering a clean napkin. Ed gladly took it, discarding the blood-covered one.

"No," he complained. "I'm not."

"You really shouldn't let him bully you like that."

"What am I supposed to do? The dude is twice my size. The principle may act strict but he won't expel his star quarterback. What can I do?"

"Yolo it, I guess." He chuckled. Upon entering homeroom, Ed immediately noticed something was off. For once, there was no paper files, no chalk, and no grading book on the teacher's desk. Ed knew the teacher wasn't absent, for he saw her not a few minutes ago in front of the teacher's lounge.

He took his seat in the second-to-last row and dropped his bag at his side. He entered his dreamscape; started imagining and re-imagining arguments that would never happen. The national anthem blared through the class speaker, for which they all stood. Once the last lyric was chanted, the principal's blurred voice replaced the silence. "Students: First of all, I would like to congratulate our football team for making it to nationals." The class cheered. "And because of that wonderful accomplishment, a pep rally will be held for the entirety of the day. Thank your class representatives and pep committee for that decision."

Books and loose pieces of paper were thrown into the air in celebration. Students shot up from their seats and started dancing. "Sit back down!" yelled the Math teacher. "You lot are two lessons behind schedule! You're going to study for half the day!" And so they did.

The lunch bell rang. The students rushed outside the classrooms, escaping from the torment of education. "Get back here!" the teacher called after them. "The bell doesn't dismiss you! I do!" She was ignored.

Ed quietly took his lunch to the stairwell, where peace and quite rained supreme. "What'cha got there, Eddy?" asked Simon, leaning over Ed's shoulder. Ed jolted upwards, dropping his lunch in the process. "You almost got me in trouble today." he said as he took a few steps forward. "Almost." He pushed Ed into the corner. He forcefully placed his hand on Ed's face. "This time, take what you have coming for you, quietly." A heavy blow landed on Ed's cheek. Then another on his stomach. Then another. And another. Ed waved his arms in anger, but hit nothing.

Simon grabbed both hands and pinned Ed to the wall. In a last-ditch attempt, Ed kicked Simon in the unmentionables. Simon flinched. Ed saw an opportunity and rammed into Simon. He tumbled over. Fell on the stairs, then laid motionless on the tiled floor. Ed sat in the corner of the staircase. He saw a pool of blood forming around Simon.

His heart raced. His breathing became shorter and inconsistent. His screeching echoed throughout the halls, yet unheard to others over the noise of their own chatter. Ed trembled in his corner. He drove his head in between his knees in search of refuge. He found none.

Then he ran. Ran down the stairs, tripping over Simon's body. He continued to scamper through the halls, sprinted uphill through the streets which lead to his believed sanctuary; his house.

He thanked his lucky stars that none of his parents were home. He slammed the door of his bedroom and retreated underneath his bed sheets. He was trembling with such intensity that the bed itself shook. After what seemed like an eternity for him, but only ten minutes in the real world, police sirens disturbed the silence in the neighborhood. Ed held his bed sheets tighter. He was relieved when the sirens became distant. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Eventually, the exhaustion - both mental and physical - caught up to him, and he was overtaken by sleep. "Ed? Ed honey, wake up." said a soft as it gently woke Ed. Though his vision hasn't focused, he recognized the comforting face of his own mother. "Dinner is ready in ten." she said as her hand slightly pinched his cheek, giving it a pinkish tint.

Memories of today's events flooded his mind. He stifled the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. His phone, which was on his bedside, had a beeping red light on the top right corner, meaning he just received an important message.

From his friends: 'where are you?!' From Candy Crush: 'Your energy has refilled.' And from the local news: 'Murder at public high school'.

A wave of nausea washed over him. He stumbled over to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet bowl.    After an excruciating session of vomiting, he managed to calm himself down. But it didn't last for long. The squeaking of car breaks was audible outside.

   Intreeged, Ed peeked through the curtains and immediately regretted it. Two police cruisers were parked in front of his own home.

   They knocked on the wooden front door, loudly. Ed quietly made his way downstairs, making as little noise as possible. He made sure he wasn't visible to anyone who might be watching through the windows. He slowly closed the back door behind him.

   His mother - who was in the kitchen at the time - walked towards the front door. She looked through the peephole, had a moment of confusion, then opened the door.

   "Can I help you officer?" she asked, still lost on what was happening.    "Evenin' Mr.s Breker. Is your son home?" asked the officer.

   "He's upstairs in his room. Why do you need to know?"

   "Eh, there's no easy way to say this but..." The officer scratched the back of his neck. "Your son is the main suspect of the murder of Simon Evans." She froze.

   "It ain't April Fools! My son is scared of butterflies! He ain't about to murder someone twice his size!"    "Ma'am, we have a warrant to take him into questioning." Mr.s Breker stepped aside and ushered them upstairs. "He didn't do nothin'." She repeated.

   Not even a minute later, the officer came rushing back downstairs. "He's not here!"

<~>

   A rapid series of knocks sounded on Kaz's front door. Annoyed, he angrily stomped towards the doors. "What?!" He yelled the moment he opened it. His emerald eyes widened. "Ed! Where were you?! Everything went to shit after you disappeared!" Ed barged into Kaz's home in a rush.

   "The cops are after me, man!" He said nervously as he tried to hold his composure.

   "The cops are not after you, man. Chill out. They're after whoever... killed.... Simon." His eyes widened in realization. "Ed... Did you...?" he said hesitantly. Ed slowly nodded. Kaz took a step backward. "I think you should go..." Kaz said quietly.

   "There's nowhere to go. You're the only person that can help me."

   "Ed, if the cops find it that I was hiding you, they'll arrest me!"

   "But what about what you said? 'If I fall, we all do'?!"

   "We're not like your fucking dominoes, Ed! You act as if your fate matters to us. Well, guess what? It doesn't! You will fall, and you will fall alone!" Kaz pushed Ed out the front door. Ed tumbled over on and fell on the grass. He held back the tears as he disappeared into the night.

    Overnight, fifteen-year-old Edward Breker had completely disappeared. Or rather, that's what everyone thought.

Nearly a week after Ed's disappearance, the wall phone at Kaz's residence rang.

"Hello?" answers Kaz.

"Kaz." said a panting voice.

"Ed?" he exclaimed. "H-how's it goin' man?" He stuttered.

"I'm skipping town. Tonight."

"R-really? Where are you goin'?"

  "I can't say. But hey, listen. Let's meet up at the Spot. All three of us.   "Why do you want to meet there?"    "One last hangout, I guess."

"S-sure... I'll call Mikey and we'll bring some Mountain Dew, I guess."    Kaz hung up. He turned and faced the officer who was listening to the conversation. "It's him." He said. "He wants me to meet him at the Cliffside." The officer dialed a number on his flip phone and held the phone to his ear.

   "We got 'em."

<~>

   Kaz and Mikey walked through the Red-Wood forest, with a six-pack of Mountain Dew in hand. From a distance, they saw Ed's ragged figure sitting on a piece of land outstretched from the rest of the cliff overlooking the sea.

    The Spot.

   "Ed." They called out to him. His head turned in a fast, robotic manner, as if he was possessed. He brandished a smile at the sight of his two friends. They sat next to him, and each opened up a bottle of Dew.

   "Been a while since we all came here." Said Kaz, followed by a sip.

   "It really has." replied Ed.

   "Ed." Mikey said as he put a hand on Ed's shoulder. Ed immediately flinched but then calmed down. "Did you really kill Simon." Ed reluctantly but surely nodded his head.

   "I did." Kaz and Mikey turned and faced each other. They nodded. The sound of heavy footsteps crushing the fallen leaves was loud enough for Ed to hear. He jolted up from his place and focused his attention at the source of the noise.

Flashlights cut through the darkness of the night. The barks of the K-9 units were audible.

  Heartbroken, Ed faced his friends. Kaz raised his shirt, revealing a communication device strapped to his stomach. "I'm sorry, man. They forced us to do it."

   Half a dozen officers had their guns trained on Ed. "Freeze!" Ed relaxed his body. He raised his hands upwards. Two officers approached him.

   "Do I at least get to say goodbye?" he asked. The commanding officer on site motioned him to do whatever.

   Ed hugged his two friends, an arm around each of them.

   "NO homo!" They all yelled in unison, followed by a series of laughs.

"One more thing." said Ed. His arms still enveloped his two friends.

   "Which is?"

   "If I fall, we all do!" He yelled as he leaned his weight over the side of the outreach. His two friends were dragged along with him. They fell into free fall until meeting their fate at the hand of the jagged rocks below.

[gabutlagi97]

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